Chapter Text
Regulus wakes up with a start, checking the time on his phone next to him. 02:45 it reads. With a sigh, he flops back onto his bed, left hand reaching up to rub his eyes. He can’t believe he fell asleep! Thank God he had the hindsight to shower earlier, at least. The last thing he remembers doing was doom-scrolling on his phone at around 8 PM and then… nothing. He must have fallen asleep then, eyes too heavy and body too tired from the amount of packing, flying, and unpacking he had to do in the past twenty-four hours. Remind me again why I chose to study outside of England?
Right. His parents.
Anyway, eighteen-year-old Regulus Black is starting his first year of university next week, and suffice it to say, he’s equal parts thrilled and scared. Doing English Literature has always been something akin to a dream of his, one that his parents never failed to mock and deride. ‘What is it that you are hoping to achieve with that degree, son?’ his father would say, his mother silent next to him, but the contempt is clear as day etched in her face, like a scar that refuses to fade away. He knows they were hoping that he would follow in Sirius’s footsteps, doing something useful like Mech Eng — his brother has always been fascinated with motorcycles and cars and the like, and how they work. Disappointed as they are with Sirius’s – quite frankly excellent – troublemaking streak in school, at least they were (sort of) appeased when a year ago, Sirius got admitted to do Mech Eng at a university one may argue more prestigious than the one Regulus is going to now.
Shaking his head to dispel unwelcome thoughts of his parents. Regulus gets up and makes his way to the small en suite of his accommodation room to brush his teeth before going back to sleep. He takes a look around his humble room — his home for the next nine months — and nods, satisfied with how organised it looks. His books are perfectly ordered on the shelf, his perfume bottles on the shelf on top, his laptop, stationery, and headphones on the desk. His luggage is tucked into some nook near the wardrobe where his clothes are in — some folded, some hung. For someone who’s living independently for the first time, he thinks he does quite a good job. But then again, his room back at home has always been neatly arranged, each shelf having its own purpose, clothes always neatly folded, never strewn across haphazardly.
As he lies in his bed, he decides to do a quick check of his phone before he falls back to sleep. Some emails, a few texts from Sirius asking if he’s settling in just fine, and seventy-two unread messages from ‘Regulus & his 2 favourite people’. The two people meant are Barty Crouch and Evan Rosier, his two (best) friends from school. They met each other in Prep school, and naturally, became friends from then on. Although they did different A-levels and now different degrees — Forensic Science for both Barty and Evan, the former because of a genuine interest in the matter, the latter because he’s a massive fucking sap for his boyfriend — they promised through tearful hugs — which Regulus will vehemently deny for the rest of his life — that they would stay as close friends throughout university.
Frowning at what they could possibly text about, Regulus opens and reads through the messages. Or, more like he skims through them. Until his eyes snatch upon a specific request from Barty.
Barty
by the way
is anyone free rn?
can anyone help me bring my stuff up
pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease
Evan
Yeah I’m not doing anything rn
Don’t know about Reg, though
@Regulus Black
Barty
it’s okay babe
ik you’re strong enough
wink
knowing reggie he’s probably just asleep
u wanna stay over btw babe?
u should meet my flatmates. there’s this one guy who looks like oasis in the desert and i’m a lost, parched traveller. bet he’s up for a threesome.
Evan
…
Regulus lets out a small chuckle at Barty’s messages. Absolutely unbelievable. He types out a small apology for having fallen asleep and is therefore unable to help Barty before putting his phone down and closing his eyes, drifting back to the land of dreams. His last thoughts before he is claimed by sleep are:
Please let uni be good to me.
The next day, Regulus wakes up refreshed and absolutely starving. He gets reminded of the fact that he has not eaten since… lunch the day before, seeing how he fell asleep before he got the chance to have dinner. Trying to soothe his angry stomach, he goes down to the shop near his accommodation, a mere five-minute walk, and buys some essential groceries. He opts to make a simple pasta dish with tomato sauce and bacon — he’s a university student who has barely cooked for himself before, sue him. The Italians can riot all they want, and he and his stomach can barely give a damn.
As he is making his way back to his flat, a sudden realisation strikes him. One that he has not considered before, which he should have, in hindsight, since he is sharing a kitchen with five other people. Five complete strangers, whom he has never met, whom he will eventually have to meet, and introduce himself, and make small talk—
He can feel the bile rising in his throat.
Regulus is a man of many talents. He can spend hours reading a book that the normal man would find completely soporific, analysing each prose to glean the author’s intended meaning; he is an amazing Polo athlete (or so he’s told); he can endure Sirius’s endless rant about anything that piques his interest for the week; he can stomach Barty and Evan flirting shamelessly in front of him; and he can pretend as if his parents’ frown and the dissatisfied downturn of their mouths don’t affect him at all.
What he can’t do to save his life, however, is make small talk and socialise with strangers. How on earth do people manage that? How one just waltzes into a room full of faces they’ve never seen before and starts a smooth, flowing conversation without it becoming awkward, Regulus will never understand. Sometimes, he wishes he were as outgoing as Sirius; his brother seems to be a natural at socialising and talking with strangers. People just fall under his charm and easygoing smile; girls would swoon, and boys would look at him with respect. The thought of having to talk to his flatmates alone is enough to make his skin crawl and almost deter him from cooking. However, the incessant rumbling from his stomach serves as a reminder that he needs food, as if his stomach is telling him: feed me, feed me!
(He could just order delivery, but: 1. he wants to try cooking for once, and 2. he will not let his fears take over his agency. He needs to interact with them sooner or later; it’s better to tackle the problem early. He sounds mature. Maybe his father would be proud.)
He almost regrets it the moment he opens the door to the common-area-cum-kitchen, though, as the mental voice in his head encouraging him to fight his fears screeches to a halt. A guy is sitting on the wooden backless dining bench, seemingly enjoying his meal with his headphones on. He looks up the moment Regulus enters, and his face breaks into a polite smile. Regulus feels his cheeks spread into a smile as well, although internally he’s willing himself not to tremble and make a fool of himself in front of this guy.
“Hello,” the man says. His RP accent wraps around the syllables beautifully, Regulus offhandedly notices as he arranges his groceries into his cupboard and shelf in the fridge. Ah, a fellow Englishman then. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m in room 204. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Uh,” why on the bloody earth do I have to stutter? “It’s nice meeting you too. I’m in 208. What’s your name?”
“James. What’s yours?”
“Regulus. I’m a first-year English Lit student.”
“Medicine, also first-year.”
Regulus makes a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat, something that sounds like a hum, to indicate his interest, as he puts the bottle of salt at the back of his cupboard before closing it. Standing up, Regulus now has the time to properly look at the guy, James, who is smiling kindly at him, now that he’s put his things away.
James has a really nice smile, Regulus notices. He also has kind hazel eyes behind a pair of glasses, topped with an unruly, raven mess of hair — if you can even call it that. Regulus thinks a better-suited term for that would be a nest. It looks as if James has just risen from a deep slumber, only rivalled by that of Snow White’s. His tanned skin shines beautifully from the autumn sunlight filtering in through the windows, and he is definitely taller and broader than Regulus. Overall, Regulus concludes, James looks like he is carved by Michelangelo himself, with a nice smile, warm eyes, soft-spoken, and a lovely personality.
“Sorry, but are you English? I can’t help but notice your accent,” James starts, easily inviting him into a conversation.
“I am. I’m from just north of London,” Regulus replies, heartbeat easing out by seconds from how easygoing James sounds.
“Oh, that’s nice! I’m from an area east of Luton, around a 20-minute drive. It’s nice to see another Englishman here,” James says, his smile widening. “So, what brings you here, an island away then?”
That’s not really a question Regulus would like to answer honestly, at the moment. Oh yeah, I just need to get away from my shitty parents who think they’d die the second they stop belittling me.
