Chapter Text
This is what happens when you let your dead best friend’s boyfriend come over at one am. He wants to ‘talk’ about his ‘feelings’.
Regulus just wants to get the inevitable fucking out of the way and pass out in a bottle of wine on the sofa. Preferably alone.
He watches as Evan perches on the edge of the coffee table, leaning forwards into Regulus' personal space with an earnest expression on his handsome face. His eyes are red rimmed— permanently these days. Evan's blonde hair is rumpled and he's thinner than Regulus has ever seen him. He feels the bite of jealousy. That wanker. He even grieves properly. Regulus hasn't lost a pound since Barty’s death.
“I’m sorry, I know we said we wouldn't— I just don't know who else to talk to. You're the only one who understands”. Evan's voice is unnaturally high and he sounds on the verge of tears. For someone who spends so much of his time crying, Regulus can't bear it when other people do. It makes him feel inept. He has no idea how to comfort Evan and the things he's been trying so far obviously haven't been working.
Admittedly, Evan doesn't know that their drunken one night stand was the catalyst for Barty's accidental death. And he never will. Regulus doesn't want to think about that right now. It makes him feel like his insides are made of tar. Sticky and heavy, suffocating him. Soon he’ll be seeping darkness, oozing it from every pore. A Black through and through.
“I get it,” he offers Evan, patting his knee lamely. They do so much touching but it's only ever sexual. Regulus can't bear to be touched unless he's being fucked. Barty was a tactile person, however, and he knows how much Evan craves the contact.
Evan sags in relief at the feel of Regulus' hand on his leg. He sniffs loudly and wipes his thankfully dry eyes before raising his head and fixing Regulus with a blazing look. Turquoise eyes, so much softer than Barty’s cold ice blue.
Regulus doesn't think he moves first but suddenly they're kissing. Evan's mouth, hot and hungry on his. Regulus parts his lips immediately, shoving his tongue brutally past Evan's. Evan is gasping, tangling his own wet tongue with Regulus'. It's desperate. There's no passion. Regulus just needs to get all this grief and self-hatred out, stop it from consuming him just for one night. Just one more night and then they'll stop.
Evan's lips are soft but his kiss is anything but. He kisses Regulus like he's trying to hurt him and maybe he is. Do it. Hurt me. I deserve it.
Regulus takes Evan's plump bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, hoping to encourage Evan to do the same. He wants Evan to draw blood. To drain him of all the toxic evil that lurks beneath his flesh and bones. If he bleeds it all out, can he start anew? Become a different Regulus. One that doesn't fuck his best friend's boyfriend. One that doesn't say yes to every proposition he receives, every tiny bit of attention that comes his way.
Evan slips off the coffee table and falls to his knees on the rug with a thud. Barty bought this rug. We chose it together. It’s rainbow striped. Barty claimed it was ironic but Regulus always suspected that Barty was harbouring a secret pride that he could finally let fly now that he was free from his father's overbearing rule. They can't fuck on the rug.
“Bedroom,” Regulus pants, tugging on Evan's hand and starting for his room. Evan crawls, actually crawls on his hands and knees, after him. It's sick. He loves it.
As soon as they cross the threshold of Regulus' bedroom, he slams the door closed behind them. He doesn't want to see anything of Barty's. He can't. All their pictures together, the photobooth strip Regulus had specially made into a magnet for the fridge, Barty's favourite mug with the bloody handprint he'd painstakingly painted during a paint and sip class that he insisted on displaying on their bookshelf. All of it haunts their living room. Regulus blocks it out.
Evan crawls to the bed and kneels by the side, unbuckling his belt and whipping the leather through the loops. For a moment Regulus hopes that he's intending to use it on him. But Evan isn't that kinky. At least, he hasn't been with Regulus. He's sure that Evan and Barty got up to some pretty messed up stuff in their time. Regulus used to hit Barty with a cushion every time he tried to tell him the sordid details.
Regulus walks past Evan's kneeling form and tugs him up as he goes. The other man follows blindly.
“On the bed,” Regulus commands. His voice is husky with nerves. He hopes it sounds sexy and intentional.
Evan complies, leaping on to the bed and plopping his head back on to Regulus' pillow with an eagerness that makes him cringe. He pushes the thought away. Evan's hand goes for his zip but Regulus stops him.
“Not yet. Turn around so your head is hanging off the bed, looking at me upside down. Shirt off,” he adds as an afterthought. Evan has a beautiful body, all toned and trim from hours at the gym. It would be a shame to waste it. Golden blonde hair dusts his stomach, trailing down towards the waistband of his jeans. Regulus wants to lick his abs. But that's not what they're going to be doing tonight.
Evan shuffles into position and looks up at Regulus expectantly. He looks angelic. Unsullied and pure. Regulus hates it.
He shoves the waist of his black sweatpants down, exposing his rapidly swelling cock.
“Open up,” he orders. Evan's jaw drops obligingly.
Regulus moves forwards so that the tops of his thighs are flush with the edge of the bed and takes himself in one hand. He gives his cock a few strokes before pushing the head against Evan's bottom lip and sliding it, smearing the bead of precum. Evan darts the tip of his tongue out to lick along the glistening trail left on his mouth. He moans, a loud wanton sound that fills Regulus' ears with static.
Desire overtakes him and he slowly thrusts forwards, almost at a diagonal, sliding his cock into Evan's waiting mouth. The angle opens his throat beautifully and he pushes all the way to the back with no resistance. Evan attempts another moan and the vibration sends tingles up Regulus' spine. He's not going to last long if he keeps that up.
Regulus pulls back to allow Evan the chance to breathe but the other man sucks and laps greedily at the tip, urging it back down into his mouth.
“Tap me if it gets too much,” Regulus breathes, watching for Evan's response. Evan nods furiously, not meeting Regulus' eyes.
“Evan,” he says firmly, reaching his free hand to grab Evan's chin and tilt his face up to look at him. He sees desperation in his eyes. And fuck, God strike them down, lust. Hunger.
“Fuck my mouth, Reg. Please”.
Regulus wastes no time, pushing forcefully into Evan's wet, hot mouth. He feels the tip hit the soft wall of Evan's throat and retreats but this time he slams straight back in. Over and over again. Not too hard, but hard enough. Hard enough that it blocks any other feeling. All he knows is Evan's mouth.
Evan continues to moan, garbled sounds that accompany the slapping of Regulus' balls in a sort of pornographic concerto. Regulus is quiet, save for a few whimpers as he gradually builds to his release.
“Touch yourself,” he manages through clenched teeth. Evan reaches for his zip once more, loosening his jeans just enough to free his thick cock. He's blessed with a gorgeous dick and Regulus admires it as Evan strokes furiously, lying supine on the bed. His cock pointing straight up like a lighthouse in a storm. Moisture glistens in the light of the bedside lamp and Regulus feels his mouth watering. He wants to taste Evan. But he's getting close.
With a few more firm rolls of the hips Regulus is coming, pulsing into Evan's throat in several long bursts. The release triggers Evan's own and he spurts over his own stomach, thick ropes of white. One goes so high as to land on Evan's throat and he laughs shakily. Regulus almost lets loose a chuckle of his own before sobering immediately. He's just fucked his dead best friend's boyfriend. Again.
Regulus pulls his softening cock out of Evan's mouth with a ghastly wet plop and turns away from the bed, gasping. The adrenaline seems to have abandoned him with his ejaculation and all he feels is despair. He's going to lose it. He wants Evan to leave, right now. But he can't be that cruel.
Regulus mumbles something about needing the bathroom and hastily escapes the bedroom. He hears Evan moving slowly and wishes he would just leave whilst also desperately wanting him to stay. Cuddle him to sleep. Don't go. Please.
Leaning over the sink in the dark, Regulus gasps and tries to remember what Barty used to tell him when he had a panic attack. Something about things he could see, smell, hear? What he can smell is sex. He can hear Evan. He can just about make out his own disgusting reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror. Fuck. He sucks staggered breaths, in and out, in and out until he regains control over his body. For now, at least.
Regulus stops at the kitchen to fill two glasses with cold water from the tap. Making his way back to the bedroom, he changes his mind and returns to grab a bottle of red wine from the rack under the counter. He keeps the water, dipping his fingers into the glass to clumsily hold both whilst swinging the wine from his other hand.
Evan has cleaned up by the time he gets back and sits fully clothed on the other side of the bed. Regulus feels awash with shame and guilt.
“You can stay,” he says quietly. Evan is so still that he's unsure if he heard him and Regulus is about to repeat himself when Evan swings his legs round and climbs under the covers still wearing his jeans.
Regulus plonks the wine onto the bedside table and hands Evan a glass of water. He watches as Evan knocks it all back in one go, wincing as he remembers the taste he's presumably trying to wash out. Evan thrusts the glass back into Regulus' hand and gestures for the wine.
They drink until sleep begins to take them both. Evan curls into Regulus' side and he clings shamefully back.
This is what happens when you fuck your dead best friend's boyfriend. This isn't a love story.
Notes:
Soooo...
What do we think??
Chapter title is the name of a song by The Cure from the album Disintegration.
Italics is generally for the fourth wall breaking but at other times is used for emphasis. I hope that makes sense!
Also, shout out to the Dramione fic that gave me the inspiration for the blow job position. I'm really sorry but I can't remember which fic it was! If anyone knows please comment and I'll shout it out properly :) it was a very hot scene with Neville and Pansy, iykyk
Xx
Elf
Chapter Text
Regulus is running late. Nothing out of the ordinary there, except he's meeting Sirius and Sirius is going to be pissed off. Sirius is often pissed off with Regulus and usually he swings like a pendulum between wanting to antagonise his brother and wanting to appease him. Today, he'd rather not ruffle his feathers.
He splashes through the rainy streets of Hammersmith, lamenting his decision to wear suede boots. Sirius is waiting for him outside of the Apollo, tapping his expensively heeled foot and obnoxiously checking his Breitling. He rarely ventures this close to Zone 3 and Regulus can see the look of thinly veiled disdain on his face as he lifts his chin and looks down his nose at the other guests arriving for the event.
You're a self-made solicitor, Sirius. Calm the fuck down.
“What are you wearing? You look dreadful,” Sirius says in lieu of a greeting.
“Hey, Sirius, I'm very well thank you and yourself?” Regulus trills sarcastically. Sirius narrows his leaden grey blue eyes in response.
“Let's get this over with then. Dad really needs to stop buying us tickets for these things, I couldn't get a car over here for half an hour,” Sirius grumbles as they climb the few short steps to the venue. Regulus notes with some interest that all the attendees are men.
“You could have got the tube like a regular person. What is this talk anyway?” he whispers as they take their seats in the packed auditorium.
Sirius is in the middle of shrugging off his ‘off-duty’ leather jacket, though the devil-may-care attitude is foiled somewhat by the meticulous attention he gives to folding and draping it over the armrest. The person next to him shoots him an irritated glance which Sirius quells with his own haughty eyebrow raise.
“I don't know, some poet or something. Dad probably saw an ancient clip of him doing the rounds on social media, you know what he's like”. They share a snigger before the lights dim and Sirius hushes Regulus to be quiet, as if he was conversing with himself.
A few short minutes is all it takes for it to become apparent what kind of talk their father signed them up for. After their mother died almost three years ago, emotionally constipated Orion took to outsourcing his feelings by buying them tickets for various ‘bonding’ experiences. Roughly once a month, Regulus and Sirius come together for a rage room (which was too on the nose to be cathartic), axe throwing (just plain dangerous for the Black brothers) or various one man plays. Regulus is quietly impressed that Sirius still bothers to attend at all. Besides these occasions and family gatherings, they never spend any time together.
The lone man on stage is leaning on a podium and exuberantly gesturing with a fist about how harmful the phrase ‘toxic masculinity’ is. His bald pate reflects the stage lights and his jeans and trainers combination look straight out of the eighties. Regulus doesn't even think you can buy that style of jeans anymore.
“Is this a men’s rights thing?” Regulus laughs in surprise. Sirius looks just as nonplussed as he is and shrugs, looking towards the man in alarm. He's currently railing against the Barbie movie. An excellent film, of course.
“I think we should make a run for it,” Sirius says in a hushed tone, already gathering his jacket. Regulus nods in ready agreement.
They stand and turn from left to right, trying to peer at the aisles in the darkness and figure out which exit is the closest. The man’s voice then seems to magically amplify as Regulus realises his current diatribe.
“Who here would gladly lose five years of their life to have a bigger penis?” he booms at the audience. Regulus gapes, fighting hysterical laughter as he observes the crowd. Not a single man raises his hand.
“Ah! You two brave young gentlemen!” Fuck. Regulus stops, frozen in shock. The man is pointing at them, either mistaking them for standing up in answer to his question or— more likely— picking on them deliberately to be a twat.
“Err,” Regulus says, as eloquent as ever. Sirius tugs on his arm but Regulus defiantly resists. He'd quite like to see where this is headed.
“Don’t be shy, lad. Tell us, why is it that you feel the need for a bigger penis? Do you feel society has told you that you're lacking in some way? That the pressure on you to perform is unmanageable?” the tosser presses them for a reply.
“I don't want a bigger dick! I'm perfectly happy with what I have, thanks. Never had any complaints,” Regulus splutters in protest. Sirius’ tugs on his sleeve become insistent.
The man laughs unkindly. “Come now, young man. You're in a safe space”. Regulus feels the urge to smack the patronising look off his ruddy cheeked face.
“I'm comfortable with my masculinity. I've even got my nails painted, look,” he gestures, holding his black tipped fingers out and waggling them. “You can also see my cock if you like. I've got nothing to hide”.
A smattering of titters ripples through the crowd and Regulus preens, proudly folding his arms across his chest.
“Enough, let's go,” Sirius snaps and finally drags him through the aisle.
The man pauses his show so that everyone can watch as Regulus and Sirius awkwardly clamber over knees with muttered “excuse me” and “sorry”s.
When they're finally back in the lobby Sirius rounds on Regulus immediately, punching his arm.
“Ow! What was that for?” Regulus yelps, rubbing his bicep through his thin hoodie.
“You bloody know what,” Sirius retorts. “Honestly, is there one single event you can sit through without making it about yourself?” He looks exasperated, lifting a hand to run it through his long silky hair before seeming to remember it's tied neatly back in a low ponytail and sighs.
“I didn't! That fucking incel did!” Regulus swears, gesturing back towards the auditorium.
Sirius simply rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. There's a beat and Regulus shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable with Sirius' intense gaze.
“How are you doing?” he eventually asks, tight lipped. There's concern in his eyes and Regulus looks away, as if even receiving the glance will burn a hole right through him.
“Fine,” he replies in a clipped tone, wanting to make a joke but knowing that Sirius would see straight through it.
“How's the café?”
“Great”.
“If you need money or anything—” Sirius starts but Regulus interrupts with a bark of insulted laughter.
“I don't need money, Sirius. It's going well. Really well, actually”. Except for the enormous amount of debt I'm about to be in when I take out that extra loan to cover the ground rent. Oh, and the fact that we’re averaging one customer a day and she drinks tap water.
“Okay. Good,” Sirius says, not convinced.
“Fancy a drink?” Regulus asks, surprising himself. Sirius however, reacts exactly as he would expect.
“Can't. Got to be in the City early tomorrow”.
“Right,” he nods, as if he understands the demands of high pressure corporate London.
“Well. I'd better let you go”. That's Sirius' way of saying he wants to leave the conversation. “Oh, don't forget it's Godmother's birthday next weekend,” he adds.
Shit. Regulus had forgotten. Ugh, it's going to be horrendous.
“That will be horrendous,” he says in a faux cheerful tone. Sirius grimaces sympathetically.
“Yes, well. What Walburga wants, Walburga gets. And she wants the whole family there for her seventieth. Don't be late,” Sirius warns before he nods at Regulus and leaves, slipping into a sleek black town car that Regulus hadn't even noticed had pulled up.
Regulus nods and waves as the car retreats, hoping to convey vague confirmation whilst mentally planning his excuse.
After their loving mother, Arabella, died, Orion quickly took up with his second cousin and the Black brothers’ Godmother, Walburga Black. Regulus didn't blame Orion, not really. He was lonely and vulnerable. Walburga had swooped in, ostensibly offering a comforting shoulder to cry on. Within a year, she was sleeping in his departed mother's bed.
Suffice it to say, he hates her. Walburga never bothered to hide her hatred of Regulus and Sirius, though Sirius' moderate success as an intellectual property lawyer raised him in her esteem somewhat. Regulus, however. Regulus was treated with condescension, barely disguised under a thin layer of sugar sweet simpering passive aggression. He always tries his best to provoke Walburga’s ire and maybe show his father how awful she really was. Alas, he had thus far been unsuccessful. Orion was besotted with her.
With a deep sigh, Regulus pulls his hood down low over his forehead and begins trudging for the tube station before spinning on his heel and ducking into the first bar he comes across. There's no point in wasting a Wednesday night, is there?
*
Regulus is five shots deep by the time he's propositioned by a pretty brown haired man. He's at least six two with chocolate coloured eyes, a matching flop of hair that rests just past his eyebrows and deep dimples that Regulus fights the urge to press his pinky into.
“I'm Jack,” the man says as he slides into the empty stool next to Regulus. “What are you doing here so late on a school night?” he teases, shooting Regulus a playful smile.
Regulus wastes no time. “Waiting for you,” he smirks and offers a hand to Jack. Jack tips the dregs of his glass back, wiping his mouth delicately with the end of his thumb before accepting Regulus' hand. Regulus pulls them both to a stand and leads the man through the dark bar, winding his way past the small cluttered tables lit by flickering tealights in jam jars.
He pushes the unisex toilet door open and shoves Jack inside, sliding the lock into place behind them. Jack is on him immediately, pushing Regulus up against the thickly lacquered door. His mouth is wet, too wet. The kiss is sloppy and Regulus attempts to wrangle Jack into a more passionate embrace before thinking, fuck it and pushing the man to his knees.
The wetness of Jack’s mouth feels much nicer on his cock. His tongue is eager, laving Regulus messily and leaving globs of saliva dripping from the tip. Regulus plants his hips firmly back against the door, not wanting to push Jack any further than he wants to go but Jack is eager and insistent. His hungry mouth sucks Regulus down whole and Regulus fights a moan that bubbles up inside his throat.
He doesn't know what he's chasing. A punishment? A distraction? A release? Whatever it is, it feels good. Regulus tries to lose himself in the hot cave of Jack's mouth but he can't help the flashes of Barty that flit unbidden through his mind. Or Evan, similarly on his knees. Regulus screws his eyes shut tight and tries to focus on the hot slide of Jack's tongue.
Someone rattles the door handle and Jack stills, perking up like a meerkat straining his ears for the intruder.
“Keep going,” Regulus urges and Jack hesitates for barely a second before dipping his head and sucking more insistently.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” Regulus pants. He wishes they had more time, he'd quite like to get fucked by Jack. Although Jack’s too pretty to be a top, maybe Regulus would have to do the fucking for a change. He frowns, his eyes still closed. He hasn't fucked anyone in years. The thought of it feels weirdly intimate and he balks. The blow job it is then.
Jack pulls back and begins tongue fucking Regulus' slit.
“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. Oh, yes. Yes,” he moans, abandoning all inhibitions.
The door handle rattles again and this time it's accompanied by a persistent knock.
“Keep going, don't stop, don't stop,” Regulus gasps and the thought of someone hearing them right outside the door sends him careening over the edge. He comes, spurting onto Jack's outstretched tongue in short bursts.
Regulus sags against the door, catching his breath whilst he tucks himself away. Jack wipes his mouth sheepishly and stands up.
“Sorry, I don't think we have time…” Regulus says, half-heartedly gesturing to Jack's straining jeans.
He doesn't wait for a response, pulling the door open to an irate looking man.
“Thanks for waiting,” he grins and pushes past the shocked man before he can retaliate. Regulus stumbles back through the bar, heading for the door.
He's just made it outside when there's a tap at his shoulder and then he's pulled backwards.
“Get off on people hearing you, do ya?” he hears before a fist swings out and makes contact with the bridge of his nose. “Let everyone hear you now, prick”. The man spits a thick wad of phlegm and leaves Regulus in a heap on the pavement.
Blinding pain spreads across his face and his head spins. He thinks he's going to be sick. He groans, tucking himself into a ball and laying on his side, ignoring the many people who bend down and peer at him with concerned expressions.
