Best Friend's Brother

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/37021876.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Character: Regulus Black, Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, The whole
Marauders Era make appearances really
Additional Tags: Modern Marauders (Harry Potter), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting,
Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Regulus Black & Remus Lupin
Friendship, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Falling In Love, Dating, Fluff,
Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Trans Character, James
Potter's unrelenting optimism vs Regulus Black's unwavering
pessimism, Remus Lupin's hunger for knowledge vs Sirius Black's fear
of being known, Regulus and Remus are best friends who would help
each other bury a body, but do not know each other's middle names,
James and Sirius are best friends that make other people question if
they're in love, references to past jily - it's okay they're besties, Lily is
NOT villainized, Peter is just vibing, Humorous and slightly ridiculous
references to source material, Barista Regulus Black, Baritsa Remus
Lupin, Remus is going to be a teacher!, Regulus is going to be a chef!,
Artist Sirius Black, Regulus and Sirius hating each other, but not really,
references to Walburga Black's A+ Parenting, Dating in Secret, but only
half of the couple is aware, That oh shit moment where you've been
falling in love with your best friend's brother, and didn't even realize it
Collections: wolfstar fics but like also any other fic that sounds mildly interesting,
spain without the 's', Ongoing fic, screaming shitting going feral, All the
best fics ive ever read, My favorite gays aka Wolfstar, my favorite
jegulus <3, favorites_mjb, my jegulus heart <3, Fics That Butter My
Biscuit, Jegulus Masterlist, super cool and awsome works to show
people, marauders era masterpieces, life changing, hp stories,
FavouritesFics, All Time Fav Wolfstar <3, i like to be sad, all the fics i've
wandered through, Magnolia's Favourite Fics, read, jegulus, My
Favourites to read, TbrJegulusbabe, My Virtual Bookshelf: Harry Potter,
Want to read, COMPLETED FICS, TbrWolfstarbabe
Stats: Published: 2022-02-10 Completed: 2022-04-07 Chapters: 30/30 Words:
329740

Best Friend's Brother

by zeppazariel

Summary

Regulus hates his brother—this is fact—and as his best friend, Remus would never betray
him by falling in love with aforementioned brother.

Sirius hates his entire family—this is also fact—and as his best friend, James would never
 betray him by falling in love with a member of it.

The problem is, none of them are even aware that it's happening.

Notes

Alright, so maybe these characters and their dynamics compel me. I didn't expect this story
to grow into what it is has when I started writing it, but oh buddy, it definitely has its twists
and turns.

With that being said, strap in <3

 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Regulus knows instantly upon seeing Remus that something has happened. Something big.

"Who have you shagged?" Regulus asks bluntly, and Remus yelps, tipping over the cup of espresso
into the drain carrier underneath, hissing as the dripping espresso hits his hand because he fumbles
to right the cup again.

"Oh, piss off, Regulus," Remus snarls, snatching his hand back to fling it out, which Regulus
calmly leans out of the way of. Remus' ire does nothing to hide the blush lighting his cheeks.

"Oh, you have," Regulus says, lips curling up. "Just as I thought. You've that look about you."

"That look," Remus repeats, grumpy. He huffs as he pulls down another cup and dumps the
remaining espresso into it from the last cup, then pushes the button for a half-shot to make up for
what he spilt.

"Yes, you know," Regulus tells him, and Remus shoots him a look that makes it very clear that he
doesn't know, actually. Very well, then. Regulus isn't the sort to hold back on these things,
especially if he has the opportunity to indulge in some vindictive amusement. "There's this glow
about you, Remus. The one that suggests you've shagged someone for the very first time—the
details hardly matter, of course. The result is the same."

"That's not a real thing."

"Oh, but it is. You can't focus. You keep drifting off in your own head and smiling. Even your
sighs are soppy."

Remus frowns. "Am I really?"

"Yes. It's disgusting." Regulus sighs. "Being observant is a prison of which I cannot free myself
from."
"You're awful, you know," Remus tells him.

Regulus hums. "Being self-aware is my cellmate." He passes over the chocolate toffee flavoring
and raises his eyebrows. "So? Go on, then. Tell me about him."

"Why in God's name would I do that?"

"Because, frankly, we're both trapped in this friendship, so if we're not constantly humiliating one
another and dragging secrets from each other, then what's the point?"

"You don't tell me secrets," Remus says flatly.

"I do, too."

"Do not."

"I have."

"Name one time."

"Two years ago, August 22nd, I told you the name of my imaginary friend when I was a child was
Snuffles," Regulus reminds him seriously, forcing himself not to grimace or shudder when
revisiting that memory. He'd been a bit drunk, admittedly, and it was at that point that he realized
Remus either had to be his best friend for life, or he had to die. He knew too much.

Remus stares at him, pausing with a can of squirty cream over the cup. "Regulus, that's...that's not a
big secret."

"Don't undermine my experience, Remus," Regulus says, narrowing his eyes at him. "I've never
told anyone that before. No one knows that about me, but you."
"No one?"

"Well, my brother, who is—"

"—dead to you," Remus finishes, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I know. But, well, that sort of proves my
point, doesn't it? I don't know anything about your brother, other than the fact that he's a waste of
space, and you hate him more than you usually hate people. I don't even know his bloody name. I
barely know anything about your entire family, actually."

"Yes, which is why your life is brighter than mine," Regulus replies calmly. "Consider yourself
lucky. Besides, it's not like you enjoy talking about your family."

"You know, upon reflection, this might not be a route I want to go down with you," Remus says
mildly.

Regulus smiles. It's thin. "Smart man."

"Talking to you is always a bit like playing chess."

"You love chess."

"Oh, shut up." Remus looks away, but his lips twitch.

"Stop trying to change the subject, Remus." Regulus props back against the counter as Remus puts
the lid on his cup and immediately takes a large sip, despite knowing that it's going to make him
wince in pain from burning his tongue. He always does that, like maybe it won't hurt the next time,
even when he knows it will. That's sort of Remus' worst trait—just how often he hurts himself
chasing the taste of something he craves. A bit reckless, especially when it comes to himself.

"I'm not," Remus mumbles, clicking his tongue with his face scrunched in agitation.

"You are," Regulus insists, no-nonsense. Anyone else, and he wouldn't bother. "Go on, you know
you want to talk about it. Was it nice? Was he nice? Handsome? Anyone I know?"
"No, I highly doubt it," Remus says, admitting defeat with a sigh. "Met him in a bloody queue at
Flourish and Blotts. Never seen a bloke look so out of place in a bookshop before; it's all sweaters
and glasses in that old dusty shop—"

"You say that as if you didn't come out of the womb in tattered fleece," Regulus cuts in, amused,
and Remus sends him a scathing look. "Alright, alright, go on."

"Yes, well, he was wearing leather and jewelry and looked like he'd burn a book before he'd read it,
as in he'd probably set something on fire for the fun of it—which is a bit of a small-minded
assumption to make, now that I think about it. He turned out to be quite intelligent. We had a few
intellectual conversations I wasn't at all expecting," Remus muses.

"Before or after you shagged him?" Regulus asks, then smirks when Remus makes a choking
sound. "Oh, during, was it?"

Remus scowls. "Cut it out, would you? Do you want me to tell you about this or not?"

"It's not fun if you're not suffering."

"You appall me."

"Liar." Regulus raises his eyebrows. "So, he wooed you with books, then? Decent strategy, I'll
admit. You, Lupin, are hilariously predictable."

"He didn't—" Remus groans. "That's not how it went at all. The queue was long, and we got to
chatting, and… I don't know. He was just…" There he goes, giving one of those soppy sighs again.
"In any case, he was in front of me, so I thought he'd be long gone by the time I got outside, but he
wasn't. He said he was taking the tube, asked if I was, and I was, so we just...walked together.
Chatted some more. Then, er…"

"Tell me you didn't shag him in some back alley, Remus."

"What? No! Of course not. He just saw a bar and suggested we stop in for a few drinks. It was in
the evening, and I thought it would be—nice, I suppose, to keep talking to him. So, I had a few
pints with him. Then, ah, more than a few."

Regulus leans back and huffs a small laugh. "My god, Remus, did you get pissed and shag the man
the day you met him?" In the next second, Remus' face turns a brilliant shade of red, and Regulus'
lips part. "Oh shit. You did! You actually—"

"Not—no, shut up," Remus practically wheezes. "I wasn't pissed, alright? Just...pleasantly relaxed.
Bold enough to say yes when he admitted that he didn't actually take the tube because his flat was
close by, and would I like to see it?" He clears his throat. "As it turns out, yes, I did like seeing it."

"You whore," Regulus says, tucking his smile away at the corners of his mouth. Remus looks like
he's about to melt, his whole face is so red. "This is brilliant. You got your end away for the first
time with a stranger because he wooed you with books. I'm never letting you live this down."

Remus scowls through his blush, then hides his face behind a swallow of his latte. "He didn't woo
me with books, you intolerant shit."

"Sure he didn't. Honestly, I didn't know you had it in you. Was it worth it, at least?" Regulus asks.

"It was…" Remus trails off, getting that distant look in his eyes again. Unconsciously, he starts
smiling. Oh, this is quite bad, indeed. He's absolutely smitten, he is. Regulus almost pities the poor
fool. "Yes, it was very worth it. Is it always like that? It can't always be like that, can it?"

"Almost never," Regulus admits bluntly. "Or, not in my experience, at least. You've found yourself
a true gem, it seems. When are you seeing him again?"

"What?" Remus blinks at him.

Regulus stares. "You are seeing him again, aren't you?"

"I—I don't know," Remus says, swallowing. "I mean, he was nice enough the next morning. Made
me breakfast. Walked me all the way to the tube, and even gave me his number, but he didn't take
mine. Am I meant to just ring him up and tell him I want to—what, do it again?"
"No, of course not," Regulus says. "You text him, and you go with a bit more subtlety than that.
How many days has it been? Wait, when did this happen?"

"After my shift before my days off."

"So, two days. Yeah, that's enough time."

Remus looks at him skeptically. "You sound...very certain about this. Regulus, in the three years
I've known you, I've never seen you date anyone."

"That's because I don't date anyone."

"But—"

"Shagging is a bit different," Regulus admits.

"See!" Remus glares at him. "I don't know anything about the people you shag! I don't even know
what your first time was like, and here you are, interrogating me about mine."

"You haven't asked." Regulus keeps his face blank when Remus gets that look like he wants to
strangle him. "Oh, calm down. My first time wasn't memorable at all. It wasn't remarkable in the
least, and neither is anyone else I've ever shagged. Most of the time, I don't bother."

Remus frowns. "Well, that's just a bit sad."

"Yes, Remus, thank you for pointing that out," Regulus replies tonelessly, entirely unimpressed.

"Sharing secrets, humiliating each other—we have a beautiful friendship." Remus gives him a
satisfied, crooked grin and raises his latte, eyes bright with humor.

"Sometimes I contemplate killing you to free myself from it," Regulus muses.
"Oh, do put me out of my misery, please," Remus retorts, rolling his eyes. He pauses, then looks
thoughtful. "You know, Regulus, you could consider shagging out of your comfort zone. I know
you. You tend to stick to routine. If you're shagging the same types of people, and it's not worth it,
maybe you should shag someone like you've never shagged before."

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Like who?"

"Like him," Remus says, pointing towards the front of the shop, his lips twitching in amusement.
"He's literally been standing there for twenty minutes, just waiting for us to open the shop so he
can come in and talk to you."

"Absolutely not," Regulus says sharply. "I wouldn't shag him, even if he was the last person in the
world."

"Oh, don't be mean, Regulus. He's so sweet, though," Remus tells him, his voice softening. "He
likes you quite a bit, and I can tell that you—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Lupin."

"Just give it some thought, yeah? I think he'd be good for you. The kind to your rude. The truth to
your lies. The—"

"I'm not entertaining this," Regulus snaps. "Getting fucked has clearly scrambled your mind."

Remus goes red again, coughing. "Well, actually—"

"Oh?" Regulus arches an eyebrow. "Alright, fucking someone else has clearly scrambled your
mind. Speaking of, what's his name? I want to put this down in my mental list of things to be
repeatedly dreadful to you about."

"Well, about that…" Remus reaches up to scratch the back of his head, looking sheepish. "I, ah,
never actually caught his name. That's awful, isn't it?"

"That," Regulus says, "is absolutely hilarious."

"Oh, piss off," Remus mutters, huffing. "We were a bit caught up talking to each other, then—other
things. Shut up. Stop laughing, Regulus, it's not funny."

"I'm not laughing."

"You laugh with your eyes. I'm serious, stop it. I'll open up the shop ten minutes early and hide in
the back to leave you alone with him. I'm not joking."

"Don't you dare," Regulus hisses, a real spike of apprehension shooting through him, along with a
zing of something he refuses to label as excitement. No. Absolutely not. Regulus is no fool. "I'll
never forgive you."

Remus rolls his eyes, exasperated. "Yes, you and your ridiculous ability to hold grudges. I'm aware
of it. You have a tremendous amount of issues, you know."

"Obviously," Regulus drawls.

"He will get in here eventually, Regulus."

"Yes, I know—which is why I'm going to have his order already made, so he will leave faster."

"Right, because knowing his order and having it made up for him doesn't send mixed signals at
all," Remus says sarcastically, raising his eyebrows.

Regulus glares at him. "Don't you have someone you're meant to be texting?" Remus huffs a laugh
and swivels around to head towards the back, likely to go get his cell. "And stop forgetting your
name tag!"

The door swings shut behind Remus, and Regulus clicks his tongue in annoyance. He never says it,
but if Remus feels like talking to him is playing chess, then Regulus feels like talking to Remus
leaves him a few moves behind. It'd be enough for Regulus to hate him if he—well, didn't hate
him, as it were.
When it becomes clear that Remus is going to spend the rest of his time before the shop opens in
the back, Regulus moves over to lean behind the till, grateful for the cover and the view of the
front of the shop. It allows him to look without being caught doing it, which is always one of his
favorite things. He has a natural draw to secrecy and no shame in such a thing.

It's been like this for two weeks now. Persistent. Ever since it rained badly enough that multiple
people rushed into the shop to escape the worst of it, ordering coffee or pastries while they waited
for the rain to let up a little. Most people who came in never even came back.

James did.

James continues to come back, literally every day. When he stumbled in from the rain, laughing
like a little kid, his wild hair still fighting gravity and the weight of water to stick up and also
plaster to the side of his head, Regulus is ashamed to admit that his breath had caught. For just a
moment, he'd gone absolutely still, not moving even to replenish his very much needed oxygen, too
caught up in staring at the beaming smile and bright eyes behind glasses covered in small teardrops
of rain that ran down the circular frames.

Then James had shuffled forward, gathering a few napkins to take his glasses off and clean them,
pinning the full warmth of his striking brown eyes right on Regulus as he declared, rather
cheerfully, "Absolutely mad out there, it is. Lucky I've found this shop to wait in a bit."

And, honestly, that was fine. Genuinely, truly, it was completely fine that Regulus was staring at
him and thinking ridiculous things. He's the sun, Regulus had thought, the realization taking a firm,
unshakeable shape in his mind, putting a low jolt of warmth in his stomach. He carries the horizon
on his shoulders. He's sunshine in the storm. All very mad things to think about someone he'd only
been staring at for five seconds, but it was fine, because Regulus has a lot of experience with
hiding his reactions, keeping his face blank, brushing things off and burying feelings so deep even
he can't make sense of them. It would pass, and he would be fine.

Except James slipped his glasses on his face, and his expression fell slack instantly as he looked at
Regulus, blinking once, twice, then rapidly in a rush. Just like that, his devastating smile bloomed
once more, brighter than before, and he leaned on the counter before murmuring, soft and slow and
breathless, "Oh, I am lucky. Well, hello."

So, no, it's not fine. Regulus is not fine. Because James is warm. He's energetic, and effortlessly
kind, and so charming that Regulus wants so badly to hate him for it—he's trying, he really is, he
tries so hard—but he can't.
The thing about James is, he's larger than life. His presence fills up whatever space he's in, but it's
not smothering. It's welcoming. Regulus is a bit defenseless against it, like a moth drawn to a flame,
ready to burn up for one taste of warmth. He hides it well, he thinks, but that hardly deters James.
He's a bit relentless, James is, and he wouldn't know subtlety if it walked up to him and shook his
hand. He's the type of person who hasn't successfully told a lie in his life, and his worst secret is
most likely something like him keeping snack wrappers under his bed because he's too lazy to take
it to the bin.

He's ridiculously earnest about everything, always laughing and smiling, and he's so playful. It's
clear that he's open, that he wears his heart on his sleeve, that he's kind instinctively far before he's
hostile. To put a fine point on it, James is basically everything that Regulus is not.

He is also quite dangerous, because Regulus knows James could absolutely ruin him without even
trying. It'd be effortless, if Regulus were foolish enough to let him.

But Regulus is no fool.

Breathing harshly through his nose, Regulus pushes away from the till to start making James'
order. Yes, he has it memorized. He wishes he didn't. Being observant is actually a prison; he
wasn't joking about that.

James gets a four-pump hazelnut and vanilla latte—which is just French vanilla, really, except the
shop doesn't carry that flavor, so they make do—with an extra shot of espresso, even though he
hardly needs the extra boost. He always dumps in two sugars, which he also doesn't need, and
Regulus has seen him eyeing the squirty cream and caramel drizzle wistfully enough times to know
that he wants it, but doesn't get it because it's hard to add the sugar through that. Regulus is adding
it for him before he even realizes it, too distracted by peeking out the window to think about how
that seems.

It's odd (and endearing, though Regulus would chew his own arm off before admitting it out loud),
but James coordinates his pastry by color. More specifically—what color he's wearing. When he's
in blue, he has a blueberry muffin. When he's in red, he has a raspberry danish. When he's in black,
he has a blackberry fruit bar. White, he has a cinnamon roll, warmed up. Orange is toffee pudding,
yellow is a biscuit, and green is a croissant. If he's not in solid colors, or he's wearing multiple
colors, he has a doughnut.

As James is in blue today, Regulus grabs a muffin and packages it neatly, sitting it on the counter
just as Remus comes from the back. Glancing at the clock, the time ticks over to the next hour, and
Regulus sighs.
No more procrastinating.

Remus is kind enough to not comment when he sees that Regulus has prepared James' order, and
he even goes to open the shop, though that might just be because he knows Regulus will put it off
for as long as he can.

"Morning, Regulus' dashing coworker!" James greets as cheerful as always, because it's something
of a joke now that James doesn't know his name, seeing as Remus never brings his name tag to
work. James does not seem at all ashamed of the fact that he's been loitering by the door like a dog
waiting to be let in from the cold.

"Good morning, James," Remus says, amused. "Up early, are we?"

"Oh, I've been up for a bit now," James says, walking beside Remus with a smile. "You know what
they say about the early bird." He flicks his gaze towards Regulus, and his smile stretches.
"Always gets the worm. Morning, Regulus."

"James," Regulus replies. "Do you know what they say about the second mouse? It gets the cheese.
The first one is dead in the trap, you see, so that makes it easier."

James looks ridiculously charmed, the idiot. "Well, if the first mouse had planned it properly, it
might've gone differently for him. Any sort of mischief that comes with thievery requires a proper
plan, you know."

"He does have a point," Remus says as he steps around the counter, his lips pinched like he's
fighting a smile. Regulus resists the urge to stomp on his foot as he goes by, always abandoning
him to James, the traitor.

"Or the mouse could—oh, I don't know—run back off to whatever hole it crawled out of," Regulus
suggests.

"Mm, I suppose," James allows, leaning up against the counter to flash that disarming grin of his
right at Regulus, "but then it wouldn't have the cheese, would it?"

Regulus feels his face twitch, so he focuses on the till to get himself under control. He rings James
up, then arches an eyebrow when he tells James his total, only for him to look terribly (adorably)
confused. "What?"

"I didn't order," James says slowly.

"I know." Regulus pushes the drink and muffin forward, which makes James blink again, and then
he repeats the price.

James' gaze flicks up to him, startled. "Wait, how'd you know I wanted a muffin today?"

Endless responses fly through his mind, one of them being the simple and elusive but nonetheless
true I'm observant, except what falls out of his mouth is the unexpected and much more honest,
"You're wearing blue."

"Regulus," James says, just staring at him.

"When you wear blue, you get a blueberry muffin. Every time," Regulus explains, wishing
desperately that he wasn't currently chained to the open draw of James' gaze.

"Regulus," James repeats, softer this time, bracing one hand on top of the counter while the other
lifts up until he can brush his fingers right above Regulus' eyebrow, the touch faint and gentle near
the sweep of his hair by his temple. He's staring right at Regulus with this tiny smile that's a secret
just for them, and Regulus is rendered absolutely useless, frozen in place, not breathing again.
"You're lovely, did you know?"

"I'm really not," Regulus manages to say, once he gets his wits about him again, hating how
winded he sounds. In the next second, his hand snaps up to clamp down on James' fingers, and then
he slams it down to the counter with a harsh twist. It makes James yelp and bend down, half-
turning to try and outrun the pressure on his wrist. "You shouldn't touch people without their
permission, did you know?"

"Ouch, ow, ah," James chokes out, gaping up at him, mouth hanging open, his face twisting every
other moment as he squirms around. "Oh, yes, I've gotten that. Ouch. Bloody hell, Regulus. You're
going to break my sodding hand."

"Yes, I'm considering it. Is it very important?" Regulus stoops down over him a bit, cocking his
head and watching James.
James releases a strained laugh, and he's breathing hard as he wheezes, "Quite important, actually.
That's my wanking hand you're about to snap. You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"I absolutely would," Regulus tells him. "I'm actually more tempted now."

"You—you're just—" James blows out a deep breath and sort of deflates, dropping his head down
on his arm as he gazes up at Regulus. "You are just so lovely."

Regulus heaves a sigh and drops James' hand, standing up straight again. His heart feels like a bird
in a cage, determined to break free from captivity. "You're ridiculous."

"Oh, sure." James gives him a slow smile, still practically lying on the counter, staring at Regulus
with blown pupils, because they apparently grew double in size when Regulus pinned him down to
the counter. His hair is a mess around his head, and his glasses are a bit smooshed against his
cheek, and if anyone is lovely in this world, it's him. "Go out with me anyway."

"What?" Regulus blurts out, because as much as James has teased, as much as he has flirted, he
hasn't outright asked.

James pops up to half-height, propping his elbows on the counter and dropping his face in his own
hands, staring at Regulus with pinched eyebrows and a hopeful tilt at the corners of his smile. "Go
out with me, Regulus."

"I've just nearly broken your hand," Regulus says faintly.

"I know." James' smile grows some more, and his eyes sparkle with delight. "So, will you?"

"Yes," Remus announces, abruptly sliding in beside Regulus with a smooth smile, "he would love
to. Pick him up tomorrow after his shift. And here," he adds, sliding the latte and muffin to James,
"this is on us today, free of charge. Go on, then."

"Oh." James blinks rapidly, looking stunned as Remus pushes his drink and muffin into his hands,
and then his entire face lights up brighter than Regulus has ever seen it as he backs up towards the
door. "Oh! Brilliant! Yes, good, I'll just—" He nearly trips over a chair in the lobby, which makes
him curse under his breath, and then he's smiling a little lopsided and bashful as he continues on.
"Sorry. Sorry, that was—I didn't mean to do that. Anyway, yes, thanks. I'll—tomorrow. Yeah."

With that, James all but stumbles out of the shop, laughing breathlessly in shameless elation as he
goes. Regulus stands still, staring after him, feeling both very cold and very hot all over. He turns
slowly, pinning a glare so sharp on Remus that, by all accounts, it's a small miracle he doesn't start
bleeding.

"Don't look at me like that. You knew he ordered a muffin because he was wearing blue," Remus
informs him with no small amount of judgment, arching an eyebrow. "I just did you a favor, as a
friend. You were drowning, but fortunately for you, I know how to swim."

"You," Regulus whispers, "are dead to me."

Remus just laughs.

Sirius is practically vibrating as he darts his gaze between the pint in his hand and the door, his leg
jumping up and down beneath the table. He repeatedly, forcibly calms himself, only to inevitably
end up fidgeting again, all this ridiculous pent up energy trying to spill out of him all at once.

Ten minutes late. Moony is ten minutes late.

Bit premature, giving him a nickname, Sirius thinks, but he can't help it. Like a fool, he'd never
gotten the bloke's name, and he's been cursing himself for it ever since, only slightly less than he's
been kicking himself for not getting his number.

It's just that Moony fits, because he has this crescent scar on his inner thigh shaped like a moon,
and Sirius can't stop thinking about how he'd traced it with his fingers, and it had earned him a
quiet sigh that bordered on a strangled whimper. Mad as it is, Sirius has been playing that sound on
repeat in his head for two days, almost constantly. Bloody distracting, Moony is. Sirius might be a
bit obsessed.

The door creaks open, and Sirius is already watching, so he sees it when Moony steps inside. He
comes in taking a knitted hat off the top of his head, leaving his hair an endearing flop of fluff
around his face, and he's in another blasted wool jumper, the kind with the big sleeves and
swooping neckline. He's a beautiful, wonderful mess, and Sirius is quite sure that he's never been
so enticed by anything in his entire life.

It'd been almost instantaneous, from the moment Sirius saw him in Flourish and Blotts. He'd been
in only to grab the next book in a series Effie loves for her, inwardly patting himself on the back
for enduring such a ridiculously long and slow queue. He'd just so happened to glance over his
shoulder, and his eyes immediately latched onto the bloke right behind him. Tall and freckled,
distracted by his own book, wearing a sweater with patches on them and not seeming aware of the
world around him at all.

Sirius had thought then, like a lightning strike, oh, I'm about to make a fool of myself for this one,
and it'll be worth it.

And it was.

Moony, at first, had been a bit...distant. Very much a leave me alone, I don't like people sort of
bloke, but Sirius is nothing if not persistent. He'd found himself thankful by the endless queue then,
because it gave him the chance to watch Moony bloom more and more with each sentence. Slowly,
as they chatted, he opened up and grew more and more relaxed.

Sirius was mesmerized by his tiny smiles and fluttering eyelashes, his brain catching like a
skipping record every time Moony lifted a hand to gesture with his fingers. Long, deft fingers.
Gods above, Moony is pure poetry brought to life and set in motion, the kind made up of whimsical
words that stir something in your chest and leave you short of breath.

Honestly, Sirius never stood a chance.

So, really, he'd been genuinely irritated when he finally reached the till and was free to leave the
shop. In the end, he couldn't stop himself from waiting, and he'd completely lied with no shame
when he told Moony he was taking the tube, and oh, maybe they could walk together?

Then oh, maybe they could stop and get a drink? Then oh, why not have a couple more while they
chatted? Then oh, actually the whole tube thing was a lie, because the flat was quite close, why not
go there? Then oh, hi, this is the bedroom, and—ah, yes, there's the snogging. Sirius Black is an
absolute genius.

Except, well, he's also a bit of an idiot. In the morning-after daze of nerves and inexplicable
giddiness, Sirius had enough mind to give Moony food, his number, and a gentlemanly escort to
the tube. What Sirius did not do was take anything from Moony, which means he has been
subsequently banging his head against some internal enclosure for fucking himself over in the
worst way possible. Moony did not message him to pass along his number, didn't message him at
all the first day, or the second, and Sirius has been dramatic about it. Quite convinced he'd found
the love of his life and just let him go like the absolute fool that he is.

But then Moony had messaged him on the third day, today, and here Sirius is, hardly able to
remain calm. No one would look at Moony and be able to tell that he's bloody strong, that his warm
eyes can get heart-trippingly dark, that his mouth which curls into tiny, sweet smiles is also capable
of being a line of heat on Sirius' skin, rough and soft in intervals, making Sirius thoroughly insane.
He's so unassuming, Moony is, but he'd had his fingers in Sirius' mouth at one point only three
nights ago, for fuck's sake; he's a fucking menace.

It takes only a second for Moony to see him across the room, and then he's making his way over
with polite, distracted smiles to the people at the tables he has to wind around. It's so endearing that
Sirius wants to bury his face in his hands and scream. Oh, yes, without a doubt Sirius isn't
surviving this, but what a way to go. He's always been reckless—may as well stick to the theme
with his heart. Normally, he wouldn't, but he can already tell he won't have a choice in the matter
this time.

"Getting started without me?" Moony asks as he slides in across from Sirius, inclining his head at
the pint.

"Just the one. I thought about ordering you one, but I didn't want it to get warm," Sirius admits.

Moony hums. "That's alright. I'll just have some of yours." He reaches out to take the glass, their
fingers brushing, lingering for a beat before he draws away to have a swallow. He plunks it back
down with a sigh. "Next round will be on me. Sorry about the wait, by the way. Bit of a crowd on
the tube that kept hanging me up. One bloke lost his shoe."

"Only the one?"

"Mhm."

"Poor lad. Not having the best day, is he?" Sirius grins reflexively when Moony huffs a quiet
laugh. The grin must do something, because Moony's smile stretches to answer it, a streak of red
rising in his cheeks. Cherry-rose and undeniably lovely. "And you? How was your day?"
"Fairly normal, I suppose. Seemed slow," Moony tells him, lips twitching. "It felt like it took
forever to get to the end of it."

"Oh?" Sirius asks innocently. "Something you were eager to get to, then?"

"Yes," Moony says, eyes bright, and then with a hint of mischief, he continues, "I always look
forward to having a drink after a long day. Don't you?"

Sirius chuckles. "Something like that."

"Well, go on," Moony says, nudging the glass over to Sirius, who takes it. "How was your day,
then?"

"Actually," Sirius says, then doesn't shut up again for quite a long time.

It's ridiculously easy to talk to Moony, who goes with the flow of the conversation, good with tone
shifts and abrupt subject changes, effortlessly witty to the point that Sirius is always startled by
how quick and sharp he is. Magnificent, really. Sirius gets a thrill just talking to him.

They sit right there for hours, drinking slowly and spending most of their time eagerly getting to
know one another, seemingly hungry for each new piece of information that makes the other take a
more solid shape in their mind. The more Sirius learns about Moony, the more he wants to learn. A
bit of a curse, that. The curse of the snake eating itself. Ouroboros. That's what wanting Moony is
like. Sirius will swallow himself whole trying to have him.

They talk about music and films and books; about their favorite foods, snacks, and sweets; about
Moony's old dream to write a book, and Sirius' much more childish dream to build the first flying
motorbike, which he had at the tender age of six; about favorite holidays, and the ones they hate;
about the state of the world, where they fall in the matter of political opinions (which is, thankfully,
the same or similar enough not to be a cause for caution), and what large societal situation is close
to them because it has directly affected their lives.

At one point, Sirius nearly snorts drink out of his nose and sputters out, while still wheezing,
"That's hilarious, Moony."
"I'm sorry?" Moony gets a strange look on his face, and he tilts his head. "What did you just call
me?"

"Ah. Right. Well…" Sirius slumps in place a little, sheepishly pushing his hair back from his
shoulders. "Moony. I called you Moony, you see, because I, ah—" He coughs, face scrunching as
he gazes at Moony a little helplessly. "Ah, don't judge me too harshly about this, please, but in all
the...excitement with you, I might not have, ah, caught your name. So, I had to come up with
something to call you."

Moony stares at him, and then his lips twitch, which calms Sirius a bit because he was
unaccountably nervous that he'd mucked it all up. "Why Moony?"

"Oh." Sirius pauses, considering, then he adopts an innocent look as he carefully, easily frees his
foot from his boot—the strings and tongue are already loose, because Sirius Black is too cool to
lace up his boots properly—and he slumps back in the booth so he can lift his socked foot and drag
it over the bend of Moony's knee, sliding it further up until he's almost sure he's pressing into the
scar on his thigh. Moony, bless him, jolts from the very first contact, banging his elbow into the
table, and he turns a brilliant shade of red. "That's why. The scar on your thigh looks a bit like a
moon, and I recall fondly the lovely sounds you made when I discovered it. Also, if it wins me any
points, we can make it romantic. I have the same name as a star, so maybe I want you somewhere
out there in the galaxy with me."

"Oh, do you?" Moony asks, shaking his head a little, his smile a little softer as his fading blush
surges forward again. "And where did you come up with the idea to give me a nickname, rather
than just ask my name?"

"Well, it's all the rage with my mates, honestly. Been doing it since we were fifteen, the three of us.
Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Moony fits right in, don't you think?"

"Am I just a mate, then?"

Sirius raises his eyebrows and grins, pressing his foot into Moony's thigh before dragging it back,
stuffing it into his boot again. "My god, I hope not."

"Mm, and which are you?" Moony asks. "Of the names, I mean, and honestly—how did you come
by them?"
"Padfoot," Sirius admits, chuckling when Moony squints at him a little bit. "It's for a dog. We went
to a bit of a prestigious boarding school, the three of us, and we had an art assignment where we
had to draw an animal written on a small slip of paper that we picked out of a hat. I got a dog.
Prongs got a stag. Wormtail got a rat. We fancied ourselves troublemakers in school, so codenames
were standard. We thought it was cool, but by the time we got old enough to realize it was not, it'd
already become a habit."

"That's really quite endearing, you know," Moony tells him, and Sirius beams. "Well, Padfoot,
you've problem-solving skills that I just don't. See, I don't quite know your name either, so I've just
been thinking of you as that attractive bloke I'd very much like to shag again. Bit of a mouthful, if
I'm honest."

Sirius chokes on the swallow of drink he was going for, nearly spitting it out everywhere. His hand
flies up to cover his mouth and hastily wipe away the small dribble on his chin, eyes watering as
he coughs. Moony reaches over to grab a few napkins from the dispenser, offering them with a
small, pleased smile tucked at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, Jesus," Sirius chokes out, strained. He shifts a little bit in his seat, flustered and hot all over.
"Bloody hell."

Moony blinks at him sweetly, innocence painted on his face like he's never done anything wrong
or naughty in his life, and he holds out his hand in offering. "Remus Lupin."

"Remus," Sirius repeats instantly, tasting the name in his mouth. "Remus Lupin." He smiles, and
Remus smiles back, and then Sirius reaches out to take his hand, shaking it but letting the contact
linger. "Well, Remus, I'm Sirius."

"That's a star?" Remus asks.

Sirius hums. "The brightest one in the sky."

"Of course it is," Remus says with a quiet laugh, his shoulders shaking a bit. "No last name,
Sirius?"

"Oh, yes, but I'm not fond of it," Sirius says with put upon cheer, pulling his hand away. "I was all
but adopted when I was sixteen, just not legally. The family that took me in—well, you could say
I'm an honorary Potter."
"Well, Sirius Honorary Potter," Remus muses, "it's nice to put a name to a face, and it's certainly
less of a mouthful."

"Oh, but I quite like what you were going with before."

"Do you?"

"Yes, very much. You're a very smart man, Remus Lupin. A very smart man, indeed." Sirius leans
in, resting his elbows on the table, his hands folded under his chin. "The only problem is that my
intentions with you are pure. I'm a gentleman, you see, so I couldn't possibly have my way with
you."

Remus considers that for a beat, then he chuckles and leans back. "Is that right?"

"Yes, of course," Sirius says, mock-haughty. "I intend to sweep you off your feet, Remus."

"Ah, I see." Remus nods. "Only, how exactly is shagging not contributing to that?"

Sirius bites back a laugh. "You're making it very difficult to be a gentleman, Moony."

"Maybe I don't want you to be a gentleman."

"Goodness, you're eager, aren't you?"

"You've created a monster," Remus tells him, flashing Sirius a disarming grin that leaves him
dazed.

"Did I?" Sirius can't stop himself from laughing then, a bit breathless without even meaning to be.
He kicks a foot forward and feels it bump into Remus' under the table. Almost immediately, Remus
hooks his foot around Sirius' leg, sliding it up and down gently. "Are you insinuating I'm the best
you've ever had? Because I have to warn you, I've quite the ego already, and you're not helping."
Remus hums. "Well, Sirius, you're the only I've ever had, so don't let it go to your head."

"What?" Sirius goes still, not even blinking. "Are you serious?"

"No," Remus says, "you are."

"I—I—but that's—" Sirius sucks in a sharp breath and all but launches himself out of his seat to
slip around the table and slide in next to Remus, pressing in so close that their noses nearly bump.
Remus doesn't lean away or back down, just staring right at him, a sturdy line of heat up against
Sirius' side. "First, I can't believe you just made that joke. Everyone hates when I make that joke. It
was very sexy to me that you just made that joke with a straight face."

"Was it?" Remus murmurs, a laugh trembling in his tone, his eyes bright with dancing humor.

"Second," Sirius continues, "I need to know if you were joking. It's very important to me to know."

"I wasn't joking, no," Remus tells him with no shame whatsoever. He shrugs. "Why is it very
important? Does it actually matter?"

"You've never—"

"No. I've dated people. Kissed people. Nothing else, though. Never really got around to it, and it
didn't—feel right with them, so I just...didn't."

Sirius exhales slowly and reaches up to push a lock of Remus' hair behind his ear. "It felt right with
me, then?"

"Obviously, or I wouldn't have done it," Remus informs him, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, Moony. Moony, Moony, Moony," Sirius mumbles, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He
shakes his head, flicking his gaze over Remus' face. "I'm going to treat you so well, you have no
idea. Won't you let me?"
Remus' lips twitch. "I'm not stopping you."

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant." Sirius puffs out a soft laugh of awe and cups Remus' cheek, tilting
his chin up just a bit to kiss him. It's meant to be gentle, and it is at first, soft and slow and sweet—
and then Remus brushes his hand through Sirius' hair and bears down on him, pressing him back
against the booth to deepen the kiss.

Sirius isn't sure where he got off with the idea that he has any of the power here, because he
absolutely does not. When it comes to Remus, he feels quite weak, actually, helpless to do anything
but want him with an inexplicable desperation that would be embarrassing if Remus seemed to
mind.

He opens up to Remus in every way he knows how, eager for it, and it's baffling how the world
melts away until all that's left is Remus. Sirius is dizzy with it, making a small sound into Remus'
mouth as he crowds in closer, aching to be closer, practically wanting to open him up and crawl
inside and never come back out again. Remus' mouth is hot and inviting, and Sirius clutches at
him, raising up with all intentions of getting right into Remus' lap—until his hip slams into the side
of the table, that is, and he breaks the kiss to yelp.

"Oh, are you alright?" Remus asks with a throaty chuckle, reaching down to cup Sirius' hip like he
can capture the pain in his palm and toss it aside.

Sirius melts into him with a sigh. "You, Remus Lupin, will surely be the death of me."

"Well, that's not at all the goal here," Remus says, ducking his head and sweeping Sirius' hair aside
to gently slide his mouth and teeth, open and wet and playfully sharp, along the line of Sirius'
neck.

"Mm, that's very—that's very nice." Sirius' eyes flutter shut, and he can't stop himself from tipping
his head to the side a bit, giving Remus more space. "You're relentless, you know that?"

"Are you complaining? Would you like me to stop?"

"Absolutely not."

Remus chuckles again, right against his skin. "That's what I thought."
"I did create a monster, didn't I?" Sirius laughs breathlessly and cups the back of Remus' neck. "A
dangerous creature, you are." Remus responds to this by catching Sirius' earlobe between his teeth,
nipping at it and tugging a bit, making Sirius release a sound high in his throat. "Oh, bloody hell.
Can we call this a date, Remus? Can this be a date, so I can take you home and—"

"I thought you wanted to be a gentleman," Remus teases, pulling back to smile at him, seeming
perfectly calm except for the flush on his face that betrays him. "It's not very honorable of you,
Sirius."

"I...might've backed myself in a corner with that one," Sirius admits weakly. "Like I said, you
make it difficult."

"I can play nice," Remus says, amused, and he eases back slowly until there's a bit of space
between them. "This can be a date, though, if you'd like."

"I'd like," Sirius blurts out, far too eager, not suave at all. No one in the world has ever flustered
him this much.

Remus' smile stretches into a full grin. "Alright. As far as first dates go, you're doing quite well."

"So are you," Sirius offers, leaning his head over on the booth as he gazes at Remus, happy to do
that all night. There's a low simmer of heat under his skin, a persistent desire, but it's just as nice to
sit here and be with Remus, to talk to him. "A classic date, then. Tell me, Moony, what's your
favorite color?"

"Black," Remus says instantly, then laughs warmly when Sirius grins. "It's a bit of an inside joke
with my best mate. You?"

"Well, I wear a lot of black."

"You do. It looks good."

"Like the leather, do you?"

 "It's working for me."

Sirius barks a laugh at the sheepish smile that lights up Remus' face. "Oh, have a thing for bad
boys, Moony?"

"Mm, I don't think there's anything bad about you, Padfoot," Remus replies lightly, and he's the one
who laughs when Sirius feels his face go hot.

"Shut up," Sirius says weakly. He reaches out to drag his hand over Remus' wool sleeve. "I like
this, you know. You always look so warm. You're beautiful."

Remus' face blooms with surprise, as if he didn't know, which is a tragedy. His eyes soften, and
then he bites down on his bottom lip for a moment before he murmurs, "Sirius, I should tell you,
I'm many things, but a gentleman isn't one of them."

"Oh?" Sirius rasps, his mouth dry.

"Not quite," Remus says softly, leaning in to press a startlingly tender kiss to Sirius cheek, before
speaking directly into Sirius' ear, low and rough. "We should go now, or else I might actually drag
you out."

"Right. Right, yes, let's—" Sirius almost trips in his haste to scramble out of his seat, breathless
from how quickly Remus slides out right behind him. "That's—yeah, sure, I'll just be a gentleman
on the next date."

"Of course," Remus says, and Sirius' heart flips over at the confirmation that there will be another.
He's smiling broadly as Remus catches his elbow and drags him to the door.

Chapter End Notes

I'll likely be posting every three to four days. Next up is James and Remus POV.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

why are they all so adorable?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James watches in amusement as Sirius slips back into the flat, pausing to melt back against the door
with a soft sigh. He's got this look about him, absolutely besotted. When he looks up and sees
James, his face turns red.

"You're back," Sirius says. "I thought you'd be longer."

"No, I made it quick. One of the employees was running late, so I felt bad about sticking around."
James goes for the kettle when it starts to whistle. "Besides, I'm going back later."

"Are you?"

"Mm, I've a date."

Sirius' eyebrows fly up. "You managed to get a date, then? With the mean barista you've been
banging on about?"

"I did." James grins at him. "And you? I heard you last night, you know. Got a bit loud there,
mate."

"Sorry. Couldn't exactly help it, if I'm honest." Sirius briefly looks enraptured, sighing dreamily
again.

James laughs, pouring them both a cup of tea. "Oh, you like this one."

"I've named him," Sirius says, easing away from the door with a broad grin. "I've declared him
Moony, because he's the moon to my stars, Prongs."
"To Moony, then," James announces cheerfully, passing Sirius a cup and delicately clinking them
together. They both take a sip at the same time, then glance at each other and release a snort in
perfect sync. "God, we're posh."

Sirius sighs. "It's a curse."

"That it is, Padfoot, that it is." James pops his pinky finger and winks when Sirius barks a laugh.
"Come, good sir, join me in my grand drawing room."

"Oh, of course. After you, Mr. Potter," Sirius replies, sticking his nose up in the air and waving a
hand lazily, his voice taking on a snooty tone.

"So, this Moony," James says once they've both dropped the act and sprawled lazily on the sofa.
"Tell me about him. Is it serious—"

"No, I'm—"

"Don't."

"Oh, alright." Sirius rolls his eyes. "Yes, fine, I'm—I'm quite invested in him. We're dating. Only
had the one, but we're planning the second on his next day off."

James' face splits into a smile. "Excellent, Sirius! That's good, I'd say. You haven't dated anyone
since...what, Kingsley, back in school? It's been years, in any case."

"Oi! I've been with—"

"Yes, but that was just shagging, which is nothing to be ashamed of at all, of course. Dating,
however—well, you're always a bit careful with your heart and the like."

"Not everyone's a romantic like you, James."

"More's the pity."

Sirius snorts. "Yeah, maybe, but… I don't know, mate. Just didn't really stand a chance with this
one. Do you know what I mean? You meet someone, and it's like…"

"Oh, I know," James assures him, because he does. He's only had it happen to him twice in his life,
but they were both impressionable enough that he'd never forget.

The first time was with Lily Evans, who he'd wholeheartedly expected to one day marry. Of
course, for the first five years of knowing her, that was just him being delusional, as she'd had no
interest in ever becoming his wife. Things had changed in the next few years, but James had ended
up learning a rather painful lesson. Sometimes, life will put you in front of a person who has hands
shaped to your heart, but that doesn't mean they'll want to hold onto it. They'd been beautiful, him
and Lily, once they worked out that being friends was better for them both. Love is funny like that,
James supposes. It can take shape in the way you least expect.

The second time was three weeks ago, when he'd eased his glasses back on his face and Regulus
came into focus for the very first time. James had thought he'd stumbled for a moment, only to find
out that it was his heart, in his chest, doing the tripping. He'd just come in from a storm, seeking
shelter, and one look at Regulus made him feel like he'd come across yet another one, but the kind
you chase after. It was like Regulus cast out a lure, just a hook on some fishing line, unwittingly
aiming to catch the corner of James' mouth, except James swallowed the hook whole.

James has been chasing the storm ever since, the hook buried in his heart only wedging in deeper,
tugging relentlessly.

"Yeah, Padfoot, I know," James continues, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from
grinning. "I get it. So, he's the one, is he?"

"Oh, you know I don't believe in all that shit." Sirius scoffs, and then his face softens. "But, I
suppose if I did, yeah, I'd say he is. If I did believe in it, I mean. But I do not."

James chuckles. "Right. Yeah, I hear you, mate."

"He's just so…" Sirius holds up his hands and does something odd with his fingers, like he's
squeezing the air, trying to make shapes out of it. Eventually, he just gives up with a muffled groan
and dramatically flings himself across James' lap, his hair falling over his face. "You know?"
"Sure," James says mildly, smiling as he reaches down to gather Sirius' hair out of his face, gently
spilling it out over his leg. He starts carefully working a few of the tangles out, distantly amused to
realize that this Moony of his must've put them there pulling on his hair at some point.

Sirius watches him for a bit, clearly hesitating, and then he blows out a deep breath and says, "You
can—I just mean, if you wanted, you can talk to me about the mean barista."

"Oh, that's—well, I know, Sirius. I just…" James grimaces at the expression on Sirius' face. Trust
Sirius to understand.

Of course Sirius understands. The only other person who might get it would be Peter, but he'd
probably be too kind to bring it up. Not that Sirius isn't kind, because he certainly means well;
James just doesn't want to talk about it.

It's an odd thing to be insecure about, James knows, but he can't exactly help it. It's just that he
spent nearly seven years absolutely confident in the outcome of what he perceived as true love.
From his perspective, he was a boy working to get the girl of his dreams, truly in love, so of course
it would work out for him. And it had, until it hadn't. He was so sure, so sure, and he'd been
smacked with a healthy dose of reality that had left him feeling small and more unsure than he'd
ever been in his life.

He's less sure about these things now, for all that he hasn't given up on it. James can't shake off
how mortifying it had been when he'd had to quietly ask Peter and Sirius, not meeting their eyes, to
stop teasing him about what grand gesture he'd come up with next to win Evans back.

"I'm not winning her over," James had mumbled. "It isn't going to happen. Can we talk about
something else?"

He wouldn't say it defeated him, exactly, but heartbreak—even as necessary as it had been—has a
way of making one a bit more cautious.

"I'm just saying," Sirius insists gently. "It's alright to—to talk about it, be excited about it, have
some hope. I'm here for you, mate, if you want to."

James smiles at him a little helplessly, patting him on the top of his head. "Thank you. Maybe if—
if it goes well, and there's actually something to talk about, I will. Until then, though, you can help
me pick out what to wear later."

"Yeah, sure. Obviously you're wearing the blazer with the red trim," Sirius tells him, no-nonsense.
"Oh, and those trousers I like on you. They do fantastic things for your arse."

"You're going to have to be more specific, Padfoot. My arse is fantastic on its own."

"Sure, Prongs, keep telling yourself that."

They sprawl out on the sofa a bit longer, and it's good in a way James is quite sure he'll never find
in another person. He supposes, in a way, he's lied to himself in the soft curves in his own mind.
He'd claimed to have only felt that intense, instant knowing twice in his life, but that's not true,
because Sirius Black had been the very first—just in a very different way.

It's a love beyond love, a love beyond the love that so many crave, but everyone else in the world
is mad not to ache for something like this the same that they do for the one thing it isn't. See,
James Potter met Sirius Black at the awkward, fumbling age of eleven and felt something break
open his very bones and fuse together with this boy who had sleek hair and wide, playful eyes
eager for the world that James so desperately wanted to explore alongside him. He's learned that so
many things in this world aren't permanent, but Sirius? Well, Sirius Black is unshakeably,
inarguably forever.

If some people out there have hands that fit perfectly around his heart, then Sirius is the sinewy
muscle and clenching tunnel of which the blood flows, the very substance his heart is made from.
They'd even done it when they were kids, young and foolish and believing in magic, jaws held firm
around wild grins when they'd both fallen out of the same tree and scraped the same hands, and
they'd only needed to look at each other for one second before they were pressing their wounds
together in some parody of an old blood ritual that would bind them together always. No hesitation.
As wholeheartedly as they'd believed in such things at the time, neither of them had an ounce of
fear or trepidation that they'd be tied together forever, and they'd come out of it with sore palms and
mild disappointment that they couldn't read each other's minds.

James is quite sure that no matter who comes and goes, Sirius will always be there, and losing him
would probably just about kill him. It was never—well, people would speculate. Christ, Peter was
the worst about it. He'd catch them in bed together and squint and say are you two… and they'd
have to sigh and reply no, Pete, obviously not, how many times—

Their love was beyond that, too, despite the amount of people with heavy skepticism. They didn't
really get it, how two people could connect the way they do and have absolutely no desire to shag,
since they're not actually related. James and Sirius like that, though, getting to baffle the masses.
The only people who have never, not even for a second, doubted the structural makeup of their
relationship always was and likely will always be Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. Effie and Monty,
who never batted an eye about the level of their intimacy, as if it was perfectly normal. And it is,
because it couldn't possibly be anything else.

Sometimes, James thinks about how they're all made up of atoms and space matter bled from
creation, and he thinks that he and Sirius are made up of the same. Soul-deep content to be together
again.

All that said, James still nearly smothers Sirius with a pillow by the time he has to get ready, and
Sirius has waved away outfit after outfit with a heavy sigh before groaning and saying, rather
dramatically, "Good lord, Potter, have you no sense of style? Never wear those shoes again. How
did you even get them?"

"Dad gave them to me!" James squawks in offense.

"No offense to Monty—I love him dearly, I do—but those are the ugliest shoes I've ever seen.
Shove over, I'm diving back into the closet for you."

"Are you?"

"Don't make the joke."

"I would very much like to make the joke."

"I know you would," Sirius says, his snort muffled from within James' closet. After a few
moments, he emerges again with a different pair of shoes and that blazer he'd mentioned before, as
he was apparently not joking about it. "Go on, bring it all together. My expertise will not lead you
astray."

James gets dressed and then stands in front of his mirror, ruffling his hair with a frown. "I don't
know, Sirius."

"Just trust me, would you?" Sirius eyes him from where he's sprawled on James' bed. "You must
really like this one. I haven't seen you this nervous since—"
"You can talk about Lily," James says, exasperated. "We're friends. I've moved on."

"Yes, well, that's my whole point, isn't it?" Sirius waggles his eyebrows at him. "You've clearly
moved on. Fierce redheads are out. Mean baristas are in." Sirius grins at him and bounces up off
the bed to come clap him on the shoulder, shaking him just a bit. "Relax, James. If the mean
barista can't see how amazing you are, then the mean barista is an idiot, and on the bright side, you
will always have me."

"Yeah, alright," James breathes out, some of the tension seeping from his frame.

Sirius smacks an enthusiastic kiss to his temple, laughing, and shoves him gently to the door. "Go,
already. Go have a nice date. You don't want to be late."

"Thanks, mate." James lingers long enough to flash a chagrined smile at Sirius, and then he's out
the door.

James is a bit of a mess all the way to the shop, winding himself up the whole way, a tangled
mixture of nervousness and excitement that he can't quite figure out how to separate from each
other. His heart is racing by the time the shop comes into view, then it seems to skip a beat in his
chest when he sees Regulus and his handsome coworker talking heatedly a few paces away from
the door.

Regulus' handsome coworker is a good bit taller than Regulus, so he catches sight of James over
Regulus' head, his eyes crinkling when he smiles. "James!"

"Hi, Regulus' dashing coworker; hi, Regulus," James greets as he strolls over, hands stuffed in his
pockets.

"Dead," Regulus hisses to his coworker, who chuckles.

"Oh, sure. Well, I best be off. You two have fun. James, I expect you to be the perfect gentleman."
With a cheeky smile towards Regulus, he turns and starts off.

"Dead, Lupin!" Regulus calls after him.

Regulus' handsome coworker—Lupin, is it?—just throws up a hand to waggle his fingers, then
turns a corner and is gone.

James feels his heart turn over in his chest when Regulus stiffly turns towards him, expression
blank, almost cold. James has seen it thaw, though. The mystery of Regulus has its own draw, but
those moments where James gets to see the real him breathe through the cracks are his favorite.
He's so effortlessly beautiful, with his sharp eyes and sharp jaw, that it's maddening. He looks like
he should be made out of marble, carved from perfection, except James is so sure that he'd be soft
and warm to the touch. His fingers ache with the urge sometimes, like an old soreness that flares
when the storm of Regulus blows in, the impulse making his bones creak.

"Alright?" James asks softly. "I didn't interrupt an argument, did I? Seemed that way. Sorry."

"I'm going to kill him," Regulus says flatly.

James smiles. "So you two are friends, then? Not just coworkers? I sort of guessed, but…"

"He's my—" Regulus grimaces slightly. "My best friend, as loath as I am to admit it. As far as
close friends go, my options are limited. I hate everyone, you see, but him less than most."

"You know, somehow that makes sense," James muses, grinning when Regulus' mouth pinches a
little. "How long have you known him?"

"Three years," Regulus admits. "We met here at work, actually. Both started within the same week
as each other, and the rest of the staff had been here for years, so we were always put together for
everything. He was quiet, which I liked. Didn't try to talk to me, or anything like that."

"What changed?"

"Not very much, at first. We just sort of acknowledged each other, then there were two months
where we were put on different shifts, but by then we'd gotten so used to working together that
everyone else was just...disappointing. I went to request that we work together again, and when I
came out, he was there with the plan to make the same request. They put us back on the same shift,
and after that, we just started talking. Went out for drinks when we were bored enough. And then,
before I knew it, he knew me better than anyone else."
"That's actually really sweet," James tells him, and Regulus narrows his eyes before scoffing. "No,
it is. Sometimes people just—connect, you know?"

Regulus clicks his tongue. "No, we just enjoy making each other suffer, which is what he's doing
right now."

"Is he?" James blinks. "How's that?"

"James," Regulus grits out, "he's the one who agreed to this date. Not me. I had no intention of
saying yes to you. I'm only here because of him, and if I had my way, I would leave."

"Oh," James rasps, taking that like a direct hit right to the chest. He steps back, a little winded, and
he feels the bottom drop out from his stomach as he swallows harshly around the abrupt lump in
his throat. "I—I—yes, I...see that now. Right. I'm—I'll just—just leave you to it, then. Very sorry. I
—"

James starts backing up quickly, turning to go. He hears Regulus curse under his breath, and then a
firm hand catches his elbow and tugs him back around. James stops, because he feels small and
stupid and ridiculously hurt. Regulus is scowling at him, frustrated and beautiful.

"You didn't know?" Regulus asks.

"No. How would I know that?" James replies hoarsely.

"Well, I've never been particularly kind to you, have I?" Regulus challenges, mouth set into a
lovely frown.

James clears his throat. "I suppose I just assumed you were a bit mean, is all."

"And you still wanted to date me?" is the incredulous response, Regulus staring at him in
disbelief.
"I—ah, well, I like that." James can feel his cheeks getting hot. "Just, you know, I have a patterned
history of fancying people who will be rude to me. Don't...look too closely into that, please. I've
embarrassed myself enough for one day, I think."

"Alright, I'll take that in stride," Regulus says briskly, "but I find it a little hard to believe that
you're going to just, what, give up? After you spent three weeks coming in every day, being all
around relentless and persistent, you're going to walk away and leave it at that?"

"I wasn't being relentless, Regulus. I just liked seeing you every day," James murmurs, but he can
feel dread slowly drip, drip, dripping down his spine. "That's not—I didn't mean to be so—so—"
He swallows and takes another step back, feeling a bit nauseous. "I'm sorry. It was my mistake."

Regulus flicks his gaze over James' face and very carefully, very softly says, "You just liked seeing
me every day."

"Yes, but I can take a hint. Though, you were quite blunt about it. I suppose I should be grateful."

"James."

"I'll just go."

"Seriously?"

"Sorry, am I meant to be doing anything else?" James feels his shoulders slump. "You've made
yourself quite clear. You're acting as if there's some other option besides giving up. I know better
than to push; I know how to bow out, maybe not gracefully, but I've learned the basics."

"You should have waited for my answer," Regulus says.

James looks away. "Yes, I'm realizing that. Again, my mistake, and you have my apologies. I have
an awful habit of...making assumptions I obviously shouldn't. I'll, ah, leave you to it, and thank you
for—for brightening my day, Regulus."

"Oh, honestly," Regulus mutters with a deep sigh as James turns and starts striding away, still
feeling like the biggest fool in the world. He jolts when a hand slips into the crook of his elbow,
but he's not tugged around again, Regulus matching his stride. His face is blank when James peeks
at him. "Far be it from me to dull your shine, James. My answer is no, you can't take me on a date,
but—" His face twitches slightly, and there's a brief flicker of fear that pours through the cracks,
hidden quickly. "But I will take you on one."

"I'd rather do without the pity, thank you."

"Oh, don't whine."

"You obviously don't want to, Regulus," James says quietly, looking down at his shoes.

Regulus jerks on him sharply, snatching him to a halt, and he pins a glare on him that perhaps
steals all the breath in his lungs a little bit. "I don't do anything I don't want to, not for a long time.
Never again insinuate that I do."

"Okay," James croaks. "Sorry."

"Good," Regulus says firmly, then tugs him back into walking again. He keeps his hand tucked
into James' elbow.

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever I decide. Is that alright?"

James huffs a weak laugh and thinks, and knows, I'd follow you anywhere. "Yes, fine. I do like
surprises."

"Do you?" Regulus glances at him, startled. "I didn't get that from you at all. I assumed the
opposite."

"Oh. No, I love surprises."

"So, why—"

"What?" James asks, gaze darting forward and then back to trace Regulus' features over and over.

Regulus makes a complicated expression, agitated, and then he heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes.
The motion is so familiar that James blinks, but he can't place who it reminds him of. "It's been—I
can't work it out. Why you do it. Why you coordinate your pastries to the color of your shirts."

"Oh, that?" James chuckles, pleased with the implication that Regulus has been thinking about him,
enough to wonder about that, at least. "Yeah, it's for the spontaneity."

"The spontaneity," Regulus repeats flatly. He tilts his chin up and to the side to narrow his eyes at
James. "In what possible way could that be spontaneous? That's—James, that's a routine. A pattern.
There's nothing spontaneous about it."

James grins at him. "No, not at all. You see, by the time the next morning rolls around, I've already
forgotten the little rule I've made, and it's not as if I pay much attention to what I'm throwing on
that early in the morning. So, when I get to the shop and realize I'm going to have to pick a pastry,
maybe with a queue of people behind me, which always makes me a bit anxious—well, I
remember my rule, look down at my shirt, and surprise! See? Spontaneity."

"You are absolutely ridiculous," Regulus declares, but there's something a bit softer about his eyes.

"You're the one taking me on a date," James points out, feeling less stupid by the minute. In fact,
he's beaming.

Regulus hums. "Yes, which is a problem."

"Er, why?"

"I don't date."

"Er, why?"
"I have my reasons."

James chews that over in his mind for a long time, trying to make sense of it. Regulus is confusing,
a contradiction, and he's a mess of mixed signals that James wants to pull apart until he can see the
center. He doesn't really know what it all means, because if Regulus doesn't date, if he has his
reasons for not dating, then why is he doing this with James now?

He said he doesn't do anything he doesn't want to, so that means he wants to, except he also said he
had no intentions of agreeing to date James at all. If he wants to, why wouldn't he? If he doesn't
date, then why is he?

Trying to gather his wits and figure out a way to say all of this, James almost misses it when
Regulus gently pulls on his arm and leads him confidently into a building. James follows, of
course, curiously looking around the lobby until he's led up a slightly shabby staircase, up two
floors where Regulus goes right to a door and pulls out a set of keys.

James blinks. "This—is this your flat?"

"Yes," Regulus says calmly, blandly, and pushes open the door to tug James inside, dropping his
arm. He flicks on a lamp and shrugs out of his coat, neatly hanging it on a rack by the door.

"You've brought me to your flat," James says, cautious, his gaze darting around helplessly. The
place is a pleasant surprise, both what James would expect, and also what he wouldn't. It's tidy in
certain places—the pillows organized on the sofa, the art pieces perfectly straight on the walls, the
stand for the telly without a speck of dust. It's also a bit messy in other places—the desk in the
corner covered in strewn papers and an open laptop, a fleece blanket thrown casually over the back
of a chair, an empty tea cup left sitting out on the coffee table in front of the sofa. There's a tall
bookshelf packed with books, all organized from large to small, then small to large on the next
level down, then alternating so it looks like a winding staircase.

"I have," Regulus agrees, turning to head into the kitchen. James shuffles behind him. "No need to
sound so worried."

"It's just—I mean, is that safe?" James blurts out. Can't help it. The words just spring forward. "I
could—I could be anyone, really. What if I turned out to be some kind of stalker, or a serial killer,
or—"
"James." Regulus glances over his shoulder, and his lips actually twitch a little, a mere impression
of a smile. Oh, he's so lovely. So very lovely. "Sit down, would you? If you do plan to kill me, at
least wait until we've had a meal."

"You're cooking?" James asks, interest peaked. He moves over to the counter and sits in one of the
stools, leaning forward on his elbows to watch Regulus casually move around with the ease of
someone who knows exactly what they're doing.

"Mhm."

"For our date?"

Regulus cuts him a look again, then hums. "Yes. Any objections?"

"No," James says quickly, too quickly, far too earnest.

"I could poison you, you know," Regulus tells him, that hidden smile tucked at the corner of his
mouth.

James is always so helplessly charmed by it. He can't stop himself from pouring himself out over
the counter a bit, feeling warm down to his toes. "Only one way to find out, I suppose. Is there
anything I can do to help?"

"No."

"Do you like it? Cooking, I mean."

"I like the independence of it," Regulus murmurs. He pauses, ducking his head as he turns on the
stove. "Do you have any allergies, James?"

"Bees," James rattles off immediately. "That's all. You?"

"Shrimp."

"Oh, I rather like shrimp. What are you making?"

"Chicken Basquaise."

"Never had it."

"Mm, it's French," Regulus says, glancing back at him again. He keeps doing that, and honestly, it's
starting to go to James' head just a bit. It's as if he can't help it.

James smiles at him, and Regulus quickly looks away. "God, I thought I was posh. I'm in the
presence of a cultured man."

"James, I go to school for the culinary arts," Regulus says, looking at him again just to arch an
eyebrow.

"Oh. Really? That's brilliant, Regulus," James blurts out, perking up at the new information. "So—
so, cooking is actually important to you, then. Do you want to be a chef? Open up your own
restaurant someday?"

Regulus nods carefully, pausing long enough to roll up his sleeves, his hands sure and nimble as he
gets started. "Yes, that's the plan. What's yours?"

"My plan?"

"Mhm."

"I'm going for counseling, specifically for helping at-risk children of all ages in—or coming out of
—abusive homes, hopefully to either encourage them to open up and get out, or help them
acclimate once they have. I'd be doing evaluations, having one-on-ones with the children that have
open cases, things such as that. I can't—obviously I know I can't save them all, but if I save even
one, if I…" James trails off, staring down at his hands. He clears his throat. "Anyway, I—"
"It's important to you," Regulus cuts in, staring right at him, even as he uses his knife to cut
peppers neatly.

James nods just once, sharp. "Yes, it is."

"Because of personal experience?" Regulus asks.

"In a way." James blows out a deep breath. "Not—I mean, my parents are lovely. Someone else in
my life came from a very bad home. For a lot of years, I couldn't help him. I didn't know how, and
I felt so...useless."

"Sometimes there's nothing you can do but wait for them to help themselves," Regulus says softly,
turning back around, and he doesn't look back after that.

They still chat, moving on to lighter topics. James talks a bit about his parents, unable to stop
himself from singing their praises, earning a laugh when he says he looks just like his mother,
except for his hair—he has his father's hair. He heard that often growing up, and still does every
once in a while, but people are always quick to tell him you look so much like your mother, except
your hair; you have your father's hair.

Regulus doesn't mention his family at all, and James isn't that surprised when he slides the
conversation along with ease, as if he has a lot of practice avoiding the subject. James knows all
about that; Sirius is quite skilled at that as well, when it comes to his family. So, James moves
along, watching Regulus in his element, fascinated by the way he moves while he cooks, effortless
and precise and confident, almost like a dance.

They get to know each other, bit-by-bit, but James is all too aware that Regulus gives very little
away. Learning what little he does feels like an achievement, and he's riding the high of it, pliant
and pleased when Regulus waves him off to go sit at the table. He smiles broadly when Regulus
brings over two plates, sitting one down in front of him, then sweeps off to grab two wine glasses
and a bottle of wine to carry over.

"You know, I'm feeling a bit spoiled," James admits, amused, watching as Regulus pours them
both some wine.

Regulus flicks his gaze up as he sits the bottle down. "You should. No one's ever had anything I've
cooked before."

"What?" James' smile falters. "No one?"

"I don't cook for people. It's—cooking is fairly new in my life, comparatively, and it's...personal."
Regulus' blank expression fractures just a bit, just enough for James to realize he's nervous. "You're
the first person other than myself who will ever eat my food."

"Oh," James breathes out, feeling a sudden burst of warmth in his chest, and then he's beaming so
hard his face hurts.

"Don't do that. Don't—look like that," Regulus mutters, not quite meeting James' eyes as he sits
down.

"I feel special."

"Don't."

"But I do."

"Well, you're not.

James laughs softly and picks up his fork. "You've basically just said the opposite right before, and
that seems a bit more true, honestly, so I'm going to believe that instead. Thank you, by the way.
That—this means a lot. I'm honored."

"Shut up and eat, James," Regulus says with a huff.

"Yeah, alright." James ducks his head to hide his grin and carefully takes his first bite, slow about
it, because he really is honored. The first burst of flavor on his tongue has him nearly dropping his
fork, a muffled moan trapped in his mouth as he chews with increasing enthusiasm. It's good. It's
really, very good. Absurdly good. Fine-dining type of good. His eyes flutter shut and he thinks,
helplessly, oh, the way to the heart is truly through the stomach, because he's found it, he has it, oh
god.
When James swallows, he instantly mourns the taste; when he opens his eyes again, Regulus is
staring right at him, his gaze sharp and focused and dark, his fingers gripping his own fork so hard
that his knuckles are bloodless-white. His voice is lower than normal when he roughly says,
"Good?"

"Regulus."

"Yes?"

"Regulus," James emphasizes, breathless.

"What?" Regulus snaps.

"You're lovely, you're so lovely, but you're doing a terrible disservice to the world, to so many
people, by denying them your culinary skills," James says in a rush. "I pity everyone else. I pity
them all. You must cook for more people, if that's something you'd like to do, and you must never
cook for anyone else because I will be terribly jealous. It's not just good; it's better than good,
Regulus."

"You're being dramatic," Regulus says, but for the very first time, there's a steady flush seeping
into his cheeks, leaving him rose-ruddy and bright-eyed.

James shakes his head. "I'm truly not. If you believe nothing else I've ever said to you, please
believe that."

"I do," Regulus murmurs. "I do believe you."

"So good," James says yet again, going right back to eating, because honestly, he's not wasting one
bite.

It's obvious to James that cooking is Regulus' passion. With good reason, too, as the food is
genuinely a marvel. Honestly, it's actually a bit difficult to tear himself away from the meal long
enough to have much of a conversation. Even when he gets full, he finds himself irritated that he
has, like he wishes he had extra room to have more. He's finished it all, but that's hardly the point.
Once done, however, he nurses the wine, which is quite good, and then dives back into
conversation with fervor while Regulus finishes eating.

This discussion is a bit of fun, because Regulus gets caught up in it. Just talking about what he's
cooked, what's his favorite thing to cook, what's his least favorite—the whole topic seems to reach
out and grip him, bringing lingering light to his eyes, cracking open his expression into excitement
in a way that suggests he can't help it. James all but melts, feeling warm and syrupy and sated. He
thinks he could listen to Regulus get enthusiastic about spices for the rest of his life.

"I—what?" Regulus falters abruptly in the middle of gesturing broadly with his hand, his elbow
nearly in his empty plate, the sparkle in his eyes dimming with confusion. "What is it? Why are
you looking at me like that?"

"You're beautiful when you're happy," James tells him, and it's like someone sliced Regulus open a
little, because he sort of just...deflates. James sighs. "Sorry, you're always beautiful, but it's nice to
see you care that much about cooking, is all."

Regulus gazes at him, and then he clenches his jaw before suddenly pushing to his feet. He gathers
the bottle of wine, his empty plate and glass, then comes back to stretch out from as far away as he
can get as he grabs James' plate and glass. James darts out a hand to catch his wrist, and Regulus'
gaze snaps to him with that cold intensity that makes James' skin prickle.

"What did I say about not touching people without permission?" Regulus asks.

"Shit. Sorry," James says reflexively, quickly dropping Regulus' wrist, clearing his throat. "I just—
I—er, do you...maybe want some help? I'll—I can rinse and dry, maybe?"

Regulus does that thing where he gets softer around the edges, a little hazy. His voice has warmed
up a bit with something like exasperation when he says, "Yes, James, you can come help me clean
up."

"Brilliant," James chirps, popping up instantly.

"Christ," Regulus says under his breath, huffing out a soft there-and-gone puff of laughter as he
shakes his head and leads James back to the kitchen.
They're quiet as they work beside each other, but James likes this kind of quiet. It's not really quiet
at all—with background noises like water running from the tap, the clanking of dishes, the shuffle
of shoes on linoleum. It's not the kind of empty quiet with carved out spaces that James is always
compelled to fill, anxious and oversensitive to the silence, feeling like he'll come out of his skin if
it's just more of nothing, nothing, nothing. Instead, this is a busy kind of silence, warm and full,
something he can feel settling into his bones.

James doesn't feel the need to break it, and he's not the one who does, surprisingly.

"I want to ask you a question," Regulus says. "You're not going to want to answer it."

"Is that right?" James glances over at him, their elbows nearly brushing. "Why's that?"

"It's not a very nice question. It'll bring you discomfort."

"Oh, that's promising. Yeah, alright, but if I answer it, you have to make me feel special again."

"And how do you propose I do that?" Regulus asks, arching an eyebrow at him.

James shrugs. "Up to you. I'm sure you'll think of something, being as creative as you are. Use
words, or don't."

"Yes, okay."

"Then you have yourself a deal. Ask away."

"Shouldn't make deals with the devil, James." Regulus passes him the last dish and drains the
water, flicking soap from his fingers. He dabs his hands with a tea towel and turns to the side,
leaning his hip against the counter as he regards James with curiosity. "What's the worst thing
you've ever done?"

"Sorry?" James nearly drops the last plate, his fingers spasming. Regulus was right; that does bring
him a great deal of discomfort. "That's your question?"
"It is."

"This is a date. I'm trying to make a good impression, not send you running."

"I sincerely doubt that this is as dramatic as you're making it out to be. I find it hard to believe that
your worst is far behind my best, so if that's meant to send me running, why aren't you fleeing right
now?" Regulus challenges.

James presses his lips into a thin line and looks away, finishing with the last dish. He stands there
for a bit, face scrunched into a grimace, and then he sighs. "Alright, sure. Just remember that you
asked."

"I did."

"When I was fifteen, I wanted to murder some people."

Regulus blinks at him. He's silent for a long beat, and James helplessly peeks at him through his
eyelashes, his stomach squirming and tying itself into knots. "Okay, I can honestly say I didn't see
that coming. You have my attention. Go on."

"Do you remember me telling you about that person in my life who came from an abusive home?"

"Yes."

"He—he came to us in bad shape. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Physically, he's recovered;
mentally and emotionally, I suspect he'll always have to struggle. But that night… Like I said, I felt
useless. It was—it was really bad, and I was scared, and I just—" James stares forward, licking his
lips nervously. "I remember staying awake all night, even after he fell asleep, and I stayed with
him. I held his hand. I looked at him, and I thought: I'll kill them all. And it wasn't—it wasn't just
some...burst of anger, you know? It wasn't just a passing thought in the height of emotion. It was…
I wanted to."

"James," Regulus says softly, but James can't stop.

"I really wanted to, Regulus. The whole family. Every person who was there that night, who ever
made him feel like he was less than he was, and I didn't know any of them. Complete strangers,
and I wanted to—" James shakes his head and roughly jams a hand up under his glasses to knuckle
at his right eye. "Like I said, it wasn't just anger. Not the kind where you lash out and come down,
I mean. It was calculating. I sat there all night and—and thought about it, in detail. My mum came
in and looked at me, and I don't know what it was on my face, but she wouldn't let me leave the
house for the next few days. It scared me that I could feel like that. It's not—you know, I was just a
child, but I—I actually felt it. And, to feel it like that, you can't even imagine what—what—"

"I don't have to," Regulus cuts in, his hand reaching out to land on James' arm, drawing his wary
gaze. "James, I don't have to imagine it. I know what you mean, and chances are, your friend from
the abusive home? He does, too." He holds James' gaze, significance in the set of his mouth. "Take
it from me, it's a common reaction."

James' stomach all but drops out from underneath him. He'd suspected—and he would, knowing
the signs, learning to spot them. Having the conformation still stings. He wants to bundle Regulus
up and take him far away from here, take him somewhere safe for a long time. "I'm—I'm a bit
protective, you could say. And also...possessive of the people I've decided are mine. I don't mean
to be that way, I just—I don't know why it happens, but something in me just latches on every time,
and it's like they're mine, that's mine, I'll keep them safe and make them happy and never let
anything hurt them, except I can't always control that, and it makes me—it makes me so—"

"You think that's a bad quality? Caring so much?"

"I can be—overbearing."

Regulus' lips twitch. "I should have known. Even your worst is better than my best."

"What's your best?"

"I was brave. Once."

"Only the once?" James asks.

"Yes," Regulus answers bluntly.

James searches his gaze. "You left your home."

"I did," Regulus confirms.

"Regulus…" James chews on his bottom lip. He has this crawling desire to do more, to do
something that will release this itch under his skin. He feels jittery. "The thing is, that bravery
extends for the rest of your life. It's not just one act of courage. Leaving was brave, and living
every day after is still brave. Standing right here, right now, is brave. Your best—I would say
you're doing your best every day."

Regulus' fingers clamp down on his arm, tight on his sleeve, and his expression is cracked open,
raw, vulnerable. His lips part around a sharp exhale, as if his very breath has been snatched from
his lungs, and his sharp eyes are as soft as they are wide. He's so heartbreakingly lovely.

"James," Regulus whispers, and then again, with something more urgent underneath, "James."

"Yeah?" James breathes out.

"I'm going to make you feel special now."

"Alright."

Regulus swallows and rasps, "This is a bad idea. You are a bad idea. Dating you is a bad idea."

"I've worked out that you feel that way for myself, thanks. I won't lie, I don't feel very special right
now," James mumbles.

"It's a bad idea," Regulus repeats, sucking in a short breath, his fingers flexing on James' arm, "but
I'm quite sure that I'm going to do it anyway."

James exhales shakily, almost a laugh, immediately feeling lighter as a rush of delight whips
through him like a storm. He's elated by it, only just managing to stay still, clamping down on his
bottom lip to try smothering his grin.

"Stop smiling," Regulus mutters.

"Sorry," James says, smiling harder.

"You need to go," Regulus tells him, his fingers squeezing briefly before he drops them back to his
own side, curling into a fist, "before I do something stupid."

James doesn't move. "Please do something stupid."

"No. That would be uncharacteristic of me."

"Right. Can I do something stupid, then?"

"James," Regulus says, a warning.

"Regulus," James replies, swaying closer. He waits for Regulus to back up or shove him away, but
Regulus' eyes flutter shut, and the column of his throat rises and falls. James crowds in closer, the
hook in his heart reeling him in until he's got Regulus boxed in at the counter, nearly touching. He's
dizzy from the proximity, practically vibrating. "Can I kiss you?"

Regulus seems to hold his breath for a long moment, because it eventually bursts out of him, and he
croaks, "Best not."

"Right," James murmurs, forcing himself to rein it in, blinking hard as he pulls back.

"You never ask the right questions," Regulus tells him, eyes opening slowly, pupils large, mouth
wet from his tongue.

James is struggling with where to look, his gaze bouncing all over Regulus' face, and it takes him a
long moment to get what it is exactly that Regulus means. His mind sputters back to life, and he
asks, "Do you want me to kiss you?"
"Yes," Regulus answers promptly.

"Will you let me if I try?"

"Yes."

"But you've told me not to."

"I know."

"You are so…" James huffs out a fond laugh, shaking his head.

Regulus smiles. It's small, and gone in a flash, but for one brilliant second, it's there. James wants
to touch his mouth to it, taste it, capture it between his teeth. "Yes, I know."

"Alright, well, I suppose I'll just have to find the safe in-between for us," James murmurs. He steps
closer again, holding Regulus' gaze for any sign of refusal. "I'm going to kiss you somewhere else.
Is that alright?"

"Where?"

"A surprise."

"I don't like those."

"Bully for you, because I do. You can always say no. I'll always respect a no."

"I—" Regulus visibly wavers, frustrated, then he huffs and tilts his face up. "Yes, it's alright."
James smiles softly, pleased, and he ducks in quickly to press a tender kiss to Regulus' forehead,
reaching up to swipe his hand gently over Regulus' hair. It's soft. So soft. Regulus' skin is warm
under James' mouth, and he sways harder into the pressure of the kiss, almost melting against
James.

The kiss breaks slowly, and James is even slower to pull away, because Regulus is leaning into
him, close and warm. He does eventually back off, gifted with the lovely sight of Regulus blushing.
With a grin, he says, "I'll be off now. This was lovely, Regulus, thank you. I'll see you tomorrow
morning."

"Yeah, see you," Regulus replies, and his voice is weak, so weak that it cracks a little bit in his
throat. His face glows brighter, and James grins all the way out the door.

"How was it?"

"Don't talk to me."

"Regulus," Remus says, barely holding in a laugh.

"Go away. You're dead to me until I've decided otherwise. Don't talk to me for the rest of the day,"
Regulus says.

Remus snorts. "You're so bloody dramatic. Alright, fine, let me know when you're over your
strop."

Regulus just ignores him, so Remus rolls his eyes and starts stocking the condiment display. The
thing about Regulus is, for all his secrets, he never fails to let you know how he feels about you. If
he's angry with you, he makes sure you know. If he likes you, well, that's sort of obvious because
he doesn't like anyone, really. He just tolerates most people.

Remus supposes that's why they got on so well. He likes that there's no guessing with Regulus. He
was never good at making friends, growing up as lonely as he did, and so Regulus' bluntness was a
breath of fresh air. Remus appreciates that he won't have to think in circles, anxiously wondering
about Regulus' emotional state towards him.
It also helps that Remus is very aware that Regulus actually does like him, as he genuinely doesn't
like most, but Remus is an exception for some reason. He's not really sure what he did to make
Regulus like him, but it became quite clear that he did once he actively started speaking to him of
his own free will, seeking him out, then eventually declaring one day—whilst thoroughly drunk; he
always gets sweet when he's drunk—that Remus was the best friend he's ever had.

It was at that moment that Remus realized that Regulus was the best friend he's ever had. From
that point on, they were two miserable sods making their way, bruised and grumbling, through the
world with a simple, unshakeable bond between them. It was nice. It still is nice.

It's just that Remus worries about Regulus quite a bit, which he cannot say to Regulus, because
doing so would just earn him an eye-roll and a scoff. He can't help it, though. Regulus is locked up
as tight as a vault, and while he has no qualms about sticking his nose into Remus' business, he
struggles to open up even a little bit and let Remus into his.

Sometimes, Remus worries that Regulus is lonely being like that. He'd know, as he's much of the
same himself, and it is a very lonely life to lead. But, as he's worked out for himself, getting out of
that comfort zone of safety can be good. So, yes, he nudged Regulus into a date with James, who
seems upbeat and kind, who clearly fancies Regulus a lot. He doesn't regret it, so long as it didn't
go too terribly.

Besides, Regulus is the one who urged him to reach out to Sirius again, and Remus is forever
grateful that he did. He had no plans to, honestly, even if he was thinking about him incessantly.
He was too unsure. Reaching out to Sirius was very different than a spontaneous meeting in a
bookshop, followed by relaxing into a few drinks, then letting himself stumble into the rush and
free fall of doing something he never had and likely never would for anyone else. But Sirius? Oh,
Remus never stood a chance.

Speaking of Sirius, Remus wants to call him and ask if they can do something today, after his shift.
Not a second date, really; that's already planned. Remus just wants to see him again. It's a bit
pathetic, and he keeps talking himself out of it, but Regulus is currently sporting that icy demeanor
of his, so Remus finds himself trying to warm up in the back.

He paces for a bit, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip, tapping his thumb to the side of his
phone. He hovers his finger over Sirius' name in his phone so long that the screen goes dark, then
he cringes at his own ridiculousness and forces himself to make the call. It's two rings in when
remembers how early it is, so the chances of Sirius answering are—

"Bugger off," Sirius growls into the phone, his voice rough with sleep in a way that makes Remus'
heart pick up speed.

"Well, good morning to you, too," Remus says reflexively, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

There's a choking noise down the line, like Sirius just accidentally swallowed his own spit, and
then frantic rustling followed by a hastily blurted, "Remus? Oh, fuck, I didn't—I hadn't looked at
the screen when I—" He makes a rough sound, sort of pitiful. "I had no idea it was you."

"Oh? I just assumed that's how you greeted everyone."

"Most of them, yeah, if they wake me up. Not you, though. I'm always happy to talk to you,
Moony, no matter the time."

"Ah, so I get special treatment?" Remus asks, smiling.

"Of course," Sirius replies.

Remus chuckles and tips his head back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling a bit like a teenager with a
crush. He never was the teenager to have a crush, and to be honest, it's a mortifying ordeal. "Yes,
well, my best friend is angry with me, so I'm distracting myself until we open the shop."

"Why is your best friend angry with you?"

"I set him up on a date."

"Playing matchmaker, are you?"

"Suppose so. That's a bit awful, isn't it? I just worry that he's lonely, I think, and the bloke is really
sweet. And fit."

"Getting a bit jealous here," Sirius says, amused. "If it helps at all, I don't think it's awful. Your
intentions were good, if nothing else. That has to count for something."
"Maybe," Remus murmurs. "In any case, he has sentenced me to a cold shoulder until the end of
our shift, which is never fun. He hasn't done that since I accidentally spilled coffee on his favorite
shirt."

Sirius snorts. "No offense, but he sounds a bit—fussy, your best mate. Dramatic, I mean."

"You have no idea," Remus admits, "and you also have no room to judge. You're quite dramatic
yourself."

"I will have you know—"

"I want to see you."

"What?" Sirius has lost the haughty tone entirely, and now he sounds a bit thin, breathless. "Right
now? Okay, I'll come."

Remus grins helplessly. "Not right this second, Padfoot, it's fine. After my shift, I mean. We can—
well, it can just be date one-and-a-half, if that's alright with you."

"Yes, it's alright. It's brilliant," Sirius says quickly, eagerly, and then he pauses. "That
was...embarrassing."

"A bit, yeah."

"Piss off. You miss me."

"A bit, yeah," Remus repeats, softer this time, more honest.

Sirius blows out a deep breath through the phone, then laughs warmly, sounding utterly delighted
as he says, "You're doing wonderful things for my ego, Remus."
"I aim to please," Remus says dryly.

"You know," Sirius muses thoughtfully, "I could come meet you at our pub, then take you for a
ride on my motorbike."

Remus turns and presses his forehead against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He sounds strained,
a bit strangled, when he chokes out, "You've a motorbike?"

"Hm? Yeah."

"Of course you do."

"Are you alright, Remus?" Sirius asks, genuinely asking. "You sound a bit off."

"Yes, you absolutely have to take me for a ride on your motorbike," Remus breathes out.

There's a beat. When Sirius speaks, he sounds curious and also amused. "Moony, is it riling you up
that I have a motorbike?"

"A bit, yeah," Remus says once more, his voice weak, and Sirius immediately bursts out laughing.

"Alright. That's what we'll do, then," Sirius says, once he isn't laughing anymore. "What time?"

"I'm off at three, and if I'm done getting the cold shoulder by then, I'm going to try to convince my
best mate to come get something to eat with me. Should be free to meet you between five and six.
How's that?"

"Perfect."

"I should get back. Sorry for waking you up."

"Do not apologize. You've made my whole day."

Remus smiles down at his shoes, pushing away from the wall, his face prickling with heat. "Then
I'm not sorry. Glad to do it, Sirius. I'll see you."

"See you," Sirius replies, and hangs up.

For a second, Remus can only stand there and grin like an idiot, then he tries to fix his face into
something contrite before pushing his way back to the front. It's still a few minutes out from when
they need to open, but Remus comes to a screeching halt when he sees that James is already inside,
leaning up against the counter while Regulus leans up against the till on the opposite side.

There's already a drink and a croissant on the counter—Remus briefly wonders what James is
wearing that means he gets a croissant; Regulus obviously knows, which is hilarious because he'll
look at a regular who they've been serving for three years that gets plain coffee every day and not
know their order, so he's not fooling anyone with knowing exactly what James gets. In any case,
James is smiling warmly, having eyes only for Regulus, and Remus can see Regulus fiddling with
the stapler in front of the till away from prying eyes, a sign of nerves.

Ah, so it was a good date, then. Remus can't help the bolt of satisfaction that shoots down his
spine. He gives himself a mental pat on the back and strolls forward, likely radiating how smug he
feels.

"Oh! Good morning, Regulus' dashing coworker and best friend, Lupin," James greets as soon as he
sees him, clearly pleased with himself for obtaining the new information.

Remus honestly doesn't have the heart to spoil it for him. Regulus usually refers to the last name
when he's annoyed with him, so it makes sense. Still, "Aw, you told him I'm your best friend?
Regulus."

"I'm reconsidering," Regulus grits out.

"Mhm." Remus chuckles and looks at James. "Good morning, James. Did you enjoy taking
Regulus on a date?"

"Oh, well, I didn't," James says cheerfully. "Actually, he's the one who—ow!" James frowns and
rubs his arm where Regulus pinched him, pouting about it. "What was that for?"

Regulus says, "We're not talking to him today."

"We're not?"

"No."

James chews on a smile, sheepish, and then he laughs and shakes his head. "I wasn't aware we
were doing things together, you and I."

"We're doing this," Regulus says icily.

"Sure, but—well, I feel like I'm betraying him a bit," James admits, glancing over at Remus with
his eyes crinkling happily behind his glasses.

"You hardly know him." Regulus scowls.

"A shame, that. But, you know, I have been talking to him a bit these last three weeks, almost as
much as you."

"Oh, did you come in to see him every day, then? Actually, why didn't you ask him out?"

"No offense to him, because he's absolutely dashing, really makes me want to swoon, but he's not
exactly you, is he?" James grins and raises his eyebrows, looking right at Regulus with such
fondness that Remus sort of feels a bit envious in an odd way, and great, he misses Sirius all over
again.

Regulus does something that Remus has never seen in the three years they've known each other; he
blushes. Outside of the way his face flushes when it's hot, or he's had a few drinks, Remus has
never seen Regulus blush, especially not in response to something someone has said to him. Remus
has to do a double-take, his eyebrows flying up.
"You know, don't even worry about it," Remus says slowly, laughing a little helplessly. "I'll make
it easy for you, James, and leave you two alone."

Remus goes right back into the back, digging his cell out to text Sirius. I think I got my best friend a
boyfriend.

Not even three minutes later, Sirius messages back. That's because you're brilliant. A dangerous,
scary, lovely mastermind. Everyone should fear you and your schemes, but they don't because
they're fools who think you are innocent and sweet.

Aren't I?

Oh, absolutely. I'm a fool, too. I've fallen prey to your charms.

Your mistake.

I know. I'm utterly hopeless. Now, you should put your mind to doing what you've done for your
best friend for yourself.

I thought I already had, Remus replies, and it takes him at least two minutes to actually send it. He
puts his phone facedown and paces for a few minutes, then forces himself to stop when he realizes
how ridiculous it is. When he picks the phone back up, his heart is racing stupidly in his chest.

I can't believe you've done this.

I'll kill him.

Who is he? :(

Don't be a twat, Sirius.

Obviously it's you.

Sirius takes his time replying, which makes Remus pace again and glare at his phone. And then:
Always two steps ahead, aren't you, Moony? An absolute brilliant schemer, you are. Except for
how I've completely goaded you into saying that, which means you're as much a fool for me as I
am for you. We'll just have to be fools together. You don't mind, do you?

Not at all, Padfoot. Not at all.

I should be going, though.

I'm going to bombard you with messages all day.

You've woken me up and put me in an extremely good mood, and this means I am now your
problem.

Not the worst problem I've ever had.

You're going to give me a heart attack.

Remus shakes his head, checking the time, still smiling as he heads out front again. He keeps his
distance and lets Regulus and James do their dance, only peeking at them every now and again
between preparing for the morning rush and texting Sirius. He does go by when he has to open the
shop, but James and Regulus don't even seem to notice.

It isn't until people start trickling in that James stands up straight and says, "Ah, I should go and not
keep people from their coffee before work. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yes, James, obviously," Regulus says flatly. "I work here, and you show up every morning."

"Well, tell me if you'd like me to stop."

"Goodbye, James."

"Have a nice day, Regulus," James says, grinning, and he winks over at Remus. "You too, Lupin."

Remus chuckles. "Bye, James."

With a wave, James brushes past the growing queue behind him and slips out the door, drink and
croissant in hand.

After that, the day is busy enough that Remus and Regulus don't have much time to chat, even if
they were chatting. The good thing is, they never need to speak to work well together. They spent
months hardly uttering a word to one another on shift, but still having an altogether simple time
managing the orders. It shows now, as they barely speak, but they handle the busy day without a
stutter.

Still, the day was busy enough that Remus is tired by the time the next shift rolls around and
they're free to leave. They both head to the back, and Remus blocks Regulus' path when he tries to
leave out the employee-only side exit.

"No," Regulus says sharply.

"Let's grab a bite," Remus says. "I'll pay."

Regulus purses his lips. "You're still dead to me."

"Oh, sure. But we can go to that place you like. And I have news." Remus raises his eyebrows.

"Fine," Regulus mutters after a long beat of silence, just as Remus knew he would. He's so
hilariously predictable sometimes.

Twenty minutes later, they're crowded in a booth with a spread of Indian food between them, and
Remus is trying not to smile at the frown on Regulus' face. "Right, so my news."

"Yes, go on," Regulus says with a sigh.

"You-Know-Who," Remus starts, and Regulus does that thing where he smiles with his eyes. "He
has a motorbike."

"That's your news?" Regulus wrinkles his nose.

Remus snorts. "No need to look so disgusted by it. What, you don't like them?"

"No, not really, but I suppose I have a reason. My brother was obsessed with them when we were
younger," Regulus murmurs, lips tipping down. "He always thought they were so bloody cool."

"Well," Remus says, "not everyone's him. Don't take issue with my boyfriend because your brother
was—is?—a prick."

"Is," Regulus confirms knowingly. He pauses, then arches an eyebrow at Remus. "Boyfriend?"

"Oh, right, that. I sort of just told him he was, and he seemed happy about it," Remus admits.

Regulus' lips twitch, real amusement causing his face to soften with the impression of a smile.
"Remus, if you've ever actually wondered why you're more tolerable than most, it's because you do
things like this. You've just told your boyfriend he's your boyfriend. That's fucking funny."

"Oh, piss off. I was a bit of a mess about it."

"Of course. But you still did it."

"A study in bravery, I suppose."

"Yes, I'd say so. You really like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named if you're doing things for him that
scare you."

Remus doesn't reply for a long moment, thinking about how to say what he wants without Regulus
taking the piss about it. He purses his lips. "This—what I'm about to say, I don't want to be teased
about it, yeah?"

"Alright," Regulus says, immediately becoming more serious, all the laughter draining from his
eyes. Remus remembers the first and only argument they've ever had. Regulus had been
particularly cruel about something, finding it all so amusing, but it had hit Remus at just the wrong
way until he was suddenly angry enough to shout at Regulus about it. Instead of them getting into a
worse row, all Regulus said was well, you only had to tell me you were sensitive about it, or you
didn't want it to be a joke, and from that moment on, Remus did exactly that. Regulus has never
once mocked him when Remus has asked him not to.

"Everything scares me," Remus breathes out. "When it comes to him, all of it scares me. Regulus,
he's—he's really—"

"Well, that's fine, because if he ever commits a grievance too large to come back from, we'll just
kill him. Or, I'll handle the whole nasty business, and you won't have to worry about a thing,"
Regulus offers calmly.

"That's—shockingly comforting," Remus mutters, huffing out a weak laugh. Regulus hums in
vague satisfaction, but he doesn't say anything else. "Right, so can we talk about your boyfriend
now?"

Regulus' face falls into a scowl. "He's not my boyfriend."

"But you did go on a date. He said he didn't take you, but I don't believe for a second that you two
didn't do something."

"I—well, yes, we did."

Remus' eyebrows raise. "Did you two—"

"No," Regulus cuts in, looking unimpressed with Remus' sleuthing skills. "We just shared a meal
and talked."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Come on, Regulus," Remus needles, "I know there's more to it. You could have told him you
changed your mind, or you never actually said yes to the date in the first place, and broken the poor
bloke's heart—but you didn't."

Regulus' face twitches, and then his eyebrows draw together as his mouth twists unhappily. "I did,
actually. One of the first things I said to him was that I had no intention of saying yes and would
rather leave. Broke his heart quite a bit, I think."

"Regulus," Remus groans.

"Oh, don't start," Regulus grumbles. "In any case, he just—he respected it. Despite feeling foolish
and being hurt, he was so ridiculously respectful about it, and I think… Well, I'm nearly sure that
he's been hurt before in a similar way. Or just hurt in a very big way. I don't know, but he's so—he
needs—people need to be careful with him. That's what he needs. To be treated with care."

Remus tucks his lips in so he won't smile. Regulus is frowning down at his fork, deep in thought,
which is for the best. "So you felt bad for him?"

"No," Regulus says softly.

"You fancy him," Remus suggests simply. "I mean, really."

Regulus doesn't answer for a long moment, chewing some of his food a bit too slowly, not looking
up. After he swallows, he closes his eyes and sighs. "Yes. I'm seeing him again."

"That's good, Regulus, no need to look so defeated about it. I don't understand what the problem is.
He's obviously a wonderful person," Remus murmurs.

"That is the problem," Regulus replies, opening his eyes to stare at him, looking—for the first time
that Remus has ever seen—quite desperate. "It's one of them, anyway. The main one, you could
say. He is a wonderful person, and I'm—I'm not very—he deserves someone—but I'm not—"

Remus has never seen Regulus so inarticulate. He always thought it would be funny to see Regulus
struggle with words for once, since he uses them like weapons, but him being weaponless—
powerless—isn't funny at all. It's sad. "Regulus, stop it. Don't do that, alright? You don't get to
decide for him what he deserves, and he wants you, doesn't he?"
Regulus looks down, staring at his plate, not replying. He seems so small like that, like he's
shrinking himself down.

"Whoever taught you that you weren't good enough, that you don't deserve good things—they were
wrong, Regulus," Remus says quietly. "I wish I could meet them just once so I could tear into them
for being so fucking stupid."

"I'd never introduce you to my family," Regulus whispers.

"They fucked you up quite a bit, didn't they?"

"Yes."

"You can—tell me. If you want," Remus offers, more hopeful than he'd ever admit. As much as he
knows about Regulus, there's far more that he doesn't.

Regulus heaves a sigh. "My mother was awful. Cold, harsh, demanding. She had expectations for
her children, and if we didn't meet them, she made us wish we had and decided to expect more.
You could never—there was no way to really please her. It was just—how things were done. You
could follow her plans and rules perfectly, and she still wouldn't be proud, because that's just how
we were meant to live. Oh, but you could disappoint her. You could anger her. You just couldn't
do enough to—to get ahead, in a way. There was always more she demanded from you. She was
draining, and cruel, and I—I did everything she wanted for so long, until I couldn't do it anymore.
The worst part is that she didn't see it coming. She never noticed I was… It baffled her."

"My mum was the opposite," Remus says, "and not in a good way. I love my mum, I do, but she
was always...out of touch. I suppose that's a good phrase for it, yeah. She, ah, loved me. I know
that. But it was like… I don't know. She never saw me, really. She lived in this bubble, and
everything outside of it couldn't penetrate the fog to get through to her. It was like she was playing
a role, just reading a script; there was no real emotional connection." He drops his gaze, scraping
his fork across his plate. "It didn't matter what I did. Mum didn't feel anything about it, really. You
know, when I told her I was seeing a bloke for the first time, she didn't even stop cooking. Just said
that's nice, dear, and continued on as if she hadn't even heard me, and I'm not entirely sure she
ever did. I reckon I ought to be grateful that it didn't go badly, but it just felt so… It always felt so
hollow in my house."

"Is she…?"
"She passed away when I was eighteen."

"And your father?" Regulus asks.

Remus is inwardly relieved that Regulus didn't apologize, or offer condolences, or get awkward
about it. As for his dad, well, Remus can't stop himself from scoffing. "If my mum was hollow, my
dad was a ghost. I hardly knew him, honestly. He was always working, and when he was at home,
he was shut up in his study. It was a bit like living with a stranger at times."

"Mm, my father was like that, too," Regulus admits, smiling without any humor. "He was very
distant, but not the way Mother was. Sometimes, I genuinely think he forgot he had children.
Although, really, I can't say all the blame is his. It was hard to—to handle my mother, and my
father was sickly by the time his children got older. If anyone was capable of kindness between my
parents, it was him. He just...never was. Never felt he had a reason to be, I suppose."

"You said he was sickly. Is he…?" Remus trails off.

"I don't know," Regulus says bluntly. "I would think he's dead by now. He really wasn't doing very
well when I left. But I haven't had contact with my family in...five years."

Remus chews on that in his mind for a while, eating slowly, his eyebrows furrowed. He knows that
not knowing isn't easy, that it must weigh on Regulus, even if he never talks about it. This is the
first time. "I haven't spoken directly to my dad since my mum died. Six years now. Going on
seven, I think."

"Why were they—" Regulus looks up, frowning. "I just mean, were they just naturally inclined to
being awful? Was their marriage failing?"

"I have no idea how things were between them," Remus muses softly. "My dad was—he was upset
when he lost my mum, but it only made him more withdrawn. They were…" He grimaces and
looks away with a sigh. "I think they were the way they were because… You see, when I was four,
I fell ill. Very ill. I was hospitalized for most of my early childhood, and my parents spent a lot of
time believing I was going to die. I nearly did. When I didn't, it was—it was different after that. I
think it messed them up, having to come to terms with the fact that their son was going to die so
young. They found ways to cope with it, and they never really left those behind, and at times it was
like I died anyway. I think they disconnected, then just...never reconnected."
"I never knew that," Regulus says, blinking. "About you nearly dying, I mean."

Remus frowns. "Well, it's not really something I advertise. I prefer not to talk about it. Some of it I
don't even remember; some of it was the most painful time of my life. It fucked me up, though. Not
just my family; I mean, health-wise. My immune system has been shit ever since. I get sick so
easily, even now. But I've dealt with it all my life, and I've never wanted—I don't want it to be the
focal point of my life, really. Maybe I'm a bit cautious because of my parents, but nothing good
ever comes from people knowing. Humans, as a rule, don't handle the reality of impermanence
well."

"Well, we're all dying, Remus," Regulus tells him. "You hardly deserve to be ostracized for it."

"Thanks," is all Remus says, his frown melting into a tiny, grateful smile. "What about your
brother?"

Regulus' face does something strange. "My brother… He was different. He was—when we were
young, he was my—" It's awful the way Regulus' words cut off with force, like they're blocked by
a lump in his throat. He swallows thickly, dropping his gaze. "He was my best friend. The thing
was, he had so much pressure on him, even more than me. He hated it in that house. Hated the
demands and expectations and—and the complete lack of freedom. It stifled him. He never wanted
to be what he was expected to, and he just—he wanted to get out. He always wanted to get out. He
was always going to get out."

"Did he...not?"

"Oh, he did. For the first ten years of my life, he and I were very close. He was always looking out
for me. When I did something wrong, he took the blame. He—protected me. Took punishments for
me. Made a scene so I could slip off. He was the best thing in that house."

"What changed?"

"Mother had enough of him, I suppose, and she must have thought that sending him to an
expensive boarding school would teach him to be the way she wanted him to be, and it might have
done if he spent any of the time there with the people she expected him to. Only, he never did what
was expected of him, so he made friends that Mother would have never approved of. Made one, in
particular, that had him even more rebellious than ever. He came home after that first year, talking
about him so much, never shutting up. My best mate this, and my best mate that, and I was ten, so
I…"
"Jealous?" Remus asks sympathetically.

"Indeed," Regulus says dryly, smirking, but there's an old, echoed pain in his face that suggests it
still smarts, even to this day. Remus' heart pangs. "When Mother found out, she beat him so badly
that he never talked about his friend again. Not in detail anyway. She was formidable, our mother,
so he was afraid. Can't blame him for hiding things from her. I imagine he hid things from me for
my own sake."

"Still trying to protect you?"

"Mm, yes, he did that no matter what else was going on, at least until we got older. The years went
on, and we grew apart. He was gone more often than he wasn't. We went to different schools, so it
wasn't as if I could see him anywhere else other than home, but he hated being home. Even me
being there wasn't enough. As he got older, he got louder about hating the family and everything it
stood for."

Remus winces. "Not excluding you, I assume."

"Not so much, no." Regulus huffs a sardonic laugh. "I don't think that was all his fault, either. Like
I said, I did everything to try and please my mother. I wasn't like him. I—I was terrified of the idea
of getting out, and I never thought I would. It was a bit selfish, but I just wanted him to stay
anyway. At least we'd suffer together. And—and I wanted to be worth that, I think, but...I wasn't."

"Regulus…"

"He left when I was fifteen. He was sixteen and had an explosive fight with Mother. It—it was very
bad. The worst it ever was. It was the first time he ever dragged me into a situation like that, like—
like we could team up and challenge her together, as if that would do anything. He was away so
much, it was like he forgot how our mother was. There was no beating her. So, I—I didn't try. He
looked at me that night and said I was no better than the rest, and then he left. He finally got out,
and he never looked back."

"He abandoned you," Remus says stiffly.

Regulus' eyes are hard and cold. "Yes. The worst part is, I kept waiting for him to come back for
me. He didn't." He looks down, face grim. "And now, he wouldn't even recognize me if he saw me
on the street. He was the person who knew me best, but he never knew… And now he'll never
know me."

"But you got out on your own," Remus murmurs.

"Mm, I did, yes. Three years later." Regulus leans back in his seat, blowing out a breath so deep
that it rounds out his cheeks and makes him look sweet and child-like. "In high-brow society like
my family is a part of, it was common to sort of—arrange marriages. Nothing official, of course,
but I was aware my mother would pick my spouse. I avoided thinking about it until I...couldn't, and
then I had two options. I could stay and have a life I'd rather be dead than live, or I could go and
see how well I did on my own."

"A traditional family like that…" Remus chews on his lip for a moment. "I suppose you weren't
happy with the marriage because you're gay."

"I—" Regulus looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he chuckles, eyes lighting up with some
hidden joke. "Well, technically, yes."

"But here you are. That has to count for something."

"Here I am, and it does."

Remus sighs heavily. "Your brother—fuck him, yeah? I see why you hate him. I'll hate him with
you."

Regulus laughs again, actually smiling. "You don't even know him, Remus."

"Don't need to, do I?" Remus raises his eyebrows. "I know you, and that's enough." Regulus rolls
his eyes, so Remus leans in to catch his gaze. "I think you told me all of that when you never have
before because some part of you wants someone you trust to tell you that it's okay. It is okay,
Regulus, to be with James. Your family—all of them—are shit, and you're worth more and far
better than they ever led you to believe."

"Christ, shagging has turned you into a sap."

"Maybe so, but it needed to be said."

"I could have gone my whole life without hearing it, actually," Regulus says dryly.

Remus just shakes his head. "No, I think you've gone long enough."

"Stop it," Regulus rasps, looking away. He's so emotionally stunted that it's not even funny. So is
Remus, though.

"Only because you'll combust if I don't."

"I genuinely might. Look at this, you've given me goosebumps. I'm about to break out in hives,
Remus."

"Oh, shut up," Remus says, laughing as Regulus scrunches up his sleeve and waves his arm
around. He has, in fact, broken out with goosebumps, hilariously enough.

Regulus reaches out with his fork and spears a piece of pork from his plate, popping it in his
mouth, and Remus gently kicks him under the table. The moment passes, and they move along,
bickering over stealing food from each other's plates. They don't talk about it anymore, what
they've discovered and shared, but they are lighter after that.

A mere few hours later, Remus strolls up to Sirius, who is leaning casually up against his
motorbike, one helmet hanging off the handlebar and the other sitting on the seat. His hair spills
down over the collar of his leather jacket, and he looks so effortlessly beautiful in that reckless,
untouchable way, like capturing lightning in a bottle. He is that lightning, threatening to shatter
glass, a flash and force of energy that's so easy to be drawn to and impossible to fully grasp.

Sirius grins at him, a smile that always makes Remus feel a heated tug at his navel. He has never
wanted to touch, to claim, anyone the way he does Sirius. His fingers itch with it. His arms. His
heart. Remus wants to wrap himself around Sirius and hang on forever. He wants, inexplicably and
ridiculously, to be Sirius' leather jacket, pretty much.

"You always keep me waiting," Sirius greets, his eyes sparkling. He's wearing fucking eyeliner, as
if Remus isn't about to go into a crisis about it. "Keep on like this, Moony, and I might start to
think you're not that interested in me after all."
"Sorry. Lunch ran over a bit," Remus murmurs sheepishly, moving over to reach out and run his
hand over the cold metal of the motorbike, admittedly a little transfixed.

"Ah, yes, the best friend." Sirius cranes his head, face open with curiosity. "Is he here?"

"No. His flat is in the opposite direction. I suppose you'll meet him eventually, whenever we get
around to it. For now…" Remus tips his head at the motorbike. "I believe you promised me a ride."

Sirius hums. "That I did, Remus, that I did. First, there are some rules you have to be aware of."

"Is that right?" Remus asks, amused.

"This," Sirius says, reaching out to tap his hand to the motorbike, "is the love of my life."

Remus tucks his lips in, eyebrows flying up. "Is it?"

"Yes, and as such, you will offer nothing but the utmost respect," Sirius tells him, nodding. "No
talking shit about my bike, Moony. It's a cardinal sin."

"Mhm, right," Remus mumbles, struggling to keep a straight face.

Sirius smiles. "Brilliant! Let's go, then."

"Sorry? Wait." Remus blinks. "That's it? Don't I need—I mean, I've never ridden one of these
before, Sirius."

"Tragic," Sirius says sadly.

Remus frowns. "What if I fall off?"

"You won't fall off."

"But I could. There's no belts, or doors, or...a frame, Padfoot."

"Yes, that usually defeats the purpose of them."

"What...is the purpose of them?"

"Well, they look cool, and they're fast." Sirius is grinning at him. He looks so fond. Remus wants
to peel off all his clothes and lick all of his tattoos again. "I thought you were excited about this.
What happened to being riled up about it?"

"I've given it some thought," Remus admits, his voice getting a little high in his throat, "and the
complete lack of safety involved does overshadow the sex factor of it all."

Sirius barks a laugh and reaches out with one hand to hook his finger in Remus' belt loop by his
hip, slowly reeling him in until they're pressed together. Sirius is still propped up against the bike,
while Remus leans into him, hands sliding into his open jacket. "Listen to me, Remus. I've been
driving this for years. I know what I'm doing, and I'm always careful when I'm bringing along
precious cargo. You are undoubtedly the most precious thing I'll ever have on this bike, so rest
assured that I'll not let anything happen to you, yeah?"

"I bet you say that to all your passengers," Remus says weakly, his heart thudding hard in his
chest.

"Technically, yes," Sirius murmurs, his voice soft. "You're the only passenger I've ever had."

Remus stares at him. "What?"

"I don't let just anyone ride my bike, you know." Sirius reaches up to push a stray wavy lock of hair
behind Remus' ear, tilting his chin up to hold his gaze. His hand has a thin scar on the palm,
perfectly lined up on the other side, not overly obvious unless someone is really paying attention,
and Remus is always paying attention to Sirius. "It's—really important to me. The first thing I ever
did for myself that I was never allowed to do. I've broken this bike down and put it back together; I
know it inside and out. I—well, I've let my best friend drive it before, but that hardly counts
because he's practically my other half."
"So not only is the bike the love of your life, but your best mate is your other half? Frankly, Sirius,
I'm not sure where that leaves me at all," Remus teases, lips twitching.

Sirius twitches his nose at him, grinning. "You're the moon to my stars. You're my Moony. I can
only have one of those."

"Suppose you have a point," Remus murmurs.

"I promise you you'll be safe," Sirius tells him, not teasing at all now. "You'll have fun, but you
won't get hurt. Trust me?"

Remus slips his hands around Sirius' waist with a hum, pressing in closer to him, huffing out a
laugh when Sirius' gaze almost instantly falls to his mouth. "Yes, I trust you. Perhaps foolishly, but
I do."

"Ah," Sirius whispers, his gaze snapping up to latch onto Remus', "that's good to know. If it helps
at all, you get to hold onto me the whole time."

"Sirius."

"Hm?"

"You should have led with that," Remus declares, earning another punched-out laugh as he pushes
away and snags the helmet off the seat by Sirius' hip.

"Here." Sirius reaches up to help him put the helmet on correctly, and Remus dutifully ducks his
head, as he's taller. He kisses that scar on Sirius' palm, then looks back up as Sirius does the clasps,
his mouth curling up fondly in one corner. "You look ridiculous."

"Thanks oh so much. What a charmer, you are."

"No, it's cute. You're cute."

"And I imagine you look perfect in your helmet," Remus says grudgingly, resigned to it, and he's
only proven correct when Sirius deftly puts on his helmet with a grin. Remus heaves a sigh. "Of
course you do."

Sirius laughs again, warm and bright, striking the earth and making Remus quake. With ease, he
turns and swings one leg over the seat, kicking the stand up and settling down. It's so terribly
attractive that Remus wants to sit down for a minute with his head between his knees to calm
down.

A beat later, the bike starts up with a growl, rumbling loud and powerful between Sirius' legs, and
he grins as he revs it, eyes bright. "Alright, Remus. Hop on and hold on."

Remus exhales a short, shaky breath and steps forward to catch Sirius' face in his hands, tilting it
up so he can duck down and kiss him. Their helmets knock together, and the bike almost instantly
sputters out as Sirius drops his hands from it to grab onto Remus and yank him closer instead. In
the aftermath of the snarling engine, the world around them almost seems too quiet, so the soft
noise that Sirius releases into Remus' mouth sounds loud.

It very quickly evolves into a fierce snog, the both of them trying to curl into it. As usual, Remus
misplaces all of his common sense, not caring about anything else but Sirius' mouth against his and
Sirius' body under his hands. It's electric, making the hair on his arms stand on end, sending a
shiver down his spine. This is what it is to capture lightning in a bottle and draw it out into your
palm.

Remus feels like a god.

Sirius pants into the kiss, and Remus groans, and then the bike is leaning precariously to the side,
causing Sirius' boot to skid across asphalt as they both stumble. The kiss breaks as Sirius curses
hoarsely and scrambles to grab the bike, tipping it back up and settling back down on it, breathing
hard.

"Sorry," Remus blurts out, blinking rapidly.

"Bloody hell," Sirius croaks, "what was that for?"

"Just…" Remus clears his throat, his face growing hot as he reaches up to right the lopsided helmet
 on his head. "Well, you know already that it riles me up. I don't know. The way you look while on
it, especially when it's actually on…"

"While I absolutely adore that, more than I can ever say, you will be able to keep your hands to
yourself while I'm actually driving, won't you?" Sirius' lips twitch. "I'm good, even when
distracted, but I'm not that good. You'll kill us."

Remus huffs at him and reaches out to grasp his shoulder for leverage as he swings his leg over to
settle in behind Sirius. It's a strange sensation, only because it's new, but he does quite like being
pressed right up behind him. "I think I'll manage."

"Pity," Sirius teases. "I wouldn't complain if that's how I went." He smiles at Remus over his
shoulder, hands falling to grab Remus' and tug them all the way around, bringing them closer
together. Remus' front is flush with his back. "Alright, don't stuff your hands down my jeans when
I start up, yeah?"

Remus pinches his side, making him laugh. "Shut up."

"Pick up your legs when I do," Sirius tells him, then the bike growls to life once more. Sirius raises
his voice. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Remus says, but it comes out thin and high, breathless with nerves and excitement. He just
squeezes Sirius a bit and hopes that gets the point across well enough.

It must, because in the next second, they're pulling off. Remus feels his stomach swoop, and he's
not really sure what happens for the next five seconds, but he blinks and they're on the open road,
gaining speed, wind whipping at their skin. Sirius' bark of laughter drifts along the breeze, and
Remus clings tighter to him like an instinct, stuck in that pinpoint lock between utter terror and
pure exhilaration.

With the road blurring under the bike, Remus feels like he's flying. With Sirius in his arms, Remus
feels like he's falling.

The fear and joy are exactly the same.

Chapter End Notes

Remus, to Regulus: my boyfriend isn't your brother, don't be mean
Sirius, Remus' boyfriend: *is Regulus' brother*

James: i wanted to kill my best mate's whole family

Regulus: understandable, have a nice day

If you can't tell, I'm having a laugh while writing all this.
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

Mild warning for spice. It's nothing explicit, but it's not just hinted at.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus thinks this is the most ridiculous thing he's ever done, and then thinks that he'll come to
regret thinking that, because he's sure that being with James will just further invite even more
ridiculous things to do into his life.

"James, is this legal?" Regulus hisses, grimacing as James tugs on his hand a little more, pulling
him further up the stairs. He'd reached back and snagged his fingers, tangling his own with them,
about three flights ago, and Regulus has been doing an awful job of working out how to ask him to
let go.

"Well, yes and no," James shoots back over his shoulder, and finally, they've reached the top. He
still doesn't drop Regulus' hand as he digs out a set of keys and unlocks the door to the rooftop,
winking as he pulls them through. "I wouldn't worry about it, Regulus."

Narrowing his eyes, Regulus mutters, "Oh, I shouldn't worry about doing something illegal that
could end with us both in trouble; no, of course not," but he's also very easily distracted by the
bruised blush of the sunset and bustling sounds of the city far below. Up here, he feels closer to the
sky than he does the ground, and it's better than he could have ever imagined.

"You won't get in trouble. I promise." James tugs him around the corner of the doorway, and all
Regulus sees is a strange stand and a pile of harnesses. "This isn't the last stop anyway."

"Not the—" Regulus' gaze snags on the line from the stand, the sturdy pinpoint of black shooting
out across the roof's edge. A zipline. He looks at James. "You're joking."

James' eyes sparkle. "I'm not."

"You—oh, I refuse," Regulus blurts out, eyes bulging in pure disbelief, but James is already pulling
them over to the pile of harnesses. "James, I'm not—what are you doing? I just told you no. Are
you mental? A zipline? Alone? I—"
"No. With me," James murmurs, dropping his hand in favor of picking up the tangle of harnesses.

Regulus makes a low, choking noise. "Oh, and you just do this all the time, do you?"

"Yes, actually. It's professionally installed and passes all inspections and has the top safety
measures. I've done it plenty of times, and I'm certified. Regulus, you honestly couldn't be safer
doing this with anyone else."

"Wait, you're—"

"It's like flying," James tells him breathlessly, stepping into the tangle of rope like he can actually
make sense of which limb is meant to go in which open space. "It's—it's honestly brilliant, you
have no idea. Thrilling."

"What about me suggests I'm much of a thrill-seeker?" Regulus asks, struggling to keep his voice
level. His eyes keep darting to the stand.

James laughs loudly, head thrown back, bright enough to make the world glow even as the sun
sinks down past the horizon line. "There's only one way to know, isn't there? You won't die, if
that's what you're worried about. You won't be alone, because I'll be right there with you. If you
hate it, we never have to do it again."

"Yes, but I can't very well stop and get off in the middle of it if I do hate it, can I?" Regulus bites
out.

"It'll be over before you know it," James says, his face softening. "Look, I won't force you to do it.
Say the word, and we'll stop, take all those stairs back down, then get where we're going next the
more traditional way. But...if any part of you does want to do it, then we'll give it a go, me and
you. All you have to do is trust me, yeah?"

James holds out his hand in offering, and Regulus wavers, his heart thrashing wildly in his chest.
He's got this queasy feeling in his stomach, like he might vomit, but also… Really, it's strange,
because as much as it does terrify him and go against nearly all of his instincts, there's this yearning
underneath it all that threatens to forever send a pulse of regret through him if he doesn't take the
chance. He takes a deep breath, then blows it out and lifts his hand to slide his fingers over James'
open palm, soft and rough simultaneously.
"Fine," Regulus whispers.

"There's a love," James says softly, beaming, and he reels Regulus in. Doesn't he always?

There's a whole process that goes into this that Regulus honestly doesn't pay attention to, a little too
busy trying not to cough up his racing heart; it feels like it's about to surge up and thump its way
right out of his throat. James is startlingly efficient in any case, easily getting most of the harness
set up on both of them, then ushering them up the stand.

Once up there, James steps out on the attached platform to tug on a rope connected to the line,
pulling in a large contraption that does at least look industrial and safe. The clamp is very sturdy, it
seems, and the whir of the pulley against the line makes Regulus' head spin. He tugs at one of the
straps that's firm but not strangling around his waist.

"You've done this a lot?" Regulus checks warily.

James flashes him a smile as he drops one hand to hold it out to Regulus, wiggling his fingers.
"Loads of times. Come here, I need to finish hooking us up."

"If I die," Regulus starts as he shuffles forward, very pointedly not looking out past the platform.

"You're not going to die," James tells him, amused, hands busy between them as he starts strapping
them together. He has to pull them close, side-by-side, and then his hands are all over Regulus as
he tugs straps around his side, in between his legs, over his shoulder—it's enough to make Regulus
a bit dizzy, but James isn't lingering; it's all business to him.

"If I die," Regulus repeats, his voice coming out higher, which makes him immediately drop his
voice lower, "I'm going to spend the rest of your life haunting you."

"Well," James says cheerfully, "at least I'll get to spend the rest of my life with you." He chuckles
like that's not at all a mad thing to say to someone on your second date, then straightens up and
starts clamping clasps together, pulling the line in to connect them to it. While Regulus is still
reeling from such a comment, James apparently finishes up and smiles right at him. "Now we step
onto the platform, and as soon as you're ready, we'll go—and not a moment before. I'll wait
however long you need, alright?"
Regulus doesn't want to be shaking, but he is as they shuffle forward, and his knees almost
immediately lock when they get to the edge. "Oh. Oh, that's...far…"

Honestly, he can't even see that far past the roof's edge, but he can see the distance farther out, and
it is not comforting. He's connected to James by his hips, but their arms are free, and there's a strap
wrapped around their backs so it's almost like they will have a seat when they step off into the air.
Regulus is already clutching at the ropes for dear life, and he doesn't even remember James putting
a fucking helmet on him, but he's suddenly aware of the weight of it when he looks over and sees
that James has one on as well.

"Take your time," James offers kindly, not teasing in the least. He looks at Regulus with affection,
mostly.

"I'm not—James, I'm not going to be able to do it," Regulus informs him, his voice thin.

James just nods. "Alright. I can unhook us and—"

"No. I meant—I—I'll do it, but I'm not going to be able to step off," Regulus says in a rush. "Don't
ask me if I'm ready. I'm not. I'll never be. But I—want to, so just...just help me."

"I can do that," James murmurs. He curls out his arm closest to Regulus to tuck it around his lower
back, hand warm and broad against Regulus' side. "Alright, then. Close your eyes and try to relax.
I've got you."

Regulus blows out a deep breath and does something stupid because James makes him stupid, and
also this is a very stupid situation to start with, so he's allowed some space to do things he wouldn't
otherwise. What he does, in fact, is turn his head and tuck his face into the open crook of James'
neck, all but hiding there as he squeezes his eyes shut and inhales the smell of him. He smells like
roasted caramel malts and the smoky spice of burning applewood, mingled with sweat and
something underneath it all that's distinctly alive, human, a man with a life that has scents of the
world clinging to him in wisps. It has Regulus inhaling again without even meaning to, distracted
by it and pushing in closer.

He doesn't realize James is inching them forward until the arm around him tightens and James
breathes out a soft warning, and then Regulus is being tugged forward as the world drops out
underneath him, the harness catching their combined weight, wind whipping immediately as they
rush forward.
Regulus starts to yelp, but it catches in his throat at the flurry of sensation that crashes through him,
and it all but dissipates on his tongue when he tentatively peeks out from James' shoulder. He lifts
his head, a strange feeling of weightlessness passing over him, and he peels his hand off the rope to
cup his fingers around the roaring wind. A laugh tumbles through the seam of his mouth, and this
is—it is like flying. Regulus is flying, and the thrill of it might possibly be one of the most
exhilarating things he's ever experienced, second only to how he feels whenever James touches
him, or smiles.

He leaves his hand out, waving his fingers to feel the air slip through them, weaving in and out of
his grip. Looking down gives him a little swoop in his chest and a bit of a headrush, because it's so
far and everything is moving so fast. Another laugh spills helplessly out of him as he tilts his face
up, feeling the air nip at his skin, so refreshing it almost hurts.

It isn't until they start to slow—he can feel the change in the whipping wind—that Regulus looks
over to find James pulling on a line to, presumably, get them to safer speeds as they head right for
another stand on a different roof. However, that hardly even registers because of the look on James'
face. He's staring at Regulus with wonder, his eyes wide, his lips parted. He looks like he's caught
sight of the divine.

Regulus doesn't know what to do with that. Can't do anything with it. He stares back and wants so
many things, none of which he's sure he should get to have. And then it's coming to a close, James
looking forward as they gradually slow until they're abruptly halting on the platform, back on their
feet.

"Fucking hell," Regulus chokes out, shaking for an entirely new reason now, and James busts out
laughing as he immediately starts unclipping them.

"Amazing, isn't it?" James says, grinning. "I've done that so many times I've lost count, and it
never gets old."

"I feel like I need to sit down, but also as if I could run five miles without stopping," Regulus
admits, his fingers trembling as helps push off some of the straps.

James chuckles and kneels down in front of him to start removing the harness on his thighs. "Yes,
that'll happen. It's bloody invigorating, yeah? Like flying. I love it."

"I can see why," Regulus breathes, staring down at him, and he hasn't felt an adrenaline rush like
this since the night he ran from home, and that one hadn't felt like this one. He knew when he came
down from it, everything would be awful. This one? He can only see it getting better.

That makes it easy for him to drop a hand into James' hair, fingers slipping into the coarse, dense
strands that split and tangle around his knuckles. James goes still, fingers pausing on the inside of
Regulus' thigh, and then he tilts his head back, face angled up, open and laid bare, eyes dark behind
his glasses. He's biting his lip, and his throat is a begging curve offered up and presented, waiting
and wanting, vulnerable.

"Regulus," James rasps, his chest swelling as he sips in a quick inhale while Regulus drags his
hand down over the curve of his skull, sliding around the line of his jaw and back up to cup his
cheek and press his thumb to the corner of his mouth.

Regulus can't help but sweep his thumb over James' bottom lip, lingering at the center of it where
it's fullest, and he feels it when the heated seam of James' lips part further and teeth delicately
scrape over the pad of his thumb. He feels it all the way in his bones, and he shudders with it,
exhaling shakily as he fights the temptation to just press forward, to slide his thumb in further
where it's wet and hot and his for the taking if he wants it, because James is waiting, he's just
waiting, and it's hard, so very hard, for him to pull his hand away.

But he does. And he croaks, "Thank you. For—for showing me that. It was… I love flying, too, as
it turns out."

"Welcome," James says, strained and winded, his pupils huge and everything about him dazed as
he sways forward, only to jerk back and duck his head quickly. He clears his throat and goes back
to releasing Regulus from his harness, though he notably fumbles more than he did before, his
hands faltering and stumbling as he struggles.

Regulus would find it amusing if he wasn't in the same predicament. He works on his breathing.

Shortly after, they're both free from their restraints, and James holds out his hand to help Regulus
down the stand, but he doesn't let go after Regulus takes it. This is obviously a premeditated
choice, because James is not as sneaky as he thinks he is, but Regulus lets him get away with it for
the simple reason that he doesn't really...mind.

James tugs him along, and Regulus follows, slowly coming down from the rush of the zipline. He
does feel good, however, as predicted. If he were someone else, he would be grinning. In fact,
James is grinning. He usually is, though, and it's awful when he's not. That grin only brightens as
they come to a halt on the other side of the roof, and oh.
Oh, this idiot. This lovely, bright, perfect idiot. He would do something like this. Something like
setting up a small basket with a spread of fruits and cheese and bread, sitting atop a layered pile of
fleece and linen, a little over prepared with blankets and pillows, a cozy spot to settle into. There's
even a whole bottle of champagne on ice, because of course there is.

Regulus looks over at him. "Are you still trying to impress me, James? Is that what this is?"

"Yes and no," James answers, smiling that crooked smile that almost flashes a dimple. "Is it
working?"

"You can't impress me. Nothing impresses me."

"The flying did."

"That's...an exception," Regulus mutters.

James hums, satisfied, and he pulls Regulus over to the padding, kicking off his shoes and waiting
for Regulus to do the same before unceremoniously pulling him down with a bright laugh. "Noted.
To impress you, I have to take you flying. A rooftop spread, complete with all the comforts,
doesn't quite do it—but flying? That does it."

"Shut up," Regulus says dismissively and snatches the champagne up. "You drink champagne?"

"Nope," James chirps. "I'm a beer man myself, but Mum says champagne is romantic and should
please an excellent chef, and she's never wrong, so…"

Regulus fixes him with a flat look. "You told your mother about me?"

"I...might've rung her up in a panic because I didn't really plan past the zipline and had no idea
what to feed a chef—"

"I'm not a chef."

"Yet. You're not a chef yet. Anyway, my mum loves to cook and host parties, but the fun kind
where everyone is nice and warm and happy to be there. She's not the type to ask too many
questions if I don't want to talk about something, so I didn't tell her very much."

"What did you tell her?"

"Just that I'm seeing an up-and-coming chef and needed to know what to feed him on a second
date, please help, Mum?"

"Really, James?"

Chagrined, James smiles. "I don't know what to tell you. I'm close with my mum, and my dad, but I
knew she'd help. Was she wrong? Do you not like champagne?"

"I—" Regulus glances down at the bottle, his eyebrows rising as he reads the label. He flicks his
eyes to James, who has a tiny smile. "Yes, I like champagne; your mother was correct. I haven't had
any in years, honestly. Not anything good, I mean. Haven't the funds. But this… James, this is very
good, very expensive champagne. Did you know that?"

"Er, no, not really," James admits. "Is that...okay?"

Regulus sighs and starts to open the bottle. "I can't exactly tell you how to spend your money, can
I? Just seems like an odd thing to waste it on."

"It's not a waste if it's you," James murmurs.

"James."

"Sorry. I just—I don't know. I like it when you're happy. So, really, it's making me happy. Two
birds, one stone. It's self-indulgence, yeah? You can't fault me for that."

"You're ridiculous," Regulus says, tipping his head down to try and smother his smile. "Do you
have glasses?" When he looks up, James is reaching up to touch the glasses on his face, a genuine
furrow of confusion in his brow. Regulus can't help but roll his eyes. "Glasses for the champagne,
James. The kind you drink out of, not the kind you wear."

"Oh." James' eyes get wide, and he immediately looks out of sorts, a little lost. "Oh, fuck me. I
forgot the—" He groans, looking around like he can summon two flutes for the champagne out of
thin air. "Bugger. Regulus, I'm so—"

Regulus leans over to him, leans in so close that his mouth snaps shut, and he sucks in a sharp
breath through his nose as Regulus brushes his lips over James' cheek. He rocks back and looks
away, lips curled up. "You're alright, James. I think we can just share the bottle, can't we?"

"Yeah." The word comes out on a soft sigh, and James is smiling at him, hazy around the edges
with affection and delight. Nothing in the world could be warmer than his eyes.

"You said you were close with your mum? Your dad, too?" Regulus asks, tipping the bottle up for
that first bubbly sip.

James smiles wider. "I am. Most people, you know, they get annoyed with their parents at times,
but I don't know if I ever have, really. They're just...really lovely. Like I said, my mum loves to
cook. She's taught me a few things, mostly homemade dishes and such; the more extravagant
things, she usually cooks on her own. She has an insane eye for detail. Honestly, nothing gets past
her, inside and outside of the kitchen. My dad, on the other hand, has always been a bit more
oblivious, but in an endearing way, you know? Not like he doesn't care, because he'll always listen
when you need him to."

"It sounds like you grew up in a very loving home," Regulus says softly and tries not to yearn. It
shouldn't still sting after all these years, but it does. It always does.

"I did, yeah," James replies quietly, his smile softening into something tinged with a bit of sadness,
something knowing. He knows, of course he does; he's seen it before and he's making a career out
of it and Regulus all but told him. Regulus still feels exposed and has to drop his gaze. "My mum
would adore you, I'm sure."

Regulus' eyes snap up. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, for one, you're a chef—"

"Not a chef."

"—so you'd appreciate food the way she does. She could learn from you, and you could learn from
her, and she loves things like that. But also, well, she'd probably see you as a bit of a challenge. In a
good way, I mean. Mum likes making people laugh, and you don't laugh easily," James explains.

"My mother would absolutely hate you," Regulus blurts out and immediately wishes he hadn't. He
grimaces.

James pauses, then snorts. "Maybe it's my intuition, which has never steered me wrong, but I get
the feeling that's actually something of a compliment."

"Well, actually…" Regulus' face warms. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Then good," James says simply, reaching out to take the bottle and watching as Regulus drags the
basket over. He takes a swallow of champagne, his face screwing up, then he smacks his lips. "Oh,
that's…"

Regulus chuckles, not meaning to. "It's not for everyone. I recommend sipping it."

"I'll keep that in mind. What are you making?" James asks.

"Mm, the fig jam with the smoked gouda cheese is a good combination. Have you had it?"

"No. I've had apple and cheddar, which was nice."

"This is better," Regulus murmurs. He slices a thin, careful strip of the cheese and neatly lines it on
the cracker, then spreads the jam. When he looks up, he finds James watching him, rapt. "Do you
want to try it?"

James nods, holding his gaze, and Regulus bites off half with a hum of approval before offering the
other half to him. He's expecting James to reach out and grab it; he's not expecting James to lean
forward and dip down to eat it right from his fingers, mouth briefly wrapping around the very tips,
hot and wet, before drawing away. Regulus curls his hand into a fist, his face prickling and tingling
—his whole body, in fact.

"You're right. It's good," James tells him, calm as anything, holding out the bottle with a tempered
smile.

For one moment, Regulus entertains the fantasy of smacking the bottle away and just climbing
right into James' lap, feeling the inside of his mouth with his tongue instead. His heart thumps
almost painfully at the mental imagery, so vivid that he gives a full-body twitch from the impulse.
Then, clearing his throat, he bats the fantasy away and reaches out to take the bottle, downing a
deeper swallow than he needs.

Somehow, they fall into this pattern. This torturous pattern where they talk while Regulus puts
something together for them to share, taking the first bite for himself before offering the next
without saying a word every time James leans in closer and closer to scoop it right out of Regulus'
waiting hand with his warm mouth.

They waste hours like this, and Regulus feels bewitched. Enraptured. A snake charmed and calmed
from the desire to lash out. James does it slowly, carefully, and with no subtlety whatsoever, but he
does end up with his head resting against Regulus' leg, staring up at him as they talk, gesturing
broadly and excitedly. He always pauses long enough to reach up and gently capture Regulus' wrist
when he offers a bite, drawing his hand down to eat the offering out of his hand before letting go
and returning to talking as if it's not making Regulus actively go mad. Regulus lets him do it,
though, every single time. Can't imagine doing anything else.

As the sky gets dimmer, the lights from the city surrounding them down below reach them, but
Regulus would swear that James shines on his own. He's the sun, Regulus can't help but think yet
again, not for the first time, and likely not for the last. Because he is. Bright and magnificent and
almost painful to look at for too long, but it's worth it. Regulus would go blind just so he wouldn't
have to look away.

At some point, James has his hands threaded loosely together on his stomach, and when Regulus
next offers him a bite, he simply holds Regulus' gaze and opens his mouth. Waiting. Daring. A
beat passes, then Regulus finds his hand moving down to feed him, his breath stuttering out of him
as James' mouth slips over the tips of his fingers. Somehow, he manages to draw his hand away,
and that becomes the new, more agonizing pattern—now, Regulus feeds him. Brilliant. Regulus
has lost control of this entire...everything. He's not convinced he had any control to start with,
actually.

"When I was in school, we had this beautiful tree out on the grounds that we all called the
Whomping Willow," James is saying, a tiny smile on his face. "Never did think to ask if it even
was a willow, but I imagine it couldn't have been anything else, yeah? Anyway, the blasted thing
had all these thin branches that would just break off and whack you in a storm, and I remember,
once, that I'd walked around the whole day with a rather large stick in my hair, and no one told me.
Not my mates, not the teachers, not anyone at all."

"You didn't realize when they were laughing?" Regulus asks, rolling the soft innards of a piece of
the loaf of bread into a tiny ball, then spreading it in the raspberry jam and wrapping it in a thin
layer of cream cheese.

"I thought they were laughing at my jokes," James tells him with a grin. "I told many jokes when I
was younger, you see. Everything was about having a laugh, really. I didn't find the stick until—
well, someone I didn't like pointed it out, so I refused to be embarrassed. I just pulled it out and
stuck it behind my ear, or randomly twirled it around when I was bored. Actually ended up quite
attached to it, and before long, everyone else was carrying around sticks, too—girls using them in
their hair, boys using them to tap on tables and such. I suppose if you do anything with enough
confidence, it'll seem like a good idea to everyone else. Dangerous, that."

"It is," Regulus agrees, hovering his hand over James' mouth, watching him cross his eyes to
appraise the offering. He makes an inquisitive noise because Regulus has yet to feed him this, but
he almost instantly opens his mouth to accept it. Regulus counts in his head for his breathing—in,
one two three four, hold, one two three four, out, one two three four —then slips his fingers
forward. He doesn't even bother trying to speak.

James hums in approval, chewing slowly, and his eyes are hooded with satisfaction as he murmurs,
"S'good."

Regulus waits until he can breathe normally without it hitching before he responds. "Yeah,
raspberry and cream cheese combine really well. You have a bit of—" He finds himself dropping
his hand to swipe his thumb at the corner of James' mouth, wiping away the small pink smudge
there, then immediately—like a fool—lifting his hand to pop his thumb in his own mouth. James
watches, gaze zeroing in on the movement, and Regulus is slow to pull away. "Yes, very good. In
any case, you were right before, about that being dangerous. Starting trends is one thing, but if
you're charismatic enough, you can get a lot of people to do nearly anything. All you have to do is
make it sound like a good idea."

"Especially if you're popular," James says quietly.

"You were, weren't you? I hardly need to ask."

"I absolutely was, and at the same time, I...wasn't. It's strange. I had two really close friends, and
we were like this—this closed circuit, I suppose. Sure, we could charm the masses and such, but it
was always like everyone was aware that we were never theirs, really, because we were too busy
being each other's. But we were charming, and awful, and I personally played rugby really well, so
—"

"Of course you did," Regulus interrupts, huffing out a soft laugh. "So did I, James."

"Yeah?" James' face lights up. "You like sports, then?"

Regulus can feel his laughter bubbling up even more, and he looks away as it spills free, keeping
himself busy with making another combination for James to taste. "It's complicated, that is, but I
do. Or, I liked rugby, at least. I wasn't exactly praised for it like I imagine you were, though."

"No? Why not?"

"Mm, different schools, different rules."

"Were you popular?" James asks curiously.

"Also complicated," Regulus admits, watching his own hands as his laughter fades. "I didn't really
have friends, just people who wanted what they thought I could offer them, or those who thought I
was someone I wasn't."

James squirms a little bit to strain his neck, dumping more of himself in Regulus' lap to catch his
eye. He's frowning, a sad tilt to his eyebrows. "Surely you had one friend. There had to be at least
one person at your school who wasn't…"

"I wouldn't say we were friends," Regulus says slowly, and James makes an encouraging noise. "I
was too—I had too much going on back then to really befriend anyone. When you spend all day,
every day, pretending to be someone you're not, you don't really have the time to allow yourself to
make a real friend. But there was someone who was—different than all the rest. One girl who
knew something about me that no one did, and she was so very kind about it. Her name was
Pandora. I think we could have been friends."

"Did you lose touch with her?"

"Well, we were never in touch, really."

"You could always befriend her now," James suggests, raising his eyebrows with a warm smile.
"It's never too late to make friends, Regulus. Is Lupin your only friend?"

"Just about," Regulus admits, lips twitching. "I don't need very many. One exhausts me already."

"Oh, stop it." James lazily swats his knee, his eyes crinkling with his growing smile. "Lupin is
wonderful, and very nice to look at, don't deny it."

Regulus lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug and hovers a bite over James' mouth, sliding forward as
soon as he parts his lips, letting him in. "I'm not arguing with you."

"Mm, that's—mm," James mumbles as he chews, then he swallows and laughs. "So, you and
Lupin… Anything there?"

"Oh, like—no," Regulus says simply. "No, never anything like that. We've just never felt that way,
I suppose."

James hums. "Fair enough. Well, if he doesn't have a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or whatever suits
his fancy—then we'll just have to fix that, won't we? Return the favor. Bring some love into his
life, and then go on double-dates. If my best mate was available, I'd suggest him. He'd go mad for
Lupin, if I know him well enough, and I do."

"Ah, no, he has a boyfriend," Regulus murmurs. "It's fairly new, but he's pathetically smitten."

"Good for him, then." James curls his hand out to grab around for the bottle of champagne, twisting
a little to prop himself up, bringing their faces closer together as he drinks some. He holds it out to
Regulus after, who takes it. "I wasn't joking about Pandora, you know. Just...if it's something you
think about again, look her up, meet her for coffee or something."

Regulus passes the bottle back and says, "Maybe."

"What about your classes now?" James asks, sitting the bottle aside but staying propped up over
Regulus' lap, hovering close to him. "No friends?"

"I'm quiet and focused in class," Regulus tells him, reaching over to feel around for the bundle of
grapes, fumbling to pop one off the stem, heart racing in his chest.

James' lips curl up. "Of course you are."

"I'm not upset about it. I don't mind keeping my circles small, James," Regulus whispers, his voice
gone soft as he lifts a grape to the pull-apart seam of James' mouth, feeding it to him with his eyes
locked onto every inch of the process.

"Maybe I just think you deserve to have more people adore you," James says, rolling the grape
between his teeth before deliberately biting down on it.

Regulus swears it's like James has bitten into him and broken the skin. He jolts, exhaling harshly
and only just managing not to curse out loud. When he starts to snatch his hand back, James' fingers
snap up to catch his wrist, holding him in place, their eyes meeting. "Maybe I don't."

"You're wrong. You do." James sways forward, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over Regulus'
fluttering pulse in his wrist. "Christ. Can I—Regulus, can I kiss you?"

"No," Regulus breathes out, his fingers twitching forward, reaching out to brush James' cheek.

"Do you want me to?"

"Very much."

James groans and turns his face into Regulus' hand, dropping soft kisses to the lines on his palm,
hungry and reverent at the same time. "God," he chokes out, practically nuzzling into his hand,
peppering kisses down further until he's at the bend of Regulus' wrist, brushing sensitive skin.

"James," Regulus croaks, curling his hand up to delve his fingers into the mess of hair on top of
James' head. He strokes through, and James sighs softly as he relaxes into it, his eyes fluttering
shut. It's easy, guiding him back down, pushing fingers through his hair as he melts into Regulus'
lap, turning into dripping wax from the flames of himself, blatantly content to rest right there with
Regulus' hand on him.

"We shouldn't—it'll get cold, you'll get cold, so we shouldn't stay too long," James mumbles, and
he sounds so sad about it.

Regulus gently cards through a mess of hair from root-to-tip and shushes him before saying, firm,
"We'll stay as long as you like. I'm plenty warm."

And he is, because James is the sun.

James breaks out into a grin, but he doesn't open his eyes. All he says is, "Yeah, alright. Can I have
another grape?"

"Mm," Regulus hums and grabs another grape. What else is he supposed to do? The whole world
rotates around the sun, so Regulus doesn't stand a chance of doing anything else.

Around and around James he goes.

"Like I said, I have no idea who's here," Sirius tells Remus as he pushes open the door and holds it
open for them both to step through. "You might get to meet Prongs."

Remus looks amused. "Do people just go in and out of your flat as they like?"

"Well, it's not just my flat, you see. Prongs lives here, too. So did Wormtail for a bit before his
mum hit the roof because she'd paid for him to have his own flat. He lives there now, but he comes
over to ours all the time. It's practically still his, if I'm honest," Sirius explains.

"Wait." Remus goes pale. "You mean—do you mean to tell me that those nights when I was—
when we were...here, your mates could have also been here?"
Sirius grins at him. "Not Wormtail, he's been sick. But Prongs, yeah. He congratulated us on the
fantastic sex, by the way."

"Oh, fuck off," Remus groans, his face turning red instantly.

"You're fine, Remus. It's fine." Sirius chuckles and drags his hand down Remus' arm to catch his
fingers, pressing his own in the open spaces, locking them together. He gives a tug and calls out as
they walk. "Oi! Anyone here?"

"Jus' me," comes the muffled shout from Peter, whose head pops up from behind the sofa as they
step into the room. He blinks. "Prongs is out. Who's this?"

"Well, Wormtail, you'd know if you haven't been gone for ages, wouldn't you?" Sirius complains.

Peter huffs and stands up, dragging a cord for his charger over the back of the sofa. "It hasn't even
been two weeks, Sirius, and I'm so sorry I was busy hacking my lungs up and seeing the inside of
my own stomach. I'll do my best to keep being ill to just a few days next time for your
convenience, yeah?"

"Good. As you should." Sirius nods and drags Remus over to the sofa, plopping down in the
middle as Peter climbs over the back and flops down on his open side. "This is Moony. We like
Moony. We're keeping Moony."

"Remus," Remus says dryly, offering his hand over Sirius.

"Peter," replies Peter, smiling as he reaches over to shake Remus' hand. "Is Moony a yes, or is
Sirius just being an idiot?"

"Moony is fine," Remus muses, much to Sirius' delight. He shoots a triumphant look at Peter.
"Sirius calls me that so much that I've started to answer to it. Someone made a comment about the
moon yesterday, and I looked up."

Sirius barks a laugh, squeezing Remus' hand. "Oh, that's brilliant."

"Stuff it, Pads, the adults are talking," Peter mutters, leaning forward to look at Remus. "How'd you
two meet, then?"

"In a bookshop," Remus replies calmly.

"Buying books," Sirius adds helpfully, beaming when Remus rolls his eyes, but there's a faint smile
at the corners of his mouth. "In any case, Pete, it's all lovely and wonderful and I've a boyfriend
now, but you missed it."

"I was ill!" Peter squawks in offense. "Would you have liked me to meet him while sick? It was
disgusting!"

"Don't listen to him; he's just being dramatic," Remus assures Peter. "I've not met any of his
friends, and he hasn't met mine, so it's not that serious."

Peter groans, and Sirius says, "Actually, I'm—"

"It is nice to meet you, though," Remus continues, as if he hasn't just darted his hand up to clamp it
over Sirius' mouth, effectively shutting him up. "I've heard a lot about Wormtail and Prongs. A
great deal of it was funny."

"Oh, I'll bet. We were menaces in school." Peter cocks his head, eyeing Remus' hand over Sirius'
mouth and Sirius' uncharacteristic pliant response. "You know, we've all tried that, and it's never
worked for us. He'd just lick us like a bloody dog. Isn't he licking you?"

Remus hums. "Yes, but my hand is hardly the first thing he's licked of mine."

"What else did—" Peter chokes, then he laughs. "Oh! Oh, right. Goodness, how did Sirius snag
you?"

"Well, as I said, my hand is hardly the first thing he—"

"Oh my god."
Sirius' laughter goes muffled into Remus' palm, but he sinks to the side far enough that the hand
slips away. Instead, Sirius just drops his face into Remus' shoulder, still laughing, and Remus
chuckles warmly into his hair.

Peter and Remus get on well enough. The telly is on in the background, so they chat about
whatever plays, but Sirius barely pays attention. He's quite comfortably draped against Remus, one
leg hooked over his, curled into him so his head can rest on Remus' shoulder. It's even better
because Remus is gently tugging on the short whorls behind his ear and at the nape of his neck.
Sirius feels content. Settled.

They've had a long day, the two of them. As far as second dates go, Sirius thinks they had an
eventful one. They'd had breakfast together, then just...didn't stop from that point on. They went
everywhere they could think to go, doing whatever suited them—paddle-boating on the water,
strolling through a street art tour, dragging each other into various storefronts, taking one of those
carriage rides and necking in the back as the horse hooves clomped along cobblestone. As the day
tipped over into the afternoon, they'd ended up on a bench at the park, eating ice cream and
chatting for hours.

It's good with Remus. Talking to him is sometimes so simple, even if he makes Sirius feel things
that make it difficult. It's worth it, though, every time. Just to see his eyes light up, or soften, or roll
with exasperation. Just to hear him laugh, or click his tongue, or murmur Sirius' name like it's
made of velvet. Just to make him smile, just to matter enough that he pays attention, just to be with
him.

They're still discovering each other. Sirius has learned that Remus is almost finished with school,
and he's going for teaching, which makes so much sense and had Sirius teasingly calling him
Professor Lupin for the next hour. He'd been visibly intrigued to find out that Sirius wasn't in
school at all, having graduated with only an associates before giving it up and throwing his lot in
with the studio he works at now and has all intentions of buying when the current owner retires.
Remus had been utterly delighted to find out that Sirius is an artist over a wide range of mediums,
from drawing and painting to pottery and sculpting, and the additional other areas he's dabbled in
from time-to-time.

He does well for himself, considering he works by commission and his cut of the sales of his
products sold in Mrs. Delby's shop next door to the studio. Most importantly, it's something he
loves to do, not something he feels pressured to do. Oh, his mother hated it and expected many
other things from him, which is just an additional reason for him to be pleased with his life. There's
nothing quite like going into the studio, turning on music, and losing himself to creation.

Remus had been so charmed by it, almost shy when asking if Sirius had any pictures of something
he'd made that he'd be willing to share. Sirius loves to show off, usually, but he'd had that nervous,
fluttery feeling at the base of his throat as he'd passed his phone over and let Remus scroll through
his gallery. His heart had jumped when Remus had smiled and said, on a soft sigh, that it made
sense for someone so beautiful to create such beautiful things. Sirius had lost his breath, and kissed
him, and kissed him, and kissed him trying to get it back.

If Sirius is honest, this is his favorite part of someone new. This open space in the beginning where
you trade out learning the best parts of each other. Long before the worst parts start to leak through
the cracks, before things start to sour, before it gets complicated because this isn't all Sirius is.

He's not just booming laughter and broad smiles, the bright streak of sunrise hues across a painting,
a burst of unending energy that can power a house trying to go quiet. He's also scowls and
brooding, a dark blot misshapen on a canvas that promises something bleak in its curves, the
hollow bones of a house already abandoned and trapping ghosts that have no desire to be there
either. He gets in his moods, and he can be a right wanker at times, and he's not ready for Remus to
find out. To see him in his entirety. To know that there's more, and it's not as good as this. It only
gets worse, and Sirius dreads it.

But, for now, he'll bask in this. He does just that, in fact, snuggling in closer to Remus with his eyes
shut, breathing in the secret, hidden smell of him under the hinge of his jaw. That's for Sirius alone,
no one else. And no one in the world knows how strong the scent there is after a shag, when his
head is tipped back and he's breathing hard, a lazy grin stretched across his face that makes Sirius
want to crawl inside his skin and live there. He smells like those cinnamon spice biscuits with the
sprinkled honey crumbs in those tins Effie always keeps to throw sewing needles and thread into
once they're empty. He smells like that and patchouli, like home and earth, and so fucking good
that Sirius wants to inhale him forever, lightheaded from it.

It's nice getting to relax a bit and just spend time with Peter, who Sirius is happy to catch up with
from the curve of Remus' neck. Peter's been shut away in that flat for nearly two weeks now, and
every time Sirius and James have been over, they've fussed over him like they're his parents, so he
finally banned them and resorted to sending updates by cell. It's good to have him back, and getting
to hear about the neighbor he has a crush on is always a delight. The poor sod has fancied her going
on a year now, but every time he tries to ask her out, she always misinterprets it as him asking for
recommendations for places to go, or even giving her one. It's a bit of a train wreck made for
romcoms, honestly, and Sirius finds it adorable.

"Oh, bullocks," Peter mumbles when his phone is finally charged enough to turn on again—his
phone is always dying; it's just one of those Peter Pettigrew things. He grimaces at the screen and
stands up. "Right, so I'm twenty minutes late to a meeting, apparently, which means I'm going to
get fussed at when I get back to the office. Shit. Alright, lads, this has been fun, but I have to go.
Padfoot, I'll see you later, yeah? Tell Prongs I said hello. Nice to meet you, Moony."
"Same to you," Remus says, lifting his hand from Sirius' hair to wave as Peter starts frantically
gathering his things.

"Bloody hell, Pete, don't forget your charger," Sirius calls, and Peter groans as he skips back,
climbing precariously on the sofa to lean over the back of it. "Oi, get your arse out of Moony's
face, mate."

"Sorry," Peter gasps out, emerging victorious with his charger, beaming as he scrambles back off
the sofa. "I'm off now."

"Love you!" Sirius yells.

"Love you, too!" Peter shouts back, and the door slams shut.

Remus goes back to stroking his hair and says, "He was nice."

"He can be, but don't let the act fool you. Wormtail has his faults. His phone is always dead, he has
no sense of direction whatsoever, and he can't keep a secret to save his life, or anyone's life,
honestly," Sirius says fondly.

"Well, we all have our faults, don't we?"

"Suppose so. What's yours?"

"Mm, I don't wait for hot drinks to cool down before I drink them, and I ache like an old man if I'm
too active, and I might have a bit of a...pride issue," Remus muses. "Personal pride, in any case.
What's yours?"

Sirius presses closer to him, something twisting in his gut. His faults are… He has too many, he
knows that, he doesn't want Remus to find out about any of them. He swallows and forces cheer
into his voice. "Haven't a clue what you mean, Moony. I'm perfect."

"Are you?" Remus asks, amused.

"Oh, absolutely," Sirius says, tipping his face up to press gentle kisses to the line of Remus' throat.
"And does that mean you're aching like an old man after our active day?"

Remus snorts. "Not yet. Tomorrow, I'll creak with every step, though. I'm an old soul, and my
bones took note."

"I rather like your bones."

"What an odd thing to say."

"You're right, but you see, it's true because I like every part of you," Sirius tells him, humming in
satisfaction when Remus shivers against him from the drag of his teeth.

"I thought you were being a gentleman on our second date," Remus breathes out, head tipping to
the side.

Sirius raises up, crowding closer to follow, eager as heat unfurls slow under his skin. "I was a
gentleman on our second date. That's over now, and we're on date two-and-a-half. Come on,
Moony, let's go to my room."

"You've made valid points," Remus says, following easily when Sirius drags him off the sofa and
down the hall.

They're all over each other as soon as the door shuts, and Sirius is never going to get enough of
this. Never going to get enough of the strength in Remus' hands, the way he groans loud and
shamelessly when Sirius mouths at that dip between his clavicle, tonguing at it. Never going to get
enough of his own name in Remus' mouth, soft and breathy, or the way his eyes aren't brown, not
really, but amber. Never going to get enough of the freckles on the bridge of his nose, or the quiet
pop of his knee bending, or the scar on his thigh.

"Beautiful, gorgeous, mesmerizing thing, you are," Sirius chants breathlessly, shoving his hands up
under Remus' sweater to push it up, trying valiantly to get the damn thing off. "Remus, Moony, be
a love and—"
Remus tuts at him, but it's fond, and his face is flushed. He puts his hand against Sirius' chest and
starts walking him back towards the bed. They separate long enough to snatch off clothes, and then
they're falling into bed together.

It's a rush of skin and sweat after that, something Sirius falls into with ease and force every time.
It's like watching a wave come in from the horizon and still being startled by how massive it is
when it reaches you, crashing down and taking you on a ride. There's nothing quite like losing
himself to Remus, and it's never been like this for Sirius before.

Everything is slick skin and symphonious moans and the blur of bodies, the both of them caught in
the crashing tide. The peak of it steals Sirius from his very body, a hook in his spine that snatches
him up, up, up until he's not sure he'll ever come back down, but he does. Slowly. Shaking.
Clutching at Remus like he's the lighthouse leading him to land.

"Fucking shit," Sirius gasps out hoarsely, unspooled and unraveled, melted down and refusing to
move. His throat is raw, which means he got loud at some point, though he honestly couldn't
pinpoint when. It's all just a streak of blazing pleasure in his mind.

"Christ," Remus pants, "I always want a smoke after."

Sirius blinks over at him lazily. "You smoke?"

"When I'm stressed. Or, when I've had a good shag, apparently. Crave it every time," Remus
admits, tossing his arm over his eyes. The sweat at his temple has a bit of his hair sticking to his
face—Sirius, inexplicably, wants to lick it.

"Have one, then. Just open my window."

"Haven't brought any."

"In my stand," Sirius murmurs, and Remus lifts his arm to blink at him. "I'm a social smoker. At
parties, or if someone else is, or if someone's peeved me off."

Remus hums and sits up, leaning over to dig in Sirius' stand, pulling out a pack and a lighter. "Want
one?"
"If you are," Sirius says, sitting up to crawl out of bed and go open his own window, pulling on his
pants on the way. Remus follows, back in his sweater and nothing else, the bottom only just
covering the proper bits. Sirius is ridiculously interested by the sight, even though they've only just
shagged.

They lean against the ledge next to each other in comfortable silence, smoking and flicking ash, the
rain-soaked breeze cooling the heat of their skin. Sirius blows out smoke rings, his mind blissfully
blank. He rolls the smoke over his tongue and closes his eyes, revisiting flashes of what happened
only moments before. He never gets enough.

"You know," Remus says idly, "you never told me before what your faults are."

"I told you, I'm perfect," Sirius mumbles, opening his eyes to watch smoke drift out and dissipate
along the wind.

Remus hums skeptically. "No one actually is, Sirius. Go on, then. At least tell me one."

"A bit dodgy, that," Sirius says sharply, hearing the edge to his tone and not being able to stop it.
"Trying to find a problem with me so soon, Moony?"

"Not all faults are problems," Remus replies.

Sirius scoffs and inhales harshly enough that his cheeks hollow in. On the exhale, he mutters,
"Suppose you've never had to tolerate faults like mine, then."

Remus sighs. "Sirius—"

"Leave it, Remus," Sirius cuts in, his jaw clenched. "I don't really want to talk about it. I'm—tired.
Let's just...sprawl about, yeah?"

"You can't tell me one thing about yourself that isn't making you out to be perfect?" Remus asks,
not leaving it.
Sirius glances over at him, and Remus is staring at him, studying him, waiting. "I think I've just
worked out another one of yours. You don't know how to back off."

"Is that right?" Remus flicks his gaze over Sirius' face, then stands up a little straighter, blowing
smoke towards the window. A neutral expression falls on his face, placid and diplomatic. "No,
actually, I do know how to back off."

"What are you doing?" Sirius asks, watching Remus stub the filter and flick it, moving casually
around to start gathering his clothes, dragging them on.

"Backing off," Remus says mildly.

"Oh, really?" Sirius huffs out an incredulous laugh that could cut, eyes tracking Remus around the
room as he gathers his things. "Christ. You're a passive-aggressive prick, aren't you?"

"Like I said, we all have our faults," Remus tells him, shooting him a tight smile as he slides his
phone into his pocket.

"You're leaving, then?" Sirius asks.

Remus' eyebrows twitch up. "Do you want me to back off, or not?"

"I want—" Sirius huffs, then flicks his filter and instantly wishes he had another smoke. Ah,
Remus has gone and peeved him off. Lovely. "Well, I wanted to laze about naked in my bed, but I
can see that's clearly not going to happen."

"Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"So let me see if I've got this all figured out, yeah? I won't answer a stupid question, and you're
hacked off about it?"

"Sirius," Remus says flatly, "I don't make it a habit of dating people I'm not allowed to know.
We're all entitled to our secrets, to privacy, that's fine—but you nearly bit my head off because I
asked a simple question trying to know you better. In the last two minutes, you've called me a
passive-aggressive prick and insinuated I'm too pushy. Far be it from me to stick around and upset
you further."

"Look at that," Sirius grits out. "Problems already. Have you considered that maybe, just maybe, I
don't want you to know me better when it comes to—that? To what's wrong with me?"

"Wrong?" Remus blinks at him. "Sirius, I don't think there's anything wrong with you. It's not—
you can have flaws, you know. Everyone does."

Sirius presses his lips into a thin line. "Yes, well, my flaws ruin things, especially the good things
in my life, so I don't particularly fancy letting them have a go at the best thing that's happened to
me in a long time."

"The best thing," Remus repeats, his mouth wrapping around the words like they taste sweet.

"You are," Sirius mumbles, because he is. It's terrifying how Remus is just the best thing. It's
terrifying right now, too, because he might leave. Sirius doesn't want to muck this up; he's going to,
he just knows it, he always does, but he desperately doesn't want to. "Are you—are you still
going?"

Remus' eyes sharpen on him. "Do you want me to?"

Sirius swallows thickly, feeling every inch of where Remus' eyes drift over him, like a tangible
trail of heat. His heart tries to climb up his throat, and when he finds his voice again, it's rough and
raspy. "I want you to get me off again."

"Even though I'm a passive-aggressive prick?" Remus asks as he starts stepping forward.

"Especially because you're a passive-aggressive prick," Sirius croaks, tracking Remus' progress.

Remus hums, drawing closer. "Despite that I'm too pushy?"

"Push more," Sirius breathes out, practically vibrating, burning up all over again.
 "But I've upset you," Remus murmurs, close enough to touch now, and he fucking does,
thankfully. His broad hands settle on Sirius' hips, pushing him back towards the window.

"Honestly," Sirius whispers, "I think you could toss me out the bloody window, and I'd still want
you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Remus says, low and amused, and then he turns Sirius around and pushes
him against the ledge of the window, making Sirius scramble to brace himself on his hands as
Remus presses right up behind him, strong hands on heated skin. His lips brush the shell of Sirius'
ear. "And what makes you think that there's anything you can do, anything you can be, that's going
to make me stop wanting you?"

Sirius would be ashamed about the moan that spills out of his mouth if it didn't make Remus press
closer into him. He drops his head forward, breathing hard, his mind in an uproar. Oh, Remus is
dangerous. He's so dangerous, making Sirius feel like this, applying sexy logic to all these
wriggling insecurities under his skin like splinters. God, he's brilliant.

Shagging beside an open window is a bit mad, but they do it anyway, and the breeze is a dream on
Sirius' burning skin. Remus has to clamp a hand down on his mouth to muffle the loud noises that
he can't stop himself from releasing, and he buries his face into Sirius' hair to muffle his own.

By the end, Sirius' eyes are rolling back, and he'd be a puddle on the floor if it wasn't for Remus
dragging him over to the bed, where they laze about naked just like Sirius wanted.

Sleepy and soft, Sirius whispers into Remus' skin, "I get a bit defensive sometimes. That's—that's
one."

"Oh? I never would have guessed," Remus says, laughing so hard that the whole bed quakes.

Sirius tucks himself into Remus as far as he can go, inhaling the cinnamon and patchouli smell of
him, holding onto the very best thing and desperately hoping to never lose it.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, hear me out. I'm aware that you can't just go ziplining off of rooftops, but I
simply Do Not Care. I wanted James and Regulus to fly, so they did. Let me have this.

Also, Peter, a scatter-brained king!!!

 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

Mild warning against for a hint of spice. Again, nothing explicit. Also, to all those that
create art out there, just know that I am in awe of you and intimidated by your
excellence.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James waves his hand at Lupin as Regulus breaks away from him and heads right for James
instead. Lupin waves back, smiling, but then he's quickly distracted by his phone.

Regulus isn't smiling when he draws closer, but he's rarely smiling, honestly. That makes it all that
more special when James manages to draw one out of him. Even still, there's something—off about
Regulus, something a little extra tense. There's an unhappy set to his shoulders that makes James
automatically want to reach out and rub the strain away.

"What's wrong?" James asks, watching him closely.

"Can we—" Regulus works his jaw, the cutting hinge at the bolt flaring out as he turns his whole
head to look away. He starts walking, and stiffly continues talking. "I know we had plans, but I'm
not—I can't—"

"Regulus," James murmurs, reaching out carefully to curl his fingers into the bend of his elbow,
"we can cancel. If you're not feeling well, or you just...don't want to, then we won't. I can leave you
be, if you like. Is it alright if I walk you home?"

"Yeah," Regulus says softly. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Do you want to talk about it?" James asks.

Regulus keeps staring straight ahead. "No."

"Alright," James says, tucking his hand a bit firmer into Regulus' arm, which manages to capture
his attention. In fact, with a furrow in his brow, Regulus looks down at where James has his hand
folded into his elbow, and then he blinks and sort of shifts his arm better so James can hang off
him properly, pressed right up against his side, almost escorted. Something about it smooths some
of the tension in Regulus' frame.

It's cold and rainy out today, so their planned date being on the inside was a good idea. A musical
that James had picked out—the kind that's supposed to be funny and tragic, because he'd argued
that if he was going to be made to cry, then he should get to laugh, too—and the restaurant that
Regulus picked for afterwards. And, yes, it all sounds fun, but James was looking forward to
spending time with Regulus above all, so if he's not feeling up to it, they'll just do it some other
time.

Regulus doesn't say one word all the way to his building, but he does frequently glance down at
where James' hand is curled around his arm, as if he's checking to make sure it's still there. James
thinks he likes it, or maybe just appreciates the proximity, and he's learned by now that Regulus
will make it very clear when he doesn't want to be touched. He also won't ever ask to be touched
when he wants it, or likes it, so James has to walk that tightrope as carefully as possible.

When they do reach the building, James slows to a stop, but Regulus keeps right on going, so they
pull apart, hand slipping out of arm. Regulus turns with the motion, and the look on his face is like
a punch straight to the gut, so unexpected and heavy that James loses his breath and would hit his
knees if he wasn't so bloody surprised.

He's never seen that look on Regulus' face before. It's more emotion than he usually lets shine on
his face, and all of it tugs at every single one of James' heartstrings. Just this abundance of
confusion as he turns and looks at James, a hint of betrayal, as if he doesn't understand why James
has stopped and pulled away, like James is the only person in the world he trusts, only to be let
down. His eyes are soft and sad, and though they're dry, it looks like he could cry. James has never
had the urge to apologize this quickly in his life, and he has no idea what he's done, but he knows
he'd do anything to fix it.

"You're not coming up?" Regulus asks quietly, staring at him with wrinkled eyebrows, all doe-eyed
and sad innocence.

James wants to take his face in his hands and kiss every inch of it. He nearly trips over his own
tongue to say, "What? Of course—of course I will, Regulus, if you want. I just—I only thought that
you didn't...want, you see. I said I'd leave you be, if you'd like, so I—I thought—"

"Oh." Regulus frowns. "Well, I wouldn't like, actually."

"Oh," James echoes, nodding quickly. "In that case, yeah, I'll come up with you."

Regulus waits, staring and frowning, losing some of that heartbreaking disappointment as James
steps forward to reach out and grab his arm again. They go inside in silence.

In the flat, Regulus pulls away to unravel his scarf and hang up his coat, and James peels out of his
own, slipping out of his shoes as Regulus does the same. James isn't that surprised when Regulus
goes right to the kitchen, so he follows and leans up against the counter, watching curiously as
Regulus pulls down two mugs.

"Do you like hot cocoa?" Regulus murmurs.

"Yeah," James answers.

Humming is James' only response, and he watches as Regulus goes about making two mugs of hot
cocoa for them. It was cold enough that James' fingers are still a bit stiff, so he's actually quite
delighted by the promise of a hot drink to warm him up. Regulus spares no extravagance, even
bringing out the squirty cream and chocolate shavings.

Regulus passes him a mug and leads him over to the sofa, which they both sink down on. James
has to scoot over a bit because he accidentally almost sits down on Regulus, just from following so
closely, but Regulus hardly even seems to notice. He curls into himself on the sofa, one leg folded
underneath himself, his other propped up so close to his chest that he can rest his chin on it. He
cradles his mug between his hands, but he doesn't drink any of it.

The silence is comfortable, outside of James worrying about Regulus, who seems deep in thought
—and not in a good way. Sort of like Sirius when he gets in his moods, actually, except less angry
and more...somber. Now that James is thinking about it, he's pretty sure he's seen Sirius shrink
down on himself just like Regulus is. He's just more withdrawn, unreachable because he's hidden
away; not unreachable because he'll lash out, like Sirius.

James nurses his hot cocoa. It's really quite good. He'd seen Regulus add something to it, and
whatever it was, it makes it the best hot cocoa he's ever had. He's not too terribly surprised by that
either, seeing as Regulus makes his coffee every morning and makes it better than anyone.
Somehow, he knows exactly how much sugar James adds, and also knows that James likes the
squirty cream and caramel drizzle, even though James has never said it out loud before or ordered
it.
Alright, so James does feel a bit spoiled. It doesn't take very much to please him, though, not really.
He likes that Regulus notices these details about him. It makes him feel warm and wanted. It
makes him think about how much effort he used to put into getting noticed in the past, only for this
lovely man to see him when he's not even trying to be seen.

"Are you disappointed?" Regulus asks suddenly, lifting his head off his knee to look over at
James.

James blinks. "What? About what?"

"That we haven't gone out," Regulus says, leaning forward to sit his untouched mug down. "We
had plans."

"We did, yeah, but that's alright. No, I'm not disappointed at all," James tells him honestly, taking a
deep swallow of his drink before sitting his half-empty mug down, too. "Why would I be?"

"We had plans," Regulus repeats.

"Yes, I know," James says fondly, "but as nice as those plans were, what I really look forward to is
being with you. I'm with you now, aren't I, so what do I have to be disappointed about?"

Regulus stares at him, and then he abruptly unfurls from his hunched position on the sofa, twisting
in place to reach out and catch James' jaw, turning his head as he leans in. Their lips brush in the
middle, a kiss as soft as it is short, just a whisper of Regulus' mouth against his own.

James stops breathing. Forgets how to, for a moment, his heart stumbling in his chest before it's off
to the races, running wild and free in the cavern of his chest. He stares at Regulus, his mouth
feeling warm, as does the cheek Regulus is still cradling. Regulus has only pulled back just a bit,
searching his eyes as if asking if it's okay, as if it could ever be anything else.

"The things you say sometimes, James…" Regulus shakes his head, and a tiny smile flickers across
his face, slipping in and out but a real visit all the same. His thumb strokes across James' cheek.
"You're precious, you know."

Before James can get his wits about him, Regulus slips his hand down to the side of James' neck
and ducks his head forward, curling in closer to press his face into his throat. James has to shift and
adjust some, but then he has an arm around him, fingers resting against that small strip of skin
where his shirt rides up on his hip. Regulus' legs fold over his lap, still cradling James' neck with
one hand while the other lies limp on his own thigh, and James lifts his free hand to grab it, loosely
threading their fingers together.

"What could ever be disappointing about you?" James mumbles into Regulus' hair, turning his face
into it.

"Give it some time. You'll find out." Despite his words, Regulus relaxes against him with a soft
sigh, content. His breath puffs out over James' calming pulse. "I've had an awful day, you know,
and you've gone and made me feel…"

"What?" James murmurs.

Regulus huffs. "Better."

"You sound absolutely disgusted."

"You've too much power, James."

James chuckles, and Regulus presses his palm against the front of his throat like he wants to feel it.
"Well, I'm clearly using my power for good if I'm making you feel better. You deserve to feel
better, Regulus."

"I saw someone today," Regulus says quietly.

"Alright," James replies carefully. It takes a lot of effort not to ask who, but he manages.

"My ex-fiance," Regulus informs him anyway.

"Your—" James rears back and to the side a bit, craning his head down to stare at Regulus with
wide eyes. "You were engaged?"
Regulus tilts his head back, still resting on James' shoulder, just with more space to look up at him.
"I was. Briefly."

"Oh." James studies Regulus' infuriatingly neutral expression, trying not to frown. "Was it—did it
end badly? Did they hurt you? I know it's not easy seeing an ex—"

"James, no, nothing like that." Regulus' lips twitch slightly, even if his eyes are tired. "I was
engaged, yes, but not really by choice. My mother chose my spouse, and I was expected to marry.
Instead, I… Well, I left."

James processes that, then murmurs, "That's still a difficult situation, Regulus. Having to see them
again. Did they—was there anything said to you? Something tells me Lupin isn't as unassuming as
he looks; I bet he'd hurt someone for you. If there was anything left after you were done with them,
in any case. And, well, you know I'd—not that you need it, but—"

"I wasn't recognized," Regulus cuts in, chuckling when James' eyebrows fly up in disbelief. He
can't imagine ever missing Regulus, even just by a glimpse of him, even if it was decades since he
laid eyes on him. "I look a bit different from when I was eighteen. It's been five years."

"I'd know you no matter how long it's been."

"Trust me, you wouldn't recognize me at eighteen."

"Hm," James says skeptically, squinting, and Regulus smiles again. Fleeting, yet lovely. "I can't
believe your mum tried to marry you off. Is this the 19th century? That's mental."

"Not the pinnacle of sanity, my mother," Regulus says dryly. It reminds James so starkly of Sirius
when he talks about his mother that he can't help the way his lips twitch a bit, but it's not really
funny, is it?

James sighs. "Did you at least love them?"

"We met the day I was informed we were to be married," Regulus admits, smiling harder when
James' face scrunches.
"Mental, absolutely mental."

"You sound so appalled, but really, I knew the day would eventually come. Didn't know what I'd
do about it, not until I suddenly found myself running. It was…"

"Brave," James whispers. "It was really brave, Regulus. You chose your own path in life. Do you
—regret it?"

Regulus tucks his face down and presses a senseless kiss to James' cloth-covered shoulder, gazing
at him from under his eyelashes. "What do I have to regret? It ended with me here, with you, didn't
it?"

"Oh," James says, strangled, a rising flush of delight and emotion searing in his chest, "I see what
you mean about the saying things and such."

"Do you?" Regulus asks, laughing softly, like a secret.

"I really do," James breathes out, feeling fit to burst from all the joy pressing in at the seams of
himself. He sways in closer, ducking his head, gaze dropping to Regulus' mouth. His heart jumps
when Regulus tilts his face up, accommodating, waiting with unspoken acceptance. "Can I kiss
you?"

"You do seem to want to," Regulus says, the tease.

"I do." James leans in, breathless. "Regulus. Please."

Regulus' breath audibly hitches, and he mumbles an almost distracted, "Yes, James, yes," as he lifts
up to meet him as James immediately ducks in as soon as he has permission.

It's soft again, but not nearly as short. James tightens his arm around Regulus, pulling him closer,
and their tangled hands break as he lifts up to cup Regulus' cheek. Regulus' hand stays at his neck,
cradling it, while the other that was just freed darts forward to fist the front of James' shirt,
grasping the fabric tight enough for it to wrinkle and tug.
The kiss is slow, sweet, a come-and-go pressure of warmth that breaks away and meets over and
over again, driving James a bit mad. It makes him want more, but he waits, and waits, and waits,
and is finally rewarded for his patience by the swipe of Regulus' tongue. Regulus' mouth is a slash
of heat against James' own as he deepens the kiss, pressing into it, a quiet sound rising up his throat
that makes James' head spin and his lips throb. James groans and shudders at the sensitive drag of
tongues, followed by a quick test of teeth, an almost playful nip at his bottom lip that has him
panting.

He forgets everything outside of Regulus, and Regulus' mouth, and Regulus' body. Easily caught
up in it. Like a storm washing him away, the hair-raising impression of energy building as thunder
rumbles through the sky and lightning threatens to strike. He chases after it helplessly, a sound so
close to a whine escaping him when it outruns him, when Regulus rocks back, turning his head,
chest heaving.

"Alright?" James checks once he gets enough sense about him to actually find his voice, which is
lower than usual, husky.

Regulus abruptly laughs—and it's a loud laugh, sudden and real, almost like it's bursting forth from
the very depths of him. A bark of laughter. It's so familiar that James is nearly sure he could work
out who it reminds him of if he weren't currently rendered useless by that truly lovely snog. It cuts
off quickly anyway, Regulus' hand untangling from James' shirt to clap over his mouth. He looks
so startled by his own laugh that James can't help but grin at him.

Clearing his throat, Regulus drops his hand back to James' shirt, smoothing out the spot he was
gripping. "Yes, I'm—I'm quite alright, James. I've wrinkled your shirt."

"It's fine," James says, still grinning. Regulus' laugh rings in his ears. So carefree. Elated. Giddy,
even.

"Right, well, that's enough of...all of that for today, I've decided," Regulus tells him, clearing his
throat again. He pulls away and keeps pulling away, scooting across the sofa until they're not
touching at all.

James tries not to pout about it. He knows that Regulus is like this, withdrawing when he feels that
he's shown too much of himself, pulling back when he thinks he's revealed something by accident,
before he was ready. He likes control, Regulus does, so when he feels that he's lost it… Well, he
retreats to a place where he has it, just him and him alone.

That's fine. James will coax him out again and again forever if he must. It's a bit like getting blood
out of a stone, but every drop is worth it. The more comfortable Regulus gets, the farther he comes,
and the safer he feels. James just wants to make him feel safe. James wants to keep him safe.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Might be best."

"Not what I asked, Regulus."

"I—no, not really."

James smiles. "Can I stay, then? Maybe finish the hot cocoa? It's bloody brilliant, that. What did
you put in it?"

"A bit of nutmeg and a dash of cardamom powder," Regulus lists off instantly.

"I don't even know what cardamom is," James tells him, chuckling, and he leans forward to grab
his mug.

Regulus copies him, a faint smile passing over his face before it's gone. "It's a spice. It has the
added benefit of being good medicinally—helps with nausea and such—but it also tastes good with
certain things."

"Well, you've converted me," James declares cheerfully and takes a sip as if to prove it.

"Ridiculous," Regulus mumbles, staring down at his mug. They're silent for a bit, and then Regulus
glances up and stares at him. "James, you said before that you know it's not easy to see your ex
again…"

James grimaces slightly. "Yeah?"

"You don't have to—I'm not asking for a list of all those you've ever been with, James, settle
down." Regulus rolls his eyes and leans back against the arm of the sofa. "I suppose I just want to
know who it was that made you—cautious. Which one hurt you, because someone certainly has."

"Noticed that, did you?" James fiddles with the mug, his leg jumping up and down anxiously. Oh,
this is not going to reflect on him well. He dreads it, but. Well, how can he expect Regulus to open
up, if he won't? "First, you have to understand that I was—I could be a nasty, little snot back in
school."

Regulus snorts. "No, surely not. Not you, James. The popular golden boy who played rugby and
started trends just by being charming enough. I can't believe it."

"I—yes, alright, I was a bit of a cliche," James admits with a sheepish grin, though it fades quickly.
"When I was eleven years old, I met Lily Evans."

"Ah," Regulus says softly, watching him.

James swallows and looks down. "I also met her best friend, Severus Snape. It was like we looked
at each other and it was instant mutual hatred. Frankly, I was awful to him. Made his life a living
hell for seven years. Me and my mates—we bullied him. That's not to say that he didn't give as
good as he got, because he was and likely still is an awful person, and he certainly never hesitated
to have a go at us. It wasn't like we were attacking him unprompted, but even still… He was a
creep. Didn't have a lot of friends, and none of them were real the way mine were, except for Lily,
so I can see now that he had it worse."

"Go on," Regulus prompts.

"My friends and I were popular, so when we made a fool of him, the whole school laughed. The
only person who made a fool of me was Lily, and people laughed, sure, but not like they did with
him. That could be because Snape was so horrible to so many people, and the things he did, the
things he said… A lot of it went beyond schoolyard rivalry and bullying. He made younger years
cry, and he was a bigot," James explains bluntly, lips pressing into a thin line. "We were both
horrible to each other for years, but I was the popular, rich boy who was generally very kind to
everyone, except for him and his mates. So, everyone always sided with me. Except for Lily."

Regulus hums and takes a sip of his drink. "Lily again. I take it she didn't appreciate the slander
towards her best friend."

"No, she didn't," James says with a weak laugh. "God, she despised me, you know. She once called
me an arrogant toerag. It was amazing."

"James, you really should examine this quirk of yours where you like it when people are mean to
you," Regulus tells him, lips twitching.

James' face gets hot. "I'd rather not, thanks. Anyway, I did not impress her, and she wanted nothing
to do with me, but I was completely in love with her. Convinced she was going to be my wife and
the mother to my children one day—all the way from the age of eleven, which is...a lot, I know, but
you couldn't tell me any different. No one could. Not even her."

"Bit presumptuous of you."

"Yes, I know. I just—I was so sure. I was in love with her, and I believed that it'd all work out,
because I thought she was the one. I really tried, you know. Outside of Snape, I wasn't awful. I was
just loud and brash and confident. I tried to show off in front of her, which only annoyed her more.
I liked it, in a way, I think. The challenge of it. But it was also just her. She was fierce, and
beautiful, and always quick to face a problem down with demands that it be fixed, even if she had
to find the solution herself. And she would, too. Very capable, that one."

"What happened?" Regulus asks.

"When we were fifteen, Snape said something awful to her. He was already so… By then, even
Lily found it hard to defend him, even if she was loyal enough to do it every time, at least until he
ruined that." James clicks his teeth. "Lily let him have it, then never spoke to him again, not as far
as I know. The things he did were always on the side of the unforgivable, you see. He took it too
far every time, and when he did with her… Well, that was it. She was done."

Regulus hums. "You were just a stupid boy doing stupid things. He was growing into cruelty. True
cruelty, the malicious kind. I saw it a lot in my house. I was the same."

"Cruel?" James asks.

"I could be. I was. I still can be, and will be, and am," Regulus tells him without blinking. "But I
don't—I don't have to be anymore. It's not expected of me. I'm always so hyper aware of that now
—that it's my choice when I do it."
"And you choose to be?"

"Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't."

James regards him with a frown. "I don't think you're cruel, Regulus."

"Give me a reason to choose to be," Regulus says simply, holding his gaze, "and you'll change
your mind."

"I won't, though."

"We'll see. Now, go on. Tell me about Lily."

"Right." James blows out a deep breath and buys himself some time by finishing off his hot cocoa.
He turns the empty mug over in his hands afterwards. "Right, well, I thought she and I would be
something with Snape out of the picture, but her feelings towards me didn't change very much. It
wasn't until we were sixteen that I realized I was a bit of a prat."

"You'd only just realized?" Regulus asks, amused.

"Yes," James admits, sighing. "In any case, I tried to be better. I thought if I was the best version of
myself, then Lily wouldn't hate me so much. And, well, it's not exactly a nice feeling to mature and
look back with—shame. Thinking about it all now, I just wish I'd been the bigger person, but I
can't go back. I could only move forward, so I did, and—"

Regulus raises his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"It worked," James says softly. "I stopped treating Lily like some sort of conquest and actually got
to know her, truly know her, and let her know me...and it worked. I asked her out when we were
seventeen, and she said yes. It was—really good. Really very good, and I could see it, how I'd
loved her for so long and she finally loved me, and it was all going to go just as I'd thought, it was
all going to work out."

"But it didn't," Regulus murmurs.

"It didn't," James confirms. "We dated for two years. When we were nineteen, I proposed to her."

"Oh, James." Regulus bites his bottom lip. "At nineteen?"

James hums. "Yes, well, I'd thought she would be my wife since I was eleven. I figured we'd spend
the rest of our lives together, so we may as well get started as soon as possible. She said no, of
course. I remember it, kneeling there, how gently she tugged me to my feet. I was so confused. She
told me, she said, we have a future, James, we shouldn't live like we don't. She didn't want to rush,
and she didn't want me to wait."

"Did you? Wait, I mean."

"Oh, absolutely. I spent the next three years waiting and slowly coming to realize that there are a
lot of ways to love someone, and it's not always going to be the way you originally thought it
would be. Because we became friends, you see, and that was—better, somehow. It was bittersweet
for a long time, and I was absolutely heartbroken when I finally faced reality."

"Which was?" Regulus murmurs.

"Reality was...she wasn't the one. She wasn't going to be my wife. She never was, not in this life,"
James says. "And there was nothing I could do, no way I could change, that would alter reality.
What I thought was meant to be...wasn't." He blows out a deep breath. "It was embarrassing. I had
to tell my mates to stop asking me what plan I had next to get her back. I had to come to terms with
the fact that I pushed too hard, fought for things that I shouldn't have, and chased after love so
relentlessly that I smothered it."

Regulus tilts his head. "You think it's all your fault?"

"No. Lily would have my head if I did," James admits with a chuckle. "I just—I know my part in it.
So, that's why… I suppose that's why I'm so cautious."

"Are you and Lily still…?" Regulus trails off.

James grins. "We're friends. I moved on quite a while ago now. No need to be jealous. She
wouldn't have me even if she could, and she can't, because I'm spoken for, you see."

"I'm not jealous," Regulus says tightly, very obviously jealous, and James busts out laughing. "Shut
up, James. I'm—"

"Lily's going to adore you," James cuts in lightly, twisting on the sofa to prop his arm along the
back of it, leaning forward to scoot closer to Regulus, who arches an eyebrow at him. "I know that
may seem strange, but she will. I just need you to promise me that you won't leave me for her
when you meet her."

"I'm gay, James."

"Yes, well, chances are you'd leave me for her before the opposite. And you're gay. That's how
sure I am."

Regulus narrows his eyes. "I don't need you to—reassure me. I'm not jealous. I don't care enough to
be jealous."

"Love," James says gently, tenderly, a spark of warmth glowing in his chest, only getting brighter
when Regulus softens right on up at the endearment, his face turning red.

"We're not together, you know. You're not technically spoken for," Regulus mumbles.

"Aren't we? Aren't I?" James just shrugs and shifts closer again, smiling. "The thing of it is, what
I've learned from all these lessons is that when it comes to love, we'll believe anything if our heart
believes it first. And my heart is quite sure about you."

"James," Regulus snaps.

"It's true," James says softly. "I'm all yours, really."

Regulus curses under his breath, swiveling to plop his mug down before surging back around,
pressing James into the cushion and kissing him hard. James melts into instantly with a sound
suspiciously close to a whimper, his hands flying up to grip Regulus' hips as he swings himself into
James' lap, fingers diving into James' hair.

The kiss is dirty, and hot, drawn-out between them. A steady rumble of desire builds in James'
veins, making his blood surge and pump faster, a storm brewing in his skin. Regulus raises up on
his knees, snogging James at an angle from above, these soft, defeated groans tumbling from his
mouth, muffled into James'. It's so easy to drag Regulus closer, to wrap his arms all the way around
Regulus and hold on.

"You're so much," Regulus chokes out when he breaks away to breathe. "You're too much."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," James chants breathlessly, mouth slipping down the side of Regulus'
neck to taste skin.

Regulus fists a hand in his hair, holding him there, and breathing hard, he sounds almost angry
when he hisses, "You do not apologize, James. Don't you dare. You've—you're perfect, you've
done nothing wrong, do you understand? She was a fool—a fool to have refused you anything, to
have made you so cautious. Don't be anything other than who you are, and her loss—oh god—"
One of his hands darts down to clamp on James' shoulder, nails digging in, and he releases this
broken sound high in his throat as James sucks a bruising mark into the curve of his neck. His head
falls back as a whimper falls out, but he manages to finish his sentence, the words rough. "Her loss
is my gain."

"Yours, yeah," James mumbles into his skin, then finds his way back to Regulus' mouth again,
drunk on him.

"Mm, mm, this—James, this is—" Regulus tugs on his hair, then tugs harder to get him to hang his
head back. James does, gazing up at him with a swollen mouth, his glasses lopsided on his face.
Regulus stares down at him, breathing hard, lips bitten-red. "We're stopping."

"We are?" James checks, not entirely sure.

"I—yes, we are," Regulus says, somehow managing to sound firmer that time. His grip loosens in
James' hair and he settles down slowly, sinking onto the platform of James' thighs. They stare at
each other as their breathing calms. "I'm going to finish my cocoa, and then you're going to go."

"Drink slowly," James whispers.

Regulus huffs a laugh, rolling his eyes, and he swings off of James' lap and settles right next to
him. His eyes are bright, his cheeks are flushed, and he's so lovely that James can hardly breathe
for looking at him.

It takes nearly an hour for Regulus to finish his drink.

Remus wonders if he'll ever get used to the swoop in his chest, the catch in his ribs, when he lays
eyes on Sirius. It takes place no matter what they're doing, or where they're at, but it's particularly
loud today with the sunlight framing the doorway of the shop as Sirius steps out, his hair tossed up
with a few wisps drifting down around his face, a streak of turquoise paint dried across his cheek.

"Oh, Moony," Sirius calls, hanging off the doorway with a broad grin, swinging on it a bit.

"Afternoon, Padfoot," Remus greets as he strolls forward.

Sirius looks affronted. "Afternoon? Are you mad? It's morning, really. I haven't been awake long at
all."

"I've been up since five," Remus informs him flatly.

"Disgusting. Terribly sorry for you," Sirius says with a grimace and a pout, reaching out to hook
two fingers in the front of Remus' sweater at the neck, dragging him in. "Let me distract you from
such agony."

"Oh, please do," Remus murmurs, smiling as Sirius leans in and kisses him, which makes it a bit
hard to do much kissing at all, but Sirius is quite persistent when he wants to be. He clearly wants
to be, because he keeps going until Remus is kissing back too much to smile, and he only pulls
away once they're deliciously rumbled, looking pleased with himself.

"Lovely to see you as always, Remus," Sirius says.

Remus smiles and reaches up to brush his hand along the blue smear on his cheek. "You've a bit of
paint."
"Do I? Shit." Sirius scowls briefly, scrubbing his hand along his cheek with a huff. "Oh, honestly. I
never leave the studio without paint somewhere. I thought I did once, then found a bit of green on
the back of my knee. The back of my knee, sweetheart, can you imagine? In any case, I hope you
don't mind if you get a bit on you. Comes with being an artist, you know, or at least shagging
one."

"A sacrifice I'm willing to make," Remus assures him, chuckling when Sirius flashes him a grin
and pulls away to usher him inside, shutting the door.

The front of the shop is almost bare, and it's quite small, as if this isn't the part that matters. There's
only a desk with a computer and an open sign-in book, but there's no one in the chair. Sirius leads
them right past and down the hall, turning at the end and pushing open one of the only two doors,
the one on the left across the hall.

The studio is large. So large, in fact, that it seems to be in sections. Remus can make out an area
for sculpting, and pottery, and what he thinks lends itself to glassblowing. All the ovens and such,
the odd tools, plus the displays for figurines and shapes made from clay, glass, wood, and stone.

Sirius winds further in, and the other side of the room is clearly meant for painting and drawing.
There are canvases of all shapes stacked along the wall like leaning books, only slips of artwork
peeking out. Trays upon trays of various pencils and different sized and textured charcoal; a
counter dedicated solely to seemingly endless bottles of paint; blank canvases and open drawing
pads; one drawer among many open with piles of brushes in it. There's an easel out with a wooden
slat along the back and a blank drawing paper clipped to it, a thin tray of pencils and charcoal in
front of it.

"You really are sure, yeah?" Sirius asks him as he moves over to grab a stool from the corner. "You
have to sit still for quite a bit. I mean, you can move and have breaks, but—"

"I told you it was fine," Remus says, amused, "even though I still can't work out why you want to
do this."

Sirius had seemed so hopeful when he'd asked, and Remus is learning that telling him no is
something of an impossible feat. It's not as if it's a hardship, really. Remus just has to sit still and
wait, and he has the added benefit of getting to see Sirius in his element, spending time with him all
the while. Honestly, why would he even say no to that?
"You're an inspiration, Moony," Sirius tells him casually, as if it's not a terribly impactful thing to
say. "I can't work out why you think I wouldn't? I'll never get a more beautiful muse. Now, come
here and get comfortable."

"What were you painting before?" Remus murmurs as he moves over to the stool, watching Sirius
move away.

"Mm, someone commissioned a spangled cotinga," Sirius declares cheerfully, pausing to grab a
canvas and swivel it around with a grin. There's a lovely bright blue bird on it, looking so alive that
it seems like it might hop off the painted branch and take flight. "Just finished before I set up for
you. I'll hate it tomorrow, but for now, it's rather decent, I think."

Remus stares at him. "Sirius, that's bloody amazing. Hate it? How could you hate that?"

"An artist's curse." Sirius shrugs and gingerly sits the canvas down, skipping over to the easel. "But
thank you for saying so, in any case. Alright, get naked now."

"Absolutely not," Remus retorts.

Sirius pouts at him, but the glimmer in his eyes betrays him for his humor. "You won't model in
the nude for me, Moony?"

"No."

"I can't paint you like one of my French girls?"

"No."

"What if I get naked with you?"

"Then I'm quite sure no drawing will get done at all," Remus says, arching an eyebrow, and Sirius
leans up against the easel, biting his lip around his smile. Apparently, it's actually easy to tell Sirius
no when he wants to. He does so again. "And no, we're not doing that either."
"Would you bet your life on it?" Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows.

Remus purses his lips. "Also no."

"Ha!" Sirius barks a laugh and pulls back, the tray clattering as he grabs something. "Oi, Moony,
my lovely Moony, go pick something to listen to from my phone on top of the stereo, yeah? It's
already synced up, and it should create a playlist around whatever you choose. Nothing too upbeat
and nothing too solemn; that tends to affect the mood of the art."

"What era?" Remus asks as he pushes himself up to go strolling for Sirius' phone.

"Whatever you like," Sirius calls out distractedly, and Remus is warmed by the trust. They've the
same taste in music, mostly, with a few minor (but serious) disagreements they had to come to
terms with. Sirius insists there are two types of people in this world—those that like Taylor Swift,
and those that only pretend not to—and he's right, but Remus doesn't want to talk about it. In any
case, they don't disagree much about music.

Remus chooses something calming, a bit slow, and still catchy. He sits Sirius' cell back down,
trying to press the side button, only for his palm to exit out of the music app, revealing his home
screen—which is just a picture of Remus. Oh, that's… Well, Remus didn't know he'd done that.
Didn't even know he'd taken the picture.

It's from their second date, Remus standing at a stall in the market, smiling as he bends over to
smell a bundle of flowers. There's something intimate about it, just how candid it is, taken as the
sunlight catches his eyes and turns them molten, a moment captured when he had no idea he was
being seen at all. The sight of it makes his heart flutter a bit ridiculously, only growing stronger
with the knowledge that Sirius did this entirely of his own volition, completely for his own
enjoyment because he, what, enjoys seeing Remus every time he looks at his phone? People look
at their phones a lot these days.

Remus draws his hand away, smiling helplessly as he shuffles back over to the stool. Sirius is
bobbing his head along to the music as he bustles around, grabbing more things as he goes and
comes back. Remus just watches him, feeling the glow of an ember tucked under his ribs, a steady
pulse of affection for this wonderful, complex man he's enamored with.

"Oh, look at you, Moony," Sirius murmurs when he looks up, his lips parting. For him to be so
bloody beautiful, he looks at Remus like he's the first encounter with beauty he's ever had.
"I'm just sitting here," Remus says.

"Absolutely gorgeous, you are," Sirius announces, huffing out a laugh as he picks up a pencil and
starts flicking his gaze between Remus and the paper. "How was work?"

"It was quiet today," Remus murmurs. "Better than yesterday. My best friend was in a better mood
today, at least."

Sirius hums. "Must be nice, working with your best mate."

"It is sometimes, yeah. The other times...well, you know there's something wrong, but there's
nothing you can do about it. I found out he was technically engaged once only recently, and then
his ex-fiance popped up in the shop yesterday. But he only told me after his ex-fiance was
apparently long gone, so I never saw, and his ex-fiance didn't recognize him? I don't know." Remus
blows out a deep breath. "You've a best mate."

"That I do," Sirius agrees, amused, but he's glancing at him curiously in between sketching.

"Do you ever feel like you actually know Prongs? Really know him, I mean."

"There's no one I know better. I know him better than I know myself, honestly. But, well, we grew
up with each other, really, and I've lived with him since I was sixteen. We've known each other for
over a decade, though."

"Suppose that makes sense, then," Remus says with a heavy sigh. "I've only known my best friend
for three years, but I do know him. Maybe in a strange way. It doesn't—we never really need
words. Like, if we sat in silence in a library every day and never spoke, he would still be one of the
most important people in my life. I would still—he would still mean something to me. He's always
going to, but I just—well, he's very private, so he doesn't open up easily—"

"Ah, I see why you two get on," Sirius teases.

Remus arches an eyebrow at him. "Are you terribly sure you want to make that observation about
me, Sirius? What's that saying about stones and glass houses?"
"Oh, piss off. I'm only saying that maybe you appreciate someone who you matter to
unconditionally. No requirements to be open, but enough trust to do it anyway if you want. That
sort of friendship where you don't know each other's birthdays, but you would absolutely help each
other bury a dead body," Sirius explains.

"Is it not always like that?" Remus asks, startled.

Sirius pauses to stare at him, then cackles. Head thrown back, fingers smudged dark, the spilled ink
of his hair trickling down the side of his neck. "Oh, Moony, my gorgeous, lovely Moony—no,
sweetheart, it's not always like that. I, personally, am a very loyal person and would absolutely help
any of my friends bury a dead body, but most people aren't like that, no. Some friendships are just
—superficial, you know. That person you chat with, or that mate from work, but not someone you
know you can show the ugly underbelly of yourself to and still receive acceptance in return. That…
Remus, that's special. You don't find that every day."

"I should call him," Remus says wistfully, and Sirius cracks up all over again.

"All I'm saying is," Sirius tells him, once he's calmed down and focused on drawing again, "you
don't have to see it as a bad thing that you're still learning about him, and he's still learning about
you. I'd known Prongs for five years before I ever learned he was allergic to bees. Seems like the
sort of thing you should know about your best mate, doesn't it? Some things just take time, that's
all."

Remus hums. "You're incredibly wise at times, did you know?"

"Of course. My wisdom is unmatched," Sirius quips, sticking his tongue out as he leans back and
squints at the paper. He clicks his tongue and leans in again. "You know, this is a bit of a trend
with you, I've noticed. You want to know people. The worst and best of them. Hungry for
knowledge, or maybe just connection, or both. I find it charming." He tilts his head, humming
thoughtfully. "Terrifying, but charming."

"I suppose I was always a lonely child," Remus says quietly, averting his eyes when Sirius looks up
at him, pausing to give him his undivided attention. "I didn't—I've never known anyone, really.
Not even my own parents. There's more to people and life than I've ever been a part of, I know
there is, and it's bloody exhausting never getting to experience it."

"Oh," Sirius murmurs.

"I was always on the outside of things. I never had anything that was really, truly, indisputably
mine," Remus admits slowly, eyebrows drawing together. "Nothing real, in any case. Before I had a
best mate, I didn't matter to anyone. And, even now, it still sometimes feels like I don't belong
anywhere."

There's a clatter, and Remus' gaze darts up as Sirius moves around the easel to step right up to him,
grey-dusted fingers reaching out to grasp the front of his sweater and abruptly snatch him into a
surprisingly sturdy hug. Remus blinks, startled, and then he presses his face into Sirius' shoulder
and wraps his arms around him, melting into the embrace.

Sirius fiercely whispers, "You matter to me. You have me, you know—really, truly, and
indisputably. You belong with me, Moony, you always will."

"This is our third date," Remus mumbles.

"It's been true since I saw you in that bookshop," Sirius replies softly. "The moment I saw you, I
knew you belonged in my life, one way or another. It was like I was waiting for you."

"You just wanted to shag me," Remus says with a weak laugh.

"Well, yes, that too," Sirius admits, squeezing him.

Remus pulls back and looks at Sirius from up close, taking in the perfect line of his nose, the
beautiful plump set to his mouth, the outright pretty flutter of his eyelashes. He sighs and says, "I
did alright for myself, really. I just—I always knew there was more. I still know."

"I'll give you more," Sirius insists earnestly. He leans in, his eyes wide and gentle with no hint of
humor at all. His voice softens with promise. "I'll give you everything, Remus."

Remus doesn't know what to say to that, so he just leans in and kisses Sirius as tenderly as he ever
has, careful about it like either of them could break if he isn't. In a way, that's how it feels. The
whole moment is fragile, the stillness that takes over everything after lightning cracks the earth and
charges the air, as if the whole world is holding its breath.
Remus has never been in love before. He's quite sure that's what this is, even if he knows he'll
never experience it like this again. He could search the seas of people across any universe and
would never again feel the way Sirius makes him feel. People can be in love many times, so this,
with Sirius, goes far beyond that—because Remus will never have this again with anyone else. It's
only Sirius. It will only ever be Sirius.

"Sirius," Remus breathes out as they break apart. Warm lips brush his cheek, then each of his
closed eyes.

"Stay just like this," Sirius murmurs, slowly pulling away, his voice reverent. "Don't move. This.
This is what I want to capture. Stay right there, Moony."

It's an easy request to fulfill. Remus just has to sit right where he is and bask in how good it feels to
know Sirius, to be with him, to have him. He keeps his eyes closed and breathes, hanging in some
kind of liminal space where he drifts, the music distant in the background, the faint sounds of
pencil on paper, the glow in his chest.

Time must pass. It has to. He's just not aware of it, not until there's a hand cupping his jaw, and it's
almost like he wakes up a little, but in his soul, in a way. Distantly, as he blinks, he thinks he might
have been meditating or something. He feels ridiculously calm, and also as if he's misplaced time.

Sirius smiles at him, and Remus mumbles, "You're done?"

"For now." Sirius reaches down to grab his wrist. "Come on, I've something to show you."

"Yeah, alright," Remus says agreeably enough. He stands and immediately has to stretch with a
groan, his body shaking with it. He can feel the minor aches and stiffness in his joints from where
he hasn't moved. One leg is asleep, shooting pins and needles through his foot, so he has to shift
and shake out some of his limbs. He blinks. "Christ, how long was I sitting there?"

"A few hours. I was going to give you a break, even tried, but you didn't even react when I called
your name. Sort of went into a trance, honestly," Sirius tells him, tangling their fingers together as
he pulls him to the other side of the room, away from the painting area.

