Chapter 1: sugar water you served me (I want it back)
Chapter Text
3 years ago
As cliché as it sounds, it was raining the day he got out. He didn’t really pay it any mind, too busy sprinting through dimly lit streets, empty in the late hour, debating what the success rate of knocking on random doors to use their telephone is, but the chances of them calling the cops because a 17 year old shows up to their door in the middle of the night bloody and beat are too high.
Turning around the next corner, paranoia blaring in his head, he glanced over his shoulder for the nth time even though he lost the shouts of his chasers suburbs ago. Heavy breaths that are seconds away from turning into a full blown panic attack, his heart stumbles when he sees a pay phone on the corner of the next street. If his face didn’t ache all over and his throat didn’t feel like gravel, he would have laughed, more on the side of hysteric.
This is what he was looking for, with shaky hands, chattering teeth and an aching heart he flings open the door to the booth, cold and drenched. It’s not any warmer but the absence of pelting rain reduces the panic, but only slightly. He’ll take whatever mercies he can get. Fumbling at his cargo pants for the coins he managed to stash in his pockets before this whole thing happened, and slides them into the slot.
Dialling the number that he’s memorised since he was 10 years old, blood rushing through his ears, he holds his breath.
After an indescribable amount of time, could have been seconds or hours, a dial clicks indicating someone picked up the phone, and his heart stutters.
“Hello?”
It’s him. He would recognise that voice anywhere, even when it sounds like they just woke up, the greeting gravelly and thick with sleep
Regulus doesn’t remember how to breathe.
A throat clears before the voice repeats himself and panic claws up his throat, he feels like throwing up.
“Sirius,” He breathes out, the words stuttering out his chest, more reflex than anything.
The voice on the other side of the line inhales sharply. Regulus knows his brother, and Sirius knows him, a consequence of growing up in the same house, the same room, the same family, for 15 years. Sirius knows it’s him calling.
That’s why Regulus drops the phone, bends over gasping for the oxygen he is severely lacking, feeling like his heart was torn from his body and left bleeding on the floor, when Sirius hangs up.
Chapter 2: transport, motorways and tramlines
Summary:
“Reg?” A hoarse, almost whisper speaks and Regulus' head snaps up because he knows that voice.
Suddenly he is 10 again, seated at the dining room table, feet swinging under the stable, with his brother sitting opposite, cheeks stinging with sunburn but a smile that stretches his face.
He’s 15, watching his brother stumble down the driveway, eyes panicked and erratic, getting closer to a freedom they only dreamed of, but further away from the brother he discarded and left behind. Duffle bag in hand, Regulus remembers only getting a glimpse of his tear stained face as he turned back for a last glance, his own tears blurring his vision, before his older brother is swallowed into the night.
He’s 20, and he’s at the bar he works at, his childhood and all the ghost that come with it long gone, gazing into his brother’s wide and hazel eyes after never believing he would see them again, not after the night he left, taking not only Regulus' brother away, but half his heart too.
Chapter Text
3 and a half years later
Regulus was born bitter. A temper that flares and ignites at the smallest spark. Remus calls him anti-people, but Regulus sees the alarming about of missed messages on his friends phone, with no intention to text them back.
Pot, kettle, black.
But today, his pure hatred isn’t towards idiot of the week, it’s on past him. See, past Regulus was ungrateful. 4 weeks ago was his and Remus’s first shift at the local university bar “Lee’s”, and it had been slow. Painstakingly, eye gorging, i-would-take-being-poor-and-homeless-again-instead-of-this slow.
All the university students were either off to Europe, getting so drunk that they’ll forget the whole trip anyways, or, the ones who actually had healthy relationships with their parents will visit home for the summer.
But not Regulus and Remus, they needed the work due to their not ideal financial position.
(Remus liked to call it “vicariously living through the fear of homelessness”)
(Believe or not, he was the optimist of the two).
