Chapter Text
Freedom is a peculiar thing.
One can feel that they have none, only to discover as it slips through their fingers that it has been there all along. Regulus Black has spent his entire life in confinement–from the stiff, metal bars of his cradle to the crisp, tight suits of Eton College. His life has not been one of freedom, not when every decision he has made has been carefully calculated, hypothesised, and overthought into ashes before becoming a reality. He always knew he would end up like this—dressed by his mother in a midnight suit that hugs his body like a python, staring out at a sea of loveless faces and cameras flashing their lenses to immortalise the moment he is chained. This is the fate of a viscount, of a noble, of the heir to the Black fortune.
And yet…
He never was able to shake that insufferable hope inside him; he hoped and hoped and hoped until his stomach ached that one day, he would finally break through the wall that separated him from the rest of the world. There would be no more strategising for what to say or knuckles bloody and bruised from rulers waiting for him to make a mistake. He would not hear the nag of his mother’s voice in the back of his mind when he contemplated joining in on others’ play. No, every choice would be his, and he would make it without questioning what would earn him the largest amount of approval in the eyes of his family.
Hope, as it turns out, is rather futile in the face of the Black family.
There is no hope in the way his bride walks down the aisle, slow and even just as she has been instructed to. There is no hope in the rings they will wear, rings that Regulus has not bothered to admire, not when they carry with them a lifelong burden. Anything resembling hope has been washed away down a dismal river, incarcerating his emotions behind a door sealed with vows and locked with a meaningless kiss.
He always knew he would end up like this, but that does not mean he did not wish for something better.
In these last few moments before his future wife reaches him, Regulus is confronted with all that he could have had. All that Sirius has been beckoning him to from afar, if he had only taken his hand.
We’ll keep you safe, Reggie, he whispered time and time again. They won’t reach you, not with me. Not with us.
Every time, he said the same things, and every time, Regulus rejected his pleas. He would watch with guilt that clawed up his throat as Sirius’ face fell, as another little piece of him gave up, and wonder if there would come a day when Sirius simply…stopped asking.
He was never sure whether or not he wanted this.
Now, standing at the altar in too-tight clothes and under the scrutinising gaze of hundreds, he would give anything to go back to one of their phone calls, one of their dinners, and accept Sirius’ offer. Perhaps then, Regulus would be marrying another. Lady Cereus Greengrass would be engaged to a distant cousin, and he—
Regulus digs his nails into his palms to centre himself, shaking off thoughts of anything but the present. This is his reality, and he would do well to accept it. After all, it is not his bride’s fault that they have been saddled with one another for eternity. All they have done is be born into an inescapable system of inescapable families that wrap their hands around their lives and squeeze, until all that is left is the false security of their guiding palms.
Still, as a petal falls from Lady Cereus’ bouquet and a hush slips over the crowd, Regulus cannot hold back sending up one final wish for freedom to whoever is listening.
Please, just a little more time. Just a little more.
BANG!
The doors to the ceremony hall slam open with a determined force that causes dozens of old women’s feathered hats to fly. Heads swivel to the entrance, and the two parents of the bride and groom shoot to their feet, already demanding information from the intruder they cannot see.
Regulus cranes his neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of whoever has answered his prayers, but the crowd of wedding guests covers them entirely. Lady Cereus turns to him, mouth open and prepared to pose a confused question.
Then, Walburga releases an inhuman shriek.
“You!”
The crowd erupts into an outrage of shouts and protests, but one voice rises above them all. It is a voice so distinct that even those who have only heard it once could recognise who it belongs to. Regulus, however, has heard this voice since he knew what it was to hear. It has been his only constant in a world of ever-changing laws and uncontrollable endings.
It is the voice of Sirius Black.
“Here I am, minding my own business, when I find out that I haven’t been invited to the wedding of my own baby brother?! I mean come on; I knew you people were stuck-up, but really?!”
“Is that—?” Lady Cereus’ eyes widen in shock, her bouquet going limp in her hands. Regulus cannot even manage a nod, his mind malfunctioning in a whirl of information that does not connect. Regulus’ life as a member of the nobility and his relationship with Sirius do not exist in the same spaces, let alone intrude on one another, so what is Sirius doing here? Is Sirius here? Or has Regulus finally succumbed to the Black family madness and conjured up a saviour? Others seem to see him too, but would his deluded mind not reinforce his hallucinations by manipulating the world around him? Could the family madness be that powerful?
“Lord Black, look at your friends,” Cereus whispers. She subtly gestures to Pandora Lestrange and her wife, Lily, who, to the cause of much controversy, is not of noble blood. Regulus just barely managed to convince his parents to allow her inside the venue with Pandora. He is beginning to regret this decision, for the two women appear to be engaging in some sort of interpretive dance, mouthing at him and gesturing madly with arms flailing. “I think…Lord Black, I think they may be telling you to run.”
“Wh—” Regulus studies the movements of Pandora and Lily’s lips and finds that they are, in fact, mouthing ”run.” Sirius is still raving like a madman, now standing on one of the pews toward the back of the ceremony hall. He has not given Regulus a full-on glance, but his arms keep jerking in a peculiar manner toward one of the side halls, unnatural even for Sirius’ tendency towards flamboyance.
“It’s okay, Lord Black.”
Regulus blinks, sure he has misheard. He directs his attention back to Cereus, who is watching him with a soft, calm smile, as if the chaos around them is nonexistent.
“It’s okay,” she repeats, and Regulus sees her lips move, but the words jumble up once they reach his ears. “You can go. I don’t mind.” Her smile grows into something lightly teasing. Regulus’ brows draw together tightly, sending a stabbing pain through his forehead that feels more real than anything else occurring in the room.