He waves them off and rests his head on the wet concrete. Eventually the crowd disperses. Raising a hand gingerly to his face, Regulus feels blood pouring from his nose. Fuck.
Prodding as gently as he can, Regulus checks the damage. He's pretty sure it's not broken, he didn't hear a crunch, but he's definitely going to have a black eye or two in time for the birthday party.
“Ughhhh”.
He lays on the street for as long as he can stand the feeling of his clothes soaking up dirty rainwater before finally pulling himself shakily to his feet.
“Do you want me to call you a taxi, mate?” someone shouts but he ignores them.
Ignoring the throbbing of his face, Regulus begins to walk away and pulls out his phone to order an Uber but realises that his battery is dead. What a fucking disaster he's turning out to be. Barty would laugh if he could see him. Or maybe not, seeing as it was Regulus' betrayal that set him on this reckless path to oblivion.
Hanging his head in resignation, he approaches the group who offered to call him a taxi.
“Actually, would you mind mate? My phone's dead. I don't suppose you could spare a tenner could you?...”
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed the second chapter?!
I thought I'd drop everything I have for now whilst I work on the rest.
Regulus is *spiralling* my poor guy :(
What do you all think of the Sirius/Claire from Fleabag parallels?
Also, Walburga is not their biological mother in this fic. I wanted to go more Fleabag inspired and do the Godmother thing so I gave them a nicer bio mum! Rip Arabella.
I think that's all to discuss?? Shout at me, scream with me. Whatever you need!
Does anyone need TWs before each chapter? I thought probably not as the whole fic is gonna be explicit but do let me know!
Song title is another song by The Cure.
Okay byeeeee
Xx
Elf
Chapter 3: For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic
Summary:
Walburga's birthday dinner. Typical Black family shenanigans ensue!
Chapter Text
Regulus spends an inordinate amount of time getting ready for the birthday dinner. He wants to look just provocative enough to lift Walburga's lips in a sneer but not so much that she ritualistically humiliates him in the restaurant. It's a delicate balance.
He decides that the most reliable method is to under dress for the occasion. Walburga has picked a pretentious Michelin starred restaurant in Mayfair. Regulus will be refused entry if he turns up wearing his trusty hoodie but he throws on a white t-shirt with ‘Protect the Dolls’ neatly embroidered on the pocket in neon pink. It's subtle enough that he won't be thrown out for violating their dress code but defiant enough to rile his Godmother. Perfect. He pairs it with slim black cigarette trousers and neat brogues. He hasn't worn either of the items since Barty's funeral but he shoves the memory to the back of his mind. One disaster at a time.
In the taxi on the way over, Regulus mulls over the evening’s expected attendees. Walburga, Orion and Sirius, of course. Probably Sirius' awful wife, Lissy. They've been married for five years— together for eight— and Regulus can't stand her. She's an insatiable flirt which Sirius seems to find amusing, or at least he did when they first met. Now he just seems drained by her, like their marriage is slowly depleting him of his life force. She's also often rude and makes politically incorrect jokes that make Regulus' skin crawl. His moral compass doesn't always point true North, admittedly, but he would never deride someone's religion or sexual orientation in the name of ‘humour’.
He's not expecting to see any of the Black’s in attendance so when his taxi pulls up to the kerb and he steps on to the pavement, he's stunned to see the platinum heads of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, née Black.
“Ah, Regulus. What a treat to be spending the night in your delightful company,” Lucius drawls, his coal black eyes completely devoid of human emotion. Narcissa says nothing but stares unflinchingly at Regulus with a look akin to sympathy. He nods at her and turns away, looking for Sirius, grimacing when he finally spots him.
Yep. I must have been a worm in a previous life.
Lissy hangs off Sirius’ arm like a limpet, dressed in a short blue silk slip dress and strappy heels that wrap unflatteringly around her thick ankles. Her long champagne coloured hair hangs in artfully tousled waves. Sirius is talking to their father, gesturing emphatically with his hands and Orion is gazing back with that infuriatingly absent smile, not taking a word in. Regulus knows without being in earshot that Sirius is talking about his job. Walburga stands silently by Orion's side, looking bored and haughty.
“Sirius,” Regulus says over-loud, clapping his brother on his shoulder. Sirius is wearing a full suit and Regulus inwardly cringes at his brother's placid conformity. It never used to be the case. Sirius was always the rebellious brother growing up, driving their mother affectionately mad by running around with unbrushed hair and getting his moped license the minute he turned sixteen.
Regulus knows for a fact that Sirius also used to sneak boys into his bedroom after Arabella and Orion had fallen asleep, which is another reason why he was so surprised when Sirius and Lissy got married. He'd been certain Sirius was gay.
Regulus was always the conforming, rule-abiding brother. Studious, shy, never putting a foot wrong. How things change.
“Hello, Reggie,” Sirius greets with a tight smile. Lissy pulls herself away from her husband to place a sticky kiss on Regulus' cheek, lingering just too long and leaving a horrible smear of lipgloss on his skin. He chokes on her saccharine sweet perfume and withdraws, stepping out of her reach, ignoring the brief look of disappointment that flits across her face.
“Shall we, then?” Regulus inclines his head towards the glass doors of the restaurant. He turns in exaggerated confusion, glancing between the guests. “Why are we all hanging out on the street?”
“Oh, James darling, there you are! I'm so thrilled you could make it,” Walburga animates suddenly, like a robot powering up. Her voice is sickeningly sweet and Regulus turns to find the newcomer with interest.
A tall, dark haired man with black framed glasses is approaching, wearing an easy grin. Regulus frowns. He's never seen or heard of this James. He turns back to Sirius with a questioning glance and is surprised to see Sirius shifting sheepishly from foot to foot.
“Regulus, this is James. James is a grief counsellor,” Walburga introduces with a flourish of her hand. She pulls James in for an embrace like a long lost friend.
Regulus stands, brow furrowed in confusion. He looks to his father for an explanation but Orion is resolutely avoiding his eyes, watching the sleek black cars that line the streets with apparent fascination.
Eventually he finds his voice.
“Is this an intervention?” he croaks, laughing in disbelief.
Walburga bristles but smothers it with another sickly smile.
“It’s my birthday dinner, Regulus. Not everything is about you. Though you've certainly attempted to make it so, with your— general appearance,” she remarks pointedly, glancing from his top to his black eye and scabbed nose.
“So then…” Regulus says drily, gesturing expansively to James who is currently engaged in easy conversation with Sirius and Lissy.
“James is from a very important family,” Lucius says smoothly, his tone oiler than a slick on the surface of the Atlantic.
“He's been immeasurably helpful to this family over the years,” Narcissa interjects.
Christ, the whole family gets an input now.
Regulus waits expectantly, still not understanding.
Orion fixes his son with a kind, watery smile. Regulus twitches beneath his pitying gaze.
“James was very supportive after your mother,” he starts, shooting a worried look at Walburga but she places a faux sympathetic hand on top of his arm and squeezes. “He’s also been a pillar of support to Sirius over the years since. They've become quite close.”
Has he? Regulus has never heard Sirius even mention a James.
“We thought you'd appreciate having someone to— well, talk to,” Orion finishes a little sadly.
Regulus wants to walk away from his fucked up, meddling family and never return. He longs to tell Walburga to go fuck herself and stay out of his personal life. He feels anger humming through his veins. He wants to scream at Sirius, beat his fists on the pavement until his knuckles are bloody.
He doesn't do any of that. Regulus affects a nonchalant shrug and gestures again towards the restaurant.
“Shall we?”
*
Almost half an hour later and Regulus has already downed two large glasses of Rioja. He lets the conversation wash over him, Lucius and Sirius talking over each other across the table to boast about their respective successes. Walburga simpers and giggles, placing a domineering hand on top of Orion's every time he tries to interject with a story of his own. Regulus grits his teeth.
Nobody’s asked me a question in twenty five minutes.
“So, what do you do?” James’ warm voice startles him from his right side and Regulus turns in surprise.
James is watching Regulus, waiting for his response. His kind face open and patient.
“I own a café,” Regulus replies, unable to hide the note of pride in his voice. The café was the joint venture of his and Barty's and despite its lack of monetary success, Regulus has always been proud that they actually did it.
“Oh, Regulus, don't put yourself down. You should be proud of your little restaurant,” Walburga's voice trills from the end of the table.
“I'm not. It's a café,” Regulus replies, jaw aching with the strain of his fake smile.
“Orion and their mother put them through Eton so Regulus could open a cat themed café,” Lucius interjects pompously with a cruel laugh.
“It's a cat café?” James asks in surprise. Regulus notes the way his face lights up in genuine interest.
“Cat themed,” Regulus corrects. “It's… kind of a private joke. Between me and B— my friend”. He stops, aware that he's said too much and no doubt wandered into Walburga's trap by opening up to the grief counsellor.
“Ah. I'd love to see it sometime,” James says graciously.
Regulus ignores him and signals the waiter for another glass of wine.
“I think you should probably slow down,” Orion suggests warily.
“I'll take another too,” James says, lifting his pointer finger in the air like a child. “We could share a bottle?”
“No thanks,” Regulus declines nonsensically, just because he can. “I'm going out for a smoke”. He pushes his chair back roughly, delighting in the harsh scraping noise the legs make across the wooden floor and makes his way to the street, ignoring Walburga's look of disapproval.
Slumping against the wall besides the restaurant, Regulus fishes his pouch of tobacco and papers from his trouser pocket and rummages for a lighter. He deftly rolls a cigarette and lights up, drawing smoke deeply into his lungs and holding until it burns.
He's smoked half before James joins him, stopping a metre away and lifting one shiny shoe to lean against the brick wall. Regulus glances at the dark haired man with disinterest before turning away and facing the road. The traffic is lighter than when they arrived, diners now firmly secreted inside the many restaurants and bars that line the affluent road vying for their patronage.
A cloud of sweet smelling mist whirls around Regulus and he inhales, smelling raspberry and vanilla. He turns to James, eyebrow raised in scorn.
“You vape?” Regulus sneers, flicking the short pillar of ash off the end of his cigarette with a tap of his index finger.
“Guilty,” James replies breezily, taking another puff on the little black box.
What a loser.
Regulus takes a superior pull of his cigarette, narrowing his eyes at James.
“Your family's… crazy,” James says with a laugh, running his free hand back through his wild hair.
Regulus' eyes narrow further.
“You're the one who's friends with them,” he points out. James doesn't flinch, tipping his head in consideration.
“You wouldn't describe yourself as friendly with Sirius?”
Regulus simply shoots James a look of intense distrust. James holds his hands up in defence, long fingers curled around his vape.
“I'm off the clock,” he protests.
Regulus takes one final drag before flicking his cigarette into the gutter. He doesn't even glance at James, making his way reluctantly back inside.
At the table Lucius and Sirius are engaged in a heated debate, seemingly about the merits of the latest electric car.
Sirius doesn't even have a license.
The waiter is maneuvering around the table, clearing their plates ready for dessert.
Lissy’s syrupy voice cuts through the noise.
“Sirius and I have something we'd like to announce”.
The table falls silent. Regulus swivels his gaze to Sirius but his brother is looking unblinkingly at his wife who is now standing, holding her glass of water aloft lightly between two manicured fingers.
“We're pregnant!” she announces with a shriek. The ends of her blonde hair jump as she dances in place, wobbling on her impossibly high heels.
Regulus can't take his eyes off of his brother. Sirius is smiling at his wife but his lips are pulled tight, the expression not reaching anywhere near his eyes. Regulus tries to telepathically will his brother to look at him but he stubbornly refuses, ignoring the heavy pull of Regulus' gaze.
Walburga claps her hands in exaggerated delight.
“Oh, Lissy. Darling. What excellent news. The best birthday present you could ever have given me. A grandchild, my goodness,” she sings in a voice so sickly sweet Regulus expects to see it pouring from every orifice. He resists the temptation to point out that Sirius isn't even her son.
“Congratulations, son,” Orion says gruffly, like even expressing his happiness for the impending birth of his first grandchild is emasculating.
Regulus watches as everyone bestows their warm wishes on Sirius and Lissy. Narcissa seems genuinely pleased for them. Regulus remembers how nurturing she was when they were children and feels a lurch in his heart. Lucius isn't interested in having children, he's expressed the fact many times.
Sirius finally turns to his brother, looking to Regulus with a complicated expression. His face is almost twisted as in a plea but there's also defiance.
“I'm happy for you,” Regulus says quietly, low enough for only Sirius and James to hear. He is happy, if Sirius is happy. He just doesn't think Sirius is.
“Thanks, Reggie,” Sirius breathes, visibly relaxing by inches. The shoulders of his crisp white shirt wrinkle as they fall.
“Thank Christ it's not Regulus getting someone pregnant,” Lucius cold voice rings across the table like a bell.
“Well, that would be pretty impossible considering I'm gay,” Regulus replies in a clipped tone.
Lucius laughs unkindly.
“Thank heavens for that. It almost makes me grateful for the disgusting things you men do to each other, if it saves the world from a mini Regulus Black”.
There's a pause as everyone sitting around the table absorbs Lucius' words before Lissy laughs, a sharp trill that almost hurts Regulus' eardrums.
“Oh, come on Lucius. Regulus might not be that bad. He's even managed to dress himself today,” she chimes callously.
I wore my shirt inside out to dinner one time. In my defence, Barty had just died and I was blackout drunk.
“Yes, haha, very funny. I'm a mess. I don't even want kids so it's irrelevant,” Regulus says in a bored voice, taking a long glug of wine.
“I'm sure you're not a mess,” James interrupts kindly. Regulus bristles at the softness of his words.
The other end of the table erupts with laughter.
“No, he is,” Lissy continues, wiping fake tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes and smudging her eyeliner in the process.
“Okay, well this has been a treat as always but I'm off,” Regulus says, getting his feet.
“We haven't even had dessert. You don't have to—” James starts but Regulus cuts him off.
“I'm not hungry. Congratulations again, Sirius. Happy Birthday, Walburga,” Regulus nods respectively, picking his wine glass up with an open hand around the rim and draining it before pushing past Sirius' chair and making his way for the exit.
He's shaking, trying to suck in lungfuls of cool air, goosebumps dotting the exposed skin of his arms as he cranes his neck up and down the empty street for a taxi.
“I've ordered an Uber. It'll be here in two minutes,” Sirius' voice comes from behind him, making him jump.
Regulus turns in surprise.
“Not going home with your pregnant wife?” he spits. Sirius shrugs, shoving the tips of his fingers into his shallow suit trouser pockets.
“Dad’ll make sure she gets home safe. I'll share with you, if that's alright?”
Regulus grunts before reluctantly nodding.
“Fine”.
He rustles in his pockets for his tobacco but a white Prius crawls to a stop in front of them before he can roll a cigarette.
“You didn't spring for the luxury one?” Regulus can't help himself from jibing but Sirius just shrugs again.
“Just get in,” he sighs. Regulus wrenches the door open with more force than necessary and slides across to sit behind the driver.
Sirius follows, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft thump.
They travel in silence for ten minutes, Regulus watching the black starless sky as they crawl slowly through the evening traffic. It feels like years since he's seen stars and he suddenly longs for unpolluted countryside air. He needs a break, he thinks. He needs to escape London. He doesn't want to be anywhere near the familiar streets he so loves, every inch of dirty pavement reminding him of Barty and his awful family.
“Are you really happy for me?” Sirius asks, his voice timid in the small enclosed space of the taxi.
Regulus runs his eyes over his older brother, taking in his neat hair, smooth jaw and immaculate suit. So unlike the Sirius he grew up with.
“I'm happy if you're happy. But you're not,” he says simply.
Sirius recoils as if struck.
“I love Lissy,” he says, loudly. As if the louder his voice is, the more he can convince himself and Regulus that it's true.
“Okay”.
“I do”.
“Okay”.
Sirius huffs, turning away to look out of the window before spinning back to Regulus.
“You don't even know me anymore. You spend zero time trying to. Nothing interests you except yourself and your own grief. You're so hellbent on destroying your own life you don't even see anyone else. Nothing exists to you outside of your own bubble”. His voice is harsh, furious. Regulus blinks at him.
“I know you,” he says finally, his voice a hushed breath. He's suddenly hyper aware of the presence of the driver in front of them, steering the car in tense silence. He's probably regretting picking them up. Or maybe he loves it. Maybe he lives for the drama, the main perk of the job. Getting to hear all the salacious details of people's lives. He's invisible to most, a comfort to some. Regulus' greatest fear is feeling invisible but he battles with the sense of being perceived. Maybe he should become an Uber driver.
Sirius scoffs, the sound piercing the tension, popping it like a balloon.
Regulus is undeterred, suddenly determined to speak his truth. To be honest with someone. Be honest with his brother. That's all he can offer him.
“I do,” he says calmly. “I know that you're gay”.
Sirius' jaw drops, his mouth hanging open in shock.
“Drop me here,” he barks at the driver. The driver mumbles something about being unable to stop unless it's at the pre-booked location but Sirius snaps.
“Stop the fucking car!”
“Alright, alright,” the driver grumbles, slowing to a stop. He flicks on his indicator and Sirius wastes no time in throwing his door open and launching himself onto the quiet street.
Regulus wants to say something but he doesn't know what. He doesn't think there's anything he can say. He'll give Sirius some time to cool off. That'll help.
The car begins to pull away from the kerb once more and Regulus watches out of the back window as Sirius trudges along the path, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket.
Honestly, not the most disastrous Black family dinner.
Notes:
So we all hate Lissy, right?
And Lucius ofc.
Sirius following after Reg <3
And Regulus just being totally unimpressed by James lmao. James vaping is my hc
Title is of course from a Paramore song.
Hope you enjoyed!
Let me know
Xx
Elf
Chapter Text
The slam of the vintage till startles Regulus' only customer and he rushes to apologise from his position behind the counter.
“Sorry! Sorry Pat,” he says, hands held aloft over the vinyl counter. Pat, nursing a long cold pot of tea (£2.50) simply grumbles in response and dips her head back to her battered Mills and Boon paperback. She tears through those books. Every few days there's a different title. Pat must have a secret saucy side.
To distract himself from crushing boredom, Regulus takes out his phone and surreptitiously snaps a photo of the book’s front cover, using image search to bring it up on a search engine. His eyebrows lift to his hairline as he reads the summary of ‘Secretly Serviced’.
The sound of a teacup rattling on its saucer jolts Regulus out of his research and he looks up guilty at Pat’s retreating form as she dumps her empty cup and teapot onto the counter and leaves, stooped in her purple rain mac.
“Bye, Pat! Take care!” he calls, injecting his voice with contrived cheer. As soon as she leaves the café feels smaller somehow. Regulus sighs, grabbing a cloth and a bottle of disinfectant and walking over to wipe the vacant table.
The café is small but cosy. Eight tables scattered around the antique wood floor. Barty had been meticulous about arranging them in four rows of two but Regulus thought it looked over-thought. Their kitschy cat themed café is at its best when it's a bit disordered. Chaotic.
Prints clutter the green floral papered walls in mismatched frames of all sizes and colours; some gold, some oval wooden, others black, white and every colour of the rainbow. Each contains a photo, a cartoon style drawing, a digital image, anything resembling a cat. One wears a crown, one a party hat, another a bow tie.
Regulus found some cat shaped candle holders from T.K.Maxx and there's one on each table with a different coloured taper stuffed inside alongside a jam jar of fresh wildflowers. Hanging low above each table is a mini chandelier, casting rainbows all around the room when the sun hits the single glazed wood framed windows. The tables also have vinyl wipe clean tablecloths in different shades of big cat print. The counter is wrapped in the same vinyl. The effect is quirky, definitely an acquired taste but Barty had loved it.
Walking back to the counter, Regulus looks over his shoulder longingly out of the window. He wants to run onto the street and drag people inside. Please buy a coffee in my cat themed café. It meant everything to my best friend and now he's dead and it's my fault and I have to keep this place afloat whilst I'm barely treading water myself. That would be mental, obviously, so he returns to his perch by the till.
Another hour passes with no customers and he's considering closing early when the bell ringing above the door makes his head snap up in surprise. Sirius is shaking rain off a large black umbrella, holding it through the open doorway so as not to drip water inside.
Regulus watches with amusement, trying to resist making a sarcastic jibe and ultimately failing.
“You know I own this café, right? Are you lost?”
Sirius finally closes the door behind him and folds the collar of his black Burberry trenchcoat down.
