Chapter Text
Oh goddammit, 15 minutes till the next train, James thinks as he walks up the stairs of Wandsworth station. The platform is empty, understandable since the last train just left. Might as well get some steps in whist I wait, James decides, looking at the feeble 7,000 he's done today according to his apple watch. He walks to the very end of the platform, glancing at the adverts for private schools, a new play and some supposedly miraculous new yogurt; before turning round and making his way back to the other end. 14 minutes.
Oh, not quite empty then, a figure is sat against the wall dressed in a black, knees curled up to his chest. James’ mind goes to the suicide prevention poster at the station entrance, and he feels sick. Do I go over to them? Say something? But what if they’re just sitting, or you know, not suicidal and then you look like a nutter. But then what if they are suicidal and you watch them jump in front of the next train and die and it's your fault. Well, I suppose embarrassment is preferable to preventable death. Hang on, what do I say? You can’t just go over and say “Hi, are you suicidal” because that would be mad” but then what do you say? “Hi just wondering a. how are you and b. do you have a death wish because your behaviour is kinda worrying me?” And anyway, the act of talking to someone you don't know at a train station is totally absurd, what if he's armed with a knife and stabs me, or mugs me and shoves me onto the tracks? Fucking hell James you are really overthinking this. Oh, and now we are referring to ourselves in the third person. Jesus Christ. Just go and talk to them. Are they a girl or a boy or... nonbinary? Seriously that is so not relevant right now. Ok, we are walking towards them, what do we saaay what do we say.? Arrgg Jesus.
‘Um, hi, I just umm...” James trails off as the man looks up.
Oh. Oh, they are stunning. Those eyes...James thinks he could get lost in those eyes. And the perfectly cut, jet black wavy hair fluttering in the breeze. The porcelain pale, flawless skin with light blush on those sharp cheekbones from the cold November air. JAMES! Get a grip. This is not the purpose of this situation.
“Are you suicidal?” James blurts out. Oh, for fucks sake that is exactly what we decided not to say.
“Yes.” replies a flat, posh voice.
“Right,” James is panicking slightly now, “Well, err, thanks for...um telling me, I don’t actually really know what to say to that.”
“What are you trying to achieve?”
“Well, preferably, you don’t die.”
“Why do you care. No one else does.”
“To be honest, my first thought was that I didn’t fancy watching someone die tonight.”
“Fair enough.”
“So, can... can I sit, next to you?”
“Its public land, who am I to stop you.”
“Right ok... yes, I’m James by the way.”
“Regulus.”
“Nice name, star, right?”
“Yeah.”
“There really needs to be an instruction manual for this,” James ponders out loud.
“And what is “this”?”
“Ummm. Well right now its James Potter and Regulus....”
Out of nowhere (or maybe not nowhere given the situation) Regulus starts to sob, shoulders convulsing violently.
“Umm shit, can I,” what do I do what do I do, fuck fuck arrrggg, “Regulus, can I maybe touch you, give you a... a hug or...”
Regulus stiffens immediately, shrinking away. “No!” he says, sharply through sobs.
“Ok, ok that's ok, I swear I won’t touch you unless you say I can. Ok? Would it be better if I kept my hands where you could see them?”
“Yes,” he croaks back, slightly calmer now.
James places his hands on his knees, checking that Regulus can see them.
“Is, is it alright if I just sort of talk at you?”
Regulus nods, tears still pouring down his perfect face, eyeliner now running down his cheeks. He’s really a very pretty crier. No, no this is serious and really not the moment.
“So,” James begins, “We are at Wandsworth train station, I’m here because I was playing golf at the golf stimulator place as a team bonding thing. I usually like golf but some of the guys I work with....”
This is talking, this is ok, James could talk for England, his father always said, no, my James will compete for Mexico, his mother Effie would argue.
He’s talking about the absurdity of price rises at Joe and the Juice, when Regulus shuffles closer and rests his head on James’ shoulder.
“ This ok?” Regulus whispers when James looks at him, surprised.
“Yeah, yes ‘course.”
“Keep talking, your voice is good. Safe.” Regulus mutters, his voice softening as he gets his crying under control.
“Would it be alright if I moved my hands, just to pass you a tissue?” James asks, gently.
Regulus nods.
“I need verbal agreement Reg.”
“Yes, yes that's ok. Thank you.”
“Ok,” James continues, passing Regulus a tissue and placing his hands back on his knees. “See I think it's ridiculous how they charge £7 for something which is basically mostly carrot juice, and I’m sure when brought in bulk carrots are like 50p per kilogram. I mean the mark up is insane...”
“James,” Regulus interrupts after a few more minutes, “I think the next train is going to be here soon.”
“Yes,” James replies evenly, looking down at his watch.
“I was meant to be jumping in front of this one.”
