Chapter Text
Regulus awakens in an unfamiliar bed with unfamiliar sheets and an unfamiliar weight across his waist. His eyes shift into focus to reveal a room of blinding white originating from a large floor-to-ceiling window at the far end. Something warm is pressed against his back, tucked into the crook of his neck, wrapped around his waist. His stomach sinks—is this the day his mother’s warnings about kidnappings and assaults become true? Regulus always waved them off, convinced they were the ramblings of a paranoid noble who had not left her estate in decades, and considered himself perfectly safe where he was, but every sign she forewarned him of is present. The white walls, something pushing him down, an entirely unknown second location; he could be anywhere.
Then, he sees a flash of gold.
He looks down at his waist and realises that the thing thrown over him is an arm. An arm that bears a golden charm bracelet Regulus had long since blocked from his memory. It gleams in the morning sun, tinkling every so often with Regulus’ subtle movements.
A memory assaults him then, one filled with autumn chill and clear, starry skies.
They perch on the edge of the school’s roof, their scarves blowing gently in the wind. Regulus runs his fingers over the smooth box in his lap and turns to the boy next to him with tentative excitement. Is this overstepping? A line not meant to be crossed? He glances at the golden charm bracelet on James’ wrist. It sits over James’ gloves, always visible even during school hours.
“I…have something for you,” Regulus falters. The box seems to grow heavier with every word. James glances up at him with a curious twitch of his eyebrows, his glasses askew.
“A present for me?” He grins wide, showing his dimples. Regulus flushes at the sight; he wishes James wouldn’t do…that. Or look like that. So unabashedly welcoming and open to whatever Regulus will share with him. Having someone pay this much attention to him is unnerving. He almost wants to take back his statement and pretend it was all a joke, but no, he’s committed now.
“I thought…since you have your bracelet and all, and you like to buy charms for special occasions…well, I thought you might enjoy having one for us. You know, since it will be…difficult to stay in contact after we go to uni and all, so every moment we spend as…companions is…” he trails off, a hot panic spreading through him when he realises that his words have caught in his throat. James seems to understand, as he always does, and scoots closer to take the box from his hands.
“You got me a charm?” James whispers, cradling the box between his palms. Regulus nods.
James removes the lid from the box as if opening a case enclosing a precious jewel. Red tissue paper is taken apart by steady fingers to reveal a golden Leo constellation with stars of white diamond. It gleams in the starlight, with the Regulus star particularly bright due to its enhanced design.
James releases a soft, “Oh,” and picks it up with care, turning it over at eye level. “Regulus, this is…”
Too much? Too soon? Too expensive?
“...beautiful. It’s beautiful.” James sets the charm back down in its box, patting it for good measure, and takes off his charm bracelet. “Would you help me put it on?”
Regulus just blinks at him, still processing the fact that James didn’t throw the charm to the ground. Dimly, he registers that the other boy is waiting for an answer, and he scoops up the bracelet in his hands.
“No, I want to hold the bracelet while you put the charm on. So it can be special,” James insists. Regulus feels his cheeks heat up again, but he complies with trembling hands.
He chose a charm with a small clasp so that it would be easy to attach and quickly replaceable if needed. The spot he decides on is between the book charm James’ parents got him for his first day at Eton and the bumblebee Regulus has always held as one of his favourites. It locks on with a click, and James beams at the sight.
“It’s perfect. Thank you,” he says, offering Regulus a soft smile. Regulus bows his head in response and sneaks a glance at the little constellation against James’ wrist. It suits him well—just as well as he had hoped, though he had assumed he would be wrong.
The Leo constellation charm remains on the bracelet to this day. Regulus often wondered if James ever took it off, if he decided he had no need for it anymore, but here it stands, clear as day on James’ wrist. Regulus reaches out to touch it but stops just before his fingertips make contact. For this charm to be here, James must be here, and if James is here, that means that everything from the wedding to the hotel wasn’t just a hopeless wish he conjured at the altar.
His entire life has been thrown out the window. The future he resigned himself to has vanished, gone with the sunrise never to be seen again. God, the press must be having a field day—his mother must be having a field day, or a breakdown, or—
What if she did something irrational? Would she truly track him down to the States and drag him back to London? She told him when Sirius ran away to Alphard’s that if he ever pulled a stunt like that, she would never let him see the sun again. Not that he was allowed out much beforehand. She could be waiting outside the hotel right now with a warrant for James’ arrest, ready to cry crocodile tears and claim that her one and only heir was kidnapped by a lowlife, new-money businessman.
Something beneath him buzzes, and Regulus twists until he pulls his phone out from under his body, warm from the weight of him.
Maman —57 Missed Calls, 99 New Messages
Papa —24 Missed Calls
Trial Run—1 New Message
The last text from his mother was sent less than a minute ago.
As if on cue, another three come in rapid succession. Regulus doesn’t read them—he can’t through the tears that are burning his eyes and the tightness that squeezes his chest and the nausea that claws at his throat.
In a split second, he has thrown himself off the bed and is racing toward the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the porcelain toilet. His phone goes skidding across the tile floor, bashing against the jacuzzi walls, but Regulus is far too busy dry-heaving to care. He wants to reach into his insides and pull the horrible, choking feeling in his throat out, wants to throw it all up and empty himself of all emotion, yet something stops him before he can. His body protests his retching sobs, twisting itself up until he has folded in on himself with his knees pulled to his chest.
What have I done? What have I done? WhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdone?
He scrambles across the floor to pick up his phone, which now sports a cracked right corner. Without thinking, he throws it into the toilet bowl and pulls the trip handle to try and flush it down. It just bounces around in a swirl as the toilet water gurgles in disdain, entirely unsympathetic toward his predicament.
Regulus slams his forehead against the seat, well and truly sobbing now, agonised cries and all. He pulls the trip handle over and over, but his phone stays afloat, making sickening buzzing sounds as more messages and calls bombard him.
“Woah, hey, what’s going on?”
Regulus lifts his head to meet the bewildered, sleep-clouded eyes of James Potter. Their hazel has stayed the same all these years, down to the last atom.
He just barely makes it to his feet, crashing into the counter as he goes.