“You've been avoiding me,” he accuses.
Regulus gasps in outrage.
“Er, you've been avoiding me”. He folds his arms across his chest and juts his chin belligerently before remembering their last conversation after Walburga's party and forcing himself to relax. He had been in the wrong. Technically. “Sirius, about what I said—”
“Forget it,” Sirius says breezily. “I wouldn't expect you to know the intricacies of a marriage anyway,” he adds, somewhat sharply.
“Er, right,” Regulus says and falls silent, waiting for Sirius to reveal the purpose of his visit. Sirius never came to the café before Barty died.
“How have you been?” Sirius asks in a measured tone.
“Staying alive and out of jail”.
“Congratulations”.
“Thank you”.
The brothers stare each other down for a beat.
“I thought we could visit mum’s grave. Maybe take a sandwich? We've not done it for a while,” Sirius finally offers. “Have you had your break?”
Regulus declines to admit that his whole day has been a break, pretty much.
“Not yet. Did you bring lunch?” he asks instead.
Sirius raises an eyebrow.
“Don't you do that here? I thought I'd try one of your sandwiches”.
Regulus narrows his eyes, suspicious.
“You've never tried my cooking. What's wrong?”
“Nothing! I just wanted to see my little brother, is that such a crime?” Sirius says, throwing his arms wide in exasperation.
“Fine, what would you like?”
Sirius wanders over to the glass display case, running his eyes over the sandwiches and wraps that Regulus prepared this morning.
“BLT,” he decides.
Regulus plucks one out of the case with tongs and wraps it in paper.
“Ten pounds please,” he says, holding his hand out to Sirius.
“What! Fuck off,” Sirius protests, glaring at him over the counter.
“You’re paying for mine,” Regulus shrugs, grabbing a halloumi wrap out of the case.
Sirius sighs, rummaging in his pocket for his wallet and hands over a twenty pound note.
“Keep the change,” he grumbles. Regulus smirks and deposits the note in the till, pocketing the ten pounds extra with a wink.
“Ready?” he says, grabbing his coat from the hat stand and they head out into the rain together.
*
“Nice day for a picnic,” Regulus remarks as they squeeze onto the dry patch of a wooden bench sheltering under a tree in the cemetery.
“Yeah, I didn't completely think it through,” Sirius admits. “I just wanted to see you”.
“Aw,” Regulus nudges him in the ribs with the point of his elbow.
“Piss off,” Sirius mutters, jabbing back.
They chew in silence for a few moments, staring at the polished marble of their mother's headstone a few feet away.
“Do you think Dad ever comes here?” Regulus asks, his breath misting in the damp air. It's April but the constant rain has caused a lingering chill that won't seem to shift. If Regulus owned a big coat, he would definitely still be wearing it.
“Definitely not. She'd never let him”. They both know who ‘she’ is.
“Do you think she's pissed off that I ruined her birthday dinner?”
Sirius pauses, considering.
“Honestly? I don't think it makes much of a difference to how she feels about you,” he grimaces apologetically. “Besides, Lissy and I stole her thunder”.
Regulus fights a shiver at the mere mention of Sirius' wife. He'd hardly stopped thinking of their pregnancy announcement in the nearly three weeks that followed. He hums, acknowledging Sirius' words but not wanting to get into another discussion about his unhappy marriage.
“I think you should make an appointment with James”.
Regulus sucks in a sharp breath. “Sirius—”
“No, hear me out. I know he'll be good for you. I trust James”.
“Right. You're friends,” Regulus says bitterly.
Sirius smiles fondly.
“We are, yeah. He might be my best mate, actually”.
Regulus huffs and flexes his fingers, itching for a cigarette.
“How come you never mentioned him then?” he asks petulantly.
“You never asked,” Sirius points out. “You never ask about my life”.
“Yes I do!” Regulus protests, his voice a shrill shriek. “You just never tell me anything about your life”.
Sirius glares and Regulus glares back, sticking his tongue out childishly. He sees Sirius struggling to hold back a laugh.
“You do need to talk to someone though. If not James, someone else. A doctor, maybe. It's not good for you to bottle things up like this”.
“I've got friends,” Regulus says, thinking of Evan and feeling his stomach roiling.
“You must miss him so much,” Sirius prods, looking carefully down at the remainder of his sandwich.
“Yeah. I do,” Regulus replies, staring out at the sea of gravestones. All those people, loved and missed. Thousands of people die every day. But how many die because of their best friend? Sirius doesn't know the truth about Barty. He's right, Regulus has been bottling it up. How could he not? It's too awful to ever speak out loud. There's not a soul on Earth that wouldn't judge him.
“He’d want you to be happy you know,” Sirius says, balling his sandwich wrapper up in his fist and shoving it into his coat pocket.
“Mmm. Maybe,” Regulus says. “He was a sadistic prick though, maybe not”.
Sirius laughs, the sound muffled by the drops of heavy rain onto the branches of the tree.
“Let me at least give you James' number,” he offers, reaching into his pocket for his phone.
Knowing it's pointless to refuse, Regulus watches as Sirius forwards James' details to his own phone, feeling it buzz a few seconds later. He'll delete the message once he's back at the café, he decides.
They say their goodbyes under the tree and Regulus makes a run for it, tugging the hood of his thin coat over his head. By the time he gets back to the café he's soaked, rain pouring down the neck of his jacket and running in rivulets down his back. He shakes his head like a wet dog as he unlocks the door, letting it slam shut behind him but there's resistance and the bell jingles as the door bounces back.
“Sorry, are you open?”
A good looking man with closely buzzed hair and a silver hoop in both ears is holding the door, standing underneath the dripping awning. Regulus hurriedly pulls the handle and steps back to allow him into the café.
“Yeah, sorry, just had to step out for a moment”.
“This your place yeah?” The man scrubs a hand over his head, letting loose droplets of rain that fly across the room.
“Yep. I'm the owner”.
“It’s… weird isn't it? You like cats then, yeah?” the man asks, looking around with a bemused expression on his face.
“No, it came like this,” Regulus jokes.
The man frowns.
“What can I get you?” Regulus says brightly, smothering the awkwardness with his passing customer service skills.
“Coffee, black,” the man orders, squinting at the menu.
“I'm not on the menu,” Regulus jests with a wink.
“Sorry?” The man is staring at him now as if he has three heads.
“It's— my name. Regulus Black,” he says, pointing to the neon sign behind the counter that screams ‘The Black Cat’ in swirling letters.
“Riiiiight,” the man laughs lightly, catching on before fixing Regulus with an appraising eye. “Shame. You're kinda cute”.
Regulus scoffs.
“Kinda?”
“Yeah. Is that not good enough for you?”
“No”.
The man narrows his gaze, tilting his head to ogle Regulus more openly.
“Go out with me,” he says.
Regulus laughs.
“No”.
“Why not?”
“Because. I don't even know you! And you've insulted my café and my looks in the five minutes I've known you”.
“Is that a problem for you?” the man asks, with a cocky raise of the eyebrow.
No.
“Yes,” Regulus says. He turns away and begins to prepare the black coffee in a takeaway cup, although the man didn't specify if it was to go or not.
Regulus pushes a plastic lid onto the cup and slides it across the counter. The man smirks, reaching into his pocket for his phone to pay for his coffee. He taps it to the card reader and then spins his phone around, handing it to Regulus.
“Put your number in,” he says. Commands, really.
Regulus takes the phone, swiping to the address book. He pauses before keying in his number.
“I don't even know your name”.
“Matt,” the man says.
“Just Matt?” Regulus quirks an eyebrow.
“You won't need to scream my full government name when I make you come on my dick later,” the man says bluntly.
Fuck. That was good. I hate this guy.
Regulus taps his number into the man's phone, saving it as ‘Regulus the Black Cat’.
The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a smile, or a smirk— Regulus can't quite tell. He types out a quick text and Regulus feels his phone buzz in his coat pocket.
“Text me, Black,” the man says and leaves.
Regulus shrugs out of his jacket, taking his phone out of the pocket and slinging it into the back room.
He checks his phone. The message from an unknown number simply says:
Matt .
Regulus rolls his eyes, wondering what's up with all the mystery but finding his interest piqued nonetheless.
The message below is from Sirius. It contains a number and reads:
James Potter, Grief Counsellor. Call him.
Regulus clicks away from the message but doesn't erase it.
He returns to the text from Matt and starts typing.
Notes:
Soooo, I wasn't going to post another chapter so soon but I actually can't stop writing this story. It's really sunk it's teeth into me. So have another I guess!
Chapter title is a song by Nirvana.
Thoughts and kudos are much appreciated!
Xx
Elf
Chapter 5: Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now
Notes:
TW: for what I would call hopeless thoughts, mild depiction of vomiting towards the end of the chapter
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Cold metal leaks a chill through the back of Regulus' thin green jumper. He arches his spine, trying to lift his body off the bonnet but that just spurs Matt on more.
“Fuck, Regulus. You're so fucking naughty,” Matt pants through clenched teeth, thrusting roughly. Regulus finds the phrasing a bit cringe so he ignores Matt's words.
They're parked in a secluded country lane surrounded by dense woodland on either side. Matt picked Regulus up for drinks hours ago but the conversation was so dull that Regulus spontaneously proposed they go for a ‘drive’ in Matt’s Porsche. He's always heard people saying that in films but not once in his life has he ever got in a car with no destination in mind, simply to ride around. The fact that he doesn't have a license or a car probably contributed to that, but even so.
As they headed further outside London, Regulus had wondered idly if Matt was actually going to kidnap him. He wasn't fussed either way but he couldn't remember if he left his curling tongs on. Whilst he racked his brains trying to figure it out, Matt took a turn down a quiet backroad and pulled up, abruptly wrenching the handbrake up with a crunch.
“Do you wanna fuck on the bonnet?” he'd said.
“Okay”.
So that was how Regulus ended up laying flat out on the almost horizontal bonnet of a 2005 Porsche Boxster. Matt had bristled when Regulus had asked if he was interested in classic cars, claiming the Porsche wasn't classic but vintage. It sounded the same to Regulus.
Matt has his jeans around his ankles which is another huge ick so Regulus has chosen to look up at the night sky. It's fully dark, after eleven, but the heavy clouds block the stars. It's almost eerily black without the glow of moonlight, the looming silhouettes of shadowy trees morphing into fairytale monsters that creep along the landscape. Regulus isn't scared. He's not even turned on, really, though he desperately chases his release nonetheless. Matt pounds away relentlessly, still muttering strings of words that sound like they've been lifted from a 1970s porno.
Regulus lifts his hands above his head, trying to urge Matt in deeper, shifting to direct the man towards his prostate. He scrambles for purchase, clutching a window wiper in his haste. It snaps off and falls into his palm.
“Oh, fuck! Is it broken?” Matt stills, his voice sharp with panic.
“Er… I don't think so?” Regulus hedges. “Don't they clip on or something?” He truly has no idea but it seems to appease Matt enough to resume his pace.
Regulus awkwardly holds the window wiper in one hand before surreptitiously tossing it onto the road next to the car. They'll find it later.
Several minutes later, Matt is still resiliently hammering away. Regulus doesn't know whether to be impressed or insulted by his stamina but he's got to be up early to open the café in the morning and he could really do with hurrying things along. He takes his own cock in his hand and begins to stroke, making gratuitous moans.
“Oh, baby that's so hot. That's it, moan for me,” Matt gasps.
Regulus ramps it up a notch, working his fist faster.
“Matt. You're so good. You feel amazing inside me,” he purrs, desperately trying to reach his peak.
Matt groans and lifts a hand to Regulus' chest, laying it over his heart. Regulus shifts, placing his free hand over Matt's and moving it to the base of his throat. He squeezes gently, encouraging him.
It seems to have the desired effect as Matt’s thrusts get deeper and more intense, slowing until Regulus can feel the drag of his cock over his prostate.
Yes. There it is.
Regulus gasps, his throat suddenly constructed as Matt's grip gets tighter. He feels a pull behind his navel and warmth spreads through his body.
“You like that don't you, you fucking slut,” Matt growls.
Yep, that'll do it.
Regulus pulse throbs against the man's hand as he crests the wave of his release, spilling freely between their sandwiched stomachs.
He moans, authentically this time and Matt follows close behind, spilling into the condom he'd pulled from his glove box.
Regulus sags, sliding down the bonnet until his naked arse rests against the headlights.
“Careful, don't get anything on her,” Matt cautions, as he fumbles with his jeans.
Yeah, wouldn't want to soil a twenty year old low-range Porsche.
Regulus stands, arranging himself back into his boxers and jeans and using the hem of his jumper to wipe away the mess. It'll be dark enough when he leaves the car and nobody will be around to see the obvious stains.
“I've got an early start in the morning…” Regulus drifts off, shooting Matt and apologetic glance but the other man simply looks relieved.
“Yeah, me too. I'll drop you off”.
Well, I would fucking hope so, we're an hour out of London.
“Great, thanks”.
The drive back in to the city is quiet.
*
As the car pulls up on the double yellow lines in front of Regulus' flat, he wakes from a restless slumber and sees a figure slumped on the communal front doorstep.
Evan. Shit.
He makes a quick exit from the car, mumbling in agreement to a second date. If you could even call it a date. It wasn't bad sex after all. And Matt is hot, until he opens his mouth and words come out.
He rushes over to Evan, relieved to see that he's conscious although clearly very drunk.
“Evan! Are you okay?” he asks, pointlessly. Clearly, he is very not okay.
“Who was that?” Evan replies, lifting his head to peer blearily down the street at the retreating car.
“A friend. What are you doing here?”
Evan sniffs, hanging his head dejectedly.
“Can I come in?”
Regulus hesitates. He really needs to call this off. They have got to stop whatever this fucked up thing is between them. Evan was never even Regulus' friend. They only know each other because of Barty. And Barty is gone.
“I don't think that would be a good idea,” he finally says, his voice shaky in the still night air. He tries to soften the blow with a smile but feels himself tearing up as Evan meets his eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers, taking a seat on the doorstep next to Evan and sliding over to take his hand. He squeezes once.
Evan lets out a staggered breath.
“Do you think it's our fault?” he gasps, letting loose a sob.
Regulus feels bile in his throat and his head spins. It is their fault. It is, it is.
“No,” he says firmly. “What happened was an accident. Barty knew you loved him. I promise, he knew. You've got to forgive yourself. You can't keep living like this. Barty would want you to be happy”. He feels the hypocrisy of his words stabbing him like tiny knives all over his body.
Evan sobs, his shoulders collapsing and chest heaving. Regulus sits with him, their hands entwined, until the sobs recede completely.
“I'm going to go home,” Evan says eventually, his voice still quiet but sounding surer.
“Okay. If you need me, you can call. I promise I'll always pick up. I just don't think this,” he gestures between their bodies, “is a good idea anymore. It's not good for either of us”.
“Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry”.
“Don't be. You'll be alright, Evan. I promise”.
Evan pulls Regulus in for a tight hug and he knows it's a goodbye. He feels like he's losing Barty all over again. Another piece of him, gone forever.
As soon as Regulus unlocks his flat, he slumps onto the floor. He feels out of control. He doesn't know how to live with these feelings anymore. The rest of his life stretches out in front of him like a road that will never end. It feels like a sentence.
Wheezing, crying so hard he can't see clearly, he fumbles in his jeans pocket for his phone. When he pulls it out, he swipes to his most recent messages, hovering over the details before typing.
Regulus:
It's Regulus. I need to see you.
*
“I was surprised to hear from you. I thought after our last meeting that you weren't sold on the idea”.
Regulus sits stiffly in the uncomfortable metal legged office chair.
“I wasn't. I thought therapist’s were supposed to have comfortable couches. This chair is hurting my back”.
James smiles patiently.
“I'm not a therapist. I'm a grief counsellor. Though, by all means. Get as comfortable as you can,” he swoops a large hand, gesturing broadly to his office.
The office is bright and clean, with large sash windows looking out to a neat patioed garden. The walls are white but it doesn't feel clinical. Colourful prints are hung sporadically in glass frames: blue topped houses on Greek islands and palm tree lined beaches. There's a Parisian café scene and skyscrapers in New York. They look suspiciously like postcards. James must be well travelled, Regulus thinks. Either that or he has a harem of girlfriends dotted around the globe, sending him love notes from afar.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Regulus says with a smirk. James just hums, that same placid smile on his face.
“Is there anything in particular you wanted to discuss today, Regulus?”
Despite the fact that Regulus knew this question was coming, knew he reached out to a grief counsellor in the middle of the night in what was, arguably, a time of crisis, he isn't prepared to actually talk about Barty.
“No”. He crosses a leg over his knee and tries to relax but his foot bobs up and down in the air incessantly no matter how hard he tries to keep it still.
“Okay. Why don't we start with how you were feeling on Friday night?” James says delicately.
It's only been two days but the perks of being Sirius' brother mean that James responded to his text on Saturday morning, offering an appointment first thing on Monday. Regulus kind of hopes he had to cancel on someone to fit him in. To make him a priority. He's never been anyone's priority before.
“I don't know,” Regulus shrugs. Christ, he feels like a sullen teenager. Any minute now James is going to ask why he hasn't handed in his homework and Regulus will have to say the cat threw up on it.
James watches Regulus, his arms and legs carefully unfolded, sitting up straight in his swivel chair. Everything about James screams professional. From his sensible brown shoes, light chinos and blue shirt to his neatly organised desk. Regulus scans it for personal effects, a framed picture, handmade card from a loving child or grateful client. There's nothing. Just orderliness. Nothing to give even a hint as to James' life outside of his job. He checks his long fingers. No ring.
“Let's try something. Close your eyes for me”.
Regulus stares flatly at James who chuckles softly.
“I know it feels silly, but humour me”.
Regulus rolls his eyes but scrunches them closed, waiting.
“Okay, good. Think about the people you love and who love you. How do you think they would describe you? What qualities do you have that make them love you?”
Regulus opens one eye and scrutinises James dispassionately.
“Is this a joke?”
“No, Regulus. Lots of people love you. I want you to tell me why you think that is. What qualities do you have that makes you a good friend, a good brother, a good son?”
Panic spirals in Regulus’ chest and he struggles to remember how to breathe. He thinks of Barty, pacing their flat asking Regulus if he thought Evan was bored of him.
He gasps, his eyes flying open. James’ brow furrows but he says nothing, waiting for Regulus to speak.
There's a long moment of silence as James waits him out. The faint ticking of a clock suddenly seems louder and Regulus can hear the phone ringing shrilly from reception. He can't bear it anymore.
“I'm not. I'm a shit friend and a shit brother. It doesn't matter what I'm like as a son because my mum is dead and my dad has moved on,” he blurts out in a rush, the words blending together so quickly that he's sure James will ask him to repeat himself.
He doesn't, simply smiling that frustratingly calm smile. Regulus feels a sudden wave of anger. He lurches to his feet.
“This was a bad idea,” he says, wringing his hands anxiously as he looks to the door.
James stands up too but remains by his desk, not closing the space between them. Regulus feels like a skittish deer wanting to bolt now the light is shining on him.
“Regulus, we don't have to talk about Barty. We don't have to talk about your family, or Sirius. I just want to know how you're feeling. We can talk about whatever you want. I've got time”.
“How?” Regulus says suspiciously, glancing at the clock on the wall. He's already been here for thirty minutes, appointments can't be longer than an hour surely?
“I'll make time,” James shrugs.
“I'm not even paying you”.
There's a twinkle in James' eye.
“You don't need to. I'm doing this for Sirius. And you. I think we could be friends, if you'd let me”.
At that, Regulus clams up again.
“You're a grief counsellor. You'll never be my friend,” he spits and wrenches the door open, hurrying through the packed reception to the safety of the street.
Once outside, Regulus staggers to the road and heaves, throwing up the pitiful contents of his stomach. A woman passing by with her children shoots him a look of disgust and wraps her arms protectively around them, ushering them away from the crazy person being sick in the street at ten am on a Monday.
“I'm fine! Thanks for checking!” he shouts sarcastically after her, ignoring the judgemental looks this brings him from other passersby.
Just a fucked up, miserable mess, a shit friend and a shit son apparently.
Notes:
Hellooo,
Having a VERY poor mental health day today so I thought inflicting some of that on Regulus might help (:
Chapter title is a song by The Smiths. Basically my vibe at the min so yeah! Enjoy?
