Chapter 1: The weight of your hand
Notes:
Hello dear reader,
This was supposed to be a one shot, but I’ve gathered some courage to continue writing because I’m having many ideas for this specific AU.
Please make sure to check the tags every once in a while because I’ll be updating them as I write more.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The lemon is a fruit that grows on small evergreen trees from the flowering plant family Rutaceae, native to Asia, mainly northeastern India. Lemon juice boasts a long tradition of use as an astringent, diaphoretic, diuretic, gargle, lotion, and tonic. It’s also rumored to counter feelings of fatigue, lack of focus, and mood swings, with only one fundamental flaw: it has a horrible taste.
Back then, James didn’t know any of this (realistically, he still doesn’t); he just knew that his mother made a lemon pie that was out of this world, which is why he was devastated (in the way children lose pieces of their heart over the smallest things) when he asked his mother to make it, and Effie informed him they were out of lemons.
“But Mom! I want the pie now!” he exclaimed whiningly, stamping his foot firmly on the chair he was standing on, making a low and worrying thud on the already old wood.
Euphemia, mother of the little rascal, was a chubby and beautiful woman. She had dark skin, because of long work hours spent every day under the burning sun, round, deep brown eyes and brunette hair that would frame her face exquisitely if she didn’t perpetually put it up in a bun. But really, her best feature was the genuine kindness that radiated off of her in waves. James adored her; there was a genuine understanding between them, and Euphemia had always encouraged her son to express his emotions, for better or worse. This is why James was always so animated. When he was happy, he shouted. When he was sad, he shouted. When he was angry, he also shouted. And when he was frustrated because there were no lemons for the pie, he stomped his feet on the chair.
“Figlio mio, I know you do, but it’s Sunday, and the market in town is closed. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
With a pout, and a temporarily broken little heart, James walked out of the house, in some sort of childish protest. If she’s not making the pie, then she doesn’t deserve to have me around which wasn’t true, he knew that very well. He would give his mommy the world if he could. But still, he left said mommy peeling onions alone in the small kitchenette of their dining room, which, admittedly, is for the best in this case, since he was of no use whatsoever.
He stopped after a few steps, turning to his right, where Villa Black loomed over their small house.
It hadn’t been called that before, because it hadn’t always existed. Things only get names once they exist: something young James had learned from that enormous house.
Black Manor was three floors high, with a fully white exterior (which clashed with the owners’ name, even young James had noticed that) except for the doors and windows, which were indeed black. Every detail reflected a simple, yet majestic elegance.
It was so big that when the construction workers finally finished, and James had seen the completed product, he expected an entire soccer team to move in. But as it turned out, he wasn’t going to live every child’s dream, and the owner was not, in fact, Cristiano Ronaldo.
James had only caught a glimpse of the owners a few weeks prior. They arrived in a black car, one of those he’d only seen in American movies: long and shiny. Out of it stepped only four people, a beautiful mom, a stern dad, and two, almost identical children (though one was slightly taller, and probably older, than the other).
He hadn’t had the chance to talk to them yet (but he sure will), as those kids always seemed to have a lot to do, he reckoned. They did anything but play, which was James’s favorite activity, especially in summer. You can forget how exaggeratedly hot everything is if you think very little about it.
Those kids did strange things though, like balancing books on their heads and guessing the names of differently shaped kitchen utensils. It couldn’t be a game to them, they didn’t seem very happy doing it, James noted from the small window of his kitchenette, adjacent to what looked like a living room window in Black Manor. The one he used to spy on the new, and only, neighbors.
Just as James stood there, his feet planted on the ground outside his own front door breathing in the thick air of mid June and thinking about those mysterious kids, one of them, the younger one, he recognized, came out of the manor and sat on the steps between two tall, white Doric columns that preceded the door. James saw the boy sigh and lower his head onto his knees, he looked either sad, or perhaps angry.
James decided to finally take this chance to talk to him. But strangely enough, for the first time in his life, he felt shy.
So, he opted for more of a… stealthy approach.
He crept up slowly to a plant in their garden, hiding behind it to watch the boy, at least until he mustered the courage to talk to him; however, in doing so, James noticed that this little plant decorating Villa Black’s garden was actually a citrus lemon tree, which made his face and heart lit up instantly, soon forgetting about meeting the boy on the stairs.
James began stuffing the small pockets of his shorts, one lemon in each. Then he lifted his shirt and folded it forward, creating a sort of pouch, which he filled with more lemons. Oh, he could already taste the sweet cream of lemons in his mou—
“Hey! What are you doing?”