“The uni here offers an interesting English Lit course compared to other unis that I’ve seen. It’s got an amazing collection in the Library, apparently, and I’ve also been offered a scholarship,” Regulus explains, sending James a quick smile. “Plus, I get to study texts from around the world. That’d be quite interesting.”
“Oh, that is nice. Which one are you interested in?” James asks, leaning forward, his meal abandoned and forgotten.
“French.”
“Oh, wow. Tu parles français?” Regulus was surprised at James speaking French. Do you speak French?
“Yes, part of my family resides there, so I had to learn it alongside English since I was young. Tu parles français aussi?” Do you speak it too?
“Only barely. I took it for my A-levels. Hardly remember anything from it, if I’m honest,” James huffs a small laugh, scratching the back of his head.
“Well, I’m sure you‘re good enough,” Regulus offers, taking his pot and pan out of the cupboard, placing them on the hobs, and beginning to make his meal.
“Thanks, that’s kind of you.”
Silence fills the room, only broken by the sound of Regulus’s cooking. James has gone back to eating his food, and something underneath Regulus’s skin is itching to talk with James again. To know him better. Regulus tells himself it’s because he’s going to live with this guy for the next nine months, so he should build a good rapport. And if someone ever tells him that it’s because he wants to listen to James’s soft voice again, he will deny it until his last breath.
“What about you?” Regulus begins, stirring his pasta in the boiling water.
“Me?” James replies, taking off his headphones, looking at Regulus quizzically.
“Why did you choose here?”
“Oh, same as you, I suppose, minus the scholarship part; I’m not that bright,” James laughs. “Anyway, I find the course they offer interesting, and the school of medicine here is ranked quite high, so that’s pretty promising in my opinion,” James elaborates.
“Any particular speciality you’d like to go into?”
“Neurosurgery. Although I suppose sports medicine would be cool, too,” James answers.
“Ah, that’s cool,” Regulus says, putting his cooked pasta into the tomato sauce in his frying pan. “I had a phase when I would find our brains so fascinating. In another life, I can see myself doing something of that sort.”
“You should,” James jokes, standing up with his now-empty plate, moving towards the sink to wash it. “It’s not too late to change degrees. What are you making right now?”
“Just basic pasta in tomato sauce for lunch,” Regulus replies as he scoops the pasta onto a plate.
“Do you cook a lot?”
“Not often. Back at home, we have a helper, so I don’t really have the chance to step into the kitchen. But once in a while, I’ll try to make something,” Regulus sits down opposite where James was on the dining bench, getting ready to devour his meal and soothe his raging stomach: yes, yes, I will feed you soon. Calm down.
“That’s still better than me,” James laughs, putting his washed plate on the worktop and pulling out a dish towel from his drawer. He then begins to start drying his plate and cutlery. “I’ve never stepped a single foot into the kitchen. Zero experience right here.”
“Was it your first attempt earlier, then?” Regulus asks, as he recalls, James was eating something when he entered.
“I got that ready meal from the shop,” James says sheepishly, putting his dry plate into the drawer. “The one that you only need to stick in the microwave. I’ve got some kitchen appliances with me, but I doubt I’ll start using them anytime soon.”
“Well, I hope I get to try your first-ever cooking,” Regulus smiles. “I’m sure it’ll be excellent. Nothing short of a three-Michelin-star restaurant level.”
“Please, I don’t want to send someone into the A&E before I even graduate med school,” James jokes good-naturedly, rolling his eyes, his lips split into a genial grin. “Imagine that. ‘First-year med student gives flatmate food poisoning — licence to practise revoked before it’s even issued.’”
Laughter bubbles up Regulus’s throat, spilling its way into the friendly air around them. James’s got good humour, he thinks. It won’t be too bad, living with James as a flatmate for the next nine months.
“Well,” James starts making his way towards the door. “It was nice meeting you, Regulus. I’ll see you later.”
Oh, you’re going so soon? No, stay here with me. Let’s talk and get to know one another a little bit more—
“Sure, James, nice meeting you too,” Regulus waves. “Have a good day.”
“You too.”
The door to the kitchen closes behind him, and since room 204 is situated directly next to the kitchen, Regulus can hear the (rather loud) click of the door opening and closing. Only then does Regulus allow a small smile to bloom on his face, his heart beating slightly faster than usual.
It’s just the excitement and nerves from meeting someone new, that’s all. It can’t be anything else…
Can it?
“How’s the first week of uni going, lads?” Barty asks through a mouthful of sandwich. Regulus pins him with a disgusted stare, while Evan merely looks at him like a puppy. Sap.
“You two are doing the same course, exact same modules, so really, I’m the only one you’re asking,” Regulus huffs, taking a bite of his salad.
“Then grace me with an answer, Your Highness.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Regulus rolls his eyes. “It’s been alright, I guess. I’ve already got a two-thousand-word essay to write, but that’s due at the end of the semester, before winter break, so that’ll be great fun to write.”
“Sounds fun,” Evan drawls, “at least you don’t have to write a lab report every week.”
“Oh my God, don’t even get me started on the lab reports,” Barty dramatically whines. “It’s just our first week! But, they did pair me with my Adonis of a flatmate who, lucky for me, is coincidentally doing the same module. Small blessings, am I right?”
“Sure thing, babe,” Evan blows a kiss at Barty, who catches it and blows one back. Not in front of my salad, Regulus frowns.
“How are your flatmates, Reg?” Evan asks, after he’s finished shamelessly flirting with Barty. “You getting on with them well?”
“Ooh, yes!” Barty perks up at this question. “Anyone hot?”
At that question, Regulus’s mind, in a form of the greatest betrayal of his eighteen years of living, suddenly pictures James and how perfect his face is, how he wants to stare at the curve of his mouth forever, how soft his voice is—
He knows he’s crazy. It’s literally just been a week since he first met the guy. But since then, he has seen him three more times, and they’re always engaged in a lively conversation every time they meet, and with each exchanged word, Regulus knows a little bit more about James. He’s a med student, sure, but his interests lie far beyond the already-vast scope of medicine. He is very knowledgeable about history, especially post-WWII history — that is lowkey sexy — and he loves hiking and nature. He once told Regulus, “One day, when med school gets too hard – which is probably sooner than later – I’ll just escape to the highlands and live there in the mountains forever with the cows and sheep. It’ll be so good.”
Regulus finds talking with James easy and natural; the latter never fails to elicit laughter out of him, and they have similar interests to the point where they could have a prolonged conversation about a certain topic.
“Oooohhhh so there is someone!” Barty claps, looking like a predator who’s just got its prey. “Spill the beans, Reggie. Who is it?” he and Evan lean forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity and anticipation, food forgotten.
“Piss off, you two,” Regulus huffs, even though his own voice sounds like a lie to him. “There’s no one special.”
“Alright then,” Evan sighs, although he looks as disbelieving as ever. “But still, tell us about your flatmates. Anyone you think might be a secret millionaire for us to quit uni and be their sugar baby?”
“Well,” Regulus starts to list off, “there’s this girl called Dorcas taking Liberal Arts and Gender Studies. Then you have Pandora, who’s doing BioMed — a bit weird, that girl, but she’s nice. Then… James, a med student, and two other guys whose names I can’t remember for the life of me. I think Noah and… William? I think one is doing Aerospace, and the other’s doing Finance, but I can’t remember who’s doing which. I rarely see them around anyway, and they go home every weekend, so I doubt I’ll see them a lot.”
“Med student, bless his heart,” Barty laments, holding his heart while swaying laterally dramatically. “I think His Hotness is also a med student. Or Pharmaceutical. Whatever. Is James half as hot as His Hotness, Reg?”
Truth be told, Regulus has never even met whoever on earth Barty is raving about: The Adonis, His Hotness, whatever. But Regulus cannot fathom someone being more… aesthetically pleasing to the eyes than James is. Regulus is willing to bet half his savings that this His Hotness guy doesn’t have a voice Regulus wants to sink in like a fluffy pillow; that he doesn’t joke half as funny as James does; that his smile doesn’t put the sun to shame— alright, I need to stop.