Xx
Elf
Chapter Text
Regulus and Sirius stand side by side on the top step leading up to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
“I hate what she's done with the place,” Regulus grumbles, his eyes taking in the shiny black door and elaborate silver door knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent. When Arabella had lived, the door was a periwinkle blue with a classic brass knocker. Their mother was all vivid colour and warmth. The change has always seemed ominous to Regulus. Like Walburga is leaching the soul from their father's life.
“It's… classic,” Sirius says diplomatically.
Regulus' laugh is scornful but he's saved from rebutting Sirius' statement by the door swinging open.
“Boys! Sirius, darling. Lovely to see you. What a dashing suit, very chic. No bruises today, Regulus?,” Walburga chirps flippantly. Draped in a dark floral kimono with long black tassels at the sleeves she stands regally over the threshold, one arm on the open door and sweeping the other imperiously into the hall. “Come in, come in. We must get on, so much to do”.
Regulus steels himself and steps into the tiled hall. Walburga has replaced their mother's colourful mosaic tiles with black marble. The walls are papered in green brocade, so dark it's almost black and a huge portrait of their stepmother hangs forebodingly in the entrance.
“Love what you've done with the place,” Regulus drawls looking pointedly at the painting, allowing just a hint of sarcasm to seep into his voice.
Walburga stands taller at the comment, tossing her head though her neat black bun remains fixed, not a single strand of hair out of place.
“It's a self-portrait. I'm thrilled you like it, it took weeks to complete. Your poor father felt quite neglected,” she trills with a high laugh. Regulus hates the sound of her laugh. It's like nails down a chalkboard and never fails to induce a full body shiver.
“Oh, don't worry darling I made it up to him,” Walburga adds with a sickening wink, willfully mistaking Regulus’ look of disgust.
“Is he home?” Sirius interjects before Regulus can make a scathing comment expressing his revulsion at their Godmother's implication.
“No, no, your father is out tonight,” Walburga says airily. “It's just us”.
They follow her through the hall to the living room. The rest of the house has suffered the same gothic makeover as the hall, with dark espresso coloured planks replacing the alpine Karndean flooring their mother had installed just a few years before she fell ill. Every item of furniture has also been replaced with robust mahogany pieces; no doubt Walburga had them shipped from her house in France when she moved in with Orion. The effect is very dark academia. Not unpleasant, Regulus begrudgingly thinks, but pretentious nonetheless. A sharp contrast to their mother's kitschy taste, which was at once chaotic and welcoming.
Walburga stands on the large medieval looking rug in the centre of the room in black red heeled pumps. Regulus has never once seen her dressed casually.
She probably came out of the womb wearing couture. Or spawned directly from Hell, whichever.
“How is dearest Lissy? Poor thing, she must be feeling simply frightful. Do you know, I've never known a happy pregnant woman. Your mother was positively miserable with you, Regulus. Constantly sick, uncomfortable. She always looked ghastly. I used to joke that she was growing a parasite rather than a baby!” Her laugh is high and tinkling. Regulus' can feel the vein on his forehead bulging with the effort it takes to control his temper.
“She's well,” Sirius responds tightly. “Shall we get started? I'm sure you're very busy”.
Walburga starts dramatically as if just remembering why they're standing in her home, despite the fact that the whole thing was her idea.
For their father's birthday gift this year, Walburga is going to be painting a portrait of his sons together. Her style is classic though dramatic, like everything else she does, and she has undeniable talent but there's something eerie about her art. Her subjects seem almost trapped inside the frame, their eyes empty and soulless.
Regulus loathes the prospect of becoming another piece in her collection, like shrunken heads she's pickled and stored in dusty jars. It creeps him out. Sirius, however, had convinced him to go along with her proposal and he couldn't find it in himself to refuse.
They're ushered to a space between the bookcase and the window, the tall green velvet curtains providing a regal backdrop. Matching stools are propped in front with ornately carved wooden legs and plump upholstered cushions. Regulus follows Sirius’ lead and takes a seat on one of the stools, placing his hands neatly on his knees.
Walburga stands and observes them with a critical eye, one hand tucked under her chin.
“Oh, no. No, that won't do. Here, Sirius. Tuck this underneath,” she says, grabbing a huge embroidered cushion from the sofa and gesturing for Sirius to sit on it.
The cushion raises Sirius by several inches.
“There. Much better,” Walburga sighs, clapping her hands in approval.
Regulus looks warily up at Sirius who now towers above him. He feels like a child, sitting on the floor for class photos whilst all his friends sit on chairs behind him. He huffs at Walburga's obvious attempts to demean him. Sirius catches his eye and rolls his eyes apologetically. Regulus gives him a small smile back.
Walburga tucks herself behind a large wooden easel, sliding delicately onto her own stool. She wraps an emerald coloured silk scarf around her glossy hair and picks up a piece of charcoal.
“I'm just going to sketch you in these positions, then I can paint another time. It saves us from endless hours of these sittings,” she explains with another laugh that sounds like glass shattering. “I do so like to work with charcoal, it feels more natural doesn't it?” she adds. Regulus nods in absent agreement.
“No moving!” Walburga snaps, her girlish voice quickly replaced by a brittle, cruel tone. Regulus stills immediately, hating himself for how easily his stepmother can bring him to heel.
Ah, finally. A glimpse of the real Walburga Black.
The sitting feels torturously long. Walburga sketches in silence and Regulus doesn't dare try and speak. Sirius remains perfectly still, sitting with his shoulders back and head straight, poised as a prince. Regulus feels restless and fidgety, shifting in his seat every thirty seconds and suffering Walburga's admonishment.
Finally, she replaces the charcoal and wipes her hands on a rag.
“Done. Gosh, it's so strange to create in the presence of anyone other than your father. I usually paint naked, you see”.
“Okay, I'm out”. Regulus gets to his feet and stretches out his stiff legs. Walburga had insisted they both wear black suits and he feels suffocated, his arms and legs restricted in the thick material.
“Can't wait to see the finished piece,” Sirius says to their Godmother as they prepare to leave.
“Oh, you won't be seeing it. This is for your father's eyes only”. Walburga taps her nose mysteriously.
Regulus doesn't respond, making to brush past her into the hall. On his way out, he spots something sitting on a small end table next to the sofa.
“This was our mother's. Where did you get this?” he questions, his voice unsteady, picking the small statuette up and weighing it in his hand. It's familiar and comforting, the nostalgia overwhelming.
Walburga frowns at the little clay ornament. It's a cat and a dog sitting together. Regulus had made it at school for their mother, who always used to say that Sirius was like a golden retriever and Regulus a black cat.
“Oh, that old thing? I made it, darling,” Walburga laughs, a harsh jarring sound that cuts through the atmosphere of the room like a sharp knife. She reaches out a hand and deftly swipes the figure away. Regulus hears Sirius suck in a breath next to him.
“No, I made it for our mum. When I was ten. It was hers,” Regulus repeats, levelling his stepmother with a look of deep hatred in his eyes.
She laughs again and Regulus almost flinches.
“Darling, don't be silly. They're not exactly uncommon animals for a household ornament. I'll tell your father you said hello,” she says, moving forwards to urge them into the hall and out of the house.
Regulus’ feet remain planted firmly on the wooden floor.
“Give it to me,” he demands, holding his hand out expectantly.
“No. It's mine”.
“Give it to me”.
“I said no”.
“Come on, Reggie. Maybe we should—” Sirius attempts.
“I'm not leaving without it, Sirius,” Regulus says, folding his arms.
Sirius looks at Walburga pleadingly.
“Can he just take it? It doesn't exactly fit with your decor,” he points out.
Walburga raises a pointy black eyebrow.
“Why would I give him something I made? If you want one so badly, Regulus, I can make one for you”.
Regulus grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.
“Come on,” Sirius says again, shoving Regulus towards the front door with a note of urgency. He lets himself be dragged, staring daggers at Walburga as he goes. His stepmother stares smugly back, holding the statuette triumphantly.
As soon as they're outside, Regulus explodes.
“That fucking venomous snake. She's a thief! I made that for Mum. What a bitch. What the fuck is Dad playing at marrying her?” he fumes, waving his arms wildly.
To his surprise, Sirius looks just as angry.
“I know. She's vile. I'll get it back for you, I promise,” he swears with grim determination.
Regulus relaxes slightly, smiling sadly at his brother.
“Surely Sirius Black, real life lawyer and professional grown up, isn't going to steal?” Regulus teases, delighting in the flush that creeps up Sirius’ neck. “It's nearly two decades since your dark days as a teenage thief, stealing sweets from the corner shop”.
Sirius glances around the street somewhat frantically as he shushes his brother.
“No, I'm not going to steal it!” he says in a low hush. Regulus snorts at the panic on his face. “But we will get it back, Reggie. I promise”.
“Don't make promises you can't keep, Siri,” Regulus says softly. A flash of a memory— Sirius comforting him under the duvet, hands entwined, promising that their mother would get better— runs unbidden through his mind.
Sirius' blue eyes shine but he nods once.
“I'll walk you to the bus stop,” he offers, beginning to walk slightly ahead of Regulus down the dark street. It's late and the affluent road is deserted, lit only by the yellow light of the streetlamps and the occasional blue flicker of a television through a front window.
Regulus quickly falls in line with his brother, scuffing his shiny shoes as they walk.
“I heard you made an appointment with James”. Sirius' voice is deliberately placid and Regulus knows he's trying to resist pestering him for details.
“Yeah. Waste of time that was,” Regulus says gruffly. They reach the bus stop and Regulus throws himself down on the cold metal bench with a sigh, wincing a little when his bum hits the seat.
Sirius notices his reaction and frowns.
“Are you alright?”
Regulus grins mischievously.
“Yeah. This guy was just a little rough the other night,” he says, breaking into peals of laughter at Sirius’ look of abject horror.
“You're really on a mission to destroy yourself, aren't you,” he comments with a shake of the head.
“It's sex, Sirius. It's perfectly normal. Even you must do it occasionally,” Regulus sighs again, throwing his brother a pointed glance. They still haven't discussed Lissy's pregnancy.
Sirius deflects, smoothly returning to his questioning about Regulus’ session with James.
“James says you were pretty eager to make the appointment”.
“James needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut. I thought there was such a thing as patient confidentiality?”
“He didn't tell me the details,” Sirius protests. “Just that— well, you contacted him quite late on a Friday night. Had you been drinking?”
Regulus ignores the question, scanning the road for the bus.
“He's helped me a lot, you know,” Sirius continues. “Dad as well. He's a good person. Great at his job”.
“Hot, too,” Regulus remarks, turning back to look at Sirius. Sirius jaw sets.
“No. Don't you dare. James is lovely. Don't drag him into whatever all this is,” Sirius gestures broadly at Regulus in his crumpled suit.
“You're the one who wants me to see him!"
“As a grief counsellor. To help you. You must have slept with half of London since Barty—”
“Alright,” Regulus says quickly, reaching into his pocket for his tobacco. “I'm joking anyway. He's too clean cut for me. And I don't even know if he's gay”.
Sirius says nothing, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Fuck. I've got to go, Lissy's wondering where I am. I'll see you soon, okay? Try not to get into any more fights,” he says, getting to his feet and starting to walk away. “And call James!”
Regulus waves and lights his cigarette, smoking the whole thing before the bus eventually arrives. It's empty save for a sleeping man who slumps dangerously on the back seat on the bottom deck. He climbs to the top and sits at the front, swinging his feet up to rest them on the bar.
He takes his phone out, putting his earbuds in and pressing play on his most recent playlist. It's a compilation of classical music. He relaxes low in his seat listening to ‘I Love You’ by RIOPY and swiping aimlessly through his text messages.
James' last message confirming his first appointment is still in his inbox. He hovers his fingers over the delete button before changing his mind and typing a quick message.
Regulus:
If I make another appointment, are you going to make me wish I hadn't?
The response comes not even a minute later, surprising Regulus when his phone buzzes in his slack hands.
James:
I can't promise anything but I'll try and be on my best behaviour if you will?
Regulus lets his eyes close, listening to the swell of the music, a small smile on his face.
Notes:
Chapter title is a song by Fleetwood Mac :)
I'm so into Walburga as this bitchy stepmother figure. What do you think?
Let me know your thoughts and thanks for reading!
Xx
Elf
Chapter Text
James:
I run a group session on Wednesdays at the local community hall. Just wondering if you wanted to change our next meeting to come along instead?
Regulus:
Absolutely not
James:
Okay, any particular reason? Group therapy can be very effective. It often helps to talk to people who are going through similar situations.
Regulus:
Thought you said you weren't a therapist? And I hate people, so no
James:
You literally run a café
Regulus:
And?
James:
That's quite a sociable job
Regulus:
Not when you don't have any customers :/
James:
:/
Regulus stashes his phone back in his pocket and returns his attention to cashing up the till. He's been making excuses and trying to avoid making a second appointment with James after reaching out— again— in a vulnerable moment but the man is persistent. It's annoying.
He stashes the day's takings in the safe in his small office/staffroom/general dumping ground and locks up, pulling the metal shutters down and padlocking them securely. Graffiti peppers the steel grids though Regulus doesn't really mind. The dicks give the place a bit of character, like a mini anti-gentrification protest.
Checking the time and swearing, Regulus takes off running down the high street. He has a four thirty appointment with a bank manager. The café barely has any customers and he's hemorrhaging money. If he keeps going like this he'll have to close before the end of the year. So he's going to try and take out a business loan.
It was something Barty always suggested but Regulus had pushed back on, wanting to make their own way. His stubbornness has resulted in thousands of pounds down the drain. All the money they'd carefully saved since graduating university (and Barty had stolen from his dad).
Regulus practically collides with the glass door of the Santander at exactly four thirty. He brushes crumbs off his checked jumper and checks his teeth in the reflection before stepping inside.
The man that greets him is surprisingly handsome, a silver fox with ash grey hair neatly combed to one side and a salt and pepper beard. He shakes Regulus’ hand and offers him a seat at a curved desk. Regulus spends several minutes outlining his business proposals whilst the man nods and types notes on laptop.
When he eventually draws breath, the man sighs.
“Right. Well, I'm just not sure a cat café is a fiscally responsible investment,” he says gently.
“Cat themed. We wanted cats but the insurance is quite expensive and my best friend was actually allergic,” Regulus corrects. He's anxious and starting to sweat. He really needs this loan.
“I see. Do you have any ideas to generate more revenue? That are more… immediately effective?”
“Er. Yeah. I mean, there's Pay It Forward Friday. Each customer buys a coffee for the person behind them,” he explains, pulling at the neck of his jumper.
“So kind of paying it backwards really,” the man jokes and Regulus laughs weakly.
“Haha. Yeah. Sorry, do you mind if I just—? It's boiling in here”. Regulus stands up, nudging the table in his haste and sending water over the side of the man’s glass. He shoots him a sheepish look and reaches for the hem of his jumper to pull it over his head. It's just above his face when the man makes an alarmed cough.
“Sorry, you've er— you've got—”
“Oh, shit! Sorry! My jumper got stuck to my t-shirt didn't it?” Regulus laughs awkwardly, standing there with his pale chest completely exposed. The man coughs again and Regulus tugs it back down over his body.
The bank manager levels him with a steely blue gaze.
“If you think that flashing me will get a different result—”
“No! It was a complete accident I swear—”
“— then you'd be absolutely correct,” the man finishes. Regulus blinks at him, unsure if he heard correctly.
“Sorry?” he ventures. “Are you… flirting with me?”
The man— Adam, it says on his name tag— gives him a playful look.
“If you're up for it, that is?”
Regulus never backs down from a challenge, especially not an older one in a fuck-me suit who happens to control his loan application.
“Oh, I'm very up for it,” Regulus says in a low voice. He licks his bottom lip slowly for good measure.
Adam taps a few keys on his laptop.
“Your application will be processed. You'll hear within the week. And I'll pick you up tomorrow at eight? I have your address,” he smirks.
Regulus is momentarily stunned into silence before he stammers a reply.
“Is that legal? Getting my personal information from my application?” he says curiously. Adam merely smiles, his blue eyes twinkling dangerously.
“Does it matter?”
“Not to me,” Regulus shrugs.
“I thought not. I'll see you tomorrow”.
Regulus exits the bank as quick as he can, unsure if he's incredibly turned on or incredibly insulted.
Fuck. That man might be the most entitled sleazebag I've ever met. I am definitely going to fuck him.
*
“Sorry, your bank manager propositioned you in exchange for the loan? And you said yes?” The pitch of James' voice is elevated with disbelief.
Regulus sits in the uncomfortable chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles.
“He was hot,” he shrugs nonchalantly. James' face is almost purple as he splutters for a response.
“Jesus. Sirius did warn me you might have some salacious stories to tell,” James says, scrubbing his hand across his jaw.
“Did he now? What else did my brother ‘warn’ you about me?” Regulus taunts with an edge to his tone that James can't possibly miss.
The grief counsellor isn't put off, slipping that easy smile back onto his face and returning to his professional persona so quickly Regulus wonders if he imagined his stressed response.
“Do you often let people take advantage of you in this way? Because that's what he's doing, you do know that,” James says patiently.
“I'm a willing participant,” Regulus says drily. “Nobody is taking advantage of anyone”.
“His position is one of power. He has something you want and he's using it as a means to extort you”.
“Extort—” Regulus laughs in disbelief. “I'm not being extorted, Potter. Calm down. It's casual sex”.
“Do you have a lot of casual sex?” James asks carefully.
“What is it to you?” Regulus shoots back, sitting up straight for the first time since their hour began.
“Has it increased since your friend died?”
“What the— why would Barty dying have any effect on my sex life?” Regulus feels defensive and prickly all over.
James shrugs, still irritatingly calm.
“I was just wondering if you think there's a link between your self-destructive behaviour— namely, your lack of respect for yourself— and your grief”.
Regulus feels the overwhelming urge to throw something. At James, at the window, across the room. He wants to smash James' sterile, personality-less office to rubble.
“Are you slut shaming me?” he asks belligerently.
“Do you feel like I'm slut shaming you?”
Regulus throws his arms up in frustration.
“Why don't you ever answer a question with a straight answer?” he cries in exasperation.
“Because it doesn't matter what I think. It matters what you think. I want to know how you've been managing your grief. How you've been carrying it around with you these past few months. What have you been doing to make it more manageable? And how can I help to make it easier?” James opens his hands, holding them palm up to Regulus as if in a plea. He feels absurdly agitated, like James is the one manipulating him, not Adam.
“Why is Sirius friends with you? Surely that's a power imbalance or a conflict of interest or whatever,” he shoots, hoping to see James squirm.
James remains as unruffled as ever.
“I helped him in a professional setting and then once we became friends, I ended our arrangement,” he explains serenely. “I already knew Sirius after helping your father, so it was easier for me to help him as a friend, rather than a grief counsellor”.
“Why hadn't I ever met you?”
“Did you want to?”
Regulus huffs.
“That's not what I mean. I meant, if you were helping my whole family. Why didn't you help me?” As soon as the words leave his mouth he wishes he hadn't said them. They sound pitiful and weak.
James nods in understanding.
“Your father came to me. Sirius went to him. As I understand it, you haven't reached out for help. If you don't ask for help, people won't know that you need it”.
“My best friend just died! Not long after my mum!” Regulus exclaims. “Obviously I need fucking help”.
“Regulus, whenever you're ready to talk about Barty, I'm waiting. However long it takes. But I promise you, talking about how you're feeling will help. You don't have to suffer alone. You don't have to put yourself into dangerous situations or let people take advantage of you. Any time you need, whatever you need. I'll be there,” James offers.
“Whatever I need?” Regulus arches an eyebrow and finally, finally James blushes. It's faint, just two pink circles high on his chiselled cheekbones but Regulus feels the smug glow of triumph nonetheless.
They stare at each other in a silent stand off, Regulus' cold grey eyes boring into James’ warm hazel ones. James breaks first.
“Whatever you need,” he says finally.
*
“Nice place,” Regulus slides into the velvet upholstered booth, resting his bare arms on top of the table. It's finally warm enough for a t-shirt and he's dressed in a tight fitting black top with cap sleeves that curve gracefully over his toned biceps. Adam's eyes flit across the fabric clinging to his chest and back up to Regulus' face.
“I’m glad you approve,” Adam says smoothly, gesturing for a waiter. He orders a bottle of champagne with two glasses without asking Regulus’ opinion.
“Is this where you take all the hookups you pick up at the bank?” he says impishly.
“Sometimes”.