James looked up to find the boy standing before him, clearly having left the steps. He was a bit shorter than James, very pale (no wonder, he never goes outside), but he had such large, blue eyes that James thought…
“Your mom must have cut holes in the sky to give you those eyes.”
A very confused pause passed between them. And then.
“Huh?! What… what does that mean?” The boy asked, baffled by James’ nonsense. He then looked down, noticing first the lemons in James’s shirt, and next the lack of said lemons on the little tree in his garden. For a moment, there was complete silence. Only the wind swooshing around and faraway birdies singing.
Then the boy took a deep breath, as James watched him closely.
“MOM, SOMEONE IS STEAL—” James immediately lunged forward, covering his mouth with a hand, but in doing so, he dropped all the lemons, except for the ones in his pockets.
“Hey! Why are you snitching on me?!” James whispered frantically. The boy tried to respond, but his voice was muffled by James’s rough, dirty hand.
“Because you’re stealing our lemons,” said the raven-haired boy, matter-of-factly, with a slightly calmer tone when James trusted him enough to let go.
“Regulus! What’s all this noise?” came a voice from afar. James looked up, squinting towards the door of the Villa, where stood the elegant, beautiful (but very stern looking) lady who had gotten out of the car weeks earlier, and was now addressing her son. “Come inside. Your brother finished his piano lesson; it’s your turn now.”
Regulus.
What a strange little name. Seems perfect somehow. Fitting for a strange little boy.
She said nothing more, didn’t even wait for Regulus to follow her. She just went back inside, after merely looking disapprovingly at the two boys. To James, she seemed like a Disney villain, but that wasn’t a nice thing to say about someone’s mom, he supposed.
“Your mom seems… strict.”
“She is.”
“Hm… well, see you around, Reg?”
“My name isn’t Reg.”
“Alright, Reg.”
“Hey! Give me back the lemons!”
But James was already running away, with his skinny, fragile, wobbly legs, clutching the two lemons he’d managed to grab and the ones still in his pockets.
[…]
The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the cicadas were singing in the background as James enjoyed his mother’s lemon pie, to which he had conveniently not mentioned the details about where he got the main ingredient from.
“I’m glad you like it, Jamie,” Effie said, with the sweet smile that set her apart from all the other mothers, her hands busy washing the utensils used for the recipe, “Thanks for helping me make it.”
Poor James didn’t even have time to reply when there came a couple of weak little knocks at the door; the dining table was only a few steps from it.
Effie stood up to open it, looking down with curiosity and surprise when she found the two children from the house next door at her doorstep.
“Oh… good evening,” began the woman, voice sweet and inviting.
“Reggie said—” the boy started, before realizing how rude he sounded, that’s not how his mother raised him; “excuse me, good evening.” Then again, “Reggie said that the boy who lives here stole some of our lemons.”
She observed the smaller boy hide now completely behind his brother, probably being the Reggie in question, and probably afraid of facing the consequences of speaking up.
Euphemia turned to her son with a disapproving nod that clashed with her perpetually gentle gaze, especially when directed at her son. “Jamie, is that true?”
James shook his head quickly, his cheeks stuffed with lemon pie. His mother instantly recognized the lie. Again, she had a deep bond with her son, which also meant she was a living lie detector, much to James’ misfortune.
Euphemia sighed, visibly softened by the scene. She was a weak, weak woman when it came to her child. How could she not be? He was adorable.
She knelt down to the two boys’ height, showing them a smile just as warm.
“I apologize for my son’s behavior. May I make it up to you by offering you a piece of the pie we made with those lemons?” she suggested.
The two pale little faces lit up, and before Euphemia could even make room for them to come in, the older boy grabbed his brother’s hand and pulled him inside the house, towards the table.
They looked around in awe and curiosity for a few moments, studying their surroundings. That house felt so familiar and warm, yet it lacked all the fancy (and quite unnecessary) cold grandeur that haunted their own.
“Ciao, my name’s James,” James introduced himself with a beaming smile, extending a hand smeared with lemon cream to the boy now sitting beside him.
Without missing a beat, Sirius grabbed it firmly, returning the smile. “I’m Sirius, and this is Reggie, my brother.”
James leaned over slightly to look at Regulus with a mischievous grin. “Hi, Reggie.”
Regulus immediately pouted, hiding against his brother’s shoulder. James scoffed, with a triumphant look on his face.
In no time, all three boys were digging into Euphemia’s pie, laughing and chatting together, even Regulus (who seemed to be reluctant of everything, like adults) visibly relaxing thanks to James and Sirius’s constant, contagious chatter. They bonded quickly in only a few minutes.
