Chapter Text
Regulus
The last time he saw Sirius in person was at their father’s funeral over two years ago. The whole thing had been dragged out for more than a week—because everything with their family had to be extravagant and ridiculously formal.
Sirius had predictably turned up late on the first morning, which had been met with the even more predictable wrath of their mother, who had insisted on an image of family unity and perfection, despite her well-known disdain for her eldest son. And then they were right back to shouting and screaming at each other as if nothing had changed at all.
Sirius had made the short journey across London and Regulus had flown back from Paris, seeing each other for the first time in years within the darkened walls of their childhood parlour. Things had been awkward and stunted between them at first, because Regulus had no idea how to talk to his brother anymore. But their shared irritation at the rest of their family had helped them to warm up to each other again quick enough.
Sirius had gotten through the whole affair with the help of a hip flask in his pocket and the determination to push as many of their mother’s buttons as possible. Regulus had got through it with a handful of pills and by keeping his mouth shut.
When it was all over, the two of them had come together over three bottles of the most expensive champagne they could find in their father’s collection, not even bothering to find any glasses. They had talked long into the early morning, until both of them were bleary eyed and slurring slightly, refusing to be the one to go to bed first.
At the beginning they had tried reminiscing over the few memories that they had of their absent father, but by the end they were avoiding the topic of him altogether.
They’d talked about a lot of things, but at some point had agreed to improve their communication, which up until that point, had been pretty sparse. They’ve managed to speak quite a bit over the past few years, texts and phone calls and the odd facetime, but Regulus had avoided seeing Sirius the handful of times he had come to London, telling him afterwards that it was a last minute trip, that he already had plans with his friends.
It wasn’t that Regulus hated him, because he didn’t hate Sirius, not anymore. But their fractured relationship had been healed by distance and time, by actually having a chance to live their own lives, to figure out who they were outside the dark walls of their childhood home.
Things had always been complex between them, of course there were the usual sibling rivalries, jealousies and arguments. But on top of that there was the seeping wounds that were created when one grew up the way they did, with the parents that they had.
Recently, it had been good between them—better than good really—if he considered how hateful their relationship had been as teenagers. Any brotherly love that had been present when the two were children, had been ripped out of them by their mother’s cruel hand and vicious tongue, by her constant need to pit them against each other. Regulus bought into it, probably more than Sirius did, comparing them in every aspect of their lives, never quite feeling like he measured up to his older brother.
Sirius was a blazing light, he was bold and funny and unapologetic. He mastered almost anything that he put his hand to. Regulus on the other hand, was quiet, unnoticeable and stiff, unable to shine as bright as the brightest star in the sky.
They’d fought more than not, going days or weeks without saying anything to each other apart from a snide remark, there was never enough air for both of them to breathe, so they were constantly pushing each other down to stop themselves from suffocating.
Then one day, Regulus was alone, Sirius left for university and never came back, and Regulus quickly realised that it wasn’t any easier to breathe. The walls of Grimmauld Place felt more claustrophobic than ever and he became the only person in his mother’s firing line.
Sirius reached out a few times, telling Regulus again and again how much better things would be if he left too, but of course Regulus ignored him and then the calls and check ins got fewer and further between.
Part of it was anger, that Sirius had abandoned him there alone with them, even if he understood why Sirius had done it, to survive, to live, to be free. Then there was the jealousy—that his brother had the guts to leave it all behind and start fresh.
And the last part of it was that Regulus hated doing anything that Sirius told him to. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t have his own plan to get out, he’d always had one, ever since he discovered that he had a talent.
Ballet had always been an escape to him in so many ways. Yes—it had always offered him a way out—but it was also something that was his, something that his brother couldn’t beat him at, something his mother couldn’t control, at least not when he was at the studio. Because there, he was just Regulus, he wasn’t Sirius’ brother or Walburga and Orion’s son. He could channel his perfectionism and harsh self-critic into something beautiful, something that people admired.
So, when the call came from Paris, asking him directly to audition for the company, Regulus didn’t hesitate to pack his bags. It was unusual to be asked to audition by the director himself, but Regulus knew that he had a gift, that Paris and New York and Milan had been watching him for a while before that.
His mother had been thrilled, another one of her son’s achievements that she could mark as her own. Ballet had been her dream first, it was just a lucky coincidence that Regulus turned out to want it just as badly as she did.
But now, at twenty four, he’s an adult, he isn’t a teenager anymore desperate for a way out of his mother’s grip.