“Go?” he mumbles, his lips numb. When he turns his head, he sees that Cereus’ hand has settled on his shoulder.
“Go. Follow your friends. We both know neither of us wants this marriage. I understand, Lord Black. It’s alright.”
Go? Go where? His family will surely follow him, if not the local news outlets, and—
What is he doing, considering something like this? Running away from the altar will bring him nothing but his parents’ wrath, something which he already has far too much of. Staying here, following through with this wedding, is for his own good—for everyone’s own good, despite what Sirius may argue.
“Regulus!” Cereus exclaims, dropping his formal title for the first time. Her free hand moves to grasp his in an unexpected gesture of warmth. “This doesn’t have to be your life. Our lives. If you leave now, you won’t be forced into a reality you hate with a person you can’t love. Go, for both of our sakes, or else your brother will have made a fool of himself for nothing.”
Sirius. Sirius continues to yell, red-faced and waving his arms. He is yelling for Regulus, to help him, because for some reason, he still holds onto the hope that Regulus lost. Regulus looks around the room at the mess his wedding has dissolved into, lingering on the open ceremony hall doors, exposing him to the outside air, to the call of a life he cannot find it in him to believe in.
He cannot make it through the ceremony hall doors, but perhaps an adjacent corridor has an available exit? The hallway to his left leads to his dressing room, the one to his right to Cereus’, and the one toward the back—
Beautiful brown skin and golden wire-rimmed glasses. Forested eyes and warm muscles; Regulus remembers how they would flex and relax running laps at Eton. A secret just for him, one he could hold close to his heart until the time came to reveal it to the world.
One that the world ripped away.
Standing at the entrance to the corridor toward the back is that secret. That marvellous, just-out-of-reach secret Regulus was certain had been lost years ago. His secret.
James Potter.
A lifetime of wishing on shooting stars was never going to be enough to prepare James for the day one landed right at his feet.
He should have known that it would hurt, that he was doomed to burn himself trying to make something beautiful with the wreckage before him. His friends had warned him that all of this hope would be his downfall someday. It never stopped him. The universe offered him a disaster waiting to happen and he took it with open arms, so sure that hope was all he needed to turn this rocky foundation into a life.
And when it fell apart—when all that was left was the crater and its rubble burying James’ heart—he kept trying. He kept looking to the sky for his shooting star. Years passed, and that hope that things would still turn out right never left him.
Regulus came and went in the blink of an eye, and James kept wishing.
At some point, though, wishing stopped being enough. James could sit around and lament to his friends about what could’ve been, but it didn’t change what was. The wedding announcement was what finally tipped James over the edge. He couldn’t keep waiting and hoping that things would work themselves out for him. He couldn't keep worrying about giving Regulus his space. If he was going to lose the only person he had ever truly wanted to build a future with, he had to at least try to change how things played out. He had to know for certain if he had any chance to be with Regulus at all.
Sneaking onto very expensive private property is not something James tries to make a habit of doing, mostly because it would disappoint his mum. He’s sure she’ll understand though—this is for a good cause.
He’s going to spend the rest of his life praising Lily and Pandora for getting to the venue early enough to map it out for him. While Sirius enters through the main door and acts as a distraction, James sneaks through the back hallway the girls told him about. Regulus should be at the other end, separated from him by a single door, finally within reach. He can hear the commotion of Sirius yelling even before he gets there, and he knows it’s enough to keep all eyes away from him and Regulus.
The moment he opens the door, his heart lodges in his throat. He thinks it might fall out of him entirely.
Standing only a few feet away, almost close enough to touch, is Regulus. His Regulus. The one that got away. The one he is determined not to lose a second time.
“Hi, Regulus. I can’t believe you were going to get married and not invite me,” he teases, dramatically feigning offence. Regulus just stares, as if he’s not quite sure that James is real. It’s terribly endearing. “So, are you coming with me or not?”
Whether from shock or panic or something James can’t quite comprehend, Regulus stays frozen at the altar. James waits, hoping Regulus’ brain will kickstart, but it doesn’t. He can hear Sirius begin to falter, struggling to find the words to keep the crowd focused on him, and James decides he can’t waste another second. No more waiting and hoping for Regulus to come to him.
He closes the distance between them and grabs Regulus’ hands, tugging him out towards the back hallway with a helpful little push from Cereus. It takes the door falling shut behind them and complete privacy from the rest of the world for James to realise this is as far as his plan extends. He has no idea what comes next.
“I’m sorry, Regulus; I just—I couldn’t let you marry Cereus. Not when there was even the slightest chance you might still feel something for me,” he blurts out. When Regulus doesn’t pull his hands away, James takes it as an invitation to step closer. “I can’t leave behind the idea of what we could’ve been years ago. I can't get you out of my head. Maybe it was just a kiss to you and you want absolutely nothing to do with me and that’s fine, but I…I need to know for certain before I give up on us.”
Maybe it’s too much too soon, but James Potter has never cared much for caution. He is as clumsy with his tongue as he is with his hands. The words fall out of him before he can think to stop them. It is a miracle that he hasn’t yet declared that he is hopelessly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with Regulus.
“I don’t—I just—” Regulus stutters, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. James is almost certain that if he listens closely enough, he will hear gears turning in that pretty little head. He nods, urging Regulus to find his words, but nothing comes. Was this the wrong choice? Had it really just been wishful thinking for him to assume that Regulus would actually run away from his own wedding to be with him?
If Regulus isn’t going to say anything, James is just going to have to coax an answer out of him. It’s not like they can stand here, waiting for Regulus to finally figure out where he is and what’s going on. It won’t be much longer until someone comes looking for him.
