Chapter Text
Royal Festival Hall, London, pulsed like a living thing. Applause thundered, music swelled, voices collided into a bright, chaotic symphony. Glitter burst into the air like a small, glamorous explosion: confetti fluttered down in soft, paper snow. The lights cut through the dim hall in sharp, theatrical beams, painting the crowd in gold and silver. The whole place felt unreal, too bright, too loud, too much, as though London itself had decided to throw a tantrum of celebration.
Remus Lupin stood in the middle of it, being touched from every angle.
Hands clapped his shoulders. Someone squeezed his arm. Another person half-hugged him, too excited to bother with personal space. Warm breath brushed his ear as people shouted congratulations over the music. His senses lagged behind the moment, his body reacting before his mind could catch up.
The only thing he truly heard was his name. His name, spoken seconds ago, rang in his skull like a bell that refused to stop. For a fraction of a second, the hall had gone quiet. And then it erupted, noise, light, bodies, joy.
All of it crashing into him at once. His heart thumped so hard it felt mildly illegal. Adrenaline, relief, excitement, disbelief, something dangerously close to tears—everything tangled together into one overwhelming, wordless feeling.
Remus was good with words. It was practically his hobby. Yet right now, his brain has clocked out.
“Congratulations, mate.” The voice was low, warm, and familiar.
Remus blinked, realising he’d closed his eyes without noticing. When he opened them, the world steadied itself again, just enough to function.
Sirius.
Sirius Black stood at his side, grinning like he’d personally engineered this entire night. Remus turned towards him and, without thinking, stepped into his space and hugged him properly. Not a polite, award-show hug. A real one. The kind you gave when your knees were threatening to forget their purpose.
Sirius laughed into his shoulder, the sound vibrating through both their tailored suits. One of Sirius’s hands patted Remus’s back in a grounding rhythm, as though reminding him to stay in his body for a moment.
“Well,” Sirius murmured, meant only for him, “you should probably go and collect your shiny new personality trait. Bring that bling-bling face home.”
Remus huffed a breathy laugh into Sirius’s shoulder.
Oh. Right. The stage. The trophy.
The part where he had to be a functional human being in public.
The realisation hit properly this time.
All of this: every spotlight, every cheer, was for him.
He pulled back and turned to his other side, where Dorcas had already risen to her feet, eyes bright. Peter hovered awkwardly behind her, clapping far too enthusiastically. Mary was trying not to cry. Amelia looked composed but proud. Pandora’s blue eyes gleamed with a quiet, steady warmth that made Remus feel less like he might dissolve on the spot.
He met each of their gazes in turn, smiling so wide his cheeks actually hurt. Dorcas wrapped him in a swift hug, kissed his cheek with zero regard for cameras, and whispered, “Go on, superstar. Take the glowing thing. You’ve earned it.”
He nodded, probably too fast, and stepped into the aisle. Two cameramen walked backwards ahead of him, filming every step. Remus smiled at them out of instinct, not even certain he’d actually looked at the camera. It didn’t matter. The world had narrowed to the stage and the strange, buoyant feeling in his chest.
At the top of the steps stood Sir Ian McKellen, elegant with his cane, looking every inch like someone who belonged under theatrical lighting. Beside him, Jim Broadbent beamed, the kind of smile that felt like a warm cup of tea on a cold day.
Remus reached them and promptly forgot how professionalism worked, hugging them both in turn. “Thank you, thank you so much,” he said, breathless, a little overwhelmed by the fact that this was real life and not some very vivid dream.
Jim laughed, patting his arm. “Now hush and give us that speech of yours, Remus.”
Remus let out a soft, nervous chuckle and nodded. The trophy was placed into his hands. It was heavier than he’d expected. Cold, sharp edges. Solid. Real.
His palms were damp, but his grip didn’t falter. It felt… right, in a way that was faintly terrifying. As though the universe had decided not to embarrass him. He stepped up to the microphone, the lights bright in his eyes, the room stretching before him in a sea of faces. His smile lingered, slightly dazed. He cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, and then paused, because apparently his brain wanted him to say it twice. “Thank you.”
His gaze found Dorcas first, radiant, unapologetically proud. Then Pandora, calm as a lighthouse in a storm. Then Sirius, grey eyes bright with proudness.
He inhaled slowly, steadied himself. “Wow. Thank you to BAFTA for trusting me with this. To our entire film team from casting to everyone on set, none of this happens without you. To Hawley and Green, our brilliant director and producer, for pulling me into this project and refusing to let me hide.” A few soft laughs rippled through the hall.
His voice still trembled, just a touch. His fingers flexed around the trophy. “And to everyone in this room… it’s surreal being here with you. Truly.” He paused again, then lifted his eyes to the camera. Something in his expression softened, the bravado slipping just enough to let the truth show through.
“And… to my beautiful star,” he said quietly, the words gentler now, more intimate, “who’s always there. Who believes in me even when I don’t. Who reminds me to feel things properly, and to be honest about them. Thank you.” The applause returned, louder than before, washing over him like a tide.
Remus smiled, stepped back, and allowed himself to be guided offstage with Jim and Sir Ian.
“Second one, lad?” Sir Ian asked lightly.
Remus glanced down at the trophy in his hands, still not quite believing the weight of it. The trophy pressed cold into his palms, grounding him in a way nothing else had managed to do tonight. “I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that this is coming home with me,” he admitted, voice low with disbelief.
Both men laughed, the sound warm and easy, the sort that only came from people who had seen you grow into yourself. Ian squeezed his shoulder with quiet pride. “It always feels strange,” he said gently. “But you deserve it. I’m genuinely proud of you.”
Jim Broadbent chuckled. “Perfecting the collection this year, are we, Remus? The Oscar last night and now this. I’m proud of you, truly.”
Remus scrubbed a hand over his face, embarrassed, his smile crooked and disbelieving. “Oh God. I really need to get home and process all these lights and cameras and… everything, Jim.”
“You’ll be fine,” Jim said fondly. “It’s hardly going to be your last, not with all the projects I keep hearing about.”
Remus shook his head, soft laughter slipping out. “Thank you. Really.”
They parted ways a moment later, each pulled in different directions by schedules and handlers. Remus headed towards the right wing of the hall, where Dorcas already waited for him with the calm, watchful focus of someone who had learned how to survive rooms like this without losing her mind.
Dorcas was his manager and agent, but more than that, she was his anchor. She went everywhere with him, especially to places like this. Yes, Remus was an actor, but that did not mean he wanted to perform every second of his life. He needed someone who could protect his time, steer him through schedules, and gently rescue him from conversations he stayed in far too long out of politeness.
Remus had a habit of standing for hours, nodding and smiling until his legs ached and his schedule collapsed around him. Dorcas was the one who stepped in with a bright smile and a perfectly timed excuse.
She was brilliant at her job, and Remus trusted her with the kind of loyalty that came from being quietly saved more times than he could count.
“Look at that smile,” Dorcas said, pulling him into a quick hug. Remus laughed under his breath and handed her the trophy so she could feel its weight too.
“God, Cas, I’m still trying to process the rest of it. It all feels… unreal.”
“I told Marlene and Hawley you’d bring this home,” she said easily. “They agreed, so it wasn’t exactly a shock to me. I know how hard you worked on this film. More than that, I know how much of yourself you put into it. You deserve every bit of this.”
“Thank you,” he said, softer now.
She waved it off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now, is this going to sit next to the other one, or are we officially investing in a new cabinet?”
She helped him secure the trophy, then straightened his suits with brisk efficiency. They would have to return to their seats soon, the ceremony still rolling on around them. “Oh, come off it,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that much.”
