Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regulus is in love. 

Not that he and James are anywhere near saying that to each other. How long are you supposed to wait to say “I love you” anyway? Is there a set time for such declarations? Did Sirius and Remus even wait? Are they really the example Regulus should be looking at for advice? It’s not like he has parents for that, and his Uncle Alphard has truly commendably bad luck with partners, so his brother’s relationship is the best example in Regulus’ life. Not that Sirius and Remus are unhealthy in any way. They’re healthy, so healthy it’s actually frustrating to see, they’re just… unconventional in the way that only two severely traumatized people can be. Regulus is also severely traumatized, but James isn’t. Well, he is actually, but not to the level that Regulus is. Not that Regulus is comparing anyone’s trauma. It’s not like he’s better than anyone else just because he was abused. There are no Trauma Olympics.

All Regulus was trying to say is that he loves his boyfriend, and somehow he ended up on his trauma. Christ, maybe he really does need to start seeing a therapist again.

He’s supposed to be sleeping right now, but sleep is so much less important than texting his boyfriend first in the morning.

Boyfriend.

Regulus has a boyfriend. 

It’s been two months and he still can’t believe it.

regulus_arcturus

hi 

good morning

j.potter 

Fuck I was JUST about to text you

How do you always beat me??

regulus_arcturus

sirius’ alarm goes off twenty minutes before mine because he takes forever to do his hair

and he insists on keeping his phone against the wall so when the alarm goes off it vibrates and shakes my entire room

which we always used to fight about but now i dont care because i get to text you first ;)

j.potter

Can’t he just have his phone on his nightstand like a normal person?

regulus_arcturus

HA

your first mistake is assuming that sirius does anything like a normal person

he insists that hes such a deep sleeper he wont wake up unless his room shakes

which means my room shakes because we share a wall

i think he just does it to piss me off 

remus wakes up before all of us and hes here half the time so idk why he cant just wake his oaf of a boyfriend up too

j.potter

Well I guess I’ll just have to set my alarm for 30 minutes earlier so I can wake up before you ;)

regulus_arcturus

ill set mine for 40 then

j.potter

An hour

regulus_arcturus

ill have remus wake me up

he never sleeps

j.potter

Is that a threat?

regulus_arcturus

oh absolutely

j.potter

Well then I just won’t sleep

At all

So there

Beat that

“This is an extremely unsustainable conversation,” Remus says, evidently reading Regulus’ messages over his shoulder.

“Have you ever heard of privacy? You’ve been hanging out with my brother too much. He’s starting to turn you into his clone,” Regulus snaps, tucking his phone screen against his chest so Remus can’t read his very private texts.

“Well, we are getting married, so I don’t think there’s such a thing as too much time,” Remus responds casually, pouring milk into his cereal and grabbing Regulus’ bowl to do the same.

“Wait, you’re getting married?” Regulus asks, dropping his spoon, which makes a very loud and dramatic descent to the floor. He would complain about that if he wasn’t so distracted. How did he miss his brother getting engaged? Shouldn’t he have heard Sirius wailing from kilometers away?

“Not officially, but it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Remus asks.

There’s always been something inevitable about Remus and Sirius. Regulus was too young and traumatized to remember the finer details of their first few encounters, but there was always more between the two boys. Before they even knew what more entailed. Before they understood their own feelings. Before they knew what romantic love was. Regulus doesn’t remember when Remus and Sirius went from best friends to boyfriends. Honestly, he’s not sure if they ever told him they were dating. They just… always were together, in the way only eleven-year-old boys can be. Any passerby on the street could take one look at the two of them and know they’re meant to be. Their meeting was orchestrated, yet still coincidental - contingent on Sirius and Regulus landing in the hospital, on Alphard adopting them, on the boys clinging to their uncle, on Alphard and Lyall working together, on Lyall choosing to bring Remus to work. Remus and Sirius were always going to meet, always going to trust each other instantly despite having every reason not to, always going to become best friends, always going to become boyfriends, always going to become fiances, always going to become husbands. It’s only logical. Perhaps foolish to those who don’t see them together, but as natural as breathing for everyone else. There’s no world where Remus and Sirius don’t spend their lives together. Regulus is convinced that, when one stops breathing, so will the other. Just like that.

He can’t even be jealous or spiteful about it. There’s no whining or tantrums that could change fate. 

It would do Sirius a load of good to understand that.

“Who the fuck is having a metal concert down here?” Sirius mumbles, shuffling into the kitchen in what must be Remus’ slippers since they’re at least two sizes too big.

“You’re going to break your ankle in those. Get a personality outside of your boyfriend. Also, I dropped one spoon, so you can get a grip while you’re at it,” Regulus says, flipping off his brother as he takes his bowl from Remus and sits at the table. 

“You’re one to talk. I saw those messages with James,” Remus scoffs, pulling out the chair across from Regulus and stumbling when Regulus kicks his ankle.

“What messages?” Sirius asks, suddenly wide awake. He lunges for the phone, but Regulus knows his brother better than anyone else in the world and has already promptly sat on it. “This isn’t fair. I want to be included. My boyfriend and baby brother are conspiring without me.”

“We’ve literally both been friends with Remus for the same exact amount of time. Like, down to the minute. We met him together.”

“Well, he looked at me first,” Sirius says, sticking his tongue out at Regulus, who has no rebuttal for this. It’s not like he remembers, but of course Remus would see Sirius first. Fate and all that.

With his brother sufficiently distracted, now making mooning eyes at Remus, Regulus slowly extricates his phone from under his thigh and is met with six, now seven, texts from James.

Not even Sirius and Remus practically fucking over their cereal can stop Regulus from smiling so widely that his cheeks burn.

----

“I still can’t believe that James and I decided to give us a proper go - be boyfriends and everything,” Regulus’ knee is bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, shaking the bench the three boys are crowded on. 

“Ugh,” Barty groans, pulling a face at James’ name. Honestly, Regulus can’t remember at what point Barty and James are in their relationship. He’s pretty sure they came to a tentative truce (entirely on Barty’s part because James has never had a problem with him) over Regulus when he had his breakdown. It’s not like it matters. Regulus never blamed Barty for being protective at first. He would do the same if the roles were reversed, it’s just the fact that Barty was fully aware that James is a great person and he continued to hate him. 

“Barty,” He warns, raising an eyebrow. Regulus is fairly certain the dislike is a joke now, but Barty never lets go of a grudge, so he could be serious. It’s impossible to know with Barty, especially when Regulus is concerned. They’re each a unique brand of feral only for the other.

“Yes, fine, I’m happy for you. I still can’t believe you two finally got your shit together-”

“He’s trying to say that we’re proud of you,” Peter cuts him off, jabbing his elbow into Barty’s stomach. “We know it wasn’t easy.”

Choosing to believe James wasn’t easy, and it hasn’t gotten any easier as time passes. Call Regulus a fool, but he thought the initial plunge would be the most difficult part. You know, jump off the cliff and fall safely to the bottom? He didn’t realize that he would land at the edge of another precipice, and another, and another, and another, and another…

Regulus wants to leap. He wants James, viscerally and carnally, but that doesn’t stop his soles from getting stuck in the mud. Regulus extricates himself to visions of James’ smile and the sounds of his laughter, but it’s undeniable that it would be easier to let the mud trap him forever.

Icarus chose to fly towards the sun. It would end his life, but what would life be without listening to our heart, without ignoring our brain, without truly living? Regulus knows James will not destroy him. He can let the wind carry his wings as close as he likes, and there will always be further to go. This knowledge doesn’t quiet his brain, the parts of him that want to stay safely curled into a ball forever, but Regulus wants to live. He wants to date James. He wants to prove to himself that he is not Icarus. He wants to ignore his mind screaming for him to turn around. He wants to fly closer. He wants to touch the sun.

“James is worth all of it. Things have been so great, and they’ll be even better once we don’t have to hide anymore.”

“So he wants to come out then?” Barty asks carefully, which is unusual for him. Usually he barrels through words like a bull without caring how they land.

“Yeah, he does. It’s not like we’ve made a specific plan or anything like that, but we’ve talked about it.” Regulus rubs the back of his neck. Saying it out loud sounds so… wishy-washy. He knows James wants to come out and Regulus isn’t going to pressure him. Honestly, there’s a part of him that wonders if coming out is the right choice, but that’s a mental spiral for another time. 

Surprisingly, Barty nods in approval. “You can’t put a timeline on that sort of thing. It has to be when James is ready.” He blinks heavily, almost as if he’s coming back into his own body and realizing that he was just supporting James. “I mean, I’ll give him a bit, but he can’t be stringing you along. You’re already out and deserve a relationship where you can be happy and public. If he isn’t ready for that-”

“Are you giving relationship advice?” Evan asks, suddenly appearing at Peter’s other side, who doesn’t even flinch. Barty, on the other hand, jumps so violently he lands on Regulus’ foot.

It’s an offhanded comment. A joke, even. And yet Barty visibly wilts, leaning half of his weight on Regulus’ shoulder, who holds him up without a second thought, though he doesn’t understand why. Admittedly, things have been weird with Evan lately. Not weird enough for Regulus to say anything, but weird enough to have crossed his mind. Evan has been hanging out with Lily and Mary more often, which isn’t out of the usual, but there were a few weeks where he and Barty were quite literally inseparable and now they’re… this. Throwaway comments that have a serrated edge. Awkward silences. Regulus’ best friend seemingly trying to melt into him.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize they like each other. Or liked. Regulus isn’t sure now. Surely whatever went down between them must be related to that. What else could it be? If it was a huge fight or one of them said something they shouldn’t have, they wouldn’t still be friendly - if friendly can be categorized as sudden compressing tension the minute they’re in a general radius of each other. Regulus knows Barty well enough to know that he doesn’t take any shit. If Evan was an arsehole, he wouldn’t tolerate his presence. He knows Evan less, but Regulus is confident Evan would react the same. Knowing the two of them (mostly Barty), it’s probably just a massive miscommunication they’re both aware of but unsure how to fix. Regulus wants to laugh at them but has no ground to stand on. He just tried to ghost James a few weeks ago. Why? Regulus can’t even remember. 

He’s an idiot. He’s friends with idiots. He’s dating an idiot and has been for two months now. Two months of someone putting up with Regulus, to the day actually. Today is their two-month anniversary.

Oh, dear God.

Just like that, Regulus is off running in the opposite direction.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Barty asks, all drama with Evan forgotten.

“I need to go buy something!” Regulus responds, not even slowing down as he pelts down the sidewalk.

“Can’t it wait until later? School is about to start!” Regulus doesn’t give a fuck about school. There’s a store just down the road anyway. He’ll only miss part of form, but it’s the first day of mandatory GCSE study hall for James, so Regulus will just be stuck staring at his empty seat while pretending to listen to announcements he also doesn’t give a fuck about. This is more important. James is more important. 

“No!” He yells, glancing over his shoulder just long enough to see Barty and Evan exchanging bewildered glances while Peter just nods like this makes perfect sense. Good. Maybe this will inspire Barty and Evan to communicate properly. Even if it’s just about how Regulus is a proper idiotic lovesick fool, at least they’ll be fucking talking. 

Regulus isn’t even winded by the time he makes it to the store. He’s been trying to run more, especially since leaving the rugby team. Trying is the operative word in that statement. Regulus has been putting the effort in, truly, but life just… gets in the way. He laces up his trainers and then Sirius barges in with a new ludicrous game to play. He’s heading out the door and walks directly into James coming up the drive for a surprise visit. 

Alright, half the time it’s him. He’s the problem. Regulus Black.

Things aren’t easy just because you decide to make positive changes in your life. It’s the opposite, actually, because then a little voice appears in the back of your head and starts whining every time you fail.

Get up, Regulus.

You’re lazy, Regulus.

No one loves you, Regulus.

You’re going to end up alone, Regulus, and it will be all your fault. 

Regulus tries to fight these thoughts. Once again, tries being the operative word. 

He does. No, really, he does.

He knows they aren’t true. He knows it’s just his mind playing tricks on him - the stupid fucking chemicals doing stupid fucking chemical things. He knows they’re just thoughts. He knows this.

But…

What if they’re right?

What if Regulus is a bad person? What if he’s undeserving of the love he has? What if he’s not meant for anything great, or even mediocre? What if the huge, fundamental thing that’s wrong with him can’t be overcome? What if he’s broken? Irreparably? What if there’s no coming back from this?

Bad, bad, bad, bad.

Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled, spoiled. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

Broken, broken, broken, broken.

It always begins with something meaningless, like Regulus not running, and always ends right here: Regulus is not enough.

He stumbles into the shop, shaking his head like the action will do anything to dislodge the thoughts. No. I ran so none of these things are true. 

For now. Until you mess up the next time. And then. Then. It will all come true and you’ll lose everything.

Well, then isn’t now. Now, Regulus is staring at the candy aisle, trying to pick up something for James.

The thing about dating a pathological people-pleaser like James Potter is that he never reveals what he likes. James will do anything, as long as someone else likes it. What he wants doesn’t matter. Regulus is trying to work on this with him, but it’s slow-moving at best. James simply refuses to divulge his favorites without even realizing it. Surely he must have revealed some sort of favorite food, besides what Effie makes. Regulus knows his McDonald’s order, but he isn’t about to run all the way to the next town over for fucking french fries. He’s already pushing it by missing form…

His eyes land on Wine Gums, and Regulus lets out an audible groan. Artificially flavoured gummy candy is criminal, bloody criminal, yet James chose it at the cinema even though his friends teased him. 

Regulus can work with this. He grabs two packs each of Wine Gums and Maltesers. They can have a movie night for their anniversary. Optimistically, without Sirius and Remus crashing the entire thing. Realistically, Regulus also picks up a bag of Minstrels for Remus and the first candy he sees for Sirius. But only one pack. He’s not made of money, nor generosity for date crashers. 

By the time Regulus makes it back to school, there’s still three minutes left of form and he has zero messages from James.

----

James hates school. 

No, really, he does.

He’s been doing this for… quite frankly, too many bloody years. Maths isn’t his strong suit. James isn’t counting more than he needs to. School has never been his thing. Only recently has he started looking forward to coming to Truham every day, and that’s because he got to spend time with Regulus. With exam season quickly approaching, James is stuck in mandatory GCSE study hall for the next few weeks. 

This means no Regulus, which means there’s no point in school at all. James isn’t even with any of Regulus’ friends. No, he’s stuck in a room with the other Year 11s for two weeks straight. As a general rule, James likes people, but he can’t confidently say he enjoys the presence of any of these people. He still hasn’t properly talked to his friends since the cinema disaster. He’s trying to avoid Mulciber whenever possible, and Lucius…

Is assigned to share a table with him, according to the seating chart posted on the wall. For two weeks. While studying. Mostly maths.

James is going to jump off the roof. 

“Settle down, everyone!” Ms. McGonagall calls, rapping sharply on the desk. The dull chatter instantly ceases. It’s rare to see a room full of teenagers fall silent that quickly, but everyone is terrified of McGonagall. Well, not James, but he’s been able to soften her throughout the years. It helps that she and his mum are friends, so James grew up around her. It’s hard to fear a woman who played trucks with you on the sitting room floor while your family prepared for your dad’s funeral. No one else got that side of McGonagall, though, so James can’t blame them. She is severe - currently glaring down her nose at them. When her eyes reach James, he smiles, but her facade doesn’t crack, turning even more intense as Lucius slides into the seat next to him. 

McGonagall stares at Lucius for another minute, long enough that he begins to squirm in his seat. James bites his lip so he doesn’t laugh. Maybe this won’t be so terrible after all if he gets a front-row seat to this prick squirming. “For the next two weeks, you will report here instead of your usual classes. This is a study hall, and I expect it to be used as such. Your GCSE scores determine your future. It is imperative that you use your time wisely while revising. There will be no talking nor cell phone use. If you are speaking, you will be put in solitary for the day. If I catch you with your cell phone, it will be confiscated. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes, Ms. McGonagall,” the room repeats back blankly. James can guarantee at least five phones will be taken per day, at least one in the next hour. He slips his from his pocket into his backpack so he won’t check it out of habit. James doesn’t particularly fancy getting reprimanded in front of all the Year 11s, or it getting back to his mum, which it inevitably would with McGonagall. He has a sneaking suspicion many of their conversations revolve around him. 

“Today will be focused on maths, which is your first exam. I will distribute your books and papers now.” McGonagall’s back is barely turned before Lucius leans toward James.

“So, how’s your little boyfriend?”

James’ hand freezes where it’s picking at a loose thread on his trousers. Boyfriend? How does he know about Regulus? Does everyone know? How did that happen? Do they know about James-

Lucius snorts, a harsh exhale through his nose. “Relax, Potter. I haven’t told anyone. Although, I must say, if you didn’t want people to know, you should really be less obvious.”

James forces himself to breathe, hands now clenched into fists. In and out. In and out. Lucius is just trying to get a rise out of him. All he wants is a reaction. James is not going to give him that satisfaction. Lucius needs a good full-body beating, but James isn’t doing that here, so what can he gain from engaging? Regulus told James that he talked to Lucius during Sports Day and put him in his place. Clearly, Lucius doesn’t know how to take a warning.

“I thought my boyfriend made it very clear where you stand last time you spoke, including exactly what would happen to you if you talked to me again,” James replies, eyes on the desk, lips barely moving. Distantly, he’s aware this is the first time he’s admitted he has a boyfriend to anyone but his mum and Regulus' friends.

“You’re just going to let him threaten people like that?”

James snorts, too loud of a sound for the quiet room, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t let him do anything. He’s his own person. I don’t control him, nor would I ever want to. Particularly not in this instance because I agree with everything he said to you.”

Before Lucius can respond, McGonagall drops their books between them, making both boys jump. “ No talking. This is your first and only warning,” She says, glaring at each of them before continuing up the row.

James takes back what he said earlier. This is going to fucking suck.

----

This fucking sucks.

Regulus may have gotten himself out of sitting next to James’ empty chair in form, but he never realized how much of a constant presence James was in his day until he was gone. No chatting at their lockers between classes. No coordinated bathroom breaks. No walking by each other’s classrooms to grin at each other through the door. They can’t even eat lunch together. 

regulus_arcturus

i miss you

It’s the tenth text he’s sent James in an hour. GCSE study prison must have some strict rules about phone use. Regulus should probably stop messaging him so James doesn’t get in trouble, but he doesn’t have that level of self-control.

regulus_arcturus

i have an idea

“I want to rejoin the rugby team!” Regulus announces, throwing open Ms. Hooch’s office door. 

To her credit, the woman doesn’t even flinch, merely blinking up at Regulus with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Is that so? Changed your mind, did you?”

Truthfully, this isn’t just because of James. It’s mostly about James, especially because they aren’t seeing each other during the day now. However, Regulus can’t believe he’s admitting this, but he actually misses rugby. Yes, he’s incredibly self-conscious for the entire time he’s on the field, but it’s in a different way than he’s used to. This is about his athletic ability, which Regulus can’t control. Compared to spending those hours alone, trapped in his mind that tears him apart for things like his trauma and his personality, Regulus will take the rugby criticism. Anyway, since Sirius is on the team and is also his ride home, Regulus just has to sit outside and wait for him to finish practice, so he might as well be participating. Once again, less time stuck in his head. And more time with James. Two wins.

“I did. I actually… miss it,” Regulus admits, fiddling with his rings.

“Ah. I see,” Hooch says, putting the lid on her salad and leaning forward. “You know, Regulus, you’re not as bad as you think. You’re quite good.”

Regulus snorts. “Don’t lie to me, Coach.”

“I’m not,” She insists, smiling softly. “You just started playing and these boys have been training for a decade. You’re also fast, which isn’t something that can be taught. Speed is invaluable on that field. Move before anyone figures out you’re moving, and we’re that much closer to scoring. We’ve missed that talent. If you’re serious, we’d love to have you back.” 

“I’m Regulus. Sirius is my brother,” Regulus says reflexively, clapping his hands over his mouth when he realizes who he spoke to. Sirius is constantly making stupid jokes like that (James thinks there’s nothing funnier). Regulus tries his best to refrain, but sometimes he can’t resist the urge. To his brother or his friends, though. Never to teachers. Oh God, he’s an idiot. “I’m so sorry!”

Hooch blinks, then blinks again. Regulus is preparing to turn around and run for his life. However fast she is, he surely must be faster. Is speed required to be a rugby coach? Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen her run before-

Hooch snorts, biting her lip, and then dissolves into a fit of laughter. “Don’t apologize! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks. Do you and Sirius say that a lot?”

“Mostly Sirius,” Regulus admits sheepishly, wringing his hands. 

“Well, now you have to rejoin the team. I’ll see you after school?”

“Yes, sure, okay,” He stammers, backing out of the room slowly, waiting for Hooch to change her mind and start screaming at him, but all she does is wink and go back to her salad.

What is it with teachers and salads anyway?

----

Evan Rosier doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

This is a common sentiment, really. He frequently feels like the physical embodiment of a lost puppy just wandering the streets, waiting for someone to scoop him up and carry him to safety. His entire life, Evan has just wanted to go home. He thought home was Lily and Mary, yet he still found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, begging a God he doesn’t even know if he believes in to let him go home. Evan thought home could be Peter and Regulus and Barty, but now he’s royally screwed that up. He’s used to fucking up. Evan has a nasty temper and an inability to think before he speaks, so he’s usually spewing something that will get him neck-deep in muddy water, but this time is different. Evan doesn’t know what the hell he did wrong.

He never expected the transition from Higgs to Truham to go smoothly. It’s a large part of why he stayed at Higgs for as long as he did. Evan’s known he’s trans for as long as he can remember but started actively transitioning a few years ago. For the most part, his schoolmates were indifferent, and Lily and Mary were so loudly enthusiastic that they drowned out most of the negativity anyway. Being around girls and only girls wasn’t doing much for Evan’s dysphoria, but even that he could have pushed through to stay in the comfort of predictability. 

When they returned to school in the fall, eyes followed Evan everywhere he went. He didn’t need to be able to hear the whispers to know what they were saying. 

If you really are a boy, why are you still at an all-girls school?

Evan’s relationship with his gender has never been that simple. Yes, he’s a boy, but being in an environment with girls doesn’t make him feel like any less of one. Throughout the term, the voices got louder and louder, until Evan wasn’t sure if they came from the girls or from inside of his head. Plain and simply, he didn’t belong at Higgs anymore. The same girls who didn’t accept him as a boy were suddenly ostracising him for not being a girl. The logic wasn’t there, or maybe it was. Lily and Mary tried everything in their power to get Evan to stay, but the voices were constant constant constant -

They quieted the moment Evan stepped into Truham.

He was so pleased by the sudden cessation of what he’d grown to know as a constant inner dialogue that Evan forgot to be nervous. Evan isn’t a fool. He knows that people talk, especially the boys at Truham and the girls at Higgs. He’s sure people knew he’d be transferring and exactly what that would mean. It’s the first thing people would know about Evan and he hated that. He expected the eyes and the whispers, expected that people would see him, realize he’s new, and put two and two together that he’s the boy from Higgs, expected people to look at him like they’re trying to see through his clothing and uncover what he is underneath.

That did happen but to a much lesser extent. Not because Evan overestimated the rumour mill, but because of the other new student - Sirius Black. 

Without even knowing him, before he became friends with his brother, Sirius saved Evan’s arse. A tall, ridiculously handsome new boy with tattoos and piercings or the short, scrawny new boy who tries to become part of the floor in every room he enters - who would the masses rather fawn over?

The Sirius Distraction, as Evan started to call it, worked almost too well. No one gave him a second glance most of the time. He floated through his classes alone, ate lunch in a corner alone, went to his locker alone, and walked home alone. Alone, alone, alone. With friends as clingy as Lily and Mary, Evan couldn’t remember the last time he wasn’t flanked by two personal bodyguards in the corridors. He went from one extreme to another, and with the loneliness came the return of the voices.

You don’t belong here either. You’re not a boy. You’re not a girl. You’re no one, no one, no one-

Then Peter saw Evan. Really, truly saw him.

Evan never expected to find new best friends. He’s well aware that his friendship with Lily and Mary is something that others can only dream about. There’s no getting better than them, but he didn’t realize that something could be just as good until Peter introduced him to Regulus and Barty.

Barty.

Evan is a walking cliche, but God, he’s been obsessed with Barty since the second he saw him at the lunch table. He doesn’t even know why, and maybe that makes him pathetic, or maybe he’s just honest. There’s something about Barty Crouch Jr that burrowed under Evan’s skin and made a home there.

Finally, Evan had a home.

“Alright, Ev,” Mary says, slamming her textbook shut and jolting Evan back to his senses. They’re supposed to be doing coursework right now, but he hasn’t even picked up his pencil in half an hour. “This is our talking spot, so if you want to, you know, talk , this would be a great time to get some shit off your chest…”

“Real subtle, Mar,” Lily says, shooting an apologetic look at Evan.

“What? He’s just sitting there looking sad. I can’t take it anymore. He looks like a puppy that someone abandoned on the side of the road.”

“The puppy in question is right here and can hear you,” Evan cuts in, snappier than he intended. It’s just… 

It’s a pattern for Lily and Mary to talk about Evan like he’s some specimen that needs to be coddled. They don’t do it on purpose, and he can’t even blame them after the last few years, but it still pisses Evan off. Barty never once did that. He didn’t treat Evan any differently when he found out-

No. Stop thinking about him.

When Evan snaps himself out of his brain, Lily and Mary are wearing identical looks of concern. “I did it again, didn’t I?” He asks, not even needing their affirmation. Fine, maybe they have a bloody point. “Fuck,” Evan mutters, burying his face in his hands. He can’t look at them, can’t see their worry because that makes this real. That means there’s actually something wrong and it’s not just in his head.

The girls shift around him - Mary on his left and Lily on his right, their old pack formation. Evan feels something soften inside of him at the familiarity. Neither of them says anything; they just wait for Evan to be ready, but will he ever be? “I don’t even know what’s wrong. I don’t know what happened.”

“Is it Barty?” Mary asks, and Evan instantly tenses at his name.

“How do you-”

“You never shut up about him. You’ve ditched quite a few of our hangouts to be with him instead. When we’re all together, you two are… exceedingly close,” Lily answers, hand on his back trying to rub out the tension. 

Well, when Lily puts it like that, it’s impossible to ignore. “God,” Evan groans. “I never picked up on any of that. I’ve liked him for a while - since the first day I met him honestly. I didn’t think he liked me back or anything. I was totally fine with just being his friend, but then on Sports Day we…” Bloody hell, Evan can’t even say it because surely that must be it? That must be how he fucked up. That stupid fucking kiss. The best kiss of his life. Touching a flame you know will burn you. Orpheus turning around to see Eurydice. 

“Tell us exactly what happened,” Lily says, hand now in Evan’s hair, and he does. He tells them about growing closer, about what he now sees were clues that Barty liked him in hindsight - the touches, the laughter, the smiles. He tells them about ditching sports day so Evan could give Barty a tour of Higgs. He tells them about the art room, about how Barty is the first person who listened to Evan’s story like it matters. He tells them about Barty lying down on the table and “taking in the ambiance” so Evan could take it back to Truham. He tells them about Barty saying he belongs at Truham, about swearing Barty was about to say Evan belongs with him before cutting himself off. He tells them about Barty touching his lips. He tells them about Barty asking if he could kiss him. He tells them about him saying yes. 

He doesn’t tell them about the actual kissing. That’s a memory Evan wants to keep to himself.

“Ev!” Mary exclaims, jostling Evan so hard he finally lifts his head. The afternoon sunlight is blinding, but not as bright as Mary’s smile. “That’s a proper romance novel right there! You’re living my dream!”

“I would be offended by that if it wasn’t true,” Lily says, bumping their shoulders together. “What happened after that? Why are things bad now?”

“Nothing. Literally nothing.” It’s the truth. Barty and Evan kissed for God only knows how long before they were interrupted by the principal on the loudspeaker announcing that Sports Day was finished and everyone needed to return home. Evan turned shy, and so did Barty, so they left without speaking about it. As time passed, the kiss grew heavier, and now talking about it seems like an insurmountable hurdle. Things between Evan and Barty aren’t bad necessarily, they’re just… not good. Not what they were. They talk, but not about the thing that matters. Maybe it’s all in Evan’s head, but he swears Barty freezes whenever Evan is near. Barty hasn’t looked at him since the kiss. 

“So you’re both being idiots then?” Mary asks. Are they? Evan doesn’t know. He’s usually good at communicating. He knows Barty isn’t, so maybe that’s the problem. Barty is running and Evan is letting him? Or Barty changed his mind and regrets the kiss. One of the two. But which one? How is Evan supposed to know? How do you get yourself to speak when your throat is closed?

“I don’t know. Maybe? What if he regrets it? What if I screwed everything up?” Evan never imagined they would get together. He was perfectly prepared to stay just Barty’s friend. He was holding himself back, and he was damn good at it too. Then the bloody art room changed everything. 

“First of all, he’s the one who asked to kiss you, so it’s not your fault. If he is regretting it, the only way to know is to talk to him. He’s probably just confused like you are,” Lily says.

“Just flirt with him,” Mary adds. “Lily is right, he probably thinks you regret it based on how you’re acting. If you can’t talk to him about it, flirt with him so he knows you’re still interested.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Flirt?” Evan nods. “God, Ev, I can’t teach you that shit. Just make it clear that you want him to rail you into next week.”

Evan chokes. On what, he has no idea, but he’s choking. Railing? Is that on the table?

“Oh, sorry, do you… not want that? My bad for assuming-” Mary starts, but he cuts her off, still gasping for breath.

“No, I do, it just caught me off guard.”

“Then act like you want to marry him. You’ve already got the pining looks down to a science, so start throwing in compliments. Be suggestive. Wink. Touch him and hold his hand.”

“I already do that. Touch him, I mean,” Evan clarifies. Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s purposely winked in his entire life. How do you wink and not look like you’re trying to get dirt out of your eye?

Mary squeezes his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “Keep doing what you’re already doing, then. Just turn the dial up a little.”

Turn the dial up. Evan can do that. For Barty, he’ll learn how to wink suggestively. 

----

It’s barely fifteen minutes later when Evan gets his chance. Naturally, he overstayed with the girls. He’s only supposed to stay for his free period, but he always loses track of the time. Evan’s running to make it to class on time. The halls are, predictably, empty because everyone else stays in school and knows how to utilize a watch. Except for, of course, Barty.

Evan turns the corner and almost runs directly into him. Barty consistently complains about having the corner locker for this exact reason - there’s always a late person slamming him around. “Woah, where’s the monster?” Barty jokes, grabbing Evan’s shoulders to steady him. For a second, the most peaceful second, it’s almost normal.

But then Barty lets go of Evan like he’s on fire and takes a step back, returning to his locker.

That’s… inevitably a bad sign, but what if it isn’t? What if Barty’s just nervous? He would have walked away completely if he didn’t want Evan around, right? Evan can work with this. “What are you doing?” He asks, moving closer to Barty again so he can see inside his locker. There’s a plastic mirror taped to the inside of the door and Barty’s glued to it.

“My mum wants me to cut my hair. I’m trying to see what it would look like short.”

Evan doesn’t know how to flirt, but this is a perfect opportunity, right? He just has to act like he’s trying to get Barty to drop to one knee right now. Or both knees. No, not the time. “It’s cute long, but it would look cute short too. Your hair always looks good.” Evan reaches out and takes some of Barty’s hair, curling it between his fingers. It is getting long, to the point it’s curling under his ears. Evan didn’t know Barty’s hair could curl. It’s bloody adorable-

Barty takes one step backward, then another, and then he’s gone.

Oh.

----

“This feels symbolic, doesn’t it?” Sirius asks, slinging an arm around Regulus’ shoulders as they head toward the locker room. Regulus didn’t want to walk in by himself, and he wanted to keep rejoining the team as a surprise for James, so here Sirius is.

“What do you know about symbolism?” Regulus jokes, smiling when his brother’s face falls. Always so bloody dramatic.

“I’m dating Remus Lupin. I’m practically made of symbolism,” Sirius replies, pulling him closer as they turn the corner. Regulus barely even needs to concentrate to see the ghosts of him and Sirius fighting against these walls on the way to Regulus’ first practice. How many months ago was that? It seems like an entire lifetime, yet like no time has passed at all. Regulus is here now, and he is here then, Sirius by his side through it all - unwavering. Would that version of Regulus even believe what his life looks like today? That he’s dating James? That he’s trying to fix himself? That he’s voluntarily joining rugby again?

It’s times like these where Regulus realizes just how far he’s come. When you’re stuck in a moment, even when everything is changing, it can be hard to understand that you’re changing too. Regulus has always been extremely in tune with himself but he can’t feel himself changing. Clearly, he can’t see it either, not like he can watching other people. Regulus feels stagnant - everyone around him is constantly reinventing themselves, and he’s just… here. Stuck. Still the same old Regulus Black.

But that isn’t true. In these months, less than Regulus can count on one hand, he’s changed. He isn’t quite sure how, but it’s undeniable as he watches the shadow of himself in a headlock. That Regulus isn’t the same one who’s here today. At some point since that day, he became someone new.

Sirius, apparently, hasn’t changed at all, because he pulls Regulus into another headlock. Maybe he can see their ghosts too, but Regulus doubts he has the perception for that. “Walking my baby brother to rugby yet again. That you’re joining because of James yet again. What about doing things for your big brother, eh? Ever considered that?”