Gathering all the courage he can find, James drops Regulus’ hands in favour of holding his face. Before he can stop to think about what he’s doing, he closes the distance between them and finds Regulus’ lips with his own. He hasn’t kissed…anyone since the first—and last—time he kissed Regulus all those years ago, but why would he ever want to?
It takes another few seconds for Regulus to react, but everything shifts the moment he does. There’s no hesitation in the way their lips move against each other, desperate and hungry and longing. James has to drop his hands and wrap them around Regulus’ waist just to keep them steady as Regulus’ arms snake around his neck. There’s no space between them now. James hopes there never is again.
Regulus’ lips are soft and sweet and warm, and it is a cruel fate that James must endure to pull away from their embrace, gasping for air like a dying man. Regulus is equally breathless, and James has to fight every overwhelming instinct to kiss him again. They don’t have time to get lost in each other right now.
“That’s a yes, right? You’ll come with me?” James asks, and Regulus has the audacity to roll his eyes, though the growing smile on his face betrays his faux annoyance.
“Stop talking before I change my mind.”
James wastes no time. He reaches for Regulus’ hand again and takes off running, pulling him down the hallway and out of the building. From the back of the venue, they can still hear the commotion of Sirius’ dramatic stunt, but they don’t slow down.
It’s not until James can see Remus’ car in the distance that he stops again, spinning around to face Regulus. He watches Regulus’ mouth fall open, words on his tongue but never passing his lips. Before the moment passes, he leans in to capture him in another quick kiss. He’s not sure which one of them starts giggling first, but James is resisting fits of laughter by the time he pulls away again.
“Sorry, I had to. I’ve waited far too long to do that again,” James says, squeezing Regulus’ hand as he continues to guide him back to Remus’ car.
“Too long? So kissing me less than five minutes ago didn’t count?” Regulus muses, which does nothing to ease the laughter still bubbling up from both of them.
“Maybe five minutes is just too long a wait.” And it is. After so many years spent waiting and wishing and wondering, he never wants to spend another minute separated from Regulus. He wants to know what he tastes like at all hours of the day, wants to memorise the sound of his heartbeat and the gentle caress of his fingertips. All he needs is for Regulus to give him that chance, even if it means waiting a hundred more years. He’d give up this lifetime to spend every one that follows with Regulus in his arms.
They reach the car, and James holds the back door open for Regulus to climb in before following behind. When he finds it in him to look away from Regulus for the briefest moment, he catches Remus’ gaze in the front mirror and feels an awful lot like a child seconds away from a scolding.
“What happened to get in, get Regulus, and get out? That wasn’t quick, James,” Remus insists, glaring at James through the mirror. “And where’s your earpiece? You were supposed to let Sirius know when you left so that he could head out too!”
The Bluetooth earpieces had been Sirius’ idea. We’ll be just like spies, he had insisted, and James had been thrilled at the idea. That was, of course, until he saw the things. If he had been wearing that to steal Regulus away from his own wedding, he would have been laughed out of the building. There is simply nothing attractive about that damn earpiece.
“I…lost it?” James offers. It makes Regulus giggle again, which fills James with pride even as Remus sighs in defeat.
Sirius comes running back to the car mere moments later, as if summoned just by James and Remus thinking about him. His hair’s a mess and one of his cheeks is red as if he’s been slapped, but James isn’t sure he has seen his best friend quite this happy in far too long.
“Reggie!” Sirius coos, leaning over from the front passenger seat to reach out and pinch Regulus’ cheek. Regulus bats his brother’s hand away, and Sirius slumps dramatically back into his seat. “You really are no fun. You should be thrilled to see me right now. I practically saved your life!”
“You crashed my wedding to talk about yourself,” Regulus deadpans. James decides not to point out that he also technically crashed the wedding to talk about himself.
“And I did a damn good job! If it wasn’t for me, you’d be married right now.” Sirius begins rummaging through the glove box as Remus drives off, leaving the wedding behind them. James’ attention shifts fully back to Regulus, who has taken to staring out the window, watching the venue disappear into the distance.
There’s an unreadable expression on his face, and James hopes beyond all else that he isn’t regretting his decision to leave. He missed his chance with Regulus once. He’d hate for this to be the most he gets of a second chance.
“Aha!” Sirius announces, snapping both James and Regulus’ attention back to him. He’s waving around two slips of paper and what looks like…passports? “You see, I am so much more than just a pretty distraction. I’ve done some scheming of my own. It’s not a dramatic runaway if it doesn’t end in a romantic excursion.”
James has always known that Sirius not only supported but encouraged his unwavering feelings for Regulus, even through the many years of James’ miserable pining. It just never dawned on him how much Sirius has been rooting for them until he reaches into the back seat to hand them plane tickets.
Sirius bought them plane tickets. James stares at the slip of paper in his hands in shock. He hadn’t considered what life would look like after their grand plan to “kidnap” Regulus, but he supposes now he won’t have to. In a few hours, they’ll be heading off to New York.
“Don’t worry, I’ve brought everything you’ll need for your trip!” Sirius declares as he goes back to rummaging.
The next half hour of the drive is spent with Sirius tossing bags and boxes over to Regulus: deodorant, sanitary pads, condoms, birth control, skincare products, testosterone shots, medication…the list goes on. The whole time, James and Regulus are staring at each other, wide-eyed with shock. This is really happening, isn’t it?
“I expect you to check in three times a day, and you will let me know if anything is less than perfect,” Sirius insists, pointing forcefully at Regulus. When Regulus rolls his eyes at the statement, James has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Sirius turns to glare at him. “And you! If you break his heart, I will kill you. If you get him pregnant, I will kill you. If you—”
“I think he gets it, Sirius,” Remus groans, speaking up for the first time since they left the wedding venue. “James, do you promise not to break Regulus’ heart or get him pregnant?”