He can decide where to go and what to do, he’s in control of his life, even if it still doesn’t feel that way. He had reached his goal in Paris, becoming a danseur étoile, and when Evan and Pandora had left the company, it became quite apparent that nothing was keeping him there anymore. Without his friends, the void in his chest had been pulling him deeper and deeper, trying to swallow him whole.
He thinks he was born with it, an empty space in his heart that’s as black as his name, because he can’t remember a time when he felt whole. Even as a child there were days when he couldn’t get out of bed, when he would hide under the blankets and pinch his thighs or his arms until the pain took place over the thoughts.
As he got older it became easier to hide and the void became easier to fill, but the episodes still hit him like a freight train when they do show up.
He always knows when he’s spiralling, there are always several tell-tale signs that he has become accustomed to noticing, which he usually ignores until his friends start noticing them too. He had been fine for a while when Evan and Pandora left, but they still begged him to come too. He refused of course, desperate not to acknowledge to himself just how much he needed his friends.
He stayed, things got worse and in the end, he didn’t admit how bad things had gotten until his fifth morning in a row waking up in some stranger’s bed.
He’d been almost hysterical when he had called Barty, the person who had picked up all of his pieces for years, and they’d agreed that he needed a change to try and ward off the impending breakdown. London was the only logical choice that they could come up with, Barty and Dorcas were still there and now Evan and Pandora were too—and then everything had happened rather quickly after he’d convinced himself to take the leap.
His mother made things more complicated, being in London meant being closer to her, in Paris it had been easier to keep certain aspects of his life secret from her prying eyes. He had been out to his friends for years, to Sirius and his more tolerable cousin, but his mother didn’t know—or if she did, she chose to ignore it, unable to accept both of her sons being queer—not that she referred to Sirius as her son anymore.
But his mother was a problem that he could handle, he knew how to be discreet when he needed to be, he didn’t need to put on a show and scream in her face like Sirius did. No, the main problem in his mind had always been his brother.
The distance had worked for them so far, being apart had brought them closer together, there was less of the haunting memories of their childhood that seemed to plague them when they were together for too long, less chance of their teenage dynamic rearing its ugly head again.
But he couldn’t avoid his brother forever, Sirius had promised that it would be different now, that things were better, that he had worked on himself, that the two of them could get along better now. Regulus was skeptical, he’d heard it all before, but his need for change overshadowed any of that.
He knew himself, he knew when he was nearing the edge of a meltdown, and he’d been teetering on that edge for too long, maybe even hanging off the side of it during those last few weeks in Paris.
So, thats how he finds himself here, at Gatwick arrivals, sitting on one of the uncomfortable airport chairs, his converse-clad feet propped up on one of his suitcases.
Sirius is late—predictably—but Regulus doesn’t mind, he has his book and his switch and his headphones. But right now, he’s quite content just watching people go by, watching tearful reunions and tired looking families sad to be coming back from somewhere much sunnier than England.
If he didn’t know that his brother couldn’t be somewhere on time to save his life, he suspected Sirius would have turned up with some sort of embarrassing banner or balloon to welcome him. Sirius had always loved doing that, grand gestures that made sure he was the centre of attention. The thought of it makes him a little bit sick, so this time, he’s quite grateful for his brother’s complete lack of time management.
He hears Sirius before he sees him, his voice booming even over the sound of Mitski in Regulus’ headphones.
“Reggie!”
Regulus sighs, pulling his headphones off and pushing them around his neck. He takes a deep breath before he stands up, mentally preparing himself for the chaos storm that is his brother. Sirius is a blur of black clothes and hair as he sweeps Regulus into a tight hug, lifting him off the ground slightly.
Regulus allows it because it’s been a long time, even though he’s usually allergic to such ridiculous and public displays of affection.
“Hey Sirius,” he says into his brother’s hair, “you’re kind of squishing the shit out of me.”
“Shit—sorry, I’m just so happy to see you,” Sirius let’s go, grinning and taking Regulus by the shoulders and stepping back slightly to take a good look at him, “you look bloody gorgeous Reg, your hair looks better a bit long like this.”
Regulus shrugs out of his grasp, “Don’t sound so shocked. I’ve always been much better looking than you.”
”Ha, you keep letting yourself think that, baby bro,” Sirius smirks, ruffling Regulus’ hair.
He takes a second to look back at Sirius, seeing how the past two and a half years have changed him. They haven’t—not really—his eyes are the same, more blue than Regulus’ grey, but still as bright as ever. His features look slightly sharper and his hair is even longer than before, touching his shoulders now.