“As if you wouldn’t go to the ends of the Earth if James asked you to,” Regulus scoffs, biting Sirius’ elbow where it’s digging into his throat.

“I would, Reggie, I really would.” Sirius loosens his grip so Regulus slips free, but his brother doesn’t keep walking. He just stares down at Regulus, suddenly soft. “I’m proud of you. You know that, right?”

Stupidly, Regulus’ eyes fill with tears. As self-deprecating as he can be, Regulus knows Sirius loves him. He knows there’s nothing he could ever do that would make his big brother stop loving him. Always his big brother, always his protector, always his best friend. Still, it’s an entirely different entity actually hearing it.

Because Regulus is trying. Despite what the voice in his head says, he’s trying really bloody hard, and none of this is easy. It not only isn’t getting simpler, but it’s getting more difficult, and that’s really impossible to comprehend sometimes. 

Regulus is proud of himself, and it means the entire world that Sirius is proud of him too.

“Reg?” James’ voice tears Regulus out of his memories. Last time, it was just the brothers. Now, there’s another boy standing at the end of the corridor with one hand on the locker room door, eyes wide. “What are you doing down here?”

“I told you I had an idea,” Regulus says, smiling as the hope blossoms across James’ face. “We can’t spend time together during the day anymore, so we’ll just have to use the afternoons.” James’ smile is so bright, like the first day Regulus sat next to him in form, like it must have been when Regulus walked into the locker room for the first time. Regulus never did gather the courage to look at him that day. Today, he’s doing nothing but looking.

“For playing rugby. You’ll use this time for the sport you both signed up to participate in,” Sirius says, shaking a finger between their faces, which somehow grew very close together - too close for the middle of a school hallway. “Don’t let me catch you making out, or God forbid something worse.” He slips inside the room, leaving James and Regulus alone.

James, naturally, begins spiralling immediately. “Are you sure about this? We can find another way to spend time together. Please don’t do things you’re uncomfortable with because of me-”

In any other environment, Regulus would take James’ face in his hands and mash his cheeks together so he can’t keep talking. Instead, Regulus settles for squeezing his hand. “James, stop. I’m not going to fight in a war. Believe it or not, I actually missed rugby. I want to do this. I promise.” Regulus would do stupid, ridiculous things for James (like joining the rugby team in the first place), but this isn’t one of them. He shoots one more reassuring smile at James, whose eyebrows are still knitted together in worry, and opens the door. 

Regulus doesn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting. None, if he’d thought about it. Instead, all the heads snap to him the moment the lock clicks shut. Regulus assumes they’re looking at James, but Avery asks, “Oi, Black, does this mean you’re back on the team?” 

Regulus barely has a chance to nod before the boys are on him, clapping him on the back and trying to do weird handshakes that involve gripping fists. It’s the most male attention and affection he’s ever received, and while Regulus knows it’s supposed to be sweet, he hates every minute of it. This must be his karmic retribution for quitting the team in the first place. Understood universe, if Regulus fucks with a commitment, he’ll get drowned in masculinity. Lesson fucking learned. 

Sirius and James are laughing, though, which makes everything worth it.

----

The first love of James’ life was rugby. 

He’s always had an abundance of energy, but it was much more evident when he was younger. James would be literally bouncing off the walls at all hours of the day no matter how long he spent at the park or running around the neighborhood. His parents were, understandably, bloody exhausted by him, so they enrolled James in the most tiring sport they could find as a last-ditch effort to expend his energy - rugby. He doesn’t remember much of the first class, or first years for that matter. They can’t have done much since kids that little probably shouldn’t be trusted to safely tackle each other, but James knows he loved it. He begged his parents to take him to practice every day and cried when they told him that wasn’t possible. James’ dad learned rugby just so he could play with him in the back garden after school. Rugby was James’ first energy outlet, which means it was the first thing to ever make his thoughts go quiet for a little while. For James, whose brain has always been just a little bit too loud, this is invaluable.

Recently, rugby has felt something akin to purgatory.

He’ll never tell Regulus this because he would blame it on himself, but rugby changed when he came into the picture. Before him, James had never held a mirror up to his own life. Through Regulus simply being Regulus, James learned how shitty his supposed friends are. Since that realization, something bleak has settled into the pit of his stomach. Part of rugby’s appeal is the team - the ability to let go of both yourself and the game by leaning on teammates to get you through. The foundation of that is trust, and after everything that’s happened in the last term, James doesn’t trust them anymore. How could he? If they can’t even be decent human beings, how could they be good team players? 

They can’t, which is why James takes matters into his own hands.

“Here, Potter, I’m open!”

James doesn’t care - he’s open.

“Pass!”

James isn’t giving up the ball. Why would he? They’re all bad people, so they must be bad players. Except for Regulus and Sirius, but James doesn’t want to bring more attention to them, although he can’t make it obvious that he’s trying to be a one-man team or Hooch is going to rip him a new one, so he throws the ball to Sirius, who’s right at his side like always. It’s only been a few months since James and Sirius have been on the team, but it feels like they’ve been playing together for their entire lives. They just know instinctively what the other is thinking away from the team meetings and playbooks. It’s an intimacy that comes with truly knowing someone on a personal level to know how their thoughts will transcribe on the field. James should have this with his friends given they’ve known each other since they were in nappies, but Sirius is the first person to become an extension of his own body.

Sirius catches the ball, easily dodging the people in his way, and continues to charge up the field. James does too, purposely sticking to the edges of the field to stay out of the line of sight. He’s a bit behind Sirius, so he shouldn’t be able to see James, yet Sirius passes the ball back to him without turning his head. James scores, and even though the rest of the team is yelling at him, he only has eyes for Sirius, who is nodding his approval. Sirius knows. He doesn’t trust them either. They’re their own team.

The game continues. Hooch throws the ball to Mulciber, who is tackled by Sirius immediately. Lestrange throws to Goyle, who fumbles. Avery picks the ball up and can’t find anyone open to throw to. James tackles Crabbe. Regulus runs his bloody heart out, looking like he doesn’t understand how he got back into this mess.

It’s barely been five minutes before Hooch blows her whistle, the afternoon breeze carrying the note far away, where someone else can hear her disappointment. “What is going on? Why aren’t you boys playing like a team?” Can’t she see that they’re not a team? Were they ever? How did James put up with this shit for so long? How did he not realize how awful these people he called his brothers are until now? How was he this blind for this long? 

The season is over anyway. It’s nearly summer. The only purpose of these practices is to keep skills sharp for as long as possible.

James doesn’t think he’s ever felt sharper.

----

James is hiding in the back corner of the locker room by the time Regulus makes his way in. Everyone stayed on the field for a little while after James left, except for Sirius, who didn’t waste any time following him. Regulus volunteered to pick up the cones so the team could argue or yell or fight or whatever the hell they needed to do without him there. It’s empty now, save for Sirius and James, who have their heads bent together as they whisper. Truthfully, Regulus doesn’t know what the fuck was going on during practice. Have things been that much of a mess since he left, or did Regulus’ presence throw off the balance that much? The boys seemed excited to see him, but was that just an act? Is Regulus still fucking up just by being here right now-

“Oi, stop spiralling,” Sirius calls, finally looking up from James. “None of this is your fault. It’s been bad for a while.”

“Are you just saying that so I don’t feel like shit? Because I already do. And I know the root of this is my fault anyway. You can’t tell me this was happening before me.” Regulus is the common denominator here. Clearly, it’s his arrival into the equation that’s mucked everything up.

“He’s not lying. Things have been slowly falling apart since you left.” James adds, smiling shyly at Regulus, almost like he’s embarrassed after what happened on the field though he has no reason to be. Why would Regulus ever fault him for making those bastards look like fools?  

“Well,” Regulus humphs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t believe either of you. You’d both lie to make me feel better.” He would ask one of the other boys if he secretly wasn’t terrified of them. Maybe Avery. Avery seems like the lesser of the evils. He would probably give it to him straight. Though honestly, Regulus isn’t sure how smart Avery is, so he might not even be aware of the dynamics and if Regulus is the one that changed everything. His head seems a bit hollow, like it would just echo if Regulus knocked on it.

“We absolutely would, but we’re telling the truth this time. I’ve told you, this would have happened eventually. They’re all terrible people. I would have come to my senses on my own at some point, I hope,” James says.

Regulus opens his mouth to argue, and Sirius stands up. “I’m going to go shower. I tackled Mulciber one too many times and now I feel contaminated.” He ruffles Regulus’ hair as he walks by. “Please be done arguing about this by the time I’m out. I just want to go home and forget all of these arseholes exist.”

Regulus doesn’t want to argue, and judging James based on the way he’s wilting into the bench, he doesn’t either. Regulus takes his brother’s seat and James immediately rests his forehead on his shoulder. “Are you okay? That seemed… intense.”

“I’m fine, I guess. I just… hate them all. A team is meant to support each other, but I can’t trust any of them off the field, so how can I trust them during the game? I don’t want to help them. I want them to rot.” Regulus doesn’t have a chance to interject before James continues. “I can practically hear that pretty brain of yours spinning this to make it seem like your fault, and it’s not. I’ve told you so many times, and I’ll tell you again, but I don’t think it’s going to change anything. It may be true for you, but it’s not true for me. Can we at least agree on that?”

Regulus isn’t sure he believes there are different versions of the truth. It’s just that - the truth, as in only one. There’s an answer to everything, but what if there isn’t? Regulus swore that he would start trusting his own faulty brain less often. He hasn’t always stuck to that promise, but this is the perfect opportunity to try. It’s James and Sirius against Regulus. More math. A clear winner. The truth. And Regulus isn’t on the victorious side. He can’t deny that. “Okay, I can do that,” Regulus agrees.

“Good. I’m sorry your first practice was that rough. It’s not the welcome back I wanted for you.”

“Please,” Regulus scoffs, running his hand through James’ hair. “This was much more interesting. I got to see you dominating the field, which was pretty hot,” James smiles into his shoulder, “I don’t need any grand gestures. I just want to be with you. Oh, that reminds me!” Regulus goes into his locker to grab the bags of candy and hands them to James, who just looks confused. “We’ve been going out for two months.” Fuck. Is Regulus making a big deal out of nothing again? Is he overreacting? Are anniversaries not a thing sane people celebrate? 

James confirms this suspicion by saying, “So it’s our two-month anniversary?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it out loud,” Regulus mutters, suddenly fixated on poking the peeling floor tile with the toe of his trainer. He’s such a dramatic idiot, making a big deal out of something that shouldn’t even exist. Normal people don’t care about being together for two months. 

“No!” James says, grabbing Regulus’ hand and squeezing. “I love it. It’s perfect. What are you doing tonight? I’m taking you on a date to celebrate.”

Regulus’ cheeks flush. God, he loves James, if only he could tell him. “I got our favourite cinema candy so we could have a movie night. There’s some for Sirius and Remus too in case we couldn’t get away from them, but we could just go to yours and eat it all ourselves.”

“Yes, absolutely, we’re doing that. I’m sorry I spaced on the date. I’ll get you three presents for our three-month anniversary,” James apologizes, brows knitted with actual concern. This is turning into a pattern in their relationship - Regulus overreacting about some insignificant milestone and James getting upset that he didn’t think of it. It’s so endearing that Regulus just wants to squeeze him until he pops like a balloon. Resisting that slightly disturbing urge, he settles for rubbing the creases on James’ forehead. 

“It’s fine, James. I only realized this morning. You’ve got a lot of other things on your mind.”

“None of that shit matters. You’re my priority, Reg. Just you. Only you.”

Regulus just has to kiss him after that. How can he not? His hand falls from James’ head to his chin, angling it down so Regulus can kiss him for caring so much, kiss him for being so cute, kiss him for trying so hard, kiss him for being so James-

“Bloody hell, you two are actually stupid.” Sirius’ voice makes them spring apart. “Can’t you keep your lips apart for ten minutes? Eating each other’s fucking faces off where any of the blokes could just walk in and find you. Kids these days are complete idiots.”

“As if you and Remus are any better,” Regulus scoffs, but his cheeks flush crimson. His brother is right. James isn’t out yet, and if anyone found them, it would be detrimental. Everything hinges on James coming out on his own terms - his mental health, his reputation, his self-image, Regulus’ mental health. Everything. Regulus won’t let James be outed. He won’t. 

“We have a strict no-kissing rule on school premises, which is something I suggest you also implement if you want your relationship to stay a secret.” Regulus’ favourite thing about Sirius’ lectures is when he starts speaking like an old professor that isn’t upset, just disappointed. And then he thinks about the reason why Sirius does that - because their parents never gave them lectures since they were too busy hitting them so the only authority figure Sirius has to emulate are his teachers - Regulus wants to throw up until he can’t breathe and tears are streaming down his cheeks. That’s the thing about trauma - it shapes your habits without you even realizing. 

“We should do that,” Regulus says, swallowing the bile of trauma back down as he turns to James. “He’s right, we’re pushing our luck.”

“We are,” James agrees, holding out his pinky. “No more kissing at school.”

“No more kissing at school,” Regulus says, linking their pinkies together in the most unbreakable promise two people can make. They’ll have to keep their word now.

“Right, since you’ve sorted that all out, I’m heading home,” Sirius says, heading toward the locker room door, still dressed in nothing but the towel draped around his waist. 

“In that?” James asks, grinning as Sirius looks down at himself and jumps at his lack of clothing.

“Fuck, you two pricks distracted me,” He mutters, rummaging around on the floor for his clothes. “Coach is going to kill me for getting water all over the floor.”

“So clean it up, dickhead,” Regulus suggests. Some problems simply aren’t problems. The Blacks are fond of catastrophizing. His brother just flips him off. “Anyway, I’m going home with James.”

“It’s our two-month anniversary,” James adds proudly, wrapping an arm around Regulus’ waist and kissing the top of his head. Regulus does his very best not to melt and become one with Sirius’ puddles. He fails. 

Regulus expects his brother to take the piss, but he just nods. “Has it really been that long already? Time flies when you’re a sixth-form prisoner.” Sirius finally finds clothes that are (possibly) his and pulls them on. “Don’t be home too late, Reggie. It’s a school night.”

“Yes, I know, Dad,” Regulus sighs, rolling his eyes, but his chest is warm. It’s obvious Sirius’ natural state isn’t parental. It’s something he’s learned over the years just to take care of Regulus. Alphard stepped into the father role but it also wasn’t natural for him. Regulus would have been more than fine with just Alphard, but Sirius figured two half-parents make a whole. Regulus would rather rip off his own toenails than admit it, but he couldn’t ask for a better big brother/father hybrid. 

He won’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. Sirius simply knows in the way only two traumatised boys can. “Love you,” He mouths as he walks out the door.

“Love you too,” Regulus mouths back, and then he and James are alone at last.

James immediately burrows into Regulus’ neck. “Who’s turn is it to choose tonight?” For their movie nights, they’ve quickly developed a system. Minus a few movies they’ve deemed “neutral territory”, James and Regulus have seen almost entirely different film catalogues. James grew up with Effie, who liked showing her son older films and things she deemed “classics”. Regulus, on the other hand, has Alphard, whose favourite weekend activity is throwing the boys in the car to see the newest movie at the cinema. They take turns choosing which movie to watch - James finds an old movie Regulus hasn’t seen and the next time Regulus selects a new one James hasn’t seen. It’s a strong system in theory, but Regulus has realized just how little he pays attention to movies. If even one thing happens that he dislikes, his focus is gone. Regulus doesn’t even know he’s doing it half the time. He only figured it out because Sirius and Remus hijacked one too many movie nights. They always choose Marvel, because Remus weirdly loves superhero shit and Sirius likes staring at the men in tight suits, and while Regulus can remember physically going to the theatre and the beginning of the movies, he has no memory of anything past the hour mark. Half the time, unbeknownst to James, Regulus picks something he’s fairly certain he’s already seen but doesn’t remember so they get to watch it for the first time together. “I think I went last time, so it's your pick.”

“Hmm, have you seen West Side Story?” James asks, his breath hot against Regulus’ neck. He squirms away, unwilling to break their no kissing promise this soon. Admittedly, there’s no bloody way they’ll stick to it, but giving up after barely five minutes is too pathetic even for Regulus to accept.

“I might have seen the play when I was younger, but that’s it.”

“Perfect!” James exclaims, jumping up from the bench and holding out a hand. Regulus takes it, and then they’re off, sprinting through the empty corridors. The smart thing would be to also make a rule against holding hands at school, but selfishly, Regulus loves this far too much to ever dream of giving it up. 

----

Evan isn’t sure how they got here, if he’s being honest.

It started with Lily finally catching the cold that everyone’s been passing around, the kind where you think you’re safe because it’s getting warm out and then you’re walloped with the worst illness of your life. Mary got caught sneaking off campus to meet up with Evan, so she’s in detention and under close supervision for the next few weeks. Evan could have snuck away to their spot on his own, but without the girls to distract him, he would have simply fixated on the part of the bench where Barty sat and not been able to get anything done.

Evan has things to do. Things that are far more important than memorising a place where Barty touched because that might be all Evan ever gets of him, thank you very much. His art portfolio is due in less than a week, and he hasn’t gotten very far since his muse began avoiding him. It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid anyway- just a pipe dream. Most normal art schools don’t begin until sixth form. There are a few that start in Year 11, like the one his art teacher from Higgs wanted him to apply to. That’s why Evan’s making this portfolio - all for her. Not for himself. This isn’t something he wants. He isn’t letting himself want this.

Why would he when he can’t even draw?

How is it that talents can just… leave? Evan’s hands know how to draw. His fingers know how to grip the pencil. His muscles know how much force to apply. He’s been drawing for so long that it’s muscle memory. Isn’t the whole point of muscle memory that it’s unconscious, that it doesn’t require thinking? How can his abilities run away from him? They’re his, for God’s sake. Evan is art. Art is Evan. They’re one and the same. They’ve always been one and the same. 

He didn’t think drawing could abandon him too. 

“Ev?” Evan ignores the voice at first, thinks that he hallucinated it out of sheer artistic desperation. But then it comes again, “Evan?” Delirium would be too easy. No, his brain took it one step further. Can’t draw? Well, here’s your muse, in the flesh.

Barty is standing at the end of the picnic table Evan’s taken up residence at, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and putting all of his weight into the back of his feet so he can take off running at a moment’s notice. A flight stance. “You’re not usually around now.” Evan has been sneaking away to see the girls so much he forgot about the other person who shares this free period with him. A brief flare of guilt sparks in Evan’s stomach.

“Lily and Mary couldn’t make it today, so I’m here,” He shrugs, trying and probably failing at nonchalance. They’re alone, in the middle of free period, with Regulus and Peter in class. No interruptions, no excuses. Neither of them has anywhere to be. What’s Barty going to do with that? Will he flee, or is he going to stay? Based on the way he’s gnawing at his lip, the same debate is currently racing through his head.

“Can I sit?” Barty finally asks, the words coming out in a jumble.

Evan is too busy blinking to respond. Honestly, based on how their last few interactions went, he wasn’t expecting this outcome. Maybe he didn’t royally fuck everything up. Maybe there’s still hope for them. If not as lovers, then as friends. They don’t have to be everything as long as they’re something. “Of course!” Evan responds, also too quickly, but the words taste sour. One kiss, and they’re back to being strangers where Barty needs permission to be near him.

Barty smiles hesitantly, sitting down across from Evan and pulling out his notes. “What are you working on?”

“Oh!” Evan glances down at his sketchbook. For once, he’s glad it’s blank. Evan likes showing his art to people, but only when it’s a conscious choice. The vast majority of his sketches will never see the light of day, and Evan thinks that’s how all art should be. Not everything needs to be shared to be loved. “Just trying to draw.”

“Trying?” Barty asks, squinting at the paper like a design will suddenly appear on it.

Evan shrugs. “Haven’t been having much luck lately,” He admits, and he feels like he’s at confessional, purging the sins of a failing teenage artist. 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll let you work,” Barty says, spreading his papers across the table and reaching into his pocket only to come out empty-handed. Barely thinking about it, Evan slides him a pencil, and Barty stares at it wide-eyed. “Oh.” He repeats. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Evan says, angling his face down so Barty can’t see the flush on his cheeks. Barty never remembers a pencil, and when he does, he loses it after five minutes. Peter has an entirely separate case reserved for Barty’s pencils, but Evan knows this dance all too well. He accidentally gave Barty his pencil for drawing. He holds back a wince as Barty starts taking notes with it, ruining the fine tip, but it’s too late now. Besides, it’s not like Evan was actually going to get any drawing done. This is the longest he’s been around Barty since the kiss, and he doesn’t know the next time this will happen, so Evan occupies himself with subtly watching Barty.

It’s the middle of the day, so the sun is at its very peak, shining bright in the sky. Truham is in the woods, so it’s surrounded by trees so tall that the sun’s rays have to filter through them to reach the boys. Barty has his back to the sun, and if Evan slouches and tilts his face slightly to the left, it sits on the crown of his head like a halo. A real-life angel.

Evan isn’t thinking, he’s just drawing. He doesn’t know where he got another pencil, when he started, or what he’s making. The muscle memory has kicked back in at full force. There’s sunlight and there’s trees and there’s angels and there’s love, so much love, and Evan’s pencil is flying, and the paper is making strained noises like even it’s surprised that it’s finally being used, and his head is still at an awkward angle so his neck is protesting but who cares? Who cares, because he’s drawing, and this is what it’s all about. This is why Evan loves art, for moments like these, where all conscious thought leaves and every part of the body works by itself, except everything is in harmony, a perfect machine, a human, art- 

The bell ringing startles Evan out of his daze, jumping so high he hits his knee on the wood. He yelps, looking down at his leg, which requires him to finally move his head, which makes him yelp again. Fuck. Where has he been the last half an hour? If the moments where he loses himself are the best part of being an artist, reentering his body is the worst. It feels like Evan’s been free falling through the air and instead of hitting the ground, he got absorbed into it. 

“Looks like you found some luck,” Barty says, smirking at Evan, who’s floating above the conversation. He might as well be on Mars right now. “Can I see what you drew?” The notebook is lying open on the table. Barty could easily just look down and see the whole thing, but he knows Evan likes to keep some art private. The courtesy sends him spiralling away like a shooting star. 

Evan doesn’t even know what he drew, and when he looks down he… still doesn’t know.

Evan isn’t usually an abstract artist. He likes focusing on people and nature specifically, but he almost always draws physical objects. Not because they’re any easier, but because they’re tangible ideas. When he sits down to draw something abstract, his brain is blank because there’s nothing to picture. 

Honestly, Evan is glad he didn’t draw Barty as an angel or something equally mortifying. Not that the other pages in this book aren’t filled with countless half-finished portraits of him. Though, in a way, this is Barty in a way only the artist could see. A circular halo at the top, the sun’s rays branching off, trees all made from one line, curves and slants. To anyone else’s eyes, it would be chaos. To Evan’s, it’s also chaos, but he knows why. Chaos is Barty.

Evan shrugs, flipping the sketchbook around so Barty can look. He likes when he can show things to Barty that actually showcase his talent, but Barty is the muse and the subject, so it feels wrong to keep it from him. It’s not like Barty’s going to respond, going to see himself-

“Wow,” Barty says, eyes growing wide as his finger traces along the lines. “I like this bit here. It’s powerful.”

Powerful? How can anyone but Evan find this powerful? Barty points to the middle of the drawing where all the lines come together to form a spiral that ends in a knot so thick Evan almost tore the paper. That’s my feelings for you, Barty. They just twist and twist and twist until they end in a tangle I can’t solve. The irony that this is what Barty was drawn to isn’t lost on Evan. Is it just because it’s the center, or does he see? That’s you. That’s me. That’s us. “It would be better if I had my drawing pencil,” Evan says, looking at the pencil that Barty is currently drumming on the table.

Barty follows his line of vision and the movement still, finally realizing it isn’t a normal pencil. “Oh.” He’s confused, then, “Why did you give it to me?”

Evan shrugs again. “You needed a pencil. That’s the first one I saw.” 

It’s not revolutionary. It shouldn’t be, but Barty freezes, finally meeting Evan’s eyes for the first time in weeks. His jaw is slack, cheeks flushed, face open in a way Evan has seen only once before - right before they kissed.

Oh. Oh.

Barty’s eyes land on Evan’s lips, pupils blown wide. He’s leaning toward Evan, and the picnic table is the length of an ocean, but Evan leans in too, crossing the distance at twice the speed, and he can feel Barty’s breath hot on his skin-

The second bell rings, marking two times that it’s made Evan jump out of his skin in the last five minutes. Like last time, the spell is broken. Barty’s eyes fall to his notes as he surges away from Evan and starts shoving them into his backpack. “Er… I’ve history now… can’t miss it… I have a… er… quiz.”

It’s an excuse so poor that it isn’t worthy of a response. Everyone knows Barty doesn’t give a fuck about history. He bunks off it at least once a week. If he wanted to, he would stay here with Evan. If he wanted to, he would.

Evan closes his eyes, unable to watch Barty run away yet again.

----

“I signed your permission slip for the Paris trip, by the way,” Alphard says. They’re all eating dinner. Well, Alphard and Remus are eating. Regulus and Sirius are more focused on their foot wrestling match under the table.

“Thank you,” Regulus says, cut off by a grunt of pain. Sirius, capitalizing on his moment of distraction, digs his heel into the weak point of Regulus’ shin. Bastard.

“Are all your friends going?” Remus asks, subtly scooting his chair backward so he has a better view of the battle. If James was here, they would be placing bets and spectating like a sports match. 

“I think so. Peter’s mum still needs to sign the form, but everyone else has agreed.” The Paris trip is a Truham tradition for Year 10s and 11s that Regulus has been looking forward to since he was eleven. It’s supposed to be for the students taking French to have some real experience, but the trip is open to everyone, so there’s very little learning that takes place. The girls from Higgs come too, which means Lily and Mary will join them. Regulus still can’t believe he’s excited about Lily Evans coming anywhere with him and James, but he is. 

“Is James coming too?” Alphard asks, wiggling his eyebrows. God, when they’re all at the table like this, it’s so easy to see who Sirius got his irritating personality from.

“Yes, he is,” Regulus says, then hesitates. Alphard obviously knows that he and James spend a lot of time together. They haven’t exactly been hiding their relationship from him, but Regulus has never actually told Alphard that they’re dating. Partly because they weren’t telling anyone, but Regulus doesn’t have that excuse anymore. It’s not like Alphard is going to care. He loves James. “We’re, er, dating. In case you didn’t know. James and I, that is.” Regulus fumbles the confession so badly he should win an Olympic medal. For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t even that difficult. James can reveal their relationship next time. Regulus is never doing this again.

Sirius starts laughing so hard he chokes, and Regulus seizes the opportunity to stomp on his ankle. Alphard is also coughing, and Remus is biting his lip so hard it’s turning white, and Regulus feels like a bloody idiot. “Oh, fuck me, I guess. Just trying to be a good nephew, but sure, pick on the gay one. Bunch of homophobes.” He slouches down in his chair, pouting.

“I’m sorry, Regulus. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. You just caught me off guard. Thank you for telling me,” Alphard says, reaching across the table to take Regulus’ hand, but he pulls it away, still pouting. His family is stupid.

“You already knew, didn’t you?” Regulus has no right to be mad. Wasn’t he just thinking that they don’t hide their relationship? Still, he’s upset. Alphard’s the first person he’s properly told about James. Regulus wasn’t expecting a parade in his honour, but some minor festivities would be appreciated.

“Well, after the fifth time I walked by you two kissing, I had my suspicions.” Sirius is howling with laughter at this point. Regulus is pummeling him, which just makes him laugh harder. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be fool enough to get yourself into a friends-with-benefits situation, I’ve taught you much better than that, so I’m glad you’re actually together. You’re happy?” He asks, and this time Regulus lets him grab his hand.

“Yes, I’m happy,” Regulus says for possibly the first time in his life, and he means it.

Alphard squeezes his hand, smiling at him gently. “Good. That’s all I’ll ever care about. James is happy too?”

“You’ll have to ask him that yourself, but yes,” Regulus says, unable to stop the smile from splitting his face in two.

----

Later that night, Regulus is doing his nightly routine consisting of laying in bed and alternating between messaging James and doom scrolling, another thing he should win an Olympic medal in. Someone taps gently at his door and Regulus looks up.

Remus leans against his doorway, holding a steaming mug of tea in both hands. “Well done for earlier. Even if we gave you a hard time, that was still very brave. You’re telling people now?”

Regulus is glad his room is dark so Remus can’t see him blushing. Maybe he doesn’t need any festivities - compliments will do. “Yeah, we are. James wants to start telling more people.”

“He’s ready to come out, then?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow. Regulus can sense the hesitation like he’s looking in a mirror, because he is.

“He says he is.” It’s not that Regulus doubts James. He’s certain that James really thinks he’s ready. It’s just…

Coming out is hard. Being out is hard. James nearly had a heart attack telling his mum, who is the loveliest person in the world. How is he going to tell other people, ones he might not know how they’ll react? Can he handle it? Bloody hell, five months ago James still thought he was straight. It’s an incredibly fast turnaround. Is he ready for it? 

Remus sighs, and it has the weight of the world behind it. “You already know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

Regulus groans, burying his head in his pillow. He does. It’s the 21st century, and things are improving by the month, but it’s still not good. Not safe. Regulus, of all bloody people, knows that. He knows exactly what James might face if he comes out. Shouldn’t he want James to be protected from that? But how is forcing him to stay in the closet any better? At least he’ll be safe in there. He’s safe now. After what Regulus went through, how could he even dream of subjecting James to the same hell?

Remus senses the torment and sits on the edge of Regulus’ bed. “Can I tell you something I’ve never admitted before?”

Confessional, tonight, whatever bloody time it is, Regulus’ bed. “Always, as long as it’s not murder, because I really can’t help you hide a body right now.”

Remus snorts. “No, it’s not illegal this time. I know I’m not in your head, Regulus, but I know you.” Brothers without blood. Brothers through everything that matters. “There’s not a good option here. James can come out, and everyone could accept him, or it could be a disaster, or it could be a mix of both. James can stay in the closet and be safer, but live a lie. I don’t know which is best. I just know that I wish I was out.” Regulus picks his head up. Remus’ face is blurry, and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s crying or his eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet. “Sirius and I made our choice. We’ve never actually discussed it, but I see the way he looks at other couples in school. We were so young, and we were so scared, but I wish we’d been brave too. It was easier before Sirius came to Truham and we were never really in public. Now, it’s so much harder when he’s next to me all day and I just want to hold him. You know.” Regulus does know. He feels it every second he’s at Truham. “We could come out now, but we’ve only got a year left, so what’s the point? We’ll have to explain to everyone that it’s been years, that we’re basically engaged.”

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Regulus says, but it’s empty. There’s a reason he didn’t come out on his own, and probably never would have. The closet is familiar. It’s safe. The outside is unpredictable. This, the darkness, is controlling something otherwise uncontrollable. It takes courage to leave the familiarity and step into the spotlight. Teenagers are nosy; everyone is in everyone else’s business, but it’s a different level when someone comes out. All of your past is suddenly on the table for scrutiny. Well, they were always a little close with their best friend. They are fond of button-ups. They dyed their hair and wear rings. Everyone wants to know if it’s been obvious, the gayness, like it’s something you’re infected with and show signs of, like your entire life is just for them to analyze. It’s not fair, but it’s the cost of being fully yourself. 

“Of course I don’t, but people will still demand them. I thought I’d wait until I felt ready, but I wish I knew that the longer I waited, the harder it would seem. It’s fine, like I said, it’s only one more year, and then we’ll go to uni and be out and Truham will just be a distant memory.” Remus puts his mug of tea, still full and steaming, on Regulus’ bedside table and curls up next to him. “I told you that because I know you’re doubting if James should come out.” Remus reading Regulus like a book doesn’t even phase him at this point - it happens so often he expects it. “I wanted you to know my perspective as someone who isn’t out. I’m not saying James feels the same way, and I’m also not saying he feels like you do. He’s James . He’s making a decision that he’s probably agonized over, and if he hasn’t, that’s not something we can force him to do. If he wants to be out, then you need to trust him, Reg. Not to rub salt in an open wound, but he saw what happened to you. He knows that’s a possibility.”

“That’s not going to happen again,” Regulus says without skipping a beat, and there’s his answer. Remus is right - he can’t control James or his decision, but he can help. Regulus can make sure he never feels scared or pressured. Regulus can make sure that James comes out under the right circumstances to the right people. He can plant eyes and ears at Truham so he knows what everyone is saying, and if they’re being mean, they’ll just have to answer to Regulus Arcturus Black. He knows how things started last time, the whispers and the shoves, and the pattern won’t continue. Regulus can protect James, shield him from the horrors he endured because then it will be worth it. If Regulus can use his own experiences to stop James from following in his hellish footsteps, then his agony was for a purpose. It means something.“I won’t let it.”

Chapter Text

Euphemia Potter has very few flaws. She takes care of others before herself, is kind to anyone and everyone even if they don’t deserve her warmth, never passes judgment before she knows a person, and views it as her life’s purpose to help as many people as possible. This makes her a wonderful woman, and the best mother in the world, but it also makes her a complete and utter pushover, as evidenced by the fuckwad currently in their kitchen.

