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Chapter Text

Regulus Black’s life is not exciting; if anything, it’s mundane, no break from the routine he found himself in after leaving his childhood home, following in his big brother’s footsteps. It might have taken him four more years than Sirius to gather himself and leave their parents behind, but now, at twenty-three, Regulus is the happiest he’s ever been. Well, he’s as happy as he can be, considering his life is bleak and his only form of entertainment comes from his and Sirius’ bi-weekly dinners.

Dinners to which Remus sometimes ends up coming along, because he owns the apartment in which they meet up as much as Sirius does. He doesn’t mind Sirius’ boyfriend, if he’s being honest he’d much rather have dinner with him than his own brother, but almost every meal Remus joins ends with Regulus third wheeling and needing to bleach his eyes due to their disgusting flirting. Because of this, he’s unsure if the dinners count as fun.

For his own mental stability, he doesn’t count Barty and Evan’s insistence to stay at his place as a consensual form of entertainment. They’re worse than his brother and Remus, so Regulus finds it somewhat fair to put his best friends below his own blood in the hypothetical ranking of Regulus Black’s breaks of habitual boredom. Still, when they want to behave, Barty and Evan only come by to bother him and steal his food, but unfortunately for him, he does care enough about his friends to not kick them out. Which means that most often than not, Regulus’ time is spread between his classes, his minimum wage barista job, his best friends and his brother. He’s not upset with the predicament he found himself in, he’s not, but he can’t help when he wishes for something, anything to break the monotony of his days.

He never would have expected said monotony to be broken by Sirius’ best friend, yet here he is.

The day started off as normal, with Regulus getting up way before his alarm could even think of waking him up and him dreading the morning Postmodernism lecture class he compromised on signing up for. If it were up to him, Regulus would be taking the Modernism class scheduled for Monday afternoon, but that lecture was full before he could even add it in his contract. So he was left with Postmodernism, arguably the worst sort of Modernisms, in the early hours of every single Friday for the remaining semester.

Just like every Friday, Regulus contemplated skipping, but, as usual, the thought of Slughorn asking him about his whereabouts the following week sent a shiver down his spine. He hated being put on the spot, but Professor Slughorn thought it best to bring the entire class’ attention to one student, trying to be as compassionate as possible while everyone present squirms in discomfort. Regulus saw it happen five whole times already and it’s only the third week of the semester.

The only thing that convinces him to get out of bed is the promise of a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Sirius loves making fun of his coffee snobbism, but if there is one thing their parents actually had a say in was his intake of quality, freshly ground, freshly brewed at just 94 degrees celsius with purified water. He’s a snob, alright, it’s his only flaw, but now he makes one mean espresso, even with the shitty coffee beans he’s forced to use by Starbucks.

Once he finds himself inhaling his espresso, Regulus feels ready to face the inevitable mundanity of the day ahead of him.

So, just like every single Friday for the past three weeks, Regulus finds himself spending two hours stuck in a room with fewer and fewer students, listening to Professor Slughorn praise Peter Ackroyd’s marvellous psychogeography again. Regulus read Ackroyd in a moment of weakness at the beginning of term when Slughorn’s poetics convinced him. It may have been his greatest mistake, but he’d sooner drink instant coffee than admit this in class.

What he doesn’t expect, as he struggles to write down the minimal information Slughorn is throwing at them– Regulus swears he saw this on a Wikipedia page in high school once– is for the door to be thrown open with about as much grace as a baby pigeon flying straight into a window. It’s not a pigeon that managed to slam the giant mahogany doors open, no, that would be too kind of a joke from whatever God there is in the sky.

In the doorway stands James Potter, Sirius’ best friend, of which Regulus knows about in theory, but he’s never actually seen the man in real life. He knows he helped his brother run away, he knows that he makes one show stopping margarita (Sirius’ words) and that he’s the kindest, most selfless person to ever walk this earth. Regulus also knows he’s a dad, it would be hard not to when the campus is filled with whispers of James ‘the DILF’ Potter, but he’s never, not until right now, seen the man in his dad glory.

Whenever Sirius brings up Potter, the whole room falls silent, with Regulus because he’s unsure if he should mention that he spent most of his teenage years hating on Potter and Sirius being dead set on the silly idea that Regulus doesn’t hate James Potter, no, no. He hates kids, ergo, he hates the mythical kid of his best friend, about whom he only knows the name of. Sirius is quick to change the subject every time, going on tangents about whatever date he has planned with Remus, but Regulus isn’t blind. He knows it hurts his brother that, according to his own handcrafted ideas about Regulus, Harry would be the first victim of his child endangering adventures.

Putting aside the fact that Sirius knows they’ve both faced similar abuse from their parents and that this doesn’t translate into an unjustified hatred towards kids, Regulus can’t even try to prove his brother that his perception is wrong. He can’t because no matter how much he would love to meet little Harry, he’s not allowed to. Or, at least he thinks he’s not allowed to. It feels like it when even Remus shoots him careful glances when Sirius gets too excited about something Harry did and ends up mentioning it in front of Regulus.

This doesn’t mean that seeing James ‘hot DILF’ Potter with a sleeping toddler strapped to his chest has zero effects on him. Really, they should make it illegal for DILFs to just… walk around with their kids, especially on campus, where sad, horny people like Regulus exist. Regulus never thought that the sleep deprived, barely alive and functioning, shirt on backwards look would do it for him, but here he is, staring at Sirius’ best friend with a hunger he’s never felt before.

No one moves a muscle as Potter’s brain seems to catch up with him, rebooting and sending a sharp signal to his body to wake up. Even from his spot near the windows, ridiculously far away from where Potter stopped, dead on his feet, Regulus can see the wheels turn in his head, eyes widening behind his stupidly attractive golden glasses.

Maybe Sirius tried to keep him away from Potter because he knew his brother would end up lusting after him. It would certainly make more sense than the idiotic idea that he hates kids.