“Say, ‘hmm delicious!’” Three little heads whipped toward the doorway, where Euphemia held an old camera in front of her face, though it wasn’t big enough to hide the delighted expression of a mother witnessing a heartwarming scene.
James and Sirius chimed together, “Hmm delicious!” holding their dessert forks high, while Regulus clung to his brother’s arm with both hands, but unlike the other two boys, his were clean.
[…]
That photo stayed pinned next to James’s bedroom window for twelve years, attached to a small corkboard with a red pushpin.
Notes:
Please let me know what you think in the comments! Leave kudos for support! And feel free to interact with me in my TikTok @/fucknfiona <3
Chapter 2: Between silences
Summary:
“What is it, Jamie?”
“The Blacks, the owners of the Villa— are they back?” he asks expectantly.
“Yeah.”
James’ heart skips a beat. Anticipation. He is feeling anticipation.
Notes:
hello dear reader,
I’d like to state now that this is heavily inspired by both from the sidelines by suffocatingsprings (best bakudeku fanfic ever written), call me by your name (but obviously with my own twists and turns) and general media and tiktoks saved in my “Sei Aspro Come I Limoni” folder.
Enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
On mornings like this one, James deeply regrets moving his bed to the opposite wall from the window, because when the sun rises on the horizon, the first thing it touches passing through the glass of the circled glass is his eyelids, slapping him awake with a strip of golden light cutting straight across his closed lids, merciless, as if the whole sky had decided he had slept enough.
He groans sleepily, turning his head to the other side, but God knows how light his sleep has always been— there is no use; one small disruption and he is fully awake. So, after one minute of mourning the few more hours of sleep he could have gotten had his bed been better positioned, he sits up, stretching his arms above his head.
James always takes his time when he wakes up. His mother once observed that the only time of the day he wasn’t rushing and concerningly hyperactive was in the morning. He has this sort of little ritual of calmness: wake up, wash up, get dressed, eat. After that? He is a whole 7-year-old after five Santal₁ juice boxes for the rest of the day.
“Morning, ma’,” James says as he enters the kitchenette, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
Euphemia is wearing one of her usual homely dresses, long and ordinary; it’s a deep purple with a few little red flowers here and there.
“Is that a new dress?” James asks, pouring himself some coffee into a mug before sitting down beside her. Euphemia is topping and tailing green beans on the wooden dining table, seemingly having already eaten (a morning person, like mother, like son). He finds himself basking in the unusual mix of smells of green beans and black coffee.
“Yes, do you like it?”
“You look like a nonna,₂ ma’,” he informs her, holding back a chuckle as she side-eyes him, apparently not happy with the comment.
“Well, I am not young anymore. I’m impatiently waiting to actually be a nonna.”
James doesn’t hold back the chuckle this time. “I’m not making you wait too long, I promise. Besides, I’m too young right now; I’d be an incapable father.”
Euphemia would argue that 19 years is not too young, by her family’s standards, but she is not actually trying to pressure her son into fatherhood.
So they just sit like that. That’s where Euphemia and James’ bond starts, in the lazy slowness of the morning— no words are needed; they listen to the birds chirping together, James watches her trained hands cutting whatever vegetable they are having for lunch, and Euphemia glances over at him every once in a while to make sure he is eating enough before starting his day.
And then, abruptly, James is ready to just go.
“I’m going to see Remus; I’ll take the bike.”
He kisses her cheek one last time before rushing to the door, where he quickly shoves on his worn out shoes and gets out of the house— most times, slamming the door behind him out of enthusiasm.
The bike ride from James’ house to Remus’ farm is approximately 40 minutes (30 for James’ fast legs) on sunny days, when the dirt road is not muddy.
When he gets there, he is sweaty and a little out of breath; it’s the start of summer, so the air is becoming mercilessly hot, especially in their region.
When he arrives at the farmhouse, James doesn’t knock— he never does. Of course not; that shit’s for visitors. Remus is his best friend.
“OH DARLING! GUESS WHO IS BACK FROM—”
Remus swings the door open, looking at him unimpressed. James is a creature of habit, and Remus is a creature who finds his habits terribly idiotic. “Jail?”
“Oh darling,” he continues, still attempting a raspy, and deeply rough voice. “You bailed me out, remember?”
Remus smiles a little, because, well, it’s James— his stupid best friend. He opens the door some more, stepping aside.
“Come in; Pete is coming over too. You know, at least he has good manners; he texts me beforehand.”
“Pft. Who needs good manners when one has Remus Lupin’s heart wrapped around their fingers?”
[…]
This might actually be Regulus’ personal inferno.