James suddenly feels incredibly exposed. His friends know the true depth of his feelings, but Regulus doesn’t. He’s not sure Regulus ever will. For all he knows, this whole thing is just a very convenient rebound for a lost boy running from a future he never asked for. And if that’s the case, James will learn to make peace with it. Regulus keeping him at arms’ length is still Regulus keeping him. He does not know how to ask for more.
“I’ll look after him,” James promises, maintaining eye contact with Regulus as he speaks. Maybe he imagines it, but he could swear Regulus’ face softens at the words. Maybe the life James has been yearning for isn’t so out of reach at all.
London International Airport approaches with the booming rage of jet engines and the flashing of runway lights. Sirius wordlessly passes Regulus a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, which, though terribly bulky, bring the sounds of the environment down to a lulled hum. What a sight he must be, donned in dishevelled wedding clothes and heavy mufflers, trembling like he has taken some sort of psychedelic. He clutches the carry-on of belongings Sirius collected for him like a lifeline as they pull into the adjacent car park. The dim lights plunge the car into a sickly yellow aura that turns Regulus’ stomach, bathing his hands in a tint resembling signs of jaundice.
Echoes of tires on damp concrete surround them, ringing like white noise through his mufflers. No one utters a word as Remus searches for an open parking space, and how could they? What they are attempting to do is asinine at best, so out-of-this-world that Regulus is not fully convinced it is real.
Under the purgatorial glow of the car park’s lights, he lifts his hand in front of his face, studying the hazy lines of his slim fingers, blood slowly returning to his knuckles after being held tight for the duration of the drive. He slowly clenches and unclenches his fist, turns his hand back and forth, and waves his fingers in a rapid left-right motion. Something sick broils inside him as he watches them seem to blur together and multiply all at once, unreal, twisting in ways human matter should not, even as he tries to press them against the palm of his other hand to test reality.
The feeling of skin against skin is false, far too harsh and cold—is he touching skin or bone? Perhaps he has shed his skin completely, and the flesh around him is only a façade, a construct of his mind meant to trick him into believing he still walks among the living, not trapped in a state between life and death. Is he now doomed to watch, paralyzed, as lives continue on around him and brush past him without so much as a glance?
Is this what it is to be a ghost? Did he die at the wedding, or even long before? What is he doing here – running off to a country he very well may have fabricated to escape the shadows that chase him? Like Alice, he runs from the Queen of Hearts and her Cards as they chase him throughout Wonderland, a world of his own design, yet Alice got to return home. Is there a home for a ghost? A construct? An aimless soul with no roots or physical grasp on “reality,” whatever reality may be?
He cannot move.
He cannot move.
Of course he cannot move, for this body is not his own. He stole it, built it, maybe even revived it, but it is not his.
A tap. Something presses down on “his” shoulder, and Regulus throws his arm out without thinking, the back of his hand smacking against something soft. Someone cries out in alarm, and a warm hand is gently wrapped around his wrist. It lowers his arm down until it is resting against the leather of Remus’ car—cold leather, textured leather. Remus likes leather. Regulus learned this about him early on at Eton. If he had made up this world around him, would there not be inconsistencies? But Remus…Remus likes leather. Has always liked leather.
And James is holding Regulus’ wrist.
Absurdly, the first thing Regulus thinks is, unhand me, which is such a preposterous statement to say in the twenty-first century that he is actually embarrassed for himself.
“What are you doing?” he mumbles, dragging his gaze up and forcing himself to look James in the eye. He’d nearly forgotten the other man was there.
“You—it seemed like you—never mind,” James replies. He quickly drops Regulus’ wrist and turns away.
“Everything alright back there?” Sirius glances back over his shoulder, giving Regulus a knowing look. Regulus offers him a nod, which does not satisfy him, so he sends him a glare that makes him turn back around.
After what feels like hours, Remus pulls into a parking spot. The car stalls, stops, and Regulus misses the comforting hum of the engine almost immediately. Remus and Sirius are muttering to one another in low voices, leaving Regulus to sit in the quiet, uncomfortably close to the man who just stole him away from his wedding.
God, Regulus just ran away from his own wedding.
A bizarre laugh bubbles up inside him. He forces it down, but a small puff of air escapes his nose, and his shoulders shake along with it. Beside him, the corners of James’ mouth quirk up.
“What?” he prods, lightly bumping Regulus with his shoulder. Under any other circumstances–maybe even a few seconds ago–Regulus would have flinched away and rushed into the nearest shower to scrub his skin raw and rid himself of the contact. This time, however, he finds himself smiling sheepishly and lifting an ear of his mufflers to contribute to the conversation.
“I just find it…a bit amusing,” he admits. “This was not how I believed today would end.”
James presses a hand to his chest in mock offence, a gesture so familiar that it makes Regulus’ chest pang.
“Did you truly have such little faith in me? I expected you to be awaiting my arrival with a pre-packed bag and some plane snacks.”
Regulus knows he is teasing, but that doesn’t stop the brief wince that twists his features. Years ago, perhaps, he would have expected this of James. Back in school, where everything seemed suspended in an impenetrable bubble, an era that would never come to an end. Back when James staked his unapologetic claim on Regulus, taking him by the hand and declaring to the whole school that Regulus was his dearest friend—not brother, Sirius was always brother—and that anyone else who wanted to be friends with Regulus would have to ask him first. This did not go over well with Barty; Regulus still holds the memory of the two boys fistfighting in the corridor close to his heart.