Regulus laughs begrudgingly. He hates to admit that anything James says in their sessions actually lands but he hasn't been able to stop thinking about his words since leaving his office that morning. Do you often let people take advantage of you. How dare he talk to Regulus like he's a victim! Regulus is in his thirties! If he wants to fuck his bank manager, he'll fuck his bank manager. What business is it of James Potter’s?
We are not going to think about James Potter. We are gonna have sex with a handsome man and not think about James Potter.
Adam is talking and Regulus forces himself to tune back in. Clearly he had mistaken Adam's brazen attitude for a personality because this guy is as dull as a rock.
“So I told him that valeting should include servicing the boot because what am I paying him for otherwise? I might as well just vacuum my own Merc”.
“Haha, yeah,” Regulus says. Fucking hell.
This guy better not be this dry when I'm riding his dick.
They (or more accurately, Regulus) suffer through the first bottle of champagne and Adam makes to order a second but Regulus beats him to it, grabbing his leg above the knee.
“When are we going back to yours?” he purrs. Adam acquiesces immediately, hurriedly digging in his wallet for a wad of notes and tucking them into the leather bill presenter without checking their tab.
Adam's hands are all over Regulus as soon as they're in the Uber. He's a good kisser, teasing with just a hint of filthy. Regulus tries to force his mind to relax but he can't stop thinking. His thoughts run wild, chasing each other round and round in circles like cocker spaniels. Sex is an escape. Let it be an escape. Please distract him, just for an hour.
An hour was optimistic thinking. Adam is forcing Regulus on to his knees as soon as they're through the door and Regulus dutifully works him to the edge, pulling off when Adam is thrusting with wild abandon, taking quick shallow breaths.
He lets Adam shove him onto the bed, tugging his trousers down and sloppily preparing him with a bottle of lube he reluctantly pulls out his drawer at Regulus' insistence. Regulus touches himself, working his cock lazily whilst Adam half-heartedly prepares him he. He thinks about the café, how desperately he needs this money. He tries not to think about James.
Adam eases into him surprisingly gently and Regulus is disappointed. The one thing he felt sure he could rely on Adam for was some wild rough sex. But he's either holding back or he's truly shit in bed. Regardless, Regulus is going to come tonight if it fucking kills him.
He moans and writhes beneath Adam, arching his back and uttering meaningless praise. It usually works.
Adam is panting, leaning his weight on top of Regulus and he's beginning to feel suffocated. He tries to think of something to bring him closer the edge, anything.
Without warning, warm hazel eyes flash through his mind. Regulus gasps and jolts down onto Adam, taking him deeper in one thrust than he's been all evening. Adam groans and comes, spilling into the condom Regulus also had to convince him to wear.
Regulus can't stop his orgasm from flooding through him. He comes with a cry, spilling onto Adam’s navy bedsheets, disoriented and stunned.
“That was unbelievable,” Adam pants as they clean up.
“Yeah. Yeah it was,” Regulus agrees.
As soon as they've cleaned up, Regulus makes a hasty exit. Adam promises to be in touch about the loan and Regulus' stomach lurches with a sick twist.
He decides to walk the forty five minutes home. He's confused and overwhelmed and he needs the fresh air.
Regulus is barely five minutes down the road before he's texting James.
Regulus:
I fucked the bank manager.
James:
Oh?
Oh? Oh? What does that mean? It's almost eleven o’clock at night and James replies with ‘oh’?
Regulus:
Yeah
James:
And?
Regulus:
And what?
James:
How did it make you feel?
Regulus smirks and begins tapping out a response but James is already typing.
James:
Not like that. You can spare me the details. How do you feel emotionally?
Regulus:
Why are you so obsessed with how I'm feeling all the time?
James:
Occupational hazard. So?
Regulus doesn't reply until he's walked all the way home, his Docs rubbing at his heels and pinching his toes. He brushes his teeth and showers, washing away every trace of the bank manager from his skin until he's red raw. He climbs under the sheets and turns off his bedside lamp. Only then does he reply, the harsh glow of his phone screen almost painfully bright.
Regulus:
Not good.
Notes:
Lots of texting in this one! Which wasn't exactly planned but it just felt natural idk??
Chapter title is a song by The 1975.
Hope you liked!
Not sure when the next chapter will be as I have a busy few days coming up but hopefully not too long.
Xx
Elf
Chapter 8: Love Will Tear Us Apart
Chapter Text
Regulus doesn't know how he got here.
James asked.
Well, okay. He does. After their last session, James asked if Regulus would be interested in helping out at the local fundraiser for the community centre. What Regulus had intended to say was ‘fuck no’. Why would he want to sacrifice a perfectly good Sunday he could be spending in bed, hanging out of his arse and eating toast.
What he actually said was,
“Sure. I'm free”.
James had gaped at him in surprise.
“I didn't actually think you'd say yes. I was sort of joking”.
“Oh! Sorry, do you not actually want me to?” Regulus had said.
“No, no, you're more than welcome. We really do need the help,” James had rushed to reassure him. “How are your tombola skills?”
“I can spin a wheel like nobody's business,” Regulus had shrugged, not completely sure why he was even trying to convince James to let him help out. He's really not a community kinda guy.
He's not a bad person, exactly. He clicks the ‘Do you want to round up to donate 37p?’ button when he checks out at Tesco or McDonald's. He has a monthly subscription to donate menstrual products in the Congo. Giving up his one day off a week to raise money for a community centre is admittedly a little out of character, however.
If Regulus is completely honest, he's getting a little bored with the casual sex and drinking to oblivion thing. It doesn't seem to bring any good. After ending things with Evan, he thought he could replace him with a neverending carousel of nameless, faceless men. But the more he does it, the more hollow he feels. The men never treat him very nicely. Neither did Evan, exactly. But he also didn't treat him badly. At least to Evan, he mattered.
Regulus watches James weave through the crowd of families, pensioners and do-gooders, noting how often he stops to talk or ask about someone's mum or pet. He seems to know everyone's name and everyone's business. It's almost unnerving how much he genuinely seems to care.
The early May heatwave landed perfectly for the bank holiday fundraiser and the small village green is bustling. Colourful bunting is strung between stalls, Morris dancers jingle as they stride up to the stage and the smell of hog roast and sun cream permeates the air.
“Sold many tickets?” James' voice comes from behind Regulus' stall making him jump.
“Jesus, why are you creeping up on me?” Regulus yelps, rubbing small circles over his heart dramatically.
James laughs, his eyes crinkling beneath the lenses of his glasses.
“Sorry, I just thought you might be hungry,” he says, waving a napkin wrapped bap at Regulus.
“Ah. I'm a veggie. Thanks though”.
“Oh, shit sorry. I didn't know. Do you want me to get you something else?” James offers, gesturing over to the food vans.
“No it's fine, don't worry about it,” Regulus assures him with a wave of his hand. He actually is a bit hungover, despite not going out the night before. He'd discovered a hidden bottle of Absinthe in the cupboard— Barty's favourite— and he'd spent the night listening to Barty's favourite albums, drinking the noxious green liquid out of a pint glass and weeping to The Used. Consequently, he's feeling a bit too delicate for food just yet.
“Okay, if you're sure,” James frowns. Regulus feels an inexplicable urge to make him smile again, hating the sight of James’ usually peaceful face looking fraught with worry.
“Good turn out,” Regulus comments, turning the conversation away from himself.
“Yeah, it's great,” James smiles appreciatively, looking around and laughing as a toddler struggles to carry an ice cream cone almost as big as his head. “It's a lovely community here. There was never anything like this where I grew up”.
“Really, they didn't have village fetes near the Potter Manor?” Regulus says snidely.
James pins him with a look.
“Sirius has told you about my parents I see”.
“He might have mentioned you were disgustingly rich, grew up in a mansion and went to private school,” Regulus concedes with a tip of the head.
“So did you, as I understand,” James fires back.
“The school, yes. The money, to an extent,” he shrugs. “A townhouse in London isn't quite a mansion though”.
“Ah, so I have more privilege because I grew up in the countryside,” James nods sagely.
Regulus rolls his eyes.
“Fine, we're both spoiled brats. But you're clearly trying to give back to your community. You could have been anything; a doctor, a finance bro. I can see you with a podcast and an Instagram dedicated to your gym journey”. He smirks and James shakes his head ruefully.
“Nah, not really for me. I like people,” he says simply. “Although if you want my Instagram handle you only need ask”.
Regulus flushes and turns away to adjust the prizes on the table, lining the edges up in neat rows. His hand shakes as he adjusts a knock off Squishmallow keyring.
That was flirting, right? James was flirting?
When he eventually builds up the confidence to look back, James is gone.
*
The rest of the afternoon passes in a sweaty, hungover fog. Regulus feels more uncomfortable as the day drags on. There's a steady stream of customers at the tombola and he runs out of small talk, having cycled through the phrases he uses most at the café.
He's just changing a five pound note for an old lady with a blue rinse, dropping four golden pound coins into her outstretched hands when someone says his name.
“Reg?”
He slowly lifts his head, his whole body alert and feeling like he's just had a bucket of cold water thrown over him. Evan stands before him, quickly dropping the hand of a man with chestnut brown hair and a pretty face who stands beside him.
Regulus instantly turns from cold to boiling hot. He feels like he's been set on fire from the inside. Evan is here, on a date? Barely six months after Barty died. Rage consumes him until he can hardly see straight.
“Who the fuck is this?” Regulus wastes no time in snapping. The man with Evan recoils in surprise.
“Oh. Er— this is— er—,” Evan stammers, turning beetroot and refusing to meet Regulus' gaze.
“Josh,” the man helpfully supplies, lifting a hand warily. Regulus ignores him
“Really, Evan? What, you have a new boyfriend now? Just like that?” Regulus is aware of his voice steadily getting louder with every word but he can't reign his anger in. He's furious. With Evan, with himself. With Barty for dying. With James for making him run this stupid fucking stall.
“Well, not quite,” Evan hedges at the same time as Josh says “yes”.
Regulus scoffs.
“Reg, do you think maybe we could go somewhere and talk? Somewhere quiet, just us?” Evan says beseechingly.
“I'm not interested. Fuck who you like. I don't give a shit. I'm done, Evan”. He begins walking away, leaving the stall completely unattended. He doesn't know where he's headed. He just knows he has to get away.
“You were done anyway! You were the one who called it off!” Evan calls, stopping Regulus in his tracks. He spins on his heel and marches angrily back across the grass.
“You think I'm bothered because of us?” he spits, his voice low and spiteful. “Your boyfriend hasn't even been dead for a year!”
Evan flinches as if he's been slapped.
“I know that, Regulus. I just— I can't be alone”. The last few words are barely audible but Regulus sees the shape of them leave Evan's pink mouth and his anger recedes immediately, leaving only gut wrenching agony in its place.
“Do what you want. Goodbye, Evan”.
Regulus pushes blindly through the crowd, knocking someone's arm but not stopping to apologise.
“Regulus! Wait!”
Fuck. Of course it's James.
He reluctantly stops but doesn't turn, trying to pull deep breaths into his lungs. God, he wants a cigarette.
James jogs over until he's standing in front of Regulus, concern splashed across his face once more. Regulus almost feels sorry for the guy. He feels like he does nothing but stress him out.
“Are you okay? What's happened?” James reaches a hand out to grab Regulus' arm but he swivels out of reach.
“No. I'm not. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I can't stay here— I can't—,” Regulus is perilously close to hyperventilating.
“Don't worry about the stall, I'll get someone else to handle it,” James says. “If you can wait two minutes, I'll sort it out and we can go and grab a coffee?”
“No, it's fine. I'm fine”. He tries to calm his racing heart and shaking hands.
“Regulus. You just said you aren't.” James’ voice is gentle. “Please, two minutes. Wait right here, I promise I'll be back”. He dashes off and Regulus wanders over to a bench a couple of feet away, hanging his head between his legs.
He tries to rationalise but his thoughts are spiralling. He wants to be angry at Evan. It would be so much easier if he could be angry at Evan. For moving on so soon, for sleeping with him in the first place, for coming back. Except, it wasn't his fault. Regulus kissed him. Regulus started it all. And then Barty died and Evan was alone and Regulus was alone. And now Regulus is still alone. And Evan has moved on.
James is back within two minutes, just as he promised. He silently holds out a hand, offering it to Regulus but he staunchly refuses and pulls himself to his feet.
“Do you want to walk over to the centre or did you feel like getting a proper coffee?”
“The centre is fine,” Regulus replies, scanning the crowd as they walk. He can't see Evan, or Josh. They must have left.
Regulus follows in James' footsteps, a pace behind as they cross the road heading for the community centre where James runs his weekly group session. Regulus has still never attended, despite James' repeated urging.
James unlocks the front door and leads Regulus to a small staff room equipped with a cheap white electric kettle and a jar of coffee. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't protest.
When they have their coffees, Regulus holds his mug, hovering by the door.
“Can we smoke in here?” he asks James.
“Is that a serious question?” James arches an eyebrow.
Regulus huffs.
“Fine. Can we take these outside then because I really need a fag”.
James leads them through the kitchen fire door, pushing on the heavy bar several times until it gives. They're in a small paved courtyard, the ground littered with cigarette butts. Three white plastic chairs are stacked next to the wall. James hands his coffee to Regulus and pulls two chairs off the top of the stack, plonking them on the ground and wiping tree sap and leaves off with his bare hand.
Regulus gingerly takes a seat on one of the grimy chairs and rolls a cigarette. He allows a comfortable silence to settle over the pair of them, knowing James won't be able to resist breaking it. Sure enough,
“Who was the guy you were talking to? This is about him, right?”
Regulus breathes out a long plume of grey smoke.
“Are you asking in your capacity as my grief counsellor?”
“I'm asking as a friend,” James answers, as patiently as ever. Regulus smells blueberries and glances over to see James puffing on his vape. The sight inexplicably makes the pain in his chest feel lighter.
Regulus sighs, turning the words over in his head before he responds. He's not sure how much he wants to reveal to James just yet. Or at all. But the truth is like poison and he can feel it turning every piece of himself he gives to James in their sessions bitter. Souring each and every breakthrough they'll ever have. Because this is the only one that matters. Everything comes down to Barty.
“My friend that died. That was his boyfriend. Evan”.
James nods, waiting.
Regulus sighs again, scrubbing at his forehead with the hand that still holds the lit roll up. James bats his hand away before he singes his fringe and he scowls at him before continuing.
“Evan and I…," he swallows past the lump in his throat. "We fucked”. The words are deliberately blunt.
Hate me. I know you'll hate me.
James' lips part slightly. He takes a small breath in and Regulus watches his shoulders tense.
“Okay. I don't think that's too unusual, as much as it may feel like it. People often find comfort in each other during times of grief—”
“No. We fucked before. And yeah, after. We've been fucking. But when Barty was alive, and Evan was his boyfriend… I slept with Evan”.
There. He said it. It's the first time he's said the words aloud to anyone other than Sirius. He was hoping for relief but he still feels stuffed to the brim with pain.
James' face is a careful blank mask. Regulus can't take his eyes off of him, scrutinising the other man for any sign of judgment or disgust. Revulsion. But there's nothing, except maybe a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“And now Evan has a new boyfriend. And it's fine, I ended it with him because what we were doing was wrong. I didn't want him. And I don't think he wanted me. We just missed Barty. But it's been like six months and he's replaced him like that!”
Now that he's started talking Regulus can't stop. His feelings start spilling out of him like oil.
“Reg—” James starts but Regulus is on a roll.
“No, James! You don't understand. It's my fault. It's my fault that Barty died. That's why I'll never be happy. I don't deserve to be. But why does Evan? Why does he get to move on?” He's shouting now, his voice too loud for the small courtyard.
James tries again, his voice gentle and tender.
“It's not your fault, Regulus”.
“IT IS! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!” Regulus stands up suddenly and the chair tips backwards onto the floor, knocking his mug of coffee. Milky liquid runs over the pavestones like a flood and Regulus just watches it. James hurries to right the cup.
“Regulus, you are not responsible for anybody else's actions. Barty made his choice, it wasn't your fault,” he says firmly.
Regulus laughs and James starts slightly at the sound.
“You think Barty killed himself?” He's laughing maniacally now even though it's not funny. Nothing will ever be funny again but he can't stop laughing. James looks genuinely concerned.
“Well, yeah—”
“Barty didn't kill himself. Barty was too self-obsessed to kill himself”.
“Okay… then what…?”
Regulus takes a deep breath. He can say it. He can.
Just fucking say it.
“I don't think we should see each other anymore,” he says instead.
James looks disappointed but not surprised. He stands up and faces Regulus, stopping a foot away. They're close enough that Regulus can see every light tipped eyelash. James has beautiful eyes. Like a pool of melted caramel. He finds himself leaning forwards.
“I get why you feel like that. And we don't have to continue with the sessions if you don't want to. But I'd very much still like to be your friend.”
“Why? What could I possibly offer you? Seriously, how do you benefit from this?” Regulus throws his hands wide and James flinches back.
He runs a hand through his messy hair.
“I just want to get to know you, Reg,” he says pleadingly.
“Well, I don't want that,” Regulus says defiantly, ignoring the incessant pounding of his heart.
A heavy silence settles. The air vibrates with tension. James' chest is heaving and Regulus runs his eyes over his shoulders, his collarbones, flicks them up to his lips. He feels suddenly extremely aware of his own mouth. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and James' gaze follows the movement before he sighs.
“Listen, Regulus, I'm just trying to help you!” he says and then cringes, making a face.
Regulus stills, pulling away from James.
“I know that. But you've also said you want to be my friend. So which is it? Am I your charity case or your friend?” he says viciously.
“Neither! I mean— I want to be your friend. You're just so fucking stubborn!” James cries.
Regulus thought he'd feel satisfied when he finally broke James. He thought he'd feel smug, breaking down those impenetrable professional boundaries. But he just feels wretched. Seeing James so stressed makes his stomach lurch uncomfortably. He needs to back away from this man before he brings him down with him.
“James, I have friends. I don't need your help,” he lies, ignoring the look of hurt that flashes across James' face. “I'm gonna go”.
“No, Reg— please”.
“I'll see you around, James.”
Regulus quickly rushes into the kitchen and back through the labyrinthine community centre looking for the exit, half-hoping that James will run after him. He lingers at the front door, straining his ears for James' footsteps.
But he doesn't. Why would he? He's Regulus' grief counsellor. That's all.
Regulus runs all the way to the bus stop on the main road, only realising when he slumps onto the metal bench that he's crying.
Notes:
I hope this reads okay, I feel like it's very angsty? Like there's not a lot of Regulus' humour but stuff needed to be discussed y'know.
Chapter title is a song by Joy Division.
Let me know your thoughts.
Thanks for reading as always!!
Xx
Elf
Chapter Text
It's been three weeks since Regulus has seen James. He hasn't had any more grief counselling sessions, has resisted picking up his phone and sending a text confessing his mortal sins and he's been avoiding Sirius. Which has been easy, considering Sirius hasn't tried to contact him either.
Until today.
Sirius and Lissy have just moved house; from a big house in Notting Hill to a bigger house in… Notting Hill.
Sirius thinks it makes him cool, despite the fact that he's an almost middle aged solicitor.
Tonight is their housewarming party and Regulus can think of a hundred things he'd rather be doing. The thought of being confined to an— admittedly generously proportioned— house with his dad, stepmother, brother and Sirius’ best friend James is not a welcome one. He gets an itching feeling as he gets ready, like he wants to run away or do something insane like throw a brick through the tri fold back doors. He won't, obviously. But the temptation is there nonetheless, reminding him that he'll never be a good person. No matter how many family gatherings he attends. Maybe especially because of that.
He also hasn't seen Evan, which is somewhat of a relief. Well, it would be if Regulus wasn't a little bit… lonely. He deletes and re-downloads dating apps, swiping morosely, looking for someone, anyone to distract him. But when he realised he was looking for someone tall with messy brown hair and glasses, the fun wore off and he quickly gave up.
Lissy's invitations specified ‘black tie' and for once, Regulus complies. He just hasn't got the energy to be causing a scene and it's not as fun to do it to Sirius. His brother’s stressed enough as it is, what with the pregnancy and the new house. Plus, when Sirius does check in, Regulus can almost convince himself that he cares that Regulus' life has stagnated whilst his skyrockets.