Remus tries to crane his head and see the drawing, but it's not on the easel anymore. "Sorry. I didn't
mean to."
"No, it was fine. Good for referencing." Sirius drops his hand as he stops in front of a large cabinet
that he pulls open before reaching in to shift around different little statues on a shelf. Remus peers
inside curiously, taking in the various small figurines spread out along sheet-paper. Most of them
are animals, but some are objects like flowers or random shapes with beautiful colors painted on
them.

"What's this?" Remus muses as Sirius pulls back out and swivels around to hold up a figurine small
enough to fit into his palm.

Sirius presses it into his hands and chuckles. "What does it look like?"

"A...dog?" Remus tries, holding it higher to take in the details of it. Upon closer inspection, he can
set it apart from a dog as a wolf, just in the differences of the snout and ears. It's cold and
obviously made with care, the head thrown back in a howl. Its eyes are the color of amber. "No,
this is a wolf, isn't it? This is nice, Padfoot. Where did you find it?"

"I made it," Sirius tells him.

Remus blinks and looks up. "Oh. Sirius, this is incredibly detailed." It is, too. Each individual piece
of fur on the wolf is painstakingly carved and painted. It's so life-like that Remus almost expects it
to be soft when he drags his thumb over the length of its back. "This must have taken ages. Are you
selling it? Because it must go for a good price. It's lovely."

"For you to be so smart, you can be a bit of an idiot sometimes, you know." Sirius grins, shaking
his head. He leans in and laughs softly, eyes sparkling. "I made it for you, obviously. It's yours,
you ridiculous, lovely thing. Hello? Wolf; howling at the moon; my Moony?"

"What? Why? Sirius, I can't take this." Remus stares at him in surprise. "This is really, very well
done; it must have taken so much of your time and resources. I can't just—"

Sirius huffs. "Oh, shut up and have it, would you? I made it. I get to decide what to do with it, and I
made it for you anyhow. Don't be a git; just take the bloody gift."

"It really is lovely," Remus says softly, curling his fingers around it and pressing it to his chest.

"It ought to be. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into it," Sirius grumbles, then barks a laugh when
Remus frowns. "Oh, relax. I want you to have it, yeah? If it helps you feel better at all, I have my
own that represents Padfoot, while I made a stag for Prongs and a rat for Wormtail."

Remus' lips twitch. "So you do this often?"

"Mm, only for my favorite people, though." Sirius snorts and reaches out to tap the wolf. "I do
make some that people can buy, but nothing meaningful like this is. In any case, it's yours. Keep it
out of reach of children if you know any."

"I do not," Remus says, chuckling. "Do you?"

"I have a cousin—one of the few people in my family worth associating with—and she has a
daughter." Sirius shrugs and looks away, would-be casual if not for the frown that twists his lips.
"We see each other around the hols, mostly for some pretend sense of family, I suppose. She's
really wonderful, far better than any other relative I have, but it's always a bit awkward between us.
Just sort of this—constant reminder of a family we both want nothing to do with and have a much
better time not thinking about."

"I...didn't have the best home life either," Remus offers with a grimace, and Sirius raises his
eyebrows. "My parents weren't awful, really, not in any traditional way. Just very—detached.
Emotionally unavailable, you could say, to each other and especially to me. I reckon I could have
run away and never come back, and they might not have noticed."

"Is that what you did?" Sirius asks.

"No," Remus says quietly. "I endured. I...went along with it. My mum died when I was eighteen,
and my dad was even more distant than she was, so that was that, basically. My dad left first,
really. Just sort of—never came back to Wales. Still owns the place, probably, but he never goes
there. I had a bit of savings and some funds my mum left me, so I stopped waiting for someone
who was never coming, who wouldn't have anything to offer if he even did, and I moved here."

"That's what you meant by being a lonely child, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I wish my parents would have had another child, so at least I'd… But, well, they
never would. They'd planned to when I was very young, I remember, but I—I was a bit of
trouble."
Sirius looks briefly delighted. "You were?"

"Not how you're thinking," Remus tells him, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "I didn't get
into trouble; I was the trouble. Maybe a bit more than I was worth."

"No," Sirius declares immediately. "Never."

"I was a sickly child. Fell ill when I was four. Nearly died. My parents were never the same after
that," Remus murmurs, ducking his head to stare at the wolf in his hand.

"Well," Sirius says softly, "I, for one, will forever be grateful that you recovered. I'd hate to wait
for you for my whole life, only for you to never come. The world would be a duller place without
you, Remus Lupin. My life certainly would be."

"You can't keep getting away with saying things like that, Sirius," Remus whispers, reaching up to
rub his hand across his heated cheek, his gaze downcast.

"Watch me," Sirius whispers back, swaying forward to grin at him playfully, but with earnest
affection.

Remus huffs out an amazed laugh and reaches out to curl his hand around Sirius' hip, dragging him
in until they're pressed together with the wolf caught in Remus' hand between their chests.
"Sometimes I don't mind being alone. Sometimes I prefer it. Being lonely is different. Do you
know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Sirius answers, "I really do."

"Is your cousin—the good one—much older than you? Did you grow up with her?" Remus asks.

"She's older. I saw her some growing up, but not very much."

"Oh. Well, were you an only child? Any siblings?"

Sirius stiffens against him, so tense that he's made of something even colder and more fragile than
the wolf. His eyes flash, and his nostrils flare. "No."

"No?" Remus asks quietly, tentatively. "To which question?"

"Both." Sirius looks away, something grim on his face, and he starts to lean back like he's about to
pull out of Remus' grip.

"Sirius—"

"I really don't want to talk about it, Moony, okay? So just—"

"That's not—no, look, I only wanted…" Remus sighs and uses his free hand to cup Sirius' cheek,
turning his head, even though he's stiff. "I want to thank you. For the wolf. We don't have to talk
about that anymore. Just—thank you. It's a lovely display of craftsmanship, and I'll keep it
always."

"Yeah?" Sirius whispers, a light tinge of pink rising to his face, and all the dark clouds rolling in
pass over in a sudden flash of blooming hope and something unbearably sweet. He gazes at Remus
like he really, really wants him to love the gift. It's very important to him, Remus realizes then, and
there's something soft and innocent about that.

"Yeah," Remus confirms and ducks in to kiss him. He pulls away quickly, making Sirius chase
after him, his eyes fluttering open with naked want. "Don't look at me like that. We're not shagging
in your studio. Why not show me the drawing?"

"I can, but it's not done. It's just the sketch, really," Sirius tells him, some of his nerves bleeding
through, even as he tugs himself away to lead Remus by the hand again.

Remus watches Sirius grab the drawing from where he'd tucked it away, bringing it over
cautiously, the clean back facing him. "Sirius, what on earth do you have to be worried about?
You're a brilliant artist."

"No, I know," Sirius mutters, and it's all bravado, because of course it is. Some of his insecurities
are so easy to see, no matter how he tries to overcompensate for them. "It's just… I mean, I know
this is a drawing of you, but it's—it feels a bit personal, oddly enough. I don't know. It's just that it's
you, and you're obviously the most beautiful thing I've ever tried to translate into any medium, so
it's all very—"

"Alright, that's enough of that," Remus interrupts, reaching out to deftly (and gently) pluck the
thick, textured paper out of Sirius' hands, turning it around while Sirius audibly sucks in a sharp
breath and holds it.

Remus stares at it, blinking only once, then being unable to rip his gaze away to do it again. He
almost can't recognize the person depicted on paper. Yes, his brain knows that's him, but he can't
quite fathom that he's seen this way. It's just that art is on the same frequency as love, or simply
emotion, and to be the inspiration, or muse, or target audience makes it hard to breathe. Artists are
overflowing, too much inside to be kept there, and Remus is dizzy with the thought that he causes
such chaos in Sirius.

It makes use of negative space, smudging the angles like the soft cut of every feature brings the
lines of him to life in a breathtaking monument. In this, Remus is larger-than-life, the presence of
him heavy and heartfelt through the paper. But there, at the curve of his lower lip, it's gentled with
a shadow. The sweep of his eyelashes, soft and sloped with cherished scribbles. The small spot
erased in each eye, the negative space allowing for a sparkle, something unbearably tender and
human about it. Remus isn't breathing either.

Because this—what Sirius has created—strikes him directly at his center. It makes his heart thump
harder, makes his stomach swoop, because this is how he sees me, Remus thinks, awed by it. He
hasn't really considered his own vanity, but he's very sure he's never felt as lovely as he does at this
moment.

Remus carefully turns and approaches the closest counter with open space, and he gingerly lays the
paper out before sitting the wolf down next to it. For a beat, he just takes them both in, and then he
turns around.

"Do you hate it?" Sirius rasps.

"I've changed my mind," Remus says hoarsely. "We are absolutely shagging in your studio."

Sirius has enough time for his breath to hitch, for a smile to grow on his face, and then Remus is on
him, crossing the room for their inevitable collision, a lightning strike breaking the surface of the
earth, the world shifting beneath their feet. With a breathless laugh that transitions smoothly into a
soft moan, Sirius clutches at him, and they both go down with a solid thump in the next moment,
never breaking the kiss.
Chapter End Notes

Remus: do you have any siblings? are you an only child?

Sirius, without elaborating: no

Regulus:

EDIT 03/31/22: I've done a little editing on this chapter, particularly the section when
describing Snape, as I originally wrote him how he's depicted in canon, but it's been
brought to my attention that the descriptions JKR gave are rooted in antisemitism,
perpetuating harmful jewish stereotypes. I have absolutely NO desire to promote that
or be associated with doing it, because it's fucking disgusting and wrong, actually. I
genuinely wasn't aware (thankfully someone told me), so I'm sorry to anyone who saw
it before I was educated on the subject. There was one sentence here in this chapter,
and there's another section in chapter ten that I will be editing out as well.
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes

Alright, this is where some of the warnings get a bit heavier. For this chapter:

Warnings for child abuse (Walburga, who should come with her own warning
honestly, and don't worry, it's not in real time), blood mention, brief description of
injury, and some angst.

Despite those warnings, the chapter is sweet overall, and hopefully funny in some
places.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus feels his heart jump when the door to the coffee shop opens with a jangle—not his and
Remus' shop, but one further across town, just to be on the safe side.

Pandora steps in, and Regulus recognizes her instantly. She still has that same eccentric taste in
clothes, but there's something more stylish about it after all these years. Her hair is a thick, messy
blonde braid over her shoulder with small flowers woven in and out of it. There's a pink flush in her
cheeks, likely from the cold, and her eyes are bright and startlingly sharp as she scans the room.

Regulus takes a deep breath and forces himself to stand up and wave his hand to get her attention.
Her face clears when she sees him, recognition lighting her eyes after a beat, and then she's smiling
as she heads right for him. He's just about to step back and sink down into his seat when she moves
right into him for a hug. He's a few inches taller than her, but he was back in school, too.

"Oh, it's lovely to see you," Pandora says as she draws away, squeezing his arms. A laugh tinkles
from her throat as she palms along his arms. "Lovely to feel you, too. Goodness, you've grown
since school."

"Thank...you…?" Regulus offers, face scrunching, and Pandora laughs sweetly again before
pulling away entirely.

As they sit, Pandora beams at him. "I was so happy when you reached out, you know. I don't see
anyone else from school at all. Mostly by choice."

"Well, most of them were awful," Regulus mumbles. He pauses, then coughs. "So was I."
"You only thought so." Pandora rolls her eyes and waves a hand carelessly. "Being cold and distant
doesn't always mean awful. You certainly weren't like Ivanna."

Regulus can't help but wrinkle his nose. "No, but no one was like her. I wonder how she gets on
these days."

"Mm, she's married to a doctor. Very rich." Pandora smiles as she snags his tea, taking a sip while
he stares at her like she's mental. "Oh. That's nice. But yes, Ivanna lives quite comfortably in a
mansion with anything she could ever want to buy. No children, but she never wanted those."

"It sounds like she got everything she wanted," Regulus points out.

"Yes." Pandora shrugs. "Even awful people do, sometimes."

"Do you—do you—" Regulus watches her take another sip of his tea. "Ah, would you like me to
get you one of those?"

Pandora grins. "Oh, would you? Here, let me get my card."

"I can buy it, it's fine," Regulus murmurs as he stands up.

"Such a gentleman," Pandora says brightly, and Regulus feels his cheeks flush with heat. "Yes,
alright. I'll just pay the next time we see each other, then."

Regulus shuffles off, glancing over his shoulder at her repeatedly as he waits in the queue. She
keeps sipping on his tea, staring out the window with a peaceful expression on her face. It's so
strange to see her again, to see what's changed about her, and what hasn't. He wonders what she
sees when she looks at him, then stops wondering, for his own sake.

"Here you are," Regulus says quietly when he gets back, sitting down and offering the drink to
her.
"Oh, I'll just have this one." Pandora leans forward and dives right into talking as if that's not
strange at all. "So, I've been thinking recently about how certain houses are powered through solar
panels, and how we could do that with cars instead of using petrol. Thoughts?"

Regulus blinks. "Um."

The next two hours might honestly be some of the strangest of Regulus' life, but he's not entirely
sure what he was expecting from Pandora, really. Something different, something worse,
something painful—he really should have known. Pandora has always marched to the beat of her
own drum, never one to do what anyone would expect of her.

Regulus didn't really know her very well in school, despite the few in-depth moments they had. He
learns more about her now. Her career—scientist. Her love life—she's been seeing a bloke who
sounds even more eccentric than her with an odd name he forgets almost immediately after he's
heard it, except for the last, Lovegood. Her favorite movie— Who Framed Roger Rabbit, which
he's never seen. She talks about the weather, the drama at her work, what she did that morning, and
what her plans are for tomorrow.

Almost against his will, Regulus is caught up in it, partially just because she refuses to leave him
behind. She asks his opinions, argues kindly or agrees with relish, and she always waits to see what
his response is to something she's said.

He tells her a little bit about himself, because she has no shame in showing that she's genuinely
interested. Just that he's a barista and he's going to school to be a chef and maybe open a restaurant
one day, but he doesn't get much further than that for a while because she wants to know all about
it, and it turns out he can get a little lost in rambling about food. As someone who loves food,
Pandora insists, this conversation is very interesting and not something he has to apologize for.

"No, that's lovely," Pandora tells him when he explains that he wants to own a restaurant that
serves high quality food at affordable prices. "No one does that."

"People care too much about status," Regulus says with a quiet sigh. "The truth is, you can eat very
well, seemingly expensive food you'd think you could only find in fine-dining for quite a
reasonable price. You just have to know how. Why shouldn't the poor get to eat like royalty?
Because they're poor?"

"To the rich, I imagine so," Pandora muses. "Seems such an odd thing to care about, doesn't it?"
Regulus hums, then eyes her. "You were rich, if I recall."

"Oh, I meant rich as a state of mind, more so than a reflection of wealth. I was rich, though."

"Not anymore?"

"No. When Mother died, I gave it all away."

"Gave...it...away? Your wealth?"

Pandora smiles. "Yes. Others had more need for it than I, in any case. I kept enough to survive until
I could find my own way and let the rest do better elsewhere. You were rich, too, I remember. Are
you still?"

"No, not since I was eighteen," Regulus admits. "I'm actually quite poor." He laughs a little,
because there's something so terribly ironic about it. He honestly thought it would bother him more
than it does, being comparatively poor to how he grew up, but he's doing alright for himself,
mostly. "Well, I suppose I'm not as poor as I was at the start. I work, I have a flat, and I've a bit of
savings."

"Rich in other ways, then," Pandora says, her eyes bright with delight. "In the ways that matter.
You look happy, Reggie."

"Regulus, please," Regulus says softly.

"Sorry. Habit," Pandora murmurs gently. "You do look happy, though. Far happier than when you
were in school."

Regulus strokes his thumb along the lid of his tea, chewing the inside of his cheek, not meeting her
eyes. "I suppose I am. You're the only one who would see the difference. You're the only one who
has seen me since I left."

"The only one?" Pandora asks. "You never saw your brother again, then?"
"No."

"Haven't you thought about meeting him again?"

"No," Regulus repeats, just as firm.

Pandora considers him for a long moment, and then she just nods. "Well, I'm lucky, then."

"I did see Barty, though, once," Regulus says.

"Oh?" Pandora muses. "How did that go?"

"It didn't, really," Regulus admits, and Pandora laughs, snorting without any shame whatsoever. It
tugs at his lips until he's actually smiling, helplessly. "Oh, shut up."

"It's funny," Pandora insists, still giggling. She leans forward on her elbows. "So, tell me, Regulus,
are you rich with love, too? Is there a boyfriend?"

Regulus is surprised. "You…"

"Oh, honestly, I never doubted you were gay," Pandora says easily, rolling her eyes.

"Of course you didn't. You always know things," Regulus grumbles, and Pandora waggles her
eyebrows at him. He sighs heavily. "Yes, there's a—well, not exactly, but—I mean, I'm dating
someone."

"So, yes."

"I… Well."
Pandora's eyes shine with humor as she repeats, "So, yes."

"His name is James," Regulus murmurs, resigned to the heat that immediately floods his cheeks.

"Strong name, James," Pandora replies, amused. She nods at him. "Well, go on. Tell me about
him."

Regulus does, and also—doesn't. Not like he does, or would, with Remus. There's just some things
he'd never tell anyone other than Remus, no matter how kind Pandora is and has always been. But
it is easy to talk about James in abstract, describing him, his qualities, and some of the less detailed
parts of some of their dates.

Like she can sense that there's someone he holds in even higher regard than her, she asks about his
other friends, which is how ends up talking about Remus, who she insists she needs to meet as soon
as today.

"Well, I can see if he's free," Regulus offers awkwardly.

"Marvelous. Let's all get drinks!" Pandora chirps.

So, Regulus calls Remus while Pandora leads him out into the bustle of the city, blathering on
about a bar she loves. Remus answers with a, "Yes, what, Regulus?"

"Are you free?" Regulus asks.

"If I say yes, do I have to put on trousers?"

"You do. I've a friend who wants to meet you."

"No, you don't. You don't have friends," Remus tells him bluntly. "I'm your only friend."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Not anymore."

"I feel—oddly betrayed?" Remus sounds like he's frowning.

"Best meet us, then, or else I'll just replace you."

"No, that would end my suffering, and you'd never go for that. Where am I going?" Remus
mutters.

Not even an hour later, Pandora is forcing a hug on Remus, who looks startled by the fact that
Regulus wasn't making the whole friend thing up. He accepts the hug easily enough, polite if not
bemused.

"It's lovely to meet you," Pandora informs him sincerely, pushing a drink in front of him. "Let's get
drunk!"

Remus arches an eyebrow at Regulus. "Well, I like her. Where did you find her?"

"Oh, we've known each other since school," Pandora says.

"You were friends, then?" Remus asks curiously.

"Not at all, but we could have been," Pandora declares easily, bluntly, because she knows things,
"and we are now."

"What was he like in school?" Remus presses, leaning forward with a broad grin, and Regulus
tenses up.

Pandora only smiles and says, "Not like this."

"Alright, leave her be, Lupin," Regulus murmurs, gaze fixed on his drink. "I believe we're meant to
be drinking."
"Especially you," Pandora orders. "It's your birthday tomorrow! Not drinking in preparation just
isn't the done thing."

"Is it?" Remus blurts out, staring at Regulus with wide eyes. He chokes out a laugh. "Oh, bloody
hell, we are the friends that don't know each other's birthdays."

"Your birthday is March 10th."

"Why do you know that?"

"Because I'm your best friend."

"Why didn't you ever get me anything?"

"Because I'm not a very good best friend." Regulus hides a smile behind a swallow of his drink,
and Remus just snorts and shakes his head fondly. "Isn't my friendship gift enough?"

"Torture, more like," Remus says. He points at him, narrowing his eyes. "I'm taking you for lunch
tomorrow, yeah? My treat."

Regulus rolls his eyes and ignores his own pulse of fondness in his chest. "Yes, alright, if you
must."

"For now," Pandora croons, "drinks."

Which is how Regulus finds himself quite drunk only a few hours later, because Pandora and
Remus—lovely, wonderful people that they are—have kept a drink in his hand at all times, never
leaving him in short supply.

The evening lends itself closer and closer to night, and it all started going a bit fuzzy around the
edges an hour ago. Regulus is as loose as he ever gets, practically spilling out across the table with
his chin hooked on Remus' arm, occasionally rubbing his cheek against the sleeve of his sweater.
He's always wearing the softest, most worn sweaters, and they're always so bloody warm. Regulus
briefly entertains shoving his head underneath it, maybe crawling right into it and drifting off to
sleep, and it's such an amusing mental image that he starts giggling.

"Alright, Regulus?" Remus asks with a chuckle.

"Can I have your sweater?" Regulus mumbles, flopping his head over to gaze at him through
glazed eyes. "It's my birthday, Remus. Can't tell me no."

Remus grins. "It's your birthday tomorrow, and I do need something to wear now, you know."

"Oh, but I'll just wear it with you," Regulus suggests, which makes sense to him, but Remus starts
laughing like it's a joke. Regulus is not joking. He's about five seconds from crawling into Remus'
sweater with him. Why shouldn't he? He wants to be warm. James would let him. James would
warm him.

That thought has him bolting upright so abruptly that he nearly falls out of his seat. Pandora has to
steady him, but he bats her hand gently away in his haste to get to his phone. He blinks rapidly at
the screen, then starts tapping rapidly.

"Regulus," Remus says carefully, "who are you texting?"

"James," Regulus mumbles.

"Oh no you don't," Remus blurts out, surging across the table to try and snatch the phone, and
Regulus yanks it back with a gasp of offense. Remus narrows his eyes. "Regulus, you'll never
forgive me if I let you speak to him in this state. Hand it over."

Remus is using his stern teacher voice, which Regulus just laughs at and ignores, focusing back on
his cell. Remus leans forward again, trying to grab it, and he almost manages it before Regulus
yelps and ducks out of the way. Grunting, Remus throws himself out of his seat, starting to come
around the table, so Regulus goes limp and sinks down until he's under the table, snickering when
Remus curses, then groans.

Obviously, Remus is not going to let this go, which is made clear by how he kneels down like he's
about to follow him under the table, so Regulus just calls James.
"Hello?" James answers.

"'Lo, James," Regulus says smugly, smirking right at Remus, who briefly covers his face with his
hand. He has to scramble back with another laugh when Remus stoops down and reaches out to try
and swipe the phone again.

"Regulus?" James asks, sounding tentative.

"James. Oh, hi, James," Regulus sighs out, grinning. "I'd very much like to see you now, James.
Where are you? I'm cold, and you're warm. Won't you come?"

"Regulus, mate, I'm trying to help you," Remus hisses.

"Lupin? Is that Lupin?" James murmurs. "Regulus, are you alright? You sound… Wait, have you
been drinking?"

"Might've done," Regulus mumbles. "Where are you? I miss you, James."

James' voice is muffled when he speaks next. "Yes, sorry, I just need to go, Pete. No, no,
everything's fine. Yeah, let him know, would you? Either way, I'll be back tomorrow, at the
latest."

"Who's Pete?" Regulus asks, wrenching back when Remus strains forward more and tries to grab
the phone again.

"A mate," James says. "I'm on the way. Where are you?"

"Are you really?"

"Of course. You asked me to."

"James, James, oh, James," Regulus chants, laughing breathlessly all the while. He's still giddy and
giggling as he tells James where to go, steadily scooting backwards as Remus follows him further
under the table. He briefly bumps into Pandora's leg and rests his head on her thigh. She runs her
fingers through his hair. "Oh, Pandora, you're going to meet James. The one I told you about.
Strong name James."

"Your boyfriend?" Pandora checks, her head popping underneath the table, eyes glassy and cheeks
flushed from how many drinks she's had.

Regulus proudly says, "Yes, that's the one," and James makes an odd noise through the phone.
Maybe he swallowed a bug.

"Give me that," Remus grunts, lunging forward.

"Have to go, James, see you soon," Regulus says quickly and hangs up, twisting to shove himself
out the other side of the table, laughing as he stumbles to his feet.

Remus pops up on the other side of the table a few moments later, exasperated, and he jabs a finger
at him before he mutters, wry, "You don't get to be upset with me tomorrow, Regulus. I tried to
stop you."

"I'm never upset with you, Remus," Regulus tells him with a frown, swaying against the side of the
table. "I only pretend to be sometimes, but you're my best friend. My very best friend. I'll always
forgive you. Always, always, always."

"He will," Pandora whisper-yells. "I can sense it."

"Alright, come on, that's it," Remus fusses, coming around the table to usher him back in his chair.
He has to swat Regulus' hands away from his sweater, where he keeps repeatedly trying to take it
off. "Stop trying to strip me, would you?"

"Sweater?" Regulus tries again hopefully, and Remus huffs a weak laugh, reaching up to ruffle his
hair, which makes Regulus grin at him. Remus blinks, a furrow forming between his eyebrows.
Regulus' smile fades. "What is it?"

"Nothing. You just…" Remus reaches up to scratch the side of his head. "Can't quite put my finger
on it, but for a moment, you reminded me of someone. Dunno who."
Regulus considers that, then tries to take Remus' sweater off again, which takes all of Remus'
focus.

Less than an hour later finds Regulus spilled out across the table again, laughing into the crook of
his arm. The three of them have been talking about knitting patterns for the past twenty minutes,
and Pandora has just told the most hilarious joke about cross-stitching that made absolutely no
sense, and they're all just the most brilliant people in this establishment, obviously. Regulus is sure
of it.

Then James is suddenly right beside him, gently touching his arm, and Regulus changes his mind
so very quickly. Because James is more brilliant than them all.

"Oh, you're quite pissed, aren't you?" James murmurs, looking down at him with a small smile, his
gaze warm.

"James," Regulus breathes out, shoving himself up eagerly, the whole world tilting out of focus, but
not James. He comes across Regulus' attention so clearly. "Oh, hello, James. Hello, James. You're
here. You came. Hi."

"I am. I did. Hi," James replies, his smile curling up further, his hand squeezing Regulus' arm.
"How are you?"

"Better now that you're here," Regulus tells him. "I've missed you terribly, James."

"Have you?" James asks, a laugh trembling in his voice.

Regulus bobs his head. "All the time, really."

"Christ, Regulus," Remus mumbles, wheezing a laugh. "It's nice to see you, James. Please don't
tease him too much for this, yeah? He—he gets sweet when he's pissed."

"Nice to see you again, Lupin, and I can see that." James glances over and offers his free hand to
Pandora. "I don't think we've met. I take it you're Pandora?"
Pandora reaches out to smack her palm against his and point finger-guns at him. "Yes, and you're
the boyfriend?"

James' smile broadens and turns sweet, bashful. "I suppose I am, yeah. James is fine as an
alternative, though."

"James," Regulus says, rocking over closer to him with such determination that the chair comes up
on two legs. Happy accident, that is, because James immediately moves in closer to gently push
him back on all legs. Regulus turns into him, pressing closer. "James, you'd let me take your shirt
off, wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely, I would," James says immediately, catching both of his hands to hold them, "if you
were sober."

Regulus just hums. "Yes, I knew you would. My own best friend won't. I'd like his sweater. He
won't give it to me."

"Ah, right, you're cold." James drops his hands to lean back, shifting to remove his coat, thankfully
leaning back in to swing it around Regulus' shoulders. He smiles as he helps stuff Regulus' arms
into the sleeves, then unravels his scarf to put that on Regulus, too. "There you are. Better?"

"You've bundled him all up," Remus murmurs with a lopsided smile, chuckling.

"Fulfilling your boyfriend duties," Pandora coos, wiggling her fingers at them before poking
Regulus' cheek. "The whole point to you, really. It's not you we want, actually, just your clothes.
Yours are quite nice, James."

"Oh, I want his jacket," Remus moans, dropping his head down to the table with a thump. He
sounds close to tears when he slurs out, "It's leather, you know."

"Call him. You should absolutely call him. I've done it, and James just—showed up. I wanted him,
and I got him. Like magic," Regulus says, reaching out to pat Remus' head.

"He loves his jacket, though," Remus mumbles, lifting his head to squint at them. "He'd never—"
"You have to try," Regulus insists. "Have him come get you. James is taking me home. He's taking
me home, and we're going to shag."

"We will not be shagging," James says mildly.

Regulus frowns. "Alright, we are not going to shag, but he's taking me home." He peeks at James.
"You are doing that, yes? I'd really like it if you would."

"Yes, Regulus, I'll take you home," James murmurs, his hand coming up to sweep over Regulus'
hair, gentle, affectionate. There's so much adoration in his eyes that Regulus wants to bury his face
into James' chest and hide away from it.

"Xenophilius is on the way to get me," Pandora adds.

"Bless you," Regulus mumbles politely.

Pandora ignores him. "He'll be here any minute."

"I'll—I'll just text him," Remus blurts out, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he goes for his
phone. He sends the message off quickly, then lays his phone down and doesn't look at it. His
fingers tap on the table.

"Have you asked him for his jacket?" Regulus asks.

Remus eyes him. "Obviously."

"Still setting trends," Regulus muses, turning his head to press his smile into James' shoulder,
curling into him. The chair rocks precariously again, so James has to shuffle in even more, just
wrapping his arms around him. Finally.

"I don't think I set this trend, love," James tells him quietly, speaking directly into his ear. "Any
good boyfriend would do it, you know. Wouldn't want their person to be cold. Would love to see
their person in their clothes. It's rather common."

"Am I your person?" Regulus whispers.

"You are," James confirms softly. "You always will be."

Regulus curls his arms loosely around James' waist, fingers linked and tucked up under the bottom
of his shirt to lazily stroke at the warm skin of his lower back. "Did your heart tell you that? Is that
what it believes?"

"It knows," is all James says.

"My heart likes your heart very much. So much," Regulus informs him very seriously.

James chuckles against him. "Does it?"

"Oh, that'll be Xenophilius," Pandora announces suddenly, stumbling to her feet with a bright laugh
as a very tall, very beautiful man with pale-gold hair comes winding over to their table. Pandora
beams at him. "Xenophilius, my love."

"She keeps sneezing," Regulus comments sadly.

"Pandora, and friends," Pandora's boyfriend greets, only to grunt as she twirls around and abruptly
falls backwards right into his arms, where he catches her immediately as if they do that all the time.
"Careful, darling."

Pandora beams up at him. "Take me home?"

"Whatever you like," he replies warmly, nodding at all of them distractedly. "Sorry, friends, I'll
have to meet you all next time. Pandora assures me I'll be seeing you all more often."

"Bye, Pandora," Regulus calls as he starts leading Pandora away. "Bye, Pandora's boyfriend."
"Xenophilius," Pandora's boyfriend calls back.

"Bless you!" Regulus bursts out, but they're already gone.

The table vibrates, and Remus dives for his phone almost immediately, then blinks at the screen
and seems to melt a little bit in his seat. "Oh."

"Is he magic, too, like James?" Regulus asks eagerly.

"He's coming to get me, if that's what you mean," Remus replies, amused, smiling. "And he says he
can loan me his jacket for tonight."

Regulus pulls back to look up at James, who takes one look at his face and murmurs, "You can
keep it, the coat and the scarf, and honestly whatever you bloody want."

"You?" Regulus asks.

"Me," James agrees immediately. "Please do, in fact."

"Can we go to my flat now?" Regulus breathes out.

James darts a glance over at Remus. "Do you want us to wait with you, Lupin? Just until your
boyfriend gets here?"

"No, no, it's fine." Remus waves them off. "He's not far. Anyway, Regulus is far more pissed than I
am. I'll be fine, James, but thank you. You're—you're really good for my best friend, you know.
Really, very good. Take care of him."

"I will," James says, because he's a lovely, wonderful person who means things like that. "Come
on, then, love."
"Be safe," Remus tells Regulus, and he reaches out the second that Regulus reaches for him, lips
twitching as Regulus grabs his hand and squeezes it. "Alright, alright, get out of here. Go home.
Sleep it off, yeah?"

"Yeah," Regulus agrees and squeezes his hand again before tucking himself back into James' side.
"Happy shagging."

"Oh, piss off," Remus calls after him, laughing.

"He's my best friend, you know," Regulus informs James as they make their way outside, though
James seems to be doing the most of the work with that. How is he not affected by how the ground
ripples under their feet?

"I know," James tells him.

Regulus sighs and leans into him, closing his eyes. They're halted on the sidewalk. The breeze is
nice. "I'm so pleased that you came when I called, James."

"You've mentioned."

"I like when you're around. I like being around you. Do you know that? I don't think I've ever told
you that, have I?"

"Not in so many words," James says, "but I know."

"That's good. You should know. You should always know I want you around and miss you when
you're not." Regulus lifts his hand and pets at the side of James' hair, brushing his thumb along the
curve of his ear. "You're sunshine, you know. You're the sun, James. So bright. So warm. The
center of it all. Around and around I go."

"I want you to know, if you're upset about this tomorrow, you have absolutely no reason to be,"
James tells him, and his lips brush Regulus' forehead.

"Around and around and around," Regulus whispers and holds onto him tighter, feeling light
enough to fly away.

James just kisses his forehead more firmly, and they stand there for some undetermined amount of
time before they move again. James helps him into the back of a car, murmuring to the cabbie, and
Regulus needs approximately ten seconds before the blur of lights and swaddling shadows around
them sets the mood. James' neck is right there, and he smells as wonderful as he always does, so of
course Regulus isn't going to pass up the opportunity to mouth at his skin.

This makes James stifle a groan, and he spends the rest of the ride trying to gently convince
Regulus to calm down a bit, which he only succeeds in by half. Regulus does rein it in to just
peppering kisses along his throat and jaw, satisfied like a cat that got the canary by the repeated
hitch in James' breath, humming in approval every time James' hands spasm on him.

Eventually, they get out of the car again, and James keeps an arm around him as they make it to his
flat. Regulus locates his keys, but fumbles with them too much to get them to work, so James
gently takes them and opens the door for him.

"Alright, where's your room? Haven't been there yet," James says, and he chuckles when Regulus
points down the hall and blinks at him owlishly.

Regulus is pliant and relaxed as James pulls them into his room, flicking the light on. He peers
around curiously as he reaches out to unravel the scarf from Regulus' neck, hanging it on the
doorknob. Next is the coat that he peels off and neatly drapes over the dresser in the corner. He
walks Regulus over to the bed and carefully pushes him down to sit on the edge of it, kneeling
down to start untying his shoes.

"You're absolutely sure we can't shag?" Regulus asks, reaching out to push his fingers into James'
hair.

James takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out, then looks up at him as he tugs the first shoe off.
"Believe me, I'd love to. Just—only if you were sober, only if I could be sure that you want it, but I
can't be certain right now."

"But I do," Regulus insists.

"Thing is, love, you're pissed," James tells him gently, not without a touch of fond amusement.
"So, I can't quite take you at your word, especially when we've never shagged before."
"You're so sensible." Regulus feels his eyebrows draw together and thinks he might be pouting. "So
noble. Why is that so attractive? You're making me want to shag you more."

"Sorry?" James wrinkles his nose playfully and starts in on the next shoe. "Don't pout, Regulus.
We'll get there."

Regulus melts a little bit. "You're not upset about me taking it slow? There's—I have my reasons. I
can't actually recall them now, but I have them."

"Whatever they are, I respect them," James assures him, smiling as he sits the shoe aside. "And you
may not even remember this tomorrow, but I hope you know it in any case. Regulus, that's not what
this is about. I'm here. If we never get there, I'm here. If we get there tomorrow, I'm still here. It's
about you. All of this is about you, for me."

"One day," Regulus says, hiccupping, "I'm going to shag you so well that you're never going to be
able to take any pleasures from life without thinking of me. Every time you feel good, you're going
to think about how I made you feel better."

James' eyebrows fly up, and he tips his head forward to peer at Regulus over the rim of his glasses,
considering him. A beat, two, and then he reaches up to knuckle his glasses back up, a spark in his
eyes. He clears his throat. "Right. Yes, well, I'll just obsess over this new information until that day
comes. Today is not that day, though, so let's get you into bed, yeah?"

"I thought you weren't getting me into—"

"To sleep, love."

"You have to clarify these things for me, James." Regulus sighs and flops back on the bed, gazing
wistfully up at the ceiling, listening to James stand. "Epic highs and lows."

"How was I to know you're naughty?" James mutters.

Regulus hums and casually says, "I'm a slut, really." There's a choking noise, followed by a thump,
a low curse, and then a groan. Regulus chuckles. "This is good for you, as the person I'm dating.
We're going to have wonderful sex."

"Regulus, please," James says, strained.

"A lot of it, too," Regulus adds, grinning.

"Can you—" James blows out a deep breath, and Regulus hears one of his drawers open. "Not that
this isn't—marvelous news, but maybe save it for when I can do something about it, yeah?"

"Yes, alright," Regulus mumbles. "What are you looking for?"

James is quiet for a few more moments of rustling drawers, and then he's standing by the bed,
holding out clothes. "Just something for you to change into so you're more comfortable. Couldn't
really find anything made for sleeping, but—"

"I sleep naked," Regulus informs him, blinking up at him, and James' face twitches. "Will you stay
over?"

"While you're naked?" James asks, distressed. "Regulus, I am flesh and blood, love, and while I'd
never take advantage—"

"Oh, I'll wear clothes," Regulus cuts in, shifting up so he can stand. "Grab something that will fit
you and get out so I can change. You can use my loo."

"I…" James purses his lips. "Honestly, I can't work out if this would be taking advantage or not.
Maybe I should take the sofa, yeah? I'll stay, but—"

"I'll just come out and join you. My bed is better." Regulus blows out a heavy breath. "Please,
James? I just… It can be perfectly innocent, but I—I want—"

"Alright," James murmurs, his face softening. "Yeah, Regulus, whatever you want. Give me a
moment."
Regulus nods and turns around, hiding his tiny smile of triumph as James goes digging in his
clothes again. A moment later, James leaves the room, so Regulus stumbles through changing as
quickly as possible. He really does sleep naked, so he doesn't actually have pajama sets, really. Just
a too-big shirt that he's had for years, one he never pulls out to wear, and a pair of loose shorts that
he bought for himself with his very first bit of his own money.

For a second, drunk and stupid, Regulus catches the fabric of the shirt in between two fingers,
squeezing his eyes shut. He turns his face into the soft collar, inhaling deep, aching for some
lingering scent that will trigger a memory he never lets himself revisit. The shirt just smells faintly
of detergent and the stiff musk of wood from how long it has been in his drawer, untouched. A
lump forms in his throat, and he has to blink tears out of his eyes as he turns his head and relaxes
his hand. He breathes, in then out, then forces himself to forget.

He's crawling into bed just as James comes back in the room, still in his own shirt, but wearing a
pair of Regulus' joggers that are short enough to ride above his ankles. He's on his phone, saying,
"Passed out in your bed, is he? An angel? You're besotted, mate." A pause, and James looks at
Regulus, smiling. "Yeah, I know. Alright, well, I have to go. Yes, yes, tending to my own drunk
angel. I'll see you tomorrow, alright? Promise." He lowers his voice, more intimate. "I know it's a
hard day for you. Yeah. Yeah, I love you, too."

"Everything okay?" Regulus asks quietly as he settles back against his pillows.

"Yeah. Just my best mate. It's funny. His boyfriend got pissed and asked after him, too," James
says, amused, as he moves over and puts his cell down on the stand by the bed.

Regulus hums and swings the blanket back in invitation, slow-blinking at James. "Suppose it is
common. Are you getting in, or are you going to stare at me all night?"

"You're beautiful," James tells him frankly, his voice soft, and he puts one knee on the bed to lean
over and press a firm kiss to Regulus' forehead.

"No, you," Regulus mumbles a little stupidly and surges up to press their mouths together as James
starts to pull away.

James collapses down on one elbow, inhaling sharply, and he kisses back for a moment. It's not a
sloppy snog or anything, just a warm press of lips, soft and steady. He does pull away, though, way
too quickly, and huffs out a short breath, shaking his head. "No, none of that, or I'm on the sofa."
"Just wanted the one," Regulus grumbles, flopping back down on the bed with a scowl.

"Cute," James says with a chuckle, propping up to give him yet another chaste kiss on the lips, a
warm peck, and Regulus feels his scowl melt away. "Now, there's two. Let's sleep, yeah?"

"The light," Regulus reminds him.

"One second." James flicks on the lamp, then stands up to turn off the other light, using the lamp to
see his way back to the bed. He slides back in and leans over to switch off the last light, dousing
the room in darkness, flipping over to face Regulus. "Fancy a snuggle?"

"No," Regulus says, then scoots across the bed to press right up against him, twining them together
as close as they can get in any way possible, their limbs draping over each other.

"Mm, of course not," James whispers fondly, holding him close, burying his face into Regulus'
hair.

"Right." Regulus shoves his face into James' neck, breathes him in, and exhales a soft, "Goodnight,
James."

"Goodnight, Regulus." James sweeps a gentle hand down Regulus' back, fingers smoothing
soothing circles in the cloth of his shirt. "This is a nice shirt. Soft and big. Why was it shoved so far
in the back of your bottom drawer?"

Just before Regulus drifts off, he manages to mumble, "It was my brother's."

Sirius wakes up to an empty bed and a note on his pillow that reads: I didn't want to wake you, but I
had to go. Promised my best friend I'd take him out to lunch. Call me when you wake up.

Sighing, Sirius sits the note on his nightstand, reaching up to scrub both hands over his face. He
knows he shouldn't feel upset about it, but he does anyway. A part of him just wants Remus here,
in his bed with him, a distraction to get him through this day. He hadn't anticipated seeing Remus
at all, last night or today, so he's just being dramatic.
It's actually adorable. Sirius' arms flop down, a small smile lighting his face, which is a minor
miracle on this day. He can't help it, though, when thinking about how last night went. A pissed
Remus had reached out with demands for his jacket, apparently missing it. When Sirius had gently
suggested that it was less the jacket he missed and more who wore it, Remus had denied it
profusely in one breath and asked for Sirius to come see him in the next, belligerent and fussy.

Sirius had found it charming, really. Remus had lit up the second Sirius came into the bar to help
him stumble out, only to pretend that he didn't care if Sirius was there at all, though he didn't pull
that off well. He'd beamed when Sirius actually let him wear the leather jacket, then refused to
separate an inch from Sirius at any given moment in the journey from the bar to his flat. He told
Sirius he was absolutely not infatuated with him, not one bit, then caught one of his hands and
kissed each of his knuckles and fingertips, then the back of his hand, deliberately brushing his lips
over the tiny, thin scar that most people don't even see, banging on about how lovely and talented
Sirius' hands are.

It was cute, how hard he tried to act as if he didn't fancy his own boyfriend, only to contradict
himself at every turn. He'd passed out drooling on Sirius' shoulder, clinging to him in sleep, and
Sirius had stroked the side of his face with careful, tender fingers and thought this one, this is the
one I want, forever; let me keep him, please let me keep him.

Sirius just hopes this morning isn't a bad omen, with that in mind. He won't entertain the worries,
not today. This day is for doing nothing, for hiding under the sheets and waiting for it to be over,
hoping—and trying so very hard—not to think. Not one thought. If he could make it through this
day without one thought, he'd be better off. He'd be fucking grateful.

There's a tentative knock on the door before it gingerly slips open, and James' head pokes in,
eyebrows already furrowed with concern. "Morning, Padfoot."

"Morning, Prongs," Sirius mumbles.

"Hungry?"

"No."

"Sirius," James says with a sigh, "you have to eat. Come on, mate, I'll make you some toast."
"It's not even morning, is it?" Sirius asks, glancing over at his window. It looks about mid-day.
"D'you know what time Moony slipped out?"

"Not sure. I only just got in myself." James reaches up and ruffles his hair, smiling sheepishly.

"Oh?" Sirius raises his eyebrows as he sits up. "Good night?"

"Yes. Not like that," James says, pointing at him when he starts waggling his eyebrows.

"Did you shag the mean barista, James?"

"The mean barista was very pissed, Sirius."

Sirius rolls his eyes and pushes himself up from bed, trying not to think about the reason he wants
to roll back into it and hide there all day. "When will you tell me about this mean barista? It's
obviously going well."

"Cooperate with me today, and I will," James says, tossing an arm around his shoulders and
tugging him into the kitchen, pausing briefly to smack a kiss to his temple with an exaggerated
mwah! Then he gently shoves Sirius into a chair and starts shuffling around. "Alright, toast it is.
Do you want coffee this morning, or maybe tea?"

"Whatever is fine."

"Sure, sure. I'm inviting the girls over today, by the way. It's been ages since we saw them."

"Mhm."

"Peter will be over, too. We'll make a proper day of it, everyone from Hogwarts getting together."

"Brilliant," Sirius says, no enthusiasm.

James clucks his tongue gently like a concerned mother, because that's what he is on the inside,
really, and he drops a plate of toast in front of Sirius. "Eat. And every bite, Sirius, I mean it. I'm
going to call everyone, let you get a shower and such. Your hair, mate—no offense, but it's like
someone's hands have been in it everywhere."

"Someone's hands have been," Sirius admits, picking up his toast. "Moony kept fussing with it
before he passed out. I think it soothed him. He's right obsessed."

"That's cute," James says, lips twitching. "Oi, invite him over, yeah? Let him meet everyone. I still
haven't met him."

"I haven't met your mean barista."

"That's different."

Sirius arches an eyebrow. "Is it? How?"

"Well, I—I don't know, really, but it is," James sputters, pushing away from the counter. "This isn't
about me. You should invite Moony. Might even cheer you up."

"Best not. I won't be in a very good mood." Sirius shrugs and stares down at his toast. "Moony
doesn't need to have to deal with that. I think he has plans anyway, so it's fine."

James sighs and reaches out to tap his wrist, nudging the toast closer to his mouth. Sirius rolls his
eyes and takes a bite, chewing with his mouth open because he's obnoxious and it's always fun to
watch James' inner concerned mother go to war with his inner child. James snorts, his eyes lighting
up with humor, so the inner child has won this battle. Lovely.

After he finishes his toast, Sirius gets a shower and does not think. After his shower, Sirius goes
into his room and does not think. After he pulls out clothes, Sirius gets changed and does not think.
After he's ready, Sirius stands in front of the vanity, gazing in the mirror, and he does not—

"What's this for?" Reggie asks.

"Your birthday. I always leave for school before, so I got this for you early." Sirius holds it out,
ridiculously proud of it, having spent hours in McGonagall's personal studio, under her
supervision, making it entirely from scratch. Each tiny link on the necklace, connected by him; the
coiled, silver snake pendant, painstakingly detailed down to every scale by him.

Reggie catches the snake, fingers brushing it. "It's pretty. Did you buy this?"

"I made it," Sirius admits.

"Sirius, this is very good," Reggie whispers, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I didn't know you
could do anything like this."

Sirius laughs quietly. "Neither did I, until I tried for you. Turns out, I've an eye for detail, and I
rather like it, you know. I like it quite a bit, making things. Wouldn't have known it if I didn't want
to make something for you. Don't tell Mother, yeah?"

"Of course not," Reggie says simply, thumb swiping delicately over the snake with a tiny, rare
smile. "You hate snakes."

"You don't," is all Sirius says, and Reggie's smile grows.

Reggie grabs the necklace and vows, "I'll never take it off."

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his head forward as he clamps his mouth together tight,
fighting against the strong urge to vomit. His stomach roils unpleasantly, and he swallows thickly.
It's been years. It hurts as if it was yesterday.

It's always worse on this day, out of every other day in the year. Sirius was just a baby himself the
day his mother came home from the hospital, baby bundled in her arms, and he'd tripped over
himself twice trying to see past all the cloth, eager to catch a glimpse of his new best friend.
Someone to grow up with and go on adventures with. Even that young, he'd been so sure that there
would be adventures in his life, and he was just as confident that he no longer had to be alone, his
companion shielded in the safety of their mother's arms.

Of course, the years warp such things. It turns out, Sirius went on all of his adventures without the
companion he was most sure of, finding that in James instead. And safety is the last thing that can
be applied to his mother, arms or otherwise.

There's a gentle knock on his door, and Sirius looks up, only to jolt when Lily pokes her head in.

"My god, you got here fast," Sirius blurts out.

Lily chuckles and slips into his room. "Marls, Dorcas, and I were actually out for lunch a few
blocks over when James called. I hear Mary, Frank, and Alice are on the way."

"Pete, too," Sirius adds.

"Peter's already here," Lily murmurs. "Came in right behind us, really. Apparently he was already
on his way."

Sirius feels a faint smile tug at his lips about that. Of course Peter was already on his way. He
knows the date just as well as James, and he's never too far. "Sounds like the flat will be fit to
burst. We should have made it a party."

"Oh, James is handling it. Ordering loads of takeout, last I saw. Loves a problem he can solve, our
James," Lily says fondly, moving over to lean up against the ledge of his vanity, hands braced on
the edge of it. She lifts one and tugs on a lock of his hair, watching him. "How are you, love?"

"Been better," Sirius admits, but only because it's her. Out of everyone, she's the one who gets it
the most.

Lily smiles sadly. "Why don't I do your hair, hm?"

"Would you?" Sirius asks softly, and Lily immediately pushes forward to swing around behind
him. "Lily?"

"Yes?" Lily murmurs as she leans forward to grab his brush.

Sirius meets her gaze through the mirror. "Thanks."

Lily just holds his gaze for a beat, smiles, then starts brushing his hair. He closes his eyes and lets
her do whatever she likes. It's almost funny how far they've come in friendship. He'd thought she
was a bit of a swot when they were younger, too uptight, even if she was fierce and quite scary at
times. He knew exactly what James saw in her, but that didn't mean he truly knew her, or even
liked her beyond teasing her playfully.

Really, they'd bonded when Sirius found out she had an awful older sister. He'd found her crying
one day when they were seventeen, only a few months after her and James started dating, and he'd
been a bit panicked, thinking James should have been dealing with it, not him. Only, James was at
rugby practice, and Sirius was the one who was around, and he couldn't just leave her there, so he'd
gone into the belly of the beast that was his best mate's girlfriend softly crying.

That's when he'd found out about Petunia, and it resonated so deeply that he sat right there and told
her about Reggie. He's aware, even to this day, that their bond formed at that moment, only
strengthening through the years. Honestly, Sirius had been almost as heartbroken as James when he
and Lily split; a part of him had held a small kernel of hope that they'd rekindle their romance for a
while, but he gave that up when he saw they were both better off as friends.

It's nice that they're the type of people who can be friends after all of that, because Sirius would
have missed her when he inevitably chose James, if there were sides to pick.

"You know, Petunia called me," Lily says abruptly, and his eyes snap open. "Did I tell you about
that? No, it's been almost three weeks, and I haven't seen you in at least that long."

"Not exactly something you share over the phone, I take it?"

"Not at all. She was calling to have a go at me for missing a payment for Dad's funeral costs. I had
a mix up with accounts, so the usual withdrawal didn't come out, and I've been so busy that I
forgot. Never missed a payment in half a year, you know. She rang me up just to blather on about
how I was a terrible daughter going nowhere in life."

"Lovely," Sirius drawls, wrinkling his nose.

"Isn't it?" Lily does something intricate to the top part of his hair that she's pulled up, reaching up to
grab a pin from her own hair and slide it neatly into his. "We got into a row, of course, and I sent
the money in after, but it was bloody awful. Hadn't seen her since Dad's funeral, and hadn't spoken
with her for nearly three years before that. But it was like a day hadn't passed since our last fight."
She tilts her head, drawing her hands away to examine Sirius' hair. Her gaze is a little distant,
though. "In a way, it was nice to hear her voice."

"I know," Sirius mumbles, reaching back to cover her hand resting on his shoulder. He squeezes it,
and her gaze runs into his in the reflection, the fog lifting. She looks at him and nods, because she
knows he does know, even if he'd never say it. Sometimes, Sirius thinks he'd give a lot of things
just to hear Reggie's voice again, even if he had to be yelled at for it to happen. Sort of pathetic,
that, but family is complicated.

"Come on, Marlene is asking after you," Lily tells him, leaning over him to kiss the top of his head,
and then she's ushering him out of his room.

It's a good distraction, honestly, getting to see everyone again. At the very least, it keeps him busy.
Mary, Frank, and Alice arrive a bit before the takeout, bringing in drinks with them, and it's not
long before they're all sprawled out everywhere all over the sitting room, crowing with laughter.

These people—Sirius has known them in various ways since he was eleven. Since school, they
don't get to all meet up like this as often as they thought they would while they were in school, but
that's life. They get on well enough despite that, the same exact support and warmth and good
humor they've always had, a thread between them all that keeps them connected when so many
would usually lose touch.

It's not that Sirius doesn't ever see any other people from school. He does. A few months back, he
went out for drinks with Gideon and Fabien, and subsequently shagged Gideon in the loo of the
pub for old time's sake. Months before that, he bumped into Kingsley at the market and spent
nearly two hours chatting with him over a bundle of turnips. Before that, he saw Emmeline stuck in
the rain and used his umbrella to shield them both as he walked her home, talking casually the
whole way, and she'd ended up ordering a painting from him a few weeks later.

It's just that these people—these particular people—aren't those that Sirius can ever imagine losing
touch with. It's not as bad as he is about James and Peter—he'd honestly go mad if he didn't hear
from them at least once a day, even if it's just a message—but he's quite sure they'll always be in
his life. He keeps up with them, and they keep up with him, and it's just comforting in a way he
never expected when he was seventeen and scared of what was coming next. He can count on
them, sure they'll always be around, especially when he needs them.

"I hate it when you go," Reggie murmurs, standing in his doorway, watching him pack with baleful
eyes.
"I know, but I'll be back in time for Christmas. No, stop, look at me, Reggie," Sirius says, because
Reggie has started to turn away. It takes a moment, but Reggie turns back and looks at him. "I'll
always be around, yeah? Don't I always come back?"

"I wish you wouldn't leave at all," Reggie whispers.

Sirius sighs and stands up, moving over to place both hands on Reggie's shoulders. "As long as you
need me, I'll be here."

"That's a weak platitude." Reggie grimaces and fiddles with the snake pendant. "You know how
she—you know how horrible it is. I have to come home at the end of the school day. You don't. I
need you when you're gone, Sirius."

"And that's really the only reason I come back." Sirius pokes Reggie's nose, which scrunches under
his finger. He catches a quick flash of a smile, and it eases some of his guilt. Reggie doesn't know
it, but Sirius isn't lying. Reggie is the only reason he returns. Reggie is the only reason he hasn't
left for good.

Mary's bright burst of laughter as she jostles Sirius' side makes him blink and look up. Peter is an
unfortunate shade of red, and Alice has snorted some drink out of her nose. He manages to slap on
a broad smile just as James looks over at him, still laughing, wanting to share the humor of
whatever joke Sirius just missed as they share so many things.

His smile must not be very convincing, because James' laughter falters, and concern flares to life in
his eyes again. Sirius waves him off, shaking his head, and he picks up the drink closest to him—
Dorcas', he thinks—and starts nursing it, trying to focus enough to enjoy the company.

Sirius can't help it, though. Can't help the way he obsesses over it, especially today. Can't figure
out when it was exactly that Reggie stopped needing him. Somewhere, along the way, it all
changed so fast that Sirius couldn't even keep up. Timid smiles in private turning into a blank
expression worn like a mask, a shield, turning into sneers. Unwavering warmth catching and
growing into burning resentment. What happened to you, Reggie? Sirius used to think.

He never really got an answer.

He knows, though. He knows what happened. That horrible house and their horrible family—it all
sunk its claws in deep. Sirius took the wounds, bore the scars, and freed himself. Reggie didn't.
Reggie never would. Out of the two of them, Sirius was always the bravest, the most defiant. He's
not sure why he ever expected Reggie to get out in the first place.

But he knows that, too. He knows why it stings so deep, even to this day. Because he'd hoped—he
had so much hope—that he'd be enough. All Sirius could offer was himself as a reason, needing
Reggie to come to him that final time, and Reggie wouldn't. Sirius had wanted to be enough, and he
wasn't.

"Oh, is that so?" Marlene says, tossing a cap at Sirius' head, earning a glare that she just laughs at.
"You've a boyfriend, Sirius? Is he real? Has anyone actually met him?"

"Oh, he's real," Sirius replies with a genuine grin.

Peter snorts. "He is, and I've met him. He's brilliant. Made Sirius shut up for a bit. Neat trick, that."

"Piss off," Sirius grumbles half-heartedly while half the room roars with laughter.

"I have not met him yet," James announces, "but Sirius is absolutely mental about him."

"Have you shagged him?" Mary asks, eyes brightening.

"Well, that's how we met, you see," Sirius says.

"You said you met him in a bookshop!" Peter squawks.

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a knot, Pete. I did meet him in a bookshop, and
then a few hours later, we were shagging."

"Why were you even in a bookshop?" Frank asks.

"Oi, I read!" Sirius pauses, then grins sheepishly. "I was buying a book for Effie, though."
Alice laughs and kicks her feet up into Frank's lap. "Well, when you're telling your grandchildren
the story of how you met, a bookshop sounds innocent enough, but you might want to leave out
that bit where you shagged after."

"Oh, but that's the best part," Marlene teases.

"Alice, my dear, I do hate to be the one to inform you of how male anatomy works if you think I'll
have grandchildren with him, but if you're trying to get Frank pregnant, you're missing crucial
information."

"You could adopt, Sirius."

"It's too soon to be thinking about all that," Sirius says, rolling his eyes. "We've only been dating
for a little over a month. I don't even know if I want kids."

"Trust me, you'd know if you didn't," Marlene assures him, holding up her drink with a nod.
"You're all going to start popping out sprogs anytime now, and I'm going to be the cool aunt who
gets to give them back at the end of the day."

"We will babysit, though, gladly," Dorcas offers.

James hums and leans back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling with careful, wistful
consideration. Sirius knows he's thinking about his mean barista; he always looks so tender when
he is, just like this. "I want children."

"Oh, I know that look," Lily breathes out, her face splitting into a grin as she reaches over and
shoves James' shoulder, her eyes dancing. "James Potter! Sirius isn't the only one dating someone,
is he? So are you!"

"He has a mean barista," Sirius teases, waggling his eyebrows as James groans and hangs his head
back.

"A mean barista!" Lily crows, practically bouncing in place, genuinely excited. That would
probably seem odd to most, seeing as they used to date, but the truth of it is that they've been
friends longer than they've dated, at this point, and Sirius knows—even if she never says it—that
Lily wants James to find confidence in love again. More importantly, just like all of them, she
wants him to be happy. "Tell me everything."

"It's—it's still very new," James says carefully, but a small smile has settled on his face. "I don't
want to jinx it, is all."

Lily huffs, but she doesn't push. "Alright, but you can't outrun me forever, Potter. I want details
some time soon, yeah?"

"Me first," Sirius cuts in, sticking his tongue out at her. "He promised, and he loves me more than
you."

"He loves you more than everyone," Lily replies, unimpressed, and James grins as Sirius blows a
kiss at him. James catches it and presses it to his chest while Sirius bats his eyelashes.

"You two are still as ridiculous as ever," Mary muses.

Sirius stretches his leg out and kicks James lightly in the thigh, relaxing a little when James reaches
down to wrap a hand around his ankle, gently squeezing. They look at each other for a moment,
and Sirius feels it, that sense of home that James always gives him. He smiles and says, "Always."

Marlene makes fake-gagging noises, and Peter shakes his head as he mutters, "Do you see? Do you
see what I put up with?"

The room fills with laughter, and Sirius settles into it, finally able to with James' hand resting on
him, a steady point of contact that keeps him from retreating into his own head.

Easy and calm, the conversation flows from one topic to the next, full of laughter and heated
debates as the day slips further and further away. Sirius is right in the midst of it, launching rather
vigorously into a debate on whether or not immortality is actually a curse or an opportunity, which
lasts for hours and doesn't end with anyone really changing their minds, but it's fun anyway.

Frank and Alice leave first, giving out hugs before rushing out, and Peter has to go next because he
has to be at the office early tomorrow. Mary goes with him since they're going in the same
direction to start, and she makes everyone come to her to accept the hugs and kisses on the cheek,
getting Peter swept up in all of it before she drags him out the door.
Marlene, Dorcas, and Lily linger for an hour longer, but then Lily really needs to go, and they're
her ride. James and Sirius both get up to walk the girls to the door, hugging each of them. Sirius
gets a kiss on the cheek and forehead from Lily, who promises to answer if he calls, much to his
chagrin.

When they're gone, the flat is quiet again, and it's late. James looks over at him as he shuts the
door, eyebrows furrowed. He doesn't say anything, but he reaches out and lays his palm along the
side of Sirius' neck, a grounding touch.

Without talking about it, they start cleaning up all the empty takeout containers and such, tidying
up a bit. James hums under his breath to an unspecified tune, just a mindless background noise that
is really quite good—James has always had a beautiful voice. It's comforting, really, and Sirius
puts all his focus on listening to him, rather than thinking.

It's not until the place is neat again that Sirius realizes he has a lot more of the night left and not
very many distractions to fill it with. The knowledge makes him jittery, puts an itch under his skin,
so he begs off to go have an emergency smoke. He pushes his window all the way up and props
against the ledge, slumping down to smoke and stare at the moon.

He ends up chainsmoking to try and evade his own thoughts, even though he knows it's no use.
He's a Black; he has that same curse the rest of them have. The family madness. His own mind
turns against him, and how do you escape that? There is no escape. He's just like them.

"The family legacy lives and dies with you, Sirius," Walburga hisses, slamming her hand down on
the table. "I won't stand for your insolence. I never have, and I won't start now. You've been
nothing but a disappointment to this family! It is time you grow up and know your place. I raised
my children to be—"

"Your children? Ha!" Sirius barks a loud, bitter laugh. "You never saw us as children! You don't
even see us as people! You're a miserable excuse for a mother, do you know that?" He catches her
wrist when she snaps her hand out to slap him, knowing it was coming, and he jerks her by her
arm, getting in her face. She doesn't shrink back, even when he squeezes her wrist hard enough that
he'll likely leave bruises. "This family? Have this fucking family! I don't want it. I never wanted it.
Reggie doesn't even want it!"

Walburga's head snaps over, eyes blazing, and Sirius follows her gaze to where Reggie is sitting at
the table, watching them, pale and wide-eyed. "This family, Sirius, is your family. No matter where
you go, no matter how far you go, you cannot change where you come from. You're more like us
than you can stand."
"I'm nothing like you," Sirius snarls, flinging her hand away. He steps back and looks right at
Reggie. "Tell her, Reggie. You hate it here. You hate her as much as I do. She should know!"

Reggie says nothing.

"I've had enough of this," Walburga says.

Sirius braces both hands on the table, staring at Reggie, at the blank expression that always sends
a chill up his spine. His voice comes out low and pleading. "Reggie, please. There's more than this.
Every hit I've taken for you, those were hits you would have suffered if I didn't. This is no way to
live, Reggie. This isn't a family. Please."

Again, Reggie says nothing.

"Enough, Sirius!" Walburga spits out.

"What happened to you, Reggie?" Sirius whispers, his voice gone hoarse with emotion. "I don't
know who you are anymore. I can't even recognize you." Reggie doesn't so much as twitch. "You
didn't want this before. Everything she put on you, on both of us—how can you just accept that?
Why won't you fight?! Bloody fight, Reggie!"

Reggie stares at him, pale and small and silent, never saying a word, never taking the mask off,
never even trying to fight. Reggie was never going to, though. Too busy trying to survive.

There's a sharp clatter, and then Sirius is releasing an agonized shout as Walburga stabs a table
knife down through his hand, burying it so far with such force that it imbeds itself through his flesh
into the wood. He hits his knees beside the table with a raw scream, his hand still caught, the pain
of it shocking and immediate. Tears blur his vision, and he's left groaning through clenched teeth
as he clutches at his wrist with his free hand, chest heaving.

When he lifts his head, he gets one second to see Reggie looking at him in pure horror, and then
Walburga is snatching his head around by the chin. She slaps him hard enough that his lips bleed,
then grasps him by the face, digging her nails in so deep that she scrapes open his cheeks in neat
gashes dotted with blood. Her eyes gleam as she stoops down over him, mouth set in a firm line.
"Take this as your last and only warning," Walburga whispers, staring right into his eyes as he
helplessly whines in pain and writhes in her harsh grip. "There is no escape from me, Sirius. This
is my house, and no matter how you might despise it, you are my son. You will do as I say." She lets
him go, standing to full height and staring down her nose at him. "I'm going to leave you here until
morning. By then, I expect you to change your aversion to obedience."

Walburga sweeps out without another word, and Sirius slumps with a gasp, shuddering as he
shakily pushes up on his knees to stare at his own impaled hand. A quiet, delirious laugh bursts
free from his clenched teeth, the pain sending his head reeling. He slips trembling fingers along the
blood on his trapped hand, squeezing his eyes shut as he grasps the handle of the knife. Turning
his head, he bites down on the fabric of his own shirt and breathes hard through his nose, shaking
all over before he gathers the courage to give a harsh yank.

He collapses with a low groan, catching his face against the side of the table hard enough to bust
open his skin at his temple. Blood slips down his cheek as he drags himself back up, panting,
leaning against the edge of the table and meeting Reggie's eyes.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Sirius is shivering, aware of every point of pain in his
body, from the searing agony in his hand to the almost laughable ache in his shoulder from the
way he's been forced to position himself. He can't stand. He can't get a proper grip on the knife to
yank it out. He has no choice but to kneel here on the floor, trapped in this house, chained to this
family.

"Reggie," Sirius pleads, his eyes stinging. Please set me free, he wants to beg, but there's blood in
his mouth, and he's so scared.

Reggie stares at him, then stands up and slowly walks around the table. Sirius tilts his head up,
shaking, and Reggie is shaking, too. They're both trembling right beside each other, staring at each
other with this distance breaking open and growing between them, even as Reggie draws closer
and leans over with a deep breath. Sirius bites down on his shirt again in just enough time to
muffle his yelp of pain as Reggie jerks the knife free. Sirius whimpers, sagging down in a heap,
curling his bleeding hand to his chest.

When he does look up, Reggie is looking down at him and striking such a strong resemblance to
their mother that Sirius feels that same chill skitter down his spine.

"What did you think was going to happen?" Reggie whispers. "You should have known better,
Sirius. You never do."
"You think this is my fault?" Sirius chokes out.

Reggie just says, "What's there to fight for?"

Me, Sirius wants to shout. Aren't I enough? Aren't we enough? But he knows better now, knows just
by the look on Reggie's face, unreachable, guarded. Reggie is ice frosted over so thick that even
the sun wouldn't be able to melt it. And Sirius is angry. Sirius is betrayed. Sirius hates Reggie for
how much he doesn't. Sirius hates Reggie for making him hesitant to leave, even now.

Sirius looks at Reggie and the words fall like guillotine, severing what they've been clinging to for
so long, the final blow falling between them as he declares, "Everything I said about this family, it
applies to you, too. You're no better than the rest."

"Are you?" Reggie asks coldly, reaching up to take off the necklace and lay it down on the table
next to the bloody knife before turning around and taking the same path out that their mother did.

Reggie doesn't look back, so when Sirius leaves later that night, he doesn't either.

"Sirius?"

Jolting, Sirius stops digging his thumb into the small, faded scar on his palm, turning his head to
see James framed in his doorway. "James. Yeah, mate, what is it?"

"You're crying, Sirius," James says softly, moving into the room to come lean against the ledge
next to him.

"Oh. Yeah, that happens, I suppose," Sirius says with a wet laugh, reaching up to scrub his hand
over his face, sniffling through a stuffy nose.

James knocks their shoulders together. "This day, yeah?"

"Mm," Sirius confirms, swallowing thickly. He lights another smoke with shaking hands, blinking
hard as he focuses on the moon. "James?"
"Yeah, mate."

"You're the only family I have, you know. All of our friends, of course, and your parents—but I
mean, you. You, James."

"I know what you mean, Sirius," James murmurs, glancing over at him with a sad smile.

Sirius presses into him harder, closing his eyes, assured by the steadiness of him, settled with the
knowledge that James, over anyone else in the world, wouldn't betray him. He's enough. For James,
he's enough. He always has been.

Sirius clears his throat and rasps, "Was I cooperative enough for you to tell me about your mean
barista today?"

"Not even close," James says, chuckling. "You hardly ate any takeout, and now you've been crying
alone."

"Come on, won't you at least tell one thing about the mean barista?" Sirius tries. "It'll make me
happy."

James slants him a faintly amused look, because he knows that Sirius is playing to where he's
weak. Huffing out a soft laugh, a genuinely adoring smile lighting his face, James says with honest
reverence, "He says I'm the sun."

Ah, Sirius thinks, and he has to stifle a smile. He knew there was something more to James being
careful when mentioning his new infatuation. Not very subtle, James. He wasn't being gender-
specific from the start, so Sirius followed his lead, waiting to see, though he'd suspected. James
was always about Lily growing up, and as far as Sirius knows, she's the only person he's ever
shagged. He did snog other girls, and even snogged Frank once at a party, for a game, not seeming
to mind in the least as everyone whistled and cheered. There was a brief period after he and Lily
split that James tried to feel things for people that he simply didn't, and Sirius didn't know the
details since there wasn't much to know, but he now wonders if James had tried with men as well
as women.

In any case, this is fairly new, James fancying a bloke like this. Though, really, it's fair to say it's
new that James is fancying anyone, who isn't Lily, like this. Sirius doubts it's a sexuality crisis, not
for James; he's always been very straightforward about wanting someone when he does, no shame
in it. All it can be is this unfortunately tragic notion he has that he needs to be careful with whoever
he falls in love with next. Sirius wishes he could knock it into James' thick skull that loving as
strongly as he does isn't and never was a problem.

"Well, he's right, your mean barista," Sirius says lightly, smiling at him. "And he's lucky to have
you, you know."

"I think I am, actually," James argues, grinning harder when Sirius snorts and shoves him lightly
with his shoulder, making them both sway.

"You're biased, Prongs."

"Never said I wasn't, Padfoot."

"I am happy for you, though," Sirius adds more—well, for a lack of a better word, seriously.
"You're obviously mad about him, so there must be a reason."

"There's more than one." James chuckles warmly and glances at him, raising both eyebrows.
"Speaking of being mad about someone—have you talked to Moony today?"

"A bit," Sirius mumbles, turning to stare at the moon again. It's round and full in the sky. He never
called Remus, but he did message him to tell him he was going to have a busy day, so don't expect
to hear from him much. Sirius has missed him all day, a persistent ache in his chest to accompany
another that always flares with memories.

James waits for him to flick his ash out the window, then leans over and knocks his forehead into
Sirius' temple with simple, unspoken affection. "Call him. It'd do you some good."

"You think?" Sirius asks quietly.

"You light up about Moony," James murmurs, lips curling up as he draws away. "I do think. Call
him."
Sirius honestly only needs the nudge. "Yeah, alright."

"Come crawl into bed with me tonight," James tells him as he starts backing away. "I'll kick you in
the knees all night and wake up with your hair in my mouth. It'll be brilliant."

"You're so needy," Sirius teases, even though they both know it's more for his benefit than James'.

James just laughs as he slips out the room.

A few rings later, Remus answers the phone. "Sirius! I thought you said you were—"

"I just wanted to hear your voice," Sirius cuts in, and it's not even a lie, is the thing. He's already
soothed by it, more relaxed than he's been all day.

"Are you alright?" Remus asks gently.

"I am now, sweetheart." Sirius blows out a billow of smoke, closing his eyes and basking in the
comfort of Remus Lupin, all that he gives just for existing. "I am now."

"Well, you want to hear my voice, yeah? Then I'll just talk for however long you'll listen, shall I?"
Remus offers.

Sirius opens his eyes and looks at the moon, his lips curling up into a soft smile. "Yeah, Moony,
that's perfect."

Low and melodic, Remus starts talking, and Sirius sinks into it, drifting along, untethered and
calm. He stands right there under the full moon and knows, down in his bones, that he's helplessly,
ardently in love with who it reminds him of.

"Sirius," Remus says seconds or hours later.

"Hm?" Sirius hums, exhaling slowly, easily.

Remus is quiet for a moment, and then he says, "I have to go, my cell is going to die, but are you—
really, are you alright?"

"Like I said, better now, thanks to you." Sirius swallows and looks down at his hand, at the scar on
the back of it, faded and pale, barely noticeable. "Moony?"

"Yeah, Padfoot?"

"I—needed you. Today. Just now. You've—it's not a good day for me, but you've helped make it
bearable. So. Thanks."

"Do you want to...talk about it?"

"No. Not now. Maybe one day."

"Alright," Remus murmurs. "Well, regardless, I don't need to know about it to know I'll be here
when you need me. Sirius, whenever you need me, I'm here. I'm right here."

Sirius swallows and croaks, "I think I'll need you forever."

"Well, you know where I'll be," Remus tells him, a little breathless, his voice warm and intimate.
"Suppose that's my future set, then."

"Oh, you'll never be rid of me now, Remus," Sirius whispers.

"Is that meant to be a threat?"

"Doesn't it sound like one?"

Remus laughs softly. "Not at all. That was the plan."

 "Was it?" Sirius grins helplessly, beaming up at the moon, his heart squeezing in his chest. "You
beautiful, mischievous mastermind, Moony. Where have you been all my life?"

"Waiting for you," Remus says.

"Sorry to keep you waiting so long," Sirius replies.

"It's fine. We're making up for lost time, I think." Remus sighs when there's a clatter in the
background. "I really do have to go, Sirius, but—tomorrow? Are you free?"

"For you?" Sirius chuckles. "I will be. I'll call you when I wake up, yeah? I'm off to bed now.
Goodnight, Moony."

"Yeah, goodnight, Sirius," Remus says fondly.

Even afterwards, Sirius stands up under the moon and smiles softly, letting himself settle, letting
the effect of Remus course through him. It comes with its own impact, the way Sirius loves him,
new and exciting and so infused in his bones that he's half convinced he's loved Remus in past
lives, and it was inevitable that it'd carry over into this one.

Breathing out, Sirius pushes away from the window and closes it, heading for the door so he can
go crawl into bed with the only family it doesn't hurt to claim. On the way, he stops by the vanity
and reaches out with careful fingers to open the small drawer that squeaks and catches when he
tugs on it, because he only opens it once a year.

With a stuttered exhale, Sirius runs a finger over the snake pendant and thickly whispers, "Happy
birthday, Reggie."

Chapter End Notes

Pandora's here! Pandora's here! Yes, we do get more of her. We also get more of the
others as well, in the future. Also, I do headcanon that Regulus is a super sweet,
bubbly drunk who just wants to laugh and cuddle and be with his favorite people and
be warm; you can all pry that from my cold, dead hands.
And ouch about the Black Brothers, huh? We do start to see more out of them about
each other in the upcoming chapters. These two are painful and I love them

I sincerely appreciate all the comments and feedback; I love hearing from you all, so
thank you so much! I'm on Tumblr @regulusbrainrot if anyone is interested!
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes

Okay, so this chapter comes with a few warnings.

To start, there's some spice but it's not explicit, just flowery really, with the word
cock thrown around a couple of times, but it's obvious enough that you won't miss it.
Rest assured, for those of you who do not appreciate smut, there's no description of
parts going anywhere into anyone else.

Second, we have TWO big reveals this chapter. They may take you by surprise, they
may not.

Also, a character is accidentally outed in this chapter (genuinely an accident and

handled with care and IMMEDIATELY treated with the respect it deserves). I will go
into more depth in the end notes for those of you who want to be warned beforehand,
which is absolutely valid.

Also², we have some angst involving Daddy Issues, and a character references past
child abuse and being suicidal in the past, but it's not discussed in explicit detail.

Oh, and there's some jealousy, so that's fun.

All of this makes it sound like this chapter is very heavy, but I assure you it has its
light and happy moments. You are more than welcome to check the end notes for a
more in depth description of some of the heavier subjects in this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"Why, we must stop meeting like this."

James grins at the unimpressed look on Regulus' face. Lupin snorts into a cup of coffee, and
Regulus sighs, leaning up against the till with his blank expression firmly set. He's adorable,
honestly, in his little tie and apron. He changes colors of his tie every day he works. James sways
in and kisses his cheek before he can snatch away, even though Regulus hasn't tried to snatch away
in at least a week.

It's been two weeks—nearly three—since the night Regulus got pissed and James slept over at his
place. Since then, James has continued to come in the shop every day that Regulus works, and
they've been on five more dates; they finally went to a musical, and they've also taken at least two
food tours, and James has taken Regulus flying twice more.

Regulus had retreated quite a bit after getting drunk, almost nearly reverting exactly back to the
way he was in the beginning, cold and distant. James has patience saints would envy, though, and
he wasn't lying about just being happy to be with Regulus. He is, so he's more than content to
watch with fondness as Regulus slowly opens back up again, warmer and closer, allowing himself
to have the things he wants.

It's nice, though, that Regulus never denies that they're dating. He never says outright that James is
his boyfriend, but when James does, or Lupin teases your boyfriend is here, Regulus doesn't argue
it. Slowly, authentically, Regulus is accepting all that James is desperate to give him.

"James," Regulus says flatly, "I work here. We are not meeting by chance. You literally come here
every day."

"I orchestrate my own fate," James replies cheerfully and reluctant amusement sparks in Regulus'
eyes.

"Ah," Lupin says suddenly, straightening up, and Regulus glances over James' shoulder. The
amusement fades from his eyes, replaced by irritation. "You know—"

"Don't," Regulus cuts in quickly, and Lupin immediately snaps his mouth shut like any loyal best
friend would.

James swivels slightly to watch a man step into the shop, looking around their age, but far more
refined. He looks expensive, the same way James likely could but has always chosen not to. He
likes some of the finer things in life, sure, but he's never cared to look wealthy. It's obvious that this
man does. Even his hair is perfect, dark and cropped in a swoop over his forehead, not one strand
out of place.

"Who's that?" James murmurs, because it's clear that Lupin or Regulus know him, or both.

Lupin and Regulus share a look, and they do that silent communication thing all best mates can do,
except far more advanced than anyone James has ever seen. Their expressions barely twitch, but
it's as if they've carried on a lengthy debate, one that ends with Lupin holding his hands up in
surrender.

"Oh, no one," Lupin says, far too casually, and Regulus' jaw clenches. "Just, you know, the bloke
that's been—"
"Shut up," Regulus hisses.

"Good morning," the man says as he steps up right beside James at the counter. He speaks as if
he's addressing everyone, but his eyes are on Regulus, and Regulus alone.

"Richard," Lupin greets, just a bit too stiff and formal to come across as genuine. The man—
Richard—barely spares him a glance before dismissing him.

Regulus releases a muted sigh and says, "What can I get for you?"

"Surely you know by now," Richard replies, flashing a charming smile, and oh. Well, then.

The awareness prickles down James' spine, making him straighten up, eyes snapping to Richard far
more critical than moments prior. His distaste slams into him hard, and fast, crawling up under his
skin and burning in the center of his chest. It's not jealousy; it's sudden and unexpected
possessiveness that James isn't at all prepared for.

It makes him want to gnash his teeth. It makes something shift in him and go sharp. It makes him
want to tuck Regulus out of sight, meet Richard's gaze, and declare mine, he's mine, back off. He's
never felt it before, not like this, not so deeply.

"I don't memorize orders; that's not my job," Regulus says blandly, and his voice is so flat that it'd
be impossible to trip over. "What would you like?"

"You should smile more, you know," Richard muses, flicking his gaze over Regulus with no
shame. Looking his fill. "You'd look better if you smiled."

"Funnily enough, smiling is also not in my job description, and this may surprise you, but I'm not
here for your personal entertainment, and I've no interest in how I could look better for you,"
Regulus states without even batting an eye, seeming almost bored. "One more time, what's your
order?"

Richard just chuckles, not looking put off in the slightest, his grin growing. "You never fail to use
that mouth of yours, do you, Regulus? I could find better uses for it, I think."
"Excuse me," James says softly.

"James," Regulus cuts in, sharp, a warning.

James ignores him as Richard turns to him, and Lupin grins before taking a slurping swallow of his
drink, watching with rising interest. "Sorry, Richard, was it?"

"Yes, and you are?" Richard asks.

"James," says James, even though he's aware—they're all aware—that Richard heard Regulus say
his name. "I can't help but notice that you're the type not to take a hint, and really, I've been
there...when I was a child, because that level of delusion and stupidity is something you're meant to
mature out of, you see. You obviously haven't, but…" James rakes his gaze up and down Richard,
then arches an eyebrow. "Well, I imagine you've had everything handed to you your whole life, and
you've never heard a no before, or just completely ignored it if you have. The problem is that
you've come into an establishment where people are employed and expected to be nice, even to
pricks who can't take a bloody hint."

Lupin chuckles merrily into his coffee while Richard narrows his eyes. "Oh? And just who do you
think you are?"

"Someone who doesn't work here and takes no issue with telling you to piss off," James snaps.

"If I don't?" Richard challenges.

"You mean, if you continue to harass an employee with comments that—trust me—aren't doing
anything to make you more appealing?" James shoots back.

"If he didn't like it, he could tell me himself."

"Oh, I think he's made that quite clear, but you remember, before? The whole not taking a hint
business? I know it must be difficult to retain information even from five seconds ago with the size
of your ego taking up so much space to compensate for where your cock lacks, but it's alright,
chap, I'll walk you through it again if you need it."
Lupin sucks in a sharp breath, coughing on his drink, sputtering through a wheezing laugh, and
Richard goes puce with anger immediately.

"James," Regulus says sharply, and it's like James is abruptly smacked back into himself, aware
that his blood is pumping, boiling, and he's itching for a fight in a way he hasn't since he was in
school dealing with Snape. Regulus leans forward and looks at Richard. "Terribly sorry about him.
Please, remind me what your order is, and I'll get you a muffin for free. James, go sit in the lobby,
would you?"

Nostrils flaring, James glares at the side of Regulus' face, but Regulus outright ignores him.
Richard looks very smug when James jerks away from the counter to march into the lobby, where
he throws himself down in a chair and watches with mounting anger and frustration simmering in
him as Regulus appeases Richard, though never with a smile.

Richard lingers for a bit, chatting Regulus up, leering. Flirting. James isn't sure how he doesn't
break his teeth, he's grinding them so hard. Lupin darts looks at Richard with visible dislike, then
darts looks at James with sympathy. Regulus gives Richard his whole focus, and eventually,
finally, Richard leaves. He smirks at James on his way out the door, and James feels like he's going
to explode.

"Need a fifteen?" Lupin asks as Regulus starts removing his apron with an unruffled, calm air to
him.

"Best make it twenty," is all Regulus says, reaching under the counter to snag some keys, and
Lupin's eyebrows fly up, but Regulus ignores him as he moves around the counter, the keys
swinging around his finger as he heads for James. When he reaches him, he just holds out his hand.
"Come on."

"I'm rather angry at you at the moment," James tells him, an edge to his tone, and this only earns
him a quirked eyebrow.

Regulus wiggles his fingers, enticing him. "Yes, I know. Come with me anyway. Please."

It's the please that does it. Regulus never says please. He hardly sounds like he's pleading now,
more like he's just aware what will work and not ashamed to use it. In any case, despite his
agitation, James exhales harshly through his nose and slips his hand into Regulus', letting himself
be tugged to his feet.
James scowls as Regulus leads him across the lobby, then feels quite strange when he's pulled
behind the counter, which is odd. He's never been on this side of it, and as someone who doesn't
work here, he's a little uneasy about it. Regulus just keeps leading him on, and Lupin lifts his
coffee in a salute as they move past, his eyes dancing with humor.

The door swings when they reach the back, and James peers around helplessly, but Regulus doesn't
even pause to let him look, just dragging him further in until they reach a door that says employees
only. Regulus drops his hand to use the keys, pushing open the door to reveal a storage cupboard
stocked with bags of espresso beans and full, unopened bottles of various pump-flavors. Regulus
reaches back to pull him in, then shuts the door behind them, flicking on a dull, overhead light and
dropping the keys on a shelf in one motion before he slides his hand past James to flip the lock.

"Regulus," James says slowly, "what are you—"

"Richard has been coming in for a week, and he's only in the city for three more days," Regulus
informs him, calm, looking him right in the eye. "It's a business trip, why he's here. In three days,
he'll leave, and I'll never see him again."

James blinks. "Alright?"

"So, he is not someone I've worried about enough to risk losing my job over, simply to have a go at
him for being, as you said, a prick who can't take a hint."

"I—yeah, I get that, but you shouldn't have to tolerate—"

"James," Regulus says, "I decide what I will and will not tolerate from anyone, do you
understand?"

"Yes," James murmurs, because he does understand. He doesn't have to like it; he just has to
respect it.

Regulus gazes at him for a moment. "I didn't need you to defend me."

James sighs. "I know, but—"

"That being said," Regulus interrupts, "it was very satisfying watching you insult his character,
intelligence, and cock in the space of one breath. Very satisfying, James."

"It was satisfying to do," James admits.

Regulus' lips twitch. "Yes, I could tell. Only, you don't seem nearly as satisfied as I'd like at the
moment."

"Well, what came after wasn't nearly as satisfying," James mumbles, trying not to pout about it.

"I know. I'm going to make up for that now," Regulus says simply, then puts his hand against
James' chest and pushes him back against the door before hitting his knees.

James jerks against the door, knocking his elbow into it, and he stares down at Regulus with wide
eyes. "What are you—"

"You're smart, James," Regulus murmurs, lips curling up further. "Even Richard would be able to
figure this one out."

"Don't—talk about Richard when you're—" James blows out a deep breath and swallows, his heart
racing. "I just—I—why? Do you even want—"

"I told you, I don't do things I don't want." Regulus reaches up with easy confidence and tugs at the
button on James' trousers, dragging the zipper down. He pauses briefly and looks up to meet
James' eyes. "Of course, if you don't want—"

"I want," James chokes out. "Bloody hell, Regulus, I want."

"Before this happens, I want to be clear about something. I'm doing this under false pretenses of a
sort. You don't know everything there is to know about me, and there are things I should tell you
before I do this, but now is not the place or the time, and I want to do it anyway." Regulus looks up
at him, holding his gaze. "I do plan to tell you, James, and you should know that it may upset you
later if I do this now before giving you all the information. With that being said, I can stop, or I can
keep going."
"Regulus, there's nothing I could learn about you that would upset me," James murmurs. "I—I
mean, obviously, I still want you to, if you want to. You don't need to worry I'll be angry. I'd never
hurt you, no matter what you would tell me."

"If you're sure," Regulus murmurs.

"I'm very sure," James whispers.

Regulus smiles at him, like he wouldn't for Richard, and then he goes right back to it. James drops
his head back against the door with a dull thunk, chest heaving, hands flexing at his sides. He
squeezes his eyes shut, and then things go a bit fuzzy from the first moan that spills out of his
mouth.

Almost devilishly, Regulus pins him to the door and has his way with him, and James is putty in
his hands in no time at all. He's swept up in a torrential storm of pleasure and, god help him, he
can't find his way back out. He's lost, lost, lost. He wants, with every cell in his body, to never be
found.

James tries—he does try—to keep his wits about him, but he doubts he manages it, only distantly
aware like it's coming from very far away that he's making noise, moans and whimpers and gasps
of Regulus' name like an oath. It all falls apart in him and around him, and then he reaches the eye
of the storm where everything is silent and still as the world rages on, one point that drowns
everything else out. He finds himself there, crying out into the soundless void with the roar of the
storm in his ears, shaking through it until it all calms.

The storm passes, and James is still drenched in it, rattling in the aftermath and trying to catch his
breath. The second Regulus isn't holding him in place, he slumps down shakily and slides down the
length of the door, needing a moment.

"Satisfied?" Regulus murmurs, resting back on his haunches as he drags his thumb over his bottom
lip. His mouth is swollen and red, slick, tempting.

"Love," James breathes out, reaching for him with one hand, and Regulus comes to him with a
quiet hum, something gently amused, tenderly fond. James drags him close, nuzzling into his neck,
peppering kisses along his jaw.

"I'll take that as a yes," Regulus says, carding fingers through his hair, settling in against him
easily.

James wheezes out a high-pitched laugh, nodding against his shoulder, then his hand drifts up
Regulus' leg. "Can I…?"

"No," Regulus tells him, and James' hand instantly stops where it's at on his outer thigh. "Not—I
do want to, James, just not now. Not here. But I—I do want you. Don't doubt that."

"Alright," James says and squeezes his leg. "Then can we just stay like this for a bit?"

"Yes," Regulus agrees, and they do.

James sits right there and holds onto Regulus, touching him as much as he can get away with, not
pushing, just happy to feel him all over. He presses soft kisses into his neck, then his cheek, then
eventually his mouth. Kisses him deep and slow and sweet, losing himself to that, too.

Regulus does pull away at some point, admitting he needs to go back to work, and James suddenly
remembers that Regulus is at work. He frets for a bit until Regulus assures him that he won't get in
trouble, Lupin will cover for him, and all cameras have needed replacing for three years. James
relaxes, only to then feel like his face is going to melt off when he processes that Regulus just did
that at work. Regulus only chuckles softly, kisses him once more, and leads him out.

"Nice break?" Lupin asks, clearly fighting for his life trying not to laugh at both of them.

James, dazed still, smiles crookedly and ruffles his hair, an undeniable spark in his eye. Regulus
has the most amazing poker face, giving absolutely nothing away, but James is aware that his face
tells it all. Lupin is laughing at them both, but for once, Regulus doesn't even pretend to be upset
about it.

"Come to mine after I'm off," Regulus tells James once he's on the other side of the counter, and
Regulus is sliding him his drink (which he did memorize, so ha, Richard) and toffee pudding
because he's wearing orange.

"Yeah, alright," James says with a dopey smile, and then he stands there and steals one, two, three
kisses from Regulus across the counter, right on his mouth, and Regulus stands right there and lets
him do it.
Needless to say, there's a bounce in his step on his way out the door, and he leaves the shop very
satisfied.

James has schoolwork to do, and he has actual work (his parents pay him—or their company pays
him—to manage a few accounts and handle some stuff online, most things he can do from the
computer), so he does have reasons to be busy all day. Sirius is out, likely at his studio, a theory
confirmed when he eventually comes bustling in with a streak of gold across his chin. James
doesn't pull himself away from work as Sirius begs off for a shower, and Sirius doesn't bother him
until he gets back out. However, once he has…

"James!" Sirius gasps, and James is already trying so hard to stifle a grin that he knows just looking
at Sirius would ruin all his effort. "Oh, I know that look, mate. But I thought—isn't your mean
barista working today?"

James clears his throat and squints at his screen, trying to be as casual as possible. "Yes, he is,
why?"

"Oh my god," Sirius hisses. "Have you shagged your mean barista while he was at work?!"

"No!" James bursts out, glancing over at him and shaking his head. "We didn't—there was no
shagging. We—well, he—"

Sirius leans in to push up James' glasses so he can stare directly into his eyes, putting them so close
that the very tip of their noses touch. He examines James for a long moment, then leans back with a
firm nod. "He sucked your cock."

"How could you possibly know that?!" James yelps, tossing up his hands in disbelief, and Sirius
cackles.

"Oh, Prongs, what don't I know when I try hard enough?" Sirius reaches out and pats his cheek.
"Anyhow, there's so few options in a bloody coffee shop, isn't there? Not much time. Not that
many places to go. Only so much any one man can do, even if he is quite creative. Good on you,
mate. How was it?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"You absolutely are, though you hardly need to; it's written all over your face. Go on, then."

James wavers for only five seconds, then he squeezes his eyes shut and helplessly breathes out,
"His mouth…"

"Ha!" Sirius gives him a playful shove and kicks back on the sofa, grinning at him when James
peeks. "It's always the bloody mouth, isn't it? That's how they get us. Moony's must be made of sin,
I'm telling you. I'm obsessed." He reaches back to put his hands behind his head, releasing a deep,
dreamy sigh of contentment. "You know, we've shagged in my studio three times now. I think
about him every time I paint."

"Is it very different with him than anyone else you've ever shagged?"

"Yeah. Even from the beginning, there's never been anyone like Moony. In every way, and
shagging."

"Right." James hums thoughtfully and goes back to his laptop, trying to finish even as his mind
drifts.

"But Moony is…" Sirius releases another sigh that James knows means he's going to start rambling
nonsense about his boyfriend for the next few minutes. "You know, the moon is different from
stars because it's something solid, something steady, but stars are heat and energy, and they can
burn themselves up. The moon's core is iron, James. I… Oh, what was I going to do? I never—I
never stood a chance. I hardly had a choice, really. It's like I've always had this love in me, made
just for him, waiting for him—and he's here, and I've always loved him. I loved him before my
heart was even formed in the womb. I was always going to love him. I—"

"Sorry," James cuts in, staring at him, "not that that wasn't all wonderful and poetic—but love,
Sirius? You're in love? You've fallen in love?"

Sirius squints open one eye, peeking at him, and he aims for overly casual as he mumbles, "Oh,
yes, might've done. Didn't I mention that?"

"You did not, you wankstain!" James yelps, shoving his laptop aside to dive at Sirius, who
immediately shrieks and then starts laughing like a madman. They wrestle around until James'
glasses get lost among the cushions and Sirius' hair is a terrible mess caught between wet and dry
around his head.

They call it a truce when James captures Sirius in a headlock, because Sirius would honestly pass
out before he ever gave in, and they both know it. James locates his glasses, Sirius tries (and fails)
to fix his hair, and then they stare at each other. Sirius arches an eyebrow and fixes an unimpressed
look on his face that's supposed to make James laugh, because it usually would, but James feels his
breath catch and his stomach swoop because it reminds so viscerally of Regulus that his body
simply responds. Sirius blinks, then raises both eyebrows.

"Prongs, I know romance makes you randy, but this is a bit far, even for you," Sirius says, his
eyebrows steadily climbing.

"No, I—sorry, you just made me think of him, is all," James admits sheepishly, and Sirius laughs
so hard he wheezes, pressing the back of his wrist to his mouth as he shakes right there on the sofa.
James whacks him gently on the leg. "Oh, shut up, would you?"

"Alright, alright," Sirius gives in, once he's calmed down enough. He slumps back into the sofa.
"You'd think you'd be calmer after this morning. When are you seeing him again?"

"He asked me to come by his flat later."

"Oh, did he now? Get in, James."

"That doesn't mean—"

"It absolutely means. Remember, be safe, you always have to—"

"Sirius."

"No, this is important, James. Safe sex is important. Tell me he didn't just slob on your knob
without any protec—"

James sighs and turns to look right at him. "Yes, because we don't—need it. He has clean test
results on his bloody stand beside his bed, and I saw it the night I stayed over, alright? It felt like
an invasion of privacy or something, so I just...er, well, I took a picture of mine and showed it to
him and tried to apologize for having eyes, I suppose, and he called me an idiot and we never
talked about it again, but we know, you know?"

"What if you get him pregnant?" Sirius whispers, then grins when James rolls his eyes. "Oh, I was
joking. In any case, enjoy shagging your mean barista."

James snorts, but goes back to his laptop to finish up while he and Sirius tease each other, bickering
playfully, jumping from one subject to the next. They actually end up leaving the flat around the
same time, funnily enough, because Sirius' Moony has gotten off work and plans to meet Sirius at
some pub they frequent. Out on the street, James and Sirius salute each other, wink, then split off
in opposite directions.

On the way to Regulus', James catches up in the group chat (Alice and Mary had a conversation
about the dangers of pasta at two in the morning), checks social media (comments hearts on Sirius'
latest picture of his motorbike, likes Lily's picture of her showing off her new skirt, retweets
Marlene's post about how it's not fair that babies are expected to scream in public and it's frowned
upon when she does it), and replies to all clogged messages he might've missed during the day
(agrees to get lunch with Peter tomorrow, tells his mum his Netflix password, and lets Regulus
know he's on the way over).

By the time he makes it to Regulus' door, he's suitably distracted by what took place this morning
and Sirius' pointed comments, so he's quite calm when the door swings open. He smiles as soon as
he sees Regulus, like a reflex, and it's like every other smile James gives him. No expectations; just
the honest, earnest response to simply seeing him.

"Have you eaten?" Regulus asks as he steps aside, letting James move inside, not even turning
away from the quick kiss that James drops off on his cheek in passing.

"Had a toastie earlier, but that was before lunch. I got a bit caught up with work." James inhales as
Regulus brushes past him, leading him towards the kitchen. He groans loudly on his exhale. "Oh,
what is that? Regulus, that smells amazing."

"Tomato Consomme and Smoked Ricotta Tortelli," Regulus murmurs as he enters the kitchen. He
pauses and glances back at James, an eyebrow arched. "It's Italian."

"I never would have guessed," James says, grinning, and Regulus rolls his eyes as he turns back
around. "How long have you been home?"
"Just a little over two hours. The food is almost done, by the way. Take some wine glasses to the
table, would you?"

"Yes, love. I'll get right on that, love. Anything for—"

Regulus cuts him a narrow-eyed glare that makes James press his lips together to smother his
laugh. James is quite brave, actually, because he sweeps further into the kitchen and steps up
behind Regulus to wrap his arms around his front, nosing at the spot behind his ear, inhaling the
smell of him and the lovely scents of the nearly-finished meal. Regulus huffs, but he also relaxes
back into him almost immediately.

"The wine glasses," Regulus mumbles, his head lulling to the side as James kisses down the slope
of his neck.

"They'll be there when I get to them," James mumbles back, his words muffled into skin. "You're
more important."

Regulus' head falls back against James' shoulder, and when James peeks, his eyes are shut and his
lips are parted. He's divine. He looks like a reckoning personified, sharp angles softened,
something otherworldly and magnificently human all at once, the undiscovered beauty of him and
the flush in his cheeks. James is mesmerized by him, greedy with wanting, mouth on his skin and
hands mapping out the dimensions of his body. He's the chaos and the calm of a storm.

With a harsh, stuttered exhale, Regulus all but flings himself out of James' arms, side-stepping
rapidly away as he drags one hand through his hair. "James."

"Yes. Sorry," James blurts out, clearing his throat. He takes a step back. "Sorry about—that.
I'll...get the glasses now."

James does, in fact, get the glasses. He takes them over to the table where a bottle of wine is
already sitting, along with two cool glasses of water, clearly refreshing enough that condensation
has built on the outside, some slipping down to drip on the coaster. James shakily takes his glass
and downs half of it. His mouth is so terribly dry.

Regulus follows him to the table, setting it with stilted movements, not looking James in the eye as
he lays out the meal and pours the wine. James can barely look at him either, his face feeling hot,
his whole body itchy with the tingles running under his skin. See, he was calm before, but all it
took was one moment of having Regulus in his arms, wearing an expression of pure bliss, and
James is very far from calm now.

Fortunately, the first bite takes his focus. He falls a little slack in the chair, groaning as the flavor
explodes in his mouth. He's had very good food before, he truly has, but Regulus has honest talent.
This is the sort of meal you pay a steep price for, just for quality and taste alone. It makes James
savor every second of every bite, mourning the loss when he swallows.

It's only the second time Regulus has cooked for him, and he looks at James the same way he did
the first, eyes sharp and fixated as he roughly asks, "Good?"

"This—you—Regulus, Regulus," James whispers in a rush.

"Stop looking at me like that," Regulus hisses. His face is flushed as a soft breath punches out of
him, and he's strangling his fork as he stares down at his plate. "I'm not letting this meal go to
waste, James. Eat your fucking food."

"I'm not letting this meal go to waste, are you joking?" James sputters, staring at him incredulously.
He waves his fork at Regulus. "Stay over there. Keep your hands to yourself. Don't you dare
interrupt me."

"Well, if you'd stop being—" Regulus makes a face and gestures to him almost vigorously.

"Me? Yes, love. I'll get right on that, love. Anything for you, love," James offers, and Regulus
scowls.

James huffs out a hoarse laugh and ducks his head to hide a grin. He really doesn't plan to waste a
bite, so he focuses on eating and not the person across from him. They do not speak, or look at each
other, and the tension is still so thick that James feels like he's pushing against it every time he
reaches for his wine. Regulus is breathing in a very deliberate way, measured, and James' leg is
bouncing underneath the table.

The last bite draws a moan out of James mouth, both because of the taste and the fact that he's free
to look at Regulus all he likes. There's a clatter of Regulus' fork hitting his empty plate, and they
both look up at the same time, freezing in place for one tense second, and then Regulus abruptly
stands up.
"I need to—there's something I need to talk to you about. I've been meaning to. It's very important,"
Regulus says stiffly.

"Alright," James replies carefully.

Regulus nods sharply. "On the sofa. The dishes can wait."

"Right," James agrees, mostly on autopilot at this point. He needs a moment before he can stand
(the reason why is utterly ridiculous, has he no self-control?), but he does eventually follow
Regulus to the sofa, where they sit with an entire cushion between them, deliberately spaced apart.

"James," Regulus says, then stops, his mouth pressed into a harsh, unhappy line.

James doesn't want Regulus to be unhappy, doesn't like it, so he nervously ruffles his hair and
mumbles, "We don't have to talk about whatever it is if you'd rather not."

"It really is very important," Regulus grits out. "Quite important, if we're going to shag."

"Well, if—I mean, you're obviously not pleased about it, so we don't have to shag," James says
simply, because that's the most obvious solution, isn't it?

Regulus stares at him for a beat, and then he says, "The issue, James, is that if we don't shag, I'm
going to actually, genuinely go mad. I'll never know peace. I don't know peace now."

"Oh," James breathes out, gazing at him, heart thundering away in his chest. His fingers twitch
against his knees.

"Stop—don't look at me like that," Regulus whispers.

"How am I looking at you?" James murmurs.

"Like—like that, and you can't—you can't keep doing that to me, James, because I'll—I'll—"
Regulus releases a groan of defeat and shoves himself forward, reaching out for James even as he
crawls across the space between them.

James falls into him, breathless, and croaks, "Regulus, can I—"

Regulus is kissing him before he ever finishes, and James surges into it with a moan of triumph.
His hands fly up to grip Regulus' sides, dragging him closer, shuddering at the feeling of a hand in
his hair and a tongue in his mouth. Regulus' hand, Regulus' tongue. The earth-shattering sensation
of him.

He tastes like wine. Rich and slightly bitter from the elements of tannin, an undercurrent of spice
that enhances the heady, rounded flavor of the meal they both shared. His mouth is hot, and James
is lightheaded from the rush of warmth it transfers through his veins. Regulus leans into him, one
hand gripping his arm tight, fingers spasming as his nails dig in and release intermittently. He cups
the curve of James' skull, fingers clenching in his hair, holding him in place.

Regulus crowds in closer, and James has him, James helps him; hooks a hand in the bend of his
knee and hauls him in, legs straddling James' thigh. The kiss breaks just so Regulus can choke out a
soft, broken moan, his hand leaving James' hair to grip his other arm. James leans away, breathing
hard, watching as Regulus' head falls back, his eyes shut. James is rapt, in awe, because Regulus in
the throes of pleasure is immaculate.

James is captivated and eager to help, so he slides his hands to Regulus' hips, urging him to move,
fixated on the wash of candid feeling passing on Regulus' face. Regulus grips his arms tighter,
whimpering, no finesse to how he shifts.

"Oh," Regulus whines, rocking against James in a particular way that makes him tremble and
immediately do it again.

"Christ, Regulus," James breathes out, raspy, rough. He can't look away, won't, refuses to even
fucking blink. He's not missing one second of this; never has he seen such beauty, so much that it
steals his breath and enchants him.

"James. James, James, James," Regulus chants, his voice getting tight and high, his movements
sporadic and desperate. It's as James slips his hand up Regulus' shirt, over his stomach, that it all
changes in a split second.
Faster than James thought was possible, Regulus throws himself backwards and to the side,
gasping for air as he reaches up to press a shaky hand to his chest. He stares at James with wide
eyes, mouth wet and open, his legs clamped together. James blinks rapidly, at a loss, mouth
hanging open.

"I—" James swallows. "Sorry. Did I—did I do some—"

"That's never happened to me before," Regulus blurts out, staring at him in disbelief. "I've never—
not once have I ever even came close to—to—"

"Getting off?" James asks.

Regulus huffs out an incredulous laugh. "That's never happened. That's—"

"You've never been with—"

"No, I have."

"Regulus," James says, distressed, "please don't tell me you've been with people who didn't—who
never—"

"I just faked it," Regulus tells him, and James wilts a little bit, staring at him in despair.

"How do you even fake—" James shakes his head quickly, twisting around the scoot closer to
Regulus. "No, nevermind that. Just don't fake anything with me, alright? And please, I'm begging
you, let me make you feel good. Let me—"

"I'm not saying that it—I mean, it could feel good without me getting off," Regulus mutters, his
face collapsing into a scowl of irritation. "And how unobservant are you, James, really? Because I
didn't—well, did you notice anything at all while I was riding your bloody thigh?"

"Um." James clears his throat. "Well, I was a bit distracted by you, honestly. Sorry, what was I
meant to be noticing, exactly?"
"James," Regulus snaps, "I don't have a cock."

"Do you really not?" James asks, startled, automatically looking down in pure reflex. It takes him a
second to actually register Regulus' words and process them, and then his gaze snaps back up.
Regulus is too still, his face blank, and James blinks again. "That did escape my notice, actually."

"That's what I was meant to tell you before we—" Regulus heaves a sigh and deflates against the
sofa a bit, his shoulders slumping. "I'm trans, James."

James holds his gaze and calmly says, "Alright. I'm honored that you trusted me enough to tell me
that."

"Oh, don't—" Regulus groans, his face screwing up as he rolls his head to the side, his hand balling
into a fist. "Of course you would say that. You probably mean it, too."

"I do," James says slowly, admittedly bewildered. "Sorry, would you like me to...say something
else?"

"You're not even the tiniest bit peeved off that I've kept this from you and still dated you?" Regulus
asks, turning his head to frown at him.

"No?" James is baffled. He blinks at Regulus, then clicks his tongue. "Oh, come on, love. It's not
about—I already told you, Regulus, it's about you, yeah? You didn't 'keep this from me'; it's not
information I'm entitled to. You told me when you trusted me enough to tell me. And I'm happy
you do, now."

Regulus' face twitches. "You don't think you're entitled to it, considering we're dating?"

"Regulus," James says firmly, and Regulus relents for once, his gaze dropping. "Do you know me
at all? It's not some trick. I'm with you. I want to be with you. This? It's just another part of you I'm
grateful to know. My god, I adore you, don't you know that by now?"

"Most people…" Regulus swallows, looking up at James through his eyelashes. "The people I've
shagged, they know beforehand. None of them knew me, some didn't even know my name, but I
made sure they knew that. I've never dated anyone before but you, and I should have told you,
James, I should have. Because it can go badly when I haven't, and you could have reacted—it—I
should have told you before we even did anything. I'm sorry you didn’t know this. No one who
really knows me does."

James' eyebrows furrow. "Lupin?"

"No."

"Pandora?"

"Oh, well...she does," Regulus admits with a grimace. "She knew me before I transitioned. She also
just—figured it out about me, I suppose. She was the first person who ever knew, but she also
doesn't know me, really, not yet."

"Hm," James hums, a lot of things clicking into his mind slowly and all at once. Things Regulus
has said. His ex-fiance not recognizing him. Him looking different from when he was eighteen.
Him pretending to be someone he wasn't in school.

"James," Regulus whispers. When James looks at him, he has that open, vulnerable expression on
his face that tugs at every single one of James' heartstrings, a look so dejected and sad that it makes
James want to hit his knees begging for forgiveness or tear the world apart to fit it in his palms and
offer it to Regulus, if that would fix it. "This doesn't change anything, does it? For you, I mean."

James would laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of such a question if it wasn't for the fact that
Regulus is sincerely asking because he doesn't know. He genuinely doesn't know and has to ask,
and that's quite possibly one of the most tragic things that James has ever encountered, a travesty
that shakes him at his core. He feels, inexplicably, as if he's failed Regulus by giving him room to
doubt, but he's also aware that this is more the failings of general society.

It puts this desperate need to comfort, to reassure, within James until he's all but crawling across
the sofa to capture Regulus' face in his hands as he whispers with ferocity he didn't know he was
capable of, "This changes nothing, love. How I feel about you now is no different than how I felt
about you yesterday and no different than how I will feel about you always. Please believe that,
Regulus."

A soft sound crawls up Regulus' throat, and he pitches forward into James so that they're kissing,
gentle and sure, curling into each other like the streak of sunlight chasing a storm.

It blooms between them slowly, unfurling naturally, heat and desire building until their only
choices are to either stop or keep going, and Regulus whispers, "Do you—do you want—"

"Yes," James says earnestly. "Please. I—I want to make you feel good, Regulus."

"You do. You always do, almost too good," Regulus tells him shakily, moving with James as
James moves with him, the both of them shifting into the promise of the position they were in
before. Regulus has his mouth on James' again in seconds.

It's beautiful, really, how they lose themselves in each other. There's no stopping this time, and
James feels like he could fly apart from the force of Regulus falling apart against him, his pleasure
rebounding back on James like a running circuit. Every whine and moan and whispered name
slipping from Regulus' mouth like he can't help it is echoed back from James, and they're lost, lost,
lost. Carried away.

They find their way back together, and James just holds him, breathing him in, never wanting to let
go. Regulus tucks himself close, his rapid breathing spilling over James' throat, slowly calming.
James rubs his hands up and down Regulus' back, fingers swiping reverently over cloth, all too
aware that he has something precious under his palms.

James closes his eyes and is so very thankful of the storm that led him to Regulus. He'd been
outrunning it, only to find shelter in the storm of the man in his arms now.

He's never been so grateful for the rain.

Remus isn't expecting it, is the thing. The sudden and blindsiding sight of his father. Here, in this
bar, sharing a pint with what looks like a business associate.

Lyall always strikes an imposing figure. Remus inherited his height from his dad, but the
gentleness he carries within him comes entirely from his mum. Lyall is all hard lines and tunnel
vision, never one to be distracted, never one to soften out of his own machinery. He walks through
life like it is a mission, not a gift. Lyall Lupin does not stop to smell the roses; he doesn't even see
them bloom.
Remus is standing up from his seat before he even realizes it, and Sirius says, "Moony?"

There is no answer that Remus could truly offer him, so he doesn't try. He just turns and heads
right for Lyall, only distantly aware that Sirius is scrambling to follow him, sounding concerned
when he says his name again.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt," Remus declares as he comes to a halt next to Lyall and the man
he's drinking with, and he's not sorry at all. He can hear the edge to his own tone and only then
realizes that he's angry. "Hi, Dad."

Lyall blinks at him as if he can't quite fathom why his son is standing front of him. Maybe he's
forgotten that he has a son at all. "Remus," he says, then he glances at the other man with a frown.
"Terribly sorry. This is—" He glances back at Remus again, sighing. "Remus, I'm in the middle of
something quite important for work, so if you would—"

"If I would what?" Remus asks sharply. "Go another six years without hearing from you?"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Lyall says. "My assistant checks in with you every few months."

Remus scoffs. "Yes, your assistant, but never you? Funny thing, that, but your assistant isn't
actually my dad, in case that happened to escape your notice."

"Don't be unreasonable, Remus," Lyall says placidly, never raising his voice, never caring enough
to. "You know I'm not good with phones and technology and such. My assistant does it for me, and
I'm a busy man with so little time to—"

"Yes, yes, you're always busy," Remus snaps, flicking his gaze to the other man, who looks
uncomfortable. "And who is this? Another client you're meant to fluff up and convince to fall prey
to capitalism and the ever-present corporate ladder you never quite figured out how to stop
climbing?"

"Terribly sorry," Lyall repeats to the man, and the worst part, he genuinely sounds it. Like he has to
apologize for Remus being there. Like his son is an embarrassment. "Don't mind him. We'll just go
to where I'd originally proposed to finish our meeting. I'll cover the drinks."
"Dad," Remus says, and Lyall heaves a sigh before looking at him, but he's not even really looking
at him at all. He's looking right at Remus, but he doesn't see him. He's never seen him. He can't,
doesn't know how to, and maybe he doesn't want to.

"Remus, really," Lyall says, "I don't have the time—"

Remus takes a step back and jolts a little bit when he bumps into Sirius, who places a warm hand
on his back. Remus leans into him and swallows thickly. "No. No, we were just going. Sorry to
bother, Dad. Good luck with your—meeting."

"My assistant will be in touch," Lyall tells him, sighing heavily again. "When I have the time, we
can discuss—"

"Don't bother," Remus croaks. "We both know you never have the time, being a busy man and all,
and I'd hate to keep being an inconvenience for you. Assign your assistant to something you
actually care about, why don't you?"

"Remus," Lyall says, but that's all he says, and he doesn't raise his voice to say anything else as
Remus turns around and walks away, his breath high and thin in his throat.

Remus doesn't realize Sirius hasn't followed until he hears him speak up behind him, his voice soft
with—pity? "I feel sorry for you." Remus turns around, and Sirius is just staring right at Lyall like
he actually does pity him. "I feel sorry for you, Mr. Lupin, because you have no idea what an
incredible person your son is, how rare it is to know anyone as special as him. He's a true marvel,
you know, but—you don't know, and I feel sorry for you. Because you're missing out on one of the
best things this world is lucky enough to have. You had a part in creating the most wonderful
person I've ever known, and you don't even know it, and I feel sorry for you."

Sirius just shakes his head like he's genuinely disappointed for Lyall, and he turns away to step up
beside Remus, slipping an arm around him to lead him out of the bar. Remus glances back only
once and sees Lyall staring after them, his eyebrows furrowed, looking more awake than he has in
years. Remus turns back around and leans into Sirius the whole way.

It's dusky out, on the cusp of getting late, but it's clear. Sirius pauses next to his bike, trying to
catch his gaze for a moment, but Remus can't look at him. He just ducks his head, and Sirius uses
the motion to put his helmet on him. There's a gentle kiss pressed into the bolt of his jaw, and then
Sirius is settling on his bike, waiting for Remus to get on behind him.
Remus does.

When Remus was a young boy, he found an appreciation for books because there was something
definitive about a story. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. He can know it all the way
through, from the very first page to the last. Something about it comforted him—and still does—
that he can pick up a book and find familiarity in the words waiting for him, a home on paper worn
by cherished hands.

Even a book he hated from the very first page is a book that he would read through to the very last,
because he can't leave it unfinished. Remus doesn't know how to leave anything where it's better
off left sometimes, not even for his own good. He never leaves well enough alone. It's this
clawing, ravenous beast in him that he can't free himself from, a snarling creature desperate to
chase down everything and consume it all, running and running and running from himself. No
matter how far Remus goes, he is still accompanied by his own shadow, his own beast, and he's
never finished. It eats him alive sometimes, the uncompleted shape of himself, and he's not sure if
he ever really began at all.

Remus was sixteen years old when he woke up to find a pristine copy of To the Lighthouse by
Virginia Woolf on his nightstand, completely untouched.

"Mum," Remus had said that morning, carrying the book to the table where breakfast was already
made.

"Yes, dear?" Hope asked, sparing him a tiny, distracted smile.

"Did you get me this book?" Remus murmured, because most of the books he had, he got on his
own—but he couldn't imagine who else would get it for him.

Hope merely shook her head and said, "No. Your father got it as a gift from a client, and he had no
interest in reading it, doubted he'd have the time, but we know you like to read. He left it for you."

"Oh." Remus had swallowed and gripped the book tighter, staring at it. "Is—is Dad still here?"

"Mm, no, he had a meeting this morning," Hope had said, then turned around and started
humming, and Remus looked down at that book and swore to never, ever read it.
Two hours later, he was curled up out in the meadow behind his house, resting against his favorite
tree, and reading every word with his breath constantly caught in his throat.

To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want
and not to have - to want and want - how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!
Remus had read, and it had resonated, had struck him right at his center as he shivered with it—that
hardness, that hollowness, that strain. All that want that wrung his heart, and he'd thought, then,
that he'd never know anything else.

That book had made him cry. Made him lay out in the grass and stare up at the sky, not entirely
tethered to the earth, floating out somewhere beyond. He read it, and read it again, and read it so
much that he could quote it. He still can, and he still has the book now, the spine broken and the
pages soft from where his fingers have eased all the stiffness away.

He thought about it for a long time—still thinks about it, even now—but he was never sure that
Lyall Lupin would have ever gotten past the first page.

Remus used to be furious about it, but now—well, maybe Sirius was right. Maybe it is sad. Maybe
it makes complete sense to look at Lyall and feel sorry for him for all the ways he'll never know
what it is to want anything.

But Remus? Oh, Remus wants everything. He wants the world and every hidden nook and cranny
of it, from the edge of one sea to the edge of the next. He wants to stir his fingers through the sky
like he's drawing in the sand; gather up the stars like he's ripping blades of grass from the ground
and tossing them above his head, watching them rain down, soft and glowing as they ruffle his hair
and get lost in the collar of his sweater; tip out his tongue to capture the rattling energy of a
lightning bolt the same way one attempts to taste a snowflake, the ozone melting against his teeth,
the crackling shock making his throat buzz as his heart swells, and swells, and swells.

Remus wants it all, and he knows—he's so painfully, viscerally aware—that no one can have it. No
one can truly have it. No one can ever really, really be finished; there's always so much more. But
Virginia Woolf—well. She had something to say about that, too.

What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one
with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come.
Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark;
here was one.

Remus buries his face into Sirius' neck, clinging to him, the rush of the wind just as much of a
passenger as he, and yes, here was one. Here is one. Here he is, that flash of light in the dark, the
lightning striking the ground.

The bike slows to a stop and cuts off, but Sirius can't get off until Remus lets him go, except
Remus isn't letting him go. Instead, Remus is holding onto him and crying and wishing, deeply and
desperately, that he wasn't. Sirius braces his feet on the ground, and one of his hands comes up to
cover the tight tangle of Remus' fingers locked around his waist, gently squeezing them, protecting
them.

"Sweetheart," Sirius says gently.

"Just—a moment, please," Remus says thickly, his eyes burning, his throat clogged.

Sirius reaches up with his free hand to remove his helmet, then reaches back to fumble with Remus'
to get it off, too. He hangs each one off the handles, then leans back into Remus with basically all
of his weight, both arms coming down to settle on top of Remus'. Between the both of them, they
keep the bike upright, and they don't move for a long time.

Remus keeps his face buried into Sirius' hair and neck, breathing him in. He smells like leather and
sharp, acidic undercurrent of paint, a little bit of nature and a little bit of art, the wild and the
unfathomable. Remus has never been comforted by anything like he is by this. By Sirius.

They stay like that, and Sirius doesn't complain, doesn't break the silence, doesn't do anything but
offer himself up to Remus' arms without a word, as if it requires no terms or discussion.
Unconditional. Instinctive.

It's Remus, in the end, who has to pull away. He loosens his hold and rocks them both forward,
slipping his arms free to scrub both hands over his face. Crying makes him feel very fucking
stupid, honestly, and he—well, he simply doesn't do it, really. The last time was a year after his
mum died when he visited her grave, and it had spilled from him like a bursting faucet, because he
missed her, he did miss his mum, and he would always have to miss his mum in a worse way than
he'd been missing her his whole life.

He didn't go back after that.

Sirius props his bike on the stand and swings himself off, turning towards him with this tender,
careful wrinkle between his eyebrows and something so unbearably soft in his eyes that Remus
wants to retreat from it immediately. He doesn't need to be coddled. He won't be coddled.

"Don't do that," Sirius murmurs, stepping closer to him, nearly spilling over with how much he
cares, and it grates across Remus' skin like sandpaper. "Don't hide from me, Remus. There's
nothing—absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

"You're a hypocrite, you know that?" Remus snaps, and Sirius shrinks back a little bit, which only
makes Remus even angrier somehow. "All you do is hide from me, Sirius. I suppose you do have
things to be ashamed of, is that it?"

Sirius presses his lips into a thin line. "Yeah, actually, it is."

"Well, fuck off, who made you the one to decide what we're supposed to be ashamed of, or not?"
Remus says. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to demand to see me, to promise me
everything, and show me nothing."

"This isn't about me."

"It's about me, then? It always has to be about me, doesn't it? Never about you; never anything
other than what you want it to be about."

"Remus," Sirius says carefully, "you're upset—"

Huffing out a bitter laugh, Remus tilts his head back and stares up at the sky. "Hear that? I'm upset.
I'm bloody upset. You know, Sirius, I fucking wonder why."

"I am trying to avoid a fight right now, you know, but you make that awfully fucking difficult,"
Sirius grits out.

"Oh, I know exactly how to start a fight with you," Remus tells him, dropping his head forward to
glare at him. "All I have to do, see, is hint that I want to know anything with actual substance about
you, and you're lashing out. So simple."

Sirius narrows his eyes. "Are you looking for a fight, then? Is that what you want?"
It is, but Remus would rather die than admit it, than admit that he's pushing, he's always pushing,
the snarling beast in his chest itching to sink its teeth in something and clamp down, no matter how
much it struggles—hopes, even, that it'll struggle harder. "Well, Sirius, maybe it wouldn't be a
bloody fight if you actually fucking—"

"What the hell do you want to know?!" Sirius shouts, flinging his hands out like he's presenting
himself, his eyes blazing with something that makes Remus want to bounce, to take off running
and do laps, something howling in him in pure agreement, his own chest breaking open in perfect
tandem with Sirius'. He's spilling over, too; he wants both of them to spill over together. "Where
shall I start, Remus? Where it all went wrong? Well, you see, I was fucking born—"

"A bit early, that," Remus says, because he's awful, he's so fucking awful when he's angry, when
he's hurt.

Sirius barks a laugh, and it's not like it usually is; it's harsh and brittle and cold. "You wanted to
know, didn't you? That's where it starts. I was born to a horrible fucking excuse for a human being,
let alone a mother, who spent the next sixteen years of my life making it a living Hell. Is that what
you want to know, Remus? That my mother used to beat me? That I hated that house, that life, so
fucking much that I used to daydream about dying? You want to know, sweetheart, really?"

"Sirius," Remus says, suddenly not angry anymore, not at all. Regret and guilt shoves all the fury,
all the hurt, right out of his body with a swiftness that makes him feel ill.

"No, no, you asked!" Sirius snarls, laughing, and there's a wild gleam in his eyes now. "You wanted
to know so badly, so I'll fucking tell you. The family that took me in at sixteen? They didn't just
invite me into their home; I showed up on their doorstep, bloody and bruised, after my darling
mother hit me, and stabbed me, and made it very fucking clear that I'd never escape that horrible,
terrible family. And the worst part? I thought I had, I thought that leaving was the escape, but she
was right. I didn't escape. I never can, because I'm just like them. Cursed. A fucking force of
destruction that ruins, and ruins, and ruins. I can be just as cruel, just as vindictive, just as angry
and hateful and insane. And you're going to see; you will, Remus, and then—and then you'll—"

"Sirius," Remus repeats in a whisper, his heart clenching.

"You'll leave," Sirius states, his voice hollowed and certain, his arms falling limply at his sides.
"You'll leave, Moony, and the thing is—I can't even blame you. If I could, I'd leave me, too. But I
will blame you. I'll hate you for it. I already hate you for it, because I—I don't want you to go. I
was trying so hard, so fucking hard, to keep it together, to do it right so I could keep you. I want to
keep you. I—I—"
Remus steps forward with such urgency that he almost trips, and he reaches up to frame Sirius' face
in his hands, his mouth running away from him when it usually never does, but he's so glad that it
is now. "No. No, I'm not—Sirius, I'm not going anywhere. I told you; I'm right here. You have
me."

"You can't—you absolutely can't accept all of me, then leave, Remus," Sirius rasps. "It'll destroy
me. If I ruin this, you'll ruin me. So, don't—please don't—"

"I won't. I couldn't. Come here, you idiot," Remus whispers, curling his hand around the nape of
Sirius' neck to pull him in, pressing warm kisses to his mouth, short and full of promise, doing it
again and again and again. He mumbles, "As if I could ever," and doesn't finish, too lost in
pressing the words unspoken into Sirius' waiting and wanting lips. He breathes out, "How could
you even think," and doesn't finish that either, pulling Sirius in so that they'd be easy to stitch
together. He wants them to be stitched together, as if that could reassure the both of them, absolve
them of their fears.

"You can't. You can't, Moony. You can't. I might actually kill you, and then myself," Sirius gasps
out against his lips.

"Don't joke about that," Remus mumbles, then kisses him harder, and Sirius melts into him. Remus
kisses him until they're both dizzy from it, clutching at each other for balance, for some kind of
anchor to earth. Sirius is shaking, and Remus pulls back enough to open his eyes, waiting for Sirius
to do the same so they can gaze at each other. "But thank you for putting it in that order. Me first.
I'd hate to spend even one second in this world without you in it."

Sirius exhales harshly like he's been punched, and he sounds wrecked when he whispers, hoarse
and honest, like the words have been wrenched from the core of him, "What would I be without
you? That's just it. I wouldn't."

"I told you, I'm right here," Remus murmurs, rubbing his thumb across Sirius' cheek. The next
words fall out simple, easy, nearly distracted as he tucks a stubborn strand of Sirius' hair behind his
ear. "I love you, you know, so where will I go? Where could I go to get away from that? There's
nowhere I could go. It'll be there even in my next life, I think."

"Oh, Moony. My lovely, gorgeous Moony," Sirius says softly, rearing back to stare at him with his
eyes lighting up, breath stuttering out of him. "You've no idea what you've just done, have you?
You've gone and done it now, sweetheart. I'll never, never let you go, not for anything."
Remus quirks a smile. "That was the plan, if you recall."

"Do you really?" Sirius asks curiously, and Remus' smile turns a bit bemused. Sirius laughs softly.
"Remus, you've just informed me that you love me. Did you miss that?"

"Oh. Suppose I did, yeah," Remus admits, blinking. His smile turns sheepish. "But I do. Really."

"We need to go inside now," Sirius announces firmly, gripping Remus' arm and hauling him inside
with surprising force that he hasn't really ever used before.

They barely make it into the flat, honestly, and Remus can only hope no one else is home. He
doesn't quite care if someone is, at this point, and Sirius certainly doesn't seem to mind. They go
stumbling through the rooms, crashing into things and losing clothes along the way, finding their
way to Sirius' room between getting lost in each other.

Remus practically tosses Sirius onto his bed, following him down, gasping out, "You love me, too,
you know."

"Oh, absolutely," Sirius agrees breathlessly, and Remus believes him, knows it down to his
marrow, to each vibrating cell, feeling where Sirius has stowed his love away into him.

Remus is going to take such good care of it.

They don't resurface for quite some time, and Remus is electric, a mere conduit for everything
Sirius sends flowing through him, a lightning rod made for him. He's soaked in kerosine, catching
a spark and burning, burning, burning. He crumbles into ash and decorates Sirius' bed, an
impression of himself that will last always, a memory Sirius can smudge his fingers with. Remus
will be here. Always right here.

Afterwards, they're quiet. Calm. Breathing, and just breathing, staring across the open cavern
between the curves of their sweat-slick bodies. Too oversensitive, overwhelmed, overfull with all
that they've given each other to need to cling. Their pinkies are hooked together in the middle, and
it's everything.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing Remus says, and Sirius blinks at him in lazy confusion, as if he can't
fathom what the hell Remus would have to apologize for. "About before, when I pushed you. I
shouldn't have done that. I was just—well, I was a bit raw because of—"

"Your dad," Sirius says softly.

Remus nods and swallows. "I don't—like feeling weak. I like looking weak even less. It's never
done me any favors, is all. Being sick, weak, nearly dying—it takes things from me."

"Well, I don't think you're weak at all," Sirius mumbles, squeezing Remus' pinky with his own.

"You were being…" Remus fixes him with a significant look.

Sirius huffs. "Oh, I'm so sorry for wanting to take care of my boyfriend. How very ridiculous of
me."

"I just don't like being coddled," Remus mutters.

"Well, I like to coddle, so—get stuffed," Sirius says, shrugging one shoulder, stubborn to the last.

Remus can't help but chuckle. "Yes, alright, I'll try to let you be the exception, yeah? How's that?"

"Better," Sirius muses in approval. He rolls his head to the side and sighs. "In any case, I suppose I
did need the push. I feel quite a bit better, actually, now that I know I've successfully tricked and
trapped you with my charming personality. Really, it's a load off. I was rather anxious, you know."

"You didn't trick me, Sirius, my god."

"Sure I did, Moony. Honestly, are you telling me you would have stayed if you knew all my
baggage from the very first date? Don't lie."

"Alright, I won't. I was rather desperate to shag you again, you see, so I can say with some
confidence that yes, I would have, in fact, stayed," Remus tells him, amused.
Sirius narrows his eyes at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Remus says, "and so are you."

"For that," Sirius declares, popping up on his elbow with a slow grin, "I'm going to suck your
cock."

Remus waves a hand, grinning back. "I'm not stopping you."

Sirius crawls down the length of his body with a soft laugh, and Remus closes his eyes with a hum.
Time gets a bit fuzzy after that, just a blur of skin and sheets.

Later, they gather the mess of themselves up and go stand in the nude by the window, sharing a
smoke, passing it back and forth as they stare up at the moon. It's not full tonight, but it's getting
there. Remus is terrified of the moon, a bit, just by the pure beauty of it and how it's meant to
represent him. Sirius can't truly mean that, can he? But he does. Somehow, he does.

"I don't talk about it," Sirius murmurs abruptly, still staring at the moon when Remus looks at him.
"That night, when it all just—fell apart. I don't even talk about before that, but that night—
especially that night—I never talk about it." He glances at Remus, holding his gaze. "Do you know
what I'm saying? I—no matter what you mean to me, I can't."

"You don't have to," Remus says softly, reaching out to swipe his hand down Sirius's head,
sweeping his hair back over his naked shoulder. "It's alright, Sirius. I know."

Sirius exhales and looks away, but so much tension bleeds out of his frame that he sways into
Remus' side and stays there. He says, "I'm sorry that I can't."

"Don't apologize. I'm sorry I ever made you feel like you had to." Remus presses a kiss to his
forehead and finishes the smoke. "Come on, let's sleep, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sirius whispers. "Alright." When they're in bed, they press close, and Sirius mumbles,
"Moony?"
"Hm?"

"Would you—tell me again?"

Remus' lips curl up. He knows. Inexplicably, he knows exactly what Sirius is asking for,
unconventional as it may be, compared to all that Remus has said to him tonight. "I won't leave,
Sirius. I'm here. Right here."

Sirius relaxes against him, and Remus nuzzles into his hair, and they both drift off together just like
that.

When Remus wakes up, he does so alone. He blinks, shifting up on his elbows, yawning. He's still
naked, and there's no chance of him locating his clothes, considering he and Sirius stripped all over
the flat last night. He sighs and slips out of bed to rifle through Sirius' clothes for what will fit,
feeling a bit ridiculous and also—charmed by slipping on clothes he'd never pick for himself, but
they're Sirius' clothes, so he's a little more pleased than he'll ever admit.

He stops by the loo to wash his face and brush his teeth, using his finger because he has no idea
which toothbrush belongs to Sirius and which belongs to Prongs. Best not to upset the best mate
before he's even met him.

Though, by the distant sounds of conversation, Remus has the feeling that he's about to meet said
best friend. He's oddly nervous as he heads for the kitchen, ears perked as he tries to pick out
voices and what they're saying. He hears Sirius first.

"Oh my god, he'd never gotten his end away before you?! Prongs, that's despicable! If you're not
giving your mean barista orgasms all the time from now on, I will personally disown you," Sirius
is yelping, dramatically, and Remus isn't entirely sure he's not talking in code.

"Oh, I plan to," is the response just as Remus calmly rounds the corner, and he immediately comes
to a halt at the same time that James—Regulus' James—catches sight of him and blinks. His
eyebrows furrow. "Lupin?"

"James?" Remus returns, equally startled.

"What?" Sirius says, glancing between them.

James blinks again, and then he blurts out, "Wait. You're Moony? Lupin is Moony?"

"Remus," says Remus, his head spinning.

"What?" James asks, visibly confused.

"Remus Lupin. My name is Remus Lupin," Remus explains, shaking his head in disbelief. "And
yes, I'm Moony. Wait, are you Prongs? James is Prongs?"

Sirius whips his head between them faster. "What's happening right now? Do you two know each
other?"

"You're my best mate's boyfriend!" James bursts out, breaking into a grin. "Oh my god. This is
hilarious!"

"So...you do know each other?" Sirius asks insistently. "What does this mean? Wait, James
Fleamont Potter, if you've—"

"Oh, don't take that tone with me. I can pull out the full name, too, Sirius Orion Black," James cuts
in, rolling his eyes. "I have not, and will not, touch your precious Moony, though he is—"

"W-What did you just say?" Remus chokes out, his eyes bulging, and he can feel himself going
pale.

Sirius glances at him and frowns. "Oh, we're only joking, Moony. I mean, as long as you haven't
—"

Remus' mind is racing at the speed of light right now, and for the first time, he wishes his
boyfriend would just—go away. He shudders, then hisses, "James, a word."

"Sorry?" James, bless him, looks so confused.

"Is there a problem?" Sirius asks, eyes narrowing.

"James," Remus implores, sweating. "I need to speak to you. Alone. Right now. Right now,
James."

"I—yes, alright?" James glances at Sirius and shrugs, visibly baffled. "I—honestly, mate, I swear I
don't know. Really, I only know him because I'm—"

"Right now, James!" Remus bellows, and they both jump, staring at him with wide eyes.

Sirius clears his throat. "You'd—please tell me you haven't shagged my best mate, Remus."

"No, obviously not. You were my first, remember?" Remus grits out. "This is—something else."

"Well, it's—it's not a good look, is it?" Sirius asks weakly, scratching the side of his head. "It's
just...quite odd, really."

"Yes, sorry, just—" Remus grimaces and surges forward to grab James' arm, bodily dragging him
right out of the room. He throws a wince at Sirius over his shoulder, and oh, he doesn't look very
pleased at all, but honestly? Honestly, Remus is panicking at the moment and can't fucking stop.

James stumbles along as Remus quite literally snatches him out of the flat and finds the first
secluded corner where they can't be sneaked up on, ensuring that Sirius can't follow and eavesdrop.
Remus cranes his head, waiting, but Sirius doesn't show up, and that should calm him, but it
doesn't. Remus is about to hit the fucking roof.

"Lupin," James says, "what—"

"Remus. My fucking name is Remus. Did Regulus really never mention that?" Remus hisses.

James huffs. "Well, no, I suppose not. He just calls you his best friend, really. Does Sirius not
mention me?"
"Yes, but he calls you Prongs," Remus snarls.

"I—well, yes, that's something I go by sometimes, what of it? Why are you—what's your
problem?" James sputters.

Remus' eye twitches. "How thick are you? Christ, James. Tell me, what's your boyfriend's full
name?"

"Regulus Black?" James answers, still confused.

"Yes, exactly!" Remus flings his hand out in the direction of the flat. "Regulus Black. Like, oh, you
know, Sirius Black!"

James blinks. "Er, yes? Are you only just learning this?"

"He said he didn't like his last name because his family is shit, and he's practically an honorary
Potter anyway."

"Well, yeah, that's true. Still not understanding the—"

"James!" Remus yelps. "Regulus Black. Sirius Black."

"Yes? It's a common enough name, I suppose," James says, his eyebrows furrowed.

Remus releases a strangled sound. "You absolute bellend. Have you not put it together? Sirius and
Regulus both come from an awful, abusive house with an awful, abusive mother. They bloody look
like each other. Regulus' brother left when he was sixteen, when Regulus was fifteen, and Sirius
was adopted by your family at sixteen. Regulus' brother was obsessed with motorbikes, and Sirius
has a motorbike. On Regulus' birthday, Sirius had a rough day. I—honestly, James, what's not
connecting? They're brothers!"

"Wait, I missed Regulus' birthday?"

"James!"

"Alright, alright, calm down, mate." James shakes his head and ruffles his hair. "I can see how that
would be an issue worth losing it over, but it's not that at all. Can't be."

"Oh, really? Why's that?" Remus challenges.

"Because Sirius never had a brother, Remus. He had a sister," James tells him, amused. "Regina
Black."

"Oh." Remus exhales, slumping as immediate relief courses through him, his eyes slipping shut.
For a second, he just stands there and basks in the massive fucking bomb they all just dodged,
because really, that would have ruined absolutely everything. For all of them. He opens his eyes
and immediately wishes that he hadn't.

James is no longer amused. James now looks horrified, looks as if he might vomit, and all he says
is, "Oh no."

"Oh no? Oh no?" Remus repeats in increasingly higher pitch.

"Oh my god," James whispers, eyes wide. "Oh my god."

"James. James, you just said—you just said it wasn't that. You just said it wasn't possible. James,
why do you look like, not only is it possible, but it's almost certain?" Remus asks, frazzled, his
hands shaking.

"No, no, no," James breathes out, and he lifts his hand to cover his mouth, pressing his fingers into
his lips. He makes a weak sound. "Oh, I've shagged his little brother. Oh god. I—oh, I told him—"
James chokes, backing up against the wall, bumping into it. "He's going to kill me. They're both
going to kill me. Fuck. Fuck. I'm dead. Oh, I'm dead."

"But—but the sister? I thought—" Remus can't help it, he releases a pleading sound, desperate.
"Regina? What happened to her? You said—"
"That's not—I can't. Remus, I can't." James shakes his head almost vigorously.

Remus stares at him, bewildered, his mind racing. He tries to put all the pieces together, but he
can't. He doesn't have all the information. "You said—"

"I know what I bloody said!" James hisses, reaching up to shove both hands through his hair.

"It doesn't make sense. How could Sirius have a little sister, but Regulus is his—" Remus cuts
himself off, and is that it? Has it clicked, then? Is it out of the realm of possibility for him not to
know, as Regulus' best friend? Regulus, who is private and guarded. Regulus, who told him a
secret once and decided it meant they were best friends. Regulus, who took three years to be
comfortable enough to tell his best friend about his traumatic childhood. Yes, it is, in fact, a good
possibility. The chances are quite high, actually.

By the look on James' face when he looks up, Remus knows instantly. He blinks rapidly, and
James' face twists before he says, low and harsh, "That wasn't mine to tell, Lupin. He should have
been able to tell—"

"Don't you think I know that?" Remus cuts in sharply, his nostrils flaring. "And he will. He can tell
me when he's ready. That's his. He's my best friend, James. I would never—"

"Doesn't solve our other problem, now does it?" James grinds out, gripping the back of his neck
with both hands, thunking his head back against the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a
muffled groan. "Fuck. Fuck, I've been dating his brother. I've—Sirius hates—"

"Sirius hates?" Remus blurts out, a hysterical laugh crawling up his throat. "No, Sirius has nothing
on Regulus, and for good reason. Sirius fucking abandoned him!"

James' head snaps up. "Don't you fucking dare. You don't know what it was like for him, and like
Regulus is so innocent? He sat right there and—"

"Do not," Remus spits. "You have no idea—"

"I obviously know more than you."

 "I know enough."

"You're defending—" James halts, his face falling slack, and then he's distressed all over again.
"My boyfriend. Oh my god, you're defending my boyfriend, because my boyfriend is Sirius'
brother. Fuck. Fucking shit."

It hits Remus, then. The full brunt of it. "Oh. Oh, I've been dating Regulus' brother. I've shagged—"
He shares a sudden, unspoken look of understanding with James, the both of them frozen and
horrified. He whispers, "James."

"Don't. Please don't say it," James whispers back.

"This—this isn't going to work," Remus croaks, and James knocks his head back into the wall
again. "We—you know this isn't going to work. We can't do this."

"Fuck," James rasps hoarsely. He stares straight ahead like he's not even seeing anything, and
Remus wonders if he feels like he's being ripped in half, too. Softer, more heartfelt, more pained,
he repeats, "Fuck."

And yeah. Yeah, that's about right, isn't it?

Chapter End Notes

For those of you checking the notes: In this chapter, Regulus comes out to James as
trans. James responds kindly. Later in the chapter, James tries to reassure Remus that
Regulus and Sirius aren't brothers because Sirius had a little sister, only to realize a
beat too late what's happened, that Sirius never had a little sister at all, but a little
brother. He doesn't explicitly state that Regulus is trans, but Remus works it out, and
James gets frustrated because he had no intentions of telling Remus, but Remus
handles it correctly as well, ensuring James that Regulus can tell him when he's ready.

Also, at one point, Sirius outright states that his mother used to beat him and he hated
his life to the point that he fantasized about being dead rather than being at home. He
doesn't go into detail about it, and Remus does comfort him.

These are the two heaviest points in the chapter, and I handled them with care, I hope.
Realistic, but as they deserve.

To all those that just finished the chapter...

How we feelin'?
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

Alright, warnings for this chapter for anything you've yet to see thus far:

.......angst

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus doesn't want to be waiting, still, but he is.

Every time a shadow passes along the front of the shop from someone going by the door, Regulus
looks up. Every time the door opens when he doesn't already have his eyes on it, Regulus snaps his
head around to see who's coming in. Every time the empty spot by the door before they open
remains empty, Regulus stands at the till, fidgeting, waiting.

He's still waiting, and he doesn't want to be. It's actually quite a chore, really, all this waiting he's
doing. He's left in this cycle where he repeatedly, accidentally gets his hopes up, only to feel them
crash down over and over. Truly, Regulus had no idea that disappointment could be this crushing.

It's been five days, two of which he was actually not at work, the following three he was. Those
first two days were quiet. Too quiet, really. These past three days—well, it's getting louder, at least
in Regulus' head.

The problem is, Regulus doesn't even know what happened, so he can't figure out what the proper
response is.

He knows—he is painfully aware, because being observant is a prison, so he unfortunately does

know—that something is wrong. Really, inarguably wrong. That's not even a question, at this
point. The question is, what's wrong?

Is it James? Has something happened to James? Is he alright? Regulus doesn't even want to
entertain the possibility that it could be something drastic, but it's an option as likely as all the rest.
James wouldn't just stop coming in to see Regulus, not for no reason. So, what if he can't? What if
—
Of course, if there's a chance that James isn't fine, then there's a chance that he is, and that leaves…
Well, that leaves the option that James can come, he just doesn't. A selfish, horrible part of
Regulus doesn't even know which option is worse. Because if James is perfectly fine, and he's just
choosing to do this, then that means he lied. That means he promised nothing had changed, nothing
would change, and Regulus believed him wholeheartedly—but James lied.

Or, maybe he's gotten sick, and his phone broke, but he has all plans to come bouncing right back
into the shop any day now with a smile and the sun riding on his shoulders. Except, of course, he
has mates; he has people in his life, unlike Regulus who has so few, and surely they could stop by
the shop for James and tell him, oh so kindly tell him, he's just sick and his phone is smashed to
bits, but he'll be in soon! They could, and they would, wouldn't they? But no one has.

See, the not knowing is chipping away at him, constantly poking and breaking parts off, piece-by-
piece. Regulus doesn't know what he's meant to be feeling, because he doesn't know what
happened, so he's feeling a mixture of all of it, and wants to be feeling none. It's just a constant
swirl of worry, anger, betrayal, this pathetic yearning, and this consistently mounting dread that
grows within him with each day. No one, absolutely no one, has made Regulus feel as much as
James; this is where that turns out to be a curse, instead of a gift.

It doesn't help that Remus can barely look him in the eye. Can barely even speak to him without a
wince sliding onto his face. Regulus knows what this looks like. He's aware that it's pathetic, thank
you. When his best friend stopped having a passable poker face, Regulus doesn't know, but he's
going to need Remus to do better for both their sakes. It's really bloody difficult to try shoving
everything down when your own best mate is tiptoeing around you like you're about to explode.

What happened to me? Regulus thinks, gaze darting to the front of the shop as someone walks by,
but not anyone he cares to see. Thing is, he already knows what happened to him.

Regulus Black was a fool. He swore he wasn't, promised he wouldn't be, and then he turned right
around and made a fool of himself for a man made of sunshine.

Scoffing under his breath, Regulus shoves away from the till and stalks past Remus, muttering,
"Taking five," and Remus winces again like he can't help it.

The worst part of it all is, Regulus can't even find out. He realizes it now, but James had all the
open avenues in this dynamic, not him. He came into Regulus' work. He came to Regulus' flat.
Regulus doesn't know where James lives, or where he could possibly find him, or who he could
even contact in his life to see if he's okay, at least.
Regulus has practically no social media whatsoever, just because it's simpler that way. In many
ways, his life felt like it began five years ago, and all the years before that belonged to a stranger.
Regina had a Facebook, an Instagram, and Regulus deleted all of them, because Regina was never
real. The only people now that he'd be interested in interacting with on any of those platforms are
James, Pandora, and Remus—all of which he can simply message, or give a ring.

Remus, like Regulus, has none of those, either—never having enough friends to really warrant it.
He has a bloody Tumblr, of all things, one of those that pops up with endless quotes from books,
and something he calls web-weaving that he's mildly obsessed with. Regulus, too, has a Tumblr—
has had it for nine years now—and what drew him to it was the anonymity. His Tumblr was the
only safe space he had when he was younger where he could learn about gender and sexuality,
could explore it, without being in any danger. That's all his Tumblr is, a blog full of things about
gender, sexuality, the trans experience, and all in that wheelhouse. Well, that, and sarcasm.

He and Remus having fucking Tumblrs hardly helps him now, though. Because Regulus doubts
James has one, or that they'd be able to find him if he did, and Remus doesn't even know Regulus
has one as well, and he'd rather skip the conversation. He'd rather not have a need to go through his
best friend to try finding out if his boyfriend is even fucking alive.

Because it's not as if Regulus hasn't tried. He did reach out to James, at least until the
embarrassment of getting no response caught up to him, and he stopped. He keeps waiting for
something, for anything, but there's nothing. At this point, Regulus thinks he would be grateful for
a message telling him to piss off and drown in a lake.

Making any accounts for social media is an option, but that's a new low Regulus isn't ready to
reach yet. He's close, he'll admit, but he's not quite there. Because if he does it, James better pray
that he's dead, because if he isn't, oh, Regulus is absolutely going to kill him. God, why can't
Remus just have a fucking Instagram or something? Regulus is at the point that he's willing to go
low enough to ask a friend to go poking around for him, but Remus doesn't have anything. The only
person who does is—

"Hello, Regulus!" Pandora chirps when she answers the phone, because yes, Regulus is here now,
he's this low.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, fingers clenching his phone tight as he exhales sharply. "Hi,
Pandora. Do you have a minute? I...need a favor."

"Oh, sure. What do you need?" Pandora asks easily.

"Would you, by chance, follow James on any social media? Any at all? I know you met him only
the once, but—"

"Oh, yes, I do. I follow him on Twitter, he follows me back; is that what you mean?"

"I—yes, that works?" Regulus tries, not entirely sure. He barely even knows what Twitter is, or
how it works. He gets the gist, really, but he's never used it. "Sorry, this is—I know this
is...strange, but is there any way you could—check if he's posted anything in the last five days?"

Pandora just hums. "Yeah, sure. I'm already on my laptop, too, so it's fine. Right, give me one
second…" There's a few minutes of silence outside of the background clicking of a keyboard and
Pandora humming. "Alright, here he is. Funny username, watchtheprongs. Hm. He really is quite
active, usually, so he should have something, but… No, he hasn't posted anything."

"Oh. Nothing?" Regulus presses, genuinely distressed now. What if something has happened?
What if he's…

"No, but his likes are public, and he's liked a photo of someone. A lovely girl, ginger, just a selfie
—Lily Evans, by the name. Hm, four hours ago, by the looks of it." Pandora pauses, then hums
again. "She's quite beautiful. I should like this."

"No!" Regulus chokes out, twisting to lean back against the wall, a lump in his throat. "No, please
don't. I—"

"Alright. I haven't," Pandora says softly, and she's quiet for a long moment. When she speaks
again, she's tentative and careful in a way she usually isn't. "Regulus, is anything the matter? Are
you...alright?"

Regulus swallows thickly, pulling the phone away from his ear to press the edge of it down the
center of his mouth, that horrible dread cresting within him. Four hours ago. James was online to
like Lily Evan's photo only four hours ago. He's fine, and Regulus doesn't want to be relieved, but
he is. He is so fucking relieved to know that James is okay, even if that means… Oh, but that
means…

Regulus hears Pandora call his name again, small and tinny through the speaker, so he roughly
clears his throat and presses the phone back to his ear. "Yes, I'm here. I'm—fine. Thank you,
Pandora, for...doing that. I appreciate it."
"Of course," Pandora says simply. Another pause. "Say, why don't I come over to yours today?
Xenophilius is so deep into this article that he won't resurface for two days at least, and I could
honestly use the break from work."

"I…" Regulus wavers, uncertain, a part of him wanting so badly to just go home and wallow.
Another new, unexplored part of him wants—well, not to be alone. He swallows again. "Yeah,
alright. I can send you the address?"

"Lovely," Pandora says warmly. "Invite Remus, too, yeah? We'll make an evening of it."

"I'll see if he's free," Regulus says, and it's like he's on autopilot, a puppet on strings.

Pandora hums in approval. "Good. I'll see you."

After Pandora begs off, Regulus just stands in the back and stares at the wall across from him. He
doesn't move for quite some time, his whole body feeling cold. James had lied. That's the only
option left. Regulus wants to hate him. Why isn't he hating him? Why can't he hate him?

Someone makes a small, pitiful noise like a wounded animal, and it takes Regulus a second to
realize that it's him. He instantly clamps his mouth shut and clenches his jaw, reaching up to swipe
both cheeks in case—but no, they're mercifully dry. He blinks hard and finds his eyes dry, too.
Good. Because this—it's fine. It's all fine, isn't it?

Regulus feels stupid. He feels like a fool. He is, he was, he's still a fool. In all honesty, Regulus
hasn't felt this small and this powerless, defenseless, worthless in years. And, in this moment, he's
suddenly barreled over with aching for the last person who made him feel that way. Because right
now, right here, Regulus wants his brother.

"Go on, then, Reggie. You're telling me no boy has caught your fancy? None at all?" Sirius asks,
grinning.

Reggie fixes Sirius with a flat look. "I go to an all-girls school, Sirius. Where would I even find a
boy to fancy?"
"Oh, you've gone to parties, and Mother hosts some." Sirius wrinkles his nose a bit. "Though,
honestly, I have to tell you… None of the blokes that come to Mother's parties are worth your time,
yeah? But really, no one?" Reggie sighs, and Sirius grins. "A girl, then?"

"Sirius," Reggie hisses.

Sirius just laughs. "Oh, it's alright if you're gay, Reggie. I won't tell Mother. Same rules apply to
girls, in any case, at least from my standpoint. I'm your big brother. I have to threaten anyone,
whether it's a girl or a boy."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Reggie asks, helplessly amused.

"Of course!" Sirius bellows, puffing up, his eyes sparkling with good humor. "And, if anyone ever
breaks your heart, I'll kill them. Make it slow. Make them ever regret hurting you. It's a promise."

"You wouldn't. Shut up," Reggie says, eyes rolling.

"I absolutely would," Sirius insists, and then his face softens as he leans over and tugs on a strand
of Reggie's hair. It's too long. Reggie hates it. "You're my little sister. Of course I would."

Reggie looks away, heart clenching, face falling into something blank and unreadable. Reggie has
perfected this look, this solid step back, this ability to shove it all down and hide away from it. "I
don't need you to protect me, Sirius, so piss off. I wouldn't let anyone break my heart anyway. I'm
no fool."

It's so stupid. It's been eight bloody years since he saw Sirius, and Regulus hates him, absolutely
hates him, but he suddenly wishes he could just summon him. Just have Sirius spring up right in
front of him, and see him, truly see him, and make the same promises that he did before it all fell
apart.

God, Regulus is a fool. The biggest fool. He shakes his head, shuddering out a deep breath and
swiping his cheeks one more time, grateful that they're dry still. It used to never take so much
effort to shove everything down, but it does now, because it feels like it's all trying to crawl up his
throat and pour out of him. He wants to scream.

He doesn't.
He goes back to work.

"Remus," Regulus says in between one rush and the next, and Remus looks him in the eye for the
first time in five days, his eyebrows furrowed. "Can you come over to mine after work?"

"Yeah, Regulus, of course," Remus murmurs, and they don't say anything else to each other after
that.

After work, Regulus forces himself to step into his kitchen. He hasn't cooked anything since—
well. Mostly, he's been living off of takeout, but really, he's hardly been able to eat at all. His
appetite has been practically nonexistent, due to worrying about James. And for what?

Regulus refuses to lose this. He loves cooking. It's the one thing that had made him feel—safe,
really, after he left home. Walburga didn't believe in cooking; she believed in having people cook
for her. She tried to instill this same belief into Regulus, so Regulus never once stepped into a
kitchen to cook until he was eighteen years old. From the very first time, though, Regulus fell in
love with it.

There's something to the way he loses himself to it. The freedom in the options—so many spices,
ingredients, temperatures, even just all the different ways you can cook the same thing. There's an
independence to making something that keeps him alive. The defiance of it—rebelling against what
he was taught, finding his own way, loving something his mother hated, still living on when he'd
wanted, so desperately, to just fucking stop before he found reasons to keep going.

He won't give this up. Won't let it be shadowed by James, the only person who he's ever shared
this part of him with. Won't watch something he finds purpose in wither away and die because he
was a fool, such a fool, to ever think…

So, Regulus cooks.

He puts on instrumental music in the background, soft with no lyrics, something that helps him
drift and focus at the same time, and he cooks. This—from the gathering of ingredients to the final
shift of food on the plate—is his art. It's him, really, at his most honest, most open, most
vulnerable.

Remus shows up first, knocking on the door and letting himself in when Regulus calls for him,
seeing as he can't pull away from the stove. He doesn't turn around as Remus likely follows his
nose, moving into the kitchen and stopping right next to Regulus to stare down at the pan.

"I'm making a sauce," Regulus offers.

"I can see that," Remus says faintly. "I can smell it, too. Smells quite good, actually."

"Thank you," Regulus murmurs.

Remus is silent for a beat, then, "Are you cooking for—us? I know you're in school for it, but
bloody hell, Regulus, it smells really good in here. I've never had your food before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Regulus says and tries so very hard not to sound bitter.
He points his spatula in the direction of the table. "Go. Sit. Pandora should be here soon enough.
Hey, do you have any allergies?"

"Amoxicillin, ampicillin, penicillin, and tetracycline," Remus lists off. Regulus turns to stare at
him, and he sighs as he shrugs. "A lot of medicines don't agree with me, which is a bit of a pain
when you're quite sickly. Things meant to save me could also kill me. Funny, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah, a barrel of laughs, that," Regulus says, shaking his head, and Remus snorts weakly.
"Well, I know how to kill you, at least. Thank you for this new information."

"Always a pleasure, Regulus," Remus replies, wandering out of the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he
calls, "I'm going through your books again! Have you any new ones?"

"Yes, and I told you to sit!" Regulus calls after him, though he honestly knows it's no use.

"Have you read To the Lighthouse yet, like I've been telling you to for the last three years?" Remus
says, suspicious.

Regulus read it three years ago. "No! Obviously not. Have you read Crime and Punishment yet,
like I've been telling you to for the last three years?"
"No," Remus mutters, muffled in the other room, and Regulus knows he's lying, too.

Honestly, Fyodor Dostoevsky sunk into Regulus' bones at the tender, awful age of fifteen, and
Regulus hasn't been able to strip Crime and Punishment out of himself since. To the Lighthouse
certainly has its draw, sure, but Crime and Punishment is Regulus' most read book. He can quote it
just the same as Remus can quote his.

I used to analyze myself down to the last thread, used to compare myself with others, recalled all
the smallest glances, smiles and words of those to whom I’d tried to be frank, interpreted
everything in a bad light, laughed viciously at my attempts ‘to be like the rest’ –and suddenly, in
the midst of my laughing, I’d give way to sadness, fall into ludicrous despondency and once again
start the whole process all over again, Fyodor Dostoevsky had written, and Regulus had curled up
in his bed, hyperventilating, because yes. Exactly.

That's exactly it, really. Regulus has picked himself apart his entire life and never once liked
anything he saw, no matter how deep he went.

Fyodor Dostoevsky had written: We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who
begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.

Regulus thinks of James.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Regulus exhales and reaches up to check that his cheeks are dry, blinking
to make sure his eyes aren't hot and itchy. There's nothing. He's fine. He isn't going to let James
ruin his favorite things; he isn't going to let James ruin him. There's a knock on his door, and he
opens his eyes.

Pandora is allergic to certain chemicals, which makes her being a scientist something of a hazard,
but she insists that she won't let something as trivial as the possibility of death keep her from living
—her words, and they do make sense, don't they? After all, anyone could die doing anything, so
it's always a risk, isn't it? If you're going to, might as well do it doing what you love. Again,
Pandora's words.

Regulus can't relate, honestly. Remus does, though, and it makes sense why he would. He's already
faced death, hasn't he, far before he ever got to live at all. Regulus imagines that throws a lot of
things into perspective. There is a difference in knowing you'd rather die than live a life you hate,
and nearly dying before you can even choose to live a life you love. Regulus is the first; Remus is
the latter. Pandora—well, Pandora is Pandora, and she has no shame in that.

"I'm so excited!" Pandora declares, practically bouncing in her chair as Regulus places a plate down
in front of her and Remus. "It smells so good. I love food."

"Looks like there's a lot to love," Remus comments faintly, stooping down to peer at the plate,
level with it, turning it slowly to see it from all sides. "Christ, Regulus, this looks amazing. I never
knew you could cook like this."

Regulus can feel himself flushing, and he has to squash down the rising pleasure, the internal pride,
because it feels like it will upend everything else within him. "Alright, alright, enough of that. Both
of you. Just eat, yeah?"

Nevertheless, Remus and Pandora continue to praise him over practically every bite, ensuring that
his face is hot the entire meal, keeping him trapped in this wash of delight that will cut on the way
out later. It's nice, really, but it was nice when James did it, too. Nice in a different way. Was that
all lies?

While they eat, they chat easily, mostly guided by Pandora's musings that spark discussion. He and
Remus find out that she's color blind—specifically Protanopia—and they spend the next twenty
minutes trying to describe certain colors to her, which is harder than Regulus would have
anticipated. How do you explain the color red to someone who's never seen it?

In any case, Pandora has a lot of fun listening to them try, and Regulus finds himself chuckling at
one point for the first time in five days. He thinks to himself see, I'm fine, I'm doing just fine.

After they finish the meal, Pandora and Remus take over his kitchen with the air of people who
won't take no for an answer. He tries anyway, tries to insist he can clean, even tries to say they can
leave it and he'll do it later; they won't hear a word of it. They argue that he fed them, and fed them
well on top of that, so they'll clean up, and he'll sit down and relax. It's only just, they declare, and
they won't let him protest.

It's strange in a way that's not entirely...unwelcome. The only person who's ever really been in his
flat before James was Remus. Three years of friendship has given him that liberty, the one where
Regulus hadn't minded when Remus went through all his books, then painstakingly put them all
back once he was finished; the one where Regulus hadn't been uncomfortable the first time Remus
passed out on his sofa after a particularly grueling day at work for both of them, and Regulus had
left him there to go have a kip himself, rolling his eyes as he tossed a blanket over him on the way
out; the one where Regulus hadn't complained even once when Remus stayed with him for nearly
two weeks while his flat was being seen to after a pipe burst, and they'd coexisted quite easily, to
the point that it had felt sort of odd when he was gone and always feels a little bit nicer when he's
here, even now.

Even still, this is Regulus' space. It's an extension of him, almost, and now there are people spilling
out all over it, warm and comfortable. So at ease that they move around as if they're a part of it, a
part of him, just the same. And they are. Regulus can feel it—the underlying friendship that
breathes life into all of them, into this space, into Regulus most of all.

Suddenly, he is so very grateful for both of them that he can't even speak, can't even move, can't do
anything but sit there and watch them clean up his kitchen, full of his food. He sits right there and
watches, both hands framing his mouth.

"Oh, Regulus, you have gelato?" Pandora hisses with a beaming smile, reaching in his freezer.
"Oh, wherever did you get it? I've never seen this packaging before, but I also haven't had gelato in
years! What flavor is this?"

"Tiramisu," Regulus admits, "and I...made it, actually."

Pandora's eyes positively light up, and all she says is, "I'm absolutely demolishing this. Oh, can I?
Please?"

"Go on, then," Regulus says with a tiny, flickering smile.

Remus grabs three spoons.

They all pile onto the sofa, Regulus in the middle and tasked with cradling the gelato in his lap. It
turns out Remus has never had tiramisu in any form, but he loves it from the very first bite, which
pleases Regulus to no end.

"If I never have tiramisu again," Sirius grumbles, "it'll be too soon. Doesn't Mother ever request
anything else for dessert?"

"At least we get dessert," Reggie mutters.

Sirius scoffs. "We've been eating nothing but tiramisu our whole lives, Reggie, but there's so much
more out there. At Hogwarts—"

"I don't care what's at Hogwarts, actually," Reggie cuts in coldly, so exhausted with hearing about
Hogwarts, how Hogwarts is so much better than home. "This is what Mother likes for us to have,
so this is what we will have."

"I hate tiramisu," Sirius says miserably, and they both take another bite in perfect tandem.

Regulus thinks the next thing he'll make is actual tiramisu, and he'll give the whole thing to Remus,
letting him enjoy every bite. Something about the thought makes him smile.

The three of them do, in fact, demolish the gelato between them, getting into a lengthy and rather
hearty discussion about Eurovision, which then transitions into their favorite form of media to
consume. Remus and Regulus, at once, go for books, but Pandora goes for music.

"Escapism," Pandora says, flicking her hand between them with no small amount of judgment, then
putting her hand to her chest, "versus a journey."

"I haven't a clue what type of music you're listening to, but music can absolutely be escapism,
Pandora," Remus informs her, visibly amused. "And books? The ultimate form of a journey. What
are you on about?"

Pandora purses her lips. "Well, honestly, you both clearly have a lot more issues than I do, so
what's a journey for me—"

"Oh, piss off," Regulus says, knocking his knee into hers, and she starts laughing, giggling
shamelessly as he and Remus share a look full of grudging acknowledgement.

"No, I mean it. You both should have a therapist," Pandora tells them casually. "I do, you know,
and it's really quite lovely. If it's good for me, you two certainly need it."

This launches an in-depth conversation about mental health and various disorders and the traits of
them, many of which Regulus pretends doesn't apply to him in any way at all. This talk lasts quite a
while and stretches across multiple topics until they're somehow on the topic of Van Gogh eating
yellow paint to try and be happy, which Remus instantly debunks.
"Since when do you know so much about art?" Regulus asks him curiously. "Literature has always
been more your sort of thing. Is this because You-Know-Who is an artist?"

"Wait, who?" Pandora raises her eyebrows.

"Remus' boyfriend," Regulus says, glancing over at her. "It's a bit of a joke that I refuse to learn his
name. Remus didn't, you see, not at first. I imagine he knows it now." He turns to look at Remus.
"You do know it now, don't you?"

Remus is staring down at his hands. He looks a little pale, and all he mumbles is, "Yes, I know it
now."

Regulus eyes him clinically for a long moment, knowing instantly that something is wrong. He
looks at Remus, really looks at him, and sees the purple-grey impressions under his eyes, the
patchy stubble he's letting grow in when he never really does, suddenly realizing that Remus hasn't
smiled or laughed any more than Regulus has as of late.

Remus won't look him in the eye again, so Regulus looks away and lets it go. For now.

The conversation moves along. It gets later, then late enough that Pandora has to go. She waves
them off when they start to peel themselves out of their slumped positions on the sofa. She knows
her own way out, she claims, and then she attacks them when they're comfortable and off-guard,
hugging each of them while they awkwardly return it, eyeing each other over her head. She smiles
at them, soft, and then she's gone.

"She really is very lovely," Remus comments.

"She is," Regulus agrees, because she is. "You should have seen her in school. She was always so
unapologetically herself." He shakes his head. "I used to envy her."

"Do you still?" Remus murmurs.

"Not at all," Regulus admits, and it's true. He's come a long way from pretending to be what he
wasn't, isn't, and never will be. All the issues he has, that isn't one of them anymore.
"Good," Remus says firmly, knocking their shoulders together.

Regulus hums and leans his head back against the sofa, staring listlessly up at the ceiling. "Are you
going to tell me what's going on with you, Remus?"

"Dunno what you mean."

"You do."

"I—" Remus halts, keeps quiet for a bit, then heaves a sigh and slumps down further. "I saw my
dad last week."

"Oh? How'd that go?" Regulus murmurs.

"Not very well, honestly. He was having a pint with a client, I think. He wanted nothing to do with
me, basically. I made a bit of a scene, had a bit of a breakdown after, then got into a row with—"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Remus exhales shakily. "Yeah."

"Are you two not…?" Regulus glances over at him, wary.

"No," Remus whispers hoarsely. "Not anymore."

Regulus is silent for a bit, feeling rather—awful, actually, for not even...noticing. Although, Remus
can hide things just as well as him when he wants. He sighs. "Well… Well, I'll just kill him. It's
fine. You can give me his name now, and where he lives, and where he works, and—"

"No. Thank you, but no," Remus cuts in quickly, as if he can't be entirely sure Regulus is joking.
Regulus is not joking, so his caution is founded, actually. In fact, who the hell does He-Who-Must-
Not-Be-Named think he is, doing this to Remus? Regulus doesn't know all the details, but he
hardly needs to, does he? It's enough that Remus is upset, and he very obviously is. So, no, Regulus
isn't joking. "He's not—he didn't actually...do anything wrong, Regulus. It was me. I'm the one
who—I'm the one in the wrong, really."

"We all make mistakes," Regulus says placidly, completely on Remus' side, no matter what Remus
has done. "In any case, I'm sure he's at fault somehow. Are you sure you don't want me to find him
and—"

"Quite sure," Remus tells him, lips twitching, but his smile is weak, and then it's sad, and then it's
gone.

"The offer is open," Regulus says.

Remus tips his head back, sighing. "Thanks."

They don't say anything else for quite some time, both of them just drooping against the sofa and
tracing the shape of nothing on the ceiling. They're miserable sods, really. Three months ago,
neither of them could have expected to end up here. Regulus wants to go back in time to himself
three months ago and tell him, beg him, to not be a fool.

Better yet, he wants to go back to the day of the storm that blew James into the shop and just—not
get out of bed. Beg off from work. Ring in and skip this whole mess entirely. That Regulus had
never felt as much as this one, but oh, he was so much safer than Regulus will ever be again.

"Why haven't you asked?" Regulus blurts out, turning his head to look at Remus.

"Asked?" Remus rolls his head to the side to frown at him.

"About—James," Regulus says, hating how the name falls out of his mouth like it was lodged in
his throat and had to be dug out slowly, painfully with a spoon. "You—you haven't brought it up,
not once. Not even that first day."

"I…" Remus winces again, dropping his gaze, and it takes him a long moment to speak. "I just—I
thought, if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me."
Regulus stares at him. "That's not like you at all." Remus' lips press into a thin line, and he doesn't
say a word, doesn't raise his gaze even an inch. "I suppose it's rather obvious, though, isn't it? I
haven't heard from him, or seen him, in five days, but he's—fine. I even checked."

"Regulus," Remus says softly, looking at him, pained.

"I should have never—" Regulus cuts himself off and swallows, reaching up to swipe his hand over
his face, so very grateful that his eyes and cheeks are dry, because he's fine. James is fine, and so is
he. It's all fine. "I don't know what I was expecting." He pauses, then lets out a hoarse laugh. "Yes,
I do. Not that. Not this. I wasn't expecting this, not from him."

Remus presses his lips into a firmer line, his eyes shadowed with something sad, upset with him.
For him.

"He told me nothing had changed," Regulus rasps, "and then everything did."

"I'm sorry," Remus whispers.

"If—Remus, if your—I know you're not anymore, but if You-Know-Who had turned out to be—"
Regulus struggles, squeezing his eyes shut. A hand falls on his arm, holding on, and Regulus isn't a
brave person, not until he has to be. It feels as if he has to be, now. He doesn't open his eyes as he
chokes out, in a rush, "If your best friend turned out to be trans, after not telling you for three years,
would you leave him?"

"No," Remus says with such venom, such ferocity, that it's almost a snarl. It's spoken so vigorously,
so quickly, that Regulus' eyes fly open. Remus squeezes his arm, holding his gaze. "No, Regulus, I
wouldn't."

"You knew," Regulus murmurs, scanning his face. Remus flinches slightly. "You already knew
that I—and you never said anything. Why didn't you—"

"Because you're my best friend, Regulus," Remus tells him, like that should explain everything,
and it does. It honestly does. Regulus never really doubted Remus about this; he's just never
offered this up about himself to anyone who truly knows him, before James. Pandora came with
the knowledge, or else she'd likely never know. Regulus never felt the need to tell Remus, because
he never thought it would matter, because Remus is his best friend, and that's how they make
sense. He never once thought that Remus would be anything other than his best friend, whether he
knew or not—but now, because of James, Regulus isn't sure of anything anymore.

Regulus swallows. "How long have you known?"

"Just now, because it was yours to tell me, because I know when you decide I know," Remus says.
"I know now, because you've told me, and it's—it doesn't change anything, Regulus. It never
could. You're my best friend."

"It changed things for James," Regulus says thickly.

Remus looks stricken. "No, I—I'm sure it didn't. Whatever has happened, it—it can't be that. It
isn't that. Regulus, I promise you that's not what it is. James isn't like that."

"Then what did I do wrong?" Regulus chokes out, because he thinks he does know, deep down,
that it isn't that, that James—good, pure, lovely James—isn't like that, just as Remus has said,
sounding so sure. James wasn't lying; Regulus believed him, trusted him, and a part of him—a
sadly large part, in fact—still does. But that means it's just Regulus. And he doesn't know what he
did wrong, only knowing that he is at fault in some way, because of course he is. He's a Black; he
knows how to ruin things without even trying, how to ruin the best things even when he's trying
not to.

"Regulus," Remus breathes out, horrified.

"I don't—I don't know what I—" Regulus' words catch, and he makes that sound again, that
horrible, terrible sound, and he's not fine. James is fine, and Regulus is not. He doesn't even need to
check to know he's crying now, helplessly, all of it spilling over in him and then out.

"Christ, Regulus, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Remus blurts out, his voice so thick with regret that it just
has more tears springing to Regulus' eyes, tumbling out.

When Remus pulls him in, Regulus goes willingly. They've never hugged. Regulus is sparing with
how and when he touches people, and he's touched Remus more than most, but they've never held
onto each other. Not like this. Not solely for the exchange of comfort, and purely because there's
nothing else to do when things are this awful.
Regulus buries his face into Remus' shoulder and sobs, and thinks it's lucky that Remus is already
his best friend, or Regulus would have to kill him. He knows too much.

He knows everything.

Sirius slams down his paintbrush with a grunt of frustration, glaring at the canvas, mostly blank
except for one curve he'd drawn unconsciously that he would bet his life on being the curve of
Remus Lupin's ear.

No one would look at this curved line and think it was Remus Lupin's ear, but Sirius knows. Or,
maybe Sirius is just finding Remus in every piece of art, especially his art, and that's why he can't
get past the very first fucking touch. This is the third project Sirius has started that he's had to
unceremoniously stop, all because he knew where it was leading from the start. He wasted a
perfectly good block of clay when it began to take the spot-on shape of Remus' head, and how is
that fair?

None of this is fair.

Sirius stares at the canvas with his lips pressed into a thin line, trying to talk himself from putting
his fist through the middle of it. This is not the canvas' fault, or the paint, or clay, or any other
material that isn't working for him anymore.

The thing is, Sirius is his art, or his art is him. It has pieces of him threaded throughout, little
leftover bits of himself that someone else will hang on their walls, or sit on a shelf, or carry around
with them forever. He's charmed by such a thing, by the little connections of himself that he's not
losing, but giving away to someone who, in some way, can surely do better with it than he ever
could. He literally gives parts of himself away in the hopes that someone will appreciate him better
than he appreciates himself, or ever will. He hands a little bit of him over and basically says love
me, love this part of me, love me for me when I don't, because I never really do.

This has never been a problem for him before, because his muse is rarely a fickle bastard. It
generally—miracle of all miracles—comes to heel by his ankle like a dog, loyal and on a leash,
following commands. He rarely has to fight past a block, and he's only had to turn down one
commission, once, simply because it just wouldn't form from his hands. Sirius knows what it is to
hate his art, but he's never really struggled to create his art, as it were.
Of course, this is mostly due to Sirius figuring out what works for him. Sometimes he needs palette
cleansers where he sets himself loose in the studio like a tornado and creates something that will
never see the light of day. Most of the time, Sirius has two projects going on at once—likely one
commission and then something small on the side, just for him, that doesn't really come with a
time clock or a schedule. Occasionally, Sirius needs to take a break and not create anything that
someone has requested from him, or not create anything at all. He knows exactly how to push past
an art block, and how to find joy in art again when it feels like he's exhausted by it. He has his
methods, and they work.

Sirius has been making a career out of something he loves since he was bloody eighteen years old
—six years—so yes, he knows the ins and outs of his own methods and art.

He's just never been in love before.

As it turns out, making a career out of something he loves is easily, effortlessly overshadowed by
the man he loves, who has practically ruined his life by leaving it. Everything is Remus. The shape
of the clay, the smudge on paper, the first curve of paint on a canvas. Sirius is trying to find Remus
in all his art, because he can't find Remus elsewhere, because Remus is in every little piece of him
that he bleeds into creation.

Sirius hasn't successfully made one thing in six days. He tries. He honestly, truly does—and barely
makes it past the first step. One of the least complicated loves in Sirius' life, and he can't even have
it anymore. It's not fair. It's shit.

I love you, you know, so where will I go? Where could I go to get away from that? There's nowhere
I could go, Remus had said.

So, that was a fucking lie.

Groaning, Sirius shoves himself out of his seat he'd ended up in and marches back over to the
canvas, snatching up the paintbrush and brandishing it like a weapon, like he's about to declare
war. He's meant to be painting a ship on the sea, literally getting paid to, but the curve of Remus'
ear mocks him.

It's a bit messed up, isn't it? Sirius knew this would happen. He'd said it. He knew Remus would
leave, and even though he promised not to, swore that he couldn't, a part of Sirius always believed
that he would anyway. It was just such a small part, smaller than he's ever felt, because most of
him? Most of him had believed Remus. Trusted him. Wanted so badly for it to be true that he let
most of himself think, and hope, that it was.
"Just work. Bloody work, please," Sirius tells the canvas, the paintbrush, his own hands—pleading
and tortured as any great artist would be, under his circumstances.

He can't lose this. He can't. Art means so much to him. It's his lifeblood, really. It's how he travels,
how he shears layers of pain and emotion and trauma off his back, how he finds his footing in
feeling real pride in himself when he never truly used to. It has always been when he's felt the most
in control of himself, of his life, and that's all gone now, because Remus ruined it, ruined Sirius,
just like Sirius feared he would.

Sirius makes another frustrated sound and dips his brush, throwing himself into the next stroke
with defiance, but that's just the angle of Remus' jaw connecting to his ear, isn't it? Sirius throws
the paintbrush down once more and paces away, moving around like an animal in a cage, and he
finally sits down in his chair again and buries his face into his hands.

At some undetermined amount of time later (long enough for Sirius' shoulders to get stiff), there's a
shuffling of steps into the room and a warm voice calling, "Darling?"

Oh, Sirius is going to murder James.

"Effie," Sirius says weakly, lifting his head as Euphemia Potter comes strolling right into the
studio, coming right for him.

"What's all this, then?" Effie asks, gesturing to all of him, which is a bit rude—and fair—but the
hug she bestows upon him more than makes up for it.

"I'm fine," Sirius tells her, the words muffled into her hair. It's a real tragedy for James that he
inherited Monty's hair and not Effie's, because Effie's hair is soft and tameable and perfect.

"Oh, I've certainly seen you less fine," Effie muses as she waits for him to pull away (she never
breaks a hug first, never), "but that doesn't mean you're fine now."

Sirius holds onto her for a bit longer and considers just—not letting go, ever. Effie would stay right
here the entire time, waiting for him to break away first, would let them wither away together if
that's what he needs. He's also aware that the length of the embrace is on some internal scale for
Effie that tells her just how awful things are for him right now, so it's a battle of him needing the
comfort, versus him not wanting to take it and show just how much he needs it.
When Sirius was very young, the only physical contact he got was painful, or with Reggie. Just two
children instinctively seeking out the comfort of each other, especially when they were frightened
or in pain. Reggie used to be so small that Sirius would feel stronger, steadier with a tiny body
tucked up against his, warm and needing him, a purpose.

When Sirius went off to Hogwarts and met James, he very quickly learned that he was starved for
touch. James was always touching him, touching Peter, touching his books and pencils and hair
and everything. James is a very touchy person, and when Sirius was that young, he was...not. It
made him uncomfortable, because he wasn't used to it. He didn't know how to initiate it, or respond
to it, not naturally. His touch, up until that point, had come wrapped in a layer of protection,
because of Reggie, or from a recurring point of pain, thanks to Walburga. The easy, unconditional
touch that James offered was new, and scary, and—addicting.

Sirius, of course, fell in love with it. With physical contact for the sake of affection—not pain and
not a defense mechanism. As soon as he realized that he wanted it, that he couldn't get enough of it,
he turned into a very touchy person, too. Maybe even worse than James, as he got older.

Even still, Sirius was sixteen the first time he got a mother's embrace, and it was Effie who gifted it
to him. There's something different about a way a proper mother hugs a child, even if it's not their
own, and Sirius felt it immediately. He'd cried. At sixteen, he'd practically curled up in her lap and
cried and didn't move for a very long time, clinging to her, and she never once made him let go. He
got the sense that she would hold him forever, and a part of him had wanted her to.

That part of him still exists today. He's just very aware that it highlights how bad things are when
that part of him is stronger, louder, within him. Effie knows. She always knows.

"I'm really fine," Sirius lies, finally forcing himself to tip out of Effie's arms, not quite meeting her
eyes. "Did James call you?"

"Oh, darling, of course he did," Effie says simply, shamelessly, and Sirius huffs. It makes her
chuckle. "Don't be angry with him about it. He didn't know what else to do." She reaches up and
pushes the curtain of his hair back, narrowing her eyes as she scans his face. "You two are…?"

"Do you really want me to carry on about your son, Effie?" Sirius challenges, arching an eyebrow.

Effie draws back, flicking her gaze over him, and she crosses her arms. "Oh, sure. Give it a go."
"He's your son," Sirius says flatly, and Effie's mouth twitches like she's trying not to smile. Sirius
scowls. "Stop it. He is."

"Right. Yes, go on."

"He's—he's—I hate his stupid—"

"Yes?" Effie prompts.

Sirius slumps back in his chair and growls. "Oh, alright. Just because I can't properly insult him
doesn't mean I'm not raging. I'm raging. I'm absolutely raging. Can't even be near him, really. He's
—well, I can't get it out, but he is."

"He's miserable, Sirius," Effie says gently.

"And I'm not?"

"Yes, obviously, but that's my point. You're both clearly having a rough go of it at the moment, and
letting it fester between you two isn't helping. Now's the time to lean on each other, not...this.
Darling, you two have never done this."

"He's never kept anything from me either," Sirius tells her gruffly. He shoves a hand through his
hair and upsets where she pushed it back, making it fall forward again. "Effie, he looked me right
in my face and lied, as if I wouldn't be able to tell. He's—he's never done that before."

Effie's eyebrows furrow. "Tell me what happened. I thought this was about that boy of yours.
Moonbeam, something or another, wasn't it?"

"What?" Sirius blinks at her. "You—you didn't think that's his actual name, did you?"

"You young people these days, darling, I don't put it past any of you. I don't have to understand it; I
just have to respect it."
"That's really very decent of you, you know. Could you imagine? Oh, we're gathered here today to
witness the joining of Sirius and Moonbeam. Ha! Brilliant."

"So it's not Moonbeam, I take it? You only mentioned him the once, and you were rushing off."

Sirius chuckles, surprised to find that he still can. "It's not Moonbeam, no. His name is Remus, but
I called him Moony. It's a long and not entirely appropriate story."

"Oh, well, that's lovely," Effie says mildly, diplomatic, and her eyes sparkle with humor when he
snorts. "I rather like Moonbeam, I think. Something majestic about it."

"It does have...something to it. He'd laugh if—" Sirius' smile falters, and Effie's fades in solidarity.
He gazes at her a little helplessly. "I don't know what happened, Effie. He was here one day, then
gone the next. We—we were fine. Well, we had a bit of a domestic, I suppose, but it...we made up
beautifully. He bloody told me he loved me, you know. Said it so easily, as if he always had, and
always would."

"He just—left?" Effie asks, startled.

"Well, he met James that morning—I thought, for the first time, but apparently they already knew
each other. He was acting...odd." Sirius frowns. "I don't—I'm not sure how to explain it. He met
James, and it was like he'd just gotten terrible news. I've never seen him so pale."

Effie blinks. "Were they…?"

"No, it's not that," Sirius says. "I just don't know what it is. Remus dragged James off, all secretive
like, and I—I was angry. My best mate and boyfriend, keeping secrets from me! I mean, honestly,
was I meant to just be alright with that?"

"Did you ask them?" Effie murmurs.

"That's just the thing," Sirius whispers. "Remus never came back, and when James did, you'd think
something awful had happened. I asked him, you know, what happened, but James just said
nothing did, really, and Remus left without saying much at all. He lied, Effie. I know he was lying.
I know there's more to it all, and Remus hasn't come back since. Won't answer my calls, or reply to
my messages, and I've never been over to his place, and he's not on social media, and—" He
swallows, looking down. "I just don't know what happened. I don't understand why James wouldn't
tell me."

"Oh, love, what's happened now?" Effie says quietly, her eyes skyward, and Sirius knows she's
directing her words at James and not him. James is love. Sirius is darling. It's been like that since
he moved into the Potter's home, into their family. Why is he darling? James had sputtered, but all
his indignation had been faked. Because he's so very darling to me, to all of us, Effie had replied,
cupping Sirius' face in her hands, and it had taken genuine effort not to burst into tears
immediately.

"That's the question, isn't it?" Sirius croaks, blinking hard.

"I don't have all the answers, darling, no matter how much we both wish I did," Effie tells him
gently, reaching out to take both of his hands in hers, squeezing them. "I can tell you this for
certain, however. James? He would never hurt you on purpose, Sirius; he'd rip himself apart
finding some way to avoid it, and rip himself apart for it, if he couldn't. Now, I don't know what all
happened, but I do know he's hurting right now, too—even in a similar way. No matter what else,
you love him, he loves you, and you both need each other. Go home, darling. See him. Talk to
him."

Sirius swallows harshly. "I'll forgive him."

"Is this his fault?" Effie asks. "Can you be sure that it is?"

"I can't be sure that it's not."

"Is that enough?"

"No," Sirius whispers, and Effie's face softens. "I know he doesn't control Remus. I know that—
that the blame…" His breath hitches, and his eyes sting. He slumps and sniffs, looking over at the
canvas. "I can't even paint anymore, Effie. Every time I try, it's all Remus. He's everything."

Effie brings both of his hands to her mouth and kisses them one at a time, then smiles at him sadly.
"If all you can paint is him, then paint him. Get it out, darling. You can't keep it all locked in
forever. Love wants to be free, doesn't it?"
"It hurts," Sirius chokes out.

"I know," Effie says softly. Her eyes are warm and knowing and wise, and she folds him back into
a hug that has him dangerously close to crying. She brushes her hand over his hair, pushing it back
again. "I know, darling."

Sirius clings to her and doesn't let go for a long time.

Later, when he's alone again, Sirius stands in front of the canvas and stares it down with his jaw
clenched, wielding his paintbrush like a sword and a shield. He declares war.

He loses.

In the aftermath, the battlefield is drenched in blood, nothing but fallen bodies and burning land.
No one has won, but he's lost the most. Remus shines on the canvas, stripped directly from Sirius'
memory, his mind, his very bones. He's beautiful, the bridge of his nose dusted with freckles, his
amber eyes warm and slightly wide with joy. Love curves the corner of his lips. The slope of his
neck is where Sirius is meant to breathe him in, the safest place he's ever hidden. There he is,
captured in one moment, and Sirius can't look away.

The paintbrush clatters to the floor, and he steps back, a lump lodged in his throat. Sirius stares at
Remus, so beautiful, and it's not enough. None of this is enough. There is no getting it out, not this,
not Remus. He's just in Sirius, invading the very fiber of his being, weaved in and out of the
essence of him. Love wants to be free, but this love refuses to go anywhere, having found its
forever home.

Sirius chokes out a harsh breath and snatches the canvas off the easel, tossing it aside with a
muffled snarl, his chest heaving once his hands are empty. And then he laughs. He stands there
and laughs, high and hysterical, because he feels like he's gone mad. The Black family madness,
the curse finally catching up to him, and it's love that does it.

The worst part is that he knew. He knew from the very beginning that he wouldn't survive this, not
in the same state he entered it. He knew he was being reckless with his heart, and he knew he didn't
have a choice in the matter.

He was right. He hates that he was right.

Sirius leaves the canvas on the floor. Sirius packs up his paints, cleans his paintbrushes, and puts
away his easel. Sirius cuts off all the lights in the studio, and he goes home.

James is there. Of course he is. He's been moping about for the past six days, staring after Sirius
with big deer eyes behind his glasses, while Sirius has ignored him as much as possible. Mostly,
Sirius has stayed out of the flat as much as he could, fuming away in his studio. James is always
hunched whenever Sirius turns up again, as if he's trying to disappear into himself. Sirius hates it.
He's been ignoring it.

Until you can fucking tell me what happened, I suppose we just won't bloody talk, will we? Sirius
had snapped, and James hasn't said one word since.

Sirius wishes he could hate him for that, but there's no part of him capable of hating James for
anything, ever. He ignores that, too.

But, well, he's tired.

"Your mother, James, really?" Sirius asks sharply as he throws himself down on the sofa next to
him.

James instantly falls into him with a muffled sound, flinging his arms around him, and then—oh,
bloody hell, he's crying. Sirius can't do the crying. Sirius can't handle James crying; it's an instant
tear-trigger for him. He's only seen James cry a few times, and each time, Sirius automatically cried
with him. Just an immediate response, no explanation needed.

Sirius doesn't blame himself for crying now, too. It's honestly not even his fault. It's James' fault for
crying in the first place. Miserable sods, the both of them.

"I'm sorry," James chokes out.

"Won't you just tell me?" Sirius rasps. "James, I need to know. I can't—I can't keep—"

"I don't know. I don't—I'll fix it. I'll—I don't know," James stutters out, rearing back to stare at him
with lopsided glasses and red-rimmed eyes. "I don't know, but we can't keep doing this, can we?
It's not working, is it?"

"I don't even know what's happening," Sirius admits hoarsely, deflating back away from him.
"Why did he leave, James? He promised he wouldn't leave."

"Sirius," James whispers.

"I love him, Prongs. I love him." Sirius says, and it comes out strangled and thick. This time, when
he cries, it's all him, and the only one to blame is Remus. "It's not fair."

James swallows and reaches out to grab his hand, holding on tight. "I'm sure he didn't want to leave
you."

"But he did, and I hate him," Sirius gasps out, and he folds back into his best friend, because none
of this is fair, but James is always here.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll fix it," James chants in a strained rush, holding him, crying right along
with him.

Sirius ends up curled in a ball practically in James' lap, his head resting on his thighs, James'
fingers buried in his hair. He stares straight ahead at the blank, black screen of the telly, his eyes
swollen and crusty, and he feels empty. He feels like he's drifting. "You haven't been going out to
see your mean barista. Surely he's missing you by now." James makes a weak sound, choked, and
Sirius turns his head to look up into James' stricken expression. "James?"

"I—I—" James lifts his hand out of Sirius' hair to cover his mouth, eyes squeezing shut. His chest
constricts, stuttering, and he shudders like he's sobbing without any of the tears.

"James?" Sirius asks again, more insistent this time. He's suddenly struck with the awful thought
that something has happened with James, something awful, and he'd ignored it.

"I can't. I can't do this anymore," James declares, his voice cracking as he drops his hand. "I miss
him."
"Why'd you stop seeing him, then?" Sirius mutters, baffled.

James shakes his head. "I've mucked it all up, Padfoot. I think I've—I don't know if I can fix this.
Not with him. I made him a promise, I promised nothing would change, and then I broke it. This is
so hard. I don't know. I really don't know."

"Take it from me," Sirius whispers, "doing nothing about it hurts worse. This hurts worse."

"I'm sorry," James says again, like the words have been stripped from his very soul, yanked from
under his fingernails where he's dug them out himself. Like he really is sorry. Like all of it is his
fault. Is it?

Sirius doesn't want it to be.

He turns his head and goes back to staring at nothing, not speaking, not moving. They just breathe.
James buries his hand in Sirius' hair again, and Sirius cries silently and alone. He feels hollow. He's
not sure he'll ever create art again.

Eventually, Sirius peels himself away. He doesn't look at James, or reply when he softly calls his
name. He retreats, instead, falling into the same pattern he's been trapped in his whole life. This
bleak streak of himself where he shrinks back into a cage of his own making, locked away with no
way for anyone to reach him, imprisoned with only himself to confer with, and he doesn't make for
very good company at all.

Sirius hit his mother back once. He was thirteen, and she'd caught him and Reggie sliding down
the banister because they'd wrongfully assumed she was out. She wasn't.

Walburga whacked Reggie across the knuckles and likely would have done more had Sirius not
hastily started mouthing off the moment he saw tears spring to Reggie's eyes, softer then, at that
age. Only twelve. Sirius couldn't stand it, never could stand it, so he drew Walburga's attention to
himself. He'd said something stupid, and Walburga had coldly ordered Reggie to leave, and then
Sirius was alone.

In the midst of his punishment, Sirius had felt something he never did before. It was the first time,
but not the last. Like everything had turned to a dull buzz, falling away from him, coming from
very far away. He'd felt it like a curtain closing, everything going muffled, and suddenly he was
numb. Not scared, and not hurt, and not angry. Just—blank, and none of it mattered. He'd loved his
mother in some sick, twisted way up until that moment, but in that exact moment, he stopped.

The very first thing he did in the absence of that painful love, at the innocent age of thirteen, was
hit her.

He'd never done that before. Never been brave enough. Never could connect with that level of
cruelty when every inch of him was clamped with fear.

But the curtain closed, and he raised his hand, and he hit her for the very first time—and also the
last.

It had felt...good, and also sickening, and it had snatched that curtain right back up until his breath
caught in his throat, and he was staring at his mother with wide eyes, fear dripping along his spine
as he began to shake. Walburga turned slowly and looked at him, and he thought, from the
expression on her face and the fire in her eyes, that she was going to kill him.

She nearly did.

Later, bedridden and starving, Sirius had curled up on his side, staring at his wall, and he'd thought
about it. About how, when the soft parts of himself went muted, the very first thing he did was
inflict pain. About how love left him, and he would never get it back, and he knew it—and the first
thing he did with the lack of it was try to hurt who he no longer had it for. About how much he
wanted to do it again, and again, and again until she was the one crumbled and broken on the floor,
half-dead and wishing she was. About how he'd never, never do it again, because fear and shame
weighs heavier than anger, and it yanked that curtain right back up.

The thing is, the curtain has fallen many times in the years since, but never with her. With others,
yes. With Reggie. With friends. With people who have wanted to peer past that curtain and draw
him out into a soft, safe embrace. He reckons it's a defense mechanism, an instinct, and one he's
never been free from his whole life, and never will be.

See, when that curtain drops, when things get muted within him and he feels numb, the very first
thing he does is lash out, like he finally has the freedom to do so because he no longer cares,
because the softest parts of him crafted with love and untouched by hate have been tucked neatly
away, out of reach. He hurts people, then. People he has loved, and people he stops loving, and
people he'll never love again when he finds the strength to drag that curtain up once more.
 Remus is different.

There is no being numb, when it comes to Remus Lupin. Nothing can go muted where Remus
Lupin is involved. He can't stop caring about Remus Lupin. He can't stop loving Remus Lupin.
There is no such thing, and Sirius is both relieved and trapped. More free than he ever has been by
it, and imprisoned with the desperate need to escape. He sinks down and accepts his fate. He grips
the bars and rattles them, screaming to be let out.

The moon is high in the sky out his window. Sirius stares at it, and hates it, and loves it, and
reaches for a curtain to tug down and hide behind, but it's not there.

Remus must have taken it when he left.

Chapter End Notes

You're all gonna yell at me, and you know what? That's fair.

BUT HEAR ME OUT! I—

I...don't actually have a good explanation. I'm not entirely sure what any of you were
expecting. Modern/Muggle AU aside, this is STILL the marauders fandom, so like,
there's gonna be some pain.

On the upside, I can promise eventual resolution, and the feedback on the last chapter
made me so happy that I've decided I will be updating on a set schedule of
Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. I won't usually update this late, but I actually got
caught up in writing this story (I'm like, almost finished now, so I should have a final
chapter count up soon). I want to thank all of you so much for all the support and
responses I've gotten so far.

On the other hand, I ask once again, how we feelin'?

 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes

Some warnings for this chapter: angst, a little bit of spice (not explicit), and the Black
Brothers being, true to form, very stubborn.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James gathers his phone, throws on his coat, and moves over to the door to snatch it open—only to
freeze.

Remus is standing on the other side, his hand lifted and poised like he was about to knock. His
mouth is hanging open as if he was going to speak, but no words formed, and he just stares at
James in blank shock. James stares back.

"What are you doing here?"

"Where are you going?"

They both speak at the same time, then fall silent at the same time, staring at each other. Remus
narrows his eyes, and it takes genuine effort for James not to shift guiltily.

"Are you going to see Regulus?" Remus asks.

James stares down at his fingers. "Maybe…"

"Dammit, James, we agreed," Remus says with a groan, dropping his hand just so he can toss both
arms up in blatant exasperation. "We agreed we wouldn't—"

"Oh, and what brings you here, then?" James cuts in dryly, lifting his head and arching an eyebrow.
"Here to see Sirius, are we?" Remus' mouth snaps shut, and James resists the urge to laugh right in
his face. "Yes, that's what I thought. So much for a clean break, eh?"
"There's nothing clean about this," Remus grumbles, his gaze darting over James' shoulder. "Is—is
he here, then?"

"He's at his studio," James says gently, because honestly, Remus is looking a bit rough. He tosses
his head, stepping back so that Remus can slip inside. "Come on, I'll make you some tea. There's
nothing a good cuppa can't solve, my dad always used to say, or if not solve it, then keep you warm
while everything falls to shit."

"He sounds like a wise man, your father," Remus mumbles as he follows James into the kitchen.

"Yes and no. The tea bit is just because he's exceedingly British." James chuckles when Remus
releases a quiet snort, moving over to put a kettle on. "He's right, though. Never had a proper cuppa
that didn't warm me up, no matter what else was going on. Can't fault him that, really."

Remus hums. "Suppose not."

"You look like shit, mate," James informs him.

"I feel worse," Remus says, sighing and tilting his head forward to stare down at his shoes, swiping
a hand over his hair in frustration.

"I know what you mean," James mutters.

They fall silent, not really looking at each other. It's a thick, tense silence full of unsaid things, the
kind that makes James want to vibrate right out of his skin. Even the gurgling of the kettle doesn't
help very much. James wants to squirm, to fill the silence with rambling, to breeze past the
discomfort that sits between them. He's not good with things like this. He needs things to feel okay,
or he might just bloody explode.

It takes every inch of James' willpower not to blurt out asking how Regulus is doing. He—he must
be fine, yeah? Because he's Regulus, so he must be…

James is terrified to ask. So afraid of the answer in either direction that he can't get the question
out, no matter how hard it slams against the walls of his throat. What if Regulus isn't fine, and
hasn't been fine? What if Regulus is, and has been, and will continue to be? Is he angry? Worse, is
he hurt?
"How have you been?" Remus murmurs.

"That's not what you want to know," James says bluntly.

Remus clenches his jaw. "Yes, it is, or I wouldn't have asked. I rather got used to seeing you nearly
every day myself, you know, before you—"

"Don't sound angry with me about it," James hisses, appalled, his eyes widening. "You're the one
who said—"

"You're the one who agreed," Remus snaps.

James scowls. "Yes, and I've been feeling shit about it ever since. That's the last time I let you
make the decisions, yeah?"

Remus is the one who said it, about a week ago now, just that this would never work, that there
had to be a clean break, since they knew the truth. James had agreed because—well, because it
makes sense, doesn't it? Because if it ever got out to Regulus and Sirius that their best mates were
dating their brother—oh...oh, there'd be no coming back from that. So, once they learned the truth,
they had to stop, or all of it would fall apart from every angle. Maybe Sirius and Regulus don't
know all the reasons behind it, but the outcome would be no different if they did. Things would
just be—worse.

They thought that simply backing out of their lives would be best. The least cruel option, because
if Sirius ever found out that James didn't cease and desist with Regulus immediately, or Regulus
found out the same for Remus with Sirius... Well, they'd thought it best to just cut ties and move
on. James feels like he's been dying a little more on the inside every single day. Remus looks like
he has.

"Honestly," Remus says, softer now, "how have you been?"

"I…" James sighs and hangs his head, slumping. It's so odd, because before this, Remus was just
Regulus' best friend, Lupin, and now… Well, now, Remus feels like the only person who gets it.
"Honestly? Not good. I can't—I just feel… Remus, I miss him. I really, really miss him. And it's
not fair, because Sirius would—he would be so upset if he knew. But I can't help it. And the
guilt… Do you—do you feel…?"
"All the time," Remus whispers.

"Is he—how is he?" James croaks, looking at Remus with genuine trepidation, and he doesn't need
to elaborate.

Remus winces and won't meet his eyes, and James feels his heart drop. Oh. Not good, then. Fuck.
"James…"

"Is it very bad?" James asks, his voice gone high and tight from the way his throat closes up. His
face is stiff and stinging, eyes burning, and he feels like he's going to cry again.

"I'm sure you don't want to know."

"It's all I can think about. Remus, please."

"You don't—you shouldn't punish yourself, James, alright? You're trying to do what's best for both
of them. We both are. What options do we really have?" Remus says softly.

James makes a small sound. "Did he say anything about me?"

"James."

"Was he looking for me? Waiting for me to show up?"

Remus glances at him, finally, a strain around his eyes. He nods slowly, and James curls in on
himself, feeling as if he's just been struck. "Oh, James, don't do that, yeah? It's not our fault we
ended up involved with—with—"

"This isn't working," James croaks. "Remus, this isn't—"

"James—"
"So, what are you doing here, then? Go on, tell me how you are. As if I can't tell already. And you
want to ask about him, I know you do. Should I tell you how bad off Sirius had been? Because he
loves you, and you promised you wouldn't leave him, so imagine how he's feeling right now."

"I know, alright?" Remus chokes out, looking away. "I know. I just—I just wanted to see him. Just
—even for a moment. I had to see him. I—I love him, too."

"What are we doing, Remus?" James murmurs, turning to reach out and touch his arm, drawing his
gaze. "Really, what are we doing, yeah? How is this the solution? We've only hurt them, and
ourselves. It's not working."

"I don't know what else to do. If—if we told them…" Remus bites his bottom lip, eyebrows raised.

James taps his fingers to Remus' arm, considering it. They stare at each other, both of them dancing
around the reality of that option. "Oh, that would not go over well, mate."

"No. No, it wouldn't." Remus grimaces. "Yes, Regulus, terribly sorry and hilarious story, but I've
fallen in love with your brother, you see. The one who abandoned you, who you hate; yes, that's the
one. A complete accident, by the way. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to go on dating him
without losing you in the process. Is that alright with you?" He groans. "Oh, he'd never forgive
me."

"You think you have it the worst?" James fixes a flat look on his face. "Oi, Sirius, you're never
going to believe this one, mate. That barista I was telling you about? Turns out, he's your little
brother! Yes, exactly the one I told you about, who sucked my cock in the pantry, who I later got
off that same day and came home bragging about." He shudders. "He wouldn't forgive me, but he
wouldn't have to, because he'd kill me."