They have been stuck driving on the same endless road for hours now; there are no road signs, no people, no trace of civilization for kilometers, and there are no clouds in the sky, which means the sun is hitting directly on top of the car roof, which also means that it’s hot as fuck. To top it all off, the leather of the seats is also getting warmer by the second.
“Can’t you turn on the AC?” Regulus snaps after a while.
Sirius sighs. “It’s broken. Sorry.”
Regulus huffs, more out of frustration than annoyance. Of course it’s broken; he is driving an old beater, a Fiat Ritmo Abarth— who even owns one of these anymore? Well, his brother, apparently.
He turns his head to stare out of the window as he has done until now, trying to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling of sweat slowly forming on his forehead. At least the wind is aggressive enough to dry it up almost instantly.
They have been in the car for two whole hours now; he doesn’t remember the way to Nisa₃ ever being this long, but he was a child then. It’s been too long since they went there for him to trust his memory of it.
Also, he is probably uncomfortable because of the entire situation. Let’s just say that child Regulus did not have to deal with the presence of a brother who showed up at his house only the night before, asking him (more like begging, to be honest) to come with him to their childhood summer house to restore their relationship after disappearing and going no contact with their family for a year.
Regulus groans at the thought of his parents waking up to find he had snuck out (for a whole summer). He is kind of glad that his phone is dead right now; he can deal with his mother later, after a shower, maybe in the evening, when it’s a little cooler and he is alone.
The silence between them is weird, though. Not awkward, because Regulus has never been chatty, and Sirius himself sometimes liked the quiet moments; it just… feels weird. It feels like hundreds of words are hanging inside the car, in the silence, and, well, of course they are. Regulus wants to tell him to fuck off; he wants to ask him where he has been, why he left his little brother behind, why he couldn’t wait just a little fucking longer so they could leave together. He wants to tell him how much it hurt him and how angry he is at times.
Did you start missing me only recently? No, fuck that.
“How are things going at school?” Sirius asks abruptly, breaking the intense silence— dissipating the tension just a little.
“I passed all my exams, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answers a little bitterly, because Sirius shouldn’t care and shouldn’t ask; it’s a little late for the whole caring, older brother act.
“I had no doubt about that.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“I meant with your friends,” he clarifies, a lot less aggressive than usual. By now, when Regulus starts getting bitchy, Sirius bites back, but he is probably on edge, wanting to make things right. As he should.
“They are fine. Barty got suspended only twice this year.”
“He is improving,” Sirius says, sounding mildly impressed. Regulus knows he isn’t; he doesn’t care.
“And Evan passed his exams too. Barely. But he did.”
“Good, that’s good.”
They fall into silence again. Small talk never works with those who are used to big talks.
A few minutes later, Regulus is sound asleep, lulled by the rhythm and tender sound of the song Sirius is listening to, Reunited by Peaches & Herb. His talent to fall asleep anywhere is one of his very few blessings. He dreams; he doesn’t remember what exactly, he just knows that he wakes up with his heart begging for mercy. Like always. He has the impression that only in his dreams does he understand himself.
“We’ve arrived, come on,” Sirius, the one who shook him awake, tells him, grabbing the bag that was at Regulus’ feet.
The younger brother sighs, getting out of the car and going to grab his backpack— the only thing he was able to hurriedly fill with clothes and other necessities with such short notice and little time to do so.
Regulus walks to the front of the house, since Sirius decided to park the car on the left side of it for some reason.
He looks up at Villa Black standing magnificently in front of him. Even though it’s not as big as he remembers, it’s still quite opulent. He notices the grass in front of the steps has been trimmed recently; he wonders if his brother told the housekeeper about their arrival. He then sees the small lemon trees near the polished mailbox where he and his brother used to put secret little notes for each other, because their mother never looked at it.
They go inside, separating as they get to the second floor, since both know where their respective bedrooms are. Regulus gets to his own and drops the backpack on the bed. He looks around to find it clean, tidy, and soulless, like everything their parents owned. Like everything in Regulus’ life has always looked.
“Reg.”
He turns around to find his brother standing at the doorway, a tired look on his face, which is understandable; he had been driving for almost eight hours.
“I’m gonna go talk to the housekeeper. Inform her we are here and whatnot, you know?”
Regulus simply nods. “I stopped at an autogrill₄ while you were sleeping; I bought sandwiches and candies. That will be our dinner for tonight. I’m gonna go grocery shopping tomorrow morning.”
Regulus nods again. Sirius sighs.
This is already going very well.
“See you later.”