“Regulus, hi darling. We've been so worried about you,” Lissy's false staccato voice grates on him the second she swings the door open. There's a tiny but unmistakable bump under her tight black dress and she rests her hand protectively over the top. Regulus fights the urge to roll his eyes and asks after Sirius.
“Oh, he's around here somewhere. Likely off with James— they're as thick as thieves, those two,” she whispers conspiratorially, as if the words don't slice through Regulus' heart.
“Okay, Lissy. Lovely to see you, as always,” he maneuvers round her into the house, not commenting on the ostentatiously large hallway. It is stunning, if not very ‘Sirius’. Everything is a different shade of grey, from the sleek floor tiles to the dove coloured walls. Mirrored photo frames hang, containing posed photos of Sirius and Lissy in formal attire at various events, each indistinguishable from the last. It's incredibly dull and very Lissy. He expects he'll round the next corner to a ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ sign printed on the walls in cursive.
Regulus speedwalks through the house and heads for the back garden. Unfortunately, he's stopped on the way there by his father and Walburga who are lingering in the kitchen.
“Regulus! So you do know how to follow a dress code,” Walburga says by way of greeting, air kissing both of his cheeks.
He ignores the barb and turns his attention to his father, who is holding a crystal glass of champagne and looks watery eyed and red cheeked, swaying slightly on his feet.
“Started early, dad?” he asks with a note of bemusement.
“Ah, yes, well. We shared a couple of bottles at dinner,” his dad answers, waving his glass around for emphasis and almost sloshing champagne on the brand new carpet. Regulus hurries to pluck the glass out of his hands and settles it down on the (grey marble) kitchen counter.
“Dinner?” he frowns and Walburga gasps as if suddenly remembering that he wasn't in attendance.
“Yes, wonderful Lissy cooked for us all,” she says. “Such a shame you couldn't make it”.
“Right”. Regulus wasn't invited, of course. He tongues the inside of his cheek feeling stung. Why hadn't Sirius invited him? Not that he wants to spend any more time with his family than strictly necessary but as far as he's aware he hasn't done anything to get on Sirius' bad side. He sighs and continues out to the garden.
Regulus slumps into the cushioned swing seat and begins to roll a cigarette. He smokes it, wishing he'd brought weed. He doesn't think he can make it through another family event without mind altering substances. Why do they always make him feel like the black sheep?
As he's stubbing the roll up out on one of Lissy's potted rose bushes, he hears footsteps approaching and instinctively knows without looking that it's James.
“Hey. Sirius never said you'd be here”.
“Probably because he doesn't want me here,” Regulus says sulkily, not looking up.
James sighs and flops down next to him. He starts swinging the seat with a foot and, annoyingly, the motion is instantly soothing.
“Of course he wants you here,” James says patiently.
Regulus just grunts in response.
“I've missed our appointments,” James says quietly. “My week doesn't feel the same without someone criticising my outfit or the lack of personality in my office”.
Regulus spins his head to finally look at James, noting with dismay that he looks unfuckingbelievable. Delectably handsome, in a navy blue buttoned shirt and black trousers.
“What do you want, James?”
“I was hoping we could call a truce. Maybe… be friends?” James says tentatively.
“You made it perfectly clear that you were only humouring me out of some do-gooder professional obligation”. Regulus' voice is more brittle than he intended but he stares at James with his chin raised, refusing to back down.
“I didn't mean it like that,” James says desperately. “I want to be your friend, more than anything”.
“Why?” Regulus cries, hating the way his voice rises. Hating that he even cares. “I don't understand what you want from me?”
“I like you”. James' voice is small and Regulus sucks in a breath.
“You don't. You feel sorry for me, that's not the same”.
“I do,” James insists. “Let me be your friend, Reg”.
Regulus sighs.
“Go back inside, James”.
James pulls himself to his feet but before he walks away he speaks.
“I'm not going to give up on you. You can push me away all you like but I do care about you, Regulus”.
He heads back inside and Regulus watches him feeling more than a little confused.
By the time he's smoked another cigarette, Regulus is desperate for a drink and he reluctantly decides to re-enter the party. He's just crossing the patio when someone steps out, heels clacking on the stones
Lissy.
“What do you want?” He's run out of patience and really isn't in the mood for any more of Lissy's bitchy insults.
“I saw you out here with James. What were you talking about?” Lissy asks with narrowed eyes.
It's dark in the garden, the only light coming from strings of solar lights hung across the fence panels. In the warm glow, Lissy looks softer, her harsh sharp features blurred until she almost looks pretty.
“None of your business,” Regulus drawls and makes to move past her. Lissy reaches out a bony hand and grips his forearm with claw-like fingers.
“You're not trying it on with him are you?”
Regulus rolls his eyes and yanks his arm away.
“If you're going to spout more homophobic bullshit, save it for your therapist. I'm sure she makes a lot of money from someone as fucked up as you”.
Lissy laughs as if he was joking.
“You know, I always thought it was such a shame, you liking men. You're not unattractive you know”. She looks him over with a critical eye.
“Wow, thanks. What a boost to the ego”.
Lissy smirks.
“Didn’t you ever want to know how it feels to be with a woman?”
Regulus feels suddenly cold all over. Lissy looks at him like she wants to devour him whole. He feels absurdly sure that something bad is about to happen.
“No. I'm leaving,” he says and takes a step towards the house.
Lissy grabs for his arm again and wheels him around. Regulus barely has a second to think before lips sticky with gloss press against his. He rears back in shock, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What the fuck?” he shouts.
Lissy simply stares back at him with her lips curled up in a sneer.
“He'll always choose me over you,” she spits.
Regulus doesn't bother to respond, rushing back inside, his heart pounding so hard he feels sick. He stumbles through the house, wanting to just get home. He can't be here anymore with these fucking people.
He walks through the house, the smell of expensive perfume and new carpet making his stomach roil. Lissy's lipgloss feels tattooed on his skin and he wants to scrub until he's bleeding.
Just as he reaches the hall, he collides into a figure dressed smartly in black and winces when he realises it's his brother.
“Hey. Are you leaving?” Sirius asks in a flat tone. Regulus' temper flares and he can't help himself any longer.
“Lissy tried to kiss me!”
Sirius looks completely nonplussed.
“What?” he half laughs.
Regulus tries to steady his voice.
“She kissed me. Outside. Lissy kissed me. I'm really sorry, Sirius”.
Sirius scoffs, disbelieving.
“Don't be ridiculous”.
“Sirius, she did”. He's insistent, voice firm despite how out of control he feels.
“Why would she do that? You're gay”.
“I don't know. I don't know why, but she did”.
Sirius stares at him blankly for several long moments before he narrows his eyes and draws himself up to his full height.
“You really expect me to believe that? After what you did to Barty?”
Regulus recoils in shock. He feels like Sirius has hit him. It would have hurt less to punch him straight in the face.
Not looking at Sirius, he pushes his way out of the house and onto the street gasping. When he reaches the bus stop, he doubles over.
Sirius used Barty as a weapon. Sirius didn't believe him. His brother. His brother, his brother, his brother.
Regulus is sure he hears an audible thud as he finally reaches rock bottom.
Notes:
Sirius :(
I just want Regulus to run into James' arms, like PLEASE TRUST HIM. He's good people!!
What do you all think?
Let me know!
I've updated the chapter count. I think it'll be about 20 from what I have planned :)
Chapter title is a song title by The Smiths
Xx
Elf
Chapter 10: Territorial Pissings
Summary:
The only way to go is up?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
James has texted him almost every day for two weeks but Regulus hasn't replied. Usually some variation of ‘how are you?’. He hasn't heard from Sirius. He's not sure what hurts more, that or the fact that he isn't even slightly surprised.
Regulus' loan application got declined, despite Adam's assurances that he would do everything in his, apparently limited, power to get it approved. Meaning that Regulus has no family, no friends and soon enough will have no job. The café is draining Regulus' bank account faster than it’s filling it and he estimates that he has about six months less than he originally expected before he’ll be completely out of money. Pay It Forward Friday has been a bust. It turns out, not many Londoners are particularly inclined to pay for someone else's coffee in addition to their own.
The temptation to contact Evan is like a festering wound, itching more the more it heals. He just needs to hold firm a bit longer. Surely time will heal this pain. Regulus doesn't think he can carry it for much longer.
He cashes up at The Black Cat and heads straight to the pub near his flat. It's become a comforting little routine though it's undoubtedly fast tracking his journey to bankruptcy. Aware of this fact, Regulus allows himself to order just one drink from the miserable bartender. The cheap bottle of supermarket wine he drinks when he gets home is nobody's business. Almost every evening ends with Regulus passing out in Barty's old bedroom.
He lies there now, fists tightly curled in the black skull printed duvet cover that Regulus has refused to wash since Barty's death, hoping to cling on to his scent for just a bit longer. He inhales deeply but all he can smell now is a faint stale musk and his own alcohol soaked breath.
A hammering at the door makes him blink his heavy eyelids open in surprise. It's late for an unexpected visitor. His mind jumps to Evan. Of course, it'll be Evan. He feels pitifully relieved. Someone still cares about him. Enough to come back at least, even if it is for a late night hook up.
Regulus stumbles to the door, flicking on lights as he goes. He hadn’t even realised that it had got dark. Time seems to trickle by, minutes feel like hours and yet he does nothing. Nothing but drink and stand in the empty café, day after day.
When he finally manages to unlock the front door and wrench it open, it's not Evan who stands there but James.
Regulus sways slightly on his feet and frowns, trying to focus his eyes. James looks fresh faced, having changed out of his smart casual work clothes and into a pair of dark jeans and a white t-shirt. He looks tanned and fit, like he's been working outside. It's been weeks since Sirius' housewarming party, Regulus doesn't even know what the date is.
He registers a look of shock on James' face which quickly makes way for concern.
“Reg. God, are you okay? You look…,” but whatever Regulus looks like James clearly doesn't want him to know as he lets the sentence hang open ended.
Regulus scrunches up his nose.
“How do you know where I live?” he slurs, reaching one arm up to steady himself on the door frame and missing. His stomach lurches as he falls, only to be caught by strong, solid arms.
“Easy, Reg. Let's get you inside, yeah?” James steps inside Regulus’ flat without waiting for an invitation and walks carefully into the living room with an arm around his shoulders. He starts shifting his body weight, trying to dislodge Regulus onto the sofa but he waves a hand in protest.
“Bed. I need to go to bed”.
He points the way, despite the flat being so small that one of two doors besides the front door had to lead to the bedroom. James says nothing but allows Regulus to lean on him as they make their way through the flat. It's in complete disarray and Regulus would be embarrassed if he had the capacity to feel anything other than the agonising pain that has consumed him for weeks. Empty pizza boxes and wine bottles litter the floor, ashtrays overflow and dirty laundry lies exactly where he drops it. The only tidy spot in the whole flat is Barty's room, which Regulus still keeps exactly as he left it.
James helps Regulus climb under the duvet and turns on the bedside lamp. Then he hovers, seeming to internally debate something, before walking around to the other side of the bed and sitting on top of the duvet, scooching over until he's propped up next to Regulus.
Regulus looks up at him, his vision still blurry. This kind, handsome man. So close to Regulus' own brother but still practically a stranger. Why is he here? How is here?
“Well?” he eventually croaks out.
“Well what?” James frowns, looking lost.
Regulus rolls his eyes, regretting it immediately when it causes a dull throbbing behind his eyes. His hangovers start before he wakes up now. Or maybe they don't actually end but simply blend into the next, day after day.
“How do you know where I live?”
James hesitates.
“Sirius. He mentioned that he hasn't heard from you and he wanted me to check up on you,” he admits.
Regulus tenses, feeling immediately defensive.
“Of course that's why you're here. For Sirius.” He laughs bitterly, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to be reminded of Sirius and every time he sees James he can't help but remember that his brother doesn't love him anymore.
“No. That's not why. That's how I'm here. You haven't been replying to my messages. I was worried about you,” James says calmly.
“I didn't say you could come inside. Why are you in my bed?” Regulus accuses and James springs up, causing the mattress to lurch. Regulus rolls towards the middle, scowling and opens his eyes.
“I didn't say I wanted you to leave”.
“Oh.” There's a beat where James doesn't seem to know what to do and then, “I'm going to get you some water. Have you eaten?”
“I'm not hungry,” Regulus dismisses and he sees James roll his eyes before he leaves the room.
When James returns he's holding a glass of water and a plate of buttered toast, on which is balanced a box of paracetamol.
“This is all I could find,” he says, sliding the plate onto the bedside table closest to him. He thrusts the glass of water towards Regulus and he drags his uncoordinated body up until he's leaning back against the wooden headboard. The glass is cool against his clammy skin and he drinks most of it in one go, feeling every so slightly better already.
James watches as Regulus methodically works his way through the two pieces of toast, every bite tasting like corrugated cardboard in his stale mouth. James is perched on the end of the bed, seemingly keeping a respectful distance and for a second Regulus wishes he wouldn't. He's aching to be held.
“Do you want to go and have a shower? I can wait, or help. Whatever you need,” James offers when the food is gone.
Regulus arches a brow.
“Are you saying I smell?”
“Do you think you smell?” James tactfully avoids the question.
“Oh, for fuck's sake. Stop doing that shit. You want to be friends with me but you don't even talk to me. You're like a fucking robot. Tell me I smell!” The last sentence is said slightly manically, even to Regulus' ears.
James' mouth twists like he's fighting back a smile.
“Okay. I think you should probably have a shower. You stink and your hair looks fucking rank”.
Regulus bursts out laughing.
“Thank you. Yes, I will. I don't need your help though, perv”. He shoots James a disdainful glare which James seems completely unaffected by, relaxing back into the pillows with his hands folded behind his head.
Regulus shuffles to the door, pausing to look back anxiously at James.
“Will you still be here when I get out?”
James doesn't hesitate before he replies in a soft voice.
“Yeah, Reg”.
*
After James turned up at Regulus' flat and nursed him through a hangover/sobered him up, they’ve begun a tentative friendship. Regulus responds to James' checking in texts and ends most nights curled up in bed, phone pressed tightly to his ear as James chats about his day. James in turn has started to open up, telling James about his childhood and his job. Sometimes they talk about films, Regulus tells James about the horrific one man shows that Orion buys tickets for the Black brothers to and they exchange mutinous words about Lissy. James, it turns out, is also distrustful of her.
Life feels that little bit easier with a friend but Regulus can't shake the feeling that James isn't his friend, he's Sirius'. He was Sirius' first and he'll always be Sirius'.
Sirius has resolutely refused to attend any more sittings for Walburga, much to her chagrin. Regulus thinks that Sirius is actually trying to get revenge on him by inflicting the solo sessions on him.
On their last session, Walburga actually begins layering the canvas with paint. He'd become so accustomed to her superfluous act of talking about painting that he'd actually forgotten she was a painter. It's the first time he's ever seen her with a brush in hand and thankfully, she isn't naked.
“What have you done to Sirius then? I assume you're the reason he hasn't stepped foot in here for a month”. Walburga wastes no time in questioning Regulus as soon as he takes a seat on the ridiculously low stool.
“Nothing”. He refuses to engage. Sirius can think however badly of him he wants to. He will not sit here and slag him off to their stepmother.
Walburga dabs the brush onto the canvas, sighing as she does.
“You're in your thirties now, Regulus. Don't you think it's about time you grew up? This whole laissez-faire, trainwreck image you've so consistently cultivated may have been fun at twenty. But it's a tired cliché now, darling”.
Regulus closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose.
It doesn't matter. She doesn't matter.
“You always did take after your mother. Head in the clouds, no real sense of direction”.
Alright. We're going there, are we?
“Your father quite agrees with me,” she continues, saccharine voice melodic like she's completely at ease with her black heart and cruel words. “It's why we've decided to change our Wills. We simply can't trust our life's savings with someone who'll probably drink them, or shoot them up, or whatever it is you're into now”.
His eyes fly open.
“What do you mean you've changed your Wills? Why do you even have a joint Will?” he spits, finally letting loose his fury. It feels good, like his outsides are matching his insides for once.
“We're married, Regulus,” Walburga points out.
“Barely,” he says dismissively. Orion and Walburga had married the year previous, under two years after Arabella had passed away.
“He agrees with me,” she ploughs on, unaware or, more likely, not caring how much her words are causing Regulus irredeemable damage. “We can't trust you with an inheritance”.
“This was my mother's house”. He doesn't care about the money, not really. Walburga and Orion are now in their seventies and although they're both in reasonably good health, it's not beyond the realms of possibility that Regulus would be receiving an inheritance whilst he still has enough of his life left to utilise it. More than that, it would be life changing. He has no idea how much Walburga is worth but the Blacks have always had more money than he could even comprehend.
No, what stings is that his father would take their mother's house away from him. Arabella loved their house and all of Regulus' happy memories are contained within its walls. What are they proposing, that it all goes to Sirius? He'd just split it with Regulus. Wouldn't he?
“It was,” she concedes airily with a wave of her brush.
Regulus pulls himself to his feet, shaking with rage.
“I'm not doing this. Fuck your fucking portrait, fuck you and fuck Orion. You vindictive, controlling cow. I hope the next time I see you is at your fucking funeral”.
Okay, that might have been a touch dramatic but it's completely truthful.
Walburga sits ramrod straight, mouth hanging open. She looks so unlike her usual poised, regal self that Regulus feels a blaze of vindication.
He pushes his way out of the house, taking huge gasps of air as he falls out into the balmy June evening. He's done with them. He's done being a fucking Black. He doesn't care about the inheritance. He doesn't care if he has to forge his way through life as a bloody orphan from this day on.
Regulus resolves to stay alive and succeed not in spite of his family. But to spite them. He'll do it if it fucking kills him.
First he needs to stop drinking. He doesn't feel like he needs it as much, now that he has James to talk to.
Then he'll make a success of the café. He's unsure how but he will do it.
And he probably needs to quit the reckless behaviour. Although Walburga's words cut to the bone, he begrudgingly admits that he probably is getting too old for it all.
One last act of rebellion might be okay though. A little farewell gift, from Regulus to the Blacks.
He unzips his jeans and pisses all over their front door.
Notes:
So :D
That happened.
James and Regulus have had a bit of a breakthrough, James is finallyyyy opening up a bit.
Walburga is being Walburga but Regulus is CLAIMING HIS POWER! YOU GO REGGIE!
I love this ending, for obvious reasons, but I'm a bit meh about the rest of the chapter.
Idk let me know if you like it :S
Title is a song by Nirvana.
Byeeee
Xx
Elf
Chapter 11: Back in Black
Summary:
Regulus tries to sort his flat, and his life, out.
Notes:
TW: for some hopeless thoughts. Not directly suicidal but not good.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A month after Regulus' eventful last meeting with Walburga he's home on a Saturday evening, lounging around his flat. He's decided to tidy some of Barty's belongings. He won't get rid of them, not ever, but he knows that keeping visual reminders of the biggest mistake and resultant loss of his life is preventing him from moving on in a healthy manner. The possibility of giving them to Barty's father is immediately ruled out; the arsehole doesn't deserve that. He's still unsure what to do with Barty's bedroom but one step at a time.
Barty was always a big fan of comic books— his room was like a teenage shrine to DC. Framed Batman posters still hang above his unmade bed, shelves overflow with carefully created Lego masterpieces that Barty would spend hundreds of pounds at a time on. Regulus never really understood it when Barty was alive but as he observes the chaotic homage to fictional heroes and villains he thinks he's starting to get it.
Barty never really had much of a childhood— his father put a stop to that, shipping him off to boarding school as soon as he could write his own name— and as he got older, his life was often unhappy. Clinging on to the last remnants of the small bit of pure, unadulterated nostalgic joy he could was Barty's way of healing. Regulus has heard people say that the path to true happiness lies in rediscovering your childhood hobbies and for Barty it was absolutely true. He found salvation in comic books, a world where good always wins and money could give you back control over your own fears. It's not childish to enjoy things, Regulus thinks. He wishes he could be as unapologetically passionate about anything in his entire life.
Stacking the Lego in individual clear plastic cases takes a lot more care than he thought. Regulus had ordered the display cases online and they're specially made to hold the baseboards securely to the bottom of the box. He trails a duster over each piece, meticulously polishing every creation until the smooth plastic is gleaming once more. Barty would laugh at him for being so careful but he knows that his friend would secretly be touched by his consideration.
Regulus works quietly, the soft sounds of Einaudi playing at a low volume throughout the flat. He's just getting started on Barty's wardrobe when the buzzer to his flat rings, startling him so much he jumps. Regulus gets to his feet, frowning. James, checking up on him no doubt.