"Would he? Do you think Sirius is protective of Regulus? I thought he hated him," Remus says,
frowning.

"Bit complicated, that," James replies, sighing. He drops his hand from Remus' arm as the kettle
begins to shriek at them. As he pulls down teacups, he keeps talking. "Sirius does hate Regulus, but
he also—well, he's his older brother. I'm an only child, and so are you, I take it?"

Remus nods. "Yeah."

"Before Sirius left home, Regulus was…" James' face scrunches up. "Let me put it like this—Sirius
went home for every break, no matter how much he hated going back. Regulus was there, so he
always went. Then, when he ran away, he just—shut down about Regulus. He had no problem
making sure everyone knew just how much he hated his entire family, Regulus included. When he
was seventeen, a bloke made a comment. A bloke we were all friendly with, mind. We'd all been
hearing Sirius say awful things about his family, about Regulus, ever since he left...so the bloke
likely thought it was alright. He'd barely gotten the whole sentence out before Sirius had him up
against the wall by his throat. Never seen him move that fast. He was cold about it. Precise. Brutal.
Just broke the bloke's nose and nearly scared the piss out of him, and all Sirius said… Say another
word about Reggie and I'll make sure you'll never be able to say another word at all, he said.
Brushed off his hands and walked away. Took the detention with a smile."

"That's—" Remus blinks rapidly. "That's quite sexy, actually."

"Remus," James says.

"Sorry." Remus' face turns pink. "So, that—that happened after he left home, even though he hated
Regulus by that point?"

"Well, that's just the thing, isn't it?" James slides Remus his tea and sighs. "I'm not really sure that
he does hate him."

"Oh." Remus opens and closes his mouth, looking startled. He tilts his head. "Why do you think
that?"

James chuckles. "I know him. Sirius does hate Regulus, but only in the way that he loves him so
much it drives him mad. Remus, he spent his entire childhood protecting Regulus as much as he
could. Willingly suffering for him. You don't just lose the sort of love that makes you do things
like that."

"Regulus once said that Sirius was the best thing in that house," Remus says softly.

"Did he?" James murmurs.

Remus hums, frowning at his tea. "He also said Sirius told him he was no better than the rest of his
family."
"Sounds like Sirius," James mutters, grimacing. "You have to understand, their relationship rotted.
Sirius talked about it more in the beginning, how Reggie was—was becoming so much like their
mother wanted them both to be. Eventually, he wouldn't talk about Reggie at all. Couldn't, really.
He was all tangled about it. About who Regulus was becoming."

"But that's not who Regulus turned out to be," Remus whispers insistently. "Do you know Regulus
waited for him? He told me he waited for Sirius to come back for him, except Sirius never did."

"Is that why he hates Sirius, then?" James asks. "Because I can't work that part out. Sirius did so
much for Regulus, and what did he get? Regulus made it out to be his fault, you know, as if Sirius
was the problem. After all that he went through…"

"You think Regulus had it any easier? Sirius was gone, and as far as Regulus knew, he was happier
that way. Imagine how that must have felt. To have to see your best friend, your brother, be
happier without you around. You don't think Regulus was jealous, James? Scared and alone? Why
wouldn't that turn into resentment, having to watch the person you're closest to leave all the time,
and want to leave you, and treat you like you're a part of the problem because of the way you learn
to survive when they're gone?"

"That's not fair. That's not—Sirius would have saved him in a heartbeat. Sirius would have taken
him when he left, if only Regulus would have gone."

"Did he ask?" Remus says.

James tilts his chin up. "Did Regulus?"

"There's no right answer here, you know," Remus murmurs, looking away. "There isn't any way to
break it down into who is wrong or right, who deserves the blame or doesn't, so we can fix it. We
can't fix it, James. The truth is, they were both suffering, and it didn't end well between them, but it
did end."

"But what if…?" James tips his head back and forth. "Don't you think they'd be happier if they
reconciled?"

"Do you think they can?" Remus shoots back.

"Fair point," James says with a wince.

Remus sighs. "I do think they'd be happier. One less burden, and I do think they still care. You
can't hate someone you used to love the way they hate each other and not still have love mixed in
there somewhere. I just don't think they'd do it, and I'm not so sure dating them would be of any
help."

"But not dating them is…" James trails off and swallows.

"Torture," Remus rasps.

James nods miserably. "Yeah."

"So, if we did tell them…" Remus tries again, raising his eyebrows. "How would that go, do you
think? Honestly?"

"If we told them," James says, "nothing good would come from it unless we were telling them to
explain why we're not dating them anymore. I think they'd respect that. Regulus would hate me and
feel like I was choosing Sirius, and Sirius would feel the same about you, but Regulus would be
pleased with you, and Sirius would be pleased with me. So, we can't have both. They'd never let us
have both. If they knew, we'd have to lose one, which is what we're doing already, and it's not
working."

"So…" Remus raises his eyebrows.

"We...don't tell them?" James says tentatively, biting his bottom lip as soon as the words fall out.

Remus eyes him. "I mean, it was going well before."

"It really was. Sirius was happy. Regulus was happy." James shifts restlessly. "He—he was happy,
wasn't he?"
"Quite," Remus whispers.

James blows out a deep breath. "And we took that from them, and now none of us are happy. Isn't
that wrong?"

"It feels wrong."

"So does lying to them."

"But…" Remus raises his eyebrows higher. "For their own sakes, and maybe a little bit of ours? I
adore them both, really, but they hardly know what's best for themselves, do they?"

"Not really," James agrees slowly.

"Right, so if they were happier before…"

"It's just best if they don't know."

Remus nods carefully. "That was working."

"Are we rationalizing this?" James whispers, watching Remus warily. "I feel like we're
rationalizing this."

"Oh, yes, definitely," Remus says promptly, ignoring it when James groans. "But what else are we
meant to do? You're right. This isn't working. If they weren't so bloody stubborn, this wouldn't be a
problem, would it?"

"This is a very bad idea, Remus," James mumbles, clutching his tea in tense hands. His heart is
racing. "You know that, don't you? If we do this, if we do it on purpose, and they find out…"

"Well, we can't tell them, and we can't keep...not doing it, so what are we meant to do?" Remus
asks, looking as lost as James feels. "Tell me if you have any other ideas, please. He cried, James.
Regulus cried."
James sucks in a sharp breath. "No. No, he didn't. Don't tell me that. Don't—did he? Remus, did he
actually—"

"He did," Remus whispers. "Has Sirius…?"

"He hasn't made any art," James croaks. "He can't. He did cry, and he hardly spoke to me because
he knew… Well, you left after we figured it out. He knows I'm involved."

"Why can't we have both?" Remus says, distressed. "If it was any other pair of brothers…"

"But it's not. It's them, so if we do this…" James shakes his head, muffling a groan under his
breath. "I can't lose Sirius, but I can't stay away from Regulus."

Remus nods almost frantically. "Exactly. That, but in reverse for me. We can—I mean, it was
going well before, so it's not as if we can't do it."

"Just...just one thing," James mumbles. "Short-term, this is brilliant. Long-term? What about later?
Even if we could keep it a secret for long enough, what happens if we—if one of us, or both of us,
want to get married or something important like that? How would we even…?"

"Surely we could...wear them down?" Remus suggests. "Ease them into it? If we tackle them from
both sides, maybe we can get them to a place where they can reconcile. If we start now and bring
them up to each other, maybe try to change their minds over time, then one day…"

James is so desperate that he's willing to cling to something as flimsy as that and pretend it has the
structural integrity of steel. He'll take it. "Yeah, that can't be impossible. They're stubborn, sure, but
they can't be that stubborn, can they?"

At once, in perfect unison, James and Remus wince at the question and look away from each other,
sipping their tea.

"Right. So, all we have to do is keep them from finding out that we're with their brother," Remus
breathes out. "They don't even speak to each other. How hard can it be?"
"Exactly," James agrees, nodding vigorously. "We did so well before. Should be simple enough."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Remus exhales and stares down at his tea with wide eyes, looking a bit peaky.
James can relate.

"Did he really cry?" James whispers.

Remus looks up, and his face softens. "He did."

"I have to go," James declares, putting his tea down on the counter, swallowing thickly. "I have to
—I can't—"

"I know, mate," Remus says, lips curling up. "Go get him."

James starts backing up, then he pauses. "You'll be here? Waiting on Sirius, I mean."

"Yes," Remus tells him.

"Good luck," James offers.

Remus lifts his tea in salute. "Same to you."

The whole way to Regulus' flat, James shakes. His ears plead to hear Regulus' voice again, fingers
begging to touch him once more, and most of all, his eyes are hungry for the sight of him. James
has missed him something awful, his mind always full of him; where he's at, what he's doing, how
he's been.

He thought, really, that he was doing the right thing for both Sirius and Regulus, no matter how
selfishly he might wish to do something else. After all, Regulus would hardly want to date his
brother's best friend, would he? If he knew, he wouldn't have anything to do with James at all. He
barely agreed to date him before, and he didn't know then, so if he did… Well, James doesn't like
his chances.
James likes this even less, though. He's been playing moments with Regulus in his head every time
he closes his eyes, lost in them, trapped in a hurricane of memories. That very first meal on their
very first date, Regulus' eyes sparkling as he ranted about the lack of spices in certain dishes. The
soft, breathless laugh snatched away by the roaring wind, Regulus' face turned up in awe as they
flew across the empty skies, and he'd looked so beautiful that James could have cried. Their first
kiss, Regulus the one to initiate it, tentative and tender, and James had taken whatever he would
give, eager for all of it. The way Regulus had looked after James promised that nothing would
change, the light in his eyes, the trust.

All of these things, and more, have been running on a loop in James' mind. He can't escape them
and doesn't want to; only wants, desperately, to have more memories join them. The fact that he
couldn't, that he wouldn't ever be able to again, had drained him. Sapped him of all energy. Made
the days longer, and colder, and darker. It's all horrible. James is so unhappy.

Far be it from me to dull your shine, James, Regulus said once. That is precisely what this is,
James is quite sure. His shine has dulled, left nearly opaque and cloudy, ready to crumble.

James wonders, really, what he was expecting. A storm swallows up all sunshine, doesn't it? He
should have known.

But it's okay. It's all okay, because James is at his door, and maybe he's deceiving Sirius and
Regulus both, but it's all in the name of fixing what's wrong. James just wants them to be happy.
All of them. He'll do what he has to.

First, James has to actually knock.

His stomach squirms as he stands in front of Regulus' door, his hands shaking. He just wants to see
him again. Needs to, really. It's like a pulse within him, thundering in his bones, demanding he do
what he must to make it happen. So, he takes a deep breath, lets it out, then knocks on the door.

At first, it's quiet. James hopes Regulus isn't out; he's almost sure that Regulus is, and he'll be
forced to sit down outside his flat until he comes back from wherever he is. But then, there's the
sound of steps muffled through the door. James only has a second to feel his heart jump, and then
the door opens.

There he is, James' entire nervous system shrieks at him, and he can feel himself just fucking
lighting up. He can't help it, either. Every wilted, dejected part of him snaps up with renewed
energy, and he's so simply pleased to see Regulus again. So, that's his first thought, just an
instinctive response his entire being gives, like relief, like joy: there he is.

The second is oh, he's beautiful. And he is. Flyaway strands of dark hair curling over perfectly
arched eyebrows, even at rest, giving the impression of judgment and superiority without him even
having to say anything. That's not accounting for his eyes; god, his eyes, more than just the striking
color of them, but also how they're framed with thick, dark eyelashes, and how those eyes can be
soft enough to melt into, or sharp enough to bleed from. A small, cute nose straight except for
where it's a bit turned up at the end, a button-nose James sometimes wants to poke, or pinch, or bite
the end of just because it's adorable. Set below is his mouth, perpetually red and full, the most
restrained part of his face, always frowning except for when it curls into a smile like a gift, and it's
so soft, so soft and warm, because James remembers that. Can't forget that. Regulus is absolutely,
unquestionably lovely. So lovely.

Regulus is also swiftly, swiftly taking that broken open expression on his face and sweeping up the
shards. The naked vulnerability in his eyes drains right out, like rain running through the streets to
find a place to swirl away, eventually washing back out into the ocean. His parted lips close back
up, pressing into a thin line. When a storm passes, sunshine breaks through and dries up all that's
left behind, evaporating it, and Regulus is much the same.

"Regulus," James whispers, his heart racing, his mind in an uproar. He's overflowing, shining
brighter and brighter.

Regulus' hand clenches on his door until his knuckles are white and drained of blood, and then,
without a word, he slams it shut right in James' face.

So, this plan they've come up with? Yeah, he'd been worried about it, and desperate for it, and
eager to enact it. Before that can happen, though, it has to be necessary. Because right now, as
James stares at the door with his mouth hanging open in pure shock, he realizes that there's been a
slight oversight.

For a second, James had gotten so caught up in seeing Regulus again, to have what they had before,
that he'd forgotten one very crucial thing about all of this.

Regulus? He is not to be fucked with.

Remus sits on the very edge of the sofa in Sirius and James' flat, and he feels really, truly small.
Compact and shriveled like a crumpled piece of paper. The kind so wrinkled and drained of all
stiffness that it has the consistency of tissue paper, easy to tear apart, already falling apart on its
own.

That's how he feels.

For the past week, Remus has felt like a stranger in his own skin, like he's lost himself in losing
Sirius. You belong with me, Moony, you always will, Sirius had told him, and Remus knows now
more than ever how true that statement was. Remus, who has spent so long living like a ghost, had
finally found his afterlife, the light he was supposed to go towards, the new beginning waiting for
him in the form of a bright smile and hands crafted for creation.

Remus feels like he was knocked back into the hollow haunting of his own body, all the life
snatched out of him, a spectral left to drift along untethered.

Oh how Remus has missed feeling alive.

Anticipation curls in his stomach, writhing around and turning into knots he can't dream of
unraveling. He's waiting, quite literally on the edge of his seat, but he has no idea what will happen
when Sirius does finally return. What will be said. How it will go. He's not feeling optimistic,
admittedly.

Remus is very aware of what grievance he just did to Sirius. After promising not to leave him, that's
almost immediately what he did. It's been driving him spare, because he didn't want to do it. To be
quite honest—slight betrayal to Regulus or not—Remus never wanted to leave Sirius. Every minute
since, he's wanted to come back, to beg on his fucking knees if he had to, and that's awful, isn't it,
to want that when Regulus would hate him, absolutely hate him for it?

He knows, in the back of his mind, that this is a very bad idea all the way around for all of them
involved, but he is so weak for Sirius Black. So very weak. Look at him, sitting here waiting,
knowing what's at risk.

Jittery and unable to sit still, Remus flings himself up off the sofa and starts pacing, trying to find
any vestiges of the flimsy calm his brain is fucking pleading for right now.

There's nothing to be found, really.

The flat is quiet outside of the consistent tick of the clock on the wall, one of those with the silly
faces and the gloved hands on the end of the arms that move around as time goes around in circles.
It looks like it belongs in a child's room, not in a flat that two grown men in their mid-twenties
share, but somehow, it's very fitting for Sirius and James. Just, right now, Remus can't stand the
sight of the blasted thing.

Whirling around, Remus finds himself bursting into Sirius' room and immediately letting out a
shaky breath of relief. He can feel Sirius' presence here, catches whispers of the smell of him,
practically sees the impressions of him moving about his room in some illusion of the real thing.
Remus' shoulders slump, and he shuffles over to find Sirius' emergency pack of smokes, feeling a
bit like a prick but desperately needing one. This is an emergency, isn't it? Feels like it.

Remus goes to Sirius' window, opens it, and waits there.

He gets through three and a half before he hears the distant sound of someone entering the flat.
Automatically, his shoulders tense up, and his heart starts pounding. That beast in the corner of his
mind all but cowers, hunched down and whimpering, and for the very first time, Remus pities the
bloody thing. Would pet it and soothe it, if he wasn't tempted to curl up with it and hide away, too.

God, he's never felt smaller than he does right now. His fingers tremble as he inhales again, staring
resolutely out the window. There's a clatter from in the kitchen, and Remus thinks for a moment
that maybe it's Peter. Could be. He comes by as he likes, doesn't he? So, maybe—

The door opens, and Remus exhales slowly, hearing the sharp intake of breath behind him. A
twitch of fingers, and ash drops on the windowsill, and then Remus is craning his head over his
shoulder to see Sirius framed in the doorway.

They stare at each other, Sirius so stiff he looks made of stone, Remus shaking like he's been
zapped down his spine, a burst of energy that leaves him vibrating even as he stands in place.
Slowly, as calmly as he can, Remus puts out the smoke and turns around fully, feeling even smaller
under Sirius' gaze. Halved. Cleaved in two. Fraying at the edges.

"Moony," Sirius whispers, his throat working, and oh, Remus has missed that. He has. So very,
terribly much.

Remus inclines his head and, with a casual quality to his tone that startles even him, says,
"Padfoot."
Sirius' jaw clenches, his eyes flashing, and there it is. There's the anger Remus is expecting, and it's
fair. Of course it's fair. As if Sirius wouldn't be upset, after everything. He has every right to be,
just as Regulus does; distantly, he hopes that James is prepared for the anger. Maybe Remus should
have warned him. As if they'd get through this unscathed, after hurting their own stubborn,
emotionally stunted Black. Oh, how hadn't Remus figured out they were brothers immediately?
They're so very alike, aren't they?

You don't just get away with hurting Sirius Black—or Regulus Black, for that matter. There will be
hell to pay. He's very aware, and he's more than willing to go bankrupt in the pursuit of what he
wants, what they all want—and need.

"How did you—" Sirius narrows his eyes, nostrils flaring, and then he hisses, like a curse,
"James."

"Don't be angry with him," Remus murmurs.

"Don't fucking tell me what—"

"Sirius—"

It's nearly a snarl when Sirius spits out, "What the fuck do you want, you daft bastard? You can't
just camp out in my bloody room! And you're smoking my emergency pack, you prick!"

"I'll replace them," Remys says mildly.

"You won't, because you won't be around to replace them. Get out," Sirius snaps, and in a complete
contradiction to his words, he slams his door shut and glares at Remus. This either means he
doesn't actually want Remus to get out, or he wants him to jump out the fucking window. Remus is
choosing to believe it's the former, not the latter. God, he hopes it's the former. At this point, he
might actually jump out the window, both from mortification and also because Sirius might
genuinely want him to.

Remus takes a deep breath, then eases it out. Tries to calm his racing heart. "Sirius, I know you're
angry. I know—"
"Angry?" Sirius asks coldly, his eyes like ice, and that makes him resemble Regulus quite a bit,
that does. It looks out of place on him, that frigid emptiness. "No, Remus, I'm not angry. Not angry
at all. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, I'm not blind, for one," Remus mutters, then winces when Sirius' lips press into a thin line.
"And also, you have every right to be angry. What I did—"

"What you did," Sirius cuts in sharply. "What did you do, Remus? Go on, tell me what you did."

"I—" Remus swallows. "I left."

"Yes, you did," Sirius says tonelessly. "What else?"

"I didn't speak to you for a week, or respond, or give you an explanation for any of it," Remus
whispers. "You needed me, and I wasn't here. I promised, and I—broke that promise."

"Yes, you did," Sirius repeats, just as flat. "What else?"

"Sirius," Remus murmurs, pained.

Sirius steps away from the door, slowly prowling closer, his eyes going from frozen fury to a blaze
of rage, just as intense, but more like him, so much so that Remus is oddly relieved by it. "I told
you what would happen. I told you it would ruin me, and what did you do, Remus? You fucking
ruined me. And what did I say I would do about that, hm?"

"Kill us both," Remus recalls, blinking rapidly when Sirius hums in agreement. "Me first."

"You first," Sirius hisses, advancing closer until he brings his hands up, putting them against
Remus' chest, and shoves. Remus is slammed up against the window's ledge, his head knocking
into the raised window, not enough to hurt but enough that the thud is audible. Sirius shoves him
again, harder. "You have no idea… Oh, I could just—I want to just… I fucking hate you, Remus
Lupin. Hate the goddamn breath in your body. What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"It was a week, Sirius," Remus whispers, and he hates himself for it, for downplaying it, knowing
it's only going to make Sirius feel like an idiot. "It was only a week."

"Only a week." Sirius' fingers spasm against Remus' chest, and then his face goes—blank. "Yes.
Only a week, wasn't it? You're right. How foolish of me to be upset about a week of complete
silence, when we spoke every day, multiple times a day, for months before this week. How foolish
of me to be upset that you saw my best mate and left, not explaining why, not telling me anything.
How foolish of me to be upset with not knowing how you were, because I had no way of finding
out if you were even fucking alive. How foolish of me; it was only a week."

"I'm sorry," Remus says softly.

"Fucking don't," Sirius growls and shoves him again, pushing him back against the window. "I
don't want your meaningless apologies. I don't want anything from you."

Remus reaches down and curls his hands around Sirius' wrists, holding his gaze. "I'd like to
explain, Sirius. Please let me. I've really—you have no idea how much I've missed you."

"You should have thought about that before—"

"Sirius—"

"Your hands aren't broken, and neither are your legs. You could have called. You could have come
by. You could have stayed in the first place." Sirius curls his lip into a sneer, his face twisting.
"But you didn't."

"Christ, Sirius, you don't even know what happened," Remus grinds out, genuinely frustrated now.

"Because no one would fucking tell me!"

"I'm trying to now!"

"Well, I don't want to hear it now!" Sirius shouts back, shoving Remus again, fingers curling into
the front of his sweater to shake him a bit. "I don't want to have to be told anything, because I never
wanted you to leave in the first place, but that's that right done, isn't it? Fuck you, yeah? Fuck—"
"Sirius, stop," Remus snaps, tugging sharply on Sirius' wrists, trying to wrench his grip free and
only managing to yank them closer together in the process. "Stop being fucking dramatic—"

"Piss off." Sirius grasps Remus tighter, a long line of furious heat against him, eyes a little wild
with genuine anger and something harsher, something untamed, something that would likely
frighten most people, but doesn't frighten Remus at all, because that beast curled up unfurls with
his hackles raised, jaws snapping, aching with the urge to bite. "You don't get to just show back up
as if you haven't done anything! You don't get to do this to me. You can't just be here!"

"Well, I am!" Remus shakes him in return as if he can shake some sense into him, his own
frustration rising when he has no right, because he wants—all he wants— "I'm right here, Sirius.
I'm right fucking here!"

"Until you're not," Sirius declares furiously. "So, you know, fuck that, actually. Go away."

"No," Remus retorts, just as angry. "You think this has been fun for me, you utter knob?"

Sirius garbles out a sound dangerously close to a shriek and stares at Remus in disbelief. "You're
the one who—"

"I know!" Remus bellows, because he does know. He knows all that he's done, and he knows how
badly he fucked up, and he's so angry about all of it. He tugs on Sirius' wrists to give him the
leverage he needs to rock Sirius back and around, pushing and pushing until he's shoving Sirius up
against the wall next to the open window, breathing hard, grappling with the unfairness of it all as
Sirius struggles against him. "I know, alright? And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking—I never wanted—"

"Shut up. It's not about what you wanted, is it? Because you still did it. You did it, Remus. I was so
—I wanted so badly to believe you when you promised you wouldn't, and you—you still—" Sirius
cuts himself off, the words catching in his throat, and he slams nearly his entire body against
Remus trying to push him away. Like an animal backed in a corner, he just lashes out. "Let me
go!"

Remus immediately does, choking out, "Sirius," as he slumps back as if all his strings have been
cut.

"God, God, I'm so—I hate you so much," Sirius says, and it's almost a whimper, and then he's
dragging Remus back in, colliding into him, kissing him like a lightning strike.

That's how it falls apart, Sirius' mouth crashing into his, their teeth clacking, no finesse. Remus
gives into it instantly, his arms coming up so his hands can frame Sirius' face and hold him in
place, pinning him more firmly to the wall. Sirius moans into his mouth, defeated, and Remus
perhaps shouldn't feel so powerful as he does in that moment, but he does.

He's thrumming with it, with that electric power, feeling plugged in like he could light up the
whole world with the outpouring of energy that Sirius gives him. Just a conduit. The outlet Sirius
fits into, molded to him perfectly. God, Remus feels made for him. He was born for this. He was
brought into this world and survived it just to be this, just for Sirius.

It's a bit of a mess. Sirius shoves him away again, but only to get him to the bed, a rush of
trembling fingers and fumbling limbs as they shed clothes and come back together. Sirius' chest
rises and falls rapidly, and his eyes are nearly black, all pupil, his mouth open, slick and wet and
wanting. He just keeps groaning, angry, desperate, and Remus just keeps falling into him, dragging
him in, the both of them meeting again and again in a rain of sparks, rattling against each other.

Remus takes Sirius apart in the way he learned how first; one of the very first things he learned
about Sirius, just how good this is with him, always, even now. Even now when it's rough, and
angry, and overflowing with emotion.

Sirius clings to him, clings like Remus might just evaporate if he doesn't hold on tight enough.
Remus loses his head a bit, willing to crawl inside Sirius' fucking skin and never leave, if only he
could. Sirius has done it to him; it's only fair to return the favor. He tries. God, but he tries so
fucking hard. He thinks he must manage it in some way, because Sirius loses his head a bit, too.
For a few blissful moments in the aftermath, the whole earth rumbles as they quake against each
other, and Sirius settles, breathing easy, calm.

"Sirius," Remus rasps, his voice rough and raw. He untucks his face from the safety of Sirius' neck
to pull back and peer at him as his eyes flutter open. "Sirius, I—"

"No," Sirius whispers. He stares at Remus and, slowly, with clear force, loosens his grip and lets
go. He just—twists away, easing right out of Remus' arms and hands like he's the one evaporating.
He shrinks into himself, arms curled around his torso like he's holding himself together, and he
doesn't look at Remus once he's gone. "No, I don't want more promises. I think you've broken
plenty."

"I'm—" Remus' throat clicks, a lump forming. "Sirius—"

Sirius is ozone; you can't hold onto it, but you feel it. Remus feels him, but Sirius isn't solid. He's
mist, and he's floating away. He doesn't look at him as he whispers, "This is better for you, yeah? It
all works out, doesn't it? I didn't want you to leave, but it's fine. Because I want you to go now."

"Sirius—"

"Remus, I want you to go now. Just go. Please."

For a long moment, Remus doesn't. He just stays there, feeling as if he's hanging in the balance, his
chest caving in. He watches with stinging eyes as Sirius shrinks into himself further and further, his
head turned away, legs drawing up to his chest as he wraps his arms around them. Remus has never
seen him so small, and he thinks he's the one breaking him down further just by being here.

In his head, the beast curls into a ball. Remus blinks hard and drags himself up, looking at his
shaking hands instead of looking at Sirius, who he suddenly can't stomach seeing at all. He gets
dressed. The beast whines. He walks to the door, pausing long enough to glance back, only to find
that Sirius has retreated into himself entirely, forehead pressed to his knees, naked and vulnerable
and needing Remus to leave.

So, Remus leaves, and the beast howls.

The world doesn't feel real, doesn't come into sharp focus, until Remus is back outside. He takes in
a deep, gasping breath and bends over, hands braced on his knees. Oh, he made it worse. Why did
he make it worse? Fuck.

He'd just—he couldn't help it. Sirius makes him feel more than anyone ever has. Sirius touched
him. Sirius kissed him. They ruined each other. They never stood a chance, and the worst part is,
they both knew it.

Remus stands back up in a stilted motion, as if he's injured, but there's no visible wound. Doesn't
stop the pain from being unfortunately real, nonetheless. He takes a step, then takes another, then
finds himself walking. He doesn't know what to do, but he does know he has to do something. This
can't be it. This can't be all there is. He can't leave it like this.

Halfway up the street, he comes to a halt when he sees James walking towards him, head ducked,
hands shoved in his pockets. If his shoulders slumped anymore, they'd be dragging the ground.
He's the picture of disappointment.

Yeah, Remus probably should have warned him.

"Oh," James mumbles when Remus steps into his path, blocking him. He looks up, his face etched
with dejection, so straightforward in his sadness that Remus' chest pangs. James swallows. "Hi.
How'd it go?"

"We shagged," Remus confesses.

"Brilliant," James croaks. "Good for—"

"Not a good thing, James," Remus admits. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath shuddering out of
him, then he opens them again to see James looking at him sympathetically. "Rather sure it made
things worse, actually. What about you?"

"Regulus opened the door, then immediately slammed it shut in my face," James mumbles.

Remus winces. "Ah, shit. Tough luck, mate."

"Yeah," James says with a sigh. "Suppose we got a little ahead of ourselves, didn't we?"

"Suppose we did," Remus agrees miserably.

James looks at him for a long moment, then says, "You know, maybe it's a sign that we should
just...give up."

"Maybe," Remus murmurs. They stare at each other for a long beat of silence. "We're not going to
do that, though, are we?"

"No," James says softly, "we're not."

 Remus blows out a deep breath and shifts slightly to look over his shoulder in the direction of the
flat, in the direction of Sirius. His chest pinches, but some sort of resolve settles in him, and his
shoulders are set with determination when he looks back at James. There's more. He knows it, and
he'll have it. They'll all have more, if he has anything to say about it. "So, we should probably
reevaluate our plan…"

Chapter End Notes

James and Remus in their Peter Pettigrew era: *skips off to go betray their besties*

Regulus, when James shows up at his door: yeah, thats gonna be a no from me

Sirius, when he finds Remus "I have the audacity" Lupin chilling in his room, smoking
his cigs: I'm about to push this fucker out the window

No, but honestly, for those of you worried, the angst gets better next chapter. On that
note, if you're facepalming because of what James and Remus are doing, that's fair. In
their defense, they are motivated by love. Cut them some slack. They're gonna need it
They've got their work cut out for them.

I'll be back on Wednesday to post the chapter that will, I suspect, heal your hearts a
little bit.

Big thanks to all the comments and support I've gotten. It means the world to me!
 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes

Alright, so I must warn you, I think this is my longest chapter yet. Take your time,
enjoy it. There's some angst, someone slaps someone (not in real time), we've got
some angst and jealousy and humor and, what everyone is looking forward to, some
resolution ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Again. He's here again.

Has Regulus not been clear enough, or does James Potter just genuinely have the audacity? Of
course he does. He's James. Shining as bright as the sun—maybe even brighter—and the glare of
him only gets harsher as he gets more desperate. Here he is again, and Regulus doesn't feel
anything about that.

He doesn't. Not one bit.

"Good morning, James," Remus greets amicably, because he's a traitor, apparently. He thinks
Regulus is being a bit 'unreasonable'. Regulus wants to claw his eyes out for that one.

"Good morning, Remus," James says, leaning against the counter to flash that smile of his right at
Regulus. "Good morning, you."

"What would you like?" Regulus asks flatly, then nearly squeezes his eyes shut when James' eyes
light up. Bugger. Wrong question. Wrong fucking—

"To be completely honest, I would like for you to be happy again," James informs him earnestly. "I
would also like a lot of other things that are a bit selfishly motivated, I'll admit, like getting to
actually apologize and maybe explain and also, if I'm lucky, get to touch you again without you
killing me. And, lesser concerns, but I miss your cooking, and your—"

Regulus cuts him off by slamming his hand down on the till, making it spring open, and he shuts it
with a sharp clatter, pleased by the sudden silence. He holds James' gaze, not wavering as he says,
"Your order. What are you ordering?"
"Oh, that," James mutters with a heavy sigh. His shoulders slump. "You know, pretending you
don't know—"

"Terribly sorry, but it's not my job to memorize orders."

"Regulus."

"Again, what are you ordering? We pride ourselves on efficiency here, and we try to avoid a
building queue, so the faster we can get you out of here, the better," Regulus rattles off, his voice
flat and empty, no emotion. He's like a robot reading from a script. Artificial intelligence.

"A four-pump hazelnut and vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso," James mumbles and
doesn't bother trying to get the squirty cream and caramel drizzle, because Regulus flatout refuses
to make it for him. "Oh, and a raspberry danish."

Regulus' entire body gives a violent, involuntary twitch. His gaze falls down to James' shirt
needlessly, because he's known the color of it since James came in, since he was waiting out by the
door like he always used to before Regulus started to let him in before they'd even opened. James is
not in red, so why is he getting a raspberry danish? He's in white, and that's a cinnamon roll
warmed up for thirty-seven seconds exactly, because it gets the dough soft but keeps the icing in
that perfect in-between state of thick and thin.

This is a trick of some sort. A plan. The lengths that James goes to—honestly, Regulus is surprised
James hasn't stood outside with a bloody boombox and gave a speech yet, which is for the best,
because Regulus would throw an entire fucking blender at his head if he did, but that's hardly the
point. The point is, James will do and say quite a variety of things in an attempt to be forgiven, but
Regulus has no interest in forgiving him. Ever.

So, with his jaw working, Regulus snatches away to go make James' drink and get him a fucking
raspberry danish, even though he keeps staring at James' shirt.

It's just that James had a system. A spontaneous system, because only James could pull something
as ridiculous as that off. He never, not once, deviated from the system. This time, he didn't even
glance down at his shirt. Does he know he's wearing white? It takes far more effort than it should
for Regulus not to give in and tell him, or ask him why he'd change his routine, or just give him a
cinnamon roll anyway, because Regulus doesn't like the change one bit.
"See you tomorrow," James tells him, blinking those big eyes at him, sunlight framing his
shoulders. He looks absolutely, infuriatingly beautiful.

Regulus turns away and doesn't respond.

"Do you think," Remus says hesitantly, once James is gone entirely, "maybe you're being a
bit...hard on him?"

"On who?" Regulus asks blithely. He's very firm in his corner of pretending James doesn't exist, or
if he has to, then he's just some random customer.

Remus sighs heavily. "Regulus, honestly, the poor bloke—"

"I'm taking ten," Regulus cuts in sharply, and he's gone before Remus can ever finish his sentence.

The very next day, as promised, James is back again. Wearing yellow (a biscuit), and he orders a
blueberry muffin. Regulus stares at him for a beat too long when he does, then grinds his teeth and
goes to make his order, slamming the muffin down on the counter with a bit too much vigor. Some
of it crumbles inside the container, but James doesn't complain.

"Until tomorrow," James says, saluting him before he grabs his coffee and muffin, and then he's
gone.

Regulus stares after him, tapping his fingers to the counter.

"Alright, mate?" Remus asks lightly.

"Fine," Regulus says stiffly. "Perfectly fine."

Tomorrow comes again, and again, and once more. Each time, James orders outside of his
spontaneous routine, and Regulus can feel tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest every time
he gets something Regulus isn't expecting. There's not even a pattern that Regulus can follow, and
he feels like he's going mad trying to work out what James is going to order, only to get it wrong
nearly every time.

"Can I get a croissant?" James asks while wearing black (green is for a croissant, and black is a
blackberry fruit bar), and Regulus is overcome with the violent urge to shake him until his brain
makes sense again. Nonetheless, Regulus makes his drink and gets him a croissant, carrying it all
over without saying a word. It's as he's passing it over that James looks right at him and says,
"You're beautiful, you know."

And maybe there's a strong wind, or maybe Regulus just gets a hand spasm, or maybe—something,
because the coffee tumbles right from his hand and hits the counter, splashing out from the cup to
spill over his hand. He flings it away with a sharp curse, diving for a napkin right after, hissing
between his teeth at the burn of it.

"Oh, bloody hell, I didn't—" James groans, frantically throwing napkins down on the small puddle
of coffee on the counter by the till, his eyes wide. "Are you alright? I'm sorry, Regulus, I didn't
mean—"

"You're wearing black," Regulus snaps, glaring at him, and James blinks. "Not green. Black. So,
why are you ordering a fucking croissant?"

James opens and closes his mouth, looking lost, and all he says is, "Your hand, love, let me see—"

"Don't," Regulus interrupts in a hiss, and James' eyes widen even more. "Don't call me that. Don't
call me love, and don't call me beautiful, and don't ignore my fucking question!"

"Regulus," Remus says softly, slipping in carefully to check his hand, idly passing James a towel to
clean up the spill, which he does, still looking as if he's about to get in trouble. "This is a bad burn,
mate. Hold on, yeah? There's salve in the back."

"I'm fine," Regulus grits out.

Remus frowns down at his hand. "No, you're really not."

"I'm sorry," James whispers as Remus heads to the back, and he's just staring at Regulus like he
might start crying at any second. "Regulus, I'm so sorry."
"You're not wearing green," Regulus murmurs, suddenly unable to look away from him. "You only
order croissants when you're wearing green."

James bites his lip and folds the stained towel, pushing it across the counter and to the side, and
then he keeps leaning forward to reach out and gently cup Regulus' elbow, tugging him in. Regulus
resists, but James croaks, "Please let me see your hand. I—I need to see if—if you're—"

"I'm fine," Regulus says sharply, shoving his injured hand forward with defiance, and James uses
the motion to tug him closer until they're both pressed right up against opposite sides of the
counter. James cups his hand and stoops down over it, and Regulus glares at the crown of his
head.

"Oh, this is bad," James declares, obviously distressed. His head snaps up, genuine panic in his
eyes. "This is quite bad, Regulus. Doesn't it hurt?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I've had worse." This has the opposite effect he hoped it would, because
now James looks even more upset. Regulus sighs. "I'm fine, James. It's just a burn. It'll heal. What
won't heal is you, when I'm done with you, if you don't answer my bloody question."

"The croissant situation?" James blurts out incredulously. "Is that honestly the most important thing
at the moment?"

"It's a fair distraction," Regulus mutters, scowling.

James hesitates, and then his eyes light up. He leans in as his lips curl into a small smile. "Have
you been curious about me again, Regulus?"

"Absolutely not," Regulus says flatly.

"Really?" James' smile is growing. He leans in even more, so close now Regulus forgets about his
stinging hand entirely, his thundering heart drowning it out. "I don't believe you."

Regulus snatches his hand out of James' grip, but he doesn't back up. He leans forward until they're
almost nose-to-nose, relishing in the way James' breath stutters. "Believe me, the only thing I'm
curious about when it comes to you is why you keep wasting your time with someone who doesn't
want you. Didn't you learn your lesson with Lily? Or am I going to have to refresh your memory?"

James flinches back, genuine hurt flashing across his face, and Regulus watches him coldly. No
regret, no remorse, nothing. He warned him. He did warn James that he could be cruel when he
chose to be. He even warned him not to give him a reason to choose to be. James just didn't listen.

Remus sweeps back out, grumbling about having to find the salve, and Regulus ignores James until
he leaves.

The next day, James is there again, ordering toffee pudding while wearing blue, and Regulus wants
to strangle him. He obsesses over it all day, until he's home, and even when Remus and Pandora
come over to bring food since his hand is healing, but still does not appreciate the heat in a
kitchen.

"I think it's nice, actually," Pandora says dreamily from where she, Regulus, and Remus are all
sprawled out on his floor, because her 'special brownies' turned out to be...very special. Regulus is
quite convinced that he's floating. "He's not giving up on you, Reggie. Doesn't that count for
something?"

Regulus smacks his lips and squints at his ceiling.

"Why do you call him Reggie?" Remus murmurs, idly waving his hand through the air above their
heads, fingers dancing slowly like he's finger-painting.

Pandora giggles, and they all giggle with her, because it's all so very funny suddenly, and then
Regulus says, "Oh, I went by Reggie growing up for the most part. Only my mother really called
me by my dead name. My, ah, brother—well, he called me Reggie, and that's what I went by
before I transitioned."

"It's a bit of a habit," Pandora says softly. "He always liked that name better. I could tell."

"Because you know things," Regulus hisses, flopping his head over to squint at her. "Are you
psychic?"

"Absolutely," Pandora answers without hesitation.

Regulus frowns and looks at the ceiling again. "That's terrifying. You're terrifying."

"Thank you," Pandora replies cheerfully.

"So, wait. Wait, wait, wait." Remus pops up on his elbows and stares down at Regulus. "You chose
your name, didn't you? When you transitioned, I mean. You chose Regulus."

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Regulus says. "I chose my first and middle, but I kept my last. Can't
really escape that one, and I wasn't sure I deserved to, so I didn't bother."

Remus frowns at him. "Why not Reggie, if you liked it?"

"Because my brother chose it," Regulus declares simply, shrugging slightly. "My brother is the one
who started calling me Reggie. I hate him. Why would I want my name to be connected to him in
any capacity?"

"Right," Remus says weakly. "So why Regulus Arcturus?"

"They're stars," Regulus whispers, eyes drifting shut. He feels his chest give a dull pang. "Some of
the brightest in the sky."

"But not the brightest," Remus murmurs.

Regulus' eyes open. "No, not the brightest."

"Fucking hell," Remus rasps, and he shuffles back down to drop his head on Regulus' shoulder,
leaning on him.

"Did you know the full moon outshines the brightest star in the sky?" Pandora asks, and Remus
makes a weak sound, turning his face into Regulus' shirt.
"If there was ever a reason to love the moon more," Regulus muses, chuckling to himself.

Remus sounds heartbroken when he says, "I hate the moon."

"I think my name is lovely," Pandora says. "I've always wanted to know what's in Pandora's box."

"Maybe it's you," Regulus suggests, and Pandora gasps, and then they all dissolve into giggles
again.

The next day, Regulus is at home alone, and he's—fine. He's honestly fine. More fine than he was
before, because there's some sort of release in cruelty, some sort of freedom in anger. He's never
met a stronger motivator than fury, and he doesn't think he's ever been as furious as he is now.

The thing is, Regulus doesn't like surprises. James has been full of surprises. First with
disappearing, and then with coming back. Regulus hadn't expected him to disappear, and he'd
expected him to come back even less. What's worse is that James was always the sort of surprise
that Regulus knew about beforehand. He knew James was a bad idea, and he did it anyway. Half of
his fury is just at himself.

What's so bloody infuriating is how, unsurprisingly, nothing has changed for Regulus. When James
had just shown up at his door, Regulus had nearly given in immediately, nearly folded forward to
grab onto him and never let him go again, only to recoil and shut that down instantly, because no.
Absolutely not. Fool me once, or however that saying goes. Regulus isn't doing it; he fucking
refuses.

Yet, every time James shows up at the shop every morning, like clockwork, Regulus feels his heart
leap. He feels his resolve weaken in knee-jerk reaction before he gives it a quick, mental smack
and forces himself to get his shit together. Fool me twice? He doesn't bloody think so.

So, yes, he's cruel. He watches hurt bloom on James' face every morning, and he pretends it doesn't
matter, because it's easier. He tells himself he's fine. He cooks, and goes to work, and spends time
with his friends, and life goes on. Life will go on, and Regulus won't be a fool, and that's for the
best.

But then, James is always the surprise that Regulus can expect. Like the sun—it rises and sets
every day, but it's so easy to be blown away by the process every time. Awe-inspiring and
shocking in its beauty, but it happens over and over without fail, even if no one can get used to it.
Regulus could see it every day of his life—he does, and he does—and he'd be as stunned by it from
his very first glimpse all the way to his last. The miracle of the earth rotating around the sun, and
James carries that same miracle with him wherever he goes.

Today, he brings it to Regulus' door.

"This is stalking, you know," Regulus informs James, his tone clipped, leaning against the door
after he opened it to see who was knocking. It's a surprise that it's James, and it also isn't.

"Nothing changed," James blurts out, and Regulus clenches his hand around his door, preparing to
slam it shut in James' face yet again. "Regulus, when I said nothing changed, I meant it. I did feel
the exact same—I still feel—"

"James," Regulus interrupts sharply, "I really don't care."

"I think you do," James croaks. "I think you care quite a bit."

Regulus feels his face harden, grateful for it, suddenly so appreciative of all the years of practice
he's had hiding his feelings, turning to ice. "I thought you said you knew how to take a hint. Sorry,
have I not been clear enough? Let me make sure you get it this time. Leave me alone."

James takes a deep breath. "You said—"

"I'm sure I said a lot of things, but so did you," Regulus cuts in coldly. "Seems we both lied."

"I didn't, though. That's my point!" James explodes, roughly shoving his hands through his hair. "I
never lied to you. Every single thing I ever told you was true, Regulus. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I
let you down. I'm sorry I abandoned you. I'm sorry I ever gave you room to doubt, because I do
adore you. I do think you're lovely, and beautiful, and brave. I do feel the same for you as I did
before, and as I always will. Please believe me."

"That's just the thing, James," Regulus says, "I don't."

"Regulus," James starts.

Regulus waves his hand through the air, shaking his head. He arches an eyebrow. "How can I? See,
I did believe you, before, and you made it very clear that I couldn't. Unlike you, I don't make the
same mistakes twice. I knew you were a bad idea, and that's on me, I suppose. I won't be doing it
again."

"You're so—you're—just stop being so bloody stubborn for five minutes, please," James bursts
out, and Regulus raises both eyebrows that time, because honestly, the audacity of James Potter.
"Look, something came up. An issue with my best mate and—personal matters. And I know,
alright? I know I should have at least told you about it, but I couldn't. It's complicated, and I've
fixed it, and I was miserable the entire time. I wanted to be with you. I still want to be with you. I'll
say it all again a million times every day until you can believe it . I promise. I'm not asking you to
go right back to the way things were, or even trust me immediately, but at least let me prove that I
was honest about my feelings for you. That I'm still honest about them. Please."

"You're pathetic," Regulus announces calmly, and James slumps like all of his strings have been
cut. "You really are. You do know that, don't you?"

"For you, if that's what it takes, sure," James mumbles.

"Listen, if you want to make a fool of yourself, that's your decision," Regulus says blandly. "Give
it... Three years, wasn't it, that it took for you to stop waiting for Lily? I doubt it'll take that long for
me, but even so—give it three years, you'll take the hint eventually."

"You don't mean that," James whispers.

"Oh, but I do," Regulus informs him. "Do what you like, but it's pointless. James, I don't want you.
I don't want to see you, or tolerate you, or be with you."

"Regulus," James breathes out, his eyes shining behind his glasses, and he looks utterly
devastated.

"Yeah, you know what that means. You remember." Regulus tilts his chin up. "I don't do the things
I don't want to."

With that, Regulus slams the door in James' face and walks away without looking back. The fact
that he bursts into tears thirty minutes later sort of ruins the whole thing, but no one's there to see it,
so Regulus pretends immediately after that it didn't happen. See? He's fine.

James doesn't show up at the shop the next morning, and Regulus has such a visceral reaction to
this that he has to go stand in the back for five minutes just to wrangle it all. He's angry because
he's hurt, and he's angry because he's angry, and he's angry because he's surprised, and worse,
because he's not. He knew, and he had no idea; he brought it on himself, and he's such a fool. He's
still a fool.

"Regulus," Remus says, poking his head into the back, his eyebrows furrowed. "There's someone
here to see you."

Regulus stands there for a few moments, focused on his breathing, trying to convince himself not
to get his hopes up. Why would he be hopeful? What does he have to hope for?

It's not James. It's Pandora, who teases him about his apron and his little tie—blue today—and it's
lovely to see her. It really is. So, why is he disappointed?

About midday, Remus catches him looking up when the door opens, and he sidles up to him to
murmur, "I can't help but notice that James hasn't come by today."

"Brilliant, you have eyes," Regulus grits out.

"You're looking for him, Regulus."

"Fuck off, Lupin. I'm not."

"You are," Remus insists. "And that's okay, you know. It's perfectly okay if you miss him."

Regulus clenches his jaw. "I don't—"

"Regulus," Remus says gently, "I'm your best friend. If you can't tell me, who can you tell?
Honestly, do you not want to be with him anymore? Is it—is it really done for you, then?"
Regulus closes his eyes and swallows harshly, then opens his eyes and looks at Remus, wondering
when he started to confide in him so much. In three years of friendship, Regulus has opened up to
him more recently than he ever has, and it's all James' fault. It's James' fault that he reached out to
Pandora. It's James' fault that he's unfurled and bloomed like a fucking flower opening up towards
the sun. All this time he's spent trying not to need anyone, knowing that needing people doesn't
stop them from leaving, and now Regulus needs more people than he ever has, more deeply than
he ever has. It's terrifying, and it's intoxicating, and he just doesn't have the energy to fight it
anymore.

"I'll never be done with James," Regulus whispers, his voice hoarse, and Remus' eyes go wide. "I
don't know how, so I need him to be done with me. Because I want—I really, so very badly want
him, but I can't. Not again. I can't do it again. I can't let him do that again, but I will. Remus, I
will."

"What if he doesn't do it again?" Remus asks, reaching out to touch his arm, studying his face.
"Have you thought that maybe he won't?"

"He's already doing it again," Regulus murmurs, "and he's doing it because I told him that's what I
wanted."

Remus purses his lips. "You lied."

"He lied first," Regulus replies.

"Did he?" Remus challenges. "Was it all lies, then? Because I was here for a lot of it, Reg, and
James is mental about you. I know he… I know what happened was awful, but people make
mistakes sometimes. He may seem it to you, but he's not perfect. He's just trying his best. Maybe
you should let him."

"Too late now," Regulus mumbles, looking away. "It's for the best, in any case."

"Hm," is all Remus says, taking a step back. "Right, but if he was to keep trying…"

Regulus just shrugs. "He won't. No one does."

"Hm," Remus hums again.

"Wait. Reg?" Regulus' head whips around, and Remus blinks at him, looking startled. "Did you
just call me Reg? Three years we've known each other, and you've never given me a nickname.
Since when do you give nicknames?"

Remus blinks again, rapidly. "I—ah, yes? Oh, bloody hell, I've picked up the habit now, haven't I?
That fucking twat."

"Picked up the habit from who? The only people—" Regulus halts, then his eyes narrow. "He-
Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Remus, are you shagging You-Know-Who again?"

"It's...complicated," Remus says with a wince.

"You're pathetic," Regulus informs him.

"Says you," Remus shoots back. "Mr. I'll Never Be Done With James. No one likes a hypocrite,
Reg."

"Don't make that a thing. That will not be a thing."

"It's making you suffer, so it will absolutely be a thing."

Regulus arches an eyebrow. "You're transphobic."

"You're homophobic."

"I'm literally gay."

Remus nods, solemnly. "Yes, which is why I implore you to seek help. It's alright to accept
yourself, Reg. I accept you just as you are and support you in—"

"Die," Regulus says, whipping around to better stifle his laugh as he walks towards the till.
"Oh, if only," Remus calls after him wistfully, and Regulus laughs under his breath, glancing back
to see Remus chuckling as he leans up against the counter and types furiously away on his cell.

Talking to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named again, is he? Hm, well, that surely can't end well.
Regulus does not approve, but he supposes he's biased. He was prepared to kill the bloke, after all.
He'll stay prepared, just in case.

When Regulus' smile quickly fades, it doesn't come back for the rest of the day. As much as he
hates it, he finds his head snapping up every time the door opens throughout the day, internally
cursing himself each time. He can't help it, though. It's an instinctive response he can't stop giving,
his heart surging up to his throat before promptly landing with a splat at his feet, then repeating the
process all over again.

At this point, Regulus briefly entertains finding another job. He's not happy with the idea, because
he hates change and likes working with Remus, though he'll never admit it out loud. But this is
torture, too. He can't do this forever, and in the same breath, he's rather sure that he will. He'll look
towards that door every day, waiting for James to show up.

That's the joke, isn't it? Maybe James will wait for three years, maybe he won't, but Regulus? Oh,
Regulus will wait all the way until his final breath. He'll be on his deathbed, gazing out the
window as the sun sets, or rises, and he'll think about that man who is the sun, and it'll be the last
thought he ever has. His last exhale will be James' name, no matter how he's lived his life, no
matter where he is or who he's with. James is as sure as the sun. It's not a very funny joke, in
retrospect.

Regulus isn't laughing.

Stupid as it is, Regulus feels his heart sink when his shift ends. Remus practically bolts, barely
lingering long enough to clap Regulus on the shoulder for no reason that he can tell before he's
gone. Regulus himself, however, lingers for no reason he wants to admit to anyone, not even in his
own mind. He knows by now that it's not safe even there.

What did he think was going to happen? He knows James. He's known the entire time how cautious
James is. He used that, in fact, because—

"You're a malicious little snake, you know that?" Sirius snaps, arms folded as he glares right at
Reggie.
Reggie sighs, staring into the mirror. "Am I?"

"Why would you do that?" Sirius demands harshly. "She actually stopped to consider it, Reggie.
Why the fuck—"

"Did I lie?" Reggie cuts in, voice sharp, eyes equally so where they meet Sirius' through the
reflection. "Has Hogwarts not turned you into a disappointment to the family? Maybe you
shouldn't be allowed back."

"Oh, I'm going back," Sirius grits out. "And what's your fucking problem, Reggie? I can't figure it
out, why you're being like this. You're always like this now."

"Like what, Sirius? Do tell."

"You're like a fucking dagger, one coated in poison, meant to go in someone's back. You're as cruel
as her sometimes. Doesn't that bother you at all?"

"No," Reggie says, arching an eyebrow. "It's rather helpful, actually. Why? Does it bother you
when you are?"

Sirius' nostrils flare. "I'm nothing like her."

"Sure, Sirius, keep telling yourself that," Reggie says, and in the next second, Sirius stomps into the
room and snatches the chair around, stooping down to get in Reggie's face.

"You know how much Hogwarts means to me, and you used it against me," Sirius snarls. "You
tried to take it away from me when it's one of the only fucking things that makes all of this shit
worth it. You're a bitch, Reggie. A stone-cold bitch."

Reggie slaps him. The sound of it rings out into the sudden silence, and Sirius slowly draws up to
full height. All the color has drained from his face. Reggie abruptly feels sick. They've never hit
one another, not even in anger, not even as children. They get enough of that from their mother,
and the other was always a sanctuary from that. Reggie leans back, hand curling into a fist, and
Sirius takes a step back with a sharp exhale. His cheek is red. He hadn't flinched.
"I suppose I am," Reggie says softly.

"Nice, Reggie," Sirius declares, the one with ice in his voice now, something shuttering in his eyes.
"Mother would be so proud."

Reggie turns back to the mirror, palm full of heat, chest tight like it's about to crumble inwards.
"Get out, Sirius. Don't you have to pack so you can leave?"

"Yeah, I do." In the reflection, Sirius backs up to the door, but pauses long enough to stare at
Reggie through the mirror, his face twisting into disgust. "I don't know how you can look at
yourself."

When Sirius is gone, the lone gaze drops from the mirror, because the truth is, really, that Reggie
can't look for long.

Reggie hates the reflection looking back.

"Oi, are you still here?" Milo asks as they come sweeping into the back. "You never stay over after
your shift. Everything alright? Your mate's already gone, you know."

Regulus glances over at them and nods. "Yes, I know. I was just leaving. Does everything look
alright out front?"

"Brilliant!" Milo chirps, beaming at him. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Regulus says flatly, and Milo laughs nervously.

"Suppose I did, yeah. Just—I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to wear a nametag with pronouns on
them," Milo continues hopefully. "If I can get the whole shop to do it—all the shifts, I mean—then
the boss said he'll see about sending it up the line as an idea to implement the option, at the very
least, if not make it a rule. Would you maybe…?"
"Yes," Regulus says, gaze flicking down to Milo's nametag, which has the additional strip with
they/them underneath their name.

Milo's face lights up. "Oh, excellent. Most have already agreed, but to be perfectly honest,
everyone was a bit scared to ask you. It's my idea, so it had to be me in the end. No offense, but
you can be a bit—"

"Cruel?" Regulus suggests, the word sour on his tongue.

"No! No, just...quiet," Milo says sheepishly. "A little scary, is all. I'm sure you're a lovely person.
Very mysterious, in any case, so I wasn't sure if you'd be alright with...the whole pronoun idea."

Regulus stares at them, then says, "I'm alright with it."

"That's lovely. I mean, it should be normal, should be the bare minimum, really, but straight men
can be…" Milo grimaces, then shrugs helplessly. "No offense, but—"

"Milo," Regulus says slowly, "I'm a gay trans man."

"Oh." Milo blinks rapidly. Some tension drains out of their shoulders that Regulus didn't even
know was there, and then they look horrified. "Oh god. Christ, I'm so sorry. I just assumed—fuck,
that was so small-minded of me, wasn't it? I was worried about—but I was the one who—"

"You're fine," Regulus cuts in quickly. "Honestly, Milo, it's fine. I—understand, and it's not exactly
something I advertise anyway. Yes, I'd be willing to wear my pronouns."

"He/him?" Milo checks with a weak smile.

Regulus' lips twitch. "That'd be it, yeah."

"This means Remus will be alright with it, too, yeah? He's just as scary as you, but if he's your
friend…" Milo trails off hopefully, biting their lip.
"Remus will do it," is all Regulus says.

Milo brightens. "Brilliant! I'll talk with Remus tomorrow, then. And I'll print off your pronouns for
you. Really, this means a lot, you know. Well, you know." They pause, tilting their head. "You
really don't advertise it, which is fine, but you can if—if you want. I just mean, if you were worried
you'd be fired for it, you won't. So, if you did want to…"

"I've never really—" Regulus waves his hand, grimacing slightly, hoping that conveys what he
needs it to.

"Well...alright, hold on. One moment." Milo raises their finger at him, then darts back through the
door. Regulus stares after them, and in the silence, he realizes that he just told a near stranger
something he's never told anyone casually. It surprises him how little he feels about it either way.
"Alright, then!" Milo chirps as they come bustling back through the door, their bag in their hands.
They dig through it, then drop it carelessly to the floor to hold something out. "It's just an option, if
you want it. You don't have to, but you can."

Regulus stares at the small bracelet in their palm. A black band with a small flag connecting it. The
trans flag. He knows that one—he knows most, honestly. (Thanks, Tumblr.) "Oh. Ah, I wouldn't
want to take it from—"

"Nonsense," Milo says easily. "I have loads."

"You just...carry them around on you?" Regulus asks, raising both eyebrows at them.

Milo shrugs. "Queer representation is very important to me. Gender and sexuality and—all of it,
honestly. They clasp around at the back here. Like this, see." They step forward and grab Regulus'
arm to raise it, linking the bracelet on his wrist with one easy snap. "Easy to take off quickly,
should you ever feel you need to. Light and stylish, if I do say so myself."

"Did you make these?" Regulus asks, slightly amused.

"Might've done," Milo says with a sheepish grin.

Regulus huffs out a quiet laugh. "Do you sell them?"

"No, actually. I genuinely do give them out in the hopes that people will wear them," Milo admits,
dropping Regulus' arm as they step back. "You don't have to keep it, but—"

"I will," Regulus murmurs, only vaguely startled to find the words leaving his mouth. "I'll wear it.
Thank you. Remus probably would, too."

Milo's eyes bulge. "Is he—"

"As far as I know, no, but we can never be too sure, can we?" Regulus says dryly, pointedly, and
Milo groans.

"Oh, I'll never live this down, will I?"

"No, I don't think you will."

"Remus is your best friend, isn't he? Do tell him about this and laugh at me with him, yeah?
You've earned it. I've earned it, honestly," Milo mutters.

Regulus hums. "Oh, I was going to do that anyway."

"That's fair," Milo says with a chuckle, and there's nothing nervous about it. They look at Regulus
for a long moment, thoughtful, then they smile. "You know, I'm a bit embarrassed for all of it, but I
think I'm even more embarrassed for thinking there was anything scary about you."

"No," Regulus says. "You were right about that part."

Milo grins. "Sure, mate. I should get back to work, but this was nice. You're nice. Get out of here
before I take advantage of how nice you are and beg you to come run the till when we get the
evening rush. Go on." They start towards the door with a wink, but pause long enough to look back
at him. "It looks good, by the way. The bracelet."

"Thank you," Regulus murmurs, and Milo flashes another smile before they're out the door.
Gently, Regulus touches the bracelet on his wrist, running his thumb over the flag, down from blue
to pink to white to pink again back to blue, then he drops his hands and almost instantly forgets
about it. (What? He knows he's trans. He doesn't have to get used to it.)

Everything that just happened with Milo has Regulus suitably distracted, so he's not at all prepared
for the sight of James leaning up against the wall beside the employee exit, kicking idly at the
ground. His head snaps up as soon as Regulus comes out, and Regulus' breath punches out of him.

"Alright, so hear me out," James says carefully.

Regulus needs a second, but then he's got himself under wraps as he shuts the door, pivots on his
heel, and starts walking away. Predictably, James follows.

"I'd really rather not," Regulus says flatly.

James jogs forward to turn around and walk backwards in front of him, and all he says, solemnly,
is, "Regulus, this is it."

Regulus comes to a screeching halt, and James does, too. He doesn't step forward, leaving the
distance between them. It's suddenly a struggle to breathe. "You're giving up."

"No, Regulus," James murmurs, gentle, "I'm not giving up on you. I couldn't. But I can give you
the control. It's in your hands now, love."

"What does that even mean?" Regulus snaps, bristling.

"It means—" James swallows, then takes a deep breath and slowly lets it go. "It means I'm
respecting what you want—or what you don't want, rather. I won't show up at the shop anymore. I
won't come knocking at your door. I won't keep trying to force something on you when it's your
choice, and I will always respect your choice. If you want me, you have me. I'm all yours. I meant
that then, and I mean it now."

Don't do this to me, Regulus thinks, his mind racing. For the very first time in his life, he doesn't
want to be in control. He doesn't want to have to be the one to give in and take what he wants. He
doesn't deserve it. He never deserved it.
"When—if… If you want me," James murmurs, "I'll be here. I didn't want to stop being here,
really, and I can say for sure now that it's not something I'll ever do willingly again, if you ever
want me. But that's—it's your decision."

"James," Regulus says, his chest tight, and he's scared. He's scared in a way he hasn't been since
the night he ran away. The fear of the unknown and the loss of home.

James looks at him and smiles, and it's so sad, so very sad. It's absolutely crushing. "I want you to
know that… Well, it's alright if there's no chance. I'll respect it, and I'm sorry that I've been
pushing you. It's just… My heart doesn't know it yet. All it knows is that it belongs to you. I
haven't quite worked out what I'm supposed to do with that, honestly, but that's not your problem.
If you don't want it, then you don't."

"James," Regulus repeats, and his voice cracks that time. He blinks hard, a lump in his throat.
"Don't do this to me."

"I'm doing this for you," James says softly. "Don't do a damn thing you don't want to, Regulus,
ever. But please, love, please do what you want. You haven't figured that one out yet, how to do it.
Whatever you want, have it. You deserve it."

Regulus takes in a shaky breath, his mouth opening and closing, but he can't find the words. His
voice is gone.

"Can I…?" James takes a hesitant step forward, his hands twitching at his sides. "Before I go, can I
—"

"Yes," falls out of Regulus' mouth before he even makes the decision to speak. It comes from the
very pit of him. It comes directly from his heart.

"Thank you," James breathes out, moving in closer. He reaches out and trails his hand down
Regulus' arm, his fingers pausing over the bracelet, and he looks down at it with a small smile
curling his lips. "I like your bracelet."

"It's the trans flag," Regulus croaks.

"It's lovely," James tells him sincerely, then slips his fingers further down to grasp Regulus' hand,
squeezing it gently. He leans in slowly, careful like he's waiting to be stopped. All Regulus does is
let his eyes flutter shut, and something in his chest feels like it shatters when James presses a
tender, adoring kiss to his forehead. He lingers for one beat, two, then pulls back with a harsh
exhale. One more squeeze, and then James drops his hand and backs away, his smile small and
trembling, full of acceptance and understanding.

Regulus feels like he might cry, actually. This is it, James had said. Is it? It has to be, doesn't it?
This is exactly what he'd hoped would happen. It's exactly what he was pushing for.

So, why does it hurt so much?

"I'll go now," James whispers. "If you ever change your mind, if you ever decide you do want me,
you have me. My feelings never changed, love. They're never going to."

James ducks his head and turns around, walking away without another word. He looks just the
same as he did before their very first date, cowed, the sunshine of him dimmer than he ever
deserves. Regulus is taken back to that moment so vividly that it's almost as if he's there, and he
remembers going after James, unable to help himself. He remembers thinking it was the biggest
mistake of his life, so sure that it was a bad idea, but from his perspective now, he doesn't regret it.

Regulus doesn't regret one moment he's spent circling the sun. He'd wrap his arms around it and
cradle it in the curve of his chest, and burn, and burn. He'd do it gladly, over and over.

James gets further away, and Regulus—can't. He just can't. How the fuck does one live without the
sun? It's the center point of everything. What would he be without it?

He's not ready to find out.

It surprises him, the way he suddenly bursts into motion, not even fully coming to a solidified
decision. He just can't see James walk away. He can't let him go. So, Regulus follows him and falls
into his orbit, because he never really left it.

James jerks and nearly trips when Regulus catches up to him and slips his hand into the bend of his
arm. His heart is racing, thundering in his ears, and he's shaking with every step. It's exhilarating,
in a way, and absolutely terrifying. He can feel James staring at him, but Regulus stares straight
ahead. They walk in step together, matching stride-for-stride.
"I'm not saying I want you," Regulus says softly, "but I don't want to be without you."

"You don't do things you don't want," James breathes out, and when Regulus glances over at him,
he's beaming. He's brighter than he's ever been. He's glorious.

"No, I don't," Regulus agrees. "I don't want you to stop trying, James. Keep trying."

"Yeah?" James asks, sounding so hopeful that Regulus would have to be heartless to deny him.
Regulus' heart may be cold, but it's still there, and James warms it every time.

"Yeah," Regulus confirms, lips twitching up helplessly.

James stops, so Regulus stops with him, and they stare at each other for a long moment in
comfortable silence. It's strange that it's so comfortable, but Regulus feels calmer than he has in a
long time. James quirks a smile and says, "I order pastries based on the color of your ties now. I got
the croissant because you were wearing green."

Regulus finds himself laughing. It just—bubbles out of him, a little ridiculous, and he can't help it.
James gazes at him with such fondness and affection that Regulus just steps forward and buries his
face into James' shoulder, still laughing breathlessly. Despite everything, it's the easiest thing in the
world for Regulus to wrap his arms around James and hold him, as if it's the only thing that
matters, and everything else—all the confusion and hurt and anger—never mattered at all. In a
way, Regulus supposes, it didn't. Not when there's this.

James holds him back, and Regulus whispers, muffled into his shoulder, "You're ridiculous."

"I know," James replies.

This is a start.

It starts like this. Just like this, Regulus melting against James and feeling safer, more secure, than
he has in his entire life. Everything in an uproar inside him eases, gets put to rest, the storm slowing
to a standstill. They can breathe here. Regulus feels like he can take in a deep breath with no catch
in his throat and no ache in his chest for the first time in a while.
James is warm, so unbelievably warm, and Regulus finds that he doesn't want to let go. He never
wanted to let go, not from the moment James dared to wander in his path. That's the mess of it,
really. Sometimes, the heart can only know one thing, and beyond that? Well, there's not much
beyond that at all, is there? Regulus has abused James' heart enough, especially when all he wants
to do is protect it.

"Walk me home?" Regulus asks as he pulls away.

"Of course." James pats his hand as Regulus tucks it into his elbow. "I'll keep trying to make you
want me, you know. However long it takes, love."

"Sure, James," Regulus murmurs, amusement unfurling within him, his lips continuously tugging
up against his will.

James will keep trying, and the thing is, Regulus will let him. He will let him, and let him, and is
always going to let him. There's a joke here, too. This one—well, it's funnier, really.

See, Regulus is a malicious little snake, and a liar. He's wanted James since he stumbled in from a
storm with the sun framing his lovely, unforgettable smile.

But sure, James. Keep trying.

Keep trying.

Sirius steps back from the canvas with a frown, his head tilting as he examines the drying paint. He
fully expects to hate it later, but for right now, he's actually quite proud of this. It's a dark scene, a
black forest with a woman rising from the spring that glitters in moonlight, casting a beautiful
figure if not for the fact that she's a corpse. Blood drips from her fingers.

It's really, truly a gorgeous painting, he thinks. Morbid and grotesque, undoubtedly, but he loves
that part. He loves getting requests like this. Art should disturb the comfortable and comfort the
disturbed. Sirius wholeheartedly agrees with the sentiment.
He's quite disturbed himself, after all, and art has always comforted him.

There's a sharp intake of breath behind him, and then Remus is whispering, "Oh, Sirius, that's
lovely."

"Didn't ask for your opinion, Remus," Sirius says without turning around. "I'd rather not have it,
actually."

"Yeah," Remus mutters, "you've made that very obvious."

"You can leave," Sirius offers casually, and Remus falls silent, which is how Sirius generally
prefers him these days. Easier that way, isn't it?

Sirius ignores Remus as he cleans up everything around the area and safely puts away the painting,
which he will be sending out tomorrow. He's so fucking proud of it that he's genuinely excited for
feedback, and it puts him in a rare mood where he is, shockingly, very thrilled. That makes it a bit
harder to ignore Remus, honestly.

There's a part of him that's eager to bounce right over to him and chatter his ear off to release some
of his excitement, and Remus would watch him fondly, draw him in and let him vibrate against him
as he shot off talking like a rocket, and Sirius would touch him idly, softly, comfortably as he went
off on a tangent that most people wouldn't understand or bother really entertaining, but Remus
would listen to every word with that reliable attentiveness of his, and Sirius would be breathless
with joy by the end, so he'd kiss him as all of that happiness in him flowed over and out, and Remus
would kiss him back, and kiss him back, and kiss him back.

But they don't do that anymore. So.

Well, honestly, they likely could. Remus would surely be more than willing to do things such as
that, and more, but Sirius will not be giving him the satisfaction, thank you very much.

When Sirius was sixteen, he got really, properly high for the very first time in his life. He went on a
rather wild trip before he came back down, but he does remember every detail of the experience
purely because of how mad it was. He'd had an insane dream about being a dog. Not just any dog,
but a very large, very homeless dog. One that was snarling and foaming at the mouth; one that
moved like a shadow and lived in them, too; one that no one would provide a home or a hot meal,
and one that ate rats (sorry, Wormtail) and survived on its own.

Sirius vividly remembers the sensation of being that dog. (He had, of course, swore that it was
Padfoot coming to him in some sort of mystical dream, and is still quite convinced of that to this
day.) He remembers how awful it had been to be that dog. Starving to the point that he was just fur
and bones. Constantly on edge and wary of people, and touch, and anything that could ever be seen
as a comfort otherwise. The scent of blood persistently in his nose and the crunch of tiny bones
between his canines. Cold caves and raised hackles and clumped, tangled fur and a cramped,
aching stomach.

He also remembers how everything had made sense as that dog. It had all felt—proper, just as it
was. A mangy mutt with nowhere to go and no place to call home. He was at his worst as that dog,
but. Well, that hadn't bothered him at all, at the time. He ran when he needed to run, and he ate rats
because he was hungry, and he took shelter in cold, damp caves to escape the rain without even
considering a warm house with a fireplace to lay beside. When he curled into a shivering ball, he
didn't feel out of place, or lost. He didn't have a name for that harsh thing that lived in his blood,
even then, even as a dog.

He was just a rising mound of fur and twitching paws, his tail tucked around him for maximum
insulation. He was surviving and nothing else. Canine. Not knowing how to apply silly human
words to what he was. It was live, hunt, sleep. He had no idea that he was yearning. He had no idea
he was lonely.

When Sirius woke up—sober and regretting many of the decisions that brought him to his crash—
he remembers thinking about that dog, and thinking Padfoot, and thinking oh, that's me, isn't it?
Because it was. Because that starving, snarling, surviving creature was him, would always be him,
and there was something so terribly sad about it. Sirius had pitied that dog, then. And he'd pitied
himself, too. He'd wanted, inexplicably, to find that dog—to find himself—and coax him from the
horrific life he lived, to provide warmth and food and safety from ever being lonely again. Quite a
bit like thinking of the child version of yourself and wanting to treat them with kindness, really,
especially if no one else did.

As pitiful as that dog was, Sirius wishes that he could be that dog, instead of himself. Because that
dog didn't care that he was living as he did; unbothered by the cold; used to being hungry; unaware
of his own wants, and how he didn't even come close to having them, and never would. It was
simple for that dog, no matter how sad it was.

Because Sirius? This Sirius? He has access to silly human words, and silly human customs, and
silly humans that will hold him and make him feel safe and whole before they fucking snatch all
that away from him. This Sirius knows what it is to be warm, to not starve, to have every single
comfort he could ever imagine and then some—and this Sirius knows what it is to have that ripped
away from him. And suddenly, he's a very large, very homeless dog starving, snarling, and
surviving again. He just knows what it is not to, now.

That's worse. It's much worse.

So, fuck Remus Lupin, actually. And maybe that's dramatic. It was only a week. Just one week.
What's one week compared to how decent Remus has been otherwise, since Sirius met him? One
week is nothing, in the grand scheme of things.

Just, for Sirius, that one week could not have come at a worse time. That was the time for Remus to
not fuck up. Right after he made all of his promises, too. Oh, couldn't he have waited? Couldn't he
have given Sirius one week where he kept all of his promises, then broke them? The problem is, he
didn't.

Instead, he found a starving, snarling, surviving dog, and he came by each day to coax it out,
providing it with gentle touches, promising to take it somewhere safe and warm. Then, one day, he
just didn't come back. The dog never really stopped starving, snarling, and surviving—it just had
hoped to. The dog wouldn't be making that mistake again.

So, yes, fuck Remus Lupin.

But also...fuck Remus Lupin?

Sirius glances at Remus out of the corner of his eye, which is instantly a mistake. Oh, there he is,
unassuming in a tawny brown sweater, the sleeves big enough to slip over his fingers. He's leaning
against the wall, effortlessly cool and likely not even aware of it, the way Sirius himself had tried
to emulate throughout most of his childhood. Remus looks warm, and he's frowning, his fluffy hair
flopping down into his eyes, no semblance of order to it at all, and oh god, he's so lovely. He is so
infuriatingly lovely and beautiful, and Sirius wants him.

All of his breath punches out of him, almost painfully, and it takes approximately eight seconds for
Sirius to get across the room. Remus glances up just before Sirius is on him, and his chest swells
on a sharp inhale, his eyes darkening, and then they reach for each other without a word.

This doesn't require talking. They keep ending up right back here over and over, so they could do
this in the dark, gagged, and with their ears covered. At this point, Sirius is quite sure that he could
do this in his fucking sleep.
(His dreams ensure that he's doing this in his sleep, because he's just that pathetic now.)

"Mm, no, no," Remus chokes out as he breaks the kiss, turning his head. His hands flex on Sirius'
arms, and he has his eyes clamped shut so tight that they wrinkle. "No, Sirius. I told you I wasn't
doing this again. I told you I was coming here to talk today, yeah? We're—we're talking."

"Hi, how was your day? Really? Brilliant, or unfortunate. Mine was alright, and now it's about to
get better." Sirius slides his hand up Remus' sweater, inwardly rejoicing at the responding shudder
that ripples through him. "There, we've talked. Let's get on with it."

"That's—oh, Christ, Sirius," Remus wheezes, his head knocking back against the wall as Sirius
latches onto that tempting spot below his jaw and sucks. Remus sinks one hand into Sirius' hair,
and Sirius hums in encouragement, resisting the urge to grin when Remus groans. "That's not what
I meant, and you know it. I—I meant really, properly talk about what we—what we should—fuck
—"

"We should fuck?" Sirius mumbles into Remus' skin, laughing gently over his stuttering pulse.
"Brilliant idea, Moony."

That slips out against Sirius' best efforts. He tries not to say it, but he finds himself doing it
compulsively. A bit like shagging Remus, really. He's a weak, weak man. He knows this.

"Not what I meant," Remus practically gasps, his voice strangled. His head falls back, and for all
his arguments, he's the one snatching Sirius closer, his grip desperate.

"You don't want me, then?" Sirius asks softly, dragging his mouth along Remus' jaw, peppering
tiny kisses as he goes. He makes it back to his mouth, hovering right in front of it, watching Remus'
face, the beauty of him in the midst of pleasure.

Remus arches against him and hoarsely whispers, "You know I do, Sirius, that's not fair."

"Then shh, sweetheart. We'll talk later," Sirius lies, gently kissing Remus once, then twice, and by
the third time, Remus is moaning in defeat and yanking him in.

Of course, when it's over and they're a messy, sweaty pile of limbs on the floor, Sirius has
absolutely no intention of talking to Remus at all. He gathers himself up and locates his discarded
clothes, practically racing to get the hell out, ignoring his own quivering body and thundering
heart.

"Sirius," Remus starts, still dazed. He falls for this every time. A part of Sirius thinks he can't help
it anymore than Sirius can help doing it in the first place.

What a pair they make.

"Sorry, I've loads to do. People to see, places to go, things other than you to waste my time on. This
was fun; be sure to lock up when you go," Sirius rambles, frantically tossing his hair into a messy
knot at the back of his head. He flips Remus off and smiles with all teeth. "Hate and darkness, my
biggest mistake, I hope you have a truly shit day."

Sirius is out the door before Remus can even find his pants, and the last thing he hears is Remus'
heavy, resigned sigh.

As soon as Dorcas answers the door, she says, "Oh, you've shagged him again. Love, Sirius
shagged him again!"

"You spineless cunt!" Marlene shouts from within the flat, and Dorcas cackles.

"Have I ever told you two just how much I hate you?" Sirius asks flatly as he shuffles inside and
makes his way immediately for the settee they have that resembles a fainting couch enough for
him to almost always dramatically fling himself down on it every time he's over. He does so now.

"Might've done," Marlene says, grinning, and she plops down in the chair across from him. "It's
just we know the truth, Black. You love us, really."

"And you love the bloke you can't stop shagging," Dorcas adds as she sweeps in the room, because
she's even more ruthless than Marlene when she wants to be. She dumps herself into Marlene's lap
and eyes him judgmentally. "Honestly, haven't you gotten tired of this yet?"

"You let Remus Lupin shag you and see if you can ever get tired of him," Sirius grumbles, then
grimaces and drapes his arm over his eyes. "Or, don't, because I'd be terribly jealous."
Marlene snorts. "Oh, you're pitiful, mate."

"I know," Sirius says sadly.

"Well," Dorcas says pointedly, "you can't do this forever. I mean, you can't honestly think this is
sustainable. It's going to crash and burn. Actually, it's already crashing and burning."

"I'm aware of that, Cas, thank you," Sirius snaps.

"If you wanted someone to coddle you, then you'd go to James or Peter," Marlene informs him.
"They'll baby you. If that's what you want, you know where to find them."

Sirius lifts his arm to glare at them. "James and Peter are lovely. You two are awful. I don't deserve
to be attacked like this." Marlene and Dorcas stare at him, unimpressed. He groans and drops his
arm again. "How is this my fault? He's shagging me, too! He could, you know, not."

"Oh, trust me, if we could get a hold of him, he'd hear it from us as well," Dorcas assures him.
"This is very unhealthy."

"Feels quite good, though." Sirius pauses, then grudgingly admits, "Well, it does in the moment, in
any case."

"Sirius."

"God, his hands, Cas. The way he—"

"Sirius."

"No, you don't understand, Marls. The sounds he makes? Fucking obscene. Especially when he—"

Dorcas leans over and lifts his arm to frown at him. She's nearly toppling out of Marlene's lap to do
it, except Marlene has her arms around her, holding her, and Dorcas is trusting Marlene to not let
her fall. Inexplicably, Sirius feels like he's about to burst into tears from the sight.
"Do you remember what you told me when Marlene and I broke up?" Dorcas asks calmly.

"That's different," Sirius mutters petulantly. "You two were still quote, friends, unquote—and you
couldn't stop going back to each other when it didn't work out with anyone else."

"Yes, exactly, because we're in love, idiot," Dorcas says, a fond smile curling her lips. "That's what
you said to me. You're in love, idiot. Might as well make the best of it. Consider yourself lucky,
Meadowes; I'd kill for a love like that, you said. Well, here we are. You didn't even have to kill
anyone."

"Don't quote me to me," Sirius says, pouting. "That's not fair. I'm the only one who makes sense."

Dorcas chuckles and drops his arm, but he doesn't cover his face. "You're in love, idiot. Might as
well make the best of it."

"Well, you know, I really can't complain," Sirius drawls, arching an eyebrow. "He does this
fantastic thing with his tongue when he's—"

"You're actively fucking this up," Marlene cuts in bluntly, and Sirius scowls at her. "No, Sirius, I'm
telling you, as your friend, that you're fucking this up. You're fucking up your own life, on purpose,
and you can't keep avoiding it. Either let yourself be happy, or commit to misery, but this in-
between isn't going to work. You can't have both, not when it comes to this."

"It's a shit balancing act," Dorcas agrees.

Marlene hooks her chin on Dorcas' shoulder and meets his gaze, her eyes steady. "And you deserve
better. I can't say if he deserves better, but you love him, yeah? If you do, then you want better for
him. I know you do."

"How long did it take for you two to get back together?" Sirius asks sharply, his words frosted over
with agitation. Dorcas and Marlene share a quick, sheepish look. "Nearly four months, wasn't it?
Right, so—respectfully? Shut the fuck up."

"That's fair," Dorcas concedes.

"We just—" Marlene halts, her lips twisting, and then she heaves a sigh. "Look, those four
months? Some of the worst of my life. I spent most of it feeling…" She swallows, and Dorcas leans
into her, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead that seems to soothe her a bit. She smiles weakly,
looking right as Sirius. "I just don't want you to feel like that, is all."

"I'm fine," is all Sirius says, and they both simply stare at him until he looks away first,
uncomfortable.

Dorcas sighs. "Right. On an entirely unrelated note, why don't I bring out the bottle so we can get
roaringly pissed and regret all of our bad decisions tomorrow?"

"Of which some of us have more than others," Marlene mutters, raising her eyebrows at Sirius.

Sirius flings his arm over his eyes again. "I'm ignoring that, McKinnon. Also, Dorcas, you're a
genius."

The next day, as Sirius drags himself back to his flat, he reevaluates and comes to the conclusion
that Dorcas is not, in fact, a genius. They'd ended up drinking quite a bit, well on into the night,
playing cards and talking about things other than the ways in which someone can fuck up their own
life. Sirius had passed out on their settee like a dramatic Victorian damsel, complete with the corset
because Dorcas had wanted him to model it, which he'd agreed to with an eagerness that lended
itself to refusing to take it off after. He may be wishing for death currently and regretting every
drop he had, but he looks absolutely fantastic while he's doing it.

When he makes it back to the flat, Sirius goes immediately to James' room and could actually cry
at the sight of Peter and James both sprawled out next to each other, each focused on the phone
Peter is holding above their heads. Sirius moves right for them, smacks the phone down
somewhere on the bed, and falls into the small space between their bodies that doesn't actually fit
him until they accommodate, which they automatically do. Because they're lovely.

"Coddle me," Sirius demands, his words muffled in the pillow he fell face down into.

"I was worried about you. Where have you been?" James 'I will mother you first, ask questions
second' Potter says, his hand gently sweeping through Sirius' hair, unraveling the loose and untidy
braid Marlene put it into last night.
"With Marls and Cas," Sirius mumbles.

"Did they get you drunk again?" Peter asks sympathetically. Sirius nods miserably into the pillow,
and Peter sighs before patting his back, rubbing small circles into it above the corset. His hand is
smaller than James', but just as comforting. "Yeah, they'll just do that like we bounce back as
quickly as them. I don't know how they do it."

"I know," Sirius groans. "Marlene had more than me, and she went for a fucking run this
morning."

"Sometimes," Peter says idly, "I'm not sure if they're human. They could be aliens. We don't
know." He pauses. "To be clear, I'd still love them if they were aliens. That'd be pretty cool,
actually. I'm just saying, we haven't any proof that they're not."

"Do we have any proof that they are?" James muses.

Peter hums. "Honestly, I think we have more evidence suggesting they are than the opposite. I
once saw Dorcas crack open a raw egg and just—swallow it."

"Is Mary an alien, do you think?" Sirius mumbles.

"This feels vaguely sexist," James says, audibly disapproving.

"Is it?" Peter asks, surprised. "I think they'd be honored to be considered not of this world. Beyond
it, even. Unless, of course, they are aliens. Then they would know we're onto them, and maybe
they'd wipe our memories or something."

Sirius grunts. "I wish they would erase my memories. I have so much I'd like to forget, starting with
how much I drank last night, and it doesn't end there."

"Oh, Padfoot," James says, "did you shag Moony again?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You shagged Moony again," Peter says with a sigh. He pats his back gently. "That's alright, mate.
Better luck next time, yeah? I believe in you."

James clears his throat. "Well, you know, maybe the solution isn't to stop shagging him. Maybe the
solution is to keep shagging him, but just—date him again? Maybe?"

"That is an option," Peter agrees.

"Just a thought," James adds mildly.

Peter coughs. "You know, if you're going to be shagging him anyway."

"This is not coddling. I do not feel properly coddled right now," Sirius complains.

James and Peter promptly coo over him, which is an improvement. They're lovely. Truly.

They fuss over him some more, even after they drag him out of bed. Peter cooks a traditional
breakfast while James makes tea, and they both send him off to shower. He doesn't feel much
better afterwards, only marginally, but Peter and James make him eat, and that helps quite a bit.

It's Peter who asks about the corset, so Sirius goes to get it to show it off, because he's absolutely
going to be incorporating it in his outfits. It's actually funny, though, the way James and Peter stand
in the middle of the room and try to figure out how to help him put it on properly. Just three idiots
with no idea what they're doing, but trying nonetheless and giggling throughout the entire process.

"Actually, this is so bloody difficult that it might just be the solution to all your problems," Peter
tells him as he steps back and squints. "I'd like to see Remus get that off easily."

"Oh, Pete, I could kiss you," Sirius breathes out, then does when Peter offers his cheek. Sirius
smacks a kiss to it with an over-the-top mwah! "This is perfect. If I can't get undressed, that knocks
down my chances of shagging him by at least five percent. Brilliant!"
James stares at him. "Only five percent?"

"Well, my cock's not in the corset, is it?" Sirius mutters.

"Someone get this man's cock a corset," Peter says, and they all howl with laughter immediately.

They go out to meet up with Mary, who drags them around to go shopping. It's something of a
tradition between the four of them since Hogwarts. On a Hogsmeade trip, Mary had found herself
quite alone when Lily dragged Marlene off to a bookshop, and she'd gone off to go looking for a
dress on her own. Sirius, James, and Peter had just so happened to be walking past with a
ridiculous amount of snacks from Honeydukes, and they'd all yelped when she'd stuck her head out
of the shop and sharply called for them to come tell her if she looked awful in orange or not. (She
didn't. Mary has never looked awful in anything, ever.)

In any case, they'd somehow ended up spending the next four hours helping her shop, and also
getting caught up in shopping for themselves, letting her help them. It's a ritual they've repeated
often through the years, one they try to do at least once every few months.

"Corsets are the new thing for you, then?" Mary asks as she dumps another bag into James' waiting
arms.

"Yeah, suppose so," Sirius admits. "They're a bit like hugs, aren't they? Very tight hugs."

Mary laughs. "Somehow, that makes sense. Come on, I know where we can get you fitted for some
more. The one you have now, is it made for you?"

"Cas made it. She's thinking about putting some in her stores for men, so she wanted me to model
it for her, just to see if she wanted to change anything," Sirius explains. It's a bit nice being Dorcas'
model, really, because he gets free clothes from a lovely fashion designer. So does Peter, Lily, and
Marlene. James, Mary, Frank, and Alice don't because they hadn't wanted—or hadn't been able—to
go to photoshoots. Dorcas has had Sirius' measurements for years, at this point.

"Brilliant!" Mary hisses in delight. "What about you, Pete? Is she making one for you?"

"God, I hope not," Peter mumbles. "But probably. She'll at least have me model it to see what
works for my body type, but it'll likely get shoved into the back of my closet and never touched
again. I value breathing."

"Weak," Sirius says, smirking.

"Normal," Peter shoots back. "Wanting to breathe is normal, Padfoot. You're just insane."

James clicks his tongue, shifting the bags in his arms. "Stop it, you two. Be nice, Wormtail. Don't
even think about it, Padfoot. I can see you thinking about tripping him up."

"Oi, I wasn't," Sirius lies, and Peter snorts under his breath. Sirius shoves him, Peter shoves him
back, and James lets out a deep sigh like a mother in desperate need of a break from her ridiculous,
troublesome children. In the end, Sirius tosses his arm around Peter's shoulders and rubs his
knuckles roughly into the top of his head while Peter squawks and squirms in his grip. They
eventually settle down when James whacks them over the head with the bags, and Mary is nearly
crying from how hard she's laughing. "Oh, you know I love you, Pete. Tell me about your
neighbor. How's that going, yeah?"

"I tried to ask her out again yesterday, and she thought I was just giving her back the post that got
mixed up," Peter says with a groan. "Maybe it's not meant to be."

"Oh, no, none of that," James declares firmly, skipping forward to whip around and walk
backwards in front of them. "I won't have it. We do not give up on love. You ask her out again,
Peter. Just knock on her bloody door and skip all the formalities. Just say it."

Peter groans louder. "I've tried."

"Have you asked her directly?" Mary asks, leaning forward from under Sirius' other arm to raise
both eyebrows at Peter in clear doubt. "Have you said, word for word, I want to go on a date with
you, would you like that, too?"

"Well...not exactly," Peter admits, his cheeks turning red. "I can't help it. She makes me bloody
nervous!"

"Ask her, Peter," Mary says firmly. "What makes you more nervous? Asking her on a date, or
never getting to date her?"
"I…" Peter bites his lip. "Alright, you have a point."

"See? Don't give up! Just keep trying, mate, and it might turn out even better than you thought it
could," James announces cheerfully, and Sirius narrows his eyes at him.

Sirius doesn't get a moment alone with James again until two hours later, long after he's gone
shopping for corsets and got fitted for two different styles. It's in the next shop when Mary drags
Peter off to go be excited over a display of flat caps, newsboy caps, ascot caps, and berets because
the two of them (and Lily) adore hats, especially of this kind.

Sirius corners James at a rack of scarves, leaning in to peer at him with keen eyes. He hums.
"You've made up with your mean barista, haven't you?"

"You know, it's scary how you do that," James mutters, heaving a sigh.

"I knew he'd forgive you," Sirius says, lips curling up. "Anyone who says someone else is the sun
would have to."

"As opposed to...I don't know, calling someone the moon?" James asks innocently.

"Don't make this about me," Sirius grumbles, crossing his arms. "So, it's a start. Did you shag
him?"

"No!" James bursts out, eyes bulging. "No, I did not."

"Alright, calm down, mate," Sirius says, chuckling, amused by James' almost violent reaction.

James licks his lips. "I—I would never, er, disrespect him, Sirius. I mean, I'm very—it's all very
respectful, is all. Nothing, um. Well, you know."

"Oh, sure it is. Because him sucking your cock while he was working was respectful. And you
gave him his first orgasm. Nothing naughty about that at all." Sirius grins, watching James squeeze
his eyes shut, looking pained. "Relax, James. Honestly, why would I care? Good on you, mate."

"I just really, really need you to know that I take very good care of him," James wheezes.

Sirius barks a laugh and waggles his eyebrows. "Oh, I bet you do."

James releases a sound that's quite close to a whimper. "No, I mean, it's all—I don't do
anything...untoward. My intentions are pure. My thoughts are—pure."

"You're a shit liar, Prongs," Sirius says, still amused, watching James try to lie to him about this,
even if there's no reason he should. Sirius is the last person who would judge him for wanting
someone else carnally. "I can look at you and tell. You have all these filthy little fantasies floating
about in that head of yours. It's alright, you know. I'm very sex-positive, and as your best mate, I
wish you all the best sex in the future."

"Oh my god." James makes a weak, muffled noise and flaps his hands. "I don't—we can't talk
about this anymore. Let's just focus on the fact that I'm happy with him."

"Yeah?" Sirius feels his face soften. "Then I'm happy it's working out for you. You deserve it."

James considers him for a moment, and Sirius knows exactly what he's going to say before he even
says it. "You deserve it, too, Sirius." Yeah, just what Sirius thought he'd say. "No, don't make that
face. I'm being—I'm not joking, alright? What you're doing now, you deserve more than that.
Remus, too."

"James," Sirius protests, his shoulders tensing.

"What would it take?" James asks bluntly, holding his gaze, not coddling him one bit. "I'm your
best mate, Sirius. If you can't tell me, who can you tell? What would it take for you to forgive him
and let both of you be happy again?"

Sirius holds his breath until his chest burns, and then it explodes out of him, and he whispers,
"Nothing. That's just it, James. It would take nothing at all."
"So, you're shagging him to distract him, then running off before you two can talk, just so you can
avoid forgiving him and being happy?" James murmurs, frowning.

"Yes, that," Sirius admits sheepishly. "The second he talks to me again, I'm going to give in. I
know I will. But how is that fair? How is that—it can't be that simple for him."

James sighs. "Do you honestly think this is simple for him? You don't think this is hurting him? He
loves you."

"He left."

"And then he came back. That's just as important, Sirius. Because now you know. He keeps
coming back. He's always coming back, isn't he? Doesn't that mean something?"

"Stop," Sirius snaps, looking away. He steps back, swallowing around the lump on his throat, then
he clears it roughly and turns around. "I'm going to look at the rings."

James surprisingly doesn't follow him, and when Sirius hesitantly checks over his shoulder, he's
distracted by his phone, thumbs flying as he types rapidly. No doubt talking to his mean barista.
Good for him.

Sirius isn't envious. He's not.

By the time they're all done, there's only a few more hours before evening. James takes off to go
see his mean barista, Mary is meeting up with Lily, and Peter leaves with all intentions of asking
his neighbor on a date. Sirius goes and sits in his silent flat, staring at a wall.

He feels it so starkly like this. Alone with his loneliness. Imprisoned with his pining. God, fuck
Remus Lupin.

But also...

"Hello?" Remus answers on the second ring when Sirius calls because he's a pathetic, pitiful, weak
man.
"Are you free?" Sirius asks.

"To shag?" Remus asks flatly, and he sounds—exhausted. He sounds very, very tired. "No,
actually, I'm not. And I won't be again, Sirius. Why don't you ring me up when you want to do
something else, like—I don't know—talk? Until then, no, I'm not free. I'll just be waiting."

Sirius closes his eyes. "Lighten up, Moony. I was just going to ask if you wanted to grab a pint."

"You want to go to a bar? With me? In public, alone, where we'd have to talk?" Remus says
sarcastically.

"Do you want to, or not?" Sirius snaps, and Remus is quiet for a long moment. Long enough for
Sirius' heart to drop and his stomach to twist. "You don't. No, you know, that's fine. It's—"

"I do," Remus cuts in, and his voice is soft. "I really do, Sirius. I'm just trying very hard not to get
my hopes up right now. It hasn't gone well for me recently, if I'm honest."

"I'm literally asking you out, you prick," Sirius hisses.

Remus chuckles weakly. "Yes, and you've been shagging me, too, but that doesn't mean things are
going well for me."

"Just be at our bar at seven," Sirius grits out. "Or don't."

He hangs up.

The worst thing about Sirius is that he genuinely marinates on the idea of just—not going. Not
showing up. Leaving Remus sitting there, waiting and waiting and waiting, but Sirius never comes.
Would Remus wait all night, until the bar closes? Sirius would. Sirius hates that he would, and
hates even more that he has no idea if Remus would. From the bottom of his heart, really and
sincerely, fuck Remus Lupin.
Sirius goes, though. Of course he does, because—

"You're a vindictive, insecure bastard, you know that?" Reggie snaps, glaring at him from across
the table.

"Oh, is that right?" Sirius asks dryly, poking lazily at his tiramisu. He bloody hates tiramisu.
"Careful, Reggie. If Mother heard you speak so foul, she'd smack you across the mouth, you
know."

Reggie's mouth twists. "This is because I suggested you shouldn't go back to Hogwarts, isn't it? I
have nearly four years before I have to think about getting married."

"I was only pointing out that letting you make a good impression on the proper families will secure
your chances of getting the perfect husband just for you," Sirius says mildly.

"You always do this," Reggie whispers. "You pretend like you're not just as terrible as the rest of
us, but you are. If you've been hurt, you can't rest until you've returned the favor."

Sirius arches an eyebrow. "Oh, is this hurting you, Reggie? Don't you want to do exactly as Mother
wants you to? Don't you want to make the family proud?"

"You know how I feel about—" Reggie's throat clicks, and then the mask is back. Icy eyes, thin lips,
guard up. Sirius always gets a sick jolt in his stomach at the sight; he can't even recognize Reggie
like this. "But that's the point, I suppose. Does it make you feel better, Sirius? Does it stop you
from hurting to hurt someone else?"

"You know," Sirius drawls, "it really does, actually."

Reggie smiles. It's thin. "Believe what you must. You and I both know it's a lie. We're good at lying,
aren't we? At least when I hurt people, I don't lie to myself about why."

"Why do you feel the need to hurt people at all?" Sirius asks.

"The same reason as you," Reggie murmurs, standing up, still holding his gaze. "They hurt me
first."

Reggie walks away, having taken not one bite of tiramisu, and Sirius can't stomach the rest of his
own. Sirius feels as if Reggie just slapped him again, because he doesn't know how he hurt Reggie
first, only that it feels as if Reggie is the one that started it. This pain they used to share, halved
and lessened, and now they turn it on each other over and over. Sirius can't find the origin, can't
figure out who hurt who first, but they're lost in the cycle of it now. Sirius doesn't know how to
stop. He wants out, but there isn't one.

He hurts, so he hurts.

"Sirius Black? As I live and breathe!"

Jolting, Sirius looks up from where he's waiting to order a drink, and then he blinks rapidly at the
sight of Benjy, who he hasn't seen in at least four years now.

"Benjy fucking Fenwick!" Sirius bursts out, a grin blooming on his face automatically. "Shit, it's
been ages."

"Hasn't it?" Benjy chuckles and claps a hand on his arm, giving him a little shake. "I recognized
you right away, I did. Still on with that hair and jacket, are you?"

"I know my strengths," Sirius says, and Benjy laughs, tossing his head back. He's always been like
this, booming laughter and broad smiles, unexpectedly outgoing for him to be a beat-by-beat cliche
for a scholar, except he's not an introvert and he's probably never experienced an awkward moment
in his entire life. Everything else, though? He's a complete swot, but in the best way. A year older
than Sirius, he'd tutored him in more ways than one on many different subjects, some most
certainly more inappropriate than others.

Benjy's eyes twinkle as he smiles at him. "It's good to see you, Sirius. Pure luck, too. I'm flying out
again tomorrow."

"Berlin, right?" Sirius checks.

"Bangkok now," Benjy says, shaking his head. "I ended up taking a transfer. Better pay. And
Bangkok is beautiful."
Sirius grins. "That's brilliant. You don't miss home?"

"Oh, London is hardly home now, really. I've been away for so long at this point." Benjy wrinkles
his nose. "Almost felt like I was a bloody tourist when I got in."

"Well, that's a load of cockwobble, Benjy, if I've ever heard it. You're no tourist. You even still
have your accent!"

"It was hanging by a thread, honestly, until I got back here. Two days, and suddenly it was like I
never left."

"Yeah, home will bring it out in you." Sirius laughs again when Benjy grins. He leans in, prepared
to lower his voice and say something ridiculous, but then… It's odd, really. The sudden awareness
prickles down his spine, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck raising. He leans back, his
breath stuttering out of him, and he doesn't know where, exactly, Remus is at the moment, but he's
here. Sirius can feel him here, watching. Feels his gaze like a tangible touch, enough to make him
want to squirm.

Benjy blinks at him. "Alright?"

"Fine," Sirius says, admittedly a little breathless. Benjy's eyebrows shoot up. "Sorry. Not you. I
mean, it's complicated. This bloke I'm shagging just showed up."

"You're not even facing the door?" Benjy replies, baffled. "You couldn't possibly have seen
someone come in. Sirius, you haven't even looked away from me."

Sirius chokes out a laugh that's almost hysterical. "Yes, I know, but he's here. He's...watching me,
somewhere."

"That's a bit creepy that you just...know that."

"I'm very aware. I also mean that literally. I'm very aware of him. It's maddening."
"Suppose I can do that with my wife, in a way," Benjy says thoughtfully. "Not so much that I know
the moment she walks into a room when I'm not even looking, but…once I know she's there, I
never lose track of her again. It's an unconscious thing that I do, I suppose."

"That's adorable," Sirius admits, face softening. "How is Gisela? Does she miss Berlin?"

Benjy hums. "Yes, but she also loves Bangkok. She's doing well. Her next book should be coming
out in July."

"Oh, lovely." Sirius perks up. "Lily's going to hit the roof. Frankly, so will I. Gisela ended the last
on a cliffhanger. That was just evil. Your wife is evil, Benjy."

"Yes, I know," Benjy says, smiling softly, absolutely besotted.

Sirius rolls his eyes fondly. "You said you were flying out tomorrow?"

"I am. It'll be unfortunately early, too, so I really shouldn't be out much later. I've a ride on the
way," Benjy admits, glancing down at his phone. "I should go meet it, actually."

"Yeah, alright, don't let me keep you." Sirius flicks his gaze over Benjy's shoulder, somehow
knowing before he even does it, and his mouth instantly goes dry. Remus is leaning against the wall
in that infuriatingly casual way of his, but his gaze is sharp, dark even from across the room. He
meets Sirius' gaze, and Sirius suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that Benjy never pulled his
hand away from his arm. The way Remus is looking at him… God, the way Remus is looking at
him—it makes Sirius' toes curl in his boots. Fucking hell.

"Christ, mate, pull yourself together," Benjy says, drawing his attention again. He looks amused.
"You look like you're about to start drooling. Or crying. I don't know which is worse."

"Listen, I'm about to do something mildly inappropriate for completely irreprehensible reasons, is
that alright?" Sirius asks, lifting his hand to cup the side of Benjy's neck.

Benjy sighs. "You and your schemes, Sirius Black. Gisela is going to love this. Not even twenty
minutes into seeing you again after four years, and you're planning something."
"Benjy, he looks like he wants to eat me," Sirius says, looking at him with his bottom lip caught
between his teeth. "Please?"

"Jealous bloke?"

"Apparently. This is new information. I would very much like to exploit it. Come on, mate, help
me out. I'll owe you."

"Oh, alright." Benjy rolls his eyes. "Just don't get me into a brawl. I really don't have the time."

Sirius allows a slow grin to spread across his face, and then he steps in and wraps his arms around
Benjy easily, one hand slipping up to his hair as he turns his head to put his mouth next to Benjy's
ear. He catches Remus' gaze and feels it sear through him, burning hot, making his heart race. Still
looking at him, he whispers, "Oh, now he looks like he wants to eat me and kill me. This is going
to be a very good night for me."

"You're ridiculous," Benjy says with a chuckle.

"I'm in love with him," Sirius breathes out, and Benjy jolts against him in surprise, clearly not
expecting that.

"Well, that's lovely, isn't it? How's it going?"

"At the moment? It's looking up."

Benjy snorts. "Yeah? Well, get off me and go get him."

"Yeah," Sirius murmurs, gaze locked with Remus' as he drags the tip of his nose along the shell of
Benjy's ear. "Might just do that, actually. Give us a kiss before you go, yeah? Not the mouth. He
might—well, I don't know, but I'm very sure neither of us want to find out."

"Gisela is going to laugh about this for ages," Benjy complains, but he's laughing a little bit
himself, and he does pull back to press a warm kiss to Sirius' cheek that Sirius barely feels. He's a
little busy feeling like his whole body is on fire just because of how Remus is looking at him. "I'm
off now. Good luck, and I wish you the best with him."

"Thanks, Benjy," Sirius croaks. "I'll walk you to the door."

Sirius does just that, in fact, leaning against Benjy's side the whole way, and Benjy is just as
mischievous as him because he keeps his hand on Sirius' lower back until they break apart. Sirius
leans out the door and grins at him, exhilarated, and Benjy laughs as he slips into his ride.

Taking a deep breath, Sirius turns back around and winds his way right over to Remus, who hasn't
looked away from him once the entire time. As Sirius draws closer, he can see how tense Remus is,
stiff, coiled tight. His jaw is clenched.

"Is that why you invited me out tonight?" Remus asks, and his voice is so harsh that Sirius feels
goosebumps break out all over his body. "Are you trying to—what? Sirius, what are you trying to
do? What was the fucking point—"

"I never took you for the jealous type, Moony," Sirius muses, struggling not to grin, feeling a zing
of excitement skitter down his spine. He wants to wriggle around, ridiculous as that may be. He
wants Remus to touch him.

Remus narrows his eyes. "Oh, I'll just go find someone to entertain myself with tonight, shall I? Is
that really what you want to happen, Sirius? Because I can."

Sirius has never lost a smile so fast in his life. "You better fucking not," he snaps, and it's so sharp
that it startles even him a bit, but not enough to temper the surge of pure rage in his chest at the
thought of Remus with anyone else. A rising beat of possessiveness burns hot under his skin like an
itch of mine, mine, mine. Remus is his. He just—is.

"I never took you for the jealous type, Padfoot," Remus mocks.

"Well, we're just learning a lot of things about each other tonight, aren't we?" Sirius bites out.

Remus arches an eyebrow. "Apparently so. And, apparently, you felt the need to invite me here
to...what, make me jealous?"
"No, that was just pure luck, really," Sirius says, and Remus' nostrils flare in anger, eyes blazing.
Honestly? Sirius fucking shivers. "Moony. Moony, you're really—this is really doing it for me,
actually, so could we—"

"I'm not shagging you," Remus hisses. "No. Absolutely not."

Sirius bites his lip and gazes at him, imploring, barely able to stand still. Remus holds his ground,
and then Sirius clears his throat and mumbles, "Well, I could always follow him and—"

Remus has him in the stall in the loo in less than five minutes, and god, Sirius loves him so much.

Fuck Remus Lupin? Why yes, exactly that.

"I can't do this anymore," Remus says softly when they're both sitting on the admittedly grimey
floor, their backs against the wall, finally catching their breath. "I can't keep doing this with you,
Sirius."

"But you will," Sirius murmurs.

"But I will," Remus agrees, resigned. His head hits the wall with a dull thunk. "I'm in love with
you, so I will. What else can I do? I'd have you any way you'd let me."

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, because he can't look at him, can't see him or anything, when he
rasps, "I hurt, so I hurt. I do it like it's going to make me feel better, but it doesn't. I don't feel better.
I just feel worse, and it's like a punishment for letting myself get hurt in the first place."

"You didn't let me hurt you, Sirius. It's not something you should expect and always be on guard
for," Remus murmurs, his voice careful like this is too fragile for him to speak at regular volume.
"It's something I did to you, and it was wrong, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You can't—please, Remus, please don't—" Sirius' words choke off, and he ducks his head, his
eyes stinging even though they're still closed.

"Sirius," Remus whispers, his hand gingerly landing on top of Sirius', fingers curling in between the
slack spaces left open.

Sirius swallows convulsively and clings to Remus' hand as he lifts his head and opens his eyes, not
even surprised to find his vision blurry with tears. Even the cloudy watercolor of Remus is
breathtaking. "Don't do it again, or I really will kill you."

"Okay," Remus says with a choked laugh, and his free hand lifts to cup Sirius' cheek, thumbing
away tears as gently as if they're crystals. "I'll always come back, do you know that? No matter
where I go, I'm always coming back to you."

"Even when maybe you shouldn't," Sirius can't help but point out, because Remus has made that
clear by now.

Remus hums. "I couldn't help it. I tried so bloody hard, but I just don't know how to leave you
alone."

"This is an ideal trait in the love of my life," Sirius mumbles, leaning over into him.

"Is that what I am?" Remus asks thickly.

Sirius pauses, then tips his face over into Remus' palm, his eyelids drooping as he relaxes. So much
tension seeps out of him so suddenly that he almost starts crying again, because he feels lighter
than he has his whole life. "You're my Moony. I'm quite sure you're the love of all my lives, all the
ones before, and all the ones after. And this one. Definitely this one."

"I'll come to you in the next, too," Remus assures him.

"I miss you," Sirius confesses.

Remus tips his head forward and presses his forehead into Sirius'. "I'm here. I'm right here."

Sirius tips his head up to kiss him soft and slow and sweet, as if to make sure, and he is. He's here.
 He's right here.

Chapter End Notes

Pandora, Peter, Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas my beloveds <3

Also, not James Potter being the most romantic fucker on the planet pls I'm in
love with him

Meanwhile, Remus, the man with NO resolve when it comes to Sirius Black
whatsoever.

Sirius and Regulus have so many issues, I love those mentally ill bitches ❤

Edit: oh yeah, see you all on Friday :D

Edit, AGAIN (because I'm a mess of a human being): I keep meaning to tell you to
come check me out on Tumblr and interact with me if you like. I randomly post things
about this fic. My url is: regulusbrainrot
 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes

heyohhh, it's friday!!! :)

Warnings for this chapter: some spice as always, it's not explicit, only referenced
and implied with maybe a few heated moments that make it pretty clear that things
are...well, spicy. for those of you who do not like heavy smut, which is perfectly valid,
be assured that there are no descriptions of things going into places. also, there's a brief
mention of top surgery and a brief discussion of...nipples (you'll, uh, see when you get
there). third warning: there's a brief reference to a scene in a movie in which someone
murders someone else and gets covered in blood (it's like, the characters are watching
the movie and briefly talk about it) and there's a mention of blood, stabbing, and death
—surprisingly lighthearted, considering the topic.

with that being said, go forth and enjoy! :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James loves it when a plan comes together.

Does he perhaps have some lingering guilt about hiding the fact that he's dating his best friend's
brother, from both the brother and the best friend? Well, yes, but it's an improvement from the guilt
he had when he attempted to stop. Maybe, in a year's time, or two, or...five, this will all be one big
joke that they all laugh about together, because one day, one day, there will be no lies and no hurt
between any of them.

Today is not that day, however, but that doesn't mean it can't be a good day regardless. It has been
so far. He came in this morning early and was actually permitted entry into the shop before they
opened, and he spent almost half an hour bickering with Regulus about his new pattern to ordering
pastries (he insists it's even more spontaneous like this, while Regulus finds it ridiculous because
he claims he's essentially just choosing what James will order for him, but James is perfectly fine
with that, actually), and Regulus had made him his coffee just as he likes without pretending he
didn't know, and then Regulus agreed to let him come to his flat for the first time in the nine days
since they...got back together?

Alright, so James is a little unclear on that part, but you know what? He's being optimistic about it.
He's more than willing to take it slow and let Regulus steer this ship.

"Do you know what I really miss?" Regulus muses from where he's curled up on the sofa, his
socked feet tucked under James' thigh. There's a book with a ridiculous amount of colorful tape and
different annotations (which James finds adorable) sitting closed on his knee. He has a wistful
expression on his face.

James tips his head over on the sofa and gazes at him, a fond curl of warmth in his chest. "No.
What do you miss?"

"Pineapples from the Lost Gardens of Heligan," Regulus says with a soft sigh. "£1000 for just one,
you know, but god are they worth it. I haven't had one since I was eighteen."

"You ate pineapples that were worth £1000?" James asks, his eyebrows flying up, then he blinks.
Wait, of course Regulus did. He was rich. James almost forgot, but he'd know, wouldn't he? After
all, Sirius came from a very wealthy family, so Regulus did as well. "You were rich!"

Faintly amused, Regulus glances over at him. "I was, yeah."

"And now you're not," James concludes as soon as he realizes it. He stares at Regulus in surprise.

"Not so much, no. Comparatively, I've gone from riches to rags, which is—I can assure you—less
fun than the more glorified inverse of that trope," Regulus says dryly. "I wouldn't say I'm poor,
exactly. I do alright for myself. I'm certainly doing a lot better than I was when I first left home."

"When you first left home…" James swallows, an anxious knot tightening in his stomach. "I take it
your mother didn't send you off with the proper funds."

"Mm, no, she did not." Regulus, shockingly enough, looks amused by the thought. "I didn't leave
with nothing, of course. I planned it properly."

"You saved up, then?"

"Hm? Oh, no, I stole it."

James' eyes bulge. "You stole from your mother?"

"What? No, of course not. She would have killed me." Regulus wrinkles his nose, grimacing, then
his face relaxes into a genuine smile. "No, I stole from my brother."

"You what?!" James chokes out, jerking up straight as he gapes at Regulus in pure disbelief. "You
—why would you—"

"Trust me, it's nothing he didn't deserve," Regulus says sharply, and James has to physically bite
his tongue to keep from instinctively defending Sirius as he wants to. "Our Uncle Alphard had
recently passed away before I ran off, and he left a lot of money to my brother. Always liked him
best. He was a paranoid bastard, though, and he was worried Mother would find a way to keep the
money for herself; I have no idea if she actually managed to, or even tried."

James once again has to press his lips firmly together to stop from telling him that no, no, she did
not. Sirius did, in fact, inherit the money and was actually quite saddened to hear about his uncle's
death, as he was one of the few in that family that Sirius didn't wholeheartedly despise.

"In any case, Uncle Alphard had left a sort of...treasure hunt, I suppose you could call it." Regulus'
face does something strange. "He was always a bit different, our uncle. It worked out well for me,
at least. I found the physical money and took that for myself. It wasn't even a quarter of what my
brother got, but it gave me something to start with."

"So, you weren't… I mean, you were well off enough to at least get a nice flat," James murmurs,
glancing around, genuinely uncomfortable by the thought that he wasn't. It's so starkly different
from what Sirius had when he ran away. Sirius had James. Sirius had a home waiting for him.

Regulus shakes his head and swivels his finger. "Oh, this? No. I've only had this flat for two and
half years. Before that, I lived in a one room flat about the size of my pantry and survived mostly
on pot noodles."

"But...you stole money," James says weakly, stricken.

"Yes, and almost immediately spent it to have my tits cut off," Regulus informs him bluntly, and
James blinks rapidly, his mouth falling open. "Top surgery is expensive, you know."

"You had your tits cut off," James repeats, his voice blank with shock, and he doesn't even know
why. He's had Regulus' chest pressed up against his and can attest to the lack of tits.
"James," Regulus says, amused, "did you forget I had tits?"

James coughs. "Might've done. Sorry."

"It's alright. I hated them anyway." Regulus wrinkles his nose, then narrows his eyes when James
tucks his lips in, once again stopping himself from saying something. A tiny smile flirts with the
corner of Regulus' lips. "You want to ask something about my tits, don't you?"

"Desperately," James admits.

"Go on, then," Regulus prompts, his lips twitching up even further, a glimmer of humor in his
eyes.

"Did it hurt?" James blurts out.

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "You're asking if it hurt to get top surgery? Really?"

"But you…" James shifts restlessly, and his heart has fallen to the pit of his stomach, leaving him
despaired. "You did it alone, Regulus. Didn't you? Did you have...anyone?"

"No, I didn't have anyone," Regulus says softly, looking away, his fingers tapping mindlessly
against his closed book. He sighs heavily. "I did it alone, yes, and let me tell you, it was bloody
difficult. It still—it made me really happy, despite that. I never regretted it, no matter how hard it
was."

"Were you afraid?" James whispers.

"Honestly, the only thing that scared me was the idea of something going wrong." Regulus frowns
down at his hand on his book, deliberately lying his fingers flat to stop the tapping he was
unconsciously doing. "In surgery, I mean. I put my brother down as my emergency contact because
I—I didn't know who else I could list. I hadn't met Remus yet. I was terrified that they'd call him
for something and he'd find out."

James reaches down and puts his hand gently on Regulus' ankle, stroking the knobbly bone.
"Surely he would have supported you. I mean...he's your brother, Regulus."

"At that point, I hadn't seen or heard from him in three years, or reached out to him, and I had no
desire for that to change. It's been eight now, and I still don't." Regulus gives a lazy shrug, staring
blankly at his book. "Anyway, I spent nearly all the funds I had on transitioning. I was actually
quite lucky, you know. Not a lot of trans people have that privilege. I don't regret any part of it, and
I'm grateful I could do it."

"Do they—do they really just…?" James helplessly makes an odd gesture, sort of swiping a free
hand down his chest. "Do they, you know, actually cut them off?"

Regulus looks over at him, amused again. "Well, it's usually a procedure that last three to four
hours, and they remove the nipples to—"

"They remove your nipples?!" James squawks, eyes growing twice in size, and Regulus laughs
softly. "Are you taking the piss? Like, they actually cut your fucking nipples off? Your nipples are
removed from your body and—and just, what? What do they even do with them?"

"Fortunately, they do put them back," Regulus says dryly.

"What if they mix them up?"

"James."

"No, honestly, your nipples could be backwards. How would you know? I need to know. This is
important information to me; I'll go mad not knowing," James continues, little chuckles spilling out
of him as Regulus laughs harder and harder, curling into himself further, shaking with it.

"S-Stop it," Regulus chokes out, still losing it until he's breathless, his hand against his chest.

James' face hurts from where he's grinning so hard. "That would have been my first concern when I
woke up. Excuse me, doctor, did you put my nipples back properly?"

That sets Regulus off all over again until he buries his face into the crook of his elbow, practically
wheezing.

"I—I can assure you—" Regulus has to pause and clear his throat, more laughter humming in his
tone. He turns his head and coughs. "I can assure you, James, that my nipples are perfectly
normal."

"I'd love you even if they weren't," James assures him distractedly, focused on fumbling for his
cell, immediately going to Google. "However, I need to know if there's ever been a case where
someone had their nipples put on backwards. It's a must, Regulus. And, really, I should just—know
more about all of this. I can't expect you to tell me everything."

James does, in fact, go searching to find out about the nipple situation, and the first thing he finds
is a case of someone who had their nipples pierced before surgery, and after, one of the piercings
was lopsided when they healed enough to put it back in. Fortunately, the patient found it amusing
and refused to get it pierced again, leaving it just as it was.

"Oh my god, look at this," James says, scooting over to show Regulus his cell. When he looks up,
Regulus is staring at him, but he does reach out to take the phone and slowly focus on the screen.
As he reads, he releases a chuckle. "I don't think I'd get it pierced again either. That's too brilliant."

"You're ridiculous," Regulus murmurs, glancing at him with a small smile as he passes the phone
back over. James starts to reply, but before he can, Regulus is leaning in to kiss him.

James makes a muffled sound of surprise, his eyebrows jumping as he instantly, automatically
curls into the kiss. It's a rather fierce one, and unexpected, but James is absolutely not complaining.
Regulus' hand cups his cheek, and James drops his phone, and the kiss deepens with slow
intensity.

It makes James' head spin, the swirl of sensation swelling and dragging him under until he's lost in
it. Lost in the warmth of Regulus' mouth, the pressure of his lips, the gentle catch of teeth because
Regulus always has a bit of bite to him that hooks James' navel and tugs, making him itch to be
closer, always wanting to be closer. And oh, oh, James does have impure thoughts about this man,
impure intentions that Sirius must never, ever find out about, but he can't help it. He genuinely
can't, because Regulus is so lovely, so very tempting, and James desperately aches for whatever he
can have.

"What—what was that for?" James croaks as soon as Regulus breaks away, and then Regulus
kisses him again, quick and soft, before backing off entirely.
Regulus just smiles and locates his cell in between the cushions, holding it out. "Because I wanted
to. Go on, you were researching, weren't you?"

"Right, yeah," James mumbles, dazed.

"Just you wait. If the nipples shocked you, well…" Regulus shakes his head, lips twitching.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," James says with unearned confidence, jumping back into Google again. Not
even five minutes later, he's gasping. "Oh my god, Regulus!"

"Hm?" Regulus, who had picked up his book, glances up with amusement. "What is it?"

James stares at him with wide eyes. "You said you didn't have a cock!"

"I don't exactly have a traditional one. It's growth from the testosterone, James." Regulus pauses,
looking briefly thoughtful, then he hums. "Well, I do have a cock. It's in my bottom nightstand
drawer."

"You—what?" James blinks at him.

"Actually, I have a few. Size options, you know."

"I...do not know."

Regulus chuckles and focuses on his book. "Keep researching, James."

James does just that, learning quite a bit, and about twenty minutes later, he makes an inquisitive
noise. "Oh, but you could get a cock. I mean, surgically." He tilts his head as he reads on. "Bloody
hell, this is brilliant. Just, even from a medical standpoint, but also for those that want to do it. Bit
of a process, though. The first time for a trans man was in 1959, but they were doing it in the 1930s
after World War II for, I imagine, soldiers who were injured and in need of it."
"Yeah?" Regulus asks idly, sounding bored.

"You didn't know?" James murmurs, looking up.

"No." Regulus glances at him, arching an eyebrow. "Just because I'm trans doesn't mean I know
everything there is to know, James."

"Yeah, alright, that makes sense." James raises his eyebrows at him. "You didn't want to do that,
then?"

"No," Regulus says. "I never felt the need, and I rather like the cock I do have. Also, I quite enjoy
getting fucked."

James drops his phone again, flustered in an instant, and Regulus watches him fumble and
repeatedly clear his throat with a small, hidden smile at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah. Right, of
course. Makes sense. That's—that—yeah, alright."

"Oh, don't go getting any ideas," Regulus tells him, clearly enjoying himself. "You have to earn
that. If anyone's getting shagged first between us, it's you."

"I—sorry?" James blurts out, his eyes simply just about to roll right out of his head. He's choking
on air. "I am? I—what?"

Regulus considers him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing. He slowly tilts his head. "James,
have you never…?"

"I've—I mean, with Lily, and then I tried—well, after her, I dated around a bit, men and women.
But I've never shagged a man, no. Well, what I did with you, but not anything further than that,"
James admits slowly, and Regulus just stares at him. There's a long beat of silence, one so long that
James awkwardly fiddles with his shirt, a sense of anxiety crawling through him. "Is that—does
that...change anything?"

"It does, a bit, but only from the shagging angle. Not how I feel about you," Regulus says, closing
his book with a snap and standing up. He holds out his hand. "Well, come on, then."
"Come…? What, now?" James wheezes.

"If you don't want to, we won't," Regulus informs him simply, no judgement at all.

James, being James, doesn't even really stop to consider it; he just dives in. Heart racing, he slips
his hand into Regulus' and stumbles after him to his room, feeling a bit in over his head and still
unwilling to back down.

"Is it going to hurt?" James asks, and he's mostly just curious about it, if he's honest. He knows the
logistics; he has access to the internet and happens to fancy men, so of course he does. But, even if
he didn't, he lives with Sirius. There's no shame between them, honestly, and Sirius has never felt
the need to spare any details about such things.

"I'll take care of you," Regulus says, and he sounds so sure that James finds that it'd be impossible
to doubt him. "I know what I'm doing, and I know how to make it good." He drops James' hand
and goes over the crouch down by his nightstand. "Of course, you might just not like it. Some
people don't, which is fine. If you want to stop, we'll stop."

"Right," James mumbles.

Regulus cranes his head and narrows his eyes. "I mean it, James. If you don't like it, you need to
tell me. I know you're a people-pleaser by nature, but this isn't a situation where you should care
about my desires above your own. To be clear, it would please me more if you were honest about
what you want, rather than doing something just because you think it's what I want. Do you
understand?"

"Yeah, I do," James says quickly, bobbing his head.

"Hm." Regulus eyes him for a moment longer, as if checking for authenticity, then he swivels back
around to start digging through his drawer.

James shuffles closer to peer down in it over Regulus' ducked head, and he huffs out an incredulous
laugh. "Oh, you weren't joking about size choices."

"I never joke about size choices."

"Wait, so do I get to choose?"

"You'd choose the largest," Regulus says.

"Should I...not?" James reaches up to readjust his glasses, leaning forward curiously to...well,
peek.

Regulus tilts his head back to raise his eyebrows at him. "For your first time? I'd recommend
against it."

"Is it impossible?"

"James."

"What? I could handle it," James insists, his unearned confidence back for another visit.

"James."

"I could!"

"Really?" Regulus challenges, turning to sift through his drawer and, a moment later, drop
something heavy on his bed, swiveling around to look at James again.

James stares. "That...is a very big cock."

"Thank you," Regulus says.

"You know...maybe…" James coughs and scrunches his face as he lifts his hand to scratch at the
side of his neck with one finger. His stomach fully tilts just at the thought of...that. He's tempted to
take a step back, actually. "I could, of course, but I wouldn't want to pressure you. Do what you
think is best."
"Oh, you don't want to pressure me, is that it?"

"Exactly. Obviously I—could."

"Mhm."

"But you seemed so against it and all."

"Right."

"So I'm respecting your choices."

"Are you?" Regulus asks, lips puckering slightly like he's fighting valiantly not to laugh at him.

James nods, clearing his throat. "Absolutely. So, you know, I'll just let you decide, even though I
could handle it."

"Of course." Regulus laughs under his breath and casually returns some of the air back to James'
lungs by switching a different one from the drawer with the one on the bed. This one is less
intimidating. "Might be best to start here."

"Sure, Regulus, whatever you say," James says and hopes that he doesn't sound as relieved as he
feels.

As Regulus stands back up, he holds out his hand once more and smiles. "Don't worry about that
now, yeah? You need to be relaxed. I've a few ideas about how to help you with that."

"Oh?" James breathes, slipping his hand into Regulus' again, finding it so easy to do, and Regulus
tugs him to the bed.

Less than an hour later, James is staring at the ceiling without really seeing anything because
Regulus had asked, then gently tugged his glasses off his face and sat them on the bedside table,
folded nice and neat. He's in no state of mind to grab them, and frankly, he doesn't even want to see
at the moment. Currently, he's on his back beside Regulus with his head resting in the crook of
Regulus' arm and shoulder, and Regulus is calmly, repeatedly dragging his fingers through James'
hair.

His ears are ringing. His brain is all fuzzy. He thinks, suddenly, about all the times that he'd heard
Sirius and his boyfriend—Remus, he now knows—get particularly loud through the walls of the
flat, or watched Sirius come stumbling out after things finally got quiet, sometimes in search of
something to eat or something to snack on, and he'd have this dazed look on his face like he just got
his entire world turned upside down. He thinks, also, about how Sirius repeatedly could not stop
himself from shagging Remus, back when things were awful for all of them. James comes to the
swift and only correct conclusion that he gets it, because if whatever they're doing is half as good
as what just happened to him...

Yeah, he gets it.

When James thought about sex with Regulus—because he has thought about it, for all that he is
willing to swear by the opposite when speaking to Sirius—he never quite imagined this. (Mostly
because he wasn't aware it was an option.) In fact, all of his thoughts paled in comparison, barely
even getting this far at all, and in the rare times they did, he was always the one doing the
shagging, just because… Well, honestly, he's not sure why; likely because he's never been shagged
before, and the unknown is hard to imagine.

In any case, James has learned quite a lot today. For one thing, sex has always been fun for him. He
likes to feel good; he especially likes for others to feel good. So, sex? He's very much in favor. It's
always been a happy, blissful experience for him, loose and relaxed, giggles and grins and satisfied
bodies at ease with the world and each other.

That's not to say it wasn't that with Regulus, not at all, because it was. But it was also...intimate.
Very, very intimate. James didn't know that there was a level of intimacy that high, not expecting to
feel so—connected to someone else, unaware that he could feel that way. There's a vulnerability in
it, an amount of trust required that he's sure most people don't feel as starkly as him, but he felt it
like a second skin, like a pulse in his fingertips where they ran over Regulus' body with a reverence
he couldn't fake. He'd been honest; naked and honest and stripped bare; laid out with every part of
him left open to be studied. Regulus didn't have to take care of what he saw, but he did. He really,
really did.

James felt—still feels—safe. Cherished. Wanted. He also feels inexplicably spoiled, just from the
way Regulus made sure everything was good for him (really good), practically raining pleasure
down on him from beginning to end. It was intense at times, nearly overwhelming at others, but
James loved it. Swaddled in Regulus' storm, there wasn't one moment that James wasn't very
delighted by the turn his day had taken.

Slowly, James turns his head, only just able to make out the lines on Regulus' chest, scars that
James recalls, at one point, pressing gentle kisses to. It's a bit fuzzy now, because James has truly
awful vision, but he recalls the shape of them. He'd traced them with careful fingers, all too aware
of what struggles Regulus must have faced to have the scars at all. Regulus deserves to be proud of
them, honestly, for fighting for them, for fighting for himself—but he'd only rolled his eyes and
seemed entirely uninterested in being soppy about it.

"Regulus?" James murmurs.

"Yes, James?" Regulus replies, satisfied like the cat that caught the canary.

"Does this mean I'm still your boyfriend?" James asks, tipping his head back to blink at Regulus,
who stares at him, then abruptly starts laughing.

Regulus laughs so hard, in fact, that he tips his head down and buries it in James' hair, his hand
braced on James' head. He shakes with it, shaking James up as well, and James can't help but laugh
with him. When Regulus calms, he lifts his head and says, "I would bloody hope so, James, yeah."

"Oh. Brilliant. You never really said, is all, and I wasn't quite sure after...you know," James
admits.

"Ridiculous," Regulus says fondly, wriggling down to drop a kiss off on James' mouth, then
another, and another.

"You know," James whispers, grinning, "you really do have perfectly normal nipples," and Regulus
starts laughing again, pulling him closer, holding onto him.

James tucks himself against Regulus, smiling helplessly, and thinks it has been a very good day,
indeed.

He truly does love it when a plan has come together.

Remus sighs in exasperation as Sirius tilts the book towards him to narrow his eyes at the page. His
gaze scans it quickly, then his eyebrows furrow. Cautiously, he peeks at Remus and tentatively tugs
on the book; he has learned by now that Remus does not play about his books. Regardless, Remus
does relinquish his grip, letting Sirius take the book gingerly into his own hands, glancing at the
front.

"Oscar Wilde," Sirius murmurs. "Always did like him."

"That's frighteningly appropriate," Remus notes, lips curling up when Sirius chuckles. "Have you
read this one?"

"Yeah, I have." Sirius opens the book up again and flips carefully through the pages, pausing
where Remus has left tape next to quotes and passages he likes. "Don't laugh, but I saw the movie
first, so that's why I read the book. I admit, I was a little charmed."

Remus' eyebrows raise. "By...the story?"

"It resonated," is all Sirius says, his voice quieter, and he doesn't look away from the book. "Every
portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter."

"You like Basil, then?" Remus asks.

Sirius looks over at him and says, "Mm, I related to some things he said as an artist myself. You
know who I didn't like? Fucking Dorian Gray."

"Really? Why is that?" Remus says, watching him curiously. He wishes he could step into Sirius'
mind sometimes and just walk through it, brushing his hands along the curtains, walking his
fingers along the books on their shelves, slipping the key into the locked door he lets no one enter.

"I think most people assume Dorian was innocent in the beginning; easily influenced; malleable;
persuaded by Lord Henry," Sirius murmurs, gaze turning back to the book. He shakes his head
slowly. "He was nïave, perhaps, but he wasn't driven to madness. He had it within him the entire
time; he just let it out." He drags his finger gently down the open page, frowning. "Dorian knew.
He was disastrous long before he ever ruined the people around him, or else he would have never
ruined the people around him."
Remus blinks. "What a limiting thing to say. Don't you believe in the difference between what
people do and who they are?"

"Aren't the things we do a reflection of who we are?" Sirius asks, thumbing gently at the corner of
a page. "Dorian killed Sybil and Basil. Does that not make him a murderer?"

"Well, yes, but he was more than just the things he did."

"Tell that to Sybil and Basil."

"That's incredibly small-minded, Sirius," Remus insists, getting unexpectedly heated about this.
"You can't honestly be suggesting that there were no outside influences involved in shaping Dorian
Gray into who he became."

Sirius' mouth pinches, and then he runs his finger down the page and clears his throat. "He felt that
the time had really come for making his choice. Or had his choice already been made? Yes, life
had decided that for him – life, and his own infinite curiosity about life. Eternal youth, infinite
passion, pleasures subtle and secret, wild joys and wilder sins – he was to have all these things.
The portrait was to bear the burden of his shame: that was all."

"That's—I mean—" Remus huffs. "He was young and innocent and corrupted. You can't honestly
read the beginning and not wish to protect him! You think he was damned, then?"

"I think he damned himself."

"With help, and—"

"Remus."

"No, shut up. I won't stand for Dorian Gray slander. There was always that part of him that still
wanted to be good, still hoped for redemption, still constantly worried for his own soul."
"Remus," Sirius repeats, lips twitching, "do you have a crush on Dorian Gray?"

"Piss off," Remus mutters.

"You do," Sirius says, laughing. "Oh my god, Moony—"

"Shut up, Sirius. I'm not joking," Remus hisses, reaching out to try and swipe the book back, but
Sirius jerks it out of the way.

"Ah, ah," Sirius teases, his eyes sparkling. He tucks the book closer to himself and flicks through
some pages, grinning when he comes to a stop. "You read this and came away fancying the fool.
That's adorable."

"He wasn't—what did I just say about the slander?" Remus protests in genuine offense.

"He was a fool," Sirius insists, "and he was something far more sinister. Even Basil could see
where he was going wrong. It's about choices, Moony, and Dorian Gray made his own. He made
them, and he took no responsibility for them. Really, at the root of it, he saw his chance to burden a
painting with the repercussions of his own choices, thinking he'd be free from it, only to have to
actively watch the effect they had on his soul. He tried to hide from the worst of himself, but he
couldn't."

"You know, that's enough out of you, I think," Remus challenges, narrowing his eyes.

"You're blinded by fancying him, but honestly? Dorian Gray was a shit person," Sirius informs him
bluntly. "Come on, Remus, you're fully capable of thinking critically and rationally, so how haven't
you come to this conclusion yet?"

"First of all, I'm not ignoring his faults," Remus grumbles, rolling his eyes. "It's just, Dorian Gray
was the first character I ever felt was real, I suppose. The message in his story got to me. The
effects of society and the internal battle with the worst and best parts of yourself. Is being bad only
bad because someone decides it's bad, or do you decide yourself? How many choices are just
mistakes you make on purpose, and do you deserve to be forgiven for them? Is pleasure in itself
wrong, and if so, why? He was selfish and vain and, yes, awful at times, but he was also… He
suffered. He was afraid of the worst parts of himself to the point that he locked them away and
tried to separate himself from them. If only he'd… It's that, really. If only. What if? What could
have been. Dorian Gray was so human, to me. I wanted… I wanted better for him."
"Even with the things he did?" Sirius asks.

Remus leans in closer, studying Sirius from inches away, gaze flicking over Sirius' features. "If we
were only the things we do, then I would be nothing. How can I look at someone who is so
desperate for everything and not wish that it hadn't ruined them to go after it? I want everything,
too."

"You could never be nothing, Remus," Sirius whispers. "You'd be the moon, because the world
wouldn't know what to do without you, and neither would I."

A breath passes between them, and then Remus snatches the book out of Sirius' hands and drops it
carelessly to the floor, pushing himself into Sirius' space to snog him half to death. Almost quite
literally, because he barely lets Sirius get in a breath before he's diving right back in. He all but
scrambles into Sirius lap and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him some more, until he's
dizzy with it.

"You would outshine Dorian Gray the moment you stepped into any room," Remus breathes out,
rocking back to drag his fingers through Sirius' hair.

"Does this make you Basil?" Sirius asks, grinning.

"Basil was the fool," Remus says. "That's the worst part."

Sirius tips his head back, humming quietly as he runs his hands down Remus' arms. "You don't
think you're a fool to love me?"

"Well, do you have a painting containing your soul locked away somewhere, displaying all your
sins?" Remus teases and is surprised by the way Sirius' face twitches.

"Not exactly," Sirius says.

Remus raises his eyebrows. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I suppose you could say that my art contains pieces of me, in a way," Sirius tells him slowly,
thoughtfully. "Not necessarily the worst parts, or the best. Just...me. Hold on." Sirius circles an arm
around his waist to dip forward, holding Remus steady and ignoring his huff of surprise, a
borderline yelp, as he dips him backwards to fumble for the book. Once he leans back, he opens it
to the first pages. "Right, this here."

"What?" Remus asks, peering down to try and see, but Sirius tilts the book away and pointedly
clears his throat. Remus' lips twitch, and he inclines his head in acceptance.

"Because, without intending it," Sirius reads, "I have put into it some expression of all this curious
artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have never cared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it.
He shall never know anything about it. But the world might guess it, and I will not bare my soul to
their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their microscope. There is too much
of myself in the thing, Harry—too much of myself."

"What does that—"

"Hold on, I'm not finished."

"Oh," Remus says. "Alright, go on."

Sirius hums and continues, "An artist should create beautiful things, but should put nothing of his
own life into them. We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of
autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. Someday I will show the world what it
is; and for that reason the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray.”

"God, Basil was gone on him," Remus mumbles mournfully, shaking his head. "That's so sad."

"Moony, ignore the romance bits for a moment, you soppy thing," Sirius says, chuckling. "My
point is, I don't agree with Basil on this, and I also—get what he's saying. Ignoring the fact that
he's in love with Dorian, just his view of what art should be in general is what I don't agree with.
For me, it is a bit like an autobiography. I—I do put parts of myself in what I create, not because I
find them beautiful, but because I don't, and I hope that someone else will."

Remus wrenches back a little bit and stares at him, startled. He's genuinely surprised by the fact
that Sirius has shared this at all, but even more so by what he's shared. It starts to click in his mind,
then, that Sirius views himself...harshly. Remus has been aware of that, sure, but not to this extent.
Suddenly, Remus thinks Sirius dislikes Dorian Gray so much because he fears that they're similar.
A man with his soul in art; a man with a soul that's tainted.

"Sirius," Remus says softly, stricken.

"In any case," Sirius continues quickly, not quite looking him in the eye, "I also do understand
what Basil means in relation to...well, being in love. Like, the drawing of you… That's—I would
never let anyone see that. I was scared for you to see it, really, because he's right. Basil is right.
Look, see…"

Remus stares at him as he dips his head to find the passage he wants to read next. His heart is
clenching and swelling in intervals in his chest.

"How often do you see him? Every day. I couldn’t be happy if I didn’t see him every day. He is
absolutely necessary to me," Sirius reads, briefly glancing up to look at him, his cheeks flushing
before he looks down again, clearing his throat. "And then: It is not merely that I paint from him,
draw from him, sketch from him. Of course, I have done all that. But he is much more to me than a
model or a sitter. I won’t tell you that I am dissatisfied with what I have done of him, or that his
beauty is such that art cannot express it. There is nothing that art cannot express, and I know that
the work I have done, since I met Dorian Gray, is good work, is the best work of my life. But in
some curious way—I wonder will you understand me?—his personality has suggested to me an
entirely new manner in art, an entirely new mode of style. I see things differently, I think of them
differently. I can now recreate life in a way that was hidden from me before."

"Sirius," Remus whispers.

"And," Sirius adds, still reading, "Dorian Gray is to me simply a motive in art. You might see
nothing in him. I see everything in him." Sirius pauses and glances at him again, the look heavy and
lingering, then he goes back to reading. " He is never more present in my work than when no image
of him is there. He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I find him in the curves of
certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours."

"Sirius," Remus repeats, only a little louder.

"The world is wide, and has many marvellous people in it. Don’t take away from me the one
person who gives to my art whatever charm it possesses: my life as an artist depends on him,"
Sirius says softly, then closes the book and sighs. "Really, he might've just said he was in love and
couldn't bear to lose him; it's the same thing. As much as Dorian was the fool, Basil was a fool for
him, and I suppose that makes me Basil, doesn't it? I couldn't create when you were gone, Moony.
Just you. Everything was you. Dorian Gray has nothing on you."

Remus, once again, yanks the book away and snogs Sirius like it might be his last chance. They get
a bit carried away this time, which they honestly shouldn't. They're on the sodding sofa and anyone
could walk in, but Sirius can't say such things and expect Remus to respond normally.

There's nothing Remus could say in words to express what Sirius makes him feel, but he can do
things to at least attempt to show them. It's more than that, too. He meant it before, about people
being more than just what they do; being who they are. How he feels for Sirius, this love beyond
love, it's in Remus the same way his blood is. He can never lose it all, and if he did, he would be
dead. He's sure of it.

Later—much later—Remus rests his chin on Sirius' chest and traces his gaze over his face. "If we
were only what we do, what do you believe you'd be?"

"A curtain," Sirius murmurs, his eyes closed.

"A curtain," Remus repeats. "Why?"

Sirius cracks open one eye. "Nevermind that. You say we're more than what we do, yeah? Let's go
with that. It's nicer."

"You know," Remus muses, "I've never seen the movie. Well, I've seen the oldest one in black and
white. Have you?"

"There's an older one?" Sirius' eyes snap open with interest gleaming in them, then he looks
appalled. "Wait, you haven't seen the movie? Moony."

"What?" Remus says, laughing.

"No, no, we have to fix this. We simply must watch it. In that, Basil at least gets to shag Dorian.
You know, before Dorian murders him," Sirius declares, sitting up.
Remus' eyebrows jump. "Does he really?"

"We get a snog and the shagging bit is—well, it's implied. I think Mr. Wilde would have approved,
actually." Sirius shifts to pull himself off the sofa, practically dumping Remus into the crease his
body left behind. "Such a shame he never got to live in the modern world. I only feel that way
about a few people from history, but most of them are queer."

"Sirius, do you have a crush on Oscar Wilde?" Remus asks, amused, and he turns his head to grin
at Sirius from the cushion, his cheek smooshed.

Sirius grimaces as he syncs his cell up to the telly, preparing to play the movie. "Only in the
abstract. I've seen photos and, unfortunately, he looks a bit like a prick I knew in school. Although,
there's absolutely no mistaking the sheer queer energy that he radiated, while Snape, in contrast, is
homophobic."

"Snape?"

"Severus Snape, a bloke we went to school with. We bullied him."

"Sirius," Remus says, propping up on his forearms, frowning now, "that's awful."

"Yes, well, I'm fully capable of being an awful person," Sirius replies blandly, completely
unapologetic. "I have no respect for that git."

"Even if he is a homophobe, there's no honor in being a bully. I was bullied, you know."

"Well, sweetheart, I don't want to upset you, but it's not exactly surprising—"

"Oh, piss off," Remus says, biting back a smile. Now is not the time to encourage Sirius being—
rude.

"I wasn't awful to everyone, obviously. But Snape? Yeah, I was. Willingly and on purpose," Sirius
tells him with a sigh. "If that made me a bully, then I was fine with being a bully."
Remus clicks his tongue. "Were you, really? So you were fine with being a bully, even if it made
other people wary around you?"

Sirius cranes his head over his shoulder, looks him straight in the eyes, and calmly says, "Yes."

"No," Remus sputters in protest. "That was the wrong answer, Padfoot. The right answer is no."

"Oh, you wish for me to lie." Sirius rolls his eyes and swivels back around, still fiddling with the
telly. "Why, of course, dear, I'd never be so petty and vindictive that I'd relish in getting to belittle
someone who deserves it, even at the cost of another's feelings. I'm a considerate man who would
do no such thing."

"That's—you're—" Remus struggles for a word, and Sirius finishes up and turns towards him,
waiting. "The fact that you'd place your own sense of satisfaction over someone's fear is… Sirius,
that's really—"

"Cruel?" Sirius suggests. "Selfish?"

"Well...yes," Remus admits softly.

Sirius strolls over and bends down to brace one hand on the back of the sofa, the other cupping
Remus' cheek. Like this, Remus can see down his collar where the lines of his tattoos curl on his
chest. He smiles so sweetly that he doesn't look capable of even knowing the meaning of the word
cruelty, let alone enacting it. Dipping in, he kisses Remus softly, tenderly, not deepening it and not
needing to. It's chaste and warm, and Remus' frown falls away as he relaxes into it, his lips parting
as Sirius continuously glides his own over them like he's sipping the nectar of the Gods from a
mouth made of gold.

When he pulls away, Sirius hums low in his throat and says, blatantly smug, "Mm, and you love
me anyway."

"That's—well, alright, I do," Remus agrees grudgingly, squinting up at him. "That doesn't mean
I'm excusing—"
"Shh, Moony, the film's on," Sirius cuts in, grinning as he draws away to lift Remus' legs and plop
down beneath them, focusing on the screen.

Literally within the first minute, Remus sits up and turns his whole body towards the telly. A very
attractive man portraying Dorian Gray has stabbed someone, which caused an arterial spray of
blood to coat the front of him, which means Remus is invested. He nearly blurts out a protest when
the scene pauses, and he swivels to stare at Sirius. "Why did you stop it?"

"Did you…? Did you just watch a man stab someone and perk up?" Sirius asks him incredulously.

"Alright, listen," Remus starts, his face burning.

"I—" Sirius leans back and flicks his gaze over Remus with his eyebrows raised. "No, you honestly
just saw a man get covered in blood and was immediately sold on watching this."

"To be fair," Remus says, pointing at the screen, "that is a very attractive man."

Sirius snorts. "Christ, this is not going to help that torch you're carrying for Dorian Gray, is it?"

"Just play the damn film," Remus grumbles, cheeks hot, and with a delighted little chuckle, Sirius
does. Not even ten minutes in, Remus shoots a pointed look at Sirius. "Do you see? Look at him.
He's so innocent at the start."

"Give it an hour," Sirius says flatly.

"You know, maybe you're the cynic," Remus muses.

"If I am," Sirius retorts, "what does that make you?"

Remus purses his lips. "I take offense to that."

"Cynicism is merely the art of seeing things as they are rather than as they ought to be." Sirius
waggles his eyebrows. "That comes from our good lad, Oscar Wilde himself."
"The cynic knows the price of everything and the value of nothing," Remus shoots back. "Mr.
Wilde said that, too."

Sirius' lips twitch, and he looks back towards the screen as he says, "Well, he should have made up
his mind, I feel."

Remus rolls his eyes and scoffs under his breath, focusing back on the film. He wants to be
annoyed, really, because how dare Sirius be—well, Sirius? He's so bloody infuriating simply
because of how genuinely captivating he is. He's the static raising the hair on Remus' arms, fuzzy
against his skin when he's not even moving, just lying in wait to shock him with something he
always thinks he's prepared for but never is. Sirius charges up and strikes him every time, leaving
him breathless after, always anticipating what comes next.

The truth is, Remus is quite pathetically in love with him, and that does include the most
infuriating traits he has, in spite of them—or, if he's being completely honest with himself (which
he rarely is), then a little bit because of as well (perhaps more than a little bit, but Remus likes lies
when they're his own).

"Oh, no, that's worse," Remus complains when Dorian does in fact snog Basil. He watches in
horror.

"Basil, mate, don't do it; he doesn't even have a soul."

"Dorian has a soul, Sirius."

"Does he, though? No, seriously. It's never really clarified, is it, if he still has access to his soul
since it's, you know, trapped in the painting. The way he reacts after Sybil's death—in the book,
specifically—makes me wonder…" Sirius trails off, watching Basil fall back as Dorian pops the
button on his—oh, this is what Sirius meant about the shagging being implied. Right, then. "Oh,
Basil, you fool. The fool's fool."

"Can't really blame him," Remus mumbles, watching with an eyebrow arched as Dorian follows
Basil down. "The idea that they were actually lovers at any point in any capacity makes it all that
more heart-wrenching."

"Basil deserved better."

"Considering how he felt for Dorian and all the experience Dorian had by this point, particularly
with receiving and giving pleasure, I doubt there was better."

Sirius glances over at him, eyes narrowed. "All I'm getting from you is that you'd shag Dorian
Gray."

"Oh, I'd absolutely shag Dorian Gray—specifically that one," Remus confirms, pointing at the
screen.

"Why am I jealous right now?" Sirius mumbles, then purses his lips and deliberately puts his hand
on Remus' thigh. He tilts his head, something passing in his eyes. "You know…"

"Sirius, no."

"Hear me out, yeah?"

Remus narrows his eyes at the screen, the back of his neck prickling as Sirius drags his hand up
Remus' thigh, fingers dipping in at the inner seam of his trousers. "Absolutely not."

"What, you don't want to do a kinky thing where we shag with Dorian Gray falling further into
intense, hedonistic pleasures in the background?" Sirius asks innocently, leaning in closer.

"Sirius," Remus says, a warning.

Laughing softly, Sirius kisses him gently below his ear, then catches it between his teeth, making
Remus shudder as his eyes flicker shut for a brief moment. He pulls away, voice soft as he says,
"Oh, but I think you'd like that quite a bit, Remus."

"Christ," Remus breathes out, making the mistake of turning his head where Sirius can kiss him,
but some mistakes are made on purpose. This is one of them.

Sirius presses him down into the sofa with a low hum of victory and approval, his body following.
The film becomes inconsequential so very quickly, to the point that Remus has no idea what's even
happening on the screen. Unbeknownst to him—to either of them—Remus tosses his head back
and gasps through the lightning strike of euphoria that Sirius hits him with just as Dorian straddles
Basil and stabs him in the chest once, twice, a third time. And, as Dorian slumps there, covered in
blood and breathing hard, Remus slumps into the sofa and tries desperately to catch his own
breath.

"Oh, Moony, you are a kinky bastard, aren't you?" Sirius teases with a lazy grin, gaze slowly
crawling to the screen.

Remus follows his gaze, sees Dorian Gray covered in blood, and immediately thumps his head
back as he says, wry, "You know, really, this is your fault."

"I can live with that." Sirius lifts himself up to hover over Remus, flashing that grin of his. "I would
just like to point out that I wasn't complaining. In fact, I'm rather pleased."

"Oh, I bet you are," Remus mutters, reaching up to tuck Sirius' falling hair behind his ears, heart
stuttering when Sirius smiles softly at the motion.

"I really, genuinely am," Sirius promises, eyes bright with humor and something shamelessly
naughty, and then he's sinking down to kiss Remus again.

"Honestly," Remus gasps out, tilting his head back, "I think Basil had it all wrong." He groans as
Sirius mouths at the arch of his throat beneath his jaw. "He could have—he had the chance, you
know, to live out eternity with Dorian. After all, Dorian had shown him the painting, hadn't he? So,
he knew the method. He knew it was possible. He should have—"

Sirius pops back up suddenly, gazing down at Remus with his eyes darkened more than usual, his
lips wet. "Do you mean to tell me that you think Basil should have bartered away his soul along
with Dorian?"

"If he were smart, that's what he would have done," Remus says, like a secret. "Immortality and
consistent youth is a curse more so than a gift, I would think, but getting to live forever with the
man you love? That's a far more inviting incentive. Basil could have had it all, the damn fool."

"That's really quite chilling that you think that way," Sirius tells him bluntly, leaning in to press a
kiss to the very corner of Remus' mouth. "Oh, but could you imagine the life they could have lived
together? You might be onto something, Moony."

"Always a few steps ahead," Remus chokes out, his fingers digging into the cushion as Sirius slips
a thigh between his legs, and how? How? They've just—

"Doomed lovers. Maybe they've lived lives after death. An artist and his muse; the damned and his
salvation. Do you think, Remus? We could be, for all I know, but for the life of me, I can't figure
out who would be who," Sirius murmurs, practically mumbling into the skin of Remus' throat.

Remus cups the side of his head, pushing his hair back, guiding him as his own hips move and
sparks dance behind his eyes. It's ridiculous, because there's no way they should be recovered
enough to go again, but Remus' mouth is slack and his blood is on fire. His voice is a hoarse rasp
when he speaks next. "Maybe we're a little bit of both."

"Maybe we're a little bit of all the lovers anyone's ever dared to tell stories about," Sirius whispers,
dragging his lips back up, all but speaking right into Remus' mouth. Their bottom lips brush, but
Sirius repeatedly tilts his head back an inch when Remus instinctively, mindlessly chases him. "All
the tragedies and the triumphs, all that love everyone's always trying to find the words to describe,
all the ways in which the greatest loves have loved one another—that's us. Isn't that us, Remus?"

"Fucking hell," Remus whines, not even meaning to, shuddering as he buries a shaky hand in Sirius'
hair.

"That's it, shh, shh," Sirius says softly, rubbing one hand soothingly up the side of Remus' thigh as
if the very touch of him isn't setting Remus ablaze currently, inexplicably and wondrously. Remus
makes another ridiculous noise that he wasn't aware he could make at all, and Sirius presses sweet,
reassuring kisses along his jaw, murmuring gentle encouragement that has Remus losing himself to
the swirl in his head and the crackle of Sirius' lightning bolt touch.

"Oh my god," Remus manages to wheeze afterwards, his head still spinning, his body twitching.
"Oh my god."

"I should have known this would get you all riled up," Sirius muses as he props himself up with a
grin. He couldn't look more pleased with himself if he tried. "You know, you're never going to be
able to think about Dorian Gray without thinking of me. I've done it. I've saved you from fancying
the fool."
 "You're a fool," Remus says, winded, and Sirius laughs at him gently. "Shut up. Now we have to
watch the film a second time, Sirius."

Sirius hums in blatant approval, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he dips in and kisses Remus
quickly. "Moony, we can watch the film as many times as you like."

"Only once more," Remus mumbles, pressing upwards to steal another kiss. "Surely we can make it
through the whole film the second time."

It takes them four times, actually, before they manage to get through the whole film without
interruptions.

Remus was a fool to think otherwise.

Chapter End Notes

I think, genuinely, that there are two ways in which James Potter would confess his
love. 1) brazenly, loud and proud, announcing it to the whole world. 2) casually letting
it slip in the most ridiculous way he possibly could and not even NOTICE. No in
between we love one (1) himbo

Also, for those of you that do not know (and I'm pretty sure that most people do
know), there's a movie called Dorian Gray (2009) with Ben Barnes (a common Sirius
Black fancast) portraying Dorian Gray. If anyone is on tiktok and seeing a lot of
Marauders and/or Wolfstar edits, a lot of the Sirius Black clips come from Ben Barnes
in Dorian Gray (especially that one of him kissing a man, Mr. Basil Hallward my
beloved <3). I wish I could say that I specifically wrote this wolfstar portion
particularly because of that, and while it IS a bonus, it was actually because Sirius
Black would one hundred percent look at Dorian Gray and fear that they're similar—
the whole artist part of it as well was just too good to pass up. I highly recommend
watching the movie if you haven't already, and for those of you that enjoy (and can
stomach) classic literature, The Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde is a good read
(in my personal opinion).

On the subject of fancasts, I'm personally not attached to anyone (except for Timothée
Chalamet as Regulus, all naysayers please forgive me, I am weak and far too attached
now to ever see him as anyone else), and I purposefully leave it ambiguous for the
most part outside of key canon (and fanon-wide accepted) features (i.e. James' messy
hair, Remus being tall, etc). It gives you all the space to imagine them as you see
them, because the main things is that we all love them, in my opinion.

Sorry, this got ramble-y, so I'll just cap this off by teasing that on Sunday, we get some
more of my other beloved characters again <3.
Thank you all so, SO much for all the comments and feedback and support. It means
the world to me, and I look forward to each and every one of you yelling, laughing,
crying, and being all around lovely about each new chapter. Nothing motivates me
more!

See you Sunday

EDIT 03/31/22: I've done a little editing on this chapter, particularly the section when
describing Snape, as I originally wrote him how he's depicted in canon, but it's been
brought to my attention that the descriptions JKR gave are rooted in antisemitism,
perpetuating harmful jewish stereotypes. I have absolutely NO desire to promote that
or be associated with doing it, because it's fucking disgusting and wrong, actually. I
genuinely wasn't aware (thankfully someone told me), so I'm sorry to anyone who saw
it before I was educated on the subject.
 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes

Absolutely no warnings for this chapter, which is delightful to be able to say. It's
actually, genuinely one of my favorite chapters, and I'm not even sure why. So, go
forth and enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The thing is, she's beautiful. He sees her even before he realizes who she is, and her loveliness is
undeniable. Under a gray flat cap, her hair is a deep red brushing rounded, ruddy cheeks, and he
gets to watch her eyes light up, a green so bright that they stand out like jewels.

In the distance, she calls out a delighted, "James!"

"Lily!" James blurts out like a knee-jerk reaction, freezing in place, his hand spasming around
Regulus' where their fingers are threaded together out in the open, and Regulus feels ice crawl
down his spine.

His first instinct is to hate her, and he realizes that he does already, just from what he knows so far.
He doesn't even know her, and he hates her. Because she had James first. Because, with the way
James loves, she'll always have a part of him that isn't for Regulus to claim. Because she would still
have James, if she hadn't let him go. Because she knows what it is to have the sun under her
fingertips, and James has smiled at her, touched her, held her. Because it takes Regulus only five
seconds after seeing her to notice that she's bright and lovely, her smiles coming easily, a gleam in
her eyes that promises she wants the world and maybe she deserves to have it.

"Hello, hello, it's cold as a cow's left tit out here, isn't it?" Lily greets cheerfully as she comes to a
halt in front of them, bouncing on the balls over her feet. She rubs her hands together and blows on
them, shooting James a distracted, dismissive smile before she focuses entirely on Regulus,
looking fucking ecstatic as she offers her hand to him. "Hi, I'm Lily. You're the mean barista of
James', I take it?"

Regulus cuts James a sharp look, which makes him grin sheepishly, and then he releases a muted
sigh and reaches out to shake Lily's hand. "I wasn't aware James was so fond of the moniker, but
yes, that's me. Regulus is fine."

"It's lovely to meet you," Lily tells him with apparent sincerity, still bouncing in place. "I honestly
thought I never would; the rest of our friends, too. We were starting to wonder if he'd made you
up."

"Oh, I'm not quite civilized enough to meet his friends yet," Regulus drawls as he drops her hand.

Lily chuckles. "As if James Potter would know anything about being civilized. You should come
around sometime. We'd all love to get to know you."

"I'm sure," Regulus says flatly, "except I don't really like people and would rather not, honestly."

"He doesn't mean that," James says.

"No, I do," Regulus corrects.

James sighs. "We're...working on it."

"Oh, Mary is going to absolutely love him," Lily announces with amusement. "In any case, are you
two going in?" She nods to the front of the restaurant they were, in fact, about to go into. "Can I
pay for lunch and waste half an hour with you? I'm on break. I won't stay long. Promise."

"Love?" James asks, looking right at him.

Regulus fights the inner urge to be petty, which is a lot easier to do when he watches in real time as
Lily looks outright giddy by the endearment. He can't work out why she's so… It's odd, really, but
she's outwardly happy about—them? He narrows his eyes slightly. "Yes, sure. You don't have to
pay, though." He smiles at her with charm he hasn't used in years, brushing the rust off and picking
it right back up as if he never stopped. He offers Lily his arm. "We'll make James pay, yeah? It's
only fitting, don't you think?"

"You're a very smart man, Regulus," Lily says, slipping her hand into his arm and faking a curtsy
as he holds the door open for her.

"Er, wait for me," James calls weakly, following behind them, but they both ignore him entirely.
Lily and Regulus make idle conversation as they're escorted to a table, while James hovers behind
them. Lily is more than happy to tell him about where she works—Hospital—and her current
hobby (an obsession, she claims, sounding sheepish when she apologizes for ranting about candle-
making).

James looks mildly put out when Regulus purposefully slips into the booth beside Lily, forcing him
to sit opposite of them, but he's appeased almost instantly when Regulus slips his foot forward and
hooks it around his ankle. Other than that, he watches Regulus and Lily speak to each other like a
hawk, radiating so much anxiety that Regulus is a little suspicious. This is a far cry from the man
who said that Lily would adore Regulus, but maybe that's it; maybe he's worried that Regulus
won't adore Lily, and he really wants this to go well.

The problem? Regulus does not adore Lily.

Oh, sure, she's lovely. She's kind and clearly lives and loves to the fullest. There's no doubt that
she's smart as well. Most of all, she's good. Regulus can tell as he gets to know her that she's
genuinely a good person, and it's all these reasons that Regulus can't adore her. Because he's none
of these things, and all of these things are exactly what James deserves.

Regulus, of course, lets none of this show. He's polite. He's charming. He makes Lily laugh and
talks to her as if they've been friends for years. He smiles and tells her about being on his way to be
a chef, and he gives her tips to help her when she's cooking, and he doesn't pull away when she
touches his arm and beams at him like she's so very pleased to know him.

At one point, Lily says, "Oh, I can't believe James is keeping you all to himself. You know who
would really love you? James' best friend. Sir—"

"Lily," James interrupts sharply, so sharp that Lily actually blinks and looks startled. There's a long
beat of uncomfortable silence, and James clears his throat, his voice softening. "Lily, lay off, yeah?
Regulus is a private person, and he'll meet everyone when he's ready. Stop pestering him about it."

"Oh, shit. Christ, I'm sorry." Lily turns to Regulus, genuinely looking apologetic. "I come on a
bit...strong at times, sorry. I swear I'm not trying to pressure you."

Regulus shakes his head, dragging his gaze away from James to smile at her reassuringly. "It's fine.
No, really, it is."
They're interrupted by the food arriving, so things fortunately don't grow awkward, and Lily
doesn't bring up her and James' shared friends anymore. Instead, they fall into conversation about
books, which Regulus has many opinions about to keep them both occupied. Lily does as well, and
they get rather caught up in chatting about The Alchemist.

Meanwhile, James seems to relax a little, but he's still watching them like he'll need to intervene at
any moment. His leg is bouncing under the table (Regulus can feel it), and he keeps glancing
warily in the direction of the loo. In an attempt to escape his own anxiety, he's been sucking down
his drink almost as fast as it can be refilled, and frankly, Regulus is starting to get a bit exasperated
with him.

"What?" James mumbles when Regulus tosses him a look.

"Stop being ridiculous and go to the loo, James," Regulus tells him, rolling his eyes. "Lily and I
will be fine alone for the few minutes it takes for you to get back."

James visibly hesitates, but when Lily and Regulus both stare at him, unimpressed, he blows out a
deep breath and slips out of the booth. He throws a few cautious glances over his shoulder as he
walks away, and Regulus softens.

It's sweet, he thinks, just how much James cares about this. He wants Lily and Regulus to get on so
badly, and Regulus can understand why. He's rational enough to grasp that Lily and James are
friends, despite their history, and he also knows without even having to ask that James wants all the
important people in his life to like each other. It makes Regulus want to get on with Lily just for
James' sake, and—frankly—he doesn't enjoy the reasons he dislikes her to start with.

It's a small, bitter thing, isn't it? Feeling this way. The tightly coiled jealousy, the envy. Regulus
isn't an idiot; he's quite aware that it comes from his own insecurities.

"Well, he's been rather nervous, hasn't he?" Lily muses, looking after James in amusement. She
swivels in the booth to stare right at Regulus, studying him. "I can't imagine why."

"Can't you?" Regulus asks quietly.

Lily hums and tilts her head. "You don't like me."
"I think you're an idiot," Regulus informs her bluntly, and to her credit, she doesn't look offended.
She only raises her eyebrows, waiting. "How did you ever say no to him?"

"Because I didn't want to say yes, and I wasn't going to ruin his life and mine by pretending that I
did," Lily tells him simply. "Sometimes you really don't know until someone asks you, but as soon
as I did know, I did the right thing for us both. That doesn't make me an idiot. I said no to him
because I didn't want to say yes, and I imagine you wouldn't say no because you do want to say yes.
You're not an idiot either."

Regulus stares at her for a long moment, then sighs. "It's not that I don't—like you. I find you to be
tolerable, which is more than I can say for most people. Believe me, that's something of a
compliment." Her lips curl up as her eyebrows come down, and he looks away. "I think you're a
good person. I think James deserves someone like...that."

"Like me, you mean," Lily guesses, and Regulus frowns, glancing over at her. She chuckles. "Well,
I'm hardly a Saint, honestly. Why don't we just ignore the part where you don't actually know me,
and I don't actually know you, and these assumptions we have about each other being good people
that James deserves are just that—assumptions? Tell me, Regulus, have you looked past the whole
messy question of what any of us deserve and considered what James wants? Because it's quite
clear to me that he wants you, and I've known him for a long time, so I think I'm a reliable source."

"I know he wants me," Regulus murmurs.

"You want him," Lily says.

"Obviously," Regulus mutters.

Lily smiles. It's soft and a little sad. "That's what he deserves. Someone who wants him. I'm happy
he has it."

"How could you not?" Regulus asks, unable to fathom such a thing. He genuinely doesn't
understand.

"Oh, James is—he's wonderful, and I get it. I do get what you mean," Lily tells him with a sigh. "It
was never about him. I wanted him, I did, but I—I wanted myself more. And now, I want him just
as I have him. He is a very dear friend to me, Regulus. He's been a friend longer than he was ever a
lover, if that matters to you at all."

"Don't be nice," Regulus complains, frowning. "I think I'm always going to hate you a bit, even if I
don't dislike you."

"Oh, in that case…" Lily bites her lip for a moment, then leans in to lower her voice to a whisper.
"I think I'm always going to hate you a bit, too, even if I do like you."

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Because you…?"

"Because you know already," Lily says softly. "I can see it when you look at him. You know so
simply, and I didn't know until it was too late to stop myself from hurting him. I loved James, but I
didn't want a life with him. You do."

"You would have spared him the pain, then?"

"If I could've. It changed him."

"I hate you a bit for that, too," Regulus admits.

Lily hums in blatant approval. "Good. I'd like you less if you didn't. You're good for him."

"I don't—get it, honestly, because if it was me…" Regulus trails off, his face growing hot. He
clears his throat. "Well, anyway, even if I don't get it, I do...respect you for it. I suppose you can't
help what you don't want any more than I can help what I do. Just—and I have to say this for my
own sanity, forgive me, I know how it seems, but—if you ever, and I mean ever, so much as
breathe in his direction with anything other than friendly intentions, I will kill all three of us."

"Oh, scandalous, triple homicide," Lily says, grinning. She looks like she's trying very hard not to
laugh. "Well, a double homicide and a suicide, but semantics. That was necessary for you, wasn't
it? Did it feel very good to say?"

"No, actually, I'm quite embarrassed," Regulus mumbles.

"Oh, come on, I liked it!" Lily nudges him with her elbow, green eyes dancing with humor. "It's
actually reassuring, if I'm honest. I don't want James to get hurt again, so it's nice to see that he's
being treated right. Just—and I have to say this for my own sanity, forgive me, I know how it
seems, but—if you ever, and I mean ever, so much as think about hurting him as I already have, I
will lose all faith in humanity."

Regulus huffs a weak laugh. "Well, we wouldn't want that, would we? Just to warn you, I'll
probably fuck this up."

"Hm." Lily clicks her tongue. "Well, it's hard to, with him."

"You did," Regulus reminds her.

Lily huffs. "Yes, but I wanted to, as awful as that may seem. You don't. You love him." Regulus'
mouth snaps shut, and her face softens. "Oh, but you do, don't you? That's good. Very good. He
loves you too, you know."

"I know," Regulus whispers.

"He's told you, then?" Lily asks, her whole face lighting up.

"He didn't mean to. It sort of just—slipped out. He didn't even realize he said it," Regulus says
carefully, like it's a secret, like it's precious. It feels like it is. He hasn't forgotten. A ridiculous
conversation about nipples of all things, and how Regulus' are normal, and I'd love you even if they
weren't, James had said. Regulus believes him, is the thing. He believes him.

"James told me he loved me the first time when we were eleven," Lily tells him thoughtfully.
"That's the thing about him, really. When he knows, he knows, and he's not very good about
keeping it in, even if he is being cautious."

"I've never known anyone who loves the way James loves," Regulus confesses.

"And you never will," Lily says.

"Thank you for…" Regulus doesn't know how to put into words what he means. She seems to
understand anyway, because she smiles brightly at him and reaches over to gently squeeze his arm.
He doesn't insult her by faking a smile in return.

"Oh, he's coming back," Lily informs him, and they both swivel their heads to watch him approach.
"You know, you never said anything about me breathing in your direction with anything other than
friendly intentions."

"I'm gay and also—you know. Taken."

"Oh, obviously, but I want to tease James."

Regulus arches an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

"Like I said, I'm no Saint," Lily murmurs, winking, and then spends the rest of the meal slowly
making James come closer and closer to blowing steam out of his ears. It's quite entertaining, and
alright, so Regulus hates her a little less.

Only a little, though.

When the waiter asks Regulus and Lily if they'd like to share a dessert (heavily implying that
they're a couple), that's pretty much James' last straw. With a scowl, he reaches across the table to
grasp Regulus hand and shoots a look of annoyance at Lily, who is clearly having the time of her
life.

"Don't you have to go back to work?" James grumbles.

"You are unfortunately correct. Alright, Regulus, let me out to say my goodbyes, and I'll leave you
two alone." Lily shuffles out a few moments later and hugs James and Regulus both, though
Regulus gets a quick kiss on the cheek that he doesn't see coming and isn't sure how he feels about
it. She smiles at him and says, as she's going, "It was lovely meeting you. I hope to see more of you
whenever you're ready."

Regulus watches her go, then slides back into the booth, stifling a laugh when James slides in after
him, pressing in closer. "Something bothering you?"

"I knew it would happen. I knew you two would meet, and then I'd be left behind. I've read The
Alchemist too, you know," James complains, borderline pouting.

"Have you?"

"Alright, so I skimmed it for a report for class, but I'll have you know that I received high marks
for it."

"James."

"Yes, love?"

"Do you love Lily?" Regulus asks.

"Yes," James replies instantly, holding his gaze. He waits, but Regulus has far more patience. "I
do, yes. She's my friend, of course I love her. If you're asking if I'm in love with her—"

"I'm not," Regulus says softly, and means it. "I know you were, once, and I know you're not, now. I
know, James."

James swallows, his face softening. "Thank you. I think I needed to hear that. That you know, I
mean. I don't—I could tell that you didn't… I could tell you were faking, is all. I want you to trust
me."

"I do," Regulus murmurs. "I do." He leans in and kisses James gently, soft and warm, pulling back
to watch as James sags with visible relief. "And, while I appreciate you respecting that I'm a
private person, you don't have to feel like you can't introduce me to the people that are important to
you. I can't promise that they'll like me, but…"

"Yeah?" James leans back, chewing on his bottom lip. He clears his throat. "Would you want to
meet my parents? Not today," he adds hastily, "but...soon? They're some of the most important
people in my life. I know you have that catering event later next week with your class, so...in a few
days, maybe, if that's something you—"

"Yes, James, I'll meet your parents in...three days? Let's go with that," Regulus cuts in fondly, and
James beams at him. How Lily ever managed to tell him no, Regulus will never understand. "Just
tell me in advance if there's anything I can do to keep them from hating me."

"Just be yourself," is James' very sincere response, and oh, but Regulus does love him.

"Sorry, did we decide on dessert?" The waiter pauses, flicking his gaze between James and
Regulus, clearly looking for Lily. He blinks at Regulus. "Oh, I didn't see your girlfriend leave. I
hope she didn't want dessert."

"She didn't," Regulus says, flashing a smile. "My boyfriend and I would love dessert, though. What
are our options?"

The poor man looks confused from that moment on, and Regulus does nothing to clear up the
matter for him. James ducks his head to hide his grin, and Regulus thinks that he and James and
Lily will have to come here in the future and give this specific waiter a minor crisis every once in a
while. That sounds like quite a bit of fun, actually.

"You're a menace," James says, his voice strangled with laughter as the waiter sweeps off to get
them their dessert.

Regulus only shrugs. "I never said I wasn't. I'll do my best to keep your parents from learning that,
though."

"Oh, don't. They'll love it. They'll love you."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Well, I do, so why wouldn't they?" James declares easily, and Regulus holds his breath, but James
honestly doesn't even realize he's said it. Again. "Oh, are you worried? Don't be worried. You're so
lovely. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, I promise. Look, take your mind off it,
yeah?"
"How do you suppose I do that?" Regulus asks, warmth blooming through his chest, straight from
the sun. Oh, but James loves him. He does. So much so that it's shining from him when he doesn't
even realize it.

"You eat," James instructs decisively, reaching over to pluck up Regulus' spoon and hold it out to
him. "That's what you do. Oh, and you tell me about this catering event."

"Right," Regulus says with a tiny smile that makes James' eyes light up, fond and pleased. He takes
the spoon. "Well, my whole class has to prepare personal dishes for the guests, so a lot of strangers
will be eating my food for the first time."

"Are you nervous?"

"If you ever tell anyone, they'll never find your body."

Sirius slowly eases out of his jacket as he peers around Remus' flat. It's tiny and open with the
bedroom connected right to the kitchen, only a sofa and small telly splitting the areas, and one
other door that Sirius is quite sure is the loo. There's a rack right next to the bed with various
sweaters and jumpers in warm browns and beiges hanging from the top, denims and trousers folded
neatly on the shelf below, and boots and trainers lined perfectly along the bottom.

A stand right next to the bed is absolutely packed and nearly overflowing with books on every
shelf. There are at least three lamps lighting the dim flat, and the only window in the place has a
table sitting next to it with an ashtray in the shape of an umbrella on it. The bed itself is right on the
floor, but it's made up with no wrinkle or crease in sight.

Sirius' fingers itch with the urge to draw it—this place that Remus has left traces of himself all
over. Remus sitting at the small, dinged up table with a smoke lazily clasped between two fingers.
Remus at the small stove, watching his dented kettle with his chipped teacup resting in between
his palms. Remus lazing about in his bed, sprawled under the ridiculous amounts of blankets he
has, all fraying and patched and homely. Remus on the sofa, a book spread open in his lap, colorful
strips of tape stuck to his bent knees in easy reach so he can mark where words have made him feel
something.

"It's not much," Remus starts, then gets derailed when Sirius cuts him off with a gasp, having
spotted the guitar case leaning against the wall next to his shelves of books.

"Do you play?" Sirius asks, delighted, shoving his jacket at Remus in his haste to bound over to
inspect the instrument.

Remus drapes the jacket on the sofa with care, following behind as he clears his throat. "I do,
yeah."

"Were you in a band?" Sirius grins and raises his eyebrows at him as he grasps the case and hauls it
over to the bed where he plops down on it.

"No," Remus says. "I just… Well, I had a lot of free time, so I suppose I picked up the hobby."

Sirius hums and rubs his hand over the outside of the case, gaze snagging on the stickers all over it.
Most of them are colorful flowers, but some are short, sardonic phrases like can I interest you in a
sarcastic comment and I wish more people were fluent in silence and not responsible for what my
face does when you talk. There's a random alien sticker, an adorable dinosaur wearing a strawberry
as a tiny hat, the rolling stones logo, and a startling amount of snakes.

"Like snakes, do you, Moony?" Sirius murmurs.

Remus chuckles as he sits down on the edge of the bed. "Not particularly, but my best mate does.
We got drunk once and thought it would be a brilliant idea to decorate it in stickers."

"That," Sirius teases, "is adorable."

"Oh, piss off."

"You know, the school I went to was a bit pretentious. We had Houses and such, separate wings,
things like that. It was a bit of a competition between the houses, and we had animals to represent
each one. Lion, eagle, badger, and snake."

"Which were you?"

"Lion, of course."

"That makes sense," Remus says, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Male lions are lazy, prideful
creatures, after all."

Sirius purses his lips. "You take that back. I am proud to be a Lion. We all were, you know. James
and Peter, too. Had a natural rivalry with the Snakes, of course."

"Oh, of course." Remus rolls his eyes, then glances at the snake stickers and abruptly busts out
laughing like he finds something very funny. He shakes his head. "Hated snakes, you said? James,
too?"

"Yeah," Sirius admits, lips curling up as Remus laughs harder, not even needing to know the joke
because seeing Remus laugh always pleases him. He unlocks the clasps and peers in at the guitar,
running careful fingers over the strings. He plucks one, then looks up. "Will you play?"

Remus' smile softens, and he leans over to draw the guitar out with practiced ease, balancing it on
his knees and situating his arms. "Alright. What do you want to hear?"

"What's the first thing you taught yourself?" Sirius asks.

"Ah…" Remus narrows his eyes slightly and plucks a few chords, then looks up with a grin.
"Scarborough Fair, Simon & Garfunkel."

Sirius stares at him. "Is it really?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god. Remus, you absolutely have to play it."

"Alright, alright," Remus says with a huff of laughter, then ducks his head to focus on the guitar.
After a few plucks of the strings, he relaxes his hands and begins to play, long fingers moving
deftly, flowing like art captured in motion. Sirius is taken wholly by surprise when he starts
humming, then sings, his voice soft and smooth with just the slightest rasp to it, a lovely, smoky
quality. "Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Remember me
to one who lives there. She once was a true love of mine…"

If Sirius wanted to paint him before, it's nothing compared to the impulse he has now. His fingers
physically twitch, then curl into fists from the near-primal urge that grips him. Remus is so very
lovely, and his voice? God, his voice.

Sirius doesn't want to be a cliche, but he falls even more in love with Remus in that moment when
he didn't think it was possible to do so. Every time he gets in deeper, falls even harder, he always
thinks he can't love Remus more than he already does, only to be proven wrong time and time
again.

The need to capture this moment is beyond just a need, and not one Sirius can ignore, so he pulls
out his phone as sneakily as he can (being sneaky is actually a talent of his, so he does manage it
with no issues) and takes a quick photo, then gives in and just starts filming him. It takes Remus a
bit to notice, lost in playing and singing as he is.

"Tell her to find me an acre of land. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Between the salt water
and the sea strands. Then she'll be a true love of mine…" Remus trails off as he glances up, and
then he trips over a chord and narrows his eyes at the phone. "Are you filming me?"

"No," Sirius says, grinning and holding his cell up higher.

Remus huffs and sits the guitar aside. "Stop it, Sirius. Give me that. Delete it."

"No," Sirius repeats, jerking back with a laugh as Remus makes a swipe for him. Remus has a
small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, even as he raises up to follow Sirius when he
starts scooting up the bed. "Come on, Moony, let me capture the moment. Can't I keep it? I won't
show anyone. I wouldn't dare share how lovely you are. That's all for me."

"Oh, is it?" Remus laughs softly and shakes his head, then shoves forward to lunge for the phone.

Sirius barks a laugh and scrambles backwards, holding the phone up and to the side as Remus
reaches for it. Sirius throws his arm around the back of Remus' neck and yanks him down, keeping
him out of range. Remus paws at his arm, but Sirius just locks his legs around his waist and keeps a
hold of him, the both of them breathless with laughter as they grapple with each other. With one
final tug, Sirius manages to make Remus collapse on top of him. He runs his free hand through
Remus' hair and tilts his head down to kiss him, still grinning.

In mere seconds, the phone drops to the bed, lost among the blankets, and Sirius forgets about it
entirely. Remus seems to as well, far more interested in snogging Sirius in between teasing
whispers and quiet chuckles.

It's not until the cell clatters to the floor over the side of the bed that either of them manage to draw
themselves away from each other. Sirius groans as he stretches out and fumbles for the phone,
stopping the video and carelessly stuffing it back in his pocket. He relaxes back with Remus
lounging against him, in between his legs, arms folded over Sirius' chest with his chin resting on
top of them. He's so cute sometimes that Sirius wants to fucking squeeze him.

"You really are lovely, you know," Sirius tells him, gently dragging his fingers through Remus'
fluffy hair. It's soft, if not a bit frizzy from the rain. "You have a beautiful voice, too. How is that
fair?"

"What? I don't understand."

"Do you honestly not know how dreamy you are, Moony? You're the type of person everyone
would fancy, even a little. It's effortless, and you don't even know, which only makes you even
more desirable. I'm winning."

Remus bites his bottom lip. "Are you?"

"Absolutely." Sirius traces his hand over the smattering of freckles over the bridge of Remus' nose.
"I'm the luckiest sod in the world."

"And what does that make me?"

"A man with fine, yet questionable taste."

Remus just snorts quietly and shifts his arms to lay them down by Sirius' sides, turning his head to
rest it on Sirius' chest. He seems rather comfortable like this, and Sirius likes the weight of him, a
blanket of warmth. He keeps dragging his fingers through Remus' hair, cupping the back of his
neck, sweeping his hand along the width of his shoulders. The way Remus breathes puts a deep
sense of fuzzy contentment down to Sirius' very bones. He sags into it, so simply happy that he
can't even be bothered to worry about anything else.

Sirius can't remember ever feeling this way about someone lying on him, though there's something
different about this altogether. It's intimate, in a way. Special. He feels like he's in a cloudy bubble
separate from the rest of the world, and he never wants to leave it. He genuinely thinks he could
stay right here, just like this, existing with Remus forever.

Remus makes a quiet, disgruntled sound when Sirius briefly pauses in running his fingers through
his hair, so Sirius smiles softly and starts doing it again. Remus settles back down with a breathy
sigh, and it doesn't take long after for him to start gently snoring, his body fully slack with sleep.

Carefully, Sirius drops one hand to dig out his phone, poking his tongue between his teeth as he
angles it underneath his chin to snap a picture and send it in the groupchat with the message:
Moony fell asleep on me, so I can never move again, say your goodbyes now.

It takes less than a minute before Peter is replying. Actually, everyone needs to say their goodbyes
to me, because I'm now going to have a bath with a radio.

What the fuck, that's so cute, Alice messages.

Following right behind her is Frank, who just sends a string of crying emojis, but then Mary
messages with: I read somewhere that your inner child feels safe when you fall asleep on someone
like that. You make his inner child feel safe.

Almost immediately, Lily responds: I just burst into tears in front of two patients. Why the hell
would you say that, Mary?

YOU?!?!?! Sirius responds, because honestly, his eyes are stinging and his chest is tight. If he cries
a little bit, that's his business. Mary fucking McDonald, ladies and gentlemen.

I'm drawing a bath right now, Peter updates them with an emoji of a running man, and Lily replies,
Can I join you? We'll go out together, hand in loveless hand.

At least you won't be alone, is Marlene's response, followed a minute later by, Also, piss off with
that cute shit, Sirius. I was eating, and now I feel sick.

Dorcas messages a moment after. She's not lying. She just checked the chat, smiled softly, then
immediately looked disgusted and pushed her plate away.

That's my spot???? James adds with an emoji that has an eyebrow raised. Almost everyone starts
bombarding the chat with laughing emojis that make Sirius grin.

Moony is currently occupying it. He's keeping it warm for you. Besides, don't you have a mean
barista to laze about with? Sirius replies with a quiet chuckle that makes Remus grunt in his sleep.
Sirius scratches his head gently, soothing him, and Remus does that happy sigh again and settles
once more.

James takes a few moments to respond. I just asked him if I made his inner child feel safe and he
said his inner child is dead??? This message comes with at least five sobbing emojis, and Sirius
wheezes with laughter, trying to muffle it and not shake so he won't upset Remus.

HIM? Peter responds.

HIM??? Alice adds, then everyone outside of Lily jumps on the train, so it's just a wall of:

HIM????

HIM?????

HIM??????

Just that with an increasing amount of question marks, and Sirius rolls his eyes as he texts: Nice
going, Prongs. You upstaged my very cute moment.

Sorry, Pads, James replies, then immediately after: Yes, him.

We got another one, Marlene messages.

Dorcas adds, I fucking knew it.

She's lying. She was shocked, Marlene immediately corrects, to which Dorcas responds, Fuck off.

No one in this chat is straight, Mary texts, and everyone knows better than to doubt her. Everyone
hearts her message, even Frank, because Mary is always right, even when she's wrong.

I am not shocked by this information, because I have insider information. I met the mean barista,
Lily informs them.

Sirius is instantly betrayed. YOU MET HIM BEFORE I DID?

Get fucked, Black, I sure did, Lily responds with a smiling emoji, which immediately makes Sirius
pull his hand from Remus' hair to start typing furiously with both hands. In the meantime, Lily
sends in another message. I met him earlier today and absolutely crashed James' date with him. He
was awful.

The mean barista??? Frank asks.

No. James, Lily answers. The mean barista was lovely. Mean, but lovely. He called me an idiot. I
adore him.

He did WHAT?! That's James, complete with sobbing emoji that makes Sirius pause to laugh again.
James beats Sirius in sending his next message. I went to the loo for FIVE MINUTES.

That's bold. I like him, Mary declares.

He sounds terrifying, Peter adds.

Marlene messages, then. Can't wait to meet him.

He really is lovely, though. He's smitten with James, Lily sends.

James immediately replies with a picture of that deer with all the hearts around it that he's been
using for literally years now, and then adds about ten exclamation points.

Sirius, who is still typing, watches as Lily sends an emoji with rolling eyes, then she messages: I
approve of him, in any case. He's a bit shy, I think, but I'm very sure everyone will like him once he
gets comfortable enough to get to know us. He's witty in that dry way that Sirius likes. I get the
feeling Sirius will love him, actually. Honestly, if it was at all possible, I'd just steal him from
James and take him for myself.

Back off, Evans, James responds, sending that meme with the small, plump duck holding a tiny,
plastic knife.

It's immediately after this that Sirius finally finishes and sends his message, which is just: Damn
you, Lily Evans. Damn you straight to Hell, where you will burn in agony for your many crimes.
This is the LAST time you best me in relation to James Potter. I am his other half, I am the very
heart in his chest, I am VITAL to him in every way, so you will lay down your weapons and vacate
the battlefield, waving a white flag of surrender as you scamper on your way, or I will destroy you.
And YOU, James. I trusted you. I never took you for a traitor, but this is a betrayal of the highest
degree. LILY met him first? You LET Lily meet him first? I take this personally. This is a slight
against me that can only be rectified if you allow no one else to meet him before me, or else I can
never forgive you for the distance you are putting between us. Do we no longer breathe in perfect
unison? Do you no longer ache when I ache? What has become of us? I can't believe you've done
this.

Anyway, Lily replies a few minutes later, and the chat fills with a wall of crying-laughing emojis.

James, though… James sends a broken heart and responds: I'm so sorry, Pads. It was an accident. I
didn't mean for it to happen. Please, it was a mistake.

You knew where it was going. You could have stopped it, Sirius messages.

I wasn't in the right state of mind, Sirius. You have to believe me. That wasn't me, Lily took
advantage, James replies.

I did, Lily adds shamelessly.

Sirius purses his lips so he won't laugh again. I just don't know if I can forgive this.

Wormtail met Moony first! James reminds him. Then, immediately after: Well, sort of. You know
what I mean!

So this was revenge, then. That's WORSE, Sirius texts. Mine was a true accident, but this? This
means a part of you meant to do this. How can I let that go? How do I know you won't do it again?

It takes James a moment, but then: Okay, so don't freak out, but I'm absolutely doing it again. He's
meeting my parents in a few days.

Oh, James, you're in for it now, Frank adds.

Everyone, we're gathered here today to witness the divorce of Sirius Black and James Potter, Mary
messages.

Fucking finally, Peter replies, which earns more laughing emojis that Sirius chooses to ignore.

No, no, we can save this. I'll just come meet him then, too, Sirius tries, because he's actually eager
to meet the fellow that makes James so happy, all jokes aside.

Sorry, mate, but he's only agreed to Mum and Dad. I don't want to pressure him, you know? James
responds.

I just vomited in my mouth a little, Marlene informs them.

Dorcas translates: She means she thinks that was sweet.

No, it is. You have to respect James for being a good boyfriend. We CAN be intimidating as a
friend group. We're a lot of people to impress, Alice points out reasonably.
I don't know how we come back from this, Sirius messages. Bond ended with James, Peter is my
soulmate now.

Don't drag me into this, Peter texts.

James sends a few pleading emojis with the big, teary eyes, so Sirius responds: Alright, we've come
back from it. Good luck, then. You have to tell me EVERYTHING.

One day, I will, mate. Promise, James replies.

You have no spine, Black, Lily adds.

Don't talk to me, Evans. HOMEWRECKER, Sirius sends back, and Lily sends another laughing
emoji.

Lily does message again, though. If it helps you feel any better at all, I really do think you'll love
him. Actually, he even looks like you. Potter, do you have something you need to tell us?

James, if you're in love with me, just say that, Sirius adds, biting back a laugh as soon as he sends
it, though the idea that James is taken with some bloke who looks like him is intriguing. Well, it's
mostly hilarious, actually.

I'll have you know that the differences are FAR more obvious than the similarities, James
responds.

He has Sirius' eyes. Like, his EXACT eyes, Lily replies with an emoji that just stares blankly,
unimpressed.

They make me feel things that Sirius' do not, James messages back, then, No offense, mate. You
know I love you.

I love you, too, Sirius replies.

And I'm out, Marlene messages, sending a waving emoji, which makes everyone else send laughing
emojis, but then Dorcas explains that they actually are going out to the cinema if anyone is free to
come. Sirius contemplates waking Remus up and seeing if he'd be open to going, especially since
Mary and Lily both agree to go.

Before he can even nudge Remus awake, his screen flashes a notification for an email from fucking
Minerva McGonagall.

"Oh my god!" Sirius blurts out, scrambling to sit up, and Remus jolts awake with a confused noise
and cloudy eyes, squinting at Sirius with a frown. Sirius pats his head. "Sorry, sweetheart. I just—
oh my god."

"What's'it?" Remus mumbles, his voice rough with sleep, and any other time, Sirius would be
determined to snog him for sounding like that, even if his mouth is sleep-fuzzy.

Sirius shakes his head and opens the email, reading it eagerly, and then his heart turns over in his
chest. "Oh. Bloody hell, do you—do you remember me telling you about—well, about my mentor,
really? The one who encouraged my love of art and taught me practically everything I know?"

"Minerva McGonagall. You called her Minnie, even though she scolded you for it," Remus says,
and Sirius is warmed that he does recall. Remus leans up on his elbows a bit, blinking slowly and
rubbing one side of his face. "What about her?"

"I haven't seen her since graduation, but I have emailed her over the years for help or questions
involving my art, and she's commissioned a few things from me, some to show her class. I never let
her pay," Sirius rushes to add, despite the fact that she always tries to, but he means it when he says
that it would honestly be an insult if he took her money. "Anyway, she just emailed me asking if
I'd get lunch with her today. The sooner the better, she says."

Remus hums. "So, go on, then. See what she wants. It's clear that you admire her quite a bit."

"I do, yeah," Sirius admits, because he does. He has a lot of love and respect for her, actually. Still,
he pauses. "I mean, I do want to go. Will you—can I come back here afterwards? I'd still like to
stay over with you, if that's alright."

"Yes, Sirius, of course," Remus says with a quiet laugh, ducking his head to press a quick kiss to
Sirius' chest, fierce enough for him to feel it through his shirt. "I'll be right here. Likely sleeping.
Uninterrupted."

"Sorry," Sirius offers sheepishly. He scoots down to press a quick kiss to Remus' forehead.
"Alright, I'll give you a ring when I'm on my way back, yeah?"

"Mhm," Remus agrees, rolling off him to give him space to get out of bed, tugging at blankets to
get bundled up.

Sirius pauses as he slips on his jacket, looking back to see Remus watching him with lazy
contentment. There's a twinge in Sirius' chest, like a balloon swelling, so much warmth and joy
filling him up that he feels like he's going to burst, as if he doesn't have enough room to contain it
all. He looks at Remus and says, soft and genuine, "I really love you, you know that?"

"Do you?" Remus murmurs, shifting up to tilt his face in a clear demand, and Sirius marches over
immediately. Never one to take orders, or sway to any heavy-handed request, and yet he would do
absolutely anything that Remus asks of him. He swoops down over Remus to kiss him, chaste and
warm, and Remus smiles as he draws away. "I love you, too."

"Marry me," Sirius declares.

Remus' lips twitch. "One day. We've only known each other for four months, Sirius."

"Alright, be practical if you like, but I will be booking an appointment to get your name tattooed on
my chest," Sirius informs him.

"No," Remus says simply.

"Okay, so I won't, but know that I want to," Sirius grumbles, once again just letting Remus tell him
what he can and cannot do. Although, Sirius learns his lesson quickly. He'll just get a tattoo of the
phases of the moon and only tell Remus after he's done it. What can Remus do then? Sirius is a
genius.

"You've that look in your eye. Whatever you're planning—"

"I'm not planning anything, what are you on about? Anyway, I should be off. Have a lunch to get
to."

"Sirius," Remus calls warningly as Sirius goes.

"See you in a bit, Moony. Love you," Sirius cuts in, blowing Remus a kiss and winking before he
slips out the door, listening to Remus' exasperated chuckles follow him out.

With a few exchanges of emails, it becomes clear that the lunch is necessary because Minerva is
only out of Scotland for a few days and will be returning tomorrow, so whatever she wants to
discuss with Sirius has to be today if she wants to do it in person, which she apparently does. They
agree to meet at a restaurant that he suggests since he knows the area better, and he makes it there
before she does.

Still, when he sees her for the first time in six years (and he can barely believe that it's been that
long, honestly), he can't help the way his face splits into a blooming grin the moment she walks
through the door. She looks almost the exact same as he remembers, straight-backed and iron-
spined, her hair in a neat knot at the back of her head, a few grey streaks that he doesn't recall ever
seeing before, additional wrinkles beside her pinched mouth that he's sure he's never seen before.
God, she's fifty now, isn't she? What an insane concept. He still remembers when he met her at
eleven years old, and in his very first class with her, he splattered her face with orange paint
because he was trying to wave the brush around like a composer. She gave him detention.

Ah, they came so far from that, though. He didn't know that he would fall so deeply in love with
art, so there's no way she could have expected it, but she never once thought him incapable of it.
When he went to her at only thirteen, asking her if she'd help him make something for Reggie, she
didn't turn him away. She invited him in and, in a way he doubts he'll ever be able to explain, she
changed his life.

So, yes, he grins when she sweeps in, and he isn't at all surprised when she gives him a terse nod of
greeting as she approaches him. But oh, she should know him better than that by now. No, no, he's
not letting her off that easily.

"Minnie!" Sirius bellows happily and hugs her before she can do a damn thing about it. He hears
her let out a sigh and feels her pat his back slightly, the same way someone would pat a mangy dog
they don't want to particularly touch at all. It makes him laugh as he peels away, and despite
everything, he can see the warmth in her gaze. Secretly, he's quite sure he was Minerva's favorite
student. "You look as beautiful as ever. I knew you couldn't stay away from me. It's alright now,
isn't it? I'm not your student, so this love we share is—"
"Sit down, Mr. Black, and call me Minerva, or I will walk right back out," Minerva says firmly.

Sirius sits, grinning helplessly. "Oh, sure, but only if you will call me Sirius. I'm not your student
anymore, really." She hums as she sits across from him. "I plan to order some chips and a drink.
What can I get you?"

"I'm getting this, if you must know," Minerva informs him, no nonsense, flicking her fingers to the
table. "My apologies if you've been waiting long. The cabbie drove slow enough that I could've
arrived sooner if I just walked."

"Welcome to the city," Sirius tells her, chuckling.

Minerva purses her lips. "Well, it's certainly not Scotland."

"No, it's most definitely not. What brings you here anyway? I always secretly thought you were
trapped in that castle and couldn't leave," Sirius teases.

"An old friend contacted me with a request, one I have no interest in fulfilling," Minerva says, then
leans back when someone comes to their table. She just orders a drink, then gestures for Sirius to
order, then waits until they're alone to start speaking again. "I should apologize for reaching out to
you on such short notice, and thank you for accommodating me, Mr. Black."

Sirius raises his eyebrows at her. "Minnie, it's Sirius, and it's also not a problem. It's good to see
you again, actually."

"Likewise," Minerva replies with that usual taciturn demeanor of hers, but the real truth is all in her
eyes, the way they soften and gleam with good humor. "I would have arranged it sooner if I
expected to be arranging it at all. As I mentioned before, an old friend had a request. He's planning
a charity event soon in his art gallery, and he was hoping I would be willing to paint something to
put on display."

"You're not willing?" Sirius asks in surprise.

Minerva sighs. "I would be, usually, especially for charity, but I simply haven't the time. It's a bit
short notice, and I'm rather unfortunately busy and booked for the next month. There's also the
small matter that I would have to attend, and I would rather not, if I'm to be frank."
"Scotland calling you home?"

"Loudly."

Sirius hums, amused. "I understand. Besides, it's not exactly the first gallery to display your art, is
it? I still go visit your painting of the Scotland Highlands when I'm getting nostalgic for Hogwarts.
Steals my breath every time. It's like I'm there."

"Don't flatter me, Mr. Black."

"Minnie, I would never."

"Mm," Minerva hums with a vague note of suspicion like she's just caught him whispering with
James at the back of her class and knows he's plotting. Her lips twitch at the corners. "Yes, well, in
any case… All of this is to say that I've recommended you in my stead."

"Sorry?" Sirius blinks at her.

Minerva's lips curl up more. "I've recommended you to be on display in place of me."

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Sirius chokes out, sputtering, his eyes bulging in pure disbelief. It's at
that exact moment that a basket of chips and two drinks get plopped down between them, but
Sirius hardly even notices. Minerva takes a calm sip while Sirius gapes at her. "Did you—did you
actually—"

"I did," Minerva confirms, sitting her drink down. She surveys him closely. "My friend needed
someone, and my mind immediately turned to you, Mr. Black, of all the people I know. Surely you
realize you surpass even me in skill."

"Um, that's bollocks, Professor," Sirius blurts out, falling back into old habits just from his shock.
He feels like he needs to shrink down and get smaller. "You're, like, proper famous. Your artwork
is all over the world. You sell for triple the amount that I do, and you would if you just sneezed on
a sodding napkin and declared it art. It would be art because you sneezed on it, in fact. Surpass
you? I could never!"
 Minerva presses her lips into a thin line, then says, with startling firmness, "Do not praise me in the
endeavor to demean yourself. You are and have always been exceptionally talented. I've monitored
your progress since you were eleven, all the way up until now, and I'm quite proud of the fact that I
had the chance to teach you. I hardly buy into the topic of a protégé to the lengths that most in our
field do, but if I did, you would be mine. I suggested you because if anyone deserves to have their
work on display, it is you. The world would be lucky to see your art, Mr. Black, and I hope that
you let it."

"I—Minerva, I—" Sirius has to stop and take a shaky breath, blinking hard. He swallows thickly.
"What medium?"

"Painting," Minerva murmurs, watching him.

Sirius licks his lips. "Is there a theme?"

"Horace had asked if I'd add an element of water, maybe something that would stir the guests and
get them thinking. He insists that they'd be more willing to donate if they were emotional from the
art," Minerva says, rolling her eyes.

"Something with water, something with shock value," Sirius mumbles, his mind already churning.
He could do something with that. "Are you sure you want—"

"Sirius," Minerva cuts in, "if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here."

"Yeah." Sirius exhales heavily and tries his absolute best not to cry. "Yeah, Minerva, alright."

Chapter End Notes

McGonagall being Sirius' art mentor is something that can be so personal. It genuinely
delights me.

Also, not Regulus being a jealous little shit I love him so much. He really looked at
Lily and was like "I think you're stupid, and you better stay that way, or I'm going
down and taking you and James with me" pls, he's literally so dramatic

Also², I just think that Remus deserves to fall asleep on Sirius. I would also like to say
that, in my head, his feet were hanging off the end of the bed because he's taller than
Sirius, but was still determined to fall asleep with his head on Sirius' chest to hear his
heartbeat. It's really important to me that you all know that.

Anyway, see you Wednesday! :)

 Chapter 12
Chapter Notes

No warnings for this chapter either. Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When James was nineteen years old, he told four people that he was going to propose to Lily
Evans. Sirius and Peter, of course, had been supportive and excited for him.

Fleamont Potter had looked at Euphemia Potter when he told them, and she smiled softly and said,
"Love is a choice, James. Never forget that."

And, when he turned up back home, heaving sobs and falling directly into his mum's waiting arms,
he choked out, "She didn't choose me."

Monty stroked his hair, and Effie held him while whispering, like a promise, "Then choose
yourself, love. It's alright not to be alright. You will be, and you'll choose again. Never stop
choosing, James. Shh, I know. I know it hurts."

James asked her once, years later, if she knew. She didn't lie to him. She told him that she did, and
he was upset. "Why? Why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you warn me?"

"My son, you are more than just the love you give to others. Your sole purpose in this world isn't
to take care of those around you, as much as you try. It's alright to love as you do, but in that love,
you give every bit of yourself. It would have broken your heart if I did warn you, or try to stop you,
and we both know you wouldn't have believed me. I'm not here to add to your pain; I am here to
hold you through it and ensure that you heal afterwards," Effie told him gently.

"I'll never love like this again," James had whispered.