James has had a long week, alright? There’s less than a week until his first exam, which is maths because whichever sick fuck makes GCSEs obviously has it out for him, so he’s been revising practically nonstop. With Lucius Malfoy breathing down the back of his neck, James feels like he isn’t retaining anything, which just makes the studying more frantic. His teachers never shut up about how GCSE grades determine their future, but does it really matter if he gets shit marks in maths? James doesn’t know what he wants to do in the future, but he does know it has nothing to do with maths. That’s Regulus’ thing. Speaking of Regulus, James is seeing far too little of him. Even with the (disastrous) rugby practices, they barely get any time together, which makes James antsy and moody. If he sees another equation or has to hear Lucius coughing next to him one more time, he’s going to end up on a list somewhere. He just wants some biscuits, some hot tea, and maybe a nap to escape to x’s and y’s floating around every time he closes his eyes…

Apparently, the monsters behind GSCEs aren’t the only forces of the universe that hate James because here’s his cousin - leaning against the counter, eating the last bloody biscuit, and getting crumbs all over the freshly polished tile. 

The book bag falls from James’ hands and hits the floor with a dull thunk. Effie turns around at the sound, beaming. “Jamesie, look who's back from uni!”

Surely, James must have known Theo was returning today. Distantly, he can recall his mum mentioning something about Theo a few weeks ago, but to be fully honest, James tunes out whenever he hears his cousin’s name. Though this has been the routine for four summers now, James still holds onto a ridiculous hope that Theo won’t come back. He’ll get a new job, he’ll get his own place, he’ll die in a train crash on the way here. Maybe that will happen eventually, but evidently this isn’t James’ lucky year. 

It would be one thing if Theo were his brother. Then, James would understand him living with them. Theo isn’t even directly related to Effie. Theo is his dad’s sister’s son. James barely even sees that side of his family since his dad died, and they would never dream of reaching out to his mum to check in, so she has zero obligation to take care of Theo. Such technicalities have no meaning to Effie Potter, welcomer of anyone with wounded wings. Four years ago, when his cousin reached out regarding a summer job in their town, his mum didn’t waste a second before offering Theo their spare bedroom. This, in theory, isn’t a bad arrangement. James has always been lonely and desperate for a sibling or for any family members at all to show an interest in getting to know him, so Theo’s arrival should be celebrated… 

“Jamesie!” Theo yells, slapping James on the back so hard he stumbles. “Have you gotten shorter? You’re not going to get a girlfriend looking that shrimpy!”

… if Theo wasn’t such a fucking arsehole. Suddenly, revising maths next to Lucius Malfoy is looking like paradise. 

James shoots a glance at his mum, who is already raising an eyebrow at him, her thoughts clear. Be nice. Give him a chance. James gives Theo a chance every summer. Somehow, he returns worse each one. James doesn’t know what the hell they teach in Paris, but apparently it’s not manners or basic human decency. “Hi, Theo. How was your year?” He says through gritted teeth. There, he tried, so his mum can’t say he didn’t. Theo just completed the first year of his master’s program. Last summer, James was ecstatic because he figured Theo would get a job in France after graduation and leave them the hell alone, but he just had to get another degree and keep the same bloody summer job. What he’s getting a masters in, James doesn’t know, but it must have something to do with being a piece of shit - maybe business. Hopefully, it isn’t something that requires him to work with people, because the general public is going to start rioting if they have to deal with Theo.

“Oh, it was a blast! The new flat with the lads is right over a pub, which made things a lot easier on the weekends, if you catch my drift,” Theo elbows him in the ribs, grinning, and James wants to throw up.

Effie, who must notice that her son is turning green, jumps in. “Jamesie, Theo was just telling me about his internship before you got home.”

James doesn’t give a fuck about his internship, but Theo has his arm around him and is gripping his shoulder like a vice, effectively trapping James in place. “Right. I mean, it was an amazing opportunity, great company, right in the middle of the city…”

Definitely sounds like business, then.

----

“Remind me how this became my problem again?” Lily groans, throwing herself backward onto the grass. It’s long, because apparently no one mows this spot, so long that Lily practically disappears, and it’s not unwelcome. She wouldn't mind vanishing into the Earth. 

“You signed yourself up for this. Willingly, I might add. Which I know because I was there,” Mary says. Lily can just see the top of her hair over the blades of grass.

“I was coerced,” Lily argues, and it’s the truth. Everyone knows that Lily can’t say no. It’s a personality flaw, she’s well aware, but she doesn’t know what to do about it. She’s actually good at maintaining boundaries. The best of all her friends, in fact, which admittedly isn’t necessarily something to brag about, but she has to give herself some credit. Lily just hasn’t figured out how to refuse someone to their face when they ask for help. It’s one thing when it’s over the phone and Lily can just pretend like she’s doing something else, but it’s another hurdle entirely when it’s in person and she’s obviously not busy. Lily was just enjoying a moment of peace before the chaos of the day started when one of her class friends sat down next to her and started venting about being put in charge of prom planning and being completely overwhelmed. Lily saw where the conversation was going, but she was engrossed in trying to get hair dye out from under her fingernail, so she couldn’t just pick up a textbook and start reading it. Her friend, Emmeline, asked Lily to help her, and how was she supposed to refuse? Lily didn’t realize that she agreed to help with the entire prom. She thought she would just help with… tablecloth selection in the moment, or something. Lily doesn’t know what prom planning entails, and now she’s neck-deep with no way out. Emmeline already decided on the theme - classic. “What the fuck is ‘classic’ anyway? Does that mean we’re going to dress like we’re in Bridgerton or something?”

“That would be ‘traditional’ or ‘ancient’, Lils,” Mary says.

Lily pouts. “Shame. We would look so hot in corsets.”

“You could still wear a corset. Nothing is stopping you,” Evan adds, his voice startling Lily. She nearly forgot he was there. Evan’s been so… quiet lately. He never talks much, but it’s been on another level these past weeks, like his very soul has been silenced. It’s unnerving. Lily hates it and wants to beat the shit out of the person who’s responsible, not like it’s any mystery.

There are quite a few snarky remarks floating around in Lily’s mind, but she shakes them off. She has more important business to handle. “I’ll figure out an outfit once I figure out what the colour scheme is. Am I responsible for that too?” 

“I’m afraid you are.”

“Ugh!” Lily rolls onto her stomach, burying her face in the grass. Of all the situations she’s found herself in because of her inability to say no, this has to be one of the most irritating ones. “Can one of you look up ‘classic prom decorations’ or something?”

“There’s no cell service out here. I already tried.” Mary says, settling into the grass next to Lily, who immediately reaches for her. “What movies have proms? Mean Girls? High School Musical?”

“Isn’t the prom just in the musical? Do they have a real prom too?” Lily asks, closing her eyes and concentrating. She used to watch the third High School Musical at least once a week. Why, when it actually matters, can she not remember a thing about the movie except for Gabriella’s dress? God, she’s so fucking gay. 

“Why does the theme have to be so boring anyway? Why can’t it be ‘masquerade’ or ‘pirates’ or something fun?” Mary asks, carding her hand through Lily’s hair, not even mentioning the mass of tangles she finds and instead working them out silently.

“Emmeline already chose ‘classic’.” It’s clearly not what Lily would have decided, and she’s honestly a bit concerned about Emmeline’s brain functioning if that’s what she ended up on out of all the possibilities, but there’s nothing she can do about it. 

“Well, it looks to me like you’ve somehow signed yourself up to plan the whole prom, so you should be able to choose the theme,” Evan adds.

He’s not wrong, but if Lily changes the theme, then the dance really is her responsibility. At least if it all goes badly, Emmeline is behind it and not her. “Then it’s my problem entirely. I want nothing to do with this. I don’t even like prom.” Lily has never been one of those girls that dreams of her prom. She only knows people like that exist because her sister is one. Ever since they were children, Petunia talked about her prom like it was her wedding. She had her dress picked out years ahead of time. Lily can’t remember the last time she went dress shopping. She’s pretty sure it ended in her crying in a dressing room with her mother on the other side of the door asking to see how they fit. Lily doesn’t care about normal secondary school activities. She cares about her friends and girlfriend and making memories with them, but that’s about it. Sure, Lily will go to prom. She’ll go dress shopping with Mary and help her pick out the world’s hottest dress, she’ll take the corny pictures in her front garden to hang on her wall, she’ll dance and she’ll spend too much time at the snack table and she’ll complain that her feet hurt and she’ll leave early to eat a greasy dinner. Lily doesn’t want to do these things because they’re prom traditions; she wants to do them because she’ll be with her friends. Lily wants to be with her friends all the time. She’d move in with them if she could, especially Mary.

Lily moves closer, resting her head on Mary’s chest. This - them, the grass, the quiet - is nice. It’s not that things have been bad between her and Mary lately, they’ve just been… strange. Something is going on with Mary. Lily isn’t sure what it is, exactly, but it’s something. It’s not even that Mary has been acting differently. Lily can see it, right behind her eyes. There’s a sadness, some sort of deep-seated devastation that rests in her bones. Lily doesn’t know if it’s new or if Mary just can’t hide it anymore, but she can see it, dancing right there in her irises. Maybe that’s why Mary has been avoiding looking into her eyes lately. 

Mary pulls out her phone to take a picture and holds it above them. She presses a kiss to Lily’s head, letting her lips linger for one, two, three, four, five. It used to be just three. “Oh! Service!” She exclaims, seeing the bars on her phone light up. Lily takes it, googling ‘classic prom theme’, but all that comes up is a list of other themes. Under the sea, a night in Paris, enchanted forest, winter wonderland, fairy tale. All of these are better than classic. 

Lily tosses the phone into the grass and groans. “This is bloody stupid. I give up. I’m telling Emmeline my cousin died so I don’t have time to help with prom anymore.”

“Do you even talk to your cousins?” Evan asks, unhelpfully once again. It’s like he’s completely morphed into some underdeveloped character that’s just there to add comic relief. Lily has been there for all of his character development. There’s no way it all disappeared over some fucking boy. 

“No, but it’s not like she’d ever know that. We’re not even really friends. We just talk because we have classes together.” Lily never knows what to call those kinds of people. They’re technically friends, but not in the normal definition of the word. Lily would never see her outside of school or text her about anything other than an assignment. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s just not the vibe. There’s some unspoken rule between them - they’ll be friendly and talk in school, but the minute they graduate, they’ll never speak again.

“I fully support you getting out of this, but don’t say anyone died. That’s bad kar-” Evan stops with a little gasp.

Lily sits up, her chin barely above the tips of the grass, and Evan is staring at his phone with his mouth hanging open. It doesn’t take a genius to know who texted him.

“Close your jaw. You’re going to catch flies.” Mary says at the same time Lily says, “What did Barty say?”

“How’d you know it was Barty?” Evan asks defensively, hugging his phone to his chest like Lily has x-ray vision and somehow saw his screen. He’s so oblivious. God, Lily adores him. 

“Because you’re drooling like the lovesick idiot you are,” Lily says, waving off the question. It’s truly painful to watch this level of pining. It reminds her too much of her and Mary. “What did he say? Please tell me it’s something good.” Lily has a lot of patience, but even her reserves are running low. If Barty doesn’t get his shit together soon, she’s going to punt him like a soccer ball. 

“It is, actually. He asked if we could meet up to do homework tonight.” Evan’s eyes are wide, looking at the message like he’s worried it’s somehow fake, like someone stole Barty’s number and is trying to trick him. 

“Hallelujah! The boy has a brain cell! It’s a Christmas miracle!” Mary says, throwing her hands to the sky. 

Lily slaps her on the arm. “It’s May, Mar.”

“Well what holidays happen in May?”

“Early May Bank Holiday?” Evan suggests.

Lily’s been so good this whole afternoon, but she’s allowed to poke the bear once a day, especially when the bear is clueless and needs a few jabs in the right direction. “You’re just helping her diss your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Evan exclaims, a high edge to his voice like a toddler trying to weasel their way out of trouble. 

Lily and Mary exchange a look, rolling their eyes. He’s not fooling either one of them nor is he getting out of this conversation. It’s long overdue. “But you want him to be.”

Evan physically deflates like a balloon that someone popped, and Lily feels sick. “Honestly, I don’t even know if I want that anymore. I mean, of fucking course I do, but I don’t know if he’s capable of that. I’ve tried so many times, and he just runs away. I’d basically given up on him, but now he asked to hang out, so that’s progress. Isn’t that a sign I shouldn’t give up?”

“Well, since you asked my opinion,” Mary says, and Lily can’t help but laugh. Unbeknownst to Evan, the girls have discussed this at length. Multiple times. In-person and over the phone. Evan and Barty are their go-to conversation topic because somehow, there’s always something new to say. At this point, they’ve cycled through every possible feeling about this whole shit show: thrilled because Evan finally found someone, ready to show up at Barty’s house with a baseball bat in the middle of the night, disappointed, sad, hopeful, and confused. Now, they’re both at the same point - scarily close to smacking Evan and Barty’s heads together until one of them wakes the fuck up. Mary wants to lock them in a room together and not let them out until they talk it out. Lily’s been resisting that idea for a few weeks, mainly because she doesn’t trust them to not kill each other, and she really doesn’t want to catch criminal charges for being an accessory to murder. She has future plans that she’s excited about, thank you very much. As the time passes and they still haven’t pulled their heads out of their arses, Lily’s resistance is growing weaker.

It would be easier if she knew that Barty was just a piece of shit. Then, she could encourage Evan to move on and be all the better for it. The problem is, she can’t do that in good conscience. Lily’s only met Barty a handful of times, sure, but she’s seen the way he watches Evan - like it's unconscious, like he can’t see anything but Evan, like Evan is the only thing in the world that matters. Evan deserves that level of love more than anyone else Lily has ever met. She doesn’t think Barty is deliberately being an arsehole. He’s just… scared. Lily didn’t get the impression that he’s been in a relationship before. He certainly jokes about it nearly constantly, but it’s the people with that kind of mask that are struggling the most under the bravado. It’s a cloak, a front, a way to hide from the rest of the world. Lily recognizes this because she’s dating someone with walls she still hasn’t been able to break down.

I can’t hang out tonight. Let’s go to yours instead. Don’t read that, it’s a… surprise for you.

Lily shakes her head like that will dislodge the cold shiver down her spine. She wants to trust Mary. It’s not that she doesn’t trust her, she just knows something is being kept from her, but that’s none of Lily’s business. Mary will tell her when she’s ready. Lily simply has to wait for that time, no matter how much she hates the constant state of curiosity. 

“He’s scared and confused, Ev. He doesn’t know how to handle this any better than you do. That’s not an excuse for his behavior, but it is an explanation. His feelings are valid, but so are yours. You don’t have to wait around for him to sort his shit out. You deserve someone loud and unapologetic and enthusiastic about their feelings for you. But it sounds like he’s trying,” Mary finishes, voicing all of Lily’s thoughts. 

“Do you want to spend time with him tonight?” Lily adds. At the end of the day, it’s Evan’s opinion that matters, not theirs. They can try to help him, but it’s his relationship, thank God. 

“I do, but only if I’m going to get the Barty he was before this mess.” Evan groans gutturally and Lily feels it in her chest. It feels like all that time she spent pining over Mary, convinced she could never feel the same way. Queer yearning is another level of agony. “Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll take any version of him he’ll give me. Not that it matters anyway. I have the open house at the art school tonight.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to leave us!” Mary cries, flopping onto Lily’s lap, her hand going to the back of Mary’s head so she doesn’t smack it on the ground. It’s dramatic, but Lily would be lying if she said she didn’t feel the same way. Since they’ve been meeting here almost every day, it’s softened the loss of Evan’s presence at Higgs, but how will it be when they go to schools in completely different towns? How will they spend time together? Will they ever see each other? Is their friendship going to turn into weekly visits only, then monthly, then fade into the abyss?

“You can’t get rid of me if you tried. You’re stuck with me forever being your third wheel.” Evan sticks his tongue out at them. “Besides, it’s not like I’m actually going to get in. I haven’t even finished my portfolio yet and it’s due next week.” 

“You don’t get it, Ev. This is your destiny. You’re going to get into the fancy arts school and make fancy arts friends doing fancy arts things and forget all about us non-fancy, non-artsy people,” Mary whines.

“It’s true; I can’t even draw a cube,” Lily says, gasping as something clicks in her mind. She got distracted by Evan’s plight and forgot the whole reason she was in a bad mood. “Maybe that’s why I’m having so much trouble with prom! Someone artsy needs to do it!” She looks at Evan with her best puppy dog eyes, even sticking out her bottom lip for emphasis. 

“Absolutely fucking not-”

----

James has mornings down to a science.

Not when he needs to wake up to have enough time to properly get ready without sprinting around the house like an idiot with one sock on. No, if his mum’s tea kettle and Sirius’ hairdryer aren’t on the fritz, and there’s no traffic, and they get there exactly on time, and they spend less than thirty seconds at their lockers, James and Regulus have approximately three minutes and fifty-one seconds of time together before the late bell rings. On days when his mum goes to a cafe for a morning tea and Sirius just puts his hair up, they’ll have six minutes and eleven seconds, which means they can spend one of those minutes finding an empty classroom. Today, fortunately, is the latter, which is perfect because James really needs a hug.

The minute Regulus closes the door and flicks the lock, James is on him like a sloth, wrapping himself around Regulus and enveloping him completely. “Oh, okay, hi,” Regulus says, his voice muffled from where his face is pressed into James’ chest. “Let me just-” He tries to move his arms, but James has them pinned against his sides. They’ve only got four minutes and thirty-seven seconds left, and James intends to spend every last second of that time holding Regulus.

Here, with Regulus in his arms, James feels like he can breathe. By touching someone else, someone he loves more than anything, it reminds James that he’s still here, breathing and holding and existing. “Sorry, I’ve just had a long few days. Did I ever tell you about my cousin?”

“No? Honestly, you haven’t told me much about your family,” Regulus says, and it makes him wince. James knows all about Regulus’ family, and they actively abused him. Compared to real problems like that, James’ family struggles are so trivial, and yet he’s kept them balled up in his chest. Why? Because it hurts to talk about? Because he still has a hard time accepting his place in the family? Because he doesn’t understand it himself? “Well, my cousin lives with us during the summer. He goes to uni in France, but has a job here and Mum offered. He’s a piece of shit, though.”

“I’m sorry. That must be hard, having him in your house.” Regulus pauses. “If it makes you feel any better, my cousins are crazy too. One of them ran away from the family the second she could. She’s the only one with sense. The other two are still neck-deep in Black Family Bullshit. I haven’t seen them in years, obviously, but I have vivid memories of them running around the estate with knives and slicing every bug they could find into tiny pieces while screaming like they were the ones getting cut up.”

“Jesus,” James exhales. Just when he thinks Regulus’ family can’t get any more disturbing. “Theo isn’t like that, thank God. He’s just a rude prat. The first thing he did when he saw me was say I’m never going to get a girlfriend because I’m short.”

“If you’re short, then I’m a Muppet,” Regulus says, pointedly bumping James’ chest with his forehead and laughing when James does.

I love you.

The thought just appears in James’ head fully formed, no room for denial. James loves Regulus with everything he is and everything he ever will be. He won’t say it yet because it might scare Regulus, but he’s in love. James. Is in love. With Regulus. 

James kisses Regulus’ head once for each word. One, two, three. I. Love. You.

Regulus squirms after the third kiss. “Again,” He whispers, and who would James be to deny him?

Four. Forever.

----

Three minutes and two seconds later, Regulus leaves the classroom first, looking both ways like they’re in a shitty spy movie. Evidentally declaring the coast clear, he grabs James’ hand and pulls him through the doorway. “I’ll see you at rugby. Say the word and I’ll bail you out of study hall jail.”

Regulus offers this every morning. James has yet to take him up on it - not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s too scared of McGonagall catching him and telling his mum. Effie adores Regulus, but she wouldn’t be pleased if she learned he and James are getting each other into trouble. “Thanks, Reg,” James responds, delighting in the blush that blooms across Regulus’ cheeks at the nickname. He reserves the nickname for special occasions so Regulus is always caught off guard, therefore, the pink face. James drinks it all in, a starving man, bottling up the picture of a pleasantly embarrassed Regulus to fuel him for the rest of the day.

Regulus mumbles something unintelligible and basically runs away, head down, still furiously flushed. James laughs, watching Regulus until he disappears around the corner, and turns to head to prison only to come face to face with Lucius leaning against the wall, glaring. James jumps, startled. How long has he been there? Surely not long or Regulus would have seen him. How does he just appear? 

Vicious rage boils in James just as suddenly as the love did a few minutes earlier. Regulus’ blush was for James’ eyes only, certainly not for Lucius to spy on. Regulus is his. No one else’s. James’ only. Certainly not Lucius’. He missed his chance. Lucius had Regulus and fucked it all up. That’s no one’s fault but Lucius’ and he needs to move the hell on and stop lurking.

James storms by him, slamming his shoulder into Lucius and grinning at the hollow sound his head makes when it hits the lockers. Good. I hope it hurt.

Fortunately for Lucius and unfortunately for James, he didn’t actually hurt the prick, so he slinks into his seat beside James a few minutes later. “That was sweet.”

God, grant James the strength he needs to not beat the shit out of this fucker. “I told you to leave Regulus alone,” He replies, gritting his teeth so hard it hurts. Maybe one of them will crack and James will have to leave. 

Lucius laughs, actually laughs, and leans back in his chair. James glances at McGonagall, but she’s bent over helping another student. If James could actually focus on his revision, he’d be asking questions too because he doesn’t understand any of this. “You really hate me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” James says, not hesitating for a moment. Before Regulus, he wasn’t a hateful person, but what can he say? Regulus brings out the best in James.

“You’ve never even heard my side of the story. You realize that, right? You’re just passing assumptions about me based on what he said-”

Oh, fuck no. Lucius can say whatever he wants to about James. He honestly doesn’t care. But the minute Lucius uses that tone about Regulus, like he’s some worthless dirt on the bottom of his shoe, it’s game over. “First of all, he has a name. Second, I hate you because you fucking assaulted him, which I saw with my own eyes.” James would yell this to the entire school if he could so everyone could know just how much of a piece of shit Lucius Malfoy is, but then Regulus would have to speak up, and he doesn’t want that. This isn’t James’ story to tell, so he’ll follow Regulus’ lead.  

Apparently, he still spoke too loudly, because McGonagall is suddenly standing above him, eyebrow raised so high James can’t even see it.

Now he’s really done it.

----

“I told you the rules, and you both chose to disobey. You will be here until the end of the day,” McGonagall says coldly, ushering them into what looks like a closet with two desks.

James opens his mouth to protest, not above playing the family friend card, but she’s slamming the door before they’ve even sat down. Fuck. The woman knows James far too well.

“That was just a misunderstanding,” Lucius says, not skipping a beat before jumping back into the argument. Solitary truly has no point, because now they can fight as loudly as they want to without getting in trouble. 

“On what planet was that a misunderstanding?” James asks, throwing his book bag onto the desk, not caring how loud a sound it makes. Good. He hopes the entire school felt that, felt his anger. 

“I was going through some personal shit,” Lucius says, now gritting his teeth.

“How do you not comprehend that doesn’t matter? Everyone is going through shit. I am. So is Regulus. You don’t see us taking it out on someone else. He said no, and you kissed him anyway. That’s assault any way you twist it.” Deep down, James could have had sympathy for Lucius. He knows what it feels like to struggle with your sexuality - how lonely and confusing it is, how the entire world feels like it’s upside down, how you feel like an entirely different person. James and Lucius could have bonded over that, commiserated with each other at the very least. Instead, Lucius chose to use his confusion as an excuse to hurt people, to hurt Regulus, and that’s unacceptable.

Lucius is quiet for a moment, and that’s how James knows the argument is over. Lucius has no comeback because James is right. Lucius knows it too, probably knew it as he was touching Regulus…

James clenches his hands into fists, squeezing until his fingernails dig into his palms. Don’t hit him, don’t hit him, don’t hit him. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Regulus doesn’t need you to fight his battles. 

He should have known better than to think Lucius would let him have the last word. “Does Regulus know you don’t want to come out?”

If James concentrates hard enough, he can almost pretend that it’s the sudden subject change that makes his stomach drop. Almost. “I do want to come out.”

Lucius snorts. “Sure. I’ll believe it when I see it.” He turns his chair to face James, eyes glinting, predator locking onto its prey. “You know, you think you’re so much better than me, but we’re the same. It’s just a matter of time before Regulus realizes that you’re not the perfect James Potter he thinks you are.”

It’s not true. It’s not. James knows that. He does want to come out. He wants to get rid of the stupid fucking no kissing rule at school, he wants to walk Regulus to his classes, he wants to hold his hand and not drop it when there are other people around, he wants to hang out in rooms without checking if the coast is clear when they leave. He wants everyone to know that he’s dating Regulus Black. James wants to love Regulus in public, in the light, in the open - no more shadows and closed doors. No more hiding for either of them. That means coming out. Which James wants to do. Really, believe him, he does. It’s just…

James wasn’t expecting it to be easy. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this hard. 

James is going to come out. He hasn’t found the right time yet, but he’s going to. The intention is there, pure and unbridled and genuine. Lucius has no desire to do that. 

How do you know that, though? What if he has the same thoughts? What if he’s waiting for the pieces to fall into place? Didn’t you just think you two were similar? You are - in more ways than you’re aware of. You’re going to hurt Regulus too.

No. James won’t hurt him. He would never hurt Regulus. He asked him if he minded staying hidden for a little while longer and he said it was fine.

How long is ‘a little while’? What if this has an expiration date? Lucius is right - you’re running out of time.

James puts his head down on the desk. He’s not getting any revising done today. 

----

By the time James gets home that afternoon, all he wants to do is sleep. And cry, preferably until he drowns in his own tears, but a nap seems much more feasible. He can’t though, because while his mental clock may be ticking, there’s a very real one moving much faster. It’s only a few days until his exam, and James finished approximately three problems the entire day. If he thought normal study hall was prison, solitary is Alcatraz. It’s a miracle James didn’t collapse, honestly. Instead of his well deserved rest, he needs to catch up on all the revision he missed today.

Apparently, someone out there doesn’t want James to pass this exam, because his bedroom door flies open, revealing Theo. Of course knocking would be too much of a courtesy. No, how would Theo catch him off guard then? “Get out,” James says flatly, pointing at the door. He doesn’t have time for Theo’s shit right now. He doesn’t have time for anything.

Theo puts his hands in the air, mocking innocence. “Hey, woah, I just wanted to see how your revision is going.” He walks over to James, who is sprawled out on the floor with what seems like every textbook ever made fanned out in front of him. How many trees died for this? James would be bloody pissed if he was chopped down only to have maths printed all over him. “Ah, maths, your old enemy.”

“The door is that way,” James responds, still gesturing to the exit. 

“I can help you. I got an 8 on my GCSE-” Theo starts, reaching for a worksheet that just has bright red question marks drawn all over it, but changes course when James’ phone lights up. James lunges for it, but Theo is closer.

“Give that back!” James yells, now on his feet, panic pounding through him. There’s only one person who texts him, and it’s exactly the person he wants to keep as far away from Theo as possible. 

“Reg? Who’s Reg?” Theo asks, squinting at the screen, confirming Regulus’ fear.

James’ vision fuzzes out at the edges. This isn’t how he wants him to find out about Regulus. Theo learning that James has a boyfriend is inevitable. James’ house is one of the few places where he and Regulus can be open, so he doesn’t want to box it up just because his dickhead cousin is here. Still, James would like to tell him on his own when all of his attention isn’t on not failing out of school. Theo’s said homophobic shit in the past, so James doesn’t exactly envision the conversation going well. Nothing involving Theo goes according to plan.

“You got a fetish for weird names or what? Is Reg a nickname? Regina? Is she your girlfriend?” He clicks the message and James’ heart lurches to his throat, but his phone is locked. Theo flashes the screen at James, trying to get the Face ID to work, but James snatches it from him. 

“Get out!” James snaps, phone now behind his back. Whatever shred of patience he had is gone, shattered the minute his cousin refused to respect his privacy. If Theo doesn’t get out of his room in the next ten seconds, James is going to punch that smug smile until it fractures. 

“Fine, fine!” Theo says, evidently sensing James’ rage and backing away. “If you have a girlfriend, I want to know about her. I have to approve of her since I’m your cousin and honorary brother.”

Theo isn’t even close to James’ brother. A real honorary brother is what Remus and Regulus are to each other. Love and support and guidance mixed with teasing and shoves and pranks. Theo gives James all of the second half and none of the first. Hell, Sirius is closer to his brother than Theo is. 

When Theo finally leaves, leaving the door wide open since closing it would be too much of a courtesy, James opens his phone.

regulus_arcturus

i miss you

j.potter

I miss you more

The three minutes and fifty one seconds in the mornings and rugby isn't enough

regulus_arcturus

the what

j.potter

If we’re both on time in the morning, we have three minutes and fifty one seconds of time together

Six minutes and eleven seconds if we’re running early

regulus_arcturus

you did the math to figure that out?

j.potter

Of course

regulus_arcturus

my god

life is torture

i need to kiss you right now

can i come over

j.potter

No my cousin is here and he’s being annoying

I’ll come to you

regulus_arcturus

im actually at the park right now bc sirius kicked me out

he and remus are having a “date afternoon” apparently

they actually didnt kick me out

i kicked myself out

i got traumatised last time i stayed during one of their dates

j.potter

omfg

say no more

im coming

regulus_arcturus

my knight in shining rugby gear

bring padfoot

j.potter

As if he would let me leave the house without him

See you in ten <3

James makes it to the park in five - partly because Padfoot started chasing a squirrel and dragged James several blocks, and partly because they just kept running once the squirrel left them in the dust. How can little animals be so fast? Padfoot is still confused, sniffing every tree and bush trying to figure out where it went. He loves chasing animals and then getting upset when they disappear. The poor sod just wants to play, but his communication skills are lacking. 

Regulus is sitting in the shade under a tree with a book propped against his knees. He looks up when James and Padfoot jog over, eyes lighting up. James isn’t sure if that’s because he’s happy to see him or the dog. Padfoot, naturally, forgets all about the squirrel the second he sees Regulus. He pulls his leash right out of James’ hand and throws himself at Regulus with a gleeful bark. 

“Padfoot! Get off him!” James scolds, but he’s smiling. Padfoot licks every inch of Regulus’ visible skin, focusing mostly on his face. Regulus is giggling. Fully giggling like a little child as he hugs the dog. James loses track of time at the sight - his two favourite things in the world, laughing and whining and showering each other in kisses. 

How did James get so lucky? 

“Budge over,” He says, shoving Regulus’ shoulder lightly. “I want to join.”

----

By the time Padfoot finally falls asleep, the sun is beginning to set behind the trees. Regulus and James are sprawled out facing each other, Padfoot in between since he always has to be touching Regulus. Regulus doesn’t mind, though he does wish the dog had better breath. Doesn’t James brush his teeth? Can you brush a dog’s teeth? Would Padfoot even let him? The dog tried to fight a stick earlier because it poked him in the head, so Regulus can’t imagine a toothbrush anywhere near his mouth would go over well. Perhaps the bad breath is the lesser of the evils. Padfoot snores and wrinkles his nose, face twitching like he’s having a dream. Regulus hopes it’s full of sticks that don’t jab him and squirrels he can befriend.

James, who’s pouting rather adorably, takes Regulus’ hand that was resting on Padfoot. He’s jealous of his own dog. Regulus doesn’t know who’s cuter - James or Padfoot. “Your hands are freezing.”

“I’m always cold,” Regulus explains. When he and Sirius were little, they would wear their winter parkas the minute the sky clouded over. They didn’t realize there was anything strange about that until their teachers sent them to the nurse's office to get temperature checks. The brothers determined it was their Black genes. The Blacks are cold-blooded in every definition of the term, so they might as well be physically too. No matter how warm Regulus is, there will always be ice coursing through his veins, inescapable and inevitable.

James’ face softens and he pulls off his sweatshirt. “I’ll warm you up,” He winks, and suddenly Regulus has never felt so hot in his life. James drapes the sweatshirt over him like a blanket, careful not to disturb Padfoot, who just snores again. 

“This is mine now,” Regulus says, holding onto the sleeve protectively like James might snatch it back. This is the first piece of clothing James has given him. They’ve borrowed sweatpants and shirts before, yes, but that was always because their clothes got wet or stained and needed to be washed. This is James’ sweatshirt, the maroon one he wears everywhere. Before James, Regulus was never fond of maroon. Now, it’s his favourite colour.

“I know,” James says, looking at Regulus’ hand on the sweatshirt with dark eyes. His gaze flickers to Regulus’ face, then his lips, and then they’re kissing. This happens more often than not with them. One moment they’re apart, and the next moment they’re kissing. Regulus loses the time in the middle. He’s not sure where it goes, but he’s not sure it matters. As long as he’s kissing James, who cares about the in-between? There’s only here and now and James. 

James grabs at Regulus’ waist, trying to move him closer but not disturb Padfoot. Regulus pulls away, which makes James whine with disappointment, but only long enough to maneuver over the dog and onto James. He hovers at first, knees on either side of James’ hips, but James rests a hand on the small of Regulus’ back and pushes him down until their bodies are pressed together. They couldn’t be closer, and yet it’s still not enough. Regulus wants to stitch James to his side so they’re never separate again. Can two people attach themselves to each other? Surely not, because Sirius and Remus would have already done it. Regulus was right pissed off when they kicked him out of his own home, yet it led right here, to this park and this tree and Padfoot and James underneath him, so how could Regulus ever complain? This is all he needs for the rest of his life. Fuck exams and school and jobs and money. He just needs James. And a dog. A dog wouldn’t hurt.