Swallowing the complicated feelings he has for his new friend, feeling both irked and flattered that James is investing so much of his time into Regulus' sobriety, Regulus presses the button to allow James up and unlocks the door. He walks back through the flat and into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. The water has just started to boil when a quiet voice speaks from the doorway.
“Hey, Reggie”.
Sirius.
Regulus sucks in a deep breath, feeling it stab his lungs like tiny shards of glass. His heart leaps pathetically, temporarily forgetting how much Sirius has hurt him.
“What do you want?” His voice is cold and clipped as he turns to slowly face his brother. Sirius is standing in the open doorway, one hand shoved into the pocket of his smart black jeans. He smiles sheepishly at Regulus and all the hurt and pain rushes straight back. Lissy. Sirius chose Lissy over Regulus. The betrayal stings anew and he clenches his jaw tightly.
Sirius takes a breath, seeming to hesitate before he speaks.
“Lissy left me”.
Well that was unexpected.
Regulus' eyes widen in surprise. He runs his gaze over Sirius, taking in his dishevelled hair falling loose around his shoulders and the dark purple shadows under his eyes.
“When?” He doesn't know why he asks really, it doesn't matter to him when it happened. But Sirius looks like shit and he's clearly been going through something. He wants to hear that it's because of him, because of how much Sirius regrets how he treated him.
“This morning,” Sirius replies with a small sigh. “Look, can I come in?”
“You are in,” Regulus points out flatly. He doesn't say yes but Sirius takes his words as an invitation regardless, closing the door gently behind him and stepping further into the living room. For the first time since Regulus can remember, fancy London lawyer Sirius looks completely at home in his grungy flat.
Regulus waits, arms folded, staring Sirius down. His brother shifts from foot to foot under his scrutiny. Sirius never apologises. Regulus can count on one hand the number of times Sirius has made the first move after they fought. He doesn't trust that Sirius is here with good intentions.
“Go on then,” Regulus prompts when it becomes obvious that Sirius isn't going to start explaining by himself.
Sirius fidgets again, brushing his unruly hair out of his face.
“Can I sit?” he asks, nodding at the sofa.
“No,” Regulus replies. “Why are you here?”
There's a pause. Sirius appears to be, for the first time in his life, lost for words.
“She left me,” he repeats, looking thoroughly miserable. Regulus is actually shocked to see how upset his brother appears, despite the length of Sirius and Lissy's relationship. Sirius had never really seemed to like Lissy. Which is understandable, she always was extremely unlikable. And Regulus would know, as a fellow unpalatable personality.
“Okay,” Regulus shrugs. “Why am I supposed to care?” His words are crueller than he intended but he can't shake the look on Sirius' face when he brought up Barty. Weaponised Regulus' mistake with Evan against him.
Sirius sighs haughtily, sounding a little more like himself. He sets his jaw and glares at Regulus with narrowed eyes.
“You're my brother”.
Regulus laughs.
“Am I now? That's funny, considering everything I've been through, with my brother nowhere to be seen. So again, why should I care?”
Sirius hedges, flopping down onto the sofa and dropping his head into his hands. Regulus watches impassively. He will not be manipulated by Sirius' emotions. He will not.
“The baby isn't mine,” his brother finally says in a small voice, mumbling into his hands.
Now Regulus is truly floored. His mouth hangs open in shock.
“What? How do you know?”
Sirius' voice is shaky when he speaks.
“I know. She's been seeing someone from work, for a long time I think. I think I always knew but I just didn't want to admit it, you know?”
Regulus doesn't know but he keeps quiet. He doesn't want to get onto the topic of infidelity, not with Sirius. His brother continues talking.
“The dates didn't really match up— we never actually have sex— but I pretended I hadn't noticed. But then she just came out with it. Over breakfast, whilst I was reading the FT”.
Regulus fights a losing battle not to roll his eyes. Despite the bleakness of the situation, Sirius can't resist the opportunity to brag about the fact he actually reads the Financial Times.
Tosser.
“She said she's moving in with him and he's the dad. That she doesn't want anything from me. Years of marriage, gone”. Sirius clicks his fingers to emphasise his point.
“That's what happens when you marry someone like Lissy,” Regulus can't help but remark. Sirius shoots him a cold look.
“Do you have to be such a prick all the time?”
“Why are you here, Sirius? Do you need somewhere to stay or something? I'm sorting out Barty's room, you can't stay here”. Even if they were on good terms, Regulus doesn't think he could live with Sirius again. And that's without mentioning how long he takes in the shower.
“No, I'm keeping the house. She'll be gone by the time I get back, I don't think she's taking much. I just— wanted to see you”.
“Why?” Regulus presses. Maybe he shouldn't but he can't help poking at Sirius, trying to get a reaction from him. Or an apology that will never come. Something that will stop this ache in his chest that never goes away.
“I don't know. I just—”
Regulus interrupts him. He's not interested. He can't keep wasting his energy on people that treat him poorly, blood or no blood. Sirius may be his brother but Regulus has gone through pretty much everything in the last year alone. It's not enough. He should be grovelling, begging for Regulus' forgiveness. But there's nothing.
“I think you should go”.
“Reggie, please. Just let me—,” Sirius starts in a pleading tone of a voice but Regulus cuts him off again.
“No. No, Sirius, I mean it. I want you to go. You hurt me and you don't even care. You steamroll over my feelings and act like your life is the only one that matters. I'm sick of it. I'm done”.
Sirius laughs humourlessly.
“My life is the only one that matters? Are you for real? You've always been the precious baby of the family. Everyone bends over backwards to make Reg happy”.
Regulus scoffs. Nothing could be further from the truth.
“What are you even talking about?”
Sirius lifts his arms into the air, barking a manic laugh.
“You'll always be interesting! With your quirky café and your dead best friend. Dad runs around trying to make you happy, trying to protect little Reggie's feelings. Mum was the same. You weren't the one pushed into law school! You weren't the one who had to make something of yourself when you barely even knew who you were yet! You were allowed to be a mess. ‘Whoops, Reggie's been arrested again. Nevermind, Mummy will bail him out’. ‘Whoops, Reggie spent his rent money on drugs again. It's okay, Sirius will pay for it!’. Fucking muggins Sirius will clean it up for you. When was I allowed to fuck up? When could I ever make mistakes?”
“You never do!” Regulus screams, incandescent now. Hot tears spring to the back of his eyes. “They pushed you because you're the smart one, the hardworking one. They helped you through life by pushing you, Sirius. I'll never have a fancy career or a shiny new car. I'll never get married, not even to someone awful like Lissy. I am a mess. It's not fucking fun! You think I enjoy being like this? You're so stuck up your own arse you can't even see what's happening around you. My best friend died and I don't know how to get over it! My café is a fucking failure. I'll never be anything, or anyone. I'm stuck in this shitty flat paying rent to some scumbag landlord whilst barely making minimum wage. I don't even want to live enough for this all to be worth it! You don't get it, Sirius!”
Regulus is panting now, the exertion of dragging his deeply buried feelings up to the surface making him breathless and agitated. He vaguely realises he hasn't eaten dinner, though it must be too late by now. Through the one small window in the living room, the summer sky is dark. Regulus suddenly wishes to be asleep. He just wants to go to bed. He doesn't want to deal with this. He was already dealing with enough, trying to sort out Barty's earthly possessions. He hasn't got the energy for anything else.
“Reg—”
“Leave, Sirius. I want you to leave.” Regulus’ voice is trembling but he's firm in his conviction.
Sirius takes one last long look at him, a living room floor and a universe apart. Blue eyes on grey, light versus dark. Sirius has always coasted through life like an uncomplicated, unbothered Ken doll. Regulus is Darth Vader. He's dark and screwed up and he always will be. There's no good in him. If there ever was it's long dead.
Without another word Sirius pulls open the door and walks out of Regulus' flat, letting it slam obnoxiously behind him. Regulus twitches at the sound, feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated. He wants to lie down in a dark room and maybe drink a bottle of wine until he falls asleep. He doesn't want to wake up.
He's tired. He's so very tired.
No matter how hard Regulus tries to sort out his life, he gets tripped up at every turn. He can't do it anymore. It's so much easier to just be a mess. It's easier to be unhappy. He doesn't have to try. Nobody is relying on him anyway. Why shouldn't he drink and fuck and lie and cheat his way to an early grave? What would it matter at this point?
With that, Regulus grabs his phone and keys and leaves the flat. He doesn't look back.
Notes:
Hello!
I'm sorry for the delay in updating. I don't have a posting schedule as such but life has been so busy lately and I wanted to focus on completing one of my other fics. I haven't had enough time to work on all of my WIPs at once.
So I apologise but I'm back (:
Angst heavy chapter here. No Jegulus in this chapter but we're getting there.
Sirius is... well meaning? Stuck? A product of his environment? Idk but he's trying, kinda. He does want a relationship with Regulus, he just holds so much resentment. The Black brothers 🥀
If you're still reading this, thank you!
Let me know what you thought.
Xx
Elf
Chapter 12: Sunshine Baby
Summary:
James and Regulus have a day out :)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I think you should forgive him,” James says for the third time that day.
Regulus rolls his eyes.
“He doesn't want to be forgiven, James. It's not like he even said sorry! Sirius doesn't say sorry”.
James is just about to respond, opening his mouth a millimetre when Regulus interrupts.
“Can we stop talking about my brother now? Or did you just invite me on this day out to discuss your best friend?” he says with an arched brow.
James tuts, clicking his tongue disapprovingly and Regulus bursts out laughing.
“Did you really just tut at me?” he cries in disbelief.
James blushes, just a slight pink tinge to the top of his cheekbone but the sight makes Regulus feel ridiculously gooey inside. He gives himself a mental shake, staring out determinedly at the ocean.
They're at the seaside. It's sickeningly cutesy of them but James had suggested the day out to ‘get away from the city' like Regulus was a Victorian lady who needed some sea air to cure his melancholy. He'd never admit it to James but he's cautiously optimistic. Not for a cure, of course. But getting away from the city is exactly what he needs. It's been years since he was at the beach.
Southend Pier is packed with early summer holiday revellers. It's a scorching Monday in July. Regulus has closed the café and James has assured him that he didn't have any appointments he couldn't rearrange. The tide is low and children run around on the coarse brown sand, screaming and giggling. Usually Regulus would find it irritating but he can ignore it on the beach. It's such a wide open space he feels more relaxed than at home. Salty air fills his lungs with every inhale and he can feel the sun kissing his bare arms. It's like taking his first vodka shot of the night; his body instantly relaxes.
James is tanned and carefree, in a white T-shirt and navy shorts. They're shorter than Regulus would have expected, the hem cut high on his thighs exposing the curve of his muscular legs. He's truly mouthwatering and Regulus had a hard time picking his jaw up off the floor when James had arrived at his flat to pick him up.
In a car. That was another surprise. James had turned up driving a compact Nissan Leaf. Regulus had snorted derisively at the sight of the strange shaped grey electric vehicle but James had beamed completely unabashedly and explained it was better for the environment than petrol and more economical than a Tesla. “Not to mention I would never put a penny in Elon Musk's pocket”.
So yeah, Regulus’ heart had skipped a beat when James held the passenger door open to the stupid frog shaped car.
He'd challenge the strongest of men to not fall for James.
Not that he's fallen for him. Because he's not. He just likes his company and if he's also thoughtful, considerate and nice to look at that's nobody's business.
James licks around the edge of his ice cream with several long swipes of his tongue. It's utterly debauched, really. They're in public. Regulus focuses his attention on his own cone, leisurely licking the dripping soft serve before it can escape down the wafer. He pauses, a devilish thought occurring to him.
Regulus chances a quick glance at James, who is still happily enjoying his treat and smiles at him breezily. Regulus shoots him a small smile back and takes a long, careful lap of his ice cream. He lets his tongue hang out of his open mouth just a little too much, for just a little too long, maintaining direct eye contact with James the entire time.
James' hand stills in midair, his ice cream stopping inches from his mouth.
Ha, got him.
Regulus increases the speed, flicking the tip of his tongue over the top of the mountain of vanilla. He repeats the motion, giving little kitten licks to the small peak. He can feel the heat of James' gaze on him, burning hotter than the sun.
Time to up the ante.
Peeking at James over his ice cream, Regulus takes another long slow lick around the rim of his cone. He lets his mouth hang open for just a little longer than necessary, letting the white dessert melt on his tongue. James' own cone is dripping over his hand now but he hasn't even noticed, his eyes fixed on Regulus' mouth.
For good measure, he lets out a soft moan.
“Mmm, so good”.
James clears his throat and stands abruptly from the bench, dumping the rest of his ice cream in the bin.
“Shall we walk down to the water?”
“What?” Regulus says, watching James with a bemused expression.
“Yeah, water— uh, water’s good. Let's go.”
Smirking, Regulus gets to his feet and slides his sunglasses back down from the top of his head.
“Yeah, lets. It's getting a bit hot, isn't it?”
*
“James, you cannot paddle in the sea at Southend”. Regulus is absolutely, one hundred percent, vehemently not getting into the sea. “It's literally full of sewage”.
James chuckles.
“It's not, look it's totally clear”. He kicks a bare foot into the small waves lapping gently at the shore.
“Ugh, no seriously James get out of there!” Regulus yelps, grabbing James' arm to pull him back.
James just laughs harder, yanking his arm and inadvertently pulling Regulus closer to him. Regulus can feel hard muscle beneath the hot tight skin of his bicep. He lets go quickly as if scalded.
“It's fine, look there are children playing in it”. James gestures along the beach where, sure enough, multiple children are dashing in and out of the water without a care in the world.
“Well, then their parents are negligent,” Regulus replies curtly. James simply moves closer and swings his leg, pretending to splash him. “Seriously, if you fucking dare I will scream”.
“Aw, you're not afraid of a bit of water are you, Reg?” James teases, his toes now skimming the waves.
“James, James I swear to GOD. Don't—” Regulus warns, backing away up the slight hill of shells and stones. He should have worn more appropriate shoes, he thinks irritably as he scrambles for purchase in his Vans. The flat soles slip along the shingles.
“Don't what?” James sings, splashing gently. Water curves in a graceful arc towards Regulus, stopping short by less than a foot.
“You utter arse, that nearly got me!”
“Oh, sorry. I'll try harder next time,” James winks and kicks, sending a spray of cold salty water up Regulus' legs. Unlike James, he’s not wearing shorts and his jeans immediately cling to his calves. He groans, thinking of how difficult it's going to be to get them off later.
“I hate you,” he grumbles, clambering up to the sand. He hears James laugh lightly behind him.
“You love me”.
Regulus stills but doesn't acknowledge the words. It's a joke, a completely normal thing to say. James doesn't mean anything by it. He stomps through the sand until he's a safe distance away from James, trying to outrun the weighted words that threaten to drag him under like an anchor.
With his back to the water, Regulus can hear the splash of James running out and the heavier footfalls as his feet hit the wet sand.
“Reg?” James calls, upbeat but sounding uncertain.
Regulus takes a breath, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he plasters a smirk onto his face and turns around.
“Come on. Let's go and get some fish and chips before we head home. I'd hate to have to leave you in Essex because you contracted dysentery”.
He sees James' shoulders drop a little with relief.
“You can't even drive,” he points out playfully, as he slumps down onto the sand to pull his socks and shoes back on.
“You won't be able to when your feet get infected and fall off,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow.
James rolls his eyes, retying the laces on his Converse.
“Are you always this precious?”
“Yes,” Regulus replies immediately with no shame.
Laughing, James reaches for Regulus' hand to pull himself back onto his feet. Their hands fit perfectly, he notes with some frustration. Regulus' small, slender palm slides neatly into James' larger, broad one. He's sure he feels James' thumb caress his hand for a fraction of a second before he lets go.
“You're a walking contradiction, you know that? Sirius has told me endless stories about his reckless brother who fights and fucks and gets into trouble”. Regulus stares at him, unamused and feeling slightly ashamed as he goes on. “Yet here you are, scared of a bit of water”.
“Polluted water,” Regulus corrects.
James shrugs.
“Of all the things that could kill you, all the risks that you've taken. This is what scares you?”
Bristling, Regulus folds his arms defensively.
“I'm not scared, Potter. It's a survival instinct which some of us clearly lack”.
It's James' turn to raise his eyebrows.
“Oh, it's ‘Potter’ again, is it?”
“When you deserve it, yes,” Regulus sniffs.
A shadow passes over the sun as James gets closer, blocking out all other light until all Regulus can see is him. The crinkles around his eyes, almost hidden by the frames of his glasses. The smooth tanned skin of his face, his strong jaw and easy grin. His warm hazel eyes flash with something darker, something tempting. Regulus' lips drop open slightly, parting automatically.
“What if I told you I don't care what you call me? As long as I get to hear it from your mouth”. James' voice is low and husky. Regulus swallows, his throat as dry as the sand beneath their feet.
They're going to kiss.
Regulus is sure of it. James Potter is going to kiss him.
He sucks in a staggered breath and wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. They're close enough that he can feel James' breath, scorching hot on his face.
James' phone suddenly blares to life in his pocket and he takes a staggered step back, turning and blinking into the sunlight as if waking from hibernation. Regulus watches gasping slightly as James reaches into his pocket, wincing as he reads the display.
“It's Sirius. Sorry, I'm just gonna—” he gestures, waving to the side to indicate that he needs to take the call.
“Sure, yeah,” Regulus' voice is croaky. He coughs once. “Tell him I hate him for me”.
James shoots him an unimpressed glare and moves away, answering the call with a greeting that sounds just a little too bright.
Regulus watches as James walks a few meters away, chatting animatedly into the phone. He turns to give him privacy, kicking his foot across the sand.
He wishes he could blame the heat. Or the ice cream, or the fresh sea air. Something to explain why he just nearly kissed James Potter. His grief counsellor. His brother's best friend.
Ugh. He just wants him because he can't have him. That's all this is. James is like forbidden fruit and Regulus has never been one to deny himself. If they could just fuck he's sure he'd get it out of his system. This weird… crush. Or whatever it is.
But then why does he feel so at peace whenever they spend time together? Why does he feel more like himself with James than with anyone else? Is James really just that good at his job? Is Regulus completely misreading the situation and James has actually just truly started to heal him? Is this how normal people feel around everyone? Regulus has certainly never felt like this before but he's not exactly normal. He hates people, usually.
But not James.
James finishes his call and Regulus quickly arranges his face into his trademark smirk. He tries to look as unbothered as he possibly can. He doesn't care what Sirius has to say. He obviously doesn't want to talk to Regulus else he wouldn't be calling James, would he? He'd be calling Regulus. But he hasn't. Not once. Not for weeks.
“Sorry about that, Sirius just wanted my help with something,” James says easily as he strides back over to Regulus.
Regulus feigns a shrug.
“It's fine. I'm guessing you no longer have time for fish and chips?” he says lightly, ignoring the clenching in his heart.
James frowns, confused.
“Nope, I don't have to get back just yet. All that pollution has given me an appetite”. He grins jostling Regulus with an elbow, trying to drag them back into the light-hearted moment they were in before.
But the moment has passed and Regulus begins to doubt whether it ever happened at all.
*
He climbs out of James' ridiculous car around eight pm after falling asleep on the way back to London. Regulus' mouth feels stale and his head is thick from the sun. He's sure he's burnt the back of his neck, the skin feels tight and hot, and he wants nothing more than a cold shower. For no reason other than to soothe his sunburn.
“I had fun today,” James says with a smile. Regulus turns to face him in the light of the car. The sun hasn't yet set and it's as bright as midday but Regulus is tired, his bones aching and heavy. James' skin looks sun kissed and healthy. There's a smattering of freckles across his nose, so faint you'd have to be close to see them. Regulus leans back instinctively, his hand on the door handle.
“It wasn't completely shit,” he drawls with affected nonchalance. James grins in response, his face lighting up at Regulus' teasing. “Thank you,” he adds in a softer, more sincere voice.
“High praise. I'll take it,” James replies easily. “No need to thank me though, Reg. I like spending time with you”.
There it is again. James' pretty words that seem to slip from his throat without thought. Does he mean them? Regulus feels hot and confused.
He exits the car fully, letting it drop shut behind him without a backward glance. As he starts to make his way down the path to his block of flats he hears James voice call through the open window.