“Third award in the same category in one season,” Dorcas replied, arching a brow. “Can you imagine?”
“No,” he admitted, voice dropping into something tired and giddy all at once. “And I still can’t. Cas, I feel like I’m floating, and I really just want to go home.” He groaned quietly, raking a hand through his curls and only making them spring up in messier rebellion.
“To scream into your pillow, have your forever cup of tea, and cuddle with that beautiful star of yours?” Dorcas teased.
“Or a man,” she added lightly, laughing at herself.
Remus nudged her bare shoulder with his own, half mortified, half amused. Dorcas tutted, pulled a tiny bottle of hairspray from her clutch, and clicked her tongue at the state of him.
“Close your eyes and stop touching your hair,” she said fondly.
He obeyed, standing still as she fixed him with quick, practiced movements. He remembered her words from years ago, back when they had only just started working together. “You are my investment, Remus. Simply put. You do your job well, and you are honest with me, and I will never sell you short.” He had taken that to heart.
This was his second BAFTA in the same category in three years. It followed his second Oscar win the night before, and his first Golden Globe earlier in the season. Three trophies for one film, all within the same stretch of time. The achievement left him strangely breathless, as though the universe had briefly tilted in his favour and he was waiting for it to wobble back.
And still, he said it every time he was asked. This was not his victory alone. It belonged to everyone who had stood beside him in the making of it. The trophy might carry his name, might sit on his shelf, but it belonged to the collective. To the people who had poured themselves into the work, in ways both visible and invisible.
The film had swept several categories. Best Film. Best Casting for Mary. Best Production Design by Peter and Arthur. Best Costume Design by Pandora. Their week had been a blur of late dinners, clinking glasses, laughter that came too easily, gratitude that lingered long after the plates were cleared.
And beyond all of that, there was his star. His person. “He’s heading home tomorrow,” Remus said quietly, more to himself than to Dorcas. “I really miss him.”
“I know,” Dorcas replied. “You tell me that nearly every day.”
“Yeah?” Remus said, lips tugging into a tired smile. “And I’m not planning on apologising for it.”
Dorcas stepped back, surveyed him from head to toe, and gestured for him to turn. He did. “Perfect,” she decided. “We need to head back. Sirius is up for nomination next.”
Remus nodded, drawing in a slow breath. He glanced at his watch, a gift from his parents, and noted the time. Fifteen minutes to eleven. The ceremony had started later than usual this year, which meant the night would stretch well past midnight.
Somewhere in the hall, the applause rose again. Remus, still buzzing with everything he had just lived through, steadied himself and stepped back into the light.
The rest of the night unfolded in a glittering blur. There were jokes traded over flutes of champagne, laughter that came too easily, hands shaken with people whose names he had only ever read in credits. Old friends appeared out of nowhere, pulling him into brief, breathless reunions. Conversations bloomed and ended in minutes.
Someone kept refilling his glass the second it reached empty. Snacks appeared on silver trays and vanished just as quickly. Perfume hung thick in the air, layered and expensive, blending into one dizzying scent of wealth and celebration. Invitations floated his way, casual offers for coffee, tentative hints at future projects.
Remus drifted through it all, smiling, listening, nodding at the right moments. Dorcas never strayed far from his side, a steady presence in the chaos. Sirius won his category too, Best Director for his new film, and Remus hugged him with the same bright, unguarded grin they had shared since they were eleven years old. The kind of grin that belonged to childhood and safety and knowing someone had your back no matter how absurd life became.
By the time the clock crept past two in the morning, exhaustion finally claimed them all. The group staggered out towards their cars, laughter softer now, movements slower. Dorcas all but pushed Remus into his seat, and he wanted to protest, but what came out of his mouth was a tired whine that even he did not take seriously.
He caught glimpses of Peter shoving Sirius into their car, of familiar faces waving their goodbyes. Doors shut. Engines hummed. The night pressed in around them.
Oh, he really wanted to go home.
Dorcas closed the door behind them and leaned forward to murmur something to Edd, their driver. The car eased into motion. Remus reached for the bottle of water waiting in the cup holder and took a long drink, then exhaled slowly.
“I know I’m not drunk,” he said, rubbing at his temple, “but my body is completely done with standing and walking for that many hours.”
Dorcas did not look up, already half-focused on her tablet as she loosened the delicate clips pinning her hair in place.
“Do you want help?” Remus asked, gesturing towards her hair.
She glanced at him, and he noticed her make-up was already mostly gone, wiped clean during some stolen moment he had missed. “Yes, please,” she said. “I need my hands free to answer messages and update your schedule.”
“You know you don’t have to work right now, right?” he told her gently. “You could wait until tomorrow. Or next week, honestly.”
He reached forward and began the familiar task of freeing her hair from its careful arrangement. Dorcas’s hair was thick and glossy, the kind that seemed like it should come with a warning label for neck strain. “I know,” she said, scrolling with alarming speed.
“But I won’t rest properly if I don’t deal with this now. Especially with the hashtags and everything trending tonight. The internet is ridiculous. The speed at which they latch onto things is terrifying.”
Remus leaned closer, trying to decipher the blur of posts on her screen. He recognised the app because Dorcas showed him things from it often, though he did not have an account himself. He only kept Instagram, and even that felt like a social commitment he managed out of sheer necessity.
“What’s trending?” he asked.
Dorcas opened her mouth to answer, then her phone rang. Marlene’s name lit up the screen. Remus sighed softly. “Oh, to be called by your girlfriend,” he teased.
“Do not give me that wounded puppy look,” Dorcas said, shooing him away with her shoulder.
The call was brief. Dorcas ended it and immediately began typing again.
“What did she say?” Remus asked.
“That Sirius is being unbearable, Peter has fallen asleep, and she’s blaming the current chaos on whatever is trending about you.”
That tracked. Sirius was a menace when he drank, and after-parties like this never helped. Remus could vividly imagine Marlene’s expression right now. Marlene was Sirius’s personal assistant and Peter’s business partner, and since they all lived in the same area, she ended up babysitting far too often.
Remus, meanwhile, lived in a different part of the city. It was about thirty minutes from Sirius’s place on a good night. Dorcas usually dropped him off first, then headed home herself, or sometimes the other way around.
“All the trending posts are about you and Sirius,” Dorcas went on. “Well, mostly about you. But Sirius gets dragged into it by default. Marlene says paparazzi are already outside his place because they can’t find yours. James is on his way back from the airport, so she’s making sure he doesn’t get caught on camera.”
Remus froze, the last hair clip slipping free from Dorcas’s hair. “What?” His brain lagged behind the words.
“You’re going to have to explain that like I’m five. My head is operating on about two percent battery.”
Dorcas passed him the tablet. “Your little speech. The beautiful star bit. It’s gone viral. People think you were talking about Sirius because, obviously, the public loves a narrative. They’ve decided you’re staying over at his place tonight.”
Oh.
Oh no.
“They think I’m going home with Sirius,” Remus said faintly.
"Exactly,” Dorcas replied. “Bless their imagination.”
Remus groaned, sinking back into his seat. Poor James. He was probably rerouting to his old flat or a nearby hotel by now.
James Potter, star footballer, just back from a match in Germany. Remus had known his schedule because James had dropped it casually into their group chat days ago. They had even planned a dinner soon.
James and Sirius were careful. Painfully careful. Their relationship was private, guarded with the sort of caution that came from too much fame and too many eyes. Sirius did not want James swallowed by his world of headlines and rumours. James, for his part, was not ready to come out publicly, especially not with important matches on the horizon. So they lived quietly, loved quietly, and trusted only a small circle to know the truth.
“Well, James could…” Remus began.