He’s wearing an old leather jacket, baggy black jeans and an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt, his nails painted black to match everything else. He looks happy, lighter than the last time they’d seen each other, which had obviously been in less than ideal circumstances.
“Come on then,” Sirius says, grabbing one of Regulus’ bags and throwing it over his shoulder before reaching out to start pulling a suitcase, “out the front.”
“You got an Uber?”
“Nah,” Sirius says, taking another look at Regulus and smiling again, as if he can’t quite believe that he’s here.
Regulus stops, face instantly twisting into a scowl, “not the fucking bike?”
“You wish,” Sirius laughs, “nah—I knew you would be a princess and bring ten thousand bags, Remus lent me his car.”
Regulus’ body relaxes, infinitely grateful that he doesn’t have to sit on the two wheeled death trap that his brother has an unhealthy attachment to, before he jogs after Sirius, trying to stop his suitcase from twisting over on itself.
“Remus—the boyfriend?”
Sirius had met Remus back at uni, but they hadn’t got together until second year—or maybe third, Regulus isn’t sure on all of the details. But he’s been insufferably in love ever since and goes on about Remus bloody this and Remus bloody that whenever they have one of their phone calls or FaceTimes. Regulus hasn’t met him, despite Sirius’ constant suggestion of it, but he’s definitely intrigued to meet the person who has managed to put up with his brother for this long.
“That’s the one,” Sirius says, “you’ll meet him tonight.”
Regulus shoots a pointed look at him, “And what exactly is happening tonight?”
Sirius smiles mischievously, “just a little get together to welcome you to the neighbourhood.”
Just like that Regulus regrets agreeing to this whole thing in the first place, because being back in Sirius’ life means that he will actually have to meet all of Sirius’ friends, which he has been perfectly content not doing up until now.
Sirius has always been a social-butterfly, he likes meeting people and being in big crowds—as long as he’s the centre of attention. Regulus is the complete opposite, a common theme with the majority of their personality traits. He grits his teeth, looking down at his feet.
“I told you that I didn’t want you to make a fuss—“
“Oh come on, Reggie, everyone is really excited to meet you, it’s nothing crazy, just drinks and food and music.”
Sirius nods to a slightly disheveled looking brown Ford fiesta in front of them. He unlocks it and they squeeze Regulus’ bags into the boot and the back seat before getting into the front, Regulus notices that it smells faintly like cigarette smoke. Sirius turns on the engine and a David Bowie CD starts blaring, the car obviously too old to have bluetooth.
Regulus rubs at his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat, “who is everyone?”
“Oh you know—the guys, the girls, it will be fun, I promise,” Sirius says, glancing at him with a slight smirk pulling on his lips, “besides, you already know James, don’t you?”
Regulus tries to keep his expression neutral, even though his heart rate has increased to an almost alarming speed. Because yes, he does know James. James who is Sirius’ best friend, James who came to their father’s funeral, James who took Sirius in at university and didn’t let him go. James with golden brown skin and eyes to match, with a smile that shines like the sun. And those muscles? Fuck.
Regulus clears his throat, “Right—Potter—how is he?”
Sirius sighs, “He’s good, living his best life, scaring away every girl in East London, I told you about his split with Lily right? It happened just after dad’s funeral,” he flicks on the indicator and turns out of the car park, “it was a bit messy at the time, but everything’s good now, you’ll meet Lily tonight too!”
“Great,” Regulus mutters, “so he’s still straight then?”
Sirius barks out a laugh, “yeah, still straight, sorry to break it to you Reg, although he still flirts outrageously with everyone.”
“I remember,” Regulus rolls his eyes, glaring out the window.
Over the years, Sirius had always told him that James Potter was the kindest, most generous person he had ever met. But after meeting James for himself, Regulus had decided that James wasn’t a good person at all, because the way James had looked at him that night, the way James had talked to him that night, all whilst being straight, had been one of the cruelest things he had ever experienced.
It’s not like Regulus hadn’t entertained it, he had been mourning the utterly tragic death of his father after all, he had deserved a distraction—especially one as pretty as James Potter, but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t wanted to drown himself afterwards.
Of course, Regulus had flirted with ‘straight’ boys before, he’d hooked up with a few too, but none of them seemed to have the effect on him that James did.
“What about you, are you dating anyone? Some sexy Parisian asshole?” Sirius asks, tapping his hands against the steering wheel along with the song.
“I don’t date,” Regulus says, taking his water bottle out of his bag and putting the straw between his teeth.