So, yes, there was a time when he may have expected James to come rushing in to save him from his former fate, but that time has long since passed. Regulus’ early twenties have been a blur of diplomatic exchanges and public courtings, alongside the occasional secret meetup with Sirius. Never once did he allow himself to think of the possibility of connecting with James again, nor did he think that James would ever reach out to him. Sirius, it seems, knew better than to mention James around him—barring the few times he would suspiciously let it slip that “poor Prongs” still had not jumped into the dating pool. While it is true that Regulus never allowed Sirius to be privy to the full extent of his affections for James, he would not be surprised if his brother did some investigating, and he would be even less surprised if, with a bit of nudging, James sang like a canary.
“Has being away from me all these years caused your ego to re-inflate? I worked hard to tear it down,” Regulus manages to reply, attempting to formulate the same jiving tone James sent his way. The other man doesn’t respond, just studies him with a fond look in his eye that Regulus cannot stand to be under for too long. Thankfully, Remus unlocks his car doors, and Sirius throws his open with a shout of,
“Unload, lovebirds!”
Regulus scrambles out of the car as fast as he can with the bag of belongings in his arms. James offers to carry it for him, but he turns him down with a confident, “No.” If he doesn’t have something to hold onto, he isn’t sure he will make it to the terminal without falling victim to spontaneous human combustion.
“Remus, why are you still in the car?” James asks his best friend, who is leaning out the window of the driver’s seat. Sirius grins and pats James on the shoulder.
“This is where we leave you. Just get through security, get to your terminal, and you’ll be fine! Oh, Reggie, don’t look at me like that. We can’t hold your hand every step of the way, can we? I mean, I’d like to, but Remus kept going on and on about how you’d be needing some ‘alone time’ to ‘bridge the ga–’”
“Alright, we understand,” James cuts in quickly. Regulus narrows his eyes but doesn’t push.
Goodbyes are said very briefly, with Regulus shifting his weight from foot to foot the longer he has to stand in place. James won’t stop thanking his friends; Sirius won’t stop demanding they keep him in the loop, and Remus won’t stop revving his engine as a not-so-subtle hint for Sirius to get his ass in the car. When Sirius forces Regulus into a bone-crushing hug, he whispers, “Don’t get pregnant,” and darts away before Regulus’ slap can land.
Regulus and James stand off to the side as Remus and Sirius drive away, honking their horn at an atrocious volume that vibrates Regulus’ bones even with his mufflers on. Just as quickly as they arrived, Remus and Sirius are gone, and Regulus and James are left alone in the car park.
For a while, neither of them speaks. Regulus is not sure he can. More often than not, words get lodged in his throat, physically incapable of moving forward. When he is able to open his mouth in times like this, his communication comes in the form of squeaks and stutters, cutting off after the first syllable of the first word he is attempting to say. His therapist, hired in a bout of panic and met with in secret, called it selective mutism, a combined product of his autism, anxieties, and C-PTSD—another aspect of himself he refuses to acknowledge exists. He was not in a war; there is no reason for him to react the way he does, but his therapist seems to think otherwise.
Fuck, his therapist. What happened at the wedding is surely being spoken about on at least some major news outlets, and Regulus is about to take off on a runaway roadtrip for God knows how long. Should he contact her? Stay silent? When he returns, he will certainly need sessions again. Not that he doesn’t require sessions now, because without a doubt they are the things he needs most.
“Are you ready to go in?” James finally asks. He is fiddling with the belt loops on his pants, a nervous tell Regulus is ashamed to admit he still remembers.
Regulus nods and slings the carry-on backpack over his shoulder. He does his best to avoid looking at James as they walk through the car park and into the airport, but something about James Potter makes it impossible to look away. It could just be the circumstances that brought them together, or the forced proximity between them. Or how James’ hands are constantly moving, whether they are running through his hopelessly wild hair or tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves. The motions make Regulus’ hands crave movement as well. As they approach security, he clamps his fists down on the straps of his carry-on to avoid tearing the skin around his nails off with his teeth.
Lines of exhausted, irritable people filter through metal detectors like one long, aimless centipede. Each bag makes a clunk as it is placed on a conveyor belt and fed to cold machines. Members of airport security wave Regulus and James down the line, not bothering to focus on their features until they have to. One of them locks eyes with Regulus and motions at the sides of his head repeatedly, to which Regulus furrows his brow and tries to read the man’s lips to no avail. He can tell the worker is growing irritable, but he cannot figure out what on Earth his motions are communicating.
It is only when James lightly taps him on the shoulder and cups his ears, over-enunciating, “Mufflers, love,” that he understands.
Regulus lowers his mufflers and sets them down on a grey bin on the conveyor belt. Instantly, he flinches at the cacophony of sounds that bombarde him; even the lights appear brighter, and his face dips into a scowl. Is it hot? It feels fucking hot. He grits his teeth to keep from snapping at the couple behind them in line, who are so close that he can feel their breath on the back of his neck. Christ, can’t people just back up?
“I know. All of…this has been bothering me, too,” James says lowly. “I plan to pick up ear plugs once we arrive at the terminal.”
Regulus lifts his gaze to find James smiling at him with a tired fog over his eyes. He has no doubt that the same expression is mirrored in his, and he finds a strange comfort in the knowledge that he is not alone in his desire to set everyone in this room ablaze with the heat of the sun.
They remove any unnecessary clothing—Regulus must take off about six layers of hideous wedding attire before everyone is satisfied—and wait their turn at the metal detectors.
James leans down to bring his lips close to Regulus’ ear and whispers, “I always get irrationally worried that I’ve accidentally stuffed a gun in my trousers or something. Tell me, is there a knife strapped to my neck?”
Regulus fails to bite back a grin and shakes his head.