“I know what you’re about to say,” Dorcas cut in. “And no, he can’t come to yours. He’s fine. I’ll make sure of it. Also, don’t you have someone waiting for you at home? Regulus, in case you’ve temporarily forgotten your own boyfriend.”
Right.
Yes.
That.
His own relationship was just as private, locked down with security and careful planning. Regulus will be home tomorrow morning after two weeks in Copenhagen, Denmark. There was no way Remus wanted to share that reunion with anyone else in the house, least of all a jet-lagged James. Not that Regulus would be cruel about it. But Regulus hated coming home to guests after business trips, and Remus missed him too much to pretend he would behave normally when he saw him again.
Not that James needed to know all of that.
Still, guilt tugged at Remus’s chest. His speech had been meant for Regulus. Of course it had. Who else was his star? And now the world had twisted it into something else, pinned it to Sirius, his best friend and Regulus’s brother in all.
Public misunderstanding.
Private consequence.
Remus hated that part of his life.
“Stop that,” Dorcas said softly, as if she could hear his thoughts spiralling. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know that look. Sirius and James are fine. This is not the first time people have assumed things about you and Sirius. It happens all the time. Tonight is just louder because the lights are brighter and you both won. It will be busy, it will be noisy, and then it will die down. You don’t need to worry about this.”
“Really?” He asked, quiet.
“Really,” Dorcas said, meeting his eyes. “All you need to do tonight is go inside, change, take a bath, and sleep until you wake up with your very handsome boyfriend next to you.”
Remus laughed, the sound soft and relieved, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Good night, Cas. Thank you. And thank you, Edd.”
“Anytime, Mr Lupin,” Edd replied. Dorcas waved as the door closed again, and the car pulled away.
When the door closed behind him and the noise of the city faded into silence, replaced by the hush of the house and the clean scent of lavender, Remus finally exhaled. The lights were low, only a few lamps left on, casting warm pools of gold across the hallway.
He slipped out of his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, hanging it neatly on the stand by the door. As he bent to set down his clutch, he heard footsteps approaching.
Kreacher, their housekeeper.
“Hello, Kreacher,” Remus greeted softly, beating the man to the movement as Kreacher bowed and reached for the clutch and the tie that had slipped from Remus’s fingers.
“Good evening, Master Remus. Forgive Kreacher for not hearing the car arrive. Kreacher was in the backroom.”
Remus snorted quietly. “That’s perfectly fine. I was hoping you’d already gone to bed.”
“The bath and tea have been prepared, Master Remus. Is there anything else you need?”
He shook his head and started up the stairs, his body already aching with the promise of rest. He glanced into the living room as he passed. A large vase of fresh lavender stood on the table, mixed with other pale blooms.
The flowers looked newly arranged, their scent soft and calming in the dim light.
“That’s all,” he said, then paused halfway up the stairs and turned back. “And thank you. The flowers are beautiful. Exactly what I asked for.”
Kreacher’s lined face softened with something close to pride. “Master Regulus will love them. That is all Kreacher wishes for Master Remus.” With that, he disappeared, carrying the jacket and tie away.
Earlier that day, Remus had asked Kreacher to replace every vase in the house with fresh arrangements, heavy on lavender. Regulus’s favourite. He had also asked for a proper deep clean, not because the house needed it, but because he wanted everything to feel new when Regulus walked back through the door.
It had been three years since Remus had first stayed the night in this house. Three years later he had learned to relax around Kreacher’s quiet presence, until it became normal, familiar.
Three years of living here with Regulus. Three years of dodging questions about where he lived, his address growing more elusive the more famous he became. It was even harder to trace now, with Regulus’s strict security and greatness with privacy.
Remus had never regretted a single decision that had brought him here. He would make them all again.
After a long, nearly hour-long bath, he dried off, slipped into his pyjamas, and towel-dried his curls. He applied his night cream with a soft laugh, thinking of Regulus’s relentless insistence on proper skincare routines over the past year.
Regulus was always right about these things. His skin felt healthier, softer, less permanently exhausted. So even with Regulus away for the past two weeks, he had kept up the routine.
Usually, his boyfriend stayed on the phone with him, making sure he used everything in the correct order, like some sort of luxury-product drill sergeant.
Remus flopped onto the bed and finally checked his phone, now charged after being abandoned for most of the night. He had turned it off earlier, having already messaged Regulus before the BAFTA ceremony began. Regulus had replied, as he always did.
There were missed calls from friends and a handful of messages from acquaintances, mostly work-related. Nothing urgent. Nothing he had the energy to deal with. Dorcas had sent an update. James was staying with Peter. She was home safe. Sirius was fine. The world had not ended in his absence.
Remus let out a quiet breath of relief. He opened his chat with Regulus. No new messages. Just the last one waiting for him, warm and soft as ever.
From: My Heart 🤍
I’ll be home around 9AM, so you can turn this phone off and enjoy the night. See you at home, amour <3
Remus smiled to himself and typed back.
To: My Heart 🤍
I’m home. I won! Did you see? Can’t wait to have you back, baby.
He set his phone to off mode, turned off the screen, and curled into the bed. If he did not sleep now, Regulus would absolutely scold him in the morning.
— — —
Morning arrived like a quiet intruder. Remus woke with a dull ache pressing behind his eyes and a dry, unpleasant burn in his throat. His head felt too heavy for his neck, as though someone had replaced his brain with wet sand overnight.
The curtains, which he was fairly certain he had closed before sleeping, were now slightly parted at the edges. Soft sunlight slipped through the gap, warm but mercifully gentle, lighting the room without blinding him.
“Shit,” he muttered. His voice came out rough, lower than usual. He needed water. Immediately.
His eyes were still half-shut when a presence moved beside the bed. A hand appeared in his blurred vision, holding out a glass. He accepted it without question, drank half in one go, then sagged back into the pillows with a grateful breath.
Only then did he open his eyes properly. Regulus stood there in pyjama bottoms and a plain white T-shirt, hair still faintly rumpled from the trip, eyes bright and soft and entirely real.
Right.
He was alive again.
Remus blinked a few times, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating from sleep deprivation. Then he smiled, slow and helpless. “Hi,” he said.
That smile. God, he had missed that smile. The gentle, private version of it that Regulus never wore for anyone else. “Hi, mon amour,” Regulus replied, the French perfect. Regulus leaned down and pressed a series of soft kisses to his forehead, his nose, the corner of his mouth.
Oh.
That was unfair.
Remus reached for him immediately, fingers catching Regulus’s jaw, intent on doing something far less polite. Regulus, however, straightened at the last second, leaving Remus grasping at air and nearly pitching forward with the effort.
“I’ll kiss you properly after you brush your teeth and come back with full consciousness,” Regulus said lightly, amused.
“But I showered before bed,” Remus protested, collapsing back into the mattress and burying his face in a pillow.
“I know,” Regulus said fondly. “But you can barely keep your eyes open. Brush your teeth, wash your face, and I’ll kiss you downstairs.”
“Ugh,” Remus groaned into the pillow. “What time is it?”
“Seven.”
That answer jolted him awake far more effectively than caffeine ever could. “Seven?” he repeated, sitting up too quickly and immediately regretting it.
“Seven in the morning? I slept for four hours. I need at least two more to function like a person.”
Regulus was precise to a fault. Punctuality was practically written into his DNA. Him arriving early was rare enough to be suspicious.
“And wait. Seven? Why are you already here?” The question came out sharper than he intended, tinged with the petulant disappointment of someone who had been denied his morning kisses for two weeks straight.
He caught Regulus’s brief look of surprise and winced. “No, that sounded wrong,” Remus rushed to clarify. “I mean, you said you’d arri—
“Around nine, yes,” Regulus cut in, entirely unbothered. “But I decided to leave earlier so I could get here sooner.”