“I didn’t—I just—I tried to—it won’t—” he cuts himself off with the most pathetic whine he’s ever made in his life as he gestures to the toilet bowl. James walks over to it and fishes his phone out, a strange expression falling over his face that almost looks like amusement.
“You have Sirius in your phone as ‘Trial Run?’” he snorts, but his expression quickly smooths into one of concern when he sees Regulus’ face, his nose cherry-red and his lashes thick with tears.
“They’re trying—I can’t—” Regulus hiccups. A desire he has not felt in years comes over him then, and he stumbles toward James with arms outreached. Most times when he is upset, anyone who gets too close to him will receive an instinctual slap in the face, but right now? Now, he just wants to be held.
James makes a small noise of surprise, but he doesn’t back away. He wraps Regulus up in a light embrace and pulls him close—too close, though Regulus has no intention of correcting it.
“You—you like deep pressure, right? It calms you down?” James asks.
“Yeah,” Regulus warbles, crying even harder now because this is yet another thing that James remembers after so long. James’ arms tighten around him in a snug, impenetrable hold.
“How ‘bout we get some air, yeah?” James prods without pressure. Regulus nods, mostly because he thinks that if James let go of him, he’d simply fall to the floor and never get up again. “Okay. Okay, let’s…let’s go to the balcony. Does that sound okay? Okay. Okay, I’ve got you. Just—just hold on.”
He’s rambling, and Regulus knows that neither of them has any idea what to do, yet somehow, he feels safer, even, than when he had panic attacks and PTSD breaks in his therapist’s office.
By some miracle, they make it outside. Luckily, there is a pleasant chill in the air despite it being summer, and Regulus wastes no time inhaling the cold relief.
“What’s going on?” James inquires softly, still holding him tight.
“Maybe—” Regulus hiccups, “maybe it’s ‘cause I forgot to take my mood stabilisers last night.”
James chuckles and wipes his tears with his palm. It’s a nice gesture, but new ones fill their places in record time. “I don’t think that’s it, princess.”
Regulus’ stomach flips at the old nickname, one that made him turn bright red every time he heard it. Apparently, this is one more thing that has not changed.
“Maman,” is all he has to say. James clicks his tongue and places Regulus’ phone back in his hands.
“Throw it,” he says with a nonchalant shrug.
Regulus’ mouth drops open. “Wh—pardon?”
“You heard me. Throw it over the balcony. I’ve got mine, so we’ll be set for the trip. Throw it.” James mimes winding his arm up like a baseball pitcher and whistles as his arm sails forward.
“I can’t just—”
“Sure you can. Easy peasy.”
Regulus sniffles, feeling the warm metal against his palms. Easy peasy.
He takes a shaky breath, steps up to the railing, and throws.
His phone hits the concrete sidewalk below them with a crash, and he lets out a horrified yelp. His breathing quickens, and he flaps his hands in front of his face, beginning to pace back and forth.
“Oh, god, what did I do? What did I do? What did I—” He’s interrupted by the pressure of James’ embrace once again. The steady rise and fall of James’ chest helps him regulate his own breathing.
“You did good, Regulus. That was good,” James murmurs into his hair.
“I did?”
“You did.”
All of a sudden, Regulus feels so, so tired. He slumps against James’ chest and sighs in great relief when James carefully lowers them to the ground. A slight breeze ruffles his curls, covering him like a blanket.
Of all things, Regulus finds himself fighting a laugh that bubbles up inside him. The sheer absurdity of their situation—wedding runaways on the floor of a hotel balcony after chucking a phone off the roof—causes a small giggle to slip past his lips, his shoulders shaking along with it. James looks at him with such confusion that he cannot help but laugh again, and before he knows it, he’s laughing through his tears and smiling for the first time since he awoke.
“What—?” James lets out a bemused giggle of his own. It appears Regulus’ laughter is contagious, for his mouth breaks into a big grin, and he joins in just as enthusiastically.
“This is insane. We are insane,” Regulus gasps, but it’s filled with delight.
James reaches out, smoothes a curl behind his ear, and says;
“Good thing I’m with you, then. There’s no one else I’d rather go insane with.”
Rather than braving the hotel restaurant that morning, James orders the entire breakfast menu to be delivered to their suite. After the morning they've already had, sitting in a busy room full of other people seems counterproductive, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to treat Regulus to more luxury.
“If Americans got anything right, it's breakfast,” James decides, finishing off his fifth waffle. Apparently, the entire breakfast menu is enough to feed a small village. “Maybe we should just spend the entire trip here. No people, no noise, just us and an infinite supply of strawberries.”
His gaze settles on Regulus on the suite couch next to him, and it's a sight he never wants to forget. Finally seeming to have calmed down, Regulus is curled up against the arm of the couch, balancing a now-empty bowl in his lap, his mouth stained red with fruit juice. James wonders if Regulus knows how beautiful he looks right now. He wonders how it would taste to kiss him.
He doesn't kiss him, though. Not yet. He still can't quite figure out how Regulus feels about…them, and any time he thinks too hard about it, his stomach twists into knots. What he knows for sure, though, is that—in some capacity beyond James’ comprehension—they need each other. And now they have all the time in the world to figure it out. He'll wait forever to kiss Regulus again if that's what Regulus needs.
“As lovely as that sounds, we both know you'd be bouncing off the walls in less than a day,” Regulus points out.
It's as if no time has passed at all since they were last together. James didn't lose Regulus after graduating, and they didn't live entire lives apart. He never had to wonder if they'd reunite, if they'd finally have a chance to really be together, or worry upon the reunion that Regulus wanted nothing to do with him. No, in this moment James can pretend that his life turned out exactly the way he wanted it to.
“I would not! I am perfectly capable of sitting here and doing nothing!” James protests. All Regulus has to do is raise a judging eyebrow before he relents. “Okay, fine. Maybe you have a point. That just means we have to find something to do while we're here.”
He reaches forward to scoop up the small pile of pamphlets sitting on the coffee table in front of them, hoping to find something fun for them to do. Local tours, wine tasting, speed-dating, pool pilates—absolutely nothing James wants to subject himself and Regulus to right now, or maybe ever. It isn't until he gets to the last pamphlet that he finds something worth considering. Which is how, five minutes later, the pair find themselves standing inside the hotel's spa.