Regulus lies down on his bed, facing the ceiling, and something inside him moves. Well, technically it doesn’t; no organ of his should be moving around inside his body, but as much as the situation is weird and slightly uncomfortable, it’s… nice. He likes Nisa, always has, and Sirius is his brother, and this is basically a vacation, right? He feels… anxious and good at the same time. That’s what’s moving inside him. That being said, he can feel the layers of hundreds of thoughts and feelings in his subconscious that he is not dealing with, and hopefully won’t for a while. The small part he is aware of is already giving him an aneurysm. He decides that he shouldn’t be overthinking on an empty stomach, so he goes downstairs to eat.
Sirius comes back twenty minutes later. Regulus finishes eating from the other side of the 3-meter polished glass table, so he stands up, but as he is leaving the dining room, Sirius stops him.
“Reg?”
“What?” he asks, turning only his head back, the rest of his body ready to flee.
“I’m glad you came.”
Sirius always hits him in the weakest points. That’s the dangerous part of having a brother, of having a soul connected to yours. They know— they always know.
[…]
James came back around noon so he could eat with his mother and his friends, because Remus and Peter never passed up the opportunity to eat Euphemia’s delicious food. That woman should be a chef, Peter often says at the dining table, to please her and because it’s true, which always earns a kiss on his cheek and an eye roll from James, the ever-jealous man.
They stayed in James’ room all afternoon, chatting and drinking soda. Euphemia is glad they aren’t big fans of drinking for no particular reason.
Around dinner time, Remus and Peter decide to go home, but as the latter is standing near James’ window, he freezes for a moment.
“James?” he asks, looking towards Villa Black.
“What?”
“I think they came back.”
James looks at his friend, confused, until realization hits him a second later. He stands up, rushing to the window himself to take a look, and as it turns out, the light of one of the bedrooms is on. James can see from there that there is a bed and a bedside table inside, but no one can be seen in it. He doesn’t really know what he is feeling; it’s just a house, it’s just a light that has been off for years.
“Weren’t they gone for like nine years?” Remus asks from behind them, much more uninterested in the whole ordeal.
“Yeah,” James answers distractedly, staring at the corner of the room, expecting someone to enter at any second.
“Well, whatever,” Peter says, fully standing now and going to get his jacket. “See you soon.”
They exit the room and James doesn’t even bother waving at them, too focused on the view from his window.
He wonders if the Villa was sold. There is no fancy car in front of it. How could he not notice someone had arrived? Are most of them gone for the evening? Are the brothers there? He has too many questions for someone who knew those people for such a short amount of time.
Three summers, to be exact. Three summers that tormented his childhood and teenage years.
He remembers clearly the September of the first summer they didn’t show up— James was distraught.
He always wondered if the skinny evil woman didn’t come back with the boys because James distracted them too much, because he taught them cuss words and convinced them to play in the mud.
After a few years, when he started accepting the fact he wasn’t going to see them again, he also came to the realization that he could not be such a bother to a rich family on such a large scale, especially not by having only three months a year to corrupt their children.
He runs downstairs, to the only person who has all the answers. “Mom!” James exclaims with urgency. He finds Euphemia washing the dishes. She looks up at her son, a little alarmed.
“What is it, Jamie?”
“The Blacks, the owners of the Villa: are they back?” he asks expectantly.
“Yeah.”
James’ heart skips a beat. Anticipation. He is feeling anticipation.
Notes:
₁ : Santal is an italian brand that produces juice in small and larger juice boxes, it doesn’t actually have that much sugar, but when I drank it as a child, I always got hyperactive lmao
₂ : It literally means grandma. It’s a funny joke because I always use it with my friends (and I’m hilarious). Grandmas wear long homely dresses here in the summer, or well, generally they dress very differently from parents and young people, but I suppose it’s like this in every country.
₃ : Apparently it’s a real city in Portugal, but I swear I made it up while I was writing. The events in this fic are NOT taking place in Portugal.
₄ : it’s an Italian multinational catering company that provides food for travelers, it can be found the most, specifically in highway exits.
Chapter 3: Of Lost Causes
Summary:
“Why are you staring? Do you want an autograph or something? I’ll do fan service later, I told you to leave already.”
Notes:
I’ve had a fever for a week now and, I don’t know, but it feels like the ao3 authors’ curse is starting.
Send help.
Also, completely unrelated, but I’ve been binge watching a casa mia studios on YT they are so good omg, I very much recommend!
Enjoy <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Regulus wakes up early, way too damn early for his own liking, but it is quite difficult for a city boy to adjust to the countryside and its sounds, he realizes.
One would presume that the city is just as loud, if not more, with the constant cacophony of people and cars, but a filthy rich city boy doesn’t necessarily have to worry about that. His parents’ penthouse, for example, is way too high up for the city to disrupt his peace.