Remus squinted at him. “Why?”
Regulus leaned against the doorframe between the bedroom and the walk-in wardrobe, crossing his arms loosely. “Because I missed you and wanted to see you as soon as possible. I arrived an hour ago. You were still asleep and looked absolutely exhausted.”
“But that means you didn’t sleep because you were travelling and—”
“Remus,” Regulus interrupted gently, clearly trying not to laugh, “you do remember I take a private jet, yes? It’s a two-hour flight.”
Right.
Yes.
Of course he did.
Remus stared at the ceiling, deeply aware that he was currently the least intelligent person in the room. His love shook his head fondly and turned towards the door. “Come downstairs when you’re human again. I’ll be at the table.”
Their breakfasts were always early, around six or seven because Regulus had a habit of starting his workdays obscenely early, and Remus did not mind waking up with him, even if his own filming schedules rarely began before lunch.
So the morning had become their quiet time. The calm before everything else demanded pieces of them. Regulus had always been the obvious heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It was never really a question.
Orion and Walburga had clocked early on that their first son had no interest in the machinery of business or legacy. Sirius had spent his childhood hiding in the art room, charcoal under his nails, heart somewhere far from boardrooms and balance sheets.
Regulus, meanwhile, had grown into the role with a quiet precision that felt almost innate. His boyfriend was only two years younger than him. Close enough in age to feel like fate had simply nudged them into each other’s orbit.
He had first met Regulus when he was sixteen, during a visit to Grimmauld Place while Regulus was home from his boarding school in France. While Sirius and him had gone to Hogwarts in Scotland, Regulus had been sent to a private school abroad. It suited him. The distance had given him polish. The quiet had given him sharp edges and soft centres.
Even before they met, Regulus had felt familiar to him. Sirius never shut up about his little brother. The stories came in waves. The eye rolls. The fondness he pretended not to feel. Sirius had insisted that both of them would get along because they were both bookworm and painfully introverted. He nodded along, forming an image in his head of a boy he had never seen.
Their first meeting had been awkward in the way only teenagers could manage. Two introverts, standing too stiffly in the same room, both too polite and too shy to start a proper conversation. Words had come out clumsy. Silences had stretched. They had escaped from each other as quickly as manners allowed.
And yet.
Remus had walked away with his heart doing something unhelpful in his chest. A strange warmth had pooled low in his stomach. His cheeks had burned, his pulse too loud in his ears. He remembered the feeling clearly because it had never really gone away.
Even now, years later, Regulus still made his chest feel crowded in the best possible way. Especially when Regulus was like this: relaxed, at their home. \
Remus stepped into the kitchen to find Kreacher setting out breakfast, the scent of toast and coffee warming the room. He murmured a greeting and then moved straight towards Regulus, slipping his arms around his waist from behind. He rested his forehead against the back of Regulus’s neck, breathing him in.
Regulus leaned back into him, one hand coming up to thread through his hair. Their fingers found each other without looking. “Now you can kiss me,” Regulus said quietly.
Remus did not hesitate. He turned Regulus around and caught his face between his hands, kissing him slow and deep. The kind of kiss that felt like breathing each other in. Unrushed. Certain. Soft, but full of intention. Care woven into every movement.
His chest fluttered, ridiculous with it. Kissing Regulus Black still did this to him. Regulus’s lips were warm and gentle, plush with familiarity, but his mouth answered with quiet hunger. The kiss held heat beneath its softness, attention pressed into every second. Regulus kissed him like he had been counting the days.
His breath stuttered against his mouth, a sound Regulus swallowed without thinking. When they finally pulled apart, it was only because they needed air. Their foreheads touched. Their breathing was uneven. Their mouths still carried the echo of each other.
“I need you,” Regulus said, voice small and honest in a way that always undid him completely.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along Regulus’s jaw. “Yeah, baby. The bed, alright?”
Grey eyes darkened, bright and almost silver in the morning light, filled with want. Remus forced himself to breathe properly, to stay just this side of sane.
Regulus’s attention wandered to his collarbone, his mouth pressing there with careless devotion, fingers warm at his waist. Remus had to bite back a sound. He could already feel his restraint thinning. “Baby,” he whispered, unsteady.
“I know. I want to take my time with you. Properly. Where we’re comfortable.”
Regulus hummed in response, distracted and affectionate, as though the world had narrowed to the space between them. He did not give himself time to overthink it. He scooped Regulus up in one smooth movement. Regulus yelped in surprise, then laughed, arms instinctively looping around Remus’s neck as he turned and headed for the stairs.
“I will take my time,” Remus murmured against his ear.
Regulus’s breath brushed warm against his skin as they reached the bedroom door. Remus set him down on the bed, hands still lingering, his expression soft with something dangerously close to reverence.
“God,” Remus whispered, forehead resting briefly against Regulus’s. “I missed you.”
The world outside their room could wait. After, Remus couldn’t quite hide his smile as he lay back against the pillows, Regulus pliant and warm across his chest. Their skin was flushed, damp with sweat and leftover heat, the air around them thick with that languid, heavy warmth that only ever came after they had finally stopped pretending they could live without each other.
Two weeks of distance had done longing. They had undone it, slowly and then not slowly at all, until their bodies had demanded mercy. Now, everything has softened. Remus kept his arms around Regulus, his fingers tracing idle patterns along his back, grounding them both in the quiet of the room. Regulus tucked his face into the curve of Remus’s neck, pressing small, absent kisses there, a content little hum in his throat that made something in Remus’s chest loosen.
This was the part Remus loved most, the stillness after the storm, the way Regulus turned into something small and trusting in his arms.
“We should eat the breakfast,” Regulus murmured, voice rough with sleep and warmth, making absolutely no attempt to move.
Remus opened one eye. “Yeah,” he agreed, with the sincerity of a man who had no intention of shifting an inch.
There was a pause. “Ten minutes,” Regulus decided.
Remus felt his own eyes slide shut again. Their breathing had slowed, hearts no longer trying to escape their ribs. The room had settled around them, sunlight slipping in through the curtains, dust motes drifting lazily through the air. For a moment, it felt like the world had learned to move at their pace.
Eventually, Regulus stirred, gathering himself, lifting his head to look at Remus properly. God, he was beautiful like this.
Lashes dark against pale skin, one lighter than the other, brows strong enough to look stern on anyone else but somehow soft on him. The lines of his face were gentled by sleep and warmth, by the way he looked at Remus as though there was nowhere else he would rather be.
Remus didn’t bother resisting the impulse. He leaned in and kissed him slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that wasn’t about hunger so much as reassurance. Regulus sighed into it, then drew back with a breathy little sound, resting his forehead briefly against Remus’s.
“We really should eat,” Regulus said, quieter now. “At least some fruit before lunch at Grimmauld.”
Remus’s eyes flew open. Grimmauld? The surprise must have been obvious, because Regulus’s expression shifted mildly challengingly, as though he had clocked something more in Remus’s reaction.
Remus winced internally. Brilliant. Post-sex Remus was apparently incapable of subtlety.
“What?” Regulus asked, sitting up properly now, half the duvet pulled around his waist.
From where Remus lay, he could see the faint marks blooming along Regulus’s throat and collarbone, a few more scattered across his ribs and the soft curve of his shoulder. The sight filled him with a ridiculous, unhelpful sense of pride.
“No,” Remus said quickly. “I just… did you say Grimmauld?”
Regulus didn’t answer straight away, which was never a good sign. That quiet pause meant he was thinking. Measuring. Deciding whether Remus was about to make this complicated.