“This place is…quiet,” Regulus observes as they step inside. James watches as he seems to scan the room, his nose scrunching up in adorable disapproval.
“I think that's the point. It's for ambience or whatever,” James points out, his tone dripping with such blatant amusement that it earns him a glare. He has to bite his cheek to resist laughing. “It’s quiet because everyone is relaxing.”
“It’s quiet because everyone has been scared off by the hideous décor,” Regulus decides. At that, James breaks into a fit of laughter, clutching at his stomach as he desperately tries to regain his ability to breathe. The spa receptionist sends a dirty look in his direction, but he's far more focused on the way Regulus seems to light up, shaking with his own barely contained giggles.
Watching Regulus finally begin to relax fills James with a sense of relief that he didn't think he could accomplish. After the terrible state Regulus had been in this morning, he was starting to worry that this whole trip would just become another point on his long list of regrets and mistakes. But Regulus is smiling, and that’s all James needs to know everything will be okay.
They approach the spa receptionist and James books them in for full-body massages, hoping it’ll ease them both. After being given instructions and towels, they are guided to a private room with lockers for their belongings and cubicles for them to undress. The idea of Regulus seeing him in just a towel sends heat spreading through James’ cheeks, and he hides away behind one of the cubicle curtains before he can make a fool of himself. He strips down to his underwear as quickly as possible and wraps the towel around his waist, ready to head to the massage room when he hears a whisper.
“James?”
It's so soft that he thinks he imagined it, but he would know Regulus’ voice anywhere.
“I'm right here, Regulus,” James promises, leaning on the divider between the changing cubicles. Part of him wishes he could reach through and hold Regulus like he did this morning, but something tells him Regulus might not feel too comfortable being seen right now.
“Would it be okay if…I took my binder off?” Regulus asks timidly.
James doesn't know much about Regulus’ relationship with his gender, but he does know Regulus. He knows that there's something going on beneath the surface that Regulus isn't saying; there always is.
“Whatever is going to make you feel comfortable in this moment is the best decision. If you're going to feel more comfortable in your own skin by taking off your binder, then do it,” James assures him, keeping his voice low and steady—the same tone he has always reverted to when doing what he can to soothe him. “Your binder will still be there when you want to put it back on, if you want to put it back on. And no one that matters is going to think any differently of you. Especially not me.”
The room falls silent, and James listens intently as Regulus’ shaky breaths begin to even out again. How long is it going to take before he can learn to make a decision that doesn't distress the one person he is trying to please? He's not sure how many more times he can bear witness to Regulus’ panic before his heart shatters entirely. He'll just have to keep trying until he gets this whole thing right. It feels like trying might be the only thing he can do anymore.
“Ready to go, princess?” James asks, stepping back out of the changing cubicle and waiting for Regulus to do the same. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, Regulus steps out from behind the curtain, wrapped up in his towel. He offers Regulus a grin, but he's not sure Regulus notices, seeing as how his eyes are glued to James’ chest.
They can't just stand here—mostly because all they're wearing is underwear and towels—so James extends a hand. The massage tables are maybe thirty steps away, but James thinks it might be good for them both to be close right now. Regulus stares for another moment, then slowly reaches out to allow James to intertwine their fingers. It's tense at first, and he thinks briefly that Regulus is going to pull away again, but he gently tugs him in the direction of the door, and it’s as if Regulus melts into him. Everything starts to feel alright again.
They waste no more time moving from one room to the next, holding hands the entire way. The massage room is at the end of the hall—a dimly lit space warmed by lavender-scented candles, with the melodic sound of Schumann's Three Romances lulling James into a wonderful sense of peace. He thinks he might fall asleep as soon as he lies down.
Reluctantly, James and Regulus separate to get comfortable on the massage beds, though James does briefly consider holding on for the duration of the process. He does his best to relax as the masseuse begins working knots out of his back, but it's not until he hears a soft, contented sigh from Regulus that he truly begins to enjoy himself.
It takes a full-body massage for James to realise how horribly tense he has been these past twenty-four hours. It's far too easy for him to slip into a mindset of worrying about his companions that he often forgets to take a moment to himself to breathe. He allows it now, though—barely awake as he melts into the massage bed, unable to think about anything deeply enough to worry about it right now. He doesn't know how much time passes and he doesn't care. Who knows when he'll get to experience this level of bliss again?
When the massage ends and James finally sits up, he instantly finds himself turning to Regulus, who somehow looks even more beautiful now than he did over breakfast this morning. James doesn’t understand how it's possible. His eyes are only half-open, as if he's just woken up from a nap, and a tiny smile graces his pretty pink lips. His head is lolled to one side, and his shoulders droop, and there's not a single sign of tension anywhere in his body. James wonders what it would take to keep Regulus like this forever. He deserves it, more than anyone.
“You look really good—I mean, relaxed. You look really relaxed,” James insists, trying and failing to suppress a grin. Maybe it's a trick of the low light, but he swears Regulus’ cheeks turn pink.
They intertwine their hands again for the walk back to the changing room, showcasing much less hesitance this time. It feels so natural for them to be this close that James can't begin to understand how he lived so long without it. Even letting go to get dressed again feels like the mightiest task of the day. Maybe that plays a role in why they both redress so quickly—Regulus with his binder back on, James notes—and find themselves standing much closer together than they have been since the wedding.
“We really need to buy new clothes. Seriously, I'm one of the most attractive people I know, and even I can't pull off this outfit,” James decides, watching as Regulus’ lips quirk up in amusement and feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over him. “But we have time for that later. This place has a ton of other relaxation options. Is there anything else you want to do before we head out?”
Regulus falls silent, chewing on his lip in a way that James knows isn't a great sign. He's worried about…something. Unsure of what else to do, James reaches across and squeezes both of his hands, hoping it'll do at least a little to ease him.
“Maybe…we could get our nails done?” Regulus suggests. James gives his hands another gentle squeeze.
“Of course. I love that idea,” he says, watching as Regulus relaxes once more. It's probably because of the massage, but James likes to think that maybe, just maybe, his presence is playing a role in Regulus slipping so easily back to a state of peace. Maybe he is finally doing something right.