Slughorn seems to also catch up with the intrusion, placing the worn out copy of Hawksmoor face down on his desk and standing up with a groan. “Mr. Potter,” he starts, eyeing Potter with a slight air of annoyance. Nodding towards Harry, the man’s eyes soften momentarily. “And, slightly smaller Mr. Potter, I assume?”

The question is what fully sets Potter’s brain into functioning again, as he takes one long, wistful look around the mournful literature students sitting down in various degrees of rejection of the crude reality they were stuck in. His eyes stop on Regulus, a confused glint sparkling behind the lenses, before the moment is broken, mortifying realisation dawning on Potter’s face.

“This… This isn’t Kinesitherapy for Orthopaedic and Traumatic Disorders, is it?”

A beat of silence, too long if someone were to ask Regulus, but he’s not one to complain if Slughorn’s slowness is what keeps Potter here, where he can ogle at him without feeling like a weirdo. “No, Mr. Potter,” Professor Slughorn exhales. Regulus can see that his hands are itching to pick up the discarded book again, and he hopes, prays even that Potter and his sleeping kid can delay his tragic fate for at least one more moment. “I believe the class you are looking for is near the gyms. Where all you… sporty people are.”

Potter blinks and, as eloquently as someone who Regulus assumes is running on sheer determination and the sunshine that shines out of their body, says, “Right. Apologies, Professor.”

Just as he turns to leave, gods above, beyond and below, Regulus wants to write sonnets about his ass, Potter throws him one last look, this one devoid of confusion– he must have figured it out that Sirius didn’t enrol into university during the night– and instead full of something Regulus can’t fully place his finger on. James Potter has no reason to look at him with kindness when he looks like he’s two seconds away from joining his son in an impromptu nap, yet here he is, offering Regulus a look of gentleness few have bothered to spare him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Mr. Potter!” Professor Slughorn stops him in time. “Perhaps you should not bring your son to your classes. Don’t get me wrong–” he rushes to say when he sees Potter’s frown crease between his brows, “it is admirable that you are so dedicated to your studies, but I don’t think carrying a toddler to university level classes will be of any aid to his developing intellect.”

A few students snicker, whispering to each other about the awkwardness of the whole ordeal, while others, Regulus included, just continue to stare at James Potter and his dishevelled hair. Oh, what wouldn’t he pay to be able to run his fingers through the messy curls.

Regulus blinks. Once, twice, one more time for good measure. He knows he’s horny, he’s aware of the lack of people in his bed, but surely this lecture isn’t the right place for him to develop an unhealthy obsession.

Potter doesn’t seem to catch the jab, although Regulus doubts Slughorn noticed it either, with how often he comments on the sports faculty and their uselessness in the face of true academia.

“Well, Professor, Lily’s got a job interview and well, I had to take Harry in, you know how it goes–”

Hiding a smile with the sleeve of his sweater, Regulus decides right then and there that he will have James Potter. He doesn’t care how, though he prefers it to be in a sexual way, but James ‘hot DILF’ Potter will be his and Sirius can choke and cry about him stealing his best friend from him, Regulus doesn’t give a flying fuck. He’s so stupid, so incredibly dumb that even as Slughorn lights up at the mention of his beloved Lily Evans, ready to launch himself into a discussion about her, Potter simply smiles, that same blinding grin he can’t seem to get rid off no matter how tired he is.

Regulus Black’s boring routine may just get more interesting if he can find a way to convince his brother to bring Potter along when he’s over at Sirius’ house. And, well, if he brings little Harry along, Regulus doesn’t think it would be the end of the world. His cheeks do look extremely pinchable, he concludes as the child’s head lolls to the side, only to be stopped by Potter’s gentle hand.

If his smile widens behind the sleeve that’s still hiding half of his face, Regulus can simply blame it on how utterly funny Ackroyd is.

His apartment is not really the greatest place, not spacious, definitely overcrowded with trinkets his mother would throw a fit over, far too many Bartys and Evans sprawled all over his couch. It was the only thing he could afford when he finally saved up enough money to move out of Sirius’ guest room. Regulus loves it, even when the pigeons keep knocking on his window for food because the previous tenant decided it was a good idea to feed them, even when he finds the stray spider chilling in his tub.

When presented with the hard choice between spending time at his place and going over to Sirius and Remus’ apartment, Regulus spends not a second more on packing his bag and grabbing his Oyster card. His brother’s place is just so much nicer, bigger, brighter and without a single annoying pigeon in sight. It’s heaven if he were to believe in it.

Sirius didn’t even bother with trying to keep Regulus out when he moved into his own flat. That may as well have been his biggest mistake. Maybe, Regulus muses as he watches his older brother fall into Remus’ lap, if he were to have changed his key now he wouldn’t be subjected to such torture.

Regulus has been sitting on their loveseat for the past three hours, staring at his phone and trying to escape Barty’s insistent messages on TikTok. He’s been sending Regulus videos of dads with babies ever since he texted the group chat after the James ‘hot DILF’ Potter incident in Slughorn’s class and from that moment on Barty’s been making fun of his taste in men.

Sirius and Remus both came and left, not paying much attention to Regulus and his on-going crisis. This is one of the things he loves about their flat, they don’t bother him when he’s just existing there. Sure, sometimes they ask him to come set the table, or do the dishes if the couple was the one cooking that night, but they never actively poke the younger man.

Growing up in Grimmauld Place made both Sirius and Regulus aware of their surroundings, always trying to make as little of a mess as possible, to not disturb the expensive throw pillows or dirty the china displays with fingertips. It was always a ticking clock until their mother would yell at them to clean up after themselves, or to go do something she didn’t want to bother herself with, but here? Outside of that rotten house and in their own spaces? They can do whatever they want and then not be afraid that they will be reprimanded for their negligence.

Sirius got used to it ages ago, the scars left behind by Walburga and Orion healed with time and loving touches from people he gets to call his actual family. Regulus has yet to let go of the uneasiness drilled into him, but his older brother makes sure to remind him that he’s out by simply letting him take over his loveseat for hours on end.