Now, the bird sitting on the threshold of his bedroom window, chirping away his sleep, accompanied by the orchestra of crickets somewhere in the proximity of the house, are way too close not to bother him.
Regulus sits up in his bed with a sigh, immediately staring daggers at the incriminating pettirosso who woke him as soon as he spots it.
The staring contest lasts all of five seconds before Regulus decides to stand up and take a shower to wake up fully and wash away the disgusting sweat caused by the heat (and the lack of air conditioning).
He doesn’t try too hard to be quiet, knowing that Sirius can’t be woken up before eleven in the morning, no bombs nor hurricanes get him to open his eyes this early. He has been like this his whole life, so he doesn’t expect him to have changed in the year they have been apart.
Regulus doesn’t like it when his brain reminds him of that. He doesn’t like it when it thinks, in general. Somehow, it has been having difficulties forming any positive thought ever since he turned fourteen. His best friend Barty told him it’s normal, and that this condition is commonly referred to as “adolescence”.
After washing up and changing his clothes into something more comfortable and breezy, he sits at the dining table, where he eats a pack of M&M’s for breakfast, staring outside the window on the right side of the house, where he can clearly see the path from which they arrived yesterday.
One thing he loved about that house, as a child, was all the sunlight filtering through the windows. They used to live in a mansion too back in the city, at the time, one with very few apertures and a Victorian style that made his days constantly feel dull and numbing. He would have died of boredom without his brother there, pulling pranks on the babysitters, laughing a little too loudly, and causing ruckus after ruckus. That’s why whenever they stayed at Nisa for the summer, where there is no dark corner in the house, where the wind can get in to raffle your hair every now and then, and the sunlight kisses your cheek when you pass a window (depending on the time), Regulus felt like he was in heaven.
A couple of sudden knocks at the door interrupt his train of thoughts and memories. He chews slowly, looking at the door with his eyebrows furrowed— who could be knocking at a (former) abandoned house this early in the morning?
The knocking happens again, so Regulus stands up and decides to see for himself. He opens the door to find a chubby woman and, standing behind her, a— boy? The lemon boy. God, he doesn’t even remember his name but he remembers his stealing habits, a true example of Regulus Black’s bitterness. To be fair, he also remembers a lot of other instances where they interacted and no lemons were involved.
“Good morning, Mr Black. I’m Euphemia, I don’t know if you remember me—“ she starts, a soft smile on her face. She is holding a bucket of water in one hand and a cleaning product in the other.
“I do.” Regulus interrupts, clearing his throat.
She smiles a little more, “That’s good to hear, it was a nice surprise to see you two back.”
Regulus nods silently, looking down at her.
“Well, Sirius asked me to come and clean the house this morning. Since I wasn’t expecting you, the last time I did it was a few weeks ago, you’ll have to forgive me.”
Regulus nods again, but adds for good measure, “It’s okay.”
“Where is he? If I may ask.”
“In his bedroom, he is asleep.”
“Oh, that’s fine. We’ll be quiet, and I’ll leave the second floor as the last one to clean, so he has time to wake up.”
Regulus nods again, because really, what is he supposed to say? Euphemia looks up at him expectantly, and so does the boy behind her, even though calling him “boy” feels wrong with his tall and slightly broad appearance, not to mention the little stubble on his chin, in a Flynn Rider style. The grin he sports also reminds him of the Disney thief.
“Oh, right. Come in.” He says, stepping aside immediately, and they both enter the house, but the boy pointedly looks at him— only then Regulus notices he is also carrying a bucket and a couple more of cleaning products.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in the studio.” Regulus tells the woman, trying to have as little interaction with the other boy as possible, for some reason.
He goes upstairs, to the third floor, where his father’s studio is. He grabs his phone from his pocket to find several missed calls from his mother, at which he sighs. He has been avoiding this, but he guesses he should talk to her before she calls the police and files a report for a missing person.
He takes a deep breath, then presses the call button.
“Ma-”
“REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK, T’ES FOU OU QUOI?!” Regulus hisses, holding his phone away from his ear for a second.
“Je peux expliquer.”
“Je veux pas d’explications! Tu rentres à la maison, immédiatement, c’est clair?”
After a few beats of silence, in which Regulus counts his mother’s harsh breaths, he then answers cautiously, and quietly, “J’peux pas, maman.”
“Et pourquoi ça? Parle!”
“Je suis avec Sirius. On est à Nisa.”
“Non.” She says immediately.
“Maman.”
“Non! J’ai dit non! On vient te chercher.”