On the account of them having 1) no relationship with their shitty family and 2) no funds outside those needed to pay for rent and food, their summer before their first semester of attending Hogwarts University was spent waiting tables.
The campus is located about a 20 minute train ride from a busy town that’s more like a city with it’s sheer size, That’s where the popular clubs are and bands play, with the students visiting on weekends for a break from the crushing weight of academia. That whole area is called Big H, which when Regulus first heard he realised how white this place was going to be.
(And boy was he right.)
Surrounding the suburb sized campus of Hogwarts Uni, was a more spread out, less commuted by tourist and everyday citizens of Hogwarts, which was named respectively, Little H.
The sole purpose of Little H revolves around the tired and hungover students during the semester, with the only people who actually come to the bars, cafes or any other establishment during off season were the old men with nothing better than to relive their “glory days” at Hogwarts where they most definitely peaked in life, or the eager year 12s who took the tour of the Uni during the day to see if it’s “fit for their future”, to gush to each other how smart and wealthy they all were and whose grandad knows whose before they all combust due to their combined superiority.
(Believe it or not Regulus didn’t take the tour)
But tonight, it was the Friday before term begins, and while Regulus knew there would be a bigger crowd, he wasn’t expecting everyone and their mother to be there.
So here he was, 9pm, 4 hours into his shift with not an end in sight, and he’s already had 3 different drinks accidentally spilled on him, making him sticky and irritated. If one more person asks if they do karaoke he will not be responsible for how he reacts.
His co-workers feel the same.
Regulus finished handing back two freshly 18 year old girls their cocktails, and breathes a sigh of relief from behind the bar as they leave. A hand brushes through his not-mullet nervously, already feeling how the stuffiness of the bar has flattened his curls slightly.
It’s been a reoccurring argument between Remus and Regulus since he got the haircut, on whether it qualifies to be a mullet. At this point, Regulus does agree that it kind of is, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to tell his best friend he’s right.
He looks off into the venue, It’s not a big space, but he can’t see the back booths from where he’s standing due to the sheer amount of people dancing and standing around chatting. The dark lighting makes it more bearable most of the time, except nights like these when it causes everyone to become a little less spatially aware.
Someone comes up next to him behind the bar briefly brushing against his shoulder, leaning their back against the counter and staring at the array of alcohol lined on the shelves behind the bar. From the glare they emit, it looks like the alcohol did something that personally offended him.
Regulus wipes down the top of the counter in the brief interlude when there’s no one waiting in line, comfortable in the silence of the other.
There’s a beat before a groan sounds next to him,
“Table 12 should be studied for science” Remus mumbles loud enough for the other to make out, and Regulus gives a snort before turning his face towards the other.
Remus had on his apron, baggy jeans and embroidered shirt with their logo, like all the workers here, but that’s where their similarities end. Where Remus is taller than the normal male their age, Regulus is average height, with dark curly hair, different to the sandy waves Remus has. Regulus ’s skin is also tanner, with his parents being from Mexico, whereas Remus’s background is good old Irish. Piercings litter Regulus' ear and one small hoop on his nose, as well as tattoos seen peeking out from under his clothes.
They’re in every sense opposites, black cat and golden retriever, but it works.
Remus nervously pats down his hair, a self conscious tick he’s developed since going to the cheapest barber they could afford who cut it shorter than he liked. His already pale complexion looks more ill than normal, but Regulus doesn’t comment.
Sometimes asking someone if they’re okay will make them think they're acting not okay, and send them spiralling to end up being worse then they were.
“Is that the one with the woman in the...”
“Bright yellow shorts” Remus finishes, sounding personally offended. Regulus turns to him, and sees the other man massaging his temple, he winces in sympathy all to familiar with the others migraine condition.
But he knows better than to ask if he needed meds or a break, Remus is as stubborn as he is tall.
“One of the guys asked me if the beer was vegan friendly” Regulus offered, trying to distract him, and Remus gave an amused quirk of his mouth through shut eyes. “Nothing says badass more than vegan beer.”