Remus wasn’t. He was just… unprepared. He’d imagined today would be lazy. Slow. Cuddling. Resting. Staying hidden away in the warmth of their house after two weeks apart.
Meeting Orion and Walburga while Regulus was wearing evidence of Remus’s devotion like a gallery exhibition had not featured in that fantasy.
“Why?” Regulus asked at last. “Is something wrong with Grimmauld? You don’t want to go?”
Remus stared at the ceiling for half a second, already bracing himself for whatever conversation he’d accidentally started. Right. Regulus was definitely upset now.
Remus shifted closer, reaching for Regulus’s hand before the silence could thicken into something heavier. He drew their fingers towards his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his boyfriend's knuckles, soft enough to feel like an apology.
“No, there’s nothing wrong,” he said quietly. “I just… was there something urgent? I don’t remember us planning to go to Grimmauld today, baby.”
“Yes,” Regulus replied, tone level but clipped at the edges. “I want to go there. And second ago I told you we’d be having lunch there.”
Remus nodded, slow and careful. “Why?”
“Why about what?” Regulus asked. “Do I need a reason to visit my childhood home and see my parents? Or…” his gaze sharpened, just a touch, “do you have a reason you don’t want to go?”
Remus held his gaze, suddenly aware of how easily this could slip into something neither of them meant. He hadn’t intended it to sound loaded. He hadn’t intended any of this to feel difficult. “No, love,” he said gently. “I was just curious what made you want to go so suddenly.”
It wasn’t as though Regulus avoided Grimmauld. He visited often enough, sometimes once a month, sometimes once every few months, dropping in on Orion and Walburga now that they’d officially stepped away from the business and were enjoying the novelty of hobbies and long, unstructured days.
Some days there is a moment when Walburga sent care packages to their home, packages from her trips abroad or Orion mailed invitations to the occasional horse race or archery event, as though they had no schedule.
Regulus and Sirius didn’t hate Grimmauld. They’d grown up there, right up until they were eleven and shipped off to boarding schools, and after that they’d both chosen their own places to live: places Orion and Walburga had, of course, made sure were impeccable and well-secured.
The relationship between the Blacks and their sons wasn’t the cold, distant thing the press liked to invent just because they weren’t often photographed laughing in public. It was… normal. There had been rows, naturally. Teenage rebellion for the sake of rebellion. The occasional fury over weekends stolen by galas and charity events. The usual clash of wills between parents who cared too much about appearances and children who wanted, briefly, to care about nothing at all.
But there had never been cruelty. Never anything dark. Just boundaries, privacy, and the kind of emotional reserve that came with growing up under a microscope. So of course Regulus still went back. Sirius did too.
And Remus… Remus had become part of that orbit almost naturally. The first time he’d gone to Grimmauld as Regulus’s boyfriend, he’d been a wreck. He’d picked Regulus up there for a date at Regulus’s insistence, and Remus had spent the entire drive over convincing himself he wasn’t about to be politely dissected by two aristocrats who owned more property than he could pronounce.
He’d been even more nervous because he’d been there before—as Sirius’s friend, not as someone actively courting their son.
The shift in context had felt enormous. Sirius, to make things worse, had been mildly cross with him at the time for not telling him sooner that he and Regulus were dating. Orion and Walburga, on the other hand, had been infuriatingly normal about it.
“Don’t be so nervous, Remus,” Walburga had said, smiling as though she could see straight through him. “This isn’t your first time at Grimmauld, is it? Enjoy your date. Don’t come back too late. Have fun.”
They hadn’t changed their manner with him at all.
The last time Remus had seen them must have been, what? Eight months ago? Nearly a year? Before he’d vanished into the chaos of this latest film project.
He was still waiting for Regulus to answer when his phone rang. The sudden sound made him flinch. He reached for it on instinct, letting go of Regulus’s hand without quite meaning to, and accepted the call without checking the screen. “Yes?” he said.
A beat. “Oh hi, Pads.” It was Sirius.
Remus could tell from the cheer in his voice that the hangover had loosened its grip. There was James in the background, too loud, as ever and possibly Peter, though Remus couldn’t be certain over the soft chaos of overlapping voices.
He glanced at Regulus, who was watching him with quiet focus. “It’s Sirius,” Remus mouthed.
In his ear, Sirius confirmed that James and Peter were there with him, that the press had finally stopped loitering outside their building, and inevitably asked whether Regulus was back.
“He is, actually,” Remus said. “He’s right next to me. He’s good. We’re good, Pads. Are you?”
Remus put the call on speaker, mostly because Regulus’s gaze made it clear he wanted to listen without having to announce himself.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Moons,” Sirius said breezily. “This is standard fare. A little bit of trending about me and you, nothing dramatic. Honestly, it’d be hilarious if we were actually together.”
James laughed in the background, and Remus did too. The idea of him and Sirius being romantic was genuinely absurd. They’d spend more time laughing at themselves than doing anything remotely tender. They were too ridiculous together to take seriously.
And then Regulus swung his legs off the bed. He walked, entirely naked and utterly unconcerned, into the bathroom and shut the door a little harder than necessary.
The sound carried. “Well, what was that?” Sirius asked. “Something fell over? You all right, Moons?”
Remus frowned at the closed bathroom door. “Oh yeah. Regulus just shut the door too hard. All good. I’m glad you and James are okay. How’s Peter holding up?”
“Hang on, I’ll put you on loudspeaker,” Sirius said.
There was a shuffle, then James’s voice came through clearly.
“Hi, Remus. I’m fine. I came over purely for James’s soup. Medicinal purposes.”
“You sneaky little worm,” James laughed. “How’s your head, Moony?”
“Never had any complaints, Prongs,” Remus shot back, which earned another round of laughter.
“I doubt that,” Sirius said. “Anyway, dinner later? We can come to yours. I want to see Regulus.”
The bathroom door opened. Regulus emerged in fresh clothes, hair still damp at the ends. “Sure,” Remus said. “Let me know when you’re on your way.”
He ended the call and only then noticed the time. Nearly eleven. “I’m leaving soon,” Regulus said, before Remus could speak. “It’s up to you whether you come with me.”
“Give me fifteen minutes,” Remus replied. “I’ll join you.”
Regulus nodded once and left the room.
Remus lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t meant for his surprise to turn this into something brittle and awkward. It had been nothing more than that shock. The plan had been sudden. He’d expected a lazy morning, not a formal family visit while still half-fogged from sleep and emotion.
Still, he showered quickly, dressed with more care than he usually bothered with, and made himself presentable by Black family standards. Proper. Respectable.
Downstairs, Kreacher hovered around Regulus, quietly efficient. Remus reached for Regulus’s shoulder out of habit, but Regulus moved the moment he noticed him, already stepping towards the door.
The small, unintentional rejection landed heavier than it should have.
Remus followed him out into the car, that hollow, disoriented feeling settling in his chest. Even Karl, Regulus’s chauffeur, seemed to sense the shift. They entered from opposite doors and rode in silence.
Remus tried. He asked after Orion. Mentioned the weather. Even checked in on Karl, who he only ever saw when Regulus was home, Edd handled Remus’s daily comings and goings because Regulus refused to let him drive himself anywhere. The conversation died in the air each time.
“Could you at least pretend you want to be here?” Regulus said quietly as the car stopped in front of Grimmauld’s grand doors. “You know how sensitive Mother can be.”
Remus stared at him, taken aback. This was… harsher than it needed to be. He didn’t mind being here. He truly didn’t. He’d just been unprepared for the suddenness of it.
He opened his mouth to argue, but Regulus had already stepped out. “Really?” Remus muttered under his breath, then caught Karl’s uncertain glance.
“Thank you, Karl.”