It’s then that he notices that he’s been silent for too long, and now Barty and Evan are staring at him with shit-eating grins on their faces.
“Anything you’d like to share with the class, Regulus Black?” Barty asks, eyebrows wiggling up and down, an annoying smirk on his face, like the cat that ate the canary.
“Nothing,” Regulus wills his face not to blush. Damn his pale complexion.
“Sure, sure. Hey, maybe I’ll ask Mr Hottie if he knows this James guy. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to meet him one day,” Barty muses. A beat of silence fills the air before Barty dives back into eating his food like a starved man who has been deprived of food for days. “Anyway, have I told you how our Molecular Biology lecturer is an absolute bore? Good God, staying awake in his lectures is a challenge I can’t be arsed to win.”
“It’s like no one even bothers to go to his lectures anymore,” Evan adds, snickering. “And it’s still the first week, by the way.”
“I wouldn’t attend his lectures if I didn’t bloody care so much about attendance,” Barty grumbles. “Like, yesterday, how many people were there? Fifteen—”
Regulus lets Barty’s and Evan’s complaints about one of their lecturers wash over him, silently relieved that the topic has moved on from James; however, his mind has not, instead picturing a corner of the blackboard that they have in their communal area. On the blackboard, every occupant of the floor has written their name, course, room number, birthday, and Instagram account with the provided chalk so as to familiarise everyone with each other. It is through that blackboard that he learnt of a vital piece of information: James’s birthday.
It’s four days from today, which is a Tuesday, which is a weekday, and he’s busy with classes and other extracurricular activities, which means he will have barely any time to look for a gift for James. What does James like, even? Does he know what the guy likes? He’s a history nerd at heart, he’s interested in neuroscience, and he loves adrenaline-inducing activities (Regulus could never understand why someone would go out and risk their lives willingly). But what can Regulus get for him, based on those… unique combination of interests? What would he enjoy?
Wait. Hold on.
Why is he fretting over this in the first place? Does James even want a gift from him? Would he find it weird that this bloke, whom he just met a couple weeks ago, whom he has known for only two weeks, is getting him a present for his birthday? It’s not like they’re already close friends or anything. Would he think Regulus weird for putting so much care and thought into this gift that it occupies a vast space in his mind? Does this mean Regulus shouldn’t get him a present? Should he just get James a birthday card instead, with a sweet birthday wish inside? But Regulus wants to give James something, anything that’s meaningful, that comes from the bottom of his heart. But what if he finds it odd and thinks I’m insane—
I feel like I’m losing my damn mind. Maybe I am going insane.
Shaking his head, Regulus forces himself to focus on the present, on Barty’s and Evan’s banter, silently hoping they do not notice him zoning out. He’ll ponder the Great Problem of the Month: To Gift or Not To Gift later. For now, it’s time for him to spend some quality time with his (never tell Barty and Evan) absolute best friends in the world.
“This is ridiculous,” Regulus furiously whispers to himself, exiting the premises of Primark Home. “He will hate me, and I will have to move to another flat because he hates me, and maybe consider jumping off from the balcony.”
It’s the day before James’s birthday, and Regulus is exhausted from a day of classes. Usually, he would go back to his room to rest and dissociate, but here he is, in the City Centre on a weekend, having just been at Primark Home, looking at quilts and throws and home decor; stuff he’s not sure James would appreciate. He’s gone to TK Maxx before this, hoping to find something that resonates with him, but nothing has. Nothing has screamed to him: ‘I’m perfect for him, take me!’
Strolling through the crowded city centre, racking his brain to think of a perfect gift from James, his eyes snag upon a rather large, two-storey Waterstones. Ah, maybe I’ll find something related to hiking, neuroscience, or history in there. And while I’m at it, might as well look if anything is interesting for me. With renewed determination, Regulus enters the building, a set goal in mind. To his left immediately are the new releases, which consist mostly of fiction books, so Regulus doesn’t spend too much time there. He quickly finds the history/non-fiction section, including British, Scottish, and international history, but none of the titles seems likely to interest James. Or maybe Regulus just is not that into history, so all of the titles appear boring to him.
Thirty-odd minutes pass, and Regulus is still empty-handed, still aimlessly looking around the ground floor. He is genuinely so close to pulling his hair out, and he will probably do so if nothing on the second floor reaches out to him and screams into his ears: “HE WILL LIKE ME!” It’s when he is going up the winding stairs, his mind still going, “why do I love torturing myself? He won’t even like the gift. He’ll probably find it weird,” when his eyes catch upon an interesting book.
A cookbook, to be exact.
‘Gordon Ramsay’s Ultimate Cookery Course’ by world-renowned Scottish/British chef Gordon Ramsay. Reading the back of the book, ‘Gordon Ramsay's Ultimate Cookery Course is about giving home cooks the desire, confidence and inspiration to hit the stoves and get cooking, with over 120 modern, simple and accessible recipes,’ Regulus thinks he has just hit the jackpot! His mind is already working, gears turning — he can phrase this as a heartfelt gift, giving James a reference if he ever wants to start cooking. However, if things go south and James doesn’t like the gift, he can salvage it by saying it’s a joke, seeing how he knows James doesn’t cook.
This is perfect! Regulus gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back for finding this cookbook. He immediately pays for the book — £24.99, bloody hell —but not before getting a birthday card with a cat donning a birthday hat and the text ‘Have a purr-fect birthday!’ on it — £3.99 for a birthday card, Christ, this is thievery. But it’s positively adorable. Will he find it adorable? He’s adorable—
Finally, having procured James’s gift, Regulus only needs to make a short stop at a birthday paraphernalia store to get a gift bag before making his way back to his accommodation. He feels this strange concoction of feelings in his chest: embarrassment because he really went out of his way to get someone he has only known for two weeks a present, nervousness because oh my God, what if he hates the gift and hates me, but also pleased with himself because I can’t believe I found that cookbook. That’s honestly perfect.
When he reaches his room, he takes out the cookbook and the birthday card and puts the former into the gift bag. Sitting by his desk, he grabs the nearest pen and starts thinking of what to write. Something friendly, but not overly friendly lest James finds it awkward. Something to show… Regulus cares for James? Would that be too far? Maybe he could subtly hint that he cares for him, rather than overtly. But what would he write, though? A simple ‘Happy birthday! Hope you have the best year of your life!’ sounds too impersonal to him. But then again, he has only known the guy for two weeks.
That feeling of wanting to pull his hair returns in full force.
While Regulus is gnawing at his dilemma, a loud click startles him out of his musing, his heart skipping a beat. He knows that sound like he knows his name. That’s James’s door, very characteristic of its loud click — James once told him with guilt on his face: “I’ve tried closing it really slowly, but the sound is still so loud. I’m sorry,” with Regulus fervently shaking his head and assuring him: “It’s fine, James, I’m sure no one is bothered. Besides, it’s not your fault.”
Is it weird that he has memorised the sound of James’s door, that now he knows whenever the bloke is entering or exiting his room? Is that stalker-ish behaviour? Regulus doesn’t think it is; he has just heard the sound too many times, and his brain starts connecting it to James. That’s just how a normal human brain works, right?
Regulus really can’t deal with another dilemma. He’ll deal with that once he has figured out what on earth to write—
“Most moronic person on earth, that I am. Throw me off this building already; defenestrate me, if you will,” Regulus mentally whines as James enters the kitchen with a very familiar-looking gift bag with a confused expression. He is repeatedly staring at the bag, then at his flatmates gathered in the common area to have a little celebration for his birthday, as if just by fixing them with his stare would give him the answer.
“Did any of you leave this in front of my door?” James asks, bewildered, holding the bag up, only to be met with headshakes. “There’s a cookbook in it, with a birthday card.”
