Chapter Text
Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me
I know I could have loved you
But you would not let me
It’s easy to lose himself in the late, late nights and lip gloss kisses; to pretend like all of this is real, like reality won’t slam into them in the early hours of the morning. It’s not as easy to pretend, over pancakes and orange juice. Pretend that he doesn’t know the taste of Regulus, that he doesn’t know the shape and press of every bone in Regulus’s body. That he hasn’t heard Regulus' voice, sweet and pleading, lips brushing against James’s ear.
When morning dawns sweet and early, James rises with the sun. It’s just light out, barely, the sun just visible from Regulus’s flat. James does as he always does: changes into work-out clothes, fills a water bottle, and heads out on a jog.
It’s quieter here, than the hustle and bustle of London. James likes it, could see himself settling in a place like this. It makes sense for Regulus to be here, away from the constant noise of the city.
Though, the quiet doesn’t make it easy for James to focus on his breathing rather than the pretty boy laid on the sofa in a flat not ten minutes away, but he tries. He’d left a kiss on Regulus’s forehead — couldn’t resist the temptation. If Regulus was awake, he might have scowled at James, calling him obnoxious. But he was asleep and he’d almost seemed to smile.
When James gets back to Regulus’s flat, Regulus is still sleeping peacefully on the sofa. He’s bundled up in a large maroon blanket James thinks might have been his own at one time. Regulus’s party clothes are in a bundle on the floor — James had fought tooth and nail to get Regulus out of them and into pyjamas last night.
James makes home in the kitchen after a quick shower, golden light streaming in through the window while he prepares breakfast. The last two pancakes are slowly browning when Regulus’s sweet voice rings through his ears.
“Those better be for me.” They are — but it’s much more fun to tease. James looks over his shoulder at Regulus, his blanket around his shoulders like a cape, and grins.
“I spend the night at your flat and I have to make you breakfast? I don’t think so.”
Regulus scowls, predictably. He takes a seat at the breakfast bar, head propped in his hands. The sun outlines him, showing every strand of his messy curls. James’s heart stutters and he can almost feel the way his feelings pulse and grow.
He turns back to the stove.
“Yes, they’re for you. Some of them at least. I have to eat too.”
“I know that,” Regulus mutters.
Later, James sets the last of the breakfast dishes in the sink and takes a moment to breathe before he heads to the living room. The wood of the floor is cool where it presses against his skin.
Regulus is curled up on the sofa, tucked under the same fluffy blanket. He looks so small, tiny and needing to be protected. James briefly wonders how many people have fallen for that, just to get bitten and corralled by Regulus later. He wonders if he counts as having fallen for it too, despite being unwilling to leave, as much as Regulus has tried to push him away.
James settles down on the sofa, leaning against the armrest and pulls Regulus to his side. This, he gets. He doesn’t get Regulus, while sober, in any way more than this; not even a kiss on the cheek. But this is good. It’s nice. It’s enough.
“You smell like my shampoo,” Regulus mutters. He tucks his face into the curve of James’s neck, his nose a cool contrast to the burning of James.
“I took a shower.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Sure I did.” James presses his grin into the top of Regulus’s head, the oil-black curls ticking his cheeks. “You said yes.”
“I don’t remember this.” You don’t remember anything.
“Shame. You could’ve joined.”
Regulus flushes, the pink across his cheeks highlighting the ever-so light smattering of freckles there. James has kissed each of them individually. Three of them are shaped like hearts and one is shaped like a bird. James aches with it, the longing to have again what he had and wanted for so long.
“You’re obnoxious.”
“That’s not a ‘no.’”
“No, Potter.”
“Better. You’re learning to use your words.”
“I’ll cut your throat out,” Regulus threatens, turning to glare at James. It loses its effect quickly — the edges of Regulus’s eyes crinkle, and James knows it’s an empty threat. James grins at him, bright and honest. Regulus and him haven’t outright fought in months — and it was over Sirius last time, anyways. Nothing to do with their relationship. (“That’s presumptuous,” Regulus had grumbled once. James had disagreed.)