It’s Remus that breaks the comfortable silence that settled over them, just as Regulus’ phone lit up with another barteebee shared a video.

“Pads, if you want to still grab food for James’ we should leave now.” Regulus watches as Remus taps his brother’s leg to get him to move out of his lap, the simple two taps enough to catch Sirius’ attention.

They’re always so in sync with each other, moving together as if they’re one soul split in two and not two separate beings. It’s intriguing really, because Regulus knows for a fact that while he and Remus may be tied by whatever string of fate Sirius believes in, Sirius and Potter are even more in tune. He heard Remus fondly make fun of their relationship and how those two act more like a couple in public than the actual boyfriends, but for some reason Regulus finds it hard to believe.

Yet, if he manages to play his cards correctly, maybe he’d get to witness this blurring of boundaries in real life and not just in Remus’ exasperated tales.

“James?” he asks nonchalantly. “You mean James Potter?”

Sirius throws his brother a look. “Yeah, my best friend, James Potter,” he says, matter of factly, suspicion still lingering in his voice. “Why are you being weird about it, Reggie?”

Unlocking his phone, Regulus doesn't meet his brother's eyes. He has to play coy if he wants Sirius to catch the bait he's throwing him. "Oh, he walked into Slughorn's class last Friday. He had… Harry?" Sirius lets out an offended gasp. Bingo. "Whatever his kid's name is with him. Slughorn spent like ten minutes holding him hostage to talk about Lily though. Honestly, Potter looked like he was gonna fall asleep there but he seemed excited to entertain him."

“I swear, sometimes Slughorn really makes you think he birthed Lily himself with how much he loves talking about her,” Remus snorts, sounding more fond at the idea of Lily being praised than anything else. His hand ends up in Sirius’ hair, tugging lovingly at his brother’s waves. Even when he’s supposed to move out of Remus’ lap Sirius takes it as a challenge to do it as slowly and with cutting as little skin contact as possible. Not that Remus is doing anything else. “Pads, go get ready or I’m leaving without you.”

“No, no, I wanna hear what Reggie did when he saw Haz!”

It’s not like Sirius didn’t expect the pillow to hit him in the face, yet the arsehole has the audacity to yell at him. “I really don’t understand why you think I did something to him! You headcanonned me as a child hater when you didn’t even see me interact with kids, you arse!”

“Yeah!” Sirius throws the pillow back, missing Regulus’ head entirely. “Cause you always used to glare at kids when we were younger, you dumbass!”

“Cause I was a kid!”

“You’re literally glaring at me right now!”

“Oh, so you agree you’re a child!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are–”

Remus clears his throat, promptly getting the two brothers to stop their quarrelling. He can feel his cheeks burn, both at the quiet interruption from Sirius’ stupid, level-headed boyfriend and from the anger swimming in his chest. Why must his brother be so infuriating?

“Boys, boys, you’re both kids, end of discussion. Now, how about you go get dressed, Sirius and Regulus you can… just do whatever, really.”

Sirius doesn’t relent, clearly willing to prove his point if the twinkle in his eyes is of any indication that he won’t be giving up on their arguments anytime soon. “No, no,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at his younger brother. Next to him, Regulus can see Remus roll his eyes so far back in his head that he’s sure it must be causing him a great headache. “Let’s make a fucking bet, Reggie.”

If there were awards given to how easy it is to get one’s way, Regulus would have to buy a new house just to put all his new awards in. It’s just so easy.

“You come with us to James’ place and you will see how right I am when you’re trying to spend all night as far away from Harry because you hate kids.”

“Ok,” he agrees simply, emphasising how less this bet means to him with a shrug. “If I win you’ll have to buy me those vintage editions of Dorian Gray I've been saving up for."

He can already feel the heavy weight of the books in his arms. His little library will be the greatest topic at work, where Dorcas and Benjy will be stabbing him esoterically with their envy.

"Sure, whatever you want since you're gonna lose anyway. If I win, you're gonna have to admit that I'm right."

That's it?

Regulus glares at his brother and his shit eating grin. "That's it? No way, you're planning something. Spit it out, asshole."

It should be illegal for Sirius Black to grin like a madman, especially where his brother is concerned. Nothing good ever comes out of a situation that starts with Sirius' smile being borderline a carbon copy of Bella's. If Regulus were just a bit smarter, he would've probably backed out of this stupid bet. If Regulus were a smidge, a whopping one percent more intelligent, he would've told Sirius to suck it, stayed home and eaten all of his brother's expensive ice cream.

But Regulus isn't that smart, at least when it comes to a certain DILF being involved in the outcome of it all. He's booksmart alright, it's just that he's stupid when he's thinking with the head of his dick.

And right now all his dick wants is James Potter and his dumb, dumb smile to be directed at him.

"Well, if I win you'll have to admit I was right… And–" There it is. "And I want a written and signed note that says I'm the best brother ever and my judgement of character, headcanoning skills, whatever you wanna call them, are immaculate."

Oh, his brother is a sick, sick bastard.

"Fine! Whatever!" All he can do is throw the last of his pillows at Sirius' already retreating form. "I'll make sure to add the Black insignia to it too so that you know it's legit, you motherfucker."

"You do that, Reggie dear! You do that!"

Regulus needs to learn when to shut the fuck up, but he'll only come to learn this in a few hours.

What Regulus doesn't expect when entering James Potter's apartment is for how much brighter than his and Sirius' flats combined it is. Realistically he knows this is what happens when your flat faces south: you get more sunshine, but he's fairly certain Potter's place faces north, if his sense of direction is to be trusted.

It's not the sun lighting up the whole place and making it seem just like it’s straight up glowing. What stops Regulus in the doorway, blocking Sirius’ way, is the fact that the hallway alone is filled to the brim with nauseating colours.

At least three different toddler jackets, all in various shades of red, are thrown haphazardly on the coat rack. He counts another five, this time in what can clearly be categorised as adult sizes, coats. Unsurprisingly, they're also red. Regulus is starting to see a pattern.