They step into the beauty salon, and James instantly gives Regulus’ hand a gentle tug, guiding him towards a display cabinet before he has the opportunity to freeze up and panic again. He's pretty certain that just about anything could send Regulus spiralling—and honestly, James feels barely held together trying to navigate their complicated dynamic in an unfamiliar country—so he's doing what he can to keep them both afloat.
A cheery staff member greets them, and soon enough, James finds himself in the most comfortable reclining chair he has ever been in, being fussed over in a way he's still trying to decide whether or not he enjoys. Someone asks them about the different services available and what they'd like, and James turns his attention to Regulus, hoping that he knows what any of it means. It takes an encouraging nod and a squeeze of his hand, but eventually, Regulus starts talking to the staff member, and James just agrees with all of it.
“Uh, sir? You're going to have to let go for us to do your nails,” the nail tech says gently, gesturing to where James and Regulus’ hands are still intertwined between the chairs. He had become so comfortable with the touch that it hadn't dawned on him that he'd ever need to let go. With an apologetic smile, he slowly separates his hand from Regulus’ and rests it on the arm of his chair.
What he expected to be a quick fifteen-minute service actually takes upwards of an hour. There are so many little tools and polishes and layers, and he understands none of it. He lets Regulus make all the decisions regarding his nails, choosing to just close his eyes and enjoy the process. Part of him wonders if he should be staying alert—keeping an eye out in case Regulus has another panic attack or meltdown—and a bubble of guilt forms deep within him for choosing not to. He'll be here if Regulus needs him, but a couple of bad moments early in the trip can't be enough for James to sacrifice his own relaxation in order to take on the role of caretaker.
When the technician finishes her job, James opens his eyes to admire his nails—white polish with little black stars. He turns, ready to show off the designs, and is struck for the third time today by the sight in front of him.
“Let me see,” he insists, snapping Regulus back to reality from gazing dreamily at his own nails. Plenty of words have crossed James’ mind over the years to describe Regulus, but the one he settles on in this moment is adorable. He has the sweetest smile on his lips as he tentatively holds out his hands for James to see. Black polish with white stars. They match. James feels his heart skip a beat.
As gentle as ever, James takes one of Regulus’ hands in his own and lifts it to his lips, kissing Regulus’ knuckles. He watches Regulus’ cheeks turn pink and is filled with a sense of pride at knowing he still has this effect on Regulus after so many years.
“Can you take a picture?” Regulus asks, and James is more than happy to oblige. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and wastes no time taking pictures of Regulus’ nails. And then, before he can process what’s happening, James tilts the phone up to take a picture of his face, still tinted pink and brandishing a perfect little smile.
“James!” Regulus scolds as soon as he realises what James has done. He reaches across the space between them, grabbing for James’ phone. James doesn’t give him the chance, though. He shoves his phone back in his pocket with a smug grin and offers Regulus his hand instead. With an eye roll and a small huff, Regulus takes his hand and they both stand, content with their well-spent morning.
“I’m thinking…shopping trip?” James suggests as they walk back through the lobby to the elevator. Regulus hums in agreement as the elevator doors open, and they begin the slow descent back up to their suite. “I don’t think this outfit will last me for our entire stay in the U.S.”
Regulus nudges his arm, and James doesn’t think much of the gesture, so he just responds by squeezing Regulus’ hand. When Regulus nudges his arm again, he nudges him right back. Then, Regulus releases an exasperated sigh, and before James can react, Regulus is tugging on his shirt with enough force to move him entirely. Regulus’ lips find his before his brain can catch onto what’s happening, and he melts into the kiss like it’s all he knows how to do.
James thought he knew peace that morning during the massage, and then again when they were getting their nails done. But now? Now, for the first time in as long as he can remember, James’ mind is…silent. There’s no nagging worry or paranoia or panic threatening to pull him out of this moment. There is just Regulus.
When his brain finally catches up to his body, James is kissing Regulus with everything he has to give. His hands are tight on Regulus’ waist, and Regulus’ hands are in his hair, and he’s not sure where he ends and Regulus begins. He’s not sure he cares, either. All that matters right now is that he gets to kiss Regulus again, and that Regulus wants to kiss him again.
They only pull apart when the elevator doors slide open again, though not by much. James can still feel Regulus’ breath against his lips. If he could, he'd freeze time and allow the rest of his life to pass in this exact moment. It's only when he feels Regulus reach down to grab his hand and tug him out of the elevator that he remembers the world is still spinning.
“Come on. If you stand there forever, all the shops will be shut before we leave the hotel,” Regulus insists, leading James back to their suite to prepare for their shopping trip. His cheeks are flushed pink in the most adorable way, and James has to fight the urge to derail their plans further just to kiss him again. A small laugh escapes him, earning an affectionate eye roll from Regulus, and he wonders how he managed to get so lucky in life.
New York City is loud.
Their taxi skids to a halt on the side of the street, rocking both of them forward and slamming them back against their seats. Regulus slips his mufflers on, and he sees James insert his own blue earplugs, small and flimsy compared to the thick, hefty things overtop Regulus’ ears.
They step out of the cab and onto the hectic sidewalk. Even with his ears covered, Regulus can still hear every beep, shout, bark, and alarm in their general vicinity. Less than ten seconds after exiting the cab, he is shoulder-checked by a man in a crisp suit who continues walking brusquely by as if Regulus isn’t there at all. Neon lights and screens boast advertisements, shop names, and restaurants that all blend together into one colourful whirl, causing Regulus to blink and stumble a bit to get his bearings.
“It’s very bright here,” he mumbles, subconsciously reaching for James’ hand.
“Yeah. Loud,” James mouths in reply, equally quiet. Regulus spares a glance up at James’ airport earplugs and winces as yet another car’s horn blasts through the air.
“We should get you mufflers like mine. So I won’t look like an idiot all by myself,” he offers. His own voice sounds as if it’s been submerged in water when he wears his earmuffs—sturdy like the ones used for mowing lawns—and he cannot even hear James, so if noise is James’ problem, a similar accessory is sure to fix it. Of course, they won’t be custom-fit to all his proportions and specific needs like Regulus’ are, but that is always something Regulus can fix for him once they return to London.