“Oh, thank goodness.” James winks, shooting him a faux worried glance as he walks through the metal detector. He and Regulus make it through without setting off the entire airport alarm system, and their carry-on is deemed clean as well, so Regulus slams his mufflers over his ears as quickly as he can alongside his clothes.
They go through the remainder of their security checks as quickly as possible with what elements they can control. Regulus picks up on the way James’ hands linger near his waist and stutter as if they wish to touch him but won’t. Part of him wants to grab his hand, for something to latch onto if nothing else, but a larger part of him grows stiff and nauseous at the thought of another person’s skin against his own, regardless of the barrier of clothing which separates them. He vaguely registers James telling him what gate they must get to, too busy chewing on the skin of his bottom lip to notice his surroundings.
Something splits, and a metallic taste spills over his tongue. James studies him and gives him a look that is a mix of worry and exasperation.
Really? he mouths. We’ve talked about this.
They haven’t. Not in years, anyway. Yet Regulus still remembers the feeling of James’ thumb gently sliding over his lip one warm evening on the rooftop of the school, his touch staying for a beat too long.
“You’ve got to stop doing that, love. Your lip is practically all scar tissue.”
“Hypocrite. You should see your nails.”
“Well, if you stop, I’ll stop.”
The memory brings a slight flush to his cheeks, and he lets his lip drop from between his teeth. James hums his approval, temporarily satisfied, and continues leading him to the terminal. When they reach their gate, surrounded by shops and miniature restaurants, Regulus finds that he does not wish to spend the next eight-and-some hours stuffed into his wedding clothes. They still have a considerable amount of time before their flight boards, so he tugs on James’ sleeve and gestures to the closest shop, which is filled with tourist souvenirs, including clothing. Since the environment around them has lulled now that they have reached their gate, he deems it safe to remove his mufflers.
“I look like a doily,” he deadpans. James throws his head back and laughs, shaking his head.
“No you don’t! You look…sophisticated.”
Regulus cocks a brow, wordlessly calling bullshit. James relents with a drop of his shoulders and another light chuckle.
“Alright…you do look a bit like a doily,” he admits. A grin spreads across his face, revealing dimples in his cheeks. Regulus rolls his eyes, but the smile on his own lips betrays his amusement. He tugs James’ sleeve one more time to lead him to the shop, and they begin their transformation.
The shop’s interior is exactly what one would expect from an airport. Shirts with various catchphrases centred around London and the country’s flag hang on racks shelved between rotating displays of candy and books. Off to the side near the counter, there is a small basket of ear plugs that James heads for upon seeing it.
“What do you think?” he inquires, holding up two pairs. “White or blue?”
“Both are hideous, but blue,” Regulus shrugs. He sifts through various horrific graphic tees trying to find something suitable, but the more clothing he looks at, the worse it seems to get. The only available options for bottoms are boxy cargo shorts, and there are no shoes in the shop, so he will be stuck in his dress shoes for the foreseeable future.
“Any luck?” James leans over his shoulder to observe the t-shirt rack, his chest mere inches from pressing against Regulus’ back. Regulus’ breath hitches, and he has to swallow hard before he replies,
“Nothing. Everything is utterly atrocious.”
James clicks his tongue and steps forward to stand beside him. He closes his eyes, extending a hand to reach in blind to the sea of overpriced tourist memorabilia, and pulls out a shirt.
“We can match. For solidarity,” he explains with a solemn nod. The shirt he selected is an absolute eyesore, with a bright red double-decker in the centre that clashes with a grey background. LONDON is printed in black above the bus, and ENGLAND rests on its side. It looks like something a five-year-old boy would wear.
“I am not wearing that,” Regulus protests, stepping away for good measure. James leans in front of him to reach for the rack of cargo shorts, and Regulus catches a whiff of his scent–inexplicably sunshine and campfire. He very nearly gasps at the influx of memories that resurface with the smell, memories of late-night rooftop confessions and chilly winter outings wrapped in James’ scarf.
“Try my method then. Close your eyes, and let the universe choose for you,” James suggests, blissfully unaware of Regulus’ inner turmoil. Regulus lets his eyelids flutter shut and snatches a shirt as quickly as possible to avoid losing one of his senses for too long. When he opens them, he sees that his results are arguably worse than James’.
His shirt is the horrendous grey-brown of a sewer, with the words, LONDON IS CALLING AND I MUST GO plastered across the torso atop the Union Jack. Regulus recoils and would have dropped the thing if James hadn’t foreseen his actions and pushed it against his chest.
“We made a deal!” he chastises, as if Regulus ever agreed.
“You and your deal can fuck right off,” he snaps, but even as he says it, he snatches up a pair of cargo shorts and marches over to the counter. Before he reaches it, James puts an arm out in front of him that he narrowly avoids crashing into.
“I’m paying,” he states.
“But–”
“Regulus.”
Knowing resistance is futile and half-wondering if his parents have already severed his connection to the family funds, Regulus hands over his purchases. James takes them and chats amicably with the cashier as their items are rung up, breezing through the conversation in a way Regulus has always been envious of. When their purchases are stuffed in an airport bag and handed back to them, Regulus makes quick work of leaving the shop and heading for the restrooms.
“You two seemed cosy,” he bites, practically yanking the bag from James’ hands and ripping out his clothes. James tilts his head, confused.
“What do you–? I was just talking,” he says with a shrug. “Just being nice.”
“Too nice,” Regulus retorts. He should make a point of walking by that shop again just so that cashier knows James is…
What? James is what, exactly?
He is here with Regulus, that much is true, but it’s not like he’s… with Regulus. Why shouldn’t he flirt with whomever he wishes?