Like he was awoken by Regulus’ thoughts, Padfoot springs up beside them and immediately starts barking. Maybe he’s jealous James is so touching someone else or maybe he’s upset he wasn’t included, but Padfoot jumps on top of them. He’s a bloody huge dog, closer to the size of a small horse, and mostly muscle, so he knocks Regulus right off. Seizing his unfinished mission from earlier, Padfoot tackles him and starts coating Regulus’ face in slobber, marking his territory. Regulus just laughs, trying and failing to push the dog off of him until he grabs a stick from under his shoulder and throws it, effectively distracting Padfoot, who has an attention span shorter than Sirius, which Regulus didn’t think was possible. Regulus pushes himself onto his elbows and looks at James, who has his phone pointing at him. Regulus’ chest feels tight as his heart swells. “Your dog was viciously attacking me and all you do is take pictures?”

“Oh, you look so maimed,” James says, gesturing to Regulus’ face, which is surely licked raw. He doesn’t look remorseful at all, the bastard.

“Come here,” Regulus says, reaching for his boyfriend and pouting for good measure. James positively melts just like Regulus knew he would, the predictable idiot, and moves closer. Regulus leans in, eyes on James’ mouth, only to dodge at the last second and rub his face all over James’ shirt.

“Ew!” He yells, pushing Regulus off of him. “That’s foul!”

“Serves you right! That’s your dog!” Regulus points to Padfoot, who now has his snout in a random hole in the ground.

James follows Regulus’ gesture, then looks back at him, grinning that damned lopsided smile, “I’ve never seen that dog before in my life.”

Later, when Regulus is finally heading home, his phone lights up with a notification.

j.potter has posted a photo

Regulus is lying on the ground, Padfoot standing on his chest. His big pink tongue is licking Regulus’ chin, and Regulus’ head is thrown back as he laughs at the sky. The caption says “I think Padfoot approves.”

James hasn’t posted on Instagram in over a year. His feed is full of rugby photos, selfies with Padfoot, pictures of him with his mum, more rugby, shots with James and his medals and trophies.

And Regulus.

He has to take a few laps around the block before he’s cooled down enough to go inside.

Go for your run while you’re at it. You know what will happen if you don’t.

----

Evan doesn’t know why he’s here. He would have jumped out of the car on the drive here if his mum hadn’t locked the doors. This isn’t him: the fancy outfit he had to scour Pinterest for ideas for and steal one of his sister’s shirts, the people surrounding him looking like they just stepped out of the Instagram explore page and into the courtyard, the school itself - all fake brick and sweeping windows and metal accents. Truman and Higgs are literally crumbling. Evan thought buildings like these only existed in America - in places like New York and California that seem completely fake and unachievable to him. This is hardcore. This is real. Evan is not. He’s just a kid who likes to draw as a hobby but won’t ever amount to anything. He’s fake, an imposter, a first-class phony. Any second, one of these perfect people will brush against him and the charade will fade away, exposing the truth - he’s just Evan Rosier. He’s nothing special. He’s nobody.

Somehow, the crowd keeps ushering Evan along, and he goes with them - the piranha in a school of fish. He waits in a line with everyone else, signs in with everyone else (they all have cool names too - how did Evan miss that boat so badly? He’s just one of thousands of Evans. Nothing special. Nobody.), meanders through the halls with everyone else. 

Evan’s only experiences with secondary schools are through Truham and Higgs. They’re what he thought all schools were - basic, a little run down, huge yet somehow cramped and crowded. Not unique, no differentiation, classroom after classroom with whiteboards and desks and chairs, a few windows that don’t properly open, cabinets with the doors hanging half off the hinges. Lambert has no traditional classrooms - only wide open rooms, most covered from floor to ceiling in art. Statues and pottery and drawings and paintings and photographs, studios and kilns and workshops, name brand supplies and equipment so fancy Evan has to pinch himself to ensure this isn’t the most realistic dream of his life.

His skin burns. It’s real. 

“Here we have our students working on their final pieces about an internal struggle. Feel free to take a look around at the pieces and talk to some of our artists. If you haven’t finished your portfolio yet, maybe you can find some inspiration,” The guide says, gesturing to the room that might as well be a palace to Evan - tall ceilings, wide open, the perfect amount of natural light streaming through the windows. Personally, if Evan got a prompt that open-ended, he would have a crisis, but it appears none of the others are having problems. 

“How is everyone this creative?” A voice says from beside him, a tall girl with dark skin and the coolest afro Evan’s ever seen. She gestures to the drawing on an easel to their left - a brain with a collage of tragedies - war, a wildfire, a tornado, rising sea levels, even, somehow, the rising house market. 

“I could never,” Evan admits, almost sheepishly. There, you said it. Imposter, trespasser, poser, nobody.

The girl doesn’t suddenly start sounding the alarms and instead moves a step closer to the painting, squinting. “I really should pay attention. I haven’t finished my portfolio yet.”

Suddenly, Evan feels like he can breathe. He's been telling himself he doesn't care, but maybe this really was stressing him out. “I haven’t either. I’ve barely started.”

“Same!” She exclaims, grabbing Evan’s arm. “Thank God, I thought I was the only one! My girlfriend is also applying and she’s been done for ages. I swear, every conversation we have, it’s all ‘When are you going to start?’ and ‘Isn’t the deadline getting really close?’ It’s not that I don’t want to paint-”

“It’s that you can’t,” Evan finishes her sentence without even thinking about it. “You can’t rush art.”

“Exactly! Well, it is less than a week to go, so maybe we do need to rush now. I’m Dorcas, by the way.” She offers a smile instead of a hand to shake, and Evan finds himself grateful. He hates handshakes - never sure how to move his elbow or how much pressure to use or where he's supposed to look. 

Dorcas. Another member of the Cool Names Club. Isn’t anyone named Sam or Michael? He can’t be the only artist with a boring name. “Evan.”

Dorcas opens her mouth to say something else, but a blonde head suddenly pops up behind her. “Babe, you’ve got to see this one over here!” The person, presumably Dorcas’ person, grabs her hand and starts pulling her to the back of the room. Evan, whose arm is still linked with Dorcas’, goes too. She doesn’t let go of him, so Evan assumes he’s invited too. 

“Marlene, this is Evan. Evan, this is my girlfriend I was telling you about,” Dorcas says hurriedly, trying to introduce them as they navigate through the bodies. If it was any other crowd, Evan would be panicking, but there’s something about these people that makes him feel safe. He never realized his crowd anxiety was from feeling unsafe until this moment, until he’s in the first group of people he’s ever felt comfortable with.

“You met him a minute ago and you’re already telling him about me? You really are obsessed with me,” Marlene says, grinning and waggling her eyebrows.

“Me? Obsessed with you? Never?” Dorcas says, her eyes soft as she gazes at Marlene like she’s the only one in the room. Evan’s stomach twists, and he hates himself for it. It’s not fair of him, but the longing radiates through his entire chest. “Anyway, Evan hasn’t finished his portfolio either, so I’m not a degenerate.”

“Ugh,” Marlene groans, throwing her head back. “You’re both degenerates. Now I’m going to get two ulcers instead of one. Thanks a lot, Evan.”

Just like that, Evan’s included - an ally, a friend, somebody.

They spend what feels like hours looking at the art, moving from rooms of paintings to collages to architecture. It’s everything Evan never even thought to imagine. He doesn’t want this to be a pipe dream. Evan never really thought he’d leave Truham. That’s the kind of school that normal people go to. They hate it, and complain the whole time, and don’t miss it when they leave, but they attend all the time because it’s just one of those things you suffer through. Yet, here’s Lambert, the antithesis to Truham, and actually within his reach. He wants this, this school and this art and these people, to be his reality. Evan wants to go here.

“I really need to finish that portfolio,” Evan admits. He’s sandwiched between Dorcas and Marlene, all staring at a portrait gallery. This could be Evan’s art. He could be featured on these walls once he gets his shit together.

“Me too,” Dorcas says, and the moment is so raw Marlene doesn’t even comment, she just rests her head on Evan’s shoulder.

“I want to go here. I mean, I wanted it before, but I really want it now. I feel like I can finally breathe here,” Marlene murmurs, so quietly Evan can barely hear her, like she’s afraid if she speaks too loudly she’ll shatter the bubble and everything will just be a dream. 

“I need a fresh start. I’m so sick of being known as the trans girl. I’m so much more than that. Here, no one knew me before. I can be Dorcas with no memories or strings attached. Just Dorcas. I’ve never been able to do that before,” Dorcas says, something far away in her eyes as she looks at the photographs, and Evan knows she’s picturing her art here too. How can they not? A seemingly impossible school, but they’re here, inside. "You know?" She asks, turning to Evan.

He can only nod in response. Evan got his fresh start at Truham, but it's still the same town, the same neighbors, the same friends of friends. Here, no one would know him. Maybe then he can figure out who Evan Rosier actually is. 

“What if we just never left?” Marlene asks wistfully. “This place is big enough. Surely we can just camp out behind one of those massive canvases. They’d never find us.” It’s a tempting thought. Evan wouldn’t mind never leaving, but only if he could bring someone else with him. The one person he’s meant to be forgetting about, but there’s something about Barty Crouch Jr that refuses to be ignored. He’s in the walls, he’s in the art, he’s in Evan’s chest, suspiciously close to his heart, and no amount of purging can dislodge him. Believe him, Evan’s tried. 

“I’m down,” Dorcas says, bumping her shoulder against Evan’s. “He’s not, though. He’d miss someone too much.”

“I- what?” Evan coughs, choking on absolutely nothing. Is she some kind of witch? Does she know Barty? Evan has been careful not to mention him this whole night, which has been surprisingly difficult, especially with a couple. It's bloody ridiculous because Evan and Barty aren’t a couple and never were, but fuck does Evan want them to be. 

“You’re pining, I can tell,” Dorcas says softly, turning to face him. 

“How? I haven’t even mentioned him.”

“That’s precisely why. He’s in all your silences,” Marlene says, finishing her girlfriend’s thought with something even more cryptic like it makes perfect sense. Evan should be disturbed by two people reading him like a book, but he’s just sad. He wants Barty next to him, with him, reading people’s vibes and completing each other’s sentences and being two halves of the same whole.

He just wants Barty.

----

Barty is pouting.

He knows he has no right to, not after the way he’s been acting, but he can’t help it. It sounds like a pathetic excuse, and it is, but it’s also the truth. Barty wants to talk to Evan. He doesn’t know why he clams up every time Evan is in the same general vicinity. Barty wants Evan near him. Maybe he wants him so much he’s just pushing him away. Hate and love. Desire and fear. A fine line, one that Barty is failing to straddle. He’s frolicking through the fields on the fear side. It’s comfortable. Barty is used to being afraid. He’s not used to wanting, especially someone as all-encompassing as Evan.

He’s been acting like a complete prat and it’s obvious. Evan keeps trying, and Barty keeps pushing him away, and it’s only a matter of time until he stops coming back. That’s what Regulus told him. Not with words because that’s not how they communicate, but with the glares he sends Barty after Evan runs away, like he’s flaying the skin from Barty’s bones and exposing him for what he is - a coward.

So Barty tried. It took him two weeks to send the text asking Evan to hang out, yes. And he didn’t even say ‘hang out’. He asked Evan to do homework with him, which was just an invitation for Evan to do more art while Barty stares. When Evan’s drawing, it’s the only time Barty can watch him without being caught. The second the pencil is in his hand, Evan is on a different planet, and it’s Barty’s favourite film. The way he sticks his tongue out, the way his eyebrows become one, the way he barely breathes, the way his whole body reacts to what he’s drawing, the way he adjusts himself without even being conscious of the movement. It’s pure, unbridled Evan Rosier. 

All of that completely selfless effort just for Barty to be rejected.

Yes, fine, Barty forgot about Evan’s thing at the art school. Once again, sue him. It’s just his luck the day he finally plucks up the courage, Evan is busy. Was he using the open house as an excuse? Couldn’t he have skipped it to spend time with Barty? That’s not a very selfless thought, but Barty’s selflessness has always been a ruse. He’s extremely selfish, especially when it comes to Evan, who he just wants near him and nobody else.

Barty opens Instagram and clicks on Evan’s story. It’s the first one that pops up, which Barty knows the algorithm reserves for the account he views the most. Barty has no comment about that. He must have watched the video nearly a dozen times already, but he lets it play through one more time. Evan rarely posts on Instagram, but he reposted a story from someone else, a video of Evan between two girls. The blonde one is holding the phone and twirls in a circle, showing some cavernous room that looks like something out of a museum. She zooms in on their faces at the end and Barty holds his finger on the screen, pausing on Evan’s smile, the one he only has when he’s lost in his art, the smile only Barty usually gets to see.

Anger rises from his chest, constricting his throat. Barty hates these girls. Who are they anyway? Evan met them, what, three hours ago? Why are they posting with him? What are their intentions with Evan? Do they have a criminal record?

“Oh, is that Evan?” Barty’s mum asks, leaning over on the sofa to look at his phone. Barty’s mum adores Evan. She’s only met him a few times since Barty won’t bring Evan home if his father is there. That’s something he refuses to subject anyone to, especially someone like Evan. Regulus met his father once, and Barty still carries a chasm of guilt for that. 

Barty doesn’t like thinking about his father. He doesn’t like interacting with him either, which is why he hides in his room whenever he’s home. The downside of that is he rarely spends time with his mum. Maybe he shouldn’t but Barty adores his mum. His father is a monster, but she’s kind and gentle and loving. She loves him - Barty knows this without a shadow of a doubt. His father, on the other hand, is a different story entirely. Some people, like Peter, think that makes his mum a bad person. How long can you enable a monster without becoming one yourself? Barty doesn’t know. All he knows is his mum doesn’t protect him from his father, but when there is no evil person in the room, she’s Barty’s best friend.

This is why Barty brought Evan home when his father was on a work trip. See, I’m not all bad. I know parts of me are dark, and they come from a scary man, but this woman is half of me and she is purely light. That means I’m not all shadows. Look at me, Evan. This is who I come from. See me, all of me, as close as you can ever come. Look at her, look at this house, look for the angry man who’s always there even when he’s not, and piece me together.

They were supposed to watch a movie, but Barty’s mum wound up falling in love with Evan so quickly that they just sat at the table and talked all evening. They meaning Evan and his mum. Barty barely said a word, just listening to his mum and his Evan laughing at each other’s jokes and smiling, and he felt so full he could burst. Then, of course, they kissed and everything went to shit. 

“Yeah, that’s Evan. He’s at an open house for an art school,” Barty explains, letting the video play through for his mum.

“Oh, he’s so handsome!” His mum coos. “Who are those girls?”

“I don’t know. Must be new friends,” Barty says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Those bitches. Barty needs to figure out who they are, just as soon as his mum stops replaying the video and gives him his phone back. He’ll enlist Regulus and Peter’s help. Between the two of them, they’re better than professionals at finding out absolutely everything about a person in scarily little time. They should look into that as a career - they’d make bank. 

“Don’t worry, darling. He won’t replace you,” She says soothingly, putting her hand on Barty’s knee. It shouldn’t be anything deeper than motherly affection, but something in her touch makes Barty’s heart start racing. “What you two have is very special.”

“It is?” Barty asks, surprised. Maybe it isn’t all in my head. Maybe we’re something real.

“Yes. You are two very, very special friends.” His mum turns to look at Barty, eyes soft, voice gentle, lips thinned, and he realizes that she already knows. Maybe he and Evan really are obvious, or maybe there’s just some magic about mothers that helps them understand every crisis their child is going through.

“Mum-” Barty starts, but his words fail. Can words fail if you don’t have them in the first place? His chest is so, so tight. Did he just come out to his mum? Barty doesn’t know what his sexuality is, doesn’t want to know, so how could she? He likes Evan, and that’s all that matters to Barty, but will his mother demand an explanation? One that Barty himself doesn’t even have?

He expects his mother to keep talking. What he doesn’t expect is what she says. “You are a very scared boy, Barty. Part of that is my fault.” It’s the closest she’s come to mentioning his father’s abuse without actually saying it. “You can’t control that, but you also can’t let it control you. Good things aren’t easy. They never are. They come with anxiety and fear and uncertainty and confusion, but that’s what makes them worthwhile. To deserve great things, you have to be brave enough to act. There are some things you can’t outrun, like these feelings. There is a difference between apprehension and your gut trying to warn you. When something is right, it will feel right. So, does it feel right, my love?”

Yes. Without a shadow of a doubt. Barty can only nod, reeling from his mum reading him for absolute filth. How does this woman know everything - both about him and about the world? 

“Then it can’t be a bad choice,” She says, pulling Barty to her. He goes willingly, letting his mum hold him and rock him like he’s a baby once more, like nothing can harm him when he’s in her arms. Mother and son.

----

James has a new mortal enemy, and it’s not Lucius or Mulciber.

It’s bloody maths. 

Alright, fine, he didn’t study enough. James isn’t afraid to admit when he fucked up, and this is definitely a Category 5 fuck up. It just seemed so… hopeless. What’s the point in beating something already dead? Pride, apparently, because as James stares down at his GCSE exam and doesn’t know a single answer, he’s never been more upset with himself. He didn’t even try. At least if he tried, James could say that he did his best. Now, he’s going to do abysmally, and it’s his own fault. There’s no redeeming this. Why didn’t he take Regulus up on his suggestions to tutor him? Regulus would fly through this exam, and here James is, floundering and drowning. No one else is, though. Everyone around James is fully locked in, focusing only on their exam booklet, drawing and erasing and circling, pencils scratching.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

James is floundering.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

James is drowning.

Scratch. Floundering. Scratch. Drowning. Scratch. James never actually learned percents. Scratch. Who the hell created exponents? Scratch. He can’t remember how to read a graph. Scratch. Ratios make even less sense to James than percents. Scratch. James’ palms are sweating. Scratch. His lungs aren’t taking in enough air. Scratch. The room is small, why is the room so small, the walls are caving in-

Scratch, scratch, scratch-

He doesn’t remember finishing the exam. He doesn’t remember turning it in. He doesn’t remember leaving the testing room. He doesn’t remember getting back home. He doesn’t remember curling up in bed, but that’s where Regulus finds him, some enormous eternity later.

“Hi,” Regulus says shyly, poking his head in the door like he’s unsure if James wants him there when in reality there isn’t a second he doesn’t want Regulus right next to him. “Your mum let me in. I can go if you want to be alone.”

James doesn’t speak, just makes grabby hands at Regulus, not caring if it makes him look like a demanding toddler. He feels like a toddler, and after the day he’s had, doesn’t he deserve this?

The minute Regulus sits gingerly on his bed, James wraps his arms around his middle and pulls him to his chest. Regulus stiffens, then relaxes into James’ embrace. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” James whines, burying his head in Regulus’ neck. He hates maths. Who thought of that shit anyway? Who cares if he knows percentages and ratios and fractions and graphs? They’ve calculators for that now. Will James ever encounter a situation where he needs to solve an equation and can’t use a calculator or Google? No. No he won’t. Ergo, math is bloody dumb. Fuck, he must be hanging around Regulus too much if he’s using the word ‘ergo’. James doesn’t even know what that shit actually means. Maybe he should be worried more about his English language exam.

“Do you want to watch a movie then? Distract yourself?” Regulus asks, and James nods. “I’ll let you pick even though it’s my turn.” James is secretly glad about this because the last time Regulus chose a movie, they watched Inside Out and James cried the entire time. Why doesn’t anyone talk about how bloody sad that movie is? Regulus, the stone-cold bastard, didn’t shed a single tear, making James wonder if he’s even dating a human at all. 

“I think it’s high time I introduce you to Ferris Bueller, Regulus Black,” James says, grinning as he leans over to grab his laptop, and the maths exam is instantly forgotten.

Ferris Bueller is one of James’ favourite movies. He’s not sure why, but he’s always thought it was hilarious. He expected Regulus to complain that it was stupid and everyone was making terrible and unrealistic choices and maybe even for him to hate it, but he didn’t expect Regulus to fall asleep. Yet here he is, head on James’ chest, breath slow and even, eyes closed, mouth open. 

James doesn’t get to watch Regulus sleep very often. They had a few sleepovers before they were together, but now that they’re dating, neither of them has wanted to broach the subject. Sometimes they fall asleep on Facetime, but James can count the number of times he’s seen Regulus sleeping in person on one hand. There’s something about it that warms James’ chest, like the entire sun is shining right there between his ribs. Regulus can tell James how much he likes him a hundred times, can scream it to the world even, but seeing that he feels safe enough with James that he can fall asleep means more than words could ever say.

James’ stomach rumbles, so loud it’s audible over the movie, and Regulus stirs, murmuring and rubbing his eyes before he opens them. “Hi, Reg. Sorry,” James says softly, running a hand through Regulus’ hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s fine, I didn’t want to fall asleep anyway,” Regulus says, sitting up. James resists the urge to pull him back down. “Now that I’m not trapping you anymore, you can get something to eat.”

“I’m good, really-” James starts before his stomach cuts him off with an even louder growl. 

Regulus just cocks an eyebrow. “Mhm. Sure. Go eat.”

James honestly can’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He was too anxious to eat breakfast, and after the exam, he was too upset. Regulus gives him a shove and James relents, groaning the whole way downstairs. 

----

Regulus never meant to fall asleep, and now he feels like an arsehole. The whole point was to be a distraction from James’ terrible exam, and the distraction just took a nap instead. Some boyfriend he is. Regulus honestly doesn’t know the last time he had a good night’s sleep. Not in recent memory, that’s for sure. Regulus’ sleeping patterns always come in waves. For a few months, he won’t be able to fall asleep, then he won’t be able to stay asleep, then he’ll wake up at the crack of dawn and not be able to fall back asleep. In that cycle, there’s never a stage where he sleeps perfectly. Regulus didn’t even sleep well as a baby. It was one of the things Mother hung over his head and guilted him with, like Regulus had any level of consciousness to control his behavior at that age. He probably refused to sleep because he was always on guard and never felt safe.

Even now, after Alphard and all the years of therapy and medication, Regulus still doesn’t feel completely safe. Even in his own house. Even in his own bedroom. It’s not that Regulus is afraid that his parents will jump in the window and abduct him or something. He’s not scared of them. He is scared of himself, and more importantly, what his trauma has done to him. 

Regulus knows there’s a whole debate about nature versus nurture. There must be some validity in genetics, but overall, he thinks that babies are born as blank slates and their environment shapes them. Every punishment, every lie, every insult, every beating. The day with the staircase and the wheelbarrow, the day in the hospital without Alphard, the day of his parents’ trial, the day they were released. The anger, the violence, the grief, the emptiness. With every slash of the knife went another chunk of Regulus. He started as a whole person, and has now been whittled down. How much of him is left? Without the trauma, who would he be? There are outside forces that have molded Regulus, touched him, and the thought sends shivers down his spine. He’s contaminated, he’s tainted, he’s-

The bedroom door opens, but instead of James, Regulus finds some random guy that he’s never seen before. This must be James’ cousin, or else Regulus is about to get stabbed by a robber. He looks like a prick - tight face, eyes glinting, a smirk already curling the edges of his lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Regulus says warily. James hates his cousin, so Regulus also hates him on principle. 

“You’re Reg, I take it?” He asks, taking a step further into the room.

So he knows who Regulus is. Honestly, that’s more than he was anticipating. James made it seem like his cousin knows absolutely nothing about him. “Yeah, I’m Regulus, and you’re James’ cousin? Sorry, not sure if he ever told me your name.”

“Theo Knott,” He replies, still walking forward, eyes searching for something in Regulus’ face. Regulus leans back on James’ bed, away from Theo. He hates being scrutinised, especially when it seems to be a test he’s already failed if the set of Theo’s jaw dictates anything. “Where did you two meet?”

“We’re in the same form at school,” Regulus says. His fingers start rapidly tapping. It’s the best pattern. Controlled. Even. Regulus likes the number four, and there are four fingers for his thumb to tap. Start with his index finger, then his middle, then his ring, then his pinky, and then the pattern reverses. Over and over. Controlled. Even. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. 

“Theo.” James is standing in the doorway holding a tray with sandwiches and crisps. “Get out.” His voice is cold, colder even than when he talks to Mulciber and Lucius, an arctic tundra. Regulus hates this. He’s itchy, and no amount of tapping is taking away his rising nausea.

Theo looks at the food and his smirk widens. “Oh, how romantic. Jamesie made dinner for his boyfriend.”

It’s silent.

Everything

Is

Silent.

For all Regulus knows, James already told his cousin they’re dating. Logical, perhaps, since they’re family. Judging by the way the colour drains from James’ face until he’s as pale as the paint on the walls, that isn’t the case. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. 

Theo takes this as a cue to keep talking. “My bad, have you not gotten to the boyfriend stage yet? What are you - friends with benefits? Not that it matters, really - my little cousin is gay regardless.”

James sets the tray on his dresser, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’m bi, actually, and my relationship is none of your bloody business.”

Theo crosses his arms too, mimicking James. “It is. We’re family, James. At least do me the solid of not pretending to be bi. Just pick a side. You’re with Regulus - you’re gay. Have you ever even dated a girl? You’re just gay.”

This is exactly what Regulus was afraid of happening. He swore to protect James, didn’t he? Promised that he wouldn’t be ridiculed or disrespected for his sexuality? Yet here they are, and Regulus is frozen, just tapping, tapping, tapping, tapping faster, faster, faster, faster. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. 

You’re bad. Spoiled. Wrong. Broken. 

James is yelling. Raw voice, blazing eyes, hair sticking straight up. “You can’t tell me what my sexuality is! This is why I didn’t want to tell you!” 

Theo starts yelling right back. “Oh, so now I’m the bad guy? I’m just trying to look out for you!”

They’re moving now, out of James’ room, across the hallway, down the stairs. Regulus is following them, tapping tapping tapping tapping. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. “This isn’t how you look out for someone!”

“Boys, no shouting in the house!” Effie pokes her head in from the kitchen, looking from her son to her nephew with her eyebrows furrowed in disappointment.

James turns to her, fury and fire. “Why did you tell him about Regulus, Mum?”

Effie blinks in surprise. “I didn’t, Jamesie!” She takes a step closer to James, and Regulus finally moves in, stepping behind his boyfriend.

Oh, so you’ll defend him from his own mum but not his cousin discrediting his sexuality? What a great person you are. 

“If you wanted to keep him a secret, you shouldn’t hang pictures of you two kissing on your wall, just as a piece of advice,” Theo says, shooting a wink at Regulus, who bites down on his tongue. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. 

James is shouting again. Regulus can feel his whole body vibrating. “Why were you in my room?”

“I knew you were hiding something from me!”

“Who cares? We’re not siblings. I don’t even like you.”

“That’s enough! Theo, in the kitchen, now!” Effie grabs Theo’s arm and practically drags him away, shooting the boys a look that’s nothing short of tortured. Her eyes lock on Regulus, firm but calm, asking a silent question. “Is he safe with you?”

No. No one is safe with you, remember? You’re bad, spoiled, wrong, broken.

Regulus nods, gritting his teeth like the pressure will dull the voice, and Effie smiles so softly. Regulus wants to fucking die. 

You lied. You’ll pay for that. You know you’re a fuck up and you’re lying about it. You know I’m right. You can run from the truth, but you can’t hide forever.

The minute Theo disappears into the other room, James sinks against Regulus, sweating and shaking. All Regulus wanted to do was cheer James up. How did everything go to hell that quickly? 

You didn’t run today, or yesterday. When you left the house this morning, you checked the handle only two times, not four. You didn’t repeat the words on the shower knob four times. When you were reading in study hall and missed a word, you didn’t reread it and touch your thumb to the back of your hand.

This is all your fault. You’re the reason this happened to James, and you couldn’t even stand up for him. Look at you now. You’re holding him up, but you aren’t saying anything. Aren’t you going to apologize? Ask him how you can help? Distract him? Get him out of here?

Regulus can’t do it. Regulus can’t do any of this. His hands find each other behind James’ back. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. Barty isn’t the only one who runs when he gets scared. There’s a reason they’re best friends, after all. “Do you want me to leave?” Regulus asks, hating himself for every word that comes out of his mouth. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

James sighs, his whole body deflating, and pulls away. Instantly, Regulus regrets what he said. He doesn’t want to go home. He wants to stay here, with James. He wants to help. “I mean, I don’t want you to, but it’s probably a good idea.”

Regulus doesn’t say anything to that, can’t. He can’t look at James either, just walks to the door like a dog with its tail between its legs. “I’m sorry,” James says, and it should be Regulus who’s apologizing, but it isn’t. He can’t. He can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t. “I’ll text you later.” One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

Regulus is walking, then he’s running. Look, I’m running now, is that good enough? I’ll keep running forever if it can undo time. I’ll run every day now. You were right. I see it now. I have to keep running.

Just.

Keep.

Running.

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

Chapter Text

the golden trio

bartythegreat

guys 

regulus_arcturus

no ones home

try again later

bartythegreat

regulus 

im actually serious

and if you make a joke about your brothers name so help me god

peterpeterpumpkineater

whats up barty

bartythegreat

so you only appear when i need something important?

peterpeterpumpkineater

yes 

usually you two are fighting about some stupid shit like if birds are real

ive already lost enough brain cells because of you

if i lose more im going to turn into mulciber

and you would have to live with that on your conscience

bartythegreat

the bird argument is crucial information 

what if theyre just drones

and the queen is spying on us with them

this impacts all of us

we could be living in a conspiracy and have no idea

have you seen how birds just float in the air

that shit isnt right

peterpeterpumpkineater

im sure it has something to do with the wind current

how would you know if its weird? 

youve never flown

oh my god

im engaging

i can feel myself getting dumber

bartythegreat

thats what the government wants you to think

you have to keep your eyes open peter

theyre tricking you

regulus_arcturus

if you really had something important to say you would have said it already

so if youll excuse me

im in the middle of a very intense round of charades 

sirius is currently standing on his head

hes very bad at this game

oh

hes just fallen into the mantle

i heard something break

unsure if its his leg or a picture frame

bartythegreat

no its important i swear

regulus 

come back

peterpeterpumpkineater

im still here

significantly dumber

but present 

bartythegreat

okay so

ive been keeping a secret from you two

kind of a big secret

evan and i kissed on sports day

and im sure youve noticed but its been weird between us since

i think thats my fault

i really like him and ive been running away

but i want to ask him out

regulus_arcturus

oh thank fuck

bartythegreat

???

regulus_arcturus

i was starting to think youd never pull your head out of your arse

but you finally got there

well done

bartythegreat

this is offensive

im offended

regulus_arcturus

go cry about it then

bartythegreat

dickhead 

regulus_arcturus

bitch 

peterpeterpumpkineater

well 

im proud of you

bartythegreat

THANK YOU

see regulus???

thats how you respond to someone being vulnerable

peterpeterpumpkineater

really thought you were going to remain oblivious and pine for the rest of your life

im impressed

bartythegreat

…

i spoke too soon

are you two incapable of being nice and supportive or something

peterpeterpumpkineater

yes 

regulus_arcturus

duh 

next question

peterpeterpumpkineater

so are you gonna ask him out

bartythegreat

well if either of you stopped bullying me and gave me a chance to speak

thats what i need your help with

peterpeterpumpkineater

im not asking him out for you mate

i love you but thats a you problem

bartythegreat

THATS NOT WHAT IM ASKING

oh my god youre both insufferable

why am i friends with you again

i dont even like you

regulus_arcturus

you like us enough to ask us for help

i say go for it

he obviously likes you back

bartythegreat

are you sure about that though

Like 100000% sure

peterpeterpumpkineater

yes

regulus_arcturus

yes 

bartythegreat

ok

but

what if i blew it

ive been a right prat

what if its too late

peterpeterpumpkineater

you wont know unless you try

regulus_arcturus

barty

not to undermine your experience or anything but i JUST did this

i ran away from something good because i was scared

i finally stopped running and look at me now

im actually happy

you deserve good things

and evan does too

and i think you would be very good together

peterpeterpumpkineater

you already are

you two have been different since the day you met

let yourself have this

all you have to do is talk to evan

just explain

hes gonna understand

bartythegreat

are you sure

peterpeterpumpkineater

yes

evans obsessed with you

bartythegreat

im also obsessed with him

regulus_arcturus

we know

so where are you going to take him on your date

bartythegreat

dont jinx it

he hasnt said yes yet

and i dont know

i need your ideas

i need to show him im serious

peterpeterpumpkineater

hes gonna know

i promise

bartythegreat

i love you guys

regulus_arcturus

ew

i love you too

now delete that message and forget i ever sent it

bartythegreat

no chance in hell

im framing that

its going on my wall

regulus_arcturus

you stupid fucker

----

By the time Hooch finally blows the whistle to signal the end of practice, James feels like he’s one step away from collapsing. He never realized just how much he relies on the team during the matches. If he feels tired, he’s supposed to pass the ball and let someone else have a turn. Now, when James can’t trust the boys, the games are his responsibility, and it’s bloody exhausting. No wonder why teams have thirteen members. After that first disastrous practice, James quickly learned he can’t only pass to Sirius, otherwise Hooch would kick him off the field. He’s starting to interact with some of the quieter members, but he’s still avoiding Mulciber and his old friends like the plague. It’s easier to depend on the boys who he’s never seen do anything wrong. 