The massage has rationalised his thinking a bit and made him realise that his parents cannot cut him off or revoke his titles, for he is their only chance at an heir, so he won’t have to sacrifice his life of luxury upon arriving back in his home country.
James says something in reply that he can’t hear, then chuckles and gives him a very enthusiastic thumbs-up.
A never-ending chain of shops seems to extend to their left and right, each with its own massive display window filled with expensive clothing. James says something else Regulus doesn’t catch, resulting in a fond eyeroll from him and a sheepish giggle from Regulus, and sets his hands on Regulus’ shoulders. He mouths his words very slowly; “Where are we?”
“Fifth Avenue!”
“What?”
“Fifth Avenue!”
“No, I know, but ___ is ___ bathe.”
“Bathe?”
“No — vague!”
“Oh!”
Regulus huffs and pulls them both into the nearest store, which is surprisingly quiet despite the chaos outside. He risks sliding his mufflers off and letting them sit around his neck.
“We’re on Fifth Avenue,” he deadpans.
“Yes, I know that,” James practically whines, “but what does that mean? Is there like…a Fourth Avenue nearby? What is the significance of—?”
“Shopping. Lots of shops here. Many. Look outside.” Regulus walks him to the window and points to the opposite side of the street. “Fancy shops. Expensive ones.”
James gives a solemn nod. “Fancy shops.”
“This way, we won’t look like peasants anymore,” Regulus says as he puts his mufflers back on. Indoors, in such a quiet area, it shouldn’t be as difficult to hear James if he speaks to him.
Once they sort themselves out, they begin making rounds throughout the store. Or, rather, they meticulously scrutinise every inch of it as they pull out two or three articles of clothing that strike their fancy.
“What about this?” Regulus holds up a brown argyle sweater. James frowns and tilts his head to the side.
“For you? I’d say it would need to be a half-shade darker. Lighter colours make you disappear like a ghostly Victorian child. Oh, and a bit looser, if you still hate the feeling of tight sweaters.” He sifts the material between his pointer finger and thumb, and his frown deepens. “Yeah, it’s a no-go. Feel the inside. All scratchy. Not to mention it isn’t handmade.”
“What? Yes it—” Regulus pauses, his hand slipping inside the sweater. To the untrained eye, it would appear that it is handmade, but James is right; the manufacturing is too mechanical for a human hand, and Regulus would be willing to bet that this very sweater is being mass-produced somewhere in the world at that very moment, preparing to be sold as a one-of-a-kind model to some unfortunate soul.
Around an hour and thirty sweaters later, Regulus and James finally settle on two sweaters for him, alongside a black, ankle-length dress coat. James has collected a coffee-coloured button-up (six different shades of white were rejected before they had the sense to move on to light browns) and an undershirt. Employees have approached them multiple times to ask if they require assistance, but each time, the two simply waved them off and continued their heated debate over whether or not the button-up would survive an iron.
There is only one dressing room open, and Regulus lets James have it since he’s still on the fence about the dress coat anyway. He’s turning around to hold it up to a mirror, scanning the shop for the closest viable option, when he sees a mannequin.
Normally, this wouldn’t be anything of note. Mannequins are everywhere on Fifth Avenue, even outside of shops. Hell, Regulus and James “stole” Regulus’ dress coat off of a window mannequin just minutes ago. However, this one is different. This one wears a schoolgirl-style black miniskirt with buttons on the sides of the waist, and Regulus wants it. He wants it so badly it hurts, for multiple reasons. Why does he crave the feeling of that miniskirt sliding over his thighs when he is repulsed at the thought of having to wear another dress? Why are there days—such as this morning—where he feels more comfortable without his binder than with it? At the moment, he would prefer it to be on, but what about later? Or tomorrow? The thought makes him nauseous. He spent all this time separating himself from the life he was forced into, and now…
His parents agreed to let him transition so long as he agreed to carry heirs in the future. They hated him for it, but after Sirius left, he suddenly became their shining star of hope. Their last male heir. It was always one or the other for him, not the murky in-between that scares him so badly his heart races.
The moment a changing room opens, Regulus shoves his way into it and slams the door shut. He hangs his selections on the hooks on the wall and sits down atop the small bench inside, so low to the ground that his knees touch his chin.
You’re fine, Regulus. Get up.
No matter how many times he inhales, his breath will not come.
Come along, Regulus. You asked for this, so deal with the consequences.
His binder feels tight—so tight, too tight—cracking his ribs and caving in on his lungs and his, his, his.
Stay in here until you learn to behave.
Stay in. Stay in and Pick and Stay and Choose One and This Is You Forever You Asked For This and One Or The Other Regulus.
There is a box. A mould. One everyone fits into with smooth security. And Regulus did not fit the Girl Mould and he does not fit the Non-binary Mould so he must fit the Boy Mould. This is how it must be. It’s how it is. There are no other options, no other moulds to confine himself to. His mother cannot force him into other cabinets, only these ones.
Regulus wipes at his eyes and hugs his knees to his chest, squeezing to try and root himself to the ground. This is all ridiculous. Just fucking stupid.
Still taking in gasping breaths, he forces himself up and takes a sweater off the rack. His airport clothes are touching his skin in all the wrong places and making him run hot and pricking at his thighs and itching at his stomach and moving everywhere, and he can’t get them off he can’t unless he rips them off, and he can’t take his binder off even though his lungs burn and his ribs ache and it isn’t healthy but he can’t breathe and what else is he supposed to do?
Finally, he is able to throw his shirt and pants off and press his cheek to the cool dressing room wall. God knows how many germs coat the thing; he’ll surely be throwing up later in regret, but for now, the chill steadies his breathing and helps stop his eyes from burning with tears.
At this moment, he knows he has to disappear into his head, if only for a little while. He’ll come out when he hears James’ dressing room door open. He will. If he can control it.
Now, he sits on the edge of a soft bed framed by dark brown wood in a room that smells of afternoon thunderstorms. He turns his head to look out the window and sees an endless, tight forest of evergreens that litter the ground with needles.