Well, he just shouldn’t. It’s rude, and Regulus wouldn’t dream of doing it. Not when he’s already got a…companion with him.
Regulus ignores James’ press for elaboration and heads inside the restroom to change. He gratefully strips off his wedding clothes and shoves them aside, planning to throw them into some trash can or other. Though his new outfit is loathsome at best, the soft, cool fabric of the t-shirt is a relief against his skin, which feels like it has been trapped and strangled for eons. The cargo shorts, on the other hand, have zero redeeming qualities about them, and the moment Regulus slides them on, he wants to tear them to pieces. They sit awkwardly on his hips, the material brushing against his thighs and catching on his skin. With his luck, he’ll have to sleep in these atrocities. If he makes it to bed without committing murder-suicide, that is.
The binder he has been wearing all day has become tiresome, but he’s not about to dispose of it and walk around the airport tits-out, so he tugs it off for a few moments to let his chest breathe, then puts it on again.
He exits the stall and heads for the restroom sinks and mirror, where James is already waiting. Their outfits may be the worst either of them have ever worn, but it significantly lowers the chances of them being recognized before they touch down on United States soil. Regulus examines himself in the mirror and cannot hide his wince. Nothing looks the way it is supposed to, but then again, does it ever? If it were possible for him to strip off his skin and spend the rest of his life as a skeleton, he would do so without hesitation.
James looks him up and down, framing him with his fingers. “Want a hair tie?”
Regulus does a double-take.
“Pardon?”
“A hair tie. You seem uncomfortable. I remember…tying your hair up in that pretty half-up-half-down style used to make you feel a bit better in school, didn’t it? I think Sirius shoved some hair ties in the side pocket of the carry-on,” James says, and Regulus struggles not to melt in a mix of shame and appreciation. James remembering such a small thing about him after so many years is jarring, to say the least, though not at all unpleasant.
“Oh. Yes. Yes, I think a hair tie may do me some good,” Regulus fumbles, reaching around to grab one from the carry-on. He gathers up a small portion of his back curls and ties them up, leaving his thick front waves and an even distribution beneath the tie but still capturing a solid amount. As James predicted, it does assist him in feeling less disgusted with himself. While it’s true he enjoys having his hair down, the style of having it up helps him be less…or more…or….he isn’t exactly sure what it does, but it brings him to a state of satisfaction when he is unhappy with his current dress or appearance that little else does.
“Thanks,” he says quietly as he and James make their way back to their gate.
Soon enough, their flight is boarding, and Regulus walks beside James with the carry-on on his back all the way to the plane. As it turns out, Sirius purchased first-class seats for them, something which Regulus makes a mental note to thank him for, because he doesn’t think he could stand sitting in a stuffy plane cabin amongst a sea of germs and coughing old people who smell of cabbage and regrets. James guides him to their row, then steps back to let him choose his place.
“Window or aisle?”
There is no way in hell Regulus is taking the window seat. He refuses to sit so close to something that showcases the vast expanse of endless blue nothingness that is the Atlantic below them once they take off. He plops down in the aisle and leaves James to struggle with squeezing past him.
Both of them cover their ears in unison, Regulus with his mufflers and James with his new ear plugs. After a few minutes pass, a flight attendant comes to relay the typical safety procedures as the engines roar to life, and Regulus feels his heart drop into his stomach.
This is happening. This is real. I’m leaving the fucking country.
He holds his armrest in a death grip, panic overtaking his senses. There are too many unknowns, too many potential wrongs that nothing could right. What will he even do once he returns to England? Will he be allowed back? Will his parents find a way to blacklist him from every airport and strand him in the middle of some strange American wheat field? And then there is the matter of James. James, who keeps gazing at him with something tender in his expression, who acts as if he is constantly resisting the urge to tug Regulus into his arms and never let go, who kidnapped him from his own wedding. Regulus has no clue how to handle any of this, and he has a sneaking suspicion that it will not get any easier.
His leg is bouncing up and down so aggressively that it shakes his and James’ seats. He only notices when he feels the soft pressure of a hand against his thigh, slowing him into stasis. James’ voice reaches him through a haze of thick fog.
“Hey, Regulus. Look at me.”
Regulus drags his head up to meet James’ hazel eyes, which are fixed upon him with a gentleness he has no idea what to do with. James’ hand moves from his thigh to rest on top of his.
“It’s all going to be okay; I promise. I know you’re worried. Maybe you’re even thinking of dashing out before we take off, but Regulus, I swear to you that it will be okay.” James says all this with a firm resolve that leaves no room for doubting. Regulus may not know much about James Potter anymore after years apart, but one thing he does remember is that he never breaks his promises. It reassures him faster than it should, and he knows he will be better off if he stays on his guard, yet he finds himself calming at James’ words. His very muscles relax—not entirely, just enough—and the chaos in his mind settles to a small swirl. Not good, exactly, but manageable.
Regulus exhales in a long breath and rests his head against his seat. When the plane takes off, he makes no move to remove his hand from beneath James’.
It feels like a miracle that James and Regulus manage to make it out of the airport at all. Delirious with sleep deprivation and overwhelmed by their new surroundings, they stumble around aimlessly until somehow, they end up in the back of a taxi. It’s all a blur that James does not care enough to try and remember.
The only thing he has been certain of this entire time is that Regulus is here. Next to him. Not going anywhere. Every step of the way, James has been holding his breath, waiting for the moment Regulus decides it’s too much or too far and goes running in the opposite direction. But Regulus is next to him, half-asleep in the back of the taxi, clutching his bag like his life depends on it, and James finally lets himself breathe.