“Potter, Avery, Bones, Abbott, you’re on clean-up duty for the day!” Hooch calls. She’s been picking boys at random, so James would think this selection was untargeted if not for the way her eyes linger on him as she lists off their names, complete with an arched eyebrow and a nod. Subtlety is out the window, apparently. Is James really so pathetic that his coach resorted to the old forced proximity trick? Has that ever actually solved anything in reality or just in the movies? The joke is on Hooch because it certainly won’t work now. James has no interest in talking, and the field is big enough he can simply stay away from them. Maybe James should be thankful Hooch didn’t lock them somewhere smaller like a closet, or should he be worried that’s what comes next if they don’t talk now? Was that eye contact a threat? A warning? Is this the easier option?

Regulus lingers at the sidelines, raising his eyebrows at him, but James waves him along. He can handle being near his friends for the three minutes it will take to gather their supplies and bring them back inside. Ex-friends, more like, though admitting it stings like a knife.

The thing is, James doesn’t care about Mulciber. He never really did, even when they were little, so losing him doesn’t feel like a true loss. Same with the other boys in the group that he doesn’t talk to very much. They were always there, and they grew up together, but James didn’t find real camaraderie with them. Not like he did with Avery, Bones, and Abbott. They were never best mates, but that’s something James only learned after becoming close with Regulus and his friends. James thought they were, though, and that’s what matters. For over a decade, they were the people closest to him. Losing that kind of friendship, even if the bonds don’t run as deep, hasn’t been easy for James. He misses them. Even if, even despite, even considering. He misses them.

Still, whenever James thinks about the boys, all he can see is them standing behind Mulciber at his birthday party, at the movie theatre, in the locker room. Always behind, always silent. That used to be James, but he isn’t that person anymore, and there’s no room in his life for people like that, no matter how much he misses them.

James jogs to the end of the field, trying to put as much distance as possible between them. If they split up, this will be done faster, and James can leave. After all the shit went down with Theo, he’s been spending most of his afternoons at Regulus’ house instead of his own. Most of his time is taken up by revising or hanging out with Sirius since Regulus hasn’t been feeling well and has started taking a nap every day after school. James wants to join him, but Regulus wants him to focus on studying. After the disaster of the maths exam, James is listening to anything he says. His other exams are going well, so he feels much less of an abject failure now, and he only has history left to go tomorrow and then he’ll be free for the summer. James doesn’t think he’s ever looked forward to a summer this much in his life. All those weeks with nothing to do but spend time with Regulus - walks with Padfoot, days at the park, trips to the beach, picnics and nights under the stars and bonfires. It sounds like a dream - something much too good to be true.

“James!” The voice is unwelcome on its own, even more so when it interrupts his daydreams. James turns around with a stack of cones in his left hand and finds all three boys standing in front of him. 

“We’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while, but you’re hard to get alone,” Avery starts, and James has to bite his lip so he doesn’t laugh. He’s been making himself scarce on purpose because he doesn’t want to hear anything they have to say. It’s something the old James never would have done. “We wanted to tell you how sorry we are for how we’ve handled everything with Regulus.”

Oh.

Maybe James does want to hear what they have to say.

Bones jumps in. “We’ve stopped hanging out with Mulciber. The way he’s been talking about Regulus and treating you is shitty. We should have stood up for you both before, and we’re sorry that we didn’t.”

Is it fair for James to be mad at them for something he did himself? He never knew just how bad Mulciber was either until everything with Regulus brought his behavior to light. James can’t fault them for that, and here they are, apologizing. As long as they actually mean it. “Thanks. I guess it took me a while to see what kind of person Mulciber is too.”

“I don’t blame you for fighting him. I wish I could most of the time. I know you and Regulus are really good mates,” Abbott says, and James feels his stomach sink into the grass.

Really good mates.

It’s not technically a lie. It’s just not the whole truth. 

The field is empty save for the four boys. The only people in sight are leaning against the back of the school, far out of earshot even if James was screaming. There’s no one to see, no one to overhear, just James and his oldest friends. He’s safe - James knows that, and he wants to tell them. James wants them to know this part of him, this magnitude within him.

I’ve known you for so long that I don’t remember life before you. You’ve known every version of me, so you should know this too. It’s always been there, hidden under the surface. Have you seen it? Did you spot it before me?

And yet, when push comes to shove, James can only nod and move his mouth into a shape he hopes resembles a smile more than a grimace.

I’m sorry. I’m trying. Lucius, do you see this? Can you hear me? I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.

A few beats pass where there isn’t enough air for James to breathe, and then Avery changes the subject. “Anyway, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’re throwing an end-of-GCSE party tomorrow night in the woods. You should come, and you can bring Regulus, and whoever else you want. We just want to have some fun, and after the revising we’ve all been chained to, we deserve it.”

James can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, fully aware this is the first time in years that the boys have invited him to anything. It’s not an individual hang-out, but they haven’t had one of those since they became teenagers. James is going for realism here, not for them to suddenly turn out to be the best mates in the world, and this is undeniably more progress than he thought he’d see.

Maybe they don’t have to be ex-friends after all.

----

Regulus is taking a calculated risk by going to the supply shed instead of the locker room. Four boys are collecting the equipment, which means the odds are 25% that James opens that door. 1 out of 4. Regulus likes that number. He’s more likely to take a chance if the numbers are even, especially if they’re four. Four doesn’t let Regulus down. If it is one of the other boys that comes in, Regulus can just pretend that he’s looking for something. He can play up the dumb gay boy who doesn’t know sports act and he’s sure they’ll buy it. They don’t seem like the sharpest tools in the shed, so to speak. They certainly wouldn’t even understand what that expression means. Regulus hates stupid people. If someone can’t keep up with him, he’s leaving them in the dust, simple as that.

By the power of the number four, it is James who opens the shed, arms full of cones, balls, jerseys, and his own trainers. 

See? Four always works. How can I be lying if I’m always right? You must listen to me. I’ll never lead you astray.

When James shuts the door behind him and turns to Regulus, his face is glowing so brightly Regulus takes a step back. He hasn’t seen James shine like this since the first day they met, and it instantly transports Regulus to that moment, mere months ago yet also seconds and lifetimes, infinity and now, wrapped together.

Regulus knows why Icarus loved the sun so much it was his downfall, because face to face with it, in a life that’s only been lived in darkness, how could he not fall head over heels for the light? But Regulus is not Icarus, and thus James is not the sun. Regulus will not drown, and James will not burn him. 

But you might burn him. You’re not safe to be around. You’ll hurt him.

“What are you doing in here?” James asks.

“Just wanted some alone time with you. Was everything alright with your friends?” Regulus asks. It’s not that he was expecting it to go badly, but he didn’t anticipate James being this happy. He was prepared for neutrality, admittedly leaning toward the negative side. Regulus doesn’t have a lot of faith in these prats. Sue him. 

“Yeah, actually,” James replies, sounding as surprised as Regulus feels. “It was… nice. They apologized for not standing up for you and said they don’t like Mulciber.”

“Wow.” It’s more than Regulus ever thought they’d say if he’s being honest. He knows how much James cared about the rugby team, specifically those three boys, and how much it hurt him to lose them. They’re a part of James’ childhood that’s irreplaceable, and maybe they don't have to exist entirely in his past anymore. The part of Barty that exists in Regulus’ mind is screaming and banging at his skull at the thought of them reentering James’ life, but as long as they mean their apology and treat James well, Regulus doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to be one of those people that doesn’t let their partner have any other friends. Regulus already introduced James to his friends and family. James’ family is shit outside of his mum, so he needs people that were his before they were Regulus’. 

“They also invited me and you to a party they’re throwing tomorrow night to celebrate the end of exams.”

Regulus resists the urge to check the corners of the shed for hidden cameras. “Me?” He can count the number of times he’s spoken directly to Avery, Bones, and Abbott on one hand. They’ve been perfectly nice during those few interactions, but Regulus didn’t think he existed on their radar. Why would he?

“Yeah, they said they know what good mates we are,” James says, reaching out to playfully punch Regulus’ arm, but his wrist is limp, his heart and mind clearly somewhere else. 

“James,” Regulus says gently, stepping forward so he can take James’ hands, and they’re shaking. 

“I tried to come out to them, Reg, I really did. It would have been the perfect time. I don’t think they’d care, and after my cousin, I’m not afraid of bad responses anymore.” It’s the first time either one of them has mentioned the whole Theo fiasco, where Theo wasn’t even the main problem, it was Regulus freaking out and making everything about him. Really, Regulus hasn’t experienced something where he’s less the center of attention before. The conflict was between James and his cousin, yet Regulus just had to lose his grip on reality. His mental spirals are under control most of the time. He can usually stop himself before he careens into oblivion, but not then, not when it matters. It makes Regulus a terrible person, and an even worse boyfriend.

“I tried, and I couldn’t do it, and what does that make me?” James asks, voice breaking, and Regulus forgets all about Theo and his own shortcomings.

“Human, James. It makes you human,” Regulus says, and then James is crying, and whatever self-control Regulus has shatters on the ground. He pulls James into his chest, his hands touching every part of his skin, not caring for once that he’s damp with sweat. “It doesn’t matter when you tell people, and you don’t have to come out to anyone you don’t want to. There’s no deadline. This is your life. You control this. You’re driving the car - not me or Theo or Barty or anyone, okay? This is you - all you .” Regulus needs to stress this, needs this to be clear. He can control the exterior (no you can’t, you can’t control anything) but he isn’t in charge of James, no matter how much he wants to crawl inside of James’ mind and change his feelings like a puppeteer pulling on the strings. Regulus isn’t putting pressure on James, and neither are any of their friends that know - he’s making damn sure of that. The only person doing this is James. He’s hurting himself, and Regulus needs him to stop, needs it to stop, needs it all to stop so he can take the reins again.

It’s meant to make James feel better, but he only starts sobbing harder. “I don’t deserve you,” He whispers, so quietly Regulus can register the words, but the voice in his head hears James loud and clear.

You’re the one who doesn’t deserve him. You’re bad, spoiled, wrong, broken.

Then, just as suddenly as the tears started, they’re kissing, and even Regulus’ fucked up mind can’t interrupt that.

Hooch can, though, as the door bangs open. “Boys, I just need-” Regulus and James jump apart, the back of James’ head colliding with the metal shelving, but judging based on the surprise painted across her face, it’s too late. Fuck. “Black, your brother is looking for you inside. I’ll help Potter put away the rest of the cones.” Her eyes are sharp, leaving no room for Regulus to protest. James’ gaze is hazy, but that might just be due to the head injury. He waves him on, and Regulus only hesitates a minute before pelting across the grass toward his brother.

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

----

When Regulus said they should make that stupid bloody no kissing at school rule, James thought he was off his rocker. He went along with it, well, because he’ll listen to almost everything Regulus says, but they both knew it would never last. It didn’t, and look where James is now - shut in a tiny storage shed with his coach who just caught two boys making out. James wants to disappear through the splintering floorboards. 

Note to self: the Black brothers are always late and I need to start listening to them more.

“It’s been pretty obvious lately that the team hasn’t been acting like a team. I’m trying not to assume, but does it have something to do with this?” Hooch asks, taking the cones from James and beginning to stack them.

“Yes, but it’s not the whole reason.” He won’t let his coach think that his sexuality crisis, and Regulus himself, are the entire driving force behind the fracture of the team. “It just brought things to the surface.”

“Like what?” 

James sighs. He doesn’t want to explain it, but his coach won’t let up until she has the proper answers. “That all of the boys are rubbish people. If they can say horrible things about Regulus, or stand by while others do, that says everything I need to know about who they are. I don’t want to be on a team with them. I can’t trust them.”

Hooch is quiet for a moment, then closes her eyes. “When I played rugby in uni, half of my team were bullies. I didn’t even know bullies still existed in uni, but they were loud about their hatred for everyone living outside of the norm, which included me. I was shoved around on the field, jeered at in the locker room, and catcalled when they saw me across campus. I still stayed on the team, though. You know why?” James shakes his head. “Because I loved rugby more than I hated them. When I thought about leaving, I was sick to my stomach. Even though life with them was awful, it was better than life without rugby, and those were my two options.” 

In all of this shit, James never once thought of quitting the team. Regulus recently left, so clearly James knows it’s an option, but it really isn’t. Not for his. It’s like Hooch said - the thought makes his lunch churn in his stomach. James would rather dismantle the team person by person and play the game entirely by himself than give up rugby altogether.

“Sometimes you’re going to be stuck working with people you don’t like.” James must pout because his coach shakes her head. “Don’t give me that look, Potter. It’s a fact of life. None of us enjoy it, but you have to figure out how to deal with it. You’re not going to like everyone - whether that’s because they’re bad people or your personalities just don’t match. Now, if anyone says anything negative about you or Regulus during practice, you come to me instantly. I won’t tolerate any form of hatred on this team, and I do say team deliberately. There’s only one more practice tomorrow until summer. I don’t care how foolish you all act tomorrow, but come the start of term, I want my team back. You’re a good kid, James, and a good person too. You have high moral standards, and when people don’t meet them, that makes you upset. I sincerely hope this is the last time you have to work with people like this in your life, but I doubt it will be. I might be biased, but the rugby field is the perfect place to learn how to do that. Put a little extra aggression into your tackles and passes, and I won’t mention it to anyone, understand?”

James nods. He doesn’t like it, but he gets it. It shouldn’t be too much to ask for to have his team be people he trusts off the field, but maybe it is. James has never had a pessimistic outlook on life or people like Regulus does, but the more time he spends with his boyfriend and unlocks new parts of his thought process, the more he realizes that Regulus somehow has everything figured out. James can be fascinated by people and want to know everyone, but not all of them are good under the surface. Not many are bad, either, which is where the roots of the issue lay. A person who does good and bad things, makes good and bad decisions, is friends with good or bad people. What does that make them? Good, bad, or just a person?

They finish putting away the rest of the supplies in silence. When they stop, Hooch nods toward the door, signalling to James that he’s free to leave. “Oh, and Potter? Maybe keep the kissing out of team practice?”

James can’t help but snort at that. “Believe it or not, we actually have a no kissing at school rule to avoid situations, er, exactly like this. We’re just not very good at following it. We got the idea from S-” James stops, realizing he’s about to out Sirius. “Er, I can’t tell you who, but we got the idea from someone.”

If James isn’t mistaken, it looks like Hooch is trying very hard not to laugh.

----

Lily hates history. She feels like that’s a bit of a taboo statement, or at least the reactions she gets every time she complains lead her to believe that. Maybe she’s just surrounded by history nerds like James. It could be because Lily’s never had a good history teacher, but she simply doesn’t care. It doesn’t interest her in the slightest to learn about people who have been dead for a long time. Quite frankly, it upsets her to learn about how shitty life used to be because it just makes her feel bad for all these people that didn’t know any better. Then she gets existential, because if they didn’t know any better, then what will life look like when she is the one in the history book and there’s a kid in the future learning about this generation and pitying her? The concept of time passing like that, of things not always being exactly like they are now, of her life one day being a prompt for a student’s essay, makes her head spin. James always tells her “those who forget history are doomed to repeat it”, and calls Lily cocky, but she thinks she has to be better than everyone then because she doesn’t need to learn the past to know what not to do. She knows the warning signs of sliding near the edge of ruin - just look at the current state of the world. Maybe studying history doesn’t actually help anything and humans are just doomed. She knows better than to bring that up in front of James - he’d probably implode.

Regardless, Lily revises and memorizes all the dates and people she’s going to forget in a week, and when she throws her pencil down on the desk for the last time, she feels so light she could float into the air. That’s what she’s doing, floating - not giving a fuck where her testing booklet ends up, throwing herself into the group of girls flooding out of the doors, letting her head fall back so the first official summer sun can warm her face, cheering and whooping so loudly a flock of birds is startled into flight, beginning to run through the woods, somehow finding Mary in the crowd and plastering herself to her back, catching flashes of her girlfriend’s smile through her wild hair, laughing laughing laughing.

The Truham boys are having a similar celebration, though theirs involves a lot more punches to the arm, knuckles to the head, and fingers in the ear. Lily spots James and Regulus hiding under the shade of a tree and heads for them, but Mary pulls her in the opposite direction toward the back of the school. Even though they don’t have to hide anymore, Mary still gravitates toward the shadows. Lily tries not to blame her for it, tries to think it’s just an ingrained habit and that it’s not on purpose, not that she’s ashamed of Lily or the attention they attract, but she’s too happy for any of those doubts right now.

“We’re free, Mar! I never have to memorize when another battle happened or a queen died again! Now it’s summer and we don’t have to wake up at the arse crack of dawn for school or do homework, and we’re going to Paris .” The Paris field trip is why they’re all at Truham right now. Of course the school tried to stop end-of-exams celebrations by dangling information about their holiday in front of their noses. Sorry, field trip, but you don’t even have to be taking French to go, so Lily doesn’t know who the schools think they’re fooling. There’s going to be minimal education on this trip. It’s the summer, so can they even legally make them learn? Lily thinks there should be laws against that, especially after the exam hell they just survived. Surely it counts as child cruelty. 

“It’s basically a five-day long sleepover,” Mary says, wiggling her eyebrows. “You’re gonna be so annoyed with me after the week.” There’s an edge to her voice, humour that doesn’t quite make it, and Lily bites her lip. It’s little things like these, failed jokes and quips and side comments that make Lily think something is wrong. She wouldn’t blink twice if Evan or James spoke like that, but it’s so un-Mary, who’s usually the picture of confidence.

“I love you because of how annoying you are,” Lily replies, leaning in to kiss Mary on the cheek, and only realizes what she’s said by the way Mary gasps and steps back.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Lily and Mary have been dating for a while now. She doesn’t know how long couples tend to wait before love declarations, but Lily also doesn’t give a fuck what normal people do. She’s loved Mary for as long as she can remember - first as a friend, then as something more. They said “I love you” constantly when they were just friends, and Lily doesn’t understand what’s so different now. They still know each other. They still love each other. Her first love for Mary didn’t disappear when they started dating - it just multiplied. Besides, it’s not like her love is a secret. They’ve never said it out loud before, but Mary must know. Lily knows Mary loves her, they’ve just never needed to say it out loud before.

Until Lily’s big mouth slipped.

It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Shouldn’t be, since Mary already knows, but her face is blank and slack like Lily just ripped off her own head to reveal an alien underneath. “I… erm…” Lily stammers, but she’s so rarely speechless that the lack of words coming out of her mouth just sends her into more of a panic while Mary turns paler and paler. “I… shit… um… fuck.”

“Everyone who is here for the Paris meeting may gather inside now. Anyone who is not, please vacate the premises immediately,” A sharp voice calls out, saving Lily from her floundering.

“Oh, that’s us!” Mary says, cheery and bright, and it would almost be like Lily’s slip-up never happened, except Mary turns on her heel and practically sprints away before Lily can even close her jaw.

Well, shit.

----

It’s been half an hour - or more precisely thirty-two minutes and twenty-five seconds. Not that Lily is keeping track or anything. No, she’s certainly not counting each second that goes by to keep her mind from straying to other things, like what she accidentally said, like how the words felt soft and warm coming out of her mouth but Mary’s face was cold and hard, like the way Mary ran away, like their seating arrangement now with Evan in between them, like Mary not even glancing at her once in the thirty-two minutes-

Fuck. Lily’s lost track of her counting. They must be at thirty-three minutes now. It feels like thirty-three years.

She would never even dream of listening to the Paris presentation. Someone in their friend group (probably Evan or Regulus) will remember the important bits. Lily already knows what they’re saying anyway. No drinking, no partying, no sneaking off, this is a school trip. Blah, blah, blah. It’s a bunch of barmy, and surely the teachers must know it too, based on how bored they look. There’s Ms. Pomfrey, the school nurse from Higgs, who is sitting on the edge of a table and swinging her leg. Lily is a chronic visitor of the nurse to get out of class, and she’d be lying if she said some of those visits weren’t solely to spend time with Pomfrey. She’s far kinder than any teacher Lily’s ever had, even in primary school, and always gives her peppermints even when she isn’t pretending that her stomach hurts. The other woman Lily doesn’t know. She’s tall and severe with sharp facial features. She’s taking the lead on this presentation, but Lily can tell by the vacant look in her eyes that she’s bored. Surely no teacher wants to chaperone this trip. They can’t be delusional enough to not know that they’re signing up to babysit a bunch of teenagers running loose in France. Their salaries must really be shit to supervise this. 

“Now, we would normally instruct you to split into groups of four, but the numbers are uneven and unbalanced this year, so there will be five people to a room.” The boys all cheer and high-five each other, their odd group somehow hitting the mark perfectly. When Barty’s hand meets Evan’s, they linger, staring at each other with wide eyes, and then immediately pull away and stare at their laps. Mary’s suggestion of locking them in a closet until they sort their shit out is getting better and better every day they continue to be idiots. “There will be no boys and girls sharing rooms,” The unfamiliar woman continues, and there’s an immediate uproar from everyone except Mary, it appears, because she leans over Evan to smirk at Lily.

“Oh, no, however will we manage?” She asks, grinning at Lily. If she weren’t sitting down, Lily would swear she got whiplash. Was she projecting her insecurities or something, or were they just practically on the verge of a break-up? Mary hasn’t spoken to her in thirty-five minutes and ten seconds, but she breaks the silence because they’re sharing a room? Something hot like anger boils in Lily’s throat, but she swallows it down. She doesn’t get mad at Mary, especially when she knows she’s going through something. Lily can’t even blame her for being put off by the love confession. They’re big words, and they can change a relationship, especially when it isn’t expected.

But we’re us. She must have known I love her. Doesn’t she love me? Why didn’t she say it back? Is this not serious for her? She has to love me, doesn’t she-

Lily jumps, her mental ramble cut off by one of her friends clapping her and Mary on the shoulders, adding them to their group.

“Once you arrange living assortments, you are free to leave. We will be leaving bright and early on Monday morning. Do not be late!” The warnings fall on deaf ears, because the instant she said they could leave, everyone stopped listening, if they were ever paying attention anyway. Lily certainly wasn’t. She turns to Evan, ready to ask him if anything important was said at all, but she only gets half of her sentence out before Barty interrupts.

“Evan, can I talk to you? Outside? Alone?” He asks, stumbling over his words like they’re heavy and sticky in his mouth, but he says them. He says them.

Lily looks to Mary, all tension vanishing between them in the time it takes Barty to speak. Evan is more important than whatever fight they are or aren’t having, and he always will be.

----

Barty is shitting bricks.

He’s always hated that expression. Who came up with that anyway? Barty knows his arse can stretch, but he can’t imagine ever being able to shove a brick out of it. It’s just unattainable, and Barty knows what idioms are, but they should at least make anatomical sense. Maybe his thought processes have changed because right about now, shitting a brick sounds easier than the conversation he needs to have.

The worst part is it shouldn’t be difficult. Barty likes Evan. They’ve kissed, and it’s not like Barty has that much to compare it to, but it was a pretty bloody amazing kiss. He wants Evan and everyone says Evan wants him back. They kissed. They like each other. It should be simple and it’s infuriating that it’s not. 

Barty can’t ignore this anymore, especially not after his conversation with his mum. Barty is scared and he is running away and he does think things will work out. There’s no universe where Evan hurts him intentionally. That’s not the hardest part to comprehend like it is for Regulus. No, the biggest hurdle is overcoming the fuzz that takes over his body when Barty is near Evan. It’s like his head goes completely blank. All he hears is the ringing in his ears, and he can’t control what he’s doing or saying. It’s happening now, as he and Evan walk through the halls of Truham. Honestly, Barty doesn’t know where they’re going. He didn’t think this far ahead because he never thought he’d actually ask Evan to talk, yet here they are. Evan must be expecting some grand speech that Barty simply doesn’t have. Should he just abandon the ship? Doesn’t Evan deserve someone who can spit out a whole romantic speech at a moment’s notice like James? 

Fuck it. If Evan supposedly likes Barty so much, this is the real Barty - a bloody fucking mess. He needs to know what he’s getting into if he agrees to this. 

Barty reaches behind him and grabs Evan’s wrist, trying to ignore the little gasp he lets out at the touch, and drags him into the nearest classroom. 

Then he starts talking. Talking might be too relative of a term, actually. That implies Barty has any control over the shit that’s coming out of his mouth, which he doesn’t. A better term might be word vomit, because that’s what Barty’s doing, throwing up his heart all over Evan’s feet.

“I’m really sorry. Like, I’m really bloody sorry. I’ve been a complete prat. Worse than a prat. I’ve been an arsehole. I kissed you, or you kissed me, I don’t remember. Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. Again. That sounds terrible, but I promise I don’t mean it like that. I swear I remember every second of our kiss. You’ve gotta believe me - I play it in my head over and over at least a hundred times a day. Shit. That was probably too much information. I don’t mean to be a creep. I just really like you and it’s turning me into some kind of nut case. I can’t think and I can’t speak, clearly, and I can’t function when I’m near you and I think that’s hurting your feelings and I’m sorry for that. I don’t mean to do that. I swear. I just think my body overheats like my laptop when I try to pirate a movie the minute you’re next to me. Like right now I’m shaking so hard I feel like a plane that’s about to take off. Sorry, I should have practiced this. Shit. Take a shot every time I say ‘sorry’ and you’ll be plastered. I just wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been acting and how it made you feel. The thing is, I run when I get scared, and you’re the scariest person I’ve ever met in the best way possible. You terrify me and that’s because you make me feel so much, so I run, and I know that’s not healthy, but that’s how I cope. Believe it or not, it was my mum that helped me see that. She bloody adores you, and she figured out that we’re… whatever we are. What are we, Evan? Because I would really like to be something. If we can’t be and I’ve blown it, I completely understand, more than understand, I’m an arsehole and a prick, but even then, I’d love to be friends again because I miss you. But preferably I fancy being more than friends. Be my boyfriend. Go out on a date with me. I’ve been planning something. Tonight, if you’re free. Oh, fuck, I forgot to say please. Please-”

Evan stops Barty’s ramble with a kiss, which is good for two reasons. The first being it’s probably the only way to stop the absolute river of shit coming out of his mouth and the second being Barty never thought he’d get to do this again, and he quite enjoys kissing Evan, so this is the best possible scenario. Why was he running from this for ages? If he’d gotten his head out of his arse sooner, could they have been doing this all along? Next time he sees Regulus, Barty needs to instruct him to slap him upside the head until he regains some common sense. 

Far too soon, before Barty’s gotten over the shock, Evan pulls away. “Yes, you absolute berk, I’ll go out with you.”

“Really?” Barty asks, completely shocked. Maybe this is why he’s been so scared - he never imagined Evan would agree. “You’re sure? Quite sure? I’m terrible, honestly. I wouldn’t blame you if you said no.”

Evan laughs, breathing hot against Barty’s lips, and he wants to swallow it, to consume and digest any part of him that he can so Evan can live inside of him, become one with his body. “I’m fully aware of what a menace you are, and I still fancy you, so yes, I’m sure. Take me out on the date. I’m free tonight.”

“So you’ll be my boyfriend?” Barty asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet, unable to stay still. He’s floating, untethered, on top of the world. The best dream he’s ever had. Please, God, don’t let him wake up. Let him stay asleep, in paradise, forever.

“Let’s see how the date goes first,” Evan replies, and Barty pouts. He agreed to the date, so is being boyfriends that much of a bigger step? It’s just a label, and Barty hates those, so he doesn’t know why he cares, but he does. “Barty, don’t look at me like that. I have to hold back on some front. I can’t just fold the instant you apologize.”

“Even though you want to?” Barty asks, unable to resist the urge to be a little shit, simply because he knows it will make Evan’s brow crinkle just so, which it does, and Barty grins, grins, grins. It’s not that he’s usually an unhappy person, per se, but he’s rarely happy. Barty exists in a perpetual state of meh. He doesn’t want to die, but if someone held a gun to his head, he might not fight back. When he’s with Evan, though, any thoughts of death disappear. He wants to be here with Evan in this moment for the rest of time.

Forever used to scare Barty. It doesn’t anymore. Now, it’s all he wants. 

“You’re insufferable. Why did I agree to this again?”

“Because you fancy me,” Barty says, dragging out the word, an addict relentlessly chasing the dimple on Evan’s face when he smiles. He’s got a dimple on both, but the one on his left cheek is slightly higher and it meets the crease of Evan’s eye. Barty wants to lick it, and after how well this conversation went, he just might get the opportunity to, and it’s thrilling.

“God help me, I do. Despite my better judgment.” Evan remains stoic, and Barty drops the humour. 

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Barty moves in closer so their foreheads just miss each other, and he can still see Evan’s face. “I fancy you too. So much that I think I’m floating.”

There’s the smile.

----

Regulus was all for James letting his friends back in. He was wary, of course, but still his number one fan of rebuilding relationships. But that was all before they invited James, and Regulus, to the party. Currently, Regulus wants a time machine just so he can kick himself in the head because now Regulus actually has to go to the party. He was specifically invited, and through a gesture to show James how badly the boys feel and how they want to be friends again. He’d be a complete piece of shit if he backed out now. An irredeemable piece of shit.

You already are.

Regulus’ hands find their way unconsciously to each other. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. 

“Almost ready?” Sirius asks, swinging onto the bathroom on the doorframe. Regulus has never understood how people can do that. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s wasted many hours of his life trying the same tricks his brother does only to walk away with bruised limbs and an even more bruised ego. Some people just must be born with a different gene that lets them do cool things - one of those being the ability to attend a party without completely freaking the fuck out like Regulus is doing right now.

“Yeah, I guess,” Regulus mutters, abandoning the hairbrush. Why was he even trying anyway? The party is in the bloody woods. He’s just going to get sticks and dirt all over him, so why put in the effort?

“I’m getting major deja vu from the last party we went to together,” Sirius says, bumping Regulus’ hip as they head down the stairs. Regulus’ legs are shaking so badly it’s a miracle he doesn’t miss a step and crack his head open. He would have a traumatic brain injury, but he wouldn’t have to go to the party, so can it really be that traumatic? Less so than this party, surely.

“Because that one went so well.” Honestly, Regulus is trying not to think about Mulciber’s birthday. Another party he had a terrible feeling about that James asked him to go to with people Regulus doesn’t know or like. If history repeats itself, this will shape up to be a real winner of a night.

“Well, at least it can’t end as badly as that did, right?” Sirius asks, and Regulus has to concede that he has a point. Regulus and James can’t kiss for the first time again and James can’t run away after. That traumatic experience is done, finite, finished, crossed off the checklist of ‘How Bad Can Regulus Black’s Life Get?’ This can’t possibly be worse than that. 

It can and it will. You know that. It can always get worse, and your life will always get worse because that’s what you deserve. 

Regulus’ nerves don’t fade throughout the drive with Sirius, through the walk in the woods, when they meet up with their friends, even with James’ steady presence at Regulus’ side. Maybe Regulus is panicking because he doesn’t know what people do at this kind of party. The birthday party was simple - you drink and you eat and you dance and you do whatever the birthday person says because it’s their birthday. What the fuck do you do at an end of exams party? Celebrate the end of exams? Regulus can do that in his bed, thank you very much.

Evidently, Regulus isn’t in the majority because the place is packed with his classmates. Most of them are congregated in the middle of the clearing, passing around drinks. Someone’s brought some random lawn games that people are fighting over, making teams that are much larger than they should be. There’s a bonfire in the corner, dangerously close to the trees, and it’s being guarded by some of the rugby lads Regulus wouldn’t normally trust three yards away from open flames. If something or someone doesn’t catch on fire by the end of the night, Regulus will be genuinely shocked. 

“Alright?” Sirius asks, gripping Regulus’ shoulder until he nods, then he turns to James. “Take care of him or I’ll kill you, yeah? I like you a lot. Don’t make me regret that.”

Regulus reaches to smack his brother, but James doesn’t even flinch at the threat. “I will,” He says firmly. A promise. Regulus tries to ignore the tingling warmth in his arms at the words and does a terrible job based on the disgusted face Sirius makes before he heads straight into the crowd. If there’s something Sirius loves more than parties, it’s a competition, and he’s not going to turn down the opportunity to kick someone’s arse in croquet. 

Since they were invited specifically, Regulus expects James to go find his friends. Instead, his hand finds Regulus’ lower back, fingertips just barely grazing his shirt - close enough for anyone important to know the intention but far enough away so as to not rouse suspicion from everyone else. “C’mon,” James says, voice low. “Let’s go somewhere we can be alone.”

“This is a party, James. The point isn’t to be alone.”

“I don’t care,” James states plainly, like it’s that simple and he isn’t plagued with societal expectations at all times. “You’re here because of me and you don’t like parties.”

“I’m here because I got invited.” Regulus can’t deny the second half of the sentence - it’s true. His skin is crawling even as they retreat further and further into the trees.

“Because of me. Besides, I’ve barely spent any time with you lately,” James pouts, finding a place that he deems far enough away from life. He lays down in the grass and holds out his arm for Regulus to follow.