Sirius chuckles, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, “what do you do, then?”
Regulus glares at him, like it’s obvious, but then he just rolls his eyes, “we aren’t discussing my sex life Sirius.”
Sirius sighs, “Right, fine, you don’t date,” he turns up the radio and focuses back on the road.
Regulus huffs out a sigh of relief that they’ve avoided the topic, playing with the frayed edges of his hoodie. The rest of the journey passes by quickly, Sirius has a lot to talk about and twice as many questions, about his job at the gallery, his paintings, Remus. He asks about Regulus’ friends and what he wants to see in London, about ballet.
“So, how did they take it then? You moving over here,” Sirius asks as they cross over the river.
“You know—tu négliges ton talent pour rien!” He mimics his old director, “tu n'apprendras rien parmi ces porcs Anglais.”
He hadn’t expected them to take it well, he’d prepared for the insults and the cold looks, but he didn’t really care. He knew that the Royal Ballet was just as good and although they had been bitter about him leaving London in the first place, they seemed to be smug enough to have him back again.
It helped that Barty, Dorcas, Pandora and Evan would be there, he had told the twins about his friends back in London when they moved over, and the four had become fast friends as he had expected them to.
“Well, London is lucky to have you, you’ll be dancing principal before you know it.”
“Mm,” Regulus hums, staring out the window to watch the streets of East London rush by.
Barty and Dorcas live in Finsbury Park, and now Pandora and Evan live there with them too, slightly more north than Sirius in Mile End, so he hadn’t spent much time in the area before. Sirius had gushed about its superiority every chance he’d got, the parks, the pubs, the food, claiming all of it to be the best in London.
They pull into their street and Regulus glances out the window again, he had visited their uncle Alphard’s house a couple of times as a child, but he doesn’t really remember it. He had left it to Sirius when he died, they had bonded through the years over being the only openly gay members of the Black family. As they come to a stop outside the house, Regulus quickly regrets not coming out to his uncle years ago.
The house is an end-terrace, three stories, with sandy coloured brick and bay windows, now painted black, like the front door, which he knows must have been Sirius’ addition. There are flowers in boxes on the windowsill and a bike chained up against the front gate. Sirius grins as he pulls into an empty spot outside the house, turning off the ignition and jumping out. Regulus follows him, walking to the boot to grab the bags that Sirius hasn’t already put on the doorstep.
“You like it?” Sirius asks as Regulus joins him at the front door.
Regulus nods, swallowing as Sirius unlocks the door. The hallway is light and leads to a set of stairs, the wooden floor covered by a shaggy rug. There are several vinyl covers on the wall to the right and a large mirror to the left, sitting above a thin table covered in photo frames. Regulus glances at them as the pass, pictures of Sirius and Remus, of Sirius and James, of Sirius and Regulus. There are other people in the photos too, people he vaguely recognises from Sirius’ social media.
They continue down the hall into the kitchen, that has glass windows and doors along the back, opening up to the back garden.
“I can’t believe I haven’t been taking advantage of this,” Regulus says, eyes wide as he takes it all in.
“The offer was always there,” Sirius says with a shrug, “it’s all yours now too.
The kitchen itself is modern without looking clinical, recipe books and mugs and jars filling up the shelves. There’s quite a few plants too, Regulus is positive that Sirius isn’t the one keeping them alive, he wasn’t ever the green thumb type. Regulus vaguely remembers Sirius discussing Remus’ love for plants, so he assumes that he has a lot to do with it.
The garden is wild without looking overgrown, Regulus can see a table and chairs and a barbecue on the patio in front of the grass.
“Do you want tea? And then I can give you a tour.”
“Sure, thanks,” Regulus replies, sliding onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
The plan to live with Sirius had come later, after he’d made his arrangements to move over to London. Barty, Evan, Dorcas and Pandora didn’t have a spare room, and Regulus hadn’t been about to ask them to pack up and move just for him—even if they would have done it in a heartbeat. He’d considered finding a spare room in a shared house, but the thought of living with strangers made his head swim with anxiety.
Sirius had offered up the house as soon as Regulus had informed him of his plans, but he had given him a firm no at first. Distance had been what they had thrived on, and going from being in different countries to being under the same roof again was a recipe for disaster. But the allure of free rent in a nice house had been too hard to resist after a few months of searching for a one-bed that wasn’t the size of a small shoebox.
As Sirius begins the tour, Regulus finds that rest of the house is just as nice as the kitchen, Alphard and Sirius’ mix of influences clear in the decor of the place. Regulus’ room is on the top floor of the house, so he has a bathroom and a small study all to himself, which was one of the main contributing factors to him actually agreeing to move in to the house in the first place.