Rainbow banners cover the walls, leaving behind none of the boring beige underneath, paintings of sunsets and sunrises and beaches, pieces of paper with crude drawings of what Regulus can only assume are actual humans, and that's just the walls and the coat rack.

He doesn't even want to acknowledge the toys cluttering the colourful rug.

As he graciously steps into the flat– Sirius straight up pushes him in, calling him a bitch for keeping him away from his lover– Regulus has to thread carefully so that he won't step on any cars or plushies or whatever it is Harry decided to throw on the ground.

Remus is a few steps behind him, not even bothering to keep Sirius in check now that he's in close proximity to his other lover. This can't be healthy, Regulus wonders to himself, quite happy that while his bodily attraction to Potter may end up in casual sex, he will never have to be in the same boat as Remus. He doesn't know how he'd react to his brother calling his boyfriend his own soulmate.

Not that he would ever end up calling Potter his boyfriend. Honestly, this is just to blame on his unsatiated lust.

His stupid, foolish hunger.

The rest of the apartment is just as colourful and luminous, with fairy lights strung on each wall and just as many drawings as Regulus saw in the hallway taped to the walls, or drawn directly on the walls in some cases.

But, in the middle of the knick-knacks and drawings and light, there is James Potter. Stood, staring with his mouth slightly agape at Regulus, Harry trying to climb his legs like a dog attempting to grab its owner’s attention.

It shouldn’t be as endearing as Regulus finds it– he blames it on the lust, everything can be blamed on the lust if he’s creative enough– but there’s something about the way in which Potter bends down to grab his son, propping him on his hip with practised ease. With that same practised ease he regains his composure, acting as if Sirius’ younger brother walking into his flat is something he sees everyday, he beams, so, so full of kindness.

It makes Regulus sick; no one should be able to smile like that. No one should give Regulus such room lighting smiles.

Not even five seconds into being in Potter’s flat and he’s already feeling his composure– not like there was much to begin with– slip from under his fingers. The sight of Potter and Harry, both grinning at him, should not make Regulus want to rip his skin off, to open his ribcage and make enough room for the two of them to nestle in comfortably, yet here he is.

Utterly gone. Completely in love. He didn’t stand a single chance, did he?

Gods, he’s as pathetic as his dumbass brother, isn’t he?

Throughout the night he tries to spend as little time looking at Potter as possible, feeling his brother’s eyes bore holes in the side of his head every time he dares to even glance in Potter’s direction. Yet, there’s something alluring, gravity pulling about his presence, something that makes it harder and harder for Regulus to even try and keep his eyes away.

Out of the two brothers, it was always Regulus who had the better self control, the one who could keep himself silent when their parents yelled at them, the one who learned it was easier to deny his desires if it meant a night of comfortable rest.

His brother didn't care about following the unspoken rules of the house. If he could make their mother angrier with him, he’d do anything in his power. It wasn’t unusual for Regulus to sneak whatever food he could hide in his pockets after dinners and take it into his brother’s room, offering it to Sirius with a worried expression on his face. The worry Regulus had felt as a young child never really left, but every now and again, when he catches sight of his big brother smiling in ways he would have never been able to if he had spent one more day stuck in Grimmauld Place, Regulus feels his chest free of the weight that settled in between his ribs.

Only by being reckless, by not taking anything for granted and fighting and grabbing whatever he wants from the highest branches did Sirius manage to free himself of the chains that still hold Regulus tied to his parents.

And yet, Regulus prides himself in his restraint. It may be one of the only good things Walburga and Orion gave him while totally unaware of it. He doubts they ever noticed his talent in denying himself his own happiness, but if they were to be aware of it, Regulus is sure they’d be overjoyed. Another scar that Regulus will never get rid off.

It’s due to his restraint that now Regulus doesn’t fully implode in James Potter’s living room. Maybe he should send his mom some roses as a thank you and hope that her allergies to them will make her sneeze herself to death.

For the most part, he keeps to himself, quiet and taking as little space as possible on the couch, a mug of chai warming his hands. Remus and Sirius are on the floor, playing with Harry, although he doesn’t think slamming lego blocks into each other can really be called playing. Still, the kid seems to be having the time of his life, more so now that his father is no longer hovering over him like a worried, giant shadow.

No, James Potter is not hovering over Harry, he’s buzzing like a wasp, annoying and ready to sting, in Regulus’ ear. He took the empty space the younger Black brother left on the couch as an open invitation to sit down and for the past forty minutes he’s been attempting to engage Regulus in far too many conversations.

He’s asked about Regulus’ classes, all of them except for Slughorn’s, seemingly having had enough of the old man. About what he thinks of said classes, about how he feels on campus and when all his questions got met with short, curt answers– Regulus has to control himself from going on rants about how much his professors suck or about how he thinks that dedicating three whole classes to Shakespeare throughout the programme is a bit of an overkill, considering that he’s really, really not the greatest playwright in early modern to modern times, or, that the campus sucks, because it’s organised poorly and classes shouldn’t be sprawled throughout different buildings when faculties like his praise themselves on extensive history and rename– Potter doesn’t take the hint.

He keeps talking and talking and talking, promptly ignoring the weird looks Sirius keeps giving him. Regulus can’t ignore them. His whole body is aware of his brother’s eyes; he knows he’s analysing every little interaction, no doubt to use them later when he’s boasting about how right he was and how just being in the same room as a child made Regulus uncomfortable.

He’s not going to be able to tell him that the only reason his body was as rigid as stone was because Regulus was trying to hold his bones back from jumping on Potter’s lap. In fairness, the man looks so much more attractive up close, wearing a shirt that's not backwards and the dark circles under his eyes in a lighter shade of brown. Regulus is a simple man, with simpler needs, and right now Potter is meeting all the requirements to fulfil said needs.

“So,” Potter coughs, grabbing Regulus’ attention– not that he ever stopped having it. “What’s your favourite colour, Reggie?”

Oh, he’s so dumb, Regulus is gonna fuck him stupid. Stupider than he already is.