"No, you won't," Effie agreed and then, inexplicably, she smiled. "When it's time, you'll love
again, and it will be entirely unique. I'm also here for your joy, to be grateful when you have it, and
I look forward to the day you find it again. It will come, love. Believe that."
James hadn't, really, but he hadn't been in a place in his life to manage to, but he knows now that
she was right. Honestly, she always is, and he's so thankful that she was about this.

Regulus is nervous, James can tell. It's endearing, honestly, because he covers it very well. A
stranger would think he's perfectly fine—maybe a bit bored and unapproachable because that's just
his face—but certainly not worried. James is no stranger, though. He sees right through Regulus.

It's a stark reminder that Regulus has never interacted with a proper mother or father, because
Walburga and Orion most certainly weren't. He hasn't opened himself up to anyone to actually
meet their parents, so this is his first time. James understands that he feels like he's walking into
something with no guide, no control, and it's hard for him. The fact that he's doing this means a lot,
and James knows it.

In all honesty, Regulus has been rather stressed planning for the event. He keeps cooking things,
then making James try them for a review, then deciding to wave James off when he swears literally
everything he makes is amazing. While James isn't complaining about being repeatedly offered
food, he would prefer Regulus not to be so uneasy. He's having a lot of firsts coming up, starting
with meeting James' parents and ending with complete strangers eating what he'll cook.

James hopes that this will reassure him, at the very least, because he doesn't doubt that this first
will go well. He's even preemptively asked his parents not to bring up his friends, though the
excuse that Regulus is private and might feel pressured to meet them is very...underhanded. He
knows this. It's just getting harder and harder keeping Sirius and Regulus from finding out about
each other, and James is honestly fucking terrified that they will before he and Remus can fully
explain when it's safer to.

It's a little nerve-wracking, truthfully, the closer that Regulus gets to the people who know Sirius.
He also feels horribly guilty with each day, that sensation only growing as he thinks about how he's
actively lying to both his boyfriend and his best friend. He can barely stand it, and he doesn't know
how he's meant to do it for however long it will take for Sirius and Regulus to soften up at the
mention of each other. He can't get over the fact that they'd both hate him if they knew.

Nothing scares him more.

"James," Regulus says suddenly, reaching out to catch his arm, holding onto it a bit too tight.

"Yes, love?"
"It's alright, isn't it? What I've made? I didn't ask—I don't know if they have any allergies. I forgot
to ask if—"

James covers Regulus' hand with his own and ducks his head to meet his gaze. "Stop fretting. They
don't have allergies. They'll love what you've made, and they'll love you. Trust me, yeah? You
have absolutely nothing to be nervous about."

"I'm not nervous," Regulus lies, his eyes wide with a slightly wild gleam of nerves flashing in them,
and James is so unbearably fond of him.

"Here. Come here," James murmurs, shifting his arms to pull Regulus in close, standing in the
middle of his kitchen to hold him. It takes a moment, but Regulus relaxes against him with a quiet
sigh, tucking his head under James' chin.

James sweeps his hand up and down Regulus' back, quietly humming under his breath and gently
swaying them. He can't help but smile, full to the brim with affection. Regulus had asked if it
would be a problem for James' parents to come over to his flat, where he'd make dinner for all of
them. It was a good idea, James felt, because Regulus is most comfortable in his own space and
when he gets to cook, so he'd assured him that it was no problem, knowing it wouldn't be. It wasn't,
of course. Effie and Monty had been delighted by the idea.

The table is set, and James' parents should be here any moment, but they still just stand there and
hold onto each other. Tension bleeds out of Regulus' frame by the minute, and James likes having
him in his arms. This is the joy his mum told him he'd find one day, he knows it is.

They don't move until there's a knock on the door, and Regulus jolts, all that tension that slowly
filtered out of his body snapping right back into place. James releases a muted sigh and pulls back,
pausing to kiss him on the forehead, which Regulus leans into with a deep draw of breath.

"I'll get it, yeah?" James offers quietly, and Regulus nods stiffly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

When he opens the door, the first thing Monty says is, "Where is he? Where is the man I must
threaten to never, ever be mean to my son?"

James squeezes his eyes shut because his dad is loud, and his voice carries, and chances are, that
just sent Regulus into a mild crisis. Eyes opening, James sighs and says, "I'll have you know, I
rather like when he's mean to me, Dad."
"Hm, yes, you take after your Dad that way," Monty says with a grin and a wink towards Effie,
who rolls her eyes but also smiles broadly.

"Be gentle," James whispers as he opens the door further and lets his parents in. "He's nervous."

"No, I'm not," Regulus announces, appearing at James' elbow as he holds out his hand, smiling
with charm and warmth. It's all fake, of course, an act—but there's a saying about acting confident
to be confident and faking it to make it, so James will take what he can get until Regulus loosens
up. "Don't listen to a word your son says. He has no idea what's going on at any given moment."

"Insulting me comforts him," James says, and Monty busts out laughing as he steps forward to
shake Regulus' hand, holding onto it and patting the back of it with a sincere smile.

"It's wonderful to meet you, lad," Monty tells him warmly, his eyes crinkling. "James tells me
you've taken right to ziplining. Not for everyone, I've found, but it's nice that he has someone to do
it with when his friends won't, or can't. Loves flying, James does. Have you ever been skydiving?"

"Dad's a bit of a thrill-seeker," James admits.

Regulus hums and draws his hand back from Monty in a move that seems casual if not for the fact
that James notices his fingers trembling. "So, he gets it from you, then? He took me on our second
date. Our second. I should have known then what trouble he would be, but I...did enjoy it, actually.
And no, I've never been skydiving. Is it very fun?"

"Very," Monty emphasizes. "We try to do it once annually. You'll have to come with us this year."

"Looking forward to it," Regulus says politely, and James tucks his lips in so he won't burst out
laughing. Fucking liar.

James glances over at his mum, only to find Effie staring right at Regulus with a look so searching
that James' stomach drops right out from under him. His father—bless Fleamont Potter, really—is
so very oblivious, but his mother? Oh, Euphemia Potter misses nothing, and she's been a mum to
Sirius since he was sixteen. The look on her face…
She knows, James thinks in abject panic, and Effie's eyes finally rip away from Regulus to land on
James. He doesn't know what he looks like, but he'd bet all his quid that there's so much horror and
fear on his face that no one would miss it, surely not her. Regulus and Monty are still talking
(really, James is so very grateful for his dad), and Effie is looking right at James, her eyes flicking
over his face.

Something passes between them. James has no words for what it is, but Effie's expression shifts
minutely, and she turns away as a small smile graces her face. She moves to Regulus to shake the
hand he immediately offers her and says, "It's lovely to meet you, dear. James tells me you're a
chef?"

"I'm in culinary school," Regulus corrects. "I want to be a chef and one day open my own
restaurant. James is just...very enthusiastic in his support."

"Sounds like him," Effie says with a chuckle. "He makes for an excellent sous chef, if you ever
find yourself in need of an extra pair of hands."

"You'll have to teach me how to keep him in line, because he only sets out to distract me when he's
in my kitchen," Regulus admits, which is—alright, that's a little bit true.

Effie taps the side of her nose when their hands break apart, and she grins with a twinkle in her eye.
"The trick is in the task and the reward. Give him something to do, then give him a treat when he's
done it. For me, that's usually a biscuit or a bite of whatever I'm making. I'm sure you can modify
the trick to however it best suits you both."

"I'm...sure," Regulus mumbles, his entire face turning a bright red, which glows obviously because
of his complexion, and James can't help but roar with laughter while Regulus cuts him a sharp
glare that only makes him laugh harder.

"Now, I must say, I was promised food and something smells amazing," Monty says after Regulus
has stepped on James' foot to make him shut up. He claps his hands together, and Effie lazily swats
him in reprimand, but her eyes are darting towards the food on the table with interest.

It takes over twenty minutes for Regulus to actually relax and be himself, and the only reason he
does, James is sure, is because he gets caught up in a discussion on spices (he loves spices) with
Effie, who also happens to be quite passionate about the subject. Monty raises his eyebrows at
James, and James shrugs helplessly, and they share a grin that—for all that he doesn't look much
like his father—is the exact same.
It takes Effie only half an hour to draw a genuine laugh from Regulus, because she's a formidable
woman. It took James weeks, and she has to go and show him up. There's honestly nothing she can't
do.

After that, though, Regulus stops faking. The faux charm falls away until he's just him—wry and
dry and witty, a bit inclined to dark, sardonic humor, leaning into sarcasm like it's his first
language, and still unwittingly lovely and startlingly sweet without even seeming to realize it.

He takes right to Effie in much the same way that Sirius did at the start, and still is sometimes.
Almost in awe of her. Taken off guard every time she calls him dear, but in a soft, pleasant way
like he's warmed by it. Starved for motherly connection in a proper capacity, leaving him
helplessly charmed by how much she exudes probably entirely by instinct. When she praises his
food and declares that they will be cooking together one day very soon, he swallows harshly and
briefly looks like he might start crying. No one mentions it.

What surprises James is how Regulus takes to Monty. He's not expecting it, is all, because
honestly… Well, for a long time, Sirius didn't have a deep connection with James' dad. Monty is
easily distracted, so when you want his attention, you have to make that abundantly clear. James
grew up barreling right into his father's space to interrupt whatever he was doing and start
chattering his ear off—and will still do it to this day—while Monty immediately shifted focus and
found it difficult to get back to what he was doing before James came in, but he was never, never
upset about being interrupted to start with. In fact, he loved it. He's said on more than one occasion
that his family will always come first, and that's always been true.

It's just, well, you have to get his attention. Once you have it, it's yours forever if you want it.
Sirius hadn't grasped that at the age of sixteen, hadn't even realized that a father was meant to pay
attention. So, he simply...didn't try. They got on well enough, and Monty adores Sirius as if he's his
own son, but it took years before Sirius cracked the code. That's when Sirius found his connection
with Monty, and James remembers the first time Sirius had said, as if surprised, "Your dad is
brilliant, mate," and it had broken James' heart a little to realize that Sirius had no idea that a dad
could be brilliant.

It doesn't take Regulus long at all to crack the code, and it turns out he likes the fatherly attention,
because it becomes clear to James rather quickly that Regulus is a bit enamored with him. If Effie
is Sirius' favorite, then there's no doubt in James' mind that Monty is Regulus'.

By the end of the meal, Monty has won in getting the most genuine smiles and laughs out of
Regulus (yes, James is keeping a tally, don't judge him), and they've carried on a lengthy
conversation about gardening. Monty likes to garden, because while he's not the best in the
kitchen, he enjoys getting to contribute by providing some of the ingredients. Regulus, at this point,
is staring at him with stars in his eyes.

Monty is, of course, entirely oblivious to the fact that Regulus clearly admires him and hangs onto
every word that leaves his mouth, but that only makes it more endearing. James and Effie, at one
point, share an amused glance, equally fond.

So, by the end of the meal, Regulus is as calm as he ever gets, helpfully blooming under Monty's
attention and approval, as well as Effie's relentless ability to make everyone love her. He actually
looks mildly disappointed when they announce they have to go, and he insists they have to take
leftovers with them, which Monty happily agrees to the moment he offers.

"You're a good lad, Regulus. We'll see you again," Monty states, clapping Regulus on the shoulder
with a broad grin, and Regulus beams as much as he ever does. Mostly in the eyes, really. It's
adorable.

"I hope this isn't too forward, dear…" Effie trails off and steps up to him with her arms out in
invitation, holding back like she normally wouldn't. She knows, James can't help but think again,
because it's obvious to him that she does. She knows exactly where he comes from, what his life at
home was like.

Regulus looks a little startled, but he shakes his head, even if he can't seem to make himself move
forward into the offered embrace. Effie seems to expect it, though, and she steps up to wrap him in
her arms. She's taller than him, because she's around Monty's height, actually, only a bit shorter—
James got his height from her as well, but she's quite tall herself; he's literally the same height as
his mum. Regulus tentatively returns the hug, delicate like he has to be very careful with her, which
Sirius never was. He'd always clung to Effie as if he was the delicate one. Regulus, however, is
exceptionally gentle like she's precious, like she might just melt away if he touches her too firmly,
and it's quite clear that he doesn't want her to.

Effie has a rule. She never breaks a hug first, because she says she never knows how much
someone might need it, and if she can provide it, why wouldn't she? James has taken advantage of
this rule, admittedly, tackling his mum with hugs when she was scolding him or he was getting into
trouble, and even if she was angry, she never let him go first. It would bring him to tears randomly
when he felt especially bad for doing something wrong, somehow expecting that he'd gone far
enough for her to shove him away, but she never did, not once. Sirius, of course, also took
advantage of this in a very different way, soaking up her embraces like a sponge, doing it just to do
it because he never got to do it with his own mother.

Regulus learns this rule now, because Effie does not pull away, and he's not letting go either. James
watches in real time as he slowly, oh so slowly, sinks into her in increments as if he can't help it.
His touch is still so very soft and careful, but he holds on and can't seem to bring himself to let go.
James can see his eyes starting to water over her shoulder.

He must work out that he's going to have to break the hug first, because he does, looking away. His
jaw clenches and works so hard that his cheek twitches, and his voice is thick when he chokes out,
"It was lovely to meet you both. I'll let James walk you out. Excuse me."

And then he's gone. He practically runs to get away, leaving them all behind, and James is pretty
sure he's about to cry here in a moment. He hopes Walburga rots.

"Is he alright?" Monty asks with a frown of concern, apparently still paying attention, and oh, that's
sweet. He rather likes Regulus too, doesn't he?

"Must've needed the loo," Effie says airily, patting Monty's shoulder and gently pushing him to the
door.

James follows them out, all the way out until they're all on the street, then murmurs, "Thanks for
coming. It really went well."

"He's a good one. I like him," Monty announces cheerfully, and James can't help but chuckle.

"Yeah, Dad, I noticed. I'm glad, though. I quite like him myself," James teases.

Monty hums and winks. "I could tell. Alright, honey, I'm going to warm up the car. James." He
opens his arms, which James steps into easily, and when they pull apart, Monty leans over to kiss
Effie's cheek. "Coming?"

"Right behind you," Effie assures him, smiling, but when he's a good distance away, her smile
drops as she looks right at James and slowly, pointedly arches one eyebrow.

"Mum," James says weakly, deflating.

"That's Sirius Black's brother, that is," Effie says, holding his gaze, practically challenging him to
try lying to her.
"Yes," James whispers.

Effie stares at him, then blows out a breath and closes her eyes. Without opening them, she says,
"Does Sirius know?"

"No."

"Does Regulus?"

"No," James mumbles, wincing.

"Oh, James," Effie groans, her eyes snapping open. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"

James stares down at his trainers, a lump in his throat. His eyes burn and itch. "It was an accident,
Mum. I didn't find out until I was already dating him. As soon as I did find out, I tried to stop. We
both did—Regulus' best mate, too, because he's the one Sirius has been dating, and we didn't know.
None of us knew, so we—we tried to do the right thing, but it hurt so much. It hurt all of us so
much, and we just—we couldn't."

"Well," Effie says with a heavy sigh, "this is a right mess you've all found yourselves in, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it is," James agrees with a wet laugh, and then he's crying without meaning to
because it's all so bloody difficult, and he doesn't know what the right thing is, only that he isn't
doing it, and he's so, so scared to lose either of them. It's genuinely stressing him out, and he just—
breaks.

"Come here, love," Effie murmurs, drawing him into a hug, letting him hide his face into her
shoulder. She sweeps her hand up and down his back. "I can see so much of Sirius in him. You
didn't notice?"

"How could I? Yeah, they look alike, but I only knew Sirius had a sister. How did you know?"
James croaks as he pulls away, roughly scrubbing at his face.
Effie smiles softly. "A mother—a true mother—always knows. It helps that his smile, that fake
charming smile, is Sirius' true smile. Don't you recognize it? And his eyes… Love, his eyes are a
dead giveaway. I'm not removed from the existence of trans people, James. I didn't raise you to be
either."

"I'm not," James says earnestly. "It's just—yeah, he resembles Sirius, but Mum, he doesn't make
me feel the way Sirius does. I look at him and see him. I can't see anything else. I can barely bloody
breathe looking at him sometimes because of how he makes me feel, so you'll forgive me if I
wasn't seeing past my hope to date him to be suspicious."

"I understand," Effie tells him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. She studies his face. "What are
you going to do?"

"I don't know," James admits. "I can't just out Regulus to Sirius, but it's more than that. I don't want
to lose either of them, and Remus is in the same predicament, and they're so happy compared to
when we tried to stop. We just want them to be happy. Is that so wrong?"

"The intent is good, and I do grasp why you would see it that way," Effie murmurs gently, "but
you're no fool, James. Friendships and relationships aren't held together by lies; they will fall apart
if you try to do it that way."

James blinks rapidly, chin trembling. "Then tell me what to do, Mum. I don't know what to do."

"You need to tell them. You and that boy who makes Sirius so happy, Remus," Effie says.

"I'll lose Regulus," James chokes out, his shoulders wrenching up, stomach twisting with genuine
fear. Effie reaches up to cup his cheek, frowning. "I'll lose him, Mum, and I—I can't. I'm so scared.
I'm so—"

Effie draws him back in with a quiet, "Oh, James. Just a mess. A right mess. This is going to hurt."

"Am I being selfish, Mum?" James asks as he pulls back slightly, blinking at her through clumped
eyelashes. The thing is, he doesn't know. He's not sure he's ever been selfish before, not really.

"Well, it's certainly not the most selfless thing you've ever done," Effie says dryly, and it draws a
weak laugh out of him. She pats his cheek. "You'll figure it out, love. You'll get through it, all of
you. In the meantime, you seem so very happy with him."

"I am. I really am," James whispers, and feels like the most selfish person on the planet.

"You deserve nothing less," Effie whispers back, her voice fierce with emotion, and she squeezes
his hand.

"Thanks, Mum," James rasps.

Effie leans in to kiss his forehead. "Anything for you, love. Now, go on. He's a good boy, and he's
waiting on you."

James nods and walks her to the car, saying his final goodbyes to her and his dad, then he takes a
deep breath and heads back up. When he gets back into the flat, Regulus is in the kitchen, cleaning
up with his back to James. Carefully, James moves forward to step up to Regulus' back and wrap
his arms around him, swallowing when he feels how stiff Regulus is.

"I—I think that went well," Regulus says softly, and it comes out shaky, a bit clogged like he can
barely get the words out.

"They loved you," James murmurs.

A dish clatters into the sink, and Regulus releases a deep, gasping sob. He curls forward, abruptly
crying very hard, all the weight going out of him at once.

James already has his arms around him, so he catches most of his weight and makes sure he gets to
the floor safely. He just crowds behind him, holding him. Regulus leans back against him, covering
his face as if to muffle the sound of his raw, scratchy sobs. He rocks a little bit, his shoulders
heaving, and James rocks with him. He holds him, pressing one hand flat to his chest and using the
other to rub his arm. He holds him, and holds him, and holds him as he weeps.

"My parents—they never—" Regulus can't really speak past his tears, so he gives up quickly, but
James already knows. It's ripping him apart. He can barely stand it.
"I know, love. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," James whispers, aching, and for the second time in his life,
he feels that deep, calculated desire to murder that entire family, minus his best friend and the one
in his arms now. It doesn't scare him as much this time.

Regulus cries for quite some time, but he does eventually tire himself out. He just slumps in James'
grip and breathes for a while, tilting his head back on James' shoulder. James buries his face in
Regulus' hair and holds him.

"Sorry," Regulus mumbles at some point, but he doesn't pull away and try to get space, doesn't try
to grasp some control to cover what he's just shown.

James pulls back to quietly say, "You have nothing to apologize for."

"We're on my kitchen floor," Regulus says with vague disgust and agitation, as if he's judging
himself for his outburst of emotion that ended with them here.

"I like your kitchen floor," James offers nonsensically.

Regulus huffs out a weak laugh. "You're ridiculous." He only gets a hum of acknowledgement,
which makes his lips curl up slightly before he sits forward and shifts in between James' legs to
gaze at him. His eyes are puffy and the very tip of his nose is red, and as much as James hates that
he cried, he's absolutely adorable in the aftermath. Of course he is. He looks better, though. Less
sad. James wants to squish his cheeks and wrap him in blankets. If Regulus sniffles even once,
James will be a goner. But Regulus doesn't sniffle. Regulus smiles softly and calmly says, "I love
you."

James freezes. His eyes go wide, his heart tripping in his chest, and he sounds breathless when he
asks, "You do?"

"I do," Regulus confirms, his smile growing.

"Really?" James checks, hands shaking, and he feels suddenly as if he's fucking flying. This is
better than flying. This is the most exhilarating moment of his life.

"Yes, James, really," Regulus murmurs, nodding his head and laughing quietly. "I love you."
"Oh," James breathes out, then bursts into motion, scrambling forward to catch Regulus' face in his
hands to kiss him. He tries to, in any case, but he's smiling too hard to actually manage a proper
snog, so he just starts peppering short, sweet kisses all over Regulus' face, wherever he can reach,
while Regulus laughs and lazily pushes him away. James crowds in closer, chasing, and then he's
rambling. "I love you, too. Of course I do. I really fucking do, Regulus. I can't believe you said it
first. I love you. I'm so madly in love with you."

Regulus hums and reaches up to capture his face in between his palms, getting him to stop rattling
around. His eyes are bright and warm. "I know, James."

"Good. Never forget it," James declares firmly and all but tackles him to the floor to smother him in
kisses, glowing as Regulus' happy laughter rings in his ears.

Remus looks up when he hears a solid thump from the front of the shop, then can't help but laugh
as James frowns at the door and tugs at the handle with one hand while the other rubs his nose. He
obviously just ran face-first into the door.

Rolling his eyes, Remus swings around the counter to go open the door, saying, "He's not here. He
took the day off."

"What?" James looks...lost. "He did? Why? Is he—"

"He's fine. He just has something to do for class, getting ready for that event he's so worked up
about. Didn't he tell you?" Remus raises his eyebrows.

James frowns and searches for his cell, thumbing it open. He looks sheepish a few moments later.
"Oh. Well...habit. So, wait, who are you working with, then?"

"Woman named Molly, who usually only works the days Reg and I are off," Remus says with a
sigh. "She'll cover for us, though, if we need an extra day for something."

"Nice of her." James grins at him. "You miss Regulus, don't you?"
"You can never tell him."

"That's cute."

"Piss off."

"What, Molly isn't good enough?"

Remus clicks his tongue. "Molly's alright. A bit older. She has a scary amount of children that
usually show up towards the end of the shift. She's just not…"

"Regulus," James fills in, amused.

"You know, you can leave any time now. I won't be making you a special drink," Remus grumbles,
turning around to walk back behind the counter.

James slumps against the counter with a sigh. "Regulus spoils me."

"He does."

"I want to tell you something very badly, but maybe Regulus wants to tell you, but also it might not
even be a huge matter to him, but at the same time—"

"James," Remus cuts in, lips twitching, "it's not exactly the first secret we've kept between us, is it?
Just tell me."

"You're right. We're proper mates, aren't we?" James beams at him, looking pleased. "I mean, we
even scheme together, and that, my friend, is a bond not easily broken."

"No?" Remus asks dryly.

"No," James assures him, nodding solemnly. "In any case, I'll tell you, but you have to act
surprised if Regulus tells you later. I just literally can't keep it in."

Remus watches James bounce in place against the counter, biting his bottom lip to try to stifle his
grin, though he doesn't manage it by half. "I already know you've shagged, James. Regulus told me
about that."

Well, actually, Remus had noticed. Just the same way that Regulus noticed with him all the way
back in the beginning, Remus could tell that something had happened. There is a look about
someone, it turns out, completely by accident. Remus may have pestered Regulus to get it out of
him, then teased him relentlessly every time he unconsciously smiled.

Honestly, Remus ended up with a bit too much information about James. He didn't need that many
details, but it was nice that Regulus actually opened up to him about it. He never did before, but
Remus now knows it's because all his experiences weren't any he considered worth talking about.
James? Well, Regulus had plenty to say about him.

"He told you?" James hisses, his eyes going wide. "Bloody hell, I haven't been able to tell anyone. I
refuse to talk to Sirius about it. Christ, this is actually a relief."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" Remus asks, amused.

James blinks. "Oh, well no, actually. Might circle back around to it for the sake of my sanity.
Anyway, no, it's—Remus, he loves me. He told me he loves me."

"Did he really?" Remus stands up straighter in surprise. He supposes he knew in the back of his
mind that Regulus loves James, but that's a bit different than Regulus knowing. The fact that
Regulus told James… That's insane. "Wait, did you tell him first? Was he just saying it back?"

"No, that's just the thing. He said it first," James blurts out, bouncing in place again like all of his
excitement is just going to get up and run away with him. "It was after he met my parents last
week. Funny thing, when I said it back, he just said he knew. I didn't even know until I was saying
it back. Well, I suppose I did, but I was being careful not to...be too much, I think. Sort of being
cautious without even knowing it. But he said it, Moony. He said it."

Remus laughs warmly and nods. "Alright, mate, he said it. Steady on. I'm happy for you, and
him."

"Pfft, steady on? I'm about to explode," James announces, grinning like a madman. "You really
won't tell him I told you?"

"Oh, in this case, I will absolutely be telling him you told me, only in the effort to tease him and
make him suffer," Remus informs him casually, and James hangs his head as he groans loudly.
"You're fine. He won't be upset with you. This isn't something he would have just told me; he was
probably waiting for the perfect moment to casually say it to you while I was around, for maximum
chances of me dropping something and-or tripping over my own feet purely from the shock."

James looks up with a frown. "Is it shocking, then? That he loves me, I mean."

"Mm, not at all." Remus waves a hand at him. "I've known that he does, actually. What's shocking
is that he said it first. That's very out of character for him. And honestly? It is for you, too. If I was
a betting man, I would have gone for the opposite."

"Didn't you tell Sirius you loved him first?"

"It...slipped out. Piss off, James, it's not funny. It was a very emotional moment, and I wasn't
exactly aware of all my words for the first time in my life, so that's what slipped."

"That's hilarious, mate." James grins at him and holds his hands up in surrender. "Couldn't be me,
is all I'm saying."

"Are you going to order or continue to terrorize me?" Remus asks, eyes narrowing.

James does, in fact, stick around to terrorize him a bit more, the both of them chatting and
laughing. Sometimes it's hard with James because they're carrying this (as James put it) 'scheme'
between them, and the guilt of that weighs heavily. In the same breath, they were friendly with
each other before, and now with said 'scheme', they do have a bit of a bond. It helps that they both
approve of the other for their best mate.

It's easy to care about James, Remus finds. He's friendly and free with his feelings, and Remus
doesn't think he's ever met someone who wishes for everyone to be happy the way James does.
Remus wonders sometimes if that gets exhausting, always taking care of other people, and wonders
just as often if that leaves him time to take care of himself. Maybe that's the point, though. Maybe
it's a way for James to convince himself he's always alright, and ignore it when he's not.

It's such a sad thought that James notices the change in his mood (because of course he notices) and
asks if he's alright with genuine concern, which only drives the point home, so Remus gives him
his latte for free and makes sure to tell him that he's a good person on his way out the door. James
brightens as he goes, delighted by the compliment.

Of course, Remus calls Regulus only minutes after he's gone.

"Why are you pestering me already?" is how Regulus answers the call, sighing heavily. "Can't you
survive one day without me, Remus? I'm getting ready."

"Oh, come off it, I won't bother you too much. I know this is a big day for you," Remus replies,
rolling his eyes. "I just wanted to congratulate you on falling in love with literally one of the most
obnoxious, yet kindest blokes I've ever met."

There's a beat of silence, then, "James forgot I was off today, didn't he?"

"He did."

"He told you."

"He did. He was very excited about it. Apparently you updated him on your feelings last week?"
Remus asks, amused.

Regulus sighs again. "Did you put two sugars in his latte and give him squirty cream with caramel
drizzle on top?"

"No, Reg, I didn't. Your boyfriend isn't my boyfriend."

"He is when I'm not there and you're making his coffee. He loves the squirty cream and caramel
drizzle. You don't wear ties, even. What pastry did he order?"
"Oh, you have it bad, truly," Remus says, biting back a laugh that threatens to escape him. "He
didn't order a pastry."

"Didn't order—" Regulus huffs in apparent offense, then grunts in annoyance. "Alright, I genuinely
do not have time for this today. If you happen to see him again, give him a sodding muffin or
something. I need to go if I don't want to be late."

Remus chuckles helplessly. "Alright, alright. I suppose I just wanted to see if it was true, then. I
have to admit, I did not expect you to tell James first."

"Oh, I didn't," Regulus informs him distractedly. "James had been casually slipping up and
dropping it before that without even noticing. It actually took me some time to say it back. Don't
tell him that, though. It made him so happy to think I said it first; I don't want to ruin it for him."

"Ah, now that sounds more like you," Remus says.

"Mhm. Really, I do have to go. I hope your day is shit without me there."

"You know it will be. Hey, Reg?"

Regulus sighs. "Yeah?"

"Good luck tonight. You'll do brilliantly," Remus murmurs, lips curling up at the resounding
silence in response.

"Thank you, Remus," Regulus mumbles, then immediately ends the call, making Remus grin and
shake his head.

Remus does have a bit of a shit day without Regulus, to be completely honest, which Regulus can
never, ever find out about. Really, Molly isn't a problem. She does her job well, and Remus has
worked with her before, just as Regulus has. She talks quite a bit, and towards the end of the shift,
five children come racing in with their tired, yet inexplicably happy father trailing in behind them.
The two youngest are twins and absolute menaces, and the oldest can usually wrangle all of the
children even better than their parents can. They're all perfectly polite to Remus and never cause
him any trouble, but that may be because he sneaks them biscuits when Molly is distracted talking
to her husband.

What? Remus likes children. He's quite sure he'd be an awful parent, but he does, nonetheless, like
children. He doubts he'll ever have any of his own, honestly, because he knows better than to think
he'd be a good dad, but he has entertained the thought before that he might one day want one. It
doesn't matter what he might want, because the best parenting choice he'll ever make is deciding
not to ruin some child's life.

Just for a moment, though, Remus thinks about it without meaning to, the wistful edges of the
daydream stealing his breath. Sirius with a child on his hip; Sirius swinging a child up into his
arms while laughing; Sirius still in his leather jacket, but also with a baby carrier strapped to his
chest. Remus gives an almost violent blink, clears his throat, and banishes the thoughts before they
can take root.

Like he's been summoned, there's a message from Sirius waiting for Remus that just asks if he'll
come by the studio when his shift ends, which Remus is more than happy to do.

Honestly, Remus has hardly seen Sirius this past week. Much the same as James has been relying
on visiting the shop and coming to terms with Regulus repeatedly having to do things with his
class, Remus has had to adjust to Sirius practically hiding himself away in his studio like a hermit,
working hard on the painting that will be displayed in an art gallery. Sirius does text him
sporadically through the day, and calls him every night, sounding exhausted, but they haven't seen
each other in days. Remus is proud of him, though. Every time he thinks about the fact that his art
will be in a gallery, Remus finds himself smiling, feeling like he's going to burst from how happy
he is for Sirius, who truly deserves it.

He just wishes Sirius wasn't so bloody stressed about it. He's working himself to the bone,
honestly, and he's admitted more than once that he's forgotten to eat sometimes during the day,
which he immediately rectifies the moment Remus fusses at him. It's worrying, in a way, to know
how tired Sirius is, how much effort he's putting into this, even at the cost of himself. He and
Regulus are similar in this way—throwing their entire being into what matters to them, desperate
not to fail, maybe losing themselves a little bit in the process.

Remus is looking forward to seeing Sirius, in any case. The studio is open when he eases his way
in, following the familiar path to where Sirius always paints.

He comes to an immediate halt when he sees it, the painting directly in the middle of the room. His
breath catches.
Remus has seen quite a bit of Sirius' artwork by this point, but this… This is something beyond
anything else he's ever seen. It's a dark painting with a figure under the surface of water, long black
hair flowing out to cover the facial features. Pale, spider-like, spindly hands drag the figure down,
gripping on and digging nails in, fingers clawing at the curve of a pale throat, tugging the figure
further into the depths. The figure is holding out one hand, small and white against the murky
black. A chain from a necklace billows out around the figure's neck, snapped off, and another pale
hand is reaching towards the surface of the water, completely disembodied if not for the tiny, thin
scar on it that Remus would recognize anywhere. In the scarred palm, there's a pendant in the shape
of a snake, and it's quite clear that the hand is trying to reach the fingers that the figure holds out,
only to grab the necklace instead while the figure is yanked further away.

Quite honestly, it's the most beautiful and chilling piece of art that Remus has ever seen. He raises
his hand to cover his mouth and goosebumps break out along his entire body. It's moving. It's
tragic, and glorious, like the achingly gorgeous paintings of the greatest Greek travesties. Every
line, every single stroke of paint—it was done with care, with emotion, and it bleeds through like
an actual wound.

This has meaning, and Remus can't even begin to untangle the webs weaved to figure out the
source. He knows Sirius well, he thinks, but he doesn't know enough to work out this.

"Horrible, isn't it?" Sirius whispers, and Remus jolts as Sirius comes to a halt beside him, staring at
the painting with no expression on his face. There's a heavy sheen of tears over his eyes, though,
and they're red like he's been crying already.

"Horrible? Sirius, this is… This is the most… This is your magnum opus," Remus breathes out,
stunned, his hand slowly lowering. He looks back at the painting. "Who is that?"

"No one," Sirius says, swallowing thickly, and Remus knows he's lying. Remus also knows, just
from the look in Sirius' eyes, that he won't ever tell the truth, not about this.

"This is haunting," Remus murmurs, "and beautiful."

"I can't do it." Sirius shakes his head and takes in a stuttered breath. "I can't display this. I can't let
anyone see it, Remus. I didn't even realize I was—it was like I just...went into this odd fugue state.
I didn't know what it was going to be until… And I can't. I have nothing to display. I—"

Remus turns to grip Sirius' shoulders and swivel him so that they're facing each other. "You do
have something to display. Sirius, I have seen so much of your art, and it is all amazing, but this?
This is your best work. We talked about this, didn't we? About you putting yourself into your work,
remember?"

"This is too much. It's too much of me. It's too much of something I don't want anyone to see."

"No one knows. No one will look at this and know what it means, not truly. I don't even know, and
I know you better than every other stranger that will see it."

"People will praise it," Sirius croaks.

"As they should. It's beautifully done," Remus murmurs. "You put so much effort into this, Sirius.
You've been working so hard. You deserve to be praised for it."

Sirius darts his eyes to the painting, and the tears spill over without warning. It's not as if he's
suddenly crying; he doesn't even seem to notice the tears dropping. His face doesn't change at all.
"Not this, Moony."

"Are you just telling yourself that, or will it genuinely make you unhappy?" Remus asks, searching
his face. "Because you were so very happy for this opportunity. You were happy to try to make
your mentor proud. I understand if it scares you to be seen, but if that is the only issue, believe me
when I say no one will actually know what they're looking at. They'll only feel. You'll make them
feel something."

"I want—" Sirius' throat clicks, and he looks at Remus again, blinking twice, more tears falling. "A
part of me wants to set it on fire. A different part wants to look at it every day. But I don't want to
fail Minerva, either. It's for a bloody charity, and I already promised. I just—I don't know. I really
don't know."

Remus takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. "Alright, what about this? You've been locked
away in this studio for so long, you need to get out and get some fresh air and actually spend time
with people. Let's go get lunch, yeah? Me and you. If you want, invite some of your friends; I
know you haven't been socializing much."

"I… Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice," Sirius mumbles, looking a little dazed and a lot worn out. He
glances around, a bit lost, then apparently locates his cell.

About an hour later, Sirius is starting to look better. It's a rare day free of rain and cold, warm and
breezy instead, and he seems to soak it up. He's getting excited about the fact that James, Marlene,
Dorcas, Peter, and Lily all agreed to meet up and have lunch. Remus already knows Peter and
James, but he's yet to meet the others, so by all means, he should be a little uncomfortable. He's just
too worried about Sirius to really manage it, though.

They all agreed to get different takeaway and meet up at a park where they can sprawl out on the
grass and enjoy the sun, which they all do. Marlene and Dorcas are so kind as to bring a large sheet
to spread out for all of them since their flat is the closest. Sirius and Remus are the last to show up,
so everyone else is already settled in, waiting. Peter has his head in James' lap, and the girls that
Remus is meeting for the first time are all talking to each other, animated and happy.

"Oh, finally," James crows the second he sees Sirius. "There he is. Padfoot, I've been withering
away without you, mate. You've been locked up in your studio so long; look how pale you've
gotten. Come here, it's been ages."

Sirius all but collapses into James and Peter, dramatically groaning, "Art is hard," while Remus
awkwardly balances the bags of food, not quite sure where to put it.

"Here, just sit it down," a woman with red hair offers, smiling at him. "Remus, right? I'm Lily. You
know, when the light hits your hair a certain way, you're a bit of a ginger, so I'm claiming you.
Come here, sit."

Seeing as Sirius is currently being… Remus doesn't actually have a name for the way Peter and
James are fussing over Sirius, but they're all busy with it, so Remus is sort of just left at mercy of
the women. Why is he afraid? Because he's smart.

He sits, nonetheless, and says, "Yeah, I'm Remus. Heard a lot about you, Lily. Which one is
Marlene and which is Dorcas?"

"Dorcas," Dorcas says, raising her hand.

Marlene just nods at him. "That makes me Marlene. So, Remus, this was your suggestion, was it?"

"It was, yeah. Sirius has been...working hard," Remus murmurs quietly, gaze darting over to Sirius
with a frown. "I think he needed this, honestly. Needed to get out of the studio."
"He is looking a bit paler than normal," Lily says, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Haven't heard from him in a few days, too," Dorcas adds, sharing a look with Marlene. "He's
usually good about checking in more often."

"If only to be a nuisance," Marlene clarifies, then flicks her gaze over Remus, lips pursing.
"Honestly, we thought maybe you went off and left him again."

"Oh, ah...no," Remus mumbles, grimacing. They all stare at him, very clearly willing to hold a
grudge, absolutely ruthless in the way only women can be. Remus swallows. "No, that won't be
happening again. He's rather hard to get away from, if you'd believe it."

Maybe now isn't the best time for jokes, especially when he delivers them in his dry tone. Oh, he
feels like an idiot. And yet, after a beat where they size him up in silence for a moment longer, they
all start laughing.

"Oh, trust me, we know," Lily tells him, amused. "Despite your best efforts, Sirius Black sneaks up
on you every time. It's a gift of his. I've been trying to get away for years."

"Caught you, too, hm?" Dorcas asks in mock-sympathy, her gaze gleaming with humor. Her eyes
are so dark they're nearly black in a way that's utterly breathtaking. When the light hits them, they
glimmer like obsidian. "It's alright. Greater people have grudgingly let him charm them into eternal
friendship, by which I mean me."

"Sadly, you're a hopeless case. He's gone and made you fall in love with him," Marlene tells him,
wrinkling her nose, which does nothing to hide her small smile. "The only way you'll be free of
him now is if he lets you go." Her face smooths out, and her eyes narrow. "By which I mean, if you
ever pull that shit again like before, I'll dump you dead in a river, where you will bloat and your
skin will slip off your bones and, by the time they find you, they won't be able to recognize you."

Remus blinks, then finds his mouth running away from him again. "Can I pay you to do that now?"

"Oh my god," Lily wheezes, and they all helplessly dissolve into laughter while Remus pinches the
bridge of his nose and shakes his head, sheepish.

"Don't listen to me," Remus mutters. "I don't even have enough money."
"I'll do it for five quid," Marlene offers.

"Deal," Remus says immediately, taking her hand the moment she holds it out. They shake on it.
"I'm holding you to that."

"God, is Sirius making you that miserable?" Dorcas asks.

"No," Remus says softly, looking away as his lips tug up against his will. "Not at all."

Marlene groans. "Oh, fucking shit, we've got another soppy git in our group now. Where do we
keep finding them? When will we draw the line?"

"You're a soppy git," Lily points out with a grin, and Marlene sputters in put upon offense as
Dorcas rolls her eyes and reaches out to drag her fingers through Marlene's hair, which glows like
spun gold in the sunlight.

"Get stuffed, Evans, I'm no such thing."

"Cas?"

"She's right, love, you are."

"Moony!" James belts out, stretching over to lightly shove Remus' shoulder. "Mate, you didn't even
say hello."

"Good to see you again, Remus," Peter says, smiling at him, one of his hands patting the back of
Sirius' head where he has his face pressed against Peter's leg, making muffled noises like he's
dying.

"You too, Peter," Remus returns, not perturbed in the least.

"We should eat!" James chirps, rocking back and leaning against Sirius' hip.

"Which reminds me." Remus holds up a finger and leans forward to dig into the bags to locate the
container he's looking for. He tosses it to James when he finds it, and James' face lights up the
second he sees the muffin, his gaze snapping up to stare Remus, who gives him a significant look.
James all but melts, biting his bottom lip to try and stifle his grin as he gazes down at the muffin
like it's made of gold.

Peter busts out laughing. "Ooh, Pads, you've got some competition for James, mate. Look at him,
absolutely besotted with Moony, it seems like."

"Should I be offended that James is the one we're competing for, rather than them competing for
me as, you know, Sirius' boyfriend?" Remus muses.

Lily snorts. "You may have Sirius' heart, but James is his heart. You get used to it.
Although...James does look a bit soppy."

Sirius turns his head and squints at him. "Back off my best mate, Moony. He's mine." He pauses.
"You're also mine, in case you've forgotten. Where's my muffin?"

"I didn't get you one," Remus says blandly, and Sirius twists against Peter's legs so he can toss his
hands up dramatically, as if this is his final straw. Remus rolls his eyes. "Oh, stop pouting, Sirius. I
got you that pudding you like."

"Did you really?" Sirius props up to beam at him, then takes it when Remus holds it out. He flops
back and holds it to his chest like it's the most precious thing he's ever been given, looking as
happy as James did. "Oh, you do love me."

"Against my better judgment," Remus mutters, and Sirius flips him off with a grin. He looks better
already. Happier. More settled. It warms Remus' all the way through.

Shortly after, Remus gets swept up with Dorcas, Lily, and Marlene again. He ends up getting
really, unexpectedly comfortable with them, not even meaning to. They're brilliant and funny; it's
effortless to like them. He gets on particularly well with Lily, who's eyes simply light up the
moment he mentions To the Lighthouse. It turns out to be one of her favorite books, and they got
lost in chatting about it.
Remus does regularly peek over to see how Sirius is doing, and it's a relief to witness him getting
back to his old self with the help of James and Peter, barking laughs and rambling in pure
excitement about whatever they're all talking about. Remus feels tension seep out of him the
happier Sirius gets; he was so worried. He can't even explain why, just somehow sensed the way
his latest painting had hollowed him out, had drained all the essence of him right out until he was
just a wisp.

As they all eat, Remus gets to hear some horror (and comedy) hospital stories from Lily; he gets to
hear Dorcas get quite passionate about gender norms in the fashion industry; he gets to hear
Marlene insult and praise the children she works with as a football coach; he tells them a few
stories of the worst customers he's ever had (yes, Richard features) and complains a bit about the
coursework involved with becoming a teacher.

He glances over again to see Sirius cackling as he tries to toss pieces of rice into James' mouth
while James tries to throw pieces into Peter's, and Peter tries to throw pieces into Sirius'. It's a bit
ridiculous, and childish, but once again Remus just feels himself relax further. His lips twitch, and
he looks back to find Lily watching him while Marlene and Dorcas are distracted gathering up their
empty containers.

"You're good for him," Lily murmurs, her gaze warm. "I can tell that you really love him. You
keep checking on him, and you don't know it, but he keeps checking on you."

"No, I know," Remus admits, because he does. He can feel it when Sirius glances over, like a soft
buzz under his skin, a gentle awareness that sweeps through him and tugs at him to look back.
Maybe that's mental, but it's true.

"You two seem…" Lily tilts her head thoughtfully, clearly looking for a word, and then she smiles.
"Inevitable."

"Feels that way," Remus mumbles, ducking his head, his heart swelling in his chest.

Lily reaches over and pats his knee. "Good."

It's easy with Lily, Remus finds. They just—connect, really. Even still, as much as he gets lost in
talking to her, even more so than Marlene and Dorcas, he's not at all distracted from Sirius. He isn't
surprised (but is secretly pleased) when Sirius rather inevitably ends up migrating closer to him
until he's suddenly right there, leaning up against him even as he makes a joke that has Peter
roaring with laughter and lazily tosses a balled up wrapper back and forth with James.
One of Sirius' hands land right beside Remus', and their pinkies overlap in a move so casual and
easy that Remus wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact moment it happened, or who initiated it. He
just notices at some point, and it makes his chest pulse with warmth, makes him raise his free hand
to swipe it over his mouth in the effort to hide his grin. His stomach swoops, and only Sirius Black
can do this to him.

Only Sirius Black could let their pinkies link between them and make him feel flush with delight.
Remus loves every fucking inch of him, down to his smallest finger.

This is nice, as it turns out, just having a day and making more friends than he ever expected to
have. It makes him miss Regulus, though (which, again, Regulus can never find out about),
because Remus can't help but wish that he was here. He can't help but think it would make sense,
that Regulus would fit perfectly, Sirius' little brother and Remus' best friend and James' boyfriend.
He can't help but imagine it, Regulus tucked up under James' arm, randomly getting into petty
squabbles with Sirius where they kick each other in their ankles, sharing exasperated looks with
Remus when James and Sirius are being excessively ridiculous. He should be here, Remus thinks.
He can see how it would be just right; he wants it more than he could ever express.

Remus wonders, as someone who always wants more, as someone who wants everything, if he'd
finally have it, then. That's the only thing missing, honestly. He wishes there was some way to
make Sirius and Regulus understand, to see it as he and James do, but that feels like a distant
dream. He's terrified to chase after it, afraid to lose what he already has.

For now, this is enough. For now, this is about Sirius, who truly needed this. He's calmer, happier,
no longer a shell on the verge of collapsing inwards. This is good for him, which becomes
blatantly obvious when he addresses everyone as they're getting ready to leave, gathering
everything they're about to take to the bins.

There's a pensive note to Sirius' voice when he speaks, but he sounds steady and calm as he asks,
"If any of you created a monument representing one of the most painful things you've ever been
through, something you saw as your greatest failure, would you be willing to show it to the
world?"

"Suppose that depends, really," Marlene offers, turning to frown at him. "You're going to have to
give us more than that."

"I…" Sirius grimaces, then clears his throat. "What I painted for the art gallery is—it turned out to
be very personal. I didn't really mean for it to be, mind you, but my muse ran away from me.
Moony says that no one who will see it will even know what it means, but I'll know. He also says
it's my best work, and it—it is quite good, but I don't… I don't deserve to be praised for it. Because
it represents something horrible."

Dorcas straightens up, pursing her lips. "We had a discussion about expression through art and
fashion and the overlap of the two, do you remember? You said to me then that what we present to
the world isn't always what the world perceives. It might represent something horrible to you, but
someone else could find their own meaning in it."

"I think you deserve to be praised for it," Peter adds with quiet sincerity. "Even if it's something
awful, you put so much effort into it, Sirius. Regardless of what it represents, the skill and energy
you gave to create it deserves acknowledgement."

"He's right," Lily agrees. "If there's any part of you that wants recognition for all those hours and
how hard you worked, then you should absolutely let it be praised. It might even be healing, in a
way. You said it's something that hurt you and a failure, but maybe this could provide closure and
the chance to let yourself let go a bit and breathe easier."

James nudges Sirius' shoulder with his own. "It's alright to be scared, mate. Just don't let the fear
hold you back. I always tell you to be proud of what you make, and I mean that. Besides, Remus is
right. Who's going to see it and know?"

"Only one person, who will never see it," Sirius mumbles.

"All the more reason," James says. "It'll be like your little secret. Maybe you'll go visit the gallery
and make your peace with it in time. You deserve that chance, too."

"But," Remus adds, "if it actually makes you unhappy, Sirius, don't force yourself to do it. No one
would blame you."

Sirius heaves a sigh. "I sound like a dramatic artist lost to his whims. I don't even have enough time
to paint anything else. I have to transport it to the gallery in…" He pulls out his cell and grimaces
again. "Right, less than two hours. I—mostly, I do want to make Minerva proud. This opportunity
is… It's fucking brilliant, honestly. It's just, every time I look at that painting, I end up sobbing like
an idiot."

"Well, you know, it's perfectly normal for art to invoke emotion," Marlene says. "You know what
McGonagall always used to say. Art is just the transfiguration of creation into feeling. So, you go
and make people feel, and if it helps, simply don't look at the painting. Look at the rest of the art."

"I don't really have another choice at this point." Sirius stares down at his phone, then looks up and
swallows. "I have to go, actually. I need to get dressed, then get the painting to the gallery. Wish
me luck?"

Everyone almost immediately does just that, moving in to hug him, giving him parting words of
encouragement. Remus hums when Sirius turns to him, looking apologetic. "No, you're fine. Don't
let me keep you. Just come over to mine once the night's over, if you like."

"Thanks. You're brilliant, Moony," Sirius tells him earnestly, stepping forward to press a quick
kiss to his mouth. "You'll be alright, yeah?"

"Of course," Remus assures him, fond and amused.

Sirius bobs his head and blurts out another overall goodbye, turning to head away, focused on his
phone. Remus imagines he's getting a ride since they didn't actually take his bike here today. He
watches Sirius go for a moment, then turns back to start helping the other finish cleaning up.

They all chat easily, and Remus gets a little swept up in it, which surprises him. In a way, it pleases
him to know that he can get on with everyone even when Sirius isn't around. Makes it all seem a
bit more real, somehow.

They're all getting ready to split off when there's the sound of pounding feet against the ground,
which makes everyone look up. Remus turns in just enough time to get one glimpse of Sirius
before his face is caught in between Sirius' hands and he's being kissed so deeply that he actually
stumbles back a bit. Sirius' feet end up coming off the ground, briefly.

Remus is very startled by this, obviously, so much so that he releases a muffled sound of surprise,
but he's also smart enough not to stop it. Sirius is kissing him; so, naturally, Remus kisses him
back. It's as necessary and instinctive as breathing. Like it's coming from a great distance, he can
just make out the background sounds of everyone whistling and whooping.

When Sirius pulls away, he doesn't go far. He's breathless and grinning, but his voice is soft with
sincerity when he quietly says, "Thank you. For today. For—all of it, and you being you, and…
Just, thanks. I love you."
 "Whatever you need, and I love you, too," Remus tells him, laughing softly and pushing him gently
away. "Now, go."

"Yeah, alright," Sirius says, still grinning, and he steals one more kiss before he gives his final
goodbye, waving at everyone as he goes, a bounce in his step.

Remus stares after him, fond and in love, and hopes with every cell in his body that Sirius' night
goes exactly as he deserves.

Chapter End Notes

Yeah.

Yeah, you all know what's about to happen...

Or, do you? Make your theories, if you like. But also, what did we think about Effie
and Monty meeting Regulus? Oh, and Remus meeting more of the friends? Or James
thinking Regulus said "I love you" first, that poor himbo, I adore him. Remus loving
every inch of Sirius, down to his smallest finger. NOT Remus Lupin coming for the
romantic crown, James watch out

See you on Friday. :D

 Chapter 13
Chapter Notes

Oh, my friends, I'm excited for this one. Warnings for references to child abuse
(Walburga's a+ parenting again, but not in real time) and a panic attack, even if the
character doesn't actually realize that's what's happening. Oh, and angst, angst, angst.

Enjoy :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus would like it on the record that he's never done a catering event before.

Of course, he's been to many, many events just like this in various settings, but he's never been
staff. He's never stood in uniform (literally, he looks like a butler, complete with a neat bowtie) and
been given strict instructions on how to do his job, which is to basically just stay mostly invisible
outside of keeping the rich and important pleased and fed.

It's just that he used to be the rich and important.

Walburga, if she could see him now, would absolutely die of shame. Regulus only finds the
thought amusing, so he's not even upset at all about the turns his life has taken. In fact, he relishes
it. For one thing, he likes to be invisible, really; for another, he's sort of delighted by this station for
the simple fact that his mother would hate it. There's some strange sense of rebellion in it, the kind
that has him in shockingly high spirits, despite his nerves.

Most students had been eager to work in groups, making a ridiculous amount of small sandwiches,
or tiny one-bite desserts such as brownies and custard. A few, like Regulus, had volunteered to
make their own dishes—one girl had literally spent hours carefully making over a hundred servings
of quite possibly the best variety of sushi that Regulus has ever seen, and another made six
different Charcuterie plates with cheeses, gherkins, and olives, while someone else went with a
wide range of different quiches that look mouth-watering.

Regulus had finally (and with a pinch of agitation) fallen into old habits and settled on Scallop
Mouse. While he does have a shellfish allergy, it's crustacean based (like shrimp, crab, and lobster),
not mollusks (like clams, oysters, and scallops), and he always loved Scallop Mouse when he was
growing up. It also just so happened to, unfortunately, be his brother's favorite thing to have before
he left home. It was the very first thing that Regulus ever properly put in the effort to learn to make
that wasn't just pot noodles and quick meals he could scrape the quid together to actually afford.
Since he could likely make it in his sleep, despite his love-hate relationship to the dish, that's what
Regulus went with. He spent hours making perfect replicas of small, individual shells. Three bites
at most; two if the bites are large.

They've already set up for the event while a chortling man came by and explained a little bit about
how he expected the night to go, trying a bit of everything that would be served. Regulus almost
immediately forgot his name after he said it, more interested in how the man responded to the
Scallop Mouse, which turned out to be with delight. He pointed them out and declared it would be
a favorite among the guests, stealing a second one with a wink before he left, and Regulus felt
some of his nerves disappear after that.

Their teacher—Chef Sprout—had made her own rendition on Briami (a lovely homage to
Mediterranean cuisine) with small skewers that have a perfect spread of roasted vegetables, not one
mistake on them. She has nerves of steel and is so very kind when not cooking, but the moment
she's in the kitchen, or involved in an event apparently, she could probably make Gordon Ramsay
cry.

After they've set up, Chef Sprout marches them into the back room holding various hot-boxes and
coolers containing all the replacements they will rotate when the guests finish off the first round.
She groups them all up and crosses her arms, eyes narrowed as she scans each of them
individually.

They all stand there in tense silence under her critical eye, waiting. She drags it out so long that
Regulus can hear the distant sounds of guests arriving, the volume slowly increasing until the
tension is so thick that Regulus can barely breathe. Chef Sprout gives a terse nod.

"Yes, hear that? Good. That's all you need to concern yourselves with tonight." Chef Sprout sweeps
her eyes across the group once more. "The man you all just met, who is throwing this event, is an
old friend of mine. When he realized he needed catering, he contacted me. He is trusting me with
this, and I don't plan to betray that trust. I chose this class of all my classes because it is the most
promising. This class above all the rest has the most talent, and I don't expect any of you will make
me regret that decision."

"Yes, Chef," the entire group choruses, Regulus included.

"Tonight, your only concerns are the guests. You will work together. Two pairs will be going
around with platters to offer a small variety to the guests, and two people will be waiting at all
times to replenish the platters as soon as they're empty. One person will go around with glasses of
wine, offering to any guest that is empty-handed, but you must keep a keen eye for anyone who is a
bit too tipsy. Carefully avoid them, as we do not wish for a scene. Someone else will be going
around to collect the empty wine glasses; I do not want to see anyone holding an empty glass for
longer than five seconds, am I understood? Even if someone else must help, then so be it."

"Yes, Chef."

"If a guest engages in conversation with you, be polite, but do not linger. You are not here to
socialize; you are working. Do not instigate a conversation with a guest outside of polite inquiries
on whether they would like more wine or something to nibble on."

"Yes, Chef."

"Mr. Black," Chef Sprout says, and Regulus freezes, "you are the only student I'm certain of
knowing every ingredient of everything served on that table. Am I correct?"

Regulus nods and says, "Yes, Chef."

"Good, then you will be stationed at the table. You will be answering any questions the guests may
have, and you must be attentive involving allergies. I know we have description cards out, but
people will simply ignore them and ask if what they plan to eat is alright to have. Do not lie in an
attempt to appease them. I would rather them briefly disappointed that they can't eat something
than dead." Chef Sprout raises her eyebrows at him. "You will offer them alternatives to what they
can have and do your best to keep them all happy."

"Yes, Chef," Regulus murmurs.

Chef Sprout heaves a sigh. "For many of you, this is your first catering event, especially at this
standard. Some of these guests will be wearing ties more expensive than your home and car
combined, and I understand that it can be intimidating. You will make mistakes. You will find
yourself overwhelmed. But you will not allow any of that to stop you. I will be here if anyone
needs anything. If one person does something to cause a scene, or disappoint me, I will have you
out of my class faster than a fire can spread in the kitchen."

"Yes, Chef," the group says, properly terrified, and Regulus can't help but swallow as his nerves
come back in full force.
"It's three hours. We can make it through three hours." Chef Sprout looks up like she's begging the
universe to please let them all get through three hours unscathed. When she looks down, she nods,
and her face softens a bit. "Alright, everyone, get to it."

They do.

The way it's set up, the table is one of the first things the guests will encounter when coming in. It's
out of the way, but easily accessible. The room stretches out far enough that Regulus can't even see
all of it, especially behind the table, and it means that some guests would have to walk all the way
back if they wanted something else, which is why it's important for people to walk around with
platters.

Regulus is surprised to find himself relaxing into his role, going on some sort of autopilot. He fixes
a charming smile on his face and spends the first hour repeatedly explaining different dishes and
ingredients with a confidence he's always known he was capable of. He delicately sways four
different people with various allergies, or simple dislikes, from specific dishes on the table, instead
offering alternatives that please them enough to make them go away. One woman spends about
five minutes bemoaning that she can't have the Scallop Mouse (it looks so pretty, she says) because
she also has a shellfish allergy (crustacean and mollusks, the poor thing), and there's literally no
way he can appease her. She walks off still complaining, and Regulus forces himself not to let it
discourage him.

Within the second hour, the girl who made all the sushi pops up at the table with an empty platter,
her face flushed. Her tie is a little lopsided, and she sounds panicked when she blurts out, "I'm
almost out of sushi, and my tie is coming undone!"

"If we run out of sushi, that just means that everyone loved it so much. It's a compliment," Regulus
says calmly, stepping back and shuffling over to gently take the platter away from her. "Stagger it.
Take a mix and wait a few minutes between stopping to ask if a guest would like more."

"Won't Chef be angry?"

"No. She only cares that the guests are happy. Believe me, they won't notice that you're not asking
as often. They won't notice you at all, honestly. They immediately forget you exist the moment you
walk away, I promise you."

"Oh." She blinks rapidly. "That should be an insult, but somehow it's comforting."
"The sushi you made is beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you. I used to make it all the time with my mother, and I don't get to do that as much, so it's
special to me. It just felt right." She smiles slightly as she fiddles with her tie. "If I'd known people
would love it so much, I would have made more. I'm Aiko. We've never really talked before, have
we?"

"I don't really talk much to start with, to be fair. I'm Regulus," Regulus says, moving forward. "I
can fix your tie for you."

Aiko's shoulders slump as she drops her hands. "Oh, would you? Thank you. Yours is so neat.
How'd you do that?"

"It's not my first tie," Regulus tells her, lips twitching as he moves over to fix her bowtie quickly,
turning so that they're out of the way, unnoticed by guests.

"God, I hate wearing these blasted things. They fucking choke me, Reggie," Sirius whines,
grimacing as he shifts the bowtie at his throat. "Do you think Mother would notice if I—"

"Mother would notice, and she'd love the excuse, you know that. Stop pulling at it." Reggie moves
forward and smacks Sirius' hands away. "Look, I'll make it a bit looser for you, yeah?"

Sirius cranes his head back, sighing dramatically. "I hate when Mother makes us go to these
parties. Don't you hate it?"

"I'm not overly fond of them, no."

"Want to cause trouble?"

Reggie arches an eyebrow. "Do I ever?"

"Come on, Reggie," Sirius needles, grinning. He wiggles his shoulders a little, eyes bright. "Let's
have a little fun. Let's cause a scene and run off."
"Do you want Mother to kill us?" Reggie asks, slowly pulling Sirius' tie into place, loose but neat.

"That's the beauty of it," Sirius whispers, bouncing on his toes, grabbing Reggie's arms to sway
them both, his excitement and mischief oddly infectious. "She'll never know it was us."

Reggie pats Sirius' tie. "We'll see."

"That's a yes," Sirius declares, blinking a moment later as he rubs his throat. "Oh, you're good at
that. Bloody hell, Reggie, you should be the one wearing a tie, as good with them as you are."

Reggie can't help but smile.

That night, Regulus recalls, Sirius had pulled the fire alarm, and they'd both ran off, giggling as
they chased each other through the streets. They'd stayed out all night, never once suggesting that
they simply never go home, but both painfully aware that they wanted exactly that, already
knowing what was waiting on them when they got back. They were young and stupid, but their
mother was not. She knew it was them, especially because they arrived home so late, but Regulus
had thought the punishment was worth it at the time.

On the subject of ties, Regulus did get good with them. He'd stolen one from Sirius to wear in the
safety of his own room, staring at himself in the mirror as he tied and retied it over and over,
because while Sirius never wanted to wear them, Regulus always wished he could.

"Oh, you're good at that," Aiko informs him when he draws his hands away. She beams at him.
"Thank you, Regulus."

"You're welcome," Regulus says. "Now, go on before Chef thinks you're shirking your duties."

"You know," Aiko says as she grabs the tray, "your Scallop Mouse is going fast, too. You made
more than I did. One man in particular steals, like, two at a time and randomly finds me to get even
more. He's nice about it, at least."

Regulus can't help but smile.

In the third hour, disaster strikes. Chef Sprout shows up at the table in a flurry, fussing about one of
the students spilling wine on a guest. She's in a clear strop about it, and Regulus winces when he
finds out that she sent the student right home, briefly hoping it's not Aiko. She was rather nice, he
thinks.

In any case, Chef Sprout makes it very clear that she trusts him not to make the same mistake, then
shoves a tray at him and makes it his duty to go collect empty wine glasses. So, with one last
mournful look towards the table (he was comfortable there, left alone, not having to see all the
guests), he pushes carefully into the crowd and gets to it.

It's easy, at least. He only needs to stop beside someone with an empty glass, and oftentimes, they'll
just sit the glass down on the tray without even looking at him, or even hold the glass out for him
to take without pause in their conversation. On rare occasions, he'll have to politely ask to take the
glass when someone doesn't notice him at all, and it's particularly hard not to just snatch the glass
and carry on while rolling his eyes.

He does see Aiko again, and she smiles at him as they walk past each other, so he smiles back. For
tonight, the entire class is one union in what constitutes as a glimpse into Hell. If they don't all
come out of it forging some sort of bond in the fires of torment, he'll be quite surprised.

Regulus means to make a complete circuit of the room, even the parts he hasn't seen from the table,
but he comes to a screeching halt a third of the way through.

See, tonight was never about the art, for Regulus. It wasn't even about the charity, as awful as that
may seem. He simply didn't care about any of that, because he's been to many events just like this
to know that they're all mostly the same. So, sure, he briefly glanced at some of the paintings
within his eyesight from the table, but didn't really focus on them. He's been to better art galleries
than this; there was a time that he could have bought an art gallery if he wanted to. Nothing he saw
could really capture his attention. This painting does.

Regulus stands stock still and stares. It feels as if he's abruptly been shoved right out of his body,
and the whole world seems to just disappear. The tinkling of glasses, haughty laughter, and proud
bragging of the privileged all fades away, melting into a muted background. He stands in place and
does not move, unable to connect back to his senses to even make sense of what he's feeling. Just
numb to everything.

He's looking at Reggie.

There, captured in a painting so viscerally real, Reggie is being dragged down by cruel hands while
a scarred one grips a necklace instantly recognizable with obvious anguish. Regulus can't look
away. Regulus can't move. Regulus can't breathe.

Regulus is drowning.

It's impossible, but he can feel the icy depths of the water pressing in on his skin, weighing his
body down. He can feel the ruthless grip of countless fingers digging into his limbs, his ankles, his
arms, his neck—dragging him and dragging him further away from what he's so desperately
reaching out for. He opens his mouth to try and breathe, but a horrible wheezing sound escapes his
throat in a croak. The taste of murky water assaults his tongue, clinging to his teeth, making his
eyes burn as the world swirls around him. His neck feels so incredibly light, so bare all of a sudden,
and all he can think about is how he promised to never take that necklace off—a promise he broke
the night everything fell apart.

When he does finally come back to himself, Regulus' heart is racing, and he feels like he might
vomit. He feels physically fucking ill, and he's shaking, and he doesn't know—he doesn't know
much of anything at the moment, other than a desperate need to get out. He jerks back a step and
fumbles with the tray in his trembling hands, and he watches in mounting horror as it tips. It sails to
the floor in a loud clatter, shattering every empty glass that filled it, making multiple people yelp
and jump back to avoid injury.

Silence falls almost instantly, and Regulus stumbles back another few steps, his breathing thin,
only bump into someone directly behind him, who gently grabs his wrist to swivel him around and
say, "Christ, are you alri—"

The world stops again. Regulus stares at his brother for the first time in eight years and watches in
real time as Sirius' expression of concern falls slack. His eyes immediately shift with a light of
recognition. From Sirius' free hand, half-eaten Scallop Mouse falls to the floor.

No, no, no, Regulus thinks, alarms blaring in his mind. Stop. Please stop. I can't, I can't, I can't, I
—

"Reggie?" Sirius whispers.

"Sirius," Regulus rasps reflexively, the name tumbling out of his mouth like a whip-crack, falling
between them and shattering the same way the glasses just did.
Regulus stares at Sirius and can barely even—think. It's like everything finds separate corners
inside him to hide, out of reach from even him, and he's left with nothing.

Sirius looks the exact same, and so very different. His hair is longer than it has ever been, longer
than their mother ever allowed it to be, shiny and sleek where it spills over his shoulders. Those
shoulders. Regulus used to look at those shoulders and despise them, and hate them, and envy them
so badly that he ached with it. Sirius has always been broader than him, and a bit taller, and
Regulus used to hate him for looking the way Regulus wanted to look. Sirius was careless with his
appearance, reckless with his body, and Regulus wanted to scream at him, to scream that it wasn't
fair, because if Sirius didn't care, if Sirius didn't want it the way Regulus did, then why did he get
to have it when Regulus didn't?

Regulus feels none of that envy and hatred lingering now, no longer sour on his tongue. He has the
body he was always meant to have, now. He knows what he looks like; he knows what Sirius is
seeing when he looks at him, all the differences. There are so many that it's a surprise that Sirius
recognized him at all. How did he see him and know him instantly?

Regulus' hair isn't long. It's short. He doesn't wear makeup anymore. He's filled out and shaped
differently. His voice has changed, and so has his entire appearance. He looks just as he always saw
when he stared at himself in the mirror, just as he always wanted to, just as he was always meant
to; he looks like the man he is, and always was, and always will be.

Sirius has never seen him before, not really, but he recognizes Regulus despite that. How? How?

"Your hair. You cut your hair," Sirius breathes out, visibly stunned, his free hand lifting like he's
about to actually touch Regulus' hair. Regulus snaps his hand up to grip Sirius' wrist and halt him,
and Sirius' gaze darts to the motion. Regulus sees his gaze snag on the bracelet, the one with the
trans flag, and then his eyes are darting up to drink in Regulus' face again, wide with wonder.
"Reggie—"

"That's not my name," Regulus says stiffly, practically choking on the words, rattling in place. He
snatches both of his hands back like he's been burned and, as he originally set out to do, he turns
around and fucking runs.

"Reggie! Wait, fuck—move, excuse me, get the fuck out of my way, Jesus Christ. Fucking—
Reggie! Reggie," Sirius bellows after him, pushing through the gallery much the same way
Regulus is, causing quite the scene as he does, because of course he is. He wouldn't be Sirius if he
didn't.
Distantly, Regulus thinks that Chef Sprout is going to murder him. There goes his dreams of
becoming a chef. Fuck.

Honestly, he can hardly focus on that. One thing at a time. The biggest priority now is putting as
much distance between him and Sirius as humanly possible, because he can't do this. He genuinely
can't do this. Why is this happening to him? Eight years, and it had to happen now?

Regulus is still feeling sick from the fucking painting, let alone seeing Sirius again, so the cold air
outside is a mild relief. He gasps it in as he rapidly takes the stairs down at the front of the gallery,
his movements so quick that he's jolting the entire way, feeling shaken up. He hears it when Sirius
bursts out the doors behind him, curses sharply, then starts after him.

"Goddamn you, Reggie, just stop!" Sirius calls down to him, his pounding steps loud on the stairs,
echoing like gunshots in Reggie's head and seeming just as dangerous. "You always were faster
than me, you little shit. Just—oh, fuck this."

In the next second, the drumbeat of Sirius' chase goes silent, replaced by the sharp whir of fabric
along metal, and Regulus snatches his hand from the rail just in time for Sirius to come sliding
right past him, hopping down a few stairs below. He's panting as Regulus jerks to a sudden halt.
They stare at each other, neither of them moving, Sirius blocking the path and Regulus entertaining
the desire to shove him into the street.

Swallowing, Regulus croaks, "Move, Sirius."

"I won't be doing that, actually," Sirius informs him, stubborn as always. His face shifts and
twitches as he flicks his gaze over Regulus from head-to-toe, assessing. "You—"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't," Regulus snaps, and ah, finally. There's that reliable fury he's
been waiting for. It's so much safer. "I'm not doing this with you, and I rather think you have an
event to get back to. A painting to show off."

All the color drains from Sirius' face. "You saw—"

"Yes, Sirius, I saw."

"Reggie—"
"That's not my fucking name," Regulus hisses, dropping down one step, his voice so cold, so harsh,
that Sirius' mouth snaps shut seemingly on instinct. Regulus hates it, but he knows he can sound so
much like their mother sometimes. He can't help it. "Move out of my way. I think you've ruined my
life enough for one night, and I want to go home."

"I—I didn't—I never thought—"

"No, of course not. You don't think. You never have. I'm not surprised that hasn't changed in all
these years."

"Just—just give me five bloody seconds to catch up," Sirius bursts out, flinging up a shaking hand.
"It's been eight fucking years, and the last I saw you…"

Regulus steps down again, his jaw clenched. "What? Go on, Sirius, say it. I know you want to."

"Piss off," Sirius grinds out. "I can argue with you and insult you without all of that. Believe it or
not, I'm fully capable of hating you properly without fucking misgendering you."

"Oh, lovely, would you like a reward for the bare fucking minimum?" Regulus retorts sharply.

Sirius growls and moves up on the step directly below the one Regulus is on, bringing them to the
same height. "I would like to know what the fuck is going on! What happened? I—I don't
understand why you're here. Mother would never let—"

"Mother," Regulus cuts in through clenched teeth, "doesn't let me do anything, or stop me. If you
haven't noticed, I don't do the things Mother would have wanted me to do."

"Yes, I've noticed, which can only mean that she's died within the last eight years. Has she? Please
tell me she has. That would honestly recover this night from utter ruin."

"Well, I can't be sure, as I haven't seen her in five years. One can only hope."
"You—that's impossible. Five years?" Sirius stares at him with a staggering amount of incredulity.
"She wouldn't go five years without seeing you. You're her precious—"

Regulus waits, nostrils flaring, but Sirius presses his lips into a thin line. His throat lifts and falls,
and Regulus huffs out a bitter laugh. "Her precious daughter, is that it? Is that what you were going
to say? You always did like to bang on about that, didn't you? Thing is, Sirius, you were wrong in
more ways than one. I was never precious, and I was never her daughter."

"Reggie—"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Then what's your fucking name?" Sirius shouts. "Christ, you're as stubborn as you've always been,
you know that?!"

"Me?" Regulus chokes out in disbelief. "Have you ever thought that maybe I haven't told you my
name because I don't want you to know it, Sirius? Because I don't want to have absolutely anything
to do with you? Because I don't want to talk to you?"

Sirius scoffs. "Well, I don't really care what you don't want. I'm here, you're here, things are
confusing, and we're doing this. So, fucking tell me—"

"I'm not telling you shit," Regulus snarls, roughly shoving past Sirius to try and get down the
stairs, but Sirius lunges after him and grasps his arm. Regulus whips around, gripping Sirius'
fingers to peel them off and bend them back until he yelps. "Touch me again, and I'll break your
fingers."

"Ow, ow, ow," Sirius chants, grimacing. He reaches out and clamps down on Regulus' wrist,
yanking on it. "You utter fucking twat. Let me go."

Regulus does with a huff and whirls back around, rushing down the steps. Of course, Sirius is the
fucking worst, so he follows. "I'm not joking, Sirius. Stay away from me."

"Right, yes, would love to do that, trust me, but I'm in a bit of a complicated position at the
moment, you see," Sirius says harshly, darting forward to step in front of Regulus again, blocking
him once more.
"That's your problem." Regulus digs his cell out and scowls as he orders a ride to hopefully get him
as far away from here as possible. He just wants to go home. He wants to curl up in front of his
toilet and vomit up all of these awful feelings until he's empty. He wants Sirius to stop looking at
him.

"If it was me," Sirius prompts quietly, "what would you do?"

"I'd misgender you on purpose," Regulus informs him coldly, sliding his phone away.

Sirius stares at him. "You would, wouldn't you? Or are you just saying that to goad me into it, so
you feel justified hating me?"

"Oh, I feel plenty justified hating you," Regulus declares, and it's true. He does. He hardly needs
more reasons, but he would like them. In a fucked up, twisted way, he wants them.

"Unlike you, I'm not an awful fucking person—"

"Oh, do you still actually believe that? I always knew you were stupid, but it's nice to know that
hasn't changed."

"And you're still a heartless, raging bitch. Nice to know that this new freedom you have to be a
bloke hasn't changed that about you." Sirius glares at him, and Regulus can't rise to the bait,
because he's scared if he opens his mouth to retort, he'll just cry. "Just because you're trans doesn't
mean I've forgotten how much of a shit person you are."

Regulus works his jaw. "So, what, you want to point this out with the proper pronouns, is that it?"

"Yes, well, I can't go about despising you in my head if I'm not doing it correctly," Sirius grumbles.
They stare at each other, silence stretching, waiting for the other to break first. The same level of
stubborn. Regulus would literally die before he gives in, and usually Sirius is the same, but he does
something unusual from what Regulus remembers of him when they were fighting. He softens. "I
haven't seen you in eight years."

"Whose fault is that?" Regulus whispers and is appalled by the lump forming in his throat. No, not
now. Please not now.

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut. "That painting… I never thought you'd see it. I'm—I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter," Regulus says, looking down. "It's a beautiful painting, in any case. You got my
hair right."

"I always liked your hair," Sirius mumbles, and when Regulus looks up, his eyebrows are
furrowed. "Even envied it, I suppose. As soon as I could, I let mine grow out."

Regulus helplessly flicks his gaze over Sirius' hair and can see how similar it is to how his own
used to be. He doesn't hate it on Sirius the way he did on himself. His eyes sting, and he has to
swallow harshly. God, he can't do this. He can't.

"You should go back." Regulus looks up at the sky, his eyes burning, inwardly begging Sirius to
just go away.

"There's nothing for me in there, really," Sirius says softly, releasing a deep breath. "You don't—
you're not required to tell me, but I—" He struggles long enough that Regulus glances at him again.
He looks a little lost. "It's just a lot, is all. I can't figure out...any of it. Did you—did you leave?
Five years, you said. You would have been eighteen."

Regulus nods slowly. "I was."

"So, you did leave?" Sirius whispers.

"Yes," Regulus confirms, and Sirius flinches back like he's been slapped, horror glinting in his
eyes. "You never thought I was capable of it, did you?"

"I—I—how was I supposed to—" Sirius stutters to a halt, but he doesn't need to say anything else.

Regulus presses his lips together in a tight, trembling smile. He supposes he always knew, but to
have the proof hurts more than he was expecting it to. Sirius always was the bravest out of the two
of them, and Regulus was just trying to survive. If his survival wasn't dependent on getting out, he
knows that he never would have. How was Sirius supposed to know that it was killing Regulus to
live a lie?

A car rolls to a stop beside them, and Regulus' phone pings with a notification informing him that
it's his ride. When he looks up, there's a strain of vague panic on Sirius' face, his mouth hanging
open like he's trying to find something to say.

The thing about Sirius is, he's the embodiment of that belief that the first horrible thought you have
is less of a reflection of who you are than the second where you correct yourself and choose to be
kind, instead. He is fully capable of being cruel and selfish first, but clings to the fact that he
always tries to change that. He wants to be good in a way that erases all the worst parts of himself,
because those parts only remind him of what he hates, what he's afraid of.

He always seems to forget that he's just as capable of good first, too. He never saw it that way, like
Regulus did. He didn't think of it as good when he put himself between Regulus and their mother,
when he took punishments for Regulus, when he took care of Regulus the times that he hadn't
managed to. It was never kindness, or being a good person, not to Sirius. It was instinctive, like
breathing, something he didn't think twice about or come to resent when he had every reason to.

A part of him—some part of him—must want to do good now, to do the right thing, despite
everything.

The problem is they were once good to each other first and, along the way, stopped knowing how
to be. There is far too much of doing the wrong thing between them to try the opposite ever again.
For all the changes they have gone through, nothing has really changed between them, and Regulus
knows it never will. They're two sides of the same coin, turning and turning in the air, but what
goes up must come down eventually. Regulus is tired of finding himself facedown in the dark,
smothered and alone, unnoticed by his own brother who gets to have the world.

Regulus isn't doing this again. He's not letting Sirius walk away from him this time. It's his turn.

He walks to the car and grasps the handle, not planning to look back. Begging himself not to. Sirius
never did, so why should he? But, the truth of it is and always was, as much as Regulus wanted the
world too, he wanted his brother more.

So, he can't stop himself from looking back, feeling as if he's crumbling. He's losing it, all of it, all
sense of himself. It's as if time has been turned back to the moment he stood at his window and
watched Sirius stumble up the street with his injured hand clutched to his chest, everything
screaming at him to go with him, an inward promise to do just that if only Sirius would look back
even once. But he never did.

"My name," Regulus chokes out, "is Regulus Arcturus Black, and I'm your brother. I've always
been your brother. There you go, you can hate me properly now."

With that, he snatches open the door and shoves himself inside, gasping his address and making it
only ten seconds after they've pulled off and he's curled up against the window to sob so hard that
it's painful. At least he's too busy falling apart to look back, but a small, broken part of him can't
help but wonder if maybe that's the same reason Sirius didn't turn back for him in the first place.

Guess he'll never know.

"Sirius, m'boy!" Horace declares, dismayed. "Are you hurt? Oh, the head chef offers her deepest
apologies. We're so deeply embarrassed by… Well, we're not quite sure what happened; you
seemed to know the lad who—"

"Yes, excuse me," Sirius interrupts sharply, his tone clipped as he pushes past Horace and the
small crowd, then proceeds to march right up to his own painting, yank it directly off the wall, and
put his fist straight through it.

Multiple people cry out and gasp, and Horace chokes out his name in shock, but Sirius ignores him
as he drags his hand back out and digs his palm into the crater left behind to rip it even further. He
then tucks it under his arm and walks right into the front lobby where a truly ridiculous fireplace
awaits him (large and lavish because Horace cares about what people think of him). Many people
follow, their protests falling on deaf ears, because Sirius just tosses the painting in and watches it
immediately go up in flames. He waits long enough to make sure it isn't salvageable, then turns
around to face everyone else.

"That was mine, just to be clear," Sirius says, and then he leaves without another word.

He walks.

Sirius has no idea where he's going, but he walks. For as long as he walks, he isn't thinking. He
doesn't want to think, which is why he's walking. Not thinking and walking; walking and not
thinking.
He remembers, suddenly, the day his mother came home with the new addition to the family. He
was still a baby himself; he was so fucking excited. His built-in best friend for life. It's his very first
memory, the farthest back that he can recall. The blanket wrapped around the new baby had been
pink.

Reggie—Regulus had told him. Regulus had—

"Oh no, Reggie, what did you do?" Sirius whimpers, his whole body starting to shake with genuine,
preemptive fear.

Reggie looks at him with big eyes and smiles sweetly, missing two front teeth. "Don't you like it? I
look just like you, Sirius."

"Why would you do that? Reggie, Mother is going to—" Sirius reaches out and shakily drags his
hand through Reggie's recently cut hair, uneven and choppy at the hands of a six year old. Sirius
has never seen it so short. "Why did you do this?"

"I want to look like you," Reggie mumbles, voice small now that it's obvious that Sirius is not
pleased.

"You look like a little boy," Sirius says, his voice a mere breath, icy terror crawling down his
spine.

"I know," Reggie replies slowly, like Sirius is stupid for missing the point, as sassy at this age as
sweet.

Sirius swallows thickly. He's only seven, almost eight, and he's not prepared for this. Mother is
going to… Sirius' stomach twists, because this is his worst nightmare come to life. He can't protect
Reggie from what's coming. He flicks his gaze to the scissors on the sink, then down to the pile of
hair in a ring around Reggie's feet. His mind races trying to figure out how he's supposed to keep
Mother from finding out, entertaining increasingly ridiculous plans ranging from gathering the
hair to glue it back on to hiding Reggie away until it all grows back, but he knows deep in his
trembling bones that there's nothing to be done. Mother will know. She'll know, and then—

Frightened and frantic, Sirius scolds Reggie. "You can't do this ever again. It's not a joke, do you
understand? Never do it again, Reggie."
"But I—I just—" Reggie's eyes fill with tears, spilling over quickly, tiny mouth puckered into a
pout. "I just want to look like you."

"I—" Sirius shudders out a deep breath and reaches out to draw Reggie into his arms, not at all
surprised when Reggie starts crying in earnest. Sirius blinks hard and tries to put some false cheer
into his voice. "Of course you do. I'm your big brother, why wouldn't you? But it's better for you to
look like you, right?"

"Don't I look like me now?" Reggie asks, sniffling against him.

"Sirius! Regina! Come down this instant!" Walburga screeches up at them, and Sirius' heart drops
as he instinctively tightens his hold on Reggie, his mind kicking back into overdrive again.

"Promise me," Sirius demands as he pushes Reggie back, which only makes the crying worse, but
that's actually better in this case. Sirius shakes Reggie a little bit. "Promise me you'll never do it
again!"

"I—I promise," Reggie sobs, like it's painful to say.

"Good. That's good, Reggie," Sirius whispers, then takes Reggie's hand and drags them both down
the stairs. His whole body rattles, but he busts into the room with a shaky grin, pulling a crying
Reggie behind him, and he stops in front of their mother. "Look! Look, Mother, I've cut Reggie's
hair! She looks like me!"

Walburga's eyes go cold, and Reggie cries harder.

Sirius stops and tilts his head back to stare up at the sky, his whole body shaking like he's a child
again. The temperature has dropped drastically, to the point that his hands are so cold they're
numb. It's late. He's been walking for a long time.

There's a bench, so he sits. He doesn't actually know where he is, but to be completely honest, he
doesn't particularly care. Nothing really matters, because Regulus—little Reggie—had told him.
Sirius just hadn't listened. Sirius was too young to hear what it meant. Sirius was too scared of
Regulus getting hurt that he didn't realize he was hurting him first.
Why didn't he know? Shouldn't he have known? Sirius is thinking now, and he's thinking about
every comment he ever unknowingly made that only ever pushed Regulus further and further away
from him. You're my little sister. You're Mother's precious daughter. I don't know why you can't go
to Hogwarts, but aren't you excited to go to an all-girls school, seeing as you're a girl? Wait, you're
secretly playing rugby; girls can do that? Well, you can wear makeup, Reggie, you're a girl; I, on
the other hand, would be beaten half to death by Mother for it. All you're good for is being
someone's wife one day, or so Mother believes, but I think you could be more than that, don't you?
Reggie, go flirt with him as a distraction while I pull the fire alarm; he likes girls like you.

"Fucking hell," Sirius croaks, shifting forward to brace his elbows on his knees and cover his face
with both hands. Guilt crawls through him, settling like a boulder in his stomach, making him feel
like he's going to sick up.

The worst part is that it's hard. It's hard for him to adjust, shamefully enough, because he's gone all
the years of his life having a little sister, many of which he spent hating her, except he never had a
little sister at all; he has a little brother, has always had a little brother, and what's worse than even
the worst part is that a part of Sirius still hates him.

Regulus could be a fucking hamster, and a part of Sirius would still hate him. That's so ridiculous,
he doesn't even know what to do with it. What does he do with that?

What does he do with any of this?

Sirius doesn't want to feel betrayed, but a part of him does. Not because Regulus didn't tell him.
He's old enough that he understands exactly why he wouldn't. No, what stings is the fact that
Regulus got out anyway. He fucking left, just like Sirius did, and if he was going to do that anyway,
why didn't he—why was he so—why wouldn't he just—

The truth is, Sirius painted how he felt about it. His biggest failure, seeing Reggie—Regulus slip
further and further away, dragged down more and more each time Sirius came home to check, and
he couldn't save him. Maybe he didn't try hard enough. Maybe he came to hate him so much that he
didn't want to try harder. And all he had to show for it, for all that they went through, was a scar
and a necklace.

He's never really made peace with that, not really, but he'd found a way to move past it. See, he
imagined something entirely different from reality. When he did think of Regulus, he thought of
Regina, a wife to whichever husband their mother picked out, possibly with child by now; it had
never crossed his mind to think that his nonexistent niece or nephew would be abused as he and
Regulus were, simply because he knew—even after everything—that Reggie would never stand for
it. But the same cycle of everything else—the pressure, the expectations, the demands, the lack of
freedom—Sirius did expect that to repeat, if not directly from their nonexistent mother, then from
their very real, very horrible grandmother.

But, as it turns out, when Sirius did think of Regulus, he thought of something that didn't exist.
Regulus isn't Regina, was never Regina. Regulus isn't someone's wife, will never be someone's
wife. Regulus isn't a mother, and won't ever be either. Sirius was so wrong. He couldn't have gotten
it more wrong if he tried, and it's making him fucking cry.

Here he is, eight years later, and he hasn't moved past it at all, as it turns out. At most, he ignored
something that wasn't even real to start with. And for what? For what?

Regulus got out anyway.

Sirius hunches his shoulders forward and chokes out a muffled sob into his palms, because why
didn't Regulus come with him? Why wasn't he enough? After everything they'd been through, even
the worst of it, didn't he know that Sirius would have accepted him and saved him, if only he'd let
him? God, why didn't Regulus let him? Sirius wanted to; it ripped him apart how much he wanted
to. It crushed him to realize that he couldn't, that Reggie didn't want to be saved at all.

Except he did, as it turns out. Or, maybe he didn't. Maybe he genuinely stopped needing Sirius and
just saved himself. That should make Sirius proud, because it's a good thing, isn't it? It's good that
Regulus got out, that he went after his own freedom, that he was strong enough to fight. But it
hurts. It really fucking hurts, because Sirius wasn't enough, and Sirius wasn't the reason, and Sirius
wasn't there.

I haven't seen you in eight years, Sirius had said, and Regulus had whispered, Whose fault is that?

"I don't know," Sirius groans, dragging his hands down his face. He stares down at the scar on his
palm, tracing it through the thick layer of tears in his eyes. "I really don't know."

He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything. He doesn't—

He buries his face in his hands again.

And, really, he doesn't care that Regulus is trans. Well, he cares, of course, but it's not a problem.
Sirius couldn't ever imagine anything like that being a problem. For their parents, surely, but never
for him. He's quite sure that Regulus could have told him at any point in their lives, and he would
have been in full support; he's in full support now. That's not the issue. So he has a brother.
Brilliant. Thanks for the update, he will adjust accordingly, and if anyone dares to say any
different, he will simply beat the everloving shit out of them.

That's not the problem here. The problem is that Sirius was fucking done with his family. Mother,
father, even brother. He was done, and nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever change his mind.
Nothing could ever make him regret that.

But he's seen Regulus again, he's laid eyes on his little brother, and oh god, oh god, he regrets it.

Sirius still has his anger, and his hatred, but…

Exactly that: but.

It's so different from what he'd always imagined that he can't just—just move past it. Is he meant to
just let it go? He has so many fucking questions. Too many, like: Why did Regulus leave? Was it
specifically to transition, or did something else push him to it? Did he run away in the middle of the
night like Sirius, or did he simply never come home one day? What does Mother know? Where did
Regulus go when he left? Did he have people to rely on, or was he alone? How did he end up here,
serving at a bloody art gallery? The Scallop Mouse was him, wasn't it? Is he okay? Is he safe?

That can't just be it. That's not it, is it? It can't be. Sirius belatedly bolts to his feet, swinging
around, only to come to an abrupt halt when he realizes he's eight years too late.

"Fuck," Sirius whispers, and he drops back down on the bench, sobbing all over again.

He thinks about how Regulus looked. Just that first glimpse of him. The same eyes, the same sharp
jaw, the same frowning mouth. That's it, though. That's really all that's the same besides his thin
wrists and small hands (they were always so frail, but not so much when he was threatening to
break Sirius' fingers, the prick) and likely his bony ankles that Sirius used to enjoy kicking
underneath the table to try and break Regulus' poker face while their mother ranted about
something (he never managed it; Regulus has always had an infuriatingly impeccable poker face).

Even his voice is different—smoother and deeper—and Sirius remembers thinking he'd give a lot
to hear Reggie's voice just one more time, even in the midst of a fight, only to find out he'll never
hear it the same way again, and he's entirely okay with that, but that same wish to hear it again
hasn't left him at all. He wants to hear it as it is now.
The horrible, messy truth of it is, Sirius loves his brother the same as he did the day he showed up
wrapped in a pink blanket, and hates him the same way he did the night he left, bruised and
bleeding, and hurting even more for the fact that he refused to let himself look back.

So much has changed, and nothing at all has, really, but…

There it is again.

But.

A car drives by on the street, and Sirius' head snaps up, a harsh breath punching out of him. He's
shivering. It's cold, and late, and he doesn't know where he is. His eyes are crusty, his face is
swollen, and he doesn't know what to do.

But he can't do nothing, he does know that.

So, he shakily pulls out his cell, but it's been dead since before he ever saw Regulus, seeing as he
never charged it while he was holed up in his studio. He shoves it back in his pocket, stands up,
and starts walking again.

Eventually, things start to look familiar. He's exhausted and aching, but he's relieved when he
realizes he's not too terribly far from Remus' flat. He's only been there on his bike, just once, so he
gets lost and misses the building twice before he finds it. There's no doubt in his mind that it's well
past midnight at this point, so he can only hope that Remus isn't asleep yet, or—if he is—that he
wakes up easily.

Yet, only seconds after he knocks, Remus wrenches his door open and immediately makes a low,
choking noise the second he sees him. Sirius doesn't even get to blink before Remus has his hands
practically all over him, touching his arms and pressing into his shoulders and cupping his cheeks.

"What the fuck, Sirius? Where have you been?" Remus bursts out, his voice shaking, and he
doesn't wait for an answer before he's yanking Sirius into a tight hug.

He can't just do that right now. Sirius is so fragile at the moment that he pretty much immediately
starts crying all over again, dropping almost all his weight against Remus.

"What's wrong? What happened? Sirius, are you hurt? Sirius," Remus rasps, pulling back to flutter
his hands all over him yet again, clearly freaking the fuck out, and Sirius just keeps crying. He can't
seem to stop. "I need you to tell me if you're hurt, alright? Just nod or shake your head. Are you—"

"Not—physically," Sirius manages to get out, his voice strangled, and Remus only seems to calm
by a small bit.

"Alright, I can—I can work with that. Christ, you're like ice, you're shivering. Bloody hell, get
inside." Despite the stress in his voice, Remus is exceedingly gentle when leading him into the flat,
immediately taking him to the bed and making him sit on the edge of it before wrapping him in no
less than three blankets. He breaks off to go into the kitchen, starting some tea, swiping his phone
as he goes. He puts the phone between his ear and shoulder, his voice softening to a low murmur
as he starts talking. "James, I've got him. Yeah, he just showed up. Not physically, he says, but
something has clearly happened to him. No, I don't think so. I don't know. You'll tell the others?
Good, yeah. I—honestly, mate, I'm not sure. If it's something like that, I'll let you know. Yeah,
alright, as soon as he's ready. I know. Breathe, James, I've got him."

Sirius can guess what a mess James must be just listening to Remus reassure him, and he can also
guess that the others that were mentioned are the rest of his friends, who were likely also worried
about him. It makes him wonder if Regulus has someone he loves that would frantically check him
over, or a best friend who would be on the verge of a panic attack at the thought of something
happening to him, or any other friends who would worry about him if he went missing. He doesn't
know, and that makes him start crying again.

He's mostly stopped (it seems to come in waves) by the time that Remus comes over with a cup of
tea, gingerly pushing it into his hands and kneeling in front of him.

"What time is it?" Sirius whispers.

"Half past three," Remus murmurs, reaching up to gently nudge Sirius' wrist, urging him to drink.

The first sip makes him shudder, and he realizes how cold he is, but it does warm him. His fingers
are starting to thaw out around the steaming cup. It stings a bit, but in a good way. He takes another
sip and croaks, "Sorry."
Remus takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, his hands falling to Sirius' knees, squeezing them.
His fingers are shaking. "Let's not worry about any of that right now. You're going to drink your
tea, and then we're going to get you out of that suit and into something warmer, yeah?"

Sirius doesn't agree, or disagree, but that's what happens. Remus says it, so Sirius does it. He
finishes his tea in complete silence and feels mildly better after, more human, certainly warmer
than before. Remus pulls the blankets off, then removes his shoes one-by-one, then carefully tugs
on his hand to make him stand and starts peeling him out of his suit, one layer at a time. There's
nothing sensual about it, but there is an intimacy to how tenderly he touches Sirius, translating how
much he cares through every brush of his fingers.

Remus is taller, so the pajama bottoms he gives Sirius pool down over his socked feet, but they're
soft and worn and comfortable. Remus also happens to wear sweaters too big for him, so Sirius fits
into one easily. It's as warm as Sirius always associates them with Remus, and he twists his fingers
in the gentle wool of the sleeves, soothed by it.

After that, Remus bundles him up in blankets again, and Sirius lets him even though he's warm
now. They sit on the bed right beside each other, and Remus stuffs one hand in the folds of the
blankets just to tangle their fingers together, like he needs something to hold onto but doesn't want
to push too much.

"Was everyone very worried?" Sirius mumbles.

"James was out with Peter and Mary looking for you all night. Lily went between hers and Mary's
in case you went there since they're neighbors, and Dorcas went to Pete's in case you showed up to
his, and Frank went to yours and James' flat in case you went home, while Marlene, Alice, and I
stayed at ours in case you came to us," Remus explains.

Sirius squeezes his eyes shut. "Fuck. I—I didn't even—my cell is dead, and I didn't even think—"

"No, don't, Sirius. All that matters is that you're alive and safe. That was the outcome we all
wanted, so don't be upset. This is better than—" Remus has clenched his eyes shut when Sirius
opens his own to check. He swallows, then opens his eyes to look at Sirius. "We were all just
worried, so everyone will be relieved to know you're alright."

"I didn't know I was out so late," Sirius admits.

Remus squeezes his hand. "You never showed up, even when I knew the gallery was closed, and
you didn't call. I thought, at first, that you just went home, but you didn't even message me.
Something just felt—wrong, so I reached out to James just to check, just to make sure, but he said
you never came home. He reached out to everyone else, and by the time we all realized that no one
knew where you were or had heard from you, it was close to midnight. We've been waiting ever
since, and I'm not telling you this to make you guilty; I'm telling you this so you know we're all
relieved you're safe."

"I'm still sorry. I didn't mean to put any of you through that. I just—I—" Sirius' mouth screws up,
lips trembling as his eyes somehow flood with tears again. How does he have more tears to shed?
Though, really, he knows that's a stupid question. He always has more tears to shed for Reggie.

"Sirius," Remus says cautiously, "what happened? I just—I don't want to push, but I want to—I
need to make sure that you're not—that no one did anything to—"

"I set my painting on fire," Sirius blurts out, and Remus' mouth snaps shut. "I just...tore it from the
wall, put my fist through it, and threw it into a fireplace."

Remus studies him carefully. "So, it was the painting, then? That's what made you…"

"He saw it," Sirius whispers, his head wobbling to the side like it's too heavy to hold up. A hoarse
laugh escapes him. "The one person who knew what it meant, who was never supposed to see it,
he was there. He saw it."

"Oh, Sirius, I'm sorry," Remus murmurs, his eyebrows drawing together. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Sirius shakes his head and sniffs, shrugging weakly. "He said it was beautiful, actually. But, ah, do
you—do you remember asking me if I was an only child, or if I had any siblings, and I said no to
both?"

"Yes," Remus says slowly, straightening up slightly as he stares at him, something like fear
blooming in his eyes.

"I wasn't an only child. I have a little—brother," Sirius admits in a croak, letting out a shaky breath.
Remus is frozen, not even breathing. "I saw him tonight for the first time in eight years. My little
Reggie, I saw him. I saw—" Sirius can't finish for crying so hard, but he's abruptly snatched right
out of his own sorrow by Remus yanking away and shooting to his feet, moving right for the door.
Sirius stares after him, his shoulders heaving. "Moony? Where are you—"

Just as suddenly as Remus moved away, he stops. He comes to a jerky halt, his back to Sirius for a
long moment, and then he slowly turns around. He's pale. He says nothing.

"Please don't—I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but please don't leave me," Sirius chokes out.

"No, Sirius. No, of course not," Remus whispers, his voice faint, and he comes right back to the
bed. He sinks down beside him, swallowing harshly, blinking rapidly.

"I know you don't know everything, but it's—it's really complicated," Sirius admits, reaching up to
swipe shaking fingers over his cheeks. "I can't—I can't explain all of it, I'm sorry, but I just—I just
really need you right now."

Remus reaches out and gently pulls him in, holding onto him, even through the lump of blankets.
He cups the back of Sirius' head and doesn't complain when Sirius hides his face into the curve of
his neck, breathing him in, still leaking hot tears like he'll never stop. "I'm here, Sirius. I'm right
here."

They stay just like that, Sirius leaning into Remus and Remus holding him, until Remus rearranges
them to lay together on the bed. He shifts the blankets until they share, and then they press together
without saying anything else. Sirius doesn't stop crying for a long time, and Remus stays, and
Remus holds him, and Remus doesn't leave.

Sirius loves him so much that it hurts.

Eventually, the tears do stop again, hopefully for the final time tonight (or this morning, really).
Sirius lays there and feels Remus slowly fall off into fitful sleep, likely exhausted and emotionally
drained from the hours he spent fretting. Sirius can't fall asleep, though. His eyes are sore, and he's
so tired, but his mind won't let him rest.

As carefully as possible, Sirius slips out of bed and moves around as quietly as he can to dig his cell
out of his discarded pocket. He shuffles to the table under the window that's still open, the
umbrella ashtray full and an open pack of smokes left with only three waiting, telling Sirius that
Remus sat right there and stress-smoked all night.
 Sirius takes a page out of his book and settles at the table, plugging his phone into the charger
Remus has. He has one smoke while he waits for his cell to charge up enough to power on again.
Bracing one hand against his forehead, Sirius just sits there and stares at the dingy tabletop with
itchy eyes.

As soon as Sirius cuts his phone on, it starts flooding with notifications for missed calls and
messages immediately. It's thankfully set on silent, so he just clears them all without even looking
at them, very much not in the state of mind to deal with it at the moment. Tomorrow, after he
sleeps, he will make sure to reach out to everyone and apologize, and thank them, and let them
know he loves them all a truly ridiculous amount.

But Sirius can't sleep yet. He taps at the screen, going to Google, and takes a deep breath before
typing Regulus with one hand, while the other drags the smoke to his lips so he can inhale and let it
burn, burn, burn in his lungs. Just as he thought, the first thing that's suggested is Regulus star, and
Sirius knew. Of course he knew, because he used to brag about being named after the brightest star
in the sky enough that he was at least a little aware of the ones that he outshined.

My name is Regulus Arcturus Black, Regulus had said.

What a horribly pretentious name, Sirius had thought, and wanted to laugh, and wanted Regulus to
laugh with him, and wanted so desperately to ask why he chose it.

Sirius clicks on Regulus star and isn't at all prepared for what he finds out. As he reads the
description, his eyes blur, because he apparently will be crying again. He reads the words and
hangs his head, covering his mouth with his free hand to muffle the sound of him weeping harder
than he has all night, because now he knows, and it rips him apart.

Regulus UK: US, designated α Leonis, is the brightest object in the constellation Leo and one of
the brightest stars in the night sky, lying approximately 79 light years from the Sun. The Leo
constellation is in the shape of a lion, and due to Regulus' placement, the star is also commonly
known as Qalb Al Asad, from the Arabic phrase meaning, “the heart of the lion.”

Sirius wonders if Regulus can feel his heart breaking.

Chapter End Notes

Me, when writing this and researching Regulus' star: oh my god, heart of the lion???
WRITE THAT DOWN, WRITE THAT DOWN ✍✍ ✍
Also me, when seeing that the Regulus star is 79 light-years away from the sun: aw,
James is the sun, and Regulus canonically dies in 1979, the dots, I've connected them

Also, fun fact, the line "Sirius belatedly bolts to his feet, swinging around, only to
come to an abrupt halt when he realizes he's eight years too late" made me cry and
stop writing for two days.

Anyway, thoughts?
 Chapter 14
Chapter Notes

So, got some surprises for this chapter! New characters, new information, and a POV
switch of a sort! In this chapter, and the next one, the POV will be split differently
from all the ones before it. Usually, it's Regulus to Sirius, then James to Remus. In this
chapter, it's James to Sirius, and the next is Regulus to Remus. It's important to the
plot, trust me.

Heavy warnings for this chapter: angst, of course. characters misgendering Regulus on
account of not knowing he has transitioned. brief reference to the horrible reality of
trans people, abused people, or abandoned people, or all three, committing suicide. a
brief discussion about a character committing suicide (fake news, not real, inaccurate).
brief reference to Walburga's A+ parenting. brief discussion about child abuse, about
the fact that Sirius and Regulus were abused as children.

Lighter warnings for this chapter: some spice, believe it or not again, nothing
genuinely explicit or descriptive, but it's obvious what happened. a character gets sick,
but it's not very descriptive, you just know it happens. mild jealousy, some protective
older brother stuff, and some good old fashioned lying.

This chapter is...a lot. It's a whole whirlwind, so enjoy ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James ends up at Regulus' door. He doesn't really mean to, but he hasn't gotten much rest, and he
can't shake off the awful fear that's been clinging to him since last night.

It's only once James is in front of Regulus' door that he realizes he never reached out to Regulus to
ask how the catering event went. He had no room to care about literally anything when his best
friend was missing. His worry for Sirius entirely encompassed everything else, and it wasn't until
after Remus called him that James finally crashed. What little sleep he did get was fitful, making
him wake up nearly every hour, somehow feeling that something had gone really wrong. He
eventually gave up, dragged himself from bed as the sun started to rise, showered, then found
himself...here.

Because, really, James just wants to stop feeling like this. For those hours that he didn't know if
Sirius was safe, if he was alright, it was like something bleak and insidious slithered into his veins
and started rotting. Like a dying garden in desperate need of rain, James is drawn to Regulus,
wanting the safety and reassurance of his storm. He can't go to Sirius, who is likely still asleep at
Remus', and honestly? The only person James can imagine making him feel better is Regulus.

James knocks and is immediately startled by the sight that greets him when the door opens.
Regulus is wearing a short, silk robe with a belt barely keeping it closed, the front of it open wide
enough to bare most of his chest, his top surgery scars visible to the world. The end of it barely
reaches the top of his thighs, and James knows instantly that Regulus is naked underneath, was
probably naked moments before and simply threw the robe on to answer the door.

Briefly, James is momentarily distracted by legs and thighs and a chest and the slip of shoulder
where the robe rides down. However, when Regulus pulls up the shimmering fabric to settle it
properly on his shoulder, James quickly darts his gaze up and feels his heart drop when he actually,
properly takes in Regulus' face. There's a hollowness to his eyes, completely devoid of any spark,
and he's pale with soft purple-grey impressions under his bloodshot eyes. He looks washed out,
exhausted, and worryingly empty.

"I was attempting to sleep," Regulus informs him quietly, no emotion to his voice at all. He doesn't
sound harsh or gentle, simply...robotic. "Wasn't actually managing it, though, to be fair. Would you
like to come in?"

"Please," James murmurs, and Regulus steps to the side to let him in. Regulus shuts the door and
brushes past him to head to the kitchen, and James follows. "Are you alright?"

"No," Regulus says, then doesn't elaborate. He doesn't even glance back as he starts, by the looks
of things, making them hot cocoa. "I could ask you the same thing. What's wrong?"

James swallows and goes to lean against the counter beside Regulus, not looking at him as he
wraps his arms around himself. "My best mate went missing last night."

"What?" Regulus' hand lands on his arm, and James glances over to see the first genuine flicker of
life in him since he opened the door. He's frowning, and there's a furrow of concern between his
eyebrows. "Is he alright? Was he found? Should you even be here right now, James?"

"He's safe," James croaks, blinking hard. "He's with his boyfriend now, probably resting. I don't
know all the details, but I spent most of last night out looking for him. I was… Regulus, I was so—
I was really—"

Regulus sits a mug down firmly and turns to reach out and cup James' face between two cold
hands. "I'm sorry. I know that must have been frightening. I—I'm sorry I didn't call or message; I
would have helped you search."
"You—"

"James, of course, even if I don't know him. He's your best friend. He's important to you, and
you're important to me."

"Thanks," James whispers, and he feels his shoulders slump with the additional weight of guilt and
complications. The thing is, Regulus does know Sirius. It's awful that Regulus didn't even know his
own brother went missing last night. James can't even fucking tell him without ruining everything.

"I'm sorry it happened," Regulus says softly, "but he's alright, you said? That's all that matters." He
brushes his thumbs over James' cheeks, then slides one hand around to grip the back of his neck,
gently urging James to lean into him. James does exactly that, practically crumbling into his arms,
releasing a sharp, rattled exhale. "I suppose last night was just shit for everyone. Fucking awful
night for us all. I do wish you could have escaped unscathed, though."

"You had a shit night?" James asks with a frown, pulling away to scan Regulus' face. "The event
didn't go well?"

Regulus' face just drops, all the life draining right back out like it never existed in the first place.
"You could say that."

"I'm sorry, love. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not at the moment. Right now, I just want…"

James reaches up to push back the swoop of hair over Regulus' forehead. "What do you want?"

"I want—" Regulus cuts himself off, swallowing harshly, and he fixes a calculating look on James
for a long moment. Then, pressing forward, Regulus kisses him. James tries to kiss him back
gently, with the idea of comfort, but Regulus kisses him harder, harsher, deeper. One of his hands
winds into James' hair, fisting the messy strands, and he presses him back into the counter with
intent, kissing with tongue and teeth and no intention of slowing down.

"Mm, mmph, Regulus, love," James says, muffled as he turns his head, squeezing his eyes shut.
Regulus turns his attention to James' jaw, fucking sinful when he wants to be, and James shudders.
"I—yeah, of course, but are you sure you're in the proper state to really—to, ah—"
"James," Regulus says firmly, pulling back to glare at him, eyes narrowed, "I'm not intoxicated, and
I'm a full adult man who can make my own decisions, so for once in your fucking life, stop being
so bloody noble. I want this. I want you. So, please, if you would be so kind as to fuck me, that
would be lovely."

James blows out a breath so deep that it rounds his cheeks out like a chipmunk. "Christ, Regulus."

"I want to feel—" Regulus stops, then slides his free hand down to tug the loose belt on his robe
apart, letting it fall open. Regulus holds his gaze and whispers, "I want to feel."

And, really, James gets it. Maybe he shouldn't, because it's the exact opposite for him, but perhaps
that's why he does get it. James feels too much and only wants to feel this one thing, the way
Regulus makes him feel. In turn, Regulus is feeling nothing and wants to feel the way James makes
him feel. They want to lose themselves to each other, and it's so easy to do.

Almost helplessly, James drags his hand up Regulus' silk sleeve, tracking the progress of his
fingers as they slip up, bunching fabric, brushing over ruffles. His hand reaches where the robe is
open and slack over the dip of Regulus' shoulder, and James can't rip his gaze away as he helps it
slip all the way off, the robe pooling to the floor.

James pulls Regulus in, and Regulus drops his head back with a sigh of relief, a hum of triumph, as
James' mouth gets lost in the curve of the column of his throat.

They do lose themselves in each other after that, a blur of clothes hitting the floor, mouths and
hands on skin. Snapshots of a storm progressing across sunny skies: the clatter of mugs being
pushed aside mindlessly and frantically as James sits Regulus onto the counter, moaning into his
mouth; Regulus gasping as his back thuds against the wall, arms around James' shoulders, legs
around James' waist; fingers tangling, kisses unraveling, bodies lost and not found for quite some
time.

In the end, they never even make it to Regulus' bedroom. They get about four steps away from his
door and get no further.

"Well," James says, shaky and a bit blind without his glasses. He turns to put his back against the
wall beside Regulus, their chests heaving, the wall mostly holding them up at this point.
"Well," Regulus agrees, his head thumping back against the wall. He huffs out a soft laugh, then
proceeds to slide down the length of the wall, naked and trembling.

James follows suit, blinking slowly. "So, how do you feel?"

"Tired," Regulus says, then chuckles. That sets James off, and then they're both just laughing in
pure exhilaration, and Regulus drops his head over on James' shoulder.

"Good, then?" James asks, grinning.

Regulus lazily swats James' bare chest. "As if your ego needs the compliment."

"I don't know," James murmurs, his smile fading. A serious note fills his voice. "Sometimes…
Well, sometimes it does. Not necessarily about sex, but just… It's nice to—to be told nice things, is
all. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah." Regulus is silent for a beat, then he pushes himself forward with a grunt, getting to his
feet. He holds his hand down to James. "Come with me. We're getting a shower."

James takes his hand, and they do, in fact, get a shower together. It's a bit of an experience. James
has never actually showered with anyone else before (Lily never offered, and James never thought
to ask), and he's not expecting it to be so...well, fun. It should be vulnerable and intimate, shouldn't
it, seeing as they're both naked and not in the midst of shagging.

But, honestly, they just flick water at each other, and James playfully gets handsy while Regulus
rolls his eyes. They wash each other's hair, and James cackles when he spikes Regulus' hair into a
sudsy Mohawk, and Regulus makes teasing insults about the fact that James can't read the small
script on the shampoo bottle. They try to shag simply for curiosity's sake, only to end up laughing
because no, no, that doesn't work at all. James starts belting out a One Direction song (Baby, you
light up my world like nobody else, he sings directly into a bottle of body wash he can't read,
pointing at Regulus as he does), and Regulus swats him on the arse as he gets out.

James actually has clothes to change into, things he's left behind after staying over so often, and
Regulus finally gets around to making hot cocoa. They settle on the sofa, leaning into each other,
sipping from their mugs.
"I love you," James announces without warning, turning to look at Regulus. "I just want you to
know that. I love you so very much, Regulus."

Regulus looks down with a small smile, and he looks better than he did when he answered the
door. Still tired, but it comes with a calm, satisfied undercurrent now. "I do know that, and I love
you."

"I'm glad you know," James murmurs fondly.

"You know what you should know?" Regulus takes a quick sip of his cocoa, then sits it down,
reaches out to grab James' to sit it aside as well, and shifts on the sofa to—well, he pretty much just
clamors into James' lap with basically no finesse, getting his foot stuck and needing James to pull it
out and help him situate properly. Once he's there, though, Regulus looks right into his eyes. "You
said before that it's nice to be told nice things, and I don't tell you nice things very often."

James lazily taps his fingers on Regulus' hips, giving him a very pointed look. "Well, you know I
like it when you're mean to me, love."

"Oh, I'll always be mean to you; that will never change. But I can do both, James. This is just
rarer." Regulus reaches up and runs his fingers gently through James' hair. "I like your hair. I like
the little indents you have on each side of your nose from your glasses. I like your smile—
sometimes, it feels like the best part of my life, simply getting to see it, having it focused on me. I
like that you have a dimple sometimes, but not all the time, and I like that I never know when it
will appear. I like your laugh, how rich and textured it is, almost like I can taste it. I like the width
of your shoulders, and the small curved bone in your pinky finger like you're always ready to make
a promise, and the way you can never, never truly sit still for longer than five seconds, even when
you're sleeping. I like some of your most ridiculous jokes, and how you love to make people laugh,
and the way you love your friends and family and me. I like that you call me love, and I like that
you're the sun, and I like, most of all, that you're mine."

James is quite sure that he could lift a fucking bus at the moment. He has absolutely no idea how it
feels like he needs to curl up and fold himself as small as he can get, while also feeling as if he
needs to expand until he just explodes. He's smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, and Regulus is so
rarely open with all the affection and fondness and pure, inarguable love he unleashes in his
expression, in his eyes, the way he is right now. James feels like he needs to run laps, and also as if
he's just sunk into a warm bath that untangles every tense knot he's ever had in his body. Oh, he
loves him. He really does.

"Who would have thought?" James says, breathless. "Can you imagine us getting here from the day
I came in from the storm that led me right to you?"
"Do you want to know something really nice?" Regulus asks, his lips twitching.

"Go on," James urges, ridiculously eager.

Regulus' eyes sparkle, and he leans in like he's telling a secret as he whispers, "I fancied you the
moment I saw you."

"No! Did you really?" James blurts out, eyes bulging, and he's so delighted by this new information
that he jolts up straight and nearly upends Regulus from his lap.

"I did, really," Regulus confirms, laughing softly into the enthusiastic kiss James immediately
drags him into.

They snog for a bit, until Regulus just slumps against him with a satisfied hum. James has worked
out by now that Regulus likes to sit like this when they're lazing about. Likes using James' shoulder
as a pillow, and likes nosing at James' neck and pressing random, mindless kisses to it in between
quiet murmurs. Likes stuffing his fingers up James' shirt to warm them on James' stomach or sides,
and likes pinching his sock-clad toes into the side of James' legs. Likes squeezing his knees
together against James' hips to silently urge him to keep sweeping hands up and down the hunched
curve of his back, and likes the surprise of every kiss James ducks in to drop off on his cheek,
neck, hair, or whatever he can reach.

The thing about Regulus is, he's as touch-starved as Sirius is and has always been. He's just much
more reserved and less willing to allow himself to be satiated. Once he's comfortable and all his
defenses have come down, though, he can't seem to get enough, and James is more than happy to
provide.

Yet, in the same breath, just as this position and steady contact can calm him, his mood can change
like shifting winds. Always when least expected. That's the thing about natural disasters; it's in
their nature. Regulus is the same, and when his mood turns, there's nothing to be done but brace for
impact and weather the storm.

"Alright?" James asks carefully when Regulus pulls away abruptly, no longer at ease, his face
worryingly blank.

"I did something last night that I didn't want to do," Regulus tells him, jaw clenching, hands balling
into fists on the inside of James' jumper.

James frowns. "What did you do?"

"I left," Regulus whispers, and his eyes are suddenly, without warning, getting shiny with a flood
of tears collecting at his eyeline, on the verge of falling in mere seconds.

"The event?" James mumbles, eyebrows drawing together, genuine concern making his jaw
clench.

Regulus opens his mouth, but his lips tremble around words that don't seem willing to come out.
He closes his eyes tight, then manages to choke out, "My brother. I left my brother."

James freezes. His breath catches in his lungs, a sharp twist surging through his chest, and it's like
a record scratches in his brain. His body is reacting before his mind latches onto what those words
mean, and later, he thinks, he'll be very fucking grateful that Regulus isn't looking at him right
now, because he has no idea what his face is doing, but he has no doubt that it's very telling.

"He was there, at the event. First time I saw him in eight fucking years, and he was displaying a
horrible, lovely painting about—about me," Regulus says with a hoarse, scratchy laugh, his
expression crumbling. "What do I even do with that? You know what I did, James? I ran. I ran right
into him, and he recognized me instantly, and then I ran from him, too. But, of course, he couldn't
just leave me alone; of course not. He saw me, and we argued, and I didn't want to—I didn't—but I
left him there, and now I'll never—"

Regulus breaks down, all the tension in his body going out at once, causing him to slump to the
side a bit, where he curls in on himself and slips right out of James' lap. It's a good thing that
happens, so James doesn't have to shove him aside as he launches to his feet and bolts.

In his defense, he's been feeling queasy since last night, that sickly sensation only recently soothed
with Regulus' help, and when it slams into him with full force once again, he literally can't tolerate
it this time. It's so much worse this time. Bad enough that he slams his way into the loo, drops in
front of the toilet, and finds that the hot cocoa is not as good coming up as it is going down.

James has never actually given it much thought, but if asked, he wouldn't say he has a weak
stomach. It's just that this is honestly one of the most awful things that's ever happened to him.
Fucking hell, Sirius saw Regulus last night, which explains why he went missing, and James can't
even begin to imagine how Sirius has been feeling since. And what did James do? He went and
shagged Sirius' little brother to feel better, because he was worried about Sirius to start with.

The guilt makes the rising bile burn.

"Fuck," James gasps out, shuddering, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he shakily flushes the toilet.
A cool hand touches the back of his clammy neck. James can't stop himself from groaning and
curling into the contact, because even now, even knowing what he does, he can't help but want
whatever Regulus will give him. "Sorry."

"Were you feeling sick? What's the last thing you had to eat, James?" Regulus asks quietly.

James swallows convulsively and sniffs, not opening his eyes. His stomach is still churning. "I had
takeaway yesterday. Nothing else since. Well, the hot cocoa."

"It has cardamom, which—"

"—helps with nausea. I remember."

Regulus hums pensively, then passes his fingers through James' hair before pulling away. "Give
me a moment. I'll be right back." True to his word, he's not gone very long before he's there again,
holding out a glass to James. "Rinse your mouth. You can use my toothbrush after."

"Thanks," James says weakly, then doesn't say anything else until he's dropping the toothbrush
back in the holder, his mouth minty fresh. The nausea remains, and the guilt hasn't alleviated one
bit, but he's been given a moment to gather his wits. He needs to see Sirius as soon as possible, but
he doesn't want Regulus to be alone either. He can't say anything, can't just break and tell Regulus
everything the way he wants to, because Remus is in this as well. How is that fair? They're in this
together. James wants to scream at the sky when he realizes that there are so many variables
involved in this, so he's always betraying someone, isn't he? All he's trying to do is be loyal to them
all. Why is this so fucking complicated?

"How do you feel now?" Regulus murmurs, stepping close to lay the back of his hand against
James' forehead, a frown of concern etched onto his face.

Like a shit person, James thinks. "A bit better," James lies. Well, it's a half-lie. He doesn't feel like
he's going to vomit a second time (mostly due to the fact that he has nothing left to give), so that's
technically a bit better.

"Have you slept at all?" Regulus asks, eyes narrowing.

"Not much," James admits wearily.

Regulus' lips press into a thin line. "Go home, James. Go home and rest, and see your best friend.
The worry and stress aren't helping. No, don't argue with me. You—"

"What about you?" James argues anyway. "You saw—"

"Yes, and I'll get over it," Regulus declares sharply, like it's a command, like it's law. "If you're
worried about anything, he didn't—he wasn't awful about me being trans. It's not like that. I just…
I hate him. I hate my brother. That's all it is."

James shakes his head. "Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"I do."

"No, Regulus, you don't. You can't. I—I mean, you said you didn't want to leave him, right? What
does that mean? That has to mean something. It—it has to mean—"

"James," Regulus snaps coldly, "leave it. It doesn't mean anything. It never did for him, and it
doesn't for me. I'm not talking about this anymore. Go home."

"Regulus—"

"Go home."

"But," James protests.

Regulus bursts out, "James! I said fucking leave it!"

They stare at each other, and the way Regulus is angry, the way he lashes out, is so familiar
because it's Sirius. Regulus' rage is cold and sharp, while Sirius' is fire and heavy like a direct hit.
Equally dreadful, equally cruel when pushed far enough, but distinctly different. Regulus doesn't
raise his voice when he's furious. His face doesn't twist, and his eyes don't blaze, and his blistering
emotions don't spill out. No, that's Sirius. For Regulus, his anger is quiet and deadly. His face goes
blank, and his eyes are empty, and he just shuts down. But this? This is Sirius through and through,
and James feels lost.

"I'm sorry," James whispers, and he's apologizing for so many things. More than he can even begin
to explain.

"No, I—" Regulus swallows, then clears his throat and looks away, face going blank now. The
flames James didn't even know he was capable of die down, and ice forms in their place. All traces
of Sirius disappear. "I shouldn't have yelled. I'm sorry. I know you're just—worried, but I'm fine,
really. You, on the other hand, need to go home and see your best mate. And you also need to
sleep. I mean it, James. Promise me you will."

James sighs. "Yeah, alright. I promise. Are you sure—"

"Quite sure." Regulus looks at him and steps forward to kiss him at the corner of his mouth,
pulling back to gaze at him for a long moment, his hand resting on James' chest, right over his
heart. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

Regulus does just that, and when the door shuts, James is on the other side, feeling worse than he
did when he arrived.

WE HAVE A PROBLEM, James texts Remus as he heads home, his heart racing in his chest.

Yes, we do. You've seen Reg, then? Remus doesn't message back until James is nearly home.

I'm leaving his flat now.

How is he?
It's not good, Remus. What about Sirius?

It takes a few minutes for Remus to respond. I don't think he slept last night. We just got back to
your flat now, and he's in a right state. I've never seen him like this before.

We need to talk.

I know.

When James pushes inside his flat, things are alarmingly quiet. He heads in cautiously, only to find
Remus on the sofa with his head in his hands. Sirius is nowhere to be seen.

"Remus?" James asks warily, moving over to sit next to him, and Remus looks up with a deep
sigh.

"He's having a shower," Remus murmurs, gaze darting towards the direction of the loo. They both
listen to the background sound of water running. "James…"

"I know, mate," James croaks.

Remus stares at him. "We have to tell them. We need to tell them as soon as fucking possible."

"I agree, but now? Today? After the night they had?" James says, his voice strained. "That would
just be worse on them. Can't we give them one bloody day to calm down?"

"Haven't we waited long enough? James, they've met again. We can't just keep—"

"Yes, but is now the best time?"

"There is no best time, haven't you worked that out yet?"

"Yeah, sure, but this is certainly one of the worst, isn't it?"

"It's—it's not great," Remus admits with a wince. He heaves a sigh. "Christ, James, what have we
done? They're never going to forgive us. Never."

James swallows. "Tomorrow. We will tell them tomorrow. You tell Sirius, and I'll tell Regulus, and
we can—we'll just sit them down and explain as calmly as possible, then give them both whatever
space they need. I know they're not the most, ah, level-headed when they're angry, but maybe… I
mean, surely they will at least be able to see we were only just trying to keep from losing them, or
hurting them, or both. And—and I think it's best if it's coming from—"

"The accidental lover and not the traitorous best mate?" Remus suggests dryly, grimacing as soon
as he, presumably, realizes that he is also a traitorous best mate in this scenario.

"Yeah," James says miserably. "Sirius is going to kill me."

Remus lets out a harsh exhale. "Yeah, I doubt I'm living past tomorrow as well, but we can't keep
lying. Isn't it eating away at you? I feel physically fucking ill sometimes, honestly."

"You have no idea," James mumbles.

"I want to see him," Remus whispers. "I wanted to go as soon as Sirius mentioned seeing Regulus. I
just want to be sure that he's okay."

"I'm not sure that he is," James admits. "I don't want him to be alone, but I need to be with Sirius
right now, too."

"I'll go when Sirius is out of the shower," Remus murmurs, and he reaches out to squeeze James'
arm. "Don't feel bad for the comfort you two found in each other. You love him, he loves you.
That's the thing, isn't it? We all love each other. Even they love each other. We just have to fix it."

"Because it was a mistake," James says softly. "It was, wasn't it? We should have never done this."
"I know," Remus rasps.

"And I still can't bring myself to regret it fully, because I…" James looks at Remus helplessly. "I
love him. I love Regulus so much. How could I ever regret him? Do you regret Sirius?"

"Not even for a moment," Remus says, blinking hard.

"I'm so scared, Remus," James breathes out, his eyes burning.

Remus swallows thickly. "Me too."

They don't say anything else. Instead, they sit there in silence, the weight of so many things sitting
between them, hanging over them like an axe threatening to fall from the single thread that's
already fraying. James wishes he could go back in time to when he and Remus first learned that
Regulus and Sirius were brothers, so that they could just—sit them both down and come clean
immediately. What were they thinking, lying like this, deceiving people they love the most?

James never thought himself capable of it.

When Sirius comes out of the shower, he looks clean, but there's a wild gleam in his eyes that
makes dread crawl through James' veins. He smiles at James, though, soft and apologetic, almost
like he's guilty.

"Sirius," James says softly.

"Sorry I worried you, James. It's been...a long night," Sirius croaks, moving over to snatch him into
a hug the moment that James stands from the sofa.

James takes a page from his mum's book and doesn't let go first, holding Sirius tight until Sirius
actually breaks away. He tries for a smile, but he knows it's wobbly. "I'm just glad that you're safe,
mate. That's the most important thing."

"Did Remus tell you?" Sirius asks.

"A bit," James says delicately, hoping Remus won't mind. He does not have a good enough poker
face to pretend he knows nothing, so it's for the best.

Sirius exhales shakily and whispers, "I have a brother. A little brother. Little Reggie is my little
brother."

"Yeah, didn't see that coming," James admits weakly.

"No, neither did I," Sirius agrees with a brittle laugh, then swallows. "Should I have? Shouldn't I
have seen it?"

James frowns. "Mate, don't do that. Don't—"

"Make this about me?" Sirius cuts in, his lips twisting. He heaves a sigh. "Yeah, suppose I
shouldn't. His name is Regulus Arcturus Black, you know. Regulus means—" Sirius screws his
eyes shut, swallowing harshly. "It's in the Leo constellation, and it's known as the heart of the lion.
The heart of the lion, James. He chose that. He—"

"Christ," James can't help but mumble, his heart flinching in his chest. He remembers when he first
met Sirius. They were both eleven and proud to be Lions, and Sirius used to constantly bring up
how little Reggie would have been a Snake if allowed to come to Hogwarts, something he used to
say as a joke, just teasing, until he started saying it like an insult before he stopped saying things
like that altogether.

"Sirius," Remus says gently, "I need to go, and you need to sleep, but I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"I know, sweetheart," Sirius murmurs, shifting away from James to go to Remus, kissing him
softly, offering him a warm smile when he pulls away. "Thank you for—everything, and I'm sorry
for worrying you."

"Make it up to me by actually getting some sleep," Remus tells him, reaching up to cup the side of
his neck in an intimate gesture, swaying in to kiss him again.

"I will," Sirius says. "Go on. I'll ring you later."
Remus lingers a moment, then swallows. "I love you."

"Oh, Moony. My lovely, wonderful Moony," Sirius mumbles, gazing at him with unhindered
adoration and love that James has never seen him focus on anyone before, "I love you, too."

As soon as Remus is gone, Sirius is a whirlwind of motion. He darts into his room with barely a
word, then darts back out moments later, fully dressed and slinging his leather jacket onto his
frame. James is alarmed instantly.

"What are you doing, Padfoot?" James asks cautiously.

"Why, Prongs, it's what we are doing," Sirius corrects, heading for the door, and he doesn't even
have to say a word or look back before James follows after him.

"And what, exactly, are we doing?" James presses, strained, already dreading the answer because
it's very clear that Sirius is in something of a manic state at the moment, not slowing down, focused
entirely on his mission.

Sirius glances back over his shoulder with a large, rather feral grin and says, "We're going to find
my brother."

Sirius has not slept in a little over twenty-four hours, but that's alright. He's just fine, actually. At
least four hours ago, he tipped over from exhausted to that strange level of tired where it's mostly
fueled by delirium. The kind where you can't slow down or you will honestly just drop.

Sirius has no plans to drop. He has things to do today.

"Again, I am begging you to tell me where we're going," James mumbles, his gaze darting around
warily.

It's odd, because Sirius hasn't ever seen James anything other than enthusiastic to get caught up in
his wild plans before now. James is unexpectedly resistant to this whole idea of finding Regulus,
and Sirius—well, Sirius doesn't actually care why. He suspects that James is just worried about
him, but at this particular time, Sirius can't soothe his concerns.

The best he can do is toss his arm over James' shoulder and keep herding his reluctant frame up the
street. Sirius could do this alone, but he'd prefer not to. Of everyone, James is the only one who
truly knows the most about Sirius' complex feelings about his family. Lily knows a bit, and that's
only because she has a strained relationship with her sister, so she could relate and understand.
Even Peter is under the impression that Sirius would sooner spit on Reggie in the street than...what
he's currently doing. It's complicated, and Sirius just wants his best friend, who he can trust, who
understands him, along with him as support. Sue him.

"That," Sirius says, pointing at a building as they walk towards it. "That's where we're going."

James looks a little constipated. "Sirius, why are we—what are we doing here?"

"Just keep an eye out for a bloke who looks like me, only shorter with shorter hair," Sirius mutters
distractedly.

"Well, I'm sure he doesn't look that much like you."

"No, he does. You can't miss him."

"Um, no, I—I definitely could," James wheezes, and Sirius ignores him, because he has the utmost
faith in him. "You think he's here, then?"

"Could be, but he's actually not who we're here to see," Sirius says, leading James into the front
office, where he immediately flashes a smile at the woman behind the front desk. It's a help center.
Perfect. "Hello, miss. I was wondering if you could tell me where the culinary department is?"

"Yes, sure," she replies simply and does just that.

"Sirius, why—"
"Regulus was working the event as catering. I have absolutely no idea why, but I'm about to find
out, and—hopefully—get closer to finding him in the process."

"Do you even know where you're going?" James asks.

Sirius hums. "Not at all, but I saw the head chef running the event last night a few times. I
overheard Horace mention she taught classes, so I looked online until I found her picture and
worked out her name. She should have an office that—ha! Just here." Sirius beams at a closed
door. "Chef Pomona Sprout."

"Maybe she doesn't know anything, Padfoot," James hisses under his breath. "Maybe she just—
hired people. Maybe your brother just needed the work and she doesn't even know—"

"I highly doubt it," Sirius interrupts bluntly. "I kept eating Scallop Mouse, which Reggie and I
loved as children, but it was always my favorite before I left home. I'm convinced that he made it.
Had no idea the wanker could cook, but…"

"Sirius, maybe—" James cuts himself off with a muffled groan the moment Sirius knocks on the
door. Sirius turns to see him covering his face with both hands, then gets distracted from James'
unreasonable dismay by the door opening.

"Hello, can I help—" Chef Sprout comes to an abrupt halt, her face clearing as she looks at Sirius
with a mild frown. "Ah, are you that artist from last night? Come in, lad, come in."

"I am, yes. This is my assistant," Sirius says blithely, inwardly snickering when James huffs
quietly behind him as they're both led in. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion, Ms. Sprout."

"Not at all. I'm grateful to have the chance to offer my sincerest apologies to you in person. I'm not
entirely sure what all happened, and frankly, neither is Horace. He says you were so distraught by
the slight from my student that you destroyed your own painting?" Chef Sprout asks, sweeping
behind her desk and settling in her chair with a frown.

Sirius coughs. "Your student, you said?"

"Former, I can assure you," Chef Sprout informs him with a firm nod. "Mr. Black will not be
welcome back in my classes. It's a shame; he was my most promising student, if I'm honest.
Sometimes the pressure can get overwhelming in this industry, but the scene he caused last
night…"

"Wait, you're—you're kicking him out?" Sirius asks, tension bleeding into his shoulders.

Chef Sprout hums. "Indeed I am."

"You can't do that," James blurts out, unexpectedly, and Sirius glances over to see him looking
horrified. He opens and closes his mouth with a few false starts, glancing between Chef Sprout and
Sirius. "I—I just meant… I mean, you said he was the most promising, yeah? That kind of talent—
surely you don't think it should go wasted."

"I'd like for it not to, but I did make myself clear before the event began," Chef Sprout says. "Mr.
Black has not contacted me yet, but when he does, I will let him know—"

"It's not his fault," Sirius says quickly, an old instinct rising in him that he thought he lost. It takes
over, and his mouth just runs away from him. "My name is Sirius Black, Ms. Sprout, I'm his
brother, and the only one to blame is me. I planned it, you see. He didn't even know I was going to
be featured in the gallery; I hadn't told him so it could be a surprise. I thought it would be funny to
play a prank on him, is all. I'm the one who pushed the tray from his hands, just as a joke, but I
didn't know it was such an important night for him. I'm—it was me. It was my fault. Not his. He
shouldn't be punished."

Chef Sprout stares at him for a long moment, then her mouth presses into a thin line. "Is that so?
You deliberately sabotaged the event...for a prank?"

"I thought it was funny," Sirius says with a grin, waggling his eyebrows at her, not finding it hard
at all to fit the role of troublemaker. He is, after all. "Why do you think I ruined my own painting?
Purely for the drama. Only, well, my brother is upset with me, you see, and now I know why. I had
no idea that I would be putting his future in jeopardy by doing it."

"That was exceedingly irresponsible, Mr. Black," Chef Sprout says, clipped. She looks rather scary
when angry, shockingly, because she looked so kind before.

Sirius nods quickly. "Yes, I realize that now. I am truly sorry, Ms. Sprout, and I implore you to
reconsider Reggie's place in your class. Please, it wasn't his fault. I take full responsibility."
"And why didn't Mr. Black contact me to explain this situation himself?" Chef Sprout asks.

"He's embarrassed," Sirius says, and he's quite sure he's not lying now. "Embarrassed of me, really.
Of what I did. And he thinks that his future is lost to him. Please, if you would just reconsider and
reach out to him to let him know he still has a place under your tutelage, I know you won't regret it.
I mean, I had the Scallop Mouse. He made them, yeah?"

"He did."

"Exactly. They were marvelous. He could go on to do great things, and we both know it. Won't you
help him?"

Chef Sprout eyes him for a long time, and he and James are both holding their breath, because they
exhale in perfect sync when she sighs and says, "Under these circumstances, I can't see the
justification in not letting him back. I'll contact Mr. Black and let him know I expect him in class
on Monday."

"Brilliant!" Sirius bursts out, brightening, standing taller as he beams at her. Like with most people,
it makes her look reluctantly amused and exasperated.

"Oh, and Mr. Black?"

"Yes, Ms. Sprout?"

"If you ever sabotage one of my events again, or nearly cost me my best student, I will be sure that
you don't get off so easily. You're fortunate that your little scene, in a strange turn of events, led to
more donations for the charity."

"Oh, people like that love a scandal. They'd pay to see it just to have something to gossip about."

"Mm, I cannot argue that," Chef Sprout says wryly, then she narrows her eyes, "but that is no
excuse. Now kindly see yourself out of my office. I don't want to see you again unless it is to do
with supporting your brother, am I understood?"
Sirius lays his hand on his chest, grinning again, and says with mock solemnity, "Yes, Chef. Also,
can I just say, those skewers you made? Absolutely lovely, by the way."

"Out."

"Right."

It's smart not to stick around, Sirius feels, so they beat a hasty retreat. As soon as they get back
outside, James swings around and stares at him. Sirius raises his eyebrows.

"You lied," James says softly.

"Anyway, we should be off," Sirius announces quickly, trying to move past James, who catches his
shoulder and pushes him back. Sirius refuses to meet James' searching gaze.

James ducks his head forward to chase his gaze, no matter how much Sirius evades him. "You lied,
Sirius. You didn't prank your brother; you didn't push that tray out of his hands. Mate, you just took
the blame for—"

"It's not like that, alright?" Sirius snaps, glaring at him. "I didn't do it for him."

"Really? Because it seems like you did, actually," James insists, lips curling up. "I can't work out
any other reason why you would, in any case. You helped—"

Sirius knocks James' hand from his shoulder (gently), scoffing under his breath. "Don't go there,
mate. You know better than anyone how much I hate Reggie, and you know why I have every right
to. Just because I—well, like I said, it's not like that. I'm not helping him. I'm just…"

"Just…?"

"Piss off, Prongs. I hate him."

James purses his lips. "Right, sure. So, why are you so desperate to find him, then?"
"I want answers," Sirius says. "You can't honestly expect me to just—let this go. I mean, James,
nothing is as I thought it would be. I need to know. I'll go mad not knowing."

"And it has nothing to do with you being concerned for your little brother, maybe even...missing
him?" James suggests, studying him closely.

"Am I supposed to miss the person who helped make my life fucking miserable?" Sirius asks
sharply.

"But...he didn't always, did he?" James mumbles, his throat bobbing, a weak quality to his voice. "I
mean, when you were younger, it was different, wasn't it?"

"We're not children anymore, James," Sirius murmurs, looking away, "and things haven't changed
that much."

Sirius brushes past him, and with a heavy sigh, James follows once more. It takes him a bit to work
out that they are not, as he presumably expected, heading in the direction of home. As if Sirius is
just going to give up. No, absolutely not. Sirius is seeing this through to the end. He'll have his
answers, all of them, and then he'll go back to staying as far away from every member of his family
as he can possibly get.

"Er, Sirius, where are we going now?"

"You'll see."

"It's just—I mean, it sort of...didn't work out, did it? With the chef, I mean. You tried, at least.
Maybe you should—"

"Mm, no, I have a better idea," Sirius cuts in, already ordering a lift on his phone.

"Padfoot, please," James says wearily. "Just trust me, yeah? You're spiraling, mate, and you're in
no state to… What you need right now is to sleep, and then, tomorrow, you'll—"
Sirius interrupts yet again (he's barely listening, if he's honest) to crow, "Ah, excellent! Only two
minutes away. Come along, James, we've places to be."

From behind him, James groans.

A little over an hour later, Sirius drags James into yet another building, though this one is certainly
different from the last. It honestly makes Sirius' skin crawl to be here, but desperate times call for
such measures.

"Can I help you?" Yet another woman behind a front desk, but she doesn't look nearly as
susceptible to Sirius' smile.

"Yes, please," Sirius says, smiling warmly. "I need to speak to Evan Rosier immediately."

She crooks an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Rosier?"

"Not as such, no," Sirius admits sheepishly, and she looks less impressed by the second, "but it
really is quite important. I assure you, he'd be willing to see me."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Rosier is currently unavailable—"

"Yes, I'm sure, but—"

"Sir," she cuts in, visibly annoyed, "if you wish to speak to Mr. Rosier, you will have to make an
appointment with—"

Sirius sighs and says, "Tell him Sirius Black is here and would like to speak with him."

The woman's face drains entirely of color, making her dangerously pale, and her mouth hangs open
for a long moment. She stares at Sirius with wide eyes, and he simply arches an eyebrow at her,
which seems to spur her into action. She shakily grabs the phone off the desk and presses a few
buttons, her gaze flitting to the side.
"Mr. Rosier, I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a Sirius Black at the front that wishes to speak to
you." She falls silent, darting her gaze back to Sirius, then she swallows. "Yes, sir. He does, sir.
Right away, sir." She stands up and clears her throat, pushing down her skirt as she fails to meet
Sirius' eyes. God, he hates the way she's acting, like she needs to respect him, and to do that, she
has to make herself smaller. "Right this way, Mr. Black. I apologize for the delay."

Sirius makes a face at James as they follow behind her, and poor James looks so lost. His family is
better off than most, admittedly, but the Potters aren't powerful the way the Blacks are. The only
people that hold power the way the Blacks do are the corrupt, honestly. That's what Sirius comes
from. It still holds weight, even to this day, even after eight fucking years.

The ride up on the lift is stilted, to say the least. James keeps shooting him furtive glances that
Sirius honestly doesn't want to acknowledge. Sirius, who is suffering from a severe lack of sleep,
literally can't be still. The poor woman looks like she wants to just disappear, refusing to look at
either of them.

They're led to an office, and she opens the door, head ducked as they step past her. She shuts the
door, and Sirius instantly recognizes the man sitting behind the desk in the middle of the, frankly,
overly extravagant office. He would, since he's known Evan Rosier since he was a little shit of a
child, who grew into a little shit of a teenager, and who likely grew into a little shit of an adult.
Sirius hasn't seen him in eight years either, since Evan was fifteen.

Surprisingly, Sirius also recognizes the only other person in the office besides him, James, and
Evan. Barty Crouch Junior, who was a terror as a child and likely still is, who props up in the chair
across from the desk Evan is behind, his eyebrows raised as he peers over the back of his chair.

"I honestly thought Pamela was having me on," Evan muses, a slow grin spreading on his face.
Like an idiot, he proceeds to drawl, "Well, well, well. It's been some time, Sirius."

"Eight years, hasn't it?" Barty asks mildly.

"Oh, just about, I'd say," Evan agrees.

Barry lazily grins at Evan. "Begs the question, doesn't it?"

"Which question would that be, Barty?"

"Oh, you know, just what brings him to us now, Evan."

Evan hums, tapping his chin. "That's right. What a question that is, one that baffles the most
brilliant minds, even."

Sirius has to resist the strong urge to roll his eyes. In truth, he never liked Evan and Barty,
especially around Reggie. They were never the right sort, as far as Sirius was concerned, but
Reggie listened to Sirius on that subject as much as Sirius listened to their mother on any subject—
that is to say, not at all. Evan and Barty were always going in one direction in life, and Sirius isn't
surprised to find he was right without even having to check. Evan is working at his father's
company, likely scamming many people out of a lot of money, and Sirius doesn't doubt that Barty
works right alongside him, rather than taking the politician route like his father.

They're both idiots, honestly. They were the sort of boys to do whatever they liked, because they
knew they would never have to face consequences for their actions; Sirius suspects they live by the
same values even today.

Though, really, what does he know? At this point, he can't be certain of absolutely anything.
Regulus made sure of that.

"Neither of you have brilliant minds, and let's not pretend that you do," Sirius says flatly.

"No, do go on underestimating us, Sirius, please," Evan replies dryly, leaning back in his chair.

Barty snorts. "Didn't miss that."

"Didn't miss him at all," Evan mutters, reaching out to grab a thick, crystal tumbler with dark,
amber liquid in it that briefly reminds Sirius of Remus' eyes. "As you can see, I'm sharing a drink
with a colleague, Sirius. If you don't have a proper reason for interrupting, best be on your way."

"I have a reason. My—Reggie," Sirius says, the words stilted, and he grimaces as he realizes he has
to tread very carefully until he has information. He doesn't want to go outing his brother to people.

Wait, does James count? Fuck. Fuck, Sirius technically outed his brother, didn't he? Bugger.
What's the rules for this? Should he not have said anything? Shouldn't he correct the assumption
that he has a sister to those he knows it's safe to do so? Sirius can't just misgender him, and it never
even crossed his mind to think that doing so to James was necessary. Oh, Regulus would be
furious, wouldn't he? Or, well, would he? Would he prefer that Sirius is making it very fucking
clear to those that don't even know him that he's Sirius' little brother, actually? Christ, Sirius doesn't
know.

"Reggie?" Evan asks, sitting up in his chair. Barty also perks up, his interest very evident. "What
about her?"

Fucking hell, Sirius thinks, his hands reflexively balling into fists. He itches to correct them, then
beat them if they argue, but he is very sure that Regulus would be furious if Sirius did out him to
old acquaintances. He clenches his jaw, running his tongue under his top lip, then he exhales
sharply.

"Do you remember when I cleaned you both up after a fight and came up with a story that kept you
from getting in trouble with your parents, and mine?" Sirius asks.

"Oh, we remember," Evan grumbles. "You're the one who beat us."

Sirius scowls. "Because Barty was sneaking into Reggie's room, and you were helping him."

"Fucking worth it, too," Barty announces with a lecherous grin, sharing a look with Evan, who rolls
his eyes. "I risked my life for Reggie many times, if I recall."

"Mrs. Black would have killed us," Evan says, wrinkling his nose when Barty shrugs
unapologetically.

"Reggie was always worth it."

"You mean her tits were."

"Well, that too," Barty allows, eyes sparkling.

"Piss off!" Sirius barks, and both Barty and Evan jolt a little in their seats, grimacing in unison.
"That's my little—Reggie you're being filthy about, yeah? I beat you for it then; don't think I won't
now."

"Ah, really? We were under the impression you didn't much care about Reggie, actually," Evan
says.

Barty scoffs and drapes back in the chair. "Don't waste your breath, mate. You know Sirius has
always been fiercely protective of his little Reggie. Broke my nose that night, I remember. Never
set right on my face after that. Still have the crooked, little bump."

"And yet, you were right back the very next week," Evan says with a snort.

"Well, she had very nice tits," Barty points out, then jumps out of the chair with his hands held up
the second Sirius takes a step towards him. "Alright, let's not do this today, yeah? She had very
nice...everything else, too."

"It might be in your best interest to just shut the fuck up," James snaps, looking ready to start
throwing punches as well, particularly in the way he used to when Snape had said something to
make Lily cry.

"Did you assemble a Reggie defense squad eight years too late, or something?" Evan asks,
sounding amused by the concept.

"As if Reggie ever needed anyone to defend her," Barty adds with a grin, but then he squints at
James. "Actually, who are you? What are you even doing here?"

"He's my best mate. James. Perfectly delightful until he's peeved off, then he's a bit of a problem,"
Sirius says pointedly, darting his gaze between Barty and Evan. "I'm not here to listen to either of
you reminisce about Reggie. You remember that night, and you both begged me to keep you out of
trouble from your parents and especially mine, and I agreed. You both said you owed me, and I
told you I'd hold you to that. It's a bit late, but here I am, holding you to that."

Evan shakes his head, awed. "It's been eight years, Sirius. Only you would remember that and
actually use it."

"Well, no, Reggie would, too," Barty says, and Evan inclines his head in amused agreement.
"You seem to know Reggie quite well," James notes, audibly grinding his teeth.

"Oh, yeah, we were quite close, by which I mean—" Barty halts, gaze swinging between an
equally on edge Sirius and James. He delicately clears his throat. "You know, best not get into the
details. We were friends."

"Were," Sirius says, latching onto that. "As in past tense."

"Well, yeah, hard to be friends with the dead," Evan says slowly, and Sirius feels his whole body
go cold, despite the fact that he literally saw Regulus just last night.

Barty clicks his tongue. "Well done, Evan. That's a lovely way to inform someone their sister is
dead."

"Well, he'd know if he hadn't left, wouldn't he?" Evan stares at Sirius with no remorse. Out of the
two, Barty was always the most cruel, always desperate to ruin his father's reputation, but Evan?
When he was truly, truly angry with someone, he never held back, going for the jugular
immediately, taking the kill shot without caring how it reflected on him.

"Dead," Sirius repeats, his voice empty of emotion, a void where nothing exists. He isn't, you know
he isn't, Sirius tells himself, trying to stay calm.

"Reggie's been dead eight years now," Barty informs him with a loud sigh, like this conversation is
an inconvenience.

Sirius narrows his eyes. "Is that right? What happened?"

"Well, your mother thought marrying her off to Mulciber was the best thing for her. You
remember Mulciber, don't you? She never much liked him, but your mother didn't much care what
she liked," Evan muses, lips pressing into a thin line. "She was different after you left, your mother.
Reggie, too, if I'm honest. In any case, Reggie was engaged for maybe a week before she left. No
one heard about it until Mucliber started spouting off about his runaway fiance. By the time Barty
and I could get any proper information and actually have the resources to find her, we
found...nothing. No matter how hard we looked, it was like Reggie just stopped existing at
eighteen."
"She didn't tell us anything before she left, and she was so bad off by that point…" Barty makes a
face, visibly displeased. He shakes his head. "Wasn't too terribly surprised by the idea that she'd
offed herself. She didn't really seem to have much she was living for anyway, by then. We
monitored for a few years, but nothing ever, ever came up. Not one thing. An absence like that in
the world—it only means one thing, doesn't it?"

Evan sighs. "A shame, that. Reggie was always a good friend, even if she didn't know we were
friends at all."

"And she had nice tits," Barty puts in, then smirks when James starts to move forward, only for
Sirius to catch his arm.

"What do you mean Reggie was bad off?" Sirius asks quietly, dread tangling his stomach into
knots.

Barty and Evan share a long look, and it's Barty who looks right at him and says, "Well, you can't
honestly think things were better for her once you were gone, can you? I mean, we weren't blind,
even if we were ignorant. We knew how awful your mother was. Do you think that stopped after
you left? No, Sirius, it got worse. Much worse."

"So did Reggie, honestly," Evan agrees. "It was like… I don't know. You were always banging on
about how cold she acted, like she was becoming even more cruel, but you don't know the half of
it. For a bit there, I thought you were the only thing that kept Reggie sane, because once you
left…"

"She could always be a bit terrifying, you know that, but it was bad enough that we stopped
coming round as much. It just got a bit uncomfortable, is all." Barty frowns. "Then, around her
eighteenth birthday, she was off. A bit like a ghost. Or a robot. She didn't really seem...alive,
towards the end."

"So, you know, well done," Evan says blandly, his top lip curling into a sneer. "You hated her by
the end, so you must be so relieved to know you fucking killed her."

But Sirius didn't. Because Regulus is alive, possibly more alive than he's ever allowed himself to
be. Sirius recalls last night, that spark in Regulus' eyes, the way he fought.
If Sirius didn't have the reassurance of seeing Regulus alive and shockingly well last night, then
this would likely fucking ruin him. He is self-aware enough to know that it would fuck him up if
this was the truth. It's fucking him up that it could have been. Because Sirius doesn't know the
numbers, but he's certain that the statistics of that exact thing aren't easy to stomach. That's just
thinking of trans people, not including the abused, or the abandoned, or all three.

Sirius feels like he's going to vomit.

"We're going. Sirius, we're going," James declares sternly, his tone allowing no room for argument,
an edge of command to it that no one would dare defy.

James reaches out to grasp Sirius' arm, throwing a withering glare at Evan and Barty that promises
future bodily harm, then pulls him right out of the office. Sirius doesn't say a word. He doesn't even
—feel his own body. He can't make sense of much at all outside of how ridiculously difficult it is
to breathe. Why is it so hard to breathe, suddenly?

Sirius sort of blanks out the entire trip out of the building, mildly worried that he's blacking out
from exhaustion. Maybe he'll start smelling colors soon, and it'll all be worth it. He doesn't really
come back to awareness until he finds himself sitting on a deserted bench with James kneeling in
front of him, both hands braced on his shoulders.

"Sirius," James says gently, "I need you to listen to me."

This, right here, is how Sirius imagines James will speak to abused children he's attempting to save.
The soft quality to him, the steadiness of him, reliable and safe. He's been Sirius' safest haven since
they were eleven, especially at sixteen, and still is here at twenty-four.

"Alright," Sirius rasps, because it's James. Because he can always, always trust James.

"Regulus is not dead," James murmurs, holding his gaze, unwavering. "Your little brother is not
dead, and you did not kill him. Do you understand?"

"I—I know. But I left him. I just left him there, James, and—and it could have—it might have gone
so differently—"

"Stop. Just stop it. You left an abusive household for your health and safety, and I will not sit here
and let you blame yourself for it. It might have gone so differently for you as well, don't forget that.
You are not guilty for wanting to live, Sirius."

"But Reggie," Sirius protests.

James shakes his head sharply. "You were sixteen years old. You were a child. It was not your
responsibility to suffer; you are not a bad person for doing what was best for you. The pain you
endured was wrong. The only people at fault are your parents. Not you, not Regulus, them."

"I—I should have just tied him up and dragged him along, even if he fought me the entire way,"
Sirius chokes out, balling his hands into fists on his thighs. His nails bite into his palm, and he
pushes them in harder. Punishment. "I hated him so much by the end, and I—I didn't try hard
enough. I just left him. I spent so much of my life protecting him when I could, and then I left him."

"Sirius, you should have never needed to protect him," James insists, reaching out to cup his fists
and gently peel his fingers out straight. There's a strain around his eyes beneath his glasses, shared
anguish. "You were abused. You and Regulus were abused, and it was wrong. You were both
children, and neither of you should have suffered as you did. Listen to me, nothing that happened to
Regulus was your fault. Before you left, or after you left. It was your mother. She is the problem,
not you. No one deserves what you both went through."

"It is my fault that I left, though. You can't deny that. I made that choice," Sirius whispers, his
voice cracking.

"Yes, because you were in danger, Sirius. You had every right to leave. You were a frightened
child. Would you look at another frightened child in your situation and blame them?"

"Reggie was a frightened child, and I left him. He was in danger, too. And I blamed him, James. I
did. I blamed him like he was weaker than me. He could have been—"

"Sirius," James says softly, swallowing.

Sirius lets out a muffled whimper and gasps out, "He could have been dead, James, and it would
have been my fault. And the worst part is, if I didn't know what I know now, I would have blamed
him."
 "Stop it," James breathes out, hands sliding up to capture Sirius' face between his palms, forcing
him to look right into his eyes. "You were both just children. Regulus isn't dead. He's alive, and he
loves you. He does."

"How could he?" Sirius asks.

James swallows. "The same way you still love him. You're his brother. It's going to be alright,
mate. I promise it will be alright. Let me get you home, so you can sleep, because you're dead on
your feet. As soon as you've had rest, we'll all talk, and it'll be alright. Tomorrow, it will all be
alright."

And Sirius nods, because Sirius trusts him. Sirius lets James tug him to his feet and take him
home.

Chapter End Notes

The negatives: Sirius is sad, and James is stressed, and no one has had any sleep

The positives: Evan and Barty are here!!!! We do see them again, actually. That's...
That's literally the only positive, I know, but well—no, actually, Remus and James
plan to tell the brothers, so that's nice. Oh, and Sirius saving Regulus' future career
so sweet of him. He deserves all the rest

James, watching Sirius threaten to beat Barty up for going on about being into
Regulus: oh, my life is flashing before my eyes rn

Also James: move over, mate, I'm going to kill him, and THEN you can kill me

Man's has his priorities straight

Anyway, I'm actually really, REALLY so tempted to post the next chapter tomorrow,
simply because they're kind of parallel to each other in the same time frame. I don't
know if I should deviate from my posting schedule, though, even if I'm so tempted to.
Should I? I don't know yet, still thinking about it, so I may or may not post the next
chapter tomorrow. If not, then I'll post on Wednesday.

So, thoughts? Love and appreciate all your comments, by the way!

See you either tomorrow or Wednesday! ❤

(EDIT: I've just seen that it's a commenter's birthday today (madmaxmaggie), so this
one is for them! Happy birthday!)

(EDIT²: OKAY SO I WILL BE POSTING TOMORROW! and I'll explain more in

depth tomorrow why, so for those of you happy about this, you're welcome. For those
of you who like routine and structure, well, you can always wait until Wednesday and
have TWO chapters to read, so that's nice! In that case, see you all tomorrow )
 Chapter 15
Chapter Notes

The only warning I have for this chapter is a character being briefly insensitive about
trans people in the way only uneducated cis people can be. To be clear, if anyone is
worried, Regulus is not offended by this because he simply Does Not Care about
idiots.

Now, to clarify, I wanted to post this chapter so soon after the last one because it is
literally taking place around the same time as the previous chapter. This is still the
same day, just from a different POV. If this chapter and the one before it could have
been one chapter without it being massive or messing up the flow of two split POVs
that I have going on for this fic, then I would have posted it all as one. I'm a
bit...neurotic about certain things when writing, specifically pacing and such, so it was
making my brain unhappy that these chapters weren't exactly paired together. Posting
it one right after the other helped scratch the itch in my brain, so thank you to
everyone who encouraged me to do it and didn't mind the brief deviation from my
usual schedule!

With that being said, go forth and enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus, in a strange turn of events, has found himself doing something he hasn't done in eight
years.

He's questioning his love of cooking.

It's just that, if he'd chosen anything else, he might not have ended up in that gallery, his past back
to haunt him and his future up in flames. Why couldn't he have a deep passion for, like, tech
support or something?

Computers are interesting, aren't they? Or maybe he could be doing something pretentious that
requires a lot of traveling. Maybe something that wouldn't have him in the same country as his
brother. He vaguely remembers a little bit of French; he could have brushed up on it and ran off to
France. He could have been a chef there; loads of chefs learn there, and they're brilliant. Why did
Regulus even stay?

It had never, not once, crossed Regulus' mind to put that much distance between himself and all
that he was running from. A rather large oversight on his part, now that he's thinking about it. That
would have been smart. He called Sirius stupid, but he's beginning to think that they were both hit
on the head one too many times as children.

Thank you, Mother. Your heavy hand robbed us both of critical thinking, Regulus thinks, rolling his
eyes.

A knock sounds at the door, and Regulus doesn't move from where he's sitting on his center island
in his kitchen, across from his stove and cabinets. He's staring at all of his pots and pans and dishes
accusingly, having brought them all down to do just that and consider setting them all on fire,
perhaps never stepping foot in a kitchen ever again.

Another knock. Regulus ignores it. If it's James coming back, then he can leave again. Regulus
doesn't want to be bothered. He wants to be alone; he wants everyone to go away.

"Regulus," Remus calls through the door, "can I come in?"

Except for Remus. Remus can stay.

"Yeah," Regulus calls back, but he doesn't move. He has his legs drawn up to his chest, his chin
resting on one knee, his socked feet half-hanging off the very edge of the counter. He continues to
glare at the wide variety of dishes spread out on the counter across from him, even as Remus lets
himself in and finds him in the kitchen.

"Right," Remus says, then moves over to haul himself up on the island with Regulus, his legs
swinging over the side. He's quiet as he joins in with surveying all the dishes. "Have you taken
everything down from your cabinets?"

"Yes."

"To...glare at them?"

"Yes."

"Alright, sure."
Regulus scowls at his favorite knife. "I'm going to throw it all out, I've decided. Never cook again."

"Drastic," Remus notes. "Right, well, let's explore that, shall we? How do you plan to eat?"

"Takeaway."

"You're going to have takeaway every day for the rest of your life? How is that beneficial,
especially financially?"

"I could make it work," Regulus mumbles.

Remus hums. "I'm sure you could. Just seems to be a waste, is all. These are all things you've
bought for yourself; throwing them all away is a bit…"

"Drastic?" Regulus asks dryly.

"Well, yeah," Remus confirms.

Regulus huffs. "Piss off."

"You know what I think you'll miss first? A toastie. Who doesn't love a good toastie, yeah? Warm,
crunchy bread and hot, melted cheese…"

"I make very good toasties."

"I've never even had one," Remus says solemnly. "You also promised me tiramisu. I'm not getting
that, then?"

"You're awful at this," Regulus informs him.

Remus heaves a sigh and leans over to lightly knock their shoulders together. "Alright, in that case,
I'm about to be terribly sincere."

"Oh, don't."

"No, I am. I will, because you love this. You love to cook, Regulus. It makes you so very happy,
and you should do the things that make you happy. Besides, you're a wonderful cook. It'd be a
shame if I never got to eat anything of yours again."

"You know," Regulus whispers, "my mother would have hated it. It's not the most glamorous
profession, in her eyes. I'm serving the public when she'd want the public to serve me."

"All the more reason to keep doing it," Remus points out.

Regulus swallows harshly and drags his gaze up to stare at the ceiling. "I saw my brother last night.
He was at the event. It turns out he's an artist, and he had a painting on display. I saw it, Remus,
and it was…" He blows out a deep breath, shaking his head. "It was the most horrible, most
beautiful painting I've ever seen. It was me. It was about me. Why would he paint something about
me after eight years?"

"Because you're still important to him after eight years," Remus says quietly. He's silent for a beat.
"How did it...go?"

"Oh, well, you know," Regulus mutters with a hoarse laugh, dropping his head forward to stare at
his knees. "I saw the painting and almost instantly tried to run, which caused me to drop a tray full
of empty wine glasses. Mortifying as that was, it was nothing compared to me stumbling back right
into my brother right after. He recognized me straight away."

"Oh," Remus whispers.

"Yeah," Regulus agrees thickly, then clears his throat. "He was shocked, I think. First thing he
pointed out was that I cut my hair, but he saw my bracelet—the one Milo gave me with the trans
flag—and my brother, despite being an idiot, has always been frighteningly clever."

Remus doesn't say anything. Staying quiet. Simply listening. It's one of Regulus' favorite things
about him, that he always seems to know when not to talk.
"I ran, of course," Regulus confesses. "I never really thought about what I'd do if I saw someone
who recognized me. It's not that he—I mean, he wasn't awful about it. Struggled a bit, I could tell,
but he refused to misgender me."

"Isn't that good?" Remus asks.

"He just wanted to hate me properly, really. Those were his words, mind," Regulus says, a reluctant
smile tugging at his lips. Remus huffs out a weak laugh, then abruptly cuts himself off and coughs.
"No, it's alright. You can laugh. It's a bit funny, isn't it? He wanted to be a shit, but respect my
pronouns at the same time. Who does that? Only he would, you know."

Remus hesitates, then murmurs, "I don't know if that's all it is, Reg. I mean, who's to say that he
wouldn't have jumped at the opportunity to hurt you if he actually wanted to? Like, ah, even if he
is the biggest trans supporter, to hurt you he still would be awful about it. For example, if he loved
large noses and still mocked someone he hated for having a large nose."

"Noses and gender identity are not even comparable."

"I just mean… Maybe he didn't want to hurt you. Maybe he doesn't actually hate you at all."

"No, he does," Regulus insists, because he's sure of that. "It's alright. The feeling is mutual."

"Is it?" Remus asks.

Regulus turns to frown at him, and Remus meets his gaze boldly, challenging him. Regulus looks
away, because he's in no mood to play chess with Remus in this conversation. Remus is always a
few moves ahead. "We argued a bit, I suppose. He wanted answers, and I wanted nothing to do
with him. He's so fucking stubborn, honestly." Remus makes a low sound of understanding. "I
know. I am, too, but he's worse. He never knows when to quit; it's supremely irritating. I don't
doubt he would have stood there all night trying to talk to me."

"Is there no part of you that wishes to talk to him?"

"To what end, Remus? That meeting had the benefit of my transition being enough of a shock that
it wasn't as awful as it could have been. It wouldn't be like that a second time. We would fight. I'm
not entirely convinced that we wouldn't try to kill each other, actually. It would be—bad.
Explosive."

"But maybe—"

"No, I'm telling you. It would be pointless. A complete waste of time. He and I didn't leave off on
good terms, not eight years ago and not last night, and we'll never be on good terms. I don't even
want to be on good terms with the wanker."

Remus sighs and leans forward to stare at him, catching his gaze. "Don't you miss him?"

Regulus' throat all but closes up, a wellspring of emotion rising up at the question, but he does the
emotional equivalent of shoving it back down, ruthlessly smothering it. His voice is unfortunately
rough when he rasps, "Not at all."

"Reg," Remus says carefully, "I think—"

"I'm not talking about this anymore," Regulus cuts in sharply, his jaw clenched. "Leave it,
Remus."

"Fine," Remus grits out, frustrated, and he exhales a harsh breath through his nose. He narrows his
eyes. "Fine, but you have to make me a toastie. I'm starving."

"You're a terrible best friend," Regulus informs him. "I just told you I'm never cooking again.
Haven't you been listening?"

"Honestly, I barely listen to the things you tell me. Go on, then. I'll make you one, you make me
one, and we'll see who's better," Remus says.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I'm not falling for that."

"I'm really quite good at making them," Remus announces casually. "Possibly even better than you.
It's the one thing I know I'm good at cooking. My mum taught me how to make them so that
they're perfect."

"Mine are perfect."

"Well, I wouldn't know that, would I? Until I know otherwise, I'm staying firm about mine being
better."

"I know what you're doing."

"I know you do, but it's going to work. You can't resist competition, and we both know it."

"You hardly count as competition, Lupin," Regulus grumbles.

Remus just smiles politely, that mild smile of his that promises mischief, despite the fact that your
brain automatically wants to trust it. "Oh, but I do. Care to find out?"

Regulus scoffs. Remus just waits him out in calm silence. He lifts his legs straight out, turning both
feet towards the left, then the right. He has ludicrously long legs, and Regulus drops his own off
the side of the counter to hold them out and compare the length of them. Remus' legs nearly reach
all the way across to the counter opposite of them, while Regulus' hardly makes it halfway. Briefly,
Regulus wonders if Remus' neck and shoulders hurt from stooping all the time, especially when
he's talking to Regulus. The top of his head barely even reaches Remus' shoulder without shoes, the
lanky bastard.

"Why are you so fucking long?" Regulus asks incredulously, appalled by it. "No, genuinely, you're
like a fucking tree, Remus. My best friend is a tree."

"Are you only just realizing that I'm tall?" Remus says, sounding amused by the prospect.

Regulus presses his leg right up against Remus', horrified to find that his foot only just reaches
below Remus' knee. There's an entire second half of that leg he isn't reaching. "No, but how is it
worse when we're sitting?"

"I have longer legs than you."

"No, really? I hadn't bloody noticed."

"Your torso to leg ratio is different from mine, Regulus, that's all it is," Remus tells him,
chuckling.

"That's a nice way to call someone short, you prick," Regulus complains, reaching over to shove at
Remus' arm.

Remus snorts and sways with the motion. "You're not short because you're shorter than me. Most
people are."

"Yes, because you're six feet tall."

"6'2, actually."

"Remus, I'm 5'7."

"That's not short. What do you reckon James is? 5'10? 5'11?"

"5'11, the bastard. Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named shorter than you?" Regulus asks.

"Yes. Not much taller than you, really. I'd say about 5'9 or 5'10," Remus muses thoughtfully.

Regulus smirks. "Do you have to bend down to snog him?"

"I do have to duck my head a bit sometimes, depending on his shoes and where we are," Remus
admits, his face softening. He laughs suddenly and bumps his leg into Regulus'. "As if James
doesn't have to do the same to you."

"Shut it," Regulus mutters. "I'll start wearing platforms."

"Do it," Remus says instantly.

"You want to see me fall, don't you?"

"I would literally pay for the experience."

"Are you forgetting my girl phase, Remus?" Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "I used to wear
court shoes all the time."

Remus blinks. "Did you really?"

"Yes, really, and I used to wear makeup and curl my hair and put on dresses," Regulus tells him,
always a bit amused that people forget this about him. Five years ago, he wouldn't have been able
to get the words out without contempt and distaste; now, he mostly just finds it funny. "I can still
walk perfectly in heels, if I'm honest. Also, my eyeliner was fucking amazing."

"Hasn't it been at least five years since you've done any of that, though? I mean, don't the skills sort
of...go away?" Remus looks mildly baffled. "It is a skill. I know that. I'd break my ankles, and as
for makeup, I'd likely poke my eyes out."

Regulus snorts and hops down from the counter. "No, the skills don't go away when you were
doing most of them since before puberty, really, and doing it well. Hold on, I have shoes put back
somewhere. Make me a toastie."

"Alright, but I'm not making me one, because you're making me one," Remus calls after him.
"Don't think I've forgotten, Reg! You can't get out of this!"

Regulus ignores him and goes off to find the only pair of shoes he kept from before he transitioned.
It was with the intent to sell them, because they're quite expensive and could get him a good
amount of quid in a pinch, but he could never bring himself to part with them. Even when he was
on his last quid, had no food, and wasn't sure how he was going to pay rent, he still couldn't do it.
Don't misunderstand, Regulus hated wearing the shoes, mostly because he was expected to, but
that's hardly the shoes' fault. They're lovely shoes.
When he finds them, he considers them with a frown and wonders why he even keeps them when
he does nothing with them. The moment he was free, he took them off and never put them on
again. They made his feet ache and his toes pinch, and he'd felt relieved to never have to wear them
after that.

Maybe Pandora should have them, if they fit her. The thought makes Regulus smile slightly.

It's a bit of an odd relief to see how far he's come. He feels no annoyance or despair putting the
shoes on. He doesn't feel forced to wear them, and he doesn't feel as if they make him 'woman'.
Really, in the past few years, he's come to learn that the things attached to gender are simply
ridiculous. Clothes, shoes, makeup, or the lack of—none of that makes a bloke a bloke, or a girl a
girl. His parents wouldn't agree, but he stopped believing they were right about everything a long
time ago. They were wrong about a lot of things, including this.

Regulus imagines he would wear whatever he likes, even put on makeup if he wished, and feel no
strain as he would have when he was younger. Freedom grants him many things; not only the
choice not to, but the choice to do so without it making him something he's not. Honestly, he only
doesn't because these shoes genuinely are painful, and makeup takes time he's too impatient to
waste when he's not even going anywhere. He really is quite boring, isn't he?

Now, Sirius… Well, Regulus remembers putting eyeliner on Sirius just once. Sirius had liked it.
That's fucking cool how you do the wings, Reggie, he'd said. Those were his exact words, and he'd
dragged a chair over, demanding Regulus to do it to him at least once, thoroughly convinced he'd
look amazing with it. Regulus had done it for him, despite the fact that they were already drifting
apart by then, and he'd thought about how Sirius was a boy wearing the same exact eyeliner as him
and didn't claim that it made him a girl. It had made him so very happy, and it's one of his happier
memories now.

But that was ruined, too. Sirius had liked it so much that he refused to wash it off. It was likely just
another way for him to rebel against Walburga, and no matter how much Regulus begged and
pleaded and scolded, Sirius outright wouldn't. Their mother, of course, had been furious. Sirius
took the punishment like a badge of honor, and Regulus felt sick with the reality of Sirius being
beaten for being a boy wearing makeup, knowing that it was all too real for Regulus in an entirely
different way that hurt him far worse than it ever hurt Sirius, and Sirius didn't care, didn't even
know, didn't do anything other than get upset when Regulus refused to do the eyeliner for him ever
again.

Oh, you believe her, then? You just do everything Mother wants now, is that it? Sirius had said, his
tone dripping with venom, and Regulus had cried in bed that night, because yes, yes he did. More
than Sirius would ever know.
Regulus doesn't do that anymore, though, and Sirius won't ever know that either.

Perhaps that's for the best.

When he stands in the shoes, Regulus finds that he needs to get used to the balance and weight
distribution. His body is different, and he'd expected maybe even a pinch of discomfort if anything,
but he ends up grinning at the fact that he's a man stumbling around in court shoes.

He does get his land legs back, so to speak. He walks a careful circuit of his room, adjusting, but
once he has it, he has it. So much has changed, but his power walk in shoes like this have not. He
used to strike fear into the hearts of people when his shoes clicked as he approached, which
genuinely amused him. Ridiculously, it was the one thing he got from his mother that he actually
enjoyed. The dread of people who could tell by the sharp click of his heels just how much trouble
they were about to be in. Oddly, he's a bit nostalgic about it.

"Oh my god, you actually can," Remus says when he comes into the kitchen. He looks a mixture of
startled and delighted by this development. "Reg, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I think
you might be able to reach the top shelf in your cupboards now."

"I am ten times the man you are for this alone," Regulus declares, shooting him a glare.

"Yes," Remus agrees placidly, then grins at him. "Have you shown James? He would go mental."

Regulus hums and moves over to watch Remus finish up the toastie he's making. Just one. "I have
not, but that is an idea. I think it would break him a bit."

"God love him," Remus says with a chuckle.

"We shagged, you know. I mean, we have been, but he shagged me for the first time." Regulus
swipes a crispy part of cheese off the side of the pan (he likes the burnt pieces for some reason)
and waggles his eyebrows. "He's a vivacious lover."

Remus eyes him. "No complaints, then?"

"None at all," Regulus admits, which is a fairly new thing for him, to be honest. "In any case, as
for the shoes, I'm thinking about giving them to Pandora. They're worth £800."

"What?!" Remus yelps, gaping down at the shoes in disbelief.

"They're not even the most expensive I've ever owned," Regulus adds, enjoying Remus looking
like he's about to go into a personal economic crisis.

"And you're just going to give them away? Bloody hell, Reg, give them to me," Remus blurts out.

Regulus laughs. "Oh, but you wouldn't be able to fit them. Your feet are far too large."

"You should have seen me when I was thirteen. My feet were the first thing that grew. I looked
like a fucking clown."

"You are a clown."

"I do hate you sometimes, you know," Remus mutters, stepping back from the pan. "Now make me
a toastie."

"Remus—"

"I bet you can't do it in your very fancy, very high shoes."

"I hate that this is working," Regulus hisses in annoyance as he steps forward to make a fucking
toastie. Damn Remus Lupin.

Remus chuckles and starts putting all the dishes back that Regulus brought down before, and
Regulus scowls, but he doesn't stop him. It's as he's making Remus his toastie that he just—gives
in. He does love cooking. Even now. Even after all that's happened. It just soothes something in
him.

Regulus kicks off the shoes just as he finishes at the stove, because really, they are absolutely
horrible on the feet. It has been years, and he doesn't appreciate the reminder. He's not about to
keep torturing himself just for Remus' entertainment.

Remus sits down with him at the table, glancing between their toasties. The one Regulus made
looks...expensive, frankly. A bit perfect and artistic. Remus', in contrast, looks like what you'd find
at home. A bit smooshed, honestly. Remus doesn't look worried, though, when he says, "Go on,
then."

At the same time, they take a bite, and Regulus accidentally makes a noise not unlike the noises
that James wrung from him earlier, because fucking hell, that is good. Cheese dribbles down his
chin, and he stares at the toastie with his eyebrows drawn together, chewing angrily. No. What the
fuck? Why is that better than his? What magic is this?

"Remus," Regulus says suspiciously, when he swallows, "did you put crack in my toastie?"

"No," Remus replies, coughing violently and banging on his chest because he just busted out
laughing while trying to swallow. (Yes, Regulus timed it perfectly, because he's evil.)

"What did you do?"

"I made it with love."

"Piss off, I'm not joking. What did you do?" Regulus insists, scowling as he takes another bite of
his toastie.

"Really, I just made it how my mum made it," Remus tells him, smiling. "There you are, the best
toastie you'll ever have, courtesy of Hope Lupin. You're welcome."

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Tell me the secret. Now."

"Mm, I don't think I will. Yours is good, though," Remus offers, taking another bite, his eyes bright
with humor.

"Yours is better. I can't believe this," Regulus says, glaring at the toastie before grumpily having
more. Christ, it's good.

"My mum's is better," Remus corrects, his face softening. "I can't take the credit for this one.
Honestly, it's probably that it's home-cooking. A man truly can't live on caviar alone, if you think
about it. Sometimes he needs to eat something that tastes like home."

"I can promise you, this tastes nothing like home," Regulus tells him dryly.

Remus' smile fades. "Reg, that—that wasn't home. I—yes, you grew up there, but that's not what
makes a home. That's not what a home is supposed to be. For all my mother's faults, she never
failed to give me a home. I had that, at least, even if at times it felt hollow, or like I was a stranger
in it. Home is warm and happy and...safe."

"Oh, is that the secret ingredient, then?" Regulus mumbles.

"I always thought so," Remus says quietly.

Regulus sits the toastie down, appetite vanishing. He stares down at it, a lump in his throat. He
clears it away and manages to croak, "I know you think it wasn't home, but sometimes it was. It
used to be. Sirius made it a home."

"Oh," Remus breathes out, like he's been punched in his chest.

"When he left, I guess I forgot what that was," Regulus murmurs, blinking hard. He can feel the
emotions rising again, and this time, they're not going back down. His eyes are burning, and no, no,
he's not doing this. He launches out of his seat. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Regulus," Remus says gently, but Regulus is already fleeing, and he doesn't stop to hear anything
else.

He takes refuge in his room, focusing on his breathing. He won't let himself cry, absolutely refuses
to, so he paces until the urge passes. He waits until he's calmer, or at least until he can pretend he
is, but it's taking longer than normal. To distract himself, he sits on the edge of his bed and checks
his emails, a mindless task that will help him untether from reality a bit.
Regulus freezes when he sees an email from Chef Sprout. His heart fucking drops, and he
considers not even opening it, because he already knows what it's going to be. But he has the
thought that, if he cries, at least he can blame it on the fact that his future has been washed down
the drain. Swallowing, he clicks on it and reads.

Mr. Black,

I received a visit from your brother today, who informed me that the events that took place the
night prior were orchestrated entirely by him as a prank. He took full responsibility for pushing
the tray out of your hands and claimed you were unaware that he was sabotaging the charity event,
and he assured me that he set his own painting on fire, not out of distress, but "for the drama", in
which case I must insist that you have no reason to be embarrassed. You're not at fault. Under the
circumstances, you are not to blame. Your brother has been reprimanded and promises to take no
further actions outside of supporting you in your culinary education.

In this situation, I must insist that you, as my most promising student, return to classes on Monday.

That's not a suggestion, Mr. Black. Be there.

_Chef Pomona Sprout

Regulus reads it once, twice, and then a third time. His gaze slowly drifts down to the timestamp.
Chef Sprout sent him the email almost three hours ago.

"You fucking bastard," Regulus hisses, shoving the laptop aside as he springs to his feet, heart
racing.

That lying, prying, no good bastard. Who the fuck does he think he is? Why would he do that? He
didn't push the tray, and he didn't do all of that for a fucking prank. And he set his own painting on
fire? Why? What's he playing at?

Helplessly, Regulus feels something soft and horrible and needy break loose in his chest, and he
bites down on his lip as hard as he can so he won't cry. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Sirius can't
just—just do things like this. He can't just invade Regulus' life and—and—

It is an invasion, Regulus reminds himself forcefully. Regulus didn't ask for a damn thing from
him, will never ask, and Sirius had no right to do that. Sirius went to his bloody school. He never
knows when to fucking quit.

Regulus tenses up when he realizes that Sirius… Oh, there's no chance that Sirius is letting this go,
no matter how badly Regulus wishes he would. He won't stop. He wants his answers, and Regulus
scrambles to think of what lengths he'll go to have them, since Regulus won't give them to him.

No doubt Sirius wants to know what happened in the three years after he left, as well as what
pushed Regulus to leave. He'd never go to Walburga and Orion to work that out. It's the only
people Regulus can think of that Sirius would think of for having answers, though. Who else would
know anything? Who would Sirius believe knows anything? The only people Regulus was
frequently around back then was…

"No. No, no, no," Regulus groans, scrambling for his coat and trainers. "Tell me you didn't, you
fucking idiot. If you have, I swear to god I'm going to murder you."

Regulus might just murder him and be done with it. Just solve the problem before it gets out of
hand. Well, two birds with one stone, he supposes. The upcoming visit will just be beneficial in
more ways than one.

"Regulus?" Remus asks when he comes bustling frantically out of his room.

"We need to go," Regulus says, clipped, and to his credit, Remus instantly stands up to follow.

"Where are we going?" Remus mutters warily.

Scowling, Regulus pauses in snatching open his door to glance over his shoulder and says, "We're
going to find my brother."

Remus would like, just once, for things not to be so sodding complicated. He thinks this is maybe
karma. He asks for too much, doesn't he? Always ravenous for more, more, more.

Really, this is what he gets for actively lying to his best friend and boyfriend. A part of him still
wonders what the hell he was expected to do in that situation. Tell them? Just explain what
happened and lose the best parts of his life? Lose one, or the other, maybe even both? How is that
fair?

Yet, he also knows that this isn't fair either. This deception is going to lead Regulus and Sirius to
fucking hate him, he's sure of it. Why didn't he just tell them? He should have. He and James both
should have told them the moment they found out, then forced Sirius and Regulus into some family
therapy. If only they had handled it immediately, instead of trying to have both and shakily juggle
too many lies, then maybe they'd have a leg to stand on. As it is, after what they've done, Sirius and
Regulus will have every right to never forgive them.

Despite the fear of that outcome, Remus is determined to sit Sirius down and explain the entire
mess. First, Sirius needs actual rest, and then Remus will talk to him. There's a part of him that
thinks that maybe, if they're really lucky, Sirius and Regulus might even be secretly grateful to
have the excuse to reconnect, once they're past their betrayal and anger (if they ever get there). It's
obvious they still love each other so painfully much that it's ripping them both up inside.

Unfortunately, Remus has to make sure that Regulus doesn't ruin that plan before it can even
happen. For one, Sirius needs to sleep. (Frankly, Remus is quite sure that Regulus needs it just as
much.) Two, one day to recover after what happened last night is necessary for them both. And
three, Remus is dead terrified to lose either of them so soon after Sirius went missing and Regulus
had something of a mental breakdown that led him to emptying literally every cabinet in his flat.

Alright, so maybe it's a bit selfishly motivated. Remus has never claimed to be a good person. A lot
of his choices lately have been selfishly motivated, but not only just. He really does just want Sirius
and Regulus to be happy and safe.

The problem, of course, comes from the fact that Regulus is not someone to be fucked with. When
he decides something, he is not easily swayed, and Remus doesn't think he's ever seen Regulus
more serious about anything the way he is about finding his brother. It's very...Sirius of him,
actually.

"Right, so when will you tell me where we're going?" Remus mumbles from the back of the cab,
darting his gaze out the window, only mildly relieved that he doesn't recognize any of the
surroundings. Admittedly, he has been nursing a secret, ridiculous fear that Regulus would
somehow just...sense Sirius in some strange sibling connection sort of way (that's not a real thing, it
can't be, but Regulus had seemed so certain he would find Sirius, and Remus doesn't have siblings,
so what the fuck does he know?), but that's fortunately not the case.

"We're going to visit some old acquaintances of mine," Regulus states, frowning. He has not
stopped scowling since he came out of his room.
Remus glances at him cautiously. "Old? How old?"

"I haven't seen them since I left home."

"Oh. Friends of yours?"

"Not really. Sort of. I got on with them more than anyone else, but it was mostly just rubbish. Have
you ever heard the quote: When I became a man, I put away childish things."

"Vaguely, maybe, and I'm quite sure that's not the entire quote anyway."

"Well, in my case, I mean it literally. No, literally, when I became a man, I left the childish things
behind. We were friends in the sense that they never knew me, really, but knew me in a way that
was more real than anyone else."

"Oh."

Regulus glances over at him, then snorts. "Don't fret, Lupin, you're the only best friend I've ever
had. You're my first, and you'll be my last."

Well, isn't that like a direct punch to the chest? God, Remus feels like an awful friend. He wonders
if these acquaintances ever shagged Regulus' brother and kept it from him?

Probably not.

"Shut up," Remus says weakly, averting his eyes. "Just, why are we going to see them? What does
it have to do with your brother? Were they his friends, too?"

"Hm? Oh, no, he practically despised them," Regulus tells him casually. "That's probably because I
was shagging one, and the other was supporting our secret, illicit affair."
Remus' eyes bulge. "You were shagging one and only consider them acquaintances?"

"Yes?"

"Christ, Reg. Also, you had to have been fourteen, fifteen? What were you doing shagging so
young?"

"Well, now you sound like Sirius," Regulus mutters, rolling his eyes. "It was mostly just child stuff
when we were that young. Snogging. A bit of touching, mostly over the clothes. No, the shagging
came later, after Sirius was gone. I was seventeen."

"So, ah, your brother was…?" Remus tries to find the words to explain what he wants to ask, but he
can't. He feels dirty talking about Sirius while pretending he doesn't know him.

Regulus heaves a sigh. "Protective? Yes. Immensely. It was dead annoying, actually. He was
brilliant about most things involving bodily functions that most boys wouldn't be. He made me a
small pillow once, you know. Not much longer than my forearm and about as thick as my thigh,
but he did it so he could toss it in the dryer and heat it up for me that way I could curl around it
when I got cramps. He would brag about his own conquests at school, even asked me for advice
for his best friend, who fancied a girl that wanted nothing to do with him. Never did find out how
that went for the bloke…"

"Um," Remus says, then coughs. Oh, bloody hell. What is he even supposed to do with that?
Regulus gave Sirius advice on girls for James. Look how that turned out...

"But," Regulus continues, "it was different with me. For me, I mean. Sirius was sex positive, sure,
and he always swore he would be cool about it, but not so much in practice. He even gave me
condoms the first time he found out that I'd snogged someone. He drew fucking diagrams. It was
awful. Then, you know, he caught a bloke with his hand up my shirt and hit the fucking roof. He
never cared that I wasn't a prude, never shamed me for it, but he was always protective."

"Drove you mad, I'll bet," Remus murmurs.

"Most of the time, yes, but sometimes it was funny," Regulus admits with a wry smile. "I could tell
he didn't really mean to, and I knew a lot of it had to do with who I was carrying on with. He didn't
think I was with the right sort; he wasn't exactly wrong, but he wasn't entirely right either."
Remus chews on his lip. "Do you think he'd approve of James?"

"I don't much care if he would, or wouldn't, honestly," Regulus says, scowling again. "But...if he
knew him, I think so."

He does know him—really well, in fact—which might be the exact reason that he won't, Remus
thinks, helplessly distressed. Oh, this is going to be a disaster. It was always going to be, really,
which is what he and James were hoping to avoid. In doing so, they've probably made things
worse.

Tomorrow is the end of this bliss, isn't it? For all of them. As selfish as it is, he dreads what
tomorrow will bring. He doesn't want to lose this. Any of it.

The cab pulls over, and Regulus climbs out with a deep breath, his face set into a blank mask he
wears when he's especially peeved off about something. Remus' stomach ties itself into knots as he
follows Regulus into an office building, but he comforts himself with the fact that Sirius is at
home, in bed. He promised he would rest. Remus believes him.

And then, of course, Regulus walks right up to the front desk and briskly says, "Earlier, did you
have a visit from Sirius Black, by chance?"

Remus feels his heart drop. What? No, that's—Remus specifically left Sirius home to sleep. Why
would he…?

But the woman's face tells it all, as does her response, which is a stuttered, "Um, I—I can't disclose
that information to—"

"No need," Regulus interrupts coldly. Remus has never seen him like this. He can at times be cold
and harsh, yes, but he's never acted as if he's better than anyone, not like this. He's suddenly like a
stranger. "You've already made it painfully obvious. I need to speak to Evan Rosier. Inform him
that Reggie Black is here to see him."

With that, Regulus turns and walks away without looking back or waiting, heading right for a lift.
Remus darts an apologetic look to the woman, who's shakily fumbling for the phone, then hastily
follows Regulus. He calmly holds the lift doors for Remus to slip through, then steps back.
"What was that?" Remus hisses, appalled.

"That was efficiency, which is rarely kind," Regulus murmurs, heaving a sigh. "It's...the world I
grew up in, I suppose. My mother always used to say that you don't ask what people can do for you;
you tell them what they will do. Because I'm a Black, they always listen. Horrid, isn't it?"

"So, what, you're just going to go wherever you like without anyone doing anything about it?"

"Yes."

Remus shakes his head in disbelief, briefly wondering if Sirius did the same thing. He can't picture
it. Why was Sirius here, the git? He should be resting! Christ, all of this is so, so bloody
complicated. "Who's Evan Rosier? Is he the one you...?"

"No. Evan and I were never involved. We just got on, really. If I'm lucky, I won't have to see
Barty."

"Do you think he'll be awful about…?"

Regulus shrugs. "No way of knowing. I don't care either way what they feel about it. I suspect
Barty will at least bemoan the loss of my tits. He always liked them more than I did." There's a
long pause, then Regulus sighs. "Remus, stop trying to imagine what I looked like with tits."

"Sorry," Remus mumbles reflexively, grimacing, and Regulus shoots him an amused look. Remus
clears his throat. "Right, anyway, how do you know where we're going, and should I be expecting a
fight of some sort?"

"I know because Evan has had his office picked out since we were children, and no, you won't
have to fight anyone. You may have to help me to bury dead bodies. Three, maximum. Does that
put you off?"

"No, of course I'll help."

"Always a pleasure, Remus," Regulus says, lips twitching.

Remus frowns. "You said three? Who's the third?"

"My brother," Regulus tells him casually, sweeping out of the lift the moment the doors open.

"Fucking hell," Remus mutters as he follows Regulus out, swallowing thickly. This is not the ideal
way to spend his day. Oh, Sirius, what have you gotten me into? he thinks miserably.

Regulus stops in front of a closed door with the plaque reading E. Rosier on it, then says, "Ah, just
as I thought," and lets himself inside without so much as a knock.

Remus follows him inside, immediately examining the two blokes already in the office. One man
is behind the desk with sandy blond hair and quite possibly the most perfect cheekbones Remus has
ever seen in his life, and he jolts forward in his chair the moment Regulus steps in the room. The
other man has darker features, darker hair and darker eyes, and he nearly falls out of his chair the
second he actually drinks the full sight of Regulus in.

Already, Remus can tell that Regulus is different. He's standing taller, not as relaxed, and his
expression gives absolutely nothing away, making him look bored. There's an air of superiority
surrounding him, like he could make demands here and now and everyone else would trip over
themselves to fill them, or the repercussions of not doing so would be...not good. Remus knows he
has to be uncomfortable, especially considering that he's essentially outing himself without warning
to people he can't say for sure will respond well, yet you'd think this was just another day to him.

The man behind the desk blurts out, "Oh, I thought Pamela was having me on again. Reggie?"

"Evan," Regulus replies flatly, then glances over at the other man, whose mouth is still hanging
open. "Barty."

Turns out, Regulus is not lucky.

"This is a right fucking shock, you are," Barty chokes out, eyes bulging as he looks right at
Regulus' chest. He looks about two seconds from asking where his tits have gone.

"My brother was here," Regulus states, moving forward to brace his hands on the top of the chair
directly next to Barty, fully not fucking around. "Tell me what you told him."

"I—" Evan blinks rapidly, then slumps back in his chair, touching his fingers to his lips.

Regulus leans forward on his elbows, casually linking his fingers together, but his voice is an ice
cold order when he sharply says, "Speak, Evan. Use your words."

"What the fuck is happening right now?" Barty bellows.

"Reggie," Evan breathes out, mystified, and then he abruptly starts laughing. He completely loses
it, laughing so hard that he folds forward slightly and presses his hand to his stomach. He laughs
until he's nearly gagging, utterly breathless.

Barty makes an odd noise, yelping, "What's funny, Evan? What about any of this is funny?!"

"Oh my god," Evan wheezes. "Oh my god." That seems to set him off all over again, and he's back
to laughing.

Regulus has never looked more unimpressed in his life. Remus shifts uncomfortably, darting his
gaze between Evan and Barty, waiting for the shock to turn into something that makes sense. The
laughter doesn't, and Barty hasn't moved on from the shock stage just yet.

"Evan!" Regulus snaps.

Almost instantly, Evan holds up a hand and attempts to sober up, but random chuckles spill out of
him, even as he manages to say, "Oh, we'd thought you died. Ha! Oh my god."

"You fucking idiots," Regulus says with a sigh, and Evan whimpers like he's in pain, shot off
laughing again.

"Well, what the hell were we supposed to think, Reggie?! You just disappeared, and we couldn't
find traces of you no matter how hard we looked!" Barty announces.
Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "Did you look?"

"Obviously," Barty hisses.

"Did you mourn me, Barty?" Regulus asks, amused, which is awful. Isn't that awful? Why does he
find that funny?

Evan apparently also finds it funny, because he crows with a new round of laughter and chokes out,
"He did! He got ragingly drunk and shagged his way through half of London and practically wrote
a eulogy for your tits!"

"Oh, piss off!" Barty bursts out, throwing his hands up, nearly falling out of the chair as he jabs a
finger at Evan. "You're the one who cried."

"I did not," Evan protests instantly, drawing up short as his laughter cuts off, cheeks turning red.

"How sweet," Regulus says tonelessly, once again looking bored. "You didn't find anything
because you were looking in the wrong places, for the wrong person. Regina never existed, not
really, and did die in a way, I suppose."

Barty squints at Regulus. "Well, that's dramatic. Are you taking the piss?"

"Oh yes, Barty, I transitioned into a man purely to take the piss," Regulus says, and silence falls
instantly.

Remus darts his gaze between Barty and Evan again, wary. The last time Remus got into a fight
was four years ago, and he nearly put the bloke in a hospital. Didn't even mean to. He just
gets...angry sometimes, doesn't realize his own strength, and then—well, he tries to avoid fights.
Not because he loses them, but because he wins them a little too well.

But, for Regulus, he will absolutely fight two complete strangers. No questions asked. Sirius had
said once that not all friends are like this, that it's something special the way he and Regulus have
each other's backs, and he thinks he understands that a bit better now. For the first time, he's not
scared that he could hurt people. For his best friend, he would. He's grateful that he can, actually, if
it keeps Regulus safe.
Regulus doesn't look worried, though. He's not even tense. At most, he's a touch impatient, like it
annoys him that they're wasting time with the new information instead of immediately giving him
the information he wants.

"Like, on purpose?" Barty ventures, finally.

"No, Barty, purely to take the piss. Didn't you just hear me say so?" Regulus replies, sarcasm laced
in his tone like poison.

Evan leans forward, frowning. "No, I know about this, yeah? Someone in finances did this, but in
reverse, I think. Dad wanted to fire them for it, but I said it doesn't matter much if it doesn't affect
the job, right? Besides, there's all these laws about that stuff now, you know."

"You mean Greg?" Barty asks.

"Gina, now," Evan corrects with a lazy shrug.

Barty's eyes go cloudy, then he nods. "Yeah, I know who you're talking about. Showed up one day
after a vacation with a nice pair of tits. Did us all a favor with that one, honestly."

"Yes, Barty, thank you for that wonderful insight and resounding endorsement in trans activism,"
Regulus says flatly, reaching up to rub his temples, and Remus can't help but snort. Regulus cranes
his head back to glance at Remus, and his face softens just a bit before he looks away again.

"So I take it you had your name changed, and that's why we couldn't find anything on you?" Evan
asks curiously.

"I'd say so."

"Well, what's your name now?"

"Regulus," Regulus informs them simply.

Evan smirks. "Fucking pretentious name, isn't it? Only common names for common people, and
god forbid you be considered anything such as that."

"You wouldn't know, would you, Evan?" Regulus shoots back, and Evan grins at him.

"I've just had a thought," Barty announces.

Regulus raises his eyebrows. "Don't hurt yourself."

"This makes me gay, doesn't it? Am I gay now? I didn't know I was gay," Barty says, dropping his
head over on the back of the chair, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh god, Reggie, my dad's going to be
furious." A beat passes, then his eyes snap open, lighting up. "Oh, my dad's going to be furious!"

"Have your gay crisis if you will. Go forth and explore the world of cocks. I don't actually care."
Regulus swivels back towards Evan, narrowing his eyes. "You're going to tell me what my brother
wanted and what you told him. Now."

"Some things don't change, do they? Look at you, Reggie, bloke or not, still as terrifying as ever."
Evan looks so pleased by this fact. "You're an awful, despicable person, do you know that? You
just disappeared for eight years."

"Yes?" Regulus says, not apologetic in the least.

Evan's face twitches, and he no longer looks pleased. He looks, shockingly enough, rather hurt.
"We really did mourn you, you know. We thought you fucking offed yourself. We—" He swallows
and shakes his head. "I know you never really considered us friends, but you were our friend. That
was fucked up, Reggie. Really fucked up."

"You're not a complete idiot, Evan, as much as you like to pretend. I'm sure you can work out why
I left and never looked back," Regulus murmurs.

"I suppose I do," Evan allows grudgingly. "If I was running off to escape my raging bitch of a
mother and do something she might actually kill me for, I'd probably cut all ties to those who were
connected to her in any capacity, too."
Barty grunts. "Fucking awful witch of a woman, Reggie, even to this day. Can't blame you for
going, even if you did go off to transform into a man. Oi, do you have a cock now?"

"How is my dear mother?" Regulus asks dryly, ignoring Barty entirely, who looks put out by this.

"Barty had it right. Fucking awful witch of a woman. I have a meeting with her tomorrow about
some accounts," Evan says, grimacing. "I'm dreading it, if I'm honest. I hate that we still do
business with her. The day she dies, I'm going to throw a party the likes of which the world has
never seen."

"You should come," Barty adds.

"I'll be too busy throwing a party of my own." Regulus presses his lips into a thin line, and Remus
feels a chill go down his spine knowing that these people still interact with Regulus and Sirius'
abusive mother. She shouldn't exist outside of a fucking prison cell. "Is my father dead yet?"

Barty clicks his tongue. "Not yet, but it's close. But then, it's been close for nearly a decade. At this
point, I'm convinced he'll still be dying after we're all dead."

"Honestly, none of my family would do me the favor of dying," Regulus mutters. "They live to
spite me."

"They do, it seems. Particularly your brother," Evan says, pushing up from his chair to walk around
his desk right across from Regulus and drag a crystal glass with a stopper and amber liquid in it,
jerking his chin at Barty. "Get us glasses."

"If I must," Barty complains, going off to do just that. For the first time, someone outside of
Regulus actually looks at Remus, Barty eyeing him with a frown. "Him, too? Actually, who are
you? Reggie, who's this?"

"My best friend, Remus. Leave him be, or I'll make you wish you had," Regulus declares simply,
sounding absolutely sure about this, and Barty doesn't seem to doubt him. Regulus heaves a sigh a
beat later. "Get him a glass, Barty. You can give him a fucking drink. Christ."
"Do you want us to leave him be, or not?" Barty grumbles, but he scoops up a fourth glass and
shuffles over to Evan.

"Sirius is alive and well," Evan muses as he pours one drink after the other. "How'd you know he
would stop by?"

"Because he's stupid," Regulus says, glancing back at Remus with his eyebrows raised.

Remus moves forward to come stand beside him, happy to keep silent and watchful. It's interesting
to see Regulus interact with people—friends?—from his past. Remus can tell that he's not open
with them the way he is with Remus, and even Pandora to a degree, but he's also quite sure that
there's a small bit of him that's...fond of them, in a way.

"Has he seen you? That's the only reason I could think that he would come to start with," Evan
says.

Regulus narrows his eyes. "He didn't mention it?"

"No." Barty leans up against the desk beside Evan, scoffing under his breath. "He didn't tell us
anything, the prick. We told him you were dead, and he didn't even correct us! That would have
been nice to know. You know, that you're not."

"He even seemed to freak out a bit when we did tell him, actually, but why would he if he's seen
you?" Evan asks, sliding Barty a glass, who grabs it without even looking.

"Maybe he wished it was true," Regulus suggests, taking the glass Evan offers him.

Evan clicks his tongue. "No, he seemed rather upset about it. He brought his best mate along, too.
What was his name, Barty? The bloke with the glasses."

Remus feels his heart skip a beat. Shit, shit, shit. Sirius and James were here? What the hell is
happening today? Fuck, do they know James' name? His full name? James is common enough,
isn't it? Maybe Regulus won't think anything of it.
"Jim, or something, I think," Barty says carelessly, and Remus has to press his lips together so he
won't exhale in relief.

"Right. I told Sirius you were dead and it was his fault, and his mate, Jim, dragged him right out,"
Evan announces casually, holding out a glass to Remus without even looking at him. Remus is
almost too horrified to take it. He told Sirius it was his fault? No fucking wonder Sirius was upset.
Remus has to internally count backwards from ten before he can take the glass without punching
Evan in the face.

"What else did you tell Sirius?" Regulus asks, his face going blank, eyes guarded.

"Oh, not...much," Barty says cautiously, sharing a quick look with Evan. "Just ah, just that you left
a bit after your mother made you get engaged to Mulciber."

"That's all?" Regulus says. Evan and Barty share another look, then dutifully nod. Regulus takes a
sip of his drink. "Hm."

Silence stretches, and Remus is treated to the sight of two fully grown men squirming slightly
under Regulus' stare. No one says anything, the four of them all drinking the two swallows that
Evan poured each of them. Regulus just continues to drag his gaze between Barty and Evan,
watching them without a word. Remus is startled by how intimidating it is, never having seen it
before. Regulus can stubbornly wait someone out, but he's never turned a gaze like this on Remus.
A gaze like a scalpel, cutting you open to see what spills out. From the outside, it's actually as
equally cool as it is awful.

"You know, I just remembered that I spouted off quite a bit about loving your tits," Barty blurts
out, like the words are being plucked from his lips with force.

Poor James, Remus thinks with a wince.

"Oh?" Regulus asks lightly, flicking his gaze to Evan, who cracks in approximately eight seconds.