“I see,” James tries to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach at how bluntly Regulus says all this. “And what do you think you might do now?”
“I... I don’t know now.”
“Well, that’s alright, I mean... you can always wait and see how you feel when the one after comes in 17 minutes?”
“Yeahhh, I suppose so.” Regulus agrees.
After a moments silence, James picks up the topic of Megan’s cookie dough deserts as one of the sacred dishes of the world. “It's just so perfect, its cooked to just the right moment where its slightly crispy and all melty but still raw enough and with vanilla ice cream... oh! or coffee ice cream...”
James looks to his right as he hears the train approaching, Regulus head still resting on his bulky shoulders, strong from years of private school and university sports teams. As the train gets closer, the noise drowning out James’ voice, Regulus grabs his hand and pulls it to his chest, squeezing it as the train slows to a stop and people get off and on, disappearing down the steps.
“I’ve got you,” James whispers, as the train pulls out of the platform, “Well done, well done for staying.”
Regulus doesn’t reply but places James’ hand on his shoulder, manoeuvring his arm so it circles around Regulus’ narrow frame. James appears to get the memo as he holds Regulus to his side.
This silence lasts longer, Regulus watching as trains pull in and out of the other platforms and listening to James’ steady breathing in the quieter moments.
Eventually, James, never a fan of silence, speaks again.
“Hey, you know that cookie dough I mentioned?”
Regulus nods into his shoulder.
“Well, there's a Megans on York Road, if you wanted to try it? My treat? And you don’t have to, and if we get halfway there and you change your mind we can always come back to the platform or go wherever you want and even when we are eating, you can leave at any time, you won’t have to explain yourself and I won’t go with you if you don’t want me to?”
“Shhh,” Regulus whispers, far more confidently than he feels, “You’re rambling James, but thank you, I’d like to try this famous cookie dough. I mean... the calories aren’t exactly going to do me any harm if I’m going to be splattered over a railway line by tomorrow anyway.”
James winces, “Alright then, shall we go?”
“Lead the way, James Potter.”
James likes the way Regulus says his name far too much.
They stand slowly, Regulus getting his bearings after hours sat on the floor, almost unmoving, and James’ arm remains securely around his shoulders as they walk down the stairs and out of the station.
Part of Regulus’ mind is telling his that this is mad, going for cookie dough with a random, but devastatingly attractive stranger who just happened to see him sat on a train platform counting down the minutes to his demise. But the other, more messy part is saying its fine because even if James murders him, it's not like he didn’t want to die. But James doesn’t seem like the murdering type. He’s apparently the type to take you to for cookie dough when you are suicidal at Wandsworth train station. And those gorgeous sun kissed curls of his that Regulus just wants to run his hands though. Tanned skin with a smattering of freckles behind his perfectly round glasses. No. No no no. Bad idea. Mustn’t think about the terrifyingly kissable lips of James Potter.
They walk down York Road, James talking nonsensically about their surroundings, pointing out the charity shop where he got his favourite tie and Regulus feels weirdly calm for someone who doesn’t want to exist. It's fine, he decides, I’ll eat this bloody cookie dough then James will leave me alone and there will be a few more trains and therefor opportunities.
Megans is busy for a Tuesday, people appear to have started their Christmas gatherings already.
“Table for two please,” James says to the waitress who stares openly at him.
Regulus very much see’s the appeal.
They sit at a corner table and James orders cookie dough and hot chocolate.
Christ, Regulus thinks, James really could talk for England.
REGULUS:
Everything goes as well as it could, until someone at the table next to them drops a fork which clatters sharply to the floor. Suddenly, the noise and chaos of the restaurant hits Regulus with full force, his hands clapping loudly of their own accord as he stands up and rushes outside. Too much, too much. Noise and sounds and hot and lights and food and smells. He slumps against a wall, grateful for the cold November air on his clammy skin. Regulus’ hands keep clapping, the sound splitting the quiet of the street. Ironic really, how too much noise triggers him to make noise.
He thinks he should really walk back to the station, there should be a train in a moment. And this. This overwhelm and panic and pain. Is why. Because this cannot be his forever. He’s done 21 years of this nonsense, this constant pain, this eternal anxiety, always being on the verge of a meltdown. He was wrong to think this would be ok. Should have stuck to the fucking plan.
Regulus’ feet are carrying back towards the station, but the world is detached, blurred.
A hand is on his shoulder, and he screams, the pain of being touched at the wrong moment searing through him.
Run. Run is all he can see and hear and feel. Too much. It's all too much.
JAMES:
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Should not have done that. Why the fuck did you touch him, you know what would happen. Regulus is sprinting down the road, under the bridge, as the train rushes past overhead, and James is running behind him. Theres a big roundabout coming up, he remembers. And from the way Regulus reacted when James touched him last, he guesses something is very, very wrong. Fuck, the lights are green, and the cars are speeding past.
