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Dear James,
It was strange seeing you again. You still looked the same, of course you did. Those gorgeous eyes never change, the shine in them the same as the days we had together, as bright as ever. Your hair is still a mess, never to be tamed, and you still had that dopy, lovesick look on your face, the look I saw time and time again. The look I love oh so much.
Except this time it wasn't directed at me.
The only thing that had changed was who your arm was around. Instead of it round me, in private, in places only we could see, it was round Lily Evans. You said you didn't love her anymore. What happened James?
I suppose I can't blame you. You always deserved someone right for you, someone better, someone you could be with publicly. Someone good. We never looked right next to each other, we both knew it, just too stubborn to acknowledge it. Maybe that would have saved some heartbreak.
Did the breakup even hurt you?
I know you weren't expecting to see me. We were introduced by a friend of a friend after all, at that stupid party that I knew I shouldn't be attending, because when do I ever do parties? There was no reason for this acquaintance to assume our history, but at that moment I felt as if they saw right through me. All of a sudden I was back to the kisses in broom cupboards, secret glances, hiding from the world. Hiding from ourselves.
I knew when you recognised me. You straightened up, removed your arm from around Her as if I hadn’t seen. We both knew I had, your attempts were futile. I appreciated them nevertheless. Thank you. I wish I had the words to say that when I saw this; but the mere sight of you left me without words, as it always did.
Your smile, even if it was aimed at this mutual friend, left me breathless. The words you muttered, ‘I think we’ve met before’, startled me to the bone. I was happy to pretend we had never met, James, I don't know why you said that. Was it to make up for all the missed opportunities in our youth?
I’m glad you did though.
Our conversation, even if it was slightly awkward, was all I never knew I needed. Oh how I missed you.
You smoke now. That’s new; smoking was always something you berated me for doing, I guess this new relationship is causing you stress, or perhaps it was something that helped you through our breakup.
I hope the taste of every cigarette reminds you of me.
Being in the smoking area with you was a scene that brought me right back to the four years we were together. And, of course, as soon as we stepped outside it started to pour. The universe decided to remind us of all the times we kissed in the rain outside a party, me with a cigarette in hand, you with a smile.
You lit your cigarette with trembling hands before offering to light mine too. Of course I agreed, I would be stupid not to. The proximity of your hands to my lips warmed me to my bones. It was as if before that I had never been warm, ever.
I offered for you to come to mine, to pick up the last of your belongings that had been left those two years ago: the jumper that no longer smelt of you, the teddy you gave me ‘for when I missed you’ (I had to get a friend to hide it from me. I couldn't sleep without it.), a blanket your mum had made us, trinkets that got missed in the packing. You agreed.
We both knew it was a bad idea. And yet still we hailed a taxi, travelling in silence, the faint scent of tobacco and beer radiating from us.
You didn’t tell Her where you went, instead leaving her at the party, with people she didn’t know. Did you ever consider that was a bad idea? That she may grow to resent you for doing this? Or did you believe that it wouldn't matter, that going back to your exes flat, alone, would be fine? That it's a perfectly normal thing to happen?
You never do think, do you? I think that is your fatal flaw; you never expect your actions to have consequences. I wish I could be as blissfully unaware as you.
Did you forget me in the two years?
How I wish I could say I forgot your name, your scent, your mannerisms. But I would be lying. All of this time I have been moping for a lost lover, a soulmate who was met at the wrong time.
I knew I would never find someone like you, for there is no one I would rather have. The constant memory of you made it difficult to do so, the reminders of you in my flat, on my skin. The scar, nothing more than a fleck against my porcelain skin, is something I fixated on since you left. A reminder of you that will never leave me.
Incidentally, the scar was accidental - do you remember? When you dropped the knife trying to cook dinner? And I tried, subconsciously, to catch it? We were lucky it barely grazed my hand, but the scar on my palm is proof of this, of our relationship,
At this point, in the taxi, I wondered if you were also reminiscing silently. I studied your face in the dark, streetlights providing a faint glow against your skin, but I couldn’t tell. Normally your emotions are written across your face, something I loved about you, but perhaps you have learnt how to hide your feelings, or I’m out of practice. I hope it is the latter.
In contrast, you always wished I showed my emotions more. You tried to reach deep inside me, to get me to open up, but you couldn't get in. This, I think, was partly the cause of our demise.
The taxi driver jolted us out of our thoughts, gruffly telling us we had arrived, and you insisted you paid. Always a gentleman. Some things never change.
Standing outside my block of flats, I could tell by your face you were nervous, that you realised this was a bad idea. Before you could speak these thoughts, I mustered up all the courage I had and invited you up. You obliged.
In the lift, silent once again, I could feel you looking at me. I wondered if now you’re outside me, now you’ve been away from me, you see my beauty. Being noticed by you is always an honour.
Although I knew the view that would greet me, I was still shocked by you when I turned around. Nothing could ever prepare me for the sight of you with lust clouding your vision and flushed cheeks.
I wanted to capture this sight so as to bless everyone, but the selfish part of me wants to bottle it up and keep it for my eyes only. There was nothing more I wanted than to stay in that moment forever, to lock this memory in a hidden place so it could only be accessed while I’m alone, hidden from the world; they would be able to see it on my face.
Something I kept forgetting was that I’m no longer yours. I wish I was.