"I might have said you were a bit, um, unstable there towards the end," Evan admits, cringing
slightly. "And perhaps we insinuated that your mother got...worse after he left."

"Is that right?" Regulus murmurs, pushing away from the chair to sit his empty glass on the desk
with a dull thunk.

"In our defense, Reggie, we thought you were dead," Barty says with a huff.

Regulus hums. "Yes, but I'm not. Clearly. Is that all?"

"Yes," Evan says.

"You said you were seeing my mother tomorrow?" Regulus asks, and they both nod. Regulus nods
back, then steps forward and reaches out with both hands to promptly and with no warning grab
Evan and Barty, quite literally, by the balls. Remus' eyes fly wide when he sees Regulus' hands fist
and twist a bit, making both Evan and Barty make pained noises and go straight to their toes,
gripping the desk and holding as still as possible to avoid further agony.

"Fuck, Reggie, that's my cock you're about to rip off!" Barty yelps, sounding strained.

"Yes, I know. Cocks and bollocks—very sensitive, fragile things, aren't they?" Regulus says
calmly, and Remus winces when he sees Regulus tighten his grip. Evan and Barty both make rather
pathetic noises in unison. "I just wanted to remind you both of that. How sensitive they are.
Because, to be clear, if a word of any of this gets back to my mother, I will remove your cocks and
bollocks slowly, so that you'll feel every sensitive moment of it. And I'll feed yours, Evan, to
Barty, and yours, Barty, to Evan. Do you understand?"

"Right, got it," Evan grits out, eyes squeezed shut.

Barty whimpers. "Yes, understood. Fucking hell."

"My mother will not know of my visit, or Sirius'," Regulus states firmly. Evan and Barty both
bobble their heads in ready agreement. Regulus jerks his hands up in unison, making Barty and
Evan rise up with pained groans. "You will tell her nothing. Not how Sirius is doing. Not my name.
Nothing."

"Alright, alright, fuck," Barty spits out.

"And," Regulus adds, "you're going to do me a favor, Evan, for telling Sirius what you did, or I'm
going to twist your cock off right now."

Evan bangs his hand down on his desk. "Yes, yes, alright. You've made your fucking point,
Reggie."

"Lovely," Regulus says blandly and lets go, stepping back like nothing is amiss while Evan and
Barty deflate.

Remus stares at Regulus, not knowing whether to be appalled or just start laughing in pure
amazement. Who the fuck is he? Yet, somehow, Remus isn't even surprised.

"Christ," Evan breathes out, delicately cupping the front of his trousers with a frown.

"Guess that answers my question about whether you have a cock or not. You'd never do that if you
knew what it felt like," Barty snaps, rubbing himself with a wince. He pauses, then raises his
eyebrows. "Well, maybe I am a bit gay. That was hot, and your mouth hasn't changed a bit. You
know…"

"No," Regulus says flatly, then dismisses him to focus on Evan, ignoring it when Barty pouts.
"Find him."

"Bit illegal, that," Evan mutters.

"Has that ever stopped you before?"

"Fair point."

Find who? Remus thinks, internally panicking as Evan limps over to his desk and starts typing on
his computer, because he thinks he already knows. Fucking shit. He can't actually find Sirius, can
he? How would he even…?

"Reggie," Barty says, flopping his head over with a slow smile, eyes sparkling.
Regulus sighs. "Barty, no. I'm not interested. Go explore your gay tendencies elsewhere."

"Have a boyfriend?" Barty asks curiously.

"Yes," Regulus says, his tone softening the way it only does when he's thinking about James, an
unconscious thing.

Evan doesn't look away from his computer as he says, "Bad luck, Barty."

"Isn't it?" Barty muses, clicking his tongue. "Reggie's found someone. I thought I was your first
and last, you know. Do you love him, then?"

"You weren't my last," is all Regulus says.

"Oh, really? Go on, then. Was anyone better than me?"

"This one is. He actually gets me off."

"Ah, Reggie, how I've missed you," Evan says, dissolving into laughter as Barty flushes. "Right,
well, this was ridiculously easy to do. Tsk tsk, Sirius." He shakes his head as he turns away from
his computer to grab a pen and slip of paper, scrawling something on it. "You think he'd know
better."

"Sirius never knows better," Regulus mutters as he reaches out to take the paper that Evan folds up
and offers to him.

"You won't disappear again, will you?" Barty asks as Regulus slips the paper in his pocket and
steps back.

Regulus just turns and grabs Remus' arm, gently pulling him towards the door. "You know my
name. Look for me properly this time, or don't. Find me if you want, but don't make me have to
find you. It won't be a friendly visit."
"See you, Reggie," Evan calls cheerfully, laughing again.

"You make for a fit bloke, you know, but I do miss your tits dreadfully!" Barty adds on, just before
the door closes.

The lift ride down is silent. Remus stares at Regulus, who refuses to look back. In fact, neither of
them say anything until they're outside. Regulus orders a ride on his cell, glancing at the paper
twice. Remus tries to peer at it to see the address, but Regulus closes it before he gets the chance.

"Well," Remus says when Regulus finally looks at him.

"Welcome to my world," Regulus says flatly.

Remus purses his lips. "Not anymore."

Regulus' face softens a bit, lips curling up, and Remus suddenly has his best friend back. "No, not
anymore."

"Do you miss it?"

"Not one bit."

"Do you miss them?"

"Oh, don't be jealous. They could never have what we have."

"Reg, I mean it," Remus says softly.

"I...did, a bit, especially in the beginning," Regulus admits quietly. "But, really, I never had a true
friend before you. Evan and Barty, they're the closest I came, but we were all too young to really
know how to manage it. They abandoned me, too, towards the end. I get the feeling you never
would."

Remus shakes his head. "No. Never."

"Thought so. You did just watch me threaten to castrate two men with complete sincerity without
stopping me, and you're still here, so…" Regulus shrugs.

"Would you actually do it?"

"If they put us in danger? Without hesitation."

"Us," Remus murmurs. "You and Sirius, you mean."

Regulus scowls the moment he realizes his slip, and apparently in no mood to acknowledge it, he
simply looks away. Remus feels warmth bloom in his chest, at least until Regulus nods at a car and
says, "That's me."

"Just you?" Remus asks nervously. He has no way of knowing for sure that Evan did, in fact, find
Sirius. Ice clamps down on his spine at the thought, but surely Evan couldn't do that?

"Just me. You should get home. Thanks for coming with me," Regulus murmurs, as sincere as ever
gets.

"At least I don't have to help you bury any dead bodies today," Remus says with a sheepish smile.

Regulus pauses and looks at him. His lips twitch. "Keep your cell close, Remus. The day's still
young."

"Reg, where are you going?" Remus whispers.

"To see my brother," Regulus says simply, then inclines his head and starts for the car.
Remus shudders a harsh breath and calls out, "Regulus!" When he looks back, Remus swallows.
"You know, it's—it's alright if you want to let the hate go and just love your brother again."

"I don't," is Regulus' firm response.

"But if you did," Remus says softly, "that'd be alright."

Regulus just turns and walks away, shoving himself into the car and slamming the door shut
without looking back. Remus watches Regulus go and shrinks back, squeezing his eyes shut,
feeling like a fucking coward. Oh, this is bad.

This is really fucking bad.

James answers the phone with a distracted, "Hello? Is everything alright? How's Regulus?"

"Where's Sirius?" Remus asks, clipped.

"Er." James pauses, then coughs. "He's sleeping. Why?"

"Where are you?"

"Visiting my mum and dad. Sirius is really dead to the world, honestly. Don't suspect he'll wake up
until tonight."

Remus grinds his teeth. "Had a bit of a busy day, did you?"

"Um," James says slowly, an awful liar, "it was...eventful."

"Yes, I heard," Remus snaps. "Sirius was supposed to be resting, James. He wasn't supposed to go
recklessly digging about in Regulus' past. Explain to me why either of you thought it was a
brilliant idea to go to Barty and Evan?"
"I didn't," James protests instantly. A pause. "Wait, how do you know about that?"

"Because I just met them, James. Because, without much warning, Regulus decided for some
reason I still don't know that he was going to find his brother today and possibly kill him, and I'm
not entirely convinced it isn't about to happen, because I'm quite sure that Evan just found out
where Sirius is through not entirely legal means!"

"What? No, that's not—is that even possible? The only thing I can think that someone would be
able to find is where he works, Remus. He sells things at the shop right next to the studio, so
maybe Evan found that?"

"Well, I don't fucking know, but Regulus just took off claiming that he's going to see his brother,"
Remus hisses.

James sucks in a sharp breath. "Fuck. Shit, oh, that's not good. That's—that's really quite bad." He
groans. "This is because Sirius went to the school and took the blame for what happened at the
gallery. He told Chef Sprout that he sabotaged Regulus' night so Regulus could go back to
classes."

"While that's nice, immediately going to Evan and Barty afterwards ruins it a bit," Remus says
wearily.

"He loves him, Remus," James whispers. "Sirius really loves him. Too stubborn to admit it, but he
does."

Remus heaves a sigh. "Regulus is the same. I don't know if Regulus has his address, or he's going
to the studio, but—"

"Even if he did have an address, the door is locked and Sirius is sleeping deeply. I think he'll have
to wait."

"We can't keep making them wait, James."

"I'm coming back," James declares firmly. "I'm coming home right now, and you need to get there.
We agreed to do this so it wouldn't hurt them, but this is hurting them. We can't wait until
tomorrow. Even if Sirius is asleep and Regulus is at the studio, or waiting by the door, we can't
 wait anymore."

"No, I agree," Remus says seriously. "I'll likely get there before you, but I'll wait. We'll go in
together?"

James exhales shakily and rasps, "Yeah. Might be best."

"Message me when you're close."

"I will. See you soon, Remus."

"See you, James."

Chapter End Notes

The friendship between Remus and Regulus is absolutely EVERYTHING to me. I

adore them. Also, Evan and Barty and Regulus RADIATE slytherin energy in this
chapter. Also², poor Remus nearly having at least five different heart attacks in this
chapter alone. Remus James: spending the last twenty four hours perpetually
freaking the fuck out

And then there's Sirius and Regulus, who are like: I hate my brother, I despise him, I
want him dead and gone and far away from me

Also Sirius and Regulus: I will literally commit crimes to find my brother, and also, if
you so much as BREATHE in his direction with bad intentions, I will make sure you
never breathe again

Anyway, we're back to regular schedule after this one, so I will see all of you on
Wednesday!

Let me know what you thought of this one <3

 Chapter 16
Chapter Notes

It's Wednesday!!!! Oh god, oh god, okay, so. I'm calm. I'm chill. It's just that this is
legitimately one of the most emotional chapters I've ever written in my LIFE.

So, warnings: references to child abuse (Walburga's A+ parenting again), a lot of

tension, discussions ABOUT the mistreatment of Sirius and Regulus in many different
forms, including from each other, arguments, and an unexpected surprise.

It's a wild one, everyone. Enjoy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus sinks down on the edge of the bed and stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them
at the ankles, and he loosely braces his hands on the edge of the bed as his head slowly swivels
around, silently observing.

The walls have framed artwork, and the closet is a fucking mess, clothes overrunning it and
spilling out on the floor in front of it. There are at least three half-empty water bottles and two cups
of the last dredges of now-cold tea sitting on the nightstand, along with a pack of color pencils and
a coloring book only half-finished (Regulus checked). The vanity is cluttered, rings and bracelets
and eyeliner pens scattered all over it, and the chair in front of it has a fraying cushion. There are
different photos taped to the side swing-out mirror that Regulus can't bring himself to actually look
at, seeing as they're full of people that he doesn't know and won't be him.

The window is shut, but the curtain is tucked up like it's opened often, and there are ash smudges
on the sill that suggest someone has smoked there. Regulus stares at them for a long time, then
drags his gaze to the only other occupant in the room, the person in bed.

Regulus has always thought Sirius looked stupid when he was sleeping. He doesn't sleep with his
mouth closed, and his hair is a wreck around his head, and he drools. Maybe it's just a sibling urge,
but Regulus has always had the impulse to stick random objects in Sirius' slack mouth, or draw a
cock on Sirius' forehead. They never did things like that to each other when they were younger,
though, because Walburga would have punished both of them for the lack of decorum. So, instead,
Regulus used to tell Sirius that he was swallowing spiders in his sleep, but Sirius—ever infuriating
—always used to grin and claim he was grateful for the protein.

Sirius had the urge to be a shit when Regulus was awake. He used to say that Regulus looked like
an innocent angel when he was asleep, could never bring himself to bother him, but then Regulus
would wake up and remind Sirius that he was the farthest thing from an angel anyone could get. It
used to make Regulus laugh when he said that, but then it became an insult, losing the underlying
fondness, and Regulus stopped finding it funny at all.

A lot of things stopped being funny after a while.

Sighing quietly, Regulus traces his gaze over Sirius' stupid, sleeping face. Then, shaking his head,
Regulus reaches out and harshly flicks the end of Sirius' nose. Sirius smacks his lips, grumbling,
his face twitching, but then he settles again.

Rolling his eyes, Regulus pinches Sirius' nose closed and waits, because despite sleeping with his
mouth open, Sirius breathes through his nose. He's so fucking strange. Always has been.

Sirius' face scrunches, his mouth working, literally going without oxygen even though his mouth is
already open. Like an idiot, it takes him a bit to work out how to fucking breathe when one avenue
is closed off to him, but it does eventually kick in instinctively. It rouses him, though, making him
suck in a sharp breath as he garbles out a noise of confusion, eyes peeling open, cloudy and
unsettled.

Regulus lets his nose go, and Sirius blinks at him, eyebrows furrowed. Clumsily, he swipes at the
drool on his face, then squints at Regulus, then blinks harder and shakes his head almost violently.
He abruptly sits up, alert.

"Reggie?" Sirius croaks, still sounding half-asleep.

"Lovely. You're awake," Regulus says flatly.

"Did you just try to smother me in my sleep?" Sirius sputters, looking at him with disbelief.

Regulus stares at him like he's stupid. "No. Trust me, if that's what I intended to do, I wouldn't have
failed. Although, if I'm honest, the thought did cross my mind."

Sirius blinks again, then sits up straighter, seeming to fully grasp that Regulus is in his room,
perched on the edge of his bed. His eyes widen. "How did you—wait, who let you in?"
"No one," Regulus admits casually, turning his head to lazily look around the room again. "Is
someone supposed to be here? No one was when I came in."

"I have a flatmate. Wait—"

"You have a flatmate? Sirius, you're a grown man with the funds to live alone. Why on earth
would you have a flatmate?"

"He's my best mate, and I—actually, that's not any of your business or even the point! If he's not
here, then how did you get in? He always locks the door when he leaves," Sirius snaps, scowling at
him, visibly suspicious.

Regulus hums. "The door was locked."

"You broke into my flat?!"

"Obviously. I didn't come in through the window, did I? I used the door like a civilized person."

"You picked the lock!"

"I did. Rather useful skill, that. Fortunately for me, my brother taught me how when I was only
seven."

"I only taught you that so you could break into the cupboard Mother locked me in to sneak me
food so I wouldn't fucking starve," Sirius grits out, nostrils flaring. "I taught myself first so I could
do the same for you."

"I'm touched," Regulus says blandly.

Sirius glares at him. He looks ridiculous, hair tangled around his face, creases on his cheeks from
sleeping so hard. Looks a bit like an infuriated, ruffled bird, actually. "What the fuck are you doing
letting yourself in my flat, Reggie? You can't just break into—how did you even know where I—"
"No, actually, what the fuck were you doing when you went to Chef Sprout and told her that what
happened last night was a prank you orchestrated?" Regulus cuts in coldly, and Sirius' mouth snaps
shut. "That wasn't a prank. You didn't push that tray out of my hands. So, why did you—"

"Can't you just say thank you and be done with it?" Sirius snarls, harshly yanking the duvet back so
he can swing himself around and launch out of bed.

Regulus scoffs. "Why would I thank you? I didn't ask you to do that. I think, actually, that I asked
you to stay away from me and out of my life, and you went to my fucking school instead."

"Yes, and if I hadn't, you wouldn't be allowed back in classes, so thank me anytime now," Sirius
mutters as he snatches up his brush and begins roughly dragging it through his hair.

"I didn't need your help, Sirius," Regulus spits.

Sirius whips around to glare at him, yanking on the brush in visible agitation. "As if I would help
you, you fucking prick. I wish it had been a prank, really. It's exactly what I would have done,
given the chance."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. You're just as immature as you have always been," Regulus says sharply.
"You went to Evan and Barty, Sirius, really?"

"Yes, and what of it?" Sirius slams his brush down and starts gathering his hair into a loose knot,
shorter strands spilling out to frame his face. He pauses briefly, frowning as he stares at Regulus.
"Wait, how'd you know that?"

"Because I know your particular brand of stupidity," Regulus informs him, clipped. "Why can't you
leave well enough alone? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Oh, save it. How else was I supposed to figure out what the hell happened to you?" Sirius snaps.

"I told you! I left. I transitioned. You're not entitled to anything else; you weren't even entitled to
that!" Regulus snarls, jolting up to his feet as his emotions spike, his blood pumping as his fuse
grows shorter and shorter. He hasn't gotten like this with anyone, not in years, not even Sirius
towards the end. But Sirius is so fucking infuriating, and he brings it out in Regulus like no other.
"I'm your brother," Sirius hisses, eyes blazing, hands balled into fists, just as worked up as
Regulus. "That does make me a little bit entitled, I'd think. If anyone should know—"

Regulus just explodes. "You're the one who left!"

Silence falls between them with heavy, deafening finality like a guillotine. Neither of them move.
They both have their lips pressed into thin lines, eyes locked, bodies tense. Regulus wants to hit
him. Regulus wants Sirius to hit back.

"You're the one who left," Regulus repeats quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. "You weren't
there. So, brother or not, you're entitled to nothing."

Sirius takes a deep breath, holds it, then huffs it out as if he's irritated. "Reggie—Regulus, I'll go
mad not knowing. It might actually make me fucking insane."

"Am I meant to care about your mental state?" Regulus asks and completely ignores the tiny thrill,
the tiny rush of warmth, he feels hearing his brother say his name for the first time.

"They said Mother was going to marry you off to Mulciber," Sirius announces, narrowing his eyes.
"Mulciber? As far as I recall, Mulciber wasn't even someone she was considering."

"Yes, well, things can change in three years."

"Mulciber was scum. I doubt that changed."

Regulus has to work to keep his expression blank. "No, it didn't. He also just so happened to be the
son of someone she wanted to close a deal with."

"Mother wanted to close a lot of deals with a lot of different people who had sons, and I know for
sure that never changed, so why Mulciber?" Sirius insists.

"Ask her," Regulus snaps.

Sirius barks a harsh laugh. "Yeah, no, I won't be doing that, actually. I'm asking you."

"You really want to know?" Regulus asks, arching an eyebrow at Sirius, who is no longer laughing.
"Mother chose Mulciber because he was scum, Sirius. That's why."

"That's—" Sirius' face scrunches. "That doesn't make sense. None at all. She'd never…" He trails
off, his face slowly clearing as he finally gets it. "What did you do?"

"What did I have to do?" Regulus challenges. "Mother didn't need reasons to punish me after you
left; I think she felt it was the closest she'd ever get to punishing you." Sirius flinches, his
eyebrows pinching together, and Regulus looks away. "In any case, Mulciber was the highest
bidder, so to speak. He was the connection that would get her the highest benefits, so why not
barter with me? Her precious daughter, you always said. Not much more than a piece of meat to
trade, in the end."

"Did you...did you tell her you didn't want to?" Sirius rasps, swallowing thickly.

Regulus stares at him. "No. She brought me into her study, introduced me to my new fiance, and
informed me that I would be married in two week's time."

"Always did move fast, our mother," Sirius says, looking away with a frown. "And Mulciber?"

"Owned me," Regulus declares, and Sirius' gaze snaps to his, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw.
"Rather, that's how he saw it. Mother told him I was a virgin, seeing as she knew no different, and I
suppose I was lucky that he was enticed by the idea of me being his pure bride that he'd get to
deflower on our honeymoon. Mother, of course, never would have stood for me to have sex out of
wedlock, so at least I didn't actually have to be his whore, even briefly. Within the following week
after the announcement, I was gone."

Sirius works his jaw, agitated again, and Regulus studies him with detached interest. He's angry,
but why would he be? He has no right to be. "So, that's why you left?"

"It's one reason," Regulus admits.

"Did Mother know you were going?" Sirius whispers.

Regulus sighs and tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling. What a stupid question. "Honestly,
Sirius, do you think she would have let me if she did? I left a note, at least."

"What did it say? Did you tell her that you're—" Sirius cuts himself off, and when Regulus drops
his head forward to peer at him, he's looking at Regulus with an unconscious hunger, desperate for
every detail.

"Did I tell her that I was her son? No, obviously not. I didn't want there to be any chance that she
could find me; in a way, transitioning offered me protection," Regulus murmurs. "I just wrote that I
was leaving and wouldn't be coming back, that I wanted nothing to do with her or Father or that
house, and I would sooner die than come home again."

Sirius stares at him for a long time in utter silence, then exhales all at once and blurts out, "Did she
look for you?"

"I don't know. I doubt it."

"Did she look for me after I left?"

"No," Regulus says simply.

"That doesn't surprise me," Sirius admits with a quiet snort, shaking his head. "I'll bet she hardly
noticed I was gone."

Regulus is abruptly gripped with an unexpected rush of fury so harsh that he'd label it hatred. He's
assaulted by the memories. The shattered glass; the screeching like nails on chalkboard; a broken
chair, wood splintered; the coarse rug under his cheek; a locked door with no brother to pick it
open.

Walburga noticed.

Regulus' voice is shaking with rage when he says, "Is that what you think? You think she just
carried on like you didn't leave, Sirius? You think it escaped her notice that you were freed from
the fucking table that night?"

God, he remembers it. Regulus remembers sitting on the edge of his bed, fingers tangled in his lap,
his stomach in knots. He remembers waiting all night, and he remembers what it felt like when his
door creaked open, his mother framed there. He remembers how cold he was when she led him
downstairs and asked, her voice like ice, how Sirius managed to pull the knife from his own hand.
He remembers that he didn't answer, didn't even have to, because she already knew. And, the worst
part is, he can't fucking forget how he kept waiting, and kept waiting, night after night and day
after day, but Sirius never came for him. He doesn't remember when he gave up, and he thinks,
with a horrible, awful dread that makes him ache, that some part of him is still waiting.

"What?" Sirius has gone pale. "What do you mean? Reggie, what do you mean by that?" His voice
is rising in pitch, in urgency, threaded through with distress. "Tell me what you mean. It—it could
have been assumed that I freed myself."

"Is that what you told yourself to feel better?" Regulus asks softly, and Sirius' eyes start to shine. "I
wish I could have been afforded that luxury, but reality is much harsher. She knew it was me. She
noticed your absence, I can assure you."

Sirius' shoulders hunch in like he's taking a blunt object directly to the chest. He chokes out, "Did
she—how bad—"

"Well, she didn't stab me," Regulus says dryly, "so I suppose it could have been worse. Don't cry. I
don't care for it."

"I'm—Reggie… Regulus, I'm—"

"Don't apologize either. Your guilt is yours. Deal with it."

"I never meant for—" Sirius halts, shuddering on a shaky exhale, blinking hard. Regulus can tell
how much effort he's putting into not breaking down into tears. "What was I supposed to do? I
couldn't stay there. I—"

"No," Regulus agrees. "If you had, you'd probably be dead. You did what was best for you. I've
never denied that."
"But you hate me anyway."

"But I hate you anyway."

"Right." Sirius huffs out a hoarse, scratchy laugh and looks away. He closes his eyes for a long
moment, then nods sharply and turns around. "I need coffee."

"What do you have?" Regulus asks, following him out. He gets a brief glance into another room—
must be the flatmate's—and wrinkles his nose at the state of the bed inside, the mess of sheets and
strewn pillows. He looks away, uninterested, and turns his attention to the kitchen when Sirius
leads him in.

"Nothing fancy," Sirius mumbles. "How do you take yours? Do you even take coffee? Mother
never let—"

"As we've both established, Mother doesn't let either of us do things anymore, or not do them. I
take it black, purely for the irony," Regulus cuts in.

Sirius glances at him quickly, then looks away just as quickly, starting coffee for them both. "Like
your soul?"

"Like my last name. How thick are you?" Regulus mutters with a heavy sigh, resisting the urge to
roll his eyes.

"Piss off. You're still so fucking—" Sirius huffs and drags down two mugs, sitting them down with
a heavier thud than absolutely necessary.

"Oh, do enlighten me, Sirius. Go on."

"You can make me out to be a bad person if you like, but let's not forget how you were back then.
How you still are, by the looks of things."

Regulus leans up against the counter with a large distance between them and crosses his arms. "I
never claimed to be a good person. You're the fool that did that. Not me."
"You didn't used to be like that," Sirius says softly, staring down into the empty mugs as the coffee
maker gurgles. He swallows harshly. "You used to be so… God, you were so sweet, Regulus. I
remember the time you picked a flower and cried when it wilted." He chuckles weakly and shakes
his head, hands clenching on the edge of the counter. "You cried a lot. About anything, really.
When you were happy, or sad, or angry. You were always so emotional, and then… I don't know. I
really don't know what happened."

"I grew up," Regulus murmurs.

"Sometimes I wish we hadn't," Sirius whispers, and neither of them say anything else until the
coffee finishes.

"Too much sugar," Regulus announces, simply to break the stifling silence between them. Though,
truly, Sirius is dumping a ridiculous amount of sugar in his mug.

Sirius dumps more and grumbles, "I take my coffee by taste, not irony. Christ, what is wrong with
you?"

"I rather thought you had an on-going list," Regulus says dryly, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I do. This has been added to the latest of your many offenses," Sirius mutters.

"Is that right?" Regulus blows on his coffee, takes a sip, then hums. "Can we be honest? I was
never as bad as you made me out to be; you just needed me to be bad so you could leave."

"What?" Sirius slowly turns his head to look at Regulus, and his gaze is sharp, burning, absolutely
furious. "Is that what you think? Is that what you tell yourself to excuse the things you did, the
things you said? You want to be honest? I'm not as bad as you make me out to be, and I never was;
you just needed me to be so you could treat me badly."

Regulus sighs. "I—"

"No, shut up," Sirius snaps, and it's so harsh and so curt that Regulus actually does. "I'm not going
to pretend that you never did anything wrong, simply because I left. You shut me out. You were
cruel. You were fucking awful to me sometimes like you hated me long before I was ever gone,
and I didn't even know why. You're the one who pushed me away; you're the one who started
agreeing with Mother and Father; you're the one who told me over and over again that I deserved
what I got, that it was my own fault for simply being me—and is that why? Because I wouldn't
pretend, but that's all you did? Don't you think I would have accepted you, supported you, helped
you? But no, you were just as cruel as them, if not worse, because them? I expected it from them. I
never saw it coming from you. You fucking hit me, Reggie. You hated me."

"I did hate you," Regulus croaks, a lump in his throat.

"Why?" Sirius breathes out, at a loss. "What did I do? I—I tried so hard, you have no idea. I tried
and tried to keep you from—" His voice cracks. "But I couldn't. You just...slipped away."

"I slipped away?" Regulus whispers, staring at him with stinging eyes. "How the fuck could I slip
away from someone who didn't even want to hold onto me? You were hardly there, Sirius. You
never wanted to be there."

"No, and why would I? Why did you? It was nothing but pain and fucking misery," Sirius says,
sitting his coffee down to swivel towards Regulus and jerking his hands at his chest like he wants
to reach in and yank everything out. "I was under so much pressure all the time, and I couldn't even
breathe. I could barely move or do anything without it being wrong. I couldn't be what I was
expected to be. I was just a fuck up, you know that; you said that. Everyone in that house hated
me."

"I know what you suffered, Sirius. You think I didn't notice? I was suffering, too."

"You didn't act like it. That's my point, Reggie! I didn't know all that you were going through, and
you wouldn't let me in, wouldn't let me help, and you just made things worse on me. Like you
wanted to. Like you got some sick pleasure out of seeing me struggle. Why would you do that?
What did you expect me to do with that? Leaving saved my life. I couldn't keep doing it. No one
even wanted me there!"

"I did!" Regulus shouts, his voice breaking as the small thread holding it all in snaps. He slams
down his coffee, but the only thing that spills over is him. "I wanted you there, Sirius! You want to
know? I hated you because you were a boy, and I hated you because you were gone, and I hated
you because you found new friends, and I hated you because you wanted the world, but my whole
world was you. I hated you because I didn't, because no matter how hard I tried, I never could."

Sirius is frozen, staring at him with wide, glimmering eyes. His mouth opens and closes, but no
sounds come out. It's like someone has stolen his voice, and as much as he might wish to say
something, ultimately he doesn't. He can't.

"You know, when I think about the hardest, most painful parts of my childhood, I don't think about
Mother. I don't think about the beatings. I don't think about pretending I was a girl when I wasn't."
Regulus swallows thickly, lifting a trembling hand to weakly gesture at Sirius. "I think about you."

"Reggie," Sirius chokes out, and then the tears start flowing, spilling out of his eyes without much
fanfare.

"It's not the fighting, or the distance we put between us, or even when you were gone. None of that
hurts as much as thinking about how good it used to be, and how it never will be again," Regulus
rasps. "Because somehow, in all that pain and misery, at least I had you."

"I—" Sirius can't get further, and he's gripping the edge of the counter so tight that his knuckles are
pasty white. He's shaking and crying, and Regulus is right behind him, out of control and
exhausted.

"That's the worst part, you know," Regulus whispers, his own eyes burning. "You left, and I waited
for you to come back for me, but you never did. And that—" He has to tuck his lips in and muffle a
harsh sound in his throat, but his eyes blur, and the tears fall. Thickly, he says, "The truth is, that's
the best thing you ever did for me. It hurt so fucking much, you leaving, but if you didn't… If you
hadn't, I would have never gotten out. I wanted us to both suffer there together; I wanted to be
enough for you to be there. But I wasn't, and I needed you to go as badly as I wanted you to stay.
You left me, and it saved my life. I hate you for it, and I hate that I love you for it."

Sirius gasps out a wet, rattling breath and starts crying in earnest. Regulus barely gets to see his
face twist before he's suddenly a burst of motion, shoving away from the counter. He reaches out
with one hand to grasp Regulus' shoulder and yank him into his arms.

For the first time in over eight years, Sirius embraces him, and Regulus breaks down instantly.

He just—crumbles, like he's fragile, like he's suddenly a small child needing to be held because
he's scared. He presses his face into Sirius' shoulder in a feeble attempt to muffle his heaving sobs,
and he holds onto Sirius like he's trying to hold him together, even though Regulus is the one
falling apart.
It's awful, really, because he hates feeling out of control, hates the emotions he can't wrangle into
submission, hates the vulnerability, and hates most of all how desperately he doesn't want to let go.
This isn't something he can shove down, or hide away from, or outrun. He feels like he's been
broken open, like the seams of himself have started unraveling.

Regulus' first memory is of his brother hugging him. As far back as he can recall, it's Sirius
wrapping skinny arms around him and promising to always, always keep him safe.

He tried. That's the thing. Sirius tried.

Regulus doesn't remember the last time Sirius hugged him. He thinks it was a half-hug of some
sort, Sirius playfully pulling him in and tugging on the long locks of his hair, only for Regulus to
shove him away with a sharp insult.

That doesn't happen now. Years have passed, but the comfort of Sirius' hugs have not changed, no
matter what else has.

Regulus holds on, and even though he's hurting, even though he's scared, he feels safe in the way
only a brother can make one feel. He thought he forgot what this felt like. The awful, wonderful
truth is, he never could.

He was always waiting for it.

They give up on the coffee entirely and instead pass a bottle of whiskey between them, which
Sirius thinks is a stroke of brilliance on their parts. They probably should have started with that, to
be completely honest.

They're quiet after they move to sitting on the sofa on opposite ends, neither of them looking at
each other. Sirius already knows what Regulus looks like, though. Red-rimmed eyes and clumpy
eyelashes and splotchy cheeks. He's always looked like a cherub after crying, angelic, and without
fail, it always made Sirius' chest clench. Still does, as it turns out.

Sirius isn't faring much better. He cried so hard that he got a bit snotty, actually, and now his head
hurts. It was the sort of crying that hurts just as much when it flows out as it did when it was kept
inside. The kind of outpouring that's been festering for years. Less of an emotional release and
more of an emotional war that raged its way out. He was powerless to stop it, and he's sure Regulus
was in the same predicament.

The hugging was nice, though. It lasted quite a while. Sirius didn't time it or anything, but he's
certain. They'd both sort of just stepped away at the same time, unable to meet each other's eyes. It
was necessary, Sirius thinks, but he could do without the lingering discomfort in the aftermath.

There's not enough whiskey in the bottle to get either of them pissed, but they pass it dutifully back
and forth anyway. Sirius stares at the wall without really seeing it, thinking too hard to really have
any bit of spatial awareness.

He feels wrung out, and his mind is in an uproar. He finds himself grateful that Regulus hasn't left.
A bit ironic, that.

It's hard to face the things Regulus has told him, for all that he's grateful to have heard it. As awful
as it may be, he's so fucking relieved to have seen Regulus break down. To have seen him cry. To
have seen him emotional, and open, and real. He thinks Regulus stopped crying when he was
fourteen, and Sirius never saw it again. Never saw that mask crack, or that naked honesty bleed
through, as if he never felt anything.

Sirius wonders with a pang in his heart how they could have grown up in the same house, suffered
through the same mistreatment, and still somehow lived two very different lives with two very
different perspectives. It's like two ships passing in the night—the same ocean, the same dangerous
waters, and they just kept drifting further and further apart, unable to sail together because they
didn't notice each other in the dark.

So much had a hand in ruining them. Their mother, their father, that house. The abuse and misery.
How trapped they both were. Each other. They each had a hand in ruining one another, and for
better or worse, there's no escaping that.

Sirius has no idea where to go from here, but there is one thing that's still weighing on him.

"Why didn't you come with me?" Sirius asks quietly.

"What?" Regulus murmurs.

Sirius rolls his head to the side and studies Regulus' face. It's blank, but the evidence of his crying
is still visible. As horrible as it is, Sirius clings to that. "Why didn't you come with me? That night,
when I left, why didn't you leave with me? You wouldn't fight. I never understood why."

"It's complicated," Regulus says.

"What isn't?" Sirius holds out the bottle and raises his eyebrows, wordlessly prompting him to try
explaining anyway.

Regulus takes the bottle, downs some without even wincing, then sighs. "I didn't know it was an
option. I didn't know that you'd let me, or want me to."

"What?" Sirius breathes out, stricken. "Of course I—"

"Well, you didn't ask, and you didn't come back for me, so I thought it wasn't an option. We were
so bad off then, basically hated each other, and it was also… Honestly, I didn't want you to leave at
all. I know that it was selfish, but I wanted you to stay and endure it for me."

"That's not fair."

"Yes, Sirius, I just said I know it was selfish, didn't I?" Regulus snaps, looking away with a scowl.
"I recognize now that I was just a child wanting tangible proof that I was worth it, that I was
enough, in one of the only ways I ever had it shown to me. You spent our entire childhood taking
hits for me. What the fuck did you expect to happen?"

Sirius grimaces. "I—yes, alright, I could see how that would translate… I just—I mean, I sort of
thought that you didn't fight because I wasn't worth it. Like I wasn't enough for you."

"I didn't know what it was to fight. I never had to when you were there. You always fought for
me."

"Did you after I left?"

"No. Not until I decided to leave myself, and even then, I did it in silence. I never once opposed
Mother. I just slipped off quietly, and there was no fight until after I was already gone."

"What do you mean?"

Regulus holds out the bottle, lips pursed, and he doesn't speak until Sirius takes it. "Well, for one
thing, it turns out that surviving on your own with practically no experience on how to do that
properly is a bit of a fight in its own right."

"You seem like you did alright for yourself," Sirius mumbles, refusing to look away from the
bottle. It's a compliment, he knows that, which is new for them.

"I have now," Regulus agrees, not calling him out on it, just as happy to ignore it. "At the start,
though… Yeah, it was a fight. It was especially difficult trying to figure it all out while
transitioning. But, I mean, I did figure it out, and I don't regret what it took to get me here."

Sirius looks over at him, swallowing. "You did it alone."

"I did," Regulus confirms.

"I should have dragged you with me that night," Sirius says, dropping his head back against the
sofa. It feels like something splinters inside him and falls away, never to be seen again. He can't
get that back.

Regulus reaches over to snag the bottle. "I watched you walk away through the window, and I told
myself that if you looked back, even once, I would go with you. But you didn't. I should have gone
anyway. Should haves are a waste of time, Sirius. I implore you to waste your energy on something
that actually matters. You didn't take me, I didn't go, and here we are."

"Here we are," Sirius echoes and nearly starts crying all over again. He squeezes his eyes shut until
he feels the bottle nudge his hand. Taking it, he downs the last bit and then just miserably holds it
in his lap. "What was it like?"

"Be more specific."

"Transitioning. I don't mean the details, unless you want to give them to me; I just mean… Were
you happy, Regulus?"

"Yes," Regulus says softly, and Sirius peeks over to see his lips curl up just a bit at the corners. "I
was happy, but it was more than that, too. It was like I was finally—alive. Do you remember when
Mother made us take piano lessons?"

"Yeah."

"We got quite good, I remember, and there was that one time where we just… I don't know. It was
like we were in perfect sync playing together, do you remember that?"

Sirius hums. "I do, yeah. It was a bit freaky, actually. We weren't even playing off a sheet; we
didn't even talk or look at each other. We just...made music."

"Yeah," Regulus whispers. "You said afterwards that it was one of those perfect moments where
everything just felt right, like it was exactly as it was meant to be. That's what it felt like. When I
changed my name, when I got my gender legally changed, when I cut my hair, when I got top
surgery, when I looked in the mirror and saw myself… That's what it felt like. It was just right.
Made sense in some perfect, indescribable way. And, at the same time, it felt new and strangely
terrifying. But now it feels normal. Like it was always this way. Those moments are rarer, and I
like that, too. I like that I'm so much of myself that I sometimes forget that I didn't used to be."

"That's..." Sirius has to swallow harshly and blink rapidly, a surge of some inexplicably tender
emotion in his chest. It's an odd mixture of grief and joy. "That's really good, Reggie."

"It wasn't easy," Regulus says, "but it was worth it."

Sirius nods carefully. "Is it bad that I call you Reggie?"

"No. There's a reason I wanted everyone to call me Reggie growing up, and it wasn't because that's
what you called me. It's not a feminine name, is it? Regina—I hated being called that, but
Reggie… Well, I always preferred it."

"Why didn't you change your name to that, then?"

"Because you chose it," Regulus says bluntly.

"Right, and Regulus had nothing to do with me at all? It's known as the heart the lion, for fuck's
sake," Sirius points out, raising both eyebrows at Regulus.

Regulus drops head back against the sofa and slumps down, frowning hard. "Shut up."

"I know you did research before you chose it. Of course you would. You did that on purpose."

"Sirius, genuinely, fuck off."

"No, it's—it's good. I like it," Sirius says, wishing they were at a place where they could laugh
about it. "Arcturus, though… What's that all about?"

"Better than fucking Adhara," Regulus grumbles. "I can't believe Mother gave me a name after the
second brightest star in your constellation that meant virgins. Regina Adhara Black. I mean,
honestly, what the fuck was she thinking?"

Sirius glances over at him, and Regulus glances back, and it seems to bubble out of them both at
the same time. Short bursts of quiet laughter, the both of them helpless to it, and it's so ridiculous.
It's quite possibly one of the most ridiculous things for them to do, sit here and laugh because of
their mother. In truth, there's no real reason for it, just a different kind of emotional release, one that
doesn't hurt at all.

It's over quickly, in any case. Regulus stops laughing first, seeming to catch himself when he
realizes that he's done it, and Sirius' fades shortly after. The mood settles, though.

"How did you get into cooking?" Sirius asks.

"Well, I had to feed myself, you see," Regulus says sarcastically, and Sirius rolls his eyes so hard
that it's a miracle they don't roll right out of his head.
"Yes, obviously, you knob. But you're quite good. And you're in culinary classes. Clearly it's more
than just a skill to survive."

"I don't know, really. I just...like it, I suppose."

"Mother wouldn't."

"Part of the reason I like it, if I'm honest."

Sirius grins. Little rebellious Reggie. Look at that, they are related after all. "That's part of the
reason I love being an artist, too."

"You're good," Regulus says quietly, a bit stiffly, but it's sincere nonetheless. "Is that your primary
career?"

"It is, yeah. I go by commissions, and I sell things in a shop."

"Do you only paint?"

"No. I work across multiple mediums. Carving, pottery, drawing, even a bit of glass-blowing when
I'm feeling particularly ambitious. I tried my luck with knitting, though, and that's where my hands
failed me."

"Do you still make jewelry?"

"Like your necklace?" Sirius asks, studying him.

"Yeah. Do you?" Regulus replies, looking helplessly curious, like he can't stop himself from
wanting to know more about Sirius. It makes Sirius' chest feel tight.

"Not so much anymore, no," Sirius admits.

Regulus looks away, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. "Shame. You were good at that, too."

"I still have it, you know. Your necklace." Sirius doesn't mean to say it, but the confession sort of
just falls out of him. He doesn't regret it when Regulus' head snaps over, his eyes bright with
surprise.

"You kept it?"

"I did."

"Oh." Regulus stares at him for a long beat, then clears his throat and looks away again. "Right,
and you were taking the piss about my bloody name."

"Fuck off," Sirius mutters, and Regulus' lips twitch. "It's not like I just forgot about you, Regulus."

"Well, it has been eight years."

"I know, and believe me, it wasn't for a lack of trying. I did my best to forget about you. Never
could quite manage it. I mean, even my love for art… I found it because of you. The first time I
ever made anything for someone was for you."

Regulus doesn't speak for a long moment, staring down at his fingers, and then he murmurs, "The
first thing I ever learned to cook that I actually had to properly learn, that wasn't just pot noodles or
toast, was Scallop Mouse."

"Well, I'm fucking glad for that. They were really, annoyingly good," Sirius admits, chuckling. "I
think I had one in my hand literally the entire event, at least until...well, you know."

"You set the painting on fire," Regulus says abruptly, frowning at him. "Chef Sprout said you did.
Why?"

Sirius presses his lips into a thin line, turning his gaze to bottle in between his tense hands. Regulus
waits, not saying a word, and Sirius heaves a sigh. "I didn't even really mean to paint it, if I'm
honest. I sort of… Sometimes, my muse runs away from me, and I go into this odd state where I'm
working really hard, not even aware of anything else. It's a bit like I'm compelled to do it. Can't rest
until I have. Can't stop until it's done. But, when I finished, I didn't want to display it."

"Why?" Regulus murmurs.

"Because it represented my greatest failure, my biggest mistake, one of the most painful things I've
ever endured in my life," Sirius croaks, slowly lifting his gaze to meet Regulus' eyes. "Not saving
you."

"Ah," Regulus whispers, and it comes out a bit strangled. He breaks the stare first, swallowing.
"So, why did you?"

"Display it, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Honestly, I didn't have time to make anything else, and I thought you'd never see it. I—I did work
really hard on it, and I hoped that maybe it would bring me a bit of closure."

"Did it?"

"Not quite," Sirius says wryly, but then his voice softens against his will when he continues, "but
it's starting to."

Regulus is quiet for a bit, the silence stretching between them, fraught with uncertainty and maybe
—if Sirius isn't imagining it—a dash of hope. When he does speak, all he says is, "Did setting it on
fire ruin your reputation?"

"No way of knowing yet, but I doubt it. You know how people like that are. If anything, I suspect
my name will be even more known now, which wasn't what I was going for, but I won't complain
if something good comes from it. I did manage to get people to donate more to the charity, so that's
nice. It was a bit dramatic, now that I think about it, but I was… Well, I might've had a breakdown.
A small one."
"I took every dish in my flat out and contemplated binning them all and only living on takeaway,
never cooking again."

"God, we have issues," Sirius mumbles in a rare show of being uncharacteristically self-aware. He
shakes his head. "Well, I walked around aimlessly all night, got lost, then didn't make it in until
after three this morning. I've only had a few hours of sleep in the last...oh, two days now?"

"I don't pity you at all," Regulus informs him.

Sirius snorts. "As if you're capable of feeling pity for anyone. That requires compassion, which you
lack."

"Oh, if only," Regulus says, then rolls his eyes. "No, I meant I don't pity you because you could
have had more rest had you not gone to Chef Sprout."

"I was delirious from exhaustion, and again, you should be thanking me for that. She was planning
on kicking you out."

"It was your fault in the first place."

"How was it my fault? I didn't plan it!"

"You were there. Had you not been, it never would have happened, meaning it's your fault."

"Your logic is shit," Sirius declares with a huff.

Regulus fixes him with a flat look. "I also have no pity for you because you decided to go to Evan
and Barty. What stupid excuse do you have for that?"

"Give me a moment, I'll think of one." Sirius frowns as he looks at Regulus. "You went to see
them?"

"Yes."
"I didn't—I didn't out you, Regulus. It was difficult not to correct them, but I wasn't sure if you
would have wanted me to or not. Were they…?"

"What?"

"Respectful?" Sirius tries, but then his face scrunches up when he thinks of who he's talking about.
"No, of course not. Do I need to have a go at them, is what I mean."

For a long pause, there's just complete silence, and Sirius can't really make out the expression on
Regulus' face. He doesn't understand it, doesn't know what it means, doesn't like that it's not simple
for him to figure out.

Sometimes—rarely—in the most broken corners of Sirius' memory, he will admit to himself, small
and quiet and pained, that he raised Regulus. In a way only older brothers can, he did. Reggie was
his. Sirius was the one who sat up with him when he couldn't sleep, and Sirius was the one he
came to when he felt sick, and Sirius was the one who taught him how tie a shoe, and to look both
ways before crossing the street, and which careful steps to take in the hall past their mother's study
so as not to alert her that they were sneaking by. Sirius was the one who praised him when he did
well in school; Sirius was the one who lectured him when he first made a cruel observation about
someone who didn't deserve it; Sirius was the one who hugged him when he cried, and fought so
hard to make him laugh, and loved him ceaselessly.

Regulus was never Walburga's or Orion's, not really, and maybe that's why it hurt so much when
he chose them over Sirius. Because this person, his little Reggie, who he protected and took care of
and helped shape into who he would one day become—it was like Sirius looked at him at some
point and couldn't even recognize him. Someone he knew better than anyone else ever would, and
then Sirius didn't know him at all. It was like losing a child, a sibling, a friend; that's a loss like no
other, Sirius can safely attest to that.

The echoes of who they used to be still know each other, despite everything. Sirius can feel it, the
way something inside him will always know this human being across from him in a deeply,
fundamental way that can't be explained. Maybe it's a familial thing. Maybe it's the way they grew
up. Maybe it's just that Sirius recognizes the pieces of himself he left behind in Regulus whilst still
carrying the pieces of Regulus with him that he could never bear to part with.

And yet, they will never truly, wholly know each other the same way again. Eight years have
passed. They've both lived lives without each other for a long time, experiencing things that the
other wasn't there for, facing trials and changing and becoming who they are now without each
other's influence outside of how they haunted one another like a ghost.
Sirius hasn't known Regulus in a long time, but a part of him yearns to. Could they? Is it even
possible?

"I don't need you to have a go at anyone for me, Sirius. I told you I learned to fight," Regulus says
finally.

"Oh, did you mean that literally?" Sirius asks, skeptical despite himself as he glances over Regulus'
body critically. He doesn't look as he used to (obviously), and he's bigger as well as broader than
he was, but Sirius can't quite look at him and see past the 'little' part of 'little brother'. "Have you
ever actually gotten into any fights?"

"Three."

"Did you lose them?"

A faint smirk passes over Regulus' face. "Only the first. I had a black eye and bruised ribs after that
one, but what hurt the most was my pride, honestly, so I started taking self-defense lessons and
going to the gym. It was good as well for helping with the effects of testosterone, and I liked the
way it changed my body. In any case, I didn't lose the next two."

"Oh, so you're a proper fighter now, are you?" Sirius muses wryly, but he can't help but think he
should have been there, should have made sure Regulus never got hurt, should have beaten
whoever dared to try.

"I can fight; I just don't like to," Regulus says. "If it's necessary, I will. Otherwise, I usually go by
other means to handle my problems. I have quite the imagination."

Sirius snorts. "You always did, yeah. Did you have to go by other means with Evan and Barty?"

"Not because I'm trans. I don't actually care if they're shits about it. They weren't, really, but I
wouldn't have bothered if they were." Regulus shakes his head. "No, I just almost ripped their
cocks and bollocks off for speaking to you, and also to threaten Evan, who has a meeting with
Mother tomorrow."
"Does he?" Sirius asks stiffly.

"Mhm."

"You're not worried?"

"Not really. Evan won't say anything, especially if he knows what's good for him. Are you
worried?" Regulus murmurs.

"I'm not sixteen anymore, Reggie," Sirius says quietly, looking over to hold his gaze. "If she ever
raised a hand at us again, I would kill her."

Regulus scans his face and says, equally quiet, "Do you have love for her?"

"No, I don't. I haven't loved Mother since I was thirteen years old," Sirius admits. "Do you?"

"I never loved her. I thought I did, but I just wanted her to love me. I've learned those aren't the
same thing," Regulus says softly and rips his gaze away. He's silent for a long moment, then
swallows thickly. "Why didn't you ask me to go?"

"What?"

"You asked why I didn't come with you that night. I'm asking why you didn't try to get me to go."

Sirius' heart clenches until it hurts, aching and aching. He tucks his jaw to the side, biting down on
the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to cry. "I didn't know it was an option. How awful,
yeah? Our answers are the same, really. I didn't know that you would want to. I thought—I just
thought that I'd failed, that I'd lost you, and that I would kill myself trying to save you. When you
walked away without looking back, it felt like there was no coming back from that, from all the
ways I fucked up no matter how hard I tried, and I was so angry and betrayed that I—I forced
myself to do the same."

"Sirius," Regulus whispers, and Sirius looks over at him, eyes stinging. "We were only children."
"I know," Sirius chokes out.

They don't say anything else for a long time, simply looking at each other, then eventually looking
away. It's heavy and harsh between them until, slowly, it's not. Somehow, it eases and softens, and
Sirius feels like he can breathe better than he has in eight years. Let it go, let it go, we were only
children, he thinks as something breaks loose in his chest that feels like forgiveness for the
children they used to be.

"You said you live here with your best friend?" Regulus asks, sounding calmer than before. "The
one you met at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah."

"God, I hated him."

"You did?" Sirius blinks. "Why?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I was jealous, Sirius. Until you met him, I was your best friend."

"You were still—" Sirius shakes his head when Regulus shoots him a dry look. "Yes, alright, I get
it. We were children. I just want you to know that I was never replacing you."

"Sure," Regulus says, clearly not believing him.

Sirius huffs. "I'm not joking. What about you, then? Do you live alone? You don't have a best mate
to bother you?"

"Oh, no, I do," Regulus tells him, his face softening a bit, lips twitching. Oddly enough, Sirius sort
of understands the jealousy, automatically nursing a kernel of dislike for this bloke he's never even
met. "He's awful, and also the best person I've ever known. He likes to make me suffer."

"Strange," Sirius mutters with a scoff, no longer wanting to talk about this at all. "Alright, what
about a girlfriend?"

"Boyfriend," Regulus corrects, and then he really softens. His entire voice changes, his demeanor,
everything. Sirius has never seen his brother in love—until now. "I'm gay."

"Ha! I have a boyfriend, too. Oh, Mother would be most displeased," Sirius crows, delighted by
this.

Regulus chuckles. "I know."

"Well, go on. Tell me about him. Is he good to you?" Sirius asks earnestly, eager to know, so
curious that he can hardly sit still. There's a protective instinct lazily prowling back and forth in his
mind, an unspoken promise to kill this boyfriend of Regulus' if he isn't good to him.

"He is," Regulus admits, his smile growing, secretive. "I'm a barista, and he stumbled into the shop
trying to get out of a storm, took one look at me, then never stopped coming back. Well, he did for
a week, but we worked past it. In any case, he's…he's really… He's the sun."

"No, I get that, actually. I compare my boyfriend to the moon all the time," Sirius says, laughing.
"We really are brothers, aren't we? But anyway, I met him in a bloody bookshop, ended up
shagging him the same day, but I didn't learn his name and he didn't learn mine. It's alright, though.
He messaged me, and we started dating, and he hasn't left since. Well, he did for a week, but he
came back. He always comes back."

For a moment, Sirius is just sitting there with a silly smile on his face, thinking about Remus, but
then his mind turns over with a tick like a clock as Regulus' words catch up to him. It starts like the
tide coming in and rushing right back out, washing away sand to reveal something Sirius isn't
expecting to see. He doesn't even know what it is, but he knows he doesn't want to look at it.

He has no choice.

Slowly, he turns his head to look at Regulus, watching his smile fade and his eyebrows pinch
together. With equal caution, Regulus looks at him. For a long, weighted moment, neither of them
can bring themselves to say anything.

"You met him in a bookshop, you said?" Regulus murmurs.

 "Yeah. You're a barista?"

"I am. Sirius, what's your boyfriend's name?"

"What's yours?" Sirius shoots back in a croak.

"My best friend…" Regulus stares at him, all the color draining from his face, and he swallows
harshly. "His name is Remus Lupin. Would that—is that who you're—"

Sirius clenches the bottle in between his hands so tight that his knuckles ache. He feels a little sick.
"That's my boyfriend. Remus is my boyfriend. But—but my best mate, his name is James Potter. Is
he—do you know him?"

"I'd hope so, seeing as I'm dating him," Regulus rasps, and something in his eyes just—shutters.
Neither of them speak, and slowly, so slowly, it all falls apart.

Just like that.

Chapter End Notes

This one... Y'ALL. When I tell you this one had me fucking sobbing, I am NOT
joking. There is no pain, to me, like the pain between these two brothers, in this fic
and in fanon and in canon.

The lines that broke me when I wrote them:

"You know, when I think about the hardest, most painful parts of my childhood, I don't
think about Mother. I don't think about the beatings. I don't think about pretending I
was a girl when I wasn't." Regulus swallows thickly, lifting a trembling hand to
weakly gesture at Sirius. "I think about you."

And:

"Regulus was never Walburga's or Orion's, not really, and maybe that's why it hurt so
much when he chose them over Sirius."

Anyway, I was sooooo excited to post this one, you all have no idea. And talk about a
slow trainwreck of a reveal, huh? James and Remus are in trouuuuble...
So, thoughts? :)
 Chapter 17
Chapter Notes

Okay, so I'm... I'm really nervous to post this one, not gonna lie. General overall
warning, things get—rough, to say the least. A more in depth warning for arguments,
mind games, and um...violence. For those of you who want to be spoiled fully, I'm
going to put a more detailed warning in the end notes of exactly what happens, so you
can go down there if you need that first, which is very fair. For those of you who don't
want the spoilers, I will say this chapter is best read with the comfort of a pet or warm
blanket close by. It's angsty, to say the least.

Enjoy the drama?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James isn't even halfway home when he gets a call from Remus, which he answers with, "I'm
coming, I swear I am, but traffic is so sodding awful and—"

"James," Remus interrupts, "it's alright. I'm not there either. I also got caught in traffic. In any case,
Reg just texted and said he was at home, so I'm guessing he was either at the studio or he never got
into the flat."

"Oh," James says, startled and—admittedly—a bit relieved. He exhales sharply. "Well, that's… I
mean, what do we do, then? I still think we should tell them, but do we do it now or go with the
original plan to do it tomorrow?"

"I think they're both in desperate need of rest, to be honest, but I don't want to keep lying to them,"
Remus murmurs.

"Neither do I."

"I don't think we should tell them together. You know, divide and conquer. It's a decent strategy."

"Are we at the point where we're relying on battle tactics?" James asks, half-amused and half-
stressed.
"Feels a bit like preparing for war," Remus mumbles, sounding just as distressed as him.

"Well, we agreed, didn't we? It's simplest to go with explaining to the boyfriend and hopefully, if
we're very lucky, give the best friend time to calm down," James says.

Before all of this, James would have never considered himself a coward. He's learning that love can
make anyone be anything. It's not just the love he has for Regulus; his love for Sirius has molded
him as well.

It's odd and leaves him with a deep sense of discomfort, because things have always, always been
easy with Sirius. It's all as easy as breathing with him, and just as fundamental. There's never been a
time that he couldn't tell Sirius anything, no matter what it was. It doesn't sit right with him that
he's sure it would be easier to go to Regulus with this. He imagines that Remus is in the same
predicament.

"Honestly, that's likely the best way to handle it. Either way, it's not going to go well for either of
us. You do know that, don't you, James?"

"Yeah, Remus, I know."

Remus blows out a harsh breath through the receiver. "We've gone and properly fucked up, haven't
we? I—I think we both knew that. We've always known it."

"Christ, why did we do that?" James groans, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his hand back
and forth over his hair roughly, a lump forming in his throat. "We have to face it, you know. We
can't keep avoiding it."

"Now I'm questioning myself," Remus says wearily. "Maybe it'd be worse not to tell them together.
Just another fucking betrayal on top of all the rest."

James drags his hand down his face, upsetting his glasses, and he holds his breath until it explodes
out of him. "I don't know what to do. I still don't know, even now. I don't know the best way, or
what the right thing is. That's why we did it the way we did it in the first place, isn't it?"

"Maybe we shouldn't have done it at all."

"We tried that, remember? We were all fucking miserable. That wasn't the right thing either."

"Yes, well, I fear we're about to get intimately, painfully familiar with the quote better to have
loved and lost than never loved at all," Remus whispers.

"Oh, don't say that. I don't—I can't—"

"James."

"We're human, aren't we? Our intentions were good. We just didn't want to hurt them; we just
wanted us all to be happy. That—that has to count for something. It has to."

Remus is silent for a long beat, and then he says, "Why didn't we just tell them, James? Maybe we
should have told them."

"Maybe," is all James says, because he's starting to think that was the right thing all along, except
some part of him still can't figure out how it would have been.

"I don't know what to do," Remus repeats, sounding just as lost as James feels. "I don't—I mean, I
know the general plan here. Tell them. We need to tell them. But how?"

James sighs. "I reckon that's been one of our problems from the beginning. Alright, ah… Together,
or divide and conquer?"

"My head says divide and conquer, my gut says together. Intelligence versus intuition. James, I
don't fucking know."

"Flip a coin?"

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

"No, that's your job, mate."

Remus groans. "Now isn't the time for jokes. Do you honestly want to decide our fates on a coin
toss?"

"Do you have a better idea?" James asks, and there's nothing but silence. "Thought so. Er, do you
have any shrapnel?"

"Why do I have to do it?"

"Well, I don't want to do it."

"I don't want to do it."

"Neither do I!"

"Oh, honestly," the driver says from the front, making James' head snap up, his whole body jolting
as he watches the woman roll her eyes and dig in her cup-holder to hold up a coin. She meets his
gaze through the rear mirror. "Heads is together; tails is divide and conquer."

"Um," James says.

The driver flicks the coin up where it spins, then she snatches it out of the air and slaps it down on
her leg. James stares, wide-eyed, as she looks up with her eyebrows raised and flatly announces,
"Tails. Divide and conquer."

"Who's that, Prongs?"

"The driver, Moony. Did you catch all of that?"

"I did, yeah," Remus admits wearily. "So…"

James swallows. "Does that feel right?"

"Honestly, nothing feels right. That's the problem." Remus heaves another sigh, then clears his
throat. "Let's hope your driver is lucky. I won't be seeing Sirius until tomorrow, so we'll at least let
them rest today, and then—then—"

"Yeah. Yeah, alright. First thing tomorrow," James agrees, tipping his head back against the seat.
That doesn't feel right either, but as Remus pointed out, nothing really does.

"I'm knackered myself, if I'm honest. Might just go home and go for a kip," Remus murmurs.

"Was just thinking the same thing," James mumbles.

"Bye, James."

"Bye, Remus."

James heaves a sigh as he stares out the window for a long moment, his stomach twisted in knots,
queasy again. Outside, it's starting to leave the afternoon behind, the sun slowly setting so the
moon can eventually take its place. The traffic is still at a crawl, and James wishes it would hurry
up. He's so emotionally drained at this point that all he wants to do is just drag himself into bed and
fucking sleep.

There's a dull clink of the coin hitting the cup holder again, and James drags his gaze from the
window to look at the driver. There's disdain in her eyes that he doesn't really understand, if he's
honest. Maybe it's earned. She heard his half of the conversation with Remus, it seems, so she's just
learned that he's a coward and a liar. Brilliant.

"In my defense," James mutters, "it was an accident."

"Oh, I'm sure. It's always an accident when you've shagged your best mate's boyfriend. Anyone
could make that mistake," she says flatly, scoffing under her breath.

"Er, wait. What?" James blinks rapidly, lifting his head for better leverage to do the mental math it
requires to put all the pieces together. There are too many variables at this point, and his brain is
tired, so it takes him a long time to work out that she's under the impression that he's shagged
Remus. His mouth drops open. "What?! No, no, I never—I didn't shag my best mate's boyfriend; I
shagged my best mate's brother."

She stares at him, then slowly says, "How on earth could that ever be an accident?"

And so, that's how James finds himself spilling the entire story to a random woman he's never met,
excluding the part where Regulus is trans because that's not his to go spouting off about to others.
In a way, it's so unbelievably cathartic just to tell someone on the outside of it all. He explains how
it genuinely was an accident for him and Remus, but then they'd already fallen in love, so what
were they supposed to do? He admits to feeling guilty, and wanting them all to be happy, and being
so fucking scared that he doesn't know what to do.

She listens, never interrupting, but her face definitely responds to some of the things he explains.
Raised eyebrows, a wince, a grimace, a tilted head of acknowledgement, and the ever present
expression of I'm in the presence of an idiot. There are a few times that she looks sympathetic, or
like she pities him, so that's...encouraging? Maybe?

"And—and we just—it was like we got in so deep, you know? We didn't know what to do. What
were we supposed to do?" James winds down, slumping back in his seat with a sigh.

"Well, to start, you weren't supposed to lie to either of them," she informs him bluntly. "That was
pretty shit, if I'm honest. Also, you should probably examine what kind of person your best mate is
—and your boyfriend, for that matter—if they're the sort that are so selfish and cruel that they'd
want you and that Remus fellow to be heartbroken and unhappy."

James blinks at her. "What?"

"Look, you want the truth?" she asks. "If they would have made you choose, either of you, then
they're not very good people themselves. I understand that they might need some time to adjust, but
if your best mate would want you to be unhappy, then he's not a very good best mate, is he? Same
for that other bloke, Remus. Sometimes, we can't help who we love. A good best friend, despite
everything, would want you to be happy, and a good person wouldn't sabotage everyone's
happiness just to punish someone else."

"We—we didn't even give them the chance," James rasps, squeezing his eyes shut.
She hums. "Not yet, but you will tomorrow. Maybe they'll surprise you. I have siblings, you know.
Brothers and sisters. If my best friend fell in love with one of them, I… Alright, I'd be a bit unsure
at first, wary as well, because it puts me in a difficult position if it goes wrong, yeah? But if it's
love, real love like you're describing, well… I could only wish that these people I love the most get
to be happy. And who knows? My best friend could be my sister-in-law. Isn't that lovely?"

"Lovely," James mumbles, even though he knows Sirius won't see it that way.

"Really, you've gone and mucked up the only high ground you had," she continues, clicking her
tongue. "If you'd told them, then they wouldn't have much right to be angry, would they? But
you've gone and lied to them, so now… Well, I don't envy you or Remus, let me just say that. Hope
it works out, though. You seem alright, just a bit dumb with a lot of heart."

James sighs and lets his head thunk against the window, not feeling better at all. "Cheers."

They don't say anything after that, and James actually does manage to drift off fitfully in the way
only someone can in a moving vehicle, that restless in-between state where you're not quite asleep
but you're certainly not awake either. He comes to almost as soon as the car stops just up the street
from his flat, and she wishes him luck as he drags himself out.

James wonders as he lets himself into the flat if Sirius is still asleep. He genuinely needs the rest,
so James sort of hopes that he is, but there's also a selfish part of him that just wants to be with
Sirius right now. Wants to talk to him. Wants to hug him, and make him laugh, and just be best
friends who breathe in perfect sync. He wants it before it all falls to shit.

So, really, James feels something loosen and relax in him when he goes by the kitchen and sees
Sirius sitting at the table, calmly doing a puzzle. James reflexively smiles, because that's one of
their things. They've been doing puzzles together since they were eleven, since they both got
detention and found an old one with missing pieces and had to entertain themselves. They'd had so
much fun doing it and worked so well together that it just sort of became a thing.

"Hey," Sirius greets as he comes in, not even looking up as he slides end pieces to the side. "Sit.
Help me with this."

"Yeah, alright," James replies in relief, throwing himself down in the chair across from Sirius with
a gusty sigh. He dumps his cell on the table, then instantly starts shifting end pieces to the side as
well; they have a whole system for this. If putting a puzzle together was a sport (he wonders idly if
it is), then they'd be the best at it. "Did you sleep long?"
"Not really," Sirius admits. "Where were you?"

"Gone out to see Mum and Dad."

"How are they?"

"Good," James says with a faint smile. "Dad's obsessed with this hose he's got for his garden that
never tangles. It's like his new toy; he's so proud of it."

Sirius hums. "Sounds like Monty. And Effie?"

"She wants to go bird-watching. That's her new thing, I think. She was complaining that some of
the birds she'd like to see in person aren't even in this country, and you know Dad—he told her that
he'd migrate them over just for her." James rolls his eyes, but his lips curl up despite everything.
When he was a kid, he loved how in love his parents were; that hasn't changed with age. They're
his favorite love story, if he's honest.

Effie had also taken him aside to ask him if he'd told Sirius and Regulus anything yet, only
appeased when he explained that he and Remus had plans to do it as soon as tomorrow. His anxiety
had shined through again, and despite the fact that she lectured him, she also hugged him without
letting go first. He'd cried a bit. Couldn't help it.

"Well, it's just been a day for family visits, hasn't it?" Sirius muses, releasing a dry chuckle as he
snaps two pieces together.

James glances up at him with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, well, my brother stopped by today," Sirius tells him casually, and James freezes in place.

"What?" James blurts out. "He was here? How'd he get in? I locked the door when I—"

Sirius clicks his tongue. "The little bugger picked the lock. Didn't know he still knew how to do
that, honestly. I taught him when we were children, you know. Our darling mother liked to lock us
in small, dark closets and make us go without meals." Despite the topic, Sirius' lips curl up fondly.
"I remember the first time Regulus tried. He couldn't do it at first, not for hours, and he cried until I
calmed him down. He kept trying, though. Stayed right there and whispered to me through the
door. Eventually, he did get it open and managed to sneak me some food, then cried again when I
made him lock it back so Mother wouldn't know."

"Fucking hell, Padfoot, that's awful," James whispers, staring at him with wide eyes, feeling a little
sick. Sirius rarely goes into detail about the mistreatment he and Regulus suffered in that house, but
James suspects he knows the most out of anyone else, except for—well, Regulus.

"Isn't it?" Sirius agrees, and then he shrugs. "But, in any case, he broke into the flat. I woke up to
him sitting on my bed and practically smothering me in my sleep, the prick."

James' eyes bulge. "What?!"

"Well, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. He was just clasping my nose shut, really." Sirius waves his
hand carelessly, then tilts his head at a puzzle piece, considering. After a beat, he holds out his
hand, and James immediately passes over the piece he's holding, which fits into the one Sirius has.

"What happened? Did you two—" James cuts himself off, not sure what he wants to say. Fight?
Talk?

"We fought," Sirius answers his unasked question, his tone still casual, his hands still sliding pieces
around. He hasn't looked up from the puzzle, not once, entirely focused. "He was upset that I went
to Ms. Sprout, then Evan and Barty. We started arguing, then paused long enough to have some
coffee before we started arguing again. He takes his coffee black for the irony, he says, did you
know that?"

Yes, James thinks, shakily connecting one whole edge of the puzzle together. All he says is, "A bit
funny, that."

"Oh, yeah, Reggie is a great laugh," Sirius says with a soft snort. "He told me he hated me again.
Isn't that hilarious?"

"Sirius," James murmurs, wincing.

Shaking his head, Sirius huffs out a weak laugh. "But he also said he didn't hate me, that he never
could, even said he loved me. Next thing I know, we're both crying and hugging."

"Really?" James breathes out, his hopes soaring in an instant. He feels his heart clench, and he just
lights up, because the thought that Sirius and Regulus have reconciled, even a bit, makes him so
fucking happy that he doesn't know what to do with it. For the first time, he finds himself hoping
for a positive outcome in all of this.

"Mhm," Sirius confirms, reaching out to drag the edge James has to connect to his. They work in
tandem to fill in the few gaps, and just like that, the outside of the frame of the puzzle all comes
together. "Didn't know we were capable of things like that anymore, if I'm honest—not with each
other anyway. It was good, I think, and it was also...awkward after. We gave up on the coffee and
just finished off that whiskey Frank left over a few months ago. Sat on the sofa and shared it,
really."

James feels his heart leap. No, this is good. This is really good, because that means maybe
tomorrow will go better than he and Remus ever imagined. He doesn't doubt there will be anger, of
course, but there's a chance that, despite everything, they might all come out of it as happy as James
knows they could be. "So, you two talked?"

"A bit. Just about this and that. Of course, it ended badly," Sirius tells him.

"Oh," James mumbles, wilting. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not good. Not good at all. "Why?"

"Well, you know, sometimes you just learn something about people that you don't like," Sirius
says, still calm and casual, shrugging. "There's nothing for it. Just happens. I mean, we were trying
to learn each other again, I think. I even hoped for a moment that maybe…" He chuckles, and it's
harsher this time. "Actually, I got my hopes up a bit that maybe he and I could—could try. Maybe
exchange numbers, agree to meet up once a week, work through our shit and...be brothers."

"That's—Sirius, that can happen," James insists earnestly, his heart thumping heavily against his
squeezing ribs. "He is your brother. Are you required to like everything about him for you both to
make an attempt?"

"Suppose not, but this—I really don't like this. Turns out, he and I are the same level of stupid,"
Sirius murmurs.
"You're not stupid, mate," James declares, frowning.

Sirius smiles, but it's thin. There's an edge to his voice when he replies, "No, I am. So is Regulus.
We learned that about each other today, and would you believe it? We didn't like it."

"Stop it. Neither of you are stupid. Honestly, even if there are some things you don't like about
each other, that doesn't have to be the end. Christ, I know there has to be things you don't like about
me, but we're best friends," James says.

"If I'm honest, in all the years I've known you, I've never found something I didn't like about you.
I've always adored you, my best friend, the one person I could count on, the one person I could
trust." Sirius, for the very first time, looks up from the puzzle and locks eyes with James, who feels
a chill go down his spine. Sirius' eyes are cold. So very cold. He continues on, his voice still casual
and light when he says, "Of course, that was before I found out you were fucking my little
brother."

James' breath catches in his lungs, every muscle in his body tensing, all except for his heart, which
promptly drops. For some reason, it never crossed his mind to see this coming.

Sirius watches him, holding his gaze, pinning him in place with ice in his eyes. There's no
righteous anger on his face, or satisfaction for catching James, or even the more dreaded and
expected betrayal. There's nothing. He looks neutral, calm, completely unbothered—all except for
his eyes. James has never seen them look like this; it's like Regulus, but somehow much, much
worse.

Casually, Sirius sits down the puzzle piece in his hand, letting it lay discarded on the table. There's
a horrible screech of his chair scraping backwards in the thick silence, and slowly, deliberately,
Sirius pushes to his feet. James feels his stomach clench, briefly fearing that he's going to vomit,
and as badly as he wants to speak or just do something, he can't move. He can't even breathe. His
lungs are on fire.

"It's Icarus," Sirius says softly, reaching out to tap the center of the unfinished puzzle. "I thought it
was fitting. Don't you? He flew just a bit too close to the sun, didn't he? With those waxen wings of
his, I can't imagine what he was thinking."

"Sirius," James chokes out.

"Must've gotten it into his head that all those days he spent trusting in the warmth meant he
wouldn't burn." Sirius taps the table once, twice, and then withdraws his hand as he walks around it
to stop beside James' chair, staring down at him without giving anything away in his face. "His
mistake. A stupid one, really. It's what the sun does. It burns you up."

James stares up at him, frozen, and he tries. He tries so hard to get his fumbling tongue to work
past the rush of panic in his brain, but all that comes out is a strangled, "I—Sirius, I—"

He doesn't get to finish—not that he could have—before Sirius balls up his fist and strikes out,
catching James right across the jaw so hard that his glasses fly right off his face as his head snaps
to the side. The pain of it is startling, but only because it's coming from Sirius. James has been hit
in the face before, but never by him. They've wrestled roughly, maybe clipped each other with
elbows and knees, even shoved each other hard enough to knock the other to the ground. However,
they have never directly punched each other in the face like this.

Catching himself against the edge of the table, James just manages not to fall out of the chair from
the force in which Sirius just hit him. The chair wobbles precariously, and James barely gets to let
out a low curse in response to the shock and pain before Sirius hooks his boot around the leg of the
chair to harshly snatch it around, bracing one hand on the back of it right above James' shoulder.
He dips down so his face is across from James', so close that James can actually make out his
features, and oh—right, well, he's certainly furious now.

"My little brother, James?" Sirius hisses, slamming his free hand down on the table beside them.
He's practically caging James in, keeping him locked in his chair. "You shagged my little Reggie?
Are you fucking insane?!"

"I—I swear I didn't know," James says, his voice strained, eyes already stinging from the hit and
the way he can feel how it's all falling to shit so very quickly. "It was—I swear to god it was an
accident, Sirius. I didn't know it was him when I met him."

"Oh, but you worked it out, didn't you?" Sirius snarls, giving the chair a harsh rattle. "No, actually,
that would be Remus who worked it out. Remus and that quick mind of his—of course it would be
him. I remember that morning. Must have come as a right shock, didn't it, when you two figured it
out? Believe me, Regulus and I know the fucking feeling."

"We—we never meant—" James is interrupted yet again by a hit, though this one isn't a punch.
Sirius just legitimately smacks him on the side of his head, rough and ruthless.

"No, do keep lying, James. It's going so well for you so far," Sirius hisses, and James' eyes well up
with tears, spilling over the moment he blinks. Sirius makes a low, disbelieving sound in the back
of his throat. "Are you crying? You fucked my little brother and kept it from me on purpose, and
you're crying?"

"Sirius—"

"No, shut up. Do you remember that very first prank we pulled together at eleven? We flooded the
bathroom. Amateur stuff, really, but we were so young, so it was alright that we were novices. But
do you remember what you told me when we made the plan? What did you say, James?"

"Sirius," James tries again, reaching out to try touching his arm, but Sirius shakes him off and hits
him on the side of the head again, making him wince.

"What did you say?" Sirius grits out.

James gasps out a wet breath, chest feeling like it's caving in as he rasps, "A plan is only a good
plan if you're not caught."

"A plan is only a good plan if you're not caught," Sirius repeats coldly. "This plan? This was a
very, very bad plan."

"What were we supposed to do?" James croaks helplessly, his hands shaking in his lap where they
lay limp. His face aches, and he feels smaller than he ever has.

"You weren't supposed to fuck my little brother, James!" Sirius explodes, slapping his palm to the
table again.

"It's not—it isn't like that," James says, practically pleading at this point. "It's not just shagging.
Sirius, I love him."

"I don't give a damn if he's your one and only true love. I don't care if you'd die without him,"
Sirius snarls, reaching his hand out to grasp James' shoulder and slam him back to the chair from
where he's unconsciously leaned forward as if he could lean into his sincerity. "You're going to
stay away from him."
"I can't," James chokes out, nearly whimpering. "Don't you think I tried? Don't you think Remus
and I both tried? We tried to do the right thing, alright? We were all so miserable, Sirius, and we
can't help how we feel. What were we—it wasn't working. We were all so unhappy. We just
wanted—"

"Then you should have spent the rest of your fucking life miserable," Sirius declares harshly. "And
you know what? You will. You're going to."

"I'm in love with him, Sirius!" James shouts, reaching out to shove at Sirius' arm, only for Sirius to
smack his hand down and roughly push him back into the chair again. "Do you think we enjoyed
doing it this way? It's been ripping us apart, but I love Regulus, and Remus loves you. We planned
to tell both of you, I swear we did. We just didn't want to lose either of you."

"Well, you've gone and mucked that up quite nicely, haven't you?" Sirius bites out savagely. "I'm
your best friend, James. Why the fuck didn't you tell me?!"

"Because you would have made me choose!"

"It shouldn't even be a choice! You're right, I would have made you choose, and no part of me
would have anticipated you throwing our friendship away for him. But now? Now, I'm not giving
you a choice at all. Because I'm telling you, James, you're done with him."

"That's not fair." James can feel his eyes burning, and the lump in his throat is strangling him.
"Sirius, you can't do that to me. I'm—I'm begging you, please don't do this to me."

Sirius' face goes out of focus as he leans back, and there's the sound of something scraping the
floor, followed by Sirius guiding James' glasses back on his face. The world swims back in, and
Sirius leans forward, holding James' gaze. His eyes are still so, so cold when he says, firmly and
with no emotion, "I hardly need to, really. Do you think Regulus wants anything to do with you
after what you've done?"

"I—" James sucks in a sharp breath, muffling a small sound.

"You're going to stay away from him," Sirius repeats, not breaking his gaze, capturing it and
trapping it. "And, for a while, it might be best to stay away from me, too, because looking at you
makes me feel violent. Really fucking violent, in fact. So, until I figure out how to forgive you,
leave me the hell alone. That's even if I can forgive you, which I'm not even sure that I ever will."
James heaves out a harsh breath, a shudder rippling through his entire body. He whispers, "I'm
your best friend."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," Sirius agrees sharply, pulling away to take a step back. He glares
at him, then dips his head forward enough to spit on the floor right in front of James' feet. After all
the hitting and yelling, that's what ends up making James flinch.

"Sirius," James starts, a frantic edge to his voice, but he cuts himself off when Sirius leans over to
lazily swipe James' phone right off the table. Without warning, he holds it up, then throws it face-
down on the floor with such force that it bounces, the screen immediately shattering. James gapes
at it, then gapes at Sirius. "What the fuck did you do that for?! That was my phone! Are you
insane?"

"My last name is Black," Sirius snarls. "Of course I am."

"Why?" James blurts out incredulously. "Why would you—"

"Oh, this?" Sirius kicks out with a jerky motion, his chest heaving as he sends the cell skittering
across the floor. He grins at James with all teeth. "That's because of Remus. You two must be so
close, even closer than I ever knew, with all that sneaking about and scheming. But I'm not letting
you warn him about this. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

James springs to his feet, swallowing thickly, and Sirius stares him down. For a long, tense
moment, they just stare at each other, this alien distance between them, a cavern that James doesn't
know how to cross. Sirius looks at him, and James knows him inside and out, knows him so
thoroughly that he can tell that Sirius won't let him cross it.

James reaches up with a shaky hand to cover his mouth, the tears running hot down his cheeks.
There's no sympathy in Sirius' eyes. They're so cold.

"I'm sorry," James confesses, wretched, feeling as if he's misaligned and broken on the inside,
malfunctioning with no one to repair him. His heart—he can feel it in a way he never has before.
Lily broke it, she did, but this is something else. It feels like his heart is dying.

"I wish that changed anything," Sirius says softly, "but it doesn't."
James' shoulders heave on a harsh sob, and he stands there as Sirius bangs his way from the flat,
slamming the door as he goes, leaving James alone with the unfinished puzzle.

Remus doesn't get much sleep before there's a knock at his door, making him groggily drag himself
from bed, scrubbing at one eye with his palm as he yawns. Regulus has his arms full when the door
opens, and he arches an eyebrow at Remus.

"Oh, am I interrupting?" Regulus asks dryly.

"You are, actually, yeah," Remus mumbles, stifling the next yawn that tries to ripple through him.

"Unfortunate," Regulus tells him carelessly, then pushes past Remus to come inside with no shame
whatsoever.

Remus can't help the way his lips tug up fondly. He follows Regulus over to the table by the
window. "What do you have?"

"Mm, something to put in the oven. I thought we could eat. It's already prepped; it just needs to be
heated and served, really," Regulus tells him, sitting down a pan with what looks like pot-pie, then
sliding something else from underneath it with a low hum. "While we wait, we can play chess."

"Been a while since we have," Remus muses, settling down at the table as he watches Regulus
bustle over to the oven, fiddling with it. As he does, Remus automatically starts pulling the
chessboard and pieces out of the box.

"Well, you have a habit of always being a few moves ahead, " Regulus murmurs, shutting the
oven. "It's infuriating. But not this time, I think."

"Is that right?" Remus chuckles as he sets the board up, shaking his head as Regulus comes to sit
across from him, lazily threading his hands together on the table. "Have you gotten any rest at
all?"
"Not yet."

"You need to sleep, Reg."

"Oh, I'll rest easy tonight, I'm sure," Regulus says.

"You can always stay over if you need to," Remus offers, fully aware that Regulus will mock him
for it, but doing it anyway. In three years, Regulus has stayed over on his broken sofa many times
without complaint—just as Remus has slept over at his flat often enough—but it's always one of
those situations where neither of them ask, or offer; they simply just don't leave, and aren't made to
leave. They have a lot of unspoken understandings in their friendship, and always being welcome
in each other's space is one of them. Still, Regulus has had a rough few days, and Remus just
wants…. Well, he wants a lot of things. He wants to help. He wants to be a better friend.

Regulus, instead of mocking him, hums and says, "I know."

"Are you going to?" Remus asks.

"No," Regulus replies. He reaches forward to move first, fully in game mode, though Remus can
tell that he has been since he walked in. His guard has been up since the door opened, but he gets
like this about chess—blank and empty, completely unreadable. "I'm not tired just yet. You must
be, though."

Remus smiles sheepishly and takes his turn. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you had a long night, didn't you?" Regulus asks, briefly glancing up at him with a
sympathetic frown. "I know I'd be exhausted if my boyfriend went missing for a bit."

"Yeah, I…" Remus trails off, glancing up quickly, but Regulus is focused on the board, utterly
calm. Did...did Remus tell him that? He tries to remember if he did, but he genuinely doesn't know
if he did or not, or maybe James told him? Would James tell him? Why would James tell him?

"Remus, it's your move," Regulus points out, glancing at him with a frown that indicates he's acting
oddly.
"Right. Sorry." Remus swallows. Either he told Regulus (and he can't fucking remember if he did
or not), or James did, but it's obvious that Regulus knows. Right, then. Lovely, just another fucking
thing Remus has to sort of lie about—lying by way of omission, but regardless. "I suppose I am
tired after that."

Regulus nods. "I figured you hadn't eaten either, and I'm the one who was dragging you around all
day. The least I could do was make sure you actually had a decent meal."

"Cheers," Remus says weakly, pulling his hand back and watching Regulus immediately take his
next move, taking one of Remus' pieces in the process. "Well, at least you didn't have to bury any
dead bodies today."

"I wouldn't count it out, Lupin. The day's still not over just yet," Regulus comments airily, waiting
for Remus to take his turn, then immediately taking another one of his pieces.

Remus' eyebrows furrow as he stares at the board. Fucking shit, he's already only a few moves
away from losing. What the fuck? He's too distracted. "Oh, but it is getting late, Regulus. You said
you're not staying over? Don't tell me you're planning to try and see your brother again when you
leave?"

"No, I'm not."

"I know it didn't work out today, but—"

Regulus frowns as he hovers his hand over the knight, then eventually settles on his queen, sliding
the piece over to take one of Remus' rooks. "Who said it didn't work out?"

"What?" Remus blurts out, distractedly moving a pawn forward, which immediately gets
sacrificed. Fuck, he can't focus. "I—wait, did it work out?"

"Technically, yes. Overall, no." Regulus clicks his tongue and checks the timer on his phone. Only
a few more minutes before he has to pull the pan from the oven. "Evan got me the address to his
flat."

Remus scoops up one of Regulus' bishops, clutching it tight in his hand, heart racing. "So, you
went there?"
"Mhm."

"But no one let you in, and you went home?"

"No one let me in," Regulus confirms, making Remus deflate in relief, grateful that Regulus is
focusing in the chessboard and not him, and there's even a small pang in his heart when thinking
about how close Sirius and Regulus were to seeing their brother today, at least until Regulus
casually continues with, "I let me in, though. Fun fact, Remus, I can pick locks. Isn't that fun? I
think that's fun."

"You—" Remus cuts himself off, eyes widening, and Regulus glances up at him with raised
eyebrows. Remus tries harder than he ever has in his life to control his face. "That's… Wow, that's
—shocking, Reg. I didn't know you could do that."

Regulus' lips curl up in one corner, briefly entertained, and then he focuses on the chessboard
again. He moves a pawn, just a filler move, and Remus has no idea what plan he has; he only
knows that Regulus isn't losing. "It's a skill I haven't had cause to use much in the last eight years
or so. My brother taught me when I was only seven."

Of course Sirius knows how to do that, Remus thinks, mildly exasperated. "Why would he teach
you that at seven?"

"Believe it or not, it was a survival skill for us," Regulus informs him. "Mother liked to lock us up
in small, dark spaces and make us go without meals, so we learned how to pick the locks and sneak
each other food. I used to lay out a napkin in my lap and hide practically half of my dinner in it,
then hide that and hope Mother didn't notice, then wait until really late and take it to him. When I
was the one locked up, my brother always managed to hide more than I ever could. I never
understood how he did it, but you know, now that I'm older, I realize he would go hungry so I
wouldn't."

"Oh." Remus swallows thickly. "That's… Reg, that's fucking awful. I'm so sorry that happened to
you. Both of you."

"Mm, it's alright. We made do. Actually, we turned it into a bit of a game over the years. Or a
bonding experience. Well, my brother did," Regulus muses, shrugging. "He did that a lot when we
were growing up. Made things better, I mean."
Remus shakes his head and moves his knight. "No, mate, it's not alright. Neither of you deserved
that."

"Well, in any case," Regulus says, "it was helpful for me to know how today. I let myself in and
went into his room. He was sleeping, so I woke him up. He does this thing where he breathes
through his nose, even if he sleeps with his mouth open; don't you find that strange?"

"Haven't much thought about the different sleeping habits of people," Remus mumbles, because he
hasn't. He did know that Sirius sleeps like that, though. "Did you two…?"

The timer on Regulus' phone goes off, so he squints at the board as he stands up. "It's my move, so
don't cheat, Lupin. I'll find out if you have, and if you do, don't even try to lie about it. I'll always
find out if you're lying to me."

"Right," Remus whispers with a wince, because it's true. Regulus will find out that Remus has been
lying to him, as soon as tomorrow. God, he feels sick to his stomach.

Regulus bustles around Remus' compact kitchen as if it's his right, though it's comparatively
lacking to his own. He pulls the pan out of the oven to sit it down on a flannel on the counter, then
serves them both a portion on a plate. With a great show of coordination, Regulus carries a plate in
one hand, the other balanced on his inner forearm, then uses his other hand to bring them can
drinks from Remus' fridge.

Remus takes one can to help, and Regulus sits the other on his side of the table before placing a
plate in front of Remus and taking the other to his side as he sits down again. Calmly, he says,
"Wait for it to cool before you eat."

"Yes, Chef," Remus teases, and Regulus does not smile.

"My brother and I fought," Regulus announces as he slides his plate to the side, jerking his chin to
gesture for Remus to do the same. "It was like I said it would be. Explosive. But, to my surprise, it
was also...cathartic."

"Yeah?" Remus asks, trying not to show how outwardly nervous he is at the moment. His brain can
barely wrap around the fact that Sirius and Regulus saw each other today.
"I got a bit carried away," Regulus mutters, wrinkling his nose as he takes his next move. He's
starting to close in on the checkmate, and Remus can't even properly care right now.

Remus clears his throat. "By carried away, you mean…?"

"I told him I hated him," Regulus says, and Remus can barely stop himself from wincing, "and I
told him I loved him," and Remus feels his heart jump in hope he didn't even know he could have,
"and somehow, we ended up crying and hugging."

"Regulus, that's—that's good," Remus breathes out. "That's healing, isn't it? Isn't it good?"

Regulus smiles, and it's so very thin. "Well, you know I hate things like that. Damaged my pride a
bit, if I'm honest. But I'll admit… I don't know, for a moment there, I thought we could have some
sort of—closure, maybe. I never fooled myself into thinking that we'd ever really try again—try to
be proper brothers, I mean—but I did hope, as foolish as it might've been, that maybe when we
went our separate ways this time, it wouldn't be like it was last time."

"That's not foolish," Remus insists immediately, "and you can have more. Why not? Why shouldn't
you try to be proper brothers again?"

"Oh, there are at least two reasons, as it turns out," Regulus says, waving his hand lazily.
"Fortunately for me, I never got my hopes up to start with, so it wasn't as awful as it could have
been. Not from that angle, at least."

"But don't you want to try?" Remus asks earnestly, carelessly moving a piece on the board without
even looking.

"Don't you get it, Lupin? I don't try. I'm never the one who tries," Regulus tells him quietly. "That's
life. My life, really. Virginia Woolf said it best, didn't she?" He looks down at the chessboard and
sighs, then quotes: "She took a look at life, for she had a clear sense of it there, something real,
something private, which she shared neither with her children nor with her husband. A sort of
transaction went on between them, in which she was on one side, and life was on another, and she
was always trying to get the better of it, as it was of her; and sometimes they parleyed (when she
sat alone); there were, she remembered, great reconciliation scenes; but for the most part, oddly
enough, she must admit that she felt this thing that she called life terrible, hostile, and quick to
pounce on you if you gave it a chance."
"Life is given to me only once, and never will be again—I don't want to sit waiting for universal
happiness. I want to live myself; otherwise it's better not to live at all," Remus quotes back, and
Regulus opens his mouth, but Remus shakes his head sharply and continues with another quote.
"Fling yourself straight into life, without deliberation; don’t be afraid - the flood will bear you to
the bank and set you safe on your feet again."

"Why, Remus, I thought you hadn't read Crime and Punishment?" Regulus asks dryly.

Remus' lips twitch. "And I thought you hadn't read To the Lighthouse. Liar."

His tiny smile falls as soon as the last word falls out of his mouth, and he feels a harsh jolt in his
stomach, because if anyone is a liar here… Besides, this is another one of those unspoken things in
their friendship; they've pretended for years that they didn't read each other's favorite book, but
they've both always known that the other did. Of course they did. Best friends who are avid readers
usually do.

There's something a favorite book can say about someone. Remus learned a lot about Regulus just
from reading Crime and Punishment, things he went on later to have confirmed as their friendship
blossomed. It's a book about a murderer with no remorse until the threat of consequences to his
own actions start to close in on him, and through that, he learns some valuable, much-needed
lessons in life. It's an awful, dark book in a lot of ways, but evocative in others, and there's a lot that
can impact someone reading it, especially those wrestling with guilt or questionable morals. Over
the years, Remus has learned that Regulus is both.

"The most offensive is not their lying—one can always forgive lying—lying is a delightful thing, for
it leads to truth—what is offensive is that they lie and worship their own lying…" Regulus quotes,
lifting his gaze to stare at Remus.

"Do you agree with that?" Remus rasps.

Regulus holds his gaze and says, "I agree that lying is a delightful thing, for it leads to the truth,
but I don't agree that one can always forgive lying. Do you?"

"To pursue truth with such astonishing lack of consideration for other people's feelings, to rend the
thin veils of civilisation so wantonly, so brutally, was to her so horrible an outrage of human
decency," Remus whispers.
"Is that what you think?" Regulus murmurs. "You think a lie to spare someone's feelings is human
decency?"

Remus shudders out a harsh breath. "I think it can be."

"I've told a lot of lies, Remus," Regulus says softly, "and I can say for certain that none of them
were displays of human decency. Lies are simply our self-indulgent, selfish desire to escape the
tightening noose of our own guilt."

"So, you've never told a lie without it being for selfish reasons?"

"All lies are selfish, but people are inherently, instinctively selfish beings. We can't help it."

"Then shouldn't people be forgiven for them?" Remus asks, a lump forming in his throat.

Regulus leans forward and moves a piece on the board, holding Remus' gaze. "That's the thing—
lies can be forgiven, just not always, and it's up to the one lied to if it's a lie that can be forgiven."
His voice softens. "Oh, and checkmate."

Remus doesn't move for a long moment, staring helplessly at Regulus, frozen with a climbing
sense of dread. He knows, doesn't he? Does he? Remus can't fucking tell. Regulus gives nothing
away in his expression, and Remus doesn't know if it's his own guilt that has a pounding fear of he
knows, he knows, he knows pulsing in his chest, slicing into him over and over.

"Good game," Remus croaks, still unsure, and he slips his hands under the table to hide the way
they shake.

"Wasn't it? Looks like I was a few steps ahead this time," Regulus says, lips curling up, and...he
doesn't know? Surely he doesn't, if this is how calm he is. Remus feels himself relax slightly as
Regulus casually starts packing up the chess pieces and nods towards Remus' plate. "Eat. It should
be cool by now. I know you have to be starving since You-Know-Who went missing. Bit of a
prick, worrying you like that."

He doesn't know, Remus inwardly confirms, dragging his plate over. He feels bad for being
relieved, but he also can't help it. He takes a bite, swallows, then says, "It wasn't like that. He didn't
really do it on purpose. He had a...rough night, and he didn't react very well, is all."

"Suppose that makes sense," Regulus muses with a casual hum, pushing the box aside and
threading his hands together in front of him instead of dragging his plate over. He looks at Remus
placidly, watching him take another bite, then says, still in that light tone, "My brother has always
been rather dramatic. I'm sure Sirius didn't mean to worry you."

The resounding silence settles between them heavily as Remus slowly stops chewing. Regulus
watches him, and it happens without Remus even noticing, but his expression shifts into the same
one he pinned on Evan and Barty to ruthlessly and silently pluck their secrets from them. Remus
remembers being on the outside of it and finding it intensely intimidating, but it's nothing
compared to having it pointed at him.

Inexplicably, he can feel it. He'd likened the look to a scalpel slicing into someone and waiting to
see what will fall out, and that's exactly what it is. Remus can feel it slicing into him, peeling the
layers of himself back, exposing what's inside so it will inevitably spill into Regulus' waiting palm.

Remus swallows his bite thickly. It briefly gets stuck, and his fork clatters loudly against the plate
as he shakily puts it down. The food, which had tasted so very good only seconds ago, now tastes
like ash on his tongue.

"Regulus," Remus whispers.

"Do you remember what you said to me when I first told you about my brother? Fuck him, you
said." Regulus arches an eyebrow. "Took that a little too much to heart, didn't you?"

"Regulus," Remus repeats hoarsely, "I didn't know. I swear to you that I didn't—"

"Oh, Sirius and I worked that part out ourselves. Though it may seem it, considering how easily
we've been fooled as of late, we're not actually idiots," Regulus says, his voice falling flat. "It was
actually quite simple to figure out, and then even simpler to figure out when you and James started
knowing. It all started making sense, much to our horror. That week where James disappeared, in
which you and your boyfriend—well, you never precisely said, actually, but Sirius tells me that
you left him much the same. It also explains how you knew I was trans. James must have let that
slip, I imagine."
Remus opens and closes his mouth, then blurts out, "He didn't mean to, Regulus. It was an
accident. I was sort of freaking out about finding out that you and Sirius were brothers, and James
just said that—that Sirius had—"

"A sister," Regulus fills in.

"We were wrong, and James never—he didn't even say it. He refused to, and I'm the one who
worked it out. He didn't—"

"Honestly, I don't care about that at all. I don't care who knows, or doesn't, or how anyone found
out. I never cared if you knew, Remus. Besides, is James the person you want to be defending right
now?"

"I never meant—listen to me, Regulus, falling in love with your brother was an accident. We tried
to do what was right, but we were all so fucking heartbroken. You know that. You can't deny that,"
Remus says in a rush. "We just thought—"

"You just thought," Regulus cuts in sharply, "that you'd go on shagging my brother. My brother,
Remus, who you knew abandoned me. You knew how I felt about him, and you still chose to do it
anyway, you complete waste of fucking oxygen."

"No, it's not—that's not what it was. I—I just—I fell in love with him, Reg. I love him," Remus
says helplessly. "I don't know how to give him up, and I don't want to lose you, and it's all so
bloody complicated. What were James and I supposed to do? If we'd told you, what would you
have done?"

Regulus' nostrils flare, and he hisses, "I would have done what I should have done from the very
start. I would have spit in James' face before I'd ever let him come near me again, and I would have
given you a choice."

"How is that fair? That's not fair, Regulus."

"Yes, life rarely is."

"You can't just make it a choice. You're my best friend, and I'm in love with him," Remus chokes
out. "Why can't I have both? Why can't there be more?"
"You misunderstand me," Regulus grits out, leaning forward to glare at him. "It wouldn't have been
a choice between Sirius and I; it would have been a choice between never seeing Sirius again, or
fucking death."

"Reg—"

"No, fuck off. I told you—what did I tell you? I said you had to be my best friend, because it was
either that, or I'd have to kill you. I trusted you, Remus."

"No, you didn't!" Remus explodes, and Regulus scoffs in appalled disbelief. "I went three fucking
years not even knowing your brother's name! Maybe if you would have told me, we wouldn't even
be in this mess, Regulus!"

"Oh, you're blaming me for your decision to keep fucking my brother, knowing how I feel about
him, then conspiring with my boyfriend to keep it hidden?" Regulus asks incredulously.

Remus clenches his jaw. "And how is it, exactly, that you feel about Sirius, really and truly?
Because you lied about that, too. You love him. You miss him. You want him in your fucking life,
but you'd rather hide away from it out of fear—"

"Shut the fuck up, Lupin," Regulus snaps.

"We planned to tell you and Sirius," Remus announces sharply, grinding his teeth. "In fact, we
were going to tell you both tomorrow. All along, we were always going to tell you. I suppose we
just underestimated quite how much you and Sirius care about each other—our mistake, really, but
how could we know when all either of you did was lie about it? We'd hoped that maybe, just
maybe, we could all ease into it and be happy. Because you and Sirius deserve to be happy, and so
does James, and—and I want it so badly that I—" He cuts himself off, swallowing harshly. "But of
course not. Of course that would be too much to ask for—that you'd stop being so afraid to open
up, to let anyone in, to—"

"And why do you think that is?" Regulus interrupts coldly, gaze as sharp as a knife. "Because
every time, every single time, I let myself believe that there's someone I can trust, someone who
won't hurt me, or leave me, or ruin my fucking life—I'm proven wrong again, and again, and
again. I have to say, out of everyone, I really didn't see it coming from you."
"That's—that wasn't what I was doing," Remus tells him urgently, all but pleading now. "I never
wanted to hurt you, or betray your trust. You're acting as if I deliberately chose to."

"You did," Regulus snarls. "Did you or did you not come to the conclusion with James to keep this
from me?"

"Not forever! We were—fuck, Regulus, we were scared!" Remus bursts out. "Don't you get it? We
were afraid to lose you, or Sirius. Both of us; we were so fucking scared."

Regulus curls his lip into a sneer. "You're saying that's my fault?"

"No." Remus groans and hunches down, bracing both hands along his hairline, squeezing his eyes
shut. "No, alright? I'm not. I'm not. I just—god, fucking shit, I don't know. I don't know what we
were meant to do."

"Well, for one, you weren't supposed to fuck my brother," Regulus spits. "For another, you weren't
supposed to lie and decieve me along with my boyfriend ."

"Goddammit, Regulus, we just—" Remus slams his hand down to the table so hard that the dishes
rattle, and Regulus flinches back. Remus goes still, freezing in place, his breath trapped in his
lungs. It's an infinitesimal movement, and Regulus' face clears and goes cold seconds after, but
Remus saw it. His heart sinks, and he finds himself trying to fold down and make himself smaller,
tucking his hands into his lap. Softly, he says, "I would never hurt you, Regulus. Never."

"The worst kind of dishonesty in the world is when the liar doesn't even know they're lying,"
Regulus murmurs, equally quiet and subdued. "The thing is, Remus, you already did."

"I meant I wouldn't—I would never hit you," Remus clarifies, because he desperately needs
Regulus to know that.

"I would have preferred it if you had," Regulus tells him, lifting his gaze. He doesn't look as angry
now, just… He's sad. He looks so sad, and that's so much worse. "Friendships, even the best of
them, are frail things. One drifts apart."

Remus feels a peculiar cracking sensation in the general area of his chest, and it rattles through him
like someone just shot the beast of his anger right between the eyes, the quote from To the
Lighthouse the bullet to put it down for good. This time, it's him who flinches, and he thinks he
understands, because he would much rather Regulus just hit him. This is much more painful than
any hit ever could be.

"Don't—" Remus almost can't speak past the lump in his throat, and he blinks violently against his
stinging eyes as he shakes his head. "Don't say that."

"Do you know what the worst part is, Remus?" Regulus asks him, his voice low and soft, almost
melodic. "You were my exception and I believe I was yours. For the things that scared us the most
—my fear of abandonment and your fear of having nowhere to belong—we were always each
other's exception, weren't we? I never once expected to lose you, and you always had a place with
me."

"Regulus," Remus says, and his voice cracks.

"I wish I didn't have to regret you," Regulus whispers, looking away as his jaw works, blinking
harshly. The light of the moon catches the shine of his eyes, and Remus sees one tear fall from each
eye, only to be promptly dashed away.

Remus breathes out a harsh, wet breath. He shakes his head and chokes out, "I'm sorry. Regulus,
I'm sorry."

"I know." Regulus takes in a breath, slowly breathes out, then turns his head to meet Remus' eyes.
His face is blank again, and he doesn't look like he cried at all. "I just don't care. I told you that the
person lied to decides if the liar can be forgiven, and Remus—you can't. I don't forgive you for
this."

"Please," Remus rasps, "you're my best friend."

"Only so I wouldn't have to kill you. I should have saved us both the trouble. That's alright, though,
I try not to make the same mistakes twice." Regulus looks him up and down, gaze sharp and hard,
and then he leans back in his seat and pulls something out of his pocket. Calmly, he sits a small
bottle on the table and turns it so Remus can see the label on the front, which reads: Penicillin V
Potassium Tablets.

Remus feels his blood turn to ice as Regulus calmly taps one finger to the top of the bottle. Slowly,
Remus drags his gaze away to look at the plate in front of him, which he's had two bites of already.
When he darts his gaze up, wide-eyed, Regulus just raises his eyebrows and cocks his head.

"Did you—did you just poison me?" Remus whispers, his mind already starting to race, frantically
clocking his own symptoms. Is his throat swelling? Is that why he's been struggling to talk? Is his
chest tight because he's about to have to have a severe allergic reaction, or because he's losing his
best friend? Both? Oh, fucking hell, what the fuck?

"I hope the food didn't taste too odd," Regulus drawls, deftly scooping the bottle up as he pushes to
his feet. He doesn't look away from Remus once. "I've never used that as a spice before, so don't
judge me too harshly."

"You—Regulus, this is going to fucking kill me!" Remus blurts out frantically, hastily jumping to
his feet so quickly that his chair falls over.

Regulus hums and picks up the box of chess from the table, turning to say, "Yes, Remus, that's
entirely the point. Anaphylaxis should be setting in any moment. I'd love to stay and watch your
throat close up entirely, but I hear it gets a bit messy. See you in the next life." He turns and heads
right for the door as Remus dives for his cell with shaking hands, breathing hard. Regulus does turn
back, drawing his gaze, and all he says is a very sharp, "Oh, and stay the fuck away from my
brother in that one, too."

The door slams shut, and Remus stares after him in a mixture of disbelief and unhindered panic.
His best friend—fucking Regulus Black—is literally murdering him. Like, actively.

"Oh my god," Remus wheezes, fully freaking the fuck out, stumbling over to the wall to sink down
and put his head between his knees as he calls emergency services and cries.

Admittedly, Remus goes into a bit of a spiral, entirely convinced that he's, like, genuinely dying.
He's a mess about this, honestly, for a number of reasons. He's too young to die, he thinks, and he
also—despite everything—doesn't want to be killed by his best friend. Will Regulus go to prison?
It's such an odd thing to be concerned about in the midst of dying, but it is nonetheless something
his mind latches onto.

Remus is still freaking out by the time the ambulance arrives, and he stumbles through a half-lie
about accidentally taking something with penicillin in it, which he's deathly fucking allergic to, and
Regulus knew that, so Remus shouldn't at all be covering for him. Except that's exactly what
Remus does, because apparently loyal to the end is a trait of his. There's some irony in that, isn't
there?
 Of course, when he's in the hospital and getting calmly told by a doctor that there's no penicillin in
his system, that all of symptoms were those of, in her professional opinion, a panic attack, that's
when Remus realizes that Regulus never poisoned him at all, and somehow, a Crime and
Punishment quote ends up coming to mind: If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake.
That will be punishment as well as the prison.

And, following that: Man has it all in his hands, and it all slips through his fingers from sheer
cowardice.

Remus' hands are empty, empty, empty.

He's never felt so alone.

Chapter End Notes

For those of you who are here for the spoilers: Sirius and James get into a huge
argument, in which Sirius hits James in the face and few times upside the head, and
also pushes him roughly a few times while he's sitting in a chair, and James is mostly
just crying the entire time. In turn, Remus and Regulus also get into an argument;
there's no hitting, but Regulus does bring out a bottle of Penicillin and inform Remus
that he has poisoned him by feeding him—rest assured, he has NOT attempted to kill
Remus in all actuality. He just, um, makes him THINK he has, which leads Remus
into a panic attack, and Regulus just...abandons him there. To be clear, I don't condone
any of these actions, and they WILL be addressed and resolved.

To everyone who has just finished the chapter... *ducks and hides*

Listen. LISTEN, I know, okay? Trust me, I know how awful it is. It was awful writing
it. I'm not sure if helps to remember that this is LITERALLY the day following the
art/catering event where Regulus and Sirius met, and also the same day they both went
to Evan and Barty, AND still the same day where they met again and had that big,
emotional moment. So, suffice to say, emotions are high at the moment, and Sirius and
Regulus are at their most reckless and not their most stable. I would like to say that
they're not going to do anything else they shouldn't, but that would be a lie. I would
also like to reassure everyone who thinks this is all drama for drama's sake and won't
have any effects on the characters that this is NOT the case.

Some people aren't going to like Regulus and Sirius right now, or in the future, and
that's fair. Some people are going to find it mostly justified/understandable, and that's
fair also. The same goes for Remus and James. Everyone is entitled to their opinions
and feelings. I just want to reassure everyone that these things aren't going to slip past
and be excused for any of them. It's GOING to be handled and fleshed out, giving all
these characters room to glow and flourish.
But yeah, feel free to yell at me in the comments. I'm gonna go hide and reply to all
your comments on the last chapter also... I just. I'm sorry, but I have to make the
joke. Everyone was pointing out that Regulus was gonna poison someone and...well...

Regulus: *asks everyone he feeds if they're allergic to anything*

Everyone: aw, he's so considerate!

Also Regulus: *files this information away for later*

Okay, bye. See you Sunday

 Chapter 18
Chapter Notes

In light of the recent chapter, I'm relieved to say that there are no warnings for this
chapter. It's shockingly lighthearted, compared to that of the previous chapters. So,
enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"I really thought you were done for," Aiko says as she follows him out of the classroom.
"Whatever did you do to get back in Chef Sprout's good graces? She was furious about you ruining
the event, you know."

Regulus grimaces. "I didn't—"

An arm comes down around his shoulders, and Regulus clenches his jaw as his very, very
annoying brother's very, very grating voice casually speaks up with, "That would be my doing,
actually. Why appease furious women when you have an older brother to do it for you, isn't that
right, Regulus?"

"Oh," Aiko says, blinking slowly.

"Aiko," Regulus grits out, eyes falling shut, "meet my brother, my soon-to-be dead brother,
Sirius."

"Didn't know you had a brother. Well, I don't actually know much about you, but anyway, the
resemblance is uncanny," Aiko says warmly. When Regulus opens his eyes, she's smiling at him in
visible amusement.

"You'd think, but some people really do miss it," Sirius tells her, clicking his tongue as he gestures
between him and Regulus. "Anyway, I hope it's not too much of a bother for me to steal my brother
away from you. It was lovely to meet you, Aiko, but we must be going."

"Oh, sure, that's alright," Aiko agrees simply. "I'll see you next class, Regulus. Glad you're still
here."
"Thank you," Regulus says quietly, and as soon as she's gone, he snatches out from under Sirius'
arm to whip around and glare at him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Now, is that any way to talk to your elders?" Sirius asks with a mock-frown, placing his hands on
his hips like a disapproving grandmother.

"What do you want?" Regulus snaps.

"Testy," Sirius mutters, then rolls his eyes. "It's been a few days. You haven't cooled down yet?"

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "Have you?"

"Oh, I'm the picture of calm," Sirius says blithely, flapping a hand. "Quick question, have you seen
James at all?"

"No," Regulus bites out.

Sirius smiles. "See? Calm."

"Have you seen Remus?" Regulus asks, eyes narrowing.

"No," Sirius admits, his smile falling.

Regulus flashes him a sharp, fake smile. "Lovely. Thanks for the update. If there's nothing else, I'll
be going now."

He turns and immediately weaves around Sirius to head towards the entrance of the building. For a
second, he thinks that Sirius genuinely just did come here to make sure his best friend (James, that
fucker) hasn't snuck off to see his little brother. Not that Regulus would tell him if James had, and
if James did, Regulus would—well, he's not entirely sure, but he's aware that it would not be very
pretty.
In any case, it's apparently not the only reason Sirius came, because a few minutes later, he comes
jogging up behind Regulus to catch up with him. When Regulus cuts him a sharp look, Sirius
purses his lips like he used to when Walburga would make him say something he didn't want to.

"Where are you going?" Sirius asks, finally.

"Out," Regulus replies flatly.

Sirius huffs. "Out where? Do you have to work today?"

"I quit."

"You—what? Wait, really?"

"Obviously. I worked with Remus. Oh, and James came in every day. I would literally starve and
be homeless before I ever went back there," Regulus informs him sourly.

Sirius stuffs his hands in his pockets, chewing on his bottom lip, then blurts out, "So you don't have
an income now?"

"At the moment, no."

"But how are you going to…?"

"I'll figure it out. I always do."

"Come work with me."

Regulus comes to a screeching halt and turns his head slowly to stare at Sirius, who blinks at him,
looking just as startled by what he just said as Regulus was to hear it. "Come work with you?
Doing what? Washing paint from the brushes? Again, I'd literally rather die."
"No," Sirius grumbles with a huff. "I just meant… Not—not with me, exactly. I, ah, sell some
things through the shop next door to the studio. They need someone to lead the till, because Mrs.
Delby sent the last one out by way of newspaper."

"Newspaper?"

"By smacking him with a newspaper all the way out the door. He was stealing from the till, so I
can't blame her. It's the same hours you had, I think—if they were the same as Remus'—and Mrs.
Delby loves me; she'd hire you for sure."

"I don't need your help, Sirius," Regulus says flatly.

Sirius grimaces. "No, but you need to eat and live and such, and I know you won't just take my
money."

"Again, I'd literally—"

"—rather die, yes, you've said. Just… It's a job, Reggie, and it'd be helping Mrs. Delby more than
you, really."

"I have savings, you know. It's not like I'm in danger of wasting away just yet," Regulus mutters as
he turns and starts walking again, giving a muted sigh when Sirius springs forward to fall into step
beside him. He doesn't mention that his savings are for buying a place to open a restaurant one day,
meaning he will actually waste away before he ever touches it.

"No reason not to get ahead of the curve, though. Don't be lazy, Regulus. Just—do me the favor,
then? Mrs. Delby needs the help, genuinely," Sirius says. "She'll hire you and have you working as
soon as tomorrow, in fact."

Regulus heaves a sigh as he steps outside. "You're not very subtle, Sirius, never have been. Why
would I want to work next door to you anyway?"

"What if I promise not to bother you?"

"I wouldn't believe you because you're lying."

"Alright, I'm lying, but—"

"Why do you want me to come work next to you, actually? That's the better question."

Sirius snaps his mouth shut, then purses his lips again, then mumbles, "I—don't. It's just
convenience, honestly. I mean, it's the only open job I know of, is all."

"Really?" Regulus rolls his eyes and walks faster, but Sirius matches his pace with ease. "Well, I
think I'll exhaust every other option in the world before I get around to that. It'll be my last resort,
and even then, I might just succumb to death."

"You're the most spiteful person I've ever known."

"Yes, thank you."

"Oh, Christ, just—" Sirius huffs and reaches out to snag his arm, tugging him to a halt. "Will you
just stop? Take the fucking job, Reggie. Is it really so bad that you'll be—"

"What?" Regulus asks, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Close?" Sirius murmurs, lips tipping down.

Regulus stares at him for a beat, then says, "Yes, actually, that's awful. If I can at all avoid it, I—"

"Look, it's not a handout; you'll be working to earn your own money. Your precious pride won't be
under attack. I even promise—no, I'm not joking, I promise I won't bother you...that often," Sirius
tells him, speaking rapidly, rushing. "I just—"

"What?" Regulus demands.

Sirius is making that same face. That 'I do not like what I'm being forced to say' face, which either
means it's uncomfortable to him because it's true, or because it's such an awful thing to say that it's
uncomfortable on principle. "You're my brother, Reggie. It's been eight years, but I still—I mean, I
still want to know that you're alright."

So, not an awful thing to say, just uncomfortably true.

Regulus has no idea what to do with that.

"You didn't really seem interested in knowing if I was alright when you left," Regulus points out,
and he doesn't even say it to be cruel; he says it because it's true.

"Regulus, I thought you were alright," Sirius says with a frown, his eyebrows drawing together.
"That's the thing. I didn't know that you weren't."

Regulus blinks, startled by this. He actually takes a step back and looks at Sirius, really looks at
him, and he gives himself one fucking second to see it how Sirius saw it. Of course he would see it
as he did, because Regulus never let him see anything else. So caught up in how angry he was, and
how much he thought he hated Sirius, how much he wanted to, and he never let Sirius know he
wasn't alright. Not once. Sirius asked. Sirius was the only person who did.

"I'll think about it," Regulus murmurs. "The job, I mean. I'll look around, but if I decide to try next
door to your studio, I'll get the job on my own without you talking to Mrs. Delby."

"Yeah, alright," Sirius agrees, his lips twitching, clearly very pleased by this—and amused, likely,
by Regulus' stubborn nature. "Do you want to give me your number so I can send you the address
to my—"

"You're pushing it," Regulus cuts in, whirling back around to stride off while Sirius snorts behind
him.

"So, really, where are you going?" Sirius asks insistently as he catches up with Regulus again.
"You must have free time, not working and all. Going home? Actually, where do you live?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"What, why? You know where I live!"

"I do, yes, and I won't ever do anything with that information. You, in contrast, would absolutely
do things if you knew where I lived. For my sanctity of peace at home, I'll keep you as far away as
possible."

"Bit dramatic, that. I wouldn't—"

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "No?"

"At most, I would break in and scare the piss out of you a few times when you came in, is all, and
being randomly startled is good for the heart anyway," Sirius mutters defensively.

"I simply do not agree," Regulus informs him. "Now go away."

"You know I'll just follow you, right? Like, I'll genuinely just follow you home to find out where
you are."

"Why the fuck—"

Sirius cuts him off with an amused, "Well, I have to know you're alright, don't I? What if you fall
and break your neck getting out of bed? Who would discover you before you rotted, if not me?
Remus and James are out now, obviously, so—"

"I have other friends besides Remus," Regulus snaps.

"Oh, is that so? Don't tell me you mean Evan and Barty. What sort of friends just believe their
friend is dead without seeing the body? If it was James, I'd literally never stop looking for him, and
if I did find a body, I would simply go mad and murder whoever was at fault, then end up
imprisoned until I either died or found reason to break out." Sirius pauses, then grimaces. "Well,
that was...before."
Regulus rolls his eyes. "And now?"

"Oh, now? Now I'm showing commendable restraint in not being at fault for his dead body," Sirius
grumbles, scowling.

"So you've—seen him?" Regulus asks, lips pressing into a thin line. He glances over at Sirius, who
swallows.

"Actually, no," Sirius says. "He's been out of the flat since… Anyway, my guess is, he's staying
with Effie and Monty. If not them, maybe Lily. She has a spare room."

Regulus stops. Just comes to a complete stop. It's so sudden that Sirius actually gets a few steps
ahead and has to swing back around. Whatever he sees on Regulus' face makes his eyebrows fly
up. Regulus runs his tongue under his top lip, over his teeth, and silently wills the tension to seep
out of his frame, but it doesn't. Not one bit.

"Oh, I bet she bloody does," Regulus grinds out.

Sirius' eyebrows come down, but one of them sweeps right back up, judgmental. "Are you—
jealous, Reggie?"

"No," Regulus says violently, absolutely seething.

"Right." Sirius narrows his eyes slowly. "Right, because if you were, that would indicate feelings.
For my best friend. Feelings for my best friend that you're not allowed to have."

"Oh, in that case, I have them. All of them and more. Actually, I'm going to ask him right now to
run away with me and go elope and never return. What are the chances he agrees?" Regulus
mutters flatly, moving again as he brushes past Sirius with a scowl, scoffing.

Is James staying with Lily, though? Well, he's a free man, isn't he? Maybe the close quarters can
rekindle their flame, and they're older; marriage is less frightening to most in their twenties than at
nineteen. Who knows? Maybe they'll go on and fall in love again. Who's Regulus to stand in James'
way?
Only, technically, they haven't seen each other to break up or anything, so if that's the case, then
Regulus can likely get off on a crime of passion when he absolutely fucking murders him.

"I'd hunt you both down like a fucking dog and kill you both, so don't even try it," Sirius says. "But
that's right, you met Lily, didn't you? She said she liked you."

"Oh, I bet she bloody did," Regulus snaps.

"She's really lovely, you can't deny that. She's who James should have ended up with, if you ask
me."

"I didn't."

"I'm just saying—"

"Well, don't."

"Maybe they'll get close again," Sirius muses. "Maybe—"

Regulus whirls around on him and hisses, "Shut up."

"Aha!" Sirius bursts out, pointing at him. "You do still have feelings for James! Yeah, no, that has
to stop. Like, now."

"It's been three days, Sirius; I'm not made of fucking stone, no matter what you might think,"
Regulus snarls. "As if you're just over Remus now. Are you? Go on, then."

Sirius opens his mouth, then closes it. He swallows harshly and clears his throat. "Yes, alright,
I...see what you mean. But this is fine. No, this is good, actually. We always do our best bonding in
pain, don't we?"

"We're not bonding."

"Oh, we're definitely bonding."

Two hours later, they're in Regulus' flat, and they're bonding. Look, it's not Regulus' fault. Pandora
rang him up to cancel on getting drinks because there was an accident in the lab that she had to go
handle, which he can't blame her for, and they agreed to meet up later. In the aftermath, Regulus
just decided to go home (he has nowhere else to go, no one else to see, nothing else to do), and
Sirius just followed him. Regulus did try locking him out, but Sirius broke inside in under two
minutes, so there goes all of Regulus' future peace.

At the moment, though, he doesn't actually mind. They're both well on their way to getting pissed,
and Sirius wasn't exactly wrong. They do actually do their best bonding in pain.

"He spilled coffee on my favorite shirt. My favorite fucking shirt, that git," Regulus says
miserably. "I should have killed him then. Should have known he would be nothing but trouble.
Instead, I wasted three years on him."

"Three years? Try knowing someone over a fucking decade. Twelve years, Reggie!" Sirius
declares.

"At least you got twelve years," Regulus counters. "I only got three years, and isn't that worse? I
should have known it would end badly. I should have been waiting for it."

"I did my waiting! Twelve years of it! In denial!" Sirius bellows, raising his glass and spilling a bit
over on his wrist. He just licks it off and sniffles. "I never thought he would do this to me. I never
thought he could. My best mate—how could he? Put his dirty hands all over my little brother, that
prat."

"He was so good at it, too," Regulus groans, tipping his head forward to repeatedly knock the rim
of his glass against his forehead. It's empty. He should refill it.

Sirius makes a low sound of displeasure. "Oh, don't say that. I don't want to hear it. I've heard
enough."

"Have you? Surely James didn't tell you much once he found out I was your brother," Regulus
mumbles, swaying forward to fumble for the bottle and top them both up.
"Well, before he found out, he wasn't exactly afraid to share details, was he? Like, I know you
sucked his cock at work. Why do I have to know that? Why, why, why?" Sirius says, despaired. He
shakes his head and sighs. "But yes, after he found out, he suddenly felt it very important to let me
know that he only felt pure, respectful things for his boyfriend."

"Well, he didn't do pure, respectful things, let me just say that," Regulus tells him, and Sirius
groans like he's in pain.

"I fucking knew he was lying."

"He was. He lied straight to your face. He had me up against the wall once, you know. It was
lovely."

"Please stop," Sirius rasps, staring down into his glass like he's about to burst into tears (again).

Regulus thumps the bottle back down, takes a swallow from his glass, hisses through the burn and
hiccups out, "It was the same with Remus. Him changing, I mean. He used to tell me things
sometimes about his boyfriend, then he suddenly stopped. Why do I have to know that you like to
bite, and your hair pulled? How is that fair? But, you know, he didn't even try to lie and say he had
respectful, pure thoughts. I would've gotten suspicious. I'm so much smarter than you, Sirius."

"No, you're not. Just admit it, we're both so stupid. They played us for fools, Regulus, and we didn't
even notice," Sirius says, then chokes out, "And I did like it when he pulled my hair," before he
promptly starts crying (again).

"James liked it when I pulled his hair," Regulus says sadly. For some reason, this makes Sirius cry
harder. "God, we are idiots. But—but they had the advantage! They had each other. They were
literally working together! Who does that?"

"Right! It took them ages to work it out, and it only took us, what, an hour?" Sirius pauses in crying
to drink some more, then fumbles to pat his face dry daintily with his sleeve.

"They're the idiots," Regulus declares sharply, then almost instantly deflates and downs another
swallow of his drink.
"No, Reggie, that's still us," Sirius says.

"I hate them. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them," Regulus chants, and he doesn't stop chanting it
for a while.

Sirius eventually cuts him off with, "Do you know where my cell is? I want to put on Olivia
Rodrigo," then finds his phone and weeps through the entirety of traitor, and Regulus holds his
own until happier comes on, then ends up crying too, and they both croon and sob their way
through favorite crime.

"Skip it," Regulus hisses when the first notes of jealousy, jealousy comes on, and he nearly shoves
Sirius over scrambling for his cell. "Turn it off. Fucking turn it off."

"Alright, alright, just—oh, this one," Sirius says, still blubbering a bit, but he manages to put on
Don't Speak by No Doubt, and Regulus gapes at him in horror. Sirius squints at him blearily, then
mumbles along, "You and me, we used to be together. Every day together, always. I really feel that
I'm losin' my best friend. I can't believe this could be the end. It looks as though you're lettin' go.
And if it's real, well, I don't want to know."

"I hate this. I hate you. I hate them," Regulus declares viciously, then downs the rest of his drink,
then raises his voice to sing along, too. "Don't speak, I know just what you're sayin'. So please stop
explainin'. Don't tell me 'cause it hurts. Don't speak, I know what you're thinkin'. I don't need your
reasons. Don't tell me, 'cause it hurts."

"You sound so American," Sirius points out with a wobbly smile, then lets out a wet chuckle.

"They're an American band," Regulus says with a huff, and Sirius fucking loses it, cackling like a
madman. "Oh, piss off. At least I can do an American accent. You know what you sound like when
you try? Like you've got jam stuck to the roof of your mouth."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"If you think I'm bad, you should hear James when he—" Sirius cuts himself off, face falling. "Oh,
bloody hell."
Regulus heaves a sigh. "I won't. I won't be hearing James ever again. Fuck you. I hate that he's
your best friend."

"How do you think I feel about Remus?" Sirius mumbles, frowning. "He's my Moony. How could
you have him first?"

"Well, now I don't have him at all. You still have James. Of course you fucking do. You always get
to have everything."

"Does it look like I have James at the moment?"

"No, but you will."

Sirius grimaces and looks away. "Not so sure if that's true, actually. I—may have...ruined that.
Probably."

"Sirius," Regulus says slowly, "what did you do?"

"Um. Well…" Sirius bites down on his bottom lip, then downs his glass and lets his head slump
back on the edge of Regulus' sofa. They're sitting on the floor in front of it, a bottle that's nearly
empty between them—it was almost full—and the distant sound of No Doubt playing in the
background. Sirius swallows thickly. "I hit him."

"You what?!" Regulus bursts out, surging forward to stare at him with wide eyes. "You—"

"Hit him," Sirius repeats, sighing. "Punched him in the face once, then kept smacking him on the
side of the head while I was yelling at him like Mother used to do to us. He was fucking crying,
Reggie."

Regulus reaches over and shoves him hard, glaring at him with his jaw clenched. "What the fuck,
Sirius? Why would you do that? Never do that again."
"I just—I was so angry, and I—" Sirius huffs, then straightens up and clicks his tongue. "Who are
you to tell me—"

"He's my boyfriend," Regulus snaps, reaching out to dig his fingers into Sirius' arm, pinching the
skin and twisting until he yelps. "Don't fucking do it again."

"Ouch! Alright, fuck, let me go," Sirius grits out, rubbing his arm as soon as Regulus does. "Wasn't
planning on doing it again anyway. I feel bad about it now."

"You never had to try hard to be like Mother. It always came so naturally to you," Regulus says
sharply. "I don't care what James has done. He doesn't deserve that."

Sirius cuts him a glare. "If either of us are naturally like Mother, it's you, so don't even start. And—
yes, okay? I know. You don't think I know how fucked up it was? I've never hit him before. Not
like that. We've never fought, you know, that's just not us. Felt like…" Sirius swallows and looks
down at his lap, subdued. "Felt a bit like dying, I imagine."

"I know you told him to stay away from me," Regulus murmurs, and Sirius' head snaps up.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I told Remus the same thing."

"Did you?" Sirius squints at him for a long moment, then his eyes widen. "Wait, what did you
do?"

"Haven't the faintest what you mean."

"To Remus. You did something. What did you—"

"Well, I didn't hit him," Regulus grumbles, but Sirius still looks anxious, which is...fair. He has
every reason to be. "I just stopped by his flat, then we played chess, talked about books, and then I
fed him and left."
"Why don't I believe that?" Sirius asks. "There's more to it than that, Regulus. What did you do?"

Regulus hesitates for a long moment, then drops his gaze down to his fingers tangled in his lap. He
swallows. "Alright, so we might have...argued a bit. We've argued before, believe it or not. Then
I…" He clears his throat, his face scrunching as he winces slightly. "I may have convinced him that
I poisoned him by mixing penicillin into his food—he's allergic, you see—so I was making him
think I was killing him, then I sort of just...left him there." He pauses, then rushes to clarify, "I
wasn't killing him, though, to be clear. I didn't actually poison him. He's not dead. I just made him
think so, that's all."

"Reggie," Sirius breathes out, astonished, "what the fuck? That's really—that's the most fucked up
thing I've ever heard of. Are you insane?"

"Of course I am. I'm a Black," Regulus mutters, shooting him a look. "You should know all about
that."

"Oh my god, that's awful," Sirius says, wide-eyed. "He must have been so panicked. You probably
scared the piss out of him! You—I should fucking beat you for that!"

"Why should you—"

"I'm his boyfriend, in case you've forgotten. That's not okay, Reggie. That's really fucking bad. You
can't—you can't do things like that, especially not to him. Never."

"Yes, well, I won't," Regulus says quietly, scowling down at his hands. Pouting, mostly. "When I
burn bridges, I make sure the damage is enough that nothing can ever be built again. Remus
wouldn't come near me so that I could do it again. Not that I would. I do feel… Alright, so I might
have taken it too far."

Sirius stares at him incredulously. "You think?"

"Well, he—did what he did, so." Regulus bites his inner cheek, his chest tight, and he shakes his
head. "That's that, I suppose. We're good at this, aren't we? Ruining things."
"Never known anyone better," Sirius says solemnly, reaching for the bottle with a heavy sigh.

"Do you think…?" Regulus trails off, and he can't finish. He's scared to go down that path of
thinking. That small nagging is the back of mind that maybe—

"Best not to think about it at all. It is what it is." Sirius holds out the bottle to him, no longer caring
about the glasses. At this point, Regulus doesn't either. "Come on, we're still bonding and drowning
our sorrows."

"And the more I drink the more I feel it. That's why I drink too. I try to find sympathy and feeling in
drink.... I drink so that I may suffer twice as much," Regulus quotes with a sigh.

"What's that from?"

"Crime and Punishment. Remus would have known."

"James wouldn't," Sirius counters, sounding like he's fucking grieving, and Regulus wishes he
didn't understand the feeling just as intimately. He downs a deep swallow from the bottle to feel it
twice as much.

Regulus holds out the bottle, then scoots over and dumps his head over on Sirius' shoulder as soon
as he takes it. He's drunk and clingy, just wants to be comforted, and Sirius—well, it's been a long
time, but Sirius was always so good at it. Regulus still remembers the source of comfort Sirius used
to be, and like this, he finds himself desperate for it. He squeezes his eyes shut. "I hate them the
same way I hate you."

"You mean you love them?" Sirius asks softly.

"Yeah," Regulus whispers.

"Me too, Reggie," Sirius tells him. He leans his head over on Regulus', resting it there. "Me too."
Sirius lasts another two days before he decides he's going to bother Regulus again. These two days
are spent venting it out in the studio (angrily slapping clay around, focusing on pottery because it's
very hands-on and cathartic), avoiding the email from Minvera he still hasn't opened yet (too afraid
to), dodging any and all requests or offers to spend time together from friends (no one knows what's
going on; they're just worried because he briefly went missing), and sitting around his flat while
pretending he's not waiting for James to come back (except he is, and James hasn't yet).

Anyway, Regulus is a much preferred problem to occupy himself with rather than...literally
everything else, which is possibly one of the most ironic things that's ever happened to Sirius. One
of the main things he's spent avoiding for the last eight years, and suddenly it's the only way he's
coping right now. He can honestly say he didn't see this coming.

In a way, he doesn't actually mind. Getting extremely pissed with Regulus had genuinely been a bit
of a bonding experience for them; they'd never gotten to do that before. Sirius wasn't at all
expecting Regulus to get sweet once he was well and truly drunk, but he did, and it was like getting
a glimpse of the adorable, innocent child he used to be long ago. At some point, he'd mumbled that
he liked Sirius' hair, then proceeded to pass out on his shoulder and almost instantly start drooling
on him. Suddenly, to Sirius, it was like Regulus was five again.

Of course, a hungover Regulus is like a demon from Hell, and he'd taken his wrath out on Sirius
three times over the following morning before kicking him out and declaring that he would
actually, sincerely murder Sirius if he came within five feet of him ever again. Sirius took this to
mean he needed some space, which is fair, because honestly? So does Sirius. Bonding with
Regulus is emotionally taxing, as it turns out. It makes Sirius' feelings and thoughts all jumbled up
and conflicted, because he sometimes can't figure out if he wants to be around Regulus all the time,
or never see him again.

Things are complicated between them. Considering their history, Sirius sort of expects that. But,
well, Sirius is also a very persistent bastard, so when he comes to the conclusion that he will
simply avoid his problems and distract himself by bothering his brother, he does just that.

Or, he starts to, in any case.

Literally the moment Sirius opens the door to leave his flat, he finds Lily standing on the other
side, her hand poised to knock but never actually getting the chance. She blinks, and he blinks
back, and then she eyes him critically.

"Sirius," Lily starts.

"Sorry, I must be going," Sirius cuts in quickly, prepared to brush past her and make a fucking
break for it. He doesn't want to do this. He so desperately does not want to do this.

Lily doesn't really give him the choice, reaching out to block him with a startlingly strong stiff-arm
against the chest, which she uses the momentum of to push him back into the flat. Her eyes are
narrowed. "Oh, I won't keep you. How have you been, Sirius? Haven't heard much from you."

"Oh, you know, just busy," Sirius mutters, huffing and marching over to plop down on the sofa. He
knows there's no escaping her when she's like this.

"I'm sure," Lily says flatly, joining him on the sofa. She surveys him for a long moment. "Where's
James?"

"Dunno," Sirius mumbles, averting his eyes.

"You don't know." Lily keeps looking at him until he looks at her, and then her lips press into a
thin line. "Sirius, what's going on? You and James never come into the group chat anymore, and
Peter rang me because he was worried that he'd done something wrong since you and James were
practically ignoring him. Cas needs you for a photoshoot, but she apparently can't get a straight
answer out of you either. Frank asked James to come over and play poker, and James told him no,
except James never says no to playing poker with Frank. And now, you don't know where your
own best friend is?"

"Look, Lils, I adore you—truly, I do—and I say this with as much love as I can, but kindly fuck
off," Sirius tells her, and she raises both eyebrows at him. "No offense, but I don't want to talk
about it, and it's not actually your business."

"You and James are my friends. I'd think that your happiness and his is a little bit of my business,"
Lily snaps, then takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She folds her hands in her lap and shakes
her head. "No, sorry, you're right. If you don't want to talk about it, then I won't push you. I just
want you to know that we're all worried. Whatever it is, whatever has happened, we're your friends,
too. Don't forget that, yeah?"

"I haven't. It's just...complicated right now, is all," Sirius admits, heaving a sigh.

"If there's any way I could help…" Lily bites her lip, looking as if she would really like to know
everything, only just refraining from demanding he tell her. She's trying, at least. "But alright. I'm
here if you want to talk, Black, you know that, right?"

"Have you spoken to James?"

"I tried to, but he won't answer my calls or texts, and I don't know where he is, so I can't get to him
and drag the whole story out of him."

Sirius grunts. "Bully for you, I guess."

"Don't be a prick, Sirius," Lily says sharply, and he frowns at her until her face softens.
"Everyone's especially worried about you since you went missing, you know. None of us have seen
you since. Is it—does it have something to do with that? Was it—I mean, were you hurt? Are you
in trouble? Are you alright? Whatever it is, Sirius, if you need help—if you need absolutely
anything; money, or—or—"

"Lily," Sirius says gently, reaching out to lay his hand on her knee, squeezing it. She does
everything so fiercely, even worrying about those she loves. He doesn't doubt that he could ask her
for anything, could ask her for the fucking Queen, and Lily would do everything in her power to
get him what he needs. It's a common theme in their friend group, honestly; it's one of the things he
loves most about all of them. "I'm alright, I promise. Or, mostly. It's just been a really bad week.
What happened that night… Well, I saw my brother for the first time in eight years, and everything
sort of—fell apart after that."

"You—" Lily blinks at him, then her face scrunches up a bit. She looks visibly confused. "Wait,
what? Your brother? Sirius, you don't have a brother."

"Yes, I do," Sirius says lightly. "What are you on about? You know Reggie. I've talked about him
to you before."

"Your sister," Lily corrects.

"I don't have a sister." Sirius raises his eyebrows at her, looking at her as if she's mental. "Are you
alright, Lily?"

"Yes, I'm alright," Lily says, frowning. "Are you? Because you have a sister. I distinctly remember
you having a sister. I know this, because we bonded over having awful sisters."
"No, I have an awful brother. I've always had an awful brother. Have you hit your head recently or
—"

"I haven't hit my head! You always had a sister!"

"Mm, no I haven't. My brother—I've literally had a brother my entire life. How are you going to tell
me I didn't? I grew up with the prick; I'd think I know," Sirius insists, and Lily is not letting this go,
so he huffs. "Lily, honestly, how could you not know this? Are you calling me a liar? You've even
met him!"

Lily squints at him. "What? I've never met your sister—"

"Brother."

"You don't have—"

"I do," Sirius cuts in, clicking his tongue, "and you have met him. You did around two weeks ago
now, I think. You met my brother, Regulus Arcturus Black. He has my eyes, remember?"

"I—Regulus? James' Regulus? Wait, Regulus is your brother? Regulus is Reggie?" Lily's eyes
bulge, her mouth falling open in shock. "Oh my god. Oh shit."

Sirius scowls. "Not James', actually. But yes, Regulus is Reggie. My brother. I told you I've always
had a brother. How could you miss that, Lily? Is this one of those Mandela Effects?"

"I—I really thought—" Lily, despite everything, has a cloud of doubt forming in her eyes as she
frowns. Slowly, she shakes her head and adjusts to this new information, then her eyes grow wide
all over again. "Oh, fucking hell. James is dating your brother? No. Is he actually?"

"Was," Sirius clarifies, clenching his jaw. "He was dating Reggie. That's done now."

Lily stares at him for a long moment, apparently needing more time to process, and then she
whispers, "Oh, he must have been devastated when he found out. That's awful."

"Sorry?"

"Well, obviously he didn't know. He'd never go after your brother if he knew it was him, especially
knowing how you feel about him. He must have cut it off right away. Is that what's wrong? It's
awkward between you now? He probably doesn't want you to see how heartbroken he is."

"Lily, he did know," Sirius corrects, and Lily rears back in genuine surprise. "Well, he didn't at
first, but then… Then, when he worked it out with Remus, he decided to keep doing it behind my
back."

"He—what? No, wait, back up. Remus? How is he involved?"

"Well, it turns out Remus is Regulus' best friend. Has been for the last three years. Like James, he
didn't realize he was shagging his best mate's brother. Also like James, he decided to keep doing
that when he did realize."

"I—alright, sure, yeah," Lily says, bobbing her head, eyes increasingly getting wider, then she goes
still and starts shaking her head. "No, okay, you've lost me. Do you mean to tell me that they
both…? So, wait, that week when Remus just vanished and you were heartbroken—that was when
they found out, wasn't it? James was also upset."

"Bang on as always, Evans."

"Right, but then they decided to—keep doing it anyway."

"Yeah."

"Oh, James."

Sirius huffs out a harsh laugh. "Believe me, Regulus and I were fucking stunned by it as well.
Never saw it coming."
"I…" Lily bites her lip. "Well, it's just—it does make a bit of sense, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"I won't claim to know Remus very well, but I easily saw how much he loves you, and you should
have seen James around Regulus. He's absolutely, pathetically, no-going-back in love with him. I
suppose, in a panic, they would double-down and do whatever they had to so they wouldn't lose
either of you. Besides, I don't doubt you were all so unhappy, and they probably just wanted to do
what they could so you'd all be happy again—James, especially. You know how he is about the
people he loves being happy. Oh, and they must have felt so guilty the whole time, not knowing
what to do, because the only thing they knew for sure would work was what already worked
before. That was so incredibly stupid of them, and at the same time, I can see exactly why they did
it."

"Oh, well I'm glad someone does. So it was love, is that it? That's the great, big excuse for
everything? I'm sorry, is that supposed to matter?" Sirius demands.

Lily frowns at him. "Of course it matters, Sirius. Love is it, haven't you worked that out yet? It's
what life's all about. And I don't mean just romantic love. But also love between friends, between
families, between the strangers on the street that can change a bad day into a good one with
something as simple as a smile. That's what life is about—that love. Because, in the end, money
and possessions don't really matter. You don't find happiness and peace in that; you find it in love.
What do you think they were so desperate to hold onto?"

"You're justifying—"

"No. I'm not."

"You literally are, Lily," Sirius hisses.

"I'm not, because they were wrong. They were," Lily tells him firmly, "but I won't pretend that
people aren't capable of doing the wrong things for the right reasons. Probably for selfish reasons,
too. Probably out of fear as well. It's not black and white; very few things are."

Sirius grinds his teeth. "Well, I don't much care about the reasons, if I'm honest. I care about what
they did."
"If we only cared about what people did, then no one would be happy, Sirius," Lily says gently.
When he looks away, she sighs and reaches out to cover his hand on her knee with her own, lightly
patting it. "I know you think it, but James isn't above making mistakes sometimes, love. You've
always found safety in him, like he's infallible, but he's human. He's not here just to fix things and
sacrifice his own needs for everyone else's, and I know how easy it is to forget that, because
sometimes I think he'd like us to forget that. He'd give the very heart out of his chest so that those
he loves are happy, but Sirius—why should he have to? He shouldn't have to."

"You think I'm being selfish."

"I don't. I think, for maybe the first time, James let himself be a little selfish. I think you're angry,
and hurt, and betrayed. And I know that, despite all of that, you two still love each other in a way
no one else in this world will ever, ever feel the same way as you two have. I also think you two
will eventually be alright again, because I'm fairly sure the seam of the universe would simply
unravel if you weren't."

"I don't know," is all Sirius says, because he doesn't know anything, and he'd much rather ignore
it.

Lily squeezes his hand. "Can I ask you something?" Sirius just grunts in acknowledgement. "What
would you have done? Let's just say, with how you feel about Remus, if roles were reversed and it
was James and Remus as brothers with a history strife with complications, and you'd accidentally
found yourself in this situation, what would you have done?"

Sirius tries to think about it for less than a second, and his internal curtain comes down so fast that
he doesn't even get to take a breath in the space of the shift. He just shuts down. He does it so
quickly that his body reacts before his mind even takes over, making him snatch his hand from
Lily's as he jolts to his feet. Sometimes this just happens; the curtain comes down without warning,
and he finds himself tucked firmly behind it, not even entirely sure why.

"Doesn't matter. That's not what happened. This isn't a fucking thought experiment for people to
debate about, Lily; this is my life," Sirius snaps, glaring at her. "Now, like I said, I have to be
going. I actually had plans today."

"Sirius," Lily tries.

"Lock up when you leave," Sirius says sharply, pausing only long enough to give her a harsh look.
"Oh, and do leave. Don't be here when I get back."

With that, he's gone.

Sirius knows, distantly, that he'll feel bad about that later when the curtain comes back up. He
wishes he could say that it's not a regular occurrence, but it's something that everyone who knows
him is familiar with. He retreats and lashes out, and he will say and do things that are rude, harsh,
even cruel; reckless with himself and everyone around him. They all know it; they all have grown
accustomed to it. The girls generally say he's just brooding, and they rarely coddle him through it,
either giving as good as they get, or just keeping a wide berth away from him until he's over it.

Mary's been saying ever since he was fourteen that he needs to go to therapy, quite convinced that
he's some form of bipolar or something, but he hasn't much thought about exploring any of that.
The idea of sitting down in front of a person who wants to find out what's wrong with him quite
literally makes him want to vomit. The idea of talking about his childhood makes every cell in his
body revolt. He fucking refuses.

He knows he has—issues. He's very aware. He manages it as well as he can, and he hates it
especially when he can't; it's not as if he enjoys being this way. Those in his life are beautifully
understanding and accommodating, forgiving him over and over, one bad mood right after the next,
loving him anyway. If he could be perfect for them—even more than just living an easier life—he
would do it in a heartbeat.

"Do you think we need therapy?" Sirius asks the moment Regulus opens the door to his flat.

Blinking, Regulus says, "This. This is what I meant about you destroying my peace. Did you come
here to ask me that?"

"I've been thinking on my way over," Sirius explains, gently slipping past Regulus, only to come to
a halt when he sees a blonde girl sitting on Regulus' couch. "Oh. Hello."

"Hi, Sirius," she says, smiling. "Lovely to see you."

Sirius blinks. "Sorry, have we met?"

"Not really. I saw you once when you came to pick Regulus up from school, but that was nearly a
decade ago now. I'm Pandora," she tells him, eyes dancing with amusement. "Oh, and I do think
you both need therapy."

"Wait, you went to Reggie's school? Were you friends?" Sirius cranes his head to watch Regulus
slip past him and go into the kitchen, where he's obviously cooking. "I didn't know you had friends
from before."

"It's a new development, really," Regulus says dryly, "and I'm reconsidering it at the moment."

"Don't pout, Regulus." Pandora rolls her eyes and unfurls from the sofa, standing up to practically
glide into the kitchen, heaving herself up on the counter beside the stove to lean her head over and
raise her eyebrows at Regulus. "You don't have to like my opinion; we don't have to agree. I'm just
telling you what I think about it."

"Well, you're wrong, and get off or I'll burn you," Regulus snaps, holding his spatula up like he's
about to do just that, but Pandora doesn't even twitch.

"Sure you will." Pandora's lips curl up. "I'm not wrong just because you don't agree with me, and I
have a feeling that you will agree with me eventually. I'm never wrong about these things, you
know. I can sense it."

"You and your senses can fuck off," Regulus grumbles.

Pandora grins and darts her hand out to steal a piece of vegetable from the pan, popping it in her
mouth and humming in approval, and Regulus sighs heavily. Pandora wiggles her shoulders and
winks at Sirius. "Don't mind him, Sirius. He's just grumpy because I've told him I think he should
and will forgive Remus. How have you been, then?"

"Oh, I've been—fine," Sirius mutters with a grimace, and Regulus shoots him a smirk over his
shoulder. Sirius makes a face at him and moves into the kitchen to also haul himself up on the
counter beside the stove, just on the opposite side so that Regulus is between him and Pandora. He
peers down in the pan. "What are you making?"

"Pumpkin ricotta gnocchi with pancetta and seared radicchio, and I've some chocolate cheesecake-
filled strawberries chilling in the fridge," Regulus says.
Sirius leans back a little, staring at him, and Regulus glances at him out of the corner of his eye
before looking away, cheeks slowly turning red as he flushes. It's the first time that Sirius feels a
rush of affection for his little brother and can actually recognize it as what it is. He doesn't really
know what to do with it, admittedly, but it is there nonetheless.

"You sound like a proper chef, Reggie. Why don't you have one of those chef hats?" Sirius teases,
and Pandora gasps.

"No," Regulus hisses at her.

"Yes!" Pandora declares, kicking her feet, utterly delighted. Oh, Sirius likes this one, he decides.
"You have to, Regulus. I think you'd look lovely. Brilliant idea, Sirius."

Sirius grins at her and tips an imaginary hat. "Cheers."

"I hate that you two have met," Regulus mumbles, glaring down at the pan. "This is awful."

"Bet you miss Remus now, don't you?" Pandora sing-songs.

"Do you want to eat or not?" Regulus asks sharply.

"Yes, food, please." Pandora holds her hands up in surrender, then smiles slyly at Sirius when
Regulus looks away.

Regulus huffs and narrows his eyes at Sirius. "Did you really stop by to ask about your mental
issues? I don't need therapy, obviously—"

"He does," Pandora corrects.

"—but you undoubtedly do," Regulus continues, as if she hasn't even spoken.

Sirius purses his lips. "Well, if I do, you certainly do. We literally grew up in the same house,
Regulus. Mostly. There's no possible way you came from that unscathed."
"He didn't," Pandora confirms.

"I'm not going to a stranger and letting them poke about in my head just to tell me that I'm fucked
up. I know that already," Regulus says flatly, rolling his eyes.

"See, that's what I thought, too," Sirius agrees, tossing up his hands in relief. Finally, someone who
gets it.

Pandora steals another two pieces from the pan, ignoring the look Regulus throws at her in favor of
reaching around behind him to offer a piece to Sirius, who sneakily takes it. "That's not what it is,
you know, not really. I mean, they do learn about you and what you're struggling with, but it's more
than that. Your therapist—if you've found a good one—isn't just a stranger. They become
important to you, and they're there to help you. It's no different than if you've a physical injury; you
wouldn't just keep suffering if you could be helped. That's silly."

"You go to therapy?" Sirius asks curiously. He knows that some of his friends do, or have (Peter,
Alice, and Lily at the very least, but they don't often talk about it).

"I do, yeah," Pandora says easily. "It's really not as bad as some people believe it is. Therapy isn't
always about the worst things that have happened to you. Your therapist is also there for the good
things, too. And, if nothing else, they can't make you do anything you don't want to; so, for
example, even if they recommend medication to help you, but you don't want to, then you don't
have to. A good therapist will find other ways to help in whatever way they can. It's worth it, I
promise. If you're thinking about it, I say give it a go."

Regulus leans forward to turn off the stove, sitting the pan aside as he leans up on his tip-toes to
dig around in a cabinet to pull down some sort of spice. As he shakes it lightly over the pan, he
mutters, "Not all therapists are good, though."

"That's true," Pandora agrees, frowning. "I'm very lucky to have the therapist that I do. Some can
be truly awful. You know, I had a therapist before this one that I went to with my Mum before she
died. It was family therapy, but when I started going on my own, she recommended me to the
therapist I have now. If you two wanted to go together, you could always go to the one I went to
with my Mum."

"Me and him? In therapy? Together, at the same time? The world would end." Regulus doesn't
even look at Sirius, but he huffs out a sardonic laugh and shakes his head.
"Mother would be appalled," Sirius says, amused.

"God, she would," Regulus agrees, laughing a little more genuinely that time as he holds out the
spice without even looking, like an afterthought, which Sirius grabs on autopilot and puts it back
where Regulus got it from.

Sirius chews on the inside of his lip, then kicks out his foot to nudge Regulus' hip. "We should do
it."

"No, Sirius, we absolutely shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to, that's why. Do you even want to?" Regulus challenges, arching an
eyebrow.

"Not really," Sirius admits, and he doesn't say that he thinks he could do it if he didn't have to be
alone, and he definitely doesn't say that he thinks it would be good for Regulus, maybe for them
both. "But we still should. It's been eight years."

"You keep saying that like it's supposed to mean something, but it really doesn't. Yes, it's been
eight years. What of it? Time has passed; that's what time does."

"Yeah, but things have changed. A lot of things."

"Well, change is the only constant."

"Reggie, come on, I just—"

Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "You just what?"

Sirius struggles for a moment, frustrated and conflicted. A part of him wants to grab Regulus by his
shoulders and shake him, shouting I'm here, I'm trying, what more do you want from me? Another
part of him wants to hop down from the counter, wash his hands of this whole mess, and walk
away without looking back. Because it's easier. It was easier, and that's why he did it in the first
place, isn't it? But is it? He doesn't know anymore, doesn't know anything outside of this
unrelenting guilt and righteous anger and persistent ache to just…just try. It won't leave him alone,
how badly he wants them to try.

He doesn't know what he's feeling most of the time, other than a lot, and he doesn't know how to
verbalize any of it. There's something so awful about being unsure, about not knowing what to do,
or what to say, but knowing that something needs to happen. He doesn't know what the right thing
is, but something's got to give. It has to.

Sirius just wants this one thing to stop being so fucking hard. It's been this way for eight years, and
he's gotten a glimpse into what it could be if it was easier, so how is he supposed to just let that go?
Regulus is his brother. They're brothers.

"I just think," Sirius says carefully, "that it would be nice if we could have at least one real
conversation about—things with someone there to mediate, maybe."

"You want someone to hold our hands through a conversation?" Regulus asks flatly.

"Maybe, and what's wrong with that?" Sirius huffs and lazily flicks his fingers. "Maybe it would be
easier to talk if we had someone guiding us through it. Besides, Mother would hate it, and that's
reason enough for me, really."

"Regulus," Pandora says softly, nudging him with her knee, pinning him with a long, searching
look full of significance.

"I—" Regulus frowns, then glances at Sirius, holding his gaze for a beat. "I'll think about it."

"Yeah?"

"Just said so, didn't I?"

"Good enough," Sirius murmurs, lips curling up. He knows that's all he's getting at the moment, but
 it's better than nothing. He's learning that a lot of things are.

"Do you want some?" Regulus asks with a small sigh, nodding towards the pan on the stove, a
grudging look of faint amusement in his eyes.

Sirius grins. "Yeah, I do."

Chapter End Notes

Me, when writing the Black Brothers meeting again: oh god, i gotta get them in
therapy ASAP

Also, not Regulus being a jealous little shit STILL. And him being like, okay so i
mightve taken it a little too far with Remus. Like, baby, you think????

Also², Sirius really said gaslight, gatekeep, dogboss. Sister? Never had one. Lily
questioning her whole life rn

Pandora being a queen, as always <3

Anyway, I was relieved to be able to leave you all with a mostly lighthearted chapter to
heal the last, at least until Wednesday. Thank you all for the lovely comments and
support! They mean the world to me. ❤ Let me know what you thought of this one!
 Chapter 19
Chapter Notes

Hi, hello everyone!!! We get to see James and Remus today <3

Warnings for this chapter: Just angst, I think. Not ALL angst, but there's definitely a
substantial amount compared to the last chapter. Oh, and depictions of depression.

Good luck, babes <3

Mini Edit to do a tiny personal celebration for writing over 200k words!!!! You're all
troopers!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James doesn't so much as twitch when the door to his (old) bedroom creaks open. It's mostly a
guestroom these days, seeing as he took nearly all his things when he moved out. As much as he
loves his parents, and his childhood home, he also doesn't want to be here because it's his only
option.

From the doorway, Monty sighs quietly, and James doesn't acknowledge him. He remains a lump
under the blankets, staring blankly at the wall across the room with his glasses smooshed against
his face. It's his new hobby. Not a very rewarding one, but he does it often enough all the same.
He's been doing it a lot within the last eleven days—nearly two weeks since... Well, the wall is a
better way to occupy his thoughts, needless to say.

"Alright, budge up," Monty declares, moving over to gently shove at James' thigh, urging him to
move. Sighing, James shuffles around with low effort, slumping against the headboard in a burrito
of blankets while Monty grunts and settles down right beside him. "Oh, I'm way too past my prime
for this, son. Appreciate your knees at your age, because when you're as old as me, they will betray
you."

James makes some vague noise, but he doesn't say anything. He just closes his eyes when Monty's
arm comes around him and draws the cocoon of James over into his side.

"You know," Monty says softly, "I did something rather stupid at your age. Well, I did a lot of
stupid things at many points in my life—that's a part of life, I'm sorry to say—but I mean
specifically with your mother."

"Mum?" James asks, startled enough by this to actually peek around the folds of blankets to frown
at his dad.

Monty wrinkles his nose. "We were married by this point, of course, only in our first year—and,
you know, they say that first year is the hardest. Anyway, your mum started sneaking out all hours
of the night and lying about where she was going and who she was with, so—"

"Mum?" James repeats, but in disbelief this time.

"Indeed she did," Monty tells him. "At first, I sort of just let it go, and then it got worse because
she was so very bad at hiding that she was hiding something. I saw her get into a vehicle with a
man I couldn't quite make out in the dark, but it was a man, so I was rather convinced Effie was
being unfaithful."

James' eyes bulge, mouth dropping open, and he blurts out an incredulous, "Mum?! No. No, she
wouldn't. She'd never. What did you do?"

"Absolutely nothing," Monty announces with a small smile, and James blinks. "For about three
months, I did nothing. I watched your mother sneak about and create lies, but the thing was, I loved
her so much that I didn't… Well, to be honest, I didn't want to face it and lose my wife."

"Oh," James whispers, stricken by such a thing. Christ, that's so unbelievably sad, he doesn't even
know what to do with it.

Monty chuckles. "Of course, that couldn't last forever. It festered within me and caused some
problems between Effie and I. It was...a very hard time for us. Eventually, I couldn't take it
anymore, so I decided I would catch her in the act, thinking that she would stop and we could
move forward from there. Even then, even believing that she'd hurt me as badly as that, I couldn't
imagine ever letting her go."

"That's…" James swallows. He's not entirely sure what that is, honestly. Sad? Unhealthy loyalty?
Can loyalty be unhealthy? All he knows is that he gets it. He does get it, whatever it is.

"I know," Monty agrees, lips twitching. "So, I followed her and caught her in the act. Only, it
turned out that the man she was sneaking around with was her father, and the thing she was lying
about was a car she was fixing up with him to give as a surprise to me for our anniversary."
James stares at him. "Really, Dad? Really?"

"Yes, it seems silly now, doesn't it? Back then, however, it was something so heavy that I could
barely breathe through the weight of it at times." Monty shakes his head. "She was upset that I'd
ruined the surprise, Effie was, then she was startled when I abruptly broke down crying. It was just
—it was such a relief, you know, but all that pain and worry and anger really had nowhere to go,
and I just sort of...cried about it. Lovely woman that she is, your mum, she wasn't as angry as she
could have been, considering I was under the impression that she was having an affair. It was
probably the tears; she never could handle me crying. Still can't, actually."

"But you two were fine. I mean, obviously," James says, gesturing pointedly to himself.

Monty hums. "We were, yes, but we had no idea that we would be. We had no way of knowing
that we would end up exactly where we are today. Although we may seem meant to be, fated to be
here now, that's not how things work. It's a series of choices, and stupid mistakes, and trying again
and again. Love isn't something you stumble upon, or something that finds you, James. Love is
what you make it."

"Right, well, I've gone and made it a mess," James rasps. "I've ruined it, Dad. And I don't think I
can fix it. I was the one sneaking about and lying, and there's nothing silly about it."

"Give it the test of time. One day, you might be sitting down with your son and telling him about
your stupid mistake because he's just made one of his own." Monty squeezes him closer and
presses a fierce kiss to James' unruly hair, which is a true testament to a parent's love for their
child, because James hasn't washed his hair in nearly a week. "I can't tell you what will happen. I
can't promise you that you and Regulus will be able to move past this, or that you and Sirius will
ever be the same again. I wish that I could, but I can't. What I can tell you is that you won't get
anywhere by giving up. You try again, and again, and again. I don't mean with Sirius or Regulus; I
mean with life. Because it will push you down over and over, but never, never let it keep you from
getting back up."

James deflates against his dad, not even crying because he seems to have cried himself all out over
the last two weeks. "I'm tired, Dad. I'm so tired."

"I know, James," Monty says softly. "That's alright. Rest up a bit now, yeah? Lean on me. I've got
you."

So, for a bit, James leans on his dad and stops carrying the weight of everything. He just dumps it
—and himself—over on Monty and lets himself feel small, and weak, and simply too exhausted to
be able to hold anything. For a little while, he doesn't have to exist under all the pressure on his
chest, all the pain squeezing his heart, and he doesn't exist outside of the circle of his fathers arms.
He's not a traitorous best friend, or a lying lover; he's just a son, leaning on his father.

Of course, as much as he might wish to, he can't exist there forever. The moment he shifts, it all
comes tumbling back down on him. He pushes himself up anyway, mumbling about going to get a
shower, and Monty smiles at him.

When he gets out, he thinks that will be it for a few days at the very least. Isn't a shower technically
getting back up? It feels like it is. He hasn't had one in days, hasn't had the energy, or the
motivation, or even the care to do it. Genuinely, he hasn't done much of anything. The only reason
he eats is because Effie would probably force-feed him if he refused.

As it turns out, showering is not it. His parents are undoubtedly pleased about it, but they're not
letting him get off that easily. James sort of hates them for that.

"We love you, James," Effie informs him, "but you need to go."

James gapes at her and Monty in disbelief. "You're kicking me out? But I'm—I'm your son!"

"Oh, don't go into a strop. We're not kicking you out, not indefinitely," Monty says, rolling his
eyes. "We wouldn't make you sleep outside, because surely you would, but you do need to go for a
few hours at least."

Effie nods seriously. "Just a few hours, if that's all you can do. Go out, see the sun again, socialize.
You've been shut in for nearly two weeks, and it's not good for you."

"Where am I meant to go?" James snaps.

"Anywhere. Go talk to a stranger. Go have a cup of coffee. Maybe reach out to the other friends
you have other than Sirius, because you have those as well," Effie says.

"Or, you know, go home and see Sirius," Monty offers, raising his eyebrows. "That's an option."
"He doesn't want to see me, Dad," James whispers, looking down at his shoes. "And the others…
They'll know something is wrong, and I just—I can't do it right now, alright?"

Make no mistake. James has tried. As soon as he replaced his phone, he rang Sirius multiple times
four days in a row, but eventually gave up when he got no response. He even caved and called
Regulus, who not only didn't respond, but also repeatedly and pointedly forwarded his call to his
message box—not even a specialized one, just automated, so James didn't even get to hear his
voice.

"We're not telling you how to spend your day, love," Effie murmurs. "We're just telling you that
you can't keep spending it here, moping about and wasting away. Now, go on. I don't want you
back until the sun has set, at least."

"Funny," James grumbles, "you used to tell me I had to be home before the sun set."

Monty laughs. "Ah, the circle of life. It's all about the irony, isn't it? Go on, then. Enjoy your day."

"We love you," Effie adds.

James complains that they obviously do not love him if they're stranding him out in the cold, cruel
world; they don't indulge his dramatics and practically shove him out the door. He knows they
mean well, but he sort of hates them for that, too.

So, the thing is, James genuinely doesn't know what to do with his day. He has messages from all
of his friends, and he feels bad about ignoring them, but some part of him is terrified that they'll
look at him and know. They'll see him for what he's done, and they'll take a solid step back—or
worse, they won't. Because they should. They absolutely should. He deserves to feel awful like
this; he literally brought it on himself, after all.

The only person he could stomach seeing, he thinks, is the only other person who is in the exact
same situation as he is. Truthfully, James is helplessly curious about how things went for Remus.
He hasn't heard from him—though, to be fair, James didn't replace his phone for three days, so if
Remus did ring him, he wouldn't have known. Neither of them have reached out to the other in the
time since.

Well, misery loves company, doesn't it?

That's how James ends up heading to the coffee shop, and he tells himself it has nothing to do with
the chance that he might get to lay eyes on Regulus, even for a moment. It's towards the end of the
shift when he gets there, so he has all plans to just wait outside until Remus comes out, but then he
looks in and doesn't see Regulus at all. He only wants one glimpse, that's all, but Remus is the only
one behind the counter.

James swallows thickly and eases carefully into the shop, wary like he might be tossed right back
out. It's rather empty at the moment, so Remus notices him straight away. He looks up, his lips
pressing into a thin line, and in that moment where they stare at each other across the room, James
thinks they're both working equally hard not to start crying, or yelling; a mixture of resentment and
pain that crumbles before it can really form.

They did this together. They share the blame. James doesn't have it in him to hate Remus, even if a
part of him wishes he could, because that would be easier, wouldn't it?

"He's not here," Remus says softly when James steps up to the till. "He quit."

James feels his heart sink, and he blinks rapidly, eventually managing a stiff nod. "Suppose I
should have expected that. That's—fine. I'm actually here for you."

"Are you?" Remus surveys him for a long moment, then his shoulders slump as he sighs. "Yeah,
alright. I'm off in fifteen if you want to wait."

"I will, yeah."

"Do you want to order something?"

"No," James mumbles. "I really don't."

It's odd, really, that his mum had said for him to go out and see the sun. Bit of a shit day for it, he
notes as he loiters around the front of the shop, frowning up at the sky. It's a dreary day, the way it
gets when a storm is brewing. It's grey out, and it'll be black before night ever reaches them. If
James had to guess, it looks like a chance of rain and lightning.

A little over twenty minutes later, Remus comes out of the shop and mumbles, "Let's take the tube.
Helps me not think."
"Oh, well then I'm in favor," James says, then grimaces when Remus swings his head around
slowly, jaw clenched. "No, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I meant—I'm in favor of not
thinking these days, too. Come on, Remus, loosen up a bit, yeah? I'm taking you to lunch. Try not
to look so sad about it."

Remus doesn't reply, and neither of them say anything else, not even on the tube. The bustle of it—
the sounds of other people chattering and moving—actually does help drown James out of his own
head, so it's helpful in a way. It's also awful, because he feels on the outside of it all. He looks at all
these other people coming and going in their lives, wondering just how many of them are wading
through their own struggles, knocked down by life and still needing to go to work, or get home, or
visit a friend, or meet up with a lover. He's never felt so starkly alone in the brittle edges of his own
life the way he does when he sits there and can't figure out anyone else's.

James' favorite thing about puzzles was that they could always be solved, so long as he had all of
the pieces available to put it all together. Nothing was ever so tragic to him as the puzzle he and
Sirius first ever tried to do together, one that could never be finished. Well, nothing was ever so
tragic to him until this, until now, until he realized friendships and relationships could go without
pieces and he could be the one who lost them.

No piece was more important than the last, and every piece was as necessary as every other that it
connected with, he always thought. How could he be so desperate to make out the picture the
puzzle would create that he willingly tossed aside pieces that would keep it from falling apart?

Remus doesn't really speak to James directly until they're sitting opposite of each other in a booth,
having already ordered drinks and food. He barely lifts his gaze from the table as he says, "How's
Sirius?"

"I don't know," James says quietly, and Remus looks up at him, a strain around his eyes. "I haven't
been staying at home. He said he wanted me to leave him alone, so I… I'm staying with my parents
for now. Haven't seen Sirius since we...well."

"Was it as bad for you as it was me?" Remus mumbles.

James huffs a weak laugh and anxiously plucks at the napkin on the table, tearing tiny pieces off of
it. "Don't know how it was for you, but it was—quite bad, yeah. When I got home after we agreed
to wait, Sirius was already up at the table, doing a puzzle. He asked me to come help him. It's sort
of a thing we do—puzzles, I mean."
"Really?" Remus asks softly.

"Yeah, it is. Or was. I don't know." James shakes his head and clears the lump out of his throat.
"Then, you know, we talked for a bit. He wouldn't look at me, but I didn't think anything of it,
really. He told me Regulus had stopped by, and I got my hopes up that they—that maybe it'd all
work out, because it sounded like they wanted to work towards something. Then, casual as
anything, he made a comment about how he liked everything about me until he learned I was—"

"Fucking his little brother?" Remus suggests.

"Yeah. I think he used those exact words, actually."

"Of course he did."

"I almost had a heart attack, I think," James admits, swallowing thickly. "I just—I don't know why,
but I didn't see it coming. It genuinely took me by surprise. But I wasn't really surprised when he
stood up and punched me in the face."

Remus winces. "Christ."

"He kept shoving me back into my chair and hitting me on the side of my head, too, but it was—
fine. I deserved it," James says, shrugging one shoulder.

"No, James, no it's not," Remus murmurs. "That's not fine at all."

"Yes, well..." James trails off and looks away. "He did quite a bit of yelling, told me to stay away
from Regulus, and also busted my cell. He, um, knew I'd try to warn you, so…"

"That's why you didn't answer. I rang you from the hospital to warn you, but you didn't pick up,"
Remus says.

James' eyes bulge. "Hospital? You were in the—"

"Regulus' doing, technically, but also mine, really, if you think about it," Remus says with a sigh.
James' mouth drops open, scrambling to figure out what Regulus did to put Remus in the fucking
hospital, and Remus waves his hand with a grimace. "I was—I mean, he didn't do anything, it turns
out. He stopped by with food and a game of chess. I—I suppose I did see it coming. He was sort of
playing mind games with me, I think. I'd freak out thinking he knew, and then just when I calmed
down thinking he didn't, he'd say something that made me freak out again. He waited until I was
mostly convinced that he didn't before he made it clear that he did."

"Fucking hell," James whispers, wincing.

"We argued a bit. Did you and Sirius argue?"

"Sort of. I was mostly just crying, if I'm honest."

Remus' face falls. "Reg cried. Only for a moment, but he did. That was the worst part. He was sad.
I—I made him sad."

"Sirius has never gotten angry with me like that," James confesses. "I've never seen him so… I've
always calmed him, I think. Of everyone in the world, I've always been the person he can feel safe
with. So, to see him so angry when I was always the person who made him feel better, it was…"

"I know what you mean," Remus tells him. "I've angered Regulus before, but I've never made him
sad."

James' shoulders slump. "I have."

"Yes, and I've made Sirius angry. Were we ever good for them, James? I've given it a lot of
thought, and I really don't know anymore," Remus croaks.

"I don't know either," James says. He heaves a sigh. "What happened that ended with you in the
hospital, though?"

Remus' face scrunches, and he delicately clears his throat, averting his eyes. "Well, you know how
Regulus always asks people what they're allergic to before he, ah, feeds them?"
"Yeah, sure," James rattles off, confused, and then Remus gives him a pained, pointed look. James
gasps. "What? No. He wouldn't. He—tell me he didn't actually—"

"I'm severely allergic to specific medicines," Remus cuts in with a frown. "He waited until I had
two bites to sit a bottle of medicine down and tell me he'd poisoned me. And then he left me there,
where I called for an ambulance, only to be told by the doctor that I was perfectly fine. I just had a
panic attack."

James stares at him with wide eyes.

I don't think you're cruel, Regulus, James had said once. Give me a reason to choose to be, and
you'll change your mind, Regulus had replied. Right, then. James sees what he means now.

"Oh my god," James breathes out, "that's awful."

"Felt a bit deserved, if I'm honest," Remus says.

James shakes his head sharply. "No. Bloody hell, Remus, no. That's not—there's no situation in
which anyone would deserve that. That was so wrong that I don't even know where to start.
Christ."

"I wish he would have just punched me," Remus says quietly, and James' heart pangs. "But, you
know, it's awful that Sirius hit you, James. I'm sorry."

James deflates forward with his elbows on the table, running his fingers roughly through his hair.
He lets out a hoarse laugh. "Do you want to know what's fucked? Even now, even after all of it, I
still don't know what we were meant to do."

"Tell them, probably," Remus mutters, but he concedes with a weary nod when James gazes at him
helplessly. "No, I do get what you're saying. The results wouldn't be much different if we had told
them. Regulus informed me that he would have made me choose, and that wouldn't have ended
well, because I think I would have come to resent him for it. I—I think I already did resent him for
it, a bit."

"Sirius said he would have made me choose, too. I told him how unfair it was. Because I—I love
Regulus. I begged him not to do it, not to make me stay away from him, but he said… He said I
should have just been miserable," James rasps.

Remus' lips flatten into a thin line, and he shakes his head sharply. "No, that's not right either. I—I
won't claim that what we did wasn't wrong, but I know that's not right. I love Sirius so very much,
but that's not—" He swallows. "That's not what a best friend wants for you. We never wanted that
for them."

"So they're bad friends, Remus, is that what you're saying?" James asks, pinning him with a
defeated look.

"Maybe we all are, mate." Remus sighs and sound so exhausted that it's just fucking sad. "I don't
know anything anymore. I just know that I miss them. I really fucking miss them."

"Do you—do you think we'll get either of them back?" James whispers, a desperate edge to his
voice that he can't hide.

"I don't know." Remus swallows. "You might. I—I think I'm on my own now. Getting back to my
roots, I suppose."

James frowns. "No. No, don't do that, Remus. However any of this goes, you've still got me, mate. I
know it's not… Well, I'm not Regulus or Sirius, but I think, after everything, we can still be friends.
I mean, we probably shouldn't make any more plans together, but…"

"Oh god," Remus says, letting out a little breathless laugh like it stuns him, like he forgot what
laughing even was. His smile is small, but it's there, and for James—who finds it rewarding to lift
up the people he cares about—it's the best part of these horrible, shit weeks. "No, we definitely
should not."

"Between you and me, though," James whispers, smiling weakly, "I think we'd be brilliant at
planning things that don't involve deceiving the Black brothers."

Remus chuckles weakly. "I'd say so. We were no match for them, were we? Even separately.
Christ, they're brilliant. We're idiots, you know. And, really, I can't even imagine what they could
do together if they were actually on good terms."

"Take over the world, probably," James muses.

"What a frightening thought," Remus says, and James ends up laughing as well, just as startled by
it. He'd forgotten how good it feels to simply laugh.

James' humor fades quickly, however, and the drop in mood somehow stings more because it was
alleviated even for a moment. "I—I know this might sound mad, but if they did end up reconciling
after all this, maybe that's enough. If we had to lose them to bring them together…"

"Do you think it will?"

"I can only hope. It'd be good for them. You know it would."

Remus nods. "I know. It does sound mental that we could ever be something they bond about. Can
we pretend that was our plan all along? A great big sacrifice to make them happier in a way they
haven't been in eight years, rather than us just being so desperate to have it all? Sounds better that
way, doesn't it?"

"It does," James agrees.

"Except—" Remus cuts himself off, looking down at the small pile of the napkin James has torn to
shreds. His face sort of just sags, eyes filling with unmistakable sadness. "Except it was about us,
too. It was specifically about not losing them."

James sighs heavily. "Well, in the words of Sirius Black, we've gone and mucked that up quite
nicely, haven't we?"

"We did, yeah," Remus whispers. "We really did."

"So, better to have loved and lost than not loved at all?" James asks him, his lips trembling around
a tight smile.

Remus looks at him with watery eyes. "Despite everything, yeah. Because, if I could go back to the
day I met Sirius, or Regulus, I wouldn't change a thing if it meant I never got to have either of
them."
James turns his head and looks out the window where the storm is swirling in the sky, lightning
flashing in the distance, and he says, soft and heartbroken, "Neither would I."

Remus doesn't like the new bloke that's been hired to work with him, which is a bit awkward
because he's Molly's brother, and also Remus doesn't actually have a reason for it other than that
fact that he's not Regulus.

Gideon is as tall as Remus, broad and muscular. He's a ginger like Molly, but he has more freckles
than she does, and his smiles have mischief more than warmth. He's rather loud and takes up a lot
of space, and he has a slightly calmer and equally attractive twin that comes in literally every day.
He's also, in a strange twist of unexpected events, trying quite desperately to get Remus to agree to
shagging him.

He literally could not have chosen a worse time to try.

If anything, Remus' complete lack of interest seems to make Gideon even more interested. He
seems to find it amusing that Remus clearly takes issue with working with him, curious about his
bad moods, delighted when Remus accidentally snaps at him because he's simply not Regulus.
He's also not Sirius, so the whole shagging bit he's banging on about isn't really going anywhere
either.

Literally his third day, Gideon had asked, "Do you have a partner, Remus?" Of course, Remus had
no response to this, because he's not exactly...sure. It's not as if Sirius responded to his calls
(Regulus hasn't either), so how is he meant to know? Well, alright, his brain knows that, even if he
and Sirius haven't seen each other again to end the relationship, the relationship is still quite
finished. His heart, however, has not come to this realization yet.

He doubts it ever will.

In any case, Remus' lack of answer was apparently all Gideon needed to settle into his relentless
flirting. Remus mostly ignores him, and it's not as if Gideon can't take a hint. He's not too pushy or
anything, just playful and flirty, winking and flashing smiles and making suggestive comments.

Really, Gideon doesn't stand a chance. He has two great offenses against him already because he's
simply not Regulus, or Sirius. There's honestly nothing he could do.
"Oi, Remus, there's someone here to see you," Gideon says, sticking his head in the back to smile
at him.

"Cheers, Gid," Remus replies, because he can be polite, no matter how much he might not like
Gideon on account of who he isn't. That's not really his fault, is it? Remus tries not to hold it
against him; it's just very fucking hard sometimes.

Gideon winks at him. "Oh, it's my pleasure. Say, what are you doing later?"

"Pretend I've come up with a lie for some plan I have later and insert it here," Remus says,
brushing past him in the doorway, and Gideon busts out laughing.

Of all the people Remus is expecting (honestly, he's not expecting anyone at all), Pandora is the
last person he would imagine standing on the other side of the counter. He approaches her warily,
cautious until she sees him and smiles warmly, waving him over. He frowns as he stops across
from her, wondering why she looks so—pleased to see him.

"Oh, don't look so worried, Remus. I'm not here by accident, and I'm glad to see you," Pandora
murmurs. "You're my friend as well, you know. I've not come to be awful to you, I swear."

Remus shrugs weakly with one shoulder. "It would be understandable if you had. Regulus told you,
then?"

"Mhm," Pandora hums. "Found yourself in a bit of a pretzel, didn't you? I like pretzels, generally,
but this one…"

"Yeah. Believe me, I know," Remus admits with a sigh.

Pandora clicks her tongue. "Well, I just—I wanted you to know that I'm still your friend, Remus."

"Is that...a good idea?" Remus asks cautiously. "I just mean, Regulus won't like it. He could get
upset with you."
"Oh, he won't like it, but life is full of a lot of things we don't like, unfortunately." Pandora arches
an eyebrow. "Regulus can't stop me from having friends, Remus. This isn't a question of loyalty;
I'm not going to choose sides. Especially not when I care about you and we'll all be together in the
end anyway. I'm just not going to wait around for that and leave you alone in the dark in the
process."

Remus stares at her for a long beat, and it feels for a moment like his knees might buckle. "You—
you think we'll—you think Regulus and I will be alright?"

"I know you will." Pandora taps the side of her nose and winks at him. "I can sense it."

"Maybe that's just wishful thinking, Pandora," Remus says weakly, blinking hard. "I don't—I'm not
a very good friend, as it turns out. You should save yourself the trouble."

Pandora snorts. "Well, I don't have any siblings, so I'm sure I'll be just fine." He stares at her,
stricken, and she just laughs at him. "Oh, calm down, Remus. I was joking. You're no trouble; you
just found yourself in a pretzel, is all. No one handles being tangled in a pretzel well. That's what
being human is all about, really. Now, make me a cappuccino. Extra foam."

"Right," Remus mumbles, then does just that. He's made her drink enough to know what she likes
by now, so he gets through it on autopilot and brings it back to her.

"Regulus is fine," Pandora informs him, then pauses. "Well, no, he's not really fine. I just mean that
he's, you know, alive and safe. I know you're worried about him. I'm not going to be swapping
information or playing carrier pigeon, but I think you should know that he's—as fine as he can be,
considering the circumstances. That's all I'll tell you, and I'll tell him the same about you when I
see him again, but nothing else because that would tangle me in a pretzel, and I would much prefer
to simply eat them."

Remus can't help but smile at her. "Thank you."

"Of course. What are friends for?" Pandora reaches out to grab his hand, squeezing it, and Remus is
suddenly overcome with the urge to break down and cry. He blinks rapidly, and her face softens as
she draws away. "I know it's hard. It won't always be. I have to go, but call me sometime, yeah?"

"Yeah, alright," Remus whispers thickly.

Gideon waits approximately two minutes before he's bustling over to ask, "Who was that?"

"A friend," Remus says shortly.

"Looked like a pretty serious conversation."

"It was."

"You know…" Gideon trails off for a moment, then purses his lips and squints at Remus. "Well,
maybe you don't. I joke and all, but I'm not actually joking when I say we could be friends. You
seem like you could use some."

"You want to shag me."

"Of course. I've shagged many friends."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Right, well, I—haven't. I don't really do that, and to be completely honest
with you, I'm a shit friend."

"Are you?" Gideon raises his eyebrows, flicking his gaze over Remus with genuine curiosity. "I
really don't see it."

"Well, we're not mates, are we? I fucked my last best friend's brother, you see, so you might want
to reconsider—or, if not, Fabian might start to look really tempting," Remus says flatly.

"Why, Remus, that's scandalous, that is," Gideon tells him with a mock gasp, pressing his hand to
his chest. He grins when Remus scoffs. "Oh, come off it. Do you know how many of my friends
have shagged my brother? Oh, and I've shagged my fair share of Fab's mates."

"That doesn't bother you?" Remus mumbles, his eyebrows furrowed. "Like, at all?"

Gideon shrugs. "Oh, sure. In the moment, we get properly peeved about it, but we always come out
on the other side fine. We're brothers—twins, especially—and that's… Well, that outlasts anyone
we've shagged. It usually ends up becoming funny. We all end up laughing about it at some point."

"You mean you stay friends with the ones who—"

"Shagged my brother? Yeah, sure, most of the time. It's not like I own them. They're free to shag
whoever they like, even if it is my git of a brother; really, they're just doing a disservice to
themselves if they're going with him instead of me."

"Right, but—" Remus halts, chewing on his lip, then he blows out a deep breath. "Have any of
them fallen in love with him?"

"Ah," Gideon says softly, lips twitching. "Well, love's a bit different, isn't it? More complicated.
No, none of my friends have ever fallen in love with Fabian. His best mate fell in love with me,
though. He didn't mean to, I suspect, but I'm just irresistible. Not his fault."

Remus huffs a weak laugh, and Gideon grins. "How'd that go, then? Obviously not well, since
you're trying to shag me."

"Oh, I imagine it would have been fine if I had felt the same. I just...didn't. I liked him well
enough, but I wasn't in love with him, so I didn't waste his time. Fabian was actually a bit furious
with me for breaking his heart, which wasn't really fair, but things like that rarely are. Hard to be
rational when you care about someone so much, is all. In any case, he moved on and they're still
best mates to this day."

"It's not awkward?"

"Mm, not now. It was for a bit, I won't lie, but—well, believe it or not," Gideon says, shrugging,
"life goes on."

"Life goes on," Remus repeats.

Gideon flashes him a smile and winks. "So it does and so it does, and there's always something else
to lose ourselves to. Life goes on, and that's all we can really count on until it stops. Might as well
enjoy it before it does."
Remus stares at him for a long time, his mind churning. He knows, realistically, that Gideon and
Fabian are poor measurements for brotherhood in relation to Sirius and Regulus, because they're
wildly different in terms of people and the bond they share. He also knows that he can't expect
things to work out for him and James simply because Gideon and Fabian are at ease about these
things.

Sirius and Regulus aren't, and Remus doubts they ever will be. What does that leave him with? He
isn't sure, but life goes on, doesn't it? He feels lately as if it hasn't. He's forgotten what it is to not
feel hollow, what it is to enjoy anything.

He wants to remember. He wants his best friend back working beside him instead of Gideon. He
wants his boyfriend to smile and wink at him instead of Gideon. He wants—

But that's the thing; he wants, and he can't have, and it's no one's fault but his own. Before I had a
best mate, I didn't matter to anyone. And, even now, it still sometimes feels like I don't belong
anywhere, Remus had said, and he's right back there again. He remembers what Sirius had told
him, had promised: You matter to me. You have me, you know—really, truly, and indisputably. You
belong with me, Moony, you always will.

How was Remus expected to take everything that Regulus and Sirius ever gave him, then not do
everything to keep it? He would have torn himself apart to keep it. He feels like he did, and the
worst part is that he didn't get to keep it at all; worse than that, he has no one to blame but himself.

Life goes on, but Remus feels it may have stopped the moment he lost the very people who made it
feel like something to look forward to, rather than something to dread.

Might as well enjoy it before it stops, Gideon had said.

I did. Oh, but I did, Remus thinks.

Later in the day, after Gideon has flirted and Fabian has stopped in, Remus messages James to let
him know that Pandora came by with news that Regulus is alive and safe, if not fine overall. He
wonders if he should feel bad about it, going to James about Regulus as if that's not a part of the
reason they landed themselves into this mess to start with.

It's just that James loves Regulus so much that it was almost painful to look at him when they ate
lunch the day before. The effects of his heartbreak has taken a toll in a way he never expected it to,
not on James. He's aware that both of them look rough, that they're both carrying this pain and loss
around like a cloud of misery that gets denser and darker by the day. Remus avoids mirrors, but
James reflects it just the same.

It would be easier, he thinks, if James was someone he could hate. If James was the type of person
you could hate, after knowing him, truly knowing him. He's not, though. On the surface, he's jokes
and restless energy and a bit obnoxious with an undercurrent of muted arrogance that Remus
doesn't doubt was once much worse, but underneath all that is someone Remus couldn't hate if he
tried. He doesn't even bother trying. There would be no point, really, seeing as they were in this
together from the beginning.

So, yes, Remus updates James. Because James loves Regulus and will be relieved to hear the news.
It's not much, but it's all Remus can give him, so he does.

Mum and Dad are kicking me out again. I'm going to get lunch with Wormtail. Do you want to
come? James messages back.

Remus realizes with a pang in his chest that he won't get to see Peter again. He liked Peter. He
liked all of Sirius' friends; Lily, especially. Briefly, he thinks about how Marlene said she would
kill him if he ever left Sirius again, and the wild thought he has in response is that he sort of hopes
she keeps her promise. But, of course, he didn't leave Sirius. The only way you'll be free of him now
is if he lets you go, Marlene had told him. She was right. God, it hurts that she was right.

Freedom is the oxygen of the soul. Being free of Sirius feels like Remus' soul is suffocating.

That's the thing. He never wanted to be free.

Best not. It just complicates things, doesn't it? Does Peter even know what happened? Remus
sends.

James responds a few minutes later. No. He knows something is wrong, but he won't push if I tell
him I don't want to talk about it, which is exactly what I'm going to do. I feel bad because I haven't
been talking to him. He's my best mate, too.

You don't have to explain yourself to me, James. Good luck.

Are you sure you don't want to come? Peter likes you.

He's great, but I think it's for the best that I don't. Sirius would hate it, I'm sure, and Peter doesn't
strike me as the type of bloke to go around betraying his friends.

Nah, that's never been his style, you're right. Wasn't mine either.

I didn't mean it like that.

It's alright, Remus. Things change, I guess. Can I at least bring you takeaway after lunch?

You don't have to, Remus texts, frowning. He's quite sure that James, in his own way, is trying to
take care of him.

I know. I want to. Send me your address, James replies, and Remus thinks that taking care of
people is how James copes when he can't take care of himself.

Remus sighs. He sends James his address.

It's hours later before James makes it over to his flat. Remus has already changed into something
comfortable and smoked by the window for a bit, staring off into space, trying his level best not to
think about anything at all.

He's in a bit of a trance, just drifting, when the knock at his door jolts him. When he opens it,
James comes bustling right in with a bag in hand, not seeming put out by Remus' small, cheap flat
any more than Sirius did. He settles down right at the table across from him, pulling out containers
and nudging them in front of him, even taking a container for himself where he obviously didn't
finish his lunch with Peter.

"Thanks," Remus mumbles, picking up his plastic fork. "How did it go with Pete?"

"Peter had a bit of a breakdown when we were all fourteen," James announces, quite literally out of
nowhere. He grimaces when Remus blinks at him. "I'm not going to go into all the details; they're
not mine to share. But part of it was because he felt—excluded, I suppose is the right word. Sirius
and I made him feel excluded, without even meaning to, and that wasn't just what set him off, but it
was a big part of it."

Remus frowns. "Really? I mean, I've seen you and Sirius with Peter. He's clearly important to both
of you."

"He is. He always has been, but when we were younger, we weren't very good at showing that,"
James says. "Sirius and I have always been… I don't know how to explain it, really. I'm not sure if
there are words for it. The closest I can come to even trying is soulmate, really, if you believe in
things such as that. It's hard for us to see it from the inside, because it's just the way things work for
us, but being on the outside of it was difficult for Peter. He felt left behind, and in many ways, he
was. We never meant to; we never saw it that way. We love Peter. He's our best friend. So, when
things sort of—well, it wasn't a fun time for any of us, I'll just say that, so Sirius and I worked to
make sure it never got bad like that again."

"Alright," Remus says, nodding, listening.

James swallows thickly. "Pete's just a person who needs validation and reminders that he matters,
and there's nothing wrong with that. We all do, really, if you think about it. So, you know, Sirius
and I tell him all the time that we love him, check in with him every day, things such as that. Mine
and Sirius' friendship has always been effortless, but Peter taught us the importance of putting in
the effort. Without him, honestly, I dread to think of what pricks we would be."

"That's really…" Remus feels himself soften. "James, that's really lovely. That you and Sirius do
those things, I mean."

"Peter deserves it." James squeezes his eyes shut. "In all this, though, we've been neglecting him.
We've been neglecting all our friends. It's—it's very hard, is all, and I'm struggling. I'm ashamed,
mostly. I don't know how to—I don't know how I'm meant to just—just keep going as if everything
isn't in pieces. Peter doesn't deserve that. He deserves better."

Remus feels his chest clench. He tightens his grip on his fork and clears his throat. It feels so tight,
like he's being strangled. It hurts. All of this hurts so much. "I know what you mean, but you're
human, you know. Needing time is—it's alright. And you did get lunch with him. You're trying,
James."

"It doesn't feel like enough," James whispers.

"Sometimes our best isn't enough," Remus mumbles, "and we just have to find a way to live with
that."

James opens his eyes and gives a wobbly smile, trying so very hard. "Peter says hi, by the way. I
told him I invited you, but you couldn't make it, so I was going to bring you some food."

"So, he doesn't know?"

"He knows that something has happened, but he doesn't know what. I couldn't bring myself to tell
him. It felt like I was betraying him, too. I'm so tired of feeling like this, Remus."

"Me too," Remus admits.

"I think I'm going to go home tomorrow," James says, taking a deep breath. "I—I don't know what
will happen. I'll just throw myself at Padfoot's feet and let him kick me until it's out of his system,
maybe, and then spend the rest of my life apologizing if I have to. I can't—I can't keep doing this."

Remus tries not to feel the bitter twist of envy in his chest, but it's there anyway. Still, he forces out
a raspy, "I—I hope it works out, James. I really do."

"I think…" James pauses for a long moment, then looks right at him, holding his gaze. "I think you
should find a reason, any reason, to visit Regulus again."

"He might actually kill me," Remus points out, and James bites his lip. Reluctantly, Remus smiles.
"Maybe I'll let him, if that's what it takes. I have his pan from when he pretended to poison me, so I
could always...take it back."

James' face twitches like it doesn't remember how to grin, but it desperately wants to. "Might as
well."

"Can't hurt," Remus says, knowing damn well it's going to.

"This—to be clear, this is not a plan. We are not planning anything," James declares quickly, eyes
widening.
Remus shakes his head. "No. No, of course not."

"Like, it's not as if we're planning to get back in our best friend's good graces, then try to convince
them to let their boyfriends back in as well," James says.

"Right," Remus agrees.

James shifts restlessly in his chair. "We're not. I—I mean, if I were to bring you up to Sirius, if we
were alright again, then it wouldn't be because of some sort of...pre-planned scheme."

"Not at all." Remus bobs his head, tapping his fingers to the table, heart thumping wildly in his
chest.

"I—" James abruptly scowls. "No, genuinely, I'm going to keep being your friend because you're
my friend, and not use that to my advantage in any way, even indirectly, if you so happened to
make up with Regulus."

Remus points at him and says, "Exactly."

"So, it's not a plan," James reiterates.

"No, it's not," Remus confirms.

James coughs. "Because planning anything like this to, in any way, influence Regulus and Sirius
would be wrong and bad, and we learned our lesson from last time."

"We did."

"So, this isn't that."

"It's not anything," Remus adds, holding up a hand. "We're not doing anything at all. We haven't
done one thing."

"Because we know better now," James says firmly.

Remus purses his lips. "We do. If we did it again, or anything even remotely similar, that would be
stupid. So, we're not. This is just—I mean, we're friends. Friends talk about friends, and we
shouldn't lie to them about being friends, if...they ever talk to us again. It's not a lie if I bring you
up, as my friend, to my best friend—if he'll actually let me come near him."

"Yes, yes, precisely," James blurts out. "I'd be doing the opposite of what I did before—keeping
things from Sirius, I mean—by telling him about you. So, really, it's better."

"Yeah," Remus says.

"Yeah," James echoes.

They stare at each other, then almost at the same time, their faces twitch into smiles they're trying
to repress, and then they're both laughing quietly and helplessly.

"Oh god," Remus chokes out, "what's wrong with us?"

"Why are we like this?" James wheezes, shoulders shaking.

"They make us fucking insane, do you know that?" Remus manages to get out, laughing and
laughing.

"They do. They do. They really—" and suddenly, James isn't laughing anymore; he's crying.
Almost violently. Without warning, his laughter chokes off into heaving sobs as his shoulders
wrench up, face twisting. He hangs his head, his chest bowing in as he presses his hand flat to his
chest as if something has rammed harshly into it.

"James," Remus whispers, his own eyes burning, and he can't hold it in, can't keep it together. He
breaks, too.
 James whimpers and scrubs one hand through his hair, lifting his head to gasp out, "I hate them for
this. I know it's not right to; I know I deserve to feel this way. But I hate them for not letting us all
be happy. Why would they make us choose? I'm his best friend, and I'd give anything, anything, if
he could be happy for the rest of his life, so why won't he—why can't he just do this one thing, this
one thing, for me? If it was me… Do you understand, Remus? I'd never do this to him. Never.
Why is wanting to be happy selfish? I love Regulus; I love him, I love him, I can't stop, and why
—"

"It's alright. James, it's alright. I know. I—I hate them for it, too; I understand," Remus croaks.
"We were selfish for selfish reasons, but never just for that. I know how unfair it feels. It doesn't
matter what Regulus does, I would never leave him, even if it was something like this. So, I know.
But we—we were wrong, mate. We hurt them."

"I know," James whines, then cries harder.

"God, but it hurts, doesn't it?" Remus chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut as he sways from the
harsh pinch in his chest, the searing sensation of being sliced open. He hates crying, especially in
front of anyone else, but there's nothing for it now. It just flows out, because it does hurt.

There's pain, and then there's facing that you've hurt people that you love, that you never wanted to
hurt at all. There's pain, and then there's the cold, hard fact that you can do absolutely everything to
put off the inevitable, but if something isn't meant to last, it won't. In the end, it always falls apart,
crumbling to dust and slipping right through your fingers. You can try, try, try with all the strength
in your body to hold it, but if you're not meant to have it, you can't keep it. There's pain, and then
there's losing Sirius and Regulus Black, and that's agony like no other.

"Oh, hell, mate," James says, strained and strangled, and it's followed by the scrape of his chair.
Before Remus can make sense of anything outside of his tears, James is crouching down beside his
chair to pull him into a tight hug.

Remus practically collapses into him, as much as he hates it, but he can't really hold himself up
right now. He's defenseless. He's weak, and exhausted, and so fucking hurt—and he doesn't want
to be alone anymore.

So, he holds on.

Chapter End Notes

Pandora, my beloved <3 SHE'S BACK AT IT AGAIN. Also, if you can't tell, I'm
feeling quite fond of Peter this chapter. And Gideon... Buddy, you are so brave

Oh!!!! Oh, and Monty!!!! I love him and Effie so much.

James and Remus doing their best bonding in pain? Very Sirius and Regulus of them,
actually. At least they have each other

Anyways, they all need hugs. It's okay, though, because things are gonna get better
soon, slowly but surely. I just want to thank all of you for all your lovely comments
and feedback; it means so much to me. You can come find me on Tumblr if you like,
my username is: regulusbrainrot. I'm also on Twitter with @zeppazariel

What were your thoughts on the chapter? :)

 Chapter 20
Chapter Notes

warnings for this chapter: some angst, really, and brief references to child abuse

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Poppy Pomfrey is many things, Regulus has learned, but she is not the type of woman who lets him
—or anyone, if he had to guess—get away with being a sarcastic little shit.

Well, alright, she can't exactly stop him—or Sirius, for that matter—and she doesn't try; she just
doesn't let that stop her. In fact, the more Regulus gets to know Ms. Pomfrey, the more he thinks
that there's nothing she can't do.

He's known her for approximately twenty minutes, and already, he's terrified of her simply because
he's quite sure she has the skill to crack open his skull and shake him by his ankles so what he
never wants anyone to see will fall out. Beside him, at least, Sirius is equally in awe of her, and
also visibly questioning his decision to be here.

"So, you felt as if he was your responsibility?" she asks Sirius, replying to a sarcastic comment of
his own, gesturing towards Regulus as she does.

"He was," Sirius says instantly, almost defensively, and Regulus squints at the side of his face until
he looks over with a frown of confusion. "What? You were."

"Responsibilities are things you have to do, even if you might wish not to do them; things like
going to the dentist, or paying your rent, or doing the laundry. I'm a person. I'm not—and I never
was—your fucking responsibility," Regulus snaps.

"Yes, you were," Sirius insists with a huff. "I did have to take care of you. Mother and Father
certainly wouldn't, or they were just doing it wrong, so that left me."

Ms. Pomfrey cuts in, clearing her throat so they'll both stop glaring at each other and glare at her
instead. She seems unfazed by them. "This is not an isolated event, believe it or not. It's actually
quite common in eldest siblings coming from abusive or dysfunctional families, or both. It's rather
natural, in fact, for the eldest sibling to feel it's on them to take care of the younger sibling, to
protect them, to give them the things they lacked from their parents. No matter your age gap, this is
something any older sibling could find themselves doing."

"See?" Sirius asks triumphantly, gesturing to her with his eyebrows raised smugly. Regulus scoffs
and rolls his eyes.

"That being said," Ms. Pomfrey continues, "this can also lead to unbalanced dynamics and possible
resentment, especially when the siblings are as close in age as you are. In these cases, the younger
sibling often struggles with the desire to be seen as capable, while also wrestling with the feeling
that they can't be because their older sibling has, in many ways, raised them. The older sibling
often struggles to stop feeling the way they did when they were growing up, even in a setting
where that level of responsibility is no longer required."

Sirius and Regulus very pointedly do not look at each other.

Ms. Pomfrey sighs. "There is a quote that comes to mind here about brothers, when looking at both
of you. He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my
sustainer and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal."

Who said that, and how did they read my mind? Regulus thinks, frowning down at his hands.
They're clenched into fists in his lap, closed so tight that his knuckles are stark white.

"A sense of responsibility lends itself to an unwilling sense of control," Ms. Pomfrey says. "This
doesn't come from a negative place, but it can negatively impact your relationship. Sirius, I think
you wouldn't say automatically that you control Regulus in any way, would you?"

"Not bloody likely," Sirius mutters.

"Yet, instinctively, you lack awareness of the boundaries that he has to remain in control of his
own life," Ms. Pomfrey tells him, and Regulus glances over at Sirius to see him frowning, looking
genuinely upset. "I'm not saying this to make you feel bad, Sirius. I'm making you aware of it,
because you are not. Because it is genuinely instinct for you to feel as if you need to take care of
him, and in that, it makes it seem completely rational to do whatever you must to do that. Because
taking care of him, I suspect, was one of the only things that made life bearable for you growing
up. Am I right?"

Sirius picks at a loose string on the outer seam of his jeans on his thigh. He shrugs, but then he
mumbles, "He needed me."

"Feeling needed can feel good. It can sometimes feel as if it's the only reason we keep going, just
because someone else needs us to," Ms. Pomfrey murmurs.

"Yeah," Sirius says thickly, blinking rapidly, and Regulus stares at him, because he didn't—he
never knew that he was that for Sirius. He didn't know.

"It can also feel—stifling, in its own way," Ms. Pomfrey adds calmly. "In that feeling of being
needed, there is the natural association of who needed you and why they needed you. It becomes an
obligation, which can also lead to resentment."

"I never resented him. Never," Sirius whispers. "Not for needing me."

"No? Not even, perhaps, unconsciously?" Ms. Pomfrey asks. "That would be perfectly natural as
well. It's an instinct as well to come to resent what leads us to pain, which you would have
associated with Regulus. That was not Regulus' fault, but you may not have realized it, especially
as a child."

Regulus doesn't mean to, really, but words sort of just fall out of his mouth. "He's not like that."

"What do you mean?" Ms. Pomfrey says, looking at him.

"Sirius isn't—he never had it in him to do that. I don't know why. He should have. I did. But he
just…" Regulus swallows and shakes his head. "He would take the blame for something that was
my fault, take the punishment for me, and then come and comfort me afterwards. It never crossed
his mind to resent me for any hit he took for me. He's—honorable. Like, you know, the way heroes
in stories are when they do things that you know you'd never be able to do, because you're not
good the way they are—to the core of them."

"He never used it as leverage over you?"

"No."
"Yes," Sirius corrects, staring at him with his eyebrows pinched together. "That night—the night I
left. I said that every hit I ever took was a hit you would have suffered."

"That was just the truth," Regulus murmurs.

Ms. Pomfrey hums. "Why did you say that to him, Sirius?"

"Because I—I thought—it just felt like…" Sirius struggles for a moment, then squeezes his eyes
shut. "It felt like he didn't know. Like maybe he'd just—forgotten all that I did for him, or didn't
even care. It was like I had to tell him, because maybe if I reminded him, or could get through to
him, he'd see that it was no way to live. I didn't resent him for needing me; I resented him for
stopping."

I didn't, Regulus almost says, only to press his lips together.

"You two are similarly averse to change," Ms. Pomfrey notes, and somehow, this draws a weak
snort from both of them. She smiles slightly. "I think, for right now, it's best if we all get to know
one another better as we are in the present before we go diving into the past."

"That's the best thing you've said so far," Regulus says, and Sirius makes a small noise like he's
trying not to laugh.