REGULUS:
A screech. Then lights. Falling. Then nothing.
JAMES:
Oh god. Tears are streaming down his face now, because Regulus must be dead and it's all his fault.
No. Pull yourself together. He’s not dead, he’s been hit by a car, but the car wasn’t going that fast and... he’s not dead. He cannot be dead.
Now James is in the middle of the road and he’s kneeling over an unmoving Regulus Black.
“Regulus, can you hear me? Reg?”
Nothing. No movement, or response.
James feels his pulse, feeling awful for touching him but also, this might be life or death. Oh, thank fuck. A pulse, quick and definitely there. And he’s breathing, his crisp black shirt rising and falling steadily. Ok. He’s alive.
“Reg?” James tries again, holding his hand gently. “Regulus, if you can hear me, do you think you could squeeze my hand?”
He feels the gentlest squeeze.
“Well done darling, well done, that's really good, stay with me, ok? If you can still hear me, squeeze my hand again, alright?”
Another squeeze, slightly stronger now.
“Ok, thank you, well done, you’re doing really well,” He’s babbling nonsensically now, why the fuck was this not included in his education? “Regulus, its James here, and I’ve got you and you’re going to be ok; you’ve just been in a bit of an accident, do you understand?”
A third squeeze.
“Now, I know you aren't saying anything, but I really need to figure out why, I’m not sure, but I think you might have had a meltdown maybe? My friend Remus gets these and sometimes he can’t speak afterwards. Is it that you can’t speak because you have had a meltdown, umm if it is that, could you squeeze my hand twice?”
Two stronger squeezes.
“Ok, that's good, thank you for telling me, ok, well done, you’re doing really well darling, stay with me now, I need to find out a couple more things, ok? Do you have any pain in your back? Two squeezes for yes, one for no, got it?”
One.
“Ok, no back pain, that's good. Well done. How about in your neck?”
One.
“Good, chest?”
Two.
“Ok, you have pain in your chest, ok, do you think it's a sort of panic attack pain or a internal organ damage type pain?”
Nothing.
“Oh. Oh ok sorry, one squeeze for panic attack type pain?”
One.
“Good, ok, how about your head? Did you hit your head?”
Two.
“Oh dear, alright, that's ok, you’re going to be ok.” At this point James is trying to reassure himself more than Regulus. “So, Reg, because you’ve been hit by a car, we are probably going to have to call an ambulance, alright?”
One, strong squeeze.
“Ok, you’re telling me no. I see. Ok. The thing is, I’m really quite worried about you, because of what's happened, and I think it would be good if you could be checked over by a doctor?”
One.
“No, ok, do you have a problem with the concept of seeing a doctor?”
One.
“The doctor isn’t the issue. Alright. Is the hospital the issue?”
Two.
“Right. Alright. No hospitals then, ummm alright. You’re doing well darling. I’ve got you, we are going to sort this.”
Oh god what do I do and why haven’t I been taught this. No. No. Control. Shut down the emotions, you know how this works. You need a strategy.
“Ok, so I live quite near here, so do you think you might let my take you back to my house, and then we can get a doctor to check you over?”
Two.
“Alright, well done, so what I’m going to do now, is I’m going to pick you up, and we are going to take a cab to my house, and it's about 15- or 20-minutes' drive, would that be alright?”
Two.
“You sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?”
Two.
“Ok, I’m going to lift you up now. In three, two, one.”
Regulus is light in James’ arms, fragile, as he carries him to the cab.
“Reg darling, I’m going to put you in the taxi now, are you ok to sit?”
Two.
“Well done, ok. I’m here with you. Oh, your eyes are open, hello darling. Has your speech come back yet?”
One.
“Not yet. Thats alright. Take your time. I’ve got you, am I allowed to touch you? You’ve got gravel on your face, and it might be more comfortable if it wasn’t there.”
Two.
“Thank you.”
James lifts his hands, ever so gently brushing the gravel of Regulus’ cheeks, taking debris out of his hair. “There you go, that might feel better?”
Regulus puts his head back on James’ shoulder, exhaling.
“Well done, we’re nearly there now.”
James pays the driver, and lifts Regulus out of the car, opens the door and carries him into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. He takes him through to his bedroom almost automatically, placing down on the covers, as though he’s made of the finest China.
“I’m going to call my doctor now, and she’s going to come here and check you over, alright?”
A nod.
James sits on the bed, scrolling though his contacts, Lily... Lily. Is she saved with her first name or “doctor” or... Ah there. Perfect.
“Lily Doctor number” “Lily, Personal phone”.
Its late, nearly eleven now, perhaps personal is a better bet.
She picks up on the second ring.
“Hi James!” comes a cheery voice.