He hurried after Regulus, noting the familiar signs of his displeasure, the brisk pace, the clipped movements, the way everything suddenly felt urgent.
The door opened. Walburga was already there, greeting Regulus with a composed smile. Orion was nowhere in sight. Remus stepped forward and, without thinking, placed his hand at the small of Regulus’s back, the place it always went, instinctive and grounding.
“Walburga.”
“Remus.”
The air between them was polite.
Walburga’s gaze found Remus with unnerving precision. He could hear it in her voice, the polite warmth sharpened just enough at the edges to signal that she’d already clocked the tension between her son and his boyfriend.
No matter how familiar she was, how easily she could chat, she was still Walburga Black: all poise, pedigree, and effortless authority. The sort of woman who could make you feel underdressed in your own skin.
“Mother,” Regulus said smoothly, “let Dobby handle everything. Remus and I will join Father in the dining room.”
Walburga’s attention snapped back to her son, her smile softening at once. “Of course. Don’t you worry about a thing. Remus, Orion’s waiting at the table. You know, luncheon time.” She turned, already calling for Dobby.
“Sorry about that,” Regulus murmured.
Remus understood the apology for what it was, for the tension, for the abruptness, for the sharp edges earlier. He nodded, his hand still resting at the small of Regulus’s back. “Shall we?”
They walked towards the dining room, passing several neatly stacked crates along the corridor. Walburga’s purchases, perhaps. Or another of Orion’s auction victories. Remus would’ve dismissed them if not for the faint, familiar script on one of the labels.
RAB.
The sight tugged at him, uneasy questions rising to the surface. Old belongings? Things being sorted? Moved? He didn’t get time to follow the thread of the thought before Orion appeared, greeting him with open arms.
“Congratulations, Remus! Three Best Actor wins from one film, what a feat!” Orion’s voice rang with genuine delight.
Remus flushed. Of course they’d watched. “Thank you. I still don’t quite believe it myself.”
“Nonsense. You’ve earned every bit of it. That’s why we’re celebrating, isn’t it? Luncheon gives us the perfect chance to chat and—”
“To enjoy our son and his boyfriend’s company after months apart,” Walburga cut in lightly, taking her seat.
Remus smiled, polite and practiced, but the actor in him noted the interruption.
The way Orion’s words had been steered away from whatever he’d been about to say. The way Regulus’s gaze sharpened, flicking briefly to his father before settling on his mother with something unreadable in it.
Oh no, Remus thought, heart sinking. This is not going to be pleasant.
He didn’t like being kept in the dark, especially not after a morning that had already gone slightly sideways.
But lunch was… okay, on the surface. Linen napkins, the soft clink of cutlery, sunlight filtering through tall windows and catching in the crystal of the chandelier overhead. The food was exquisite. The conversation, cordial.
Orion, silver-haired and bright-eyed at seventy-two, was in rare form, full of praise for the gala, eager for details, clearly delighted to have Remus at the table. Walburga listened with composed interest. Regulus answered when spoken to, polite to a fault.
And yet.
There were glances between Regulus and Walburga. Quick, weighted exchanges that passed over Remus’s head. Orion noticed them, too, but seemed content to pretend otherwise, too absorbed in his enthusiasm to interrogate the undercurrent.
Dessert arrived: fresh fruit salad and an array of sorbets. Conversation drifted to business. Plans Regulus hadn’t yet shared with Remus.
And that ridiculously stung. It wasn’t jealousy. It was the simple want to hear Regulus ramble about his trip in the quiet of their own kitchen, not beneath chandeliers and watchful eyes, not with staff gliding in and out to refill glasses. He knew Orion and Walburga needed to hear about business first. He knew his place in that hierarchy.
He just didn’t like how invisible it made him feel.
Remus cleared his throat, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “Excuse me,” he said lightly. “I’ll just find the loo.”
He stood before anyone could answer, the polite smile already slipping as he left the table, the air in the room suddenly feeling too tight around his chest. The bathroom was quiet, mercifully so.
Remus let the door fall shut behind him and braced both hands against the sink, breathing in slowly, then out again, until the tightness in his ribs loosened enough to be bearable. He stared at his reflection, at the faint crease between his brows that hadn’t been there this morning, and sighed.
This was on him. He knew it was. He shouldn’t have looked so startled when Regulus mentioned Grimmauld. Shouldn’t have let surprise read as reluctance. Regulus was… sensitive about this place, about his parents, about the way the public loved to stitch together assumptions and feed on them like gossip was oxygen.
Remus understood that. He’d always understood that. The rumours, the narratives, the endless speculation about the House of Black and what they were or weren’t allowed to be. Not that the truth was anything like the stories.
The Blacks had never hidden their stance. Regulus had said it plainly, years ago, with that calm, unshakeable certainty of his: he could fall in love with a man, a woman, or no one at all, and it would be no one’s business but his. Orion had backed him. Walburga, too. It was controversial, apparently. It always was when old money refused to play by old rules.
Remus didn’t mind that part. Not in the slightest. What unsettled him was the secrecy in the room just now. The looks between Regulus and Walburga. The way Orion had been cut off mid-sentence. The boxes in the corridor with Regulus’s name on them.
Something was happening. Something he hadn’t been told.
He exhaled, long and slow, then checked his phone. Dorcas had messaged, apparently the trending nonsense with Sirius was still clinging to the top spot across half the internet. There were links, compilations of him and Sirius laughing too close, talking too easily. As if friendship had ever been allowed to exist in peace.
He told her he’d catch up later, that he’d spoken to Sirius and James and they were fine. Added, almost absently, that he was at Grimmauld. Her reply came fast enough to make him wince.
From: Cassie Meadowes
Grimmauld? Damn. Did you mess up, Remus? Flash the triple trophies at them, maybe they’ll reduce your sentence. #ParentMeetings
He huffed a quiet, humourless laugh. If only it were that simple. He typed back as he left the bathroom, moving slowly, deliberately, not wanting to return too quickly and pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.
To: Cassie Meadowes
That’s what I’m afraid of. Something’s off. Regulus is acting strange and I don’t know why. It feels… wrong, Cass.
The message was marked as read almost instantly. He took another step towards the dining room, and stopped. Regulus’s voice carried down the corridor, clear enough to make Remus freeze.
“I think this is a mistake.”
The words hit him low in the chest, sudden and sharp. His breath caught. Instead of moving forward, he found himself drifting to the side, instinctively slipping into the shadow of a tall vase overflowing with dark red blooms.
“No, it isn’t,” Orion replied, measured but firm. “You just need to talk to him instead of deciding everything on your own.”
Walburga followed, her tone softer but no less direct. “Not today, obviously. But yes, Regulus. Speak to him.”
Remus leaned back against the wall, heart thudding too loudly in his ears. He could see Regulus now, running a hand through his hair, eyes shut as if the weight of the moment pressed behind his lids.
It was a look Remus knew too well, the look Regulus wore when he was torn between wanting something and being terrified of what wanting it might cost. And Remus hated that he was seeing it from here, half-hidden, like a coward.
“I don’t know,” Regulus said quietly. “What if he doesn’t want it?”
The words lingered in the air, heavy with something Remus couldn’t quite name yet. Walburga waved a dismissive hand, leaning back against her chair with the sort of languid elegance that made judgement sound like teasing.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve seen the marks on your neck. And also! Drama is supposed to be mine and Sirius’s job.” She rolled her eyes.
“And honestly, you’ve been together for years. I refuse to believe Remus doesn’t want it. If he didn’t, what exactly have the two of you been doing all this time?”
Orion clicked his tongue softly. “Don’t underestimate him. Remus is clever. You know that.”