Before Remus could reply, a loud slam of a tray next to the two cause them to startle, turning twin glares at the culprit. An unimpressed red head whose once neat bun was now one shake from falling out glares at them.
“Get off your arses, we are swamped.” she snaps. Anyone else Regulus would of ignored just out of spite, something Remus says comes from having trouble with authority figured (But what does Remus know).
But it’s Mary, and even though they’ve only known each other for a few months now, both new hires with Mary in her second year of schooling, when she says jump, you ask how high.
“Neither of us are sitting” Remus mumbles dryly, and Mary hits him on the arm with her note pad.
Remus looks absolutely miserable, dark eye bags accompanying his pathetic kicked puppy demeanour, and even though it will cause Regulus to develop a headache of his own, he sighs and shoves the dish towel into the taller mans arms.
“I’ll take the floor for a bit.” directed at Remus, impassive and unphased, how it always is, before turning to the other. "Where do you need me?”
Remus gives a tired but relieved smile, mumbling a Thanks Reg while placing a hand briefly on his shoulder and squeezing, before turning to serve the new line of customers who don’t look impressed that they needed to wait an extra twenty seconds for a drink.
Mary blows a strand of hair out of her face and then nods. Her pale skin is flushed because of what he’s sure is stress and the heat of the place, freckles more prominent, and she rearranges her septum piercing, which has gotten wonky in her time away from the bar.
“There’s not really a system, just clean up as fast as you can and take any food orders they have.” She gestures to the back of the room while walking behind Regulus to pass the tray of dirty glasses to the dishwasher through the gap in the wall that connects to the kitchen. Tonight has been different to other nights, with multiple co workers calling off sick (which they all know is an excuse when really they’re enjoying their last weekend of freedom), normally there would be a stricter flow to it all, but now it’s turned into “clean, serve, and try not to start any bar fights”.
Oblivious to his internal monologue, Mary continues, hands flapping around, gesturing erratically with her words.
“You could start with booth 7, I know them from Hogwarts, they’re nice guys who actually respect waitstaff, believe of not.”
Regulus snorts and nods, never been one to talk when it can be avoided, and Mary knows him well enough to not mistake his silence for disrespect. He takes the notepad Mary was holding out before heading off through the thick crowd, the smell of booze and sweat making him feel slightly sick.
————————————————————————
Regulus grabs an empty tray from a table left by either Mary or Remus and heads to the direction of the booths at the back. Eyes raking over the crowd, surveying to see if anyone was too drunk that would cause trouble, however tonight seemed like one of those rare nights where people weren’t acting like entitled brats.
He has the brief thought that he should probably stop calling them brats or any other adjective he’s said with Remus, as soon they’ll be his classmates. He looks to the right as he moves and sees two young customers passionately making out like they’re 16 again in the high school hallways. Yeah, Regulus shivers at that thought.
He brushes through his hair one more time as he comes to a stop in-front of the booth, and sets down the tray softly to limit his intrusion in whatever conversation is happened. He starts collecting the empty bottles and glasses methodically, trying hard not to cringe when warm beer drips onto his hands.
He gives a small nod when someone at the table mutters cheers but continues to avoid making eye contact at those seated, about to make an exit when there’s a brief lull in the conversation, followed by a sharp inhale in front of him.
“Reg?”
A hoarse, almost whisper speaks and Regulus' head snaps up because he knows that voice.
Suddenly he is 10 again, seated at the dining room table, feet swinging under the stable, with his brother sitting opposite, cheeks stinging with sunburn but a smile that stretches his face.
He’s 15, watching his brother stumble down the driveway, eyes panicked and erratic, getting closer to a freedom they only dreamed of, but further away from the brother he discarded and left behind. Duffle bag in hand, Regulus remembers only getting a glimpse of his tear stained face as he turned back for a last glance, his own tears blurring his vision, before his older brother is swallowed into the night.