How could he not? Regulus can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve been alone together in the last month. James has been understandably crippled with GCSEs. Regulus thought he had a year to go before all that work, but the end of Year 10 was a new level of hell all on its own - essays and exams and presentations and projects. Why can’t every class just have one final assignment? Why did Regulus have a test and a paper in nearly every subject? What happened to finding one thing and sticking with it? Who has time for all that shit, especially when you’re trying to balance family and friends and eating and sleeping? And, if you’re Regulus, add in your brain completely falling apart. He’s known his mental health is exacerbated when he’s overwhelmed, but it’s been so much worse lately. The voice never shuts off, and here he is tapping his fingers and counting, even as he curls into James’ side. 

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

As of four hours ago, school is officially over. Regulus is on summer holiday and has nothing to cause him stress. Besides his family. And James. And his friends. And the heat. And waking up at the right time in the morning when he’s properly rested but hasn’t messed up the course of the entire day. And the trip to Paris. And his past.

No. Those are all manageable. It’s school that’s Regulus’ biggest stressor, and now that it’s over, the mental illness can recede to its usual, barely manageable level. He’ll wake up tomorrow on his first day of summer holiday and feel like a person again, like he can breathe, like he’s actually alive, like maybe everything is going to be okay-

“I’m going to come out to the boys tonight,” James says, and Regulus’ fingers pick up speed. 

You horrible person. Stuck worrying about your pathetic brain when James is next to you struggling with something real. You’re not counting fast enough. You’re hurting him. This is all your fault. 

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

“Do you feel ready?” Regulus asks, sitting up on his elbows. Honestly, James’ fixation on coming out is making him nervous. Yes, obviously Regulus wants their relationship to be public, but not at the expense of James’ sanity. James, however, is obsessed with the idea, and considering that he keeps failing, Regulus suspects he isn’t ready yet. He doesn’t blame him - could never blame him, even now. Regulus never had to come out.

“I want to do it,” James says, ignoring Regulus’ question and making him more inclined to believe he knows the answer already. 

“There’s no rush. I’m fine with keeping us private for a while longer. More than fine,” Regulus says, so eager to take the pressure off James that he stumbles through his words. 

“No. You shouldn’t be ‘fine’ with any of this. I want to be out, and you already are. I’ll tell them tonight,” James says firmly, almost like he’s making a promise to himself. “I want this. I need to do this.”

It’s one of the frequent things James says these days that makes the hair on Regulus’ arms stand on end. Like he said, Regulus can’t really judge. He was never in this position. Well, he was and felt like absolute shit about it until someone took away his choice and outed him. Regulus lived with the massive secret driving his shoulders into the ground and had all but decided to stay in the dark forever because he couldn’t handle this. James is already stronger than he ever was. Still, there’s this urgency and panic in James that Regulus doesn’t remember feeling. Everyone is different, he knows that, but James’ fear seems almost… forced as if there’s pressure being put on him. Regulus isn’t sure if that pressure is internal or external, but who could possibly know that would be intimidating James? None of their friends would ever, nor would Alphard or James’ mum. Theo certainly could be considering he’s a wild card in Regulus’ mind, but he hasn’t known for long enough. Regulus hasn’t told anyone else, and he’s sure James hasn’t, so it must be internal, which is why he’s trying so hard to make sure that James knows he doesn’t care.

This is your fault. It’s you that’s making James feel pressured. You’re trying too hard. You’re not trying hard enough. You need to count more. You haven’t broken down your surroundings into four parts and repeated them four times yet. You got distracted by James and forgot your fours.

“Alright you lot, let’s burn some shit!” A voice calls, muffled through the trees and Regulus’ spiral, and the resounding cheers are just loud enough to tip Regulus over the edge into overstimulation. This is one of Regulus’ many problems. He can never catch himself before he crosses the line, and then there’s no coming back. Regulus is floating, the world coming to him in shards - James reaching into his bag to pull out a stack of papers, Regulus following him through the woods, trees that are crooked and old leaves that the winter somehow didn’t kill and grass that isn’t quite living yet and rocks the perfect size for stumbling over, the crowd of people that’s somehow multiplied by three since they arrived-

Three. Look again, surely it must have multiplied by four. There must be more people. Where are the rest of the people? There needs to be more. Three is unacceptable, it’s so close to four, it’s the first to lose, it’s just one away-

“Oi, Regulus, add your lot to the fire!” James is gone, and Mulciber is there, and his arm is around Regulus’ shoulder and his hand is grabbing his shirt and his fingers touch Regulus’ skin and he’s floating, floating, floating, floating. “Don’t you have anything to burn? Too much of a goody two shoes, are you? Perfect little schoolboy-”

He thinks you’re perfect. You’re a liar, Regulus. You act and you scam and you cheat and you lie. You’re so far from perfect. You’re bad, spoiled, wrong, broken- 

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four-

----

This is the last time James goes to a fucking party. Mark his words, he’s done. James isn’t sure if he ever enjoyed them, per se. He likes the people and the food and celebrating something. The atmosphere and the parties themselves… not so much. It used to be the only way to see all of his friends at one time, which James should have realized was a red flag. They were too busy to come over and hang out, but the minute the label “party” is slapped onto a gathering, they’re suddenly free? James used to be one blind son of a bitch, that’s for sure.

Now, all he wants is to spend time with Regulus, and maybe some of their other friends too. James invited the lot, obviously, but they all have more sense than him. Lily actually laughed in his face when he asked her to come. Mary said she’d rather stick toothpicks up his fingernails. Peter didn’t even answer James because the question was so stupid he thought it was a joke. Barty and Evan are on their date. The only person who agreed is Sirius, but that’s because he’s a party addict. James hasn’t seen him since they arrived. 

“Come on, Potter, throw it in there!” Abbott yells, prodding him closer to the fire. This is the one part of the party James cares about. After all the literal blood, sweat, and tears that went into his revising, there’s nothing to show for it except exhaustion and pending exam results. James has a hard time comprehending things when there’s nothing physical to see. Exams are over, yes, but it’s not like the minute he closed his test booklet a neon sign lit up confirming that he’s finished. Watching these papers burn along with all the information that James doesn’t give a fuck about and has already forgotten is the best closure he’s going to get. James survived. He’s done. Let the notes turn to ash, and James’ summer can officially begin.

James knows it isn’t smart to burn everything. He’s still taking half these courses as A-levels, so the information will undoubtedly be important, but that’s a problem for future James. Current James wants everything gone, wants no part of school poisoning his bedroom over the holiday, wants to be free.

James tosses the paper in the flames, a thrill running through him as the edges begin to burn, burn, burn. More. Burn everything. Burn the whole world down.

Even after his notes wither away, nothing more than flakes of ash floating through the air, James feels nothing. There’s no joy, no peace. No sense of accomplishment. No turn of the page at the end of a chapter. Just his heart beating away in his chest, blood flowing to an empty cavern. Why? James is done. The term is over. Exams are complete, school doors are closed, and the notes are burned. There’s still something deep and unfilled inside of him. If finally finishing this term didn’t help, James fears he doesn’t know what will.

Perhaps it’s something deeper. This was objectively the best term of James’ life because he met Regulus, but it was also the most difficult. James realized that the friends he’s had all his life were never the best mates he thought they were, came face to face with his own failings with no way to rectify them, and discovered he’s bisexual. Bloody hell, he’s still in the closet. James is trying to close the door to a chapter in his life with his foot still lodged in it. In order to move on, James needs to make a decision. Is he stepping back or stepping forward? 

James doesn’t have to think for even a second about the answer.

“Hey, can I talk to you lot?” James asks, turning to the boys - his boys. At least, they used to be. After this, they may never be again. 

“Of course, mate. What’s up?” Avery asks.

Three pairs of eyes - waiting, waiting, waiting. For something that James knows and they do not. For something that James doesn’t know if he’s capable of giving. He wasn’t ready yesterday, so how could it change overnight? He’s still not ready - plain and simple. But will he ever be? Just because he knows something has to change doesn’t make it easy, doesn’t make the words come easier. But that doesn’t mean he can’t try. “Er… I… I wanted to tell you-”

Eyes, eyes, eyes - waiting, anticipating, time ticking. Is James ever going to be ready? What if he’s waiting for a day that won’t come? What if he’s waiting forever? What if that’s just an excuse? What if the real reason isn’t because James wants to be properly prepared before going public? What if Lucius is right? What if James has no intentions of coming out? What if, in his eagerness to prove Lucius wrong, all James is doing is proving him right? What if James and Lucius are the same, deep down? What if James is no better than Lucius bloody Malfoy-

“Ooh, a secret? Go on, Potter, share it with the class!” Mulciber claps him on the back and James jolts forward, Abbott reaching out a hand to steady him. James should have known better. Of course Mulciber, the last person he wants to know about his sexuality, is going to show up when he’s trying to come out. The bastard has a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, particularly any place where James is. Do they have magnets secretly pulling them together or does the world just hate James that much? 

Why did James think a bloody fucking party was a good time to come out to his friends? There are dozens of people here, any of whom could overhear, especially because James doesn’t have control of his volume when he’s nervous. People talk, but they listen more, especially when it’s a conversation they’re not involved in. 

By some stroke of luck (James’ first of the evening), Mulciber isn’t alone. He has his arm around Regulus, whose eyes are wide and vacant, but the minute they land on James, they narrow and darken.  He steps out from Mulciber’s arm and pushes Mulciber back, away from James. “He doesn’t want to talk to you! Piss off and leave him alone!” Regulus is yelling, and James can’t remember how he got here, or where here is exactly.

“Woah, woah! Black, I thought we were mates-” Mulciber starts, hands thrown up in mock surrender, but Avery steps between them. He must lead Mulciber away, but James doesn’t see. He blinks, then he blinks again, and the whole world is a spinning tunnel.

He almost heard me. The worst possible person to know I’m bisexual almost heard me. The whole school would have known. The whole world would have known.

Lucius was right. James isn’t ready to come out - not even close.

Lucius. Was. Right. 

Lucis was right. Lucius was right. Lucius was right. Lucius was right Lucius was right Lucius was right Lucius was right Lucius was right. LuciuswasrightLuciuswasrightLuciuswasrightLuciuswasrightLuciuswasrightLuciuswasright-

“James, are you alright?” It’s Abbott asking him. Or maybe it’s Bones. It might be both of them. Or neither. He can see their faces floating in and out of his vision. They haven’t been this close in a very long time. Is this even happening? Why are the boys here? James doesn’t remember where he is. It’s loud, it’s really loud, inside his head and outside.

LuciuswasrightLuciuswasrightLuciuswasrightLuciuswasrightLuciuswasrightLuciuswasright-

“I’ve got him. I’m taking him home.” That’s Regulus. James doesn’t have to see him to know his voice, know the heat of his body next to him, know the way his fingers curl into the back of James’ shirt. James doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening, but Regulus is there, so he’s safe. Regulus won’t let anything happen to him. Regulus won’t let him go.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? Regulus will never let you go even though he should. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve failed to come out - that’s how many it’s been. You’re never going to. Lucius was right. You’re stringing Regulus along. He deserves so much more than you.

“Sirius!” Regulus yells, head to the sky, praying to the heavens, calling to the stars, and it’s so loud that James doesn’t know how Sirius could possibly hear him, but then he’s there, appearing out of the crowd, big brother finding little brother, one shout away. He grabs James’ other arm, and James falls into him, away from Regulus. James failed. He doesn’t deserve Regulus right now. 

Regulus.

James was supposed to take care of him. Sirius told James to watch Regulus, but he didn’t, and now it’s James getting practically carried away. “I’m sorry,” James tries to say - first into Sirius’ neck, then he leans back to Regulus, just to apologize, but he’s so warm that James can’t make himself pull away. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” James doesn’t know if he’s speaking nor who he’s speaking to - Sirius, Regulus, the universe. He tilts his head up to the sky and apologizes to it too. Why? James doesn’t know. 

He just feels like he has to apologize to the entire world right now.

----

This is going to be perfect. Barty’s made sure of it. After his friends were completely zero help on the date ideas front, Barty had to tackle the planning by himself. Which, if you’re Barty, means consulting every form of social media possible because he’s incapable of making decisions or coming up with ideas by himself. He made it to the sixth page of Google before giving up. Seriously. The sixth page. Barty’s never made it past the third before. He figured that, after four or five pages, you just access the dark web, but he was willing to risk it for Evan. Risk what, Barty’s unsure of. What does the dark web contain? Do you go to jail the second you click into it or something? Barty’s always been curious, but he doesn’t know who to ask. It’s not like you can Google it. That would probably get him on a list by the government. It seems to be one of those if you know you know situations, and Barty does not, in fact, know, so it appears he’s out of luck. Maybe in his next life, because this one is shaping up to be pretty fucking great right now.

Even after all that research, Barty landed on the traditional first date - dinner and a movie. It’s classic for a reason, right? Barty wouldn’t know. He’s never been on a real date before. Neither has his friends, so in hindsight, maybe that’s why they were so useless. Actually, fuck that. Regulus certainly has been on dates with James. The little shit. The next time Regulus asks for help, Barty isn’t going to answer. Serves the prick right. Fucking pain in Barty’s arse.

Tonight is going to be perfect. It has to be. Barty fucked up the first part of their relationship, so now everything has to be Disney movie happily ever after level perfection.

The restaurant is within walking distance of Barty’s house, which is good because he can’t imagine how embarrassing it would be to ask for a ride to a date from his parents. Not that his father would give him a ride anywhere, even if it was to A&E. His mum would in a heartbeat, but Barty hasn’t told her about the date with Evan yet. He doesn’t want to get her hopes up, because as much as Barty refuses to entertain the possibility, there is a chance this all goes south. It would crush his mum to think they were in a relationship only to find out they’re not. Barty’s waiting to tell her until he’s sure things will work out. His father is another story entirely.

Barty’s never officially come out to his father, and he’s not sure he ever will. He’s never been outwardly homophobic, but Barty’s seen the way he looks at two men holding hands in public or switches the TV channel when there are two girls on screen. He already hates his son, so why add fuel to the fire? He’s away on work trips enough that Barty doesn’t feel like he’s hiding, but when (or maybe he should be saying if so he doesn’t jinx anything) he starts dating Evan, will that change? Barty isn’t going to hide Evan or their relationship. Honestly, he doesn’t give a flying fuck what his father, or anyone for that matter, thinks of him. It’s just not fair to Evan. If his father knows Evan as his son’s boyfriend, he’s going to hate him. Evan could be a clone of his father, and the man would still hate him. Barty could have introduced them beforehand when he could know Evan as only a friend, but he didn’t want to subject Evan to his horrible father. He doesn’t regret that - he could never regret protecting Evan - it’s just cemented his fate in stone.

Barty’s jumping ahead of himself. He needs to focus on the date first, not spiralling about the merits of his boyfriend never coming to his house or having his father hate him automatically. He’s always like that - living in the future instead of in the present. It causes Barty to miss a lot of shit that should be obvious, which he realizes as Evan comes around the corner on a bike.

The restaurant is close to Barty’s, but not Evan’s, and Barty didn’t even think about that. Fuck. He’s already off to a terrible start. “I’m sorry, I should have chosen something closer to you.”

“No, it’s fine. I like riding around anyway,” Evan says, swinging his leg over the side of his bike and locking it to a telephone pole. The Regulus that exists in the back of Barty’s mind is ranting and raving about how unattractive dismounting a bike is. Barty would be inclined to agree with him usually, but they’re talking about Evan here. He couldn’t do anything not sexy if he tried.

Regulus argues against that, citing what he just saw. Barty doesn’t know who Regulus thinks he’s kidding because if James were on a bike, his knees would probably give out on sight.

Regulus doesn’t have a rebuttal to that. Ha. Barty loves being right - even if it’s only in an argument in his head. 

Oh, fuck, is that normal? Do other people have versions of their best friends chilling in their minds? Regulus is usually the voice of Barty's conscience, but he’s such an opinionated fucker that he pipes up at random times, like when bikes enter the picture. Barty is fully aware that the voice is fake and not Regulus, so it’s not like he had schizophrenia, right?

Buggering fuck, does Barty have schizophrenia?

He turns to ask Evan, who is standing hesitantly on the sidewalk and messing with his hands. This is their perfect first date, and Barty’s spent the entire beginning talking to himself and wondering if he has a new mental illness he needs to add to the bingo card. He’s mucking this all up once again. 

“Sorry, let’s go,” Barty says, holding out his hand for Evan to take, but then withdrawing it. Are they at the hand-holding stage yet? Barty doesn’t want to make Evan uncomfortable. This should all be on Evan’s terms, so he’ll follow his lead.

Which is… awkward. 

The restaurant has two sets of doors to get inside. Barty holds the first open for Evan, then Evan holds the second for Barty. The hostess leads them to their table and both boys go for the same seat, offer it to the other, refuse, and eventually wind up sitting next to each other on the same side of the booth, blushing and silent.

Barty put so much thought into planning, but he never thought to research talking points. What do you discuss on a date? Future plans? Intentions? Jobs? They’re teenagers. The only future they’re thinking of is what they’ll eat for breakfast the next morning. Family? Friends? Hobbies and passions? They already know that stuff. What do people who were friends first talk about on dates? Why didn’t Barty think about this? He’s awful. If he weren’t so upset, he’d be laughing at himself. Regulus certainly would be. Oh, recounting this date to him and Peter is going to be dreadful. Maybe Barty will just disappear off the face of the Earth instead. Life would be so much easier if the Earth was actually flat and he could just… jump off, but then where would he go? Outer space? Would gravity bring him right back?

“The, erm, weather is lovely tonight,” Evan says, attempting to break the tension. Bloody hell, this date is so bad he’s talking about the weather. Barty is a failure.

“Yes, the breeze is quite… nice. Breezy,” Barty says, sitting on his hands so he doesn’t slap himself. Evan nods, focusing back on the table, evidently not finding anything worth replying to in Barty’s answer, which he doesn’t blame him for. It’s Barty’s turn to start a conversation, and honestly, he’s about as lost as Evan is. 

So they just sit.

In silence.

Not even looking at each other.

The waiter comes to take their drink order. Barty has no idea what he buys, but there are two glasses on the table a few minutes later. Someone at another table laughs. Barty would give just about anything right now to hear Evan laugh. Hell, at this point, he’d even take crying. Something has to be better than nothing. Barty can work with something. He can’t work with nothing, can’t shape in between his palms, can’t twist the empty air into something meaningful, something that isn’t sticking to the roof of his mouth like tar-

“I’m, just, I’m gonna go,” Evan says, standing up, and for the first time, Barty’s grateful that they’re sitting next to each other because he can grab onto Evan’s wrist before he can jump back onto that bike and ride off into the hills. 

This isn’t the something Barty wanted, but he wasn’t very specific in his thoughts, so maybe that’s his fault. Peter is always on about manifesting and how your thoughts become your reality or some shit like that. Barty usually stops listening when he starts talking like that because it’s a bunch of barmy nonsense, but what if it’s not? It’s a sliver of a lifeline, but Barty will cling to even the thinnest of fraying ropes if it means saving this date. I am going to fix this. Evan won’t leave. “No, please, don’t go. I’m really sorry, Ev, I don’t know why this is going so badly. I tried to ask Regulus and Peter for advice and they were no help at all, so I spent hours researching date ideas. I landed on dinner and a movie because it’s classic so surely I can’t muck it up, but it looks like I did somehow, and maybe it’s lame to say but I don’t know how, so if you could, like, tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can fix it, I would appreciate it. I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m asking for one, and maybe that makes me selfish, and maybe it’s even more selfish that I don’t care. I really like you, and I wanted this date to be perfect for you, so tell me what I can do and I’ll do it. I’ll jump on this table and start acting like a monkey if that’s what would make you happy.” Evan snorts, and the noise is enough to get Barty to look at him. Evan’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth like he’s trying not to laugh. “Is that what you want? Because I swear I’ll do it-”

This time, it’s Evan’s turn to catch Barty’s wrist as he leans forward, fully prepared to climb onto the table even though it has plates and their mystery drinks on it. “No, Barty, for fuck’s sake, please don’t do that.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Barty asks, and he’s begging with no remorse. Tell me how I can fix myself to be who you want me to be.

“God, Barty, I don’t know!” Evan says, sitting back down and putting his head in his hands. “It isn’t all you. This date is a two-way street, and I’m not exactly pulling my weight either. I feel weird too. Like, I don’t know the right things to say or what questions to ask. I’ve never been on a proper date before. I’ve seen them on TV, obviously, so I’ve got a general idea about how this shit works, but I can’t ask you that kind of stuff because I already know the answers.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Barty admits. Evan picks up his head, his cheeks glistening with tears. The tar in Barty’s mouth grows thicker, spreading down the back of his throat into his chest. He reaches forward and wipes Evan’s tears away with his thumbs, unable to bear knowing he helped put them there. “I don’t think either of us are very good at this. I should have forced Regulus to give me pointers.”

Evan finally laughs, his face crinkling under Barty’s fingers, and the tar disappears. After all this time, Barty can finally take a real breath. It’s funny - how you only realize you weren’t breathing properly when you start again. Everyone talks about how you need air to live, yet he hasn’t taken a full breath in a quarter of an hour and he’s still alive. It turns out all Barty needs to live is Evan’s laugh. “We tried the whole serious date thing and that didn’t work, so why don’t we forget all that and just talk like we normally do? I mean, we’re still us, and we’re still friends. We can just act like we’re at lunch at school.”

God, Evan’s so bloody clever. Barty wants to kiss him, but that’s not something they normally do as friends, and certainly not during lunch hour. No, that time is reserved for talking about…

About…

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Ev, you can wallop my arse for this and I deserve it, but I can’t remember what we usually talk about.” The two boys stare at each other for a second, then two, and dissolve into laughter much too loud for the establishment they’re in. 

Evan shakes his head, unable to comprehend how moronic they both are. “I can’t either. Christ, it’s like my brain completely leaves my head when I’m with you. I can’t think properly. I feel like we mostly just complain about school, but there’s no school to complain about anymore….”

The entire basis of their friendship can’t be bitching and moaning about school. Barty won’t accept that, but he doesn’t know what to do about it either. Evan might be his first… Evan, but it’s not his first friendship. He has Regulus and Peter. What do they talk about? They bitch and moan about each other, they bitch and moan about their families, they bitch and moan about themselves, they bitch and moan about strangers. Quite frankly, they just like to bitch and moan. Clearly, this is what Barty bases his friendships on. “Well, we could complain about other things. I don’t know about you, but I’ve plenty of personal grievances to air out.”

“This has already been negative enough, so why don’t we… not add to it. How about we just ask each other questions? Like what do you not know about me but wish you did?”

It’s the typical first date “so tell me about yourself” prompt but with a twist, their twist. Evan is more than just clever, he’s a goddamn genius. “Well, since you asked.” Barty has a lot he’s always wondered about Evan - there’s just never a good time to ask. “What’s your biggest fear? What’s the most memorable dream you’ve ever had? What do you believe happens after we die? What’s your flavour of choice in Neopolitan ice cream?” Barty has hundreds of questions bouncing around his skull like ping-pong balls, but those are the big ones. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Evan. “Oh, and what is your favourite colour?”

Anyone else would expect questions like the latter - basic information that they might have missed, simple preferences that are ultimately meaningless. Not Barty. He doesn’t care about that shit. He already knows Evan’s likes and dislikes, dreams and goals, personality, childhood memories, role models, and passions. Has he ever directly asked about those things? No. But people give parts of themselves away in every conversation - you just have to listen. 

Barty knows their relationship is going to be okay when Evan doesn’t even blink before answering. “My biggest fear is ending up alone in the end. I’ve grown to be alright with momentary loneliness, but only because I know it’s only temporary. I think it would kill me if I went through all this just to go out with no one. The most memorable dream I’ve ever had is the first one I remember. As a kid, I was scared shitless of the big bad wolf from that fairytale about the three little pigs, which apparently manifested in my nightmares because I dreamed that he ate me at my primary school playground while all my family and friends watched. Shit traumatised me, and I still hate that bloody wolf. I’m not sure what happens after we die, to be honest. I don’t think it’s nothing - like the minute we stop breathing we just cease to exist. I grew up Catholic so I learned about traditional heaven and hell. I’d like to believe there isn’t a hell because I’d probably be going to it according to most religious people, but I like the idea of heaven. Being able to see everyone you love that you’ve lost and getting to live the rest of eternity with them - it’s a nice thought, isn’t it? And my favourite flavour in Neapolitan is strawberry.”

Barty is the one who asked these questions. He knew Evan would answer them, yet he never thought past that point, because here they are. Evan’s stopped talking, and Barty has no idea how to respond. He’s never been very good at that - reacting in the right way. People often get pissed off with him due to his lack of a reaction, but isn’t overreacting bad too? How do you middle-of-the-road react? Mid-react? Is it just some social cue normal people are born with but Barty missed? Evan’s answers were vulnerable, and Barty thinks there’s nothing more vulnerable than being vulnerable in return. It’s the best and least condescending way he can think of to thank Evan for answering. “My biggest fear is losing someone I love. I’ve never had anyone close to me die, so I don’t know what it’s like. I can’t imagine my life without any of the people I love and I don’t want to. I don’t remember my dreams, which usually makes me feel left out, but it also means I don’t have nightmares of my childhood villains swallowing me, so I can’t complain because I was scared shitless of Ursula and I’d probably need intensive therapy to come back from that. I think about what happens when we die more than a healthy person should, probably because I’ve wanted to die for so much of my life, and I haven’t come up with much. People talk about energy being transformed but I’m not sure I believe in that. I don’t think my essence or whatever the fuck just floats around. That creeps me out. I hope there’s some sort of afterlife. Maybe it’s like a choose-your-own-adventure type of thing up there and heaven is what you want it to be. Reincarnation could also be pretty cool. I don’t know if I’d ever choose to live a whole life again because this is kind of shitty, and there’s a huge possibility I’d get dealt an even worse hand, but if I could come back as some kind of animal, I’d be interested in that. Anyway. Your turn to ask me questions now. Oh, and my favourite flavour is chocolate,” Barty finishes, almost forgetting to answer his last question. In hindsight, it really doesn’t fit with the rest of them, but Barty’s been wondering. Favourite ice cream flavour is a stale and overused question because people can pull out some wild name that some specialty shop sells in the Swiss Alps and Barty’s sure as hell never been to the fucking Swiss Alps, so how would he know if Golden Crinkle Swirl is good or not? Neapolitan is simple. Everyone knows it, and you can tell a lot from their answer. For example, Regulus’ favourite is vanilla. That tells Barty that he’s lame as fuck. 

Evan leans forward, unblinking. “Wait, so do you not have dreams at all, or can you just not remember them? Do you wake up and know you just dreamed something and just forget it instantly?”

Barty leans forward too, both of them so close due to their idiotic seating arrangement that their foreheads are practically touching, and dives headfirst into the world of Evan’s brain.

They talk for so long that they miss their movie. Neither of them even noticed the time until the waiter not so subtly gave them their check three times and cleared their table. Barty’s not fussed about the movie. He was never quite keen on the cinema anyway - just did it to be classic, but as they’ve established, fuck classic. Who was Barty kidding? In no world can Barty and Evan ever be anything even adjacent to traditional. They spent their entire evening eating Yorkshire pudding and cocktail sausages while debating the merits of space travel and the odds of aliens existing (they both agree the latter statistic is very high). Others would probably count that as a terrible date. Even with nothing to compare it to, Barty’s confident it’s the best first date he’ll ever go on. He doesn’t want to end, which is why he suggests, “We could choose another film to see?” even though the last thing he wants to do is sit next to Evan without being able to talk.

Evan’s nose wrinkles, evidently thinking the same thing. “Arcade?” He asks, the light from the street lamp dancing in his eyes, and it’s mesmerizing. He’s mesmerizing. 

“Arcade,” Barty agrees. He steps toward Evan, who’s already reaching for Barty, grabbing his hand, pulling him toward his bike. Barty goes willingly, like water, unable to imagine a situation where he wouldn’t go to Evan, with Evan, wherever Evan goes. Barty jumps onto the handlebars and the entire bike flips over, sending him sprawling to the cobblestones. He’ll pick gravel out of his knees tomorrow, but right now, Evan is laughing and helping him to his feet, so pain doesn’t exist, only Evan’s smile and hands. Evan sits, steadying the bike so Barty can get on, not letting go of his hand until he moves it to Barty’s waist. He kicks off, and they’re wobbling and swerving more than a driver drunk off their arse, but their laughter fills the night, and nothing else matters. Barty never really learned how to ride a bike. His father reluctantly taught him when he was young at his mum’s insistence, but didn’t realize that Barty would lose the skills if they weren’t kept sharp, and the man never voluntarily spent quality time with his son. He’s only ever ridden a tiny child’s bike, so he’s not sure how a real one should feel, but this feels like flying. Barty’s laughs turn to whoops, and he stretches his arms out wide, the entire world fitting right there against his chest. He tips his head back, back, back until all he can see are the stars and Evan’s curls, and at that moment, they’re one and the same.

----

James hasn’t spoken in nearly an hour. He spent the entire ride home switching between frantic apologies and babbling nonsense - then the even more stomach-churning silence. Regulus never realized just how much James talked until he stopped. He’s always saying something whether it makes sense or not - everything between simply narrating what he sees to reciting Shakespeare because of fucking course James knows Shakespeare. Now, he’s simply sitting on Regulus’ bed, eyes open but unseeing. If he didn’t know better, Regulus would think James is sleeping with his eyes open, but the fists clenched into tight balls at his sides tell Regulus all he needs to know.

If he’s being completely honest, Regulus has no idea what to do. He’s used to being the person who needs comfort. Sirius doesn’t talk to him about his problems, Peter doesn’t talk to anyone about his problems, and Barty…

Regulus needs to stop trying to compare his friendship with Barty to any semblance of normal human interactions. When Barty’s upset, Regulus usually either teases him if it’s something small, or if it’s something major, Regulus just talks about his problems. To anyone else, it would look like the boys are belittling and one-upping each other, but to them, knowing that the other relates and has experienced something similar is the biggest comfort of all. Regulus doubts James would like that. Besides, what would he say?

Well, I never had to pluck up the balls to come out because I got outed. That was a terrible experience, 0/5 stars, would not recommend to a friend. Anyway, my current crisis is that I think my boyfriend should leave me because I’m just bringing pain and suffering to him. You would know what he feels like, because you are my boyfriend, and we are having cyclical crises. 

Yeah, that would go over well.  

What does James normally do to calm down? Talk to Regulus, but Regulus doesn’t think he’s able to hold a one-way conversation right now, or ever. James is the kind of person who could talk at a brick wall for hours, but Regulus needs feedback to keep a conversation going. If no one answers him, then he gets too much in his own head, and the last thing James needs right now is for Regulus to start having a breakdown too. He also plays rugby, which is out of the question for obvious reasons. If Regulus threw the ball at James right now, it would just bounce off his forehead and roll under the bed. He likes taking Padfoot for walks, but since Padfoot isn’t here right now and Sirius practically had to carry James earlier, that’s another strike. 

In the end, Regulus decides to put Mean Girls on his laptop, balancing the screen on their knees. Usually when they attempt this, James is so wiggly the computer slips off their legs and onto the floor during the best part of the movie. Today, Regulus is the one squirming.

He doesn’t even know what exactly happened at the party. When they got separated, Regulus somehow ended up with Mulciber, which solidified his mental spiral but turned out to be James’ saving grace. When Mulciber and Regulus made their way over to him, James was so pale he looked like he’d been in hospital for a week. It was enough to snap Regulus out of his own mental spiral and back into reality, but not quickly enough to save James. He’s never quick enough. All of his promises to protect James, and he went nonverbal in the woods surrounded by everyone he knows because Regulus pushed himself too far. How is that anywhere adjacent to protecting James? Regulus is failing at the most important role of his life. 

I tried to warn you and you didn’t listen. This is what you get. You’re bad, spoiled, wrong, broken.

Regulus needs to tap his fingers, but one of his arms is currently trapped under James. He can’t just do it on his free hand. One is a bad number - it’s odd. Two isn’t Regulus’ favourite number either, but he’s grown to accept it. At least two is even. One needs to double itself to become even, and that’s very wrong. Nothing good can come from one, just as nothing good will come from inaction, so Regulus settles for blinking instead, even if it makes his head throb. 

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four. One two three four.

“Cady’s a bloody bitch.” Of all the things Regulus was expecting James to say first, making fun of a character was not one of them. “She’s the real villain. Regina deserved better.” It’s a stance he developed after hearing Remus rant about his hatred for her. Regulus has too much going on in his life to have any passionate feelings toward fictional people - he can hardly handle real people. He’s not sure how Remus does either, but Remus is nothing less than passionate about everything. Even for someone as genuinely apathetic as Regulus, it’s impossible to listen to one of Remus’ patented rants and not believe every word. They should all be grateful he has no interest in politics because Remus could easily become a dictator and take over the entire world with one passionate speech - he’s simply that compelling.

“Should have been her that got hit by the bus instead. Maybe up it an ante and have it kill her,” Regulus replies, and James snorts before growing quiet again. “How are you feeling?” He doesn’t want to push James to talk about things before he’s ready, but Regulus also doesn’t want him to slip away again. 

“I dunno,” James replies simply. “I don’t really know what happened. It’s all a blur.”

“What do you remember?” Regulus asks carefully. There’s a balance between not babying James but also not startling him that Regulus doesn’t know how to achieve. 