“Ooohh! You’ve got a secret admirer,” Dorcas whoops. “Can we see?”
Please don’t.
“Sure,” James easily agrees, striding forward to place the bag in the middle of their dining table before moving to sit opposite Regulus. Dorcas launches at the gift bag as if it were her gift in the first place, taking out the precious cookbook Regulus has got for James, along with the birthday card that Regulus has spent an embarrassing amount of time mulling over what to write.
Regulus feels like his heart is being twisted painfully and forcefully wrenched out where it’s nestled nicely next to his lung, out of his ribcage. The gift and birthday wishes are supposed to be something private, from him to James, only to be read by James. Yet, here he is, with his flatmates scrutinising and analysing the gift, trying to make out who could have given it to James.
Truth be told, Regulus doesn’t know what he was thinking when he just dropped the gift in front of James’s door, but he supposes the fear of giving it to James directly and potentially watching his facial expression unfold into that of awkwardness and discomfort makes his stomach twist and coil into itself. So, in his admittedly stellar mind, he thought it would be best if Regulus made it anonymous; he didn’t even sign the birthday card. Regulus did not take into account the possibility of James asking everyone who the secret gifter was, nor of James allowing something so personal to be judged by the public (of six).
“Oh my God, this is so sweet,” Dorcas croons, reading the birthday card. Regulus has to fight the rising urge within him to snatch the card away from her hands. In the two weeks he’s known her, he has found Dorcas — all of his flatmates, really — to be a lovely person to be around. However, he wishes she would not just blatantly read something clearly meant to be personal.
Yes, Regulus knows he’s being nonsensical. Does he care, though? No.
“Wait, let me see!” Pandora scoots closer to Dorcas, reading the card aloud. “Happiest of birthdays, James! I’ve given you a cookbook in hopes that, if one day, in the far, far future, you ever decide to test your luck by venturing into the world of cooking, you will have something to refer to. Once again, happy birthday, and hope you have the best day of your life! Aww, that just made me melt inside into a pile of goo.”
“I know!” Dorcas exclaims. “And it’s not signed, too! Wonder who it could be? It has to be someone on this floor, right? Because they had to have access to this floor to drop this. Whose handwriting does this look like?”
Dorcas and Pandora stand up and head to the blackboard, where each of them has written their names, courses, birthdays, room numbers, and Instagram accounts. They start working like a pair of detectives, looking back and forth between the birthday card and the blackboard, trying to match the handwriting of each flatmate.
In another world where Regulus is less intelligent and cunning than he is in this world, he probably would have broken out into sweats, so profusely that his clothes would be drenched. In this world, however, Regulus is clever enough and has the hindsight to slightly alter his handwriting so that it is not easily noticeable. Barty and Evan could probably still guess it was his, but that hardly counts, given that the two have known him for more than half his life. However, these people have only known him for two weeks, so he feels quite confident in his imitations.
“Well,” Dorcas starts, tone like a detective who’s about to crack a case, “it’s not me, it’s not Dora, it’s not James, obviously — unless this all was a ploy, but I don’t think you’d do that, so that leaves Regulus, Noah, and William.”
“Noah’s g’s and y’s have got a curl in their tails, but I don’t think this one does,” Pandora peers once again into the contents of the letters. “William starts his ‘s’ with a little loop, does this one have it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Dorcas answers, now moving onto Regulus’s handwriting. “Maybe it’s Regulus’s? It’s not a 100% match, but… I can see… some… similarities,” she continues, drawing out the last few words as her face, scrunched up in concentration, looks back and forth between the card and Regulus’s (in his humble opinion) elegant handwriting.
“... Yeah…,” Pandora drawls, “look at the f’s, and the v’s… but… I don’t think it’s Regulus…,” then she whips her head backwards, fixing Regulus with a curious stare. “Is it?”
Gulping, Regulus hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he is, discreetly wiping his sweaty palm on his chinos. Also hopes no one noticed him gulping. He does notice, though, in his peripheral vision that James has also turned around to stare at him with an unreadable expression.
“No,” he answers, voice surprisingly level, “I’m sorry, James, but classes have been hectic, and I haven’t had the time to get you anything. Sorry.”
James’s facial expression remains the same for a while before he allows a small smile to creep in. “It’s okay, Reg,” he says, reaching towards him to squeeze his arm. “You’re here; that’s all I need, anyway.”
“So not Reggie, then…,” Dorcas hums, “hmm… who could it be? Maybe one of your friends—”
Regulus doesn’t even hear the rest of what Dorcas is mumbling about, still trying to figure out the secret admirer. His sensations are overridden by the tingling in his arm: the part where James just squeezed. It takes every self-control in him not to beam and giggle and kick his feet, replaying James’s words in his head over and over again. It feels like a flower — scratch that, an entire garden is blooming in his chest, defying the laws of autumn, growing solely from James’s sweet words and kind smile.
Regulus is never going to wash that part of his arm ever again.
University passes like sand slipping through loose fingers, and before Regulus knows it, winter break is upon him. It’s crazy how fast time flies; he feels like it was just yesterday when he said goodbye to Sirius and boarded the plane. He has submitted his coursework — a two-thousand-five-hundred-word essay that he took all-nighters to do — and only has one exam to study for in January. But that’s a concern for a later time; right now, Regulus has another predicament to worry about: Barty and Evan dragging him into a pub to celebrate the end of their first semester.
Regulus thinks this pub must be a popular one; it’s as if every single university student has decided to get wasted to celebrate them pulling through to the end of the first semester. He even notices some of his coursemates here. There's a big group of them sitting at a table, talking about something Regulus can't hear over the cacophony of other noises. Regulus knows some of their names — they've talked once or twice, but he doesn't know much about them besides their names and that they're doing the same course, if he were to be honest.
“Here you go, Reg,” Barty pushes a shot towards him. Regulus grimaces, but downs the shot nonetheless. His grimace intensifies, pulling a face, giving his laughing friends the finger.
“I don’t understand how youse can tolerate this,” Regulus scowls, looking at Evan downing his shot as if it’s water.
“This is why you should go out more often,” Evan replies, wiping his mouth and placing the shot glass on the table.
“And why would I willingly subject myself to such a raucous environment when I could be in my room enjoying a nice book with a nice cup of tea?”
“Ugh, boring!” Barty jeers, taking a slice of pizza while sending another shot towards Regulus, who views it with not a small amount of apprehension. “Come on, Reg! We’ve done half of our first year of uni! That calls for a celebration, no?”
“We have a vastly different opinion on what constitutes a celebration,” Regulus deadpans. Barty waves the slice of pizza in his hand in the air, dismissing his opinion. Rolling his eyes, Regulus takes the shot with a sigh, putting the glass on the table once it’s empty with force.
“That’s the last time you’re making me do that,” Regulus intones, giving the mischievous-looking bunch the most serious stare he could muster after two shots of vodka — sue him, he rarely drinks, he’s a lightweight.
That was not the last time Regulus downed a shot.
By the time he puts down his second shot of tequila, after four shots of vodka, Regulus's vision starts to spin. He doesn’t dare stand up from his seat, as he doesn’t believe in the strength of his own two legs. They feel like they’ve turned into jelly, giving up under the crushing weight of his upper half. Barty and Evan are nowhere to be seen; they probably went to some sketchy corner of the bar to make out. In the small corner of Regulus’s mind that is still sober, he scoffs: the audacity of them to leave him alone.
“Hey,” he hears, jolting from the warmth of a palm on his back. Regulus turns to look at the source of the voice. He can make out the lines and edges of the person’s face — brown eyes, blond, sharp jaw, physically attractive, would probably bring Regulus to his knees had he had more alcohol in his veins; however, it doesn’t ring a bell in his mind.
“Hi,” Regulus’s speech slurs slightly, “do we know each other?”
“Well,” the guy seems sober enough for the both of them, “we’re doing the same course, though we’ve never spoken before. I’m Cormac. You’re Regulus, right?”