He’s 20, and he’s at the bar he works at, his childhood and all the ghost that come with it long gone, gazing into his brother’s wide and hazel eyes after never believing he would see them again, not after the night he left, taking not only Regulus' brother away, but half his heart too.
He releases a shaky breath and takes in the table, 3 other people sit with his brother, unfamiliar except one but he ignores the face from his past. The two strangers share identical confused glances but half genuine smiles. He then pulls his eyes back on the ghost.
He gives him a nod, and, stronger than he actually feels, speaks.
“Sirius.”
The confirmation causes his brother’s face to go through a whole range of emotions, before settling on something like awe.
His brother looks the same, is the ridiculous thing. He wears a similar stupid leather jacket to the one he loved growing up, with long curly hair that reaches his shoulders.
Regulus internally flinches at the distant memory that clicks in his head, fuzzy as they are now days, of Sirius crying when their mother made him cut it. He remembers wondering why was it his brother was more upset about the hair than the broken arm that accompanied it. Regulus gets it now.
Sirius had tattoos as well, all up his arm, and some peaking from under his neckline. But overall, he looks just older, but happier. He looks like Sirius.
His brother must of been doing the same cataloguing of Regulus as his eyes come back up from where he was looking at the dagger tattoo on Regulus' biceps, with curiosity.
Regulus knows he doesn’t look the same. No longer is he that scrawny, malnourished looking kid he left. A steady diet let him build actual muscle, with his boyish looks lost to make way for sharp cheekbones that make him look more grown up than he is. Hair grown longer than he was allowed at home, made Regulus feel more comfortable in his appearance, and less like he wanted to tear off his skin for a while and just breathe.
There were some changes that made Regulus nervous for his brother to see. A scar that cuts through his eyebrow vertically, not too big but enough to draw attention, which he hates as most people go from the scar to his skin and assumes he was in a gang or spent his teen age years fighting anyone who breathed at him funny.
Instead, the real reason is much more depressing, he was a human punching bag for a period of time. The scar is accompanied with tired but hard eyes, all left from the shit show that was the past 5 years
“God Elly, you’re all grown up.” A small smile on his face.
Irritation rises in Regulus's throat at the nickname he has no right to use, and the implication that Sirius expected him to stay the same naïve 15 year old boy that he left.
Regulus gives him a flat look.
“5 years is a long time.”
That causes Sirius' smile to fade and a flash of guilt flickers across his face, Regulus feels a sense of triumph, like he’s winning a game they’re both playing of who can break first. The older of the two swallows slowly before replying quietly.
“Yeah it is.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence before Sirius speaks up again, and Regulus finds some familiarity in his nervous tick to always fill awkward silence.
“Are you a student at Hogwarts? I haven’t seen you around.”
Regulus grits his teeth, not wanting to tell him a damn thing, but knows that the sooner this conversation is over the better. “I start my first semester on Monday” he says, tone clipped and disinterested, but his heart is beating erratically. He thinks he must look awkward, standing there in front of his brothers mates, hands fiddling with one of the many rings he wears.
Sirius nods and gives a tense laugh.” I’m surprised the witch let you leave town for college.” The witch is of course, a heartfelt reference to the nickname both of them came up for their mother when they were 8 and 10. Not the most creative, but accurate.
Regulus rolls his eyes while crossing his arms, “She didn’t, haven’t seen her since I was 16.” And, like an after thought, he leans forward and grabs two of Sirius' glasses harder than necessary.
“And don’t call me Elly.”
Sirius’s eyes go noticeably wider and he looks a mix of shock at the second statement and pride at the first. Regulus wants to slap it right off his face.
“Surprise, I actually am capable of individual thought.” He snaps out.
He’s referencing one of the last conversations him and his brother had before Sirius ran away, where they had a screaming match about how Regulus was an “evil clone” (Sirius' words) of their mother which Regulus shouted back that at least he wasn’t an “ignorant hot head with no common sense. “
He doesn’t remember what started the fight.