“We were at the party. I lost you and was panicking, but then I ran into my mates. I wanted to come out to them, and I tried.” He turns to Regulus - the same eyes that were blank minutes ago now brimming with fear. “Reg, you’ve gotta believe me, I really tried. I just couldn’t make the words come out.”

“Breathe, James. I’m not mad at you. I just want to know what happened so I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Regulus wishes that James wasn’t so apologetic all the time. It’s almost always about something insignificant, and yet James turns into a little child begging their parents not to hate them for a mistake. There’s no way Effie trained that response into him, nor James’ father from what Regulus has heard, so where did James learn this? The rugby team? His “friends”? In the end, it’s not like it matters - Regulus wants to tear them limb from limb no matter who they are.

James takes a breath so deep his chest shakes. “Mulciber overheard me and asked what my secret was. I panicked. I’m having a hard enough time telling my mates. I’m certainly not ready for him to know about me yet. That’s where you came in,” He says, smiling dopily at Regulus, still not entirely there. “My night in shining armor.” There’s a bite to his voice, a bite to this whole conversation.

He hates you. He finally saw through you. Your time ran out.

“More like in a sweaty flannel,” Regulus says, but the joke falls on deaf ears. Bad, spoiled, wrong, broken. “You were obviously upset. No decent person would continue to push anyone when there’s something visibly wrong, never mind someone they claim to be their friend.”

“Mulciber’s not my friend. He hasn’t been in a long time. The others though…” James sighs, taking Regulus’ hand so he can play with his fraying cuff. “I want to give them another chance. I want them to know me - know all of me.”

“They were worried about you. Abbott caught you when you started to stumble, and almost hesitated when I took you. Bones asked if I needed any help getting you back to the truck. Avery called you a few times and then messaged me when you weren’t responding. I told him you were safe. For what it’s worth, they really care about you.”

James shakes his head. “I don’t remember any of that. After Mulciber showed up, all I can see are little pieces. I know you and Sirius helped me back here. I can see snapshots of that, but like I was hovering above myself. How does that make any sense? How could I be above myself? I can’t leave my own body.”

“It sounds like you dissociated,” Regulus says softly. “It used to happen to me all the time when I was younger. It scared me.” Until I realized that I liked feeling so disconnected from the world and started dissociating on purpose. He doesn’t say the last part of the sentence, not wanting to worry James any more than he already is. 

“Mm,” He mumbles, fingers pausing as they pull on the loose threads of Regulus’ sleeve. Regulus blinks, and then James is burrowing into him - arms locked around his back and head tucked into his chest. Regulus freezes, surprised, but then softens into James, rolling onto his side so he can properly hold him. James sniffles, and Regulus wonders if his skin can muffle the sound of his heart breaking. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Regulus. I’m trying so hard.”

It’s something that Regulus has been thinking for a long time, since the beginning, since James was so eager to come out. He’s tried to tell James that there’s no rush, but he’s clearly not understanding that, so it’s time for Regulus to spell it out, plain and simple. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“I’m too tired to understand what you’re trying to insinuate,” James grumbles, and Regulus can feel him scowling through his shirt. Despite it all, it makes Regulus laugh.

See, I’m not destroying him. He’s still James. 

“I’m trying to tell you that you need to take a few steps back, Jamie. Coming out is a big thing, even when you’re fairly certain people will take it well. You got a bad reaction from your cousin, which I’m sure didn’t help. You’re putting all this pressure on yourself, and maybe your body is trying to tell you that you’re not ready.”

“I should be though,” James says, still through a pout. “It’s been ages since I figured out I’m bi. I’ve already come out to people. I should be ready.”

“And yet you’re not. You can’t rush this. You’ll be ready when you’re ready. Maybe it’s best to take a break. Don’t say that you’re going to come out to your friends at any parties. Just let it happen when it happens. You should  be able to enjoy your summer and the Paris trip without trying to carve out the perfect blocks of time to come out.”

“I hate that. You deserve someone who shows how much they care about you to the world.” James is so insistent that it reminds Regulus of when he’s fighting with himself in his head, but once again, who is James battling? It isn’t Regulus, nor any of his friends. Who else knows about James’ sexuality? No one. It’s impossible for anyone to know. They’ve been too careful so something precisely like this doesn’t happen - James gets pressured to come out before he’s ready. So it must be James himself that’s putting up a fight. 

“But you already do that. I’d much rather someone care about me when no one else is around than have them fake it to others. I’ve told you I don’t care if we go fully public. You’re all that I want. As long as I have you, I truly don’t give a fuck. Do I want to hide forever? Of course not. But we don’t need to think about forever right now. You only figured your sexuality out a few months ago. You’re sixteen, James. It might feel like a long time, but it’s not. We’ve got the rest of our lives to be public. I want it to be a good experience for you, and with the way you're pushing yourself right now, it’s not going to be.” James bites his lip, still unconvinced, and Regulus resorts to the low blow. “Please, James. My experience was shit, and I don’t want both of us to have miserable memories of coming out. I can’t have that. You’ve got a choice, so use it. Wait until you actually feel ready, not until you think you should feel ready.”

James tucks himself into Regulus again, only somehow managing to get even closer this time. There isn’t one place where their bodies aren’t meeting, and it feels so incredibly right. Stay here forever. Never move away from me so I can protect you. “Maybe you’re right,” James finally admits, and Regulus’ fingers tighten in his shirt. “I just really want this.”

“I do too,” Regulus agrees. How could he not? “But we’ll have plenty of time for that.”

James hums noncommittally, going so still and silent that Regulus thinks he’s fallen asleep for a moment, but then in true James Potter fashion, he springs up, his whole face alight in a cocky grin. “You called me Jamie.”

Regulus’ cheeks immediately burn hot. Fuck. Did that slip out? Usually, Regulus has iron-clad control over what he says, but did his guard slip that far down while he was trying to comfort James? Ever since James started calling him Reg, Regulus has been thinking of nicknames for him. He knows some people named James often go by Jim or Jimmy, but neither of those fits his James. Effie calls him Jamesie, which is the kind of nickname only a mother could get away with. Regulus doesn’t know when he came up with Jamie, but it’s turned into a term of endearment in his mind, certainly not something to ever be said out loud. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” James replies, smile growing impossibly wider. “I specifically recall you saying Jamie.”

“You’re deaf,” Regulus says, looking up at his ceiling, the picture of innocence. “And delusional.”

“Mm, sure, whatever you say, Reg,” James says, stretching his arms behind his head. “It was cute. I like it.”

Can his bed open up into a portal and suck Regulus through it? He doesn’t even care where it leads. Anything is better than here. “Stop. I’m embarrassed,” Regulus says, clapping his hands over his face. He can’t look at James right now or he might spontaneously combust. 

James kisses the back of Regulus’ hands. Left, then right. One, two. Two. Regulus suppresses a shudder, kissing his own palms twice. Three, four. There, now it’s balanced. “Will you call me that more often? No one but my mum has ever had a nickname for me before. Well, besides Theo, but he just mocks my mum’s.”

How can Regulus resist that? James was the first person outside of his family to give Regulus a nickname, and even though it’s stupid, it makes Regulus feel special. Someone cares enough about him to twist his name into something new. It’s meaningful, especially for those who have felt a little less loved than everyone else. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then why are you embarrassed?” Regulus doesn’t have to physically see James’ face to picture his shit-eating grin in his mind. It’s infuriating. It makes him blush even deeper. He would do anything to keep James that happy all the time.

“Oh, fuck right off.”

Chapter Text

His entire life, Peter’s been the odd one out. He’d like to think that some parts of people are set in stone from the moment they’re born. Take him, for example. He’s the youngest of three boys, with his brothers only eighteen months apart, but an age gap of ten years between Peter and his oldest brother. His brothers can’t remember a time without each other. They can remember life without Peter, though, because they lived so much of it. Peter’s parents weren’t old when their oldest boys were born, but they were when Peter entered the picture - too old to run around and get dirty with their youngest son. Despite a perfectly average-sized family, Peter grew up alone, though he never felt lonely. He didn’t mind that his brothers were best friends and merely saw him as their baby brother. He didn’t mind that his parents couldn’t properly play with him. He was alone, but never lonely, because Peter had himself. His imagination was big enough to occupy his time, so he was rarely bored or upset. Peter was homeschooled until grade seven. His mum was a school teacher, and her biggest parenting regret for her oldest sons was not teaching them herself, so she vowed to do right by Peter, who was the perfect candidate for “slower-paced and intentional learning”, in her words. When Peter reached secondary school, his mum hit the end of her expertise, and off to regular school he went. This is where he met Regulus and Barty, who’d already been friends for a year prior. They became a trio, which so commonly crash and burn, yet they’re still going strong. Peter swears it’s because they all know that Regulus and Barty are best friends first, then Peter comes after. It’s not mean-spirited - it’s honest. Every person has a favorite in a friend group. It’s easier with more people, but with only three, there are always two who like each other more than the third. Peter doesn’t mind being that third person. He prefers it, in fact. He’d likely lose his mind if he were Regulus’ or Barty’s favourite person. Now, with the addition of James and Evan into their group, Peter’s surrounded by couples and is still the odd one out.

Shouldn’t that bother him? Shouldn’t Peter be simmering with jealousy all the time? Shouldn’t he want that - a partner? Shouldn’t he want someone who will always choose him first, someone to go home to at the end of the day, someone to cuddle and kiss and go on dates with?

For a very long time, since he got old enough to be cogniscent of relationships, Peter’s been waiting for that desire to hit him. Slowly, as the time passed, Peter watched every single one of his peers become interested in dating. At what point is someone no longer a late bloomer and simply… not a bloomer at all? Is that possible? Peter’s been alone for his entire life. Surely this is a fucked up sort of strategy his mind has created to cope with always being second place. Just in case Peter never finds someone, his brain is convincing itself that he doesn’t care. Peter can’t be hurt if he never wanted a relationship in the first place. But if one does roll around, then Peter can fall head over heels like everyone else and look back to realize he did want this.

He doesn’t, though.

Want this.

The bus to Paris is packed with far more people than Peter would like. He’s seated in the middle, and even just in his line of sight, at least three girls are sitting in a boy’s lap and another pair that are kissing. That could be Peter if he actually tried and put some effort into finding a relationship. He could have that level of intimacy with someone.

The thought makes his skin crawl.

But what if it’s just nerves stemming from a lack of confidence? What if he just hasn’t found the right person yet? Everyone has a person - that’s what all the books say, and isn’t it true? Peter doesn’t know a single adult who isn’t in a relationship. So many people get married multiple times. If they can find someone they love enough to make that commitment over and over again, then surely there’s someone out there for Peter. He’ll feel something when he meets the right person. Really, how can he blame himself? The options aren’t exactly stellar at Truham, and Peter’s already established he’d rather be alone than be with anyone subpar. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just called having standards. It’s completely normal. Just because Peter hasn’t felt anything romantic yet doesn’t mean he never will. Because he will. It just has to be the right person. He will.

Right?

Right?

The bus goes over a bump and Regulus’ shoulder knocks into Peter’s. He was expecting to sit alone or be stuck next to some other person who’s solo or the odd number out in their friend group, yet Regulus didn’t even hesitate before throwing himself onto the seat and complaining about how uncomfortable it was. Peter doesn’t know why he isn’t sitting with James, and maybe he would be curious if he put genuine thought toward it, but he doesn’t really care. Well, he obviously cares about Regulus and James and their relationship, but if Peter drove himself crazy following every detail of every little spat or hiccup in their journey, he would need to be committed to a mental hospital. There’s another part of relationships that Peter doesn’t envy - the sheer amount of mental energy it takes to sustain. Peter can barely keep himself afloat, and he’s only one person. Add anyone else to the mix, and he would drown.

Now, that is. At this current stage in his life. But one day he won’t feel like that. One day, he’ll be ready. One day.

Right?

Right?

Despite the reasons or lack thereof, Regulus is next to Peter, and it’s nice. Since his friends are in relationships now, Peter doesn’t get much one-on-one time anymore, and when he does, it’s all “my boyfriend” this and “my girlfriend” that. It’s like people lose their sense of self when they begin dating. Where’s the individuality? Peter could never imagine being that committed to someone that he wants to talk and think about them instead of himself. 

That’s just him being a self-centered teenager, though. Soon, the idea will thrill him. Peter will want to share his life and himself with another person.

Right?

Right?

No one answers. No one is ever going to answer.

Surely, Peter’s just being dramatic about this. He’s still a kid, still has baby fat in his cheeks. Everyone else is simply more mature than he is. One day, Peter will wake up and feel different. He’ll feel normal.

But what if he doesn’t?

No. Surely Peter must have liked someone before. Even as a young boy, there must have been someone, boy or girl or anything else, that caught his attention. But how do you tell the difference between fancying someone and wanting to be their friend? Maybe Peter likes everyone?

Regulus’ shoulder bumps his again, even though the bus doesn’t hit a bump. And again, and again. Shit, is Peter’s overthinking that obvious? Regulus must be able to tell that he’s going crazy right now and is trying to nudge him into speaking up. For the first time in probably hours, Peter looks up and actually takes in his surroundings. Most people are asleep or else engaged in their phones or separate conversations. Still, Peter keeps his voice low when he asks, “How did you know that you fancy James?”

Regulus jumps, like he’s startled that Peter actually spoke up. Fair, he very rarely voices his thoughts or feelings. Sometimes, Peter realizes how little his friends actually know him. It’s not like they don’t try, and Peter doesn’t intentionally keep things from them; he simply… forgets to tell others about himself. It’s just never something he’s consciously aware of. When given the option, Peter will never choose to talk. He likes silence; it’s his friend too.

“Well, I tried to deny it for a while, but that was the problem. It was undeniable. No matter how deeply I buried my feelings and tried to move on, they just kept coming back every single time I saw him. I thought about him constantly, even when I was with him, and I never wanted to leave his side. If I could combine our bodies into one so I’d never have to leave James, I would.” Regulus doesn’t open his eyes, but there’s a smile dancing around the corner of his mouth. 

To Peter’s inexperienced ears, that sounds like a bit more than simply fancying someone, but what does he know? Either way, he can say with cold, hard certainty that he’s never felt like that before, and he honestly can’t imagine it. What would he do without his alone time, his own space? Sharing a body with someone sounds, quite frankly, like Peter’s worst nightmare.

All he says is “Oh,” and the two boys lapse back into silence, brains louder than the rumbling of the bus beneath them.

----

Barty doesn’t know how one morning could go so wrong. First, he woke up late, which technically isn’t surprising considering he had to set his alarm for the arse crack of dawn. His alarm probably laughed in his face, which is precisely why it didn’t go off. At least this way, Barty can blame the technology for malfunctioning because, let’s face it, he was never going to wake up even if the alarm was a train whistle blowing directly in his ear. There are simply some hours of the day that no human being should be awake at, like the time flashing on his phone screen. Second, his mum woke him up rather rudely, which Barty can concede is actually reasonable since she was asking if he needed help bringing his suitcase to the car, only to find her son still fast asleep, not ready in the slightest. Third, Barty had no time to get properly ready. He didn’t even get to brush his teeth or go to the bathroom, which is a recipe for fucking disaster when you’re stuck on a bus for hours. Fourth, he got there late and had to sprint across the parking lot with his clunky suitcase to catch the bus on time, and when the teachers finally let him on after Barty’s thirtieth apology, every seat on the bus was taken except next to James fucking Potter.

So, here Barty is, in his plaid pyjama shorts and ripped-up t-shirt he’s had since Year 8, morning breath and body odor hanging around him like a cloud of stink, a full bladder that threatens to leak with every bump in the road, and his thigh is touching James fucking Potter’s. It might just be the worst morning of Barty’s life. Regulus would call him dramatic, and maybe Barty is exaggerating a little. For the most part, he’s made peace with James. At least, Barty doesn’t want to strangle him or beat him into a blue and purple pulp every time he sees him anymore, which is progress considering he did in fact fight James once. Barty is trying to tolerate him. Really, he is. Purely for Regulus’ sake, because as much as he’s loath to admit it, James appears to be sticking around, and even he has to admit it’s not practical for him to hate his best friend’s (gag) long-term boyfriend. There’s absolutely zero chance they’ll ever like each other, but Barty can get to… is there a word for feeling nothing at all? Can you be neutral about a person? Because that’s what Barty wants to feel about James. Not positive, not negative, simply nothing at all. Still, does Barty want to be stuck with him on a seemingly endless bus ride? No. 

Because Barty’s trying to see the best in people now, he can’t ignore that James did give him the window seat, so at least Barty can plaster himself to the grimy bus wall and stare out the window while he listens to his kill yourself music. Luckily enough, Barty’s never gotten over anything that’s happened in his life, so watching the villages go by while songs about wanting to die blast in his ears is actually a favorite pastime of Barty’s. He wishes he were next to Regulus so they could share the music and mutually brood about their shit lives because it’s very difficult to relive trauma next to the happiest guy on the planet. 

Apparently, Barty’s music isn’t loud enough, because he hears James start muttering into his phone. Now, some people would turn up their volume to give him privacy, but Barty is very far from that person. Instead, he pauses his song and leans closer to James, feigning a stretch. He doesn’t know what he expects to hear. James obviously isn’t talking to Regulus since Barty can see him playing games on his phone three rows ahead of them. James’ mum is supposedly very attentive, but they’ve only been gone a few hours. Admittedly, Barty knows nothing about the rest of James’ family, and he clearly doesn’t have any friends, so it may as well be an invisible person on the other end of the phone.

What he doesn’t expect is for James to start muttering in fluent French. Even if Barty understood French, which he doesn’t, he still would have no idea what in the bloody fuck James is saying. He thinks he catches the word “Eurotunnel” and “cinq”, which sounds like the Spanish word for “five”, but beyond that, Barty’s lost. James could be dictating detailed plans to drop an atomic bomb on this bus, and Barty would be none the wiser.

It’s less than a minute before James hangs up, huffing under his breath. He actually looks… not quite upset, but flustered? Disappointed? If Barty was thinking properly right now, he’d realize it’s the closest to angry he’s ever seen James Potter.

“What the hell was that?” Barty asks, voice sharp, and James startles next to him. Bloody idiot. They’re practically sitting on top of each other on this fucking bus seat; there’s no way James could forget he’s there.

“What?” James asks, confused, like he’s forgotten he was speaking rapid-fire French into his phone a minute earlier. Barty just gestures to the phone in his lap. James isn’t a complete moron. He clearly has a brain, so he can use it right now.

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I don’t usually take calls on public transportation, but I was waiting for that. Normally I’d go somewhere else, but…” James gestures around at the bus with a grimace.

Maybe James doesn’t actually have a brain. Barty’s going to thump Regulus upside the head when they finally get back on solid ground. Honestly, what the hell does he see in this fool? “Do you honestly think I give a fuck that you made a phone call? Since when do you speak fluent French?”

“Oh,” James replies, blinking. “Since, er, I was born, essentially. My dad’s French, and his side of the family still lives there. I grew up bilingual.”

Of fucking course he did. And here Barty is, thinking he’s the shit for finally getting basic conversational Spanish down after learning the language for five years. Why is Barty even surprised anymore? He should just start assuming James bloody Potter can ride a unicycle while juggling. “Any other secrets you’re holding onto? Don’t tell me you can juggle too.”

“No, definitely not. I’m not coordinated enough for that.” James closes his eyes, head falling onto the back of his seat. “I never crawled as a kid. I just went straight from sitting up to running-”

Barty groans, digging his fists into his eyes. This is a dream. Or a simulation. There’s no fucking way James Potter is a real person. He has to be a social experiment. Where the hell did Regulus even find him?

Unreal. Just bloody unreal.

----

After today, Regulus never wants to see another bus in his life. He’s never been the biggest fan of public transportation, much preferring to force Sirius to tote him around in his truck. Even that loud, clunky thing is better than a bus, and considering Sirius’ driving skills, that’s a huge statement. Somehow, the school’s managed to find a driver that’s even worse than his big brother, because by the time they finally reach the hotel, Regulus has already written out his will and drafted goodbye letters in his notes app. Call him dramatic, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Somehow, the driver got them all there in one piece. Regulus would kiss the ground if he wasn’t worried he’d get some sort of crazy disease. He settles for touching it instead, bending down-

Don’t touch anything. The germs will get on your hand and then you’ll touch your clothes and they’ll travel with you. You can’t wash them off. They’ll get inside of you and you’ll never get rid of them. You were jostled around so much on the bus that you lost track of your counting. You might have stopped on a three. Don’t push your luck.

Regulus straightens back up, pretending he was brushing some non-existent dirt off of his shorts. He tried to focus on his numbers on the bus, but with all the jostling, he might have missed something - like a bump of his shoulder against Peter’s, or his back against the seat, or his head against the window, or his knees or his feet or-

“We’re here!” James exclaims, jumping from the second step of the bus and practically onto Regulus’ back, who can’t help but lean into him. The journey wasn’t that long, but he missed James. Regulus made the decision that they shouldn’t sit together. After James’ breakdown, Regulus needs to be extra careful about hiding their relationship. James clearly isn’t concerned, evidenced by him hanging onto Regulus like he’s his backpack, so Regulus needs to be on high alert. James is breaking, plain and simple. Somehow, in all of his shit, Regulus missed the signs. James can’t handle going public right now, and getting outed would quite possibly be the worst thing that could happen, so Regulus needs to do everything in his power to ensure their relationship stays a secret until he’s ready. James and Regulus are always together, and that’s suspicious. James pouted when Regulus told him that he was going to sit somewhere else, and the reaction almost made him crack, but then he closed his eyes and all he could see was James in his bed, eyes unseeing, a cracked shell with no light, and he threw himself over Peter to get to the window seat.

It’s not what he wants, but it’s what needs to happen, and that’s more important. It will always be more important.

Barty stalks off the bus after James, red-faced and hair sticking up at the back of his head. He grabs Regulus’ arm and marches him toward the hotel, ignoring James’ protests. “Never put me next to that boyfriend of yours again, Regulus, or I swear to God I’ll sneak into your room and strangle you in your sleep.”

Regulus can always count on Barty to not mince his words. “In case you weren’t aware, I didn’t make a seating chart. You sat next to him of your own free volition.”

Barty pushes him and Regulus nearly eats shit on the cobblestones. “In case you weren’t aware, I got there late. James had the only free seat, so I didn’t sit next to him ‘of my own free volition’. Honestly, who the fuck talks like that? Why weren’t you with him?”

Regulus bites his lip, his gate faltering, and Barty catches it effortlessly, his demeanor instantly shifting. “Regulus, what’s wrong? Is everything okay between you two?”

“Yeah, yes, we’re fine,” Regulus says quickly, checking over his shoulder. The rest of the class is still gathered around the bus, and most importantly, out of earshot. James is watching them, always looking for Regulus, and their eyes meet as Regulus opens his mouth. “James is just…” His eyes are alive. He’s looking into them right now, and still, everything Regulus sees is dark and cold. “He’s having a hard time, and the pressure of coming out is too much. We agreed to hold off on going public until he’s feeling more ready.” Barty’s gaze cuts to him, his face wrinkling in disapproval, and Regulus kicks him. “No. None of that shit. He’s not ready, so he’s not ready. It’s as simple as that. You’re not going to threaten him or say shit to him or glare at him like you’re doing right now. He hasn’t done anything wrong. Until he’s ready, we need to back off a bit around other people. I know you don’t like him, but even you can agree that his being outed would be a disaster.”

Barty looks away from James, studying Regulus’ face instead, and he holds firm. Barty won’t find the lies he’s looking for. Regulus sincerely doesn’t care. James will be ready one day, and that’s all the reassurance he needs. It could be in a day or a year, and Regulus would accept either with stride. It’s the intention that matters, not the time frame. 

“If you’re sure,” Barty says, and Regulus nods. He’s never been more sure of anything in his life. Vaguely, he registers what that means. He’s never trusted anyone like this, and yet he trusts James. 

“Mr. Black! Mr. Crouch! Care to join the rest of the group?” McGonagall’s voice carries across the street corner, loud and sharp enough to make both boys flinch. Behind her, James is grinning, the bloody prat. He’s lucky Regulus likes him so much.

“Don’t forget what I said. I know where you sleep at night, and I know you don’t lock your windows,” Barty says, and Regulus just barely resists the urge to shove him into the incoming traffic. 

----

It’s not that Regulus hasn’t travelled to places before. Alphard tried his best to make sure the brothers were well-traveled. Leaving home was difficult for the boys for far longer than it should have been; both Sirius and Regulus terrified that they would run into their family, but now they manage a family vacation once a year. Regulus has even been to Paris before with Mother and Father, though he was so little he barely remembers. Usually, places he went to with his parents leave Regulus shaky and panicking, which is why they never went back to France. Sirius came two years ago, and he survived, which is the only reason Regulus is here now. He can do anything as long as he knows Sirius has done it before him. He’s walked these streets, eaten in these cafes, slept in this hotel, explored this city without Mother or Father darting out from an alley to bring him back to their old life. 

This is Regulus’ first trip alone with his friends and James. No Mother, no Father, no Alphard, no Sirius. He’s on his own, for perhaps the first time in his life, and it’s simultaneously the best and the scariest thing he’s ever done. 

Regulus looks up from the sink where he’s washing his hands. After all that time on the bus, he just feels dirty. Besides, the teachers are trying to check all of them in, and dozens of bodies packed into the lobby were making his skin crawl. Regulus isn’t hiding in this bathroom waiting for everything to be quiet. No. Certainly not.

Regulus looks up, making eye contact with himself in the mirror. He doesn’t see the dark bags under his eyes, the worry lines permanently creasing his forehead, the sweat dripping from the hair that curls just under his ear, the crack in his lip where he’s chewed through it. No, Regulus looks at his reflection and sees his five-year-old self looking back at him: crisp black trousers despite the summer heat, collared white shirt with sleeves long enough to hide the marks on his arms, hair properly cut close to his scalp, gap-toothed when he opens his mouth.

Little. He’s so little.

How do you exist in a place you last visited as someone else? How do you move on from something that happened to you when it shouldn’t have? How do you look a baby in the face without seeing yourself, screaming and bleeding? How do you escape the shadow of your past following you like a dark cloud?

Regulus doesn’t know. It’s been all these years and he still doesn’t know. 

“Reg, come on, let’s go see our room!” James calls, waving a key card as he opens the door. The smile slips from his face as he takes Regulus in, who, as his five-year-old self fades from view, does look a bit of a fright.

James is so excited and you’re ruining it. You’re letting your trauma ruin everything. He’s going to see that this is all you can ever be and leave.

Regulus does the only thing he knows how - he swallows the lump in his throat and plasters on a fake smile as he turns to James. He won’t ruin this trip for James or anyone, including himself, because Regulus is excited. He wants to be here in Paris with his friends. He wants to have fun, and if he has to fake it to get there, so be it.

It helps that the room is, objectively, pretty bloody cool. Somehow, the school found a hotel with rooms that sleep five - two full beds and a couch that converts into a twin.

“I call the single!” Peter says before the door has even closed. “I love you lot, but I’m sleeping next to any of you.” Regulus can’t blame him. More often than not, Regulus and Sirius wind up in each other’s beds, Remus even joining in sometimes. He nearly had a heart attack the first time Regulus slipped into Sirius’ bed, but now sometimes Regulus rolls over in the middle of the night and Remus is there, no Sirius in sight. Regulus has shared a bed with Barty, Peter, and Evan before. Never James - not properly, side by side, for a whole night-

“I’m sleeping with Regulus. No chance in hell I’m sleeping next to the two lovebirds,” Barty says, pointing a finger between Regulus and James.

“You do realize that means you won’t be with Evan, right?” Regulus asks, arms crossed over his chest, not even bothering to bite back his smirk as the horror dawns across Barty’s face. 

“Wait, no, fuck, I-” He stammers, glancing at Evan in panic, who just looks like he wishes rooms were limited to four people and he was the odd man out so he didn’t have to deal with this shit.

“I think we all heard you loud and clear,” Peter says, smirking like this is the best day of his life. “I’m in the single, Regulus with Barty, and Evan with James. Sounds great to me.”

Regulus eyes the bathroom in the corner. He has a feeling he’s going to be spending a lot of time in there.

----

It turns out that, despite them all being friends, eight people don’t share the same interests when it comes to Paris.

“I want to go to a museum,” Evan says.

“I want to shop,” Mary says.

“I read all the books I brought already, so I need to buy some new ones,” Peter says.

“I just want to show you Paris,” James says, and even if Regulus did want to visit a museum or buy things, he doesn’t want to anymore. How could anything else matter when James is smiling at him on the streets of Paris?

“Let’s just split up then. No point sticking together and being miserable the whole time,” Lily suggests, and the group breaks apart. 

Regulus shouldn’t be shocked that James’ itinerary involves none of the touristy places the rest of their classmates have been muttering about. They only have these few hours in Montmartre, not even a full day. Regulus won’t be back here for a very long time, if he even returns at all. James knows that, and yet James’ hand is in his, showing him brightly coloured buildings and street artists and murals and a man with a black cat and an accordion. This is how you truly get to know a place, absorb it into your bones - the little things. How do you get to understand a city without truly seeing it, without exploring the nooks and crannies and oddities and idiosyncrasies? Every place in Europe has churches and museums and cobblestone streets and cafes. Yes, Regulus knows there’s individual history with those buildings, but that’s the past. He cares about the present, and most importantly, he cares about what James loves. There are so few times when Regulus gets to see the world from James’ eyes. They’ve both lived in their village for long enough to see everything it has to offer. There’s nothing new at home for James to show, but here, in a place Regulus can barely even remember visiting, it’s all new. James is the expert, and Regulus will follow him, toppling down the crest of the hill if it helps him understand what it must be like to live in James’ mind. 

The closest they get to a popular attraction is the Sacre Coeur, and even that’s just to sit on the steps and look at the view. It’s packed, as one might assume, and Regulus keeps wincing as strangers’ pant legs brush against his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” James says, putting his arm around Regulus’ shoulder and pulling him close. 

“It’s fine,” Regulus lies, teeth gritted. And it will be fine, once he can figure out how to subtly knock into three more people without James noticing. Maybe if he just shifts to the right a bit, and sticks out his elbow… or his foot, but the original stranger hit his elbow, or was it his forearm, oh fuck, he’s already forgotten exactly where it was, and if it’s not the exact same location it doesn’t count and he’ll just have more uneven debts to settle-

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” James asks, presumably referencing the view. Regulus wouldn’t know - he doesn’t have a second to spare to look up. There’s a smudge of dirt just above his elbow, dirt dirt dirt dirt, so that must be where the person touched him, so it will work if three others hit his elbow, so he can rest his hand on his knee so his elbow juts out a bit more, so the next time he hears someone walking by he can stretch and bump them, James is saying something else but there’s a person coming, when Regulus sees the tips of their shoe on the step next to him he just has to reach-

The person in question turns out to be a rather small child whom Regulus has just elbowed in the rib cage. They stumble, the action just enough to upset their tiny center of balance, and glare at Regulus over the top of a, quite frankly, alarmingly complex ice cream cone.

“Where the hell are they selling ice cream? Isn’t this supposed to be a historical landmark?” Regulus asks, rather affronted on the building’s behalf. Is nothing sacred? 

“Fuck, that looks good,” James says wistfully, eyeing the cone now dripping onto the stone. It’s a slipping hazard if Regulus has ever seen one. “Want one?”

Fuck it. “Yeah,” Regulus admits. Capitalism exists for a reason, after all. Marketing is effective. It’s hot and sunny, and by God, Regulus does want some damn ice cream.

“Be right back,” James says, kissing Regulus on the side of the head before he climbs back up the stairs. Regulus bites his lip, trying to refrain from touching the place James’ lips met his hair. It’s too pathetic, even for Regulus, and that’s a very low bar. 

Still…

Regulus has been so caught up in his own head lately that he barely pays attention to his own life anymore. He’s just been floating by, like all of this is normal and the way it’s always been, when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Regulus is in Paris, not panicking, staying in a room with his best friends, and his boyfriend is off buying them ice cream. It’s always been his hope, but never once did Regulus dare to dream that this would ever be his reality.

Because you don’t deserve it. You’re a freak, and you’re not going to be able to hide it for much longer. The clock is running out. They’re all going to see just how messed up you are and leave, and then you’ll be all alone again, just like you deserve-

“God, it’s bloody boiling. Whose big idea was it to have this trip in the summer anyway? Why couldn’t it have been over Christmas or something? I’ve got tit sweat dripping down my stomach.” Lily materializes out of seemingly nowhere, making Regulus jump like her voice is laced with fire. 

“Where did you come from?”

Lily shrugs, completely unaffected by the heart attack she just gave Regulus, and sits down next to him. “Mary and I have been to every store in this place, I swear. She’s not even bought anything - she just likes looking, but after the fifth shop selling the same shit, I convinced her to come here. I mean, for me to put my foot down, you know it’s bad. I bloody love trinkets. There’s supposedly a ton of history here, and I honestly don’t care, but don’t tell Potter that or he’ll kick me down these steps while telling me exactly which historical events happened here and why they matter, but I’d like to see at least some sights. We ran into James in the ice cream line. He said you were down here somewhere, and my feet are killing me, so here I am.”