Regulus turned to his father, incredulous. “Of course I know he’s clever! That’s part of why I fell for him. His mind, the way he thinks… everything. But that doesn’t answer the question. Does he want it?”
“You should check on him,” Walburga added, glancing towards the corridor. “He’s been gone too long. Perhaps he’s trying to collect himself. What we’re doing here isn’t exactly subtle, Regulus.”
Regulus looked up, straight towards the hallway. Remus stepped back at once, pulse thundering, retreating into the shelter of the wall before he could be seen. His heart was beating far too loudly for a house this quiet.
They were talking about him. Not around him. About him. And worse, his boyfriend hadn’t told him.
The realisation settled in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar. After three years, after shared homes and shared mornings and shared everything, Regulus still carried something this big alone. That stung in a way Remus hadn’t quite prepared for.
Before Regulus could rise from his chair, Remus turned and let his feet carry him away, back through corridors he knew by memory. Past paintings that had watched him grow older here. Past doors he’d closed and opened a hundred times.
He stopped in front of the bedroom. The door opened before he could touch the handle. Dobby stood there with two house-maid behind him, manoeuvring a trolley stacked neatly with velvet boxes in deep green and black.
Boxes Remus had never seen before. The room beyond looked… too clean. Too pristine. The air carried a fresher, deeper scent than usual, something calming and unfamiliar. Two new vases stood by the window, brimming with flowers. The sheets were freshly changed, dark green linen catching the light, the canopy curtains replaced with something heavier, richer.
This was not the room he’d woken up in. He didn’t move to let them pass. “Dobby,” Remus said quietly.
“Oh, Master Remus. It is good to see you.” The pause in Dobby’s voice was brief, but Remus caught it. The tiniest hitch of panic.
“You knew I’d come in here,” Remus said. It wasn’t a question.
“Well, yes. The mistress did inform us that Master Regulus and Master Remus would be visiting. Dobby and the others were only tidying Master Regulus’s room. If you’ll excuse us—”
Remus didn’t step aside. “Tell me what you cleaned,” he said softly. “And why the bed curtains have been changed.”
Dobby swallowed. The two house-elves behind him shifted, suddenly very interested in the trolley wheels. “Master Remus, you know I am not allowed to—”
“No,” Remus interrupted, gentle but immovable. “Those rules are for other people. Not me. Not after all these years. Tell me, Dobby. What did you remove from this room?”
Silence stretched. Then, carefully, “Heirlooms. And flowers.”
The word landed wrong in his ears. Heirlooms?
“In this room?” Remus asked, voice barely above a breath. “When the family has an entire floor for valuables?”
“Courting heirlooms, Master Remus.” Dobby’s ears twitched. “Last night, Mistress and Master Regulus instructed us to prepare them. Master Regulus wished to present them to you today.”
The world tilted. “What?” The sound that left Remus wasn’t quite a word. More a fracture in the air.
“Courting heirlooms are brought out when a member of the family intends to propose,” Dobby explained, gently now. “The heirlooms are presented so the beloved may choose…”
Remus felt the corridor narrow around him, breath suddenly too thin in his lungs.
“So you’re telling me,” Remus said slowly, as if each word had to be placed with care, “that Regulus was going to propose to me today?”
Dobby didn’t have to answer.
“Yes.”
The voice behind him was too familiar, too close. Regulus’s voice made the air in the room thicken, and he had to close his eyes for a second, just to keep himself upright.
“You may move,” Regulus added quietly. “They need to pass.”
Remus realised he was still blocking the doorway. Dobby’s eyes had gone wide the moment Regulus appeared. “Dobby is sorry, Master. Dobby—”
“It’s alright,” Regulus cut in gently. “You may go.”
The trolley rolled past. The door closed.
Remus walked into the room without really deciding to, stopping by the tall window that overlooked the garden, too green, too serene for how loud his thoughts were.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once, twice, breath uneven. “Why?” His voice came out rough. “What is happening right now? Because, Regulus, I am about to combust if you don’t explain this to me.”
His chest felt tight, anger and confusion tangling in a way he hated. He tugged open two buttons at his collar, as if that might give him more air.
Behind him, Regulus scrubbed a hand down his face, thumb pressing briefly to the bridge of his nose. The tension in his posture was new. Unsettling. This wasn’t the Regulus who always seemed so certain. “I didn’t know if you would say yes,” Regulus admitted.
The words stopped Remus cold. His hands froze mid-motion.
“Say something, Remus,” Regulus said softly now. Carefully. There was doubt in his eyes, the kind Remus hadn’t seen in a long time
“You know I would say yes,” Remus said, just as quietly. “You know that.”
Regulus shook his head. “I really don’t. You hesitated about coming here today. You didn’t look sure about being here with me.”
Remus let out a shaky breath, fingers threading through his hair as he tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. The memory replayed: the bed, the lazy warmth of morning, Regulus saying Grimmauld, the sudden lunch plan.
“I wasn’t unsure about coming here,” Remus said quickly. “I was surprised because we didn’t talk about it. We’d just had two weeks apart. In my head, today was for staying in bed, for cuddling, kissing, and resting. Being in our safe, warm space. So when you suddenly said Grimmauld and had lunch with your parents, I panicked. I thought something was wrong. I wanted to know if there was a reason. That’s it.”
He swallowed, words spilling out faster now. “Is that really all it took for you to think I wouldn’t say yes?”
Regulus stared at him. The tension in his face shifted, confusion melting into something like realisation, followed by a quiet, frustrated huff of breath. “That’s… fuck.” He let out a small, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Of course you’d see it that way. Why didn’t I think of that?”
His shoulders dropped a fraction. “I’m sorry.”
Remus didn’t answer right away. He waited. He knew there was more. There was always more when Regulus started apologising like this, small, folding in on himself, as if trying to make his presence lighter.
“I really thought short-sightedly,” Regulus continued. “I thought you didn’t want to come here with me anymore. I thought you had other things that mattered more. Other priorities. I got too stuck in my own head to think straight. I’m sorry.”
Remus hated that tone, not because of Regulus, but because of himself. He hated seeing Regulus shrink, avoid his eyes, take blame that wasn’t his alone.
He stepped closer. One step. Two. Slow enough to let Regulus pull away if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
And Remus stopped right in front of him, reaching for his fingers, brushing over them softly. He felt Regulus tense at first, then shiver, like his body had been bracing for rejection and didn’t quite know what to do with gentleness.
“Tell me, Regulus,” Remus said quietly. “What makes you think I don’t want you?”
He lifted his gaze, voice low but steady. “From every moment and every living part of me, you’re what I want. I was all in from the first time we kissed in this library, in this very house, twelve years ago when we still thought it was just an experiment. And these last three years? When we finally stopped pretending, stopped the on-off nonsense and took us seriously? I want this. I want you.”
His breath hitched. “Did I do something that made you think I didn’t?”
Regulus finally looked at him. His eyes were glossy, too bright. The worry in them was raw, stripped bare. Remus cupped his cheek with his left hand, thumb brushing gently over warm skin, and felt wetness. Tears.
He hated that. Not because crying was weakness but because Regulus was crying because of him.
“No,” Regulus whispered, voice breaking. “Remus, I’m sorry.” Then he folded forward, hiding his face against Remus’s chest.
Remus felt Regulus’s arms tighten around his waist, fists bunching the fabric of his shirt like he was afraid Remus might disappear. Remus wrapped him up in return, one hand in his hair, the other slow and grounding on his back.
“Tell me, baby,” Remus murmured into his hair. “Please.”