Before either two can say anything, Regulus feels a hand on his shoulder and he flinches slightly, but relaxes when he sees it’s just Remus, eyes concerned and jaw tight. He’s not surprised Remus knew he felt like a trapped animal, sometimes the other knew how Regulus was feeling before he realised.
“Everything alright?”
Regulus gives a small laugh, shocking for someone stoic constantly, and so fake that he saw Sirius cringe out the corner of his eye. If his brother thought that this was going to be some jolly happy reunion, he was dumber than Regulus thought.
“All good.” He turns, pasting on a bitter smile and gesturing towards the man of the hour. “Hey, perfect timing! Remus meet my brother, Sirius.” He spits out his brothers name, who goes slightly red under the gaze of Remus.
Remus’s eyes narrow dangerously at his brother. The only person who knows about all the trauma and shit Regulus has been through is Remus. It took nearly a full year to get the whole, unfiltered, story out, in many breakdowns and fits of rage, but from that day on Remus has been president of the “I hate Sirius Black” club.
Always one to be dramatic, Remus waits a second too long that it’s awkward before replying, “I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you but my Ma told me never to lie”.
The man besides Sirius chokes on his sip of beer and Regulus feels the slightest bit better. Sirius looks lost for words, but is saved by the ringtone of his phone. From where it sits screen up on the table, the large caller name is clear, and says “Mom”.
Regulus feels bitter resentment at that implication, that his brother up and left to some other better family. The family of the face he’s ignoring that sits next to his brother, coughing into his arm after his ill timed inhale.
Sirius looks torn between taking it and keeping his eyes on Regulus, and so Regulus makes the decision for him.
“I’ll let you take that” he says with fake cheer knowing that this is his chance to leave, so he gathers the last of the glasses and bottles on the table onto his tray before leaning in towards his brother as he reaches for the last bottle that sits right in front of him. He’s standing so he looms over, close enough that he can see the mascara his brother is wearing and to smell the body spray, one that is different from what he used growing up. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want to be reminded of his childhood, but at the same time a wave of grief washes over him. This only fuels Regulus with more fire, so he meets his brothers eyes, glaring.
“Here’s a tip, on the house, for you brother dearest” he sneers at him, the ringtone still playing, “Do try your hardest not to hang up on them.”
Sirius eyes widen in recognition, confirming that he did know it was his little brother calling that night, causing Regulus to feel queasy, but he keeps going.
“Apparently people hate when others do that.” And with that, he turns and heads back to the bar as Remus falls into step beside him. This time he gets to leave.
Chapter 3: bang it, bite it, bruise it
Summary:
"Sirius was the sun, and Regulus was a star, outshone forever. He is the star that you see lying in your garden that no one knows is dead already, and what we actually see is an illusion warped by time and light. Most days Regulus feels like that, not knowing if he’s real or fake, dead or alive."
Notes:
chapter title song: i want you to love me by fiona apple
Chapter Text
“Reg.”
Ignoring Remus he weaves around the customers, putting the tray with glasses on a random empty table, and slams the side door open, hands fumbling for the cigarette pack in his jeans. With jerky movements, he takes one out and pulls out his lighter, shaking hands failing to light it.
“Reg." Softer this time, before hands take the cigarette and lighter from his own. A flash of annoyance crosses Regulus s face, but now that he’s not frantically trying to light it he realises his chest aches and his breath is coming out in short bursts.
“Regulus you need to breathe” A harder tone now, but reassuring hands appear and rub his back in circles. He tries to snap back no shit sherlock, but he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs.
He places his hands on his knees, matching his breathing with the slow rubs on his bad, and after either a minute or an hour, the panic retreats and his breaths begins to even out,
“Sorry… just” He pants and makes some gesture that doesn’t make sense with his hands, but Remus hums in understanding. “Take all the time you need, I’m here.”
That’s how Mary finds them, she looks ready to bring hell but stops when she sees her co worker calming down from a panic attack. With one hand holding the door open, filling the silent air with the laughter and music from inside the bar, she attempts a neutral face that fails to conceal all her concern.