"Right now, you two are clearly making the effort to mend the relationship you have as brothers,"
Ms. Pomfrey starts.

"Well, let's not get hasty," Regulus cuts in quickly, a stone dropping in his gut. "That's not—that
won't happen. We're only here because we can't talk without wanting to kill each other. That's all.
We don't have a relationship as brothers; we're never going to."

"Are you saying that because it feels impossible, or because you don't want to?" Ms. Pomfrey asks,
holding his gaze.

Regulus opens and closes his mouth, then looks over at Sirius, who looks away as soon as he has.
He's tugging furiously on the loose thread now, his fingers shaking. Regulus rips his gaze away
and mumbles, "It is impossible. It won't happen because it can't."
"Oh, but I think it's quite possible, and I think it's happening already," Ms. Pomfrey tells him, no-
nonsense. She isn't sympathetic to his stomach tangling itself into knots. Can't she tell? "Brothers
with no wish to mend the relationship between them wouldn't try to learn to talk without wanting to
kill each other. They simply wouldn't talk at all."

Regulus and Sirius say nothing.

"One of my favorite things about working with families, siblings in particular, is that the smallest
of mistakes can wreck them and, interestingly, the biggest mistakes never can when they decide
not to let them," Ms. Pomfrey announces, and Regulus feels like he can't breathe. She crosses her
legs, threads her hands together, and smiles. "Now, gentleman, let's discuss how not to let them…"

It's excruciating, and uncomfortable, and also informative. By the time it's over, and they're both
mumbling grudging agreements to be back the following week, Regulus has internally ripped Ms.
Pomfrey to shreds no less than three times. Sirius looks to be in the same predicament, which is a
strange comfort in all of this.

When they step outside, it's so awkward that neither of them speak or really look each other in the
eyes. Regulus has to push down the impulse to be unnecessarily harsh about something so that
Sirius will inevitably storm off. Apparently, according to Ms. Pomfrey, this is not the correct
response to give when he simply does not want to deal with Sirius. No, instead, they're supposed to
be honest.

Well, alright.

"I don't want to deal with you right now," Regulus announces bluntly, fully expecting a fight, but
Sirius just blows out a deep breath and sags a little bit.

"Thank god," Sirius breathes out. "I feel like I'm going to peel my fucking skin off if I stay near
you for another five minutes. No offense. Just—maybe some space, yeah?"

"Don't talk to me for three to five business days," Regulus declares, then turns on his heel and
walks away. It's the first time that Sirius doesn't follow him, and it's the first time that a part of
Regulus doesn't secretly want him to.

Regulus doesn't go home, though. He has actual plans with his day that he would literally chew his
own arm off before ever telling anyone. Sirius will eventually find out about it, but there's nothing
Regulus can do about that. He'll keep it quiet for as long as humanly possible.

It's not that Regulus can't find a job anywhere else. He can. He probably even should, even just for
further experience in his field. After all, he has experience working in a restaurant; he did that
before he ever became a barista. More experience in the food and service industry certainly
wouldn't hurt. It's just that—well, Regulus refuses to think about why he's doing this. He tells
himself it's because the job is practically a sure thing, and it has the perfect hours for his schedule,
and it's not that much of a commute from his flat.

(One of the most insane things that has ever, ever happened to Regulus is that he and Sirius have
been living and working within an hour of each other for years and never, not once, happened upon
one another until recently. Ironic, isn't it?)

Mrs. Delby is nice enough. She's shorter than Regulus and shuffles when she walks, and her fingers
are all slanted to the side from age and arthritis, but she practically falls in love with him when
ends up fixing her wonky, rattling till drawer. He doesn't really mean to, exactly, but she complains
about it and how much it gets stuck and the awful screech it gives, so he just crouches down and
peers underneath to dig out the row of bent staples someone shoved on the track. He tosses them in
the bin, then gently tugs the till open and shut, watching her face absolutely light up when it
doesn't snag or make any noise. She pats his cheek, calls him a very sweet boy, and gives him a
raise before he's even hired.

"Black, was it?" Mrs. Delby asks when they're in her office, him filling out paperwork so he can
literally start working tomorrow. Sirius, for once, was serious; she moves fast. "Any relation to
Sirius Black? You look a bit alike."

Regulus offers her a tight smile. "He's my brother."

"Oh, well, that's lovely," Mrs. Delby says, then immediately launches into a story about her brother
(who died in a freak factory incident) that takes so many twists and turns that they end up on the
subject of her hip surgery, and to be completely honest, Regulus has no idea how she got from there
to here.

In any case, Regulus leaves with the promise of an income, so he's actually accomplished
something with his day. He has a good bit of his day left, honestly, but no true desire to do
anything with it. Pandora is celebrating some promotion or achievement Xenophilius has had with
work. Evan and Barty both have his number now and aren't shy to use it, constantly pestering him
to go out for drinks (or, in Barty's case, ditch the boyfriend he still thinks Regulus has and have fun
with him instead), but Regulus keeps putting it off. Aiko, through repeatedly talking to him during
and after class, has given him her number and told him to ring her if he ever wants to get drinks
and complain how easy it is to overcook certain fish.

The thing is, even if all of these people are available, none of them are who he wants.

Every single one of his heartstrings are tangled up with wanting something only a few people can
give him, a want so viscerally different for each of them that he's learning, quite against his will,
that it's not enough to have one, or even none.

There's Sirius, who he wants to be around as much as he wants to stay away from. Who he's so
helplessly curious about, and infuriated by everything he learns, and still desperate to learn more.
Who he hates for what Sirius did, and still misses him like a kid anyway. Who he doesn't want to
trust, except Sirius is the only person he's ever trusted wholeheartedly, and never trusted anyone
the same after it was ruined, but that part of him that did trust Sirius is not dead and gone the way
he thought it was and would always be.

Regulus has this brittle, bitter hiss in the very center of his chest when it comes to Sirius. He's
selfish with Sirius. He wants to hurt him, but he also wants to keep him for himself, let no one else
have him. Not any of his friends, not James, and not Remus. He wants Sirius to be left with nothing
but Regulus, and he wants that to be enough, because for so fucking long, Sirius was all Regulus
had, and that was enough for him. And, in the same breath, he wants Sirius to leave again, to go
away, to go back to being just a formless ghost in Regulus' mind that he could hate without having
to know that there are things Sirius doesn't deserve to be hated for.

There's James, who Regulus can't even think about without wanting to rip his fucking hair out.
Because oh, oh, how Regulus hates James. He's hated James since he was eleven years old. Hated
him for stealing his brother. Hated him for being the person that pulled Sirius out of their fucked
up world and introduced him to a world that Regulus never got to be a part of. Hated him for being
the home that Sirius went to when Regulus no longer was that for him, long before he ever met
James to find out that it was actually true. He knew. He fucking knew where Sirius would run to
that night, that nameless best friend Sirius was always talking about, and Regulus hated James for
it then, and hates him for it now.

Except—and here's the hardest part—Regulus loves James so much that he's fucking cold without
him. All the time. It's a persistent feeling he can't shake, the absence of warmth, the loss of his own
personal sun to hold onto. He wakes up in the middle of the night with James' name falling from
his lips, gagging on it, curling into a shivering ball and heaving the most raw, gut-wrenching sobs
that no one and nothing has ever pushed him to before. Because he misses him. He misses James,
and it hurts constantly. It's a never-ending ache that pulses in him with promise, that whispers
insidiously through his mind when he's most terrified of the fool he's become, letting him know
that if James was to try again, if only he'd keep trying, Regulus would let him, and let him, and let
him.
But James hasn't, and won't. And Regulus wants him to. Regulus wants him. Wants him to show at
his door with apologies and promises, just so Regulus can slam it in his face, only for him to be
back the next day, and the next, and the day that Regulus eventually, inevitably lets him in.

And then there's Remus…

Regulus thinks it's unfair, really, that the world focuses so much on the heartbreak that family can
give you, or a lover, but not so much a friend. He wasn't prepared for it. No one really talks about
it, what it feels like to lose a friend, a true best friend. As if it's not impactful. As if it's not
something that can hit just as hard because it's not family, or someone you're fucking. As if it
doesn't ruin you all the same.

But maybe no one's had a friend like Remus. Maybe no one's ever had that person that their eyes
automatically seek out across the room when someone else has said something very stupid, just so
their gazes will lock and reflect the same, shared humor. Maybe no one's ever had that person that
they knew, no matter what, they could tell anything—any secret, any nightmare, any fear—and
never be judged for it. Maybe no one's ever had that one person who didn't have to say a word to
make them feel better when things were going wrong, that didn't necessarily have the words or
need them, that was enough just by being there beside them, even in silence.

Maybe no one's ever had—

"You said if there was anything I needed, I could come to you about it," Regulus says quietly.

Aberforth grunts. "I meant to do with the shop, boy. Your personal business isn't much my
business, so if it's—"

"No, sir," Regulus interrupts with an apologetic grimace, but Aberforth doesn't seem to find it
disrespectful. "No, it does have to do with the shop. I just—I worked with Lupin before, and I was
wondering if there's any way I could do that again."

"Why?" Aberforth asks bluntly.

Regulus blinks. "Oh. Well, to be completely honest, sir, I preferred it. He's quiet and does his job
well. Doesn't bother me."
"You friends?"

"Not really."

"Uh huh." Aberforth squints at him, then scratches his beard, then heaves a sigh and nods. "I'll talk
to him, see if he's willing, and we'll go from there. Might have to put the two of you on morning
shift if you're determined to work together. Alright with that?"

"That's...fine," Regulus mumbles, barely suppressing a wince. The morning shift sounds like literal
Hell.

"Go on, then," Aberforth says and turns away.

Regulus presses his lips together, blowing his cheeks out a little bit, then accepts that this is all
he's going to get at the moment and does, in fact, go on. He makes it about two steps out of
Aberforth's office before he runs head-first into someone else, basically getting a face full of chest
and sweater. He sputters at the itch of wool, face scrunching into a scowl as he steps sharply back,
and Remus Lupin blinks down at him with a small frown.

"Oh. Regulus," Remus says, visibly startled. "Sorry, didn't know you were coming out of the
office."

"Clearly," Regulus replies flatly, and Remus' lips twitch. Most people get nervous or
uncomfortable, or are just put off, because of Regulus' vernacular and less-than-sunny disposition.
Not Remus, though. He seems to find it amusing; he's one of the few people in the world that
Regulus has ever known to be capable of keeping up with it. "Are you going in?"

"No, I'm just here specifically to almost run you over," Remus tells him with a mild glint of humor
in his eyes. When Regulus pins him with a deadpan, unimpressed look, his lips twitch again. "Yes,
I'm going in. Need to talk to Aberforth. Actually, would you mind sticking around a bit? He'll
probably want to talk to you after."

"Why?" Regulus asks, instantly suspicious.

Remus doesn't look perturbed in the least. "I'm going to request that we be put back on the same
shift, if that's alright with you. Aberforth will probably want to make sure you're willing."

"Did you come here just to ask him that?" Regulus muses, arching an eyebrow, inwardly intrigued
despite himself.

"Yeah. Do you mind?" Remus asks, simple and to the point.

Regulus doesn't smile. He just—doesn't. People don't make him smile either, and yet, inexplicably,
he finds his lips curling up just a bit at the corners against his will. "Actually, I beat you to it.
That's what I was asking him just now."

"Really?" Remus blurts out, genuinely taken by surprise. Regulus just nods, and Remus chuckles.
"Seems like I read your mind."

"Oh, no, certainly not. If you had, you wouldn't want to work with me ever again. That, I can
assure you," Regulus tells him, reaching up to tap his own temple. "It's awful up here."

"Mine's no better," Remus admits. "Maybe that's why we work so well together to start with."

"Maybe so, Remus," Regulus murmurs. "Maybe so."

Maybe no one's ever had—

"No, I was a lonely child," Remus tells him, words slurring a bit.

"I wasn't. S'complicated," Regulus responds, tilting a little to the side as the world tilts around him.
"Had—I had a brother."

"Had? God, s'he dead?" Remus hiccups, horrified.

Regulus presses his lips together just to blow a raspberry, blowing out long and loud until he
accidentally bites down on his own tongue. He shakes his head. "No, no, he's alive. Probably.
Dunno. He's dead to me. But—but before that, I wasn't lonely. You were, though. Oh, that's—s'kind
of sad, innit? Did you have imaginary friends?"

"Had books," Remus mumbles.

"Books. Books are good. I like books." Regulus drops his cheek into his palm, then sighs. "I had an
imaginary friend when I was a child. Named it Snuffles."

"That's really cute, Regulus," Remus tells him, and Regulus frowns at him for a long moment. He's
never told anyone that before. Sirius knew, of course, but he was there for it.

"Cute," Regulus scoffs, squinting at Remus, trying to peer through the fog in his brain to assess
what sort of damage control is needed here. It isn't until Remus smiles at him, calm and unaware of
the threat on his life, that Regulus comes to the conclusion that Remus now has to be his best
friend forever, or die. Those are his only options. He knows too much.

Maybe no one's ever had—

"You know, it's unfortunate that you don't have a brother named Romulus," Regulus says,
stumbling along the sidewalk with Remus holding onto the back of his scarf to steer him away from
wandering into the street. "That would have been perfect symmetry."

"Well, Romulus killed Remus," Remus points out dryly, "so you'll have to excuse me for not
agreeing with you."

Regulus tsks. "Brothers are shit anyway. Wastes of time. Really overrated, if I'm honest. Fuck
Romulus; maybe you ate him in the womb and no one ever noticed, and you're simply the superior
twin in this life."

"I hate that you've just said that."

"This is what I call justice, Remus."

Remus snorts and gently tugs him out of the way of a closed-up food cart. "Is it? Bit of a fucked up
way to define justice, Regulus."

"Mm, well, it only makes sense, doesn't it? For brothers, murder is in their nature. It's repeatedly
documented throughout history. Cain killed Abel. Romulus killed Remus. Eteocles and Polyneices
both died by stabbing one another in the heart. Fratricide is justified. It's a brother's instinct, from
the dawn of time," Regulus explains.

"I suppose I'm lucky we're not brothers, then," Remus announces, amused by Regulus' ramblings
when most wouldn't be. He once again tugs on the back of Regulus' scarf to gently guide him to a
stop, moving forward to cup his elbow. "There's a step here. I'm not convinced you won't trip, so
go slow."

"You're not my brother," Regulus agrees, leaning on Remus as he carefully maneuvers over the
dip. He smiles at Remus, who smiles automatically back, fond. "You're my best friend. I think best
friends are just the brothers we don't want to kill. Remus, I don't want to kill you at all. You're the
best friend I've ever had."

Remus glances over at him sharply, startled, and Regulus beams at him. He's really quite pissed,
he notes distantly, but he's not worried at all. He knows Remus wouldn't let anything happen to
him. What are best friends for, right?

"Alright, then," Remus says softly, then continues to help Regulus safely up the street.

Maybe no one's ever had—

"Are you sure I'm not bothering you?" Remus asks for possibly the hundredth time this week—and
it's only been two days.

"Remus," Regulus says firmly, turning to glare at him, "if you were bothering me, I assure you, I
would make you leave regardless of whether or not you have somewhere to go while your flat is
being fixed. In fact, you're getting dangerously close to me kicking you out on your arse, because if
you interrupt me reading one more time, you will be bothering me."

Remus purses his lips. "You know, that's fair."

"It is. Now, shut up," Regulus mutters, going back to his book.
"Hey, Regulus," Remus says quietly, only ten minutes later.

Regulus heaves a sigh and turns to look at him, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. "What,
Remus?"

"Thanks for...giving me somewhere to go," Remus tells him, holding his gaze for a moment before
quickly looking away.

"Oh, shut up, would you?" Regulus mumbles, shaking his head as he focuses back on his book.
Briefly, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a tiny smile flicker across Remus' face, but he pretends
he didn't. He doesn't make a big deal out of any of this, because he can't imagine ever turning
Remus away for anything.

Maybe it's because no one's ever had Remus Lupin as a best friend. Maybe that's why no one talks
about how much it fucking hurts to lose a best friend at all.

Regulus doesn't know what to do with this sort of pain. It's nothing like the pain James and Sirius
cause; in some ways, it's worse. Because Remus, above all else, was supposed to outlast them all.
At the end of the day, when he didn't have his brother, when the man he's in love with suddenly
disappeared, Remus was always there. If nothing else, he had Remus.

And then Regulus did quite possibly the most fucked up thing he could have—out of anger, out of
sleep deprivation, out of betrayal and pain and the instinctive response of cruelty, the repeated need
to push people away he wants to keep the most, only to regret it when they're gone. He feels like
he's smothering every time he thinks about it. Why did he do that? How is he supposed to come
back from that? He doesn't think he can; he doesn't think he deserves to.

As stupid as it makes him feel, Regulus wants Remus anyway. He wants that lanky bastard to come
back so they can share looks across the room again, saying and understanding so many things
without even speaking a word. He wants Remus to come back and snark at him, to make him suffer
in the way it was acceptable, instead of this. He wants his best friend back so they can sit in
complete silence, never uttering a word, but things will feel easier anyway, just because Remus is
there.

And, like magic, when Regulus makes it to his flat, Remus is waiting there, an empty pan in his
hands, a light entering his eyes the moment they land on him.
Sirius stops in to restock with Mrs. Delby, who takes one look at him and announces, "Sirius, that
lovely brother of yours came by today and fixed my till!"

"Oh? Did he?" Sirius asks curiously, carefully placing various figurines out on his usual shelf.

"Sure did. He's a lovely boy. Just what I need to run my till, and I can trust he won't go about
stealing from me, being your brother and all, surely," Mrs. Delby says cheerfully.

"Ah, right," Sirius murmurs, resisting the urge to demand that she stop drawing comparisons
between them, as if it's an insult. It shouldn't be. It isn't. Regulus clearly isn't that cold, cruel person
he used to be, even if he's obviously capable of it. Besides, even back then, Sirius knew Regulus
wouldn't go stealing from unassuming old ladies with dodgy hips; that was never his brand of bad,
really. "So, he's hired, then?"

Mrs. Debly hums. "He is. He starts tomorrow. Isn't that nice? You'll be right next door to your
brother. You know, I've always thought it was important to keep family close. If I could, I'd do the
same with my brother. Did I ever tell you how he died? A factory death. Fell in one of those
machines…"

Sirius tunes her out (he's heard this story many times), indulging her distractedly as he fills the
shelf that's practically designated as his. Thankfully, he manages to find a break in her chattering to
pick up his portion of the earnings for all the things of his that have been sold over the last two
weeks, then indulges her a bit longer before slipping over to his studio.

He hasn't done as much as he would like, lately. It's always awful when it's difficult to create art,
but he's pushing through this time. Well, he's trying to. He's not managing it very well, if he's
honest. At this point, it's a fucking chore.

Sirius can't finish anything, and it's worse this time than last time when Remus left, because Remus
isn't the only source now. It's a tangled mess of Remus, Regulus, and James that's impeding him
these days. He can't even begin sorting through all of it, so his art has no direction and remains
unfinished.

So, really, the only option is to go back to his roots.

When Sirius first began getting deeply into art, he started out only drawing. What he drew the most
were animals, and that quickly turned into drawing Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs the moment
they became relevant to his life. It used to drive some of his Professors mad when he'd turn essays
and tests in with little doodles of a rat, dog, and stag going on various adventures in the margins.
Sirius' final art project before he graduated was a surrealism form of painting; depicting Padfoot as
tea grinds in the bottom of a cup, Prongs as an ethereal glowing stag piercing the darkness, and
Wormtail scuttling along a wall while casting the shadow of a man. He was quite fucking proud of
it, even more so when McGonagall requested that it be displayed in the school, which he agreed to
immediately, and it still is to this day.

In other words, Sirius could draw Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs in his sleep. He could likely do it
blind and bound and gagged. He can do it without referencing anything, which James and Peter
have always found rather impressive. All the details are the exact same every time—Padfoot with
his hulking figure and slightly crooked tail; Prongs with the same amount of antlers and markings
around his eyes as a homage to James' glasses: Wormtail with his uneven whiskers and missing
finger on his little paw because Peter had a broken finger at the time that Sirius first ever drew the
rat.

Through art, these animals are real. They're real to Sirius, which most people don't really
understand. It's a bit odd, but art loves odd things, and so does he.

All-in-all, it seems like the solution to the problem he's having (or the one he can actually tolerate
thinking about). That's why he turns on some music, puts it on as high as it will go, then throws
himself into drawing something he can do without even looking, as easy as breathing.

Sirius loses himself to it, admittedly, and it's one of those rare instances where his muse takes over
entirely so that he's not even fully aware of what's flowing out of him. It just drowns everything
else out until he exists in this void where nothing matters as much as freeing whatever is so
desperate to escape him. He's just a conduit. A puppet on strings for his feelings to move him as
they see fit.

His art is him. Part of him. It always has been. Sometimes, he never understands himself better
than when he's created something, examining on the outside what he couldn't make sense of on the
inside. There's so much of him; there's always been so much of him that he was constantly spilling
over all the time, and still is, and maybe will forever be.

Sirius isn't snatched back into the world until his music abruptly cuts off and there's a throat
pointedly cleared behind him, which makes him yelp and whirl around with a very startled,
"Fucking shit, Professor," that almost immediately turns into a sharp inhale when he actually
comes to terms with the fact that Minerva McGonagall is here.
She's here, alright, and she doesn't look pleased.

"Minnie!" Sirius blurts out, automatically panicking. "Don't you look fetching today? Lovely to see
you again as alw—"

"Mr. Black," Minerva cuts in sharply, and he snaps his mouth shut, dropping his gaze. He suddenly
feels like he's twelve again, cowed by her tone and shrewd eyes. She doesn't say anything else,
leaving him there to awkwardly fidget.

Sirius eventually can't take it, so he lifts his gaze to peek at her with a grimace as he mumbles,
"You're...here. What, ah, brings you to my studio, Professor?"

"You tell me, Mr. Black," Minerva says. "These are the lengths I apparently have to go to if I wish
to speak with you, as you're ignoring my emails."

"But you hate leaving Scotland," Sirius mutters weakly.

Minerva hums. "I do, so you can imagine my frustration with having to."

"I mean… I didn't make you," Sirius points out a bit petulantly, seconds away from kicking the
floor with the toe of his boot.

"No," Minerva agrees. "You didn't." She regards him for a long moment, then sweeps forward to
step up beside him and look at the rough sketch behind him. He turns with her, swallowing as he
glances between her and the drawing. She reaches out and hovers her hand over it. "Prongs.
Padfoot. Wormtail. You drew them so often at Hogwarts, I recognize them even now. The
attention to detail here is immaculate, Mr. Black."

"Thank you," Sirius whispers.

"This is just a sketch?"

"Yeah. I—I really need to go in with shading and erasing before the rough sketch is even finished.
It's—I mean, I might paint it later. I don't know yet."

"These are new," Minerva murmurs, gently hovering her hand to the right. Her eyebrows rise.
"Sirius, is that a wolf with a snake around its neck like a scarf?"

Sirius frowns at the drawing, squinting, then he huffs. "So it is. Of course it is. Christ."

"You sound surprised."

"My muse ran away from me."

"Ah." Minerva nods. "Fickle thing, a muse. Never let it get too far away from you. That's driven
many artists mad."

"Oh, sure, Professor," Sirius says with a grin, and he can't help but chuckle when she cuts him a
dry look. "Sorry. It's just… Well, we can take you from the classroom, but you carry it with you
wherever you go, really. Any other lessons?"

Minerva turns to face him, crossing her arms. "Well, generally, I recommend never destroying your
own work, especially in the middle of the art gallery your work is being displayed in."

"Heard about that, did you?" Sirius asks with a wince.

"Horace contacted me," Minerva tells him. "He's always been rather...exaggerated with details, so I
wasn't quite sure I believed him when he said you were so distraught by a member of catering
offending you by dropping a tray and running into you that you proceeded to tear the painting apart
and toss it dramatically in the fireplace."

"Um," Sirius says, "well—"

"So," Minerva continues, "I thought it best to contact another old friend of mine, who just so
happened to be leading the catering event that night. Pomona told me that you came to her with the
truth that you had, in fact, planned all of it as a prank on your brother, and you destroyed your own
painting for—in your words—the drama."

Sirius closes his eyes. "Bloody hell, do you know everyone?"

"And," Minvera adds, ignoring him, "this was confusing to me for a number of reasons, starting
with the fact that you do not actually have a brother—"

"I have a brother," Sirius cuts in, opening his eyes.

Minerva arches an eyebrow. "Mr. Black, I have known you since you were eleven years old. I
watched you grow up. Believe it or not, this allows me to pick up on a few things. You came to me
for help with making something for your—"

"Brother," Sirius says firmly, an edge to his voice that makes her stop and stare at him. He holds
her gaze in a blatant challenge, not budging. "I have a brother. I've always had a brother, Minerva."

"Your brother," Minvera repeats, and he doesn't break her gaze, staring her down. She pauses for a
long beat, then seems to realize the severity of the moment and relents. As easy as that, she nods.
"Your brother, then. My mistake."

"Regulus," Sirius murmurs, clearing his throat. "That's his name. I know you only ever heard me
call him Reggie, so maybe that's why you're confused."

"Mm," Minerva hums, not arguing. "Yes, well, my confusion did not stop there. You see, I could
not fathom how you'd planned a prank when you had no prior warning of who would be in
attendance, and as I understand it, you had no contact with any of your family since you were
sixteen. Of course, that could have changed, even if I sincerely doubted it. That did leave my
confusion, however, for why you would do such a thing when you were so honored to be displayed
in my stead in the first place. I can't quite figure that one out."

Sirius works his jaw, frustrated. He looks away, somehow managing to grit out, "You know me,
Minnie. I love to cause a scene. I've always been a troublemaker at heart."

"Sirius," Minerva says, drawing his gaze, "you are not a child, and I am no longer your teacher.
Speak to me like an adult, and don't do me the disservice of being dishonest."
"You—you can't—" Sirius swallows harshly, deflating as he looks at her, pleading. "Please, you
can't tell Ms. Sprout. It wasn't Reggie's fault, and she was going to kick him out of class, but he
didn't—he didn't do anything. You don't understand, Minerva, he's a brilliant cook. He's so
passionate about it. That's his art, and I couldn't let that be taken away from him when—when it
was my fault to start with. He—"

"Stop," Minerva says, raising a hand. "Slow down and explain."

So, Sirius does. He sort of trips over the whole explanation in starts and stops, stuttering, genuinely
rattled to his core by the thought of Regulus being punished. Old habits die hard.

In any case, Sirius practically spills his guts to her in a way he hasn't since he was seventeen and
sharing tea with her inside of her office because his birthday had passed, and Regulus hadn't called,
and Sirius' behavior was getting worse by the day. He tells her about the painting, about how
Regulus was caught off guard, about why he destroyed it. He tells her about the tiny breakdown he
had following (even if he leaves out the bit about Regulus being trans, which she may or may not
suspect or be aware of already), and he somehow ends up going on a rather long and arduous
tangent about what happened with James, and Remus, and how his whole life is falling apart, and
he's sorry, he's so sorry that he let her down.

"And you can't—you can't tell Ms. Sprout," Sirius says in a rush, towards the end, "because
Regulus and I are—we're trying, I think, and I can't ruin this for him. Please don't—"

"I won't," Minerva interrupts simply, and Sirius very nearly bursts into tears from pure relief.
They've migrated to a table, sitting on stools across from each other. Sirius slumps against the
table, exhaling shakily. "I see that this is all...much more complicated than I was originally
anticipating."

"You're telling me," Sirius mumbles, laughing hoarsely.

Minerva's mouth pinches like it does when she's trying not to smile. Her eyes soften. "You didn't
let me down, Sirius. In truth, I was...concerned."

"Aw, Minnie, you do care," Sirius says, lips curling up.

"When it comes to the...drama surrounding you and your brother, Mr. Potter, and this boy you
love…" Minerva studies him for a moment, then turns her head and looks at the sketch across the
room. "I think you'll find that any advice I could give you won't influence you more than the
feelings you already carry with you about it. I have always said that art is the transfiguration of
creation into feeling. For you, I've always felt, your art is the transfiguration of feeling into creation
into feeling. It's a viciously beautiful process that so few in this world rarely experience. Don't
waste it."

"Can I ask you something?" Sirius whispers.

"You may." Minerva glances at him and inclines her head.

Sirius takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "Have you ever felt like giving it up? Art, I mean."

"I have. Many times."

"But you never did."

"No, I didn't," Minerva agrees.

"Why not?" Sirius asks cautiously, tapping his fingers to the table, an anxious gesture. Of all the
things she's taught him, they've never ventured into territory about this. It feels personal. A sort of
taboo subject. Sacrilegious.

Minerva waits a beat, then says, rather simply, "Because when you love something, even the
hardest parts are worth it."

"Oh," Sirius says softly, feeling the words like a blunt object to his chest. She watches him, and he
sits on that for a long moment before he suddenly stands up. "I'm—forgive me, Minerva, but I have
to go. There's something I have to do."

"Yes, I imagine so," Minerva replies, mouth pinching again.

Sirius scrambles for his phone, but pauses halfway to turn around and meet her eyes. "You can
stay, if you want. In the studio, I mean. Paint or draw something if you like. What's mine is yours.
If you do, just lock up when you leave."

"I might just do that," Minerva muses.

"Oh, and Minerva?"

"Yes, Sirius?"

"Thank you," Sirius tells her sincerely.

Minerva's pinched mouth doesn't stand a chance. She smiles at him. "You're welcome."

Sirius flashes her a quick grin, and then he's gone.

The bike very nearly gets thrown to the side when Sirius reaches his destination, and the only
reason it doesn't is because he genuinely loves the thing. He makes sure it won't fall, then fucking
bolts, busting his way inside breathlessly.

Almost instantly, he crashes into something and yelps, making him quickly fix it, but by the time
he has, Effie is sticking her head out of the kitchen. As soon as she sees him, she breaks out into a
smile and says, "Oh, hello, darling."

"Hi, Effie," Sirius says sheepishly, moving further into the house (and looking around very
discreetly), but no other curious Potters come poking out, so he ends up in the kitchen where he
walks right into Effie's open arms.

"Who are you looking for?" Effie asks (he apparently wasn't being as discreet as he thought, or she
simply just knows everything), but her tone tells him she already knows the answer to her own
question.

Sirius hasn't let go of her yet, so of course she hasn't let go of him, and he's come to the conclusion
that they're going to just stand here forever, probably. He murmurs, "What if I just never let go?"
"Then one day, centuries from now, someone will discover our bones curled together just like this,
like those fossils of dinosaurs taking shelter together during the meteor shower, or the parents
holding their children when bombs are dropped. And, despite the horror of facing death as a
reality, those people will look at our bones and think—and know—just how very loved we were all
the way to the end," Effie says.

"That's so morbid, Effie," Sirius whispers, and Effie chuckles fondly against the top of his head.
She's taller than him, just as James is, a fact that he's always secretly appreciated. Her being
perpetually taller than him makes him feel small like a child in her arms, except infinitely safer
than he ever did when he actually was a child. "They'll think we're lovers, you know. The people
who discover our bones, I mean."

"Mm, I'm not so sure. They can tell age from bones. Someone will find out that I'm much older
than you, see how I'm holding you, and come to the conclusion that I'm simply a mother cradling
her child," Effie tells him gently.

"Yeah, maybe." Sirius swallows harshly. "Funny, the things people will get wrong about history."

Effie hums. "I'd say so, but every once in a while, they have to get something right, too."

When Sirius was actually in university—hating literally every moment of it—he went into a bit of
a spiral. Mostly, he only did it because he didn't want to let Effie and Monty down after all that
they'd done for him; he didn't want to squander the life they had so kindly given him; he didn't
want to fail them. It made him miserable, because it wasn't what he wanted to do, so he slowly
started falling apart at the seams, his life chipping away at him more and more, until it finally
unraveled and he broke. He went into a bit of a fit, actually, where he ended up losing it (on
Mother's Day, too, which was embarrassing) and crying in Effie's arms as he apologized profusely
for not being enough, for being a fuckup, unable to do one thing right.

She'd told him then, gentle and sure, that he had done nothing wrong, that it was his life to live as
he wished, that she only wanted one thing from him—and it wasn't for him to make himself
miserable trying to please her and Monty. She only wanted him to be happy. Quit university, then,
she'd said to him, just that simply. You could never disappoint us, darling.

I wish you were my mum, but you're not, he'd told her, like a secret. It sort of just fell out while he
clung to her, a truth that had been flowing in his veins since he met her, and he'd never planned to
tell her. Well, this is awkward, she'd said, because you're my son, and he'd laughed through his
tears and hugged her, and hugged her, and hugged her for a very long time.
Sirius didn't quit university. He just changed the plan and graduated with an associates in an
entirely different field, one that had to do with art rather than entrepreneurship and business he was
originally going for, the one Walburga had planned for him all along.

"Is James here?" Sirius whispers, pulling back to lift his head and search her face.

"Mm, no, we've been kicking him out," Effie admits, and Sirius blinks at her. She reaches up to
push his hair back from his face, smiling. "He was wallowing. We thought it best he didn't stay
shut in the way he was. He took all of his things when he went today, though, so I'm not sure if he's
coming back."

"Oh." Sirius wilts a little bit. "Do you—do you know where he is? Did he say if he was going
home?"

"I don't, and he didn't," Effie murmurs.

Sirius chews on the inside of his lip, his mind churning, and then he stops. He stops and stares at
her. It feels like, for a moment, everything stops. "You met him."

Effie doesn't try to halt him when he steps back, out of her arms, but her face tightens with strain.

"You met him," Sirius repeats, his chest tight. "You met my brother as James' boyfriend. Did you
and Monty know?"

"Fleamont didn't know until James came here after you found out," Effie says quietly. Her
eyebrows draw together. "I knew the moment I laid eyes on Regulus."

"You knew, and you didn't—" Sirius cuts himself off, a lump forming in his throat. He takes
another step back, hating how it invites more sadness in her eyes. In all the years he's known her,
Effie has never once hurt him. Before her, he thought that was all Mothers ever did; after her, he
thought that no true mother ever could. He was wrong both times, it turns out.

"Darling," Effie whispers, and Sirius shakes his head.

"No, what am I saying?" Sirius chokes out, releasing a harsh, bitter laugh. "Of course you didn't
tell me. James is your son. He's your son, and I'm just—"

"Don't," Effie cuts in firmly, the most stern that she's ever gotten with him. It's enough to actually
shut him up. There's a fierce glint in her eyes that makes him feel small. "Never insinuate that there
is an imbalance in the love I have for you and James. Never think that way again. I won't stand for
it. I have been here for you as a mother since you came to us, as Fleamont has been a father. I know
we didn't get you until later in life, but you have a lot of life left to live, Sirius, and we will be here
for every moment—if or when you get married; if or when you have children; if or when you go
into a financial crisis, or get an award for your art, or need help buying a house, or become a
trapeze artist just to say that you could. Whatever you do, wherever life takes you, we are here."

Sirius wishes there weren't tears forming in his eyes, but there are. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it was not my place," Effie says, taking a step forward, only to come to an immediate halt
when he flinches instinctively. She steps back swiftly, horror and heartbreak blooming on her face,
and then she has tears in her eyes, too. He hates that he put them there. He's never flinched back
from her, even when it was more of a remembered instinct than it is now. She swallows thickly.
"I'm sorry if I've frightened you. That—that wasn't my intention."

Sirius doesn't know how to tell her that it's not her fault. He doesn't know how to explain that he's
not scared of her, really. He doesn't know how to put it into words that Mothers are frightening on
their own, and she was the only exception to the rule, because he never thought she could hurt him.
Only, she has now, and it scares him.

It scares him that he can still be afraid.

Effie takes a steadying breath and softly continues, "It was not my place to tell you, Sirius. It was
not my place to out your brother, no more than it was James', but it was his place to stop lying to
you. Don't think, even for a moment, that if roles were reversed, I wouldn't have lectured you just
as I did him and still gave you a home when it all inevitably fell apart, just as I knew it would, and
warned him it would."

"You let him do it," Sirius rasps. "You knew it would hurt me, and you just let him do it."

"Believe it or not, I don't let you or him do anything, or stop either of you," Effie says. "I can give
advice. I can be here for the aftermath of your choices, but they are your choices. I am a mother,
not a dictator. I don't live your lives for you; I'm here in your lives for whatever you need, for the
hard times as well as the lovely ones. Sirius, I need you to understand something. I am a mother,
yes, but I am not just a mother. I am a human being fully capable of not knowing what to do. I can
make mistakes. I can hurt the people in this world that I never wish to feel any pain at all. Inaction
can be just as harmful as taking action, I know that, and I am sorry. I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"The worst part is," Sirius says softly, "it would have hurt no matter what you did. This was always
going to, wasn't it?"

"Yes, darling, it was," Effie tells him regretfully.

"I—I don't—I don't blame you, really. I know it's not… I know this would have put you in a
difficult position. I know none of this is—simple for any of us," Sirius whispers.

"It's not, no, but I—" Effie blinks and gives a trembling smile as one tear falls. She dashes it away,
still looking as lovely and comforting as she always has. He's never seen her cry before. It makes
something in him curl up and whine, utterly devastated by the sight. "You're so very darling to me,
and I love you so much. I wish with everything in me that you weren't hurt. If I could take your
pain, I would."

"James is hurting, too," Sirius says, because he knows.

"I would take his pain as well," Effie murmurs.

Sirius blinks hard, shuddering out a harsh breath. "I hurt him, Effie. I'm still hurting him. I hurt
everyone. I'm sorry."

"Oh, darling," Effie chokes out, twitching violently like she wants to move but forces herself not to.
She sways forward, face twisting. "Can I—"

"Please," Sirius whispers, barely even raising his arms before she's rushing forward into them. He
flinches again, can't help it, but keeps pulling her into him anyway. The moment he's clinging to
her, his fear evaporates.

He holds onto her for a long time, and when he tries to pull away, she holds onto him and whispers
that she's the one who needs the embrace this time, who isn't ready to let go just yet, so he gives
her what she has always given him, knowing deep down in his bones that he would hold her forever
if that's what she needed him to do.
He doesn't stay for much longer, though, because he just doesn't have the energy. He leaves, and
Effie doesn't try to stop him. He's so tired, so exhausted by everything, and he just wants to go
home. He wants to go home and find James there, waiting on him like nothing has changed,
offering that safe haven he's always given Sirius. Always.

It's killing Sirius, because—

"Potter, Black, detention!" Professor McGonagall bellows, and Sirius' mouth drops open while
James groans.

"But it's the first day," Sirius blurts out incredulously.

Professor McGonagall arches an eyebrow. "Then you two should have thought of that before you
started messing with the paint. The brushes are not wands, stop waving them about."

"How did she not see you, Peter?" James hisses, scowling.

"Because I waited until her back was turned," Peter informs them, like they're a bit stupid. Sirius
glares at him, and he just smiles mildly and focuses back on his painting.

James sighs and looks at Sirius, a slow grin forming over his face, eyes lighting up. "Well, at least
we'll have each other."

"There is that," Sirius murmurs, chuckling despite himself, even if he dreads the idea of detention
and what his mother will do to him when she finds out about it.

And yet, when detention comes around and he finds himself doing a puzzle with James they can
never finish, Sirius finds that he doesn't really mind at all. It's his first detention, but it most
certainly isn't his last. With James, he learns, they're always worth it.

It's killing Sirius, because—

"Do you think I'll ever be able to do art again?" Sirius chokes out, staring down at his wrapped
hand through a blur of tears. It aches despite the medicine he was given for it at the hospital. He
thinks it's numb, actually, and the ache just comes from the center of himself. Right in the middle of
his chest, a pit has opened up there.

James, who hasn't left his side since he showed up, smiles at him and softly says, "Of course you
will, mate."

"The doctor said there's a chance it won't heal properly, and I won't be able to use it the same way
again," Sirius whispers, pressing his head back into the pillow with burning eyes. Why did it have
to be the hand? Why didn't his mother just stab him in the fucking chest? At least then that would
explain the pain radiating from there.

"It'll heal," James tells him firmly, holding his gaze.

Sirius makes a small sound. "But what if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't…" James takes a deep breath and reaches out to grab Sirius' uninjured hand,
squeezing it. "Well, loads of people can do things with only one hand. We'll figure it out. If nothing
else, when you need an extra hand, you always have mine."

"Yeah?" Sirius asks thickly.

James nods. "Yeah, Sirius. You always have me."

It's killing Sirius, because—

"What's wrong with me?" James asks softly.

Sirius adores Lily, he truly does, but at this particular moment, he could fucking kill her.
Swallowing thickly, he climbs into bed beside James and splays out across from him, holding his
gaze. "Prongs, there's nothing—absolutely nothing at all—wrong with you."

"I asked her for years and years, and she always said no," James whispers, looking at Sirius,
visibly devastated. "Why didn't I listen? Why did I think, just because she eventually said yes, that
meant she wouldn't ever say no again?"

"James—"

"I'm so fucking stupid. I'm—"

"You're not stupid, mate. You—"

James cuts in with a choked, "I just kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing. I love her so much. I
don't know how not to love this much, and it costs me everything. I did this. I—Sirius, I can't—"

"Stop it," Sirius says fervently, his voice low as he reaches out and clamps his hand around the
back of James' neck, squeezing it. They're lying curled on their sides, facing each other. Sirius
rocks forward and taps their foreheads together. "Listen to me, James Potter. This is nothing
wrong with you, or how you love. Nothing at all. Never stop loving as you do. Never, do you
understand?"

"I can't do it again," James confesses, rocking his head back and forth, one hand reaching out to
grasp the front of Sirius' shirt and hold on. He's on the verge of breaking, and it's breaking Sirius'
heart. "I can't lose someone I love again. It hurts. God, it hurts."

"I'm sorry, mate. I'm so sorry," Sirius breathes out, a lump forming in his throat. James officially
shatters, collapsing forward with a shuddering sob, pressing his face into Sirius' shoulder. Sirius
cups the back of his head, crying right along with him. "You don't deserve this, James. You deserve
to be happy. I'm so fucking sorry."

James can't respond. He's crying too hard.

"No matter what, I'm here. You've always got me," Sirius tells him, then nudges him a bit. "I'll
marry you, if you like. I think you'd make a decent husband." This drags a weak, wet laugh out of
James, and Sirius smiles softly in victory. "It's alright, mate. You'll love again, and whoever is
lucky enough to be loved by you will just have to deal with the fact that we're a package deal,
yeah?"

"Yeah," James says hoarsely.

 "Me and you, James. We'll always be me and you, and you can trust I'll never hurt you, not like
this," Sirius vows, ducking his head to meet his gaze. "I mean it. If no one else is forever, I am. I
know it's not the same, but—"

"It's enough. It's more than enough," James tells him. "You're more than enough, Sirius. Me and
you, yeah?"

Sirius smiles. "Yeah."

It's killing Sirius, because James saved his life time and time again, all the way from eleven years
old when they met on a train and shared that first grin between them. Something within them
simply recognized one another, like companion pieces that click together perfectly, never meant to
be without the other. Everything feels wrong now, and Sirius hates it.

Sirius wants his best friend back. He wants all of this to stop, and he wants to go back to the way
things were. He wants to go back in time and never be so reckless in his anger to ever hit the one
person in the world he never once thought he could ever lay hands on, and he wants to go back to
that moment and never make the mistake of demanding James stay away from him, because no
part of him has ever wanted James to leave, not then and not now. He wants to go home and find
James there, waiting like he's just as lost without Sirius, because they can't keep doing this, can
they?

Sirius can't keep doing this. He doesn't want to keep doing this. He's so fucking tired of doing this.

And, in that inexplicable way they've always had, it seems James has read his mind, as connected
to him as ever, because he's there when Sirius gets home.

Chapter End Notes

sirius and regulus in therapy: we regret all choices that brought us here

Poppy Pomfrey Supremacy <3

See you on Sunday!!!!

Thoughts?
 Chapter 21
Chapter Notes

warnings for this chapter: references to child abuse. a brief description of ill children in
the hospital, as well as a sick child passing away. some angst, but it's mostly the slow
starts of healing.

Also, Happy Birthday, James. This one goes out to you <3

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The first time James ever saw Sirius sad was when they were eleven, their very first year together.
He'd been a little startled by such a thing, because Sirius was a rambunctious child who liked to
laugh and cause mischief, and he would occasionally get unexpectedly furious about certain things,
or with certain people, but never James. Sadness, though… Even James got sad sometimes,
especially in the beginning of the term, missing his parents. But Sirius never got sad, or he hid it
well.

Either way, there was one day where Sirius was very quiet and subdued. He told everyone he
wasn't feeling well and skipped half of the day and nearly all of the meals. James, at first, was so
concerned that he pleaded for Sirius to get checked out if he was sick, but Sirius kept brushing him
off.

It wasn't until much later that night, in the quiet of the dorm, that he heard Sirius sniffling. James—
who had no boundaries at the tender age of eleven—immediately slipped from his bed, pushed
open Sirius' bed hangings, and climbed right in with whispered questions of what was wrong. It
took some gentle and not-so-gentle prodding to get it out of Sirius why he was up so late, crying as
quietly as he could.

"It's Reggie's birthday," Sirius had finally whispered, looking mildly embarrassed and so very sad.
James, who had heard quite a bit about Reggie, Sirius' little sister, only nodded and settled in to
listen. "I just hate that I can't even talk to her. Mother and Father don't celebrate birthdays, really."

"They don't?" James asked, eyes widening. He couldn't imagine such a thing. His mum and dad
always celebrated his birthday, always made a big production of it, always made it one of his
favorite days of the year.

Sirius shook his head, sniffling again. "Not really. They usually leave a present or two at the end of
our bed. Expensive stuff. Not toys or anything cool. Before I came here, I would steal biscuits and
sneak us out onto the roof, and I always tried to give Reggie a present I made. But I can't do that
this year. I can't even talk to her and wish her a happy birthday."

"Why not? Don't you have a mobile?" James had murmured.

"No, not yet," Sirius said with a sigh.

James perked up. "Oh! Well, Mum and Dad got me one so I could ring them when I missed them.
Do you want to use it?"

"I don't know the number to my house."

"Oh. Well… Hm. Well, Professor McGonagall has them on file in her classroom. I saw her look
mine up when she rang my parents after I tripped Snape in the hall."

Sirius frowned at him. "That doesn't really help me, though."

"But what if it could?" James had whispered with a grin.

And so, they snuck out of the dorms in the middle of the night to break into Professor
McGonagall's classroom and look up the number to Sirius' house. It was, upon reflection, a plan
they should have not been able to pull off, but one they somehow managed to anyway.

But, when Sirius—excited and practically rattling with anticipation—had called, it was his mother
who answered the phone. Sirius had asked so, so politely and so, so hopefully to speak to Reggie,
even just for a moment, and Walburga had yelled at him for calling so late. Then, begging, Sirius
had pleaded with her to at least tell Reggie that he called to wish her a happy birthday, and
Walburga—the cruelest woman in the world—had refused. She'd hung up on him, and Sirius had
curled into a ball in James' bed and cried all night.

It was the first time James had ever seen Sirius genuinely, harrowingly sad. Reggie's birthday. This
would unfortunately become a trend over the years that never broke.
There's something about sadness that feels heavier than any other emotion. It's an understated
phenomenon, sadness is. People say they're sad, and no one really thinks about what that means
because the word is so small for something so big. Being sad is a state that people gloss over, like
it doesn't really matter because it's almost always guaranteed to pass, to eventually evaporate. But
that's the thing, isn't it? Sadness may go, but it always finds its way back—for some more than
others. There's not always a reason for sadness, but when there is, it's even worse. If James were
asked, he would say sadness is the worst thing in the world, because it's the only emotion that feels
like a flame flickering out.

When you're happy, the flame is bright and glowing, warming the people around you. When you're
angry, the flame is a blaze, painful at times, but bright and passionate all the same. No other
emotion or feeling in the world is a light snuffed out like sadness is, not fear or confusion or hope
or grief or shame or surprise. All of that is loud, so loud. Sadness is quiet. James has never liked
the quiet.

James hadn't liked seeing his best friend sad either; he'd hated it, in fact. So much so that he'd
promised himself, at only eleven years old, that he would never make Sirius sad.

It's a promise he's broken.

When Sirius comes in, he's sad. So fucking sad. And it's James' fault, and all he can think is I'm
sorry. To that eleven year old him who only ever wanted to make his best friend happy, he is so
very sorry. Breaking that promise is a sadness like no other.

"Hi," James whispers. He's sitting on the very edge of the sofa, hands tangled between his knees,
chest tight like his ribcage is shrinking down on him.

"Hi," Sirius replies, equally quiet. His hair is down, a little mussed from where he's clearly worn
his helmet. He has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, but James can see the
impression of them; they're balled into fists.

"I—" James stops, swallowing. He feels small and inadequate and out of sorts. He was prepared.
He thought he was prepared, but now he's at a loss for what to say. Nothing seems right, or
appropriate. "I, um, had this whole—speech prepared, I think. Well, I don't know. It didn't really—
I mean, I didn't write it down or anything. Probably should've. It mostly just consisted of offering
to let you hit me again, if that would help, and asking if—if I could come home now."

"Did it?" Sirius asks softly.

James looks down at his knees. "Well, that, and apologizing for lying to you and going behind
your back and keeping things from you and scheming with your boyfriend and—"

"Yes, alright," Sirius cuts in sharply. "I don't need a fucking list of what you've done, James. I'm
perfectly aware already."

"Right. Sorry," James mumbles, grimacing.

Sirius heaves a sigh so deep that it rounds out his cheeks, and then he drags his hands out of his
pockets to scrub them over his face. When he drops them, his shoulders slump. "Yeah, James, I
know. I know you are."

Helplessly, James just looks at him, because he doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't—he's not
sure what else there is past being sorry. If he knew what could fix it, he would do it in a heartbeat,
and it terrifies him that there might not be anything else. What if it can't be fixed?

For a long moment, Sirius just returns his look in complete silence, not moving, and then he shakes
his head and starts walking. James feels his heart jump with a mixture of hope and fear, trying to
stay still as Sirius approaches the sofa and proceeds to throw himself down on it. He slumps back,
sprawled out, legs spread and arms crossed. Optimal position for pouting; James knows it well.
Sirius does this when he's in a strop, or when he wants attention, or both. Honestly, he's like a
bloody dog sometimes.

James cautiously peeks at Sirius over his shoulder, still unsure, and Sirius arches an eyebrow at
him before flicking his gaze to the open spot beside him. Letting out a gusty sigh, James instantly
falls back, melting against the cushion and rolling his head to the side to stare at Sirius, who looks
back, visibly displeased. They're not touching, but it wouldn't take much to shift over and press
their arms together.

"What do you want me to do?" James asks quietly.

"You shagged my little brother, mate," Sirius mutters, wrinkling his nose. "Not sure there is much
you can do."

"Sirius," James whispers, staring at him, beseeching.

"Fortunately for you," Sirius says, "I have a crippling codependency issue, and you're the source,
and there appears to be no cure. So…" He smacks his teeth and frowns at James, eyebrows
crumbling together. "I miss my best friend."

James makes a small, pathetic noise. "I miss my best friend, too."

"Oh, get over here already," Sirius grumbles, even as he swallows harshly and lifts one arm
slightly.

"Oh, thank god," James chokes out, instantly swinging himself around to practically throw himself
at Sirius in a very undignified manner that he's not even embarrassed at himself for. He slams into
Sirius so hard that he grunts.

It takes approximately three seconds for James to start crying, pretty much immediately after he
snatches Sirius into a tight, awkward hug on the sofa. For all of Sirius' posturing, he follows right
behind him with the crying, fisting the back of James' jumper and holding on tight.

"You're so fucking stupid," Sirius hisses through his tears.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry," James babbles, nodding into his shoulder, smooshing his face into it
so determinedly that his glasses slip off his face and land somewhere behind Sirius. He doesn't
really care. He doesn't need to see anything to know he feels better than he has in over two weeks.

Sirius pinches his ear, not enough to hurt, just enough to make it clear that he's frustrated. "How
can you be so smart and still do something so stupid, Prongs? That was the worst plan."

"There were no good plans!" James yelps, groaning, a mixture of mortified and remorseful.

"You didn't consider the plan of not fucking my little brother?"

"Please stop mentioning it, Padfoot. I'd like to be able to look you in the eye sometime this
century."
"No, you will live with this shame," Sirius tells him, gently tapping him on the back of his head,
only to leave his hand there, ruffling his hair. "The shame of shagging my little brother. Little
Reggie. And the shame of coming up with the worst fucking plan in history with my boyfriend to
keep doing it. You have to live with that, because I also have to."

James huffs and deflates against Sirius like all of his strings have been cut. "Maybe it'll be funny
one day."

"No," Sirius says flatly. "This will never be funny."

"Yeah, that's fair," James mumbles.

Sirius falls silent, and so does James. They just sit there and hold onto each other, despite the
awkward angle they're in from their positions on the sofa. There's a strain in James' back, but the
horrible, searing ache in his chest has lessened considerably (not gone, not entirely gone), so he'd
honestly break his fucking back to stay right where he is.

It's a long time before they finally pull apart (Sirius passing James his glasses) and slump back into
the sofa again, this time pressed together, and Sirius holds his gaze and says, "I'm still upset with
you."

"I know," James murmurs. "I'm sorry, Sirius. I'm sorry for lying. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'll—
whatever you want me to do, I'll do it, mate. I promise."

"I want you to never do it again," Sirius informs him, raising both eyebrows at him.

James nods frantically. "I won't. I swear I won't lie to you about something like that again, or
purposefully deceive you in any way, or scheme with Moony to keep secrets from you."

"And?" Sirius prompts.

"Er," James says awkwardly, inwardly scrambling to try and figure out what else he's meant to be
promising to never do.
Sirius narrows his eyes. "Shag my little brother. Never shag my little brother again, James, that's
the right answer."

"Oh," James blurts out, then freezes. He stares at Sirius with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. Oh
god. He can't promise that. He can't fucking promise that, because he'll break it, given half the
chance. He knows he will.

"James!" Sirius hisses, eyes bulging as he shoots up straight to stare at him incredulously. "Are you
fucking—"

"Padfoot," James says weakly.

Sirius looks at him in pure disbelief. "You're—I can't fucking believe this. What did we just go
through, James? You can't shag my little brother! No. No, absolutely not!"

"I—I mean—" James cuts himself off quickly, biting down on his bottom lip hard to stop himself
from saying please? He's quite sure that would get him punched again.

"No," Sirius grits out, glaring at him. "It's not happening."

James looks at him for a long moment, then drops his gaze and mumbles, "It's not like he'd even let
me anyway, so you don't have anything to worry about, really."

"That's—" Sirius pauses, lips pressing into a thin line, then pursing in thought. He eventually huffs
and settles back down with scowl. "Alright, yes, that's true. He hates you."

"He does?" James asks, voice small. Sirius isn't punching him in the face; Sirius is punching him in
the heart. It fucking hurts. He'd rather be hit in the face, honestly.

Sirius cuts him a sharp look. "Yes, he does, and that's enough for me. Should keep you away from
him. He's a ruthless little bugger when he wants to be, so I hardly need you to promise anything at
all."

"Do you—do you hate Remus?" James murmurs.

"Remus," Sirius says, his voice flat. When James glances at him, Sirius' face is just completely
blank. "You know, I feel something worse for him than hatred. Apathy. I'm completely apathetic to
all things Remus Lupin. I'm always indifferent about people I don't know, and it turns out I never
knew him at all. If I saw him in the street, I wouldn't bother to even spit on him. I'd just keep
walking."

"You don't mean that," James says, strained. "You love him."

"Did I?" Sirius shrugs lazily. "Who knows, really? He was just someone I was shagging, mostly.
There will be others."

James stares at him sadly. "You know that's not true, mate. We both know that." Sirius doesn't
reply, so James just sighs and shakes his head. "Well, for the sake of being honest, you should
know he and I are friends."

"What?" Sirius bites out, nearly gnashing his teeth like a snarling dog, his eyes flashing.

"We were friends, you know," James mutters.

Sirius' nostrils flare. "No. No, you were partners in crime, which is what we are supposed to be,
except, apparently, when it involves crimes against me."

"Well, that's a little excessive, isn't it?" James says, and Sirius' face twitches in a vaguely alarming
way. "Or, you know, it's perfectly valid for you to feel that way, even though that was not at all our
intention."

"You can't be friends with him," Sirius declares.

James frowns. "But I am. How is it fair if I—"

"You want to talk about fair, James, really? What was fair about what you two did?!" Sirius
bellows.
"He has no one," James snaps, and Sirius rears back a little bit, eyes going wide. "You might be
perfectly willing to abandon him, but I'm not, especially when we did the same exact fucking thing.
I understand him, and he's my friend."

Sirius stares at him for a long beat, then he sighs loudly and deflates again. "Oh, bloody hell, you
and your persistent loyalty. You know what? Fine. Fucking—whatever. I don't care. Just keep him
away from me and don't talk to me about him. I don't want anything to do with him, James. I'm not
joking."

"You'll forgive me, but not—"

"Leave it."

"But—"

"James!"

"He loves you so much, Sirius," James insists, unable to stop himself. "He never meant—"

"You know, I'm missing you less and less by the moment," Sirius interrupts harshly, pinning him
with a look so cutting that James slowly closes his mouth. "If you're going to talk about Remus so
fucking much, go off and be his best friend and save me the damn headache, yeah?"

James shrinks back, eyes stinging, and he whispers, "If you want to hurt me, I'd rather you just hit
me again. I don't think I can take it if you're going to keep saying things like that to me. I know I
deserve it, but I—I'm not made for things like that. Not from you."

"Shit," Sirius says weakly, his face falling. His eyes sink shut, and he hangs his head forward.
"Christ, mate, stop looking at me like that, yeah? I'm—I'm sorry, alright? I just… I don't want to
talk about Remus, or hear about him. I'm asking, because I really—I can't. I just can't, so don't.
Please."

"Alright," James murmurs, and he nods when Sirius looks up at him. "Alright, I won't, then. I
shouldn't have pushed. I'm sorry, Sirius."
Sirius swallows and rasps, "I'm sorry I hit you. I shouldn't have done that, no matter how angry I
was. I'll never hit you again."

"That's okay, mate," James tells him, blinking, because he was never upset with Sirius about that at
all.

"It's really not," Sirius croaks, looking down at his hands. He curls his fingers in, then flexes them
out, a look of such visceral disgust on his face that it turns James' stomach. "I was so much like her.
My mother. I was just like her. The way you were crying, and I just kept yelling and hitting you;
that was her. It makes me sick to my fucking stomach. Something that made me feel afraid, and
weak, and hurt—and I did it to my best friend. I—I did it just like she did."

James reaches out carefully and covers both of Sirius' hands, drawing his eyes, which has tears
swimming in them. "Don't do that, Sirius. You're not her."

"Then explain that," Sirius whispers thickly, lips trembling.

"You never deserved what she did to you. I deserved it," James says, frowning at him.

"No." Sirius shakes his head. "No, James. No one deserves it."

"Alright," James muses slowly, carefully, forcing himself to take a step on the outside of it and see
it without the filter of it being Sirius, his very best friend, who he would scour this earth and
overturn every pebble and every speck of sand to find a reason to excuse anything he's done. If it
was anyone else, just two strangers, he would feel differently. Right now, Sirius needs that
honesty, not the excuses. "You're right, it was wrong, but that doesn't make you her. That just
makes you someone who did something wrong, who knows they did wrong, and I forgive you for
it. I forgive you, Sirius."

Sirius starts crying instantly and gasps out, "Thank you."

"I'm sorry I made you sad," James says softly, reaching out to pull Sirius in, hugging him again.

"I forgive you for it," Sirius tells him, and James feels a wave of solace crash over him so heavily
that when he squeezes his eyes shut tight, tears spill out. "I love you, you know."
James breathes, and breathes. "I love you, too."

When Remus was in the hospital as a child, he was at such high risk that he wasn't allowed near
any of the other children in the ward. There was a steady rotation of nurses, all who were kind
(even if they were all sure he was going to die, or maybe simply because they believed that), but
on account of them all being adults who often caused him pain (as necessary as it was), he didn't
really consider them friends.

There was, however, a little girl across the hall who he would see a few hours a day when the
nurses left their doors open. He would watch her curiously, wondering what her name was, what
books she liked, what she thought about when the pain was too much to bear with a clear mind.

One day, she caught him looking, and she waved. Remus waved back, tentative and shy, but
pleased all the same. She smiled and turned away to draw a coloring book into her lap. A few
hours later, one of the nurses stepped into his room with a torn out page with a princess and prince
on it, colored a little badly, honestly, not keeping in the lines at all. At the bottom of the page was
the scrawled name of Mira with a backwards R, the letters wonky and large.

"This is from the girl next door," the nurse had told him with a warm smile, seeming amused by
his blush.

He couldn't help it, though. He was warmed by the gift, pleased with the small interaction with
another child, caught up instantly in the idea that he might have a friend. Quietly, he'd asked, "Can
I get something for her?"

"Whatever you like, dear," the nurse replied.

So, Remus had to wait for his parents to come back the next day, begging them to get something
he could give to Mira. In the end, it was Hope who gave into his pleading, briefly nipping down to
the gift shop to get a small plush frog with a polka-dot bow on the head. When you pressed the
frog's chest, it would croak. Remus was delighted, so much so that it lifted his spirits enough to eat
and actually keep down the food while his medicine changed.

He wouldn't find out until much later that Mira saved his life. If he'd thrown up that day, the doctor
had all plans to switch to a different medication that, as they would find out many years later, he's
deathly allergic to. Had that been the case, as sick as he was, Remus would have died. Instead,
because he kept the food down, the medicine stayed; since it agreed with him, they kept with it,
and he ended up surprising everyone by surviving, and not only surviving, but making a full
recovery.

But Remus wouldn't learn that until later. All he knew then was that he wanted to make a friend,
and he had a gift to give to her, since she'd given him one. He held onto that frog all day through
the comings and goings of nurses; through needles and tubes and whispered conversations between
the doctor, his mum, and his dad; through the ticking seconds that bled into minutes into hours.
And, when the door opened, Remus asked the first nurse he saw if he would take the plush frog
next door to Mira and let her know it was from him.

"Oh," the nurse had said, voice soft, "I'm sorry to say I can't do that. Mira isn't with us anymore."

"What do you mean?" Remus whispered, confused, even as some part of him, some terrified part of
him that was ice-cold from preemptive dread, already knew what the nurse meant. He asked
anyway. He shouldn't have. "Did she get better? Did she get to go home?"

The nurse had paused for a moment, hands stilling on the monitor by Remus' bed, and he'd looked
at Remus with so much sympathy and pity that Remus, despite being so young, knew exactly what
he was going to say. And he was right, because it was a solemn, "I'm sorry, lad."

It wasn't a yes or a no, but Remus knew. He turned away and dropped the frog into the bin beside
his bed, and he didn't say another word for four days. He'd heard some of the nurses later
murmuring how awful it was to lose Mira, who they had all known for months, some of them
genuinely heartbroken about it; they didn't know he could hear them, seeing as he was pretending
to sleep.

The worst part was, Remus wasn't sad for losing a friend. He was sad that he never got to have a
friend at all. He was sad that he was going to die, just like Mira, and he wouldn't even have a friend
to be sad about it when he did. At four years old, he couldn't imagine anything more sad than that,
and it had rendered him mute for nearly five days.

Of course, when he didn't die, his problems in the friend department didn't disappear. Remus was a
sickly child, so some parents warned their children away from him.

Other children simply didn't relate to him because he liked books and didn't know any games to
play (he'd been in the hospital with only books to keep him occupied, and learning games wasn't
allowed whilst in the midst of dying). Most children thought he looked strange because of his scars
from surgery and perpetual IV lines, or because he was very pale, or because he was so thin and
gangly and could hardly keep on any weight. More than just that, he had the fact that he just was
strange working against him. He would often get dizzy and have fainting spells; he couldn't eat
solid foods until he was nine; he was repeatedly taken out of school for weeks at a time when he
got sick over and over and over. He was quiet, and awkward, and simultaneously stunted in social
growth and far surpassing his peers (a horrible mixture of not being able to socialize, yet being
exposed to dreadful experiences such as death at such a young age). So, this led to him being
lonely.

Remus was a very lonely child, and Remus grew into a very lonely adult. It sort of became—his
normal, in a way. He grew accustomed to it, even to the point that he had no true desire to change
it. Simply put, it was his comfort zone.

Regulus changed all that, though.

In a strange twist of fate that Remus never saw coming, Regulus appeared in his life and coaxed
him out of his comfort zone so smoothly that Remus never even realized it was happening until it
was already done. Remus doubts Regulus even meant to; surely that wasn't his intention. He just
sort of fits so well to Remus that it was impossible for Remus not to push the boundary of his
comfort zone to include him.

Because, without even knowing it, Remus had coaxed Regulus out of his own comfort zone as
well. They'd done the same thing to each other, not even realizing it, not even trying. They just—
worked. Then, one day they looked up and saw it for exactly what it was, and instead of tucking
tail and running, they basically just eyed each other and came to the unspoken agreement to let the
other be the exception, doubling down on doing this miserable shit they call life together.

He hasn't thought about Mira in a very long time, but when Regulus comes to a halt a few steps
away, Remus clenches his fingers around the pan in his hands and remembers the little girl who
never got her plush frog. He thinks, and knows, with some strange serenity, that Regulus would be
sad if he died. The thought shouldn't be comforting, but it is.

"I brought back your pan," Remus murmurs, holding it out.

"Do you have a death wish, Lupin?" Regulus asks, watching him a few steps away from his door.
He doesn't move closer. His face is blank, but Remus is used to that.

"Haven't I always?" Remus replies.

Regulus' eyes narrow just slightly, just for a moment, and then he says, "Did I not make myself
clear before?"

"When you pretended to poison me?" Remus raises both eyebrows at him. "No, not quite. If you
wanted to be clear, you should have gone through with it."

"That can be arranged," Regulus mutters, scowling.

"Well, do it in this pan. It's symbolic," Remus says, holding it out more insistently.

"You're fucking unstable, you know that? Absolutely mental. Loopy Lupin," Regulus tells him,
shaking his head.

Remus smiles weakly. "I'm no more fucked up than you are, and you know it. Now come take your
pan. I know it's one of your favorites, Regulus."

Regulus scoffs and sweeps forward to let himself into his flat, stepping in and whirling around to
glare at him. His lip curls, and he looks so cold, so fucking harsh, that Remus feels his nerves
spike. Regulus leans forward and snatches the pan out of his hands, pinning him with a lingering,
scathing glance, and then he whips around and marches away.

But he leaves the door open.

Remus stands there for a moment, gaze running over the open doorway, looking into the flat as he
listens to the clatter of Regulus dropping the pan in the sink and running the tap. Helplessly,
Remus' lips curl up into a smile, because he knows just that simply that he's forgiven. Or, no, not
forgiven. Just acceptance. Regulus will make him work for it, of course, but Remus expected no
less, really. It's better that way, he thinks.

"I did what I did specifically so you would leave me alone," Regulus informs him the moment he
steps into the kitchen and leans on the counter behind him. "Why haven't you?"

"I've never left you alone, and I'm not about to start now," Remus replies quietly.
"Really? What was the last two weeks, then?" Regulus challenges.

"Awful," Remus says bluntly. "For me, personally, it was fucking awful. What about you?"

"Blissfully free of sorry excuses for best friends, since you've asked," Regulus retorts sharply.

"Yes, well, I've come to end your bliss. Sorry excuse for a best friend or not, I'm meant to make
you suffer," Remus murmurs.

Regulus slams the pan down and snaps the tap off, flicking his fingers before jerking around, jaw
clenched. "Oh, is that what you were doing by fucking my brother?"

"There's making you suffer, and then there's hurting you, and I—" Remus' throat clicks on a harsh
swallow as he drops his gaze. "I never wanted to do that. But I did, and for that, I am truly sorry."
He looks back up and finds Regulus watching him, lips pressed into a thin line. "I shouldn't have
lied to you, or conspired with your boyfriend to deceive you and your brother. I shouldn't have
blamed you for my own choices. And I shouldn't have believed, even for a moment, that you would
ever kill me, or do anything to harm me, because you are not and have never been a sorry excuse
for a best friend. I'm sorry that I am. You deserve better than that."

"No, you shouldn't have done any of that," Regulus agrees, holding his gaze for a moment before
looking away, "but don't bring what I deserve into this. I don't deserve much at all."

"Then I'm the perfect best friend for you," Remus whispers.

"You were always more than I deserved, Remus," Regulus says softly, gaze fixed on the wall to the
left.

Remus feels the words like a knife to the heart. They pierce him and make his eyes immediately
burn. "Reg…"

"If I cook," Regulus says shortly, "will you eat?"

"Yes," Remus answers instantly.

Regulus looks at him then. "You're an idiot. As intelligent as you are, you do some of the most
idiotic things. I nearly poisoned you, or did you forget?"

"Nah, you didn't," Remus says easily, lips twitching. "You just conducted psychological warfare
and made me believe you were poisoning me, tapping into my trauma surrounding the thought of
dying to send me into a panic attack."

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so much worse."

"Honestly, you could have just done me the favor and put me out of my misery. Less traumatizing
that way."

"I could have gone to prison. I value my freedom, you know."

"You want to know something funny?"

"Not particularly," Regulus mutters.

Remus chuckles. "When I thought I was dying, I was actually concerned about what would happen
to you. If you'd go to prison, I mean. I was literally sure that I was being murdered by my best
friend, and I still covered for you."

"That's not funny," Regulus tells him, his face softening just a bit, just enough to be noticeable.

"Well, it's a bit funny," Remus argues.

Regulus takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. "I'm asking again. If I cook, will you eat?"

"Yeah. The answer is still the same, Regulus. I'm actually quite hungry, and you're a brilliant
cook." Remus shrugs, and Regulus looks like he wants to roll his eyes, only refraining through
sheer force of will. "If I hug you, will you stab me?"
"Yes," Regulus says sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"Good thing I have a death wish, then," Remus announces, then steps forward to tug Regulus into
his arms before Regulus can dodge out of the way.

Remus holds onto Regulus even though he's stiff, even though he's not hugging back, even though
hugging each other isn't really something they do. Regulus isn't a very touchy person to start with,
but he's always been more free in his touches with Remus over anyone else—well, until James
came along, Remus suspects, but that's different. They're just not the type of people who get close
like this, with the exception of when Regulus was upset enough to cry, or when they're pissed.

It's not as if they don't touch at all, Remus reflects. They do. More often than they ever will with
anyone else, excluding the people they're in love with, but again, that's different. Their contact has
come in the form of bumping elbows, shoulder nudges, plucking at clothes to get the other's
attention or steer them in a certain direction, and the occasional kick beneath a table. Now, when
they're drunk, the touches come more often because they're both looser and more relaxed, and
Regulus is always sweet when he's pissed. In that, Regulus will lay his head on Remus' arm or
shoulder, or lean into him for balance, or drop his feet off in Remus' lap. Remus, in turn, will ruffle
his hair, or hold onto his arm so neither of them will fall—or, if they do, then they'd do it together
at least—or pat his hand, even squeeze it if Regulus offers it to him. Just small touches that say
hello, I'm here, we're still making it through this miserable life together, isn't it nice not to be
alone?

Hugging… That's not really something they do, partially because they probably look fucking
ridiculous. Remus swallows Regulus in practically every way. Especially his height. His arms
could easily wrap around Regulus fully and still have room to tap his fingers along his own sides.
Standing next to each other, Remus could brace his arm on Regulus' head and use it as a prop
without it looking ridiculous, except for how it would highlight the height difference. The thing is,
Regulus isn't short. Remus just makes everyone look short.

So, yes, they probably look rather stupid when hugging. The kind of stupid that would make people
squint and tilt their heads, because Remus and Regulus make for the oddest pair of friends. They
truly do. A tall, lanky man in patchy sweaters next to an average-sized, blank-faced man in stylish
clothes; both looking so different that it'd be hard to believe that they have anything in common at
all. People wouldn't look at them and be able to tell that they both love books, that they both
partake in snarky, dry wit most of the time, that they would sooner arch an eyebrow or roll their
eyes before they'd smile. They look like they come from entirely different worlds, and they do;
they look like polar opposites, but they're not.

Now, Sirius and James? Those two make sense. Remus has seen them, and there's nothing
confusing about them. James is taller, but the height difference isn't so stark that it's startling. They
both smile easily, laugh quickly, and have that same lazy effortlessness to how they move through
the world, as if the world shapes itself around them, as if it's their world and everyone else is just
living in it. When they hug, it looks like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

Remus and Regulus are not puzzle pieces. Remus has to actually drop his arms a bit to wrap them
around Regulus' shoulders instead of his head, and Regulus just goes face-first into Remus' sweater.
If he wanted to hook his chin on Remus' shoulder, he would have to stand on his tip-toes. If Remus
wanted to rest his cheek on Regulus' head, he would have to bend his knees to reach. It's honestly
fucking ridiculous.

And yet, Remus does it anyway, because sometimes you do ridiculous things for your best friend,
and for yourself. This is one of those times, and for his troubles, Regulus eventually relaxes
enough to heave a sigh like this is a big inconvenience and loosely hooks his arms around Remus'
back.

Despite the act, Regulus' voice is quiet and soft when he whispers, "I'm sorry, Remus."

"For…?" Remus trails off, not entirely certain. There are a lot of things to be sorry about between
all of them at this point.

"What I did. Pretending to poison you." Regulus takes in a deep breath and tightens his arms
around Remus, fully just squeezing him. "I was—well, there's no excuse for that. It was wrong
and...excessive. I took it too far. I knew exactly how to hurt you the worst, and I used that."

Remus can tell that Regulus isn't joking, that they're not dancing around the topic with wry, dark
humor now. The shift in tone makes him a little uncomfortable, honestly, because he'd genuinely
rather just joke about it and move on, but he's also aware that it was wrong—and excessive.

Even still, he can't help but weakly joke, "Well, you've always been rather dramatic, so I wasn't too
terribly surprised."

"Remus," Regulus croaks, sounding close to tears, "I'm not teasing. I—I mean it. I'm not a good
person, but I think I've become better since knowing you. I should have never—"

"Alright, alright, stop," Remus mumbles. "It's fine."

"It's really not," Regulus says softly. "That was so fucked up."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was," Remus agrees, because it was. He gives Regulus a little squeeze. "You know
it was wrong. You won't do anything like that again. I—Reg, I forgive you."

Regulus makes a quiet, muffled noise and chokes out, "No one's ever done that before."

"What?"

"Forgive me."

"Oh, bloody hell," Remus breathes out, stricken. "Well, I do, yeah? I forgive you. I always will."

"I'm sorry," Regulus says again.

"I know. I forgive you," Remus repeats, and then they stand there in silence, hugging each other
like they're not the two most awkward, touch-averse bastards they know. But, well, sometimes you
do what you have to for your best friend.

Eventually, the mood settles and calms.

"This is torture," Regulus grumbles.

"I know," Remus says, amused.

Regulus elbows him in his side. "Why are you so fucking tall? Like, actually, what's wrong with
you?"

"Genetics."

"Oh, sure, blame it on genetics. That's my favorite excuse for all the things wrong with me."
"Well, in your case, that's entirely fair," Remus points out.

"At least you're warm," Regulus murmurs, tipping his head forward to drop it against Remus' chest.
Remus can't resist patting him on his head, only to immediately stop when Regulus lets out a hiss
like a snake warning someone before an incoming strike. "Did you just pat me?"

"What? No," Remus says quickly, then does it again.

"I will actually stab you if you do that again," Regulus declares firmly, fully not fucking around,
and Remus drops his hand more seriously that time because he believes him.

Remus sighs. "That sort of defeats the whole purpose of us reinstating our friendship with a
wholesome embrace, Reg."

"Oh, is that what this is?"

"Obviously."

"Well, it's fucking stupid," Regulus informs him, sounding a bit petulant. Nonetheless, he doesn't
pull away. "Let me rephrase my earlier statement. You're lucky you're warm."

"Been cold?" Remus asks.

Regulus pauses for a long moment, then mumbles, "Yeah. Turns out your internal temperature can
drop when you've been betrayed by your best friend and boyfriend at the same time. Not the most
fun discovery, let me tell you."

"I'm sorry, Regulus," Remus says softly, tightening his hold again without deciding to. The guilt
makes him want to squeeze. He suddenly understands exactly why Regulus squeezed him earlier.

"You can't do it again, or I'll plan your murder so I can get away with it properly. I don't forgive
you for it, not really. I just—I'm accustomed to making you suffer, that's all."
"Alright."

"I'm not joking, Remus," Regulus tells him.

Remus nods. "I know you're not. I'm not going to lie, or keep secrets, or plot with your boyfriend
again. I promise. And I only promise because I'm sure I won't break it."

"You're missing a crucial part in your promises."

"Am I? What's that?"

"The part where you promise never to shag my brother again," Regulus says, and Remus tenses.
There's a pointed beat of silence where Regulus is waiting, and then the silence stretches on and on
until Regulus slowly lifts his head and tips it back to stare at him. "This is when you promise,
Remus."

"Is it?" Remus mumbles, his voice weak.

"Yes, it is," Regulus confirms icily, eyes narrowing. Another long silence. When it becomes
painfully obvious that Remus isn't going to be promising this, Regulus' eyes widen. "No. No,
absolutely not! You can't fuck my brother, Remus!"

"Believe me, I'm well aware that I won't be shagging Sirius again," Remus says, and he can't take
the sour note out of his voice if he tried. "He wouldn't be willing to at all."

Regulus pauses, considering, and then he scoffs and nods sharply. "Well, that's true. What do I
need your promise for with that? Sirius is done with you."

"He is?" Remus whispers. It's like Regulus just stabbed him in the heart after all. Remus would
have preferred the knife.

"Yeah," Regulus confirms simply.

Remus swallows. "And you, Regulus? You said once that you'd never be done with James."

"That was before I knew who he was," Regulus declares, eyes flashing with that frigid fury of his.
"It turns out, I knew him all along; I just needed to figure that out. I was done with him before we
ever began."

"Reg," Remus murmurs, "that's not fair. You know James—"

"Yes, I do. I've known him since I was eleven. I've hated him just as long," Regulus cuts in
ruthlessly. "That hasn't changed. In fact, it's gotten worse."

"We're friends, you know. James and I," Remus admits.

Regulus jolts against him, then pulls back sharply, taking a step away. "No, you're not."

"We are."

"Then stop."

"I won't," Remus says simply. "We became friends, and he's the only one who gets what this feels
like for me. Even before all the, ah, plotting, we were friendly. You know that. Ignoring the
scheming and such, or even including it, if you like, he's been a good friend to me. He's still a good
friend to me."

"He can't have you," Regulus snaps. "He's always fucking stealing people from me. Sirius, and
now you. Why are you even here if you—"

"He's not stealing—"

"Yes, he is. That's what he does. He's—"

 Remus huffs and loudly interrupts with, "He's in love with you, Reg. If he's interested in stealing
anyone, it's not me. It's you."

"Well, that will never happen," Regulus hisses. "He'll just have to do without. You want to be his
friend, Remus? Fine. Be his friend. Let's see how long it takes before he steals you, too."

"Christ, Regulus, he's not going to steal me. I'm not a bloody object, you know. I'm a person
capable of having more than one friend, and you're my best friend anyway, so I don't know what it
is you're so bloody stressed about," Remus says.

"I'm not stressed!" Regulus bursts out, very obviously stressed.

"Would another hug help?" Remus asks and lifts his arms, only to immediately let out an oomph
and curl forward, doubling over in response to Regulus elbowing him in the solar plexus. He
wheezes slightly and chokes out, "You know, I'm going to assume that's a no."

"Smart man," Regulus says firmly, whirling around and focusing on his stove. "Now go sit down.
I'm about to cook."

Despite himself, Remus smiles as he rubs his chest and goes to do just that, unsure if the breathless
quality to him comes from where Regulus just elbowed him, or if it's the effects from his earned
acceptance.

Probably a bit of both.

Chapter End Notes

reminder: sirius and regulus have had one (ONE) therapy session, so they still have
some work to do on some things. rest assured, they will get there <3

also, if anyone is worried that sirius and regulus aren't going to be held accountable for
their actions past just this, you don't need to be. it will still be addressed.

this is just the slow start of healing; it gets so, so much better. also², remus and james
get their time to shine in the future, i promise. just trust the process

Oh, and this had me wheezing:

Sirius: you can't fuck my brother, James!

James, whining: but whyyyy

(Spoilers for next chapter: Regulus and James see each other again; Sirius and Remus
see each other again as well. Chaos ensues.)
 Chapter 22
Chapter Notes

Hello!!! A few things:

First, warnings for this chapter: you're not gonna believe me, but a little bit of spice
(I know that seems crazy, considering everything, but bear with me on this; I once
again ask you to trust the process), nothing explicit (for those of you smut-averse,
there's no in-depth descriptions, I promise), and then there's some arguing, crying,
realizations, and the turning tide of making some healthy decisions, but not first
without the near-miss of toxicity.

Second, I have updated the chapter count (30 chapters in all, only eight more to go),
and the reason I have done this is because I'm basically finished writing the fic!!! Who
cheered?

Third, due to the fact that I'm basically finished, I will be posting every day until it's
all up and completed, rather than posting on Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. So, for
the next eight days, I will be consistently posting. No more waiting, loves <3

All that aside, I hope you enjoy!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus would like to think that letting Remus back into his life would be a simple transition, but
it's not. Really, as mortifying as it is to acknowledge, he's well aware that it's a decision partially
made from selfish, desperate reasons.

He knows he didn't accept Remus back in just because he actually forgives him. He does, but he
also doesn't. It also genuinely comes from a place of needing his best friend, because sometimes,
when your life feels a few fractures away from shattering, you just need that person who will help
you pick up the pieces, even if it cuts their hands to do it.

Due to this, the transition is not as smooth as it probably looks from the outside. It's an awful thing,
needing someone you wish you didn't want. Because Regulus looks at Remus, and he sometimes
wishes he never met him. Because Regulus looks at Remus, and he sometimes wishes that his life
didn't feel like it was falling apart, just so he could toss Remus aside and be strong enough to
withstand the loss of him. Because Regulus looks at Remus, and he sometimes wishes that he
could change his mind and send him away again, and mean it.

Because, sometimes, Regulus looks at Remus and finds himself thinking about the fact that he
chose Sirius. That's one of the most painful parts of all this. Remus chose Sirius. A part of Regulus
can't even blame him; it seems like the natural order of life that Sirius gets everything, even
Regulus' best friend.

So, things are not smooth for them at the start, hugging aside. In this friendship, Remus has always
been the better person, the better friend—until he wasn't. Before this, Remus made no mistakes. He
didn't fuck up once. He didn't do anything wrong, and that's why Regulus got too complacent. But,
really, when Remus goes for it, he goes for it, doesn't he? Go big or go home, apparently. He went
big with this grievance, and Regulus hopes now that he wishes he just went home.

Despite all of that, Regulus can't get over the fact that Remus came back. After what Regulus did to
him, Remus still came back. Regulus thought he thoroughly burnt that bridge, and here Remus is,
fully attempting to make that leap all the way across with no way of knowing if he'll make it to the
other side, or fall. A horrible, harsh part of Regulus hopes he falls. A tender, hidden part of
Regulus knows he would fling his hand out to grab him and haul him over the edge, or simply go
down with him. Those two parts are at constant war with each other.

What stings the most is that they were never supposed to be on opposite sides to begin with.

Regulus doesn't know how long it will last, but he hates this. He hates all of it. In some ways, this
is worse. Because things aren't the way they were before; things have changed between them.
Silence between them feels wrong, and stifling. When they look at each, sometimes it's like there's
something big sitting between them that neither of them can see past. Even the way they interact is
different now; the quieter Regulus gets, the more careful Remus is with him, and around him.

It's like there's an elephant in the room with them, too large to ignore, gentle until provoked, and
then it'll fucking crush them both. They avoid it as much as they can.

It's exhausting.

And yet, over the course of a week, they put in the effort. They keep seeing each other, keep trying,
keep figuring out how to find their rhythm again. Regulus feeds him and doesn't try to poison him.
He goes over and falls asleep on Remus' couch and smiles when they settle in to read beside each
other the next morning. They play chess, and Remus wins, and Regulus chuckles when he blushes
at his victory. Sometimes, they talk; sometimes, they're quiet. But, slowly, they're trying. They're
getting there.

It's still hard, though. Still difficult in a way it never was before, and Regulus is learning to adjust.
He's not very good with adjusting, if he's honest, so he's at a loss more often than he's not. It's
fucking Hell, to be honest.
Regulus can't talk to Pandora about it, because he knows exactly what she'll say, and he doesn't
want to hear that. He can't talk to Remus about it, because that sort of defeats the whole purpose,
and he knows this rebuilt foundation they're balancing on will crumble underneath them as soon as
he does. That's really the extent of people in his life he would ever go to for advice, so he's left with
avoiding the issue.

To do this, Regulus eventually caves and finds himself a proper distraction. What's a better way to
avoid his issues with his best friend than focusing on his issues with his brother? In a strange twist
of events, Sirius is the solution to escaping the hell his life has become. The irony is not lost on
him.

So, with that in mind, Regulus goes to see his brother. They haven't seen each other since their first
therapy session, and Regulus is surprised that Sirius hasn't invaded his life again since. He's both
grateful for that, and irritated by it. Of course, Sirius has texted him to tell him that he's peeved off
that Mrs. Delby likes him more, to which Regulus simply responded with a smirking emoji. Sirius
has also sent him no less than six different links to those videos where soldiers reunite with their
families, because he found out when they got drunk together that Regulus cries over every—single
—one.

(He can't help it. Genuinely, it's an instant tear-trigger for him, sober or drunk. He's not proud of it,
and he doesn't know why those videos get him, but they do. Especially when it's an older brother
surprising a younger brother. Those fuck him up.)

Regulus, in turn, sends Sirius sad dog videos in retaliation, because he discovered that those make
him cry, especially the videos where dogs are being euthanized. He sent Sirius one where a nearly-
feral dog living on the streets was caught with all intentions of being given a home, only for it to
have a condition that resulted in him being euthanized—after, of course, the dog was cleaned up
and treated nicely and finally given warmth and love. Sirius had sent him a voice message after
midnight with a croaky voice, obviously having just cried, to tell him that he was evil and had no
heart or soul. Regulus had sent a voice message back of him quietly laughing.

Strangely, Regulus thinks Ms. Pomfrey would be proud of their progress.

In any case, Regulus needs a break from the excruciating issues with his life, so he goes in search
of his brother to see if it will be more or less excruciating with him. Taking a page from Sirius'
book, he doesn't warn him beforehand; he simply goes to his flat, picks the lock, and lets himself
in.

"Sirius!" Regulus calls out as he comes in. "Whatever you're doing, stop doing it. I need to get
drunk, so you—"

The rest of his sentence dies on Regulus' tongue as he comes to a screeching halt, staring at James,
who stares right back from the sofa with wide eyes. They're both frozen, James' mouth hanging
open, Regulus' mind eerily blank.

Oh, James. Fucking James. Of course it's James, because he's the one issue that Regulus isn't
running to, or away from. James is the issue that holds him in place, that sits directly in the center
of his chest, a molten sun turned cold and hard. James is the issue he carries with him, that he can't
do anything with, that he can't avoid or throw himself into. He's quite sure that he's stuck now,
forced to just stand here for the rest of eternity, neither coming or going.

God, but he's beautiful, isn't he? That's really the first thought that registers in Regulus' mind, and
he instantly wants to internally fling it away from himself. It takes up too much space. Doesn't
leave room for the vitriol and hatred he's supposed to feel flooding him. He knows it's in there, it
has to be, because he's felt it. He's endured the sharp edges of it constantly leaving tiny lacerations
on his lungs. It can't be just looking at James and finding him beautiful. He is, but so fucking
what? He's not just beautiful; he's also the person that makes Regulus want to fucking lose it.
Really, truly lose it. Scream so hard that his throat bleeds, slide down a wall while sobbing, rip his
hair out and curl into a ball type of losing it.

Oh, but he is beautiful. He's so heartbreakingly beautiful, actually. Regulus hasn't seen him in so
long; he can feel the sight of him in his knees, making them wobbly. James' hair is as messy as it
always is, defying gravity, effortless like he just rolled out of bed. He looks so innocent when he's
startled, wide eyes behind round glasses and soft lips—which Regulus knows for a fact—parted
with no words coming out. He's wearing red, and the only thing Regulus can think is that he should
have brought a raspberry danish with him.

And then, James is a sudden burst of motion as he springs up from the sofa with a throw pillow in
hand, which he holds in front of him like a shield. He looks like a spooked deer, and the first thing
he blurts out is, "You can't be here."

Regulus' brain does a record-scratch. He arches an eyebrow and says, like a reflex, "I beg your
fucking pardon?"

"You can't be here," James repeats, fingers digging into the pillow, the whites of his eyes visible
like a terrified animal.

"Oh? Can't I? Why can't I?" Regulus asks. "This is my brother's flat, James. I rather think I can be
here, actually."

"I—you—" James swallows and gives a tiny, jerky shake of his head, tense all over. "Sirius isn't
here. You should go."

"Is that right?" Regulus takes a step forward, watching in mounting interest as James automatically
takes a step back, keeping the same amount of space between them. Oh. Oh, Regulus sees what
this is. "Why, James, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you weren't happy to see me."

"Sirius isn't here, Regulus," James says again, visibly stressed.

"That's alright," Regulus replies calmly, eyes fixed on James as he takes another step forward.
James copies him again, only to bump into the sofa and hastily take a step to the left. "I'm sure he'll
be back soon enough. You can entertain me until then."

James releases a shaky laugh, high in his throat, a noise of pure panic. "Well, you don't want that.
I'm a terrible host, really, and you—you hate me anyway. Remember that? Remember how you
hate me?"

"Oh, of course. I haven't forgotten, James, not at all," Regulus informs him, hearing the frosty
quality to his own voice. He cocks his head. "So, you're back, then? Sirius forgave you?"

"Er," James mumbles, "we're working on it."

Regulus hums. "Be a shame if something happened to ruin all that hard work I'm sure you're
putting in."

"Regulus," James says, strained, his fingers flexing on the pillow. He jolts a little bit when Regulus
moves forward to the other side of the sofa, directly beside him. Instantly, he slides to the left
again, turning his body to face Regulus and lifting the pillow a bit more to keep it between them.

"What's the matter, James?" Regulus murmurs, watching him, tracking his every move. "You seem
tense."
James never looks away from him, as if Regulus is a snake that will strike the moment his eyes
move away and give the opening. "Just a bit. I—you know, I really have to go. I was just on my
way out before you came in, actually, so I—"

"Don't be rude," Regulus cuts in. "I've never known you to be rude. In fact, you've always been
unsettlingly kind. Well, excluding when you were lying to me all that time. That wasn't very kind
of you, James."

"I—yes, I know," James says weakly, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambles back
another step when Regulus moves closer. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm—I—fuck, I am so fucking
sorry, Regulus. If you'd believe it, my intentions were kind, if nothing else. I know that's no
excuse. I know you hate me for it, and you have every right to."

Regulus reaches up and calmly, casually unravels the scarf from his neck. It's James' fucking scarf,
the one he gave him when Regulus called him while drunk and missing him, the night before his
birthday. Of course, there's nothing to be done about that now, and he's far more interested in the
way James' gaze snags on the movement. He recognizes it, clearly, because his eyes dart up to
Regulus', wide with surprise, but he ultimately gets distracted by the slow reveal of Regulus' throat.
He's visibly holding his breath, struggling to rip his gaze away, eyes finding their way back over
and over.

"Well, if we're being perfectly honest with each other—which I do recommend, really—then I
must confess that I don't really hate you for lying about Sirius," Regulus admits quietly, gently
rolling the scarf up to drop it on the arm of the sofa. His words cause James' gaze to snap up to his
face, eyebrows furrowing with visible confusion. "Oh, don't think I'm happy about it, because I'm
not. I'm really quite furious with you, actually. For lying, for pretending you didn't know who I was
talking about when I mentioned my brother, my mother, my father. For deceiving me just so we
could fuck."

"No," James argues immediately, jaw clenching. "No, Regulus, that wasn't why. That was never
why. Bloody hell, I did all that before we really...did much. It wasn't about shagging. That's not
why; that's not me. You have to know that."

"Alright, I'll let that one go," Regulus concedes with a small incline of his head. A part of him
already knew that. James, despite all that he did, isn't that kind of man. "And I can see how you two
were in a difficult situation, especially when considering that I'm sure neither of you wanted to out
me to Sirius, so that was a whole other issue on top of the rest."

James starts to open his mouth to respond, but he seems to get stuck, his breath audibly hitching as
Regulus begins removing his coat. It's not James' coat, thankfully, just a black peacoat with the six
wide-set buttons that he lazily plucks one at a time. James watches avidly, helplessly, strangling
the pillow.

"Of course, that doesn't much help your case, if I'm honest. I mean, you worked with my best
friend behind my back to form lies, trading information, creating plans to make fools out of me and
my brother," Regulus continues. "I told you things, James, things I've never told anyone. I trusted
you as much as I can ever trust anyone. I let you in, I opened up to you, and I fell in love—and
what did I get for it?"

"I know I was wrong," James whispers, snatching his gaze up to meet Regulus' eyes again, "but
don't think for a second that I was insincere in my feelings for you. Those were never a lie."

"Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf?" Regulus asks dryly, sliding his coat
off his shoulders and draping it easily, calmly on the back of the sofa.

"I fell in love, too," James rasps, swallowing thickly. "What do you think all of it was about,
Regulus?"

"Mm, well, that's neither here nor there," Regulus muses, flicking his fingers like he's batting away
the issue. "In fact, a part of me is almost—relieved, isn't that ridiculous? I used to think that the
worst thing you were capable of was still better than my best. It's hilarious now, really, but I once
thought your worst secret was most likely something like you keeping snack wrappers under your
bed because you're too lazy to take it to the bin. How mundane. And wrong, as it turns out. All that
time I spent thinking you were too good, practically perfect, and I didn't deserve you—and look at
us now."

"You thought that?" James asks, drawing up short, looking stricken by such a thing. "That's—"

"Well, love is blind, James," Regulus cuts in. "It's come to my attention that you're capable of
making mistakes like the rest of us humans squirming about in the mud. Not so pleasant down
here, is it? But, you know, at least we're well-suited."

"I am human," James says softly. "I wish you hadn't put me on a pedestal, Regulus. It hurts me just
as much as you when I come crashing from it. I never wanted to let you down."

"But you did. It's alright. Most people do," Regulus tells him simply. "That's not why I hate you,
though. You seem to be under the impression that all of this is the reason, and while it certainly
doesn't help, and I'm very upset about it—my hatred for you originates from something else
entirely."

"What's that?" James mumbles, preemptively wincing but asking anyway like he can't help
himself. Regulus moves forward again, and he takes yet another step back, only to clip the side of
the sofa with his leg and briefly glance down. One distraction, one mistake, and Regulus closes
most of the distance between them, coming to a halt inches away from the pillow. James' head
snaps up quickly, and he sucks in a sharp breath as he freezes, eyes bulging.

Regulus reaches out and gently places his hands on the pillow, just beneath James' fingers, not
touching but almost. "I've hated you since I was eleven years old, James."

"What?" James breathes out, and Regulus tugs the pillow out of his hands the moment his fingers
go slack from the shock. When Regulus swings his arm out to toss it on the end of the sofa, James
darts his gaze towards it, obviously dismayed that his shield has been taken away from him.

"You stole my brother away from me," Regulus murmurs, and James' face softens into something
sad. "Of course I hated you for that. Sirius' new best friend. I didn't even know your name, but oh, I
hated you. Because you took him away from me, and you showed him a world I never got to be a
part of, and he went to you when he left me. You're a thief, James Potter."

"It wasn't like that. I never meant—" James cuts himself off, shaking his head. He releases a shaky
breath. "It wasn't a competition, Regulus. You have to know how much Sirius talked about you. All
I heard about was little Reggie. He loved you so, so much. He still does."

"Oh, what's done is done. There's no changing any of that now," Regulus says. "It is what it is. You
even stole me, and I have to give credit where it's due; that's no easy feat. But you managed it.
Once a thief, always a thief. After all, you're even stealing Remus now, aren't you?"

"No!" James blurts out, near-frantic. "Of course not. He's your best friend. I couldn't—"

"You can. You will. It's your way; you're so very good at it," Regulus says, closing the space
between them without warning, reaching up to gently run his fingers through James' hair before he
can scramble backwards even an inch. A muffled sound falls out of James' mouth, and his eyes
flutter shut. "The question is, James, who steals you?"

"Regulus, please," James chokes out. "Sirius will fucking kill me."
"You weren't so worried about that before," Regulus muses, crowding closer, dragging his free
hand up James' arm. They hang limply by his sides, but he's flexing his fingers. His whole body is
trembling, Regulus can feel it.

James wheezes a slightly hysterical laugh. "No, I was. I really was. But you're just—you're so—"

"What am I?" Regulus asks, watching him, studying his face from up close. There's a cloud
growing thicker in his mind, and the proximity has effects, making his heart thump hard in his
chest. He's warmer than he's been in a while, warm all over, a steady heat building under his skin.

"You're so lovely," James whispers, and his eyes open. His pupils are blown wide, and Regulus
gets the treat of watching them expand even more as James hungrily scans his face, swaying closer
like he can't help it. "God, you're so fucking lovely. Every bit of you, Regulus. You always have
been."

"You want me." Regulus speaks frankly, not asking because he already knows. "Look at you,
James. It'll ruin so much for you, but you're ready to risk it all. You want me so badly, don't you?"
James just gazes at him, looking ready to snap, and Regulus slides his hand down from James' hair
to cup his cheek, reaching out with his thumb to gently drag it along James' bottom lip. His mouth
parts, a quiet whine falling out, his breath hot and stuttered against the pad of Regulus' thumb.
Regulus lifts his gaze to meet James' eyes, not looking away as he murmurs, "Have me, then."

"I'm supposed to be staying away from you," James croaks, rattling in place, trying so very hard.
He really is. Regulus can respect it, even as he rips James' restraint apart.

Regulus leans in close enough that their mouths are only a breath apart and whispers, "It'll be our
little secret, love."

"Fuck," James says. Just that. Just a quiet, defeated fuck that signifies that Regulus is victorious,
and James snaps.

His hands dart up to frame Regulus' face, and he's the one who closes the distance between them,
groaning the moment their mouths meet. James kisses him deeply, with wild abandon, completely
giving in. Regulus opens up to him immediately, letting him in, drawing him in—that was the
whole point to this, so that's the story he's sticking to. If he's honest, though, he's giving in as well,
just as sucked into James as he has always been, helpless to do anything else.
He's so fucking grateful for the excuse.

James' mouth is hot against his own, warming him all the way through, sending tingles through
every inch of him until his toes are curling in his shoes. He didn't forget that James could do this to
him, could make him feel like this, could make him burn. It's like every cell in his body is
vibrating furiously, lit up, on fire in the best way. He shudders, pressing closer, moaning
unabashedly as he nips at James' bottom lip.

Regulus wants him. Christ, he wants him. He wants him with the same desperation and fervor that
James feels for him, matching perfectly, something impossible not to get lost in.

"Oh god," James gasps out when they break apart, both panting, but he doesn't go anywhere. He
doesn't pull away. He doesn't stop. No, he ducks his head forward and mouths along Regulus' jaw,
muffling a groan into his skin as Regulus tilts his head back to give him more space. He sucks and
bites and whines, "Oh my god."

"I know," Regulus agrees breathlessly, clenching his fingers in James' hair, tugging on him so they
can go stumbling towards the sofa. James follows like a horse on a lead, head lifting just to kiss
him again, hands yanking at his shirt.

Regulus pulls away just enough to lift his arms and let James snatch his shirt off, immediately
reaching out to shove James' shirt up as well, tugging on it insistently. James just whips it off and
curls right back into him, cupping the back of his neck to reel Regulus into another kiss that nearly
knocks him right off his feet. The press of skin on skin makes them both groan into the kiss, and
Regulus feels his control slip further and further away from him.

His movements become frantic, hands running all over James wherever he can reach, trying to
touch all of him at once. He kicks off his shoes without ever breaking the kiss, and James makes a
muffled sound of frustration when he tries to do the same, only to nearly fall over.

"Dammit," James hisses, kicking his shoes aside the moment he's free of them, like he's offended
by them. He starts to reach out immediately after, but Regulus just braces his hands on his chest
and gives him a little shove, making him fall back down onto the sofa. He barely gets to reach up
and right his glasses before Regulus climbs right into his lap. James makes a sound like he's been
punched, hands landing on his hips as he gazes up at him, looking stunned, wearing an expression
of awe like it's been slapped on. "Christ, Regulus. You're so beautiful, love. Come here. Fucking
come here."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Regulus mumbles, even as he rocks into him, one hand braced on
the back of the couch and the other pushing through James' hair. James' head falls back with the
motion, and Regulus hovers over him, leveraging himself up from the platform of his thighs by
using his knees. James' arms slip around his waist, hands sliding up his back.

James seems to get distracted pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of his shoulder,
muttering, "I've missed you. God, I've missed you this whole time. How can I—what was I meant
to do? I never thought I'd have you again. I can't help it. I can't help it, Regulus."

"Tread carefully, James," Regulus warns, ducking in to dip his head and nip sharply at James' jaw.
"Watch what you say."

"I love you," James whispers anyway, and Regulus squeezes his eyes shut as he turns his head to
press his face into James' neck, breathing him in. "I love you so much."

"Stop," Regulus croaks.

"I can't," James replies, pulling him closer, holding him in the circle of his arms. "I refuse to."

Regulus inhales, exhales. Inhales, exhales. In and out. His heart continues to break in his chest,
trying to escape the tight cage of it and fall directly into James' waiting hands. That's where it
belongs. It's his. It always was, and it still is, and it forever will be. James is a thief, and he stole it
for himself with his sunshine smile and gravitational pull. There's nothing Regulus can do to
change that.

"One of my biggest fears was letting a man own me," Regulus says softly. "And then there's you."

"No one owns you," James tells him. "I certainly don't."

"Then explain to me how I'm yours," Regulus whispers, pulling back to look at him, swallowing
harshly. "I'm all yours, James. All of me. You could do anything to me."

"Then let me love you," James begs, one hand lifting to cup his cheek. "I just want to love you,
Regulus."
Regulus exhales shakily and confesses, "I want you to."

"I do. I do. I swear I do, love," James vows, pulling him closer so their foreheads can tap together.
"And—and this is an equal exchange sort of thing, really. I'm yours, too."

"You're not all mine."

"Everyone has pieces of themselves that so many others get, a bit like gifts. I don't have all of you,
either. We're made up of so much, all of us."

"Are you trying to say we contain multitudes?" Regulus asks.

James brushes a gentle kiss over his lips. "Don't we? I think everyone does. We all have so much to
give. You have so much of me, love. Please keep it; I don't want it back. Can't that be enough?
Can't we have each other as we already do, and keep giving each other more? Please. Please."

"Stop talking," Regulus says and kisses him to shut him up, because if he keeps at it, keeps
begging, then Regulus will give him whatever he wants.

James does, in fact, stop talking. He ends up putting his mouth to other uses, all of which Regulus
would claim are vast improvements. It's so easy to sink into him, swaddled in his warmth, the ache
of wanting him dissipating. It's not difficult at all to forget the hatred, or anger, or pain when James
lays him out on the sofa and makes him want for nothing; he has it all, he has everything, it's his to
claim for right now.

Any form of shagging James is a bit like magic, honestly. He just does something to Regulus. He
warms him up, warms him until he's hot and squirming, relentlessly reintroducing him to the
concept of pleasure that can and will peak, a climb that he's taken before, but no one—absolutely
no one, ever—has pushed him over the edge except James. It's a fucking transcendent experience,
not for the faint of heart, and Regulus always thinks about la petite mort, meaning 'the little death'
in French, which is a euphemism for an orgasm.

He gets it. He really, truly does. James makes sure he gets it.

"Fucking hell, I'll never get enough of you," James whispers at some point, in the midst of all the
other mumbled promises and praise and sweetnothings that have clicked into Regulus' heart like a
typewriter. James kisses the inside of Regulus' thigh and metaphorically pulls the lever on the
typewriter to start a new line. "Forever isn't long enough to savor every bit of you. We only have
the rest of our lives, love. Can I savor you for the rest of mine?"

(Sometimes, Regulus thinks James belongs in a romance novel. Like, genuinely. He says the most
mental, maddening things at times that makes Regulus believe he'd put famous heartthrobs to
shame. He'll open his mouth and something with fall out that makes Regulus wonder how everyone
in a five mile radius hasn't swooned or dropped their fucking knickers in offering.)

Regulus makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and shakily buries his hand in James' hair,
fisting it and guiding his head to get him to shut up again, arching beneath him and waiting with
building anticipation for yet another little death. Leave it to James to make dying positive. Jesus
Christ.

When Regulus went into this, he did so trying very hard to keep it together. He has not kept it
together, and in fact, he falls apart in the way only James Potter can make him, shagging or not. It
isn't until the rush of everything dies down that he can even begin dragging himself around to
gather all the scattered pieces of himself, a bit slow about it, still overwhelmed by the force in
which he was blown away.

James, the ridiculous thing he is, dropped all of his weight on Regulus approximately five minutes
ago and hasn't moved since. He's a lump on top of him, head pillowed on his chest, splayed out on
him like pinning him down this way might keep him there forever. Regulus lets him live in that
illusion for a bit longer, blinking up at the ceiling as he waits for the intermittent tremors of his
legs to pass enough that he'll actually be able to walk away without wobbling.

"Well," Regulus says, eventually, "I don't think Sirius would approve at all how you've entertained
his brother while he was away, James."

"No," James mumbles with a deep sigh. "No, he won't."

Regulus pats his head and hums. "I don't think he'll believe I seduced you, either."

"I know," James groans, then lifts his head to squint at Regulus, outright pouting. "But you did.
You absolutely did."

"You weren't complaining at the time," Regulus points out.

James hums, and it's a deep rumble in his chest that makes Regulus automatically try to press his
knees together, except James is lying between them, so all he really manages to do is squeeze
James' hips with his thighs. A slow grin spreads across James' face as he props himself up and
leans in to quietly murmur, "No, I wasn't. Do it again."

"Best not," Regulus says casually. "You wouldn't want to defile Sirius' little brother again, would
you?"

"I didn't defile you," James protests weakly, deflating a little when Regulus arches an eyebrow at
him. "Oh, piss off. You were very pleased with all the defiling, in any case."

"Do be sure to mention that to Sirius. I'm sure that will make things go smoother for you," Regulus
muses.

"I think I'll leave the details out, if that's alright," James mutters dryly.

Regulus narrows his eyes at him. "Aren't you going to try holding me to our little secret?"

"I'm telling him," James insists firmly, holding his gaze, not backing down an inch. "I'm not lying
to anyone anymore."

"You're going to tell Sirius that you shagged his little brother yet again?" Regulus asks
incredulously, surprised by this, though some part of him isn't. That's James, though. The most
unexpected, predictable man he's ever known.

James nods, not at all joking. "Yes, I am."

"You're funeral," Regulus says, reaching up to pat his cheek before he turns and slips right out from
underneath James, springing up from the sofa. He gets his balance (no wobbly legs, he's pleased to
note) and immediately starts shuffling around to gather his clothes and get dressed.

"Where are you going?" James asks warily, cautiously dragging himself up to at least locate his
pants and drag them on, but he seems more interested in watching Regulus move around with a
dying light of hope shifting into dread in his eyes.
Regulus doesn't say anything until he's slipping back into his coat, having gathered all the pieces of
himself and stuffed them somewhere hidden. He turns to look James straight in the eyes and says,
"Away from you. I thought that was rather obvious. Surely you didn't think this meant anything."

"Don't do this to me," James whispers immediately.

"I am," Regulus replies. "What did you think was—"

"No," James cuts in harshly, shaking his head. "No, absolutely not. You want to be cruel, Regulus?
You'd damn well best do it with someone who will believe the shit you spit like venom, because I
don't. People don't shag the way we just did—people don't feel the way we do—if it means
nothing. So, you know what you're not going to do? Fucking this."

"Oh no, it's already done," Regulus replies coldly. "You want to ruin my life, James? Walk in and
out of it as you please, take what you like, and still demand more? I know how to ruin lives as well,
and yours? I've been wanting to do that since I was eleven years old. So—"

James scoffs—literally scoffs as if offended—and sweeps forward with no hesitation to capture

Regulus' face in between his hands and kiss him before he can ever finish. Regulus is honestly a bit
appalled by this response (most people do not respond to his cruelty by brushing him off, but of
course James 'The Audacity' Potter didn't get that memo), and yet he melts into it helplessly
anyway. He tries so very hard not to, he really does, but—well, it's James.

Despite everything, the kiss is soft and slow, and James pulls back to murmur, "Go on, love. You
were saying?"

"I hate you," Regulus whispers, and his voice cracks.

"No, you don't ," James tells him, then kisses him again, and again, and again. Just quick, warm
kisses that drain the tension out of Regulus' body bit-by-bit.

"You fucking thief," Regulus says between kisses and winds his arms around James' shoulders to
press into him, stretching up to kiss him deeper, feeling James' hum of triumph reverberate through
him.
"We can figure this out, can't we?" James asks hopefully, when the kiss breaks. He pulls back and
gazes at Regulus with those big, earnest eyes that make Regulus want to give him absolutely
everything he wants.

Regulus can't give him this. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't hate you. I can't, really. But this—
James, there is no this. There's nothing to figure out."

"You just think—"

"No. No, listen to me. I—I can't."

James swallows thickly and leans back, staring at him. Slowly, they slip apart. They drift apart.
"Regulus…"

"This was a mistake," Regulus whispers, because it was. It truly was. He'd just—he'd gotten so
caught up, and he was going to be cruel, but all he's succeeded in doing is hurting them both. "We
were a mistake, James."

"If it's about Sirius—"

"Of course it's about Sirius, and it's about you, and it's about me, and it's about Remus. It's about
all of us. None of us are in a place where this could be anything other than a mistake."

"Then—then what was the point?" James chokes out. "If you're not even going to try, then why
would you—" His face twists, and Regulus' heart fucking riots. He's never seen James cry like this.
It is, hands down, one of the most tragic things Regulus has ever seen in his life. It's the sun
exploding. "I don't understand. Why would you—"

"James—"

"I know I mucked it up, alright? I—I know, love, but I swear I won't ever again. I won't—I'll—"

"Stop," Regulus says, his hands shaking. "James, just stop. Don't make this harder, alright?"
"Me?" James challenges, his voice shaky and loud now, losing the thread entirely as he starts
crying in earnest. "I didn't make you do this! I didn't make you come here and—and choose to give
me love, only to take it away. If we're such a fucking mistake, then why do you keep making it?!"

Regulus releases a shuddering breath, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and touch
James, to draw him into his arms and hold him until he stops trembling apart. "I—"

"You don't get to do this to me. You can't—Regulus, please, please don't do this to me. Don't come
here and give me this and then fucking crush me. I—I can't do it again," James says, practically
gasping the words out. "Please. I love you. Christ, I love you so much I can't even fucking breathe.
Please don't—"

And Regulus just—caves. What else is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to look at James,
crying and pleading in front of him, and deny him anything? Regulus can't. He doesn't have it in
him to be cruel to James, not like this.

What can he do? When the sun is ripping itself apart, what can he do? It's just light fracturing and
spilling over in jagged rivulets of gold. How is he meant to do anything but try with all the power
in him to gather all that gold in his palms that don't even know how to be tender and try with all his
might to keep it all together? He'd burn for it. He'd burn himself alive on the blaze of James Potter
if it would save him.

"Shh, alright, alright," Regulus whispers, shuffling forward to reach out, and the moment he does,
James makes a choking noise and practically crumbles into him. James clings to him, in fact,
hunched over and crying and absolutely refusing to let any space between them. Regulus sighs
quietly and rubs his hand up and down James' back soothingly, internally wondering how he fell in
love with one of the most emotional men he's ever fucking met. "Please stop crying, James. It
makes me want to set the things that have upset you on fire, which is problematic at the moment,
because I think it would only upset you more to see me burn."

James doesn't say anything, but his crying does eventually gentle until it eases. It leaves him
hiccupping out small, stuttered breaths like a child who has cried so hard they made themselves
hyperventilate (Regulus was that child), and he has his hands fisted in Regulus' coat like he'd just
rip it off before he ever lets go. Regulus cards his fingers through James' hair and holds him. Keeps
holding him.

"I'm sorry," Regulus whispers. "I'm sorry I ever even attempted to be cruel to you like this."
"Just choose to love me," James rasps, eventually.

"James," Regulus murmurs, cupping the side of his face and gently pushing him back so they can
look at each other, "I'm about to do something incredibly selfish because falling in love with you
was never a choice, but loving you is a choice I'd like to keep making."

"That doesn't sound selfish at all," James says, sniffling, and he seems to just melt a little bit, his
eyes lighting up.

This isn't what Regulus wanted at all. He doesn't do the things he doesn't want, and yet here he is,
terrified he's about to break James' heart. Because Regulus can't give him what he wants, or
deserves. Not now. God, none of them are in a place where they can even try. It hasn't been enough
time. They haven't healed yet.

This was a mistake, purely because nothing can come from it. Maybe if it hadn't happened so soon.
Maybe if Regulus hadn't wanted it just as much—still wants it just as much—and found it in
himself to stop, to say it wasn't the right time, to back off before they both broke themselves
crashing together. Maybe doesn't matter in the end, because here they are anyway, possibly about
to be left in shards and bleeding from the bad idea they've always been.

"I haven't done it yet," Regulus admits, his heart throbbing like a bruise in his chest. He's nervous.
He's scared. "I don't deserve it, I don't deserve you—I never did—but I'm asking. I know it's not
fair, not really, but I'm asking you to give me some time. I need time with Sirius, because I don't—I
haven't had enough to be sure of...anything, really. Nothing is right yet, even if it always feels right
with you, and I have to—I need to work on...a lot of things. So, I'm asking for you to—" He
swallows thickly. "I'm asking for you to wait, James."

James blinks. "Wait."

"I know that's selfish," Regulus breathes out in a rush. "I just can't give you what you want right
now, no matter how badly I wish to. Everything is so fragile with Sirius, and things are only just
getting better with Remus, and that's not even counting the things we have to handle. It's just—it's a
little too much for me, right now, and I—I'm sorry, but I—"

"Regulus," James cuts in, "that's not selfish. Christ, you're a human being, love. You're allowed to
need time. Honestly, it's realistic, because it's probably for the best that I take some as well. You're
not—you aren't wrong."
Regulus squeezes his eyes shut. "But to ask you to wait…"

"Don't you start." James' lips brush over his, gentle, a light pressure that's there-and-gone. It
succeeds in making Regulus open his eyes, and James gazes at him with warmth, a lovely smile of
sunshine blooming on his face. He laughs softly and whispers, "I'd wait forever for you."

"You shouldn't," Regulus whispers back.

"You can't stop me," James replies, then kisses him again. It comes with a note of finality, not a
goodbye, but a see you later. When he pulls back, he fully pulls back, putting actual space between
them with a deep breath. "I'm glad you asked, Regulus. It would have broken my heart if you
hadn't."

"Oh," Regulus says, startled by this, unaware that asking was the least selfish option after all. He
supposes it would be, if they both want the same thing.

James takes a deep breath, then lets it out. "You're right. We all have things we need to work on.
So, take your time, and I'll take mine. When we're ready…"

"Yeah," Regulus murmurs, exhaling in solemn relief.

"I love you," James tells him.

Regulus feels a lump form in his throat, but he swallows it down and makes sure to say it back,
because James deserves to hear it. He deserves to know. "I love you, too."

"Go on," James says softly, jerking his head towards the door, lips curling up.

"I'm not leaving without the scarf," Regulus mumbles like a petulant child being stubborn in the
midst of a tantrum, and James breaks out into a grin as Regulus' face burns.

Chuckling, James lopes over to the sofa to grab the scarf, then moves back in front of Regulus to
reach out and gently wind it around his neck just as he did the very first time. Regulus gazes up at
him helplessly, so ridiculously in love that he's weak with it, really. He'd do anything for James, he
thinks.

James looks at him with unbridled affection, reaching out to gently brush the curl of his finger
down Regulus' cheek, and then he leans in and presses a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead.
Regulus sways into it with a quiet sigh, eyelids fluttering shut, and he wants to stay right there
forever.

But, when James pulls away, Regulus forces himself to do the same. He leaves, holding firmly
onto the scarf the whole way out the door.

Prongs, you better have a damn good excuse for why you're late, Sirius thinks with a scowl,
tapping the corner of his phone against the table, leg jumping up and down beneath it.

As if he needs another reason to be angry these days. Because he is. He spends most of his time in
a constant state of agitation, and nothing seems to be giving him relief. Simply put, he's
consistently on edge, persistently wound up, and there's not a fucking thing he can do to stop it.

He'd been under the impression that things would get better with James back, and they are, they're
getting there, but it's not easy like most things are for them. Forgiveness, embraces, and tears aside
—one conversation didn't resolve things between them, as it turns out.

Or, well, maybe it did. Sirius isn't entirely sure. Things are so strange between them now that he
doesn't really know what's going on half the time. He just knows it's not like before.

For one thing, Sirius knows what James looks like when he's pining over someone. He's seen it
before with Lily, both before their relationship and after it fell apart. He couldn't miss it if he tried,
and oh, he's been trying. Because the one James is yearning for now is Sirius' little brother, which
is quite possibly the furthest thing from okay he's ever seen.

He'll catch James looking off into the distance, a quiet solemnity hanging over him like a dense
cloud, gaze unfocused as if lost in memories. Sometimes, he'll look so fucking sad that Sirius' heart
will clench with reflexive sympathy before he remembers who James is sad about, and all
sympathy will drain out of him in one swoop. The usual bright demeanor James has always carried
around with him is now perpetually dim, like someone turned the dial of him down. But not just
someone. No, not just someone; Regulus.
James has always rather worn his heart on his sleeve, and Sirius is tired of looking at it while it's
broken over his little brother. It's fucking complicated.

To make matters worse, take Regulus out of the equation, and things still aren't simple between
them, and Sirius knows he's mostly the one to blame. He's always in a bad mood these days,
snapping all the time, not wanting to talk or go out or do much at all. It's just that his life still feels
like shit, so he feels like shit, so he acts like a shit to keep with the theme. James, who lives with
him, gets to see most of the aforementioned shit.

Sirius would rather break his fingers one-by-one than ever raise a hand at James again for any
reason, but there's a lot of ways you can hurt someone without ever hitting them. He knows that
well; after all, some of the worst pain his mother, father, and brother ever caused came from the
things they said, rather than a strike. Not hitting James is easy, so easy that he wonders how he
ever did it to start with. Not hurting him with the things he says? Well, that's harder.

Lately, Sirius has been very aware of just how much of a prick he can truly be without even trying.
But he is trying. He's so conscious of everything he says to James, every move he makes around
him, forcing himself to think long and hard before he opens his mouth or twitches even one finger.
He's walking around on eggshells with James, and it makes things difficult for them, because
neither of them have ever had to do anything like that before.

Sometimes, the very sight of James makes him feel like he's going to vomit. Not because James
shagged Regulus. Not because James lied to him, betrayed him, and broke his heart at the same
time that his boyfriend and brother did, right there along with them when he was supposed to be
the one person above all who never would.

No, it's because of what Sirius has done to James; that's what makes it hard to look at him. So, he
apologizes. He cries a lot. He mentally beats himself up, and he talks to James until he's hoarse,
and he finds ways he can be better and make up for it. He does his best, and it's not always good,
but it has gotten so much better towards the end of the week when compared to the beginning. It's
just so bloody difficult.

Sirius is trying, though. He does try. When he's feeling his worst, he'll just seclude himself away
from James, refusing to have anything to do with him, like some form of protection. When he's
feeling his best, he'll lay all over James and crack jokes like nothing has changed between them at
all, trying not to think about how happy that makes James (even briefly). He wishes he could do
better. He wishes he was better.

It honestly wouldn't surprise him if James just opted not to show up. They'd agreed that morning to
meet at a bar later in the afternoon after Sirius spent all day in the studio (he'd poked his head next
door, but Regulus wasn't working; they still haven't ran into each other there yet) and James spent
his day catching up on work and class stuff that he'd been slacking on since...everything.

In a move that Sirius considers one of his smarter decisions, he chose a bar that he and Remus
didn't frequent, one that they never even went to, one he knows of through the few times he's ran
into Fabian and Gideon here. It lowers the chances of seeing Remus by quite a lot, he thinks, and
that's the goal.

Sirius spends a great deal of time not thinking about Remus. On purpose. Like, putting in the
genuine effort not to. Well, there's a conundrum to that, admittedly, because he'll find himself lost
in memories, or wondering what Remus is doing, or going back and forth on asking James if he's
texting Remus when he sees James on his phone (yet another thing that Sirius has to be stiffly
careful about with James—his continued friendship with Remus fucking Lupin). But then, Sirius
shuts those thoughts down and makes the decision not to think about Remus, so it hardly counts,
does it?

Sirius scoffs under his breath and shoves to his feet, stuffing his cell in his pocket. He's going
home. When he gets there, James can explain why he never showed up, the tosser. It better be for a
good reason, or Sirius might just lose it.

He stops by the loo before he goes, and as he comes out, he nearly runs face-first into the divider
on the back of the booth right across from the entrance to the loo. He freezes in place as soon as he
hears Remus' voice, suddenly unable to take another step, his entire body immediately rioting the
moment that voice—that lovely, lovely voice—reaches his ears.

"You're relentless, you know that?" Remus is saying, sounding exasperated, annoyed, and slightly
amused all at once.

Sirius' pounding heart surges up to lodge in his throat, and he whips around to press his back
against the divider, staring wide-eyed at the door to the men's loo. The divider is tall, even taller
than Sirius, with an open top that has vines carved through it. A child could stand up in the booth
and stick their fingers through it, depending on how tall the child was. It's actually quite brilliant
carving work, Sirius thinks. More importantly, it's the only thing standing between him and his
Moony, who's apparently sitting in the booth right on the other side—and he's not alone?

"Well, I have to be. I've been trying to get you to at least let us be friends for literally over a month
now, Remus, and it never takes me that long for anyone," comes the reply from yet another
familiar voice, though it takes Sirius three seconds longer to place it than it did to recognize
Remus', which he did immediately. Gideon. What the fuck is Gideon doing with Remus? What is
happening?
"Maybe if you didn't spend most of that time trying to shag me, it wouldn't have taken that long,"
Remus replies dryly.

Sirius tenses up, feeling his molars meet with increasing pressure as he tries to grind his teeth into
dust. Oh, Gideon. Not this. Sirius likes Gideon, and now… Christ, Sirius is going to have to kill a
friend. That's horrid.

"Who said I stopped?" Gideon teases, and Sirius feels less bad about the whole idea of murdering a
friend all of a sudden. Actually, he feels rather justified. "One of these days, Remus, you and I are
going to be proper friends, the fun kind that shag sometimes. Doesn't that sound fun?"

"Gid," Remus says with a sigh.

Clicking his tongue, Gideon says, "Oh, don't look like that. You're so morose. What's that about?
Tell me what it is, or let me guess—there's someone your heart is set on already."

Sirius holds his breath, heart racing. There's a long, long beat of silence that has weight to it,
substantial and stretching, and he can't help but wonder if that's him. If it's his name that comes to
Remus' mind. If it's his face Remus pictures. If it's memories of him that Remus is snatched into.
The silence is full, nearly overflowing, pulsing with an unspoken answer that Sirius can feel
thudding at the same pace of his heart. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. That's all it can be, right? It has to be
—

"No," Remus answers softly. "No, there's no one."

No one, Sirius thinks. So I'm no one. His heart clenches almost violently in his chest before it sinks
entirely. He's fucking no one, as it turns out. Really? Brilliant, good to know, he's so damn glad
that's the case. It's not as if he wasn't aware of that already; after all, Walburga had been saying the
same for years, so it's not as if he never heard it.

It's the first time that he really believes it, though. Really, truly believes it without a fight, without
an argument, without some kind of evidence to back up the opposite. When it's coming from
Remus, it slides into Sirius with no resistance, like a knife finding that easy place between ribs to
pierce the heart.

"Well, what about—" Gideon cuts himself off when Sirius abruptly pushes away from the divider
and casually strolls around it. Remus is sitting with his back towards him, so it's Gideon who sees
him first, and he immediately sits up straighter as he blurts out, "Sirius!"

Remus spits out a mouthful of drink and immediately starts hacking and coughing, and Sirius claps
him on the back as he goes by, watching him in faux concern as his head whips towards him, eyes
bulging. "Alright there, mate? Don't choke."

"Sirius, what are you doing here? It's been ages," Gideon declares with a grin, his eyes sparkling as
he scoots further into the booth so Sirius can ease in beside him.

"Oh, I was waiting for someone, but they never showed. Left me lonely," Sirius complains, leaning
back casually and resting his arm along the back of the booth to meet Gideon's gaze, holding it.
"Then I saw you, and I thought to myself, well, now my day's about to get better."

"Is that right?" Gideon arches an eyebrow, but it does nothing to hide the way he flicks his gaze
over Sirius, a blatant look of interest. Gideon hasn't changed much since Sirius last saw him, but he
does have a messy sort of mullet haircut going on that suits him quite well, and he's wearing an
ascot that—on anyone else—would usually look ridiculous, but works for him, because of course it
does. Gideon flashes him a quick smile and inclines his head towards Remus. "Sirius, this is
Remus."

"Is it?" Sirius asks, swiveling his head lazily to flick his gaze over Remus with feigned disinterest.
Remus is pale, lips parted, eyes wide. He's fucking beautiful, and Sirius wants to look at him
forever. His heartbeat spikes when their eyes meet, a brief moment that Sirius hastily breaks by
looking away carelessly. "Friend of yours?"

"I work with him at a coffee shop," Gideon says.

"What are you doing working at a coffee shop, Gid?"

"Molly said they need the help; some prick quit without warning, apparently, so I'm really doing it
as a favor to her."

Remus coughs and seems to recover enough to mutter, "That prick you're talking about is my best
mate, Gideon, so it might be best to watch what you say, yeah?"

"You're a good sort, Remus, defending him when he's not even here. See, this is why we should be
friends. I think you'd make for a wonderful friend," Gideon says insistently, like he's had this
argument many times before.

"Are you two friends?" Remus asks quietly, flicking his gaze between Sirius and Gideon almost
helplessly.

"Oh, we're proper friends, we are," Sirius replies casually, flashing him a grin, inwardly preening
when Remus fails to look anything other than utterly enamored with him. No one. Pfft, alright.
"Wouldn't you say so, Gideon? Always did prefer you over Fab, but you can't tell him."

"Our secret, mate," Gideon says, chuckling, and he reaches out to clap his hand on Sirius' shoulder.
He shakes him a little bit, and Sirius flows with the motion, but the whole time, he just keeps
looking at Remus—who keeps looking right back.

"Although," Sirius continues in a murmur, holding Remus' gaze like a challenge, "that could be just
because you would shag me when Fab never would."

Remus' shoulders go tight, fingers twitching on top of the table, but his face slips into something
infuriatingly neutral. He suddenly looks like the most polite man in the room.

"Well, what are friends for?" Gideon asks lightly, nudging the side of Sirius' knee with his own.
Sirius looks away from Remus and makes sure to give Gideon a long, lingering look and a slow
smile, which makes Gideon respond by sitting up straighter in his seat. Sirius can feel Remus' gaze
locked onto the side of his head. "You said you were waiting on someone, but they never came?
Sorry about your date, mate."

Remus seems to shrink in on himself a bit, looking stricken. Sirius wants, inexplicably, to bite him.
To sink his teeth into Remus and chew him up, then spit him out again. He also wants to crawl into
the seat next to Remus and cradle him, hold him, run his fingers through Remus' hair and remain
steady while Remus folds himself down into a tight ball that somehow defies all logic and fits into
his arms. Sirius wants to tear Remus apart and keep him so, so safe.

"Hm, I'm not upset my day hasn't gone well so far," Sirius muses, winking at Gideon. "It's starting
to look up."

"Oh, is it?" Gideon asks, grinning.

Sirius reaches up to lazily tug his hair over one shoulder, baring his throat just so he can feel
Remus' gaze leave a trail of fire over it. "You tell me, Gid."

"Excuse me," Remus mumbles, starting to slide right out of the booth, looking a bit ill.

"Oh, don't go anywhere," Sirius says sharply, hand snapping out to capture Remus' wrist. The
contact makes Remus go still like someone just found his off-button. "I don't want to run you off.
Gideon obviously wants to be your friend."

"Sirius," Remus whispers, swallowing thickly.

"Wouldn't want to ruin that for him, would I?" Sirius asks, his voice brittle with anger, growing
harsher and harsher. "And who am I to stop him, really? No one. No one at all."

Remus takes in a quick breath, then blows it out, shaking his head slightly. "I should go. You and
Gideon have a lot of catching up to do, I'm sure. I don't want to interfere."

"Don't you, Remus?" Sirius retorts.

"You know," Gideon says slowly, "I'm starting to get the feeling that you two know each other."

Sirius barks a harsh laugh. "Oh no, I don't know him. Don't know a damn thing about him."

"I'm not fucking doing this," Remus hisses, snatching his wrist out of Sirius' grip, his face flushed,
eyes blazing. "I'm not doing this, Sirius. Whatever game you want to play, I'm not interested,
alright?"

"Really?" Sirius snaps. "Because you were so interested in playing your own games, weren't you?
Can't stomach it when you're not in control of the rules, is that it?"

"Alright," Gideon mumbles wearily, "I can see that you two know each other very well. Um—"

"I wasn't playing a fucking game with you," Remus informs him, his voice low, cheek twitching
from where he's clearly clenching his jaw. He's wearing the sweater he put on Sirius the first night
he saw Regulus again. Sirius remembers how soft and warm it was. He wants to touch it, and he
wants to burn it. "I never did anything with the intention to hurt you. I know what I did, what we
did, was wrong. I know that. But the whole point behind it was to avoid being hurt. All of us."

"And would you say you succeeded?" Sirius asks sarcastically, then scoffs when Remus sighs and
looks away, his shoulders slumping like he's tired. "Yeah, how'd that go for you, Remus? You did
a swell fucking job, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," Remus croaks, then all but flings himself out of his seat, heading right for the door.

"Oh, he must be joking," Sirius hisses, throwing himself out of his seat as well, following Remus
right across the bar and out the door. He stomps up behind him to grab his arm right above his
elbow and yank him around. "You're sorry? All of that, and you just offer one lousy apology and
that's it?"

"I am sorry, Sirius," Remus says softly, tipping his head forward with pinched eyebrows, so much
sincerity shining through in his gaze that it makes Sirius' chest go tight. "I'm sorry I lied to you, and
deceived you, and I'm sorry I worked with James to best do that. But—"

Sirius' nostrils flare. "But? There is no but, Remus! There's no fucking excuse for—"

"But," Remus continues firmly, "I'm not sorry for loving you. I don't apologize for that, only for
being so desperate for more, for everything, for all of it that I helped each of us lose it."

"You did. You did this to us," Sirius tells him forcefully, snatching his hand off Remus' arm
because he wants to tighten his grip, wants to squeeze, wants to hold on so hard that Remus will
feel the pressure of his fingers on him for the rest of his life. "You did this, so you don't get to just
apologize and carry on with your day like—like it doesn't even matter."

"Sirius—"

"That's not it. That's not enough. There has to be—"

"More?" Remus suggests quietly, and Sirius snaps his mouth shut, his heart thumping loudly in his
ears. "What more could I do? What do you want from me?"
"I don't want a damn thing from you, Remus," Sirius says coldly. "When it comes to you, I want
nothing."

Remus swallows and gives a stiff nod. "Yes, I assumed so. That's your right. I'll go, then."

"Just like that?" Sirius asks, both furious and disbelieving. Remus takes a step back, watching him.
"You do realize that I'm going to shag Gideon, don't you?"

"I picked up on that being your goal," Remus mutters.

Sirius has to curl his hands into fists so he won't reach out, grab Remus, and shake him. "That's all
you're going to say? You're just going to...leave me to it?"

"As opposed to what, Sirius?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe some jealousy, some sulking, things such as that. You're not even going
to put up a fight?"

"For what?" Remus asks, holding his arms out by his sides before he lets them flop back down. It's
like all the fight has gone out of him. "What exactly am I fighting for? What right do I have to
fight? You're done with me, and I—I—" There's a clear struggle for a moment, and then he drops
his gaze, eyes sinking shut. "We're done. It's over."

"You're such a fucking shit, you know that?" Sirius snarls, stepping forward until their boots nearly
touch. Remus' eyes open, and he looks so very tired. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to act
like you don't care. Do you understand what I'm telling you? I'm going to fuck him. Him, and
anyone else who happens to smile at me twice. I'm going to take people to my bed, the same bed
you used to sleep in, and fuck. And fuck. And fuck. But I will never touch you again."

"Okay, Sirius," Remus murmurs.

"Okay? Okay? That's just okay with you?" Sirius asks, and distantly, he can recognize the note of
hysteria that's creeping into his tone, frantic and wobbly.
"Sirius—"

"It's okay with you that I'm going to be held in arms that aren't yours, Remus? Is it okay that my
hands will be on someone else's skin?"

"Sirius—"

"So, is it okay that someone else will kiss me? It's okay that I'll moan a name that isn't yours, and
cuddle up with a body besides your own, and—"

"Sirius!" Remus shouts, gaze sharp. "Stop. Just stop. Just—"

"How can that be okay with you, Remus? Because it's not okay with me," Sirius chokes out, and the
moment his eyes start to sting, he's gripped with immediate fury. Remus looks at him for a beat,
then his face softens, and Sirius can't take it anymore. He reaches out and shoves Remus back a
step, pushing at his chest. "I'm not no one! I was—I was someone to you!"

"Yes," Remus whispers. "Yeah, I know."

"So, don't—don't act like it's not ripping you up inside. Don't pretend you're not jealous, or upset, or
—or—" Sirius drops his hands at his sides, breathing hard, fingers shaking. He feels frazzled. All
out of sorts. "You loved me."

"I still do," Remus admits.

"Then fucking act like it!" Sirius bursts out. "You want more, Moony? You want me? Then go
after it!"

"I can't have it," Remus grits out with some sort of helpless frustration, reaching up to gesture with
his hands towards his chest like he's trying to pluck his own heart out.

"No, you can't, and I don't care. Go after it anyway, so I can tell you that you can't have it. Ask for
it, beg for it, just so I can tell you no," Sirius says in a rush, everything moving fast and shaky
inside him, leaving him jittery. Coming apart at the seams. A thread being tugged on so he'll
unravel. He doesn't know what's at the center of himself, but the more he comes undone, the closer
he gets to it. "Fight a fight you can't win. Take the fucking beating, Remus."

"Sirius—"

"Be hurt. Be hurt. Walk willingly into another trap that promises more hurt, just for me. Get your
hopes up, knowing that they'll be crushed. Just—just fucking try, Remus. Try like you can't help it,
even though it won't get you anywhere."

Remus just looks at him sadly and softly says, "Sirius…"

"Please. Please," Sirius croaks, his whole body rattling while the unspooling of him continues.
"Because it can't be just me. That's not fair. This isn't fair, Moony. I can't be the only one feeling
like this. You don't get to do this to me; you don't get to ruin me and just—just be okay afterwards;
you don't get to stand there like you don't want me, when all I want is you. I mean something to
you. I'm not just no one. I'm worth more than that, and I'm enough—I was enough, Remus—and it
wasn't my fault. This time, it wasn't my fault. It wasn't, and I wasn't just no one. You loved me.
You did this, and should be begging on your knees, so why aren't you? Why aren't you? Why,
when all you have to do is say my name and touch me, and I'd melt. I'd fucking melt, and it's not
fair. It can't be just me, because I wasn't no one to you. I was—"

"Alright, Sirius, hey," Remus interrupts, and only then does Sirius really realize that he was
rambling, that somewhere in there, he started crying. "Shh, I know, I'm sorry. Come here. I'm so
sorry." He shuffles forward and puts his arms around him, and of course, Sirius melts into him
instantly with a tiny, muffled sob. "You're not no one, Sirius, and you're enough. You're more than
enough; you always have been. I know it's not fair. I know."

"This hurts so much," Sirius confesses in something that's nearly a whimper, and he buries his face
into that spot in the curve of Remus' neck. That warm, lovely spot below his jaw that smells of
cinnamon spice biscuits with honey and patchouli, home and earth. He smells so fucking good. He
always has, and it's like some kind of Pavlovian response to the scent of him that makes Sirius
relax and settle in increments.

Slowly, Sirius comes to the conclusion that he just had a minor breakdown. Well, that's less than
ideal. It's likely a reaction to repeatedly avoiding his problems and pretending not to feel anything
about the subject of being heartbroken over the man he's in love with. But, well, it's too late to stop
himself from having that reaction, so he will just avoid that, too. What's one more thing, right? He
has this under control.
Except for how he doesn't. Remus makes him lose his head. He's the fucking moon controlling the
tide, sending wave after wave crashing down over Sirius before he can properly catch his breath.
He's dangerous, so very dangerous, and Sirius has known nightmares his whole life, but Remus is
undoubtedly the most beautiful one Sirius has ever been haunted by.

He was a dream, and then he became reality, and now it's a fucking nightmare being without him.

Sirius presses into him, exhaling softly when Remus tightens his arms around him, holding him
closer like he won't let him go. That's what Sirius wants. He wants Remus to not let him go,
because he can't let go.

"I miss you," Remus whispers.

"I'm right here," Sirius whispers back, tilting his face up to brush his lips over Remus' jaw. Remus
inhales sharply, so Sirius does it again, and again, and again. He does it more firmly each time,
feeling Remus' fingers flex against his back, and he's eventually just dragging his mouth along
Remus' skin until he's not far from his lips at all.

"I want you so badly, Sirius, and I'm already ruined. This will break me," Remus confesses.

"Good," Sirius says, then deliberately brushes a featherlight kiss to Remus' lips, something singing
in the rush of his blood when Remus' mouth parts with a quiet sigh.

Sirius pulls back just enough for plausible deniability, then waits, taking the time to scan Remus'
face through hooded eyes. Remus is visibly wavering, and it takes only four seconds for him to
reach up and cradle Sirius' cheek with one hand, then duck in and kiss him more firmly. Sirius' eyes
flutter shut as he melts into that, too.

It's sweet. So very sweet. Almost innocent, really. Less so in technique, but more so in how careful
they are with each other. Remus kisses him gently, intimately, with full commitment to savoring
every second of it. This kiss is slow, and soft, and so long that Sirius feels the world melt away. It's
the sort of kiss that sweeps him away, in fact, leaving him so caught up that he forgets there are
other moments in life to exist in other than this one.

Sirius doesn't mean to, but he muffles a broken sound into Remus' mouth that seems to come from
the very depths of him. The hidden dark corners that are locked away where the most vulnerable
parts of himself reside, and they're all crying out at once. Remus pulls back just enough to gently
shush him in a soothing manner, a soft, "Shh, I've got you," and he tenderly swipes his thumb
across Sirius' cheek before he ducks back in to kiss him again, and keep kissing him, not stopping.

If it was possible, Sirius—in this moment—would stitch them together, or melt them both down so
that when they harden back up, they're formed as one. Then where would Remus go? What could
either of them do, but stay just like this? Sirius wants so very much for them to stay just like this.

"Please," falls out between them, and Sirius is so dizzy that he thinks, at first, that he's the one who
says it. But then Remus is all but clinging to him as he says it again. "Please."

"What?" Sirius breathes out, turning his head to rest it against Remus' temple, eyes clamped shut.
His heart is pounding, but he feels calmer than he has in a while. One of Remus' hands is buried in
his hair, not pulling it, just resting there.

"Don't shag Gideon. Don't shag anyone. Are you really dating again?" Remus blurts in a wobbly
rush. "Please don't. I'm not ready; I don't know that I'll ever be ready. It's not okay. It's so far from
okay that I—I—"

"Go on," Sirius encourages gently.

Remus chokes out, "I can't do it. I can't comprehend how I'm meant to carry on like I'm not still
waiting for you, like I'm not desperate to come back to you. I love you, Sirius. I don't know how to
leave you alone. I don't want to."

There, Sirius thinks, relief pouring into him as he looks into Remus' eyes and finally, finally sees
the panic and devastation in them that Sirius feels so starkly himself. He's not alone in it; Remus
just hates feeling weak. But, for this, he's going to have to, because Sirius—well, Sirius is about to
break him.

It's a sudden, crushing realization; one that's too late to keep from stumbling upon. Because they
can't. Sirius stands there and looks at Remus, suddenly struck with the knowledge that they can't.
He lifts his hand, eyes stinging, and he cups Remus' cheek. Strokes his skin, the light rasp of
stubble, feeling it whisper against the pad of his thumb. He strikes a beautiful picture in the mid-
afternoon light, the brightest beacon in the world like he's still the moon shining when it's not even
night.
"Oh, this was so foolish of me," Sirius whispers, feeling his shoulders slump. "I've been reckless
again."

"Sirius," Remus breathes out, a red flush spreading over the bridge of his nose, under his eyes.
Tears form.

"You're not going to believe me, Moony," Sirius rasps, "but I didn't mean to this time."

Remus swallows thickly. "You're right. I don't believe you. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Me to
take the beating." He pulls back sharply and sniffs. "Sometimes, it feels like all life does is beat me
down. I didn't need this, too."

"Remus," Sirius mumbles, "I—"

"Where do I belong now? Tell me, Sirius, if it's not with you, then where the fuck is it? You
promised me everything, and I'm begging. I've never begged anyone for anything in my entire life,
but I'm begging you." Remus catches his bottom lip between his teeth and makes a weak noise.
"Fuck, do I have to get down on my knees, too? I will. For you, I will."

Sirius shakes his head and chokes out, "Don't. God, don't do that. I just—I only wanted—"

"You wanted to hurt me, because you're hurt," Remus tells him. "That's what you do."

"Sweetheart," Sirius says, and it's almost a whine.

"I fucking told you I couldn't have it. You think I don't know? And you still—" Remus closes his
eyes and inhales before slowly exhaling, his head ducking forward as he takes a step back. When
he looks up again, the tears have fallen. "Is this enough for you, Sirius? Is this the more you were
looking for?"

"No, I—that's not—" Sirius trips over his words, his breathing short and choppy as he feels his
panic start to rise, because this isn't what he wanted. Not really. No matter what he said in the peak
of his emotions when he was breaking down, this is the last thing he meant to do. If he's honest
with himself, he wanted Remus to fight so he could give in.
Except he can't, because this—it's not right. None of them are ready. There hasn't been enough
time. Sirius and Regulus aren't even secure yet, and this would just… Now isn't the time for any of
them. Maybe this just isn't the life where they get to be together, and the thought makes Sirius feel
fucking insane. It's not fair. None of this is fair.

"Just go," Remus says wearily.

"I'm in love with you," Sirius blurts out, and Remus blinks, looking genuinely startled by the abrupt
turn this has taken, but Sirius needs him to understand. "I don't want to go. I'm so maddeningly in
love with you that I feel like you're in my fucking lungs, in my blood, like to separate myself from
you I'd have to be nothing but ash, but you'd be in that, too. And then you'd be in the wind when it
carries my ashes away, and in the world, all over the world, because you already are. I love you
everywhere, here and there, places I've never been and lives I haven't even lived yet."

Remus swallows. "Sirius…"

"You do belong with me. You just do, and I want to give you everything, Moony. There's no one
else. For me, it's just you, and I can't—I'm barely keeping it together," Sirius admits in a rush. "I
love you. I love you, and I miss you, and I want you. Please believe that. Please believe me."

"Alright," Remus says softly. "I believe you, Sirius. I'm just not sure where that leaves us."

Sirius shakes out his hands, exhaling slowly. "For a very long time, I made Regulus my priority
over everything else, even my own well-being. And then, for eight years, I didn't. I don't know
how to find the healthy medium between that yet, but I know I have to. I have to—do a lot of
things. Work on a lot of things. It's not just him; it's also James; it's also just myself. I need time,
Remus. I told you before that I was sorry I made you wait so long for me, but sweetheart, I think
I'm going to need you to wait a little bit longer. Can you? Will you?"

"I'm not alone in it, am I?" Remus asks him, his face softening as he looks at Sirius, and he
suddenly looks sad. "You'll be waiting with me, won't you?"

"At least we'll be together," Sirius says, and his voice cracks.

"Except we won't be, not really," Remus whispers.

"I'm sorry," Sirius rasps, dangerously close to crying again.

Remus shakes his head and steps forward again, reaching out to gently press his fingers through
Sirius' hair, letting Sirius curl into him. He kisses Sirius' temple and noses at his hair, murmuring,
"Don't you dare apologize, Sirius. Not for this. Not for being the one to do the right thing for you
—for all of us, really, if I'm honest. You're not the only one who has things to work on, alright?
You're not doing anything wrong by admitting we need time. In fact, you're probably saving us a
whole world of hurt by not ignoring it."

"I don't want to hurt you, Remus, and I don't want to hurt anymore," Sirius admits, his voice
hoarse, throat clogged with tears he's fighting so hard to keep down.

"I know," Remus says, kissing his hair. "I know."

"I don't want to wait for my next life to have you. I want you in this one," Sirius mumbles.

"You have me," Remus assures him. "Christ, of course you do. I'm yours. I'm right here."

"But you're going to leave."

"Because it's the best for us both right now, but I'll come back. I always come back, don't I?"

Sirius makes a quiet noise of complaint, as well as acceptance, not pleased but knowing it's
necessary. He tips his chin up and presses a quick, firm kiss to Remus' mouth, then forces himself
to pull away. "You better. I mean it, Moony. As soon we all have our shit together, you better be
right back. And I'll never let you leave again, do you understand? We're going to get married and
have a whole brood of children and grow old and grey together and then die in each other's arms.
We don't even get to outlive each other."

"Really? Is that right?" Remus' lips twitch, and there's a light of fondness in his eyes that speaks of
further depths; the deeper one goes, the more love there is to be found. Sirius wants to drown in
him. "Yeah, alright, I believe you."

"Good," Sirius says firmly. "Now leave before I drag you off and shag you, which would be very
counterproductive."
"That it would, indeed," Remus agrees, lingering for a beat, a long look passing between them
where they're very clearly considering it. In the end, though, Remus takes a step back and shakes
his head. "You're right. Again. Really, Padfoot, you're outdoing yourself today."

"Thank you," Sirius whispers. And then, "I love you."

Remus' face softens. "I love you, too."

When he goes, he looks back over and over, and Sirius stares after him with a helpless mixture of
yearning and acceptance. He wonders vaguely if this is what it is to be a good person, to not act so
foolishly and recklessly, to make the hard choices to limit the pain it would cause everyone. If he's
honest, Sirius can admit to himself that he hates it a little bit, but the pride he gets from it feels too
good to pass up.

It's a while before Sirius turns around and goes back into the bar, one last thing he needs to do.
Gideon is still sitting there, nursing his drink and playing on his phone. He looks startled when
Sirius gets close enough for him to notice him. "Oh, Sirius, I thought you left with Remus, mate.
Saw you snogging him outside. Are you two—"

Sirius ignores him as he digs around for some quid to throw down on the table. "That should cover
the drinks and get you another one."

"Cheers. So, are you and Remus together? Not usually your style; settling down. Is he available?"
Gideon checks.

Sirius braces his hand on the table and leans in, raising his eyebrows at Gideon. His voice lowers,
hard like steel when he says, "Oh, you might want to leave Remus alone, Gid."

"Why's that?" Gideon asks, arching an eyebrow.

Sirius smiles at him with all teeth. "Because I'm fucking mental about him, and I mean that
literally, so don't even try it. If I find out that you do try…"

"Plan to finish that threat, Black?" Gideon says dryly, but there is a spark of wariness in his gaze.
 He went to Hogwarts with Sirius as well, albeit being two years ahead, so he's no stranger to the
reckless wrath of Sirius Black.

"No, actually. I'll let you think about what I might do, and I promise you that what I actually do
will be much worse," Sirius replies simply, straightening up. He nods and doesn't say anything
else. Doesn't have to. Sirius doesn't make empty threats; everyone who knows him knows that.

With that, he turns around and goes home.

Chapter End Notes

Regulus: Why are you running? Why are you running?

James, internally: dontdoitdontdoitdontdoit

Also, James: Does It Immediately

Poor James. He tried SO HARD, he really did give him a break. His brain was
moving at the speed of light.

And then there's Sirius with his breakdown, poor babe if you've ever gone
through a breakup where it felt like you were falling apart, and that other person was
just...fine, you KNOW how awful that feeling is. That shit hurts so bad, not gonna lie.
Also, his self-esteem issues jumped up and smacked him in the face. He was just
trying to wait for his best friend (who was shagging his little brother) and then his
entire day turned on its head. Cut him some slack. He's gonna need it

Anyway, thoughts?

I'll see all you TOMORROW!!! (love that I get to say that)
 Chapter 23
Chapter Notes

warnings for this chapter: a long overdue meeting, a long-awaited discussion, a bit of
yelling, a bit of crying, and the reminder that healing isn't linear, but that doesn't mean
it's not still happening <3

enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sirius bursts into the flat in the middle of James pacing restlessly in the kitchen like an animal in a
cage. He feels his stomach twist into knots, because things have only just gotten to a good point
between them, and now…

Well, now James is about to tell him he shagged his little brother. Again.

"I have had an insane day, mate," Sirius announces as soon as he comes into the kitchen.

"Makes two of us," James mumbles.

"Me first," Sirius says, smacking his keys to his bike down on the counter. "You never showed up
at the bar, so I decided I would come home. Stopped by the loo, and when I came out, I overheard
Remus there with, ah, Gideon."

"Gideon?" James asks, squinting in confusion.

Sirius grunts. "Yeah, apparently he took over Regulus' position at the cafe as a favor to his sister.
Don't actually know all the details, don't care. Anyway, they were having a lovely chat, so I
stopped by to say hello."

"Did you?" James mutters flatly.

"Oi, Gid's a mate. Why shouldn't I speak to him when I see him?" Sirius grumbles, looking away
with a scowl. "In any case, Remus tried to leave. So, I followed him. We...had a bit of an argument.
Sort of."

James heaves a sigh and reaches up to swipe his hand down his face, in no mood right now to drag
this out. He's too tangled up at the moment. "Get on with it. What happened?"

"We snogged," Sirius says, still not looking at him.

"You and Remus, or you and Gid?" James bites out.

Sirius frowns at him, visibly stung. "Me and Remus. You think I'd—I wouldn't. I'd never—"

"I just—" James sighs and doesn't have it in him to feel bad for the hurt blooming in Sirius' eyes at
the assumption. "Well, it's not exactly being disloyal, is it?"

"We never broke up."

"No offense, but you're not doing much dating either, are you?"

"I—what the hell is your problem?" Sirius blurts out, actually shrinking back a little bit.

James grimaces. "Just...tell me what happened. You snogged Moony, then?"

"I did, yeah. Well, it was all a bit emotional and awful, if I'm honest, and we both cried at some
point. Anyway, we talked, and I—I did the right thing for once, I think. We both agreed we needed
time to work on some things, and once we were in better places in our lives, we'd...you know."
Sirius gives him a significant look, and then he smiles slightly. "We'd give it another go, when it's
the right time. Oh, and we made the mature, adult decision to not shag, even though I know we
both really, really wanted to. Good, right?"

"Yeah, mate. Brilliant," James says weakly.

Sirius grins at him. "So, that's some incentive for me to get my shit together. Now, your turn. You
said you had an insane day, did you? Why didn't you show up?"
"Um." James clears his throat and awkwardly fidgets with his fingers. Sirius' grin slowly fades, and
his eyes narrow with suspicion. Swallowing, James rasps, "So, Regulus stopped by earlier, looking
for you."

"Did he?" Sirius asks, an edge to his voice already. They stare at each other, and Sirius tucks his
lips in, eyes sparking with the beginning of true rage. "James, tell me you did not shag my little
brother again."

"I—I, ah, can't tell you that," James admits in a whisper, wincing when Sirius hisses between his
teeth like he's just been burned. "He showed up at the flat earlier, and it took maybe five minutes
before we were shagging."

"You mean to tell me that Regulus came here, and you whisked him off to bed within five
minutes?" Sirius grinds out.

James looks down, chastised. "Sofa. We—it was the—"

"You—" Sirius takes a deep breath, holding it as his eyes sink shut. He lifts his hands and slowly
pushes them outwards as he exhales in what looks like some sort of breathing technique, the
dramatic git. He breathes in again, then out, and he hums with a tremble of audible anger in the
sound, eyes snapping open as he carefully places his hands by his sides. "You shagged my little
brother. Again. On the sofa."

It's the absolute fury in Sirius' tone that really gets to him. He's not expecting it to, honestly, but it
does. Just the way Sirius is so fucking upset about it makes James upset.

James, in general, isn't a very angry person. He doesn't have much to be angry about in life, does
he? Not on the whole. Good parents, a nice childhood, food in his pantry and a steady income and
a bed to curl up in at night.

Of course, James has gotten angry many times throughout his life—Snape comes to mind—but he
doesn't have the build-up of trauma it requires to make him an angry person. That sort of thing
does require a little bit of backstory to it; people aren't born angry, are they? Not usually, in any
case. Sirius, for example, is an angry person who never would have been if he'd gotten the life of
love and acceptance he deserves—the life everyone in the world deserves, but so few actually get.
James knows how incredibly lucky he is. You're not just Sirius Black's best friend without being
painfully aware of the ways your life could have been much, much worse.
That being said, James has never gotten angry at Sirius. Not like this. Not in this way. He wasn't
actually convinced that he could be angry at Sirius.

Now, he's convinced. Oh, but he's convinced.

"As if you and Remus haven't shagged on the sofa, Sirius," James says, scowling.

"Remus isn't your brother!"

"Yes, I'm aware. What's your point?"

"Regulus is my little brother!" Sirius bellows, flinging his hands up before balling them into fists at
his sides like it's the only thing that's keeping him from lashing out.

James holds his gaze. "Yes, I'm aware. What's your point?"

"My point?!" Sirius shouts. "He's my little brother, James! You shagged my little brother!"

"Yes, I'm aware. What's your point?" James repeats.

Sirius stares at him incredulously. "You can't do that."

"Why not?" James asks calmly. "He's an adult. It was entirely consensual between us. He's not a
fucking child, Sirius. He can shag who he damn well wants to, even if it is me, and there's nothing
you can do about it."

"Oh, is that right?" Sirius murmurs, his fingers flexing and fisting again so hard that his knuckles
are pasty white. There's a wild gleam in his blazing eyes, the kind he's always gotten before he's
done something incredibly reckless and damaging for everyone involved. But all Sirius does is
swing his hand out to grasp his keys again and slowly, softly say, "You and I are going on a drive,
James. We're going to go visit Regulus, and you can either get on the bike of your own free will, or
I can tie you to it and drag your arse screaming and flailing behind it."
"Oh, there's no need for the fucking dramatics, Sirius," James snaps. "I'm more than happy to go
visit Regulus. In fact—"

"Watch it," Sirius warns sharply, nostrils flaring. "It might do us both some good to just shut the
fuck up for now. I drive recklessly when I'm angry."

James scoffs and reaches out to snatch the keys before Sirius can stop him. "That's why I'm
driving."

James has driven Sirius' bike four times in the years he's had it and maintained it, which goes to
show just how precious the blasted thing is to him. Out of everyone, James has gotten special
privileges with the bike, being the only other person besides Sirius to actually sit on it—well,
excluding Remus, which is yet another way James was convinced that Sirius and Remus were in
love. Actually, it was the sort of thing that had James wholeheartedly convinced that they'd be
married one day, and James would be Sirius' best man at the wedding, while Regulus would be
Remus'. He daydreamed about that more than he cares to admit, at least before it all went to shit.

In any case, James is a careful driver on the bike—Sirius wouldn't let him breathe near it if he
wasn't—so they arrive at their destination safe and sound. Off the bike first, James approaches the
building without waiting. Sirius makes a low sound of displeasure behind him and scrambles to
follow.

When Sirius reaches out to grasp his arm, James snatches it roughly from his grip and keeps
moving. Sirius says his name, then says it again, then growls in frustration when James flings open
the doors and immediately picks up the pace. He practically takes the stairs two at a time, listening
to Sirius curse violently under his breath as he comes after him.

James makes it to the door before Sirius does, and he's not an angry person, but he knocks like one.
Before Sirius can so much as protest, James bangs harshly on the door and steps back, pinning a
glare on Sirius, who glares back. The door snatches open a moment later, and James looks away
from Sirius to see Regulus standing there, all the color draining out of his face rapidly as his gaze
flicks between James and Sirius.

"No," Regulus says immediately, and goes to close the door.

James catches it with his hand and snarls, "Don't you fucking dare," as he pushes forward, moving
into Regulus' space with such determination that Regulus gives up on the door instantly and starts
stumbling backwards.

"Oh, Christ," Remus breathes out from where he's sitting on Regulus' sofa, and then he goes
promptly quiet when Sirius comes in, the door shutting with a soft click.

It's the first time they're all in a room together since all this started, and James is fucking furious.

"James, what the hell are you doing?" Sirius snaps. "Back off my brother. Have you gone mad?"

James ignores him. "I got to thinking, love. I've decided that no one is going to be lying anymore.
No more secrets, no more sneaking around, no more hiding."

"Oh, you're angry," Regulus whispers, sounding a mixture of startled and breathless.

"What gave it away?" James asks harshly, swinging out his arm to point vigorously at the sofa.
"Blame your stubborn fucking brother. You're going to sit down, and we're all going to talk."

Regulus visibly swallows. "James—"

"Sit. Down," James orders. "Now."

All the color that drained from Regulus' face before has returned, leaving his cheeks properly
flushed. His mouth hangs open a little bit, and for a moment full of tension, he's just staring at
James with wide eyes, pupils expanding by the second. His breath audibly hitches, and then he
coughs, clearing his throat. Dropping his gaze, Regulus shuffles over to the sofa and sits down next
to Remus, completely silent.

James exhales sharply and moves around with familiarity, dragging two chairs across from the sofa
and turning to look at Sirius. A beat passes in which Sirius stares at him with his lips pressed into a
thin line, jaw clenched.

"You've lost it," Sirius finally declares.

"Sirius, get in the seat before I put you in it," James warns, pointing at the chair.

Sirius narrows his eyes. "You're welcome to damn well try. Who do you think you are, talking to
Reggie like that, talking to me like that? I don't know what you think—"

"Sirius," Remus says, and that's all he says, but that's really all he has to say, as it turns out.

Mouth snapping shut, Sirius flicks his gaze towards Remus, and Remus inclines his head towards
the chair. Sirius remains stubborn for all of five seconds before he stomps over to throw himself
down in the seat.

James sits down as well, and silence stretches between all of them, heavy and stilted. None of them
seem to know who to look at, or how to act with all these worlds colliding in one room. Honestly,
if James wasn't so angry right now, he thinks he'd feel incredibly awkward. Rage is a strong
motivator, though, so he's not uncomfortable at all.

Almost instinctively, James finds himself looking at Remus, who catches his gaze and holds it.
Something passes between them then, an unspoken understanding that needs no words, a silent
resolve that pulls taut like they're preparing to hold an imaginable amount of pressure, but they'll
bear it together.

It's so strange how incredibly important Remus has become to James since meeting him. He thinks
about Remus' quiet kindness, the warmth of him that he hardly seems aware that he exudes, how
collected and accepting he is as a person. He's sharp with his words and mind, charming in the way
that means he clearly doesn't realize it and would be confused every time anyone pointed it out, but
James thinks the best thing about him is the gentle, hidden way he wants to cup the world in
careful hands and protect every part of it. It's just that the world—his world—consists of people
rather than places, and at least two of them are in this room right now.

Three, James corrects internally, because he knows that Remus cares about him, too. The thought
calms him just a bit when no other has so far. Thank god for Moony; James isn't sure he would be
able to make it through this without him.

"Fucking hell," Sirius mumbles, shifting restlessly in his seat.

Regulus looks at him and mutters, "Reminds you of—"

"Waiting in Mother's study?" Sirius fills in dryly.

"Doesn't it?" Regulus agrees.

They share a grimace, and James flicks his gaze between them, briefly snatched out of his fury
because he's so startled. They seem...fine? They're talking. They're looking at each other without
glaring. In fact, they seem to be doing some odd brotherly communication that involves Regulus
arching an eyebrow and Sirius wrinkling his nose. Another long look passes between them, and
they both shake their heads at the same exact time in perfect unison.

James remembers suddenly that Regulus had broken into the flat earlier to see Sirius. Like, that was
the whole point. He'd come in banging on about wanting to get drunk, presumably with Sirius.
James leans back, stunned.

"You two reconciled!" James bursts out as soon as he realizes it, and everyone turns to stare at him.
"You've made up!"

"No," Sirius argues immediately, but he doesn't sound too sure about that, actually. His voice is
weak.

"This whole time—" Remus shifts on the sofa to stare at Regulus in disbelief. "Do you mean to tell
me—"

"We didn't," Regulus snaps.

James scoffs. "So, what were you doing at the flat earlier? You came in calling for Sirius."

"Only to end up fucking my best friend," Sirius snarls, his face twisting into a scowl as he looks at
Regulus.

"Oh, fucking hell," Remus blurts out, eyes bulging. He stares at James in disbelief. "You did it
again?"

"I was—seduced," James admits, mildly sheepish.

Sirius makes a strangled noise of pure fury. "Seduced? Seduced?! You're saying Reggie—you're
trying to blame Reggie for—"

"No, Sirius, I'm not. I did put in the effort to—not shag him, obviously, but I'm not blaming anyone,
because it's not a fucking problem. I already told you, Regulus can shag who he likes, even if it is
me." James shoots Regulus a quick look, clearing his throat. "I mean, preferably me, though."

"Yes, James, I got that part," Regulus says flatly.

"Those are incredibly bold words for someone who can't shag my little brother if he's fucking
dead," Sirius snaps.

"Do you hear yourself? Like, do you actually hear what you just said, Sirius? You just threatened
to kill me—me!—for shagging Regulus. Murder. Do you realize how ridiculous that is?" James
says.

"Piss off!" Sirius growls. "Are you even sorry this time?"

"No," James announces shamelessly. Boldly. "No, I'm not. Because why should I be sorry, Sirius?
Why? I'm not sorry for falling in love with Regulus. I shouldn't have to be. If that makes me
selfish, then so fucking be it! I'll be selfish, then! Why shouldn't I be selfish? Why is it so selfish to
want to be happy? Do you know what I would give so everyone I love could be happy? Anything!
Everything! But what about me?! What about my happiness?!"

"James—"

"No! No! I don't fucking apologize, actually. I don't apologize for finding him and doing everything
I could to hold onto him. Loving him does not make me selfish! Wanting to be happy doesn't make
me selfish! I'd never, never want you to be anything other than happy and loved, so how can you
do it to me and claim to be my best friend? The only person who's selfish here is you."

Sirius stares at him with wide eyes, gone pale. He no longer looks like he's about to spring from his
seat. Now, he shrinks back, curling in on himself. Distantly, James realizes that he's gone off on a
tangent, yelling, but he can't stop. The fury grips him and raises him right out of the chair.
"Because it's all so stupid! This is all so fucking stupid, do you realize that? There's no sense to it,
to acting like Remus and I are the ones who committed some unforgivable act. The horrible,
unforgivable act of falling in love. Do you know how stupid it is for you and Regulus to act like
that's some crime?!"

"James," Remus says carefully, but James isn't stopping.

"You want me to apologize? For what?!" James explodes, throwing his arms out wide. "What am I
supposed to be apologizing for, Sirius?!"

"James," Remus repeats, firmer this time. He's ignored once again. James can't really hear him over
the ringing in his ears anyway, his thudding heart echoing in his head.

"I don't apologize for shagging Regulus. You keep calling him your little brother, your little
Reggie, but that's not all that he is. You can't just claim people and expect their lives and sense of
happiness to revolve around you," James rants, stepping forward loom over Sirius and point at him.
"I don't regret shagging him, either. I'm not apologizing for feeling as I do. And the fact that you
want me to is fucked. That's not even considering how hypocritical it is, you fucking—"

"That's enough," Regulus cuts in sharply, suddenly off the sofa and standing right beside James,
grabbing his arm and firmly pushing him back a step. His eyes are cold as he stares James down,
standing in front of Sirius. "You can make your point without berating him. You're not going to
keep yelling at him, or you can get the fuck out of my flat."

At first, James is too lost in his anger, too hot-headed in the moment, to be anything other than
defensive and willing to argue until his throat bleeds. He starts to open his mouth to say—probably
not anything great, honestly, but Regulus' eyes flash with warning, with something dangerous. It's
enough to draw James up short and knock him loose from his own racing thoughts, his words
finally catching up to him.

James flicks his gaze over Regulus' shoulder to see Sirius looking pale and small in a way James
has never before made him look. Just like that, all of the anger bleeds out of him, because he's not
an angry person. Not really. To the core of him, he's all love, and he loves Sirius like no other.

"Oh, fuck," James whispers, horrified with himself as the instant regret hits him at full force. He
steps back, then steps back again, then drops back down into his chair. Regulus moves back over to
the sofa to sit next to Remus while Sirius looks at him, swallowing, and James shakes his head.
"Shit, Pads, I'm—I didn't—"
"You meant it," Sirius interrupts hoarsely. "Every word."

"I—" James opens and closes his mouth, struggling while everyone just watches him. The silence
feels like splinters digging underneath his skin, wriggling deeper. He can feel his chest going tight.
"I just don't understand. I don't—I mean, what's wrong with me, mate?" He makes a weak noise
and deflates, eyes stinging. "You've known me for literally half of your life, and—and I thought—I
just don't know what I've done so wrong that makes you think I'm not good enough for you brother.
What am I missing? It's like—it's like you don't like who I am, or—or you just don't trust me?"

"It's not—no, James, I just…" Sirius grimaces and reaches up to push his hair back with a shaky
hand.

"What is it?" James chokes out. "Do you just not trust me to be good to him? You said—you told
me that there's nothing wrong with how I love, but is that it? Is it not enough? Too much? I—I
don't know what's wrong."

Sirius' face tightens with strain, and he quietly says, "It's not you. There isn't anything wrong with
how you love. It's—"

"But it has to be me, doesn't it? It is me, somehow, and if I knew—if you'd just tell me what I've
done wrong, why it's a problem, then maybe…" James' shoulders heave, his eyes blurring. "Maybe
I could—"

"It's not you," Sirius bursts out. "It's not that I don't trust you. I just don't trust you not to be
someone he loves more."

James' eyebrows pinch together as he hears Regulus' sharp inhale and Remus' soft exhale like he's
just been punched. It takes James a second longer to process that and what it means, because he's
so busy looking at the mixture of mortification, frustration, and unmistakable fear in Sirius'
expression.

When the words finally land, they land hard. James feels it like someone decided to toss his heart
in the middle of a football game, the poor thing being kicked about in all directions. His face
crumbles, and the chair stutters against the floor as he scoots it over to immediately reach out and
fumble for Sirius' hand, which Sirius clings to so tightly that it actually hurts.
"Sirius," James mumbles weakly.

"He's my brother, James. Mine," Sirius rasps. "You can't have him. I've barely even—I mean,
you've had all this time with him, and I didn't. You know him better than I do, and he's my brother.
How is that fair? And you're my best friend; my best friend. And you're you, and you're one of the
best people I know. Of course he'd love you. Who wouldn't? But—but you're my—and he's—he's
my—"

"Stop," James whispers. "Don't do that, mate. I'm always going to be your best friend; that's
nonegotiable. We're a package deal, remember? You and me. And, as for him, I'd never come
between you. Never. Of course he's your brother. I know that. I'm not trying to take him away from
you. Please don't think that I am. You don't have to worry about that, alright?"

"It's not his fault," Regulus says quietly. When they all stare at him, he looks down and clears his
throat. "It's common in, ah, abusive households or dysfunctional families for the eldest sibling to—
to feel a sense of responsibility for the younger. With that comes protectiveness and a not-entirely-
healthy sense of control. It's instinct. You said I'm not a child, and I'm not, but in many ways, he
sees me as the child he took care of."

"Ah," Sirius croaks, "someone was paying attention in therapy. Ms. Pomfrey will be so pleased,
Reggie."

"Shut up," Regulus mumbles, but it lacks heat. He's being remarkably subdued at the moment.

"Therapy?" Remus asks, turning to raise his eyebrows at Regulus, who makes a face at him. "I
thought you said—"

"Pandora's fault. And Sirius'," Regulus admits with a heavy sigh. "She convinced him, and he
made me go with him."

"I didn't make you," Sirius grumbles. "I just—"

"Wait, you're in therapy, too?" James blurts out, his fingers spasming around Sirius' hand. "With
Regulus? Like, you two go together? At the same time?"

"Listen," Sirius starts defensively, but James cuts him off.

"No! No, this is good. This is an exciting development, actually," James says earnestly, bobbing
his head. "It's brilliant that you two are getting on. Really."

"Oh, we've brought you two together," Remus murmurs, lips twitching as he places his hand
against his chest and stares at Regulus with a teasing glint in his eyes. "There's nothing like a
traitorous best friend and a lying lover to break through years of hatred and form a bond. You're
welcome."

"It was our plan all along," James adds, glancing over at Remus, a helpless grin stretching across
his face.

Remus hums sagely and nods. "Yes, exactly. In fact, our work here is done." He sighs, and all the
humor drains out of him as he looks at Sirius. "Really, I'm very happy that you and Reg are
working on things. That's good, Sirius. It's important. You have no idea just how much he loves
you."

"Remus," Regulus hisses, glancing at him in betrayal.

"I know this because I'm his best friend. I'm telling you this for the same reason, because he won't,
or he can't." Remus holds Sirius' gaze. "He wants you in his life. He's always wanted you in his life;
he always will, and—James or no James, me or no me—that isn't going to change. Ever."

Regulus elbows Remus in the arm hard. "What the fuck are you doing, Lupin? Piss off."

"Well, you weren't going to tell him between all your severe abandonment issues and whatnot,"
Remus mutters, rolling his eyes when Regulus scowls at him. "Now that all of that is out of the
way, I should tell you…"

"Remus," Sirius blurts out, sitting forward.

"Tell me what?" Regulus asks sharply. "Remus, did you shag—"

"No."
"So, why are you—"

"We snogged," Remus announces, darting his gaze between Sirius and Regulus.

"You weren't going to mention this to me?" Regulus asks, and everyone falls silent to watch in a
sense of wariness as Remus and Regulus stare at each other. "Have we learned nothing?"

"I didn't really have the time before James showed up in a strop, now did I?" Remus says simply.
"Reg, if you're expecting some sort of apology from me for falling in love with your brother, I'm
with James on this one. I'm not sorry for that. I don't know how to make it more clear to you that I
never did it to hurt you, and I never left you."

"You chose him," Regulus grits out.

Remus sighs wearily, exhausted. "No, I didn't. That's the whole thing of it. The whole purpose
behind everything James and I did was to not choose, because we wanted to both. I said it before,
but if I was going to choose Sirius, I would have never fought so hard to keep you. And it's the
same in reverse. And it's the same for James. That's what neither of you stopped to think about, or
maybe—maybe you just didn't care. Not really. Not about us, the way we do both of you."

"Is that what you believe?" Regulus asks, his voice going flat, face blank. It seems to make Sirius
tense up, his hand clenching around James', but Remus doesn't look put off by it in the least. Even
James is used to it. Sirius clearly isn't, and it's obvious that he doesn't like it, but that's
just...Regulus.

"I don't know what I believe anymore," Remus admits with a sad smile. "I know you don't actually
care that I shagged your brother. You just hate the idea that you'd lose me to him, or him to me,
and I'm quite sure you wouldn't care at all about our shagging habits if you could believe it when I
tell you that you wouldn't lose us. You're just not at a point where you can let me prove it to you
yet."

Regulus studies him for a long moment, and then—in a rare show of gentleness—his face softens
as he says, "You're such a miserable sod, you know that?"

"I know," Remus replies. He takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. "But you're worse. The
difference between us and you and Sirius is that everything we did that was wrong, we did with the
goal of making us all happy, while you and Sirius did what you did to make sure that we're not."

Sirius' head snaps up. "That's not fair. You and James don't get to act like we're not allowed to be
upset just because you had good intentions."

"I'm not," Remus says bluntly. "We were just scared and trying to find some way to do the right
thing, because being without either of you was so fundamentally wrong that we took the risk. It
didn't pay off, and now…"

"That's not fair either," Regulus snaps. "You act like this is easy for either of us. We haven't even
had time. We've been to one therapy session, for fuck's sake. One, Remus. Are we supposed to just
have all our shit figured out that easily?"

Sighing, Remus shakes his head. "That's not what I meant. You can have all the time you need,
both of you. It's just really fucking tragic. You know, the saddest part is that both of you got out of
that house, and yet you're both still committed to misery. Neither of you deserve that."

"He's right," James agrees, and Regulus glances over at him, throat bobbing. James gives him a
tight smile. "You and Sirius deserve much better than you ever allow yourselves."

"Easier said than done," Sirius whispers.

"Honestly, this was long overdue. Remus and I should have sat down with both of you from the
beginning, and I'm sorry that we didn't. I'm sorry that we were scared, so much so that we let it
turn us into cowards who hurt both of you. That's what we're sorry for," James says softly. "But
this had to happen, and I think we all know that, because none of us have been doing well since
everything came to light."

"James," Regulus murmurs.

Pulling his hand away, James blinks hard and clears the lump out of his throat. He wishes he was
angry again, so maybe this would be easier. "You'll have your time. Whatever you need, I suppose.
But I'm not—I won't hide or lie anymore. It has to be both, because not having both will break my
fucking heart, so you two have to figure it out now. Remus and I tried, but it comes down to the
two of you, really."
Regulus flinches, and then he's looking at James with that look where his eyes are big and sad, like
he might start crying any second. That gut-punch of an expression that makes James want to get on
his hands and knees and crawl if that would make Regulus feel better. That cracked-open, raw
display of emotion that yanks at every one of James' heartstrings, demanding him to give Regulus
whatever he wants. If Regulus wanted the stars, James would prop a ladder up against the moon
and climb it to get them for him. He'd gather them one at a time and spend the rest of his life going
up and down, bringing one to Regulus every day, just to see him smile. Something in James keens
with the grief of actually putting that look on his face this time.

"You know what I said," Remus murmurs, looking at Sirius, who swallows and nods. "I meant it."

"I know," Sirius whispers.

"Regulus," James tells him, pushing to his feet. "I meant everything I said, too. Whenever you're
ready. Whenever we're all ready. Because you do deserve good things. I just hope you'll let me be
one of them."

Regulus sways in his seat, hands tangled in his lap, and he looks down. The veil of tears in his eyes
are hidden by the sweep of his eyelashes, and James forces himself not to see if any of them fall to
his cheeks. He swallows harshly and tries to keep from crying himself, looking desperately at
Remus.

"Maybe it's best to leave you two alone," Remus says softly, glancing between Sirius and Regulus
as he also stands. He looks at James with genuine sympathy. "Do you want to take the tube with
me? Hate going alone."

"Yeah," James manages to get out, his voice strangled and thick with tears. "Yeah, mate, thanks. "

So, together, they leave. The worst part, James thinks, is that neither Sirius or Regulus stops either
of them as they go. But, despite the pain of it, he knows it's for the best. Maybe it's blind optimism,
or just the steady pulse of love he has for both of them, but he's gripped with unrelenting hope.

Somehow, he knows it won't always be this way.

There's a certain kind of ringing silence that takes over the world when devastating, disastrous
things have happened. The lungs of the world expanding on a held breath. The spine of the skies
turning to iron, and the joints of the ground splitting from the strain of not moving. Everything—
the air, the earth, the entire universe—just stops. Just for a moment.

In that moment, there's a safe space to exist in. Because when you're there, you don't have to be
anywhere else. You don't have to be anyone at all. It's a pause, and nothing can reach you in it.
Sirius has been here many times before—the first morning he woke up after he ran away from
home, every night before he drifted off on Regulus' birthday, each time the punishments lasted
long enough that the curtain came down.

Unfortunately, this is not a phenomenon that can last forever. It doesn't last forever. Sirius and
Regulus both have been too still for too long, not moving or speaking, staring listlessly at nothing.
There's a twitch in Sirius' fingers, and this spurs on a stilted exhale, his chest stuttering as he gives
a violent blink.

Sirius feels himself be forcefully evicted from that safe pause, that small pocket of shock where
nothing reaches him, and all he can do is sit there as it all finally catches up to him.

Oh, fuck.

The way it hurts is somehow unexpected, which he thinks might be one of the most ridiculous
responses he could have ever found himself subject to. For one, he knows pain; knows it inside and
out; knows what twisted forms it can take, and how there are so many faces to pain that he couldn't
see them all even if he lived forever, and knows that he's still stared into more faces than most—so
this means that this shouldn't take him by surprise. For another thing, what the hell did he think
was going to happen? Like, what was the goal here, really? Of course it's going to hurt; as if losing
the person you're in love with could ever be anything else, and oh.

Oh, that's what it was all about. This. Avoiding this, right here, right now. This awful, horrible
reality they've all found themselves in where happiness crumbled in their palms. They were rough
with it. Why didn't they know how to be tender?

And yet, despite knowing what the outcome would be, Sirius finds that it does not, in fact, save him
from the pain of it. He's hit with a wave of staunch regret that goes black and rotted in the pit of his
stomach, churning and burning and making him want to curl into a tight ball as he presses his fist
into his gut. Sort of the same way someone would prod at a sore tooth, repeatedly poking at the
exposed nerve for the controlled pain, except it's in his skin, in his intestines, in the core of him.
He has the wild, inexplicable urge to fucking gut himself the same as the anguished defiance of
someone with a sore tooth who can't bear it wants to snatch the tooth out by the root.
Sirius lifts his head because, with no warning, Regulus suddenly stands up. He just shoots to his
feet with his lips tucked in so tight that they're a wrinkled, bloodless white. His hands wring in
front of him, shaking, and there's an almost desperate gleam in his eyes—as well as an
unmistakable swirl of building tears. His whole body is stiff, so he moves around like he's rusted
over and dangerously close to crumbling.

"Tea?" Regulus asks—or, he means to ask, but the word comes out thick and garbled, and the only
reason Sirius can make out what he said at all is likely due to some sibling superpower.

Regulus also doesn't wait for his answer. He just heads right for the kitchen and throws himself
into making tea. He does it with vigor, too, and Sirius watches him with this heavy sort of
exhaustion weighing on him. There's a tiny part of him that's tired, that wants to bury his head in
the sand and pretend nothing has actually happened, but he knows he can't.

A clatter of a kettle finally gets Sirius to his feet. Regulus is trying his best, he really is, but no one
functions well when they're freshly hurt like this. Sirius isn't sure that Regulus has ever had his
heart properly broken before, and it's this thought that makes him realize that neither of them have.
They grew up with bruised and beaten hearts, but were wise enough not to give that organ to
anyone who could break it open and drop it with a lackluster splat, especially because the damn
thing was so bruised and beaten already for both of them.

Christ, haven't they been through enough?

"Regulus," Sirius says quietly, and this is easier. This is what he needs, he realizes. The relief of
putting aside his own pain to focus on someone else's, someone who matters more. That's the
thing, isn't it? Regulus has always mattered more.

It hits Sirius, then. Just a thought that nearly barrels him over entirely. A realization he couldn't
grasp as a child, the ruthless perception of his own life warped and layered with lies he told himself
to make it through, but the truth is… The truth, he now knows, is that it hurt so much to believe
Regulus didn't need him anymore because Sirius still needed him.

Regulus doesn't acknowledge him. He's repeatedly bringing tea cups down and putting them back,
cycling through each one as if weighing his options. His back is to Sirius, and he won't slow down,
or stop, or even look at him.

Sirius steps closer and reaches out to gently cover Regulus' hands, making him go still. Carefully,
Sirius moves the tea cup away and repeats, softer this time, "Regulus."
Regulus is wound so tight that Sirius almost doesn't even know what to do with him. His shoulders
are tense to the point that they're wrenched up near his ears, and Sirius can hear the quiet, repeated
hitch in his breathing like it's so very hard for him to do. He sounds like he's drowning.

The worst part, Sirius thinks, is that James and Remus didn't even do anything other than what
Regulus and Sirius needed them to. It's just heartbreaking to have to watch someone walk away
when you want them so badly. James and Remus haven't done anything wrong. They did it exactly
right, and Sirius knows that he and Regulus are more heartbroken by the circumstances than them.
Time is such a cruel thing to be trapped by, even more so when they have no choice but to need it.
Sometimes, emotions aren't rational, and Sirius knows that this is one such time for both of them.

Slowly, Sirius reaches out and gently grasps the side of Regulus' arm, urging him to turn and look
at him. Literally the second Regulus meets his eyes, his entire face crumbles like the mask he's
spent years perfecting has gone up in ash. A mask and a curtain gazing upon each other for years,
and just like that, they're set ablaze and dashed away entirely. Sirius knows what to do about this;
he always knows what to do when Regulus breaks down like this. He pulls him into an embrace
and comforts him, because he always has.

"Alright, I know," Sirius murmurs, tenderly bussing Regulus on the back of his head, cupping the
back of it as Regulus chokes out a muffled sound into his shoulder. "I can't talk rubbish about him
because—well, he's my best friend and not a rubbish person, but I'll give it a go, if you like. We
can pretend I mean it when I say he's shit, and not worth your time, and I'll kill him. Do you want
me to kill him?"

"Yes," Regulus rasps.

Sirius chuckles weakly. "You're such a bitch, Reggie. Yeah, alright. I'll kill him for you."

"Make it slow," Regulus tells him, sounding small and petulant. "I want it to hurt."

"I think you've covered that already," Sirius mutters, and Regulus cries harder, making Sirius
grimace. "Right, that may have been bad timing. Not my best moment, I'll admit."

"No, it's just who you are. You're a good friend," Regulus whispers, "but you're not a good
brother."
"I'm trying," Sirius croaks, and thinks ouch. Because yeah, that fucking hurts. Regulus is so
casually cruel for the sake of being honest for him to be such a liar.

Regulus sniffs and rubs his face against Sirius' shoulder to presumably wipe away snot and tears,
which is disgusting and makes Sirius wrinkle his nose, but then Regulus pulls back and mumbles,
"I know you are. You're doing better than me; you always have. I'm not a good anything."

"Yeah, you're pretty shit," Sirius agrees, and Regulus huffs out a hoarse laugh that threatens to
crack off into more sobbing, so Sirius clears his throat and continues, "but I still—"

And he stops. He stops and lets it hang there, because he doesn't know what comes next. He can
sense that whatever it is would be a point of no return, an honesty he can't come back from, and
right now, he's not willing to walk right into something that can and likely will hurt him. Not even
for his little brother. He's tired. He's so fucking tired.

"I don't want tea anymore," Regulus declares, and then spends the next minute undoing all the
work he put in to make them tea to start with. He's such a strange person. There's no mistaking his
bitterness towards Sirius, though. Half the reason is likely just him being so petty that he doesn't
want to give Sirius anything right now, not even tea.

Sirius sighs. "What do you want me to say? I'm not going to lie to you, Regulus. I know this isn't
easy for us, but it's not easy for them either. James, especially."

"Is that so?" Regulus asks sharply.

"Yes," Sirius emphasizes, needing him to realize it, because some part of him thinks that Regulus
doesn't, or flatout refuses to. "You don't realize how much of a big deal it was for James to put
himself out there again, after Lily. He was so cautious to love again, because when he loves, he
loves. With all of him. With all that he has. He's hurting, too."

"Oh, don't you bloody well start with me," Regulus snaps, cutting him a harsh glare. "You're a
fucking hypocrite, Sirius, you know that? How do you think Remus feels?"

"Stop," Sirius bites out, his heart sinking.

"No," Regulus replies coldly. "You started this. He's felt on the outside of things his entire life, like
he didn't belong anywhere, and you just shoved him farther out."

Sirius scoffs. "Oh, like you're not pleased about it. I'll bet you're so fucking delighted that that you
could hang this over him, just more proof for why I'm the worst person in the entire world, isn't
that right?"

"Funnily enough, no, actually," Regulus snarls. "Believe it or not, I don't find it gratifying that my
best friend has been hurt at all. But, of course, you wouldn't realize that, because you don't think
I'm capable of caring about anyone."

"I find it a little hard to believe, yeah."

"I care about him."

"You tried to fucking poison him, Regulus!" Sirius bursts out incredulously.

Regulus smacks his teeth. "That was one time, and I didn't actually do it!"

"That's not actually helping your case, you know."

"Well, at least I didn't fucking hit him."

"Oh, piss off," Sirius growls defensively, properly angry now. He can feel it bubbling within him,
all the frustration and hurt, everything dangerously close to exploding out of him like a gushing
geyser boiling over from the pressure.

"Look at you, having a go at me for your best friend like you're not a hypocrite, but what more
could I expect from you? Of course you'd defend him," Regulus hisses. "Of course James Potter
gets your support and sympathy before anyone else."

"You're literally doing the same thing with Remus!"

"Oh, is that bothering you? Does that upset you, Sirius? Imagine how I felt for my entire fucking
life!"

Sirius jabs a finger at his own chest. "That's not my fault! It's not my fault that you were a jealous,
insecure little—"

"Who made me that way?!" Regulus shouts. "You, Sirius. You made me that way! I was never
good enough for you, even before I got older. What had I done at eleven years old to deserve being
second place to him? Nothing! I waited for you to come home, and all you wanted to do was leave.
Leave and go back to James Potter, some stupid boy who took everything away from me. And
there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"You're the most self-centered person I know. Do you even know how many times I had to fight
with Mother and Father to come home, just so I could see you?" Sirius grits out. "All the times they
thought it would be the perfect punishment to make me stay at Hogwarts, because I pleaded and
cried each fucking time to get back to you. I certainly wasn't going home for them. Do you know
how many times I turned James down to come spend Christmas break, or Easter break, or part of
the summer, or even the whole fucking summer with him? Just because I wanted to see you.
Because I didn't want to leave you alone. Because I missed you. And for what? For what, Reggie?
Because every time, you just got worse and worse! You made me hate you, and I still came!"

"Oh, is that supposed to matter? Is that supposed to move me emotionally? You're telling me that
you could have been less miserable away from me, and I'm supposed to feel sorry for you? Well, I
fucking don't," Regulus tells him harshly. "Your grand sacrifice, coming home to me. Wow, Sirius,
thank you so fucking much for going through the trouble." He leans in, eyes narrowed into slits. "I
wish you hadn't bothered. I wish you'd gone off and lived your life happily away from me, since I
was never enough for you. But oh, James was, wasn't he? In fact, he was the brother you never
had!"

"Well, he's certainly a better one!" Sirius explodes, his chest heaving. "I wish he was, but I got
stuck with you!"

Regulus goes quiet, his face instantly blank. Sirius breathes hard, still fuming, his mind in an
uproar and refusing to slow down and process what he just said. He's rattling with how furious he
is, so he's already unsteady on his feet when Regulus abruptly lashes out and shoves him hard. Just
puts both hands against his chest and pushes him, and keeps pushing him, over and over.

"Get out. Get the fuck out! Get out of my flat, and my life, and stay the fuck away from me!"
Regulus chants, continuously shoving Sirius back towards the door.
"Oh, gladly!" Sirius bellows, swatting Regulus' hands away from him so he can stomp to the door
and fling it open. He steps out and whirls around, sneering. "I don't know why I bothered wasting
my time on you anyway. We know how this goes, don't we?"

"Fuck you," Regulus spits. "You're a shit person. And trust me, wishing anyone else in the world
was your brother is feeling you learn to get used to. I've been feeling it my whole life!"

"I'm very fucking aware," Sirius snaps. "I should have known better than to think anyone in my
fucking family could ever be anything other than a disappointment."

"The feeling is mutual," Regulus hisses, glaring, and then he slams the door in Sirius' face.

Sirius slaps his hand to it with a growl, cursing under his breath, and then he whirls around to
leave. He seethes all the way down the stairs and out the door, striding for his bike with the hot
itch of rage skitting up and down his spine. He wants to hit something. He wants to hit Regulus.

Stupid fucking prick. He's a vindictive, cruel, selfish bitch without a scrap of kindness in him. So
what if he's a cook? So what if he has friends he cares about, and a man he fell in love with? So
what if he got out in the end, and grasped his freedom with both hands, and built a life for himself?
So what, when he's still the same horrible person he grew into the moment the chubby innocence
of his cheeks melted away? He's not that child anymore, and Sirius is done pretending that there's
any part of that child still in him. It's gone. It's dead, and Sirius refuses to keep reaching for it, to
keep sifting through all the sharp edges of Regulus to find it, cutting himself in the process for
something that doesn't even exist.

Sirius climbs on his bike, scowling and furiously palming the handles, and then he...doesn't go
anywhere.

He sits there. Angry. Spitting mad.

He sits there, and sits there, and sits there without moving.

Go, Sirius urges himself. Just fucking go. Because that's easier, isn't it? Because that's where this
was always heading, wasn't it? Because they know this, don't they? Because this is what they do,
and somehow they're here yet again, aren't they?
A minute passes. Two. Five. The time keeps spreading out before him, and the road awaits him. He
should go. He's going to go, because he's done. He is. Regulus isn't worth the breath Sirius would
waste on him.

The bike remains shut off. Sirius grinds his teeth, his legs bouncing up and down on either side,
fingers flexing around the handles. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, and then he
exhales angrily through his nose like a bull. Grunting, he launches himself back off the bike,
because apparently his body isn't listening to him anymore, and he paces beside it for another
minute, at war with himself. The frustration bubbles up until he kicks out and slams his boot into
the side of the bike, right above the foothold.

Instantly, Sirius groans and folds forward to crouch down beside his bike, rubbing the seat as he
murmurs, "Oh, I'm sorry, my love. Shouldn't have done that. It's not you, really. It's my stupid
fucking brother. He's pretty shit."

Yeah, you're pretty shit, Sirius had said and couldn't finish, but the rest comes to his mind now,
unbidden. But I still love you anyway. Always have, always will.

Oh, that infuriates him like nothing else, and it also takes half the fight right out of him. Sirius
heaves a sigh and hangs his head forward. He can't do this. He can't do it again. He can't leave
Regulus again, not after...not when…

He just can't.

Sirius pushes to his feet and pats his bike one more time in apology, feeling genuinely awful to
have kicked it, but it seems altogether fine. He breaks away from it and swivels around to head
right back into the building, dragging his feet like a child who would rather be doing anything
else.

He makes it up the first flight of stairs and comes to a halt before the second, because Regulus has
just stepped off across from him. They both freeze, staring at each other, startled to find one
another in the midst of doing essentially the same thing. What they didn't do eight years ago.

Something in Sirius softens without his permission, and he lets it. He doesn't fight it. His lips purse,
and then relax into a tiny smile as he says, "Going somewhere?"

"Forget something?" Regulus shoots back, arching an eyebrow at him, the little shit.
"Yeah." Sirius takes a deep breath, holds his arms out by his sides in a gesture of fuck it, I've given
up, and then lets them flop back down to his sides. "Maybe the universe likes to have a laugh, and
that's why we got stuck with each other. I don't know. But...you're my brother, and I'm yours.
Maybe I'm not the best one, and maybe you're not the best person, but you can't hate me, and I love
you anyway. I'm not doing it again, Reggie. I'm not leaving you again."

Regulus looks at him for a long moment, then clears his throat and says, rather gruffly, "Well, I
was just going to check the weather."

"No, you weren't," Sirius murmurs.

"No, I wasn't," Regulus admits, and then, inexplicably, he shakes his head and gives Sirius a smile.
It's a little lopsided and sweet, and Sirius blinks, because he hasn't seen that smile ever before in his
life, not even when Regulus was a child. It's… It's Regulus' smile. Not just his lips twitching, or a
smirk, or a twist of a smile that forms from emotions a smile shouldn't even be paired with. It's a
real, genuine smile that belongs solely to Regulus. "You do have to leave, though."

Sirius frowns. "I just said—"

"I'm coming with you. I'm hungry and haven't gotten paid yet, so you're taking me for lunch,"
Regulus informs him.

"Oh," Sirius says, and then, "Yeah, alright."

So, they go to get lunch. Well, it's a bit of a trial, actually, because Regulus kicks up a fuss about
riding the bike, but Sirius refuses to call a ride when he has one. They stand there and argue for
literally twenty minutes, five of which is just Sirius verbally ripping Regulus to shreds for insulting
his bike, and then Regulus hisses like a furious cat when Sirius forces the helmet on his head even
while he's still refusing to get on the bike. It takes another seven minutes before Regulus gives in
and gets on the bike in a clear strop, grumbling about the likelihood of them dying being the only
reason, as he's apparently enticed by the sweet release of death.

In any case, they do not die, but Sirius' shoulders ache from how hard Regulus held onto them
through the entire ride, and they spend the first ten minutes of sharing lunch bickering about Sirius'
driving skills. It's clear that they're still harboring some lingering bitterness towards one another for
their earlier argument, but it does inevitably fade in the only way it can between siblings, even
without an apology.
That's the thing, really. Siblings can do this, even siblings as complicated as them. They can have
explosive arguments, and then go out for lunch afterwards. They can go eight years not speaking,
not knowing each other, and then waltz right back into each other's lives with insults and
exasperation and persistent love like a day hasn't passed.

"Do you still do that?" Sirius asks at one point, watching Regulus lay out his silverware in a neat
row, even though it's just a plastic fork and knife.

Regulus eyes him and sardonically says, "Some habits are too hard to break."

"I don't know how I can feel like I know you, and not know you at all, at the same time," Sirius
admits, sighing.

"You haven't tried to get to know me," Regulus says bluntly, and Sirius frowns. "You think I'm
such a bad person because you still see me as I was."

Sirius stiffens. "What? I—I don't see you as a girl, Regulus. Do you think—"

"No, that's not what I meant. You've been exceptionally well-adjusted about that," Regulus
murmurs. "You should know, I never thought you wouldn't be."

"Oh," Sirius says, finding himself relieved to hear it, even if he is surprised. He idly waves his
fork. "Can I ask why? I mean, you're so willing to see me as an awful person, so why wouldn't you
think I would be about this?"

Regulus shrugs one shoulder lazily. "You're not Mother, or Father. You're not like them. You never
were. Besides, for me, good people can do awful things, which stands to reason that awful people
can do good things."

"And which am I?"

"Do you want the truth?"

Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Your truth, you mean. I don't know why I'm asking. I already know."

"Because I'm a liar." Regulus raises his eyebrows. "I'll only say this once, because I'm only honest
on rare occasions, so don't expect me to repeat it. You're not an awful person, Sirius, you just do
awful things sometimes. You've always been a good person; I've known that since I was a child.
I'm quite sure it's one of the first things I ever learned."

"That's...shockingly kind," Sirius mumbles, suspicious.

Regulus hums. "Yes, well, I hated you for that, too."

"There we are," Sirius says dryly.

"I'm not a good person who does awful things," Regulus tells him simply. "I'm an awful person
who, in very rare moments of my life, will do things that are moderately less awful than is
expected of me. You could say that this led to resentment towards you, because you hated that
about me, because I wasn't and would never be like you."

"According to James and Remus," Sirius muses, spearing a vegetable with his fork, "we're very
alike."

"Well, what do they know?" Regulus grumbles.

Sirius sighs. "Quite a lot, unfortunately. The bastards."

"Mm," is all Regulus responds with, just as irritated as Sirius.

"You know," Sirius says a few minutes later, in the middle of them both eating, "I really don't
know much about you. About how you've changed, I mean. Like, yes, I know you're a cook, but I
don't—" Sirius frowns, struggling to figure out how to say what he wants. In the end, he settles on,
"It's like this, yeah? I know James' mean barista likes to go ziplining, and is passionate about
spices, and puts some sort of powder in hot cocoa to make it better. I know Remus' best friend
doesn't open up easily, and likes chess, and has a favorite book he likes so much he can quote most
of it. But I don't…"
Regulus stares at him. "Sirius, that's me. All of that is me."

"I know," Sirius agrees, frustrated, "but none of that was something I learned about you. They told
me. I know, logically, that all of that is you, but it's hard to—to connect it with my brother. Do you
know what I mean?"

Sirius gazes at him, willing him to just get it, and it's very clear that Regulus—doesn't. There's this
wretched gap between them that neither of them seem to know how to close, and Sirius doesn't
know what to do about it. He doesn't know how to gather all the right words to explain what he's
feeling. He doesn't know how to delve into the rushing river of his thoughts and pluck something
that makes sense out of the never-ending current.

Because, really, that's what all this is about. Neither of them are in a secure, stable, healthy place in
their lives to be able to do what they truly want. For so long, they made each other their priority,
and then they went so long not doing that, and now they're stuck in this spot where they can't get
anywhere. They have to meet in the middle. They need time. It's all so fucking complicated, and
Sirius doesn't know what to do.

Regulus keeps looking at him for a moment, and something in Sirius just pleads with him to
instinctively understand. It's not that simple, though, and Sirius knows it. He feels like they're set
up for failure before they even get anywhere; he feels like giving up is the safest option. And then,
Regulus puts down his fork, plunks his elbows down on the table, and threads his fingers together
in front of his chin in a move that Sirius has never seen before. (Elbows on the table is a lack of
decorum that Walburga never allowed. Sirius defied that rule religiously with relish. Regulus never
did—until now, it seems.)

"Explain it to me," Regulus says.

Sirius blinks. "What?"

Regulus separates his hands to lazily wave one of them, then links them back together. "Explain it
to me. All of it. What you mean. What you're so frustrated about. Explain it."

"I—I can't," Sirius admits with a grimace. "I mean, when I try, it all just sounds—stupid. Or
wrong. It's like...my thoughts are slippery, and trying to explain how I feel never goes well because
I don't know half the time. It never comes out right."
"Sirius, I'm rather accustomed to you sounding stupid and blathering on about nonsense, but I can't
do anything with nothing," Regulus insists. "You have to give me something."

"You're going to be a prick about everything I say."

"I won't."

"You will," Sirius corrects. "I won't even blame you, in this case. It's all very…" He clears his
throat. "Vulnerable."

"I promise not to be a prick about your vulnerability. I may break out in hives, but I can't control
that," Regulus says, and Sirius snorts. "Now, go on."

"I…" Sirius scrunches up his face, then blows out a deep breath and tips his head back to stare at
the ceiling. "I don't know. It's complicated. I feel—I just don't like it. I don't like that James has
known you for so long and didn't tell me, or Remus, because it feels like...a missed opportunity,
possibly. They didn't know that I—well, I never talked to Remus about you, and James was under
the impression that I hated you. And I do. But I also don't. It's complicated. It's stupid. I just—I
hate how uncertain it all is. Because sometimes I think that maybe we're...trying, you know, like
Ms. Promfrey said. Trying to mend our brotherhood, or whatever."

"Mhm," Regulus hums, letting him know he's listening.

"And then something happens that makes me think you don't want to, or maybe it really is
impossible, after everything. And I sometimes think about how pleased Mother would be to know
we're not close the way we were, and how much she'd hate it if we actually were proper family
again. It just feels like I lost you eight years ago, and now everyone else gets to have you, but I
don't, and I'm the only person to blame because I left. And I think I'm guilty, and confused, and just
—I don't know. I hate that you're hurting because you want to be with James, and at the same time,
I don't want you to be with James because it's like I said. You'll love him more. You'll love him
easier. You'll need him and not me, and it doesn't feel fair."

"Mm."