Regulus emerges somewhat from his blanket cocoon and squirms around the sofa until he has his feet in James’s lap while he lays on his stomach, head turned to the side and pillowed on his arm so he can watch the movie. James isn’t entirely sure what’s even playing, if he’s honest, but he lets his hands stroke over the fragile skin of Regulus’s ankles. His veins are blue and green, easily seen through the pale of his skin. James’s thumbs dig into the tense muscles of Regulus’s arches and Regulus melts.
James doesn’t understand it, doesn’t quite understand Regulus . How he’s so sweet and clingy when he’s drunk, leaving kisses across any bit of James’s skin he can reach. How he nearly cried last night when James suggested Regulus laying down for bed in his room rather than on the sofa. How he always holds James’s hand. How he tells James that he’s pretty. But the second he’s sober, it’s like none of that has ever happened. Like they haven’t kissed dozens of times or shared whispered, giggling secrets in the safety of their flats.
“You stopped,” Regulus mumbles, his words running together. He sits up a little to blink slowly at James. He looks nearly asleep, lines on his face from where his sleeve has pressed against the skin.
“Sorry, pyaare,” James murmurs. He continues rubbing the arches of Regulus’s feet, working out the kinks in his muscles. “Go back to sleep.”
Regulus settles down again with a pleased, sleepy sigh, his eyes falling closed. A stray curl falls across his forehead. James wants , but he knows better.
—
Pulsing lights of every colour flicker in and out of James’s vision as he pushes through the throngs of people, music thrumming along in hidden speakers. James groans mentally. Why, of all places, is Regulus here? This is the complete opposite of everything James knows and has pictured about Regulus. Even when he goes out, he goes to places devoid of people and that are significantly quieter.
“Barty!” James calls out, raising his hand to get the other’s attention. It had been Barty who called him, asking if he could take Regulus home. It’s new, James having a weird sort of almost-friendship and camaraderie with Regulus’s friends.
“Here he is.” Barty leans back against the bar to reveal Regulus, who looks entirely debauched. His hair is mussed, cheeks a flaming red, his eyes closed. His sweater is missing, leaving him in a white camisole and jeans. Barty winks at James and smirks. “Good luck. He’s a handful tonight.” Barty disappears off into the crowd with Evan and James refocuses on Regulus, who doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet.
“Hey, baby,” James murmurs, moving forward to gently rest his hand on Regulus's head. “You awake?”
Regulus lets out a discontented noise and pushes his head into James’s hand, who chuckles softly.
“Come on, gotta get you home.”
It’s a workout and a half to get Regulus into the Uber, and James regrets everything that’s led him to this moment.
“Tu es si grand,” Regulus murmurs, his eyes wide and hazy, lips parted. He’s running his hand up James’s arm, across his shoulders, and all around his chest. James lets him.
By the time they get to James’s building, closer to the bar than Regulus’s, James’ neck and collarbone are covered in shiny, glossy kisses.
Regulus giggles the entire time in the elevator, standing on his tiptoes to press a kiss to James cheek.
“Jolie, jolie.”
James squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on breathing. In, out. In, out. It’s because he’s drunk, James reminds himself. Nothing else. He’s always like this when he’s drunk. It’s just the alcohol.
The elevator dings and Regulus jumps, clutching James’s hand. He whines, embarrassed, when James laughs at the movement.
“Come on, chhota taara,” James murmurs, tugging on Regulus’ hand.
They make it into the flat, Regulus stumbling and giggling and whispering in French. Regulus darts down the hall, leaving James to trail after him much slower.
“Jamie,” Regulus calls out. “Come on.”
James finds Regulus sprawled out on his bed, hugging James’s pillow. His eyes light up when he sees James. And James’s traitorous, horrible heart thuds away in his chest, bleeding out slowly. He knows it’s just how Regulus is when he’s drunk. He knows it doesn’t mean anything. But fuck, that doesn’t stop the want. The pure and utter hope James has that maybe Regulus likes him back.