“Alright?”
She aims it more at Remus, as Regulus is now sitting on the ground with his back against the wall and head tilted to the sky, cigarette discarded on the floor which he mourns momentarily.
Remus regards him for a moment before turning back to their co-worker. “Fine Mary,” he hesitates before dropping his voice quieter like Regulus isn’t there.
“Regs not feeling well, he might head on back home soon”
Irritation, familiar and burdening, flutters in his chest. He scoffs, “Reg, is right here, and I’m fine.” Remus rolls his eyes from where he stands towering over his friend, and crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed
“You were two seconds away from passing out due to a lack of oxygen, mate”
It’s Regulus' turn to roll his eyes as he pushes himself up off the floor, ignoring Remus’s hand that he sticks out to help. He dusts off the dirt that attached itself to his arse and meets Remus’s gaze, hands making a dramatic sweeping motion from the top of his body to his toes.
“I’m fine asshole, no need to be dramatic.” He then turns to his other, kinder coworker. “It was just an asthma attack, too crowded in there, you know?”
There’s a snort from the man in front of his.
“You don’t have asthma.”
Regulus moves towards the door, muttering I could have asthma but otherwise ignores the other man, lightly body checking his shoulder as he moves towards Mary, observing from her perch, and its only because Regulus has spent his whole life reading people’s micro expressions that he can see she’s trying to not show how relieved she is that she won’t be down another employee on a night like tonight.
An hand grabs his arm before he can meet her though, and he turns to meet the hard gaze of Remus, reserved for when he’s in a no bullshit mood.
“You don’t owe him anythin- no don’t give me that look” his voice goes harder, accompanied by a scowl, because of Regulus' scrunched up face in disgust at the amount of emotion that was coming from his best mates mouth.
Growing up in a household where emotions were frowned upon, and conflicts were sorted by arguments with verbal daggers, it was fair to say that Regulus did not deal well with actual deep conversations, something Remus has been trying to weed out of him since they’ve met. While Regulus has been grateful, as he has become less stoic, self obsessed and stubborn, he regrets it on days like this.
Remus leans in closer, their noses inches apart. “You don’t always have to be okay, especially with things dealing with him.”
‘Him’ is said which such conviction and hatred that Regulus is half stunned into silence. It will never not surprise him when he has someone in his corner.
Regulus swallows slowly, his eyes losing their stubbornness from before, becoming more raw and open.
“I know.” Barely a whisper, and Regulus has a fleeting thought on how weird this must look to Mary, they’re foreheads nearly touching, but he continues.
“For one of the rare times in my life, I’m proud of myself for what i’m doing.” Regulus says it more like a plead, praying that Remus can understand the depth of what he’s saying.
Regulus has so much grief he’s drowning it in every day. Constantly treading water is exhausting, and he’s been doing it for 18 of his 20 years. He isn’t proud of who he was, or what he’s done, and his brother is a walking reminder of that. Someone who’s cooler, better, funnier, it’s been like that since the day he was born.
Sirius was the sun, and Regulus was a star, outshone forever. He is the star that you see lying in your garden that no one knows is dead already, and what we see is an illusion warped by time and light. Most days Regulus feels like that, not knowing if he’s real or fake, dead or alive.
Sirius never had that problem, people gravitated towards him like a moth to the flame, always wanting more and more and more, because who cares about the weirder version of Sirius, who doesn’t talk enough and prefers a book to human company.
He turns his attention back to man in front of him. Light hazels eyes flick rapidly, like Remus is scanning for a sign to give him any clue of what’s going on in the star in front of him. Regulus breaths deep and hurt.
“I'm not going to let him take this from me. It is mine” he brings his hand up and points a finger, bringing it hard to his chest, pointing at his heart. He worked too damn hard to get here, pulled himself up from literal rock bottom and got himself a steady job, a shot at a college degree, all by working his arse off.