Rain patters against the roof of Regulus’ cabin, catching on forest ferns and weighing them down with droplets. It is as it always is — calm. Peaceful. Solitary.
Regulus slides off the bed, his socks meeting soft carpet. He picks up the cup of earl grey that sits dutifully on the bedside table. The reach is almost intuitive. He’s done this so many times here in his constructed reality, though on some days, it’s fresh, while on other days, it’s days old. Today, the porcelain teacup is warm in his palms.
He wraps a hand around the silver door handle of his room and pulls it down, stepping out into the corridor, which is blanketed in the soothing light of candles. Their flickering does not bother his eyes, not like in reality.
The stairs do not creak when he steps on them, though they do have a slight chill compared to the warm carpet of the hallway. Regulus walks down as they spiral to the first floor, which is just as tranquil, just as silent, with cosy furniture and a warm fireplace. He lowers himself into the green armchair on the right and brings his teacup to his lips, tasting how the earl grey carries just enough blackberry-infused honey and vanilla to satisfy him without overwhelming his senses.
But something is wrong.
Something is missing.
It isn’t the music; this feeling doesn’t disappear when Regulus allows Tchaikovsky’s melodies to drift throughout the cabin. Everything else is exactly as it always is, but something is horribly, terribly wrong.
Where is James?
He has never been here before, but where is he now? He should be here. Why isn’t he here? He should be. Regulus doesn’t like it here if James isn’t with him too. This is supposed to be his space, but it isn’t right. No, it’s all wrong. All of it.
He has to leave.
All of a sudden, his hands feel empty. He looks down and finds that the teacup he had just sipped from is gone, and his legs begin to numb. Blinking usually snaps him out of it, so long as he doesn’t break his concentration or get dizzy, so he lets his lashes flutter until his true surroundings come into focus.
“Fuck. Right.” Regulus peels his cheek off the dressing room wall and rubs at his eyes. It’s all a bit better now, as much as it can be. He looks at the sweaters and dress coat hanging on the hooks nearby, reaching out to grab the dark green argyle. Its material doesn’t set his skin on fire, so that must be a good sign. For the sake of exiting the shop at a reasonable time, he accepts all the clothes and decides he can return them later if he ends up disliking them.
He steps out of the dressing room, spotting James lingering at the end of the hall with the button-up and undershirt draped over his arm. He spots Regulus and waves with his free hand, but Regulus is already racing toward him with immense relief written across his features.
“You’re here,” Regulus breathes, lifting his heels off the ground to reach up and cup James’ face. “Are you alright?”
James frowns; “Yeah, of course. Did you…think I wasn’t?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Hi.” Regulus tugs James’ face forward and kisses him tentatively, slowly, like their first kiss long ago. It was Regulus’ only kiss before James intercepted his wedding, though he is sure James has had many lovers since that night on the roof. The thought makes his stomach turn, and he deepens the kiss so that his tongue runs across James’ lower lip, asking for entry.
James pulls away, looking a bit dazed, and grins at him.
“Woah, princess. Take me out to dinner first,” he jives. Briefly, Regulus wonders if he made him uncomfortable, but James leans forward and pecks his nose, causing it to scrunch at the sensation. “As adorable as you are, I think they’ll kick us out of the shop if we carry on.”
Regulus flushes pink and nods. He and James start toward the register and step in line behind a businesswoman chattering away into her earpiece.
“You found some clothes, then?” He gestures at the button-up and undershirt James holds.
“I did, yeah!” James replies, holding up the undershirt with pride. It’s a simple white thing, but he seems rather pleased with it. “It’s nice that this place had something my size. Usually, if I want something designer, I’ve got to get it custom-tailored since they apparently only cater to ultra-thin wet napkins. Couldn’t find pants in my size though, but you win some, you lose some.”
Regulus’ gaze flicks to James’ thighs, observing how the fabric of the airport shorts hugs his curves and muscles.
“Makes sense,” he mumbles without thinking.
“Oh, yeah?” James prods. He not-so-subtly slides an arm across Regulus’ waist and pulls him against him. Regulus finds himself buried in James’ side, his eyes peeking out when he adjusts his stance. It makes his chest constrict and his heartbeat pick up, but he has no desire to break the contact.
“Yeah.” Regulus sighs, allowing himself to absorb James’ warmth for a moment. The feeling is peculiar, a craving he hasn’t felt since his school days and that he thought he’d never feel again. Where everyone else’s touch repels him, he feels compelled to seek out James’. It could be called a comfort—or even a sense of safety—if it wasn’t so confusing. There has always been something about James that negates everything he has ever known. James doesn’t cancel out his feelings, per se; he still has a large aversion to contact with anyone else, and his problems don’t magically go away, but it makes things…less lonely, somehow. For someone who prefers to be alone, Regulus is captivated by James’ presence. At the moment, he thinks he might have some sort of episode if he separates himself from James.
The chattering businesswoman reaches the counter and checks out her belongings, forcing Regulus to drop his arms from around James’ waist and set his on the counter.
James sidesteps in front of him to pay, as if sensing the question that had been bubbling on Regulus’ tongue: should I pay you back?
“You don’t even have a wallet. Keep your mouth shut.” James squeezes his hip and pulls his card out. The total is in the thousands, but Regulus is too focused on the lingering feeling of James’ hand on his hip to react. He tries to form the word thanks, instead letting out a small squeak of air and silently opening and closing his mouth like a confused fish. Not for the first time, he wishes he had some sort of alternate form of communication to cover for him in moments like this. His therapist has suggested learning to sign and even sent him information on a few deaf instructors in the area, but the thought feels…intruding somehow. Like he doesn’t deserve it. He’s perfectly functional, so why should he take lessons away from someone who actually needs them?
“All set!” James announces, handing him a bag. Regulus gives him a smile and takes it, trying his best to force his expression into something of overdramatic gratefulness since he can’t say it aloud. James hums and helps Regulus slip his mufflers back on without asking, which would normally make him upset, but all he feels now is a boost in his mood. Once again, he attempts to say thanks and fails miserably.