“Hey Lils, I’d love to catch up with you, but I have a bit of a situation.”
“Oh, you mean medical sort of situation?”
“Yeahh... you couldn’t come round, could you?”
“What? Now? Is it bad, are you ok?”
“Hey hey, its ok. I’m fine. I just could really do with you coming round ASAP.”
“Alright, umm I’ll just let Mary know and I’ll be there.”
“Oh my god thank you Lils, I owe you one.”
“James Potter, I feel like every time I hear your voice you seem to “owe me one”.”
“Well, you just don’t ask for what I owe you and that sounds like a you problem.”
“See you in 10 James.”
“See yo....Omg. Reg, she just hung up on me. She actually hung up on me.”
This gets James the tiniest of smiles.
“Hey, Reg, can I call you Reg?”
An eye roll and a nod, his smile growing slightly.
“Coolio, hi reg. So, you are kinda wearing a suit, and I’m not entirely sure why you decided to wear a suit for your own deathday but there we go. Anyhow, at this point in time, I think you might maybe be more comfortable in something more casual, and you probably have to undress for Lily to examine you anyway, so would you mind if I helped you undress and lend you some of my clothes for now? Can you nod if you’re ok with that?”
A nod.
And they both think, silently, that in any other circumstances, James undressing Regulus in his bed would be fabulous.
“Ok, I’m going to touch you now, is that alright?”
A nod.
A blazer and a tie end up dumped on the chair first, “Tom Ford” James notices and mutters, “Good taste,” which earns him a smile from Regulus.
Eventually, after much manoeuvring, Regulus is dressed in James’ too big joggers and a baggy hoodie. Regulus can’t help noticing they smell just like James.
James disappears to open the door for Lily who bustles in carrying all manner of medical things, in striped green and white pyjamas, auburn hair in long plaits.
“Hi Regulus, I’m Lily, James’ friend from uni and, more importantly a doctor.” she smiles, revealing dazzlingly white teeth. Regulus thinks he quite likes Lily.
“So, James mentioned you can’t speak at the moment, and that can be quite common with autistic people after difficult situations, are you autistic?”
Regulus nods.
“Ok, awesome, I’m dyslexic and James has ADHD, as you might have noticed, are you good to communicate with use through nods and stuff for now?”
“Great, do you have text to speech or communication apps on your phone, it might be easier for when you need to describe things?”
An hour later, Lily is satisfied that Regulus isn’t likely to drop dead at any moment, much to his disappointment, and apparently, James’ relief.
Why the fuck does he care so much? Why is he here, in James’ traditional Chelsea house, in his bed for god's sake. Should have fucking jumped when the first train came through, but he couldn’t even do that. Too much of a fucking coward to die and too much of a coward to keep living. Pathetic. Thats his mother's voice. Coward. Weak. Useless. Disgusting. Fag. His father’s voice.
“Hey, I’ve got you some water, so you can take those pills,” James’ voice interrupts Regulus’ destructive spiral, “I don’t want to make you move again, I’m sure you’re exhausted, so I’m just going to be in the next room. Alright? And I’ve put my phone number into your phone, so if you need anything, just text me. Oh, and here’s the TV remote, if you wanted to watch something, and I’ve plugged in your phone to charge just there, umm, I think that's it, is there anything else....”
“Stay.” Regulus croaks, annoyed at how feeble his voice sounds.
“Sorry?” James says, spinning around to face the bed.
“Stay, with me, please?”
“Umm are you sure?” Again, in any other situation, James would be delighted, but he really doesn’t want Regulus waking up tomorrow regretting ever talking to James, let alone asking him to sleep in the same bed. He’s not an idiot, he knows there's no way Reg thinks of him like that. Frankly it's probably very far down his List of Priorities right now.
“Yes, I’m sure. I would ask if I wasn’t sure, and, just to make it very clear, this is a strictly sleeping only arrangement.”
“Yes, of course. Yes. Alright, let me shower and stuff and I’ll be back, want to watch something whilst you wait?”
“Sherlock, the BBC one, Benedict Cumberbatch solving crimes is hot and at this point it's a special interest and a comfort show.”
“I’m with you on Benedict; how could anyone not agree?”
“Absolutely, now go and shower Potter.”
The element the Regulus had not accounted for was quite how perfect James would look after a shower, boxers slung low on his hips, visible abs, cheeks pink, his hair all over the place. For fucks sake, why does he have to be so hot, its simply unfair, and I can’t even sleep with him. The universe hates me. Bet he’d be a good lay though.
“Alright Reg,” James said softly, sliding his legs under the duvet, “Let's get some sleep yeah? And then we can chat about next steps in the morning.”
“Night Jamie.”
“Night.”
Regulus couldn’t resist curling into James’ chest, bony shins against strong thighs, enveloped by James' arms.