“Mine” he repeats, almost like a promise to himself. Remus stares for a beat more, and Regulus tunes back into his surroundings. There’s no noise from inside anymore, Mary must of gone back to the bar to give them some desperately needed privacy due to their, in Regulus' opinion, embarrassing display of emotion. The cold nips at his nose and ears but he doesn’t mind it, better than the red hot anger that thumps to his chest, an old friend.
“Okay,” Remus states, removing his hands from the other, Regulus realising just now that they moved from his arm to his shoulders. “I trust you”
That causes Regulus to turn his head away at the embarrassing array of emotions that flickers across his face at that comment, and pushes it down with all the other repressed things about his life.
Remus starts walking, one final exhale in the cool air before opening the side door and stepping into the warm heat of the bar. Regulus waits two seconds to fix his face, his mind, his heart, before following in after.
————————————————————————
Regulus heads straight to behind the bar, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it in one desperate gulp. Remus trails in, still cautious like following a lost baby animal, that could spook and run at any moment. Regulus can feel his temper being shorter and shorter by the second, and knows that what he needs right now is to be away from the mob that is the bar floor, safe behind the bar top that separates him and them.
“Can I take the bar, Mary?” he asks, tucking a dishtowel in his pants before turning, hesitating slightly when he makes eye contact with the woman in front of him. She has a guilty look in her eye, and shares a glance with Remus that Regulus can’t decipher. “What” he asks tonelessly.
Remus is the one to break the silence, his face flickering through emotions, like he’s trying to figure out the best way to say whatever secret conversation is going on between the two.
“Are you sure working the bar is best for you right now?”
Ah, that’s what it is. The distrust stings, and Regulus would’ve been much angrier if he wasn’t so damn done with this day.
He shoves Remus and his stupidly worried face out of the way of the till, and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that a customer will arrive and distract them all. God doesn’t listen, not for the first time and certainly not the last.
He turns, putting on his best ‘I have my shit together face'.
“I am not going to break my 2 years of sobriety for that disgusting excuse for a human being.” He harshly spits out, but winces at the resulting guilt that flashes across Remus’s face, so he gives a heavy sigh and meets his friend’s gaze, giving a small smile.
“Trust me? I’m not going to down a bottle of tequila when you’re not looking.” Remus gives a small bark of a laugh, nods, and leans forward to squeeze his hand before taking a tray and heading for the floor. With one down and one more to go, Regulus then turns towards Mary, raising an eyebrow.
Her eyes go soft. “We do trust you, you know that?”
He feels a faint blush on his cheeks and bows his head in embarrassment. Warmth blooms in his chest, something that even though it’s been occurring more and more with Remus in his life, is still unfamiliar. He sees Mary leave out the corner of his eye, and he leans with his back against the bar, closing his eyes and taking one more deep breath.
A throat clears from behind the till and he turns quickly, just hiding the flinch from the unexpected noise. When he turns, he’s met with the other ghost from his past that he was happy to ignore, but fate is cruel like that.
Dark eyes hidden behind wide glasses frames and smooth brown skin greet him, with a small, hesitant smile.
“You’re fucking kidding me” is what comes out of Regulus' mouth, turning an unamused stare to the man in front of him.
James Potter, Sirius' best friend since he was 10, and Regulus' least person to ever walk this fucking planet. James and his golden retriever energy, his stupid perfect curly hair and who was an unapologetic brother stealer.
See, James was the one who encouraged Sirius to leave home, told him that what was happening in his house was wrong, and caused Regulus brother to run away straight into the arms of his new family, trading Regulus in for a newer, less messed up model.
James, who Regulus may have had a small, minuscular, all encompassing crush on up until that point.
James who now stands in front of him, sheepish shy smile, bringing a small hand up in a wave.
Fuck my fucking life.
FandomsHaveKilledMe on Chapter 3 Sat 23 Aug 2025 09:38PM UTC
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shin_yakumi on Chapter 3 Sun 24 Aug 2025 01:00AM UTC
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