James crawls into bed beside Regulus, and lets his thoughts fade out while his heart bleeds his body red.
—
“You’re an idiot James,” Remus says blankly.
“Remus,” James whines. “He hates me.” James drapes himself over Remus’s bed and groans.
“He doesn’t hate you, James. It’s quite the opposite.”
“But—”
“Does he let anyone else cuddle with him?” Remus interrupts. He folds down the corner of his book’s page and sets it aside to give James his full attention.
“Pandora,” James tries.
“Anyone else that hasn’t been his friend for around ten years?”
“No,” James admits quietly. “Except for Sirius, but I guess you’ll say that’s different.”
“Sirius and Regulus have known each other for more than ten years,” Remus agrees, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “but yes.”
“They had a break,” James responds. “But you think Reg’s in love with me.”
“Prongs, everyone thinks that but you. And Sirius, he won’t hear anything about you ‘defiling’ his brother.”
“Nothing to hear,” James says with a wistful sigh.
“Not yet. If you two pull your heads out of your asses, then maybe.”
James lets himself sit on that for a while. Goes over everything he knows about Regulus in his head, then does it again and thinks about everything Regulus does. Regulus doesn’t kiss anyone else when he’s drunk; doesn’t get clingy with his friends as he does with James.
“But what if it’s just because we got close fast?” James asks. “What if it’s just because it became normal while he was drunk and just…translated over?”
Remus shoves him off the bed. “Go talk to Regulus.”
—
When his doorbell rings, Regulus groans and grumbles as he ambles over to the door. He’s not expecting anyone and his head still throbs with hangover. Better not be Barty, or Regulus will kill him for allowing Regulus to drink so much.
The doorbell sounds again. Regulus yanks the door open.
“I’m right—oh.”
It’s James. Nervous-looking, pretty James, who’s dressed up and even done his hair, the curls artfully loose rather than a tangled mess. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers and smiling.
“Hi, Regulus.”
“Hello,” Regulus replies cautiously.
“So, I’m in love with you,” James begins, “and I’d really like to take you out. If you want to. No pressure.”
And Regulus is — confused.
“What?”
“Well I just was talking with Remus and he said maybe — uh, something, and that I needed to talk to you so that’s what I’m doing and — ”
“No,” Regulus interrupts, shaking his head. “The ‘wanting to take me out’ part. I don’t understand. We go out all the time.”
Regulus frowns and thinks for a moment.
“Also, I didn’t know you being in love with me is apparently a secret.”
“I — sorry, what?” It’s James’s turn to look confused, his brow scrunching and lips pulling together.
“We go out all the time,” Regulus says slowly. “And I am aware you’re in love with me.”
James stares at him blankly.
“James Fleamont Potter, we’ve been dating for six months.”
“What?!”
After a very long conversation that several times almost turned into a fight, James comes to the realisation that he can be very, very dumb. Regulus agrees with this, ripping into James because how did you not notice! I don’t do any of this with anyone else! What do you mean you thought I was only making out with you because I was drunk! We have kissed when I’m sober! No, we have.
“No, Reg, we really haven’t,” James points out, raising an eyebrow. Regulus scowls and turns away, a blush high on his cheeks.
“I thought we did.”
“Mm, no,” James murmurs, standing from the sofa. He moves over to Regulus, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. “We haven’t. Not yet.”
James smirks when Regulus shivers. He leans back against James, resting his head on James’s shoulder. James lets his hands wander and untuck Regulus’s shirt, resting them on his waist. The contact burns — Regulus is so cold and James’s hands are so hot.
“You’re a prat,” Regulus forces out.
“For wanting to kiss my boyfriend when he’s sober?”
“For not knowing he was your boyfriend,” Regulus grumbles.
“Sorry, love.” James grabs Regulus’s chin and gently tilts Regulus’s face towards his own. “Can I make it up to you?”
“Okay,” Regulus breathes out.
James grins, and leans in to kiss him.