The brunet scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Really? How old are you to ask me that, five?”

There’s no easy way to say such things, but James Potter and his sunshine-poured-down-his-face-smile will be the actual death of Regulus, if he doesn’t end up taking matters into his own hands and just… drowning himself directly in the Thames, tact and casualness be damned.

"I think you and I both know I'm twenty-five, Regulus." The wink. The fucking wink that Potter has the audacity to give him. Regulus will actually, honestly explode.

His face must be as red as all of Potter's tacky décor, though not having Sirius bring the blush on his cheeks up as loudly as possible must mean it's all in Regulus' head.

"Perhaps you should just go play with your kid, Potter."

"Perhaps you should join me."

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Perhaps Regulus should just kill himself in front of his eyes, change the trajectory of his life forever and permanently scar his brother in the process. It would be a decent revenge for all the times he had to hear him and Remus have sex.

The lego piece that flies past their shoulders is a clear message, metaphorical black on metaphorical white, stained with Sirius’ metaphorical blood. As a visual prop. Regulus isn’t sure if the threat is for him or for Potter, but he’s not really in the mood to find out who his brother wants to murder first.

It shouldn’t take a PhD to see the danger, but apparently Potter needs the doctorate and a new pair of glasses. Unbothered by the commotion, he picks up the lego piece and just slithers down from the couch onto the rug and into Sirius’ open arms. Along the way, he somehow manages to pick Harry up as well, so that once he reaches Sirius and makes himself at home in his brother’s lap, there are two Potters who are more than willing to bask into his attention.

He could ignore Potter, sulk in his little corner and glare at his brother– who will no doubt interpret it as him glaring at Harry instead– but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to play with Harry. From the moment he saw him tonight, he’s been mesmerised by his chubby cheeks, the rosiness spreading all over his dark skin from how much Sirius and Remus are making the little boy laugh. Harry’s hair has also fascinated him. He’s a carbon copy of his dad, the same messy curls, the same crooked smile, even the little bump on the bridge of his nose is Potter’s.

But his eyes… Regulus knows they’re Lily’s, he’d actually seen the woman more often than Potter. Until tonight, he never considered them to be so beautiful, so full a never ending light, but seeing them on a child that resembles Potter’s glowiness… They’re bewitching.

He might need to compliment Lily when he sees her next time, just because.

All the self-control he managed to have tonight? Gone, thrown out the window and into the streets of West London for all the rats to feast on. Regulus joins the three men and one little boy into the rug, and while he does try to stay at least a few lego constructions away from his brother and his army of Potters, Regulus doesn’t bother trying to keep up the untouchable facade he put on.

And if Remus keeps glancing at him, the knowing tilt of his lips a mockery towards Regulus’ person, he at least has the decency to keep quiet and continue giving Harry the blocks he demands.

Later that night, after they left behind a sleeping Harry who refused to let go of Remus’ fingers, his brother spends exactly three minutes in complete silence upon their arrival home. No one comments on the fact that Regulus didn’t go back to his own place, instead, what Sirius focuses on is the bet they made, still fresh in his mind.

“So, Reginald, I win, right?”

No finesse, this one, though Regulus guesses all the composure and diplomacy got passed down to him.

A beat of quiet before the moment of inevitable disaster.

“You were,” he says.

“Ok, whatever, just send me the link you want me to–” Sirius turns around so fast that it’s surprising he doesn’t fall and split his head open. “I’m– Say that again?”

Rolling his eyes, Regulus pushes past his brother to step into the open kitchen and pour himself a glass of water. “You were right, I hate kids. Where do you want me to sign your stupid certificate or what the fuck ever you want me to do?”

“What the fuck do you mean I’m right? I was ready to buy your stupid shitty books, Reg!”

“Well, now you can keep your money.”

Sirius stares at his brother, mouth wide open and eyes full of disbelief. If he’s not convincing enough to fool Sirius, he must be doing something wrong. Maybe he needs to look even more distraught that he lost the bet… He was certain that the frown of his brows and the downturn of his lips would be enough to make him seem upset… Hm.

“Are you serious? You really mean to tell me that Harry didn’t charm you?”

“I mean, you kinda kept him to yourself and only allowed Remus to take him from you so it’s not like I got to spend time with him.”

“Still! He’s the cutest kid!”

“You’re saying that just because you’re his godfather.”

“Nu-uh! Tell him, Moons!”

From his way to the bathroom, Remus sighs loudly, clearly tired from the night of adventures they’ve had. Still, he can’t deny Sirius anything so he turns around slowly, leaning his weight on the wall with his right hand.

“Sure, Pads, he’s the cutest kid and you’re not saying that just because you’re his godfather. Can we please go to bed?”

It’s like a switch gets turned in Sirius’ head. One moment he’s next to Regulus and another he’s gently reaching out to help Remus stand, fingers tender as they grasp the taller’s waist. Regulus hates that he feels like he’s intruding on such an intimate moment. He wishes he could be of help, that Remus would trust him enough to allow him to fret so openly, but he knows he will never have that sort of relationship with his future brother-in-law. At least not without Remus being loudly against the fretting.

“This isn't done, Reginald!” Sirius throws over his shoulder, sparing Regulus one last brief look.

“Whatever, dumbass.”

His eyes stay glued to the bathroom door for a few seconds before he manages to gather himself and go to his designated guest bedroom.

Because he didn’t get into the Modernism class, Monday afternoons are designated work afternoons. Not that the mornings are any different; almost the entire day is a designated work day, with Regulus covering the empty spot Benjy left when he decided that he should use his Mondays for the PhD research he’s doing. Every now and again, Benjy drops another bomb on him and Dorcas, the only barista and manager that are a permanent fixture in the campus’ Starbucks. Some days he’s saying that his doctorate coordinator is making him work for close to nothing, others it’s just him describing in graphic detail what burns his newest chemical experiment gave him.

Whenever Benjy is working with him, Regulus knows he will not know peace.