“I'll text you, yeah?”
“Yeah that's fine, whatever,” Regulus replies without turning back. He doesn't mean to be rude, not really. It's just that his head is still spinning with James' words from the beach.
What if I told you I don't care what you call me?
Oh, God. Was that intended to sound as fucking sinful as it had?
As long as I get to hear it from your mouth.
Objectively sexy. That's shut and dry. Isn't it?
Regulus' brain feels like it's sizzling. He sighs, unlocking the front door and traipsing up to his flat. When he gets down the hall, the door is ajar.
That's weird. It's a pretty secure building, in an admittedly shitty area, but he's not aware of any recent break ins.
“Hello?” he calls as he pushes the door open with trepidation.
Nice, Regulus. Very creative. Not at all something the victim of a horror film would say as they wander stupidly into the killer's path.
His heart begins to pound. For all his bluster he doesn't think he actually wants to die. Is this how it ends? At the hands of a maniac in the comfort of his own flat?
At least it's in keeping with the rest of his crappy dramatic life. Maybe they'll make it into a Netflix mini-series.
The door to his flat swings open, revealing Sirius standing in the living room.
“Fucking HELL, Sirius. You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Regulus screams, jumping about a foot off the floor.
Sirius bites his lip, looking for all the world like he's trying to hold in a laugh.
“Sorry, I'm sorry! I let myself in, just now. I haven't been here long I swear”.
“You BROKE in. I never gave you a key!” Regulus cries, rubbing a soothing hand over his heart. Bloody Sirius.
Sirius looks shifty, a sly smirk creeping into his face. Suddenly Regulus is reminded of the big brother he was growing up, always getting into trouble and sneaking out.
“I'm obviously going to have to move house seeing as you can't seem to stay away,” Regulus remarks bluntly, staring flatly at his brother.
Sirius rolls his eyes and sticks out his hand. It's only then that Regulus realises that he's holding something.
“I've got something for you”.
“I'm not interested,” Regulus dismisses, but he doesn't move from his position near the door. He'd have to go around Sirius to get to his bedroom and besides, he kind of is interested. He likes presents.
“You'll like it,” Sirius promises, holding the box out insistently.
With a beleaguered sigh, Regulus steps forward to take the box from Sirius' hand. It's heavy and he shakes it once before Sirius stops him with a quick hand to his arm.
“Er, I wouldn't. It's pretty old”.
With a frown, Regulus lifts the lid and peeks inside. He gasps.
“How did you…?” he starts, truly shocked.
Sirius grins, looking proud as punch.
“Stole it,” he winks.
Inside the box, nestled in a pile of shredded red tissue paper, is the cat and dog statue Regulus made for their mother. The statue Walburga had claimed for herself and staunchly refused to give back.
“How?” Regulus asks, his brain shuttering down with the force of too many conflicting emotions. Sirius, goody two shoes, hotshot lawyer Sirius, stole from their stepmother. “Did you break in there as well?”
Sirius chuckles.
“No, godmother let me in. I said I wanted to make sure she had enough sittings for her portrait. Swiped it on my way out”.
Regulus doesn't know what to say. He's touched, truly. Both by the gift and the dedication to an act that the Sirius of their childhood would be proud of. It feels a tiny bit like he has his brother back. The real one.
“I uh, I asked James if he thought it was a good idea,” Sirius admits, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. His hair is loose again but he looks a little more put together, more in control.
Regulus lifts his eyes to the ceiling.
“Of course you did. This has James Potter written all over it”. He shakes his head, feeling a surge of affection for the silly hazel eyed man.
“It was my idea,” Sirius insists. “I just— I dunno. I wanted to see if James thought there was a chance”.
Regulus furrows his brow in confusion.
“A chance of what?”
There's a pause.
“You forgiving me”.
Regulus meets his brother's eyes for the first time since he kicked him out of his flat two days ago. The hurtful words they screamed at each other that night seem to echo hauntingly around the room. They're a square peg in a round hole. They're too different now. They're not the same Sirius and Regulus they were as children.
And yet.
It's his brother. His stubborn prick of a brother who never apologizes first. Who never admits when he's wrong and just swans confidently through life assuming that everyone will fall at his feet.
His brother risking the ire of their evil stepmother— the disappointment of their father— just to show Regulus how sorry he is. How much he cares.
That he loves him. That maybe he never stopped.
“Thanks, Sirius,” Regulus says quietly. He meets Sirius' grey blue eyes and is reminded of the British ocean on a summer’s day. Of a kind hearted man who never seems to stop trying to make him happy. Trying to reconnect him with the only family member who ever truly loved him. “I'm not exactly thrilled that James went behind my back—”.
Sirius opens his mouth to argue but Regulus holds his hand up.
“... but I am grateful,” he finishes. “I knew he was fishing,” he adds with a roll of his eyes.
Sirius smiles sheepishly.
“Yeah, I kinda put him up to that. Sorry”.
“You're not,” Regulus says flatly, but his lips twitch as he fights a smile.
“Nah, you're right. I'm not. I want you back, Reggie. I want my brother back”.
Sirius closes the gap and pulls Regulus into a reluctant hug. Regulus lifts his arms to wrap around his brother's back just as Sirius pulls away, patting him stiffly on the shoulder.
“That's enough of that, I think”.
Regulus laughs and strolls over to his bookcase. He displays the statue right next to Barty's hand painted pottery.
His family, all in one place. Proudly on display.
Notes:
From not posting for a month to posting two chapters in two days (:
Let me know your thoughts, I love to read your comments!
Chapter title is a song by The Japanese House
Xx
Elf
Chapter 13: Cemetery Gates
Summary:
Regulus accepts help.
Chapter Text
Regulus wasn't going to accept the money. Honestly he wasn't. He hates handouts of any sort and he was loath to admit to Sirius that the café was in fact struggling. Unfortunately, Sirius had been paying attention during their screaming argument and realised that Regulus needed help.
He'd offered outright to cover all of Regulus' overheads for the next twelve months but Regulus had refused.
“That's insane, Sirius. It's too much. I can't accept”.
“You can and you will. Trust me, I can afford it,” Sirius had insisted in his no-nonsense lawyer voice.
“How? Won't you have to buy Lissy out of the house?”
At this, Sirius had raised an insulted brow.
“After she admitted cheating on me for months? What kind of lawyer do you take me for, Reggie? Of course not!”
Regulus had gone back and forth with Sirius for hours until eventually he had accepted an injection of cash via Sirius becoming a joint business partner.
“It'll still be one hundred percent your business, I won't get involved in anything other than paying bills and taxes,” Sirius had assured him. Regulus was still unsure but Sirius took the time to explain the legalities of an equal partnership.
“So you could take me to court and force me to make changes that I might not want to make?” Regulus had asked, frowning.
Sirius had blanched, looking mortally offended.
“Regulus, I would never. It's your café, you don't have to run a single thing by me and I'll never want or try to control a single business decision you make. This is on paper only because you're too bloody proud to accept my money”. Regulus had squirmed under the heat of Sirius' disapproving gaze. “Besides, I don't even have the time to take on a genuine venture. You've got the reins, I promise”.
Maybe he shouldn't be trusting his brother. But in reality Sirius had never chosen to let him down. Not really. No matter what mess Regulus got himself into, Sirius had always been there for him. Had he disapproved of the decisions Regulus made to get himself into those messes? Yes, undoubtedly so. He had expressed that disapproval on many different occasions. But he'd bailed Regulus out of so many scrapes, seen him at so many humiliatingly low ebbs that Regulus knows in his heart that Sirius would never take the café away from him.
He’s ninety nine percent sure.
Regulus releases another staple into the noticeboard and then stands back to admire his work. The new sign reads:
‘Mourning Coffee
Drop in grief counselling
Thursday mornings 10-12
Buy a coffee, stay for a chat with a licensed counsellor’
“That's dark, Reg. Are you sure that's the name you're going for?” James walks around the counter to stand besides Regulus in front of the board.
“What? ‘Mourning Coffee?” Regulus says in surprise. “I thought it was cute!”
James snorts, rolling his eyes in what Regulus thinks is an affectionate way.
“Of course you did”.
“You’re still happy to do it, aren't you?” Regulus asks, gnawing on his bottom lip anxiously. “If it's too much of a commitment or we're not paying you enough—”
James knocks him with an elbow, the sharp bone hitting him in the chest. He winces and rubs small circles over his t-shirt.
“Reg, I'd have done it for free,” James says comfortingly.
Regulus feigns a sigh.
“Well now you tell me. Is it too late to tell my accountant to stop your standing order?” he jokes, turning away from James to make them both a coffee.
“You're just bragging that you have an accountant now,” James teases.
Regulus smirks, unable to hide his smug expression. Yes, it had been at Sirius' insistence that he hire an accountant to help sort out the books. And yes, it's because of Sirius' money that he even needs one. But doing things properly still feels good.
“James, you would tell me if I was making a stupid decision wouldn't you?” Regulus calls over the hum of the coffee machine. He half-hopes that James wouldn't hear him but his friend has followed him round to the back and answers without hesitation.
“Yes. But you're not. You can trust him. Sirius loves you,” James promises. “He won't let you down”.
Regulus finishes steaming the milk for James' ridiculous teenage girl latte with extra syrup and then neatly pours it into the to-go cup. He tops off the foam into a heart without thinking and then quickly rams a plastic lid on top before James can take notice.
“You don't think I'm weak for accepting his help?” Regulus presses, watching with a disgusted sneer as James starts ripping open several packets of white sugar and prising the lid back open to tip them inside. If he notices the heart, he doesn't mention it.
“No,” James says firmly. “We all need help sometimes. That's what family is for”.
Regulus hums noncommittally and watches with open judgment as James takes a sip of his sugary, milky concoction.
“James, do you actually like coffee?” Regulus asks, mouth agape. Just watching the beige liquid hit James' tongue makes his teeth ache. He can't imagine that much sugar can possibly even dissolve.
James shrugs, completely unabashed.
“Yeah. Just not without sugar and milk”.
Regulus laughs and places his cup on a small table by the window, James following once again. Before they sit down, Regulus flips the sign on the door over to ‘Closed’ and turns the lock. He slides into a chair with an exhausted yawn.
“Late night?” James asks in a light tone, peering at Regulus with slightly narrowed eyes.
Regulus can't help it. He blushes, immediately making clear the previous night's exploits. He'd gone on a date— well, he’d technically gone on a date. The date had just occurred at the guy's house and ended in his bed.
In Regulus' defence, since that day at the beach with James he's been unnaturally frustrated. There's only so many wanks he can have in a day. All he can see is James’ warm caramel eyes and teasing grin, the tip of his pink tongue through his parted lips. His husky voice saying that he'd let Regulus call him whatever he wants. His James-prompted libido surges cannot be sated with his own hand anymore.
And if he thinks about James the entire time? That's a secret that'll die with him.
It's fine. It's manageable.
“Just a bit hungover still,” Regulus mumbles, shamefaced.
James runs an appraising eye over him and then suddenly lifts one corner of his mouth in a sly smile.
“Fancy some hair of the dog?” he asks with a glimmer of temptation in his gaze. Regulus is allowed a brief glimpse of the real James, the one behind the carefully composed professional facade. The glimpses are becoming more and more frequent the closer the two have become but sometimes Regulus feels like James still sees him as a reckless little brother figure he has to watch over.
Regulus grins and immediately pushes his chair back.
“I've got some wine hidden under the counter,” he calls over his shoulder. “Unless you'd prefer vodka?” He begins walking around, turning off the main lights and pulling the blinds closed. It's barely six in the evening but he has nowhere to be and apparently nor does James.
Regulus rummages through the shelves beneath the till, bringing out a few dusty bottles of red and a half drunk litre of vodka. He grabs his phone and swipes for a more upbeat playlist to send through the built-in speaker system, tucking the bottles under his arm and standing back to full height. Regulus has never seen James drunk before; it's usually the other way around. He feels a fizzle of anticipation thrum through his body as he stretches out his creaky knees and then stops with a start, his breath catching in his throat.
James has lit the candle on every table, bathing the café in a soothing golden glow. It feels like they're enveloped in fire and Regulus' temperature begins to rise in response. He feels a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his t-shirt.
He takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure and walks steadily over to their table by the window. James is plucking a pair of wine glasses from the wooden shelves and heads back to place them delicately in front of their seats. It looks for all the world like a date.
“What are we having?” James grins as he slinks back into his chair. “Wine with a vodka chaser?”
Regulus is suddenly acutely aware of his choice of music. What was an innocent pop punk playlist has decided to spurn out Cheap Trick’s ‘I Want You to Want Me’.
Deciding to meet James' light-hearted energy, he raises a challenging eyebrow and fills both glasses to the brim with red wine before pouring a capful of vodka and sliding it over to James.
“After you,” he smiles.
*
“Are you a nostalgic person?” James' questioning voice punctuates the quiet haze of the café.
Regulus is feeling nicely drunk, the buzz of the vodka and the warmth of the wine combining to make him feel like he's been wrapped up in a weighted blanket. He knows if he carries on he'll soon sail past pleasantly sleepy and into volatile, could-puke-at-any-moment drunk. But for now, he's happy.
“I am,” he answers simply, squinting at James through the fading light. The tealights have burnt through in the three hours they've been drinking and there's just a clear pool of liquid left at the bottom before they're extinguished completely. Regulus watches as tiny flames dance in James' enlarged pupils.
“Sometimes I think nostalgia is gonna be the death of me,” James slurs. He doesn't look sad exactly but Regulus feels a spike of worry shoot through his heart as he watches his drunk friend somberly pondering his own existence.
“How so?” Regulus pries, although somehow he knows without asking exactly what James means. He thinks of brightly coloured plastic toys and iridescent Christmas lights, pancakes for breakfast on a Saturday and playing in the garden until the sun dipped below the horizon. He'd give anything to go back to his childhood.
“It's just so hard to accept that things are never gonna be as easy as they were back then,” James says, his voice muffled around the palm that cradles his jaw. He's slumped forwards over the table with his head in his hands, though his eyes are still lifted towards Regulus.
Regulus waits, unsure if he should interrupt. Sure enough, James continues to speak.
“My parents were the best,” he says, sounding proud despite his drunkenness. “The kindest people you'd ever meet. So loving, you know?”
Regulus thinks of his own mother, his real one. How colourful and cosy their house was, how safe he felt in her arms. Her soft voice chiding him when he skipped a meal or turned up to a family lunch still drunk from the night before. She was love personified, never judging but always wanting better for him. The only person in the family who actually seemed to notice or care when he was struggling.
“Yeah, I know,” he says softly. James gives him a watery smile.
“Do you miss her?”
“Every day,” Regulus answers truthfully. The aggravating presence of Walburga has not eradicated his grief for his mother but multiplied it, highlighting just how wonderful Arabella had been. He'll never understand how his father could go from one to the other.
“Both my parents died at the same time,” James says in a voice so quiet that Regulus isn't completely sure that he hasn't imagined it. His mouth drops open in shock.
“Oh, God, James. I didn't know. That's awful”.
James lifts his shoulders in a sad shrug.
“Car accident. I was twenty,” he explains, exhaling a shaky breath. Regulus worries that James might be sick. He's never drunk with James before and he has no idea of his friend's limits.
“That's fucked up. I’m sorry”.
“It's okay. You’ve been through worse,” James says kindly but Regulus isn't sure that it's true. Regulus lost one good parent and a friend. James lost two great ones.
“So that's why you're a grief counsellor?” Regulus wonders out loud.
“Yeah,” James breathes. His alcohol steeped breath wafts across the table, stunning Regulus' eyes. They should really stop drinking.
“That's a much healthier way to cope than anything I've done,” Regulus says wryly. He thinks about all the sex and the drinking and the fighting.
“Mmm. Maybe,” James concedes. “Or maybe I just struggle so badly with the idea of letting go of the past that I had to find a way to understand it. It felt like I was losing part of my life”.
Regulus slouches back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling. There's a thick string of cobweb hanging across one corner. He doesn't think he's ever dusted the ceiling.
“I think… I don't think you're losing part of your life. I think it's just turning the last page of another book in the series,” he muses. James' chuckle makes his head swivel back down.
“Maybe you should be the grief counsellor,” James smirks.
“Nah, I just had a very smart teacher,” Regulus twinkles back. All these months of knowing and becoming close to James have given him something he never thought he would find. Acceptance. And maybe… peace. The tentative makings of peace.
“Things were easier when we were kids,” James sighs, his breath a gentle breeze in the cosy room. “That's what being with you feels like”.
Regulus holds his breath.
James— seemingly not realising he's said anything earth shatteringly profound— stretches his arms out to the sides, the muscles of his arms straining the fabric of his light blue t-shirt. He's still gorgeously tanned from the beach and in this light he looks like burnt sugar.
Regulus laughs shakily as James drops his arms back to his sides, knocking over his empty wine glass.
“Come on, let's get you home Potter. You're bladdered,” he says, getting up from the table and pulling James up by an arm.
The heat of James' skin burns the palm of his hand and he swallows, ignoring it. James needs him now. For the first time, James needs Regulus. He won't let him down.
“I'm so happy you like me now,” James mumbles as Regulus eases him out of the café. They'll go to Regulus'— it's closer and he can't remember James' address by heart. He’d bet everything in his bank account that James couldn’t right now either.
Regulus chuckles, wrapping an arm securely around James' shoulder.
“I've always liked you,” he lies.
James snorts, the force of it sending him staggering towards the kerb. Regulus struggles to wrench him back from the road.
“No, you hated me. All I wanted was for you to like me and you hated me,” James grumbles, wiping a bit of drool that's escaped down his chin.
Regulus' breath catches. He should leave it. James is completely wasted, he's in no fit state to discuss their… friendship. And he's probably just talking shit.
“Why did you want me to like you?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level despite the pounding of his heart.
James groans.
“You're so pretty. And fun. And funny. Too clever for your own good. And like… mean. But in a good way. I want you to be mean to me. I want you around to be mean to me every day. Am I weird?”
Regulus forces a laugh. James thinks he's pretty. He wants him around every day.
“Yes, James. You're weird. And you're very fucking drunk so maybe you should not talk and just focus on walking because you're also much heavier than I imagined you would be”.
James stops dead in the street and turns to Regulus with a strange expression on his face.
“You imagined how heavy I would be?” he frowns quizzically at Regulus.
Regulus just frowns back, unsure what James is getting at. He's struggling under James' weight and tries to shift his arm under James' armpit instead of over his shoulder but the movement sends him crashing into James' chest. He breathes him in, feeling the Earth spin.
“What?” Regulus mutters, his senses alive with James' proximity. He can feel James' rapid heartbeat lifting his ribcage.
“Why can't I have you?” James moans into the top of Regulus' head.
“You— you can,” Regulus breathes into the soft cotton of James' t-shirt. Suddenly he's inhaling fresh oxygen as James pulls away.
“I can't,” he declares with a pout, starting to walk clumsily down the dark street again. Regulus stands back, utterly mystified before realising that it must be because of Sirius. He feels a twist in his gut and tenses, opening and closing his fists a few times before running to catch up with James.
“James, maybe we should talk about this tomorrow instead?” Regulus suggests, taking James' elbow lightly in one hand to steer him forwards. There's no point in carrying the discussion on whilst they’re in this state. Regulus fears neither of them are making any sense and yet it feels like the most honest they've ever been with each other.
James starts fumbling through his pockets with his free hand, pulling out his vape.
“We're not going to have sex,” he says after a beat, exhaling a plume of fruity vapour.
“Of course not, you're absolutely smashed—” Regulus starts, feeling defensive.
James reaches over and clasps Regulus' hand in his. He intertwines their fingers, keeping his eyes down as he speaks.
“No, I mean… ever. We're not going to have sex, Regulus”.
Regulus feels a ridiculous urge to burst into tears. He bites the inside of his cheek and lifts his chin, keeping his gaze forwards. The empty street seems sinister all of a sudden, dustbins looming in the shadows like sentinels and the faint sound of dogs barking in the distance.
“Why?” he bites out, feeling a bizarre combination of hurt and anger. At Sirius maybe for standing in the way of the best thing in his life for years. Or James, for letting him get so close only to push him away.
Regulus hears James take a deep breath.
“I can't have sex with you because I'll fall in love with you”.
And there it is. The admission that everything hasn't just been in Regulus' head. The vindication.
The acknowledgement that there is something between them.
But they won't ever get to have it.
It feels like grief.
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