They’re both incredibly out of their depth here. James has done his best so far to stay composed for Regulus’ sake, but between the chaos of the day and the sensory overload of both airports, he feels far too desperate to crawl out of his own skin right now. For much of his life, he has focused on being…unobtrusive with his neurodivergence, masking to the point of exhaustion if it means he is easier to be around. He knows this trip will exhaust him too. He knows he’s going to keep being whatever Regulus needs him to be, even if it ruins him. He can’t risk losing him a second time.
The taxi driver drops them off outside a hotel that is leagues fancier than anything he was expecting. Not that he’s complaining, of course. A luxury hotel is probably just what Regulus needs right now, and it’s not like James can’t afford it.
Although the bright lights of the hotel lobby are horribly disorienting, James is relieved to find that the space is quiet. A few people come and go, but none of them make a fuss. His attention stays on Regulus, who looks dead on his feet from the exhaustion of travel, as he guides him to the reception desk, drowning out the rest of the world in favour of gazing at him. A lovely woman greets them, but James stops paying attention to what she’s saying after he gives her his name, just nodding along absentmindedly until she passes him a keycard.
They take the elevator the entire way up to the top floor, and James has to hold onto the railing to try to ease his anxiety. It’s not his fault that elevators are terrifying. They creak and clunk and move in ways that cannot be safe. He would much rather climb a hundred flights of stairs than endure this, but he’s not sure Regulus could handle that right now. He makes a mental note to suggest it on their way out tomorrow, though.
For a not-so-brief moment, he considers reaching out for Regulus’ hand. Hours ago they were kissing, hands all over each other, and now that reality has set in, it’s as if there’s some kind of invisible barrier between them. They’ve been here before. James knows this feeling, and he knows what it cost him last time. He doesn’t reach for Regulus’ hand in the elevator, but now, he’s not giving up so easily. He’s going to make things work between them. He owes it to himself to at least try.
It’s not until they reach their hotel room that James realises he somehow managed to book them an entire suite. They step into a beautiful open space—high ceilings, carpeted floors, windows overlooking a breathtaking city skyline—and James thinks he’ll be happy if their trip extends no farther than this room.
“Not bad,” he remarks, stepping in to inspect the room. One side of the place boasts a huge TV, faced by a semi-circle of plush armchairs and jewel-studded pillows. The other side has a minibar that can barely be considered “mini” by anyone’s standards and a stunning grand piano. “I’m sure there are much worse honeymoon destinations. Does it…still count as a honeymoon if you don’t actually get married? I’m not sure I know what a honeymoon is.”
James turns around in time to catch the ghost of a smile grace Regulus’ lips, and that alone is enough to make every awful part of this day worth it.
“Come on. Let’s find the bedroom and get some rest. We’ll dedicate tomorrow morning to coming up with a plan for this trip,” he decides, hoping that some semblance of a structured day will be enough to put them both at ease. Gesturing for Regulus to follow him, he ventures through the suite, managing to find the bathroom and two separate walk-in closets before finally reaching the bedroom, and—
“Oh.” James realises too late that he probably should have paid a bit more attention when booking the room. The bed is massive, at least big enough for three people to lie comfortably, but there’s only one. It felt like the two of them barely survived the silent elevator ride up here. How are they supposed to share a bed?
Regulus doesn’t say anything–and probably can’t–so James doesn’t push him. Trying to force Regulus to speak won’t benefit either of them, especially after such a long and draining day. And, although he knows it is not to the same degree, James is no stranger to moments where speaking is physically impossible. Regulus doesn’t need someone making him feel like what he’s experiencing right now is somehow burdening to their situation. James will figure something out. He always does.
He steps into the bedroom, instantly making a beeline for the wardrobe. Just as he suspected, there’s a pile of extra pillows–way more than any two people could ever need. Grabbing all of them, he makes his way over to the bed and drops down on one side.
“Don’t just stand there, your Highness,” James insists, knowing Regulus must be internally rolling his eyes. You don’t refer to viscounts as ‘your Highness,’ he can almost hear Regulus say. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. James laughs softly, amused without Regulus actually having to say anything. “Get comfortable. We’ll build a wall, and that way, you have your own space. Or I can go sleep in the bath if you’d prefer?”
Regulus answers his question by finally crossing the room to sit down on the other side of the bed. James grins, then starts stacking the spare pillows up between them, high enough that they won’t be touching, but not so high that they can’t see each other anymore. It’s not a permanent solution, but it’ll work for tonight. They can figure everything out tomorrow. Tonight, they need sleep.
James gets up to turn the big light off, but he keeps one of the side lamps on. He’s never been particularly fond of the dark. Even in the dim light of the room, he can still perfectly see Regulus and how uncomfortable he still looks. It makes James’ stomach turn as he lies down and tries to get comfortable. He won’t be surprised if they wake up tomorrow and Regulus is demanding that James take him home. James would do it in a heartbeat, even though it would crush him. He doesn’t want to give up on this—on them, on their second chance—but he doesn’t want to see Regulus miserable either.
“Try to get some sleep, yeah? I’ll be right here if you need me,” he offers, watching as Regulus finally settles into the bed. It’s only when Regulus’ eyes fall shut and he seems to have fallen asleep that James allows himself the grace to feel everything he has been desperately trying to avoid all day.
The panic bubbles up and out of him with force, cutting off his breaths and making his hands shake until they’re numb. What is he doing? Travelling thousands of miles across the world with a boy he loves, unsure if that boy loves him back, and still trying to make something of it? It’s pathetic, but James never learned to listen to his head over his heart. It’s always been the loudest part of him, even now that it’s barely held together by a flimsy plan and a flimsier sense of hope.
But tomorrow will come, and he will get to try again. And maybe things will work out for him this time. Maybe, for the first time, listening to his heart will finally pay off.