There are only two possible ways an afternoon can go: either it’s the bloodiest, most gut wrenching, breakdown inducing rush Regulus had ever lived, or the cafe is just deserted, no one inside besides the overworked staff and the stressed student holding back tears in the secluded corner.

Fortunately for Regulus’ mental state, this Monday is part of the second type.

The emptiness of the coffee shop is made much more obvious by the loudness of the espresso machine any time Dorcas reaches to add another shot to the ever growing collection in her cup. He lost count after the third, but if he were to guess, Regulus would say she’s on her seventh by now.

The machine whirls to life obnoxiously over the background music the two have settled on, a mix they’ve been working on for years ever since the two discovered that they like the same genres. Benjy isn’t a fan of it, always complaining about how the dark mood of their music brings down the spirit, so in order to honour his desires of keeping up the oh so jolly atmosphere one can find in a campus coffee shop, they only play it when he’s not working.

While he may be a snob about coffee, he doesn’t consume it in such industrial quantities like Dorcas does. Linking it back to his mother and her rude comments about indulging, Regulus can’t say he’s surprised by his own behaviour.

Besides Dorcas’ espressos being brewed every hour or so, the tables are almost deserted, wiped clean hours ago after the morning rush of students and professors alike trying to finish their work before the due deadline. Regulus finds himself behind the counter watching the minutes tick by before he’s free to leave. He has plans for the night, meaning that Barty and Evan are already at his place, wrecking havoc. They like to call it making Regulus dinner as a thank you for being so kind and putting up with their shit, while Regulus prefers to call it the nth death of his kitchen.

As a manager, Dorcas may just be a godsent miracle. She doesn’t care about what her people are wearing, she doesn’t comment when they’re late and she even lets them flirt with their customers. Well, that was only the case of Benjy, who felt the need to embarrass himself in front of Peter Pettrigrew before the latter agreed to go out with him. Regulus could’ve been nice and told his coworker that the crush he’s been moaning over for months on end just so happens to be another one of his brother’s best friends. He could’ve, but there was no actual fun in doing that.

She is also nice enough to allow Regulus to read when the customers are so far and few, which is how James Potter finds him. Head buried into an old copy of Whitman’s poetry collection he stole from Remus’ library, Regulus doesn't look up when he hears the bell ring, disturbing the silence that fell over the shop. Dorcas is more than capable of making the hundredth iced oat milk shaken espresso of the shift.

It’s only when he doesn’t hear her move to the register to take the person’s order that he lifts his head, meeting the warm eyes of the object of his current desires. James Potter is smiling at him, unbothered by being made to wait. On his chest, Harry is gripping tightly onto a stuffed toy, face full of mirth as he takes in the scenery in front of him.

“Well, hello there!” James beams at him, eyes disappearing into little slits with how wide his smile is. “Fancy meeting you here, Reggie!”

Holding back a smile, Regulus puts his book aside after he makes sure he dorears the page he’s on. He masks it with an eye roll, the easiest thing that comes to him at the moment. “You know very well I work here, Potter.”

“Do I? Hm, can’t recall. You know how it is with being a dad, you get dad memory and stuff, y’know?” The smile is still present, still as bright, still as blinding. Regulus feels the need to look away, lest he wants to burn himself on it.

“I don’t,” he says. “I’m not a dad, never will be one probably,” a big, fat lie if the toddler blowing spit bubbles around his tortured dino has a say in it, “so I don’t know anything about this mythical dad memory thing.”

“Maybe Harry and I should teach you a thing or two about what it's like being a dad.” James Potter is playing a dangerous, dangerous game here, but he doesn't seem to want to back away now.

Internally, Regulus screams.

Externally, his eyes glue to a spot behind Potter’s shoulder and his face turns cold. It’s the only way in which he can keep the blush from spreading from his already burning ears.

“I think you should just order. You’re gonna keep the line if you just want to bother me here.”

Harry spits another bubble, stuffing the dino’s hand deeper into his mouth. For a toddler, he’s quite stupid. It’s to be expected, Regulus thinks, after all he doesn’t think Harry is older than one, maybe one and a few months, but he never actually asked. He’s able to walk by himself, well, more like wobble for a few steps and then fall, but it’s something. The kid is also able to say a few words, maybe more than a few considering all he heard when they were over at Potter’s was Harry mumbling as many variations of Moony and Padfoot as childly possible.

The boy is a bit dumb, that’s true, but, after all his dad is who he is and while Lily Evans is one of the smartest women Regulus has ever had the pleasure of meeting, he doubts her smarts were enough to overpower Potter’s. If anything it just makes Harry cuter in his eyes, though he would never utter such things out loud.

The confused look Potter gives him after checking behind for any line of possible customers is enough to make Regulus jump over the counter and kiss him stupid.

“But there’s no one else here, Reggie.” He pouts. The grown man in front of him, with his whole child strapped to his chest, fucking pouts at Regulus as if he took his favourite toy from him. The dangerous game he started is in full swing and Potter probably doesn’t even realise it, actually upset. And pouting. God, Regulus is never going to be able to escape his pout. It’s going to be seared into his retinas, Potter’s bottom lip all jutted out and plump.

Regulus will have to kiss him. There’s nothing else he can do at this point.

When all else fails, he knows he can count on changing the subject without an ounce of concern for the on-going conversation. With practised ease, he clears his throat and says, casually, as if he’s not still screaming on the inside, “Didn’t you tell Sirius that Lily was supposed to look after Harry for the week? I swear, I distinctly remember you complaining that you’d be all alone without him…”

Potter looks left, he looks right and Regulus would, hypothetically, put his hand on the Bible and say that he saw a bead of sweat drop down his brow. On his chest, Harry, as unaware as he is of his surroundings right now, gets jostled as Potter points behind him for a second, before his hand flies to the back of his neck and then on the counter, to offer himself support.

“Lily… Yeah, she– She died! Terribly sorry, but yes, she’s… dead.”