The surprise must have shown in Regulus’s face, because Cormac lets out a laugh that Regulus decides is pleasant enough for him to hear. “Don’t be surprised, of course I know you. We’ve only been sharing the same modules for three months.”
The sheepish expression that replaced the surprised one elicits another laugh from Cormac, and Regulus must be drunk enough — he feels his own lips stretch into a small grin.
“You look like you don’t want to be here,” Cormac says, his own glass of rum and coke in his hand.
“My friends forced me out of my snug den to this hellhole, and now they’ve disappeared, so do tell me, Cormac, does it sound like I want to be here right now?” Regulus raises an eyebrow.
“So sassy even when you’re tipsy,” Cormac laughs. This guy keeps laughing. Regulus isn’t complaining, though. “Stand up,” he continues, finishing his glass of rum and coke and standing up.
“What?” Regulus asks blearily, looking up from where he’s sat.
“I’ll bring you home. You clearly can’t walk,” Cormac instructs, and is it bad that Regulus finds that lowkey hot?
In the end, Regulus does stand up, texts Barty and Evan that he’s leaving, and pats down his pockets, making sure he’s got his items. He jolts once again when he feels an arm around his waist, the sight of Cormac’s smile greeting him once he glances to his left.
“I’m assuming you’re in uni hall? The one nearby?” Cormac asks as he leads Regulus out of the pub, the crisp air of the night giving him back some semblance of sobriety. It feels as if he has just broken slightly off the surface of the water.
“Yeah,” Regulus answers, still slightly slurring. He quickly accepts the fact that he can’t walk straight, and without Cormac’s arms supporting him, he would have probably ended up upside down in the bin a long time ago.
Their walk continues in silence, only broken when Regulus tells Cormac which flat he lives in. Regulus fumbles for his fob in his pocket, and once he gets it, he presses it to the sensor to access his flat. They climb up the stairs to the second floor, which — Regulus will realise this the next day — is a pretty challenging task to do when one of them can’t walk straight. Regulus opens the door to the second floor with his fob again, and Cormac steers them to the kitchen. The bright light of the kitchen forces Regulus to pinch his eyes shut, which renders him unable to see the other person who is currently in the kitchen when they enter—
“Regulus?”
Regulus is sure his drunken mind is playing games with him right now, because why is he hearing James’s voice? How pathetic must he be to hear James’s voice even when he’s drunk?
Over the past three months, they’ve grown really close, Regulus thinks. Late-night talks, which sometimes end with Dorcas complaining about their loud laughs the next day, friendly banters, and inside jokes traded here and there. Regulus learns even more about James, and he finds himself opening up to James more easily than he does to other people. The feelings he harbours for James have developed into a full-on crush now, heart drumming whenever James is in the room, just chatting, eating, or making a cup of coffee for another all-nighter catching up on lectures he missed.
Although right now, he doesn’t know if his erratically beating heart is attributed to the alcohol or James. Or maybe both. It is likely he might go into cardiac arrest, given the situation he’s in.
Regulus feels something pressed against the closed seam of his mouth, opening it once Cormac tells him it’s just water. He faintly registers the conversation happening in the background.
“ —walk properly, which is why I brought him back,” Cormac finishes explaining to James.
“Ah, I see.”
“Regulus,” he opens his eyes and sees Cormac kneeling down in front of him, where he’s lying on the sofa, “do you mind telling me which one is your room?”
Groaning, Regulus stretches. Surprisingly, he finds himself not wanting to be separated from Cormac this quickly. Hand stretching out, he grabs Cormac’s biceps and whines, “Stay here for a while.”
Cormac looks surprised, a faint red dusting his cheeks. A sharp intake of breath could be heard, but Regulus doesn’t know who it came from. “I will, but you need to rest in your room, Regulus. You’ll be much more comfortable in your bed.”
“Fine,” Regulus half-whines, relenting. “I’m in 208.”
Cormac immediately gathers Regulus into his arms and stands up, moving for the door. He tosses a casual “It was nice meeting you” to James over his shoulder before exiting the kitchen with Regulus in his arms, walking to 208. His room is fortunately unlocked, so it is easy for Cormac to open it while still holding Regulus with one arm. Cormac gently places Regulus on his bed, taking off his shoes and putting them in an orderly place with his other pairs before covering him with the duvet. He then moves to sit on the floor opposite the bed, leaning against the wall, keeping a respectful distance from Regulus. Maybe it’s the sweet gesture that prompts Regulus to speak.
“I like him,” he whispers, inhibitions completely lowered thanks to the drinks. There are so many ways this could go wrong: Cormac being a homophobe, Cormac running back to the kitchen to tell James, but in Regulus’s hazy mind, none of those matters right now. He’s also probably going to regret this tomorrow, but oh well.
“And by ‘him’, you mean…?”
“James,” Regulus finishes with a sigh that sounds like he’s carrying a generational burden on his shoulders. “I like him a lot, since September.”
“Oh,” Cormac breathes, staying silent after that. Regulus remains staring at the white expanse of the ceiling of his room. Cormac’s silence somehow pushes him to talk more; the entire monologue that he has only dared to voice in his mind finally spilling out to a random stranger he met at the bar thirty minutes ago.
“I don’t understand how someone so kind, humble, and soft-spoken could exist amidst this world that is full of evil and darkness. The light he emits is enough to blanket everyone in his vicinity, and I wish I could receive more of his light. More than others do. I wish he liked men, then at least I would have a chance. But he seems painfully straight, so that chance has been ripped to shreds before it could even formulate.”
“Tell me more about him,” Cormac encourages him.
“Where do I even start?” Regulus sighs dreamily. “He’s a med student, says he’s interested in neurosurgery, so he’s got a lot on his plate; he’s always up until two or three in the morning catching up on lectures. He practically breathes caffeine. He knows a lot about the history of what happened after WWII, and he’s got other very niche interests. Did you know he’s got the entire South African anthem memorised off the top of his head?”
“No, I, in fact, did not.”
“He can also whistle,” Regulus continues, as if he doesn’t hear Cormac’s response, “but I suppose that’s not a feat, seeing the majority of people can, but I can’t. And ever since he found out I don’t possess the ability to whistle, I swear he’s been whistling more than ever in my vicinity. I just can’t prove it.”
Regulus doesn’t know how long he continues to wax poetic about James, but it must be quite a while. Cormac, true to his words, stays until the end, until Regulus is lulled to sleep from exhaustion, leaving only once he’s sure that Regulus is nicely tucked in.
The next day, Regulus wakes up with a pounding headache, his mouth as dry as sandpaper, and vomit rising in his throat. He immediately rushes to the en-suite, emptying the contents of his stomach — or lack thereof — and sits on the floor for a while, trying to regain his bearings. He grabs his water bottle for some water and wills the headache away to no success. He groans mentally, I will kill them. Both of them. Painfully, and I will enjoy every single moment of it.
Once he feels like moving won’t cause mental fireworks explosions in his head, he stands up, brushes his teeth to remove the puke aftertaste from his mouth, and grabs his phone from the table. His memory from last night is vague, but he can recall some bits: Barty and Evan peer-pressuring him into drinking; Barty and Evan making out, then abandoning him in favour of a dark corner; some lad called Cormac bringing him back to his room. With no small amount of mortification, he faintly remembers asking Cormac to stay with him. Gosh, he hopes he didn’t say anything embarrassing.
Opening his phone, he discovers he’s got no less than thirty notifications. Two-thirds of them come from Sirius: ‘Reggie, are you okay?’ ‘Where are you??’ ‘If you’re not replying by tomorrow morning, I’m flying directly there myself.’ Then he has Barty and Evan replying to his message — that he has zero recollection of typing — about going back home: Barty gave a thumbs-down emoji, and Evan wished him a good night. Then, from an unknown number: ‘Hey, this is Cormac, if you remember. I put my number in your phone yesterday, hope you don’t mind. How are you doing this morning?’