They exit the shop and start down the street. After a couple of steps, James tugs his hand, guiding him over to a bench and pulling out his phone. Regulus’ stomach sinks, and he begins to resign himself to accept that he really isn’t enough to keep James occupied as he thought, when the man’s face lights up, and he slips his phone into his pocket again.
Come with me, James mouths, suddenly very eager to get off of Fifth Avenue. He’s got his hand around Regulus’ wrist, tugging him along for about a block before he stops abruptly in front of a small bookshop with a sign in front reading Paperback Palace. Regulus is ushered inside before he can ask questions, and he slides his mufflers off to do just that.
“What—?” James interrupts him with a close-mouthed kiss, then pulls away looking like a spooked deer.
“Sorry. I—er—got a bit carried away,” he stammers. Regulus swings their interlinked hands back and forth and shakes his head, feeling his face heat up.
“No, I—I kind of like it when you do that,” he admits with a sheepish half-smile.
James lets out a soft, “Oh,” and reaches out to smooth Regulus’ curls behind his ear. Without thinking, Regulus leans into it, getting so overconfident that he trips over his shoes and crashes into James’ middle.
“Woah,” he hears his companion say. “You okay?”
“Like a warm, squishy pillow,” Regulus lets slip, his mortification setting in almost instantaneously. The vibrations of James’ chuckle echo in his ear.
That’s it. Yep. No more speaking for me. All done.
“I can be your pillow.” James tells him this with a genuineness Regulus is unfamiliar with. Rather, he was unfamiliar with it prior to these last twenty-four hours, in which he has been bombarded with a kindness he doesn’t deserve.
James cups his chin and tilts his head up to meet his gaze; “Wanna know why we’re here?”
Regulus nods.
“We’re here for you to pick out a journal,” he says matter-of-factly. “So you can still ‘talk’ to me when you can’t speak.”
Regulus’ eyes widen, and he pushes his face back into James’ stomach to hide his astonishment.
“I didn’t think you noticed,” he whispers, so faint he isn’t sure if James can hear.
James exhales and takes a step back, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. To Regulus’ surprise, he appears a bit wounded.
“Come on, Regulus,” he pleads. “You’ve got to give me at least a little bit of credit, okay? I mean—I notice things more than you realise. I let you put up a pillow wall last night, for God’s sake. I’m afraid to touch you in case you freak out, and I don’t complain because I know you can’t help it. Just because it’s been a while doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten everything about you. Look, I know…fuck, don’t take this the wrong way, but I know no one else has bothered to pay attention to you because they’ve been so caught up in being…shitty, ignorant people, but I’m not one of them. So please, please try to give me the benefit of the doubt sometimes. That’s all I ask.”
The second he finishes, James looks horrified. He slaps a hand over his mouth and begins blubbering something incoherent, eyes darting back and forth like he’s worried the authorities will arrest him for his words. Regulus wraps his arms around himself and shakes his head, pushing down his kneejerk reaction to feel like a terrible person because James is right. His behaviour hasn’t been selfish, exactly, but it has been self-centric. He’s been so smothered by his own insecurities that he hasn’t taken the time to appreciate the accommodations James has been making so that he doesn’t have to feel them.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That was harsh and rude and—I am so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I swear—” James starts, his hands waving frantically.
“No, you did mean it, and you’re right,” Regulus cuts in. It’s the most confident sentence he has uttered all day. “You’ve been incredibly patient with me—” He keeps himself from adding, more patient than I deserve, “and I guess I just…I didn’t miss it or ignore it, but I haven’t acknowledged it like I should have. It’s instinctual for me to think the worst of people. Comes from years of being fucked over, I suppose. But you’ve never fucked me over. Not once. And it’s not fair of me to extend that judgement to you when you’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
“No, it’s okay, I swear, you can’t help it, I just—”
“I can, though. It’ll take a lot of work and restructuring my thoughts, but I can. I’m not…well, and I need to work on that. Part of it is that your level of observation scares me a bit. Not in a bad way. I’m just not used to being this…this seen, I think?” Regulus places his hands on James’ cheeks, lightly pressing them in. Though it makes his stomach flip, he continues, “I appreciate you, James. I really, really do.”
James clears his throat and releases an awkward laugh, shuffling and avoiding eye contact.
“I—er—let’s get that journal, yeah?” He claps his hands and rushes off. Regulus wants to call out in protest, but the man has rounded the corner by the time he gets his bearings.
He catches up with James at a display of utterly gorgeous leatherbound journals, each with a different intricate design on their covers. James already has about six in his hands and is scrutinising them with an unforgiving frown.
“Hi,” Regulus greets, daring himself to hop up and kiss James’ cheek. His skin is warm and soft, and Regulus suppresses the urge to catch it between his teeth and bite.
“Do you like this one?” James holds up a black journal with stars arranged in various patterns across it. “I can’t decide how I feel about it. None of the constellations are real ones, and I know you’re more of a brown leather person than a black leather. This other one suits you best, I think.” He presents him with a deep brown journal sporting a cluster of stars surrounding a stunning sunset scene. The cover itself may not have colour, but Regulus can practically see the oranges and purples of the evening sky.
“That one.” He points to the second journal, bouncing a little on his heels.
“Perfect!” James bows and presents him with the journal as one would with a newly forged sword. Regulus accepts it with equal seriousness.
“Can I get a fancy fountain pen?” he asks, rotating in a circle to observe the endless options in the room.
“Pick as many as you want.”
Regulus intends to remain sophisticated and get a trio of black ink fountain pens, but after two minutes of looking around, he returns to James with his fountain pens, a feathery quill, and a collection of various glitter gel pens with fuzzy puff balls on the ends.
“Oh, gorgeous,” James admires when Regulus shows him his merchandise. “I’m particularly partial to the red one.”
“Hm. Well then, you can have it.” Regulus hands him the red glitter pen in the same fashion as when James handed him his journal. James blinks at it, pausing a moment before taking it.
“Really?” His hand hovers over the pen like he’s afraid to touch it.
“Yeah, James, you can have it,” Regulus half-laughs, setting his hand on top of James’ and helping him grab it. James does some sort of happy shimmy and takes it.
“Thanks!” he chirps, sliding the pen into his front pocket. They make their way to the counter and check out their items, which continue to be abhorrently high-priced for objects so simple. James shows no issue with paying though, always offering up his card with a charming smile.