"It just feels like shit. It feels like—betraying who we used to be. The children we were. Because I
want to forgive them, I really do, but it's so fucking difficult. I used to look at you and think I'd die
for you, and by the end, I used to look at you and think you would prefer it if I did. But we're both
alive; we both got out. So, why isn't it easy? Why can't we just—start over? Except I don't want to
start over either."

"Right. Go on."

"I want it all to stop being so fucking complicated, but it never is, and it's exhausting. You exhaust
me sometimes, but other times, it feels worth it. And I—I don't know. Maybe I want it all to mean
something; all the things we suffered together could mean something if we came out of it with
something to show for it. Because I think we could, if we tried, but I don't know if we could get
there. And I want to get there, most of the time, because I look at you and see things about you that
I never knew. Things that make me proud, and things that make me grieve. I just—I miss you. I
think I always missed you."

"I see."

"None of this makes sense. It's all so contradicting, and now I sound like a fucking weepy, soppy
idiot," Sirius mutters, dropping his head forward to scrub his fingers over his hairline in frustration.
He sighs and pushes his plate away with force, appetite completely gone.

"I'm selfish," Regulus announces, and Sirius tilts his head up to frown at him. Regulus grimaces
slightly. "About you. I'm selfish when it comes to you, Sirius. I don't want James to have you, or
Remus. I hate that you have a life I don't know much about. I don't know you right now any more
than you know me right now, and it drives me fucking mad."

"Really?" Sirius asks, and Regulus nods. "I just… I know it's not healthy, but I—"

"It's hard," Regulus murmurs.

Sirius swallows. "All of it is. I—I really love Remus, you know. I want to be with him, Reggie.
I…"

"I want to be with James," Regulus replies, and they both stare at each other. Something passes
between them, small and silent, but necessary all the same. A certain kind of camaraderie.
Acceptance. "We just need time."

"So, you get it," Sirius says cautiously.

Regulus clicks his tongue. "Partially. I'm not a weepy, soppy idiot about it, but…"

"You said you wouldn't be a prick."

"The vulnerable moment is over. I've had enough."

"Of course you have," Sirius mutters with a weak laugh.

"I used to…" Regulus looks away, sighing. "Look, I used to wait for you to come back for me after
you left, and I would have gone with you the moment you had." He pauses, jaw clenching enough
that his cheek jumps, and then he turns his head and holds Sirius' gaze. "You're eight years late, but
I still came."

Sirius feels the words like he's just been slammed back into the floor, the breath knocked out of his
lungs. He swallows harshly and croaks, "So, not eight years too late, then?"

"No, Sirius," Regulus murmurs, "not too late at all."

"Oh," Sirius says weakly, and then he proceeds to break down right there at the table and cry. It
feels like something just cracks open in his chest, and he can breathe better than he has in such a
long time. The relief of it is hard-hitting, wiping him out completely, leaving him shaking from the
sudden unloading of weight he didn't think he'd ever stop carrying.

"Sirius," Regulus says quietly, and Sirius covers his face with one hand while swinging the other
out to fumble for whatever he can grasp onto first. He manages to clamp on Regulus' wrist, which
he holds onto tight as his shoulders shake, and Regulus sighs before he pats Sirius' hand with his
free one, likely in a very awkward manner. "You're making a scene. You always make a bloody
scene."

"Sorry," Sirius chokes out. "I'm sorry. Reggie, I'm sorry."

"I know," Regulus whispers. "I know you are. I am, too."
 Sirius squeezes his wrist and manages to somehow get out, through his tears, a desperate request.
"We'll try?"

"We'll try," Regulus tells him. "We're trying."

"Okay," Sirius rasps, and then keeps crying for a bit. It's a whole mess, but he feels immensely
better once it's over, once he can suck in a shuddering breath and let it out, shaky as it is. His eyes
are puffy and itchy by the time he calms down, and he scrubs at his face with his sleeve, quite sure
that he looks like a fucking wreck at the moment. He's an odd mixture of embarrassed and
delighted, so he can barely bring himself to look at Regulus, but he also can't stop smiling.

"Are you done? Is it over? Tell me it's over," Regulus says flatly, moving his hand away from
Sirius', even though Sirius is still holding onto his wrist. Not as tight, though.

"Yeah, think so," Sirius mumbles, trying to locate any sense of dignity. The request for it is still
pending. He coughs and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

Regulus pulls his wrist from Sirius' grip, but he does it slowly and gently with visible effort not to
come off as a prick about it. That's an improvement, at least. "Does this mean we can stop going to
therapy?"

"I think this means we have to keep going to therapy," Sirius admits with a sigh, and they share a
despaired grimace at the truth in that observation at the same time.

They look away from each other, focusing on their food, but they're both smiling when they do.
And that's enough.

They're trying.

Chapter End Notes

can you believe that these four were never all in a room together for OVER 200K
words? that's insane. but that's okay. they will be in the future <3

also, yes, this is that messy portion of healing where it's like: okay, we have to step up
and commit to it, or we're going to get nowhere. which is hard. and messy. but they're
getting there. they're trying.

also²: james potter is hot when he's angry, and i know it because regulus told me
himself. pass it on.

thank you all for the lovely comments; i intend to get to replying to them when i have
a little more free time, but i hope you all know that i see them and adore them. let me
know your thoughts on this one, and see you tomorrow! :)
 Chapter 24
Chapter Notes

Warnings for this chapter: Sirius falls through a curtain, Regulus goes swimming,
James meets a man with no nose, and Remus goes into the light.

Kidding. IM KIDDING. ITS APRIL FIRST AND THIS IS AN APRIL FOOLS

JOKE!!!!

No, uh, real warnings for this chapter: brief discussion about cannibalism (NOT an
April Fools joke), but only because of Sweeney Todd (yes, the musical; yes, there are
spoilers if you haven't seen it), which leads to talk about Hannibal (the show, and yes,
there are minor spoilers if you haven't seen it). some references to suicide (like when
people thought regulus died when he left home, nothing too heavy, i promise). some
discussions about sexual things as well, but but too explicit. this all seems very bad,
but bear with me here, this is mostly a lighthearted, healing chapter <3

enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Remus looks up at the sound of the door and watches James briefly pause on the way to the
counter to stop and talk to Fabian. It's a quick conversation, exchanging greetings and smiles, but
James doesn't linger. He probably would, knowing him, but Fabian seems pretty focused on his
phone, and it's not like they haven't run into each other often enough in the last month. Fabian
comes in every day, and James comes in a few times a week.

"Busy today?" James asks as he stops on the other side of the counter, offering Remus a faint
smile.

"It was, yeah, but Gideon and I managed it well enough," Remus says, and purposefully leaves out
the part where every fibre of his being wishes he'd worked with Regulus instead.

That's not a slight against Gideon. He's good under pressure; he just doesn't work with Remus the
way Regulus always used to. Besides, Gideon has been...different since—everything.

Remus doesn't really have any hard feelings for Gideon, exactly. A part of him wants to bash his
head in for being someone Sirius shagged before him, but he knows that's not fair. (The feeling
persists anyway, so he does his best to ignore it.) In any case, he'd planned to be perfectly polite
when they went back to working together.
It's just, Gideon is very different towards him now. He's still friendly and helpful, but all traces of
flirting have vanished. He keeps his distance like he's getting paid to, never coming too close,
never touching, never even dropping a hint that they could be friends who shag. Remus finds,
oddly enough, that he sort of misses it. Not enough to do anything about it, but he is confused
about what made Gideon suddenly stop. He never planned to take Gideon up on his offer, Sirius or
no Sirius, so he's not particularly interested in urging Gideon to resume the way he was before, but
it is a bit of a riddle.

As for why he doesn't admit this to James, well… Well, they simply do not talk about their
respective best friends to one another in any capacity whatsoever. At all. Remus doesn't so much as
breathe Regulus' name around James, and James frequently halts mid-sentence (where he's clearly
about to talk about Sirius) to suddenly change the subject to literally anything else in a move that's
not subtle but much appreciated all the same. They're making it work. Just a couple of lads
pretending their best friend doesn't exist for the sake of each other. Ah, true friendship.

They have a very strange friendship, Remus reflects.

"Dropping in to ask if you want to grab lunch with me and Lily," James says, looking hopeful.

"I don't know, James…" Remus trails off warily.

James clasps his hands together and bumps them to his own chin. "Please, Remus. You'll literally
be saving my life. She's going to be a nightmare."

"Is she?" Remus asks, amused despite himself.

"You have no idea, mate. She's brilliant, really," James mutters with a sigh, "but it's it's too long
since I've spoken to her about anything with substance, so she's threatened to hunt me down and
drag me out by the ear. I've been putting her off, but in a strange turn of events, she's not taking no
for an answer."

Remus raises his eyebrows. "Why is that strange? Lily strikes me as the type of woman who
doesn't give up on much."

"Well, it's ironic, you see, because I spent almost six years pestering her to go out with me while
she repeatedly told me no," James explains.
"What?" Remus blinks. "You fancied Lily?"

James chuckles. "Mate, I was hair over my toes for Lily. Made a constant arse of myself for...a
really long time because of it, in fact. We dated for two years."

The first and only thought Remus has is oh, Regulus is going to kill me. He realizes then that
Regulus once gave Sirius advice to give to James about Lily, and then he realizes that Regulus 'I
am fiercely territorial and persistently jealous' Black would be absolutely furious to know that
Remus quite likes Lily.

It takes everything in Remus not to blurt out asking if Regulus knows of James' past with Lily,
because he's quite sure that if Regulus does, then he hates Lily on principle. This puts him in a bit
of a difficult position, admittedly, but the upside to his life repeatedly going to shit is that he's
gotten rather used to coexisting with the shambles.

"Are you and Lily…?" Remus once again trails off, mostly because he can hear the hesitancy in his
own voice. He shouldn't really feel anything about it if James is moving on, or moving backwards,
but he finds that the thought displeases him. He can't help it. Regulus is his best friend.

"Oh, what? No, no, nothing like that," James says quickly, seeming genuinely baffled by the
thought. He shakes his head and snorts. "No, Lily is a friend. We're better off that way. Besides, I
told Regulus I'd wait. I meant it."

"Right," Remus says very carefully.

"Yeah." James clears his throat and looks away with a frown. It makes Remus' heart pang to realize
that he's never seen James frown as much as he does these days. It's sad seeing someone who
always used to smile slowly lose the ability to, and it's even worse to watch them take it a step
further and do the opposite. "What about you? Thinking about…?"

"No," Remus murmurs. "I meant it when I said I'd wait. There won't be anyone else but Sirius."
Not ever, he doesn't say. He knows it, though. Knows it down to the marrow of his bones. Has
known it from the very start. Sirius is it for him. It's always going to be Sirius, for Remus.

Just another one of life's greatest tragedies—him and Sirius. At least Remus is rather accustomed to
those.
It still hurts, though.

It still hurts.

"Right," James says, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Yeah," is Remus' quiet response. Sometimes, he gets the random impulse to apologize for saying
yes for Regulus when James first asked him out. This is one of those times.

"So, erm, will you come?" James asks, coughing. "Just, you know, to help a mate out. She'll be
less...less if you're around, possibly. Well, no, probably not, but you'll make it bearable."

Well, Remus knows all about that. They make a lot of things bearable for each other, funnily
enough. It's sort of what they do. "Sure, James, I'll come."

This, as it turns out, is a huge mistake. Lily is not less less because Remus shows up with James. If
anything, she's more more. Remus is not prepared.

"Lovely, I've got both idiots here to berate," Lily declares as soon as she sees them, and then she
does just that.

Getting lectured by the force that is Lily Evans isn't a fun experience, Remus finds out. James
seems resigned to it, but this is Remus' first time, so he's sort of terrified. He's also bowled over by
how eloquent she is about it. Somehow, she knows exactly what happened (eventually admitting
that Sirius explained, and that comes with a five minute tangent about the fact that she's spent half
her life thinking Sirius had a sister, only to find out she was wrong all this time, and Remus can't
help but feel a pulse of fondness in his chest for Sirius pulling that off with someone as headstrong
as Lily), and she makes it very clear that what they did was incredibly stupid.

And then, in a move Remus doesn't at all see coming, she states outright that she understands why
they were incredibly stupid in the first place, and while she's not condoning their actions, she
doesn't think they're actually stupid or bad people. She then softens right up to tell them that she's
there as their friend—Remus included—and that she just wants everyone to be happy, not leaving
Sirius or Regulus out of that statement. She's so aggressively kind about it that Remus doesn't really
have the heart to tell her that he and James are about as far from happy as they can get, but James
takes the plunge and gently explains that he—as well as Remus—have given Regulus and Sirius
time to figure things out, and Lily groans about the fact that they're not just together and happy.
"Well, we're not particularly delighted about it either, Lily," James says with a heavy sigh. "This
was the outcome we were avoiding from the start, hence the being incredibly stupid bit."

"Oh, this is so disappointing," Lily mutters wearily, and Remus snorts weakly, because yeah, that
about sums it up.

Lily looks so sad for him, for both of them, and the look doesn't go away even though she backs
off. Things do get easier after that, though, because she stops talking about Regulus and Sirius
altogether, which is how Remus and James tend to prefer it these days.

Lily clearly doesn't want to leave it there, but she's respectful enough to do so, which makes the
lunch less painful for all of them. Instead, after that, it's actually...nice. Lily truly is brilliant, and
Remus finds himself warmed that she treats him as a friend. It's sort of one of those rare moments
where Remus remembers there's more to life than all the tragedies he's grown accustomed to. There
are lovely people out there in the world that offer perspective and take the sting of loneliness out of
existing. It reminds him that they're all here; everyone is all here together, just trying to make it
through. There's something precious about that, despite everything.

Towards the end of lunch, Lily insists on getting his number so they can talk and also finish their
discussion about Jane Austen's Persuasion, which is a very dangerous topic, actually, because the
main theme of the book is the idea of a second chance at love or needing to wait until it's the right
time to be with someone you love. He agrees nonetheless, setting aside his reservations, and right
before he puts his cell away, it buzzes with a message from Regulus.

Come over, Regulus has sent, succinct as always. It's quickly followed by: I'm making something.

I've just had lunch, Remus replies.

Well, I'm not making lunch, Regulus messages back, and Remus heaves a sigh before rolling his
eyes.

Give me an hour.

You have half of that.

Remus clicks his tongue and slips his phone away. "Sorry to dash off, but I have to go."

"Somewhere to be?" James asks lightly, clearly asking out of curiosity and not with the thought of
Regulus at all.

"Yeah, I…" Remus clears his throat and looks away. "Just have this thing. Anyway, this was—
nice. I'll see you."

"Right," James mumbles, and the light tone has faded, because it's obvious he's picked up on what
thing Remus has.

It's a little stilted after that, but James still claps him on the shoulder and promises to see him
tomorrow. Remus just nods, even though he wonders what brings James into the shop outside of
his persistent determination to stay friends. James never orders anything. Never. He just comes in
to chat for a bit, occasionally drags Remus out to lunch, which they trade off on paying for, and
that's it. Remus doesn't protest or point any of this out, though. He's grateful for it, honestly.

When he does make it to Regulus', he finds that the place smells sweet, the sort of sugary scent that
comes with baking. It reminds him of his mum, and there's a sharp prick of nostalgia for the scent
of biscuits she always used to make. Hope Lupin wasn't very good about actually talking to her son,
but she damn well made sure he was fed. He misses her; he missed her before she ever died, and he
still does after.

Regulus is quiet as he gestures for Remus to sit down. It's been a month since the fallout in this
very flat, coming up on two months since Sirius and Regulus found out the truth. Time has a funny
way of making things seem bigger than they are, and smaller. In the present, it's all-encompassing,
like there's no future to even look towards. Yet, the future comes, and the present fades into the
past, and sometimes it's as equally hard to look back as it is to look forward. Remus wants to close
his eyes most of the time. He's surrounded by mistakes and tragedies. But he keeps looking
forward anyway.

"What'd you have for lunch?" Regulus murmurs.

"Egg rolls, mostly," Remus admits, watching Regulus carry over a plate curiously. "What's this?"

Regulus drops off the plate in front of him and moves to sit down. "I believe I promised you
tiramisu."
"Ah," Remus replies, picking up his fork. He sighs and stares down at the cake. It looks good.
Mouth-watering, really.

Remus contemplates for a moment the positives that came from what happened a month ago. He
didn't expect anything good to come from it, if he's honest, fully prepared for it to be an awful wait,
but this has. This being: Regulus' new mission—for a lack of a better phrase—to make amends. He
has, for the last month, been buttering Remus up as much as he ever does, which is to say that he
never has before, and Remus didn't even know he was capable of it. But he is, and his form of
groveling comes in food and forced proximity.

Regulus hasn't apologized for the time in which he treated Remus awfully—not with words, at least
—but Remus knows he's sorry. He's made it very blatant that he's sorry, and Remus is surprised by
how much that actually matters. More so than just an apology. Anyone can apologize, even
without remorse, but if they're not sorry, truly sorry, then it rings hollow. This doesn't, and Remus
has reached the point where he's just letting Regulus do it out of pure amusement.

There's an unspoken forgiveness between them in both directions. It's more than acceptance. It's
better than that, because they're them again. Best friends and miserable sods making it through life
together. Remus is more relieved by it than he'll ever admit, but he's sure Regulus knows anyway.

"So?" Regulus prompts when Remus has his first bite, arching an eyebrow. "You liked the flavored
gelato. What about this?"

"I like the gelato better," Remus admits, dipping his fork again with a thoughtful hum. "It's good,
though. I don't hate it."

"Sirius does," Regulus says softly, and Remus stops chewing for a moment, simply because he
can't swallow. "That's all we were allowed to have for dessert growing up, you see, so that's why he
hates it, I think. He's always hated it."

Remus grunts and looks down at the plate, refusing to ask about him. He wants to, but he and
James agreed to stay out of it, and they have been. Sometimes, Remus can tell that Regulus is
trying to goad him into it. "Oh. Right."

"Spiteful prat," Regulus notes with a sigh. Remus doesn't deem that worthy of a response, and
Regulus frowns before clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "Alright, fine, sure. Finish it,
then, and we'll watch something after."
"What are we watching?"

"Up to you."

"Regulus," Remus says, helplessly amused and a bit fond against his will. Regulus being pliant
without one complaint is a bit like a dog suddenly talking. Entertaining, really.

Regulus' lips twitch. "We'll watch something you like. What are you in the mood for? I know you
like your musicals. Les Misérables? The Greatest Showman? Sweeney Todd?"

"Oh, I have options now?"

"Sweeney Todd it is."

Remus laughs softly. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is reluctantly Regulus'
favorite of all the musicals that Remus has ever made him watch. It makes sense, Remus thinks,
because Regulus is an emo little shit who likes dour, fucked up stories such as that. A murderous
barber with a tragic past and his immoral girlfriend with no qualms about turning people into
unwitting cannibals really would be his favorite, and the reluctant part of it comes from the fact
that Helena Bonham Carter is a main actress in it.

(Regulus is one of the only people in the world that Remus knows of that takes issue with her. Not
with her, exactly, but with who she reminds him of. To hear him tell it, she bears an uncomfortable
resemblance to one of his most dreadful cousins. The reminder isn't a pleasant one, apparently.)

Nonetheless, they do settle in on the sofa and start the film. Remus rather enjoys it, and he's seen it
enough by now that it's been conditioned into him to find it relaxing. As always, Regulus mouths
the words to the songs, especially delighted by declaring that London is a hole in the world like a
great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world
inhabit it. By the time the song, Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir, comes on, Regulus finally breaks to softly
sing along to it. That one always gets him, every time.

"'T'was Pirelli's miracle elixir. That's what did the trick, sir. True, sir, true," Regulus croons,
tapping his fingers on his knee.
"Every time," Remus declares, chuckling.

Regulus turns and sings, "Was it quick, sir? Did it in a tick, sir. Just like an elixir—ought to do."
He reaches out and pokes Remus on the end of his nose on the word do, breaking out into a grin
when Remus lazily swats his finger away.

He looks so much like Sirius when he grins. Remus can't stop himself from looking away,
swallowing and focusing on the screen, listening to Regulus softly sing right beside him.

"God, that's awful," Remus says with a resigned laugh as he watches an entire crowd turn into
cannibals without knowing it. Really, the whole theme of this musical is supremely fucked up.
Now wonder they find it so compelling.

"Humans don't actually hold significant nutritional value, you know," Regulus tells him casually.
"You'd get better from other animals, in fact. Besides, cannibalism isn't beneficial to the body.
Also, consuming a brain can lead to prion diseases."

"What?"

"But also, consuming cooked human flesh is no more dangerous than eating the cooked flesh of
other animals. It's true for the majority of the human body, excluding the brain; the health
implications are similar to that of eating any large omnivore."

Remus stares at him. "Reg, why do you know that?"

"I'm a cook," Regulus says, eyebrows furrowed.

"That—that doesn't mean you should know that. People aren't on the menu. Bodies aren't
ingredients. What the fuck?"

"I like to keep my options open."

"That's so disturbing. Like, legitimately unnerving," Remus whispers, and Regulus just cocks his
head at him, and then they're both laughing as Sweeney Todd slits another throat.
"I aspire to be Hannibal Lector—the show Hannibal Lector specifically, where he's gay for the
man with anxiety," Regulus says, still chuckling.

"God, why would you?"

"Well, he was classy, had brilliant tastes in music and literature, and was a truly fantastic cook."

"Reg, he ate people."

"Rude people."

"You're rude people," Remus points out.

Regulus pauses, then concedes with a nod. "He would have absolutely cooked me. I'm oddly
honored by the thought. Oh, to be consumed by the Mads Mikkelsen version of Hannibal Lector.
Will Graham was a fool to ever refuse him."

"Didn't they end up together in the end?"

"Allegorically, I'd say so. They killed a man together, took bites out of him and everything; it was
all very sensual. Peak romance, honestly. Then they flung themselves off a cliff."

"Only you would watch a show about a strangely polite cannibal and see it as a gay romcom."

"I can't help it that I'm smarter than everyone else."

Remus shakes his head with a smile. "Sure, Reg, whatever you say. I worry for you, you know,
you fucking lunatic."

"That's fair," Regulus allows, then gets distracted by the film again, caught up in another song. (By
the Sea.)
"Well," Remus says when the film is over, "I think that rather put me off food for a bit."

Regulus hums and nudges him with his elbow. "Maybe I'm just naturally disposed to deplorable,
fucked up things, but I'm so very tempted to make some meat pies now."

"I won't be having any."

"Well, I'll hold the human, obviously."

"Cheers," Remus says flatly, but a laugh bubbles up out of him, and Regulus echoes it. Remus
glances over at him, feeling his face soften with a mixture of fondness and curiosity. "Can I ask
you something? It's going to sound like an insult, I think, but I don't mean it as one."

"Oh, this should be lovely," Regulus mutters, his laughter fading into a sigh. He nods wearily. "Go
on, then."

Remus purses his lips, then clears his throat. "It's just, you seem...lighter lately. Freer than you
usually are, I mean. Laughing more. Smiling more. And I thought—well, with everything that
happened with James, I just assumed…"

"Ah." Regulus looks down at his hands loosely linked in his lap. One of his thumbs gently traces
lines in his other palm, and he takes a deep breath before he slowly lets it out. "Don't think I'm…
It's just, I'm not happy, not really. I—" He swallows and clears his throat. "I miss him. All the time,
honestly. And I want—well, I want a lot of things, but I... But I've made my peace with it. For
now."

"How?" Remus asks, genuinely confused, because he knows just how much Regulus loves James.
How does someone just let that go? How do they come to terms with not having it?

"Well, for one...." Regulus closes his eyes, looking so sad that Remus regrets asking at all. "It
just...wasn't the right time, but it helps that I'm getting there. It's just awful that he's the right
person; we just found each other at the wrong time."

Remus' eyebrows pinch together. "What do you mean?"

"I think about it a lot," Regulus whispers, opening his eyes to stare straight ahead, gaze unfocused.
"Sirius and I—we're trying, you know. We're actually trying to be brothers, to talk, and we're still
going to therapy. It's working, I think, and I can see how things could turn out for us. Really well,
despite everything. Believe me, no one is as surprised as we are."

"I'm not surprised at all. You two love each other. I knew that before either of you would even
admit it to yourselves."

"Yes, well, some things take time and effort, I suppose. In any case, I think about what would have
been if I didn't meet James until after I saw that painting in the art gallery and bumped into Sirius
that night. If maybe I would have gotten to a place with Sirius where I could meet his friends, meet
his best friend, and maybe… Well, I think about it a lot. But that's not how it went, and now we're
all unhappy."

"Is it…? I mean, is it getting better?" Remus asks, unable to stop himself. He's so desperate to
know.

Regulus takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, turning to look right into Remus' eyes. "It is. I'm
just really—" He swallows harshly and seems to gather some sort of courage, setting his shoulders.
"I'm scared. I'm afraid of what happens when I do try. That's a part of it, and it's also… Remus, I
think for the first time in my life, I'm actually—I'm finding some sort of peace with my brother.
When it comes to Sirius, we're in the best place we've been in years, and I needed to focus on that.
We're trying, we're working on it, but it has taken time. I wasn't going to try to do anything with
James before I was even in a good enough place to properly offer anything to him. I'm a mess, and
he deserves better than that."

"I'm not sure he would agree with that last bit."

"No, probably not."

"It's good for you," Remus mumbles. "Sirius, I mean. He's good for you. It's making you happier
that you're working on it, I can tell. I'm—I'm proud of you, Reg."

Regulus lets that hang for a moment, blinking hard and ducking his head, then he looks up with a
tiny smile. "Thank you. He… Remus, he misses you, you know."
"He told you that?"

"He didn't have to. It's obvious. Sirius has never been particularly subtle about what he's feeling."

"Why do you care?" Remus asks shortly. "What, are you ready to give me your blessing now, is
that it?"

"That's the thing about regrets," Regulus replies softly, looking down at his hands again. "If we
knew that we'd suffer so much from them, we'd never lead ourselves into torment. I wish I could
go back and give you my blessing, just as much as a part of me still doesn't want to."

Remus' face twists. "That's selfish, Regulus."

"I know," Regulus murmurs. "I'm very selfish about Sirius. I've been working on that as well, for
both of our sakes. It's not particularly healthy, is it? Ms. Pomfrey says that it's limiting and
restricting and will lead to resentment, which we've already seen by now. She also says that it's a
sort of defense mechanism forged from trauma and my abandonment issues, and my trust issues. It
was suggested that I likely do this with many people in my life, especially if they're very important
to me. You're very important to me, Remus."

"Am I?" Remus asks, softening right on up again. Regulus and Sirius have this ability in common,
even if they execute it very differently; this ability to cause a whiplash of emotion that spikes and
eases with a few simple words and the soul-rattling glimpse of their eyes. So similar, and yet they
make Remus feel so different, but that ability is a shared trait.

"You really are," Regulus whispers. "You're my best friend."

"So, what I'm hearing is, you don't want to share me either. You're selfish with me, too."

"I don't, and I am. Again, not very healthy, but I'm rather fucked up. You know this. Like I said,
I'm working on it."

"I think you're doing beautifully," Remus tells him.

Regulus quirks a smile. "You mean you're enjoying me buttering you up."

"Well," Remus says, grinning, "that, too."

Regulus blinks lazily at the sight of Pandora lecturing Barty and Evan on the science of anti
gravity, going on and on about electromagnetism and aerodynamics. Evan and Barty are staring at
her like she's the most fascinating person they've ever met in their lives, and also like they have no
idea what the fuck she's talking about. Pandora has that effect, though.

"So, so hold on," Evan says, leaning in to narrow his eyes at Pandora. "You mean to tell me, I'd
lose my muscles without gravity? And my bones?"

"Bone mass," Pandora corrects. "And yes, there would be natural muscle degeneration."

Barty clicks his tongue. "Well, there goes my dreams of being an astronaut. I'd never put my
perfect physique in danger."

"You never wanted to be an astronaut," Evan says flatly.

"You're not smart enough to be an astronaut," Regulus adds, lips curling up when Barty frowns. "I
just mean you'd want to take a walk in space and get lost almost immediately."

"I wouldn't get lost," Barty replies, affronted. "But yeah, who wouldn't want to float about in
space? I'd tie myself to the ship. It'd be fine."

"I'd like to send you on an expedition to explore the inside of a black hole," Pandora tells him.
"Would you go?"

"That sounds vaguely sexual, just so you know," Barty replies, grinning, and Pandora just raises
her eyebrows at him and waits. "Sure, I'd go. What's in a black hole anyway?"

Pandora shakes her head. "Yeah, you're not smart enough to be an astronaut. That's alright. Not
many people are."

"Are you?" Evan asks.

"I'm smart enough to not want to be," Pandora answers.

Regulus chuckles, and Pandora sends him a warm smile, but they all look up when Aiko comes
bustling back to the table with a tray of drinks in hand. She'd insisted on getting the first round,
because she has all plans to get pissed and swears that she will be by the third round, so she wanted
to handle this one so she wouldn't have to stand up again until she was stumbling into her ride
home. She has her system, and Regulus respects it. At least someone has their shit figured out.

"Sorry, sorry," Aiko says with a grimace as Barty and Evan swap their drinks from where she
mixed them up when she handed them out. "I forgot who had what. My mind isn't really here at the
moment."

"Where is it?" Pandora asks. She and Aiko had an almost instant friendship spring up the moment
Regulus introduced them to each other ten minutes ago—but, again, Pandora has that effect. She's
even won over Evan and Barty after one conversation, despite their visible skepticism at the start.

"Home, honestly," Aiko complains as she plops down on the seat next to Regulus with a sigh. "I
think I've upset my neighbor. I don't even know how. He asked me if I'd ever been to some
restaurant he likes—or, I think he did, I'm not sure. I had my headphones in and my music loud. I
hadn't been, so I said no, and he looked so upset about it. Now, he won't even talk to me. Or look at
me."

Barty shrugs lazily. "So? Who cares? Who even talks to their neighbors these days?"

"I do," Aiko admits. "Or, I did. He was so nice."

"Clearly not, if he'll stop talking to you just because you've never been somewhere he likes,"
Regulus points out.

Aiko sighs. "Suppose you're right. Shame."

"Well," Evan says simply, nudging her glass towards her with a smirk, "let's take your mind off it,
yeah?"

Regulus cuts him a sharp, warning look. Evan immediately fixes an innocent expression on his
face, and Regulus narrows his eyes at him. "Don't even think about it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You want to get her pissed, because you think it'll be funny."

"Bang on as always, Reggie. Aiko doesn't mind, right?"

"No, it's fine. I rather want to get pissed, actually. Feel free to laugh at me, but please don't let me
dance. I always try to dance when I'm drunk," Aiko says with a sigh. "Oh, and I'm not shagging
anyone, so don't think about that."

"You don't have to worry about that from me, love," Evan assures her with a wink.

"Gay?" Aiko asks.

Evan shakes his head. "No. I just don't shag."

"Asexual," Regulus murmurs, eyebrows shooting up.

"What's that?" Evan asks, frowning after he takes a deep drink from his glass. "I'm not a sexual,
actually. Not really my thing."

"No, it's—" Regulus helplessly huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He's surprised, but he thinks
maybe he shouldn't be at all. Evan has always been a flirt, and he can be just as filthy as Barty
sometimes when he's in a playful mood, but he was never interested in anything sexual when they
were younger. Regulus propositioned him once, and Evan had rejected him, then introduced him to
Barty—and it was all downhill from there. Regulus had just thought that Evan did it to seem cool,
like he was playing hard to get or something (except Regulus was never one to play any sort of
games back then), but then Evan just never...did anything. With anyone. Here he is, a grown man,
and that hasn't changed a bit. "It's a term for people who don't feel sexual attraction. Like, you
know, you don't get the urge to shag anyone."

"There's a word for that?" Evan muses thoughtfully. He hums quietly. "Well, I like getting off on
my own, so I'm sure that doesn't really apply to me. I've even had girlfriends."

"Give me your cell," Regulus says, holding out his hand. With suspicion (which is fair), Evan
warily passes it over, and Regulus uses the five seconds it takes to pull up information about
asexuality, then slides the phone back in front of him. He points at it. "Read that."

Evan quirks an eyebrow, but he dutifully starts reading.

"I don't have to worry about it with you, right?" Aiko checks, looking at Barty, who glances down
at himself like he needs to confer with his body if he's going to try anything or not.

"I'm not getting drunk, Aiko," Regulus murmurs. "I won't stop you from dancing, but I will stop
Barty from trying anything."

"I think I'd prefer you to stop me from dancing," Aiko tells him with a groan.

"Not so sure that I would try anything, actually," Barty muses, pursing his lips. "Unless you have a
cock? I'm trying to dip my toes into the world of cocks, you see."

Aiko shakes her head. "Sorry, no, but I support you giving it a go. I quite like them myself."

"I've never much thought about it," Barty says. "I probably never would have if not for our darling
Reggie here. Say, Reggie, what would happen if I tried something with you?"

"Try it and find out, but I promise you won't like what happens," Regulus warns, arching an
eyebrow.

Barty heaves a sigh and dumps his chin off into his palm, pouting a bit. "You just couldn't be
single, could you? Where's your boyfriend, Reggie? What does he have that I don't?"
My heart is the very first thing that pops into Regulus' head, which immediately makes him
grimace. What a nauseating thought. Christ, what has James done to him?

"What was that?" Barty asks, eyes narrowing. He squints at Regulus, who presses his lips into a
thin line. "No, what was that? You made a face."

"I didn't make a face."

"You did. You often do not, so I'm very sure when you have, and you most certainly made a face."

"Barty, piss off."

"No, what was that about? Your boyfriend? Trouble in paradise, is that it?"

Regulus glances over at Pandora, who smiles at him, though it's tinged with sadness. Aiko is
watching him curiously, and Barty is waiting impatiently. Sighing, Regulus tips his head back and
mumbles, "It's complicated."

"Oh, is that so?" Barty says instantly, leaning forward with a slow grin. "What happened, then?"

"It turns out," Regulus grinds out, "my boyfriend was—is Sirius' best friend."

"Your brother?" Aiko asks in surprise.

"Oh, have you met?" Pandora asks pleasantly. "He's lovely, isn't he?"

"Wait, wait, you were shagging Jim?" Barty blurts out.

"James," Regulus corrects instantly.

Barty snaps his fingers. "That was his name! Oh. Oh, bloody hell, Reggie." He drops his hand,
then abruptly starts cackling like a madman, absolutely living for this. "Ha! You—you mean to tell
me that you shagged Sirius' best friend?! Evan! Evan, mate, are you hearing this?"

"Sorry, what?" Evan mutters distractedly, tearing his focus away from his cell with a small frown.

"You know Jim—"

"James," Regulus corrects yet again.

"Right, James. Sirius' best mate that we met?" Barty continues, grinning broadly. "Reggie shagged
him!"

Evan blinks, then looks at Regulus. "Did you really? But you hate Sirius' best friend. Or, that's how
I remember it."

"No, this is brilliant! That's fucking brilliant," Barty hisses in delight. "That's the most hilarious
thing I've ever heard. Think about it, mate. What's a better way to get under Sirius' skin than shag
his best mate? Reggie, you fucking genius."

"It wasn't on purpose," Regulus grumbles.

Barty deflates. "Oh. Alright, you've lost me."

"Might as well get it out of the way," Pandora says gently, reaching over to pat Regulus' arm with
sympathy.

So, heaving a sigh, Regulus explains the whole mess. Or, well, he explains what he's willing to
share, really. He leaves out some of the more personal details, but, otherwise, he tells them most of
everything else. Ms. Promfrey bangs on about honesty and support systems and such, so as much
as he doesn't really like airing out his business, he doubts there are any other people he would even
consider telling this to.

In a way, it's nice. Aiko—well, Regulus actually really likes her, and they've gotten closer since
she started interacting with him in class. He's not entirely comfortable with her the way he is with
Pandora, or Remus, but she's easy to talk to, and she's opened up to him a few times. So, he doesn't
mind letting her know all of this. As for Barty and Evan, they can be insensitive at the best of
times, but they've made it clear that they've seen him as a friend since they were children, even if
Regulus didn't really think they would. And then there's Pandora, of course, who knows everything
already.

Aiko is the only person who doesn't know he's trans, so when he explains that whole part of it
(because he genuinely doesn't care who knows or doesn't know), she actually looks startled. She
goes with it, though, not interrupting and still listening. He didn't think she was the type to take
issue with things such as that, but it's nice to have the confirmation all the same.

It's as he's explaining all of it (or most of it) that he finds himself seeing it very differently than he
thought he did. It's only as he speaks it out loud and hears what he's saying that it finally, finally
clicks for him, fully and completely, why James and Remus did what they did. As much as they
tried to explain, and as much as he'd come to terms with it, he'd still struggled to understand it.
There was some sort of block that he couldn't get past, a resentment he couldn't let go of, and he
just couldn't fully grasp it. He couldn't really forgive it, either.

Regulus couldn't look any further than the lies, or his own selfishness with Sirius, and James, and
Remus. To him, it was all about the ruin of trust, and the fact that two of the people he trusted the
most in the world kept his brother away from him. Even when he'd accepted it and came to the
conclusion that he would move past it, he hadn't understood it, and that meant he couldn't forgive
it.

But he gets it now. It just sort of hits him in the midst of him explaining what James and Remus
did. It clicks, because he realizes that they were trying to avoid this. Exactly this. They were
scared, and in love, and doing everything they could to keep them all from losing each other. He
finally understands, because it's as he's talking about it that he realizes he would have done the
same exact thing.

If roles were reversed, if it was James and Remus as brothers with a fraught history, Regulus would
have done no differently than they did, just to keep them both.

He understands.

It's the awful kind of understanding that comes too late, after he's already reacted without
consideration, after he has ruined the last thing he ever wanted to see in tatters. It breaks his heart a
bit, actually, because every cell in his body wants to rewind with this new understanding and do it
all over again, just so he could do it right. He did it wrong. He knows that he did, but now he
knows exactly why it was wrong.
He also knows how fortunate it is that he's going to get to do it over, that he has a second chance
waiting on him. He feels like a fool, sitting here and wasting it.

"Fuck, talk about drama," Aiko hisses through her teeth when he eventually trails off, having
explained most of everything.

"I think you should keep shagging the best friend," Evan tells him thoughtfully. "It would serve
Sirius right. What's he going to do? Beat his best mate up for shagging his little brother?"

"Christ, I'd pay to see that," Barty says, amused. "But, if you're not shagging his best mate
anymore, I'm very available."

"Barty, mate, let it go," Evan mutters, rolling his eyes.

Regulus frowns. "If you're so desperate for cock, Barty, I can find you cock. Not mine, but
someone else's."

"Aha! So, you do have a cock," Barty bursts out.

"I have many, and none of them are for you."

"Tease."

Aiko chuckles and swivels in her chair. "Alright, tonight is about finding Barty a nice, respectable
bloke who won't scare him off from the world of cocks forever."

"You," Barty says, pointing at her. "I like you."

Evan snorts. "You like being the center of attention, that's what you like."

"Shut it, Evan. This is my night," Barty declares. He pauses, then rakes his gaze over Even in
consideration. Evan arches an eyebrow at him. "Hm, what about you? I've seen your cock before. It
didn't make me want to vomit, so that has to be a good sign, yeah?"

"I'm sure it is," Evan says flatly, "but I've no interest in it, and I'm not a nice, respectable bloke at
all. Besides," he adds, lifting up his phone, "I think I'm this. I mean, I'm quite literally all of these
things."

Barty leans in curiously. "Are you? Let me see."

"What about him?" Aiko whispers to Pandora and Regulus, nodding to someone across the room.
As one, Regulus and Pandora discreetly look over. "I saw him blatantly chatting up a guy earlier,
but the bloke ended up turning him down. I talked to him a bit at the bar. He seems nice."

"Let's see," Pandora muses, turning back to pick up her straw paper and flick it at Barty, who looks
up with a scowl from where he's hunched over Evan's phone with Evan. "Do you see that bloke
over there in the grey turtleneck?"

"Yeah, what about him?" Barty asks, flicking his gaze over.

"He was chatting a man up, who turned him down, so he's at least open to men," Pandora explains.

"Who turned him down?" Barty asks, arching an eyebrow.

Aiko leans to the side to point someone out across the bar, pursing her lips. "That one in the purple.
Didn't much like him, if I'm honest. He was pompous. Spent the entire time talking about himself
and made it a challenge for the poor bloke to even get a word in edgewise. Seems like the type
that's in love with their reflection."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Barty sputters. "I'm in love with my reflection."

"I've gathered that," Aiko says, "which is why I didn't bother to suggest him. That's not a battle you
can win, I'm afraid, and I'm quite sure you'd be wasting his time."

Barty cocks his head and flicks his gaze over the bloke, then he shrugs and says, "I love wasting
people's time," before he pushes to his feet, and he's gone.

"No, not...that…one…" Aiko trails off with a sigh. "Oh, that's not going to go well."

"No, this could be funny," Regulus says.

Pandora lightly swats his arm. "You're meant to want your friends to thrive, not crash and burn."

"It's like you don't even know who I am," Regulus mutters, and Evan chuckles as Aiko breaks out
into giggles.

The night carries on, and Aiko is tipsy by her second round (Evan grabs that one), but she's rather
tiny, so that makes sense. She and Regulus get into a rather passionate debate on the proper way to
make a poached egg, while Pandora and Evan provide commentary just to make them more heated
about the topic, apparently amused. They keep an eye on Barty, who looks both disdainful and
delighted by the bloke he's clearly arguing with and...chatting up, maybe? (At this point, none of
them can actually tell, but it is fun to watch.)

Regulus grabs the next round, taking the long way around the bar to go past Barty and make sure
he doesn't need saving of some sort. Regulus won't save him, but he would enjoy letting Barty
make faces pleading to be saved, only for Regulus to leave him to his misery. But that's not the
case, it seems. All Regulus gathers from Barty and the other bloke is that they're having some sort
of cock-measuring contest in conversation without any of the cocks. Men, Regulus thinks in disgust
as he walks by, then briefly despairs that he belongs to that category and also seeks partners from
that category.

When Regulus makes it back to the table, Aiko and Pandora are locked entirely in a deep
discussion about...dolphins? They're vigorously exchanging very disturbing facts about them, and
Regulus, who has a secret fear of the ocean (any large bodies of water, honestly), does not join the
conversation for his own sake. Instead, he sits down in Barty's empty seat next to Evan and hands
out the drinks, glancing over to find Evan on his cell again, focused on the screen.

"Sorry, what?" Evan blurts out, head snapping up when Regulus slides his drink in front of him.
"What'd you say?"

Regulus watches Evan quickly put his phone away and feels his lips curl up. "It's nice, isn't it?"
"What? Barty going away? Always," Evan says.

"Well, yes, but that's not what I meant," Regulus replies lightly. "It's nice figuring something out
about yourself."

Evan stares at him for a long beat, then murmurs, "I didn't know there was a word for it."

"There's a word for a lot of things, these days."

"I just meant… I didn't know other people—"

"Are like you?" Regulus fills in when Evan cuts himself off, looking down with a frown. Evan
nods. "More than you'd think. Do you find it comforting?"

"Did you, when you figured out your whole…" Evan raises his hand and lazily waves it at him.

Regulus hums. "No, not at all. I was devastated. But, in my defense, I wasn't really in an
environment where learning that about myself would ever be a comfort. If anything, it felt like a
death sentence."

"You never said anything," Evan says quietly.

"We were children, Evan, and not very kind ones. Of course I didn't say anything. I have self-
preservation instincts."

"I think, honestly, that I wouldn't have cared. I mean, I don't really care. Seems like a stupid thing
to worry about in comparison to believing you were dead. I'd rather you alive and a bloke, then
dead. Does that make sense?"

"It does," Regulus admits, amused.

"Barty, though… I don't know how he would have felt about it back then. He was—worse when he
was younger, you know that. As awful as it sounds, I think it's probably for the best that he didn't
find out until after he spent time believing you were dead. Funny how that puts things in
perspective."

"Isn't it?"

"He's come a long way. Still a menace, you know that, but I do think it actually broke his heart a
bit when we came to the conclusion that you were gone," Evan murmurs, lifting his head to meet
Regulus' gaze. "He loved you, you know."

"I know," Regulus says. "He doesn't anymore."

Evan chuckles. "No, he doesn't. He could, though. You'll always be his first love. Who else would
he dive into a world of cocks for?"

"To infuriate his father, undoubtedly."

"Yeah, that's true."

Regulus sighs. "It wasn't his fault that I didn't love him. I suppose I had love for him, but I couldn't
love him. I didn't love me, and he loved someone I...wasn't."

"Could you love him now?" Evan asks.

"No," Regulus answers.

Evan nods slowly. "That's probably for the best, honestly. You were always a better friend to him
than a lover. Can I ask? It's because of Jim, isn't it?"

"James," Regulus corrects yet again.

"Right, him. He's why? Because you...love him," Evan says carefully, scanning his face.
"Yeah," is all Regulus says, simple and honest.

"A bit complicated, that," Evan muses.

Regulus nods. "I'm very aware."

"Well, don't tell Barty, but I hope it works out for you. It worried us, you know. How bad you were
towards the end. How bad it was at home for you."

"Evan—"

"No, just—just listen, yeah? We were young and stupid, so we abandoned you when we shouldn't
have. We just stopped coming round. Stopped picking up when you rang. We buried our heads in
the sand because—well, honestly, because we didn't know what the fuck to do, and it was scary,
and we didn't want to deal the trouble of it."

"It's—"

"Don't say it's fine," Evan cuts in sharply, and Regulus shuts up. "It wasn't fine. We beat ourselves
up for a long time about that. Like maybe if we'd been there, you wouldn't have… But, of course,
you didn't die. Still, the things you learn from an experience like that doesn't just go away. We
changed when we lost you, and I think we changed for the better, because it could have gone an
entirely different way."

"Are you thanking me for dying?" Regulus asks, raising his eyebrows at him.

"No, you prick," Evan says, exasperated. "I'm thanking you for not dying, because I think—I think
if you hadn't gotten out and done this for yourself, chose to be yourself, then you would have. You
would have, wouldn't you?"

Regulus doesn't even have to think about it. He already knows. With a nod, he whispers, "Yes, I
would have."

"That's so fucking depressing," Evan mutters, reaching up to scratch his cheek. He swings his leg
out and bumps Regulus' knee with his own. "But it's—it's not like that now, yeah? You seem… I
mean, you're alright, right? You seem alright."

"Yeah," Regulus says softly, "I'm alright."

Evan clears his throat. "Good. Yeah, good."

"There's nothing wrong with you, you know," Regulus says, and Evan blinks at him. "Well, there
is, but I mean about your sexuality. There's nothing wrong with it, Evan."

"I didn't say there was."

"No, but I know the way we grew up, the environment and families we grew up in. You used to lie
to your father and tell him that I was your girlfriend."

"You knew about that?" Evan whispers, eyes widening.

Regulus' lips twitch. "Barty and I both knew about it. We let you do it, and we never said anything.
He wasn't even jealous."

"I didn't know that."

"He's always loved you more than me."

"I did know that," Evan admits, grinning. He shakes his head and looks down at his cell. "I don't
know… It is nice, yeah. Just knowing that there's a word for it, I guess. Knowing that I'm not the
only one. Suppose I did think something was wrong with me. It's not—I mean, I can fancy girls. I
just don't want to shag them." Regulus hums to let him know he understands what he's saying, and
Evan suddenly glances at him and breaks out into a grin. "I never fancied you, Regulus."

"I know," Regulus says slowly, eyebrows pulling together, not entirely sure why Evan is pointing
this out. It's not exactly new information. They've always just been friends.
Evan chuckles. "No, do you see what I'm trying to tell you? I fancy girls, but I never fancied you.
But that makes sense, doesn't it, seeing as you're not a girl?"

"Evan, that's not…" Regulus stares at him, seeing his grin, and he lets it go. He sighs and nods.
"Yeah, sure. Makes sense."

Barty suddenly throws himself down into Regulus' old seat between Aiko and Pandora, gathering
the immediate attention of everyone at the table. "And now we wait."

"Wait for what?" Pandora asks.

"What happened?" Aiko demands, eyes bright with curiosity, face flushed. She's right pissed, only
on her third drink.

"Gilderoy Lockhart is his name," Barty announces. "He is absolutely deplorable, self-obsessed, and
arrogant."

"So...you, but prettier?" Regulus announces, and Evan cracks up laughing immediately.

Barty scoffs. "No, he's worse. Smarmy git. He wants to be famous, and I've never met someone
more ill-suited for fame. It took him two minutes to inform me that he despises me, and the feeling
is mutual."

"I knew he seemed dodgy," Aiko mutters, squinting in apparent offense on Barty's behalf. She
reaches over and pats his hand, which he allows, looking faintly amused. "That's alright. We'll find
someone for you. A nice man."

"Mm, no, I'm going to shag him," Barty says, and everyone stares at him in disbelief. Well, except
for Regulus. He expects nothing less, honestly. Of course Barty is. "I told him that he'd be more
tolerable if he'd shut up, and I'd offer him my cock to better occupy his mouth with. Then I told
him if he was still thinking about it by the time I left, I'd take him home and keep him quiet, then
return the favor."

"Barty, you've never sucked cock before," Regulus says.

"No, I haven't," Barty agrees. "First time for everything, I suppose. Any advice? You were always
so good at it."

"Spitters are for quitters," Pandora announces immediately.

"Be a quitter. Swallow for no man that you wouldn't marry," Regulus argues and works very, very
hard not to think about all the swallowing he's done for James. He's just not going to acknowledge
that. Not tonight. No.

"No, no, what are you saying?" Aiko gasps out. "Do not suck a random stranger's cock without
protection!"

Barty frowns. "Like...a weapon? I hardly think I need one. He's a limp noodle, I can tell. Besides, if
he tried anything, I could just—bite it off. Right?"

"A weapon, he says," Regulus hisses, shoulders shaking as he dissolves into laughter immediately.
"My god, Barty, you fucking nutter. I can't."

"I meant a condom," Aiko whines. "That's important, Barty! You've no idea where his cock has
been. Just—be safe, yeah? But, if he did try something, you could theoretically bite his cock off.
Never done it myself, but the option is always there."

"Why are there so many rules with cocks?" Barty heaves a sigh and looks off into the distance
wistfully. "I'm so late to the world of cocks. Damn you, Reggie."

Evan laughs. "It's alright, mate. Don't get discouraged, yeah? New things can be exciting."

"How do you know he's thinking about it anyway?" Pandora asks, eyebrows raised.

Barty flashes her a grin. "Because I can see him glaring at me from across the room in the
reflection of the telly over Evan's shoulder. He's thinking about it, trust me."

"This is not how your first shag with a man should go. You should have someone who will treat
you well," Aiko says sadly.
"Darling, let me let you in on a little secret," Barty whispers, leaning in to wink at her. "It's not fun
for me if I'm being treated well."

"My fault?" Regulus mumbles to Evan.

"Your fault," Evan confirms with a grin.

Regulus just chuckles under his breath, and the night continues on. They have a few more rounds
in which Evan, Aiko, and Pandora get progressively more drunk while Barty and Regulus remain
sober (opting for water). Regulus has to keep Aiko from dancing at some point, Evan repeatedly
tries to encourage it, and Pandora ends up going back and forth to the loo because she made the
mistake of breaking the seal in the first place. Pandora ends up going home first, so Regulus makes
sure Aiko gets into the ride with her safely. Barty does, in fact, end up leaving with that bloke he
doesn't like, and Regulus walks Evan home because he can barely walk in a straight line. It's not
far, and Evan spends the entire trip trying to find places he can curl up and sleep in.

By the time Regulus makes it home, he's tired himself and very ready to crawl into bed, which is
why he heaves a sigh when he steps into his flat and finds Sirius kicked back on his sofa, lazily
flipping through one of his books. Dorian Gray, by the looks of it. Sirius glances up when he
comes in and gently sits the book aside as he pushes himself up.

"Where've you been?" Sirius asks. "I've been here for hours."

"Out," Regulus replies, tugging off his coat and unraveling his scarf, glancing at Sirius with a
frown. "Just had some drinks with some friends. What are you doing here?"

"What friends?"

"Barty, Evan, Aiko, and Pandora."

Sirius purses his lips. "Right. I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

"A bit," Regulus admits wearily. "It's fine. I don't really mind telling you, or I wouldn't tell you."
"I feel like you should have to tell me," Sirius says. He pauses, then shakes his head. "You don't,
though."

Regulus nods. "I know."

"But—thanks for telling me anyway," Sirius mumbles, grimacing slightly as he says it.

"Mhm." Regulus moves over and sinks down on the other end of the sofa with a sigh. "Now, are
you going to tell me why you're here?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"If you're here just to pester me and be a prick, then yeah, I do. I'm too tired to tolerate it right now.
But if you're here to talk or something, then no, that's fine."

Sirius chuckles and settles in, slumping down a bit to get more comfortable. "Fortunately for you, I
come in peace. I just… How are things with Remus?"

"Good," Regulus murmurs. "I invited him out, but he… He said he had prior plans after work,
so…"

"James, I think," Sirius says, lips twitching. "He texted to tell me he'd be out of the flat for a few
hours."

"How is he?" Regulus asks quietly, staring down at his fingers.

"He's… He's definitely been better. I think it helps that we're alright again. Properly alright, I
mean."

"Still buttering him up?"

"I crawl into bed with him literally every night." Sirius smiles a little more, unaware that Regulus is
wistfully thinking how does it feel to live my dream? "He's no match for my charms. He gave in
weeks ago, but I'm still pampering him, yeah. He deserves it after all the shit I put him through."

"We," Regulus corrects. "We put him through."

"Yeah," Sirius allows. "And Moony? Still groveling?"

"I made him tiramisu last week," Regulus says wryly, and Sirius wrinkles his nose. "He liked it. I
said you hated it, and he refused to acknowledge it."

"Passive-aggressive prick," Sirius murmurs fondly, and now he's the wistful one.

Regulus hums. "He is, yeah. But, you know, he deserves the buttering up, considering everything I
did."

"We," Sirius reminds him. "Everything we did."

"Right," Regulus agrees.

Sirius sighs, and Regulus echoes him, and they drift off into wistful, miserable silence. They do
this a lot now, briefly checking in and trading information about Remus and James. It's ironically
what James and Remus used to do about them, but it's much sadder and more tentative. They don't
shy away from the knowledge that the other is in love with their best friend, but they don't directly
address it either.

Not usually, in any case. Tonight is not a usual night, apparently, because Sirius—of course it's
Sirius; he's braver, and bolder, always has been—rolls his head to the side to gaze at Regulus with
big, sad eyes and whispers, "I miss him."

"I know," Regulus replies.

"Do you—" Sirius swallows. "Do you miss James?"

"You know the answer to that."

"I want to hear you say it."

Regulus holds his breath for a long moment, then exhales shakily and confesses, "I do. I really
fucking miss him."

"You love him?" Sirius asks. "I mean...genuinely love him? Like, he's—he's the one? He's it?"

"Yeah." Regulus shrugs helplessly and tries for a smile, but it trembles on his face. His eyes sting.
"I know you want to hear a different answer, but...there isn't one. He's the sun. I'm so cold without
him, all the time. I feel like I'll never be warm again, and I know… This is the hardest part, really. I
know I won't ever love someone like I love him, and I know I won't ever be loved the way he loves
me."

Sirius watches him with a furrow in his eyebrows. "James is the best person I know."

"He's too good for me," Regulus croaks. "I don't deserve him."

"Reggie," Sirius says softly, "that's Mother."

Regulus blinks. "What?"

"That's Mother," Sirius repeats. "Thinking like that… It's her. We got out, you know, but
sometimes I think we took her with us. Parts of her. Things she—she scarred us with. When do we
let her go? When do we tell ourselves what she never did?"

"I don't think I can," Regulus mumbles.

"James is good, really good, but that doesn't mean…" Sirius takes a deep breath and holds his gaze,
more serious than Regulus has ever seen him. "I'll tell you, if you can't tell yourself. Don't listen to
Mother; listen to me. Listen to me when I tell you that you deserve good things, Regulus."
"James said that," Regulus says, ducking his head as his eyes start to water, no matter how much
he hates it.

Sirius clicks his tongue and swings his leg out to nudge Regulus' thigh, gently murmuring, "Yeah,
and he was right. I'm sorry it's so hard for you to believe it."

Regulus lifts his head and stares at him through a thick layer of tears. "You don't want me to be
with your best friend."

"I—" Sirius scrunches his face up, then runs his tongue under his top lip, then he straightens up
and sets his shoulders like he's about to go into war. "It doesn't matter what I want for you, not at
the end of the day, because you're your own person in control of your own life. You're not just my
little brother, no matter how much I might wish to just...protect you and be the only thing you need
in life. That's selfish, Reggie, and I'm—I am trying really hard to unlearn that. Because, really, all I
genuinely want is for you to be safe and happy, and if I'm honest, I don't know who you'd be safer
with than James, so if he's someone who makes you happy, then… Well, then I do want you to be
with my best friend, I suppose."

"Oh," Regulus says, then sniffs. "Was that very difficult for you to say?"

"I've been practicing some version of it in the mirror for the last two weeks and couldn't bring
myself to say it until just now," Sirius admits with a weak, sheepish smile.

"I'm going to do something, and we're not going to talk about it. We're not going to even
acknowledge it."

"Um, alright? Wait, is it—"

"Shut up," Regulus cuts in and then scoots down the sofa to tug harshly on Sirius' arm and pull him
into a hug.

Sirius stiffens for only a second, then relaxes with a quiet snort. "You've gone soft, Reggie."

"Choke," Regulus mutters. He squeezes Sirius hard enough to make him cough and wheeze a bit
from the strain, and distantly, Regulus realizes this is the first time they've ever hugged without
having a fucking breakdown beforehand. It's a hug for a hug's sake, not because they need to hold
onto each other due to the fact that they're falling apart. Regulus swallows and breathes out a soft,
heartfelt, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Ever. To anyone," Sirius mumbles as he pulls away, lips curling up.

Regulus takes a deep breath and blurts out, "I don't care if you shag my best friend, but if you
neglect me, or make him neglect me, I'll kill you."

Sirius blinks. "Oh. Right. Wait, is that what you're so worried about? Christ, you really do have
abandonment issues."

"And trust issues," Regulus grumbles, scowling.

"That's my fault, isn't it?" Sirius asks, shoulders slumping.

Regulus shakes his head. "No. Not yours. Mother's, really. You were only a child, Sirius. We were
only children."

"I always feel like I can breathe better when you say that."

"Me too. Why do you think I keep saying it? The best part is that it's true. It's also the worst part."

"Because no child should have…" Sirius gives him a long look, frowning at him. "We shouldn't
have suffered what we did, Regulus. You know that, don't you? I think, for a long time, I didn't
know that. I think I'm only starting to figure it out."

"I know what you mean," Regulus admits, because when it comes to this, he gets it. He thinks he
and Sirius are the only people in the world who will ever truly get it. They were in it together.
Sometimes, they still are.

Sirius chews on his bottom lip. "About Remus… I mean, thanks for—you know, but… It's been a
month. What if I fucked it up? You know I fuck up everything, so this—"
"Mother," Regulus cuts in. Sirius stares at him, and then his eyes get wide when he realizes what
Regulus is saying to him. Regulus elaborates anyway. "That's Mother. So, listen to me instead of
her. You're not a fuckup, Sirius. You don't ruin everything. You may make mistakes, but everyone
does, and you don't have to be perfect to be—" The words catch in his throat, his heart clenching
when he realizes the true root of some of Sirius' issues. "You don't have to be perfect to be loved.
You don't have to be anything other than who you are."

They stare at each other for a long moment in silence, sort of just existing in the quiet with their
own thoughts. It's possibly the most calm Regulus has felt in the presence of his brother since he
was...fourteen? Thirteen? He can't really remember anymore, but he's not sure if that matters. This
matters more; this calm they've invited between them now. The fact that they're here together now.
The way they're trying now.

"I'm staying on your sofa tonight," Sirius says, finally.

"Alright," Regulus replies simply.

Sirius swallows. "In the morning, I'm going to go home, and I'm going to talk to James. And you're
going to go talk to Remus. And then we're going to—stop."

"Stop," Regulus repeats, numb, his heart racing.

"Stop making all of us miserable," Sirius clarifies. "I'm tired of being miserable, Regulus. Aren't
you?"

Regulus nods slowly. "Yeah, Sirius, I am."

"We're—I mean, we're in a good place, aren't we? Like, we'll be fine, probably. Right?"

"I think so."

"Good, because at this point, I'm done waiting," Sirius declares unapologetically, and Regulus feels
his lips twitch weakly in response, against his will. Sirius gives him a lopsided grin. "So, do we
have a plan?"
 "Suppose we do, yeah," Regulus allows, and he shakes his head, the irony not lost on him. "At
least ours will actually work. We can never let them be in charge of any plans ever again, agreed?"

Sirius snorts. "Oh, yeah, agreed."

Chapter End Notes

can you tell that i am So Fond of evan and barty? also aiko and pandora!!! also remus
and regulus!!! and sirius and james and lily and and and...

yeah, i love all of them so much! <3

as always, thank you for all the comments and support. i adore every single one and
WILL be replying to them as soon as im not as busy. tell me what you thought of this
one!

see you tomorrow :)

 Chapter 25
Chapter Notes

this chapter....

babes, i LOVE this chapter so much.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James has a very strange morning, and this is how it goes:

He drags himself up from bed with a yawn and goes straight for the loo, then he dresses for the day
and heads into the kitchen, coming to a screeching halt when he sees that Sirius is already awake.
Entirely too awake, by all standards, considering that Sirius rarely wakes up before mid-morning
and is never in a good mood if he has.

Sirius doesn't look to be in an unpleasant mood, however. In fact, as soon as James comes in, he
bustles over to hug him and ruffle his hair (he's been non-stop affectionate since what happened),
and he pushes a cup with a lid right into his hands. It's warm, so James curls his fingers around it
and blinks.

"You're awake before me?" James mumbles, startled.

"The things we do for love, mate," Sirius says wryly, wrinkling his nose a bit, then he clears his
throat and nods to the cup in James' hand. "It's coffee. Made special just for you."

"Is it?" James asks, amused and fond despite himself. Sirius has always been a generally
considerate and kind best friend, but he's been outright spoiling James recently. Honestly? James
isn't complaining. It's nice.

Sirius flashes him a smile, so James rolls his eyes and lifts the cup to his mouth, taking a delicate
sip from the small opening at the top. The first taste nearly makes him choke, and he swallows it
down purely from shock. It warms him all the way through, tasting so good he could fucking cry,
but it would because Regulus made it. James knows instantly that Regulus has made it, because he
spent months ordering this exact drink that Regulus always, always made special just for him.
James slowly lowers the cup, staring at Sirius, who watches him without a word. "Regulus made
this."

"Yeah," Sirius says quietly.

"He made it, and you—brought it to me?"

"Yeah."

"On purpose," James adds, testing the waters.

Sirius heaves a sigh and looks away, shoulders slumping. He frowns. "I—I found out yesterday
that everything I hated my mother for doing to me, I do to myself. How fucked is that, yeah? It's so
fucked up, James. I tried so hard to escape her, and I just kept her with me all these years."

This is such an abrupt change of subject that James honestly needs a second to catch up. He can tell
by the topic, however, that he needs to put the latte down, which he does. He takes a deep breath
and switches gears.

"That's not your fault," James murmurs.

"I know. That's the worst part," Sirius croaks.

James feels like his heart breaks. He shifts forward to grab Sirius, reaching out to throw his arms
around him and tug him into a hug. "Let her go, Sirius."

"I'm trying," Sirius chokes out.

"You're doing so well," James whispers, squeezing him a little bit, eyes stinging just because Sirius'
must be. "You've been doing really well your whole life, and I'm sorry you had to. I'm sorry you
have to fight this hard at all. Can I help? How can I help? Tell me, and I will. Of course I will."

"You always help. You always have," Sirius rasps, dropping his head down on James' shoulder. He
sniffles. "Regulus is helping, you know. We're helping each other."

"That's good. That's really good, Sirius," James says softly.

Sirius sighs quietly. "Please be good to him."

James freezes, his heart jumping in his chest, and he can't help but wrench back. He grips Sirius'
shoulders and searches his face, nearly shaking from the sudden burst of excitement that's coursing
through him. "You're saying…?"

"We've had some...revelations," Sirius mutters carefully, a chagrined quality to his tone.

"Revelations," James repeats breathlessly.

"You could say that," Sirius mumbles, smiling weakly.

"Does this mean I can shag your brother again?" James blurts out, then instantly wants to bang his
head against whatever available surface is closest for saying quite possibly the most idiotic thing
he could have in that moment. The worst thing, really. It's not even about the shagging. What the
fuck is wrong with him? It's like he's asking to be punched.

Sirius cringes instantly, like a reflex, but then the dramatic git pulls away, adopts a meditation
pose, and deliberately hums low in his throat before focusing on his breathing. His lips twitch, and
he cracks open one eye, breaking out into a grin as soon as he sees James staring at him warily. He
barks a laugh and drops his arms, eyes sparkling.

"You know what, mate? Have at it," Sirius tells him, waving a hand lazily, like it's no big deal.
"Keep the details to yourself, though. My grip on my sanity is so flimsy already."

"Wait, really?!" James yelps, his eyes bulging.

Sirius waggles his eyebrows. "I know. This is the new me, Prongs. The open, well-rounded,
generous version of me who doesn't stand in the way of anyone's happiness or do anything stupid.
Lovely, isn't it?"
"Oh my god, finally. I thought I'd have to wait forever," James breathes out. "Christ, no offense, but
it took you long enough."

"James," Sirius says, his humor draining like this is the most important thing he's ever said in his
life. He holds James' gaze, unwavering. "I was wrong. I was wrong to ever tell you to leave
Regulus alone, and not just because he's a grown man who can shag who he damn well pleases, as
you said. But also because I have always, always wanted you to be happy. And maybe I lost sight
of that in my own selfish need to keep you and him to myself, out of some misplaced fear that—
that I wouldn't be enough for either of you."

"Sirius," James whispers, immediately emotional, but Sirius is a man on a mission, and he's not
stopping.

"I was wrong to be angry with you, because I trust you. I trust you with everything, with my life,
and I always have—and I still do. You're in love, and I'm happy for you, genuinely. If he ever hurts
you, I'll never forgive him, you do realize? Because that was part of it, too—needing to learn to
trust him as well. I can forgive him for hurting me, especially because we were children and it
wasn't his fault, but you, James… I'd never forgive him for hurting you. So, now, your happiness
with him is a requirement, at this point. But it's also not—my business, really, and I won't be awful
about it anymore; or, I'll try not to. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"Oh, Christ, you're gonna make me fucking cry. I—I really think I needed that. You know I—I get
it, yeah? I understand that you weren't being intentionally malicious, at least not all the time. I
know it's complicated."

"My love and trust for you is not," Sirius tells him firmly, shaking his head. "It never has been, and
it never will be. Me and you, yeah?"

"Yeah," James says, sniffling.

"I have a question."

"I'll find you the answer."

"Would you have? Waited forever, I mean."

"Sirius, for your brother, I'd be immortal."

"Hm." Sirius eyes him for a long moment, then purses his lips like he's hiding a smile. "Just to be
clear, if you hurt him, I'll turn you inside-out. Slowly."

James chuckles. "Christ, listen at you. Who would have thought you'd say anything like that?"

"You know what that is?" Sirius grins and taps his chest, eyes sparkling. "Growth. I'm growing,
James."

James smiles gently. "And I'm proud of you, mate." Sirius beams at him, and James' heart
clenches. "You know, Sirius, I have always been proud of you. Do you know that?"

"Oh, sure," Sirius says, laughing.

"No, I'm serious. I'm—"

"Actually, I'm—"

"Sirius," James cuts in firmly, and Sirius blinks, his smile slowly fading, "I mean it. I've always
been proud of you. I love you just as you are, alright? Never think there's anything you have to do,
anything you have to be, to earn that. It's unconditional, mate."

"James," Sirius whispers, "you can't make me cry before breakfast. That's just not on."

"I just need you to know," James tells him, and Sirius nods at him. "And you and Regulus? You're
going to be fine, yeah? It's not—rushing? I mean, have you two talked?"

"We did, yeah. We're fine. I stayed over at his last night."

"Did you? How'd that go?"

Sirius chatters on a bit about his night. It turns out that he and Regulus got into a scuffle and ended
up breaking one of the handles off the tap (Sirius ripped it off in the middle of a rant, apparently),
so they had to go out and get the necessary items to replace said handle (it was an easy fix,
according to Sirius), and it took them three hours to do it—not because it was hard, but because
they were bickering too much to actually get it done (Sirius' words).

They also made a cake (Sirius rambles about of the baking tips he knows now, thanks to his
'annoyingly competent little brother'), started a new show to watch together (their therapist thinks
it's a good bonding activity to find an interest they can both share, but Sirius confesses that it took
them half the night to actually agree on something, at least until they eventually worked out that
they were both refusing shows out of spite just because the other suggested it), and actually had an
altogether alright time. James is so furiously happy about this, for them, that he doesn't really know
what to do about it.

"Anyway," Sirius says, "I need to go get ready. I'm going to see Moony today."

"Are you?" James asks, eyebrows shooting up.

Sirius grins at him. "Might as well. You should probably get some work done. You told me to
remind you about the essay you need to finish off."

"Shit," James groans as Sirius laughs brightly on the way out of the kitchen. Alone, James ducks
his head and smiles as he picks his latte back up, humming into another swallow. He grins all the
way to his computer.

Sirius eventually comes back out, and James' eyebrows fly up yet again when he sees how Sirius
looks.

He's clearly put in the effort. He generally puts in the effort, really, but James can always tell when
he's not really trying versus when he is. It's clear that he's trying now. His hair is very shiny, and
he's wearing a lot of rings, dressed in his corset and his leather jacket; that's not even counting the
fact that he's put on eyeliner. Oh, he's trying very hard.

When Sirius stops and holds his arms out, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for a review, James
dutifully says, "Yeah, mate, brilliant."
"Brilliant," Sirius repeats flatly. "Brilliant? Prongs, where's the fucking enthusiasm? Am I
shaggable or not?!"

"Oh." James immediately switches gears and shoves his laptop aside to give Sirius his full
attention. "Why yes, you are so shaggable. Moony is going to struggle not to rip your clothes off
and ravish you immediately."

Sirius glances down at himself, turning a little to check himself over at a different angle. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely," James assures him.

"Right. Obviously," Sirius says, nodding casually and lazily stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets
as if he didn't just have a mild crisis about whether he looked shag-worthy or not.

James fights a smile. "Heading off?"

"Yeah. If all goes well, I won't be home tonight," Sirius declares, heading for the door. "Wish me
luck."

"Luck," James calls after him, shaking his head when the door shuts. "You fool. As if you need
luck. Remus is going to fucking die when he sees you, the poor bastard."

Sighing, James finishes up his essay (really morbid topic about childhood trauma, which is very on
the nose, honestly) and tries to stop glancing at his phone obsessively. In the end, he gives up and
goes off to have a shower, but he brings his phone with him in case it rings. It never does, and
eventually, James is just standing with his hands braced on the basin, staring at his cell and willing
it to light up.

It does not, so James huffs and dives for it. Honestly, if he wants something done, he always has to
do it himself. Under his breath, he grumbles as he types and sends just one word. One simple
message that says, Latte?

Regulus responds only minutes later with: Just how you like it <3
"No. Nope. No," James says out loud, sitting his phone down again, bracing his hands on the
counter and staring at it with his lips pressed into a thin line. He stares at that heart so hard that he
doesn't even blink, just looking at it for so long that the screen eventually goes black. Exhaling
shakily, James squeezes his eyes shut and doesn't move for a while. When he finally does, he nods
firmly as he sits his cell aside without responding and announces, to no one, "Not this time. It can't
be you this time. Don't do anything stupid."

Because, honestly, he needs Regulus to try. It's always James who's trying. And maybe he doesn't
always do his best, maybe he makes mistakes, maybe he does too much and pushes too hard, but at
least he fucking tries. It's him who does the chasing; it's him who gets on one knee with a ring that
will never slide onto a finger; it's him that shows up at doors that slam in his face; it's him that
begs, and pleads, and cries, and loves and loves and loves. He keeps giving, giving, giving—but,
for once, he wants to be the one who gets to have.

Regulus isn't that person, though. He doesn't come running. He won't chase James into the rain and
dramatically shout his love to the sky. They'll never get married, because James knows without
even asking that marriage is off the table for Regulus, with good reason, considering everything
that happened with his mother and the forced (brief) engagement. They're not a love made for
movie screens; they were never going to be. James has made his peace with that. He'd liked the
secret of them, the quiet corner of their clandestine love that no one else got to witness, the soft
whispers of touch that felt only more cherished because it belonged only to them.

James will wait forever for Regulus, and he'll damn well wait for what he deserves, too. What they
both deserve. If Regulus wants him, he'll just have to come get him.

Out of the shower, James shuffles into the kitchen. He's rubbing his knuckles into one eye under
his glasses with one hand and scratching his wet hair with the other as he goes in.

"Sirius, what the hell are you doing? I thought you left," James rumbles, smacking his lips and
dropping his hand so his glasses will settle onto his face, and then he's suddenly coming to a
screeching halt, blinking at Regulus, who moves around his kitchen as if he owns it.

"Well, that's the first time you've ever mistaken me for Sirius," Regulus mumbles, shooting him a
frown over his shoulder before focusing on the stove again. "How disheartening."

Oh, there he is. He's here.

Every single cell in James' body seems to sing it at him in a symphony that etches into his very
bones. There he is, there he is, there he is. He's here, he's here, he's here. And it's not fair how
beautiful he is. So very beautiful, so lovely, just downright breathtaking. The gentle swoop of his
hair over his forehead, the soft default frown of his lips, the high arc of his cheeks and the piercing
weight of his eyes.

James blinks, caught off-guard. Christ, he wasn't prepared for this, which leads him to blurt out
stupid things again, like, "What are you doing here?"

"Making breakfast," Regulus tells him simply, once again peeking at him before looking away
immediately after. He clears his throat. "Hungry?"

"Is it safe?" James asks before he can stop himself.

Regulus heaves a sigh. "I'm never living that down, am I?"

"You pretended to poison him, Regulus. No, you're absolutely not ever living that down," James
says incredulously.

"That's fair," Regulus allows with a grimace. "Not my best moment, admittedly. He still eats
whatever I cook him, you know, the fucking lunatic."

"You really shouldn't be allowed to cook ever again," James muses, raising his eyebrows when
Regulus frowns. "Don't pout. You did it. Your integrity as a chef would be in tatters if people knew.
Imagine what Chef Sprout would say."

"Are you lecturing me, James?" Regulus asks, swiveling his head to meet his gaze. "Is that what
this is? Because if it is, you need to get it out of the way now."

"Well, someone has to. I sincerely doubt Remus did."

"He didn't, really, but I know. Everything you're saying, I'm already very aware of. I know I was
wrong, but if you'll feel better for it, go on lecturing me about it."

James huffs and looks away, then says, "The worst part is that I know you're better than that. You
chose to be cruel, and it's so awful. That's such an awful thing to be cruel about, especially.
Allergies, Regulus? You have allergies; you know how terrifying it is to think you're going to die
like that. He had a fucking panic attack. It's—it's not okay. That's not okay. I know you know that
wasn't okay, but you still did it."

"I know," Regulus says softly. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, and then
he rolls his head forward and gazes at the pan with pinched eyebrows. "I thought my guilt was bad,
but it pales in comparison to your disappointment. That's a dangerous thing, James."

"Is it?"

"You can't be my moral compass. Mine should be good enough. It's not, though. Not really."

"I mean, if it'll keep you from pretending to poison people, you're more than welcome to borrow
mine," James mumbles, his face getting hot as soon as he realizes how that sounds.

Regulus hums, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, face softening. "I'd honestly take
anything you would give me. You want me to be a good person, James? For you, I would be."

"I don't think you're a bad person," James counters instantly, because he doesn't. "I think you're
already a good person; you just don't know that. I wish you did."

"I'm learning. Or trying to." Regulus takes a deep breath and leans forward to cut off the stove,
sliding the pan to the side as he turns and focuses on James. "Sirius insists on it. Apparently we're
—well, it turns out that a lot of things from our mother stuck with us more than we ever
acknowledged. You'd think we wouldn't listen to her, as much as we despise her, but she really did
get through to us. Sirius, especially."

"I told Sirius earlier, and I'll tell you the same," James murmurs. "That's not your fault."

"I'm learning that, too," Regulus admits.

James hums and looks at the pan. "What'd you make?"

"It's just porridge," Regulus tells him, and James blinks, because that's the most normal thing
Regulus has ever cooked, that James knows of. "Just plain porridge, James."

"Well, don't spoil me or anything," James mutters, but his words lack heat. He doesn't doubt that
even Regulus' porridge would be fucking amazing...if James ate porridge. He doesn't.

"It's just porridge for a reason," Regulus says, swinging his hand out to gesture to it, his throat
bobbing. "Because, really, that's about all I have to offer you. I'm that porridge. That's how I see
myself, but you're a gourmet four-course meal, and we shouldn't even be at the same table, and yet
somehow, we ended up there anyway. And I don't—I don't have some grand speech to give you
—"

"I rather think you're giving a grand speech now, actually, and using food metaphors to do it,
which is oddly working for me, romantically speaking," James cuts in. "Carry on."

"The thing is," Regulus mumbles, "I find you to be everything good and warm in this world, and
you were right to say I was wrong to put you up on a pedestal. Because, at the end of the day, my
feelings for you fuel my admiration, but you are more than that. You're the sun, but you're also
human, and you can be both. I admire both."

"You're doing so well," James says breathlessly, his heart racing in his chest.

"James," Regulus whispers, "we were never a bad idea. Loving you is the best thing I've ever done,
and I'm going to keep doing it. Being loved by you is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and
I want you to never stop."

James is fucking vibrating. There's some internal distant screeching going on somewhere in the
back of his mind, and he feels like someone just flipped on his lightswitch. He's good with words
for romance, usually, but there are no words for this, really, because he feels like he's going to
explode into a million shards of fractured light if he doesn't get his hands on Regulus right this
instant.

His breath punches out of him, and then he bursts forward to catch Regulus' face in his hands,
pressing a firm kiss to his mouth that he almost immediately snatches right back out of. Regulus
sways forward with a quiet sound of protest that quickly turns into a startled yelp the moment
James ducks in and fully hauls him up into his arms, lifting him from the thighs and carting him
right out of the kitchen without a break in his stride as Regulus scrambles to hold onto his
shoulders, rocking back to stare at him in disbelief.
"I hate porridge," James informs him, grinning so hard that his face aches, "but I love you. And
you're not porridge, by the way."

"Right, and what am I?" Regulus mumbles, leaning in so close that their noses almost bump.

James has to slow to a stop because he can't see anything else, and he doesn't want to knock
Regulus into something. "You're water. That's what you are."

"Water?" Regulus asks, audibly offended.

"Yes. Water. Because you're versatile; you're a storm, you're the rain, you're the ocean and all the
undiscovered mysteries within it. You're terrifying, and soothing. You drown, and you cleanse, and
I've never felt more refreshed than when I've had any bit of you I can get. And there's nothing
worse than dehydration, love. I've been fucking parched without you," James tells him.

Regulus stares at him, and James can feel his racing heart thumping right up against his own.
Swallowing, Regulus whispers, "I think frostbite holds up against dehydration. I've been so cold
without you. I miss being warm."

"Oh, I'll make you warm," James teases, raising his eyebrows as he starts walking again, glancing
over Regulus' shoulder to make sure he's actually making it to the general vicinity of his door. "I
can make you warm. Did you know I have full permission from your brother to shag you?"

"Is that so?" Regulus asks, releasing a quiet chuckle as his back bumps into the door. He fumbles
for the handle without having to be asked. "Would it matter if you didn't?"

"No," James admits, "but we'll keep that between us, yeah?"

"Our secret," Regulus murmurs, lips twitching as the door swings open, letting them in.

James hums and blindly heads for his bed, already lost in the bend of Regulus' throat. "God, I've
missed you. You're so lovely. Hi. Hello. Never leave again."

"I won't," Regulus breathes out, releasing a soft sigh as James gently lowers him to the bed. "I
won't."

"I've stolen you, and I'm never giving you back. I'm keeping you. I'm keeping you," James vows,
pressing kisses along his jaw.

"You can," Regulus agrees, reaching up with shaking hands to gently slip James' glasses off his
face and carefully sit them aside with a reverence that makes James melt. He closes his eyes when
the tips of Regulus' fingers brush over the line of his eyebrow, the outside curve of his eye, drifting
along his cheek and then tracing softly across his lips. Instantly, James parts his mouth, feeling
absolutely drugged on the heady presence of Regulus Black. He's forgotten that words can even
exist here, at least until Regulus reminds him by quietly saying, "You can keep me. I'm all yours,
really."

"Yeah?" James whispers, ducking his head to press a gentle kiss to the inside of Regulus' palm.

"You said it once, that the heart knows—and James, my heart never doubted you," Regulus says
softly.

"I'll be so good to it. I'll be so good to you, Regulus. Let me. Please just let me love you." James
opens his eyes and swoops down until the blurry form of Regulus comes into focus, and he's
absolutely, pathetically bewitched by him. Trapped in the storm of him, not even looking for a way
out. "Can I, love?"

"Yes," Regulus agrees immediately, instantly, automatically with full, inarguable acceptance that
makes James fold forward with an eager, earnest whine of pure fucking delight.

There's not really much talking after that.

James has only known forever as a foreign, alien concept. Even with Lily, as wholeheartedly as he
loved her, forever wasn't something he grasped. She was the duration of a life he thought he'd live,
a life he hunted down and held close until he had to let it go, but it was always a life that came with
a beginning and an end, long before he had to accept the end he never thought they'd have. They
were always a closed circuit.

James didn't find forever in Lily Evans; he discovered it in Regulus Black.

Because this—the way this feels—exists even when they don't. He won't live to see forever, but
this love will. When he's dead and gone, the sun will shine and storms will crawl through the sky,
and their love will pour out over the earth. People will bask in it; turn their faces up into the light
with a smile and find James' devotion in the warmth; inhale the smell of rain as storm clouds form
in the distance and settle peacefully into Regulus' reverence in the calm.

Forever is the rush in James' veins from Regulus' gossamer kiss, the heat that radiates off Regulus'
skin from James' sunshine touch; forever is a feeling, above all, and it captures them both in a
promise they won't break.

Later—much later—James finds himself being clung to, like maybe he's grown attachments.
Regulus is wrapped around him like he's trying to crawl into him, literally every portion of his
body touching James somewhere, and he's refusing to let even a centimeter of space between them.
He's practically lying on top of him, honestly, and he keeps sliding his hand over James' bare arm,
shoulder, and neck as if making sure he's real. This is not a problem. James is not complaining.

"You're staying?" James checks.

"James, I'll bloody well move in if you want," Regulus tells him, tilting his head up to slow-blink
at him. "Well, you'd have to kick my brother out first, but otherwise…"

"Ooh, he's into commitment now," James teases, reaching up to gently run his finger down the
length of Regulus' nose, chuckling in a pleased fashion when Regulus scrunches it.

"Whatever you want," Regulus mumbles.

James taps the end of his nose. "A dangerous thing, that. I want a lot of things."

"You can have literally all of them."

"You don't even know what any of them are."

Regulus considers him, curious. "So, tell me."

"Children," James says slowly. "That's—honestly, that's a pretty big one. It's sort of the big one.
Not—I mean, not tomorrow, obviously, but I want a family one day."

"I won't have children," Regulus tells him.

"Oh."

"No, not—that's not what I meant. I realize how that sounds, but I mean I won't carry a child. I'm
not opposed to being a father, James. That's not what I was saying."

James blinks. "Oh. Oh, shit, I forgot that you—"

"Don't freak out," Regulus cuts in quickly. "I can't get pregnant. Well, I can, but I mean I've taken
all the proper precautions so I won't. And James, I never will."

"No, yeah, that's fine," James assures him. "I didn't even think of that, to be honest. We could
adopt. Or surrogacy."

"One day," Regulus muses, and James breaks out into a grin immediately, which makes Regulus
smile gently. "If we ever do find a surrogate, I want it to be yours. Well, it'll be ours, but I mean I
want the baby to have your biological influence and not mine. I would prefer not to dump that on
some poor child."

"Oh my god," James chokes out, shaking with wheezing laughter as Regulus' eyes dance with
amusement. "That's ridiculous. You're ridiculous."

"No, I'm practical. I would much prefer my child not to be subject to the Black family madness or
any relation to my useless bitch of mother. Really, I'd be doing the baby a favor by saving them
from that."

"You have to tell Sirius this. He's going to laugh so fucking hard. I swear to god you two are so
alike sometimes."

Regulus lazily swats his chest. "Don't insult me."

"I didn't," James says, still laughing.

"Agree to disagree." Regulus flicks his fingers, then lays his hand down on James' arm to start
tracing meaningless shapes into his skin. "What else?"

"Hm?"

"You said you want a lot of things. Children are out of the way. What else is there other than that?"

"I usually spend the holidays with my parents, and Sirius. I want you there, too."

"Alright."

"Yeah?" James asks, startled by his easy acceptance.

"Yes," Regulus confirms. "I like your parents, James. I can play nice with Sirius a few days out of
the year, at the very least."

"Oh. Brilliant. So...this year, then?"

"Whatever you want."

James bites his lip, struggling not to squirm in delight. "That's still very dangerous. I suppose I do
want to live with you, if I'm honest. Again, not necessarily tomorrow, just...whenever it's the right
time. Though, secretly, I suspect I'll be moving in with you, and Remus will be moving in here."

"Mm, most likely," Regulus agrees, amused. "Remus would likely move in just for the chance at
more space for a bigger bookshelf. If Sirius is smart, that's how he'll pitch it to him."

"You think Remus will resist?"

"Remus is a creature of pride. His flat is small and cheap, so leaving it to come here would hurt his
pride a bit."

"Sirius would move in with him, you know. He's stubborn like that," James says fondly, knowing it
down to his bones.

Regulus hums. "Yes, I know. I suppose we'll see how that goes when the time comes. Anything
else?"

"What I want, you mean."

"Mhm."

"Will you meet my friends?"

"Whatever you want. Will you meet mine?"

James' eyebrows furrow. "I know your friends. Remus and Pandora. I mean, I'll happily spend time
with them, of course."

"I have more friends, James."

"Really? Who?"

"There's Aiko. I'm in classes with her. We've gotten closer after the catering event, which is why
you haven't met her yet," Regulus explains. "There's Barty and Evan as well. I know you've met
them, technically, but not properly."

"Barty?" James blurts out, his mind latching onto that name almost immediately. "Your ex, Barty?
That Barty?"
Regulus arches an eyebrow at him. "Yes, that one. Problem?"

"I don't like him," James mutters.

"I don't like Lily," Regulus replies simply.

James huffs and rolls his eyes. "Shut up, you do."

"Alright, I do. But I also hate her, and will always hate her, even if I like her. So, you'll have to
tolerate Barty much the same. He's not as bad…" Regulus trails off, then purses his lips and clears
his throat. "Well, actually, he's as bad as he seems, but there's not much to be done about that."

"I'm worried I'll punch him," James admits, mildly distressed because it's a legitimate concern. One
wrong word, one wrong move, and James will probably lose it. He has a bit of an unchecked
jealousy issue he's never quite sorted out.

"Do it," Regulus says blithely. "I don't care. Just, you know, don't damage him irreparably."

"You said he was your friend."

"I am. That doesn't make me his keeper. If he wants to goad my boyfriend into a brawl, that's his
business. You punch him enough, he'll eventually learn."

"And if he punches me?" James asks, squinting.

Regulus cuts him a sharp look. "He won't, because he knows I'll make him regret it."

"Well, that's just an unfair advantage."

"Too honorable to hit someone who won't hit back?"

"Depends on how angry he makes me."

"Can I confess something to you?" Regulus asks.

James hums. "Of course, love."

"I'm aware that this is not particularly healthy, and it's a bit baffling considering my trauma
surrounding angry people, as my therapist would say, but you are truly attractive when you're
furious," Regulus informs him. "It's so rare, you know, but genuinely—I mean, genuinely, James,
it's fucking maddening. Like, I don't want you to be angry, obviously, but fucking hell, when you
are…"

"I'm not sure what to do with this information," James admits, lips twitching. "Thank you, though. I
think?"

"The next time you're peeved off about something, you just come find me and blow off some
steam, that's what you do with that information, James," Regulus says.

"Noted," James wheezes, laughing so hard that he curls up a bit, turning his face into Regulus'
hair.

"Anything else?" Regulus prompts.

"You." James presses a kiss to his forehead. "Just you, really."

Regulus looks up with a smile. "Whatever you want."

Remus has a very strange morning, and this is how it goes:

He pulls himself from bed and prepares to spend his day off relaxing in between a few chores that
he honestly can't keep ignoring. Laundry, mostly. It's the sort of quiet day one spends inside,
playing music in the background and reading in between folding laundry, or washing dishes, or
rearranging the bookshelves, he thinks, so that's what he plans to do.

He gets as far as a shower (literally the first on the list) and ends up derailed by a knock at his door.
Sighing, he shuffles over and opens up to the unexpected but not unwelcome sight of his best
friend, who's never here this early unless he stayed over the night before.

"Morning. Everything alright?" Remus greets, mildly alarmed.

"Yeah. Budge over," Regulus replies, nudging him out of the way and letting himself inside.

"Sure, come on in," Remus says dryly, rolling his eyes as he shuts the door and swivels around, not
at all surprised that Regulus goes right to his kitchen. "Any reason you're showing up this early in
the morning?"

"What, can't I come visit my best friend at any hour? I wasn't aware that there were parameters for
these sorts of things."

"You've come to make me suffer."

"Of course. Coffee or tea?"

"Tea. I'm tired of coffee. It's my day off."

Regulus hums in amusement, filling the kitchen with the sounds of clanking kettle and ceramic. It's
soothing. "You must miss me terribly while working."

"Won't you come back?" Remus asks hopefully, and it's not the first time he's asked. As much as
Regulus has been buttering him up, he hasn't given into this request yet.

"I've already told you, as tempted as I am, I don't have it in me to leave Mrs. Delby high and dry."
Regulus turns to face him as he waits for the water to boil for the tea. "I'm quite sure that I'd break
her heart by leaving, at this point."
"It just feels like...an end of an era, I suppose."

"It sort of is, isn't it? But also...not really. Our friendship exists outside of the shop."

Remus nods, appeased. "That will just have to do. Gid's not so bad to work with, really."

"I don't like him, you know," Regulus mumbles.

"Yes, I know. You're a jealous, territorial prick, so that makes sense," Remus replies, helplessly
amused. "You don't know him, though, not really. He's kind."

Regulus scoffs. "Kind. As if that's an admirable quality."

"It literally is?"

"Whatever. You don't even like kind people."

Remus rolls his eyes. "Yes, I do."

"I'm not kind."

"Not always, but sometimes you are."

"Oh, shut up, Lupin," Regulus grumbles, swiveling around as the kettle whistles at them. He goes
about making them tea, and Remus watches in fond amusement. Grumpy bastard.

Chuckling, Remus stays quiet until Regulus brings over the tea for each of them, following along
as Remus heads for the sofa. He really should be doing laundry, but he's fine with...not, since
Regulus is giving him the excuse. Besides, a good cuppa before a relaxing day? Doesn't get much
more comforting than that, honestly. Remus has been all about his own personal comforts as of
late. A lot of self-soothing techniques have reemerged into his life since Sirius has been gone.
He just misses him, really. The persistent, soul-deep ache of wanting someone who isn't there. It's
anxiety-inducing, too, the way it never really lets up, the way he can feel it settling into his weary
bones deeper than loneliness ever did. This leads to things like purchasing weighted blankets and
more threadbare sweaters from thrift shops. He does ridiculous things like cradle his guitar in his
lap without ever playing it, only lazily plucking at strings while staring off into space. He picks up
the small, sculpted wolf Sirius made for him that's been sitting on his nightstand literally since he
got it and turns it over and over between careful fingers. He smokes at his window, and gazes at
the moon late at night, and feels his heart jump when thunder rolls in and promises a lightning
strike—his eyes will burn with how desperately he refuses to blink, not tolerating any chance that
he'll miss that flash across the sky that makes him ache evermore.

Remus thinks if his life was a book, he'd want to skim this part. Of all the things he's gone through
so far, this is a quiet kind of solemnity that makes him wish he could reach the resolution much
faster. It's the promise of resolution that makes everything seem so slow.

Really, Regulus said it best. He's always saying it, and he'll likely say it again. Remus really is a
miserable sod, isn't he?

"Mm, cheers," Remus murmurs after his first sip of tea, and Regulus hums in acknowledgement.
"So, how'd it go last night? Did Pandora get on with Evan and Barty?"

"You know, she did, actually," Regulus muses, shaking his head like it's a strange thought. "Got on
best with Aiko, though. Makes sense. Aiko's the sort you want to put in your pocket, do you know
what I mean?"

"Yeah," Remus confirms, because he does. It's sort of how he feels about Lily, honestly.

"I wish you would have come," Regulus says. "Barty and Evan think you're a god. They worship
you now."

Remus blinks. "Sorry? Um, why?"

"Because you had the stones to shag my brother. On purpose."

"Ah. Let that slip, did you?"

"I explained a bit about James, so it came up. You're their hero," Regulus informs him wryly.
"Pandora missed you as well, in any case. Aiko is excited to meet you."

"I'll be there next time," Remus promises, and he doesn't say that he only missed it because he and
James already had plans. Regulus probably already suspects, honestly, but Remus is fully capable
of tact when the situation calls for it.

Regulus sips his tea, nodding. "I'll hold you to it."

"Mm. What are your plans for the day, Reg?"

"I have a few. First, there's tea with you."

"Check."

"Then there's a horrible, emotionally taxing conversation I plan to have with you."

Remus stops, his cup of tea hovering in front of his mouth as he glances warily at Regulus, who
looks a little resigned. Well, this is concerning. Slowly, Remus lowers his tea and takes a moment
to appreciate the silence before the 'horrible, emotionally taxing' conversation they're apparently
about to have. If he's honest, Remus sort of hates these.

One of Remus' favorite things about Regulus is and has always been the fact that they don't often
have very deep, emotional discussions. They've never really needed to, because they can convey a
lot of things between them with just a few words and an exchanged look. Remus, who associates
vulnerability of any kind—physical, emotional, or otherwise—with weakness, has always
appreciated that he never really has to be vulnerable with Regulus to have a deep, meaningful
connection between them. They're both equally reluctant to open up and reveal the soft underbelly
they've been curled around, hard as a shell, for so long that straightening out only aches at this
point.

It's just how they work with very few deviations. Honestly, it's probably why they can bounce back
from insane things like Regulus pretending to poison him. A lot of people out there in the world
wouldn't ever be able to come back from that, forgive it, and trust again. And honestly, if Remus
really allows himself to think about it long enough and deeply enough, he'll sort of just end up
stunned again by it, by how fucked up it was. It's almost so much of a caricature of itself that it
doesn't feel real. One of those things that happens that he doesn't really think about, and then he
thinks it offhand, oh yeah, my best mate pretended to poison me after I fucked his brother, and then
he's a bit dazed from it, like huh, that's absolutely mental.

It's stuck somewhere between I can't believe that was actually a real thing that happened to me
and the less mature this will be a fun story to tell at parties. Remus just really isn't the type of
person to actually face the things that could bother him and weigh on him; most of the time, he just
ignores it until he forgets why it would be a problem in the first place. This is not limited to the
poisoning incident, as he's done this with a lot of things in his life. His father, for example. He
simply doesn't think about Lyall Lupin that often anymore, but he knows if he saw him out and
about again, all that he's forgotten and ignored would surge up and assault him. Upon reflection,
Remus thinks he's quite repressed, actually.

In any case, the way they work—with few exceptions—is that Regulus rarely, if ever, tries to take
a pickaxe to his repression and chip away at it until it cracks open and falls away layer by layer.
They coexist in their unhealthy coping mechanisms, only surfacing from them on rare occasions of
genuine concern. It's just that Remus doesn't want Regulus to be genuinely concerned about him
right now.

"I'm fine," Remus says almost instantly, alarmed.

"Calm down, Lupin, I'm not about to strap you to a chair and drag all your secrets from you,"
Regulus replies, briefly looking amused at his mounting wariness. He shakes his head, then stares
down at his tea. "Actually, I rather thought that I'd sit here and—and dump some of my secrets on
you."

Remus blinks. A lot. "What?"

"I have a crustacean-based shellfish allergy, which means things like shrimp, crab, and lobster,"
Regulus tells him, looking up to meet his eyes, and Remus freezes. "I was fourteen the first time I
actually formed the full thought that I wasn't a girl, and sixteen when I finally gave in and allowed
myself to admit in my head that I was a boy. I knew, of course, but I didn't really let myself think it,
and when I did, I cried. I immediately wanted to tell Sirius, but he was already gone."

"Regulus, why are you telling me this?"

"I didn't shag the first time because I wanted to shag; I did it because I didn't want to be a virgin
when my mother married me off. I like snakes as a design, but I fear them in reality. I saw one once
and shrieked like a—well, like a girl, honestly. I was homeless for nearly two weeks when I first
ran away, and I genuinely thought I was going to die. I almost went home."
"Shit, Reg," Remus breathes out, eyes wide.

"I've never told anyone that before. That I almost went back. Ashamed of it, I suppose," Regulus
murmurs with a frown. He clears his throat. "I never loved my parents, and I'm quite sure that's
because Sirius was more of the nurturer in my childhood than they ever were, but I—" He
swallows harshly and closes his eyes. "Sometimes, I miss them. Sometimes, I miss my mother the
most. And it appalls me, you know, because I'm not quite sure what I'm even missing. There's
really nothing to miss, and yet I do. More than just missing what I wished they had been; I
genuinely miss them. Even at their worst, and they were never anything else. Things like the smell
of my father's cologne and the silver pin that held the intricate knot of my mother's hair in place so
firmly that no strand ever fell."

Remus stares at the side of Regulus' face, aching. He feels like an unwilling witness to Regulus
slicing himself open and peeling layers of himself back, one secret at a time. It's brutal and
harrowing, and Remus can't look away. Remus can't stop listening. Remus can't refrain from
wanting to know more, to know everything, to tuck away all this new knowledge like if he takes it,
there's space left behind for him to belong.

"Sirius has never hit me, but I've hit him, just once," Regulus continues. "It wasn't very long after
that he left. I'll never forgive myself for it. Nor will I ever forgive myself for what I did to you.
When I am on my deathbed and listing out my regrets, hurting you as I did will be at the very top."

"Regulus," Remus says quietly.

Shaking his head, Regulus just keeps going. "When I was a child, I cried very often. I was really
emotional, actually. I had a brief obsession with butterflies, and if I'm honest, I still get a little
excited every time I see one. I have to sing the alphabet in my head to remember what comes after
f, and I miss getting to play the piano. I'm scared of the ocean—really any large bodies of water—
and I secretly want a cat."

Like a dragon hoarding treasure, Remus files all of this away, focused entirely on everything
Regulus is saying. Things he's never said before. Secrets Remus never knew, some of them that
most people wouldn't even be ashamed of.

"I wish I had befriended Pandora in school, but I was scared. I regret leaving Evan and Barty
without an explanation, even though I wouldn't do it differently if I could," Regulus tells him
calmly. "I miss Sirius as if he left only yesterday, and I don't know how to cope sometimes with the
relief of knowing he's never going to leave again."
"Oh," Remus whispers, the breath punching out of him. He's always moved, helplessly and
emotionally, by Sirius' influence in Regulus' life. There's something so very tenderly tragic about it,
yet there's a glowing pinpoint of hope that draws him in every time. It softens him.

"I'm hopelessly, pathetically in love with James Potter. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
I want to marry him; I would marry him tomorrow if he asked, and I've been running from marriage
my whole life," Regulus murmurs, and his entire face erupts into a bloom of red.

"Oh," Remus repeats, stuck somewhere between stunned and utterly delighted by this.

"You're my best friend; the best friend I've ever had or will ever have," Regulus continues quickly,
his blush slowly fading, and he swivels his head to look right at Remus, holding his gaze steadily.
"I've not treated you fairly in...many different ways, but possibly one of the worst is that I know
you're a miserable sod, and I did things to stand in the way of that changing into you being happier.
For all that I'm meant to make you suffer, the truth is that I'd really much rather you get everything
you want and be at peace. Trust is a choice, and I should have made it with you long ago. I'm sorry
that I didn't; I'm sorry that I wasn't sure how. You don't have to prove anything to me, Remus. Not
one thing."

Remus strangles the cup of tea and rasps, "Reg…"

"I likely won't ever understand why you're so ridiculously in love with my idiot brother, but I don't
really need to. You're a fool for it, but you will be a happy one, so that's…" Regulus' lips twitch.
"That's really all that matters. He doesn't have allergies of any kind, but if he were to hurt you, I
would find a way to make him wish he hadn't. Just the same, I'm going to have to ask you to not
hurt him either, because I'm trying my hand at being a better person, you see, and it would be really
inconvenient if my efforts were wasted."

"You're so fucking dramatic," Remus whispers, dangerously close to just—crying, honestly. He

feels like he's being ushered along to the resolution, like he can reach out and touch it now, so
close and in reach, all of it finally coming together. It's the more he's looking for, rolling gently
into his palm.

"Genetics." Regulus smiles at him, and it's sweet and soft in a way Remus isn't sure he's ever seen
before. "Now, here's the really emotional, vulnerable part. I'm counting on you to immediately ruin
it and change the mood after."
"I can do that," Remus mumbles.

Regulus hums and softly says, "Love is a currency of which I'm in a short supply, and I don't have
many people I could ever claim to love in any capacity, but you are one of them."

"Oh, fuck off, what the hell am I supposed to do with that?" Remus chokes out, turning his head
away so he can scrub at both eyes in peace with the mere illusion of privacy.

"That's most of my secrets, I think," Regulus muses, taking a delicate sip of tea with a thoughtful
sound of contemplation before he swallows and clicks his tongue. "More than anyone else has ever
known, at least."

"Aren't you going to threaten to kill me for knowing too much?" Remus asks in a croak, flashing
him a wobbly smile.

"I'm not sure there would be a point. I'd miss you if you were gone, and honestly, I'm quite sure
you'll end up knowing even more," Regulus replies.

"Regulus, you know I—"

"Don't."

Remus releases a shaky breath. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't tell you all of that for you to tell me something similar in return. I told you to tell you,
Remus. That's what trust is, isn't it? Giving parts of yourself to someone else with no ulterior
motives and no ultimatum, and being sure that nothing wrong will come from doing so. If you
want to tell me, then tell me tomorrow. Today, for now, let it be just this."

"Yeah. Yeah, alright."

Ducking his head, Remus looks down and drinks his tea in silence. It's quiet between them now,
but the comfortable kind that makes his insides feel like fleece. The sort of quiet where nothing is
out of place, or out of order, where it all feels calm and right. Remus basks in it. He knows how big
of a deal this is, what Regulus has done, and he basks in that, too.

They finish their tea, and Remus is the one who drags himself up to take their cups to the sink. He
ruffles Regulus' hair as he goes by, just a little bit, some sort of punctuation on the shared
vulnerability, a finality in the form of affection that promises they're past all the emotionally taxing
bits. Regulus allows it with a lazy swat of his fingers, low effort, and that's pretty much that.

Regulus stands up and heaves a deep sigh, his eyebrows furrowing as he asks, "What would you
say is the least exciting breakfast to have, Remus? Like, it's alright, it's just there, but it's really not
anything amazing."

"Porridge," Remus says immediately. "Why?"

"Porridge!" Regulus snaps his fingers and points at him, nodding sharply. "Yes, exactly."

"Why?" Remus repeats.

"I'm going to go make James porridge for breakfast," Regulus informs him without an ounce of
teasing in his tone.

Remus blinks. "You're going to make him...porridge?"

"Yes."

"Reg, no offense, but in these situations, one tends to put their best foot forward. Do you know
what I mean? I'm assuming you're going to...get back with him," Remus says slowly, carefully,
trying not to offend. "If you're angling for romance, porridge is about as far from it as you can get."

"I know. There's a method to my madness, Lupin, trust me."

"Well...sure, mate, if you say so. Good luck?"

Regulus swallows. "Thank you."

"I hope you see a butterfly today," Remus tells him as he heads towards the door, and Regulus
sends him a sharp look over his shoulder that makes Remus grin in response.

"Piss off," Regulus grumbles, his cheeks stained pink as he snatches open the door and stomps out.

When the door shuts, Remus chuckles quietly to himself and turns away, bustling around to gather
his laundry as he planned to do from the very beginning. Really, it's a necessity at this point, and
Regulus' interruption won't derail his day.

It's a little sad that it genuinely takes the better part of an hour for him to consider what this means
for him.

He thinks again of Virginia Woolf, of that quote: To want and not to have, sent all up her body a
hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want and not to have - to want and want - how that
wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!

At some point, he's found, all the wants that wrung his heart started to feel like a heartbeat.
Natural. Normal. The status quo, so to speak. The hardness, the hollowness, the strain—it has
become the usual state of himself. Much the same as being lonely became his comfort zone,
wanting and not having has stolen that position. He hasn't dared to look past it, not really.

But, suddenly and all at once, like a lightning strike, Remus is hit with the thought that what he
wants—all of it, everything, the more he's desperate for—is something he can have. It's within
reach. It's his for the taking, if only he'll try just once more to have it, and this time, he can manage
to hold onto it.

It's an overwhelming thought, honestly. So much so that he has to sit down on his sofa and breathe
for a bit, laughing quietly and breathlessly with no one there to see him be a raging lunatic about
this. He ends up smiling, a little dazed, fisting his hands in his lap as they shake, tremble, and
twitch from the pure elation that runs through him. Oh, he has somewhere to be, doesn't he?
Someone to come back to.

Remus launches to his feet approximately four seconds before there's a sharp, demanding knock on
his door. His heart practically trips over itself in his chest, and his feet nearly do the same in his
haste to get to the door and snatch it open. As soon as he has, he nearly swallows his fucking
tongue.
See, this is how one puts their best foot forward in these situations. Sirius has most certainly put his
best foot forward; really, he's put his best everything forward. He looks like he's stepped right out
of one of those magazines where the model is put together both to be art and also unfairly beautiful
in that untouchable, unknowable way that can't be explained. From the rings on his fingers, to the
kohl on his eyes, the open leather jacket revealing a corset vest underneath, the way his hair falls
shiny and soft—literally all of him from head-to-toe and beyond, even just the presence of him, is
so gorgeous that it should be a damn crime. It's a murder attempt, at the very least, because Remus
can't catch his breath, and he's probably about to just fucking die.

Remus hears himself make some sort of unintelligible noise in the back of his throat, a little
garbled, and Sirius breaks out into that lovely, dangerous grin of his. It's like being struck by
lightning, seeing that smile again. The wonders of a darkened sky flashing brilliance, a secret unto
the world, a promise of something that can't be altered but will alter you.

"Oh, just look at you," Sirius says breathlessly, then he's moving forward without another word to
hook his hand around the back of Remus' neck and snatch him down into a kiss, carelessly kicking
the door shut behind him.

It's ground-breaking immediately. Remus literally needs no time to catch up; he kisses him back
like he'll never have another chance, already snatching at Sirius' jacket, pushing it frantically off
his shoulders and down his arms. Oh, he loves that jacket, he really does, but he can't be arsed at
the moment. He launches it away like it offends him, and then they're both a wild trajectory
crashing towards his bed.

And, really, Remus is very aware that they should be talking. They absolutely need to talk. It's very
important that they talk. Just—just not yet. This first. Them first. Because it's been so long, and
god, god, Remus has missed him so much, and he's here. He's right here.

They make it to the bed, but they don't fall into it from the start. Remus sits down before his legs
give out, and Sirius rests one knee on the bed beside Remus' thigh, hunched over him, cupping his
neck and kissing him like it's more important than breathing. It is. It's so much more important;
Sirius is more necessary than oxygen.

Admittedly a little focused, Remus fumbles at the back of the corset, finding that he's honestly no
match for it. He thinks he could genuinely find the strength to just fucking rip it off at this point,
but Sirius pulls away to laugh breathlessly against his neck, sounding exhilarated, being
remarkably pliant as Remus huffs and fights with the corset.

"Sirius, it's lovely, but why the fuck would you wear this?" Remus hisses, rearing back to glare at
him.

"Patience, Remus. Good things come to those who wait." Sirius winks at him and pulls away,
doing what Remus couldn't with only a bit more practiced hands. He takes it slow, though, raising
his eyebrows at Remus with a teasing light in his eyes. Putting a show on. Of course he is.

"You're the most infuriating man I've ever known," Remus declares as soon Sirius is done, his
tattoos on display. He reaches out to grasp his hips and drag him in, pressing a kiss to the tattoo
that winds its way up from his hip, and then he tilts his head back, chin on Sirius' stomach, gazing
at him helplessly. "I'm infatuated with you."

"Mm, are you?" Sirius grins again, swaying forward to ease down into his lap, resting their
foreheads together. He nudges their noses together, letting out a soft sigh.

"Constantly," Remus whispers.

"Moony, Moony, Moony. My lovely Moony," Sirius mumbles, sliding his hands up into Remus'
hair, the lines of their noses brushing together. "You captivate me, Moony. I'm fascinated by
everything you do, everything you say, every single part of you. I can't get enough of you, Remus
Lupin. I never will, not in this life or any other, and that's why we'll just keep finding each other
over and over. We're eternity, you and me."

"Sop," Remus says, and Sirius hums in acknowledgement, not even trying to deny it.

"Marry me," Sirius declares, dragging his hands forward to cup Remus' cheeks, squishing them in
so his lips pucker like a fish. "Let's get married, buy a house, and adopt eighteen children right
now."

Remus can't quite laugh with how Sirius is holding his face, so it comes out oddly, and his voice is
distorted as he says, or tries to say, "S'rus."

"When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you're eager to get started
living it," Sirius tells him, not even blinking. "I'm going to be so good to you, sweetheart. I'm going
to shag you every day and kiss you every day and tell you I love you every day and—and—and—"
He huffs out a vague noise of frustration. "Yes, that. And. Because there's more. There's always
going to be more. I'm going to be the more you've been looking for; look no further, Moony, I'm
going to give you everything. I'm going to—"
"Sh'uh'," Remus tries, and a spark of amusement enters Sirius' eyes, so Remus wrenches his head
back to free himself, and then he drags Sirius in to kiss him until he moans.

They remember this. Their bodies remember this. It's been too long, but Remus is quite sure they
couldn't forget this if they tried. They couldn't forget each other if they forgot everything else,
Remus is sure. He can feel it, the way something in them reaches out for the other, eternally.

Remus has never really known satisfaction before Sirius, in more ways than one. Even just a sense
of fulfillment in life, he never really knew the shape of such a thing, not until he held the shape of
Sirius Black in his arms. And there it was. There it is, that deep exhale in his soul that belays
peace. It feels like enlightenment in a way, just knowing what it is to be truly satisfied with
everything in his life when he never was before. He wasn't sure that even existed, and now he
knows.

He knows. He has it.

The intensity of it, of them, feels like it shakes the earth. Remus' bones rattle with it, leaving him
sprawled out and trying to capture his breath in the aftermath, shaking like someone plugged him
in and turned on all his lights at once. He's buzzing. Sirius does this to him every time.

As for Sirius, though, he curls right up next to Remus and proceeds to break down and cry. It's
swift and unexpected, making Remus freeze, eyes bulging. He's alarmed instantly and startled by
the way Sirius just—gives into it, like it's a release, like it's not ripping him apart but forming him
anew. He doesn't seem upset, just...very emotional at the moment? Hesitantly, Remus curls his
arm around Sirius' back and gently brushes his hand down Sirius' hair while Sirius shoves his face
into Remus' neck and fucking weeps.

"Sirius?" Remus asks quietly, cautiously, genuinely at a loss. He's not entirely sure what to do in
this situation, because it doesn't seem like—bad crying? Is there anything else? Remus never
thought there could be such a thing as good crying, but trust Sirius to introduce it to him.

"I'm very happy," Sirius chokes out, and Remus feels his heart clench. "I—I'm really very happy,
Remus."

"That's good," Remus murmurs, delving his fingers into Sirius' hair and carefully massaging his
scalp.
Sirius sort of just...slumps. His breathing stutters for a little bit, then evens out, and he whispers, "I
love you so much. I just really, really love you. It's—it's in me, and I can't—I don't know. I feel so
full sometimes. Overfull, and then I overflow, and sometimes it's good, but sometimes it's not. But
this? Loving you as I do is my best. Never too much of that."

"I love you, too," Remus assures him, turning his head to press a firm kiss to the corner of his eye.
His skin tastes of salty tears that are slowly drying. "I was coming back to you, you know. Just as
soon as I knew you were ready, I was coming."

"I was faster."

"This time. I'll come back to you for the rest of my life. I intend to repeatedly pop up like a bad
habit."

"I love bad habits," Sirius says. "I'm never letting you go again, Remus. Never, not for anything.
I've gotten my shit together. I mean, I'm still a mess, I think, but a more manageable one. A mess I
can sort through. I have a lot of sorting left to do, if I'm to be frank, but—but that's alright, isn't it?
Do you mind?"

Remus chuckles and slowly cards his fingers through Sirius' hair, gently unraveling the tangles he
put there. "I intensely do not mind. It's more than alright. Honestly, Sirius, I'm a bit of a mess
myself."

"A bit?" Sirius teases, lifting his head to smile at him. His eyeliner is smudged, his hair is a fucking
wreck, and he's covered in marks Remus left behind on him. He looks debauched. Christ, he's
gloriously beautiful.

"More than a bit, yeah," Remus admits. "I want you to know that no matter your mess, in any state,
I would still have you. Do you understand what I'm saying, Sirius? Of course I want you to be
happy and healthy and at peace, but even if you weren't, I would still come back to you. I would
still want you. I wouldn't know how to leave you alone in any state for either of us, even if I do
wish the best for us both."

"Who's the sop now?" Sirius says, even though his face flushes as his eyes sparkle with delight. He
ducks in and kisses him, quick and firm, then takes to kissing him all over his face until Remus is
laughing and gently pushing him away. Sirius groans and presses into him. "Fuck, I've missed your
laugh."
"Have you?"

"Mhm. You have no idea how much. I've been obsessively watching that video I have of you—the
one I filmed the first day I came here. I fall asleep to it sometimes."

"Well, that's devastating."

"Isn't it?"

"I told you to delete it," Remus points out.

Sirius rears back in visible offense. He says, "I would literally rather die than lose any bit of you I
get to have," and then shuffles down to—oh, he's just biting Remus' bare arm. Not even in a
sensual fashion. Just...biting.

"Why are you biting me?" Remus asks, exasperated, staring in disbelief as Sirius bites down a little
harder before detaching with a ridiculous suction-sounding pop. The indentation of his teeth are
left behind, though they don't hurt.

"I don't know, really. Sometimes I look at you and get the urge to bite. I just want to fucking sink
my teeth into you. Moony, you make me insane," Sirius informs him.

Remus laughs helplessly and shakes his head. "You were a biter when you were a child, weren't
you?"

"How did you guess? Not for very long, though. I had to suppress the urge because Walburga didn't
approve. Oh, but you know who else was? Regulus. He used to gnaw on the rails on the stairs
when he was still toddling about."

"You're joking. Sirius, did he actually—"

"All the time. He bit me a lot, too. He'd just clamp down and then take off running, the little shit.
But, you know, he had a very tough time with his teeth. It was awful for him when they were
coming in. He used to cry about it, and I'd freeze a flannel for him to chew on. It was cute in a sad
way, honestly, how he'd cry and chew on it at the same time. Can't really blame him for putting his
teeth to use when they finally came in after all of that," Sirius muses, looking thoughtful.

"Christ," Remus murmurs, "you really did raise him, didn't you?"

"For the most part," Sirius replies simply. "As much as an older brother ever does, and maybe a bit
more. He turned out alright, didn't he?"

"He did," Remus says. "You both did."

Sirius sighs and tilts his head down, resting his chin on Remus' chest. "He's with James now, I
suspect. That was the plan, technically."

"There was a plan?"

"Don't you start, Moony."

"Alright, alright," Remus teases, lips twitching. "Does it bother you, then? That your best mate is
with your little brother right now, most likely sha—"

"No," Sirius cuts in with a slight grimace. "No, it doesn't bother me, but I don't really want to talk
about it either. In my head, they're indulging in some innocent cuddling."

"You're really going to have to get over this thing you have against Regulus being a sexual person."

"I take no issue with Regulus being a sexual person. In fact, I encourage it. Me and him, being
whores? It's exactly what our mother deserves, honestly. I'm so proud of Reggie for being a whore;
good for him. The issue is, something in my brain goes absolutely ballistic at the thought of him
being disrespected, and it's hard sometimes, you know, to not see him as that child who was so
innocent, so easily taken advantage of, and he used to be terrified of the idea of—of marriage, of
being forced to be with someone; he dreaded it so much, and I still…"
Remus nods when Sirius trails off and shrugs as if he can't really find the words. That's alright.
Remus thinks he gets it. "I suppose that makes sense. I can see why you'd feel as you do."

"I'm working on it," Sirius mutters. "I don't think normal brothers have these sorts of issues."

"Probably not," Remus admits, and Sirius snorts.

"Prick."

"Well, I'm not going to lie to you."

Sirius slowly props himself up, eyebrows raised, and he starts grinning as soon as Remus' face gets
hot. "Is that so?"

"Those were extenuating circumstances, for one thing. I'm not going to lie to you...anymore,"
Remus mumbles.

Sirius leans down to kiss him, then whispers, "Here's a secret, Moony. I'd love you even if you did.
I did love you even when you had."

"So, we're going to love each other at our worst, are we?"

"My worst was hitting James."

Remus blinks, then regards him pensively. He takes a moment to think about it, and then he nods.
"Yeah. I'd say so."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to stop hating myself fully because I'll always hate myself for that,"
Sirius confesses, his gaze dropping with shame.

"James would be so upset to hear that," Remus whispers.

 Sirius glances back up and smiles sadly. "Why do you think I didn't tell him? He's the best person I
know."

"I think he's the best person everyone knows," Remus replies with a wry smile, and it makes Sirius
grin more sincerely.

"Knowing that we love each other at our worst doesn't stop me from wanting us to do it at our
best," Sirius says softly, gazing at him as he hovers closer. "Or just...better."

"Better," Remus echoes warmly. "Let's go with better."

Sirius beams at him, grinning broadly as he presses in close to kiss him again, and they're both
smiling too much to really do much, but they keep doing it anyway until, eventually, they're so
much better at it.

Chapter End Notes

they're all so fucking cute im gonna DIE

 Chapter 26
Chapter Notes

only warnings for this chapter is the brief references to child abuse (Walburga and
Orion Black please choke challenge). otherwise, yet another lighthearted, happy
chapter. shocking, i know.

enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"—didn't see anything, I swear, Prongs. He's the mean barista, then? That's him?"

"Yes, Pete, obviously. Just—Christ, mate, keep it down, would you? If you wake him—"

"Sorry, sorry. It's just...he does look a bit like Sirius, doesn't he? Lily said so that one time, but—"

Regulus doesn't open his eyes, and his voice is frozen gravel, thick with sleep and fury when he
says, "James, if you don't take your friend and let me sleep, I'm going to kill you both."

There's a beat of silence, then James clears his throat, and Regulus feels lips press into his
forehead, followed by the soft murmur of, "Sorry, love."

There's the distant rustle of sheets, and Regulus is drifting back out by the time he hears James
hissing in low tones to whoever else is here. There's the gentle click of the door, and Regulus sags
into the quiet and the warmth James left behind.

Honestly, though, he can't get back to sleep. He's close, but then he reaches out for James,
befuddled enough to forget that he's gone. When he finds no sign of him within reach, he grunts
and peels his eyes open with a scowl. It takes him a few more minutes to remember what just
occurred, and by then, he's mostly awake enough that he may as well get up. This also may have
something to do with wanting to be wherever James is, but no one has to know that but him.

Sighing, Regulus drags himself from James' bed, going over to his chest of drawers to find a shirt
and joggers, the latter of which are so long on him that he has to roll them up at the waist a few
times, and they still keep slipping down, because he's slimmer than James is. It's fine, though,
because James' shirt hangs down past his waist anyway. He's sort of swimming in the clothes, and
his hair is a bit messier than he'd usually allow it, but he doesn't really care at the moment.

He makes James' bed, seeing as James obviously has no plans to, and he takes a little time alone to
go snooping. Why not? He's never been in James' bedroom before, so he may as well. Just like
with James, it's both exactly what he's expecting and wholly a surprise.

He has artwork on his walls that Regulus doesn't doubt was gifted to him by Sirius. There are a lot
of photos; some of him and his friends, some of him and his parents. On the back of the door,
there's a full-length mirror hanging off it, and there's a bar bolted in his closet doorway so he can,
presumably, do random pull-ups whenever the mood strikes, because of course James has that. He
has a couple of books, but more textbooks for school than anything, by the looks of it. Also, rather
adorably, he has a red lava lamp that had tinted the room in a brunt blaze throughout the night. He
has various trophies lined up, and there are three stands holding three different rugby balls in
different colors. They're well taken care of, the ellipsoid shape of them still firm and inflated.

Yet, the real surprises are the things that aren't immediately noticeable. The stack of hair bobbles
he keeps, likely for Sirius in case he ever runs out. The post-its on his mirror with little reminders
(there's an old one that has get the keys from dad to get to the zipline for the second date with a lot
of exclamation points and a tiny heart that makes Regulus press his fingers to his lips as soon as he
realizes he's smiling), as well hastily scribbled dates that are or were important (one of them is,
notably, the date of the catering event at the art gallery, and Regulus wonders if it was for him or
Sirius). The tiny plush deer that sits on his desk, made sure to be propped up like letting it fall over
would be a crime. The mug of pencils and pens that faces outwards to show a frowny face (which
Regulus reaches out to delicately turn in the other direction, so that a smiley face will show
instead). The creamy red colored chair that has signatures and little notes all over it in black marker
(Sirius' signature is the largest and spans across the cushion one would sit on, because of course it
is).

Regulus does eventually end up slipping out, stopping by the loo on the way to the kitchen. He
uses the first toothbrush he grabs, knowing it's James' because he knows the other one is Sirius'.
When they were younger, Sirius used to brush his teeth so vigorously that the bristles curled visibly
outwards, and that's still the case now, it seems.

He hears voices before he makes it into the kitchen, and because it's James' voice saying his name,
talking about him, he comes to a silent halt to listen. It's sort of amusing, because James is telling
whoever he's talking to the whole story about how he ended up fucking his best friend's brother. It
takes a few minutes, but Regulus eventually works out that the other person's name is Peter—
James has mentioned him before.

Finally, after James has mostly explained (he'd left out the trans bit, Regulus notes), the bloke—
Peter—can be heard letting out a deep breath before saying, "You are so brave. Anyone else, and
they'd be dead for not only shagging Sirius' brother, but also choosing to? Your courage, James…
And Remus—I mean, Christ, I can't even imagine…"

"Well, there for a moment, it was quite close," James admits with a weak chuckle. "I'm still not
sure how I escaped mostly unscathed. Sirius and I are fine now, but before…"

"Mm, I wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but I never doubted that you two would be alright.
Sounds like Remus had it pretty bad as well. Pretending to poison him? Regulus is more terrifying
than Sirius, it seems like."

"He can be a bit… Well."

"You always fancy the mean ones," Peter muses.

James sighs and sounds fond as he replies, "I do, don't I? Why am I like this? I should have just
warned him at the start, should have told him—if you keep being mean to me, I'm going to fall in
love with you. Because I did. I did, Wormtail. Fucking hell, he's so mean. He's so lovely. I'm so
glad I didn't warn him away. I'm keeping him."

"Well," Peter says delicately, "the heart wants what the heart wants, James. Not much we can do
about that, really."

"Still sad about your neighbor?" James asks softly, now sounding upset for his friend.

Peter sighs as well, a wistful quality to his tone. "A bit, if I'm honest. She was so kind. I think I
miss talking to her most of all. That's an awful thing, isn't it? Having to carry on without the things
that made you happier."

"Yeah," James mumbles. "Yeah, it is."

"Trying to figure out how to fill that void of happiness, or find it in other places since you can't
have it where you had it to start with—that's the hard part," Peter says.

"Oh, come on, Peter," James whines, sounding distressed, which is very like him. It's so very like
him to be upset that his friend is upset. "You're going to be alright, mate, I promise. I'm sorry she
was so rude about telling you no, but...but maybe you could be friends?"

"Maybe," is the solemn response.

"I'm sorry, mate. Anything I can do?"

"Suppose not. I'm happy for you, though. Sirius, too. Couldn't miss how smitten he was with
Remus. Plus, I rather like having Moony around. He's a sensible one."

"Isn't he? Well, most of the time."

"Right. Can I just ask? What sort of plan was that, Prongs? You're usually so much better at
coming up with plans, and that's what you went with?"

"Pete, I wish I could tell you. I was desperate."

"Well, thanks for not bringing me into it. Frankly, I would have been so stressed. And, honestly, I
would have ruined it by letting the secret slip."

James snorts. "Yeah, you're not a good secret-keeper."

"Not my strongest skill, no," Peter agrees. There's a long pause, then Peter clears his throat. "I want
to ask, because I can't really figure out this part, but… I mean, James, I've known Sirius for years,
and as hard as I'm thinking, I can't recall him ever having a brother. A sister, yes. No mention of a
brother, though. Was that a secret I didn't know about, or…?"

There's an even longer beat of silence than before, and Regulus can practically feel James trying to
work out the proper way to answer this question. It's sort of entertaining, honestly, but Regulus cuts
it short by rolling his eyes and sweeping into the kitchen. His entrance makes James and Peter both
look up and over at the same time. Instantly, James perks up, his entire face lighting up, and he
breaks out into a grin. Peter, in turn, looks curious.

"I'm trans," Regulus says blithely in greeting, moving right over to James, who turns his face up
with such earnest delight in just seeing him that Regulus can't stop himself from bending down to
kiss him quickly.

James curls an arm around him, giving an experimental tug, and Regulus lets himself be pulled in.
Whatever James wants. When he said it, he meant it. If James wants him to lean against him in the
circle of his arms, then Regulus will do so. He does so, in fact, and it's not exactly a hardship. He
likes it, even if he won't say it. There's some sort of quiet, comfortable domesticity to leaning into
James and slowly pushing his fingers through his unruly, lovely hair. James, meanwhile, looks like
he's in bliss, fucking glowing.

"Oh god, you're really brave," Peter breathes out, drawing their attention. He's staring at them with
wide eyes. "You're Sirius' little Reggie! James, you shagged—"

"Regulus," says Regulus, reaching out to offer his hand and arching an eyebrow until Peter
scrambles forward to shake it quickly. "I take that to mean Sirius mentioned me?"

"He used to talk about you all the time when we were younger," Peter tells him, and Regulus feels
something warm and tender, as well as harsh and aching, bloom tight in his chest. A tangle of
emotions that he's learning how to unravel and examine and work through, slowly but surely.

"Told you," James mumbles.

Regulus pulls lazily at his hair until he grins. "Sorry, I wish I could say the same."

"Love, that's mean," James hisses, eyes bulging.

"Oh," Regulus says, then frowns. "Wait, no, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Sirius talked
about his friends, but not by name. He couldn't, really, because the less Mother knew, the better. I
didn't mean he didn't talk about you; I'm sure he did. I wouldn't be able to give you any details,
though, because I didn't really care to listen."

James sighs. "You know what? I'll take it. An improvement is an improvement is an improvement.
At least you tried."

"Goodness, Mary is going to adore him," Peter says, amused.

"Lily said that, too," James admits.

Peter hums and surveys Regulus for a bit longer, then cocks his head and smiles. "James says
you're a brilliant cook. Have you ever made onigiri?"

Regulus blinks. Slowly, his eyebrows pull together. "Onigiri, as in rice balls? Japanese cuisine in
origin, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Peter blurts out, surging forward in excitement, and even James seems startled by this
response. "It's probably the most interesting thing I can cook, honestly. I—well, my neighbor
taught me, but that's besides the point. I didn't know I'd like it as much as I did. You should try it if
you haven't."

"I haven't done much dabbling in Japanese cuisine, admittedly. I've made miso soup and takoyaki,
and likely not as well as you'd find in Japan, but that's all. I have a friend who's brilliant at it,
especially sushi; she was born in Japan but moved here when she was nine and visits home at least
twice a year. She makes it sound really lovely, actually," Regulus says, idly thumbing at the frame
of James' glasses where it tucks over his right ear.

Peter bobs his head. "Yeah, I've heard good things, too. Reckon you'll ever visit?"

"Japan?" Regulus asks, surprised.

"Sure. Why not?"

"I suppose I've never thought about it."

"Not one for travel?" Peter asks.

Regulus shrugs one shoulder. "Haven't done much of that, really. Sirius and I used to go to France a
lot when we were younger; our parents have a vacation home there. But, even there, we were under
constant supervision, so we didn't often get to do much. Sirius has been to more places than I have,
I think. I've never been to Scotland, for example."
"He's also been to Berlin," Peter adds.

"We all have," James explains when Regulus looks at him with a small frown. "A friend of ours,
Benjy, got married, so we all went for the wedding. Took a bit of a vacation the whole week we
were there. It was lovely. You'd like the food."

Peter nods. "Yeah, truly. You should do it. No reason not to go see the world if you've got the
chance and the means."

"Don't really have the means," Regulus admits.

"Sure, but Sirius and James do. Take advantage of them. That's what everyone else does," Peter
says, and James busts out laughing as Peter grins.

James picks up a balled up napkin from the table and flicks it at Peter's face. "You're fucking
awful, mate."

"You love me," Peter teases, twitching his nose in a way that makes Regulus think of Tinkerbell,
except it's not an angry twitch but a sweet one.

"I do, yeah," James confirms lightly, lazily curling his fingers up under Regulus' shirt to stroke at
the small strip of skin on the dip of his back.

Regulus shivers at the contact, and he briefly considers asking Peter rather bluntly to go away, but
his cell rings before he ever gets the chance. He leans back to pull it out of his pocket and answers
with a distracted, "Hello?"

"I'm coming home, and I'm bringing Remus with me, and I'm telling you this in advance so you
and James can be perfectly decent when I get there," Sirius says in greeting.

"Don't get your prick in a twist, Sirius," Regulus says flatly, and Peter looks absolutely delighted
instantly, while James chokes out a muffled laugh and presses his face into Regulus' side, his
shoulders shaking. "We're up now in any case. Your friend is over. Peter."
"Oh, excellent. Tell him to stay, would you? Remus would like to see him."

"Mhm. Hey, stop by my flat and get me some clothes."

"What happened to yours?" Sirius asks.

"Well, James took them off, you see," Regulus replies, and James' head snaps up while Peter starts
wheezing. Sirius just releases a heavy sigh. "I'm drowning in his clothes at the moment and would
much prefer my own."

"You could have borrowed mine, Regulus."

"All your trousers have rips in them."

"Not all of them."

"Sirius, will you bring me the damn clothes or not?"

Regulus can't see him, but Sirius makes a tch noise that tells him he's rolling his eyes. "Yes, yes,
alright. Anything in particular you'd like, or shall I just grab whatever?"

"I don't care."

"Fine," Sirius says, then hangs up.

"Sirius asks that you'll stay," Regulus tells Peter as he slides his phone away. "He's bringing
Remus, who'd like to see you."

Peter chuckles. "Yeah, sure. Don't have much else to do with my day off, if I'm honest. Oh, we
should all go out for lunch."
"We should," James agrees, looking at Regulus meaningfully, to which Regulus just shrugs in a
way that hopefully conveys whatever you want. It must, because James grins at him.

"Let me see if anyone else wants to go," Peter chirps, going right for his cell, only to abruptly halt
and glance up at Regulus. "I mean, if that's alright with you. No pressure."

Regulus shoots James a dry look. "What exactly have you been telling your friends about me in the
endeavor to keep me a secret? Have you made me out to be some anti-social recluse?"

"You… Listen, Regulus, I love you. I do. Wholeheartedly and truly. Ceaselessly and fiercely. But
you are an anti-social recluse, just a bit," James replies.

"I'm not—"

"Before you met me, you had one friend. One, love."

"And now I have...three and two-halves," Regulus says with a huff. "Four. Barty and Evan make
up one. So."

James presses his lips together like he's trying not to bust out laughing again. "Yes, I'm a good
influence, clearly. Look at all the ways in which I've enriched your life."

"Shut up." Regulus pinches the lobe of his ear and flicks it, then looks at Peter. "I don't care. Invite
whoever you like."

Peter just bobs his head and starts typing away on his cell. James tugs on Regulus some more,
scooting his chair out a bit, and eventually Regulus catches onto the fact that James wants him to
sit down. On him. Which feels like an overt display of affection until he gives in and does it, and
then it feels rather normal. James slides his arms all the way around him and rests his chin on his
shoulder, and Regulus leans back into him, relaxing as he pulls out his own cell to scroll through,
just to give his hands something to do as Peter and James talk.

It's nice, honestly, because Regulus doesn't have to do much but sit there, still involved but not
forced to contribute to the conversation. He will, occasionally, and he's always listening. This is
how he likes it, though. He's present, but he doesn't feel front and center. It's a safe in-between that
Regulus isn't really expecting to work. After all, James is very much bright and loud, front and
center, involved intrinsically because he throws himself into nearly everything with his whole
heart.

But Regulus can fade in and out as he likes. Not overshadowed and not dragged into the limelight.
Somehow, it just works. James will occasionally chuckle and murmur to him about something he
sees on Regulus' phone, or Regulus will gently nudge James with his elbow to tip his screen up
specifically so James will see something. Regulus will take moments to break into the
conversation, especially if he has something to say, and he'll even talk with Peter, who is a much
more tolerable person than most, Regulus quickly finds. Mostly, it's just James chatting with Peter,
but Regulus doesn't feel excluded or like a prop, and in the same breath, he doesn't feel like he has
to be included either. This is an ideal situation, honestly.

The front door opens at some point, and they all fall silent, listening to the sounds of Remus and
Sirius coming in. Regulus doesn't really mean to, but he instinctively tenses up, which makes James
tense up against him, and no one says anything as they watch Sirius breeze right past the kitchen
without even coming in. Remus pokes his head in, blinks, then immediately shuffles inside.

"Sirius has your clothes," Remus tells Regulus, who nods and pulls away from James. There's just a
split second where James tightens his arms around him, clinging, but then he lets go.

"Hi, Remus," Peter greets happily. "Good to see you again, mate. Heard I almost didn't."

Remus snorts and drops down into the open chair next to Peter. "You heard correctly. All caught
up now, are you?"

"I know everything, and I'm so glad that I didn't while it was going on. You're a brave man."

"That's a really positive outlook, Pete, thanks."

They continue to chat as Regulus slips out of the kitchen, following the sounds of Sirius in the
distance. His boots always announce him. Regulus locates him easily, moving about in his room.
When he looks up, Regulus narrows his eyes, because it looks like he's been crying.

"You've been crying," Regulus states.

"Yeah, because of you," Sirius grumbles.

Regulus frowns. "What did I do?"

"What did I do?" Sirius mimics, making a face, and then he scoffs under his breath and whirls
around to snatch a pile of clothes off his bed. Instantly recognizable is his old shirt that he gave to
Regulus a long time ago now. "You kept this."

When Regulus was thirteen, nearly fourteen (and Sirius was fifteen, having just turned fifteen two
months prior), Sirius came home for Christmas hols with an entirely new wardrobe. He'd started a
bit of a business in Hogwarts where people would pay him to sneak out and get them things,
knowing he was foolish and brave enough to do it, as well as not rat on anyone if he got caught.
With his own money, he told Regulus, he started purchasing his own clothes from Hogsmeade,
wearing what he liked rather than what Mother and Father bought for him. This, of course, did not
go over well with their parents, but Sirius was (and still is) nothing if not stubborn.

In any case, Regulus had broken Sirius out of the cubby their mother had locked him in, and they'd
scuttled off to his room where Regulus gave him what he could sequester away at dinner. As he
ate, he showed Regulus all the clothes he'd gotten; it wasn't very much that he'd brought with him,
since he'd suspected that Walburga would burn them or bin them, and she'd made it very clear she
intended to do just that.

This is my favorite shirt, Sirius had said, holding it up. Black with an outline of a woman sprawled
backwards on a motorbike, the arch of her back especially pronounced. He'd sounded so very
disheartened by the fact that Walburga would take it from him, beating himself up for being stupid
enough to bring his favorite of all, and Regulus—at that age—hadn't at all liked how genuinely
upset Sirius was about it. Secretly, he'd thought that Sirius was brave for doing what he wanted and
liked, no matter what their parents thought of it. He'd felt the start of envy turning into bitter
resentment even then, but it had yet to fully turn him so cruel.

So, he'd offered to hide it for Sirius until he went back to Hogwarts, because Walburga would
surely never suspect that he had anything like that. Sirius had been ecstatic; he'd nearly fucking
cried. Regulus remembers the tight hug Sirius had snatched him into, and he remembers how good
it felt to do something good, and he remembers the exhilaration of that moment—for the first taste
of rebellion had coated his teeth until he was smiling as wide as Sirius was.

But, when Sirius was packing for Hogwarts, Regulus had tried to sneak the shirt back to him,
except Walburga had already gone through his things twice by that point, so Sirius didn't want to
risk it. Regulus then offered to mail it to him, and Sirius had looked at him for a long time, just
looked and looked with something soft in his eyes. Keep it for me, Reggie, he'd said. Don't let
anything happen to it.
I won't, Regulus had promised, and then he didn't. He kept it. Even when he thought he hated
Sirius, he kept it. Even after Sirius left, he kept it. Even to this damn day, Regulus has kept it.
Tucked away in a drawer, hidden and beloved and resented, it was kept. Much like the thought of
Sirius, Regulus reflects.

"I told you I would," is all Regulus can think to say. He blinks at Sirius. "You can have it back if
you want. It's your favorite."

"Reggie," Sirius rasps, and then he sits the clothes back down on his bed to reach out and pull
Regulus into a hug instead.

Regulus sighs, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "You're a very sentimental idiot, do you know
that?"

"I thought you would have thrown it out," Sirius murmurs.

"I didn't."

"I see that."

"Is that what you've brought for me to wear?" Regulus asks, not complaining when Sirius gives
him a brief squeeze before letting him go and backing away.

Sirius picks up the pile again. "I did, yes. After I finished with the crying, I thought it would be
rather funny to see you in it."

"Of course you did," Regulus mutters, rolling his eyes again as he reaches out to snatch the clothes,
swiveling around to head for the loo so he can change.

Overall, Regulus doesn't hate the shirt. It's soft and big; it was very big when he was younger,
almost a damn dress on him. Now that he's taller and broader, it feels big like that's the style of it,
on purpose. It goes alright with the trousers Sirius brought him, so that's good enough.
When Regulus goes back out, everyone's in the kitchen still, and Sirius has joined them. He's in the
last chair next to James, and Regulus can see his foot hooked around Remus' leg underneath the
table. Remus is leaning over to peer at something on Peter's cell that he's showing him, and James
is talking on his own phone, while Sirius types away on his.

There's a moment where Regulus doesn't know where he fits, doesn't know how he can fit, and a
part of him doesn't even want to. It was easier, in a way, to keep all these parts away from each
other, safe spaces to be with his brother, best friend, and boyfriend separately. Together is
uncharted territory, and he's not at all looking forward to exploring it. Change—he doesn't like it
any more than Sirius does.

Nonetheless, his options are limited. This has to work. There's no way in which any of them can be
happy, completely happy, without this working. So, grudgingly, he essentially shoves away his
discomfort as forcefully as he can and just—returns to the same spot he was in before. Just sweeps
in, plants his foot against the leg of James' chair to push it back, then plops right back into his lap
without a word.

"What?" James gasps, rearranging his arms so he can shift his phone against his ear, one arm
sliding around Regulus in a truly distracted and mindless gesture. He's entirely and sincerely
engrossed in his conversation. "Mum, they can't do that! You can't let them do that!"

"He's talking about bunnies," Remus informs him.

Regulus' eyebrows furrow. "Bunnies?"

"They're getting into Monty's garden," Sirius explains. He shakes his head with a sigh. "Monty
loves his garden."

"Yes, he'd mentioned," Regulus muses. He twists slightly and plucks the phone right out of James'
hand, raising it to his ear. "Mrs. Potter? It's Regulus."

"Oh. Oh! Oh, hello, dear," Effie greets, the surprise in her voice melting into something warm.
"How are you? It's lovely to hear from you. And call me Effie, please."

"I'm fine, thank you, Effie. I just wanted to tell you that you might have some luck with putting
down coffee grounds as a natural repellent for the garden. There's a chance it will keep the rabbits
away, as well as some other pests," Regulus says.
Effie makes a sound of approval. "Oh, that's helpful, thank you. Monty's out now building barriers
and such. He has been, but they're so crafty, you know. Doesn't want to hurt them either, of
course."

"If you have any, chili powder and chives are good to keep them turned away, too," Regulus adds.

"I just so happen to have both. One moment, let me grab a pen and write this down. Chives, you
said?"

"Mhm. There's Irish Spring soap shavings in a closed sack if you'd prefer that smell as well, or just
try whatever works. You can also put plastic forks in the dirt around the plants with the prongs
facing up to keep them out."

"Brilliant, dear. Monty will be pleased," Effie chirps.

"It's not a problem. Here's James," Regulus replies, then immediately passes the phone back.

James takes it and says, "Yes, Mum, it's me. Mhm. I know. I'll ask them and get back to you on
that. Sure, sure. Tell Dad I love him. Alright. Yeah, love you, too."

"How the fuck," Sirius blurts out, "did you know all of that?"

Regulus rolls his eyes, because Sirius is staring at him in disbelief. Even Remus is watching him
with raised eyebrows, visibly intrigued and mildly impressed. "The first flat I ever stayed in, my
neighbor had a small garden out back. She complained about the rabbits literally every time we
saw each other, and I got annoyed with hearing about it, so I looked up the solutions for her. She
never used them, the batty old woman. Just liked to fuss, I think."

"You would become more knowledgeable about something purely out of spite," Remus says,
amused.

"And to get people to leave me alone." Regulus clicks his tongue and slumps back against James
with a frown. "She didn't, though."
"What is it with old women liking you so much?" Sirius asks, shaking his head.

"They think I'm a very sweet boy," Regulus says, lips twitching, and Sirius snorts.

"Oh, please." Sirius flaps his hand. "You've fooled them, is all. Deceiving little old ladies."

"I think he's very sweet," James offers.

Sirius glances at him, then sighs. "There's no hope for you, mate. You're lost to us all."

"I also think he's very mean," James adds.

"There may be hope for you yet," Sirius amends.

Peter shoots out a hand, waving it a bit. "Alright, Mary's just gotten back to me. She can do lunch,
but it has to be within the hour. Dorcas and Lily are also coming."

Regulus groans and drops his head back against James' shoulder, which makes Sirius cackle and
James gently pat the side of his head.

"This might be a bad time for me to mention that I absolutely adore Lily," Remus says, and
Regulus' head snaps up so fast that he nearly breaks his neck.

"You what?" Regulus hisses, shoving forward to prop against the table as James quickly clamps
down on his hips so he won't go careening out of his lap. "Absolutely not, you fucking traitor. I
refuse. I don't accept this."

"Reg, stop being dramatic. She's really—"

"Don't call me dramatic. You're not allowed."

Remus just fixes him with a flat look. "Do you remember all the lovely things you're working on?
Hm?"

"I've changed my mind. I've immediately changed my mind. I will be awful and selfish to the day I
die. Not this. Anything but this, Lupin. Literally anything. I've even given in and let you get away
with shagging my brother, for fuck's sake!"

"This is the most entertaining moment of my life," Sirius breathes out, undoubtedly talking to
James.

"I'm so stressed," James replies, strained. He tugs on Regulus' waist a bit. "Listen, love, maybe—"

"Don't listen, love me," Regulus snaps. "Remus—"

"You know what you need?" Remus asks.

"More therapy?" Sirius suggests, clearly enjoying himself.

Regulus cuts him a sharp look. "Says you. You're a walking sack of trauma, so really—"

"Well, which one of us is hitting the roof out of jealousy, hm?"

"Oh, shall we invite that Gideon fellow? The one who desperately wants to shag Remus? Doesn't
that sound fun, Sirius? I think that'd be a fun thing to do."

Sirius' face falls flat. "Absolutely not."

"What? We like Gid," Peter mumbles, frowning.

"Away from Remus, yes, we do," Sirius declares.

Remus heaves a sigh and tosses his hands up. "Christ, there's not enough therapy in the world for
either of you."

"You're one to talk. You don't even go to therapy, and we both know you damn well should,"
Regulus grumbles.

"We're not talking about me," Remus says quickly. "In any case, you're just being dramatic, that's
all. Lily will charm you, because that's Lily, and you'll feel very guilty for ever reacting like this in
the first place. So, relax, yeah?"

"You do like her," James points out.

"Oh, whatever," Regulus mutters, settling back down with a scowl, and Sirius is back to being
delighted again.

Peter clears his throat. "Well, you know, this isn't a closed event, really. You can invite people, too.
You said you had friends, right? See if they'll come. Might cheer you up!"

"I don't dislike you, Peter," Regulus tells him, and Peter's face turns red as he smiles.

"I'll check with Pandora," Remus offers.

Regulus hums. "I'll handle the rest."

"And so, two worlds collide," James teases, leaning forward to smack a kiss to Regulus' cheek,
which Regulus allows without complaint, because James can have whatever he wants.

Sirius makes vomiting noises.

Two worlds colliding is a phenomenon that Sirius is not at all accustomed to. For literally all of his
life, his brother has been kept separate from every other avenue Sirius has ever found himself on.
Regulus has always existed in Sirius' head and their childhood home only, and he's only just
adjusted to that no longer being the case. Adding Regulus into this part of his life—his friends—is
very, very new.

He's going into it with an open mind, at least. Trying not to lean too far into the thought that it's so
strange it can only be wrong. Newness and change doesn't always equate to bad, Ms. Pomfrey says,
so Sirius is trying not to see it as such.

It's honestly not as awful as Sirius is expecting, specifically James and Regulus. He'd been prepared
to absolutely despise every second and every part of it, but he's surprised to find that he
mostly...doesn't. It's not as if he's never seen James in love before, though never quite like this,
which is oddly reassuring. He's never seen Regulus actively in love at all, which makes Sirius
watchful and curious, and he ends up feeling rather pleased about it. Regulus looks more—open
around James. More expressive. Warmer.

They're not doing anything ridiculous and over-the-top, which helps. James has always been a very
affectionate person, and Regulus very much is not, so they seem to meet in the middle. Sirius is
sort of relieved that he doesn't feel like he needs to watch them like a hawk, that he doesn't feel like
he needs to worry and be prepared to step in; he finds that he doesn't have to, because there's no
need. It's James. What could he do, really? If Sirius can't trust him, then he can't trust anyone.

Sirius thinks he can handle it in small bitten-off pieces like this until it all feels so normal that he
doesn't even blink twice at anything. Because James deserves someone who will soften for him,
and Regulus deserves someone who can soften him.

Having Remus helps, too. He never strays too far. Sirius has tangled their fingers together,
swinging them between their bodies like a tether that keeps him from bounding too far away in his
random bursts of excitement when talking to Peter and James. Regulus, from up under James' arm,
mostly just talks to Remus or frequently reaches out to clamp down on James' side when he starts
to wander towards the street because he's distracted chatting with Sirius and Peter.

It's actually comfortable, and Sirius is so easily distractible anyway, so it's easy for him to get
caught up in his friends as he always has. Randomly, though, he'll squeeze Remus' hand and seek
out a glimpse of him as if to make sure he's there. He is. He always is. It puts Sirius in a very good
mood.

When they make it to the restaurant they've all agreed on, Lily and Mary are already there, and
Dorcas has informed them in the group chat that she's on her way. Sirius also catches sight of
Pandora, Barty, and Evan lingering by the front, chatting easily. Sirius does admittedly feel a bit
betrayed that she gets on with them; he'd liked her best. Still does, he reckons.
Mary and Lily are immediately intrigued by the addition of Regulus, though Lily looks quite smug.
She greets him like they've been friends their entire lives, and despite his earlier dramatics, Regulus
speaks to her with familiarity. He isn't rude, but Sirius gets the feeling he'd like to be.

And then, of course, just as Sirius has thought this, Regulus ruins it by rather bluntly saying,
"Excuse me. I'd rather talk to my friends. Remus?"

"Hello, Lily. Lovely to meet you officially, Mary. Just a moment, Sirius," Remus lists off, rolling
his eyes.

"What? Where are you going?" Sirius complains instantly, clamping down on his hand, frowning.

"I promised I'd meet Evan and Barty properly," Remus tells him, lips twitching as he untangles his
fingers from Sirius.

"You're pouting. It's pathetic," Regulus informs Sirius, then reaches out to grab Remus' arm and
drag him over to where Pandora, Evan, and Barty are a little ways away.

"I like him!" Mary announces brightly.

James stares over at where Regulus and Remus are talking to the others. Pandora forces hugs on
both of them, which they allow with a wry look of amusement shared between them. Evan and
Barty are introduced to Remus, and they both instantly raise their arms and start bowing at him,
lifting up and down like they're worshiping him. Pandora seems to find this hilarious, Regulus
doesn't, and Remus is bright red.

"Regulus' friends?" Lily asks.

James grunts. "Yeah."

"Don't sound so upset about it, James," Mary says, amused.

"Oh, which one of them shagged him?" Lily muses with interest, craning her head to peer at them
curiously.

"That'd be Barty," James mutters sourly, scowling now. "The one with the dark hair. Wait, how'd
you know—"

"I'd know James Potter's brand of jealousy anywhere," Lily replies, looking close to laughing.

Peter stifles a laugh of his own. "Oh, play nice, would you? All of you. I'm talking to you as well,
Padfoot."

"I didn't even say anything," Sirius grumbles.

"Why would Sirius have a problem?" Mary glances around at everyone in confusion. "What am I
missing?"

"Oh my god," Peter breathes out, eyes lighting up, and then he proceeds to immediately spill all
secrets involved in the entire situation, excluding the fact that Regulus is trans.

It surprisingly doesn't take long. ("Regulus is Sirius' little brother, and James accidentally fell in
love with him, then kept it from Sirius for a bit because they were estranged. Remus is Regulus'
best friend and accidentally fell in love with Sirius, and he also kept it from Regulus. But Sirius
and Regulus met again, found out the truth, and immediately went mental. That's why Sirius and
James fought. Oh, and Regulus pretended to poison Remus; absolutely do not tell him if you have
allergies," is the explanation that Peter gives in literally one breath, which is rather impressive,
actually.) Mary blinks rather violently in response, taking a moment to process.

Then, after a beat, Mary's eyebrows furrow as she looks right at Sirius and says, "Wait, you have a
brother?"

"Yes, obviously. He's literally right there," Sirius tells her, gesturing lazily towards the brother in
question.

"I thought you had a sister," Mary admits.

Lily claps her hands. "See! That's what I said!"

"Must be one of those Mandela Effects," Sirius declares blithely with a lazily flap of his hand, and
James ducks his head with a smile as Peter coughs and looks away.

"I can't believe we got that wrong for so long," Lily murmurs, shaking her head.

"There's no possible way." Mary squints, crossing her arms, and then her face clears just as Sirius
opens his mouth to interrupt whatever quick thinking she will undoubtedly do. But she's Mary, so
she chuckles and says, "Oh, I see. Well, yes, in that case Sirius is right."

Sirius doesn't doubt that she knows. She's Mary Macdonald. Of course she knows. She's never
wrong.

"Mandela Effect?" Lily mumbles. "I didn't know that was a real thing before this. Absolutely
mental, that is."

Mary's lips twitch. "Isn't it?"

They're all rather distracted by Dorcas running up to meet them, complaining about traffic. After
the initial hugs and hellos, Dorcas asks what they were talking about, which prompts Peter, Mary,
and Lily to catch her up on the rather convoluted yet simple situation involving Remus, Regulus,
Sirius, and James. She also looks very startled by the new information, but then she busts out
laughing and announces that Marlene is going to love this.

Sirius mostly tunes them out—this is old information to him, after all—and joins James in
watching the other group. Evan and Barty seem to be getting on with Remus well enough, but the
true issue introduces itself the moment Barty reaches out to throw his arm around Regulus'
shoulders. Sirius hears James' sharp inhale and feels the way he stiffens.

"I'm going to punch him," James announces harshly.

"I'll hold him down for you," Sirius says supportively, as all best mates should.
Peter makes a vague sound of alarm, but before anyone can do anything, Regulus has Barty's hand
off him and his arm twisted back, making him yelp loud enough that everyone pauses to stare.
Evan is grinning, Regulus watches Barty like he's a bug on his back squirming about because he
can't get back up, and Pandora looks amused. Remus just watches in mild interest, but there's a
quirk of mischief at the corner of his mouth that makes Sirius think his knees will buckle. Oh,
bloody hell. Sirius is dangerously close to swooning.

"Ow! Ow, Reggie, fuck!" Barty can be heard yelling. Whatever Regulus says in response is too low
to hear, but it makes Barty frantically nod his head.

"No offense, mate, but your brother is terrifying," Peter mumbles, watching with a wince.

Sirius finds himself quite proud of Regulus at the moment, so he only chuckles and says, "Yeah."

"He's amazing," Mary hisses in delight.

"Yeah," James agrees dreamily.

Lily snorts and pats James on the arm before swiveling on the spot. "Well, what are we waiting
for? Let's go meet with them and go inside, yeah? No use in standing about."

No one can really argue with her, so they follow along as she leads the charge over like a woman
on a mission. By the time they make it there, Barty has been set free, but he's rubbing his arm and
looking to Evan for sympathy, only to find none. Pandora almost instantly comes over to greet
Sirius and James, hugging them both, which they take with more grace than Remus and Regulus
did—this is objectively hilarious, seeing as they're closer to her than Sirius and James are.

Like he can't help himself, James pretty much immediately goes to Regulus and very pointedly puts
his arm around him, throwing Barty a challenging look that makes him grin like he's just
discovered a new toy. Regulus allows it, and he's very quickly swept up in a conversation with
Mary and Dorcas that he can't be saved from, because they're two forces of nature that no one is
immune to. Lily ends up talking to Evan and Remus, while Sirius, Pandora, and Peter chat for a
bit.

At some point, Regulus announces, "We're just waiting on one more, but she's on the way. She'll
find her own way in."
With that, the strangest collision of two worlds wander their way into the restaurant to ask for a
table large enough to sit twelve—eleven already present and one sure to show.

It's an odd mix, and finding their places is a bit of a mess. James takes the chair across the table
from Sirius as if it's automatic, and it is. Since he's still holding onto Regulus, the chair beside
James goes to him. Sirius readily grabs Remus and drags him into the open chair next to him,
which puts him across from Regulus, leaving the two brothers angled across from each other
within eyesight. Everyone else is left to find their places otherwise, which is a bit fun to watch.

Sirius takes note of the fact that he has Peter on one side, Remus on the other, and James across
from him—and that's about all that matters, really. Regulus is within kicking distance as well, so
he's content.

It's mostly just ordering drinks and getting situated while waiting on Regulus' friend, so nothing
really happens for a bit. Sirius reaches out and cups the back of Remus' neck, rubbing it idly and
distractedly as Remus talks to Lily and Regulus about some book or something. Sirius chats with
Peter and James, the latter of which is sprawled back in his chair with his arm lazily, casually
thrown across the back of Regulus' chair, fingers rubbing circles into his arm.

Things are fine, and then Peter abruptly coughs into his glass of water, immediately hacking and
curling forward as his eyes bulge and water dribbles down his chin. Sirius springs away from
Remus to frantically pat him on the back, and James nearly comes out of his seat from how
alarmed he is.

"Alright, Pete?" Sirius asks warily as Peter continues to choke.

"Neigh...bor…" Peter wheezes out hoarsely, scrubbing at his chin and coughing still, gaze fixed
towards the door.

"Neighbor? Did you say—do you mean your neighbor?" James says, leaning forward with a
frown.

"Oh, Aiko," Regulus greets suddenly, shifting in his seat, and Sirius follows his gaze to Aiko, who
he's actually met. He likes her as well; she's funny. "I didn't know what you would like to drink, so
I just ordered you water."

"That's fine!" Aiko chirps cheerfully, ushering to the last open chair on the other side of James,
right across from Peter. She flashes a smile at Regulus as she drops down in her chair and turns.
"Sorry I'm late. I was just—oh." She blinks, seeming startled as she finally looks at Peter, who
clears his throat a little loudly in the sudden silence. "Peter. I—hello. Hi."

"Hello," Peter replies.

"You two know each other?" Regulus asks, eyes narrowing.

Aiko darts her gaze around and mumbles, "Yes. He's my neighbor. I—haven't ever seen him out of
our building. Haven't much seen him in it lately either."

"Been busy," Peter replies, clipped. "I rather thought you'd prefer that, though."

"Is it just me, or is this awkward?" Barty mutters from down the table, and then he yelps like
someone just kicked him. It would have to be either Mary, Pandora, or Evan—they're the only ones
in reach. Likely Evan, but Sirius doesn't put it past Mary at all. Nor Pandora, upon reflection; she's
a wildcard.

"When did I say I'd prefer that?" Aiko asks shortly. "Though, if I'm honest, maybe it's for the
best."

Peter snorts derisively and says, "Looks like."

"Er," James murmurs, darting a helpless glance towards Regulus, who shrugs in equal uncertainty.

Sirius reaches over and rubs Peter's back instead, trying to press some of the tension out of his
shoulders. It eases him a bit, and he shoots Sirius a brief, grateful smile.

So, as it turns out, a lot of worlds are colliding today, and it's startling how it ends up being Sirius,
Regulus, James, and Remus who have the smoothest transition of all. Maybe it makes sense, as
close as they all are in all their various ways, but Sirius genuinely thought it would be a lot more
grueling than it actually turns out to be.

Peter and Aiko are the worst. Throughout the beginning of the meal, they continue to snip back
and forth at each other like they can't help it, forcing Sirius and James to repeatedly cut in over and
over before things get too heated. Sirius feels a bit bad, honestly, because he now knows that Aiko
rather rudely and harshly rejected Peter, which had hurt him. And, while it's ultimately fair for her
to have refused him, she'd apparently done it with a distracted no like he didn't matter, like she
didn't care if it hurt his feelings at all. But it did, so he's been licking his wounds in private and
making sure not to bother her out of respect for her very blatant disregard for him.

Well, that's Peter's story anyway. Sirius suddenly isn't so sure, because 'disregard' isn't really the
word he would use for what Aiko feels for Peter. If she didn't care, she wouldn't keep on bickering
with him, as uncomfortable as it is. In fact, she seems rather annoyed by his distance, as if he's the
one in the wrong for no longer bothering her. Sirius has no idea what's going on, and clearly neither
does James, but they're Peter's mates, so they do their best to keep him out of trouble and make sure
he's as relaxed as he can be, given the situation.

Meanwhile, Remus is carrying on with Lily and—shockingly enough—Evan down the table.
Remus has taken to stroking Sirius' thigh under the table, which is bloody well distracting, is what
it is. Sirius misses him, and he's right there, so he keeps glancing over so they can share lingering
looks and warm smiles. At one point, he can't resist leaning over to kiss him, only to be shoved
away by Lily telling him, "Down, boy. I was talking to him, you know. Leave us be, would you?"
Remus laughs. Sirius pouts.

Mary is very blatantly having a blast bullying Barty, who seems to actually enjoy being bullied,
and Pandora appears to be the one who stops it from being problematic. Sirius checks in a few
times with them as well, and every time, Mary looks positively gleeful while Pandora repeatedly
drops increasingly disturbing facts one right after another. Barty looks intrigued and disgusted
both, laughing whenever Mary makes fun of him for his 'delicate sensibilities'.

As for Regulus, he's swiftly and wholeheartedly claimed by Dorcas, which doesn't seem to upset
him at all. They get into a discussion so deep that Regulus looks more animated than Sirius has
ever seen him, not even for Remus or James. His eyes are glittering, and he's waving his hands
around, which is apparently very distracting for James, who can be found often gazing at Regulus
with such a dumb, lovestruck expression that Sirius doesn't whether to laugh or pity him.

If Dorcas (and Regulus) weren't quite gay and also spoken for, Sirius would suspect that they're
falling in love on the spot. It's obvious how they click instantly, and if Sirius were asked, he would
say it's about the same way Remus and Lily get on. Dorcas hardly rips herself away from Regulus
for the entire meal, going on and on about gender norms in the fashion industry and also just in
general (Regulus apparently has opinions that align with her own), talking about modeling and
various statements that fashion can make (Sirius is stunned to hear Dorcas ask Regulus if he'd
consider modeling for her, but fully blown away by the fact that Regulus tells her that he will
consider it in a tone that suggests he will be saying yes), and just repeatedly finding themselves
agreeing about the same things over and over (music, films, hobbies).
Of course, they all mingle a bit with each other. Dorcas and Barty get on for the most part; Peter
and Pandora get so comfortable with one another that they swap food from each other's plates to
try; Remus and Aiko get to know each other a bit; Sirius catches up with Mary; James actually ends
up chatting rather cordially with Evan; and, despite what he'd fumed about earlier, Regulus does
get rather charmed by Lily, because that's Lily for you, so even if he hates her, it's clear that he
can't help but like her—which is hilarious because James is vigorously pretending that Barty
doesn't even exist.

Sirius and Regulus also get into a kicking war beneath the table. As always, Regulus' poker face is
infuriatingly good, and the toes of his shoes bloody well hurt. In the end, Sirius flicks a balled up
napkin at him, and Regulus spears his fork through Sirius' last meatball, smirking when he yelps
and launches into dramatic complaining about how that was his, and he wanted it, and he was
going to eat it. He doesn't shut up until James dutifully gives him a bite off his plate, holding up
the fork to feed it to him while Regulus watches in horror.

"Oh, yeah," Remus says, laughing. "They're awful."

"We're not like that, are we?" Regulus asks, looking like he's sick at the thought.

"No, definitely not," Remus assures him.

Regulus nods in visible relief. "Good. Better them than us."

"If you think about it, we need them to have each other. We'd have headaches otherwise."

"Always a few moves ahead, you are, Remus."

"Aren't I?" Remus muses, eyes sparkling with humor. He and Regulus share a look that Sirius can't
interpret or translate at all, but whatever it is makes them both laugh.

Sirius clicks his tongue, looking at James. "They don't understand us, mate."

"That's alright," James says warmly. "We understand us. That's all we need, isn't it?"
"Always," Sirius tells him, grinning when James lays his hand over his chest and nods along
solemnly.

Things do ease up at their end of the table when, seemingly by accident, Peter and Aiko agree on
something almost at the same exact time. It's instantaneous the way they both light up and launch
into discussion just from how it excites them, visibly forgetting that they're on outs at the moment.
They do catch themselves eventually, both of them turning red and looking away from each other
at the same time, but they tentatively talk after that. Sirius shares a look with James that amounts to
are you seeing what I'm seeing? James tucks his lips in to hide his grin, eyes sparkling with oh,
yeah, I see it.

All-in-all, it goes startlingly well. Mary has to dash off first, and she bustles around the table
dropping kisses on cheeks as she says goodbye—Lily, Dorcas, Sirius, Peter, James as she usually
would, but Pandora ends up in the mix as well, which makes her beam in delight at the inclusion.
Evan and Barty, who left work for lunch, also have to leave shortly after. They both bend down
beside Regulus' chair, murmuring low to him about something that seems unexpectedly serious.
Regulus nods along with a small frown, listening, and James watches Barty with narrowed eyes; in
his defense, Evan and Barty are on either side of Regulus, their faces right next to his as they talk
quietly in his ears. How he manages both of them at the same time, Sirius doesn't know. Sirius
never knew, honestly.

When Evan and Barty pull back, they regard Regulus for a long moment, and Regulus tilts his head
back to nod at them with his lips pressed into a thin line. With that, Evan and Barty say their
goodbyes to Remus (bravest man they know, they're sure to announce) and Pandora (who they
shove each other aside to accept a hug from first, a war that Barty ends up winning), as well as
Aiko (who they seem to treat like a little sister, ruffling her hair and telling her not to do anything
they wouldn't do, to which she responds by dryly informing them that it leaves her a lot of room to
get into trouble, which they find hilarious). They even nod at Sirius in parting. Evan smiles at
everyone. Barty, on the other hand, sidles up next to James.

"You know, Jim," Barty starts, while Evan stifles a laugh.

"James," Regulus corrects, heaving a sigh.

"What's that, Bart?" James retorts.

Lily rolls her eyes so hard that it's a miracle they don't roll right out of her head. "Oh, Christ, here
we go."
"I hate that Mary is missing this," Dorcas says mournfully.

Barty claps James on the shoulder, seeming utterly oblivious to the tension in his frame, except for
the gleam of amusement in his eye. "Listen, there's something I need to say to you, mate."

"Barty," Regulus warns, an edge to his tone.

"No, go on, please," James grits out, visibly bristling. Sirius sits up straighter in his chair, and he's
pleased to note that Peter and Remus do as well, as if it's instinctive.

"James, don't," Lily tells him with a huff. "There's literally nothing attractive about jealousy."

"Speak for yourself," Sirius and Regulus mutter in perfect unison, looking at their respective
boyfriends, then they both go silent and eye each other awkwardly.

"You are both so unwell," Pandora informs them, seeming stuck somewhere between amused and
exasperated by this.

"I'm going to have to ask you to treat Regulus very well, Jim, because if you don't…" Barty trails
off and clicks his teeth, shaking his head. "Well, you may have him now, but I had him first, so if
you fuck up too badly, I imagine I'll have him again."

James almost instantly starts to come out of his seat, but Evan quickly reaches out to clamp on
Barty's arm and drag him back as he cheerfully declares, "Yes, well, that's enough of that. Lovely
to meet you, Jim. Be good to Reggie, or they'll never find your body. Bye now!"

"Bye! Have a good day!" Pandora calls after them.

"You're ridiculous," Regulus says as James lowers himself back into his seat with a huff,
grumbling under his breath. Regulus sounds fond, but James doesn't lose his scowl at all.

"Fucking prick," James mumbles, jaw set.

Regulus' lips twitch as he stands up, and he braces his hand on top of James' head to tilt it back and
press a kiss to his temple, which works a treat to make him relax. Even still, Regulus draws away
and pushes his chair in, looking right at Sirius with his tiny smile fading. "Come outside for a
moment."

"Oh, lovely," Sirius says with a sigh, grimacing, already knowing that this isn't going to be fun.
Clearly, Evan and Barty told Regulus something, and he doesn't doubt it has to do with their
parents. "Moony, give me your smokes."

"Yeah, alright," Remus murmurs, glancing between Sirius and Regulus with a frown as he passes
his pack over.

James sits forward warily. "Should I…?"

"Finish up with everyone. We'll be waiting outside," Regulus tells him, briefly squeezing his
shoulder, and James settles back down, though his concern lingers.

Sirius tries to ignore the knots in his stomach, ducking down to kiss Remus quickly before
following Regulus through the restaurant and out the door. They don't go very far, just up the street
where they can find a spot that Sirius will be able to smoke without people being bothered by it.
Sirius leans up against a signpost and lights a smoke, glancing over at Regulus with his eyebrows
raised.

Regulus crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw tight. He looks ridiculously casual, more so than
Sirius has ever seen him, just wearing the old shirt with a print on the front that doesn't at all seem
like something he'd ever put on and simple jeans (Sirius was stunned to find that he owned some).
He could be any boy in the world strolling through the streets with places to go and people to see,
but he's not; he's Sirius' little brother, who's here with him. It causes a tight band to flex and soften
in his chest. He lets it. He finds himself warmed by it.

"Well?" Sirius prompts, dreading this already.

"Father has been hospitalized," Regulus says. "Has been for days, but Evan and Barty only just
found out. They're going to get us the information of where he's at for...I don't really know why, to
be honest. Just for us to know, just in case, I suppose. Anyway, he's dying. Genuinely this time.
Apparently his chances of making it through the week are—nonexistent."
Sirius sits on that for a second, inhaling slowly, his cheeks caving in. He tries to examine how he
feels about it, but it's hard when he doesn't really feel—anything. Maybe that's fucked up; maybe
it's not. He isn't sure. While he knows that's his father, he can't really connect to the man who
never really played an active role as one. Orion was always Walburga's husband first. It doesn't
help that Orion has been dying literally for years, at this point. Sirius is quite sure he's distanced
himself from it as much as anyone can, given the circumstances. He exhales and gazes at Regulus
curiously.

"How do you feel about it, then?" Sirius asks quietly.

Regulus looks away, lips tipping down. "I don't know, really. It's supposed to be upsetting, isn't it?
Family dying."

"Reckon that depends on the family, Reggie."

"Suppose so. It'd be upsetting if you died, I think."

Sirius snorts. "Oh, would it? Christ, you sound so bland about it. Surely it'd ruin at least one day
for you, yeah?"

"Maybe two," Regulus replies, lips curling up a bit.

"I'm quite sure it'd ruin my life if you died," Sirius muses casually, flicking ash.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Sentimental git."

"Not about Father, though," Sirius admits. "Don't have much to be sentimental about, really. He
wasn't as bad as Mother, but the bar was low, and he was still playing limbo down in Hell with the
devil. May he rest in eternal distress."

"Do you want to visit him?" Regulus murmurs.

Sirius doesn't care either way. "Do you?"

"I don't know," Regulus says, and Sirius knows what that means. He just stares until Regulus' face
twitches slightly as he looks away. Again, quieter, he repeats, "I don't know."

"I'd go with you," Sirius offers, the if you need me to left unsaid but lingering in the air anyway. He
has no true desire to see his father again before he dies, but for Regulus, he would go.

Regulus stares at him, then whispers, "Will you?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

They don't say anything else. Sirius stands there and continues smoking, head tilted back as he
looks up at the sky. It's not quite evening yet, but it will be soon. The air is turning, gaining a slow
chill. It puts goosebumps on Regulus' bare arms, but he doesn't complain about it. He seems rather
adjusted to the cold. Sirius thinks about berating him for not wearing a coat, even if he just stole
one from James, but then he bites the words back with conscious effort. It'd likely only start a fight.
Regulus is grown; he can make his own decisions.

In the ensuing silence, Sirius ruffles through his mind trying to find one memory of his father that
would make his passing even the least bit painful. There isn't one, really. Orion barely
acknowledged his children outside of being a walking mouthpiece for everything Walburga had
already said.

It takes a few minutes, but then Sirius recalls something. A small moment overshadowed by the
lack of any others like it. Once, when Sirius was nine and Regulus was eight, Orion had to take a
trip to France and Walburga needed to be in Brazil for some important meeting. They'd argued
about what to do with Sirius and Regulus for the weekend, shutting Sirius down when he suggested
they go stay with Andromeda (they didn't approve of her) or Uncle Alphard (or him) or just leave
them alone at the house (or them). In the end, it was Orion who got stuck with his own children.
Walburga had refused.

Despite his annoyance with this, Orion had been startlingly normal over the weekend in France. He
wasn't really different, exactly, but he was more relaxed without Walburga there. He let Sirius and
Regulus play on their own, made sure they had food, and didn't really care what they did as long as
they weren't bothering him. Sort of how someone treats their pets, not their children. The sad part
is, that was an improvement to how Sirius and Regulus were usually treated.
That's it. That's the only thing about Orion that sticks out. It baffles Sirius a bit how a father can be
so unimportant to his children, and how he never once cared about such a thing. Knowing Monty
has certainly changed Sirius' views of what a father is, because Orion? He doesn't even qualify.

It makes Sirius wonder why Regulus wants to go see him. He desperately wants to ask, but he's
quite sure that it's not a question anyone should pose. Their father is dying. Does Regulus really
need a reason? Is Sirius required to have one? Maybe, Sirius thinks, the answer to both is no.

The door to the restaurant opens, and James spills out with his arms around Peter and Dorcas. Lily,
Pandora, and Aiko are all talking as they follow. Remus is the last to come out, head swiveling
until he locates Sirius and Regulus.

"Reckon we should see everyone off," Sirius mumbles, dropping the smoke and stubbing it out
with his boot.

Regulus hums in vague agreement, and they leave to do just that. It's a round of goodbyes,
everyone splitting off. Lily hugs everyone (Regulus, too, who allows it with a sigh), and so does
Pandora. Aiko doesn't, but she smiles cautiously at Peter, who turns red and smiles back. They
share mumbled goodbyes, and Dorcas actually takes the time to get Regulus' number before she
leaves (which he gives to her downright eagerly).

In the end, all that's left is Sirius, Regulus, James, and Remus. James bounds over and sweeps in
between Sirius and Regulus to throw an arm around both of their necks, drawing them in and
smacking loud, over-exaggerated kisses to the sides of their heads. Remus watches in amusement.

"That was nice, wasn't it?" James chirps, shaking them a bit.

"Torture," Regulus replies flatly, and James clicks his tongue.

Remus shakes his head and turns away, starting up the street, and Sirius nearly trips over himself to
follow him. He runs directly into Remus' back, humming against his shoulder as he throws his
arms around him. There's a small scuffle where Remus tries to shove him away, and Sirius just
winds his leg around both of Remus', barking a laugh as it nearly throws them both to the ground.
Remus curses under his breath as he stumbles, but he's laughing as well; he gives in and lets Sirius
cozy up to his side, both arms hooked around him, head over on his shoulder as they try to walk
without letting go.
"Are you alright?" Remus asks him softly as they get further up the street, leaving James and
Regulus following in the distance. Probably. Sirius isn't really sure, too distracted by the feeling of
Remus pressed up against him.

"Yeah," Sirius murmurs. "Yeah, I suppose I am."

Remus hums. "Is he?"

"I think he's more alright than he's ever been, probably. And, if he's not, he will be," Sirius admits.

"That's all we can ask for."

"Come now, sweetheart, surely you know there's always more."

"Is that right?" Remus says, chuckling.

Sirius nods against him, peering up to grin at him, delighted by the way his face softens. "Of
course. I'll spend the rest of my life and every single one after finding you more, Moony."

"What if I have everything already?" Remus murmurs, watching him with this light in his eyes that
steals Sirius' breath, reminding him of the gleam of the moon on those special nights where it
seems to glow gold.

"Oh, Moony. My lovely, beautiful Moony," Sirius croons, reaching up with one hand to pat his
cheek as they stroll along. "I'm going to be so stupid about you for eternity."

Remus busts out laughing, and Sirius nearly fucking wriggles because he's so delighted by the
sound. He's grinning in victory as Remus squeezes him closer and kisses the side of his head rather
fiercely, breathing out, "Oh, I love you."

"For which I'm very grateful, otherwise my eternal stupidity would be much more tragic," Sirius
tells him, and Remus laughs again. Sirius beams up at him. "I love you too, you know. So very
much. Really and truly."

"Oi!" James calls from behind them, making them both pause and swivel around, watching as
James and Regulus catch up with them. "Was just asking Regulus, but Mum wants us all to go see
her and Dad tomorrow. Everyone alright with that?"

"Don't you have to work?" Sirius asks Regulus.

Regulus nods. "Yeah, but I'm free after. Remus will be off by then as well."

"Me?" Remus blurts out, startled immediately, which swiftly turns into vague alarm. "Wait, I don't
—"

"Oh, you're absolutely going," Regulus cuts in, arching an eyebrow, and then he and Remus
proceed to have an entire conversation with their faces and not their mouths, except Sirius has no
idea what they're saying. By the looks of James' confusion, he doesn't either.

"That's not fair," Remus complains in response to...something Regulus has apparently conveyed to
him.

"Life rarely is, as we've established," Regulus replies.

James clears his throat when Remus scowls. "Well, the invitation was extended to you as well,
Moony. If you're free, we most definitely want you there."

"Please?" Sirius says, looking at him hopefully.

"This," Remus declares, lifting his free hand to flick it between all three of them, "the way you're
all turning against me at one time—it's shit, just so you're all aware. Sure. Fine."

"And we're the dramatic ones," Regulus mutters, glancing at Sirius, who shares a brief look of
understanding with him.
"Oh, there's no competition in that department, love. You and Sirius win every time. We couldn't
be more dramatic than either of you, let alone both of you, if we actually tried," James informs
him, and Regulus lazily swats his chest. It makes James grin before pulling him back into moving.
"Now, come on, you lot. We're all going back to our flat to get pissed."

"I have to work in the morning," Remus and Regulus announce in perfect sync, to which James and
Sirius instantly begin trying to convince them to get pissed anyway.

They spend the entire trip back to the flat doing just that, while Remus and Regulus share
exasperated looks and refuse, but then they're the first two get drunk when they all make it back.
Regulus, as always, gets very sweet when he's pissed, so he pretty much stays curled up against
James at all times. Remus, in turn, gets fussy in words and clingy in actions, assuring Sirius over
and over that he would let him go if he tried to leave, then refusing to do so whenever Sirius
attempts to stand and go do absolutely anything.

In the end, James and Sirius do not get pissed, a bit too busy handling Regulus and Remus.
Multiple times, they share looks across from each other where they're all sprawled out on the floor,
Remus and Regulus having a slurred conversation that makes no sense whatsoever, even if they
seem to make perfect sense of it themselves. James looks so content, so pleased, so happy with
everything, and Sirius feels his heart squeeze almost violently from the way he feels the exact
same way. He thinks maybe their hearts have that same clench-and-release, because they both look
at each other and smile.

When Regulus starts sneaking his hand up James' shirt, James clears his throat loudly and quickly
pulls his hand down, sitting up as he mumbles, "Alright, love, let's get you to bed."

"Oh. Oh, yes, let's do that," Regulus agrees, barking a laugh that makes Sirius give a violent twitch
because—well, it sounds like him, actually. Regulus leans forward until he nearly tips over,
squinting at Sirius and giggling. "I'm going to shag your best friend. That's so fucking funny."

Remus buries his face into Sirius' shoulder and cracks up until he's wheezing, and Sirius sighs.
"Sure, Reggie. Hilarious."

"I wouldn't," James whispers to Sirius, tipping his head significantly at Regulus, who can't even sit
up straight.

"I know, mate," Sirius murmurs warmly. "I know."

"Reg," Remus says, dragging himself away from Sirius' shoulder once Regulus is on his feet and
listing dangerously to the side. James is shepherding Regulus along, making sure he doesn't fall,
but he dutifully pauses to let Regulus tip over and reach out his hand. Remus immediately fumbles
to take it, humming. They nod at each other for a bit, then Remus breaks out into a grin. "Yeah.
Yeah, exactly."

"I know," Regulus replies, even though neither of them have said anything at all.

"I'm going to get you a cat," Remus mumbles.

Regulus makes a small sound, hiccuping. "You're the best. Just the best friend, you know.
Absolutely the most best."

"Two cats," Remus slurs. "G'night, Reg."

"Mhm, mhm, yes," Regulus says, bobbing his head as he straightens up. He laughs again as he
topples over into James, then he grins right at Sirius. "Goodnight, You-Know-Who."

Sirius blinks. "No? Who?"

Remus and Regulus immediately start giggling like fools, but neither of them elaborate. Regulus
does lean over to poke Sirius right in the middle of the forehead, ignoring his face scrunching as he
whispers, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," which seems to set him and Remus off again.

"Go to sleep, Regulus," Sirius mutters, amused despite himself, and James escorts his wobbly
limbs all the way to his room.

"Hi," Remus breathes out, swaying into him and immediately trying to stuff his hand down Sirius'
trousers literally the moment they're alone.

"Well, hello," Sirius teases, but he gently pulls Remus' hand away and starts the arduous journey to
his bed, too.

In the aftermath of two worlds colliding, things are quiet and calm. Peaceful like the soothing flash
 of lighting and the gentle pounding of rain. Reassuring like the consistency of the sun and the
moon in a steady circuit. As Sirius drifts off, he thinks it's something he's willing to become
accustomed to.

Chapter End Notes

bfb peter pettigrew my beloved <3

dorcas and regulus being bffs my beloved <3
jealous james and regulus my beloveds <3
lily, mary, aiko, pandora my beloveds <3
sirius and regulus being good brothers my beloved <3
evan and barty being good mates my beloved <3

happiest moment of james' life: having both Black Brothers in his arms

to those of you who suspected aiko and peter being neighbors who fancy each other,
you were right! that's literally been planned since aiko was introduced, just something
cute i liked!

as always, thank you all so much for the comments and support. i can't believe there's
only 4 chapters left.
 Chapter 27
Chapter Notes

James Potter Fans, come get your food!!! He has a special place in my heart in this
chapter! Also Effie and Monty! Oh, and Sirius and Regulus being good brothers AND
best friends. I'm spoiling all of you <3

brief warning for: references to mentions of suicide, but it's mostly a talk about being
grateful to be alive.

enjoy everyone!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James thinks it's unfair, frankly, that he has to spend any time away from Regulus ever. It's just not
something he likes. If he could, he'd literally be right next to Regulus always.

He and Sirius are similarly mopey for the day while Regulus and Remus are at work. They lay
about in their flat together like layabouts, equally displeased by the absence of the person they're in
love with. Of course, they find comfort in each other, as well as their friends. The group chat is
absolutely buzzing today, likely because it's no longer a secret what all happened. Marlene, Frank,
and Alice have all been caught up from various sources (mostly Peter), so James and Sirius aren't
in short supply of reasons to talk about their love situation.

In fact, James finds himself and Sirius doing just that. At some point, they're sprawled out with
empty takeaway containers around them as they go into details about the things the other has
missed in all of this. James is relieved, honestly. He's so very grateful that he can talk about it now.
No part of him was ever truly comfortable with keeping anything from Sirius, so getting to tell him
everything is genuinely comforting.

James tells Sirius all about the conversation he and Remus had in the aftermath of finding out that
they were dating their best friend's brother. Tells him about the decision to stop and have a clean
break, about how they couldn't even last longer than a week, about how they'd formed a plan out of
desperation and unearned hope. Tells him about the fact that they helped one another get their
boyfriend back, about the way they worked together to keep the secret, about the bond they'd
formed in doing so. Tells him how stressed they were when Sirius and Regulus both decided to
find one another, as well as the awful time they both had in the aftermath of Sirius and Regulus
finding out the truth, and even admits to the comfort they found in each other when they'd lost
everything.

In turn, Sirius opens up about how he'd felt when he saw Regulus for the first time in eight years,
and how he'd felt in the midst of his breakdown afterwards. Opens up about the sting of betrayal,
his immediate response of anger, and how it scares him that he could have been so cruel. Opens up
about how he and Regulus bonded, and struggled, and decided to try anyway. Opens up about
therapy a bit, and the fact that he'd gotten advice from McGonagall that had him going to find
James, as well as the hard discussion he had with Effie.

It feels really fucking good, honestly. Cathartic, in a way. James thinks the last strand of strain
finally just—snaps between them, and it all falls away. Everything falls away until it's just the two
of them, existing at the same time in syzygy.

"We really needed the time, you know," Sirius murmurs at some point, his head dumped in James'
lap, hair splayed out over his thighs like spilled ink as James lazily plays with a few of the silky
strands. "Regulus and me, I mean. It's not—we didn't do it out of spite. It wasn't cruel. I just—I
need you to know that. I need you to know that I wasn't taking the time just so you'd be unhappy,
nor was Regulus with Remus."

"I know, Pads," James assures him. "There's nothing wrong with needing the time. We're all better
for it."

Sirius swallows and looks up at him sadly. "I wish we weren't so fucked up that it took us so long
to work out that we didn't want to be miserable. And I don't—I mean it more than just how it
affected you and Remus. I also mean it as… I think we needed to learn that we could be happy as
us, because we forgot that, James. I wish we hadn't. I wish that house and our parents hadn't been
powerful enough to make us forget."

"You were only children," James whispers.

"I know," Sirius says softly, then—inexplicably—he quirks a small smile. "We're not children
anymore, but that's not a bad thing, it turns out. Might be the best thing for us. There's the warped
perception of childhood through trauma, and Ms. Pomfrey carries on about second chances and the
way they can clear a lot of things up. Apparently, facing the past we had isn't nearly as important
as letting it go and focusing on the future we can have, especially because we were only children.
We have to hold ourselves accountable now. At this point, there's only so much we can blame on
our parents."

James hums quietly. "It's a mature way to approach it, I think. Not always simple, but always worth
it, I imagine. You love him. I can tell."

"He's my brother. Of course I do."

"But it's more than that, isn't it? It goes beyond that, mate, I know it does. It's not just family,
because when family treats you as yours has, they're not really family at all. Love isn't a
requirement, family or not. But you've always loved him. Even before all of this, you did. And it's
not—it isn't just that he's your brother. Sure, that makes it harder for you to let go and more willing
to suffer and struggle in a way you wouldn't necessarily do for most, but it's also just...him."

"How do you mean?" Sirius asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"He's good," James tells him. "I know you know that. He may not always have been, and he may
not always do good things, but he's just—he's good. Deep down, you know that."

Sirius' lips twitch. "I think you're biased, Romeo."

"Oh, I'm absolutely Romeo, which makes Regulus Juliet, but we can never tell him."

"Might be best."

"I'm not biased, though," James says, then rolls his eyes. "Well, alright, I am biased. But I'm also
not. You know I'm right."

"Maybe you just see the best in people."

"Yeah, maybe, but he's not… I mean, yes, he can choose to be cruel, but he isn't irredeemable,
Padfoot."

"Always did love a project, didn't you, James? Is that it, then? You looked at him and thought I can
fix him?" Sirius teases.

"I never thought he was broken," James replies earnestly, not one ounce of dishonesty in him at the
moment. "I just… I suppose I did want his life to get—better, and for him to be happy, and well, he
makes me happy. My point is, he makes you happy, too. And Remus. That's good. He's good."
"Are you trying to convince me?" Sirius asks, amused.

James shrugs weakly. "Dunno. Maybe. I just want to tell someone, honestly. I know you know, and
I know it's not as simple for you, but I'm in love with him. I love him so much, and you're my best
friend, so I…"

"I get it," Sirius says, and James sags in relief. "You can, Prongs. You can always talk to me about
anything—the things that make you happy and...and the things that don't. You're not obligated to
be my safe haven all the time, mate. When you need it, I'm here to be yours, too."

"I mean, I know that."

"Not so sure that you do. I don't know if you've noticed, but you have a bit of a habit of avoiding
your own issues by trying to solve everyone else's. Lily said something to me, you know, and I've
thought about it a lot since. She said that you'd give your heart if it meant everyone you loved
could be happy, but why should you have to? And she also said that you're not here to fix things
and sacrifice your own needs for everyone else's, and it can be easy to forget that, because
sometimes it's like you'd like us to forget that. I don't know what's worse; the fact that it's true, or
the fact that anyone forgets at all."

"Oh," James rasps, blink hard and fast as a lump forms in his throat, because when it's put like
that…

If James is honest, he's always secretly harbored the idea that he's just the happiest, most well-
rounded person out of his friends. He's never really felt...justified in having issues, seeing as he has
a life so many deserve. Being sad, having bad days, struggling in general—those are things for
people that aren't him. He's never even considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he forgot
along with everyone else.

But he did. He did forget. Somehow, he's forgotten that it's just human to not be alright all the time.
To struggle. To have bad days. To just be fucking sad sometimes, as much as he hates it. And that's
okay. It's okay for everyone else, so why wouldn't it be okay for him?

It's painful to suddenly be smacked in the face with this, with the knowledge that he does maybe
have a bit of a problem prioritizing everyone else over himself. He was a little selfish all of one
time, and it had left him rattled with guilt and stress until he nearly just—fell apart because of it.
He'd even lost it a bit, trying to find some way to cope with it all, because he's never really allowed
himself that space to just...be.
"Oh, don't cry, James," Sirius whispers, reaching back to fumble for his wrist, squeezing it gently.

"I don't—I'm not sure why I am. I—I'm so—I'm genuinely, really happy, so I don't know why—I
don't—" James gives up from his stuttered sobbing and squeezes his eyes shut, ducking his head as
a harsh pressure seems to bubble up in his chest in a swelling ache that hurts and feels good at the
same time.

"I take it back. Cry, James. Absolutely cry as much as you can, as much as you need to," Sirius
murmurs, his other hand reaching up to grab his arm as he shudders and cries even harder. "I don't
know if you've ever cried for yourself, mate. I think you've gone long enough not crying for
yourself."

Maybe Sirius is right, or maybe James just trusts him to be, because he does sit right there and cry
for himself. He never has before, not like this. The closest he ever came was when he and Lily
split, but that's not quite the same as this. He's not crying because something or someone has hurt
him, or broken his heart; he's crying like he's grieving himself, grieving all the moments he never
allowed himself to cry before, grieving the loss of comfort he never allowed himself to ask for,
because he never even knew he needed it.

Sirius is his safe haven now, much the same way James must be for him, and it's a very intimate
and vulnerable thing to be on the other side of, James finds. He's struck by Sirius' bravery to do it,
because it's hard to crack yourself open and pluck out the scarred, rotted pieces you can't expect
someone else not to flinch from, especially when that's all you do. But Sirius does not flinch no
more than James ever has when Sirius opens up to him. Instead, he's steady and comforting.

"Sorry," James croaks when he finally finds himself calming down, naturally and not forced. He
feels scraped out and left hollow, but in a...good way? Like maybe he's expanded a bit on the
inside. He sniffles and scrubs at his face as Sirius rubs his arm patiently. "Didn't—didn't expect
that, if I'm honest, but on the bright side, I think I needed it."

Sirius chuckles. "Yeah, I'd say so. Feel better?"

"Loads," James admits. "Thanks."

"Anytime. Every time," Sirius says firmly, holding his gaze. "And don't apologize. You don't have
anything to apologize for, yeah? I'm sorry I never…"
"Don't do that. Please. It's hardly your fault, or anyone else's. It's not like I really, um, make it easy
to…" James grimaces slightly and waves a hand at himself. "I think I enable it. Or encourage it. Or
both, maybe. I do think I'd like everyone to forget, because I like forgetting, but that's not really…"

"Healthy?" Sirius suggests.

James smiles weakly. "Suppose not. I don't mean to. I didn't actually realize what was happening."

"I still need to…" Sirius takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. "We've been best friends—
we've been us, you and me—for over a fucking decade, James, and I have… Christ knows I have a
lot of issues, some earned and some that I've simply let form and used like a shield, but you're not a
pillar, you know? You aren't this steady pillar I get to prop up against for the rest of my life. You're
human, mate, and so am I, which means we get to lean on each other. You make mistakes just like
everyone else, and that's okay. You can tell lies, and get angry, and have days where you're upset.
And then I'm here. I'm here, yeah? I don't know if I've ever told you before; maybe I just thought it
went without saying, but it shouldn't. I'm sorry I never said it. I'm sorry I ever forgot. I'm sorry I've
ever let my issues overshadow yours. If you're miserable, then we'll just be miserable shits
together, and that's—that's fine, too."

"Sometimes I'm scared I won't have meaning if I'm not doing everything I can for everyone else,"
James confesses in a whisper, his eyes stinging again.

"Oh, James, no," Sirius rasps, sounding heartbroken instantly.

"I'm sorry. I'm—"

"Stop, no, don't do that. Don't apologize. Fuck, I'm sorry that we've gone on letting you feel that
way. I know none of us feel that way. Listen to me, I promise you everyone in your life doesn't feel
that way, alright? Even if we're all shit at showing it, or just—just didn't know, I can promise you
that. You have meaning just breathing; you mean so much to me, to so many people, and you don't
have to do anything for that."

"I'm not angry with anyone for it," James croaks. "I don't think it's anyone's fault. Or—or maybe it's
mostly just mine."

"I'm not a therapist, so I can't get to the source, but I'm quite sure I've at least perpetuated the
problem," Sirius murmurs, his eyebrows furrowed. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I forgive you," James replies softly, and Sirius swallows thickly. "I feel loads better
now, so it's fine."

"Ah, sorry to say that's...not really how it works, sadly."

"Sorry?"

"Prongs, I hope you don't take this as an insult, because I absolutely don't mean it as one, but
maybe you'd benefit talking to someone. Like, you know, a professional. I mean, I do, and it's
definitely helped me," Sirius says, then pauses and looks thoughtful. "I think? Yeah, probably."

"Me, in therapy?" James asks, startled. "That just seems a bit ridiculous, doesn't it? What could I
possibly need therapy for? Shall I go in and tell them I have a problem being too happy?"

Sirius snorts, giving him a little shove. "The problem isn't that you're too happy, mate. I think your
problem is that you don't know how to let yourself be sad."

"Is that a problem?"

"I think we just established that it was."

"All the crying, you mean."

"Yes, that. Seems like it was built up for a while."

"Felt that way," James admits, because it did. He already feels like he can breathe easier.

"Right," Sirius muses. "I'll talk to Ms. Pomfrey and see if she has anyone to recommend. I trust her
opinion."
"Don't—don't tell Regulus," James mumbles, and Sirius regards him curiously, but with no
judgment. "It's just… I'd rather explain myself, and I don't want him to think it has anything to do
with him. It doesn't have anything to do with him—or anyone, really. I'm very happy to be with
him, Sirius."

"I know you are. He's happy as well, you know. I've never seen him the way he is about you,"
Sirius says.

James feels his chest pulse with warmth, and it's so lovely how it only feels so much better in the
aftermath of his earlier release of emotion, as if he can feel it even more. "I can't begin to explain
how happy that makes me. Not even with Barty?"

"No, not with Barty," Sirius assures him, chuckling.

James hums in satisfaction, and they fall quiet for a bit, then go right back to talking. It's casual and
light from that point on, and they end up going to do a puzzle together, which makes James very
fucking happy, actually. Sirius eventually drags himself up to go get ready. He's leaving early to go
pick Remus up from the shop. Regulus will be coming here. The plan is for them all to meet at the
Potter residence, which James is fucking ecstatic about.

Sirius leaves with the promise of seeing him shortly, and the last two hours before Regulus shows
up drag on. James spends them trying to find things to do to pass the time, huffing every time he
looks at the clock, irritated that it's only been minutes when it feels as if it's been ages. He
eventually gives in and tries to get some work done, then has a shower and starts getting dressed,
waiting for the distant sound of a knock.

It never comes, but James is in the middle of padding around his room, looking for a specific shirt,
when he catches the twitch of movement out of the corner of his eye. His head whips around to see
Regulus leaning in his doorway, arms crossed, a tiny smile on his face as he simply watches him
like he's studying him, taking a course on James Potter in his natural habitat. James is strangely
flustered by this.

"Christ, love, I didn't hear you knock," James blurts out.

"That's because I didn't knock," Regulus tells him, lifting his hand and wriggling his fingers, a
mischievous glimmer in his eyes that's going to make James pass out here in a second.
"You picked the lock."

"I did. I do that sometimes, yes."

James hums, moving over to Regulus with a smile. "Of course you do. How long have you been
standing there?"

"Long enough to come to the conclusion that I hope you never find whatever shirt you're looking
for," Regulus tells him, amused, and he reaches out the second James comes within reach, trailing
his fingers over James' chest.

"We have to leave in less than an hour," James mumbles, gaze fixed on where Regulus' hand slides
down his chest.

"Suppose we'll have to be quick, then," Regulus replies simply, hooking his fingers in the front of
James' jeans and dragging him off to bed. James goes happily.

They do try to be quick, to be fair, only to be interrupted without any warning whatsoever. On the
bed, they're practically breathing each other in, and maybe James doesn't notice the distant sound
of the door opening, and maybe James doesn't notice the quiet murmurs approaching, and maybe
James doesn't notice anything other than the feeling of Regulus' skin under his hands.

Then, without preamble, "Oi, Prongs, Moony got off a little early, so we came back here first. Is
Reggie here yet?"

Sirius' voice is like a bucket of ice water, and it's too close for James to do anything other than
immediately panic. He flails a little bit and proceeds to frantically dump Regulus right over the
side of the bed. Regulus goes down with a solid thump and a quiet huff of shock, gaping at James
in disbelief as James scrambles to stare down at him over the side of the bed in horror, because he
can't believe he just did that.

As soon as the door swings open, framing Sirius in it, James is blurting out, "This isn't what it
looks like," as Sirius flings a hand up and chokes out, "Oh, fucking hell," covering his eyes like he
might see something because Regulus is still visible, even though there's nothing to really see.
They hadn't quite succeeded in getting out of their clothes; James is the only one in a state of
undress, but that's only because he didn't have a shirt on to start with, really.
"No, this is exactly what it looks like," James corrects almost instantly, whipping around to swing
himself off the side of the bed and stare at Regulus in dismay. "Oh my god, are you alright? I didn't
—I swear I didn't mean to do that."

"You're bloody strong," Regulus says, blinking at him as sits up. "You fucking tossed me, James."

"Did you throw my brother out of bed?" Sirius asks incredulously, still shielding his eyes.

"Bugger. It was an accident," James mumbles, his voice strained. He reaches out to carefully touch
Regulus' arm, relieved when Regulus doesn't pull away. "Love, I'm not even joking, that was just—
it was pure reflex. I'm so sorry."

"What's happened?" Remus asks, appearing in the doorway behind Sirius, his eyebrows shooting
up when he sees Regulus on the floor and James kneeling shirtless next to him.

"James was doing things you can't repeat in polite company with my brother, only to launch him
off the side of the bed when he heard me coming, that's what happened," Sirius announces, and
then he proceeds to crack up and laugh so hard that he has to drop his hand as he bends over to
clutch his knees. He wheezes, "Like they're both teenagers, and I'm the parent about to catch them
being naughty. Ha! Moony, he fucking threw him off the bed!"

Sirius absolutely loses it, and Remus ducks his head like he's trying so very hard not to laugh along
with him. Regulus, on the other hand, has never looked so unimpressed in his life. Despite himself,
James smiles sheepishly at him.

"Sorry," James says again. "I have no idea why I did that, or what came over me. I sort of just—
panicked."

"Oh, Christ," Sirius chokes out, making a weak sound as he reaches out to clamp down on the door,
slowly lowering himself to the floor as he genuinely laughs himself to tears.

"It's not that funny, Sirius," Regulus grumbles.

"I mean," Remus tells him, "it sort of is, though."

Regulus sighs and pins a flat look on James. "Make this up to me immediately."

"Yes, love. I'll get right on that, love. Anything for you, love," James murmurs teasingly. "What
would you like?"

"Sit here and look pretty," Regulus replies, reaching out to pat his cheek before launching to his
feet and snatching a pillow off the bed. James beams after him, delighted by the pretty comment,
sitting there very happily.

Regulus, in turn, marches over to Sirius and begins pelting him with the pillow repeatedly, making
his laughter fade into a startled yelp. He tries to cover the top of his head, so Regulus ruthlessly
whacks him in the face, making him sputter, and Remus takes a quick step back out of range with a
chuckle.

"Hey!" Sirius bellows, trying to reach out and catch the pillow, but Regulus has deadly aim, as it
turns out. "You little—"

"Out! Out, out, out. Get out," Regulus chants, punctuating each word with a smack of the pillow.
Sirius is still laughing, even if he's trying to pretend he isn't. "Go away, Sirius, and take Remus
with you; leave before us. We'll be following soon. I just have to suck your best mate's cock first."

"Oh, piss off," Sirius bursts out, scooting out of the range of the pillow until he can actually get to
his feet. "You can't traumatize me with that. I refuse to be traumatized!"

"You're going to be traumatized here in a moment if you hang about any longer," Regulus
threatens, holding up the pillow like he's not scared to use it—again.