An onslaught of memories hits Regulus at the name Cormac, pattering on his brain not unlike rain on a rooftop. He now remembers spilling his entire guts to this Cormac guy, telling him all about James, laying his heart bare in front of him. Regulus considers if this is a perfect time to change his identity and flee to an island far away. Groaning, he types out a reply to Cormac’s text.
‘I’m fine, if not a bit hungover. Thank you so much for bringing me home last night, and I deeply apologise for any bother. Please also forget everything I said to you last night.’
Cormac’s reply is immediate:
‘Haha don’t worry about it.’
Regulus breathes a relieved breath. Maybe Cormac doesn’t remember, or maybe he doesn’t care. Good. As long as he doesn’t bring it up—
‘So, James, huh?’
Regulus wishes to bang his head against the nearest wall.
When Regulus feels like he’s ready to face the outside world again without shrivelling and dying out of sheer embarrassment, he steps out of his room to grab some food from the communal kitchen. His hungry stomach makes itself known again, rumbling loudly every other second. He only has some slices of bread at the moment, so a simple buttered toast will have to do until he has the time and energy to grab something from the nearest convenience store.
His brain stops functioning, though, the moment he opens the door to the communal area. On the dining bench sits James with headphones on per usual and a plate of cereal that is half-finished. James looks up at him from his phone when Regulus enters the room.
“Oh, um,” Regulus stutters. “Hi. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” James returns amicably. But Regulus can sense there is something off with his air. Maybe it’s the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it used to. Or maybe it’s the way James’s voice sounds a bit distant, as if he is on the other side of the world instead of the same room as him. “How’s it going?”
“Stellar,” Regulus replies. “Hungry, though,” he adds, laughing awkwardly as his stomach chooses that moment to make its dissatisfaction known. He takes out his loaf of bread from the cupboard, slathers some butter on two slices of bread, and puts them into the toaster.
“Had a good night last night?” James begins to ask, but his tone is off. Sounds pinched, almost. “Didn’t know you had a… boyfriend.” The pause before ‘boyfriend’ is barely noticeable, yet Regulus hears it.
“Boyfriend?” Regulus’s brows furrow, his head turning to the side in a questioning motion.
“Yeah?” James presses on, his tone getting slightly higher. “The guy who brought you back yesterday? Who bridal-carried you to your room and stayed there with you? You should’ve told me you had a boyfriend — I thought we were close enough for that.”
Regulus’s frown deepens into a scowl. “Because… I don’t?” Regulus hesitantly says, his tone rising at the end. “I don’t have a boyfriend?” he asks more than states.
Now, it’s James’s turn to look quizzical. His brows are pulled together in a confused frown. “Who was that guy then?”
“That was a guy I just met at the bar last night. His name’s Cormac, and he happens to be on the same course as I am, a fact I only found out yesterday. He’s most definitely not my boyfriend — hardly a friend, even.”
A pregnant silence fills the room.
“Oh…,” James now looks sheepish, mouth open in an ‘O’ shape, eyes meeting Regulus’s for a second before darting away, probably in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I… I just assumed that was your boyfriend. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It’s okay,” Regulus replies, but he is still confused about James’s behaviour earlier. So what if he actually had a boyfriend? James isn’t a homophobe, is he? “Just to make sure…, you’re not like… a homophobe, are you?”
James scurries to deny. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m not.”
“Okay…,” Regulus trails off. He decides just to ignore the matter when the toaster dings and two slices of bread pop out, looking freshly toasted.
An awkward silence fills the room as Regulus plates his toasts and puts two more slices in, one he isn’t sure how to break, or if he even wants to break. James’s question made him feel awkward and confused, and somewhat indignant. Just because he’s seen with a boy doesn’t mean that he’s his boyfriend.
“Do you have any plans for the break?” James asks, breaking the silence that is almost becoming unbearable.
“I’m just going back home.”
“North of London, was it?” Regulus nods. “When’s your flight?”
“Just in two days.”
“Oh, mine’s a day after yours,” James replies. After a beat, he adds: “Do you want to come round my place for dinner?” James suggests, looking at Regulus with a hopeful stare. “My parents would love to finally put a face to your name. Besides, it’d be nice to hang out somewhere that’s not this kitchen.”
Something weird blooms in Regulus’s chest, crawling up to his cheeks in the form of a blush, dusting his cheeks pink. Does that mean James has been telling his family about Regulus? What has he been telling them? Regardless of that, James is right: spending time with him outside of their shared accommodation would be very lovely; Regulus would have to be a fool to reject that.
“I’d love that,” he accepts, smiling a soft, shy smile. He sees how James lights up in relief, his smile as bright as the sun, hazel eyes behind his glasses twinkling with joy.
“Great! Do you mind if I get your number?” James then asks. “So that it’s easier for us to coordinate stuff, you know," he hastily adds, as if scrambling to explain himself. "I hardly open Instagram anymore.”
“Sure,” Regulus hopes his voice isn’t trembling – nor his hand that’s taking James’s offered phone to put in and save his number. Regulus quickly types in his number in the new contact that James has set up, praying to God that his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.
“Thanks,” James says once Regulus has given his phone back. The toaster chooses this moment to ding, telling him that his toasts are done, giving Regulus some time to collect his scattered sanity and composure. He places them on his plate, on top of the other toasts, before moving to leave the room. He needs some space to breathe and to properly process what just happened within the last ten minutes.
“See you later,” Regulus wishes his voice didn’t sound faint.
“Alright! I’ll text you later!” James’s bright voice echoes and ricochets in the vacuum of his mind as he walks back to his room. Once the door is shut behind him, he sinks to the floor, still having half the mind to make sure his plate of toasts is level.
Just to get this right: within the span of ten minutes, he accused me of having a boyfriend, invited me to his place for dinner, and asked me for my number????
What the hell just happened?
Regulus very much would like to scream — and he would have, if not for the thin walls and the noise complaint he would’ve got.
“REGGIE!”
Regulus barely has any time to prepare before Sirius launches himself at him the moment he exits the airport, making quite a spectacle of himself; he could see a few pairs of eyes turned towards them.
“Nice to see you too, Sirius,” he wheezes out, patting his brother in the back. He’ll never admit this out loud, but damn does he miss Sirius. Texts and calls can’t really substitute the real thing.
“Look at my little baby brother,” Sirius coos in a sickening baby voice, eliciting a grimace from Regulus. “All grown up and finished his first semester of uni.”
“I’m going to elbow you if you don’t release me this instant.”
That seems to do the trick, as now Regulus is able to breathe a bit easier without Sirius’s arms squeezing him to death. Sirius beams at him and slings an arm around him, dragging him to where he has parked his prized motorcycle. Thank heavens Regulus only brings his backpack with him; he wouldn’t know how to fit an entire suitcase on a motorcycle.
“How was your first term of uni, Reggie?” Sirius asks, twisting his head to the side to look at Regulus.
“Brilliant,” he nods. “Sailed through my coursework and essays. Got a first on one of my essays.”
“I knew my baby brother was an academic weapon, just like his brother,” Sirius claims, but deflates when he sees Regulus’s glare. “Forget about all that boring academic stuff. Have you met anyone?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Are you in any societies or clubs?”
Regulus’s traitorous mind flashes an image of James at Sirius’s first question. Since they exchanged numbers, James hasn’t texted him anything. Regulus would really like to be the one to start the conversation, but he’s scared that it’ll make things awkward between them. Besides, he’s not a good conversationalist; how is he even going to start one?
“I’m in the English society and the Book Club. They read a book every month and gather round at the end of the month to discuss the book.”
“Cool, but still boring,” Sirius rolls his eyes, and Regulus halfheartedly punches his arm. They reach his motorcycle, mount it, secure themselves, start the engine, and head home.