“Maman, Je rentre pas maintenant. On va bien, j’ai pris mes livres, j’ai aucune raison de rentrer et j’en ai pas envie, pas tout de suite en tout cas.” He says more firmly, maybe a little desperately, he knows because his mother stills on the other side of the call. Many seconds of silence pass between them, and he briefly feels like he is in a car with Sirius, except that this call will not last 7 hours. She knows Regulus is pleading. Regulus knows he is pleading, too. They both don’t know what to do with that.
After God knows how long, she speaks again, seething.
“Je ne vais pas perdre un autre fils à cause de cet imbécile. Tu as des responsabilités ici, un avenir à construire. Pour septembre, je veux que tu sois dans cette maison, sinon je viens te chercher moi-même et je te ramène de force.” She says finally, hanging up before Regulus could even process what was said. Well, that’s all he will get for now, which is a lot more than what he had expected.
[ . . . ]
James doesn’t know what he expected, honestly. He huffs, scrubbing the inside of the empty fridge of Villa Black, getting lost in his thoughts.
Regulus grew up the way he presumed, the way James imagined he would. He is still very pale and skinny, his facial features are still delicate and gentle (but a little more refined), in contrast to his gaze that had become icier, colder; but that was to be expected, he grew up, like we all do. James’ own gaze is probably different too.
His hair is a little curlier, probably a few inches longer than the last time James saw it. He carries himself gracefully, like he is unable to do otherwise. James can’t imagine him ever being any other way— again, even as a child, Regulus was a little prince. Even his voice, something he can’t change to his own liking, is velvety, silky, but he speaks with determination nonetheless; it makes you want to lay your head somewhere and ask him to tell you a story, close your eyes and let every pitch caress your ears.
He wonders how much Sirius changed, if at all.
James finishes cleaning the fridge, as his mother returns to the house— she had gone to get more cleaning products and tools. They are using all the supplies they have at home, so they should probably get some more in the next few days, especially if she planned to clean the house for the entirety of the Blacks’ stay.
He wonders how long that will be. Are they back for the whole summer like old times or are they here for a quick visit? He would have asked if Regulus had the decency to at least talk to him. But no, all he did was glance at him a couple of times, unphased, and discuss with his mother about the cleaning. It’s not like James is mad, he just feels… a little disappointed. He had waited years for the brothers to come back, to play with them, to be a pillar of their routine, to be the heart and the core of their lives. He doesn’t expect them to have felt the same, especially after so many years, but he would have liked something more than a glance.
“Jamie?” Euphemia calls from the living room, where James can hear her sweeping the floor.
“Yes?”
“Go ask Regulus if they know how long their stay will be, I need to know how thoroughly I’ll have to clean every week and which products I’ll be using. Oh, also, ask him if they need any home cooking services, I wouldn’t be mad if I had to cook for a few more heads.”
James smiled. He thinks, at times, that he and his mother have some sort of special connection that most children lack with their parents. Either that or Euphemia could simply read his mind, which he wouldn’t put past her, many times she had said just the perfect thing only she could come up with, and only he could need to hear it in that way.
“‘Course mom, I’m going.” He assures as he walks towards the stairs.
When he gets to the third floor, he has to look around for a second to identify the studio. Fortunately, there is only one door open, so he has no chance to get it wrong.
James smiles, resting his side to the frame of the door, crossing his arms to his chest.
“Hi Reggie.”
Regulus is sitting in the black leather chair of the work desk. He looks like that’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, the mahogany of the work desk and the library behind him suits his whole persona.
“Can I help you?” He asks. Again, with indifference. James’ smile cracks a little.
“Mom’s asking how long you’re staying and if you need her to cook for you while she’s at it.”
Regulus looks down for a second, before shrugging and assessing him again.
“I’m not sure. Sirius planned the whole thing. But we are probably leaving in early September. And yes, tell her we do need it, we will give extra compensation for the additional service, of course.”
“Alright.”
A second pass. Then two. Then a few more.
“Are you not going to tell her?” Regulus breaks the silence, looking confused.
“I will, but not right now.” James responds, still looking at Regulus with that little smile that is losing its spark due to the other boy’s demeanor.
“Well… shouldn’t you leave me alone anyways?”
His smile drops, and his heart sinks a little. What the fuck? Why is Regulus being like that? Obviously he had a mean streak even as a child, but back then it was kind of cute and especially not cold. It feels like James is the only one in the room talking to an old friend, while Regulus is just talking with a stranger whom he has never seen before.
“I don’t work for you.” James states, calmly, but his face gives away how offended he is.
Regulus raises an eyebrow at him, but James knows he’s right— he helps his mother clean sometimes, but in the contract she signed, his name is nowhere to be found.