They drag all of his bags to the room at the end of the hall at the top of the stairs. Sirius rubs his hands together, nervously, glancing at Regulus as he opens the door.
“I left it pretty bare, so you can decorate it yourself,” Sirius says, “but I painted it a few weeks ago—you still like green right?”
The room is airy and light, like the rest of the house, even with the dark green walls. There’s a large, comfortable looking bed against the back wall and several bookshelves as well as a small wooden desk. There’s a chest of drawers and a wardrobe to the left and a dark green and grey rug covering the wooden floor.
It’s nice, really nice, and he’s not usually very easy to please, Sirius must remember that, Regulus’ inherent need to criticise, which is probably why he looks so nervous. The unease in his brother’s expression only makes Regulus’ need to find fault more fervent but he had promised Dorcas and Pandora that he’d play nice, that he would at least try and make things work with his brother.
“It’s perfect—thanks, Sirius.”
Sirius smiles, clearly pleased with Regulus’ reaction, he sets Regulus backpack on the bed and holds his arms out, “well, I’ll let you get settled—“ he spots a small package on top of the chest of drawers and crosses over to pick it up, “almost forgot, I got you a present.”
Regulus rolls his eyes, immediately feeling uncomfortable, “you didn’t have to.”
“I know, but I wanted to.”
Regulus takes the package reluctantly and unwraps it. ”Oh—a kindle? Er—thanks,” Regulus says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I thought you probably couldn’t bring all of your books over, I know you’re still a massive nerd—Remus is too, I thought this would be—“
”I prefer real books,” Regulus mutters, his defences flying up, he has always been terrible at receiving gifts.
Sirius pouts, folding his arms across his chest, “I shouldn’t have bothered then, you ungrateful prat.”
“Sorry—I’m just—it’s overwhelming,” Regulus gestures around the room, “I’m not used to you being like this.”
“Like what?”
“Nice.”
Sirius smirks, “well I’m sure the novelty of you being here will wear off soon, then I’ll be back to being the shitty brother you remember.”
“I’m sure you will too.”
Once he’s alone, he takes a few minutes to take everything in, before he walks over to the window and pulls it open, taking his tobacco out of his pocket and rolling a cigarette. He sits on the windowsill, taking long drags and doing his best to blow the smoke outside, taking his phone out of his pocket. He ignores the missed calls and texts from his mother and clicks on his most recent notification, the group chat with his friends, hastily made after Dorcas and Barty visited Paris for the first time.
[Barty: have you made it to the big smoke? ]
[Evan: hope Sirius hasn’t smothered you to death yet .]
[Regulus: just got to the house, it’s fucking nice. Only minimal smothering so far. ]
[Pandora: when can we see your pretty face? ]
[Dorcas: welcome back bitch <3 ]
[Regulus: Sirius has coerced me into a thing with his friends tonight, will let you know if I survive.]
[Barty: oooh will the hot best friend be there?]
[Regulus: apparently so ]
[Barty: don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! ]
[Dorcas: what he means is, don’t do anything that he would do!! behave you slut ]
He locks his phone and jumps down, chucking the end of the cigarette out the window. He goes to the bed and opens his rucksack, placing a few things on the bedside table before moving to open his first suitcase. After about an hour, he’s mostly unpacked, the room is starting to look a little more lived in, a little more like his.
He goes to the bathroom next, bringing his wash-bag and a towel that Sirius had left out on the bed. He turns on the shower and waits for the water to get hot before he takes off his clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor and then setting his rings on top.
The first thing he thinks about, is how much better the water pressure is than in his shitty flat in Paris, but after that, as he rubs shampoo into his hair, his mind starts wandering to James, about the fact that not long from now, he’s going to have to look him in the eye and pretend he hasn’t had a wank to the image of James’ mouth around his—fuck. He squeezes his eyes shut, digging the heel of his hands into them.
“Fucking get it together,” he mutters to himself.
After he’s berated himself about James for long enough, he gets out of the shower and goes back to the room, which he has to remind himself is now his room. He dries off and then lies down on the bed in his towel, taking his switch from the bedside table and turning it on.
He needs something, a distraction, a way to keep his brain occupied and drown out that nagging feeling of impending doom that follows him when things get too silent. It’s such a familiar sensation now that it almost feels like second nature, like the feeling of dread has embedded itself inside him and decided to stay there for good. Games help, as do books and music—God forbid he’s alone with his thoughts for more than a few minutes. He’s not sure how long he’s been playing when there’s a knock at the door.