There was a pause. A breath. “For a moment,” Regulus admitted, muffled against his chest, “I thought you were only staying with me because you were just too tired to find anyone else. I know that sounds stupid. But those comments… and the trending… they really—”
Remus’s eyes flew open. The noise in his head went dead silent, like everything suddenly snapped into focus. Comments. Trending. The words echoed, again and again.
“What?” Remus pulled back just enough to look at him. “What comments? What trending?”
He felt Regulus shake his head against his chest. “You and Sirius…” The words were barely there, like Regulus didn’t want them to exist once spoken.
But Remus heard them anyway. He always did. Years of acting, of reading rooms and breathing between silences, had sharpened him into this, too perceptive for his own good.
Then the realization hit him like a delayed slap:
Sirius’s call.
The way Regulus’s body had gone still.
His own stupidly casual, are you okay?
The jokes about them being together.
His laugh. No protest. Because to him it meant nothing. Because to him it was nothing. But to Regulus?
Remus closed his eyes. Of course. Of course this was it. How had he missed something Dorcas had been ranting about the whole drive home?
How had he brushed past the one thing that could possibly worm its way into Regulus’s chest and make him doubt this beautiful, ridiculous, perfect man who carried too much on his shoulders already?
“Regulus…” Remus exhaled his name like a prayer. “Never. Oh my bloody Mary, no. I have never looked at Sirius like that. Not once.”
He kissed the crown of Regulus’s head, once, twice, again—slow, grounding. He could feel the dampness spreading into his shirt.
“Sirius is my friend. My idiot one. He is…” Remus huffed a broken laugh. “He is too busy being half in love with James to even notice anyone else. And me? I love you. I am in love with you. I have been for years.”
He pulled back just enough to speak into Regulus’s hair, voice fierce and soft all at once. “I can tell you every difference between you two if you want. Sirius isn’t you. He has never been you. No one is you.” He held him tighter, anger turning inward now.
“I’m sorry,” Remus murmured. “I’m so fucking sorry I wasn’t more careful. I didn’t think you’d be hurt by that. I didn’t think you’d be jealous. And that’s on me. I should have known better.”
Regulus shook his head weakly. “I’m sorry too. I was scared you were only choosing me because you couldn’t have him.”
Remus stilled.
Then he pulled Regulus back just enough to look at him, eyes burning with certainty. “Never,” he said.
“Not in a million lives. I choose you because you’re you. Because you’re the one who makes my heart lose its damn rhythm. Because you’re the one I want to wake up to, fight with, make up with, grow old with. It’s you. Always you."
Regulus nodded, burying his face back into Remus’s chest like he needed the proof of a heartbeat.
Remus stroked his hair, slow and steady.
“I love you,” He said again, because Regulus needed to hear it more than once. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes. But I’ll always choose it. I’ll always choose you.
A small, broken whisper answered him. “You’re mine.”
Remus smiled against his hair. “I am. I always have been.”
He lifted Regulus’s face gently, thumb tipping his chin up. Their eyes met: red-rimmed, wet, too honest. Regulus looked wrecked and beautiful in that way that always made Remus ache.
“And I’m yours,” Regulus said. “I’m sorry I thought you’d leave.”
“Enough with sorry,” Remus murmured. “We’re learning. That’s all this is. We learn to be more open. I learn to be more careful with your heart. You learn to tell me when something is bothering you."
Regulus let out a small breath, a fragile smile pulling at his lips, dimples reappearing through the mess of tears and emotion. “And I learn to be more honest about my feelings."
Remus leaned in, slow enough to give Regulus time to pull away. He didn’t. Their mouths met in a kiss that wasn’t hungry, wasn’t rushed, just deep and steady, a quiet promise pressed between breaths.
“I love you,” Regulus said as the kiss finally broke, his voice still a little unsteady.
Remus smiled, brushing his thumb over Regulus’s cheek when he noticed the hesitation. “I want—” Regulus started, then stopped.
Remus didn’t rush him. He smoothed a hand through Regulus’s hair, kissed the corner of his eye, dried the last trace of tears with the pad of his thumb. “Hm? What do you want, baby? Whatever it is.”
Regulus hid his face against Remus’s chest again, voice muffled. “I’ve been thinking. And… I want people to know you’re mine.”
Remus’s smile widened, warm and a little disbelieving. “Yeah? Then I’m yours however you want. Tell me.”
Regulus shook his head slightly, still clinging to him. “I want your consent to post our photos on my Instagram.”
That made Remus pause. He thought of Regulus’s account. The one with more than three millions of followers (not that his own account under the same big numbers). The one that had existed for years without ever really existing. Three photos of buildings, one painting from that quiet trip to Wales years ago. Nothing personal. Nothing that said this is my life.
And now Regulus wanted to change that. Remus let out a soft, breathless laugh. “That’s… that’s a yes. Of course it is. And…” he tilted his head, eyes bright, “can I post you too?”
Regulus finally lifted his face. There was that familiar spark in his eyes now, a challenge softened by fondness. “Will you?”
“Oh, baby, I will,” Remus said easily. “I’ll tell the whole world to back off. All those pristine, boring men in suits with their metal business cards can fuck themselves out because this gorgeous, brilliant, kind man is mine. And I’m not sharing.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
“I’m posting now,” Remus added suddenly, already reaching for his phone. The screen lit up. His password was Regulus’s birthday, like it had been for years.
He turned the phone so Regulus could see the photo he’d chosen.
Black and white. The two of them caught mid-kiss at the Black annual gala two years ago, faces closed, eyes closed, Regulus’s hand resting on Remus’s thigh, their suits slightly undone like they’d forgotten where they were.
Regulus sucked in a breath. “Remus…”
He grinned. “That gala.”
Regulus groaned and hid his face again, heat rushing back into his voice. “You’re impossible.”
Remus laughed softly, wrapping him back into his arms. And in that small, quiet room in Grimmauld, with the weight of old heirlooms and new promises hanging in the air, it felt true again:
They were okay.
They were learning.
“Hm?” Remus murmured into Regulus’s hair. “Anything else you want?”
Regulus hesitated, then peeked up at him. “What about Dorcas? Won’t she be mad? You haven’t even posted about your win yet. We haven’t celebrated properly.”
Remus chuckled, brushing their foreheads together. “Trust me, Dorcas will survive. The trophies can wait.” He brushed his lips over Regulus’s once more, slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that wasn’t about hunger but about choice. “This feels like the right first post.”
Regulus huffed a laugh, but it broke into something softer when Remus lifted him without warning. He let out a small yelp, arms automatically curling around Remus’s shoulders, legs locking at his waist like that was the most natural place in the world to be.
“My Instagram, my rules,” Remus murmured, pressing his mouth to the corner of Regulus’s smile. “And right now, I want the world to know you’re mine.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but the fondness in them gave him away. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Hopelessly,” Remus agreed, carrying him toward the bed. The room felt warmer with every step, quieter, like the house itself was giving them space to exist in this moment without witnesses.
He lowered Regulus carefully, bracing himself above him, foreheads touching. The tension from earlier still lingered in the air, but it had changed shape, no longer sharp, only tender.
“My star,” Remus whispered, the words reverent. “My beautiful star.”
Regulus’s hands found the back of his neck, pulling him closer, grounding them both. There was still vulnerability in his eyes, but also trust: raw and open.
“You don’t have to rush,” Remus said softly. “You don’t have to compete with the world for my attention. I’m here. I’m choosing you. I’ll keep choosing you.”
Regulus swallowed, then nodded. “Then stay.”
So Remus did.
Outside that room, the world could scream, speculate, and devour headlines. Inside, nothing existed but the quiet certainty of choosing each other again and again, even when it was messy. They were okay. They were learning. The internet can fuck themself while Remus Lupin make love to the love of his life and let him scream his name.