“No, you don’t. Which means you have even less reasons to be here right now.” Regulus answers.
James can’t believe it. It’s like a statue of immense value is slowly crumbling at his feet. His silly dreams of being friends with Regulus and talking to him again are slowly distorting in his mind, his heart is beating a little fast, and with every pump of blood it pushes out a different memory he had preciously encapsulated of that little boy with blue eyes.
“You’re a proper asshole.” James spits.
“So I’ve been told.” Regulus replies, without missing a beat, with a glint in his eyes that James can only recognize as something similar to pleased, which throws James off a little bit, because who would be pleased to know they are “a proper asshole”. Regulus Black, apparently.
“Wait, what?”
“Wait, what?” Regulus mocks him, “I am an asshole, I can’t imagine why you would think differently. You don’t even know me.” Regulus observes, matter of factly, but James is still thrown off by this whole normalization of inconsiderate behavior. He is speechless.
“Why are you staring? Do you want an autograph or something? I’ll do fan service later, I told you to leave already.”
And James does, because he has nothing nice to say, or think, for that matter. He goes down the stairs almost as if he were in shock, which, to be fair, he probably is. Regulus Black is an experience, and James only found out about it today.
[ . . . ]
“Well, that was harsh.” Evan comments the second Regulus unmutes him on the call, but he can hear the smirk on his voice, the same way he can hear Barty laughing in the background, seemingly not near Evan.
“You know he can do much worse than that, love. Looks like he was holding back to me.” Barty adds to the conversation, still away from the phone.
Regulus rolls his eyes, “He entered my father’s studio calling me Reggie like we were best mates. I mean, what was I supposed to say? Besides, his smirk really annoyed me. Actually, I’d say it was creepy. God, he stressed me out in my own house.”
“Well anyways,” Evan cuts in quickly, “how is the whole big brother restoration going?”
But before Regulus could answer, Barty also adds (because of course he does, he hates Sirius more than anyone else), “I can’t believe you actually snuck out to stay with the bastard in the middle of nowhere for a whole summer. That’s why we can never leave you alone. If we had been awake we would have successfully deinfluenced you from going.” Which earns him a very enthusiastic eye roll from Regulus.
“I don’t know, it’s our first day here and he is still blissfully sleeping in his bed.” He answers Evan’s question first. “And fuck you, Barty. I like it here.”
“Yeah sure, I bet he didn't even hire a private chef.”
“I don’t think he would have had the money anyways. He drives a fucking Fiat Ritmo Abarth now.”
“What?! Who even owns one of those anymore?” Evan comments, horrified.
“That’s what I said!” Regulus shouts, feeling understood and just as much horrified. “I mean, he has never been the brightest, I’ll give him that, but what’s the point of running away if you’re going to live a miserable life anyways?”
“He is just stupid.” Evan agrees, munching on something. A few seconds pass before Barty has to make his presence known again.
“Anyways, don’t be too mean to the country boy, maybe you can get one to finally deflower you once and for all. What happens in Nisa stays in Nisa you kno—” Regulus hangs up and looks up to the ceiling, crossing his arms to his chest.
Very few seconds pass before the phone rings again.
“I’m sorry, okay? I was joking, it was just a joke.” Barty says, through laughter.
“I hate you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Evan dismisses his lie. “Look, just— don’t let Sirius get to your head. He has no right being all dramatic and shit now. If you feel good around him again and are ready to forgive him, do so, be happy. But don’t start doing shit just because he has a way into your heart.”
Sometimes, Regulus wonders if Barty is the problem. On his own, Evan seems to be very self actualized and wise at times, but when he spends too much time with his boyfriend, he becomes a total idiot.
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
“Reg.”
Regulus looks up again, towards the door, to find his brother still in his pajamas, standing on the threshold of the door. Regulus sighs quietly, “I’ll call you guys later.” Then he hangs up.
“Sorry, I think I overslept a little.” Sirius starts, with a lazy smile. “I was thinking of going grocery shopping back in town. Do you wanna tag along?”
Regulus usually wouldn’t go, to be honest, he doesn’t even want to now— it’s just fucking groceries and Sirius can handle that on his own, but he knows why Sirius looked for him first thing when he woke up. He knows that, morally, he doesn’t really have a choice.
“Yeah.”
“Great! I’m gonna go get dressed then. 30 minutes and I’ll be ready.”
Notes:
Pushing bitchy, nasty, sassy, sarcastic, cunty Regulus Black agenda onto y’all.
But also Jamie :( sorry baby. Idealization was not a good look on you anyways 3