Dorcas has got to be losing her shit wherever she is hiding. He just knows she will be mocking him as soon as Potter leaves the shop. He both dreads the inevitable future, as well as looks forward to it. Maybe that way he can throw a few jabs at her and Marlene, their weird mating dance that he had to witness for years is always something he loves to make fun of.

There is a small moment, as brief as a fly landing on a piece of food before it’s killed ruthlessly with a measured swat, in which Regulus thinks about entertaining Potter’s insane game. They moved past the flirtatious play that Potter initiated and were now in a nonsensical move in which Potter was simply losing his footing.

That moment, just like the fly, gets killed the instant Regulus realises he can use this whole charade to his advantage.

“Really? Cause I’ve just seen Lily today. Not even three hours ago. She died? In the three hours I haven’t seen her? Maybe I should text Mary my condolences…”

“No!”

“No?”

“No!”

“So she’s not dead?”

Taking a moment to calm himself, as well as to settle Harry who began to rock side to side with excitement at the movement, Potter inhales deeply, cheeks puffed out and dark. Oh, how Regulus wishes he could see the blush properly, witness all the blood that rushes to Potter’s face with his very eyes.

He mumbles a quiet, no, muffled by the way in which he’s hiding himself in Harry’s mess of hair. “Can I get a coffee? Just an iced oat–”

“Iced oat milk shaken espresso? Coming right up, Potter.”

Potter’s eyes are as wide as saucers, the lenses of his glasses only amplifying how big and pretty they are. “How did you…?”

Regulus turns around so that he’s no longer forced to look at Potter and his stupid face. He’s so stupid. He hates him, absolutely despises his face and everything he stands for. Especially his eyes. Those, Regulus hates the most. “Oh, please, Potter. Every queer within the mile orders the exact same thing.”

The quiet, though? He might just hate that even more.

As he prepares the drink mechanically, Regulus can’t help but think he messed it up by being too mean, too unapproachable, too bold with his words. Barty always tells him that his boldness is meant to attract people, that only those who can actually put up with him will be able to handle the coldness that oozes out of him, but right now, while he has to make that shitty, shaken espresso drink without Potter’s insistent chattering blocking the background music, Regulus can only think that his best friend lied to him.

His boldness doesn’t attract people, it doesn’t get rid of the ones he doesn’t want and leave behind those he is actively chasing, in his own way. His boldness is what fully pushes others away and Potter’s uncharacteristic silence is perfect proof of it.

Regulus focuses on the counter as he passes the drink over to his brother’s best friend– his soulmate– he reminds himself, just to reinforce how untouchable Potter really is. He’s Sirius’. He was his first, he will always be first. Regulus doesn't stand a chance, even if he flirts with him.

It’s a game, it’s a game, it’s a game.

He’s nothing but a game, a little form of entertainment that Potter found on the side.

“How did you know I was queer?”

Regulus thinks he should apologise, after all he did just make an assumption about the man’s sexuality even if the whole university knows of James Potter’s queerness. Still, for once in his miserable life God seems to be on his side as his eyes catch the pin that’s proudly placed on the strap holding Harry up.

He nods towards Potter’s chest, then promptly looks away.

Why is it so hard to maintain eye contact with him? Usually he has no problem staring into people’s eyes, blinking when they do so that he doesn’t seem rude and bored of their presence, but Potter? Potter makes it so hard to act, to behave like a normal person, how he’s been doing for so long.

“Are you…” Potter laughs, the sound making Harry bounce and in turn laugh in response to his father. The sound makes Regulus melt. “Are you stereotyping me, Regulus?”

“Stop being a walking stereotype then, Potter. Now,” he pushes his coffee towards him, “your coffee. And–”

He noticed the way in which Harry was staring at the pastry display, laser focused on the overpriced cookies they had on display. Personally, he finds them disgusting, way too sweet and artificial and definitely too overpriced for what they are, but he is well aware that kids love them. After all, kids and artificial flavourings go hand in hand and clearly Harry isn’t that much different from the rest of the children that step over the threshold of this very specific Starbucks.

So he reaches into the display and takes the prettiest sweet he can find. The colourful sprinkles are enough to make Regulus sick but he bets his whole fortune of savings and old books that Harry will go berserk for them.

“And a cookie for you, your liege,” he says, offering the carefully wrapped cookie to Harry. Harry who’s been watching him like a hawk, each movement of his hands clearly analysed by whatever is going on in his little head. He points towards the dinosaur, its arm still being chewed on. “How about we let go of…”

“Dindin!”

Regulus smiles softly. “Right, of Dindin and we munch on this instead?”

And of course, Harry Potter is more than willing to accept the offered dessert, letting go of poor old Dindin so that he falls on the counter. He needs a bath, ASAP, but he can’t tell Potter this unless he wants him to think of him as overbearing, offering input where it doesn’t belong.

Potter is staring at him. Both of them are, but the difference between father and son is that the son seems to be more than happy with his little snack, therefore his eyes are quite empty of emotions besides satisfaction, while the father holds… something. Something that he cannot once again place a name to, something that is making Regulus feel as if his skin is being rubbed clean off of his bones, as if each molecule that makes up his being is scrutinised over under the lens of a microscope.

“Thanks, Reggie,” Potter smiles.

And that smile. It will be the death of him. On his grave, engraved in cursive, it will stand for the whole world to see:

Here lies Regulus Arcturus Black, killed by James Potter’s smile and nothing more.

The brunet thinks it may just be the way to go.

“Whatever, Potter. It wasn’t for you, it was for Harry,” Regulus sneers at the older.

His smile only softens. “Still. We both thank you, don’t we, Haz?”

"Thank!"

They will have to make another hypothetical headstone, he mourns the last one the moment his heart jumps. He was already a bit fond of the last one.

The new one would have the addition of:

Here lies Regulus Arcturus Black, killed by James and Harry Potter's smiles. He lived a joke of a life.

The smile he gives Harry is something he keeps special, tugged away if he has any way of holding it stored in a locked cupboard, chained with more locks and more keys he threw out. But Harry may just be worth that smile. He's just a kid, he should be smiled at and cherished and Regulus wants to do all the things his parents have kept from him.