They couldn’t talk throughout the ride due to the loud sound of the engines effectively dampening their voices — and Regulus also doesn’t want to distract Sirius — so when they stop by a Chinese place near their home, Sirius starts bombarding him with questions: his friends, his course, his social life, and such.
It’s nice like this, Regulus thinks, and he realises that he’s missed his brother. Missed his energy, jokes, and the ease with which he carries himself — missed how Sirius can put Regulus at ease with just a few words, even when things were bad between him and his parents. Even when his parents’ words got too sharp, too hurtful.
“What about your flatmates?”
Sirius’s question pulls Regulus out of his musing. He blinks, dazed, as if he just got punched square in the face and got a concussion. It takes his brain a good second to register Sirius’s question.
“They’re alright — nice people to be around. They keep the area generally clean, so I can’t really complain.” Sirius hums. Regulus waits for a beat before adding, “One of them invited me to his place for dinner.”
That gets Sirius’s interest. He sits up straight and cocks an eyebrow at him, eyes shining with obvious curiosity.
“Oh? When is this?”
“He hasn’t told me yet.”
“And where does he live?”
“East of Luton. I can just take the train there.”
Sirius only hums and nods, although the glimmer in his eyes tells Regulus that he knows there are some things Regulus is not telling him. However, he is gracious enough to drop the matter.
For now.
“I’ll see you later,” Regulus tosses behind him as he exits the door, waving goodbye at Sirius.
“Text me when you’ve arrived!” Sirius shouts, putting his hands around his mouth in an attempt to amplify his volume. Regulus merely sends him an exasperated thumbs-up.
The trip to James’s place takes almost two hours with public transport — three transfers —, but Regulus doesn’t mind. He’s got a book with him to pass the time, and before he knows it, he’s arrived at the address James sent via WhatsApp. He makes sure to tell Sirius he’s arrived safely and knocks on the door. It only takes three seconds before he hears rapid footsteps from inside, and two more before James appears in the doorway, beaming widely. He looks out of breath, as if he had just run a marathon.
“Hi,” he breathed, his expression still fixed on a smile.
“Hi,” Regulus meets James’s eyes and matches his smile with a small one.
“Come in!” James ushers him. As he crosses the door and enters James’s house, he feels the warm weight of a hand on his back. It’s barely there, as if the owner of said hand is trying not to rest the entire weight of his hand on his back. As if he’s being careful. Almost as if he’s testing the waters.
Trying his best to ignore the weight on his back, Regulus takes off his shoes and takes in the sight of James’s house. The hallway opens onto a kitchen and dining room on the right — from which a delicious smell wafts — and a living room on the left. The walls are lined with portraits of James in his childhood and the family as a whole. The house exudes warmth and safety, and Regulus feels enveloped in the soft embrace of its cosiness.
James, with his hand on Regulus’s back, leads him to the kitchen and dining area, the source of the mouth-watering smell. He sees a woman with a kind face by the stove and a man who looks so much like James setting the table. The two adults look up at the sound of their footsteps entering the dining area, and their faces promptly split into a smile.
“Mum, Dad, this is Regulus,” James introduces him. “He’s my flatmate. Regulus, these are my parents.”
“Thank you so much for having me,” Regulus greets.
“Of course, dear!” James’s mum replies. “We’re pleased to have you. I’m Mia, by the way, and that guy there is Monty.” James’s dad, Monty, smiles and waves at him.
“Come on, boys, sit down,” Monty says, sitting down at the head of the table. “Food will be ready in just a minute.”
“Is there anything I can possibly help with…?” Regulus asks in a small voice, wanting to help yet not wanting to intrude.
“Food’s done, but thank you, Regulus, that’s very sweet of you,” Mia answers, in her hands a pot of what looks like butter chicken. Behind her, James carries a plate of naan and a large bowl of rice, setting both of them on the table. Once all is set, everyone sits around the table, with Monty at the head of the table, Mia to his right, and James and Regulus opposite Mia to Monty’s left.
“I should’ve asked this earlier, but I hope you don’t have any allergies?” James’s hazel eyes meet Regulus’s grey ones. Once Regulus shakes his head, he begins to scoop some rice and naan onto a plate before adding some of the butter chicken and then placing the plate in front of Regulus. Heart touched at the sweet gesture, Regulus sends James a quick smile and whispers, “Thanks”.
“So, Regulus,” Monty starts, “we’ve heard lots of things about you from James.”
“Only good things, I hope?” Regulus glances at James, whose cheeks somehow look red. Is he blushing?
“Oh, absolutely,” Mia says after having a bite of butter chicken on naan. “We’ve been informed you’re doing English?”
Dinner goes affably, Regulus thinks. The butter chicken is quite possibly the most scrumptious thing Regulus has ever had in his mouth; he’s so close to asking Mia for the recipe before remembering he would probably dishonour her and the recipe by butchering it six ways to Sunday. Monty and Mia are lovely people; they keep asking Regulus about his course, his life, interests and the like, and Regulus can easily see where James got his likeable personality.
After dinner is done, Regulus offers his help in washing the dishes, but Mia steadfastly refuses: “You’re very lovely, but you're a guest, Regulus — go enjoy the rest of your evening with James.” He finds James outside the kitchen, seemingly waiting for Regulus.
“You wanna see my room?” James offers. Regulus’s heart beats erratically — seeing James’s room feels intimate. Regulus thinks it’s intimate. Regulus is not the type of person to let just anyone into his room, his personal space. He doesn’t think even Barty or Evan has been into his room; it’s always him who goes to either of their place to hang out.
“Sure,” Regulus wills his voice not to tremble. His heart is a lost cause, pounding in a wild rhythm he’s this close to asking James to check if he is having a heart attack.
James beams at him, takes his hand, and leads him up the stairs. The area of Regulus’s hand that is in contact with James’s is quickly becoming one that Regulus will never wash, ever again. He can feel his heart beating against his ribcage even more wildly, something that he did not think was possible, as if it wanted to escape. He feels warm all over, and he prays to God that the darkness will make his blush less visible. His pale skin certainly doesn’t help with that.
James takes him to a room on the first floor next to the stairs. It’s modest in size: a bed, a wardrobe, a desk with a laptop and other things scattered atop it, and a chair. There’s a curtain covering the windows, and a bunch of posters stuck to the wall. Some are about medicine — the human anatomy, the brain, other organs, nervous systems — some are, upon closer observation, pictures. One depicts a breathtaking view of a body of water with mountains around it that he knows to be Lake District — he remembers James raving about how beautiful it is, and he agrees. Another one shows an otherworldly mountainous landscape with the clearest sky Regulus has ever seen (which, he supposes, is not a feat considering it’s the UK he lives in). He’s not exactly sure where that picture was taken.
“Where’s this one taken at?” Regulus questions. James takes a closer look at the picture he’s referring to, and he turns to look at Regulus as if he’s grown a second head.
“You’ve never been to Switzerland before?” he sounds shocked, as if he expects everyone to have frequented the country.
“No…?” Regulus’s hesitance makes his response sound more like a question.
“It is only the most beautiful country ever! I have to take you there one day,” James sounds so resolutely offended that Regulus can’t help but huff out a laugh.
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” Regulus nudges James’s shoulder.
Silence blankets the room: a comfortable kind, where Regulus doesn’t feel the itch to start a conversation that will inevitably lead to an even more awkward silence. Where Regulus could just exist, look around, with James’s warm presence behind him.
“Your house is really nice,” Regulus comments. “Lots of memory in it. Your parents really love you.”
“Yeah,” James replies, “my parents make a point to take as many pictures of me growing up as possible. Come on, sit on the bed, I’ll show you some of them.”
It’s all a blur for Regulus: one minute, he's sitting on the bed, waiting for James to grab his photo album; the next, he’s sitting impossibly close to James, who’s showing him pictures of his childhood. Their heads are bent together to get a better look at the pictures, and their sides are plastered together; Regulus can feel James’s solid muscles even through the fabric. It sends something into frenzy in Regulus’s stomach.