"Alright, alright." Sirius holds his hands up in surrender, but he looks at James with a broad grin,
eyes sparkling. "Be sure not to throw him off the bed this time, eh, Prongs?"

James groans and drops his face against the side of the bed, and Sirius busts out laughing as
Regulus starts hitting him with the pillow again. There's the sound of thwaps and laughter, then the
door shutting, and Sirius heckling them until his voice fades away. James raises his head and
watches Regulus turn around with a huff, but for all his posturing, his eyes are bright with humor.
James lays his head over on the side of the bed and gazes at him, sighing softly. Oh, he's so
helplessly in love. Utterly smitten. Completely devoted.
"He is just the worst brother," Regulus says, but it's a lie. James knows it is, and by the look on
Regulus' face, so does he. In the next moment, Regulus moves over to drop the pillow back onto
the bed and climb on it, lying on his front with his chin resting on his folded hands. James turns his
head to stare at him from up close, their faces right across from each other, hovering so near that
their noses almost touch.

"Hello," James breathes out.

"Hi," Regulus replies, lips twitching.

"Sorry I threw you off the bed."

"You know, if I'm honest, I was into it."

James hangs his head back, letting out a helpless laugh, because oh, this man. This ridiculous,
lovely man. He rolls his head forward to find Regulus watching him fondly; it makes him wonder
if Regulus is thinking the same thing about him.

"Tell me something I don't know about you yet," James demands, hitching his arms up to fold them
across from Regulus on the bed.

Regulus seems to consider that for a long moment, and then he says, "When I was really small, I
had a lisp for a while. I couldn't say Sirius' name properly, so for about eight months, I called him
Sir-us."

"Oh my god," James breathes out. "What the fuck? That's adorable, Regulus. Okay, okay, again."

"Mm, remember my ex-fiance?"

"Yes."

"Right, well, I told you I didn't meet him until I was being told we were to be married, and that's
mostly true. I hadn't met him properly until then, never even talked to him, but I did know of him.
Most people did, if they were all in the same circles as my family was. He was… Well, you know,
I was exposed to a lot of bad people, and I'm certainly not the best, but Mulciber? He was
definitely one of the worst."

"If it hadn't been him, do you think you would have gone through with it?"

"I…" Regulus blinks, seeming to think about that for a long moment, his eyebrows tugging
together. "I mean, no, I don't think so. I was always very resistant to the idea of marrying. That was
all I was good for in my mother's eyes, and maybe it was Sirius' influence, but I didn't want that to
be my only fucking purpose in life. I dreaded it. I practically swore off marriage by the time I was
fourteen, even if I knew that couldn't be my reality."

"But it is your reality," James says softly. "You made it your reality, love. That's incredibly
brave."

"Maybe," Regulus allows, slow about it like he's forcing himself to accept it. "I just—I think part of
it is that I didn't want a man to own me, and I also didn't want to be someone's wife. I suppose I…
Honestly, I think the only person I would have even considered tolerating was Barty, but even then,
I'd be living a lie. Mother wouldn't have gone for it; her political opinions didn't align with Barty's
father's." He pauses, then chuckles. "Well, there's also Evan. I would have considered it for him,
too. He was actually an option, and probably the best one. It would have been a sexless marriage,
as well as loveless, but we would have been good partners, I think. If it was him, maybe I would
have considered it, but I still doubt that I would have gone through with it. At that point in my life,
it was either get out or—"

James swallows. "Or?"

"It was a bad time, James," Regulus whispers.

"Did you—" James takes a deep, shaky breath and tries not to start shaking from the mere thought.
"Did you consider…?"

"Dying?" Regulus fills in.

"Yeah," James croaks.

Regulus regards him for a long moment, then says, very bluntly, "I did."
"Fuck." James' eyes sink shut. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry that you ever—that you felt—"

"I don't," Regulus cuts in, and James' eyes fly open. "Anymore. I don't feel that way anymore. I
haven't for a long time. If I know nothing else, I know no one deserves to feel like that, and I know
now that it would have been a loss. Not just for everyone around me now, but for myself. I'm glad
I'm alive, James. I'm so very glad to be alive. There is so much beauty and hope in simply being
alive."

"I would have missed you so much," James says thickly.

"You didn't know me then."

"It doesn't matter. I would have anyway."

"Alright," Regulus murmurs, his eyes soft. "Would you like to know something else that's nicer?"

"Please."

"My very first haircut when I left home was absolutely awful. A fucking disgrace, James, I'm not
joking. I did it myself and went very, very short in the efforts to be more masculine, as if that can
even be defined by hair. It looked like I had a stumpy bowl around the very top of my head."

James chokes out a laugh. "Oh god, really? No curls?"

"Chopped them all off."

"Oh, love, no."

"I know," Regulus says with a grimace. "I learned my lesson, though. I've never gone that short
again."
"I would have loved you anyway," James tells him, and he knows it's true. "I do like your hair as it
is, though. Very soft."

"Thank you. Also, if you ever tell Sirius that, I will never suck your cock again. I mean that, James.
He can never know."

"Noted. Our secret. Tell me another."

Regulus hums thoughtfully. "I failed my driving test four times before I passed. In my defense,
Sirius wasn't there to teach me, so I never really learned. Mother and Father always had drivers, the
pretentious shits. They thought I should, too, so I had to teach myself. Not an easy thing to do, as it
turns out."

"Is that why you don't have a car?"

"I don't like driving, honestly. I can in an emergency, I'm sure, but I'd prefer not to. I'm so bad at it,
James."

"Fortunate we live where not having a car is the usual."

"Very fortunate. Can you drive?"

"Really well, yeah."

"Well, that solves all my problems, doesn't it?"

"Oh, does it?"

"That's what I'll keep you around for. My own personal chauffeur," Regulus teases, lips twitching.

"I'd be anything for you, love."

"Careful with that. Most of the ideas that just popped into my head were of the naughty variety."

James sways forward and mumbles, "What am I going to do with you, hm?"

"Well, if I'm lucky, you'll throw me around some more, but preferably not away," Regulus teases,
apparently in a playful mood now, and James is absolutely enamored by it.

"Regulus Arcturus Black, are you flirting with me?"

"I don't flirt."

"Mm, I think you do. I think that's exactly what you're doing," James tells him with a grin. "I also
think it's working."

"No, I genuinely do not flirt. I never have."

"Well, that's what this is."

"Is it? If you say so, James."

"I feel special."

Regulus leans in and whispers, "You are."

He kisses James afterwards, like a promise, reaching out to grasp the back of James' head with one
hand and grip his chin with the other, completely locking him in place. James' eyebrows sail up as
his head is forcefully tipped back, and then it's a bit like he's being devoured, actually. Oh, he
thinks, oh, okay, and then there's not much thinking after that.

Remus thinks maybe one of his favorite places to be is on the back of Sirius Black's motorbike.
Sometimes, it's even better when the bike isn't even moving, and they're just sitting there quietly.
Sirius leaning back into him, keeping the bike steady, his feet planted. Remus holding onto him,
arms wrapped around him, his face buried into Sirius' hair.

"Nervous?" Sirius murmurs, reaching back to fumble with Remus' helmet after already removing
his own.

"Dreadfully," Remus admits, lifting his face just enough to hook his chin on Sirius' shoulder and
gaze at the house looming before them. Well, 'looming' is a bit of a strong word. The house is very
normal; Remus is just anxious.

Sirius hangs the helmet up, then swivels his head to press a quick kiss to Remus' cheek. "You don't
need to be. Effie and Monty are wonderful. Just think about it, yeah? They created James. Could
anyone be awful if they've made him?"

"It's entirely possible, actually. I mean, your parents made you and Regulus, and they're awful."

"Well, Regulus and I aren't—"

"Don't," Remus cuts in, and Sirius shuts up. "You really need to ease up on yourself and Regulus a
bit."

"Sorry. Habit. I'm trying," Sirius mutters. "Right, no, you're right. We really did turn out
shockingly well, considering who our parents are. But, as for James, his parents are fucking
wonderful. You'll love them."

"I don't doubt that," Remus says. "The question is if they'll love me."

"Oh, is that what you're worried about?" Sirius snorts and taps his hands to get him to let go,
swinging forward and off the bike, looking amused. "No need, sweetheart. They're going to love
you, I promise."

Remus remains on the bike a bit longer, sliding forward and gripping the handles tight. "They're
essentially your adopted parents, Padfoot."
"Yes, and?"

"And that's—I mean, I'm under a bit of pressure to at least impress them a little, but I'm just...me."

"You say that as if you're not the eighth wonder of the world, Remus," Sirius murmurs, looking
sincerely confused.

"I—"

"No, genuinely, what are you on about? You're impressive when you fucking breathe. This is not
up for discussion."

"I think you're just in love," Remus says fondly, a yawning of delight shivering through his frame.
He can feel his face getting warm, but he doesn't really mind in this case.

Sirius clicks his tongue. "I am, yes, but that doesn't deny me credibility. I'm a very reliable
source."

"Oh, are you?"

"Mhm. Of course."

Remus rolls his eyes, but he's smiling helplessly. "I'm just… I suppose I'm anxious because I know
they're important to you. Besides, I'll be seeing a lot of them over the years, I imagine, so I'd like to
start off on the right foot."

"Oh. Oh, Moony. Oh, oh, oh," Sirius breathes out, stumbling forward to kiss him rather fiercely
and unexpectedly.

Remus has to plant his feet more firmly on the ground as Sirius leans into him. He winds his arms
all the way around Remus' shoulders and—well, it's a rather inappropriate thing to do, snogging as
deeply as this in front of the home containing one's adopted parents. That doesn't seem to perturb
Sirius in the least. He just kisses him with a deep groan, licking right into Remus' mouth as if he's
desperate for a taste. Remus holds his sides, humming in approval, giving in and dragging him
even closer.

He's not entirely sure what he's done to earn this, honestly, but he wishes he knew so he could do it
again. Goodness, Sirius is really going for it, snogging him so thoroughly that his lips are swollen
and slick when Sirius draws away to let them catch their breath. Remus licks them, admittedly
dazzled.

"More," he breathes out, not even meaning to, but meaning it with every cell in his body.

Sirius doesn't make him wait, immediately moving back in to kiss him more, give him more, and
Remus really thinks he's going to need this for the rest of his life. He'll be insatiable and satisfied,
even though he's never known that to be something anyone could achieve, but then again, no one
has Sirius the way he does.

That thought sends a violent shudder through Remus' body, and he clenches his hand in Sirius' hair
—it has somehow found its way there, unsurprisingly. He uses the grip to leverage Sirius' head
back farther, giving himself a better angle to kiss him like he's trying to drink him in. Sirius
collapses forward with a small, muffled sound and clutches at the front of Remus' jumper, clinging
like he might fall if he doesn't.

"Fuck," Sirius says, his voice hoarse when they finally break apart again after, frankly, a long time.
He sounds breathless, and he can't be still, continuously flexing his fingers in Remus' jumper and
shifting against him. He presses his face into Remus' neck, then draws back to do a strange sniff-
kiss of some sort against the side of Remus' face like he wants to just fucking inhale him. "You.
Oh, you, Moony. You, you, you."

"Me?" Remus mumbles, eyes drifting shut as Sirius drops delicate kisses along his jaw. He's like a
fucking drug. The rush of it almost stings; it's addicting, calling Remus back over and over. Sirius
gets his blood pumping. Twists him into knots. Crooks a finger without ever lifting his hand,
casting out a hook only meant to catch the corner of his mouth, but Remus swallowed it whole.
Remus has a hook buried in his heart and fishing line caught in between his teeth.

"God, you," Sirius groans, rearing back to stare at him, and Remus feels the rustle and rumble of
awareness blaze within him like lightning striking the earth, just from meeting Sirius' eyes. It's a
flash of danger vibrating in his very bones. The caveat of life. His body is awake. His heart twists,
a startled hare diving for underbrush at the first sign of movement.

"I don't know what that means," Remus admits.

Sirius' mouth is bitten-red and lush, his eyes dark, but he's almost startlingly sincere when he
whispers, "I've known from the moment I saw you that I was going to be a fool for you, Remus
Lupin. I think you search for more because you're the grandest thing this world has to offer. All the
places you've looked, and it never crossed your mind to search a mirror?"

"Not even once," Remus murmurs, dragging his hand back to cup the side of Sirius' head, his
thumb gently smoothing the skin at his temple.

"You're the more you're looking for, Moony," Sirius tells him, "and I'll spend the rest of my life
helping you find it."

"Oh, please do."

"Mhm. I'm going to. Can we get married now? Get started raising all twenty-four of our
children?"

"Twenty-four? I thought it was eighteen?" Remus asks, fond and amused now.

"I've added six more, obviously. There's never enough of anything with you," Sirius says, breaking
out into a grin.

Remus chuckles and tugs Sirius in, cupping the side of his head and pressing a firm kiss to his
forehead. Sirius makes a little noise of delight in response. "Why don't we start with one and work
our way up, yeah?"

"Acceptable," Sirius allows. There's a curious light in his eyes as he sways back. "Do you mean
that? I mean, do you actually want children, Remus?"

"Do you?" Remus asks.

Sirius hesitates, then mumbles, "The thought absolutely terrifies me, if I'm honest. I want to, but I
never thought I could, or would. With you, though, I think it'd be alright. As long as I had you, we
could do anything."
"Funny," Remus says softly, his heart clenching. "I was going to say the same exact thing."

"And marriage?"

"Shockingly, I have no issues surrounding marriage. I could do without it, but I'd also be happy to
do it as well."

"Tomorrow, then?" Sirius asks innocently.

Remus snorts and gently shoves his face away, pushing him back so he can stand and swing
himself off the back. "Have some patience, Padfoot. We get there when we get there."

"So...next week?" Sirius tries, smiling sweetly at him.

"How would we even plan a wedding in a week, Sirius?"

"Do not underestimate the power of friendship, Moony. My friends will throw us the grandest
wedding the likes of which the world has never seen, and they wouldn't need a week. They could
do it in hours. I can prove it if you like."

"I'm quite sure none of your friends would approve or encourage something so reckless."

"Categorically untrue, actually. They've been supporting me through all my reckless decisions for
years, and what's so reckless about love anyway?"

"You're relentless," Remus says, but he's smiling.

Sirius hums and wraps an arm around him, slowly easing him into a stroll towards the house.
"Well, it's all a bit of tosh, isn't it? Not living your life to the fullest while you're alive, I mean.
Why shouldn't I marry you tomorrow if I want? The worst that happens is that we divorce. That's
the worst-case scenario, and I'd rather live with the regret of marrying you than the regret of not
getting to when I had the chance, should there ever be a reason that I can't. Does that make
sense?"

"You know, it does," Remus muses, eyebrows furrowed. He glances at Sirius with a mild frown.
"It's a bit worrying that you can do that."

"Do what?"

"Make insane things sound sensible."

"Is it insane to marry me, Remus?"

"Oh, absolutely. The equivalent to signing my life away. A prison sentence, really."

"Sweetheart, I have you in shackles already, marriage or no."

"Would you believe it? I'm happy to be here."

"Yeah, you are," Sirius coos, barking a laugh. He gives Remus a little shake and hums happily.
"There's no rush, though, not really. Whenever you want more, Moony, it's yours."

Remus' lips twitch. "So, not next week, then? Damn, and I was so close to agreeing, too."

"I'll wear you down yet," Sirius chirps, winking at him.

"Why don't we try actual cohabitation before we run off and take the plunge? That's perfectly
sensible, too," Remus says.

Sirius gasps dramatically and puts his hand against his chest as he leans away, eyes bright. "Why,
Moony, are you asking to move in with me? Because yes. It's absolutely a yes already. Come stay
with me forever."
"Why am I moving in with you? Why not the reverse?" Remus asks with a legitimate frown this
time.

"Well, that could work, too," Sirius muses. "I suppose I sort of just thought I'd carry on living with
James forever, but that's… That's not going to be the case, is it?"

Remus feels his face soften, because it's clear that Sirius is only just now realizing this, and he's
visibly glum about it. In the end, Remus suspects it'll be him that has to give Sirius time to adjust to
some things. "No, I sincerely doubt it. I mean, it will probably be a bit before either of you will
think about that more genuinely, but… Well, I imagine James will end up living with Regulus."

"Right," Sirius murmurs, subdued.

"On the bright side," Remus tries, "you'll at least have two of your favorite people in the same
place. Isn't that nice?"

"It sort of is. Right?" Sirius frowns and pauses to look at him, and Remus feels his heart clench
again. "Can you tell I'm trying to be mature about this?"

"I can tell. You're doing so well. I'm very proud of you."

"Well, that made me feel better. You're going to be a brilliant teacher, you know. Your students are
going to love you."

"You think?" Remus asks, a pleasant jolt of surprise hitting him directly in the chest.

"I know," Sirius assures him, his face softening. "If—when James abandons me for my brother—"

"He won't be abandoning—"

"No, no, I know. I'm just—I'm coping with humor, you see. Desensitizing myself to it, if you will,
so I'll be less of a wreck when it actually happens. Precautionary measures, Moony."
"Oh, is that what it is?" Remus says, amused again by how truly dramatic Sirius can be.

Sirius hums sagely. "Indeed." He pauses again, then looks at Remus for a long moment, his
expression blooming into sincere hope. Whatever he's about to say, he won't be joking at all,
Remus can already tell. "You'll come, won't you? If we don't beat them to it, you'll come stay with
me, right?"

"Yes," Remus promises instantly, not even knowing where he'll be in life or what will be going on
for him, or any of them, but knowing deep in his bones that he means it.

"Oh, I love you. I love, love, love you so much," Sirius declares, beaming at him. "All the time,
everywhere, even nowhere."

Remus' lips curl up. "Nowhere? Where is nowhere?"

"Sometimes, I think it's in me," Sirius murmurs, pressing his hand to his chest, "but it's also a place
out there no one can get to. I love you there, too."

"You fucking sop," Remus breathes out, a strange mixture of emotional and content. "I'm going to
shag you thoroughly later, you have absolutely no idea."

Sirius grins immediately and waggles his eyebrows as he starts pulling Remus towards the house
again. "Promises, promises."

It's not long before they reach the door, and Sirius doesn't even knock. He just lets himself in,
holding the door open so Remus can slip inside behind him. Sirius is visibly comfortable here,
moving through the small hall at the entrance and calling out for Effie and Monty. Remus follows
warily, cautious, and Sirius distractedly reaches back to tangle their fingers together and tug him
along.

A woman comes bustling out of what Remus can see is the kitchen, and he's startled by how much
she looks like James. Or, well, how much James looks like her, he supposes. Not the hair, though.
James clearly inherited that from the man that follows behind the woman. They both wear warm
smiles, and it eases some of Remus' nerves, just a bit.

"Oh, hello, darling," Effie greets, opening her arms to immediately offer a hug that Sirius accepts,
letting Remus' hand go to do it.

"Hello, I'm Monty. Remus, isn't it?" Monty says, offering his hand to Remus. "It's nice to finally
meet you, lad. We've heard a great deal about you from Sirius and James."

"Well, that's ominous," Remus murmurs with a weak smile as he reaches out to shake Monty's
hand. He's expecting the grip to be firm, but it's not, really. He's not expecting Monty to chuckle
and pat the back of his hand with his free one, but that's exactly what Monty does.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much. They've had nothing but praise for you," Monty tells him,
dropping his hand and pulling away as Sirius breaks from the hug, which prompts Effie to sweep
over to him.

"How do you feel about hugs, Moonbeam?" Effie asks, and Sirius stifles a laugh.

Remus blinks, caught off-guard. "Um. Yes?"

"Lovely," Effie says, then moves forward to hug him, too. She's quite tall, but Remus is taller than
most people, even her. He hugs her back mostly to be polite, then keeps hugging her to continue
being polite, and she's just—not letting go. So, he doesn't let go either. Maybe she needs it?

"Drive safe?" Monty asks Sirius.

"Of course," Sirius replies with a grin.

Monty hums skeptically. "I worry for you on that bike of yours, you know."

"Yes, you've been saying so for years. And I've been saying for years that you'd love it if you tried
it, being the thrill-seeker that you are," Sirius says.

"It's not that I have a problem with you driving it. I just have a problem with everyone else driving
around you. Some people barely even pay attention. What if—"
"Monty, we've been over this—"

"Oh, leave him be, Fleamont," Effie speaks up, turning her head against Remus' shoulder with a
small chuckle.

Sirius grins in triumph. "See? Effie approves. You should get one, Monty. She might find it sexy."

"I will have you know, she finds me plenty sexy on my own, bike or no bike," Monty mutters,
hands on his hips.

"Of course I do, honey," Effie agrees supportively. She's still hugging Remus, and it has gone from
polite to awkward to oddly comforting back to awkward again, at this point.

"Remus," Sirius says, laughing softly, "she's not going to let you go first, sweetheart. It's sort of a
rule she has. She'll literally stand there and hug you forever."

"Oh," Remus mumbles, his face growing hot as he slowly pulls away, and Sirius laughs at him
again, the prick. Remus glances sheepishly at Effie. "I—sorry. I just thought maybe you needed it
or something."

"I'm going to die," Sirius states with a soft sigh. Monty chuckles and claps him on the shoulder.

"Well, aren't you a good one?" Effie muses pleasantly, clearly approving. She reaches out to pat
Remus' arm. "That's alright. That's why I never let go first, too."

"Great minds," Remus offers, tapping his temple.

Effie hums. "Exactly. But yes, we've heard a lot about you, so we're glad you're here. I've a funny
story, if you'd believe it. See, when you and Sirius started dating, he only really called you
'Moony', and I thought he said 'Moonbeam', so that's how I thought of you in my head at the start."

"You thought that was my actual name?" Remus asks, laughing quietly. "That's alright. At this
point, I answer to 'Moony' just as much as I do my own name. This family seems to have a
proclivity for nicknames and terms of endearments."
"Mm, Moonbeam shall be yours, I've decided," Effie tells him with a glint of humor in her eyes.

"Where's James?" Monty asks.

Sirius snorts. "Shagging my little brother."

There's a beat of silence, then Effie delicately says, "Well, good for them. As long as they're not
late for supper."

"You're not going to believe what your son did," Sirius announces, brightening up before launching
into a slightly exaggerated retelling of the events earlier.

It's easy after that. They all make their way into the kitchen where Effie is cooking. Monty settles
at the table with Sirius and Remus, listening to Sirius chatter away. At multiple different points,
Effie and Monty bust out laughing at James' expense, but never without the steady undercurrent of
love.

Remus finds that he likes it here, that he likes Effie and Monty. They make this place homely. It's
warm, and there's a soft haze that blankets everything, like there's no possible way anything could
ever go wrong here. The sight of Effie chopping vegetables at the counter reminds him of his own
mother, but that's genuinely where the similarities stop. Effie and Monty pay attention. They're
inclusive and focused on the people in the room with every part of them, not distracted and distant,
not even doing it out of indulgence. It's clear that they sincerely enjoy Sirius' presence—as well as
Remus', which he's not sure he's ever felt before in a setting like this.

It makes Remus think he could tell Effie and Monty absolutely anything, and they'd listen. They'd
hear him. They'd stop and focus and let him in. Remus doesn't really know what to do with that,
but he does like it, so he ends up just relaxing into it.

After Sirius finishes his dramatic re-telling of James throwing Regulus off his bed, Monty and
Effie go out of their way to get to know Remus. They ask questions, and not in the way one does
when they don't actually care about the answer; they're curious, and they don't run out of things to
talk about. Remus finds himself equally curious about them, always wanting to know more about
everyone, and they seem absolutely delighted to answer his questions and carry on about the things
they're passionate about. It's an exchange back and forth with Sirius' running commentary in the
background.
Eventually, James and Regulus do show up (before supper, so Effie seems pleased), and Remus
watches curiously to see how Regulus interacts with them. He seems, at first, a bit tense while
Effie and Monty greet James, then he relaxes the moment Effie hugs him (he seems to know about
her rule, because he's the one who breaks the hug first, after touching her so very carefully like
she's delicate) and Monty drops his arm around his shoulders as he cheerfully declares he knew he
would be seeing him again (which makes Regulus actually smile, small and sweet, his cheeks
turning red). Remus turns to find out how Sirius is handling seeing all of it.

He's right to check. It's a curious thing, the way so many emotions seem to flicker over Sirius' face,
through his eyes. Some of it is indecipherable, but Remus can make some of it out. There's a little
bit of that possessive jealousy of his, which isn't a surprise, honestly. What really gets Remus,
though, is the sadness. That tender desolation that comes with the realization that he's never seen
his brother have a positive interaction with any parental figures in the world. Especially their own.
That is a sad thing, isn't it?

Remus reaches out to grab his hand, catching his gaze, and Sirius blinks rapidly, swallows harshly,
and gives a tiny, weak smile of thanks in response.

Effie ends up claiming Regulus to help her in the kitchen, which he seems more than happy to do.
James throws himself down in the chair by his dad and immediately launches into a funny story
about a man in a top hat.

And so it goes.

Supper ends up being absolutely delightful. Effie drags up a chair between Sirius and Remus
shamelessly, more than happy to talk with them. Regulus, like her, practically shoves James aside
to get in between him and Monty, then spends most of the meal ignoring his boyfriend for his
boyfriend's dad. It's actually sort of hilarious, as well as cute, because Regulus' admiration for
Monty reads loud and clear. It's different but just as intense as Sirius' admiration for Effie. Monty
seems rather oblivious to Regulus' favoritism; Effie, on the other hand, seems as if she's aware of
literally everything.

After the meal, Sirius and James are given the task of washing the dishes by Effie, which they
agree to with no complaints. That leaves Regulus and Remus with Effie and Monty, which Remus
suspects was a premeditated choice. They're escorted outside under the guise of Monty showing
them his garden, but then they get possibly the nicest shovel-talk in history. It mostly amounts to
this:

"You know, Sirius has been through a lot," Effie tells Remus, strolling along with her arm threaded
through his. "I love him as if he's my own, Remus. It's all a mother wants for her child, really, to
see them happy and loved."

"Not all Mothers," Regulus mutters.

Effie glances back at him with a sad smile. "No, not all, unfortunately. I'm among those that do.
You've given me a gift with James, as you have with Sirius, Remus. No one knows the future, but
I'll tell you both as I've told Sirius and James; love is a choice. Even when times are hard,
sometimes all you can do is keep making it. They will. I'd ask you both to do the same, for as long
as that's what's best for all of you."

"And," Monty adds, "not every mistake is an ending. This is life and love, lads, and those come
with problems no matter how hard you try to avoid them. The problems that will arise only have
the power that you give them."

"How long have you two been married?" Remus asks.

"Coming up on thirty-two years now," Monty says warmly while Effie swivels her head to smile at
him.

Christ, I haven't even been alive for thirty-two years, Remus thinks in a daze, sharing a brief look
with Regulus, who also seems a bit amazed by that number.

"We married young," Effie explains. "I was twenty-one, and Monty was twenty-three."

"We are still twenty-one and twenty-three," Monty informs them with a wink.

Regulus clears his throat. "Do you—I mean, I don't want to overstep, but do you suppose that's why
James asked Lily so young? Not that there's anything wrong with it, but…"

"No, you're onto something," Monty muses thoughtfully, seeming to think about it. "James has
always loved the way Effie and I love each other, I think. It's—it's a very steady foundation of
love, you understand. But, back then, times were so very different. We were at different places in
our lives at those ages. I was building my business, and it was going quite well. It was much easier
to afford houses and such. Effie had all plans to be a stay-at-home mother. We'd been together for
two years by the time we got married, and we were already building a life together. But the young
people of that time aren't the same as young people of this one, such as yourselves. The world is
different, and that affects everything from careers to housing all the way down to love."

"Of course, not all plans went smoothly back then either. Monty and I tried for seven years before
we were blessed with James," Effie says. "My plan to be a stay-at-home mother just didn't happen
for a long time, so I ended up becoming a nurse for a few years. Stopped when we had James, then
went back to it when he went to Hogwarts, and did that for four more years before learning rather
simply that I didn't enjoy it at all. Sounds awful, not enjoying healing people, but that wasn't the
part I struggled with. There are some unimaginable horrors in hospitals if you stay long enough to
see them."

"They drained her," Monty continues. "She came to me and said she couldn't do it anymore, and so
I told her to stop. She did just that and started working with me whenever she wished to. Sirius
came to us, of course, and we thought—well, it's ironic how things work out sometimes, isn't it?
We always wanted more than one child when we were younger, but it never quite worked out, until
it suddenly...did."

Effie hums. "Life's funny like that sometimes. You may not get everything you plan to go after, or
maybe you just won't get it in the way you expect. I don't regret any of it, looking back."

"Life would be very boring if it went exactly as you thought it would," Monty agrees, lips curling
up.

"James, though…" Effie sighs fondly and twists around to gaze at Regulus with warmth in her
eyes. "When he was with Lily, he was living so fiercely by his expectations that he couldn't quite
see past them. He's not doing that anymore, not with you. I think he's rather happy to see where life
takes him, so long as he has you there with him."

"And Sirius…" Monty clicks his tongue, looking at Remus with a lopsided smile. "That poor boy
has always put too many expectations on himself and so few on anything else. Living with no plan
isn't fruitful any more than its counterpart in James, in living only in plans. He's not doing that
anymore either. Every time he looks at you, it's like he's found a part of his future, because he
knows you'll be in it."

And, really, that's pretty much it for getting a 'talking to' by the parents. Not so bad, really. Remus
is more emotional than anything, and Regulus seems to be in the same predicament, so it's nice to
have each other in a way.

Monty does end up showing them his garden, which Regulus immediately gets swept up in. Remus
mostly just strolls along with Effie, murmuring to her in between listening to Regulus and Monty.
He finds himself thinking it's nice more than once, leaving him relieved, because he really doesn't
doubt that he'll be seeing a lot more of Effie and Monty over the years.

James and Sirius eventually do come barreling out of the house, a tumble of noise and roaring
laughter as James sprints at full-speed after Sirius, who has a rugby ball tucked under his arm. He
tosses it to Effie as he goes by, who springs away from Remus to catch it, then immediately yelps
in laughter as she takes off running while James darts after her instead.

"She's startling spry for her age," Monty muses fondly, lips twitching as Effie feints to one side to
get out of James' range. She launches the ball towards Sirius, who catches it while cackling. Monty
suddenly sucks in a sharp breath. "No! No, don't you dare, Sirius Black! Not my tomatoes!"

Just like that, Monty bursts into motion, diving into the chaos and leaving Remus standing beside
Regulus. They watch them in silence, simply on the outskirts, observing the way they all laugh and
chase each other around.

"Remus," Regulus says quietly.

"Yeah, Reg?"

"Can I ask you something personal? You might not wish to answer, and you don't have to, but I…"

"Yeah, of course," Remus murmurs, glancing over at him.

"Do you think we'll ever be fully okay, even though we never had that?" Regulus asks, nodding his
head towards where a family is being a proper family.

Remus inhales, then holds it, his chest pinching so hard that he can't figure out how to exhale. But
he swallows, and he does, and he says, "I think if anyone can, it's you. I mean, you're already
getting there, aren't you?"

"Seems that way sometimes," Regulus admits, turning to look right at him. "I expect the same out
of you."
"Sorry?" Remus blurts out, blinking.

Regulus doesn't look perturbed. "Remus, we've been doing this miserable shit we call life together
for three years. That doesn't change just because it gets less miserable. The only thing is, we'll do
that together, too."

"You mean—therapy," Remus mumbles.

"Respectfully, you need it," Regulus says bluntly. "Also disrespectfully, you need it."

"If anyone—"

"You can't keep using that excuse. I'm in therapy, idiot."

"Doesn't mean I have to go. I'm perfectly fine. I've done well so far without it, and when did you
become such an advocate for it anyway?"

"When it started working," Regulus tells him flatly. "Remus, you have a pride issue, which is the
only reason you're resisting, because it wounds your pride. You don't like to admit that things
bother you, or that you might need help. You don't want to be seen as weak. You're so passive in
the things that happen to you sometimes because you'd prefer not to acknowledge that they can and
do affect you. I pretended to fucking poison you, and you just...let it go, but not really. And you
don't have to. You shouldn't. But you don't work through things, as if it can't hurt you if you don't
acknowledge it."

"Wow, Regulus, psychoanalyze me, why don't you?" Remus grits out, hating that tiny voice in his
head (which, absurdly enough, sounds like Lily) that says he's right.

"Being with my brother isn't going to fix all the issues you have," Regulus declares in that ruthless
way of his, but it feels more like tough-love in this situation, which is maybe what Remus
genuinely needs right now. "I'm going to talk to Ms. Pomfrey about recommendations, because I
trust her, and you're going to try. If I'm trying, you're trying with me."

"Am I?" Remus grumbles.

"Yes. I've decided," Regulus confirms, nodding. "If it makes you feel better, you can blame me.
And I won't—" He stops, his face softening as he looks at Remus. "I won't say anything to anyone,
Remus. No one has to know until you're ready to tell them, if you ever are."

Remus stares at him for a long moment, and something in him tightens before it slowly, oh slowly,
eases. Tentatively, he gives a very careful nod. "Fine. I'll—try."

"Good," is all Regulus says, though his lips curl up smugly for a moment, and then he leans over
and knocks their arms together. Remus gently nudges him back.

They get maybe fifteen more seconds of peace and quiet before a rugby ball hits Remus directly in
the middle of the chest. His arms curl up to catch it awkwardly before he even realizes it, and he
looks up to see James and Sirius racing towards him at full speed with genuinely feral grins. Remus
is flustered instantly, because he doesn't do sports of any kind. Really, any sort of strenuous
activity, if he's honest.

He frantically shoves the ball at Regulus, but it's too late. They're both still gripping it when Sirius
and James converge on them, fully just tackling them both to the ground with uproarious laughter
as all four of them go down in a mess of tangled limbs and heavy thumps.

Things are pure chaos until Monty comes jogging by to snatch the ball, going off to toss it back and
forth with Effie. Remus wheezes as they all work to separate, which is strenuous activity that he
doesn't at all appreciate. He's pretty sure he's lying directly on top of James, which is honestly the
last person he expected to be in a semi-compromising position with. James seems to find the humor
in it, too.

"Well, hello there, Remus," James says cheekily as Remus raises himself up on one arm by his
head. He grins and winks up at him, his hair a mess, eyes bright. "Don't you look dashing from this
angle? Sirius, mate, I think I get it."

"Piss off," Sirius replies with a grunt, practically crawling out from under Regulus.

"No, no, he has a point," Remus agrees, lips twitching as James waggles his eyebrows at him. "Reg,
is this your view? It's a rather nice one, isn't it?"

"Piss off," Regulus echoes with huff as he flops down on his back beside James, swiping grass off
his face.
James snorts as Remus rolls off to land on the ground beside him. "Oh, they're too easy."

"Aren't they?" Remus agrees, watching Sirius settle down beside him, his chest still heaving.

"You wouldn't have us any other way," Sirius declares.

"Wrong," Remus says. "I'd have you any way I could."

"Aw, Moony."

"James, I'm going to vomit. Make them stop."

"Sorry, love, I think it's best to leave them to it. Might as well get used to it," James tells Regulus,
chuckling.

"If I must," Regulus mutters grudgingly.

Sirius hums. "Come here, Moony, let's snog. I want to see if Reggie still projectile-vomits or not."

"I was five."

"Did you really?" Remus asks, amused.

"He did," Sirius announces gleefully. "Just showed up at the end of my bed in the middle of my
night, said Sirius, I don't feel so good, and immediately vomited."

"That's sort of cute," James says.

"It was disgusting," Sirius replies in defeat, as if James finding everything Regulus cute in any
 capacity means there's no way to save him.

"Shall I mention the time you gave yourself a concussion because you were—"

"Hey, hey, no. None of that. Truce, yeah?"

Regulus hums in satisfaction. "That's what I thought."

"You'll tell me later?" James can be heard whispering.

"Whatever you want," Regulus replies.

Remus interrupts them all to point up at the sky. "Look."

"Oh," Sirius mumbles, and they all fall silent.

"Why is that cloud shaped like a cock?" James asks.

"Maybe it's a sign," Remus replies.

Sirius chokes out a laugh and says, "Christ, Moony, for what? What could a cloud being shaped
like a cock possibly even be a sign for? What does that even mean?"

"Not sure. I feel blessed, in any case," Remus declares, and that sets them all off until they're all
just lying there and laughing like four fools with nothing else to do.

To be fair, Remus doubts there's anything that any of them would rather be doing than this.

Chapter End Notes

James YEETED Regulus fully just panicked and TOSSED him

Effie my beloved <3

Monty my beloved <3
James and Remus also getting therapy my beloved <3
Sirius and Regulus being happy my beloved <3

Again, thank you all so much for the comments!!! I'm trying make my way through
them, but I started a new job today, so it's taking a little time! I will be getting to them,
so for those of you getting responses to comments on old chapters, I'm sorry I'm late.
I'm behind, I know. Love you all, though, and thank you all sooooo much <3
 Chapter 28
Chapter Notes

this chapter is a mixture of...humor and heavy. sort of? but ill go ahead and warn now:

this chapter focuses a bit on death, specifically a parent dying that one has a complex
relationship with (no surprise, it's orion). it focuses on regulus and sirius leaning on
each other through it, mostly. there is a brief visit with orion, who uses regulus' dead
name only once, blatantly says he doesn't accept that regulus is his son, states that he
isn't proud of sirius, and outright admits that he doesnt really care about his children.
there's no outright misgendering of regulus, and orion's transphobia and homophobia
is made clear without slurs or insults, because i just don't have it in me to write that,
nor do i feel it necessary to depict it. also, orion is mocked for his bigotry by sirius and
regulus, and they're not upset about him being small-minded and wrong.

so, quick recap, warnings for: depictions of death, stated transphobia and homophobia
in the most watered-down way possible (because that's all im willing to write,
honestly), and grieving (but also bonding, lots of bonding).

i just wanted to warn properly for orion being a shit. regulus and sirius do some
bonding, grieving, and drinking. james and remus are Exasperated, and Concerned.
and, despite it all, they're going to be fine.

just trust the process with me on this one.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Regulus wouldn't say that there are very many places in the world that he feels completely and
wholly comfortable. His flat, of course. Remus' flat as well. James and Sirius' flat—well, he's
starting to be, slowly but surely.

Other than that, there's always a part of him that doesn't fully relax. Not necessarily like he's
paranoid, or on edge, or in a constant state of tension; more just the difference between wearing a
bra and not (and oh, he does not miss those); there are so few places he gets to remove his
metaphorical bra. Or, maybe it'd be more accurate in saying the difference is in wearing clothes in
general and being naked. So at ease that he's bare, no guard blocking any of him. In most places, in
most cases, he's always at least a little bit covered.

Poppy Pomfrey's office is a strong contender for a place he's stripped bare, but he wouldn't say he's
comfortable there either. He's more comfortable, after consistent therapy sessions, but he knows
he'll never feel entirely relaxed here. He supposes that has more to do with the fact that the whole
stripping metaphor applies to his insides, too. The inner-workings of his mind. The squirming,
flinching nexus of his very soul, of which he'd prefer never to see, let alone anyone else. Therapy
doesn't care about that, though.
At least he and Sirius bond over the discomfort of it. They do their best bonding in pain after all, so
you could say therapy has brought them closer in more ways than one. Regulus has found that he
and Sirius love hating things together (their mother, generally), which really highlights the
dramatic pricks they can genuinely be, but honestly, the other is the only one who gets it and can
match it perfectly. They're on the same wavelength in that regard, at the very least.

But, well, sometimes therapy isn't painful at all. Sometimes it's just—talking. Learning to talk to
each other without instinctively walking old paths of resentment and bitterness that leads them
right back to one place—regret. It's always regret, really, that sits at the heart of them both. Regret
for things they did, things they said, and things they didn't. Regret for lost time and missed
opportunities. Regret for the children they were, and regret for the children they never got to be.

The more they talk, the more they have to talk about. The more they leave the past where it is, the
easier it gets to forgive the children they no longer are, and move on. The more they try, the better
they get at it.

Ms. Pomfrey—through various sessions—has learned about the whole situation with Remus and
James. She'd admittedly been a big part of them getting their shit together in that situation. Without
her, Regulus has the sneaking suspicion that it would have taken a little longer. That's not to say
they don't have things to still work on, consistently and invariably, but with her help, they were
able to get here.

Here is a good place to be, Regulus feels. A comfortable place. He has his best friend, his
boyfriend, and his brother. Despite the fact that he never thought it would work, they're doing it
anyway. Possibly out of spite. They're stubborn like that.

Today, therapy has been quiet and oddly solemn. It's very rare for him and Sirius to make it all the
way through without bickering at least. (It's especially common for both of them to yell at each
other until Ms. Pomfrey, exasperated yet firm, walks them back and helps them get to the source of
why they're yelling in the first place. Generally, it ends with them sulkily apologizing to each other
through gritted teeth, since Ms. Pomfrey insists on it. Regulus is pretty sure she only does because
she finds it entertaining.) Nonetheless, he and Sirius haven't so much as snapped at each other, or
raised their voices, or got into a heated debate about nothing much at all. They haven't even cried.
(They do that sometimes, Sirius the most. Regulus is still Regulus. He keeps the crying to a
minimum, thank you very much.)

Towards the end of the session, there's a long stretch of silence after Sirius and Regulus have
mumbled answers to Ms. Pomfrey's question (yes, they're still watching a show together; yes, they
do enjoy bitching to each other about it; yes, it has turned out to be a bit of a bonding experience
for them).
"Alright," Ms. Pomfrey declares, having spent a full five minutes just regarding them in silence.
"You're both remarkably pliant today. Barely any trouble. What is it?"

"I take offense to that," Sirius mumbles, and Ms. Pomfrey's lips twitch.

"Our father is dying," Regulus says bluntly. "When we leave here, we're going to see him."

Ms. Pomfrey sits on that for a second, then she inhales deeply and sits back in her chair. "I see."

"Do you?" Sirius asks, blinking at her.

"Deaths in families are…" Ms. Pomfrey trails off before she heaves a sigh. "Well, they're always a
bit messy, no matter how healthy a family is, or isn't. It can bring families together; it can also tear
them apart. It depends on who's dying just as much as it does who's being left behind."

"I wouldn't say we're really being left behind," Regulus murmurs. "That insinuates he was with us
to start with, and he never was, really."

"I know it's more complex for you two, considering your relationships with your parents," she
agrees, inclining her head in acknowledgement, "but that doesn't mean the loss of a parent won't
necessarily have an impact. It doesn't mean it will either. These things depend on the person, what
each of us can or can't wrestle with. You may mourn him; you may not. You may mourn what he
never was; you may be grateful that he's gone. No one can tell you how you're meant to feel in
circumstances such as this, and there's no wrong way to feel about it at all. That's important to
remember."

"We haven't told anyone," Sirius blurts out. "Not James, or Remus. Or...I haven't."

"Neither have I," Regulus admits.

"Boundaries are necessary in a dynamic that you two have found yourselves in," Ms. Pomfrey tells
them. "It's imperative that you find these boundaries and respect them, both for yourselves and
them. In this case, you both seem to have a boundary with your parents, and how much you'll let
anyone else see besides one another, and that's okay. That's perfectly fine. Needing time to do this
with each other and process it together is alright. It's more than alright. That's a boundary for you
both. James and Remus need to respect that as well."

"I'm sure they will," Regulus says softly. "I don't doubt that they will. It just feels like it's not…"

"Theirs?" Ms. Pomfrey suggests.

"Yeah," Sirius says with an explosive exhale. "Yeah, exactly. I'm sure we'll tell them after, but this
is ours. I feel like it has to be ours."

"It can't be theirs. They can be there for you both however you need them to be, but they won't be
able to intrinsically understand the way you two do," she tells them.

Regulus clears his throat. "That's just the thing, Ms. Pomfrey. I feel like—I mean, I think Sirius and
I...understand differently."

"Feel differently," Ms. Pomfrey corrects. "You feel differently, Regulus, and that's something else
entirely, which is also perfectly fine. You're not obligated to feel the same about things, especially
things such as this, just because you're brothers. But have a little more faith in being brothers. I
think, if anyone can understand, it's going to be Sirius."

"He's only going because I—" Regulus clenches his jaw, hands fisting on his knees, and Ms.
Pomfrey waits patiently. She's very used to Sirius and Regulus having these blocks and needing to
force past them. "Because I—I need him."

"This upsets you?"

"He wouldn't go if I wasn't asking him to."

"Reggie—"

"Wait," Ms. Pomfrey says, holding up her hand, and Sirius snaps his mouth shut. "I want to ask
you what's wrong with that, if it is the case? What's so wrong with leaning on your brother through
a rough time? Why does it bother you?"
"It doesn't bother me. I just—I don't know."

"Would you say it upsets you? Angers you? Saddens you?"

"It's just—it just feels like—" Regulus grimaces, rolling his tongue along his teeth, trying to find
the right words to describe it. "It feels like I'm—like I'm making him do it again. Like it's just
another form of him taking hits for me. Again. Because why should he have to go if he doesn't
want to, just because I need him to? Why should he have to be forced to see our father again, just
because I can't do it alone?"

"You feel that it will be a punishment for him, and you're the one putting him through it," Ms.
Pomfrey summarizes, and Regulus lifts a hand to wiggle it like so-so, because that's as close to
what it is as it's going to get. "Have you considered that Sirius might have simply told you he
couldn't do it, if it was going to hurt him? Have you considered that Sirius wants to do this for you?
Have you asked him how he feels about it?"

"No," Regulus mumbles, only a bit petulant. He already knows what's coming next, and sure
enough, Ms. Promfrey gestures to Sirius and sits back to wait, leaving them to it. Regulus heaves a
sigh and swivels to arch an eyebrow at Sirius.

"I have never been more indifferent about anything in my life," Sirius informs him bluntly, and
Regulus blinks. "I don't care. I genuinely do not give one shit about Orion Black. You're right, I
wouldn't go see him if you didn't ask me to, but not because I'm avoiding some sort of pain. I
wouldn't because he doesn't matter to me, Reggie. At all. But, if you need me there, then I'm there.
Simple as."

"Oh," Regulus says, then falls silent.

"He wants to be there for you, Regulus. I implore you to let him. You have to trust that he would
tell you if there was ever a reason he couldn't, and you have to take the steps to ask, just as he has
to take the steps to accept that if he can't do something for you, it doesn't mean he's failing at being
a brother. It just means he's human." Ms. Pomfrey smiles at him gently. "In situations such as
these, I always encourage families to lean on each other. It's hard no matter what your relationship
is to the one who's dying, or dead. As I said, it can tear you apart, or it can bring you closer
together. It's a choice, it's always a choice, and I think you know which one to make."

The session draws to a close shortly after that, and Ms. Pomfrey tells them to take care of
themselves and each other on the way out the door, reminding them they can always book an
emergency session if need be.

Leaving a therapy appointment and going immediately to visit Orion right afterwards feels like a
recipe for disaster, but it's their only window if they wish to avoid Walburga, which they obviously
do. She will be in a meeting with Evan again, so they know for sure that they won't see her, and
Evan has promised to keep them both updated on her whereabouts at all times.

Getting in to see Orion is shockingly easy. A nurse is more than willing to help them, and she
doesn't even question their vague lies about being distant family members. To hear her tell it,
Orion has had a lot of visitors come to say their goodbyes, making the assumption that he's beloved
by many. In reality, it's likely just people who hope it gets back to Walburga, like some sort of
signal that they deserve to be in her good graces. Funny how it's the opposite for her children.

The nurse stops in front of the door, but then she has to bustle off quickly, so they're left to go
inside on their own. They don't for a while, just standing shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the closed
door in complete silence.

"We don't have to, you know," Regulus says quietly.

"No, we don't," Sirius agrees. He glances over at him. "But we can."

Regulus works his jaw, then swallows and nods. He doesn't move forward, but he meets Sirius'
gaze and nods again, more firmly the second time. Because Sirius is braver, stronger, bolder—a lot
of different things Regulus can't be right now, maybe never—it's him that opens the door and leads
them in.

The sight of Orion draws them both up short. The last they saw him, he was technically dying,
considering he had a terminal illness. It left him bedridden most of the time, especially once they
were older. He'd lost some weight, sure, and he had a ridiculous variety of medications to take in
an attempt to prolong his life, but the last five years since Regulus saw him clearly hasn't been kind
to him.

Orion doesn't just look sick. He looks like death personified. The concave of his cheeks are
pronounced, his skin wrapped around his skull with no fat to fill it out. His lips are thin and pale
and cracked. He's so skinny that he looks frail, and the most harrowing thing is the sockets of his
eyes, so visible that it's like looking at a corpse. For a long moment, Regulus is quite sure he is
looking at a corpse, certain that his father is dead. His eyes are shut. He's sleeping.
Regulus doesn't recognize him. The stench of death clings to him already, even if the heart monitor
quietly beeps in the background. His breathing is labored, a hoarse rattle in his chest that stutters
every third exhale. Who are you? Regulus thinks, just staring, and then he thinks he could have
asked that question at any point in his life without knowing the answer. He's never known his own
father, not really.

That's not the point, though. Yes, maybe a part of Regulus feels...something about his father dying.
He's not—he can't really put his finger on what it is. Maybe Ms. Pomfrey said it best—it's just
mourning what never was, more so than mourning him. Regulus still remembers the smell of his
father's cologne, but he hasn't come here to smell it again. Not that he could if that was why.
There's no scent of it anywhere.

No, Regulus isn't here for Orion. He might be a little bit here for a father he never had. But,
mostly, he's here for himself. He needs this; he hates that he does, but he does.

"Christ," Sirius breathes out, stunned.

"He's dying," Regulus whispers, perhaps a little stupidly, but the grotesque reality of it is genuinely
sobering. Orion has been dying for years, but he's never been so close to death.

For a long time, they just stand there in complete silence and stare. Neither of them say anything,
just listening to their father breathe. Regulus counts them and wonders how close he is to his last.
Death is a terrifying prospect; a guarantee that no one can get away from. Is Orion afraid?

It's hard, really, to connect the burning hatred for their father to the rotting, deteriorating wisp lying
in the bed before them. That's difficult in a different way, because it feels like there's really
nowhere for it to go. Regulus never thought he would be able to look at either of his parents with
pity, but he's proven wrong here and now. He doesn't feel only pity, but it's there.

"Regulus," Sirius murmurs, "I don't—I mean, what is it that you're here for? Really? Do you just
need to—to see him?"

"I just…" Regulus releases a sharp breath. "I need him to see me, Sirius." He looks over to find
Sirius studying him, trying to find answers in the curves of his face. For once, Regulus has no
qualms about just giving them to him. At the moment, the only person he wants to talk to is Sirius.
"I need him to see me. On the off-chance that he's thinking of his children, he doesn't get to die
thinking of a daughter. He doesn't get to die thinking that's what I was."
Sirius' face clears as soon as he gets it, and there's a truly heartbreaking amount of sadness that
floods his eyes for a long moment. "You know he might not—"

"I know," Regulus says, holding his gaze. "I know, Sirius. I don't need him to accept it. I just need
him to know it."

"Oh." Sirius breathes out slowly and nods. He turns to face Orion and says, determined and steady,
"Alright, then."

With that, Sirius pushes forward to go stand on one side of the bed, looking back and waiting for
Regulus to hesitantly stand across from him on the other side. They peer down at Orion in silence,
and then Sirius presses his lips into a thin line before reaching out to touch Orion's shoulder. He
almost snatches his fingers back immediately, his hand twitching violently, but he puts it right back
and gives Orion a firm shake.

"Sirius," Regulus hisses.

"What?" Sirius mutters.

"Don't shake him so hard. He's literally dying."

"So?"

"So," Regulus grits out, "you could—I don't know—help the process along. You don't want that on
your conscience."

Sirius considers that for a second, then shrugs. "Honestly, I don't think it'd bother me very much."

"You could get in trouble," Regulus reminds him.

"Literally how, Regulus?" Sirius grumbles. "He's dying as we speak. If I just so happen to speed up
the process, who's to know? You won't rat on me, will you?"
Regulus rolls his eyes. "Obviously not."

"Exactly," Sirius says simply, then shakes Orion harder.

He withdraws his hand quickly when Orion's head swivels to the left, towards Regulus. They both
go still and fall silent, watching as Orion lets out a harsh cough that makes him shake all over, his
thin-skinned face scrunching in a way that makes him look like he's about to crumble. The
haunting hollow of his expression shifts as his eyes flutter open.

Regulus is quite sure that he and Sirius are both holding their breath. It takes Orion a long moment
for any bit of clarity to clear the glaze in his eyes, but when it happens, he's looking right at
Regulus. He blinks slowly, once, twice, the cracked cavern of his mouth parting around a wheezing
exhale.

"Sirius," Orion rasps—with confidence, too. He sounds absolutely certain. "Sirius, you're here."

Regulus feels his heart turn over, and he flicks his gaze up to look at Sirius, who is pale. They lock
eyes for a moment, and there's an apology written in every line of Sirius' face, but the thing is,
Regulus doesn't blame him. Regulus isn't angry that Orion has looked at him and seen his son; it
doesn't even hurt that much that he's seeing the wrong one.

"Wrong child," Regulus says, looking back down at Orion.

It takes a moment. Perhaps too long, considering Regulus is his child; perhaps not much at all,
considering he's currently dying, very medicated, and hasn't seen Regulus in five years. Either way,
he gets it eventually. The haze in his eyes fades even more, and then he croaks, "Regina? Your hair
—"

"That's not my name," Regulus cuts in sharply.

Orion blinks again. "Your name…"

"It's Regulus," Sirius announces, and Orion slowly creaks his head to the side, blinking at Sirius
now.
"Sirius," Orion mutters, letting out another rattling cough, and then he sighs loudly and turns his
head forward, staring straight ahead. "I didn't think my children would say goodbye. You're both so
very stubborn. Spiteful. You're both so much like your mother."

Sirius immediately scowls, but Regulus shakes his head sharply and leans down to catch Orion's
gaze. "My name is Regulus Arcturus Black, and I'm your son."

"Arcturus…" Orion blinks again. "That was my father's name."

"I know," Regulus murmurs, ignoring the look of surprise that Sirius shoots at him.

"My son…" Orion stares at him for a long moment, then gives a tiny shake of his head and says,
very simply, "No."

Just as simply, Regulus replies, "Yes."

"No," Orion repeats. "I have—I have one son, and not one I'm proud of. Stop this at once; I won't
stand for this nonsense."

"Full offense, Father, but you don't seem capable of standing at all," Regulus says dryly, and Sirius
huffs a soft laugh. "I'm not here to ask your permission. I'm telling you. You have so little life left
to live, and you'll live it knowing this. You'll die with this being your reality, whether you accept it
or not."

"I don't. I don't accept it," Orion coughs out, eyes squeezing shut like he can pretend it's not
happening.

Sirius plops down on the side of the bed with a careless ease that jostles Orion a little bit, making
him grunt and scowl as his eyes open. "Oh, well, he hardly needs you to accept it for it to be true. If
it was a requirement for someone in his family to accept it so it could be true, then he has that with
me. Isn't that lovely, Father?" He leans in with a smile, lowering his voice like he's telling a secret.
"We're brothers."

"Is this what you've come to do, then?" Orion asks wearily, sinking back into the pillow with a
sigh, sounding downright exhausted. "Harass a dying man with folly?"

"Well, you don't have much else to do, as far as we can tell. And really, we didn't get to harass you
nearly enough when we were children," Sirius points out.

"You two clearly have warped memories of your childhood. I've never known peace since either of
you were born," Orion mutters, eyes sinking shut again.

Regulus shares a wry look with Sirius. "Oh, I'm so sorry our existence inconvenienced you so
much."

"Mm, it truly did. You drove your mother to madness, the both of you. She was well on her way,
truthfully, but I'd say you were her final push."

"Well, we couldn't be blamed once we left. Her madness now is her own. What excuse does she
have anymore?"

Orion's eyes spring open. "Do you think your absence brought Walburga any peace of mind? If
anything, it made her worse. Losing her children broke her heart."

"Mother never had a heart," Sirius says with a scoff.

"She didn't lose her children," Regulus adds. "She drove us out. Why the fuck would we want to
stay there with her? With either of you? She beat us. You encouraged it."

"You don't understand. Neither of you ever understood," Orion whispers, eyes drifting shut yet
again, but they keep rising and falling slowly like he's trying to hold them open.

"The same could be said for you and her," Sirius snaps.

"A dying man doesn't have to understand. I don't really care to. I don't think I ever did," Orion
admits, and Regulus shares yet another long look with Sirius again. They don't say anything, but
something passes between them. Some sort of confirmation for what they already knew, but
somehow, there's some relief in having it anyway. "Tell me, how did you find each other again?
Did you go to Sirius when you left?"

"No," Regulus admits. "Our reconciliation is fairly recent."

"Ah," Orion hums. "Well, what better way to bond than hassling your father on his deathbed? I'd
hoped to avoid it, but since we're all already here…"

"Are you—joking?" Sirius asks, cringing.

Orion cracks open one eye very briefly, looking oddly deranged for a moment. "Surely you don't
think either of you got any bit of sense of humor from your mother?"

"I assumed it skipped a generation entirely," Regulus says.

"Yeah, I don't recall you ever being funny," Sirius mutters.

"That's because I had no interest in making either of you laugh. You did that for yourselves
anyway."

Regulus shakes his head. "Christ, you are a truly shit father."

"I know," Orion rasps, not even remorseful. He looks unfairly relaxed at the moment. Almost
peaceful. "I never liked children, not even my own. Still don't, even now that you're older. I am
curious. In what ways are you disappointing me and your mother now?"

"You're asking us about our lives?" Regulus asks in disbelief, and Orion hums again, only to end
up coughing once more.

"I'm dying. I'd like to be caught up on how you've both let me down before I do. Go on, then,"
Orion wheezes.

"Well, I'm your son—"

"Still don't accept that."

"Yes, you've mentioned. Still don't care."

"We're both with men," Sirius adds.

Orion clicks his tongue, but his mouth is so dry that they can hear it peel apart from the roof of his
mouth. It's fucking gross, honestly. "Shameful. So disappointing."

"For me, too?" Regulus asks, amused despite himself.

"Yes."

"So, it's shameful that I'm a gay man?"

Orion falls silent.

Sirius breaks out into a grin. "You know, Reggie, I think you've got him stuck. See, Father, this is
what sense bigotry makes. Absolutely none."

"Bedeviling a dying man," Orion croaks. "My children, what could I have expected from either of
you?" He raises a shaking hand and attempts to wave it, but his fingers barely even sway through
the air. Slowly, his hand drifts back down to the rest on the blanket again. "Carry on. If I'm very
lucky, I'll die from the shame of you both and be free from this."

And it's strange, it's so very strange, how they sit there and do it. How they sit there with this man
they do not know, who does not know them, and tell him about who they are now. How they sit
there, years later, and listen to their father tell them repeatedly that he's not proud of them, just as
he always has. How they sit there, as he's dying, and let him do just that, sure to give just as
horribly as they get, saying things to him that they never have before.

It's not healing. There's no closure. There isn't acceptance, or a grand mending of a relationship that
never existed. The fact that Orion is dying doesn't change very much at all. Regulus asks him what
cologne he used to wear anyway, because he can remember the smell but not the brand, and Orion
tells him to ask Walburga; she's the one who purchased it for him. And that—in the end, that's
what Regulus grieves.

Sirius and Regulus fall silent when Orion seemingly falls back asleep, and they look at each other
for a long time before they get up and decide without ever talking about it to leave.

A hand clamps down on Regulus' wrist as he starts to turn, startlingly strong, and he sees Sirius
immediately go tense and begin to bristle out of the corner of his eye. But all he does is turn and
look at Orion, whose eyes are half-open yet clear.

"Regulus," Orion says hoarsely, and for one second, Regulus feels his heart jump. "That's a star,
isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Is it in Orion's constellation?"

"No," Regulus murmurs. "It's a part of the Leo constellation, the one shaped like a lion."

Orion wheezes out a hum. "For Sirius, then."

"Who else?" Regulus asks, tugging his hand from Orion's grip and staring him down.

"I am your father," Orion points out.

Regulus just steps back. "It was never going to be for you. If it was going to be for anyone, it was
always going to be him."

"That… That makes sense," is Orion's rather underwhelming response. He settles down with a
rattling sigh. And then, just like that, he drifts off back to sleep.
Again, for a bit, neither of them say anything, just lingering to look at him. Then, quietly, Sirius
says, "Let's go."

And they do.

They don't go very far. They leave the hospital, but they stop only a few streets away at the first
bench they see. Sirius is the one who bounds over to it to sit down, and after a beat, Regulus goes
to join him. They don't speak for a while.

Regulus tries to get his thoughts in order. Tries to shift them around and line them up so he can file
through them one at a time and make sense of the state of himself. It's ridiculously hard to do after
all of that. His father is dying, and he doesn't even know what he really thinks about it.

Maybe he doesn't know because he doesn't think very much. He still doesn't know who his father
is. He still doesn't understand him, or his mother, and he isn't sure he ever will. And yet, in a way
that stings down to his core, he thinks he'll always understand them more than Sirius ever will.
Maybe he's doomed to miss them alone; maybe that's alright.

He feels—better, though. Strangely, he does. More solid. More real. More of him, like there's still
more of himself he gets to discover. He's been discovering so much of himself for so long that he
didn't know there was anything else. He never thought he'd discover anything that he'd end up
liking, but he likes this. He likes the man he is to stroll into the room where his father is dying to
make sure he dies knowing he has two sons.

It's not Orion he thinks of being proud of him; it's Sirius. For the first time in a long time, Regulus
thinks Sirius is proud of him, and he thinks he deserves that. Deserves the pride. He soaks it in and
lets it settle warm in his bones.

His father is dying, and Regulus thinks he's alright. He thinks he's going to be alright.

"You alright, Reggie?" Sirius asks, as if reading his mind, finally breaking the silence to bump
their elbows together.

"Yeah," Regulus says. "I'm alright. You?"

"Never better. This was a good idea, actually."

"You just liked bedeviling him."

Sirius snorts. "God. Bedeviling. Who even says that? And folly? Us and our folly, Regulus, can you
believe it?"

"Two of the worst sons any parent could ask for," Regulus teases, and Sirius barks a bright laugh.

It fades, though, and then Sirius looks at him, really looks, and quietly says, "No, Reggie. We're
not. They never deserved us."

"They didn't, did they?" Regulus asks softly.

"Never," Sirius confirms. "And we deserved better."

Regulus just nods. "Yeah, I'd say so. You know, Mother is going to waste away alone in that
house."

"Her own fault."

"I know."

Sirius' eyebrows furrow. "Does it upset you?"

"Not at all," Regulus says.

"Good, because I'll never forgive her, not even for you. I can't do that," Sirius mumbles, looking
away. "I can move on, I'm trying to move on, but I won't keep holding onto her."

"I'm the same," Regulus admits. "When she dies, she'll do that alone, too. I have no desire for her to
know me."
"Just Father, then?"

"I suppose so."

"Why him?" Sirius murmurs.

Regulus swallows. "Because he's not her."

"Oh." Sirius seems to think about that for a moment, then he bobs his head in understanding.
Regulus assumes this is what Ms. Promfrey meant about Sirius being the only one who can
understand. "Yeah, I get that. Do you reckon he'll tell her?"

"Probably."

"Does that worry you?"

"No. We were only children, but we aren't anymore. Let her try something," Regulus declares
firmly.

Sirius chuckles. "Oh, that wouldn't go well for her, I imagine. Between the two of us, she wouldn't
get very far. Even if we choked, there's countless others, you know. James is fucking protective,
you have no idea. He loves us both now, so I don't doubt he'd go ballistic."

"Remus, too," Regulus muses fondly. "You know, I bet they'd come up with a plan together for
her."

"We said we wouldn't let them plan anymore, but I mean…"

"She can be the exception."

"Mhm," Sirius agrees, grinning, and they're both interrupted by Regulus' cell ringing in his pocket.
Regulus digs it out and answers with a distracted, "Hello?"

"Regulus," Evan hisses, "if you're still at the hospital, you need to go now. Your mother just got a
call and announced to everyone in the meeting that the hospital informed her that her husband just
died, so she had to go. She was fucking stone-cold, mate, the fucking witch."

"Oh," Regulus says. "Wait. Just—just now?"

"Yes! So, if you're there—"

"I'm not. We're not. We left about fifteen minutes ago now."

"Well, your father apparently died ten minutes after." Evan pauses for an uncomfortable beat, then
clears his throat. "I don't want to ask, but I have to ask. You and Sirius didn't, like, smother him
with a pillow, did you?"

"No," Regulus whispers. "No, he was—he fell asleep, so we left."

Evan hums. "Alright. That's your story and you stick to it."

"We didn't—"

"Sure, of course. Oh, and condolences."

"Thanks," Regulus mutters with a sigh.

"I have to go. Ring me or Barty if you want to go out and celebrate—or, I don't know, drown your
sorrows."

"Right. Bye, Evan. And—and thanks for—"

"Don't mention it," Evan says easily, then hangs up.

Slowly, Regulus slides his phone down from his ear, staring straight ahead. It hangs limp in his lap
for a moment, and he takes a long second to once again try to figure out what he's thinking. His
father is no longer dying; he's dead. He saw his children for one final time, then died immediately
after.

Some ridiculous part of Regulus almost hopes that he'd been waiting, that he'd held on as long as he
did for them, as childish of a notion that is. It's a thought that flutters at the back of his mind, and
it's probably not true, but he feels like James would encourage him to believe it. The relief of
believing the best in people, even those that don't deserve it.

"Regulus?" Sirius asks cautiously. "Who was that?"

Jolting, Regulus exhales shakily and slides his phone back in his pocket. "Well, we don't have to
worry about—about Father telling Mother that he saw us."

"We don't? Why?"

"He's dead."

Sirius stares at him. "We just saw him."

"And he died almost immediately after we left," Regulus informs him, searching his face for any
reaction, but Sirius just seems to be doing the same thing to him.

"Are you—"

"Does that—"

They both halt and stare at each other. Sirius waits, and so does Regulus. For a long moment, they
just breathe.
"I don't really know what to...say, or do," Sirius admits, finally.

Regulus shrugs. "Neither do I. Do you—feel anything?"

"Not really? I don't know. I mean, death is a bit…" Sirius makes a face. "But it's him, isn't it? So,
it's just…"

"Yeah," Regulus says, because he understands. He does. He's the only one who can.

Sirius clears his throat. "Should we go get drunk?"

"Probably for the best."

"Alright."

So, with that, they push to their feet and start heading home to get thoroughly pissed. Their father
just died, so why shouldn't they? Sirius throws his arm around Regulus' shoulders and holds on the
whole way there.

Sirius hiccups into a laugh as Regulus stumbles over his own rug, arms raised high as he carts over
a bottle of Pimm's, the top already taken off. They're on their third bottle because they haven't
passed out yet, and at this point, they're not stopping until they have.

"Like, do you know what I mean?" Regulus asks as he dumps himself back on his sofa next to
Sirius, holding out the bottle.

"Wait, what did you say again?" Sirius mumbles as he takes the bottle, because he's forgotten. He
takes a deep swallow and squints at Regulus, trying to figure out if his vision has gone wonky or if
it's just Regulus swaying.
"The—the indecipherable discrepancies of, like…" Regulus waves his hand, a little limp-wristed.

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly," Sirius agrees, because he gets it now. He does. "All of that. The—the
things. Yeah."

Regulus makes a vague noise of satisfaction and snatches the bottle to have some, slumping down
on the sofa next to Sirius with one eye closed and the other only half-open. They both just breathe
for a bit and pass the bottle back and forth.

"Do you—do you ever think about, um, you know…" Regulus pauses to drink some more.
"Because, well, they had to, right? We were babies, Sirius. Who the fuck else would?"

"Lost me."

"Hold us. They—they had to, if you think about it. I mean, when we were really small. Before we
could walk. Can you imagine? I'm trying not to imagine, because it makes me feel oddly dirty.
Does that make sense?"

Sirius thinks about it, then shudders. "Oh, Reggie, why would you mention it? She brought you
home in her arms. First time I ever saw you was there. It's my first memory as far back as I can
recall; meeting you. I was—I was so excited."

"I'm trying to picture it, really. Mother and Father picking us up and changing our nappies and—
and—" Regulus falters, apparently at a loss. "What else do you do with babies?"

"You—you—well, you hold them sometimes, I suppose. Rock them when they're crying. Wake up
with them when they scream themselves awake in the middle of the night. Help them get back to
sleep," Sirius muses, blinking slowly as he takes the bottle. "Clean them, feed them, love them."

"I wonder if they thought they'd love us in the beginning."

"Makes you think, doesn't it?"

Regulus hums. "You did all that, didn't you? With me."
"Mm, as much as I could being only a bit older than you. I used to—I remember I used to climb
into your cot with you when you would cry, and I'd—" Sirius huffs a slurred laugh, shaking his
head. "God, I'd just talk to you until you stopped crying and started babbling back. Never knew
what you said, but I just agreed every time. Carried on full conversations with a little baby, can you
believe that?"

"I bet I was calling you an idiot," Regulus says, and Sirius roars with laughter immediately, nearly
overturning the bottle, but Regulus fumbles to catch it and claim it back.

When Sirius finally calms again, he lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head. "God, I can't believe
he's fucking dead. He's been dying for so long. I thought he'd outlive us all just out of spite, the
prick."

"Well," Regulus slurs with a soft giggle, "one down, one to go!"

"Yes!" Sirius bursts out in resounding agreement, reaching over to snag the bottle and raise it in a
toast. "May she perish swiftly and join him in doing us the favor of no longer fucking existing at
the same time we do!"

"Hear-fucking-hear," Regulus echoes, bobbing his head and waiting for Sirius to down three
swallows with gusto before snatching the bottle to do the same.

"We should—we should, like, do something to celebrate," Sirius declares firmly.

Regulus flops his head over, rubbing his cheek against his own shoulder. "Is that not what we're
doing by drinking?"

"Not sure," Sirius admits. "Just assumed—presumed?—well, whatever, maybe you needed
to...grieve. So. Drinking."

"Am I—is this grieving?" Regulus mumbles.

Sirius shrugs one shoulder. "Suppose. Ms. Promfrey said no one can tell us how, so… I don't want
you to be sad, though." He looks over at him, eyebrows furrowing. "Reggie, I don't want you to be
sad. I hope—I hope you're not. But it's okay if you are. But I hope you're not."

"I'm sad about his cologne more than him," Regulus tells him, which makes Sirius blink. Strange,
but alright. Sure, Sirius can work with that through the haze of alcohol. "I can remember the smell
of it so clearly, you know. I'm not… I don't know why, really. I've smelled better things. James
smells better."

"Remus," Sirius points out, briefly distracted thinking about that lovely spot in the curve of his
neck.

Regulus nods with simple acceptance. "Right, but it's just… I don't know. Just remember it. I want
to smell it and see if it smells the same way to me now as it did then. Like—like we're all a fixed
point in time, and that person—whoever I was back then—must exist somewhere, even if it's just
when I'm smelling my father's cologne. Do you know what I mean?"

"What if—what if it doesn't smell the same?" Sirius asks.

"I…" Regulus blinks. "Well, it'd have to, wouldn't it?"

Sirius purses his lips. "Complicated thing, that. We don't really… I mean, we don't remember
reality the way it was when we're living it. S'always different from how we remember it. I've
learned that. You've taught me that."

"But some things… Sirius, at least some things remain the same. Surely. They have to."

"Yeah, but it's not guaranteed to be the same as we remember it. That's just, like, memory. I don't—
I have a fucked up memory, honestly. I don't remember what Mother looks like."

"You don't?" Regulus whispers.

"No," Sirius murmurs, looking down at his fingers. "I remember her voice. That's clear. I
remember her hands, and the sound of her shoes coming down the hall, and—and the way she
wore her hair. I know we have her eyes. I know she never smiled. I know you have her nose, and I
have the same widow's peak as her, but when I try to picture her face… It's like all of her features
exist separately, and I—I do know what she looks like, but I can't remember. She must have
wrinkles by now, mustn't she? Do you think?"
"She must," Regulus agrees, frowning. "I've just thought about it, but beauty doesn't last forever,
and I think she never really had anything else. And it's her own fault. Because she could have had
us, I think. Right? But now Father is dead, and all she has now is...wrinkles."

"Wrinkles," Sirius repeats, nodding very seriously. Siriusly. Heh. Oh. Oh, he's pissed, isn't he?

Regulus smacks his lips and says it again. "Wrinkles."

"Fucking wrinkles," Sirius says, a laugh bubbling up in his chest, climbing the walls of his throat.

"We won't only have wrinkles," Regulus blurts out, swinging his arm wide, the bottle hovering in
front of Sirius' face. Sirius takes it, but Regulus doesn't seem to notice. "We'll have them, but we'll
also have… We'll have our—our passions, those lovely things. Art and food, which is just—it's
really just creation and life; freedom and survival."

"Yeah!" Sirius bellows supportively, raising the bottle, then downing a deep pull from it.

"And—and we'll have, like, friends," Regulus continues. "Real friends who don't give a toss about
our money, or status, or anything but—but us, really. True friends we can rely on."

"Yeah!" Sirius repeats, once again toasting to it.

"Oh, and love," Regulus hisses, like it's a curse word he's excited to use for the first time. "Proper
love, you know! With touching, and shagging, and—and fucking talking. Christ, Mother and
Father hardly ever talked. I never even saw them bloody kiss!" He pauses, then his face screws up.
"Which, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm actually grateful for. But you get my point. Love is my
point. Gentle love. Patient love. Kind, and passionate, and—and just—just real love."

"Yeah!" Sirius shouts even louder this time, waving the bottle wildly and drinking on that one as
well.

"Fuck it, we'll even—we'll have what she doesn't especially. We'll have family, Sirius, because of
us. Me and you. Being brothers," Regulus adds, smacking his hand down to the cushion between
them to swivel and stare at him. "We'll have wrinkles, and we'll have each other."
"Yeah!" Sirius cries at the top of his lungs, nearly dropping the bottle as he swings his arms up in a
sign of victory.

Regulus seems to have anticipated this, because he snatches the bottle and knocks back the rest left
over, which mostly amounts to all the toasts Sirius just had. He lets out a deep breath and lazily
dumps the empty bottle on the floor, then slumps back. "We're fucking winning at life."

"We are," Sirius declares with a grin of triumph.

"She lost. Her and father lost, and we won. Can you believe that?" Regulus huffs out a stunned
laugh. "You're right. We should absolutely celebrate. Let's make biscuits."

Sirius immediately starts tipping himself off the sofa eagerly, very enticed by this idea. "Yes, let's."

Twenty minutes later, they're both on the floor in the kitchen, and Regulus is sobbing next to an
overturned pan of dough while Sirius sits next to him and sobs into a handful of chocolate chips.

"And—and it's just not fair," Regulus whines, snottily. He scoops up another ball of dough off the
floor and smacks it angrily to the pan. "Why do they get to just die? And we have to carry on with
all the stupid fucking trauma they dumped on us? Why didn't they just put us up for adoption,
yeah? That would have made so much more sense."

"They're so stupid. So fucking stupid," Sirius chokes out, then stuffs more chocolate chips in his
mouth.

"Why am I so upset?" Regulus groans and slaps another bit of dough on the pan, then exhales
sharply, weeping harder as he kicks childishly at the pan, sending it skittering across the floor as all
the balls of dough scatter everywhere.

Sirius chews angrily and whimpers, "He wasn't even that nice that time in France."

"He never once made us laugh!" Regulus snarls.

"Entitled prick, thinking we got our humor from him! I was born with it naturally, and—and you
got it from me!"

"Yes! Exactly!"

"He never cared," Sirius adds.

Regulus makes a low, choking noise. "No, he didn't. And to say we broke Mother's heart? Is he
fucking delusional?!"

"I know!" Sirius explodes, aghast, and chocolate chips go flying when he jerks his hands around.
They sail up and rain back down on them, dropping to the floor or settling in their hair, but neither
of them care.

"She—she never loved us, and he never cared about us, and I refuse—Sirius, I fucking refuse to
believe anything else," Regulus informs him.

"They never gave us reason to believe anything else," Sirius declares, his eyes prickling with heat
again.

"But," Regulus rasps, "I wish I could."

"Yeah," Sirius whispers, and they both pretty much burst into immediate tears at the same time.

Twenty minutes after that, they're both stumbling around the kitchen, laughing loudly as Lilly
Allen's Fuck You blasts at full volume. There are chocolate chips all over the floor, and the
discarded pan and scattered balls of dough remain, because now they've moved on to lemon
scones, which Sirius has to admit he's looking forward to very much.

"Do you, do you really enjoy living a life that's so hateful? 'Cause there's a hole where your soul
should be. You're losing control a bit, and it's really distasteful," Regulus croons, holding the
mixing bowl as he—well, mixes.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you very, very much!" Sirius sings cheerfully. "'Cause we hate what you
do, and we hate your whole crew, so please don't stay in touch!"

"Oh! Oh, Sirius, we should—we should do lemon blueberry scones," Regulus gasps, head
snapping up. "Check my fridge. I might have blueberries."

Sirius snaps his fingers. "You fucking genius, Reggie."

"This is going to be—" Regulus hiccups, "—so good."

"It is," Sirius agrees, stumbling towards the fridge. It takes him a few moments to locate the
blueberries, but once he has, he brings them back, walking very carefully because the floor seems
to be trying to evade him. "Look at us, making lemon blueberry scones together. I so badly want to
tell the people we were eight years ago that we'd end up here."

Regulus hums, sucking on his finger as he sits the mixing bowl down. He pops his finger out and
shuffles off to go find a pan, laughing a little when he nearly trips. "I would—I absolutely would
not have believed you. Or even me. Christ, I wouldn't even care about anything I had to say; I'd be
too busy staring at myself in—I don't know—disbelief, maybe."

"You never thought you'd transition?" Sirius asks.

"Dreamed about it. Doubted I'd ever be brave enough," Regulus admits.

Sirius huffs, watching Regulus start shaping the scones; he goes over to help him. He wants one
shaped like a cock. "If I'd known it was something you wanted, I would have—well, I would have
—I would—"

"Hm?" Regulus asks, blinking at him.

"I would have," Sirius announces decisively.

Regulus takes that in for a moment, then nods. "I know."

"You were brave, though. You turned out to be so brave, Regulus. I'm so proud of you," Sirius
slurs out, leaning over to knock their shoulders together. They both tilt too far, and chocolate chips
rain down from their hair.

"I'm—" Regulus hiccups again, "—proud of you, too. You turned out to be such a—just such a
good person. Best thing in that house. Best thing out of it."

Sirius sniffs, patting a scone like it's a pet. "Really?"

"Really," Regulus confirms. "You're smashing it, Sirius."

"Smashing—what, exactly?"

"Life."

"You think so?" Sirius asks, beaming at him.

Regulus mhms. "I do, yeah. Everyone must think it, surely, because you are. Why don't you think
so? You should."

"I do think so. Maybe. Sometimes," Sirius says, then loses the thread of the conversation entirely.
Lilly Allen comes back into focus, so he starts singing. "You say, you think we need to go to war—
well, you're already in one. 'Cause it's people like you that need to get slew. No one wants your
opinion."

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you very, very much. 'Cause we hate what you do, and we hate your
whole crew, so please don't stay in touch," Regulus mumbles along, head bobbing up and down as
they continue to make their scones.

Some time later—there's no keeping track at this point—they have settled back down on the floor
in front of the oven in the middle of an absolutely wrecked kitchen. The scones are in the oven,
they're covered in flour, and the music is off again. They aren't crying, nor are they laughing.
They're quiet.
Sirius feels all sloshy on the inside, and he's barely keeping his eyes open. He and Regulus are
propped up next to each other, Regulus' head on his shoulder, Sirius cheek resting on top of his
head. He thinks a chocolate chip has melted against his cheek and in Regulus' hair, but he can't be
bothered to check.

"Are you alright, Reggie?" Sirius mumbles.

"Yeah," Regulus whispers. "And you?"

"Think so. I feel… I feel like we handled that well."

"We did, didn't we?"

Sirius nods against his head. "Can't sleep. The scones."

"I know," Regulus says.

And yet, not very long after, they're both passed out leaning against each other, emotionally drained
and possibly closer than they've been in a long, long time.

(It's very fortunate that, in their drunken stupor, they went through all the trouble of making scones,
but never actually turned on the fucking oven. This means that the flat doesn't burn down because
they pass out, and it also means their scones do not get cooked. Neither of them are awake to care
about this, which is just as well.)

The following morning, Sirius is roused by a low conversation that still feels too loud. His head
throbs like it's about to crack open, and he's genuinely scared to move, sure that if he does, he'll
just immediately empty his churning stomach. Oh, fuck, he's never drinking again—a necessary lie
he's telling himself to get through this very trying time.

"I mean, should we be concerned?" James can be heard hissing, and why is he here? How did he
get here?

It takes Sirius longer than it should to remember that James is in love with his brother and knows
where he lives, and that he didn't just get magically summoned because he could sense that Sirius
has made some recent bad decisions. Not that he did anything wrong, exactly, but he's never
claiming Pimm's as anything other than a bad decision ever again.

"Neither of them look injured," Remus responds weakly, because he's also here. Sirius is so pleased
by this.

James makes an unhappy noise. "I'm still concerned. I'm very fucking concerned, Moony."

"I'm mostly just confused," Remus admits. "Why is there dough just everywhere? What the fuck
were they doing?"

"That's what you're worried about? Remus, they smell like an entire bar, there's three bottles of
Pimm's empty by the sofa, and they're covered in flour and chocolate."

"I—honestly, mate, I don't even know where to start."

"If I had to guess, they got very drunk and decided to do some baking?" James tries, distressed.
"Doesn't explain why they've obviously been crying, though."

Regulus shifts against Sirius, then proceeds to croak like a damn frog and go very still. Sirius can
feel him holding his breath, and he risks cracking open his eyes, despite his head splitting in two,
just to see Regulus with his eyes squeezed shut, visibly pale and clammy. It takes him a long
moment before he'll exhale and finish leaning away from Sirius entirely, and even then, he makes a
small blub noise in the back of his throat like a little fish effect. Under any other circumstances,
Sirius would find this comical, but at this point in time, he can relate to sound and what it means.

"Remus," Regulus croaks, "if you—oh god—if you don't get me to the loo in less than a minute,
we're all about to have a bad time." He makes another pathetic sound. "Fucking please—"

"Right," Remus cuts in quickly, and then he's coming into view to help Regulus to his feet. Regulus
practically clings to his arm, going white as a sheet, and Remus carts him off with a lingering look
shot in Sirius' direction.

"Hey, Padfoot," James murmurs gently, moving over to crouch down beside him with furrowed
eyebrows. He reaches up and pushes Sirius' hair off his sweaty forehead. "Rough night?"
"You could say that," Sirius rasps.

"You're not looking well."

"James, I'm not going to make it to the loo. Help."

"Best be the sink, then," James says softly, sighing quietly as he cups his hand under Sirius' arm
and nods at him in warning before helping haul him upright.

Sirius' entire body viscerally does not like this, but James spins him towards the sink in just enough
time. All Sirius can do is brace his hands on the edge of it and feel the burn of his body rejecting
his bad decisions. James, lovely friend that he is, dutifully holds his hair out of his face and rubs
his back.

"Oh god," Sirius heaves out, still curled over the sink, quite sure that he's dying, even though it's
over.

"Yes, bloody awful, isn't it?" James sighs sympathetically and reaches forward to run the tap,
guiding Sirius' mouth underneath so he can gargle water, but making sure he doesn't drown. "There
we go. Alright, let's get you in a seat and let the tap keep on, yeah?"

The tap carries on washing away the vomit, and James helps Sirius over to a chair. He squints
around in disbelief, because the kitchen looks even worse than it did while pissed. Christ, he and
Regulus are destructive shits, aren't they?

Sirius winces as he's lowered into a chair. His head is very angry with him and is sure to let him
know it; he wishes it would get over it, honestly. James disappears for a bit, but then he comes
back with a small cup of mouthwash, which Sirius takes and uses gratefully. After that, Sirius
gingerly presses the side of his face against the cool tabletop and silently prays for death, only
mildly appeased by James' fingers gently working in his hair, massaging his scalp.

In the distance, the shower turns on, and it's either eighty years later or just a few minutes before
Remus returns to the kitchen. He comes over and crouches beside Sirius' chair, reaching out to
brush his fingers over his temple. There's a steady ache there, so Sirius makes a pitiful, needy noise
and looks at him beseechingly. Carefully, Remus begins to massage his temple, not putting too
much pressure.
Exhaling in muted relief, Sirius lets his eyes drift closed again. Now, this? Well, this would be bliss
if he didn't feel so fucking awful. He sits right there and basks in it for however long it takes for
Regulus to get out of the shower.

"Your turn," Regulus mumbles, not looking much better, but clearly cleaner and in no danger of
being sick.

"Clothes?" Sirius croaks.

Regulus winces and braces his head in his hands as he settles into the open chair beside him. "In
the loo."

Sirius doesn't have the energy to thank him. He just drags himself up and goes to have a shower.
It's the absolute best thing he's ever felt, and it's also literal Hell. He somehow feels better and
worse when he gets out, but at least he's clean. Regulus has chosen the shirt—the one he kept for
eight fucking years—and a simple pair of denims. It all fits, even if it's a bit more snug than he'd
usually go for, but he genuinely doesn't care about what he looks like right now.

Back in the kitchen, Regulus is now the one being coddled by his best mate and boyfriend. His
head is cupped in his hands, elbows propped on the table, and James is gently running his fingers
through his damp curls while Remus rubs in between his shoulders. Sirius doesn't have the energy
to be jealous; his main focus is making it back to his chair.

James and Remus draw away from them both, moving around to do...things. Honestly, Sirius isn't
paying attention. All he knows is that there's eventually some medicine placed in front of him and
Regulus, which they both take, and that's about it. Sirius plants his head on the table and doesn't
resurface for quite some time, waiting for Remus and James to come back.

His head has eased off quite a bit when there's a squeak, and then Remus mutters, "Oh, what the
fuck?"

"Why are there unbaked scones in the oven?" James asks.

"Oh, shit," Sirius garbles out, lifting his head just in time to see Regulus' eyes snap open. "The
fucking scones."
"We didn't turn the oven on," Regulus breathes out, sagging in visible relief. "Oh, that would have
been bad. Fuck."

The oven slams shut, making Sirius and Regulus both grimace in discomfort at the same time, and
James grits out, "Are you having me on? You—you—do you know how fucking dangerous that
was?! You could have started a fire! You could have died!"

"Lay off, Prongs," Sirius complains. "We didn't. Obviously."

"That was incredibly, disastrously irresponsible," Remus snaps, sounding at the end of his rope.
"You don't attempt to fucking cook when you're pissed! Not that pissed, especially. What if you
had turned the oven on? What if—"

"Piss off," Regulus grumbles. "We know, alright? Leave us be, you fucking—something. I don't
fucking know. Just shut up."

"If you know, then why would you do something so reckless?" Remus retorts. "And no, we will not
shut up. This place looks like a tornado blew through it, and you're both dragging about with less
life in you than corpses, so what happened?"

"Obviously we want you two to bond, but Christ, don't do it in the most unhealthy ways possible,"
James says sharply.

Sirius heaves a sigh and scrubs at the side of his face, feeling a rising pinch of irritation take root in
his chest. "I'll have you know, our bonding was incredibly healthy and recommended by our
therapist, so fuck you very much."

"I find that incredibly hard to believe," Remus informs him, arching an eyebrow at him.

"How would you know? You've never even been to therapy," Regulus retorts coldly, always
ruthless when hungover.

"Love," James mutters, reproach in his tone.

"Since you're both so fucking curious," Regulus bites out, glaring at them, "our father died
yesterday. We grieved. We celebrated. We got pissed and tried to make scones. I'm sorry, are you
trying to judge us for how we handled ourselves?"

Silence falls instantly, and Sirius watches in real time as James and Remus' demeanors change
immediately. Really, Sirius knows—and Regulus also likely knows—that their agitation came from
a place of concern, but now they're just outright concerned without any of the agitation. It's not
actually an improvement. Sirius doesn't want to be coddled because his father died; he'd rather be
coddled for his hangover, but he can't help but wonder—is that the same thing?

"We're fine," Sirius says before Remus or James can even open their mouths. "We, you know, dealt
with it together. Make us tea and we'll tell you about our visit with him, yeah?"

"The fucking prick," Regulus mumbles sourly.

Remus reaches out to squeeze Regulus' shoulder as he goes by to start pulling down teacups.
Meanwhile, James drops a kiss off on the top of Sirius' head as he shuffles past, heading to put the
kettle on.

And so, as Remus and James make them tea, Regulus and Sirius catch them up on what they've
missed. Predictably, neither of them take offense to not being told anything about Orion, though
they really wouldn't have a right to. They do at least seem to sense that they can't understand
certain things the way Sirius and Regulus do. Nonetheless, Remus and James don't hesitate to
follow their lead when it comes to current opinions on the topic; if they're hearing Orion Black
slander, they're perpetuating Orion Black slander. Sirius loves them.

Finishing half the cuppa is a feat that Sirius thinks he should get an award for, honestly, and
continuing to look at the state of the kitchen (though James and Remus seem to have tidied a bit,
because they're wonderful) is making his headache worse, so he begs off for the inviting comfort
of the sofa. He drags Remus with him, claiming him by practically curling up against him with his
face shoved into Remus' neck, inhaling that special smell of him, a secret just for Sirius, one he's
never going to have enough of. Something inside Sirius keens, a long drawn-out whine like a
canine whimper escaping through locked jaws, every cell in his body straining with how badly he
wants to crawl inside Remus and be with him always.

"I'd give everything to make you feel better," Remus whispers, speaking low and soft in his ear.
"I wouldn't," Sirius admits, lifting his head to see Remus blinking at him in surprise.

Remus nods slowly. "Suppose that makes sense, actually. I mean, even giving up your art is—"

"No."

"What?"

Sirius leans in and kisses him, a gentle press of mouths, and Remus releases a shuddering breath as
he pulls back. With a smile, Sirius drags his thumb over the small smattering of freckles on his
cheekbone, barely visible at this time of year, and murmurs, "You're my everything, Moony."

"But—"

"No. No, hear me out, yeah? Because art—make no mistake, I will always love art, and I will
continue to create until I physically cannot lift my hands. But—and this is so very important—
when I can't lift my hands anymore, I will still have you right next to me. No art gallery in this
world compares to your arms, do you understand? If my hands fell off tomorrow, I would find
ways to carry on. If I didn't have you, I'm not so sure that I could. At the end of the day, it's you.
Art is in my bones, but you, Moony, you're in my blood."

Remus makes a small, quiet sound and surges forward to kiss him, open-mouthed and wanting,
desperate about it in the way Sirius has always liked best. Like he can't get enough. Like he could
do it forever and still want more, more, more. Sirius feels his whole frame down to the very core of
himself rattle from the reverberation of Remus' touch. He shakes with it, gasping against Remus'
mouth and curling into him.

This, this, all of this, Sirius thinks in a daze, fumbling at the side of Remus' neck to press them
closer together, feeling fingers grip his thigh, pressing in like Remus owns the spot. God, he does.
Oh, but he does. Sirius is so much, he's always been so much, and all of him craves all of Remus.

This is what it is to taste eternity, to cup it in his hands, to cherish it. Because art? Maybe he'll have
it in his next life, maybe he won't, but Remus is an unwavering constant. He's here in this one; he
will be in all the ones after; he was in every one before, and Sirius knows it, he knows it, because
he recognizes it. Somewhere, everywhere, nowhere. That's them. Everything, all of it, and more.
Eternity to have each other, and it's still never going to be enough.
 "Please don't shag on my sofa," Regulus says, sounding truly exhausted, sapped entirely of energy.

"It'd serve you right," Sirius mumbles against Remus' mouth, slowly calming, settling down again.
He presses one, two, three more quick kisses to Remus' mouth, then goes back to hiding away from
the world in the safety of Remus Lupin' side, the curve of his neck, the space between his arm and
ribs that is opened and shaped tailor-made for him.

"Come on, love," James murmurs, sounding tender, and he must guide Regulus to the sofa as well,
because Sirius can feel them settling in next to him and Remus.

Briefly, Sirius glances up and takes in the sight of Regulus directly in James' lap, head on his
shoulder, toes tucked under his thighs. He's breathing softly, one hand cupped to the side of James'
neck, the other twisting James' shirt in between his fingers like he used to do when he was a small
child trying to fall asleep. He looks calm, and James is just rubbing his back, though he does press
a kiss to the side of Regulus' head, his eyes meeting Sirius' for a moment.

They look at each other. James blinks. Sirius blinks. They look away. And that's it.

Sirius hides away in Remus again, feeling better than he has all morning. They're fine. Sometimes
being fine is just knowing that you're going to be fine, and despite the complexities that plague
him, Sirius never even doubts it. How can he?

He has this.

Chapter End Notes

this is the LAST chapter with any real sadness to it. and im not sure if this qualifies?
does it? like, im personally not sad that orion is dead, but it's sad that sirius and regulus
had to work through it a bit. idk. one of those complex situations, and im tired, so im
not speaking eloquently at the moment. you let me know what you thought.

but yeah, it's back to fluff from here on out.

see you all tomorrow <3

 Chapter 29
Chapter Notes

no warnings for this one!

enjoy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

James settles down in the ridiculously comfortable chair in Filius Flitwick's office for the very first
time. He fiddles with his hands and fingers in his lap awkwardly, leg jumping up and down
obsessively. Filius has a pendulum swing on his desk that clicks back and forth, five marble balls
hitting each other in a soothing pattern that helps crank the tension out of James' shoulders, slowly,
over time.

"I can tell you're nervous, James," Mr. Flitwick says warmly. He's a very warm man, as far as
James can tell, all smiles and kind eyes. "There's no need to be. Therapy isn't something you can
fail at, and neither do you need to excel at it. Think of it as a visit with a friend, if that helps."

"Thank you, Mr. Flitwick," James murmurs.

Mr. Flitwick chuckles. "Filius, please. This is a comfortable space; we can address each other
comfortably."

"Do all therapists do that?" James asks curiously. He's never heard Sirius or Regulus address Ms.
Pomfrey by her first name.

"No, I don't think so, but I imagine some do. I like to, as long as you're comfortable with it. I'm
always eager to promote an environment where we can be entirely ourselves," Filius tells him.
"This is just our first session, and usually, I prefer to get to know one another at the start. Trade
conversation about our likes and dislikes, the people in our lives that are important to us, our
occupations and such things."

James blinks. "Oh. So, er, no 'what's wrong with me' talk just yet, then?"

"I don't think there's anything wrong with anyone," Filius declares cheerfully. "I like to call it
works in progress, because the way I see it, we all have room for improvement!"

"Well, that's...nice," James muses. "Yeah, I like that."

"It is nice, isn't it?" Filius leans forward with a smile. "Now, let's get to know each other, shall
we?"

Getting to know Filius actually turns out to be fun. He has six adopted children, the youngest of
which has gone off to uni just last year, and he shows James a picture of his wife that he has on his
desk. They make for a lovely couple, and there's another picture on his desk of them surrounded by
their children, all six kneeling or crouching down beside their adopted parents to beam at the
camera. It's the most diverse family photo James has ever seen, and he's warmed by how happy
they all look, united in all their differences.

Filius has two dogs and a truly wide assortment of hobbies, and he was a professor at a university
for twelve years before he found he missed the thrill of learning a new field and switched to
become a therapist, which he's been doing for six years now. He's only fifty-seven. He's delighted
to hear that James went to Hogwarts, as he also went to Hogwarts, much to their shared
excitement.

James tells Filius about himself as well, more than happy to chatter about his parents, friends, and
boyfriend. It takes some gentle guidance for James to actually talk about himself, what he likes and
doesn't, what he's doing for work and school. He gets so caught up in talking that he's at complete
ease by the time the session ends, even a little disappointed that it's over. Yeah, he thinks. Yeah,
this is going to be good for me.

"I look forward to seeing you next week, James," Filius tells him sincerely as he walks him to the
door.

James beams at him. "Same to you, Filius."

After the session, James goes to meet with Sirius and Peter, since Peter has the time-slot for lunch
and Sirius makes his own schedule.

"Good day, Prongs?" Peter asks cheerfully as he slides into his seat. Sirius is already in the queue,
ordering for all of them.
"Yeah, actually," James admits. "I—I went to my first therapy session today. Because I'm in
therapy now."

Peter blinks, which is fair, considering James hasn't told anyone yet. Then, all he says is, "Oh.
Good on you, mate."

"Wormtail, you always know just what to say," James says, his face softening. "Cheers."

"Anytime," Peter assures him easily.

James plops his chin in his hand. "And you? Good day?"

"Boring, mostly. Looking forward to the weekend."

"Still going to that concert with Aiko?"

"Yeah," Peter says, his face turning red immediately. His nose twitches like it does when he's about
to smile, and sure enough, it blooms on his face as if he can't help it.

"How did you go from asking her out and not getting it across that you wanted it to be a date, to
going on dates with her without asking her out?" James asks, raising his eyebrows.

Peter flicks his straw-paper at him. "It's not a date."

"It is! It absolutely is, Pete!"

"No, I—"

"He's right," Sirius breaks in, dropping off their food as he dumps himself into the chair next to
Peter, who looks at him in betrayal. "Oh, don't look at me like I'm a traitor. The only traitor at this
table is you."
"How am I a traitor?" Peter asks with a huff.

Sirius waves a plastic fork under his nose. "Because you're sabotaging your own happiness out of
fear. Bloody hell, Wormtail, you've fancied the girl for ages, and this is a date! You know what
you do? You go to the concert with her, and when the music swells, you just grab her and snog her
like her life depends on it."

"Er, maybe don't do that," James argues warily. "Life isn't a movie, Pads. You can't just go about
kissing people as you like. At least ask, Peter."

"As if she's not so wound up waiting on him that she'd be anything other than relieved. At this
point, I think she's going to snog him," Sirius says with a snort.

Peter sighs. "Now that would solve all my problems."

"You could solve all your problems," James insists. "This is what you do, yeah? You go have your
little date, and then you both go back to your building, and before you part ways for the night...you
just tell her you'd like to kiss her. If she's alright with it, there you have it, then."

"And if not?" Peter mutters.

"Oh, bugger off," Sirius scoffs, rolling his eyes. "There's no world in which she isn't alright with it.
You can't see it, but she's absolutely smitten with you."

"He's right," James agrees. "She literally thinks you're the funniest person in any room."

"Which is just factually untrue," Sirius declares, pressing his hand to his chest, "because that honor
goes to me."

James rolls his eyes. "Don't listen to him, mate. You're plenty hilarious; it's just that I beat you out
by a small margin. Sirius isn't funny at all, obviously."

"You take that back right now," Sirius fake-gasps.

"I—you know, I do. I tried it and it immediately felt wrong. You're very funny and I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Neither of you are funny," Peter says flatly.

"Pete?" James asks, wounded.

Sirius gazes at him sadly. "You don't mean that."

"We were born into this world to be a source of amusement just for you," James murmurs gravely,
"and you're saying we've failed to fulfill our purpose?"

"Then what's the point?!" Sirius cries, slamming his hand down to the table, making multiple
people stare at them. He, of course, pays them no mind. "What's the point of living, of existing, if
it's not to make you laugh, Peter Pettigrew?"

"Hold on, wait, Sirius. Do you see that?" James makes a big show of squinting and leaning in,
pointing at Peter's face. "I think… That's a smile, that is."

"Stop it," Peter hisses through quiet chuckles, shoulders shaking as he reaches up to try and hide
the way he's dangerously close to losing it.

"Never," Sirius announces gleefully. He reaches out and sticks his finger in Peter's ear, making him
squirm away and finally crack, busting out laughing. "Ah, success. What's funny, Peter? Hm? Is it
us? Is that what's making you laugh?"

James holds up his hand, and Sirius immediately smacks his own to it while Peter wheezes like
he's never found anything funnier. "Yeah, we've still got it."

Lunch goes well, the three of them chatting easily, always effortless and with effort together like
three peas in a pod. It's a lazy mixture of current events and memories, a table full of laughter and
good company. James is having a very good day.

When he makes it home, his day gets even better, because the package he ordered is waiting for
him. Sirius is very curious, but James hoards it like a dragon with treasure, ridiculously giddy like a
little kid. He rushes off to his room to open it and isn't surprised that Sirius wanders in less than
five minutes later. He plops down on the bed, eyeing him expectantly.

"These look advanced," Sirius comments. "What are they?"

"Contact bracelets," James explains, staring down at the black box in his hands. It has a white
outline of two hands reaching towards each other, fingers nearly touching—Michelangelo's design
for The Creation of Adam, specifically. "It's for Regulus. Or, us, really. For when we're not
together, we can just touch this part here, and it lights up to let the other know that we have. So,
when I'm thinking of him, I can let him know."

Sirius raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"There's charger ports, so we can keep them charged while we're sleeping," James continues,
pulling out one of the bracelets to hold it up. "We can tap it multiple times, too, so we can come up
with little coded messages. Figured he'd like that, being as secretive as he is. Oh! Oh, and look, I
was able to customize a design for the band. Mine is a little storm cloud with rain and his is the
sun. Isn't that cute?"

"That's...honestly gag-worthy, mate," Sirius tells him, but his lips curl up. "Very sweet. He'll love
it, you know, especially with all his abandonment issues and such."

James hums. "Well, now he'll always have me with him."

"Are you giving it to him today?" Sirius asks.

"Yeah, if he's free. I'm—I plan on telling him about therapy. Do you reckon he'll want to go flying
today after work?"

"How am I meant to know, Prongs?"

"Not sure, really. Some brother connection, I suppose," James muses with a lopsided grin.

Sirius snorts. "That's not how it works. He wouldn't really have abandonment issues if that was the
case, would he? It'd be convenient, though."

"Wouldn't it? It'd be neat. Shame. Did you see him today?"

"Yeah. I stopped in and pestered him for a bit. He really has charmed Ms. Delby, you know, the
bastard. But he seemed to be in a good mood today, as much as he ever is."

"Damn. If only we had a connection, then you could have checked for me then."

"Well, you know, there's this brilliant thing in the modern world where you can message people,
did you know that? So, what you do is, you open up your—"

James reaches out and shoves Sirius' face gently away while he barks a laugh. "Oh, piss off. Leave
me be, yeah?"

"Fine, yes, alright." Sirius holds his hands up in surrender and drags himself up from the bed,
ruffling James' hair before begging off to go have a shower.

Can I take you on a date? James messages Regulus, not even five minutes later, because yes,
maybe Sirius has a point.

Regulus doesn't respond for a bit—he's working—so James spends a few hours doing boring, yet
necessary adult things. He gets caught up, admittedly, so he misses Regulus' reply by twenty
minutes, which makes him frown. See, this is why the bracelets are brilliant; there's no missing
that. And it's just… James isn't sure why, but it's more intimate, in a way.

Whatever you want, Regulus replies, and James breaks out into a broad grin immediately.

"Heading off?" Sirius asks in visible amusement an hour and a half later when James comes
skipping through the flat, satchel hanging from his arm.
"Yeah," James replies. "I'm surprised you're not off to go pester Moony."

Sirius hums. "He had plans after work. Didn't say much about them, but he's coming here when
he's done."

"Ah, in that case, I might just stay with Regulus tonight."

"Honestly? Probably for the best."

James shakes his head with a smile and continues on, calling over his shoulder, "Don't scream the
roof down, Padfoot!"

"No promises!" Sirius shouts back. "Hugs, love, and kisses!"

"Mwah!" James says, making a smacking noise with his mouth right before he shuts the door
behind him and locks it.

Less than two hours later, the sun is hanging low in the sky, bleeding a hazy orange that warms the
horizon. It's especially beautiful from the perspective at the top of a particularly high building,
which James gets to see firsthand as he happily drags Regulus onto the roof they're very familiar
with by now. It's been too long since they've done this.

"It's a good day for it," Regulus comments as he follows James up onto the platform, and he's not
wrong. It's a really, really nice day out, shockingly enough.

"Isn't it?" James agrees, pleased by this. He gently sits down his satchel and goes to gather the
harnesses. "Christ, I've missed this with you. Why didn't we do it sooner?"

"Well, we've been doing a lot of shagging," Regulus reminds him, amused, and James makes a low
noise of approval.

They have been, in fact, doing a lot of shagging. It's only been two and half weeks since Regulus
showed up to make him porridge, and in those two and a half weeks, they've been quite insatiable.
They've shagged so much that James has discovered new and exciting ways to shag, up to and
including the largest, now-conquered cock he'd been wary of before. As it turns out, he can handle
it, actually. Oh, and they've found that getting drunk and sloppy on purpose can be a lot of fun for
them, particularly in the shagging department.

In other words, James is having the time of his life. It goes beyond just the shagging, too. They've
been spending a lot of time together in other ways—basically any way they can, really. In the
aftermath of Orion dying, Regulus was notably more emotional, and also distant, and also clingy,
and also sort of all over the place for a bit. But, well, with time and support from James, Remus,
and Sirius especially, he's settled again. Throughout all of this, he's been around James as much as
he's able, as much as James will let him, and it's not like James will ever stop him, so it works out.
In the last two and half weeks, there's only been around five or so nights where they weren't
sleeping together in either of their beds.

So, yes, James is thriving. He knows he's meant to accept sadness into his life, but he's also just
really fucking happy.

"We could...you know," James says suggestively, pairing this with kneeling down in front of
Regulus to start clipping straps around his thighs. He raises his eyebrows and purposefully slides
his hand up Regulus' inner thigh.

Regulus' eyebrows shoot up. "While we're flying?"

"I'm not sure if that's possible, honestly, but when we reach the other side?" James murmurs.
"Right after?"

"I mean…" Regulus bites his lip, his face flushed already. He clears his throat. "Whatever you
want, James."

James grins and starts clipping faster.

Flying is always a rush of pure adrenaline. There's nothing like that drop off the platform and the
sail of the zipline across the sky, except, perhaps, the touch of Regulus Black. Flying with Regulus
almost overloads James' brain every time. He's so fucking lovely, it's insane, and James is
lightheaded just looking at him. He's always looking at him when they fly together, because no
other sight could compare.
Shagging post-flight is… Well, James is bound and determined for it to become tradition, because
fucking hell. It's a bright collision of the trill of flying with being swept in Regulus' storm. James is
fucking obliterated, and then he's genuinely useless for a bit afterwards, dazed where he's sprawled
out on the blankets they always keep stored here. James is pleased to note that Regulus is equally
blown away.

"That was genuinely one of my more brilliant ideas," James declares eventually, once he finds his
voice again.

"Yes," Regulus agrees immediately. "Yeah, it was. Absolutely fucking brilliant, James. You're so
smart."

"Thank you, love," James says, grinning stupidly up at the sky.

Regulus releases a sigh of pure satisfaction. "We're going to have to do that again."

"Mhm," James confirms. He props up on his elbows to fling his hand out and drag his satchel
closer, thankful he didn't forget it on the other roof. "Hungry? I stopped by to get us snacks, just to
keep us from starving until we have supper."

"What'd you get?" Regulus asks, turning to lift himself up as well, still leaning over against James'
side.

"Crisps, mostly. Some chocolate. Oh, and I got us one of those little containers of fruit to share. It's
just sliced strawberries and apples, though," James tells him, drawing it all out.

"A balanced meal," Regulus teases, darting out with one hand to grab a bag of crisps before
sprawling out again.

"Not everyone can be a chef," James mutters.

"Not a chef. Yet."

"Exactly. Yet. In two year's time, you'll have your own restaurant, you know. I'll get free food,
obviously."

"Mm, no," Regulus says.

James pops open the fruit, frowning. "No?"

"Sorry, but no. You'll pay just like everyone else. Well, except for Remus. He'll eat for free
forever."

"Because you pretended to—"

"Yes, because I pretended to poison him," Regulus admits with a sigh, and James' lips curl up.

"Does he know that?"

"I haven't mentioned it, but he'll find out when I actually get around to opening my place, I
suppose."

"I like that," James decides. "It's a kind thing to do."

Regulus smiles at him, a soft thing, so lovely. "I suppose it is, yeah. You've inspired me, you
know."

"Have I? How so?"

"I have a plan for guests who don't know exactly what they want off the menu. A special they can
order where they'll get a dish based on the color they're wearing—obviously with allergies and
personal tastes kept in mind, of course."

"Wait, really?" James blurts out, eyes widening. "Regulus, that's—that's really fucking amazing! So
many people go out for food and don't know what they want. That's brilliant."
"You did it first, technically," Regulus points out. "I'll credit you, of course. Call it The Sun
Special."

James pretty much melts. "Oh, that's so sweet. You're so lovely. I love that, I love you, come
here."

Regulus smiles and tips his face up so James can kiss him, which they get carried away with for a
bit, admittedly. The crisps and fruit are forgotten for each other instead, which is just as well.
James is having the best day.

"Are you?" Regulus mumbles against his mouth, laughing softly, and oh, James must have said that
out loud.

"I am," James admits as he pulls away. He looks at Regulus for a long moment, then takes a deep
breath. "I—I don't always, though. Have the best day, I mean. Sometimes…"

"James?" Regulus asks, eyebrows furrowing as he stares at him, clearly picking up on the shift in
tone.

"I'm not always happy," James blurts out, then immediately grimaces. "I mean, I am happy. I'm so
happy, love. I'm just… It's just that I'm not always a happy person like I pretend I am, I suppose. I
don't like it, being sad, which I imagine no one does, but I've never really—I don't really let myself
be sad. Like I have to be the happy one, you know. I have to make people laugh, brighten their
days, be that source of constant support and positivity, but… But sometimes I'm just—sad."

Regulus reaches out to cup his cheek, frowning. "That's alright, James. God knows I'd be the last
person in the world to judge you for being sad. You can be. You don't—you don't have to be 'the
happy one', or even pretend to be. You're more than what you do for others."

"I talked to Sirius about it. Cried a bit," James mumbles with a sheepish smile. "He was good about
it, you know. Really very good. And he—he suggested I see someone. Professionally."

"Mm, well, shocking as it may be, I'm something of an advocate for therapy myself these days."

"With good reason, I've found. Sirius got a recommendation from Ms. Pomfrey, and I had my first
session today. His name is Filius Flitwick. I adore him already."
"That doesn't surprise me," Regulus says, amused. His face softens. "I'm glad, then. You can—
well, obviously you don't have to, but you can always talk to me about it. About anything, really.
And, when you're sad, I'm here for that, too."

"I just—I don't want you to think I'm not happy with you. I am. I'm so fucking happy with you,
love. Never doubt it. Never doubt that I'm—"

"James, James, I don't. Listen to me, I don't. My place in your life is not dependent on your
emotional state, or the things you can do for me. I love you, regardless of if you're happy or feeling
down, whether you have the energy to run laps around the world or you can't bring yourself to get
out of bed. You told me—do you remember when you told me that you were with me, you wanted
to be with me, and it wasn't some trick? That's exactly how I feel. You never have to be anything
other than you, good days and bad days and all."

James swallows thickly. "Well, ironically enough, it makes me very happy that you've just said
that."

"I can see that," Regulus says fondly, lifting up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. He pulls back
with a sigh. "Maybe in therapy, you'll learn to be a little more selfish. I think you can stand to be
more selfish occasionally. I think it'd be good for you—and me, honestly, because I'm so very
willing to be something you're a little selfish about."

"Mm, is that right?" James murmurs, leaning down to shake his hair in Regulus' face and rub his
head against his neck and cheek like a cat, listening to Regulus laugh. James captures the sound in
memory to cherish forever, just for himself and no one else, something to be selfish about.

Regulus pushes his head up and kisses him again, a quick press of mouths before he mumbles,
"You're ridiculous."

"I know." James grins at him and draws away, reaching out for his satchel again. "I have
something for you. Well, for us both, technically."

"Oh?" Regulus squints and sits up, watching him curiously.

James perhaps gets a little excited, so he's mostly just rambling as he pulls out the bracelets and
explains the purpose of them. He puts Regulus' on first, distracted in his continuous stream of
words, and then he puts his own so he can demonstrate how they work. He presses his finger to the
bracelet three times, watching Regulus' light up immediately in response. One, two, three. I. Love.
You.

Grinning, James looks up, pleased with himself, only to find Regulus staring at the bracelet that
sits just above the one with the trans flag, even to this day. His eyes are wide and a little glassy, but
it's his expression that really makes James' stomach swoop. He's all thawed out, fractured open like
light streaming through parting clouds of rain, a juxtaposition of emotion that makes James' heart
threaten to beat right out of his chest.

Regulus is so still that it's like he's impersonating a statue, but one carved and frozen into a state of
great emotion. There's devotion there, cutting into the pinched wrinkle of his brows and the hollow
of his cheeks, his mouth parted. He's beautiful. He is so, so heartbreakingly beautiful that it's hard
to look at him, and even harder to look away.

If Regulus were actually a statue, one of those chiseled with precision and put on display, James
knows it would be a famous attraction. People would travel far and wide to simply fall to their
knees before marble, willing to bleed over it if they thought that would bring him to life, so in awe
that they'd worship him, form religions around him, and kill anyone who ever dared suggest he be
toppled over.

But James? Oh, James sees past that. Far past that. He sees past the ideal that Regulus is a statue of
the marble variety, untouchable, easily broken if not handled with care. No, Regulus is different.
He's bronze—the kind of statue that turns gold the more he's touched, a good luck charm for the
people who pass him by every day. Durable and trusty. A monument.

The truth is—the real truth is—Regulus is rain and whipping winds, mystery and familiar, angelic
and man. He is made of stardust and something cosmic, but he is also home.

"You got me the sun," Regulus breathes out, his thumb gently sweeping across the little design of
the sun on the band. "You gave me the sun to carry every day. Made sure I'd always be able to
reach out and touch it. Touch you."

James softens. "Yeah, love, I did."

"Oh," Regulus whispers, and then his head snaps up seconds before he's scrambling forward to
practically climb James, kissing him with the force of an incoming hurricane.
Grunting, James lands on his back, automatically clutching at him, instinctively pulling him closer,
always wanting him closer, as close as he can get. Regulus doesn't let him up for a long time, but
James isn't trying to go anywhere else anyway. As always, he's happy to be caught in Regulus'
storm.

Remus is going to take back everything bad he's ever said, thought, or assumed about therapy in
the abstract.

Newt Scamander runs his therapy sessions with puppies. Cute, fluffy puppies. Four, to be exact.
Two of them are brown, one is golden-haired, and the last is solid black with a tiny patch of white
on the forehead. They're all females named Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde—four ghosts from Pac-
Man, Mr. Scamander informs him. Remus is in love.

Remus is also finding it very hard to feel uncomfortable, or angry, or vulnerable when he has four
puppies falling all over themselves in his lap. They are so small. In the back of his mind, he can
recognize that this is a tactic of some sort, but he hardly cares, because it works. It's all about
putting something soft and tiny in front of him to invoke simultaneous feelings of protection and
fondness; the perfect paradox to crack the code and find that safe space where he can feel strong
and gentle at the same time without any of the downsides to either.

In short, Mr. Scamander is a fucking genius.

"And would you say that it helps you to bottleneck your feelings on the matter?" Mr. Scamander
asks quietly, because they've been talking. Oh, they've really been talking.

It's so strange how this is really, genuinely working for Remus. He's sitting on the floor next to a
man he's only just met today, four puppies crawling all over him, and he's never felt as open and
happy about it as he does right now. Maybe that's just the magic of puppies; maybe it's the fact that
Mr. Scamander has a way about himself that makes Remus feel like he's writing a letter no one will
ever read. In the kindest way possible that Remus could ever mean it, Mr. Scamander feels like a
diary.

"Probably not," Remus admits, helping one of the puppies—Inky, he thinks—back into his lap.
She'd tumbled out and immediately started climbing back up. Remus really appreciates that he
doesn't have to look at Mr. Scamander as he talks, and that he can distract himself with the puppies
while he opens up and reveals things in the background.
"You said that you have this insatiable thirst for more out of life," Mr. Scamander murmurs. "Have
you considered that the more you're after is just the parts of yourself you repress?"

"Like I don't feel whole because I don't let myself be whole?" Remus muses, lips curling up despite
the topic because Clyde pounces at his hand and starts chewing on one of his fingers, tail wagging
furiously.

"We are more than the sum of our parts, Remus, but we gain nothing from letting those parts
remain broken apart and unfelt. Feeling is the one lesson in life that can never be taught, because
there are no guidelines for it, only that to not let yourself feel at all is worse than feeling too much.
There's nothing more tragic to me than those that attempt to mute themselves; be loudly you."

"My range of volume frightens me."

Mr. Scamander hums. "You fear the force of yourself, but you crave it all the same. It bubbles up, I
imagine. Repressing it, suppressing it—those are just defense mechanisms. But, if I may ask, what
are you defending yourself from?"

"I…" Remus' eyebrows furrow, but his usual discomfort with something like this can't exist,
because Blinky is attempting to crawl up the front of his chest and shove her nose under his chin in
a way that's fairly reminiscent of Sirius. He gives her a little boost so she can settle into the curve
of his neck, tail flying as she licks his hair. "I—I honestly don't know. It's just always been this
way. This is just who I am."

"There's no reason you can think of?"

"I mean—well, I suppose I...started when I was young. Being like this, I mean. I told you about
being very ill and how my parents handled it. Maybe from there?"

"It's not an easy thing, experiencing something like that, especially for a child. Feeling a sense of
rejection when you've done nothing wrong. Loneliness flays the soul, doesn't it? Strips it piece-by-
piece until it feels like there's nothing left to lose, and in a way, reaching that point can seem
relieving."

"Yeah," Remus mumbles, patting Pinky's head gently. She's asleep in the crook of his legs while
Clyde and Inky crawl all over her. "Yeah, exactly. So perhaps I… Perhaps it's just fear of rejection.
Because I—I was rejected when I was only a child by the people who were never supposed to, and
it's not—they never mistreated me, really, but—"

"Neglect is mistreatment, Remus," Mr. Scamander says gently.

Remus frowns. "I—yes, but I mean, they never abused me. Mum tried her best, you know. She did.
I just needed more."

"More of her, or more of yourself so she could try with all of you?" Mr. Scamander asks.

"I was scared," Remus whispers, turning his head to bury his face in Blinky's fur. She licks his
temple, and it's the only reason he doesn't cry. After a moment, he drags his head back up. "I was
scared that I would show all of me, and she wouldn't try. Because—because I think the disconnect
between us was partially my fault, too, and it's too late to do anything about it. She's already gone."

"You don't need to blame yourself. You were a child, and the mistakes she made were mistakes. I
want to reframe this in a way that I think will help you heal. You say that she tried, that she loved
you in her own way, even though you needed—and deserved—more; it's also true that you didn't
allow yourself to be all of you. We can draw the conclusion that she loved every part of you that
you granted her, and this stands to reason that she would love every part of you that you were
afraid to," Mr. Scamander tells him. "It's not too late to believe that."

"Oh," Remus says softly, feeling as if Mr. Scamander just reached out and ruffled through his
pages, finding the ones stuck together and gently prying them apart. They creak along the spine,
aching. It hurts. It feels terribly good.

Remus would probably cry at this point, but Inky springs up and tries to stick her tongue up his
nose, which draws a choked laugh out of him. He ducks his head down and lets her sniff all over
his face, and Clyde is quick to scramble over and shove her nose into his hair. Blinky seems upset
that her sisters are taking his attention, so she slips down from his shoulder and tries to get in
between them and him. Fondly, he thinks of her as Sirius Jr.

Mr. Scamander lets him stay quiet, sitting on all that they've talked about, playing with the puppies
and feeling much better for it. And then he says, "We've run over, just a bit, so we'll have to
continue this next week. I have to get these girls back home, in any case."

"Are they yours?" Remus asks.

"No, not mine." Mr. Scamander groans as he hauls himself up off the floor. Remus had thought it
strange that they were sitting on a thick rug for their therapy session, but he finds that he's
appreciative now. It felt more casual, as well as hidden, like being lower to the ground is where it's
safest to let secrets slip. Besides, the puppies are down here. "I partner with a shelter, as I'm an
advocate for therapy paired with animals. They really do make everything better, you know."

Remus laughs softly and starts handing off the puppies one by one as Mr. Scamander takes them
off to their crates. "I can't actually argue with you. What about people who don't like dogs, or
they're allergic? You asked me, but…"

"Oh, I have a wide variety of animals I use. Birds, cats, lizards, even the occasional snake or two, if
you'd believe it. I've even used a spider once. You'd be surprised what people take comfort in," Mr.
Scamander admits, amused.

"I'm fine with puppies," Remus blurts out quickly, pushing to his feet and brushing his hands off.

Mr. Scamander flashes him a warm smile. "Yes, I've noticed. You'll see them again next week."

"Oh, well now I have to come back," Remus jokes, and Mr. Scamander chuckles. "Honestly, if I
could, I'd just take them all with me."

"No pets?"

"No, sir. I—don't really have the time between work and school and such."

"Ah, that's unfortunate. I highly recommend pets, generally, if there's a way you can have them and
properly care for them. I find it helps when there's more than one in a household, but you live
alone?" Mr. Scamander muses, turning to lead him towards the door.

"At the moment, yes. I—well, I suspect I'll eventually move in with my boyfriend, so I don't
know," Remus says.

"Not a fan of pets, is he?"

"I've never actually asked."

"You could," Mr. Scamander points out.

"Can't hurt," Remus mumbles, shooting a glance towards the crates for one more glimpse of the
puppies. Sirius would get a dog with him, wouldn't he? Probably.

Mr. Scamander sees him off, and Remus finds himself stunned by how not awful that was. Christ,
puppies really do make everything better, don't they? He needs one.

Do you like puppies? Remus messages Sirius.

Am I a fucking monster? Of course I like puppies. Who DOESN'T like puppies, Remus? Sirius
responds.

Well, that's good to know. He feels like he knew that already, honestly, but it doesn't hurt to have
the confirmation.

Maybe it's the revelation that Mr. Scamander has granted him, the piece of his mother he's given
back to Remus, but his day feels warped and out of focus—but in a good way. Open. Bigger. More
breathable, like he can breathe himself into it, and the lungs of the world will just inhale, inhale,
inhale him with ease before one big exhale that rattles his whole frame.

Because, really, it does come down to the simplicity of the statement he made. He doesn't feel
whole because he doesn't let himself be whole. What more can he find if he won't be more of
himself, if he won't even fucking try? Who will reject him now? Not Sirius. Not Regulus, or James,
or Peter, or Lily. He knows that better than he knows himself.

Remus would like to know himself, he thinks. It's such a kind thought he offers about himself that
he hardly knows what to do with it; he's rarely so kind to himself like this. But he can't help but
think about that child—the one who was afraid of more and still so desperately needed it—and he
feels like there's something gentling in him, the same sort of feeling he had for the puppies, the
need to protect and the need to be tender. What is pride in the face of your inner child?

It doesn't take long to make it to Sirius and James' flat. He takes the tube, then just walks the rest of
the way, letting his mind settle from his time with Mr. Scamander. His day so far has put him in a
pensive mood, not solemn and not pleased either. Mostly just curiously calm. He thinks that
therapy is going to end up being very good for him.

As soon as Sirius opens the door, he grins. "Well, hello, Moony. You beautiful bastard, just look at
you. Hi, I love you."

Remus feels himself break into a soft smile, helpless to do anything else when Sirius is
being...Sirius. Remus finds it tragic that Sirius doesn't get to experience himself the way Remus
gets to experience him. He wishes he could reflect it back on Sirius, that same feeling, but he
doesn't know how.

He knows he's a reserved person. Quiet in his affection, careful with who he opens up to, even
awkward at times with sharing how he feels. For Sirius, he tries his absolute best to give all that he
has, and he thinks he does alright for the most part, especially in privacy. Sirius isn't a reserved
person in some ways; he's loud in his affection, and he'll bloom like a flower in the spring about
certain parts of himself. Yet, he is a reserved person in other ways; he keeps some things locked
away and hidden from even himself sometimes, and he often can't express how he feels simply
because he can't figure out what he's actually feeling.

They've found their ways to make these things work, to adapt to each other's needs and their own,
to be aware of what they give and take from one another.

The thing is, Sirius has one thing he does with ease—and that's love Remus. He does so loudly, and
quietly. He does it where people can see, and when no one is looking. He loves Remus so openly,
so shamelessly, so purposefully that there's no denying what he feels. It's effortless, the way Sirius
loves him, and he still tries so very hard at it. Remus sometimes feels full from it, so satisfied from
Sirius' love that he hardly needs to even eat. He could survive on it, he knows; maybe that's why he
survived when he was young and so very close to death, because this is what was waiting for him.

After all, Sirius loves Remus in every way imaginable. He tells him all the time. He calls him
beautiful, draws him just to draw him, touches him just to know he's there. He lights up every time
Remus enters a room, drawn to him like a needle points north on a compass. He does it like it's
natural, even though Remus knows that he's not the easiest person in the world to love, no matter
how easy Sirius makes it look.

"I love you, too," Remus says softly, and then he steps into the flat to capture Sirius' face in his
hands to drag him into a kiss.

Sirius tips forward into the kiss eagerly with an earnest noise of delight, which could have
something to do with the fact that Remus is snogging him in a not-entirely-appropriate manner,
with intent, almost as if he plans to shag Sirius right here and now. It helps bolster his confidence,
honestly, because Sirius is curling into him with muffled sounds of encouragement.

As soon as they break apart, Sirius is gasping out, "Fucking hell, Remus, what was that for?"

"Because I adore you. Because I can have you in every way possible, in every life possible, and I
would still want more. Because you are electric; you are the current of energy that shocked me to
life," Remus tells him, keeping a firm hand on the side of his head so he can't pull away. Not that
Sirius is trying to put any distance between them, mind. He looks fucking overjoyed to be here, to
hang off every word Remus says to him. "I love you, Sirius. Simply and with all our peculiar
complexities, I love you. I can't even begin to explain how very fortunate I feel, how very thankful
I am, that you turned around that day in the bookshop and decided to talk to me. I was instantly
enchanted by you, enamored with that grin of yours, curious about all the thoughts in your head,
and I found it inexplicably necessary to know you, and to have you."

"I knew I was going to be stupid about you, just from that first glimpse, and I thought—I knew it
would be worth it," Sirius whispers, biting his bottom lip to try and stifle his smile. "I was right.
Christ, it's so worth it."

Remus has to kiss him again, not as deeply this time, quicker as he pulls away. Sirius sways into
him, his breath hitching, and Remus rocks him back to stare into his eyes. For a moment, that's all
they're doing, looking at each other, and nothing exists. This is forever caught in amber, one
moment frozen in place with no outside interference, the eternity they've trapped between them.

"You're beautiful, you know," Remus whispers, watching as Sirius' eyes light up, dewy with
delight.

"Keep saying sweet things to me," Sirius whispers back.

"I'll try, but I don't think I know how," Remus admits, caressing his thumb across Sirius' cheek.
"Personally, I don't know very much for certain, but of the few things I do, one of them is that I
love you, and I've always loved you, likely in countless lives we don't know the details of and
undoubtedly in many more we haven't lived yet—but I'm in no rush to get to those, because I'm
happy to live and love every moment with you in this one."

Sirius bites his lip, shifting around, and then he fists his hand in the front of Remus' sweater before
he fully just snatches Remus further into the flat. He sounds breathless as he drags Remus into his
room and announces, "Oh god, I have to suck your cock now. I absolutely have to suck your cock
now."

"Makes sense," Remus says, lips twitching, and Sirius releases a groan like he's dying before
promptly hitting his knees. One of his more dramatic moments, honestly, but you know, Remus is
in full support.

"Remus, I want a new tattoo," Sirius informs him a little under an hour later, when they're sprawled
in bed together, lost in lazily touching each other just to touch.

"Mm, you should. What do you want and where?"

"All the phases of the moon down my spine."

Remus cracks open one eye. His heart flutters in his chest, a tiny little skip. "Padfoot…"

"Do you hate the idea?" Sirius asks softly. "You told me I couldn't get your name on my chest, so I
want what represents you on my back. Because, well, you must think it's reckless and foolish, but
you're under my skin as it is, and you always will be, so what's the harm in you being on it, too?"

"Tattoos are permanent. Well, mostly."

"No, no, I know. But tattoos are… I started getting them as, like, proof of control over my life, a
newfound freedom I had when I left my family. It wasn't just reckless rebellion, you know; well, a
small bit, but not just that. It's—it's me, really. A sense of ownership over myself and my body, and
I want you there. You belong there."

Remus' heart does some sort of gravity-defying flip when he looks at Sirius Black and realizes he
gets to see this part of him, the man behind the curtain, the folded-away reasons he so rarely allows
anyone else to know. They'll think him reckless, think him a fool blitzing through the world with
no sense of precaution, but everything he does has meaning.

"Lovely, now I have to suck your cock," Remus mumbles, shifting around to get started doing just
that.
"So, so I take it that's a yes, then?" Sirius asks, his breath hitching as Remus starts kissing a path
down his chest. His hands sink into Remus' hair. "Because I just thought—I mean, you belong with
me, and you always will be then, and I—I want you with me. I really—I—oh, oh, that's a yes.
That's definitely a yes. Fucking—"

Sirius isn't really coherent for a bit after that.

Another hour later finds them curled towards one another like opposing parenthesis. Sirius' hair is a
mess, and his face is still flushed, eyes bright and hazy with satisfaction. He's grinning lazily, one
hand resting under his cheek, the other gently tracing Remus' features where he lays across from
him. A soft touch over the curve of his eyebrow, down the line of his nose, over the cupid's bow of
his lip, then back again over and over.

Remus has both hands tucked up under his cheek, and he's more than alright with lying here and
basking in the simple perfection of Sirius' touch. He feels satisfied just looking at him, and at the
same time, he can't get enough of it.

It's mental, really. This charge between them. Remus swears sometimes that he can just reach out
and touch it. He can genuinely feel it, the way Sirius affects him, that unexplainable thing that
draws them closer together. Like magnets, like gravity, like the moon controls the tide and
lightning splits the sky open in a blazing flash of energy.

"I saw puppies today," Remus murmurs, talking low and soft because it feels like they're in a
bubble, a pocket of eternity curated by them just for them. "Four of them named Inky, Blinky,
Pinky, and Clyde after the Pac-Man ghosts."

"Oh, that's brilliant," Sirius blurts out, startled. "I love that. Where did you see them?"

Remus hesitates, then blows out a deep breath. "Regulus pointed out to me that—that I have some
things I...struggle with, regardless of the good things in my life. Pride and repression and other
such things. He sort of demanded that I go to therapy, and I was resistant, but he was right. I told
him I would try, so he got a recommendation from Ms. Pomfrey, which led me to my first session
with Newt Scamander today, who believes in pairing therapy with animals."

"Lucky," Sirius hisses, dropping his hand to push up on his elbow, pouting. "I want to play with
puppies during therapy!"
"I—" Remus cuts himself off and huffs a laugh. "That's all you have to say, Sirius?"

Sirius blinks, then frowns. "Oh, right. Obviously I'm happy for you, sweetheart. Did it go well?"

"I mean, I think it went extremely well, shockingly."

"Mm, suppose it'd have to. Hard to go wrong when there's puppies, I imagine."

"It made it so much easier," Remus admits, and Sirius smiles at him. "You're not upset that I didn't
tell you?"

"No? Of course not," Sirius says, like that should be obvious. He blinks again. "Why would I be
upset about you seeking help if you need it? Besides, that'd be very hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?
I'm in therapy, and it's not as if I was eager to tell anyone about it, especially in the beginning."

Remus feels his face soften. "I feel like a bit of a prick for making it out like it's—it's a bad thing,
or a weakness, because I don't think that about you and Reg. I'm actually very proud of you both
for it."

"You should be proud of you, too," Sirius tells him, reaching out to poke Remus on the end of his
nose. "I know it's not always easy. But I think… Well, I think it's worth it. I've found it helpful, in
any case."

"Mr. Scamander made me feel better about my mum," Remus mumbles, swallowing thickly.

Sirius hums. "That's good. I'm glad. Anything else?"

"He said loneliness flays the soul until it feels like there's nothing left, and that nothing can
sometimes be a relief."

"Do you think so?"

"Yeah," Remus says slowly, pensively. "He said something else, something I think you'll like. Be
loudly you."

"I do like that," Sirius confirms with a grin.

Remus' lips curl up. "I knew you would. I can't say how therapy will go for me in the future, but I
—I think it's going to be good. And, well, puppies."

"I'm so jealous," Sirius mutters, but there's humor in his eyes, and he cranes forward to kiss Remus
gently. He's still doing so when he mumbles against his mouth. "You're doing just fine, Moony. I'm
proud of you."

"Thank you," Remus mumbles back, then slips his tongue in between the seam of Sirius' lips just to
hear him moan.

When Sirius pulls away a few minutes later, breathing heavier than before, he gasps out, "Fucking
hell, Remus, your mouth."

"What about it?"

"I'm obsessed with it. I want you to swallow me whole. I want to curl up in your molars. You'll
drive me to madness before my family's curse ever will."

"There's no family curse," Remus says, exasperated. "It's just mental illness, Sirius."

"I—well, Christ, don't pull your punches," Sirius grumbles.

Remus chuckles and leans in to kiss the wrinkle between Sirius' eyebrows. "Sorry. I didn't mean for
it to sound bad. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Just my many imperfections," Sirius says.

"I love your imperfections," Remus assures him, and Sirius' face twitches, slowly forming into a
smile as his cheeks burn red. He turns and buries his face into his pillow, which is rather adorable
of him, actually. The muffled shout that follows is equally amusing. "Liked that, did you?"

"You'll kill me," Sirius declares, lifting his head to gaze at him softly. "My heart is fighting so hard
to get out of my chest. Let it rest, Remus, please."

"No," Remus replies with a mild smile.

Sirius chews on a smile, then shuffles over to practically dump himself over on Remus, curling into
him. "This is a good life for us, don't you think? Don't know about all the rest, but this one is my
favorite. We're living our happily ever after."

"Are we?" Remus asks fondly, lifting his arm and shifting around so he can gently card his fingers
through Sirius' hair, taking care to remove tangles. "No one really goes into much detail about what
happily ever afters are. We're just meant to know. I didn't, before you. I do now. It's this, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I'd say so," Sirius agrees.

Remus closes his eyes and breathes out, "I don't have to miss you anymore."

"Of course not," Sirius whispers. "I'm right here."

"I love you, you know."

"I love you, too. I can't even begin to express it properly, as there aren't enough words in any
language, but I truly do."

"Do you expect to do that for a long time?" Remus teases.

Sirius presses a kiss to his cheek. "What?"

"Love me."
 "Oh. Oh, Moony, I'm going to do that forever."

"Are you?" Remus asks with a low chuckle, tilting his head back dutifully, because Sirius is
looking for that spot he always seems eager to go to. "I'll hold you to that."

"Good. You hardly need to, though. It's like I said." Sirius squirms closer, his words muffled into
Remus' skin at the curve of his throat, and he releases a quiet sigh of pure contentment. "We're
eternity, you and me."

Remus hums and rests his cheek against the top of Sirius' head, still brushing his fingers through
his hair with tender affection. "So we are, and so we are, and so we will be."

"Soppy git."

"Clingy bastard."

Remus can feel Sirius grin against his neck, and equally fond, he tucks his responding grin into
Sirius hair. They hold onto each other just like that, and that's eternity in its own way. They cradle
it between them, within each other, and keep it.

Chapter End Notes

i can't believe there's only one chapter left :(

 Chapter 30
Chapter Notes

no warnings for this one.

enjoy the happy ending, babes <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Regulus was a child, before Sirius went off to Hogwarts, he used to be woken up on the
morning of his birthday by Sirius leaping on his bed and shrieking Happy birthday, Reggie! at the
top of his lungs, bouncing on the bed as Regulus woke up giggling and sleepy and warm, despite
the fact that their mother was sure to be infuriated by it.

On Regulus' twenty-fourth birthday, this happens yet again, with a few minor changes.

For one thing, James Potter is in the bed next to him, holding onto him even in sleep, so he's caught
up in Sirius' display. For another thing, Regulus has a best friend, who is leaning in the doorway,
watching Sirius fondly, a smile curling the corners of Remus' lips. Oh, and there's no Walburga
Black around to be infuriated by anything, which is just as well.

Perhaps the biggest change is that Regulus does not wake up giggling, sleepy, and warm. He wakes
up disoriented and grumpy and sputtering in disbelief, because he's an adult now who appreciates
his sleep.

"Sirius, shove off!" Regulus bursts out as soon as he makes sense of what's currently happening to
him. Beside him, James is releasing scratchy chuckles, thick with sleep.

"Happy birthday, Reggie!" Sirius bellows, bouncing up and down like a child, complete with a
bark of laughter.

Regulus shoves him off the bed.

The next ten minutes pass in agitated daze for Regulus. He drags himself up from bed to shuffle
off to the loo for a shower, muttering under his breath as he goes, while Sirius laughs at him, James
tries to drag him back to bed, and Remus offers him a warm smile as he passes by. Alone in the loo,
he catches a tiny smile flickering at the corners of his mouth in the mirror, and he rolls his eyes at
himself.

When he leaves the loo, Sirius leans out of his room and catches his arm, pulling him inside. It's
woefully empty of James and Remus, so Regulus heaves a put upon sigh as Sirius drags him over
to the bed so they can sit on it.

But Sirius isn't joking anymore, and he looks sincere when he murmurs, "I have something for
you."

"I thought I said—"

"Yes, I know you said no gifts, but surely you know that absolutely no one is going to listen to you.
Everyone else is just going to give them to you later at the party."

"And you just had to be first, didn't you?" Regulus asks, mildly amused despite himself. The
reminder of the party that's being held later this evening warms him, even if he'll never admit it.
Everyone's coming as far as he knows, and while they all love an excuse to get together, it's nice
that they're all doing it in the name of celebrating him.

"Of course," Sirius declares grandly, grinning, but then his smile fades. He looks...nervous.

"Sirius, what did you do?" Regulus says, narrowing his eyes.

"It's—well, it's...sort of recycled, really," Sirius says very carefully, holding over a small box. It's a
simple brown with R.A.B. engraved on the outside of it, and there's a silver clasp on the front that
Regulus immediately turns. Sirius darts his hand out and keeps the lid closed, meeting Regulus'
gaze. "The box is—I made it, just in case. Because you don't… I mean, you can just leave it in
there. You don't have to—"

Regulus knocks Sirius' fingers aside while rolling his eyes, lifting the lid and immediately feeling
his face fall slack. He goes silent and just stares.

Christ, Regulus hasn't seen this in over eight years now. Well, no, that's not true. He's seen it in a
painting, but not in person. When he was fifteen, he took it off and left it next to a puddle of his
brother's blood before walking away.
Sirius is very quiet as Regulus stares at the necklace, not even saying a word when he reaches out
with the slightest tremble in his fingers to lift it out of the box. It looks the exact same, an oval
pendant with a snake engraved into it, so incredibly detailed that you wouldn't believe a thirteen-
year-old had done it. Regulus rubs his thumb along the curve of the snake, unfurling his fingers so
the pendant will flip over in his palm.

On the back, there's something new. It's a small, yet unmistakable outline of the Leo constellation,
thin lines shaped into a lion. The Regulus star is bigger than all the rest, settling right there as the
lion's little heart. It's really quite beautiful, and Regulus can tell that Sirius put in the effort to get it
to look right. The sight of it makes Regulus' eyes sting.

It's just that Regulus promised Sirius he would never take the necklace off, only to do just that a
mere three years later. He regretted it, will likely always regret it, because it represents so much
more than the passing foolishness of birthday gifts. This goes beyond that, and he thinks the both of
them always knew it. Beyond just jewelry and a gift given early in the stead of absence; it was
always the foundation of their efforts, the promise of having someone that matters, that cares, and
then it was the heavy thunk on the table that cleaved that right in two, foundations crumbling, a
broken promise.

Regulus never thought he'd have it again.

"Regulus," Sirius says softly.

"I'm fine," Regulus croaks, lifting his free wrist to drag them underneath his eyes. He sniffles
helplessly, still fixated on the necklace. "Really."

"You don't have to wear it," Sirius tells him quietly. "That's why the box is there. I just...wanted
you to have it, I suppose. Have it back, I mean, with a few minor adjustments."

"I'll wear it," Regulus mumbles, lifting his watery eyes to stare at Sirius. "I'll never take it off."

Sirius regards him for a long moment, and Regulus knows what he's thinking, because Regulus has
said that before, young and certain of so many things and still having so much to learn. He said it,
and he meant it then as well, only to end up taking it off anyway. But that's the beauty of second
chances, isn't it? The way it flows both ways, the way it settles in, because they're not the children
they were when Sirius gave it to him the first time, nor are they the children they were when
Regulus took it off, and yet here they are anyway, forgiving and forgiving. Trying. Still trying,
despite it all.

"Good," Sirius says. "Because if you do, next time I'm just going to launch it at your fucking
head." That draws a choked laugh out of Regulus as he reaches up to link the necklace around his
neck. Sirius flashes a grin at him. "You know, that's the first thing I ever created that actually left
class. Minerva has my first ever painting that I did at eleven; it looks like shit, so she has it hung up
in her class next to some of my later ones as motivation for her students. But this—" He reaches out
and taps the pendant. "It's the first thing I ever tried at, the first thing that ever saw the outside of
that classroom, and it made me fall in love with art. We are who we are because of each other, you
know. There's no changing that."

"I wouldn't change it, if I could," Regulus admits.

"No, neither would I," Sirius murmurs.

"Thank you," Regulus whispers.

"Yeah, of course," Sirius replies simply. He reaches out and lifts up the pendant in his palm, gazing
at it for a long time, and then he raises it and drops it down on the inside of Regulus' shirt. He
smiles and says, "Happy birthday, Reggie."

Regulus rarely initiates hugs with Sirius, even after all these months of therapy and mending their
relationship as brothers. That's just not—him, really. Sirius does, though. Sirius will drop an arm
around his shoulders, rub his knuckles into Regulus' head, shove him lightly, things such as that.
He's an affectionate person, and Regulus allows him to get away with it solely because he's his
brother.

This is one of those rare occasions where Regulus is the one who pulls Sirius into a hug. Sirius
accepts it easily enough, and it's as comforting as it always is, and always has been.

When they break apart, Sirius coos at him and pinches his cheek mockingly until Regulus smacks
his hand away and shoves his head aside, making him yelp. Moment officially over, Regulus
launches off the bed and out of the room, in search of his much more tolerable boyfriend or best
friend; either or, he's not picky.

They're both located in the kitchen. Remus is making stacks of toasties, which draws Regulus in
immediately, but Remus points a spatula at him in warning while James slips an arm around his
waist to haul him right off his feet and turn him pointedly away from the stove.

"No. No cooking for you today. You're doing nothing today; everything will be done for you,"
James declares.

"Can't I at least walk?" Regulus mutters, even as he dutifully tips his head to the side so James can
kiss his cheek.

"I'm tempted to carry you around all day," James informs him, but he does sit him back on his feet.
He swivels Regulus by his shoulders to smile softly. "Happy birthday, love."

"Thank you," Regulus says, giving him a quick kiss.

They have toasties, all four of them, which are really very good because Remus makes magic
toasties. Sirius praises him for it as if he's never had them before, even though Regulus is certain
that he has. It sort of comes with the territory of living with your partner; you tend to cook for one
another.

Three months ago, there was a slow shuffling of living arrangements. There was an odd two weeks
where it was almost like they were all living together in James and Sirius' flat, which wasn't as bad
as Regulus imagined. It's just that he and Remus were literally there every day, and they slept there
every night, and none of them talked about it or acknowledged it for a while. In those two weeks,
Sirius and Regulus were repeatedly put to the test with seeing their best friend with their brother,
but that also wasn't as bad by that point.

There were only two occasions where Sirius and Regulus got into arguments so bad that Remus and
James actually had to separate them like they were children, but in the way only siblings can, they
got over it. Usually by showing up hours later and asking if the other was hungry, or wanted to
watch their show, and that amounted to an apology enough for them. James and Remus always
seemed so very baffled by sibling dynamics, or maybe it's just their sibling dynamic that's
bewildering, even to this day.

In the end, Regulus' building manager called him to ask if he was moving out, so that pushed them
all to sit down and have a very uncomfortable conversation. Sirius suggested that they all just live
together, and Regulus stated bluntly that he didn't want to do that. (The main reason was that he
missed sleeping naked; also, he wanted to shag his boyfriend when and where he liked at his
leisure. He very wisely did not mention these things.) There was a minor argument, but in the end,
Sirius was shockingly mature about it. So, James moved in with Regulus, and Remus moved in
with Sirius.
It took the better part of the first month for that to actually change much, because James and Sirius
have truly disastrous levels of codependency issues. They literally have to see each other every day,
even if it's just through their phones on a video-call. James will legitimately go into a minor
depression if he hasn't seen Sirius in person in three days. This leaves Remus and Regulus
constantly exasperated, but they don't bother Sirius and James about it much, giving it the test of
time. These days, they've all learned that time can make things better for all of them. And, sure
enough, James and Sirius have gotten better about it, settling into it and their routine.

Because Sirius' flat is bigger and also has a guest room that Regulus and James can pass out in (his
old room), that's where the party is taking place. Sirius, Remus, and James head there first, but
Regulus has a meeting with Chef Sprout for his end of term review, which ends up, ironically
enough, making him late to his own birthday party.

He's never made a big deal about his birthday; that was always Sirius, when they were younger,
and that stopped when Sirius went off to Hogwarts and then left for good. By now, Regulus has
made peace with such a thing, but Sirius might not have, not fully, because he's particularly
invested in celebrating.

As soon as Regulus comes in, the entire room bursts out into cheers and shouts of Happy Birthday
that all bleed together in a cacophony of noise, which makes him grimace instantly.

"Look who finally showed up to their own bloody party," Sirius says, eyes glassy and cheeks
flushed. "We've been getting drunk without you, Reggie."

"Really? I couldn't tell," Regulus replies flatly.

"In your honor, of course," Sirius assures him.

"Happy Birthday, Reg," Remus tells him (yet again) with a small smile as he comes over to stand
next to Sirius. He swings his foot forward to nudge Regulus' shoe with his own, a gesture of
affection that only they'll understand. "How's twenty-four?"

"Exactly like twenty-three so far and nothing like twenty-two," Regulus admits, lips twitching.

"Move, move, move," James chants, pushing forward from the back of the room, then fully just
pushing Sirius and Remus aside to stride between them. Regulus helplessly breaks into a smile
immediately, and James is already beaming at him, so the kiss that James sweeps him into is more
smiling than anything else. He looks so pleased with himself when he rocks back. "Hello, love. Hi.
You're here."

Regulus chuckles quietly. "Hello, James. Hi. I am."

"Happy Birthday, Regulus," James says warmly (again), then wraps his arms around him fully,
apparently planning not to let him go the entire night. Regulus is very alright with this.

"Let's get a drink in your hand immediately," Sirius declares, bouncing on his toes with bright eyes.
He links his arm through Remus' and turns. "Oi, Crouch, make yourself useful and get the birthday
boy a drink!"

"Already on it, Black!" Barty calls back.

And, with that, the party resumes. Or, really, it starts. Regulus is passed around by everyone, and
so is James, because he really does hang off of him the whole night like a limpet.

The most tolerable people here are Lily, Peter, and Mary. The people he actually likes are Remus,
Dorcas, Pandora, and Aiko. Barty, Evan, and Marlene are in a category all on their own where he
doesn't like them (but he does), and he doesn't deny that they're his friends anyway. Frank and
Alice—well, he's mostly indifferent about them; he hasn't really had the true opportunity to warm
up to them yet. Xenophilius is also here, as well as Gideon and Fabian, but Regulus honestly
doesn't care about any of them. James, he loves, obviously—and Sirius, well, Sirius is his brother,
so he exists in some sort of plane of love and annoyance on his own.

But, with the help of alcohol and the passing hours, Regulus loosens up and gets sweeter and
sweeter until everyone's just a blur of people he has no issues with, friends there for him, and it
feels good. He feels very good. There's music, dancing, laughing, and talking. Sirius bounces
around between everyone like he's having the best night of his life, and Regulus isn't entirely sure
why, but he finds it entertaining in any case.

"It's because he's not sad," Lily tells him, hiccuping. Her round cheeks are flushed red as her hair,
green eyes glittering with a soft haze of inebriation. She's leaning into Regulus' side, swaying back
and forth with him to the music, because James is swaying all of them, crooning low in Regulus'
ear along to the lyrics—something soppy about paper rings and picture frames and dirty dreams.
Regulus doesn't think he even noticed that Lily joined them, though it was Regulus who reached
out to grab her as she stumbled by, trying to make sure she wouldn't fall, but then she balanced
against him and ended up just staying. "He was always sad on your birthday."
"Sirius?" Regulus asks, blinking.

Lily bobs her head like it might fall off. "Mhm. Always—it was always a hard day for him, yeah?
Missed you, I think."

"Oh." Regulus cranes his head to search for his brother, locating him dancing with Mary and
Remus. Well, Sirius is holding onto Remus and swaying, while Mary holds onto him from behind.
Remus is rubbing her shoulders, his cheek resting on the top of Sirius' head. "I missed him, too."

"I—I have a sister, you know," Lily mumbles, turning to look at him sadly. Her eyes are very big.
"We're not like you and Sirius. I don't think she misses me at all."

Regulus feels his chest clench. "Do you miss her?"

"Sometimes," Lily admits.

"Stands to reason she must miss you, too. At least sometimes," Regulus tells her, and her lips tilt up
into a smile. His chest unclenches, and they continue to sway.

An hour later finds him talking to Pandora and Dorcas. He's leaning back into James, who has his
arms wrapped around Regulus' waist and his face buried into Regulus' hair. He hasn't resurfaced in
some time, apparently very happy to be right where he's at. Regulus is happy to have him there.

"You're twenty-four!" Pandora announces gleefully. "Did you know, twenty-four is the atomic
number for the chemical Chromium, which is just a hard, silver metal?"

Regulus slow-blinks. "I did not know that."

"Brilliant, isn't it?"

"Yes, absolutely brilliant."

"Your twenty-four won't be Chromium, though," Pandora informs him. "It'll be soft and warm. I
can sense it."

"Well, thank god for that," Regulus says, giving a lopsided smile as Pandora immediately bursts
into tinkling laughter.

"To a soft and warm twenty-four," Dorcas declares with a wink, raising her glass, and they all drink
—even James resurfaces to toast to that.

A bit later, Regulus and James have sort of swapped positions. Regulus is behind James now, face
buried in the back of his shoulder, practically clinging to him. James' arms are braced on top of his,
their fingers threaded together. He's talking to Xenophilius, Gideon, and Fabian—all people that
Regulus doesn't care about and is more than willing to ignore for the chance to hang off his
boyfriend for a bit. Things are a little hazy, but he likes them that way at the moment.

They don't really reposition again until they find themselves talking to Aiko, Peter, Marlene, Barty,
and Evan. It's a bit of a big circle, so Regulus ends up with his arm around James' waist like a loose
belt while James leans into him and plays with his hair idly as he carries on conversations.

It's always a bit of fun watching Barty and James interact, because Barty enjoys riling James up,
but they seem to have come to a truce for the night. Regulus is sort of warmed that they'd do that
for him, actually. He mostly just talks to Evan while Peter and Aiko—being disgustingly cuddled
up, now that they're finally together—pitch in occasionally, and Marlene keeps stealing James'
drink to drink it, then puts it back in his hand. He never seems to notice.

By this point, Regulus cuts himself off because he can feel himself smiling constantly. Distantly,
vaguely, he thinks he should be appalled by how sweet he's being with everyone. A steady stream
of praise for literally everyone falls out of his mouth at all times. He spends a solid five minutes
just telling anyone who will listen that he is hopelessly, unwaveringly in love with James Potter, to
which everyone simply tells him that they already know. James is visibly thriving.

He is so happy by this, in fact, that he drags Regulus off to a corner and snogs him like he'll never
get another chance. Of course, Regulus is very pleased with this turn of events, even more so when
the rest of the room melts away and everyone else stops existing. It's just him and James, fumbling
in a sheltered little space for themselves, whispering and giggling to each other in between kisses.

"You're so lovely, Regulus," James mumbles against his mouth, his cheek, breathing him in.
"You're just so lovely, love. The loveliest. The most lovely. Oh, I love you. I love you. I—"
Regulus cuts himself off with his mouth, threading his hands into James' hair and pressing them as
close together as they can get. They go stumbling back against the wall, and alright, maybe they
get a bit carried away. Regulus doesn't really mean to; he blames all the drinks he's had, even
though he's not actually that drunk. In any case, he's trying to get James out of his shirt when
they're rather rudely interrupted by someone bellowing that it's time for presents.

"I don't care," Regulus complains, breathing hard, his words muffled into James' neck. "I want to
unwrap you."

"Shh, shh, later," James whispers low in his ear, laughing softly and peppering quick kisses along
Regulus' jaw, slow to pull away. His glasses are a little lopsided, so Regulus reaches up to
straighten them on his face, and James beams at him.

"If you two are done canoodling," Sirius calls out, "we'd like to get to the presents some time
tonight!"

"It's my birthday," Regulus mumbles.

"Be nice," James says softly. "This is the first time he's gotten to be happy on your birthday in
fourteen years."

Regulus stares at him, stricken. "Now, why would you say that?"

"Sorry," James mutters, wincing apologetically and threading their fingers together as he tugs them
towards the center of the room where everyone is waiting.

Due to Regulus having the excuse that he's mildly drunk (even though he isn't, really), he is
outwardly and loudly grateful for all his gifts (a lot of kitchen appliances feature, for which he is
genuinely grateful). Nonetheless, he's grateful when it's over and they're all just sitting around in
various states of inebriation, chatting and laughing. Regulus is very pleased where he's at—sharing
a chair with James, leaning back against him with his legs thrown over the plush arm of the chair,
James' arms loosely linked around him. Next to him, Remus is sitting on the sofa, Sirius sprawled
on the floor in front of him, his back resting against Remus' legs, head on his knee, and Remus is
running his hand through his hair. Regulus isn't entirely sure Sirius isn't asleep, actually.

Well, he isn't until Sirius groans and says, "Moony, your hands are magic. Feels good. That feels
really good."

"Get a room," Lily teases, even though she's doing literally the same thing with Mary right next to
him. Well, Mary seems to be putting loose braids in Lily's hair, so it's a little different.

"Love is in the air," James declares, pressing a smile against Regulus' shoulder, because of course
he would find it cute.

"Isn't it?" Sirius agrees, lifting his hands and waving them gently through the air like he's touching
it. "Feels nice. Ours is so aged, Moony. We've been echoing through oxygen and existence for
eternity. Breathe us in, sweetheart."

"Alright, Shakespeare," Mary says, "give it a rest."

"No," Sirius retorts petulantly. "I love him. You'll all know it. I'll make sure you'll all know it. And
him, too. Remus Lupin, you brilliant bastard, I love you." He fumbles one hand back to grip
Remus' wrist and peers up at him with a grin. "Let's get married and adopt all sixty-four of our
future children tomorrow, yeah?"

"Sixty-four? It was fifty-nine this morning," Remus murmurs, lips curling up.

"I added five when you smiled a few minutes ago," Sirius informs him gravely.

"Like Ned McDodd," Pandora says, and they all stare at her in confusion. "Horton Hears a Who?
The mayor of Whoville? He has ninety-seven children—ninety-six of which are daughters and one
of which is his son."

"Ohhh," the room choruses all at once.

"That's really cute, Pads," James teases, dropping his head to the side to peer around Sirius with a
smile.

"I know," Sirius agrees triumphantly. "God, I'm so romantic. Moony, aren't I so romantic? Asking
you to marry me all the time, wanting all your babies?"
"Yes, Sirius, very romantic," Remus tells him indulgently, carding his fingers through his hair
again.

Peter chuckles. "Strange, really. Sirius has never been like that for anyone before you, Moony.
That's usually more of James' thing. Or it was. He doesn't do that anymore."

"Oi, what's what's supposed to mean?" James blurts out, his arms tightening around Regulus. "I'll
have you know, I'm very fucking romantic, Wormtail."

"No, yeah, I know," Peter assures him, "but I meant the marriage part, really. I'm surprised you're
not asking Regulus like Sirius asks Remus."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't," James says casually, and Regulus tips his head back to look at him, but James
is still looking around him. "I'm not marrying him."

The room falls silent, and Remus' head snaps over, his voice sharp as he blurts out, "What the fuck,
James?"

"Christ, it's his birthday," Dorcas hisses in horror.

"Barty, get up, we need to kill Jim," Evan snaps, sounding downright frosty.

James blinks, rearing back, and he looks at Regulus then. His eyes go wide. "I—what? I don't—"

"It's fine," Regulus says, and he means for his voice to be calm and steady, but it's ridiculously
small and wobbly. His stomach is in knots, and it feels as if someone—James—has reached into
his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed.

"Hold on," Sirius blurts out frantically. "Hold on, give him a bloody moment. It's James. He didn't
—he must have a reason for—just let him explain what he meant."

"Inquiring minds do want to know," Frank mutters weakly. He and Alice have been quietly
canoodling up until now, next to Pandora and Xenophilius doing the same.

"I don't—I thought—" James' eyebrows furrow, and he looks at Regulus in genuine confusion.
"You swore off marriage, love, didn't you? You said—I mean, you don't want to get married, so of
course I wouldn't demand it. I'm—I'm not sure what—"

"Oh, now that's sweet," Pandora says softly.

"Yes, yes it is," Regulus agrees, everything in him relaxing all at once, "but it's also just—wrong.
Very wrong."

"What?" James frowns. "No, you—you said—"

"I swore off marriage because I believed I wouldn't get to marry for anything other than—than
some sort of business transaction, certainly not for love, and I didn't want a husband who would
never love me for me," Regulus explains slowly, having to find the right words he wants to use,
because he's never talked about it before. "But you're not—you're different. It'd be different with
you. Everything is different with you."

"Wait." James leans back a little, blinking rapidly. "Wait, love, are you just—drunk? Do you
actually mean—"

"I'm not that pissed, James. I do mean it. Remus, tell him. Remus knows. I said it to him six months
ago, that I'd marry you even though I've been running from marriage since I was a child," Regulus
blurts out in a rush.

Remus nods and confirms, "He did."

"Really?" James asks, dazed, his hands clenching down on Regulus like he needs to hold onto
something.

"Yes, really. I would marry you, James. I—I want to," Regulus admits, his heart thudding wildly in
his chest as he searches James' eyes, which are wide. "Do you want to?"
"I—you—you're asking?" James chokes out, his whole body spasming like it's trying to take a
screenshot of this moment and capture it forever. "Are you asking me if I want to, or are you asking
me if I will? Because—because, love, I can't tell, and I really need you to clarify for me. I need you
to be very fucking precise right now."

Regulus' breath hitches, and the rest of the room seems to hold its breath with him. He can't look
away from James even if it meant saving his own life. He'd die just to keep gazing at the
expression on his face right now, the swirl of emotions, and if it was the last thing he saw, he'd die
a happy man. Or, no, maybe not. Maybe he'd die in the grips of fury with the unfairness of it all,
knowing he wouldn't get to gaze upon James for longer. Better yet, he'd live for James.

Regulus searches James' face for a moment, but then he stops, because he thinks that's not quite
right. Because James, though he doesn't often own up to it, is enticed by the idea of being loved out
loud, shamelessly and with pride. This makes sense, considering his issues surrounding what he
feels he has to do and give for others, the pressure he feels. He's gotten better with therapy, with
effort, with the help of good people in his life who do better by him. Regulus wants to always do
better. James deserves someone who will reach out to take his hand in a crowded room and beg for
the chance to get to hold it forever, no matter how many eyes are on them, and he deserves
someone who will ask whether or not they know the answer beforehand, because he's worth that.

So, Regulus exhales and does something very, very brave. And something selfish in the healthiest
way possible, because he wants this. He really does. He reaches up to cup James' cheek, feeling
flushed and faint, strangely terrified and safe at the same time. His fingers tremble, but sometimes
they do that when he's cradling the sun. "I'm asking if you will. James Potter, will you marry me?"

James makes a small sound, the tears welling up in his eyes and spilling over, and he winds his
arms tight around Regulus as he collapses forward to bury his face against Regulus' chest.
Instantly, Regulus curls both arms around his head, bowing his shoulders in like he's forming his
body into a shelter from a storm. He cradles James as much as he can from his lap, feeling him
shudder and cry and cling. He doesn't shush him, or demand answers, or do anything other than
press a kiss to his hair and hold him.

"Did they just get engaged?" Remus whispers.

"I don't know. I don't fucking know," Sirius responds breathlessly, sounding like he's on
tenterhooks, barely hanging by the final thread of his own emotional stability.

"Did we? Regulus, did we?" James gasps out, raising his head to peer at him, tears still streaming.
"Well, you have to agree to it first," Regulus reminds him gently, sliding his hands up to carefully
swipe his tears away with tender fingers. "I asked, and you get to answer."

"You asked," James croaks, on the verge of tears all over again.

"I did," Regulus murmurs. "I'm still asking. Would you like to hear it again? Will you marry me?
You don't have to say yes, even though it's my birthday. You don't have to say yes at all; I'll be with
you even if you say no."

"No," James breathes out, then sucks in a sharp breath. "No! No, I mean—I mean yes. I meant yes.
I meant no, I wouldn't say no. I would say yes. I'm saying yes. Yes, I'll marry you. I'm going to
marry you. Can I marry you?"

"Yes," Regulus says, lips curling up. "You can marry me."

"Oh my god. Oh my god," Sirius bursts out, then proceeds to dissolve into hysterics in perfect
unison with James.

James hides back in against Regulus' chest, weeping and chanting over and over that he loves him.
Meanwhile, Sirius grabs onto the first person in reach—Lily—and throws his arms around her as
he wails. Everyone else promptly breaks out into excitement, shock, or a mixture of the two.

So, from there, Regulus' birthday doubles as an engagement announcement, much to the surprise of
literally everyone. It takes a bit for James to recover, which immediately gets ruined when he and
Sirius get ahold of each other. They hug and break down sobbing, and honestly, you'd think they
were getting married the way they act.

"I can't believe our boyfriends are boyfriends," Remus tells him, his voice wry.

"I don't want to talk about it," is Regulus' dry response.

Remus huffs a weak laugh and says, "Well, fiancé for you, now. James is your fiancé. You're
engaged, Reg."
"I know," Regulus says, and he can feel himself beaming, like maybe he's the sun, too. Glowing
with it. Fucking giddy.

"Christ, I'm happy for you," Remus blurts out with a stunned little laugh, and then he reaches out to
snatch him in a hug, which Regulus allows with immediate acceptance.

"You have to be my best man," Regulus whispers.

"I'd kill anyone who tried to claim the position," Remus says, sounding ridiculously emotional
about the whole thing.

Regulus squeezes him a little. "Aw, for me?"

"Yes." Remus squeezes him back.

Remus is promptly snatched back by Sirius, who apparently abandoned James—Peter has a hold of
him now—to get to Regulus. Before Remus can so much as sputter, Sirius is yanking Regulus right
into his arms and crying all over him like the dramatic, emotional idiot he is. Regulus sighs and
pats his back, shooting an exasperated look at Remus over Sirius' shoulder, and Remus smiles
before wandering over to James where he claims a hug from him, too.

The celebrations carry on for a while after that, and it takes a bit for any of it to wind down.
Everyone's so palpably happy for them, and Regulus feels more drunk on that than any alcohol. No
one goes home until the early corners of the morning, people finally slipping off with final
congratulations to the newly engaged couple. Before everyone has actually left, Regulus is so
impatient that he drags James off to his old room, turns up the stereo so loud he can't even hear
himself think, locks the door, then proceeds to shag James so thoroughly that the world could end
and he wouldn't care.

If Sirius and Remus are bothered by the loud music playing persistently for nearly three hours—
well, they don't make a fuss about it. James seems only mildly chagrined when he gets up to turn
the music off and stumbles back into bed. Regulus has made a proper mess of him. He's beautiful.

"We have to talk about this," James says once he's snuggled back up to him again.

"Alright," Regulus replies simply.

"We've known each other for a little over a year, nearly three of those months we spent not actually
together, and we've only lived together for three months," James lists out slowly.

Regulus hums. "Yes, I know."

"So, getting married next month is—probably a bad idea, isn't it?" James mumbles. "Tell me it is,
because I—I really—"

"Nothing with you is a bad idea. I'll marry you tomorrow, if you want. I would have married you
yesterday," Regulus says softly, smiling at him. "We go at our own pace, yeah? Because love is a
choice, and we can keep making it whether we're married or not. If you'd like, we can have a long
engagement, or we can elope tonight. Whatever you want, James."

James takes a deep breath and holds it for a long moment, then blurts out, "What about what you
want?"

"I have what I want, don't I?" Regulus reaches up and pats James' chest, right over his heart.
"Sincerely, I'm very fucking happy with all of it."

"I can't believe you asked me," James whispers, and he looks dangerously close to crying again.

Regulus laughs softly and leans in to kiss him, pulling back to shake his head fondly. "I can't
believe you thought I didn't want to marry you."

"I thought you just didn't want to get married at all. I didn't take it personally. I respected it. I'm—I
need you to know, I will still respect it if you—"

"Shut up, James."

"Love," James starts.

"No. Shh," Regulus declares, reaching up to clap his hand over James' mouth. "None of that,
because it's irrelevant. I know you'd respect it. I know all of these things already, but I'm literally
begging you to be a little selfish about this. Or, well, there's nothing selfish about it, really. But you
don't have to undermine your happiness, alright?"

James nods against his hand, and as soon as Regulus pulls his hand back, he surges forward to kiss
him deeply. He pulls away to gasp out, "I love you so much," and then dives right back in.

"I love you, too," Regulus murmurs when they break apart.

"Will you ask me again tomorrow?" James whispers, beaming as bright as the sun, warming
Regulus all the way through.

"I will," Regulus promises, and he does.

Sirius hums in gravelly delight when he wakes up to the feeling of a warm mouth trailing down the
length of his spine. Remus, of course. He's right obsessed with the tattoo there, kissing each phase
of the moon often enough that Sirius sometimes dreams of the sensation. It feels so nice.

"Where's Stella?" Sirius mumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"Snoring on the sofa," Remus answers in between kisses.

Sirius hums again in approval, because this means they'll likely have a morning-shag. Not that he
begrudges Stella her presence in their room, but there's just something that feels slightly immoral
about fucking in the bed when your dog is lying at the end of it. They usually put her out and give
her a treat afterwards for her patience; the routine has led her to being as delighted as them by the
frequency of their shagging.

They do, in fact, have a lovely morning-shag, so the start to Sirius' day is magnificent. They give
Stella a treat when they drag themselves out of their room anyway, but that's because they spoil her
shamelessly.

Stella came into their lives when Remus got Regulus a cat for a wedding present—the world's
ugliest cat (and the meanest) that likes no one but Regulus. Remus rang Sirius and told him that
he'd fallen in love, to which Sirius had immediately panicked until Remus clarified that he was
talking about a dog, and then Sirius was over the moon about the idea of getting a pet with him. So,
Remus has brought Stella home, a dog that had been in the shelter for years; no one had wanted her
because she's covered in scars, one of her ears are almost entirely ripped off, and while she's the
sweetest dog Sirius has ever met, she 'smiles' a lot when she's happy, except her smiles look like
she's snarling and getting ready to attack. She has essentially stolen his heart, as well as Remus'.

Honestly, she's done wonders for them both, as far as opening up goes. When Remus finds it hard
to talk about things, he usually cuddles with Stella to help, and it always does. In turn, when Sirius
feels like he can't get enough affection, or give it, Stella is the perfect cure; she can't get or give
enough either. While Sirius doesn't doubt that he and Remus would be alright without a pet, Stella
has undoubtedly worked miracles for their relationship, life, and household.

"Good morning, baby," Sirius coos at her, capturing her snout between his hands and kissing her all
over it with loud smacking noises. Her tail thumps against the cushion, and she smiles at him, snout
wrinkling up to show teeth. "Do you want to go out? Go for walkies, hm?" He barks a laugh as
Stella springs up eagerly. "Yes, you do. Mhm, that's what I thought. Let's go get your lead.
Sweetheart, I'm taking Stella out!"

"I'm starting breakfast," Remus calls back. "Full English?"

"Oh, would you? You're a marvel, Remus Lupin!" Sirius praises, strolling along with Stella, who
trots along with him and bounces on the pads of her feet excitedly.

Sirius takes Stella on her usual walk to relieve herself and get some exercise in. It's good for them
both, honestly. Some people on the route know her and stop to pet her, which makes her very
happy, as usual. Some people see the scars and aren't bothered from the start; some are wary at
first until Sirius assures them (always offended) that she's a lovely, sweet dog and doesn't deserve
the judgment; mostly everyone ends up falling in love with her, though, if they see her enough.

Sirius has only seen Stella be anything other than sweet one time. He'd taken her out late at night,
because she'd come pawing gently at him, her signal to let them know if they don't get her out,
they'd have an unpleasant surprise in the morning. Remus, who had been tired from work, slept
through it, so Sirius wordlessly dragged himself up to take her out. They didn't go far, and
everything was fine at first, but then…

Well, Stella loves everyone. Usually. Just not that man, not that night. Something about him, Sirius
supposes. He'd been walking up the street towards them, and Sirius hadn't thought much of it until
he was startled by Stella growling low in her throat in warning, her tail stiff and her hair standing
on end. The man ended up turning around and walking swiftly away. To this day, Sirius wonders
what would have happened if Stella hadn't been there; he's always grateful he never has to know.

When they get back inside, Sirius fills Stella's food bowl and leaves her to tackle her breakfast,
then slips over to where Remus is working on theirs at the stove. He slips in behind him, and
because Remus is still moving around without a bloody shirt, he slides his arms around him and
bites down on the curve of Remus' shoulder. Christ, he wants to eat him. Nearly two years of
knowing him, and the urge still hasn't gone away. As usual, Remus just snorts when he clamps
down.

"Oh, yes, harder," Remus says monotonously, and Sirius has to break away and bury his grin
against the impression of his teeth. "Christ, Padfoot, you're worse than Stella. She's the sodding
dog, and she never bites me, you know."

"She has self-control that I do not," Sirius states firmly. "If anything, it's your own fault. Walking
around with no shirt. What else am I meant to do, Moony?"

"Mm, I like it, you know," Remus muses. "Bites—at least when they're yours. Couldn't be anyone
else, or I'd hate it."

"Too right. Want another?" Sirius asks playfully, already sliding his mouth along Remus' back to
bite his other shoulder, gentle and teasing this time.

Remus chuckles and swats at his head. "Maybe later. I need to focus so I can feed us. Go sit."

"Sometimes I think you've trained me like Stella," Sirius says, amused, pulling away to go do as
he's told.

"How do you think I knew how to train Stella?" Remus looks over his shoulder with a mild smile
and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I had practice."

"Woof," Sirius replies with a lecherous grin, winking at him, pleased when Remus busts out
laughing.

Sirius scrolls lazily through social media at the table, his lips curling up when he sees a picture of
Peter and Aiko posted. They're on vacation in Kyoto, which—from what pictures Sirius has seen—
is full of beautiful views. In the newest photo, they're in a bamboo forest, their faces pressed
together side-by-side. They're both glowing happily.

Admittedly, Sirius is proud of Peter. He'd done exactly as Sirius and James encouraged him to—
nearly a year ago, now. Following the-date-that-wasn't, Peter had told them he'd been confused
because it felt like a date, so he'd plucked up the courage to blurt out that he'd wanted to kiss her, to
which Aiko responded by promptly snogging the living daylights out of him. Peter had actually
taken a full day to inform them of the good news that they were actually, officially dating, but
Sirius figures they were too busy shagging to tell anyone.

In any case, they're still going strong. It's cute, really. Sirius and James are always happy to see
Peter happy, and Remus as well, plus it pleases Regulus that Aiko has ended up with 'someone
tolerable', which is just code for him liking Peter.

In the group chat, James is complaining again. Regulus is on a conference trip where only a few
selected students from Chef Pomfrey's class were given the opportunity to go, something to do with
learning more about the culinary arts, as well as more about being a future restaurant owner. He's
been gone only a week and is due back today, even though it was a trip that was supposed to last
for two weeks, except Regulus insisted he had to be back by today, for whatever reason. Even still,
James hasn't hesitated to inform everyone that he's sad. They're all properly accommodating,
because a sad James is never treated like a joke.

When will my husband return from the war? James has messaged.

He's coming home today, mate! Frank replies with a string of thumbs-up emojis and a smiley face.

I've been spamming our contact bracelets, and he always touches back, James informs them with a
sobbing emoji. A message follows right after. I miss him :(

Just a few hours now, Peter reminds him.

Sirius, rather maturely, finds it within himself to text, And you have the whole day to get
reacquainted. Moony and I won't be over until the evening. Hours and hours of shagging my little
brother, James Potter, that's what awaits you.

You spoil me, James replies with the smiling emoji that has the hearts around it.
Fucking heathen, Sirius messages, which prompts the chat to fill up with laughing emojis.

"How's James?" Remus asks as he carries their plates over to the table. Sirius automatically lifts his
head for a kiss, which Remus dips down to gift him with.

"Still a bit mopey," Sirius answers when Remus pulls away to sit down next to him, "but I've just
told him he gets to shag his husband all day, so I think that lifted his spirits."

"I imagine it would," Remus agrees, amused, sticking his leg out under the table so Sirius can hook
their ankles together. It's routine at this point.

Sirius clicks his tongue. "The sacrifices we make for them, Remus. Where's our reward?"

"Well, I suppose we could spend the whole day shagging. Is that reward enough?"

"You know, now that you mention it, I'm more than willing to make these sacrifices."

"Happy to help," Remus says, lips twitching.

"This looks lovely, by the way. Thank you," Sirius tells him warmly, putting his phone down to
grab his fork and gesture to his plate.

Remus hums, pleased. "You're welcome. I'm no Regulus, but it's good enough, I think."

"No one's Regulus when it comes to food," Sirius allows, because it's true, "but you're certainly
nothing to complain about. I'm always satisfied, in any case."

"I think I picked up more from my mum than I ever thought I did," Remus murmurs, his voice
softening the way it does when he talks about his mother.

Therapy, in many ways, has changed a lot of things for Remus, particularly his relationship with
vulnerability. He still struggles from time-to-time, but he's certainly made leaps and bounds in his
endeavor to be more of himself, even the parts he's always shied away from and repressed. One of
the biggest changes, though, is his peace with his mum. With the help of therapy, Remus has gone
back to visit Hope Lupin's grave, and Sirius has gone with him every time he asks. While he
doesn't relate to missing one's mother, he doesn't need life experiences to know to hold Remus
when he cries, or simply just be there when Remus needs him.

In making peace with his mum, Remus has gone through the cathartic process of facing that he has
not, and may never, make peace with his dad. That, Sirius had related to strongly, and they'd spent
many nights staying up late, talking quietly in the dark, telling each other things Sirius knew
neither of them expected to ever let out with anyone. There's an intimacy to such things, an
intimacy they keep with them even now.

"Mm, well, compliments to Hope," Sirius declares, taking a big bite and smiling with full cheeks.

Remus smiles, small and sweet. "Exactly."

For a bit, both of them focus on eating, so much so that they're not talking. It's a comfortable sort of
silence that Sirius enjoys more than he—or anyone—would expect. He likes everything with
Remus, really, even when they're just sitting quietly together. He doesn't feel untethered and adrift,
but more like the lapping waves of the tide, gently rocking in the pull of the moon. It's comforting.
Remus is so, so comforting.

Sirius' cell buzzes on the table, but it's just Peter sending James a meme to try cheering him up. It
must work, because James replies with a gif of someone laughing hysterically. He only really does
that when he's actually laughing.

Shaking his head, Sirius goes back to eating, but his mind still sticks on James. Just worrying about
him a bit, is all. That's what you do when your best friend is sad for any reason, even if you know
they're alright altogether. Besides, James missing Regulus is oddly heart-wrenching, especially
considering they have only been married for four months.

They'd had a four-and-a-half month engagement, mostly because they needed time to, one, plan the
wedding, and two, find the proper time they wanted to take their honeymoon. Between life, jobs,
and availability, it had taken nearly five months for everything to fall into place.

Sirius had been ecstatic, ironically enough. After how he was in the beginning, you'd think he
wouldn't, but he actually really adores that his best mate and brother are married. He'd been a
fucking wreck at the wedding, and the only person who could compete for crying as much as him
was Effie. He gave Regulus away while Monty gave James away, and there hadn't been a dry eye
in the room. Even now, Sirius gets a fierce clench in his chest when thinking about it.
Though, now that Sirius is thinking about it, Regulus is a little shit. A thought hits him and makes
him drop his fork, his mouth dropping open as his eyes bulge.

"Oh my god," Sirius breathes out.

"Sirius?" Remus asks, blinking at him.

"I'm—I'm an honorary Potter, but Regulus is actually a Potter. Like, he has the actual name! He
married into it, that little shit," Sirius blurts, appalled. "He's a Potter, and I'm still a fucking Black,
Remus."

"Oh," Remus says. "Well...yes."

"That devious little snake. He—"

"Sirius—"

Huffing, Sirius picks his fork back up. "I'm taking your name when we marry. Taking it and
claiming it as mine, just as I have you, and you can't stop me."

"Why would I attempt to stop you?" Remus looks at him in amusement, which is his usual
response to Sirius' dramatics.

"I don't know," Sirius admits, "but it's a fool's mission if you do." Stella, without prompting, barks
about something, and Sirius points at her with his fork. "Yes, exactly. You see? She's in full
agreement, so that's that just decided, yeah? Perfect timing, Stella. I love you so much, baby."

Stella's response to this is to pad underneath the table and lay down on their feet, and Sirius grins at
Remus in triumph, who chuckles and says, "Oh, is our dog—"

"Our child. The first of all the one hundred and eighty-four we'll be having," Sirius cuts in to
remind him. The number has grown quite a bit over the months.
"Is Stella deciding things for us now?" Remus asks.

Sirius nods solemnly. "She's the only sensible one, really."

"I...can't actually argue with you on that one," Remus says, laughing when Sirius cackles in
delight.

After breakfast, Sirius cleans up since Remus cooked, leaving Remus to do some schoolwork. He's
so close to graduating, only a few more months away, and then he'll be free to start teaching. He's
clearly excited about it, and Sirius is excited for him, especially because he's looking forward to
calling Remus Professor and being an all around naughty menace, just to make Remus laugh. He
loves making Remus laugh.

When Sirius finishes cleaning, he bustles into their room to grab his sketchbook, then heads back
out to drop down on the sofa next to Remus, who has his laptop in his lap with music playing softly
from the speakers. He's glaring at the screen like he wants to put his fist through it, so Sirius
suspects he's working on something difficult. Sirius knows the feeling; he's definitely been there
before.

Stella hops up on the sofa in the space between their thighs, of which she barely fits in. That doesn't
bother her, though. She's basically half-in Sirius' lap, but this works out, because Sirius braces his
sketchpad on her back. He flips through the pages idly. They're full of people—one of his favorite
people to draw is Mary, a discovery he made at fifteen that still remains true to this day, and she's
always been charmed by it—and there's also a lot of Stella as well. Honestly, she might just feature
the most, seeing as Sirius really loves drawing animals.

Of course, Remus features the most. If it's not his face, it's his hands; if it's not his hands, it's his
eyes; if it's not his eyes, it's the moon. Genuinely, Sirius can never get enough of drawing any part
of Remus, or any version of him. Remus is his muse.

Sirius takes great enjoyment in getting to sketch Remus while he's just sitting there, working on his
computer. The furrow of his brow, the sprawl of his fingers over the keys, the sweep of his floppy
hair and the glow of the screen in his amber eyes and the parted seam of his mouth open in
concentration. He's beautiful. He's absolutely, inarguably beautiful. Sirius is so eager to
memorialize him, to keep a record of such beauty.

This isn't the first time they've wasted half the day like this, just existing in one another's spaces,
doing their own things. Sirius is always so relaxed by it, calmed more than he ever knew he could
be, and he can feel the simple contentment they grant one another, an ebb and flow that caresses
them both.

Sirius always likes getting to relax and do this anyway, especially now that there's been a steady
rise in commissions in his routine. He's had a few on-site projects as well, which are fairly new for
him, but extremely exciting. He got to paint a mural for a museum, which was really fucking cool,
if he does say so himself. Christ, he loves his job. But, at the same time, he still enjoys just getting
to draw at his leisure.

Remus, after hours of intense concentration, groans and snaps his laptop shut, whining, "Oh,
enough already."

"Need a break?" Sirius asks gently, reaching out to cup the back of Remus' neck, kneading out the
tension.

"Done for the day, I've decided," Remus mumbles, his head hanging forward as a contented sigh
escapes him. "Oh, that's nice. Really bloody nice."

"Is it?" Sirius chuckles and massages some more.

"Mhm," Remus hums, tipping over into him with yet another noise of pure peace. "Oh, I'm meant
to be shagging you, aren't I? Got a bit caught up, sorry."

"This is nice, too," Sirius assures him, wrapping an arm around him as he leans his head over on
Sirius' shoulder. He tips the sketchbook forward so Remus can see it. "I was just drawing your
hands again."

"You have a very obsessive fixation on my fingers."

"They're lovely fingers, Moony. Really, I just have a very obsessive fixation with every part of
you."

"The feeling is mutual," Remus murmurs.

Sirius turns to press a kiss to Remus' head. "Do you want to tell me what you were working on?"

"If I have to think about it anymore, I'm going to reach in and grab my brain just to toss it away," is
Remus' exhausted response, and Sirius makes a sympathetic noise. "Oh, was that very dramatic? I
think I mean it, though."

"No, I get it. I've been there before. Feels like your eyes are fucking crossing, doesn't it?" Sirius
mutters.

"Yes," Remus hisses, clearly pleased that he understands.

"Well, we just won't talk about it, and you don't have to think about it," Sirius declares. "What do
you want to do? Sit in silence? Play your guitar? Put on the telly? Or maybe you fancy a kip? Catch
up on a bit of rest; me, you, and Stella all snuggled up and warm."

Remus pulls away slowly to regard him with so much unbridled affection that it'd be impossible to
miss. "You're wonderful, Sirius, do you know that?"

"Marry me," Sirius responds instantly, struggling not to squirm around in delight. All the people in
the world who have praised him, yet when Remus does it, Sirius goes all warm and giddy and
would probably twirl his hair and kick his feet if he didn't physically fight the urge every time.

"Alright," Remus says.

"Then let's adopt all one hundred and eighty-four of—" Sirius stops and blinks. He blinks again.
"Wait. What'd you just say?"

"Alright," Remus repeats, lips twitching.

Sirius stares at him. "Alright...as in…?"

"Alright, as in alright, I'll marry you," Remus clarifies.

Once again, Sirius just stares at him. As many times as he's asked that question, Remus has never
given an answer in the affirmative. He's never refused either, or denied that they would one day get
married, and Sirius has never pushed for anything else. It hasn't bothered him, and he's always
liked that Remus never got uncomfortable about him blurting such things like requests for marriage
when he's really excited, or just feeling so much love it tumbles from his mouth.

"Are you—are you serious?" Sirius asks cautiously.

"I thought you were Sirius," Remus teases, his gaze warm and bright with humor, and fondness,
and so much love that Sirius can barely breathe.

"Remus," Sirius whispers, "don't take the piss right now."

Slowly, Remus' face softens. He stands up abruptly and walks right out of the room, and Sirius
stares after him, mouth hanging open. Alright, what the fuck? He can't just say shit like that and
then leave. Sirius is freaking the fuck out.

Remus returns quickly, though, and he stands in front of Sirius as he holds out what appears to be a
ripped receipt—which, what? "Look at it."

"There's no price," Sirius says, mind racing as he scans the receipt for any clues, but there's nothing
that he can see.

"Yes, because you don't need to see that. Look at the date."

"Alright… So, what, you bought something a year ago? What was happening a year ago?"

"A year ago was the day after I met Effie and Monty for the first time," Remus explains. "The next
day after, when I got off of work, I bought these."

Sirius looks up and watches as Remus pulls out a black velvet box, which immediately makes
Sirius' heart shoot off to the races, and Remus' hand is steady when he reaches out and sets the box
on Sirius' knee. Sirius swallows. "Is that…?"
"That day, when I met them, Monty said something to me that stuck… He said that you always put
too many expectations on yourself and so few on anything else and that you weren't doing that
anymore. Apparently, even then, every time you looked at me, it was like you found a part of your
future, because you knew I'd be in it," Remus murmurs. "And he didn't even know about how
you'd asked me to marry you earlier that day, because—because you wanted to live your life to the
fullest, and the thing is, I wanted to say yes. I've always wanted to say yes, Sirius, but I kept
thinking one day. But one day could be any day, and you don't live by one day. You're every day,
everywhere, all the time—and I love you for that. I love you for...a lot of reasons, honestly."

"Remus," Sirius breathes out, a lump forming in his throat.

"And I didn't know what it was that I was waiting for, so I went out and bought rings, hoping that
one day would just reveal itself to me," Remus continues. "I didn't understand what was holding
me back, because every time you asked, I wanted to say yes. I bought the fucking rings, Sirius, so
what more was I waiting for, right? It took a while before I realized I was waiting on me. More of
me. Because I wanted to give you all of me, but I didn't know how to be all of me, so I had to
figure that out first. And then, you know, I realized that I'm always going to be finding more of me
to be, and finding more of you, because that's just—that's just life. That realization came to me a
couple months ago, and I thought then that I'd wait for you to ask me today, because surely you
would, and I'd tell you yes. I'm not all of me, and you're not all of you; there's always more, but that
doesn't mean we're not enough. That doesn't mean we aren't everything for each other already."

"I—I—Remus, a year ago?" Sirius croaks, his vision blurring as everything goes topsy-turvy inside
him.

"Yeah. I've been saying yes for a year, so I thought, you know, that I'd get a yes out of you a year
later," Remus says. "I'm going to love being your husband, do you know that? You can hang this
moment over my head for the rest of our lives, if you like, and quote me on it when I threaten to
divorce you because you've mixed up my socks or found some place to hide the book I'm reading
because you want attention. I know I'm just telling you that you're going to be my husband, and I
am because you will be, but I suppose, for you, I will go through the trouble of actually asking—"

"Yes," Sirius blurts out, nearly shouting and still somehow sounding ridiculously breathless.

Remus smiles gently. "You have to actually let me ask, Sirius."

"Oh. Right," Sirius says, still dazed. Remus makes it look like the easiest thing in the world to do to
just step back and go down to one knee, and Sirius immediately jolts, his heart absolutely rioting.
"Oh, you're actually—the whole bit. You're kneeling. I—you're actually kneeling."
"I am, yes," Remus replies, amused. He reaches out and gently peels the receipt out of Sirius' hand
where he's gripping it so hard his knuckles are white. He looks so calm, and it doesn't seem to
bother him that Sirius is shaking, that he has to reach down and grip Stella's fur for dear life. He
scoops up the box and clicks it open with easy familiarity, as if he's done it many times. "I got them
inscribed on the inside to say we're eternity, you and me, because you said that to me, and I believe
it. We are, you know, and we're going to have eternity to love each other, but right now—right
now, Sirius, will you do me the absolute honor of marrying me?"

They're matching rings, a silver band with black and gold lines etched all the way around it in a
double helix, and on the inside are the words we're eternity, you and me.

They're beautiful.

And, for just a moment, Sirius' curtain comes down. He never has control over such a thing, so it
can't be helped. It happens to him in times of great, overwhelming emotion when he can't handle
what he's feeling, when he needs a safe place to retreat before he just—breaks. It's through so much
therapy, so much effort, that he's learned how not to lash out in response to the curtain falling, how
to breathe through it, how to settle himself and draw that curtain back up with his own control.

He does so now, slowly, breathing and shaking all over, just rattling from the assault of feelings
that slam their way through him with all the finesse of a bull in a figurine shop. Remus is so, so
patient with him. Calm, steady, giving him exactly what he needs.

"God, fuck off, you romantic bastard," Sirius chokes out, finally, which makes Remus tuck his lips
in to fight a grin, and Sirius' eyes start streaming slowly and all at once. He nods his head almost
frantically, then reaches out to grab the ring box and snap it shut before hitting his knees right in
front of Remus. His hands dart up to capture Remus' face in between his hands, yanking him in to
kiss him repeatedly, speaking rapidly in between each kiss. "Yes." Kiss. "Yes, of course. Obviously
I'm going to marry you." Kiss. "You inscribed them? You're insane. You're fucking insane, Remus
Lupin." Kiss. "I'm so maddeningly in love with you. You're the moon. You're everything. I love
you, I love you, I love you so much." Kiss, kiss, kiss. "Oh, Moony. My beautiful, lovely Moony.
Let's get married right now, tonight, and adopt all two hundred and four of our children
tomorrow."

"That's more than before," Remus mumbles.

"I've added twenty," Sirius declares, leaning in to kiss him briefly yet again, a fierce press of
mouths.
"Yes, alright, let's do that," Remus agrees pliantly, happily, smiling at him before Sirius inhales
sharply and wraps his arms around him, tucking his face into Remus' throat and breathing him in.

For a long moment, they just stay kneeling there, holding onto each other, and then Sirius abruptly
wrenches back. He shoves the ring box into Remus' hands. "Put it on. You have to—"

"Alright, alright," Remus soothes him, because he's shaking from head-to-toe and on the cusp of
crying again. He cups Sirius' trembling hand and holds it steady as he slowly slips the ring on. "Do
you want—"

"Yes, I bloody want," Sirius cuts in eagerly, snatching the second ring out. He nearly fumbles it, his
breathing all wonky, and he can barely get it on Remus' finger without Remus gently cupping his
wrist to steady his hand again. It slides on eventually, though, and Sirius stares at it like it's the
most miraculous thing he's ever seen. "Oh god. We're getting married. We're going to get married.
Remus—"

"Yes, I know," Remus says softly.

"We have to—I need to tell—but first, I have to—"

"Sirius, slow down. Breathe."

Sirius breathes, just gazing at Remus with hopeless and helpless adoration. He's usually never left
speechless, but suddenly, no words feel like they even qualify for this moment. So, he takes some
time to prioritize, and to calm down a bit, or as much as he can under the circumstances. "Right.
Yes, well, we have to shag. That's first."

"Is it?" Remus asks, eyes sparkling.

"Yes. Stella, stay," Sirius orders, and Stella's tail starts wagging because she knows what that
means. Shagging equals treats. Sirius likes to think she's just supportive.

With that, Sirius all but drags Remus off to devour him. They shag until they're fucking sore and
can't even twitch a muscle. Maybe Sirius cries a few times, but no one has to know that except for
Remus, who doesn't judge him for it anyway. It's just another form of emotional connection, as
well as emotional release, and Sirius is overflowing so much that he's still trying to shag Remus
again even hours later when neither of them can actually, physically manage it.

In the end, Sirius has to settle for clinging to him, holding him as close and tight as he can, wishing
he could dissolve into him and live under his ribcage. He can't drag himself away for a long time,
and they kiss each other over and over, softly and deeply, until even that has to come to a natural
stop. Instead, they rest their foreheads together and breathe the same air. It's an intimate pocket of
space they exist in, a little slice of eternity they're not eager to find their way out of.

For a long time, Sirius just cradles Remus' hand in between his own, playing with his fingers,
fondling the new ring on it. He's utterly mesmerized. Honestly, he could probably waste years
doing just this and nothing else.

Eventually, though, Remus drags him up so they can have a shower, seeing as they both made
complete messes of one another. Afterwards, Sirius decides what the next priority is; well, it's
decided for him, really. According to his cell, James had messaged him two hours prior to tell him
that it was safe to come over, insinuating that he and Regulus had shagged themselves all out. So,
that's decided for him.

"Are you going to immediately announce it as soon as you walk through the door?" Remus asks in
amusement as he follows Sirius out to his bike (after they've given Stella treats and made sure she
was taken out, of course).

"No," Sirius says.

"Mhm," Remus replies skeptically.

Twenty minutes later, Sirius is bursting into Regulus and James' flat to shriek, "Moony and I are
getting married!"

This does not get the proper response, Sirius feels, which may have something to do with the fact
that he's been asking Remus to marry him for...a really long time now, and it's not outside the realm
of possibility for him to declare this without it being entirely true. Of course, when Sirius shoves
his hand out to wave the ring like proof, that gets the right reaction.

"Wait, no? No, really? Yes? Real?!" James blurts out, dumping Regulus right off his lap where he
seemed quite cozy in favor of springing up with wide eyes.
"Real! Real, James!" Sirius bellows, bouncing up and down in place as James snatches his wrist to
examine every angle with the ring, making small, excited noises under his breath.

"I told you he'd say yes," Regulus tells Remus, lips twitching.

Remus huffs a laugh. "I never doubted it, really."

"Wait, you knew?" Sirius sputters in disbelief.

"Of course. I'm his best friend. I've known for months, Sirius. Why do you think I had to come
back from my trip today?" Regulus asks, visibly amused.

"Oh!" James gasps out, gaping at Regulus. "That's what you meant about them likely being caught
up in each other, and that's why Sirius didn't reply to my message."

"Yes, James," Regulus says fondly, shaking his head.

James chokes out a laugh. "My husband, a little sneak." He pauses, then his head whips towards
Sirius. "Wait. He asked? Wait, wait, months?!"

Sirius immediately launches into a retelling of the events earlier, rambling breathlessly, still so
excited and elated that he's shaking all over again. James matches him, though, practically fucking
vibrating in shared enthusiasm and joy. By the end of it, they've both cried twice, hugged each
other for twenty minutes, and bounced around because neither of them can actually be still.
Meanwhile, Remus and Regulus calmly sit on the sofa and watch in shared amusement.

"Oh my god, I'm so happy for you, for both of you," James chokes out, close to crying for a third
time. He finally peels himself away from Sirius to go snatch Remus into a hug while Sirius looks at
Regulus meaningfully, his fingers twitching.

"Yes, Sirius, I'm happy for you, too," Regulus tells him, mouth pursing like he's trying to fight a
smile.

"Well, get over here and hug your brother, then," Sirius demands, and Regulus sighs but ultimately
indulges him.

"Tosser," Regulus mutters as soon as Sirius snatches him into his arms and squeezes him, too
happy to keep his grip light.

"Wanker," Sirius shoots back, absolutely giddy.

"Prick."

"Prat."

Regulus swats him on the back of his head, but it's so light it could be an affectionate pat. "Cunt."

"Bastard," Sirius mumbles, slowly pushing him back to smile at him. "Really, though. You're—
you're happy for us?"

"I am," Regulus confirms quietly. "Genuinely."

Sirius grins at him. "We'll have different last names, you know. You can start telling everyone
we're not even related."

"Now, why would I do that when you're the only person I'm actually proud to be related to?"
Regulus challenges, eyes flashing with muted humor and mischief.

"Still brothers, Reggie?" Sirius teases.

Regulus hums and dryly says, "Until our last breaths, I imagine, but at least that makes death seem
less scary."

"You're awful," Sirius says, biting back a laugh.

"I know," Regulus replies, lips curling up.

"Yes, James, I love you too, but I need to breathe," Remus wheezes from the right of them, because
James is apparently still smothering him in a hug.

"I'm just—I'm just so happy," James declares, still a little weepy. "You're going to get married. It's
lovely marrying the person you love. God, can we do it again, Regulus?"

"Whatever you want," Regulus says, and James beams at him.

Sirius flaps his hands around. "Prongs, come here and help me get the perfect picture of the ring to
put in the group chat."

"Oh god, Peter is going to lose it," James hisses, immediately detaching from Remus to come join
Sirius.

"I know!" Sirius agrees gleefully.

The next hour passes with the announcements. The group chat goes absolutely ballistic. Nearly
everyone tries to call at once, so Sirius ends up on the phone with a hysterically sobbing Peter,
while James holds the phone away from his ear where everyone can hear Lily screeching at the top
of her lungs with Mary doing the same in the background. It takes a bit for Sirius to get everyone
to calm down enough to agree to meeting up tomorrow for celebrations.

Meanwhile, Remus just puts it in the smaller and still fairly new group chat—consisting of him,
Pandora, Regulus, Aiko, Evan, and Barty—that he's engaged. Evan and Barty congratulate him,
declare that he's brave for chaining himself to Sirius, and apologize for the suffering he's sure to
endure. Pandora beats Aiko in ringing Remus, so Aiko rings Regulus instead, and the four of them
have a slightly milder version of the same thing James and Sirius are dealing with.

After that, Sirius calls Effie, asking her to put it on speaker so Monty can hear. As soon as he
delivers the news, Effie cries happily, and then she cries even more when Sirius asks her if she'll
give him away at the wedding. That begs the question of who's going to give Remus away, and for
the first time today, Sirius feels his mood take a sharp nosedive as he looks over at Remus, who
undoubtedly won't be inviting his father to the wedding. Monty would surely do it, Sirius knows
that, and he's just about to say so, because the look on Remus' face makes his heart ache, but he
never gets the chance.
Because Regulus puts his hand over his phone and cuts in casually, almost distracted, to declare,
"It'll be me, obviously. Who else? Only I can really give Remus away to my brother, if you think
about it. Just makes sense."

He says it flippantly, like it doesn't matter, like it's a foregone conclusion. But Sirius sees Remus
and Regulus look at each other with something passing between them, and he thinks he
understands. Because when they had no one else, they had each other; they were one another's only
friend, only family, and that means something to both of them. Remus visibly relaxes, his eyes
getting a bit shiny as his face softens, and Regulus offers him a quick, tiny smile of
acknowledgement before going right back to talking to Aiko.

In the end, after they've all talked themselves out, they all collapse onto the sofa together. There's a
long, comfortable silence between all of them, one that speaks of the simple contentment and love
they all have for each other. Sirius closes his eyes for a while and basks in it.

"Christ," Remus murmurs, "who would have thought we'd end up here, like this?"

"Marrying our best friend's brother?" James prompts, sounding amused.

"Yeah," Remus admits.

"I never doubted us," James says, and everyone turns to stare at him until he relents. "Alright, so
maybe I doubted us a little bit, but I always knew it was possible, how's that?"

"I'm proud of us, you know," Sirius says softly.

"So am I, honestly," Regulus muses. "We worked very hard to get here, didn't we?"

"We did," Remus agrees, and they all share a quiet laugh between them, exhilarated with life.

"Come here," James says happily, pulling Sirius into yet another hug, which Sirius is more than
willing to indulge in. James does unfurl his arm and flap his hand off to the side, shuffling him and
Sirius until he can grab onto Remus and drag him in as well. Regulus very pointedly shuffles away,
but James keeps holding his arm out and wiggling his fingers persistently. "No. You too, love. Get
 in here."

"Oh, alright," Regulus mutters, barely even resisting, and they can all see him tucking a warm
smile away.

"If I have to be a part of this, Reg, so do you," Remus teases, reaching out to snag Regulus' arm and
pull him in the tangle of a strangely steady embrace.

It stays steady. Like them. Like a storm, a lightning strike; like the sun, and the moon. Like four
people who love each other so very much in such different ways, who worked so very hard to get
the chance to, and they'll keep doing it.

It's a choice they'll all keep making.

Chapter End Notes

This fic was honestly such a labor of love, and it holds a special place in my heart for a
lot of different reasons, one of which is that it got me deeper into this Fandom and
helped me meet some really, really lovely people. My love for these characters are
boundless, so I will undoubtedly be writing for them again. <3

I would also like to say that the feedback and support, comments and kudos, and
interactions I've gotten for this fic means so very much to me. I can't thank all of you
enough for it.

Come and see me on Twitter, my @ is zeppazariel

Come and see me on Tumblr, my url is: regulusbrainrot

Again, thank you all so, so much <3

Until the next one :')

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