The street is even busier than before when they step into it. They start walking aimlessly, admiring the storefronts and various interesting people on the sidewalks, when James comes to a sudden stop.
“Hey, do you mind if I dash to the bathroom? I’ll be fast; I promise.” He gestures to a nail salon a few yards up, slowly inching there without waiting for a reply.
“I don’t—will they even let you in without an appointment? Wh—James!” Regulus shouts over the city noise, but James just salutes him and rushes into the salon. “Must’ve been holding it for a while,” he snorts.
Regulus backs up until he’s resting against the wall and watches the street. He’s a tiny bit concerned he’ll get kidnapped or smothered with some old paper bag, but James promised to be fast, and Regulus has never known him to break a promise. People-watching is much less engaging without James by his side, yet he finds himself doing it anyway.
Across the street, a man Regulus’ age walks by with at least five terriers on a leash. A few seconds later, a woman with pencilled eyebrows much too dark and thick for her hair and skin tone steps out of a makeup shop holding what looks like even more eyebrow pencil. Regulus’ focus lingers on the shop’s window images, on the modelling women showing off their dark red lipstick and smokey black eyeshadow. They all pose the same—lips pouted and eyes flashing—staring him down from afar.
When Regulus started to question his gender, he had days where he’d adore makeup and days where he wanted to flush it all down the toilet. That instinct never really went away, not even after he accepted that he was trans and said goodbye to what was essentially his entire former wardrobe. Come to think of it, it wasn’t him who realised he was transmasc. It was just something people told him once he started being honest about his gender.
“Oh, you must be trans,” is what he’d hear each time. When he’d say he wasn’t sure, everyone would brush him off and tell him that he just needed to “get more comfortable in his new identity.” Either that, or they’d tell him he was just non-binary—which he did experiment with for a time, but nothing truly felt like it fit.
It’s not that Regulus is uncomfortable being trans. He’s happy being on T, and he’s happy to call himself transmasc. He just can’t help but feel like he’s also something…more. Maybe even just secondarily more, but still more.
The mere thought floods him with guilt. He doesn’t want to be one of those “detransitioners” who shout on the internet about their “trans phase.” Most people Regulus has met in-person who have detransitioned are lovely and were just trying to explore their identities, but others can border on transphobic, and he would rather learn to bench press than be grouped in with them.
He doesn’t want to detransition either. He still gets a giddy feeling within him whenever someone calls him a boy or handsome or uses he/him pronouns. The idea of being called “girl” or “woman” again makes him shrivel up in disgust. There is a part of him, though, that grows jealous when he sees people who pull off an entirely androgynous gender expression or men wearing makeup and skirts. Cisgender men can do that, sure, but for Regulus to entertain the thought would be a betrayal of the trans community.
He can’t stop staring at the models on the window.
His legs start moving against his will. Regulus dashes across the street, ignoring the beeping horns that protest his presence, and pushes open the doors to the makeup shop. Rationally, he knows no one is watching him, but a thousand eyes seem to follow his steps as he picks up a basket and throws the first things he sees inside. Somehow, he has perfect recollect of the shades and tones he used to use, as well as the more intense ones he yearned for but was never allowed to touch.
It takes less than five minutes, and he manages to throw in half the shop while he’s at it. When he approaches the checkout counter, he scrambles for an excuse, landing on a weak, “It’s for my sister,” and rattling off his credit card information when the woman at the register notices he doesn’t have it.
“—It expires on the fifteenth of March in the year—”
“Okay, give me a second here.” The saleswoman holds up a hand and punches in the information, motioning for him to continue. Regulus shifts his weight between his legs, craning his neck to see out the window in case James has exited the nail salon. He takes a beat to comprehend it when the saleswoman presents him with a bag and sends him on his way.
He swallows down a dry throat and sprints out of the store, shoving the bag inside his larger bag of clothes. Weaving through speeding cars, he makes it to the other side of the street just as James reemerges from the salon. James raises his eyebrows and puts his hands on Regulus’ shoulders to stop him from running face first into a wall.
“Where did you venture off to?” he inquires. Regulus panics, and it’s the biggest mistake of his life.
“I had to shit,” he blurts. James’ mouth drops open, and he exhales a puff of air, turning away with his lips pursed.
“Honesty. I like that in a person,” he offers, but Regulus is long past redemption through a minor joke.
Regulus groans, rubbing his eyes; “Can we get your mufflers now?”
“Yeah, let’s get my mufflers now.”
Regulus scans the internet for a shop nearby that sells them and finds one a fifteen-minute walk from their location, so they head in that direction in awkward silence that gradually becomes comfortable the farther they get.
The shop in question is technically meant for lawn and garden supplies, but they have mufflers meant for mowing lawns that James gravitates to on sight. Regulus helps him try on a few different pairs—he gasps aloud the first time he hears how the world quiets down when he wears them—and they settle on a red pair that blocks out a good chunk of noise without wiping out the senses completely.
“How do you feel?” Regulus asks after they buy them.
“Heavenly. I don’t think I’ve ever been this at peace before,” James sighs, spinning around for good measure. Out of the blue, Regulus gets an idea, and he slips James’ phone out of his pocket. “What? Hey—!”
“Smile,” Regulus orders. He swipes to the side to access the camera and lines it up with James’ face. James obliges, complete with two cheesy thumbs-ups beside his face. Regulus takes five pictures, each with James making a different face, and hands the phone back.
“Aww, we can start a scrapbook!” James coos when he sees the results. Regulus returns the sentiment with an affectionate roll of his eyes, then picks up the phone again and takes a photo as his lips touch James’ cheek.
“Picture three,” he says, shoving the phone into James’ hands to avoid spontaneously deleting it. James lets out a high-pitched giggle that makes Regulus jump and sweeps him up in the fiercest kiss they’ve shared yet.
“One more stop. We’ve got to get some fancy clothes,” James states, still inches from Regulus’ mouth. Regulus’ brow furrows.
“Why? We’re not going anywhere.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, princess.” James rests his hands on Regulus’ hips and lifts him up in a twirl. “I am taking us out to dinner.”