“Reg?”
He scowls at the door, pausing the game, “What?”
“Everyone’s going to be here soon, you can come and have a drink downstairs if you want, before they get here.”
Regulus groans into his hands, “fine, I’ll be down in a minute.”
He pushes himself off the bed and goes to the newly filled chest of drawers. He takes out a pair of black trousers and a black sweater-vest. Once he’s dressed he puts his rings back on, flexing his hand for a second before he goes back to the bathroom, taking out a black eyeliner pencil and lining his eyes.
He looks at his reflection, grateful for the French sun making his complexion slightly less translucent. He knows he looks good, he has to look good, if he’s going to see James. Not that he cares if James thinks he looks good—because he doesn’t. He doesn’t want James to flirt with him at all. He’s going to ignore those stupid fucking brown eyes and that nice smile and pretend that he hasn’t thought about any of it for one second since the funeral.
He heads down the stairs when he’s satisfied with his face and his outfit and his hair. He follows the sound of Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High coming from the kitchen. He finds Sirius sitting at the kitchen table, rolling a cigarette with a beer between his knees. He looks up as Regulus walks in, grinning.
“Hey! You settled in okay? Got everything you need?”
“Yes, yes, everything’s good,” Regulus says, seeing that Sirius has rolled two cigarettes, one of them sitting behind his ear.
“There’s beer in the fridge,” he nods towards it, “want one? We can sit outside.”
“I don’t like beer,” he clicks his tongue, “you know that.”
“Oh shit, I forgot that you’re French and fussy. Is wine ok?” Sirius says as he gets up, walking over to the fridge.
“You’re French too, Sirius,” Regulus says, “but yes, wine is fine—if it’s good wine.”
Sirius chuckles, “Of course it’s good, I haven’t turned my back on all of our family ways.”
Sirius takes a bottle of pale rosé out of the fridge and pours a glass, handing it to Regulus before taking the bottle with him as he heads towards the garden, gesturing for Regulus to follow. They sit down at the table and Sirius hands him one of the cigarettes, Regulus accepts it and takes out a lighter from his pocket, lighting his and then offering it to Sirius.
They sit in silence for a while and he wonders whether Sirius thinks it’s awkward, if he’s happy to have him here, if he’s nervous about introducing him to his friends.
“It’s nice out here,” Regulus says after a while.
“Yeah it’s lush,” Sirius says as he takes a drag, “you’re lucky you came over in the summer, London is sick in the summer, we can take you to all of the best spots.”
Regulus fights the urge to remind Sirius that he has spent the summer in London before, that he did grow up here, just like Sirius did. But it’s a nice moment and he doesn’t want to ruin it, the girl’s voices in the back of his mind, telling him not to bite any heads off, to reign in all of his neurotic tendencies.
They continue like this, talking back and forth about mundane things, nothing too deep, making sure not to cross into any dangerous territory. Even though their relationship is better now, that doesn’t mean that they talk about any of it, about her, about the things that happened.
He knows that Sirius has a therapist, that he has done for a while now, but Regulus can’t think of anything worse than talking about his feelings with a stranger. He prefers to deal with things by not dealing with them, by practicing for hours on end until his feet bleed, by getting fucked up with his friends and having sex with pretty boys that he never speaks to again. So—just all of the healthy type of coping mechanisms.
He knows that sometimes he takes it too far, when things get really bad and he can’t get past the emptiness with his usual fix of one or two. But it’s been a while since that’s happened, nearly a year, and he really does feel better now. He knows Sirius used to go out a lot too, even if he’s calmed down a bit now he’s with Remus, but Regulus has made sure that Sirius doesn’t know the extent of the things that he does to forget it all.
His brother had always been over-protective, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, and Regulus is determined to stop that from happening now, despite the fact they are living together. But that’s what Barty and the other’s house is for, keeping his more depraved escapades separate from his brother.
The sound of the doorbell drags him out of his head, his eyes snapping back inside the house. Sirius is already getting up, smiling down at him.
“That will be James and Pete, they only live around the corner.”
Regulus takes a sip of wine, trying to ease the dryness in his mouth as Sirius goes back into the house. He truly is ridiculous, it’s just James bloody Potter, he’s not the second coming. He downs the rest of the glass and pours himself another, taking one last deep breath as he hears the front door slam, three loud voices shouting over the music in the kitchen.
“Here we fucking go.”