“Ah, yes, you’re just here to rest your feet. God forbid you actually want to spend time with me,” Regulus jokes. Truthfully, he’s rarely alone with Lily, and even he isn’t sure why. At first, he hated Lily because he thought James was in love with her, but once he realized he couldn’t be more wrong, his anger faded. They were on their way to being friends, close even, and then Barty and Evan started fighting. While neither of them was entirely right and they were both being massive fucking idiots, sides were inevitably taken. Unfortunately, Regulus has found himself inexplicably tied to Barty, and he would back him up even if he purposely punted a child off a cliff. Lily is the same with Evan, so there’s tension, and Regulus hates it. 

“Come on,” Lily says, nudging Regulus in the side, a wicked grin dancing in the corners of her mouth. “Now that Evan and Barty have pulled their heads out of their asses, we don’t have to pretend to hate each other anymore. Do you think they’re at that museum snogging or fighting? My guess is the latter.”

“Hey, give them some credit. Just because they had a rocky start doesn’t mean they’ll stay rocky. We can’t all have picture-perfect relationships like you and Mary.” Regulus is partially joking, but Lily stiffens next to him, a stark contrast to her usual casualty. 

“Oh yeah. Perfect,” Lily scoffs. “That’s us.” Regulus thinks she’ll stop there, but she doesn’t. “Been together over ten months, and she’s acting like I committed a crime by telling her I love her. I didn’t even mean to because I knew she wouldn’t take it well, but I wasn’t expecting her to shut me out, which she’s already been doing, but now it’s unbearable. So, yeah, don’t let us fool you.”

Regulus should probably be honored that Lily’s confiding in him, but honestly, he wants to fucking die. How is Regulus meant to respond? Does Lily want comfort? Advice? To be told off? A slap upside the head? If Regulus had a coin, he’d flip it to make a decision, but that wouldn’t solve anything, as he still doesn’t know what to say. How does he comfort her? What advice does she want? How does he tell her off if he doesn’t know what’s wrong with what she said? Regulus could slap her. That’s easy…

“Wait, fuck, no, don’t respond to that. I’m being a right bitch. Clearly, she’s going through something, so I need to shut my big mouth. Have you noticed her acting strange, or am I just making stuff up? I’ve not gotten a chance to ask Evan yet since he’s been so hung up with Barty.” Lily turns to look at him, and there’s just enough desperation lighting up her eyes that Regulus calms down enough to answer. 

“This trip is the first time we’ve properly been around each other in ages, but…” Regulus closes his eyes, trying to focus. If he had to describe Mary in one word, it would be wildfire - which is a bit ironic since Lily has the looks of a flame, but the personality is all Mary. When she’s in the room, you can’t help but notice. It’s not even that she’s purposely drawing attention to herself; it’s just that the spotlight somehow follows her wherever she goes. Mary is big, and now that Lily brought attention to it, she has been smaller lately. “Quieter, I suppose. More withdrawn.”

“I knew it. God, I’m awful, being mad at her and complaining to you when you’re just trying to enjoy Paris-”

“No, I’m listening, I promise,” Regulus says, and then he does something that surprises both of them - he puts a brings a hand to Lily’s, anxiously twisting her hair into a knot. “Relationships are hard. You think once you finally get together, everything is going to be easy, but then there’s first dates and first kisses and first time meeting the family and first ‘I love you’.”

Lily groans, throwing her head back into the sun. “God, I never thought we were going to make that jump between friends and girlfriends. I thought we’d stay pining idiots forever.”

“But look at you now. You made it, and you’ve been together a long time now. If you could get through that, you’ll get through this too.” Regulus means it. He doesn’t know what’s going on with Mary, but the girls are practically two parts of the same body. They’ll work it out.

“Wait, that was… really good. Why haven’t I been asking you for advice my entire life? Where did that come from?”

“My arse, if I’m being honest,” Regulus admits, unsure if honesty is the best policy here, but it makes Lily choke on a startled laugh, so it’s worth it. “But it’s true, isn’t it? If you’ve made it through everything else, why would this stop you? She worships the ground you walk on, Lily. I’ve never been more certain that two people love each other. Some people just need more time, like James needing to wait a while longer before coming out.”

“That’s fine - I just wish she’d talk about it.”

“Talking is fucking hard sometimes.” This conversation is actually making Regulus twitch, but he knows that’s too much honesty. “If she isn’t ready to say it back, I’m sure she’s scared to tell you that because she doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“She is hurting me, though, and I know that’s really shitty of me to complain about because she’s clearly going through something, but I don’t know what to do. I just want to help her.”

“If she is going through something, especially if it’s new, she doesn’t know what to do either. It’s not that she doesn’t love you - it’s that she loves you too much to involve you.” Maybe Regulus is letting this get a little too personal, but he already said he’s shit at advice. This is what he’d want to hear, and what he hopes Lily would tell James if their roles were ever reversed. 

Which they will be someday very soon.

“What is this?” Mary gasps from behind, making them both jump. “Holding hands? Are you stealing my girlfriend, Black? Are you seeing this, Potter?”

“I am,” James says, nodding solemnly, but his eyes are sparkling as they lock onto Regulus’. “Can’t believe I left to get us ice creams and I come back to this blasphemy.”

“Guess I’ll just have to fight, then,” Mary announces, sitting on Lily’s other side and pulling her to her chest, Lily giggling and squirming.

“Yours,” James says, handing Regulus a cone piled so high he’s shocked both cones made it down the stairs intact. Apparently they’re very generous with their portions in France. “You can have some of mine if you want. I had a few licks of yours on the way down, so it’s only fair.” He offers Regulus his cone.

“Ew,” Regulus says shortly. James gets vanilla, which is undeniably the most boring flavour in existence. It has no flavour - that’s the whole point. Granted, Regulus likes strawberry, so he can’t really talk, but it’s still better than vanilla. Growing up, on the rare occasions that they’d have ice cream, Regulus and Sirius both liked strawberry best. Then, Remus bloody Lupin came along and introduced them to chocolate. Regulus enjoys it, which he’ll never admit, but Sirius was wholeheartedly swayed into new favourite territory. His brother was ecstatic when he learned James liked vanilla because he completes the group - chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, and more chocolate, but Sirius and Remus are practically sewn to each other’s hip, so counting them both as one is more fitting.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad, which you’d see if you’d just try it,” James begs, shoving the cone closer to Regulus’ face, and he yelps.

“I already know exactly what it tastes like, which is nothing-”

It’s easy to get caught up in the teasing, which Mary and Lily are also doing plenty of, currently arguing about the merits of Lily and Regulus as a couple. Regulus meets Lily’s eyes over James’ shoulder and nods. They’ll be alright. 

----

Peter is alone.

Which isn’t shocking, but it is disappointing.

They’re in Paris, for fuck’s sake. Peter isn’t part of a traveling family. He’s never been out of the UK before - shit, he’s never even been out of England. This is his first time in a new country, in a place where everything doesn’t look the same and there are trees he’s only ever seen in pictures. It would be nice to share this experience with someone, but here he is, wandering the streets alone.

Then again, he is in Paris - the city of love - with no one to love, so maybe this isn’t shocking at all. This is what happens when all of your friends are in relationships and you aren’t.

And don’t want to be.

No, he does. He just hasn’t found the right person yet. If he’d asked Regulus and Barty if they would date someone this time last year, Regulus would have scoffed while Barty rambled about how he certainly doesn’t have a fear of being known. And look at them now, both off with their boyfriends, madly in love, in the city of love. It was the person who changed their minds, who motivated them to overcome the biggest hurdle standing in their way - themselves. That will be Peter, someday soon, looking back at this memory of his young, naive self exploring around the most romantic place in the world, wondering if he’ll ever experience romance himself.

Not now. Not ever.

He isn’t exactly being fair to his friends. When they all split up, Peter said he wanted to go to the book shop. It’s not like his friends purposefully chose to leave him alone; they just have no interest in accompanying him while he spends an hour wandering back and forth through the shelves. And here Peter is, pointedly not at a bookstore because he got too lost in his head and stopped paying attention to where he was going.

He does a U-turn in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring that the motion exposes him as a clueless tourist, and starts back the way he came, pointedly not looking at the pairs and groups walking past him.

Peter likes being alone. This isn’t some situation where he just repeats the mantra over and over until he gaslights himself into believing it’s true - he genuinely enjoys alone time. But just because he loves it doesn’t mean he always wants to be by himself. Sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice to have someone to share experiences with. Like now, which brings Peter right back to where he started, so what was the point of all this thinking anyway? Just a circle - the ending the same as the beginning.

Peter reaches the book shop, and with the cracked spines and coffee beans, everything else ceases to matter. He knows this level of comfort around books makes him nerdy and perhaps even a little pathetic, but Peter couldn’t care less. He was raised with books and their characters as his friends. 

Maybe that’s where the issues started. 

Peter’s always had a sneaking suspicion that he gives off an aura of “leave me alone”. It’s the only explanation that’s ever made sense to him. He gets invited to places, but when he shows up, people act surprised. He has friends, but when he sits with them at lunch, they look at him like they’re shocked he’s still turning up. They’ve been friends for years, and this is what they do every day. Do they think he’d rather be alone than be with them? Would he?

Peter doesn’t know, and he doesn’t think he ever will. It’s not like it matters anyway. Peter could talk to them tonight, but he won’t. Not because he’s scared - because he doesn’t want to, and isn’t that answer enough? Maybe in another life, it bothers Peter. In this one, quite simply, he doesn’t mind. He’s wise enough to look at the situation objectively like a scientist observing his life under a microscope, poking and prodding and saying “Hm, that’s fascinating” without any emotions attached. Sometimes, Peter feels like a scientist. He’s not sure if that’s a byproduct of being the observer his whole life or if it’s something deeper, but he would love nothing more than to take his friends’ brains and deconstruct them to figure out exactly why they do things and how they think. Is that a fucked up thing to admit? Maybe. But, as is becoming the slogan of his life, he doesn’t care.

Maybe that will be the title of his memoir, or if he never becomes important enough to elicit one, the epitaph on his gravestone: Peter Pettigrew - He Doesn’t Care.

That thought brings Peter to the autobiography section of the bookstore. He doesn’t usually go for nonfiction, but he’s rapidly approaching a stage where he recognizes most of the books in his favourite genres as something he’s read or firmly decided to never read, so that probably means it’s time to branch out. Memoirs are the closest he’ll ever get to actually picking through someone’s brain with a scalpel, because even if he’s fucked up enough to think about it, he’s not fucked up enough to do it. That’s serial killer behavior, and he’d much rather study one than become one. 

Perhaps his thinking is self-inflated, but Peter didn’t expect there to be anyone else in the section. As he turns the corner, he walks almost directly into someone kneeling to look at the bottom shelf. “Oh, sorry, I’m in the way, let me just move-”

“No, I wasn’t paying attention-” Peter starts, but the boy is already moving, and a lightbulb of recognition lights in his head. “Wait, you’re Benjy, right?” Peter’s never actually spoken to him before, despite them being in the same year, which might make him an arse to admit, but he doesn’t make a habit of starting conversations with people unless he’s forced. He only knows Benjy in the roundabout way he knows everyone.

“Oh, hi, Peter,” Benjy says, standing up and smiling. Peter’s fairly certain he fails to stop the disbelief from flashing across his face. Since he doesn’t talk much, no one knows who Peter is. For some, that would be a breaking point, but it’s a perk for Peter. He’s more than happy to be invisible in the background rather than be someone to all these people he hopes to never see again. Thrilled, even. Just last week, one of his teachers assigned groups for a class activity, and his partner said, “Who’s Peter?” despite them being in school together for over half their lives. Unknown, unseen, just how Peter likes.

Benjy sees him. Peter isn’t used to that. He isn’t sure how that makes him feel.

“My friends thought I was mental for shopping for books instead of exploring the city, so I’m glad I’m not the only mental one here,” Benjy’s eyes grow wide. “Not that I think you’re mental! Just that I’m not alone!”

Alone.

Peter was alone, and now he’s not. Maybe he should do something about that.

“Mine all chose to go to museums or sightsee or shop. I’ll join them another day, but I’ve already blown through all the books I’ve brought, so I need to stock up for the rest of the week.” Peter always sleeps rather terribly, and last night was worse than usual. Probably the new place, or the pull-out bed, or the four incredibly love-sick roommates. Peter spent most of the night reading by the moonlight, but secretly focusing on James and Regulus holding hands across their beds.

It made Peter feel something, something even stronger than his book did, which is rare. He’s not usually more affected by real life than fiction, but seeing the grip they had on each other, so delicate yet so firm, not interrupted even as they fell asleep and tossed and turned throughout the night…

Peter analyzed every movement of their fingers, every place their hands touched, but he couldn’t figure out what it was he felt. He should feel longing, but Peter spent so many hours convincing himself that’s what he felt that he can’t remember if it was even right. He should want that for himself, to find that comfort in another person, to let bonds last even through sleep. 

He should want to hold hands. He should want a relationship.

He should, so he does.

That’s what he felt. Longing. Desire.

Peter looks up at Benjy, the boy’s face alight with something so familiar, and Peter takes a step closer.

This is what he wanted. This is his opportunity.

He wants this.

He does.

----

Barty doesn’t know if he’s ever been happier. 

It’s a scary statement, a scary thought. Just those words in that order make his finger start tapping, tapping, tapping on his thigh. Because that’s not something that happens to Barty. Happiness. It’s foreign, a virus his immune system is going to label as an invader and attack. It’s not supposed to be here, inside Barty.

It’s not that he’s unhappy, usually. He’s just… there. He loves his mum, hates his dad. He loves his friends, hates his classmates. He loves one teacher, hates the rest. Barty’s come to terms with his life. He doesn’t like it, per se, but it’s not changing anytime soon. His mum isn’t leaving his dad, his school years aren’t going to suddenly disappear, and the weird feelings fogging up his mind aren’t dispersing. 

So, he’s accepted where his life is. Maybe it will get better one day, maybe it won’t. He’s here nonetheless because, to be completely honest, he doesn’t have the balls to take himself out, and he doesn’t fancy poking around sketchy places to get someone else to take him out, and he doesn’t have the money for an assassin, so he’s here to stay. Might as well come to terms with it. If you can’t beat them, join them, isn’t that what they say? 

Barty doesn’t know who they are, but he believes them, perhaps more than he believes most other people in his life, which is probably a reflection of his relationship with authority figures and should be analyzed, but that’s a Regulus thing, not a Barty thing. Regulus does all the fancy thinking, Barty just feels - and waits for Regulus to tell him why. That’s how they work, and Barty likes things that work.

It’s part of why this thing with Evan feels so good. Because it didn’t work at first. Barty was a square, and Evan was a triangle, and they were trying to fit into a circle-shaped hole… or some other metaphor like that. Again, Regulus’ job. Barty’s not a fucking wordsmith. Sometimes he can’t even remember how to spell his own full name.

Barty knows what it feels like when they don’t work, which makes now all that much more rewarding. Take today, for example. The two of them spent the whole day together, bouncing from museum to museum. Barty isn’t traditionally an art fan. He’s the kind of person who goes to a museum and winds up sitting at the tiny table doing the colouring pages meant to occupy little children so their parents can catch a fucking break. Barty thought his brain just didn’t have the same connections that art fans have - like God never connected two wires up there and the art appreciation is just sparking out of them. Turns out all Barty needed was for someone to connect those wires, create a path for that untapped potential to channel through. That person is Evan.

The joy in his eyes as he gazes at these paintings that just look like blobs of colour on a canvas to Barty… it means something so deeply to Evan, those colours blending together to make something that resonates in a place so carnal it brings tears to his eyes. Barty wants to feel that. The only thing he worships like that is Evan, and he doesn’t need Regulus to tell him that’s not healthy. Barty wants to feel what Evan feels, see art through Evan’s eyes, think the same thoughts that Evan thinks, be Evan. 

Be, be, be.

Instead, he settles for watching Evan while he watches the paintings, while his fingers trace the brush strokes in the air. Listens while he mutters little incoherent strands that mean nothing to Barty but everything to him, while he creates sentences for Barty to explain the significance of this colour blend and this type of charcoal pencil and so many things that Barty doesn’t understand but wants to. He’s made of nothing more than want, carnal want, want so deep he wants to clamp his jaw around Evan’s shoulder and bite, rip, chew, taste, digest, be.

So, yeah, he bloody loves Paris, and he loves his life. He loves Evan, loves paintbrushes and colour and birds’ songs echoing off the stone buildings and clouds chasing each other across deep blue. 

Life is so beautiful. How could Barty not have noticed it before? Was the magnificence always there, lurking, waiting for Barty to remove his blinders?

They’re gone now, lying forgotten somewhere in a crack of the cobblestones that have been there longer than Barty’s been alive. Even if things get worse again, he’ll never be able to put them back on again. How could he, when this is how bright the world is. There are colours everywhere.

He’s never seen colours like this before. 

If only there weren’t one, persistent, lingering, dark cloud that Barty can’t seem to shake…

“So how did your day with Evan go?” The audacity of him, honestly. Barty’s just trying to enjoy his few minutes of peace and quiet. Evan ventured out to find a vending machine for some late night snacks, Regulus won the arm wrestling match against Barty to get the second shower (bloody rugby - Barty used to pulverize him in arm wrestling but now Regulus actually has some muscles, the horror), Peter is curled up in his bed peacefully reading one of his new books after he had the first shower, and Barty’s hanging upside down on his bed watching the fan spin above him. To Barty, that’s their whole group - a four-leafed clover, a lucky sort of magic. But, no, no peace for him, because fucking James is here too.

It’s Regulus and only Regulus he holds in his mind as he swallows telling James it’s none of his business. It’s a bitter pill, but it goes down - Barty just has to swallow with a little more force.

“It was good.” That’s a neutral statement if Barty’s ever heard one. No elaboration, and he didn’t even say it with his usual snark. A perfect response, no room for anything else-

“Where did you go?” James asks, rolling over so he’s facing Barty, and Barty has to physically bite his lip so he doesn’t reach over and kick James off the bed. Of course, he can plan neutrality all he wants, and then James has to go along and fuck it up. This is precisely why Barty will never like James Potter, and the longer this conversation goes on, tolerating is slipping farther and farther out of his grasp.

“Just a bunch of art museums,” Barty shrugs. He’s not even trying to be vague here. He actually has no idea where they went - Barty just followed Evan.

“That was the longest you two have ever been alone together, right? Did it feel weird?”

Barty’s just going to have to accept Regulus being furious with him, because what the fuck does that mean? Why would it feel weird for Barty to be alone with Evan, his boyfriend? Does that imply it should be awkward because they aren’t supposed to be together? “Should it have felt weird?” Barty asks, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at James, not even trying to keep the venom out of his voice. 

James winces, sitting up to mirror Barty’s posture, which means they’re now both sitting at the edge of the bed and their knees are touching, which is way too close for comfort even when Barty doesn’t want to hit James. Again. Barty’s already hit him once, so what does it really matter if he does it again? “Sorry, I just meant…” James starts and trails off, pulling at his hair, which he does a lot. Yes, James has good hair; there’s no reason to continue to bring attention to it every five minutes. “The first few times when Regulus and I were alone, it was a little weird. Before we were dating, we could have hung out just the two of us for days on end and it would have been perfectly natural, but once we got together, it felt different, which kinda caught me off guard, because nothing really changed between the two of us, but it felt like it did, because now we had a label and expectations. I think I was just really nervous. My mum told me it was normal, but maybe she was just lying to make me feel better.”

Well, now Barty feels like a fucking arse. James bloody Potter. Why couldn’t he have phrased it like that in the first place? Even Barty has to admit, James was just worried about them, and that’s sweet, and Barty was mean when he was just trying to be nice. Fuck, now he has to apologize, and there’s nothing Barty hates doing more than apologizing, especially to James Potter. What’s his middle name, anyway? These instances call for a full government name, so Barty can properly curse him out. “I think we already got over the awkward phase, honestly. It was so weird when we were ignoring each other that now everything feels like paradise compared to that.”

James looks up sheepishly, the hints of a smile playing on the corners of his mouth, recognizing the olive branch Barty extended. “I think I was too upset and confused to feel awkward when Regulus was ignoring me. But he was completely ignoring me. I don’t know how you two did the just friends everything is normal thing for as long as you did.” 

The olive branch grows.

Barty snorts, loud in the quiet room. “Me neither, mate. It was torture.”

James’s smile makes it past the corners of his mouth to his whole face. “It was torture to watch, if I’m honest.” 

It’s the farthest they’ve ever gotten, and it’s enough for today. “Alright,” Barty says, standing up so fast that James flinches. “I’m hungry. Come on, Pete, let’s go figure out where the hell Evan got off to.”

“Why do I have to come?” Peter asks, not even looking up from his book. 

“Because maybe he got lost or kidnapped, and I don’t know any French to save him.”

“Google Translate exists for a reason,” Peter grumbles, but he gets up anyway and follows Barty from the hotel room, neither acknowledging James, but they don’t have to.

The olive branch remains, glistening in the moonlight. 

----

James loves Paris, which shouldn’t be so surprising to him, but it is. For over half of his life now, Paris has seemed like some vast entity on another planet. An entity that has his family. Unreachable. Evil. Yet here James is, cheeks flushed from smiling and hair sun-bleached. There’s nothing wrong with this city, beyond the allure of it all. Mysterious, simply lovely. James can see why his family doesn’t leave.

But is this city better than me? Better than supporting your newly deceased son’s wife and eight-year-old child? Better than leaving them entirely alone to navigate the loss of the center of their ecosystem? Better than carrying on his legacy and helping your grandson to remember his dad? Better than leaving when you’re needed the most and never looking back?

No matter how much James loves Paris, he doesn’t think the answer to that question could ever be yes. He might just be biased, though. 

James came to Paris hoping not to think about them, and he’s been successful. For the most part. Right now is a bad example. Really, he’s been fine. More than fine.

Some black holes you just can’t shake. 

James opens the Photo app on his phone, scrolling through the hundreds of pictures he took today. Regulus was teasing him for taking “ten of the same shot”, but the cloud position is slightly different, or the lighting. They’re not the same. James keeps them all, despite the red exclamation point in the corner of his screen warning him about low storage. Something else Regulus has been relentlessly teasing him about.

Regulus.

James has always known he enjoys traveling. He hasn’t been to many places, more so when his dad was alive, but he’s seen enough to know he loves seeing. All the people, tourists and locals. All the history. All the people who are here and have been here. A complete and total look into the lives of other people. James loves everything about it. He didn’t know he could love it more, but now he’s here with Regulus, and it’s like the world has split all the way open so it’s lying flat in front of him. Getting to experience the world with your world. There are no words for it, and James’ chest feels like it’s too small to hold the vast capacity of everything he feels. 

Here, now, nothing exists. It’s just James, and Regulus, and Paris, and this joy. What else matters? What else could possibly be more than this? This level of happiness is what James wishes he felt all the time, and it’s possible. He’s told himself it’s impossible for years, that someone like him doesn’t get to feel like this, but here he is, feeling it. So why wouldn’t he want to feel like this forever? Why wouldn’t he do everything possible to feel like this forever? When this is possible, and probable, and within reach, the shackles fall away and James is free. 

James’ favourite picture of the day is of him and Regulus with their ice creams. Regulus’ is about to drip, and his eyes are widening as he realizes it will stain his favourite shorts. James is looking at Regulus, his face soft. He already made it his screensaver, and when Barty saw it, he scoffed and called him an “insufferable simp”, and James is proud of that. It’s everything Regulus deserves.

And more.

Regulus deserves more.

James opens Instagram, ignoring his feed littered with everyone else’s Paris pictures, just to add one more. What’s another in this abundance? To James, it’s everything. 

Bonjour xo

It’s barely been posted for ten seconds before there’s a thump and a yelp from the bathroom. “Did you just post me on Instagram again?” Regulus yells, louder than he has to for the thin bathroom walls. 

“Maaaybe,” James calls back, drawing out the syllables and grinning like the lovesick fool he is.

Regulus huffs, and James can see his pretty little pout, the one that only comes out when he’s pretending to be upset but is secretly very pleased. “Well, that’s very sweet, but you made me drop my towel.”

“Sorry!” James sings back, not sorry in the slightest. In fact, it makes him happier. Regulus seems so unshakeable most of the time. He loves rattling him enough for the composure to dip, even for a second. 

“Now it’s… it’s dirty. Can you get me the spare out of the closet? Please?”

James didn’t even know the hotel room had a closet, but okay. Call him unobservant. All rooms have to have closets, right? Isn’t that some kind of legal requirement? If it’s a legal thing, James should probably know it. That’s something normal people know, right? Like, laws and stuff? Although that’s a pretty useless law. He should probably concentrate on laws that actually matter, like driving the speed limit and not killing people. Well, those are common sense, but they might be the only laws James knows. But if closets are common sense, then is that law common sense too? Are all laws just common sense? If he’s being honest, James has never put much energy into caring about the law. When you’re a kid, that doesn’t really matter. But, he’s hardly a child anymore. Fuck, that’s an awful thought-

“James?” Regulus asks, voice higher than it was a minute ago, which means James has waited too long and Regulus is now panicking, which is never a good sign.

“Sorry, sorry, coming!” James yelps, scrambling toward the door since that’s the only place in this bloody room that would be big enough for a closet. Sure enough, there it is, and James must be more unobservant than he thought because it is pretty obvious. James grabs one of the towels, and naturally the whole stack comes tumbling down, which is a problem for later.

Ignoring the pile that will certainly get him yelled at by one of his current roommates, James skids to the bathroom, his socks sliding on the slick floor. He’s about to burst in when he realizes that Regulus is asking for a towel because he just got out of the shower and, therefore, doesn’t have any clothes on.

Oh.

James goes still for a moment, brain working so fast it short-circuits and simply stops . Luckily, Regulus must hear his fumbling, because the door cracks open and a solitary hand sticks out. James is still buffering, so Regulus’ fingers wiggle around for the towel until they feel the material, then promptly yank it out of James’ hand and close the door, so he’s once again staring at peeling wood.

For some bloody reason, it’s that sight of the busted hotel door that jumpstarts James’ brain again, and all the static fades away again.

What the fuck was that?

Because the thing is, James has seen Regulus without clothes on before. Never fully naked, no, but they all change in front of each other in the locker room for rugby. There are other lads there, sure, but it’s a small enough room. James hasn’t deliberately sought out Regulus, but he’s caught his gaze straying his way a fair few times, only to feel guilty afterward and avoid meeting Regulus’ eyes for a bit. It’s not something that James has let himself think about. He’s not an idiot - James knows how boys his age talk sometimes. James doesn’t want to think about Regulus’ body - it feels crude and objectifying, so he hasn’t let his mind drift there. He also isn’t ready for… well, anything really. Kissing and cuddling are more than enough for James. Maybe the time will come where it isn’t anymore, and maybe it won’t, but that’s a bridge they’ll cross together once it happens. 

Right now, though, something is burning bright behind James’ navel, unlike anything he’s ever felt before, and it only strengthens when Regulus stumbles out of the bathroom in baggy clothes with his curls dripping water down his cheeks. Bloody hell, James doesn’t think he’s ever felt this much in his life. What is it about Regulus standing there, fresh out of the shower, that makes his heart swell up so much? It’s vulnerable, and almost painfully domestic. In a few years, this could be James’ life every day. He could memorize exactly how long it takes for Regulus’ hair to dry, even the curls hidden behind his ear.

James doesn’t often think about the future, but he wants to live in this kind of simple moment forever.

Regulus shuffles toward the bed, trying to shake his curls out of his eyes, and he’s moving too slow for James, who reaches out and tugs Regulus down onto the mattress. Regulus lands on top of him and yelps, trying to pull away, but James holds him there. “No, stay.” This is the first time they’ve been properly alone this trip, and James wants Regulus as close as possible for a minute. For as long as possible, preferably, but a minute will do. 

“You’re a stage five clinger, you know that?” Regulus scolds, but his heart isn’t in it. James can feel his smile pressed against his sternum.

“Mm, you love it,” James teases, mouth still open in a wide grin when Regulus kisses him.

James can breathe again. Surely, it can’t have been long since it’s just been James and Regulus like this, but he realizes something deep within him has been aching for this, and now he feels like he’s on top of the world, or the top of the Eiffel Tower, since they are in Paris, after all.

They’re in Paris. Regulus and James are in Paris. Alone. Without their families. In the city of love.

Regulus’ face is wet, and droplets from his curls keep sliding down to his lips. James licks them off and follows a trail down his cheek onto his neck, where he pauses. He’s never done anything more than kissing on the lips, but James has seen enough movies to know that people kiss each other’s necks. How, exactly, is where his limited knowledge ends. It can’t be that much different than regular kissing, right? James gives Regulus an experimental kiss, right where the water absorbed into his skin. Regulus inhales sharply, shivering, and his pulse races under James’ lips. “Okay?”

“Yeah, great,” Regulus replies, breathless, which gives James all the encouragement he needs, and the moment freezes, freezes, freezes…

----

There are few things that Regulus loves more than sleeping. Given the course of his life, it makes complete sense that he would never be able to sleep for a full night. Regulus doesn’t have many concrete memories of his parents, but he does remember them screaming at him for waking up too early and locking him in his room until an hour they deemed acceptable to deal with him. He was a bad sleeper then, and he’s a bad sleeper now, which is working out in his favour for the moment, because Regulus gets to claim the bathroom first. He doesn’t even bother being gentle getting out of bed since he could most definitely jump up and down on the mattress without waking Barty. He’s just like Sirius, and Regulus has always secretly envied their ability to sleep through the end of the world. It must be nice to feel so comfortable you’re not constantly on edge, even while asleep. Barty will sleep until someone wakes him up, most likely by closing his mouth and pinching his nose so he can’t breathe, but Regulus has time before anyone else should be up. Peter fluctuates between waking up late and early, as does Evan, but considering how much they’ve done in the last day, Regulus is willing to bet it will be a late morning for both of them. James wakes up early, usually with the sun, which hasn’t even peeked over the horizon yet. Truth be told, Regulus doesn’t know what time it is, and he doesn’t care to find out. When he can’t sleep, he’d rather not look at the clock. Then, he can gaslight himself into thinking it’s a perfectly acceptable time to be awake, and that he got at least eight hours of sleep. If he looks at the clock and sees it’s three or four am, Regulus will work himself into a panic. It’s better not to know. Regulus loves living in delusion, after all. If this is his biggest delusion, then he’s doing well, considering James used to occupy the top spot.

Honestly, Regulus still doesn’t understand how James Potter is real. He’s never met someone that genuine who’s actually genuine, yet James is, and Regulus doesn’t know how to process that.

You don’t deserve him and you know it. Your conscience is speaking - listen to it. 

No matter how much Regulus panics, James is there - constant and infallible. Like last night, when Regulus was freaking out about his towel touching the ground for three seconds, and James didn’t even hesitate. He probably thought Regulus dropped it on the toilet or something. Because James is normal. Regulus is a fucked up freak, and James would never think like him. The closer they get, the more James sees of Regulus, and it’s the most terrifying thing Regulus has ever experienced. 

No one can love you the way you are. James will see, and he will leave. You know this story, Icarus, it’s been told before. The sun is dangerous. The sun can’t be trusted.

No. James saw a bit of his crazy last night, and he just held Regulus through it. Regulus doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s trying to trust James, and he does, but…

What if, what if, what if, what if…

Regulus needs to get his shit together. He needs to go into this bathroom that is not dirty, he needs to brush his teeth, he needs to get dressed, and he needs to splash some cold water on his face until he can bear to look himself in the face again. 

Actually, since it’s so early, Regulus doesn’t have the energy to lie to himself. It’s not that he cares if he can bear himself; it’s if he cares that James can, and if Regulus can’t look at himself without knowing something’s wrong, then James can’t either. 

It’s not that Regulus is deliberately keeping secrets from James. There are just some things that are wrong about him, and no one needs to know about them. Regulus shouldn’t even know them himself, but he does, because he’s stuck in here with his own brain with no way out. Why subject anyone else to his madness?

You’re crazy. And if you let people see, you will lose everyone.

How can Regulus fight against that argument?

With cold water on his face, and perhaps some clean teeth, because Regulus can really feel the grime on his teeth now and he needs to scrub it away. That’s not clean, and it’s in his mouth, so does that make Regulus unclean? Is he dirty now? How can a person cleanse themselves from the inside out? That could be the solution to all of his problems. Is that why he’s like this? Regulus is so careful to stay clean, but what if he’s failed? What if this is his punishment for contaminating himself? What if the grime is poisoning him, and every time he fails, he gets a bit worse? 

Once you infect yourself, you’ll start tainting everyone around you. Your own missteps will poison the ones you love until they are just. like. you. 

There must be a way to reverse this. People cleanse their bodies all the time, right? Get their stomachs pumped? Regulus could do that, he could, it’s not too late. But for now, he settles for sticking his mouth under the faucet, water as hot as it can go because that will kill it, that will kill the bacteria that’s poisoning him, and it burns like Regulus is swallowing fire but that’s good, that means it’s working, it’s working it’s working it’s working it’s working-

Regulus looks at himself in the mirror above the sink, relishes in watching the water drown him, thinks good good good good-

And then he notices something on his neck, which means this isn’t working, and the poison is spreading and starting to infect his skin, and that’s worse, and Regulus needs to gouge this out until it’s gone before it spreads further, so Regulus leans closer so he can see the leach leave his body… but there’s something wrong, that’s not what poison would look like, it’s something else-

Oh.

Oh, fuck.