He’s sure this day will be immortalised as the best in his brain.
“This was taken when I was in Pre-Prep. It was honestly such a cool school — I had some of my best memories there,” James is saying, pointing to a picture of himself when he was probably five or six years old, if Regulus has to venture a guess. “Back then, there was this book that we called the Golden Book. If a student did something good, their name would be written down in that book alongside their good deed.”
“Let me guess, you made it your life mission to get your name into that book?”
“Yes!” James exclaims. “I used to be so obsessed with it. One day, I actually got my name in there — I don’t actually remember what for — and I told my mum about it, you know, I was excited. You know what she told me?”
“What?”
“She told me, they probably try to make sure every student’s name is written in that book at least once, so I’m not special,” James rolls his eyes, indignation evident in his tone. “She didn’t even congratulate me! Just smiled, and crushed my hopes and dreams.”
At this point, Regulus is already bent over laughing, mirth dancing in his eyes. The idea of a five-year-old James getting excited over a book, only to have been awoken by reality, makes his stomach hurt from laughter.
“But, I wasn’t ready to believe her words!” James continues, looking at Regulus’s shaking and laughing form. “I still believed that book was special. I think at some point I realised my mum was right and eventually stopped caring about it.”
“That is an absolute gold,” Regulus wheezes, out of breath from how hard he was laughing. “I can’t believe you’ve never told me this before.”
“Well, I never saw any reason to,” James rolls his eyes. “So, yeah, I had lots of great memories from this school. Then I moved into another one for my GCSEs and A-Levels — that one wasn’t as great as this one. I think I peaked during those years, and after that it’s just a steady downhill.”
They spend more time talking about James’s childhood and his favourite memories — “Our headmaster was this South African guy, and he’s actually the coolest person ever!” — and before Regulus knows it, the clock already shows 11 pm. That’s when he realises: there will be no public transport for him to get back home at this hour. God, how is he going to go home? He can’t possibly ask James’s parents for a ride — it’s going to take at least a couple of hours one way.
“Why don’t you just… stay here?” James suggests, sounding hesitant, which is very unlike his usual confident persona.
“Oh, I don’t want to impose,” Regulus says. Also, staying the night will do irreparable damage to Regulus that he’s not sure he wants to think about.
“How can you be imposing when I offered?” James looks at him as if he’s not making any sense. “I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind — they love you already — and I know I most definitely don’t mind. We have a spare room right next to mine.”
Regulus weighs his options. Public transport is obviously unavailable, and there is no way he’s asking James’s parents or Sirius to pick him up at midnight. It seems the odds are tipping towards staying the night. Regulus doesn’t really have any other options.
I’m screwed.
Hours later, Regulus, in James’s pyjamas, is tossing and turning on the bed, unable to sleep. No matter how hard he tries, or how many sheep he’s counted, sleep just won’t reach him. Sighing, he sits up and gazes at the spot in the room hit by the slit of moonlight through the window curtains. He stands up from the bed and slowly opens the door, wincing when it creaks slightly. He tiptoes downstairs and ends up outside by the front yard, slinking through the front door.
He sits on the grass, letting the moon illuminate his face and surroundings, closing his eyes and inhaling the fresh air leisurely. He lets his mind wander, revisiting today’s memories: James’s warmth, kindness, humour, storytelling, everything about James makes him feel giddy inside. It felt nice to have James pressed against him, telling him about all the sorts of mischief he would get up to as a kid. Unbeknownst to Regulus, a peaceful smile stretches his cheeks, making him look serene to outsiders. He sends a wish to the moon: about what, he doesn’t know. He just… wishes for something. Happiness, perhaps. Or maybe, a chance to stay in James’s life, even if he doesn’t like him that way.
“Couldn’t sleep?” James’s whisper startles him, shocking him out of his zen state. He didn’t even hear James’s footsteps.
“Yeah,” Regulus whispers back. “You? Same?” James nods.
“Why are you out here if you can’t sleep?” James’s turn to ask.
“I like gazing at the night sky,” Regulus says, keeping his voice low. The atmosphere feels fragile, as if a whip of wind will break it beyond repair. He goes back to gaze at the sky, closing his eyes. “Especially when it’s clear. You can see the moon and the stars adorning the sky. It’s… peaceful. I feel content. It helps clear my mind, too.”
“Yeah, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” James’s voice sounds reverent. Regulus merely nods while humming.
When James doesn’t say anything, Regulus cracks open one eye and sees James already staring at him intensely. His hazel eyes bore into his grey ones, and Regulus feels pinned into his spot just from James’s stare alone. His whole body feels aflame, and everywhere feels hot now. His heartbeat picks up, and his breathing slowly gets erratic. Is he crazy, or is James getting closer and closer to him? Is he crazy, or did James’s eyes just dart down to his lips? Is he crazy, or did James just wet his lips with his tongue?
Is he crazy, or is James kissing him right now?
A whine gets trapped in his throat as his lips meet and move in tandem with James’s, whose hand is now resting on his cheek, the other one holding his waist. Regulus’s eyes close, and he holds James’s arm, steadying himself, fearing the gravity of what’s happening might make him dizzy in the head. James’s lips are soft, and Regulus feels like he can do this forever: under the moonlight, on the grass, next to James, kissing him, holding him, having him.
James pulls apart after God knows how long, and Regulus whines as he chases and tries to recapture his lips.
“Steady there,” he chuckles. When Regulus opens his eyes, he is treated to the sight of a blushing James with his red lips and glasses askew.
“Did you just…?” Regulus trails off, half of him still unbelieving of what just happened. There is no way James just kissed me. I must have fallen asleep on the grass.
“Yeah,” James breathes. “Yes, Regulus.”
“Pinch me.”
“What?” James sounds bewildered.
“Pinch me. I must be dreaming.”
Both of James’s hands cradle Regulus’s face.
“You’re not dreaming, Reg. I just kissed you,” he says, voice so soft and velvety.
“But… why?”
“What do you mean, why?” James sounds even more confused. “I like you, Reg, and I want us to be more than just friends. Only if you want to, of course.”
Regulus can only stare at James while his mind whirls at an ungodly speed, trying to catch up with the reality of the events that just happened. He went out to the front yard to enjoy the night sky. James joined him. James kissed him. And James said he likes him. James likes him. James likes him. James likes him. James likes him.
Regulus promptly throws a hug at James and clambers into his lap. James, surprised, instinctively circles his arm around Regulus, hugging him tight.
“Can I kiss you?” Regulus whispers, staring into James’s eyes. In lieu of answering, James merely surges upwards and catches Regulus’s lips in a kiss. Regulus sighs contentedly, his mind chanting “yes, yes, yes!” as if it just won the lottery, which he supposes isn’t entirely wrong. He definitely feels like he’s just won the lottery. In fact, no, scratch that — James is better than a lottery. James’s kisses are better than a lottery, Regulus comes to the conclusion. Kissing James is… amazing. Brilliant. Wonderful. Euphoric. All of the positive adjectives that exist in the English language.
They have to part again for air, to Regulus’s utter dismay.
“So, boyfriends?” James asks with a lopsided grin. Regulus now has no qualms about pressing a chaste kiss onto that grin, something he has only done in his fantasies.
“Yes, you twat.”
Laughter bubbles out of James, and Regulus, down bad for this man, follows suit. They laugh and laugh, two teenagers in love, uncaring of the world outside of their own sweet little bubble filled with such an abundance of love and care. James squeezes his arms around Regulus even tighter and buries his face in Regulus’s neck, content to stay there. A calm and peaceful smile crawls across Regulus’s face as he rests his head against the side of James’s, eyes meeting the bright celestial body reflecting the sun amongst the star-freckled canvas. He closes his eyes and sends a message:
Thank you — for granting my wish.