Chapter Text
Regulus Arcturus Black had always been good at disappearing.
At home, it was an act of survival, his quiet voice, straight posture, polished shoes and what he hoped where the right answers. It meant staying out of the way when Sirius caused mayhem, nodding along and following every rule to the t.
In public, it had become an instinct, in the way his eyes kept staring down at the pavement, bag clutched tight to his chest, headphones in even if they weren’t playing anything.
People just didn’t ask questions if you looked like you knew where you were going.
He hadn’t really had a plan when he left the House of Horrors two weeks ago. He simply grabbed a old backpack bag stuffed it with clothes, the emergency cash Sirius had once slipped him “just in case,” and cursed out his body that wasn’t supposed to fucking betray him like this.
He remembered walking around a bit, desperately convincing himself not to just walk right back.
Having been born and raised filthy rich the idea of a night on the streets seemed like madness.
He knew people in the area sure, Barty, Evan and worse the Potters, but the thought of facing them made him feel sick well more so. Plus Barty's dad would never take Regulus in and Evans parents would send him straight back home.
And the Potters? Well they had Sirius. They'd helped Regulus enough by keeping his brother safe. What they didn't need was a trans 15 year old knocked up with their grandchild.
So he hit the shelters for a few nights. Then slept over Barty's whilst his dad was away on business for a few more. And of course he told no one of his shameful little secret.
And now Regulus leaned against the freezing window of the night bus, blinking past the flickering overhead lights and the nausea curling like smoke in his stomach.
Nerves, he had told himself before he ran. Maybe bad takeaway. Except nerves didn’t last for three weeks straight, and bad takeaway didn’t come with sore chest muscles and a missed period.
He didn’t really need a test. He already knew. But it didn't stop him from doing one all those nights ago in his bathroom.
Which was stupidly unfair, really. He hadn't signed up for any of this. Not the gender dysphoria, not the broken family, and definitely not the whole “congratulations, you’re having a baby when your basically a baby yourself” twist life had lobbed at him without so much as a fucking warning.
And sure maybe having drunk sex wasn't the smartest idea. But the key word is drunk. Smart went out the window.
The bus jerked to a stop, and Regulus caught his balance before grabbing his bag and stepping out into the thick sleet.
He pulled the hood of his oversized hoodie tighter around his face, trying to disappear again. It was easier at night. People didn’t look too closely at others on street corners when it was dark and raining, he was just another person.
Another person hoping that some person would show him some kindness.
He tapped the code into the buzz box of a grotty council flat in Sydenham, wiping his wet fingers on his jeans. A long pause. Then a buzz, and the door clicked open.
“I brought crisps,” Regulus muttered when the girl opened the door, holding up the crumpled bag of salt and vinegar like a peace offering.
His last hope.
And there like his saving grace was Mia Moretti.
Mia was two years older, dyed pink hair, piercings like she’d won them in a contest. She’d been in his after school art class once, before dropping out. They'd gotten along he's thought, and she was fiercely independent with a flat to herself so Regulus figured it was worth a try.
Regulus wasn’t sure if she considered him a friend or just felt bad for him, but she'd given him a place to crash before, those years ago and he wasn’t about to look a gift sofa in the mouth.
She gave him a once-over and stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.
“You look like shit.” She deadpanned running her eyes back over him as if searching for something.
“Thanks,” he said flatly, wiping his shoes on the scratchy mat before stepping inside. “I was going for ‘homeless but hot"
She tossed him a towel, the slightest smirk on her face. “You’re absolutely dripping. Dry off before you get the couch wet. And for the love of god don’t eat all the crisps this time.”
The couch creaked under his weight like it remembered him, and he remembered it too. He curled up into the familiar shape he’d made of himself, knees to chest though one hand strayed to his stomach even though he hated that he was doing it.
He hadn’t told anyone yet. Not Mia. Not the clinic. And definitely not Sirius, who would either go full big brother mode on him or refuse to help and claim it was the karma Regulus deserved for never helping him.
Because Sirius Orion Black had never quite understood the complex nuances of Regulus's signature quiet survival.
Nope. He instead opted for a storm of teenage rebellion. He’d smashed his way out of the Black household in a Molotov cocktail of rage and eyeliner, all middle fingers and punk bands and “fuck yous.”
Regulus wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t strong like Sirius.
He turned his face toward the back cushion and shut his eyes. He couldn’t think about what was growing inside him. He couldn’t think about what came next.
Not yet.
Tomorrow, maybe. He’d find a clinic. Figure out his options. Maybe even get a real bed for the night. But for now, he let the hiss of the old radiator and the static buzz of the telly lull him somewhere not quite safe, but quiet.
Temporary.
Just like him.
(Btw I suck at timelines so in my mind they hooked up late December, his last period was mid December, symptoms arrived mid Jan and it's late January now. If that makes sense? And James is 16, 17 march 27th but to keep the ages similar and obviously legal I'm making regs birthday April sometime.)