As soon as I made eye contact, you looked away, as if us looking at each other with mirrored expressions of lust was a sin you needed to repent. How was I to tell you it's okay, as long as we don't act on it?
We can hold back. I am many things, but I will never be the reason someone else is a cheater, especially as it's you. The whole night I wanted to scream at you to break up with Lily, that I would welcome you with open arms and a warm bed, but the words caught on my tongue every time I opened my mouth to speak.
This is my way of telling you. Despite the fact you will never see this, I’m hoping your subconscious knows. My brother may shun you if we were to date again, but it’s nothing but time you’ll lose with him, a few months with him is nothing in the scheme of things. I know what it is like to lose time with you, and Sirius will be unable to stay away for six months, you two will be okay.
Back to the night - I need to write this down or I will forget in the morning - when we arrived at my door, you went to bring out a key from your pocket, before remembering. It’s strange how some things seem to be wired into our brains, that a small thing can bring it all back. At that moment, I knew you had been reminiscing too, perhaps about how you had to carry my keys for fear that I had forgotten them, all because I got us locked out one night.
We ignored this, though we both knew, and I let us in. Your shoulders relaxed as soon as you stepped inside; a feat I have been choosing to ignore. I fear if I think too much about the reason for this I will end up running to your door, begging you to take me back. This is a choice, and although you said you can’t choose feelings, I am choosing not to feel this. It's for the best.
Instead I am writing you this letter, even if I won't send it. Or maybe I will. I haven’t decided yet. It’ll be sent in love, real love, if you do receive it.
Instantly, you moved to make us tea, the same as before. There has been no change in the layout in our two year split, something that surprised you.
The sight of you in my flat after all this time was overwhelming. You always looked like you belonged here, and tonight was the same as always. I had forgotten why I had invited you over, choosing to stare at your back while you got the mugs ready rather than collecting your things. That was until you glanced over your shoulder and cleared your throat, asking if I was going to just stand there with my mouth open.
I would’ve done. I could stare at you all day.
But instead I collected my thoughts and got your stuff together, digging out the jumper from the back of my wardrobe while muttering advice I was given years ago, something that fits in every situation: live through this, and you won’t look back. I hope I won’t regret giving it back to you.
I don’t know if you realised, but the back of your belongings I also put your birthday present in. I’m sorry I didn't tell you, but I thought it might've been strange if I did. I had bought it before we broke up, and then I wasn’t able to give it to you on your birthday so I had just kept it, holding onto the hope that I would one day have a reason to gift it to you.
I wanted to tell you, I promise you, but now you have it. For some reason, during the entire interaction with you, I felt as if this would be our last one. You always told me to trust my gut feelings, and so I did. That was the reason I was so reluctant to let you walk out of my life again.
We barely spoke as we drank our tea (I have never met someone who has made a better cup of tea than you. I have been craving your tea for the past two years), you sitting there with the bag of items next to you, staring out the window at the uninterrupted view of the city.
During this comfortable silence, there was one thing I wanted to say. The words died on my tongue every time I opened my mouth to speak them, but I will be brave now.
I miss you. I wish for nothing else than for you to leave Lily and return to my arms, return to a place where you can lay on the sofa and do nothing except stare at me while I pretend to read, a place where I can constantly see you, quenching my longing.
A place you can call home.
At the time of our relationship, you were all that I wanted, you still are. I regret the way I treated you during it, you deserved someone more open, more romantic. But I gave what I gave, I cannot change that now.
I wish I could. I hope you know that.
I wanted to tell you I’m not sorry I met you, that everything happened. In fact, it allowed us to grow as people, to learn together. School couldn’t have taught me the things I learnt from you, and I am glad that I can now live my life with this knowledge.
Despite what this letter implied, I am not sorry it's over. Although I miss you, and I long for the resurrection of us, I know that our breakup was for the better, at least at the time. Perhaps if we gave it another go now it would be better, but there is no way of testing this theory.
I’m not sorry there’s nothing to save, as much as I would like to persuade myself I am. This relationship would’ve killed one of us if we stayed together, I’m sure of it. I’m glad we got out when we did, even if I wish that we stayed together.
If you ever read this, I’m sorry. This is used as a replacement for all the things I wish I could tell you, and I can only apologise.
All the love in the world,
Regulus A. Black
James folded the pages of the letter, letting out a sob as he did. If only Regulus knew that this would be the last thing he wrote, the last words known of his life. His head in his hands, he wished he made the most of that night he spent with Regulus, that he spoke about their breakup and the years they spent apart. But he didn’t. Retrospect is such a cruel invention - he would spend the rest of his life regretting that night, regretting that he left Regulus in the first place.
He hoped Regulus didn't die full of regret, thinking that he was hated. He was loved, more than he will ever know, but never as much as he deserved. He hoped Regulus was at peace in death, but his body being found two days later in his bathtub, drowned from where he tried to bathe drunk, seemed a painful way to go.
Regulus would find everything he needed in death, in the stars. James couldn’t allow himself to believe that his death was futile, that in death he would be as alone as he was in life.
He would find Regulus amongst the dotted sky, and tell him everything he couldn’t say during his short life.
At least they had that night.
Maybe he would write a letter, too. And maybe Regulus would be able to read it, wherever he was now.