So he smiles and leans slightly in as if he wants to whisper a secret to the boy.

He doesn't get the chance to tell Harry what he wanted, that his father stinks and he should probably not be allowed to walk out because of his stinkiness, because Potter pulls his son away.

Regulus glares at him, feeling betrayed.

"He was going for your hair, Reggie," Potter explains, looking truly apologetic. "The moment he gets his fingers in your hair he just won't let go. Trust me, Lily and Sirius both lost a few chunks because of him already, we can't let him take away your pretty hair too."

His hair? Pretty?

Regulus goes red, the ringing in his ears getting louder and louder, a chant of pretty in Potter's voice.

"We really can't have that…"

"No we can't…"

He swears they're having a moment, lost in each other's presence, Harry making little happy noises in between them as he enjoys his sweet.

But, because Dorcas hates him, she chooses that exact moment to drop a spoon. They break eye contact as soon as the metal hits the ground, faces as red as Harry's jacket.

Potter continues to smile, still as warm, still as inviting. His long fingers wrap around Harry's wrist gently, pulling it away from his face and waving it at Regulus.

"Bye-bye, Reggie! Say bye-bye, Haz!"

"Buh-buh!" Harry exclaims around the mouthful of cookie he's still chewing around.

Regulus doesn't say anything, just waves back, a kind smile playing on his lips. It's too easy for him to allow himself to be all smiles towards the boy and distantly, Regulus thinks this should be scary.

But he doesn't find it daunting. He just grins brighter.

As soon as they out through the door, Dorcas proceeds to gag and choke, dramatic and loud. He was expecting it, he was expecting worse and still Regulus throws a napkin at her, aiming for her head.

It lands pitifully on the floor.

He thinks there must be some dramatic irony tied to how the napkin falls gently.

Chapter Text

Through the speakers of his phone, Pandora’s voice comes out distantly, as if she’s screaming from another room: “And then he told… his ex-girlfriend and… mother of his kid died?”

“Dora, I love you but I’m begging you to stop putting your phone on speaker while you’re doing your gardening. Remind me to send you some wireless earbuds for your birthday or something cause this isn’t working out.” Regulus puts his phone down, reaching for his own earbuds. He’s been stress cleaning his apartment all morning, putting everything else on hold in order to clear his head. This is the only way that seems to actually be working out right now, after having tried reading, drinking an ungodly amount of tea, stress shopping online and scrolling mindlessly through the never ending messages Barty sent him on TikTok.

Nothing helped, which means that now he’s organising all of the trinkets placed on his bookshelves. He got stuck the moment Pandora called him so now he has to pick up where he abandoned his cleaning from.

There’s some more distant shuffling coming from his earbuds now and then, a few moments later, Pandora’s words come out clear and without any of the static Regulus was getting used to.

“Better?” Regulus hums, picking one of the many little York ghosts that Dorcas insists on buying for him everytime she goes back home. “So he really said Lily died? And you decided to play along with it?”

Regulus makes a face, glad that his best friend can’t see his face. “I wouldn’t call it playing along, Dora. More like… being a menace to get to watch him squirm.”

On her side of the country, rural Scotland, where she moved after marrying Xenophilius, thus abandoning her best friends and her poor, co-dependent twin, Pandora makes a sound that tells Regulus she is very much disappointed in him. Maybe if she would have stayed in London, she could control him better and exercise her motherly voice on him, but all the way across the country, all she can do is tut at him. And tutting won’t do shit, not when Regulus is still feeling petty that she’s no longer here.

“Do you think you’re being too mean with him, Reggie?”

“I think he’s the one being mean, Pans. You don’t understand, he’s so hot, someone should lock him up!”

A beat of silence which gets filled with running water no doubt being given to Pandora’s precious rose bushes. The moment continues, even when Regulus can no longer hear the water sprinkling.

“We’re not going to examine that today, nope. I want you to really think this through, Regulus.” The man puts aside a small dolphin figurine. The thing was given to him by Sirius, alongside other marine themed decorations that fill his house now. It’s all because his brother is a truly horrible person, who loves reminding Regulus that he almost died at not even five years of age, all because Sirius pushed him into the ocean, when he knew his little, baby brother had no idea how to swim. For a second, he really considers throwing it away, but something akin to brotherly love possesses him and he finds himself placing the little glass dolphin back on the shelf.

“I really don’t understand why you’re so set against me trying to fuck Sirius’ best friend! I bet that if it was Barty moaning about a DILF you’d be more than happy to entertain him and his obsessions!”

“We both know Barty is only able to see Evan that way, so your argument is invalid. And just so you know, I would be disappointed in him too.”

“So you admit you’re disappointed in me!”

“Yes! Because I don’t think this is a good idea, you idiot! You’re just gonna catch feelings for James before you even get to have sex with him and then you will have to break your own heart because you’re you and you can’t see that you’re worth being loved. And then, you will get in your own head about it and compare your relationship with him to his relationship with your brother and you’ll just end up thinking you’re the second choice.” Regulus holds his breath, glaring at the stupid, ugly dolphin. “Am I wrong, Reg?”

“Have I ever told you how much I hate you for choosing that psychology major instead of going into chemistry?”

Pandora laughs, unbothered by Regulus’ comment.

“A few times. I think it started when I began to psychoanalyse you guys,” she says, a smile obvious in her voice.

“You made us your guinea pigs…”

“Well, you can’t help people work on themselves without working out the knots and wrinkles on your best friends’ brains, Reg, dear!”

He abandons the bookshelves fully, suddenly too tired to stand in front of the wooden shelves and analyse each piece of plastic, glass or wood that decorates them. Talking with Pandora always ends up with him revisiting all his actions, overthinking them until his head hurts and he has to call her again. Sometimes he scolds her for being too into her work and making him aware of his feelings, sometimes he whines to her about said emotions. Sometimes, he just calls her to have the woman distract him. She never makes fun of him for it, more than familiar with Regulus’ emotional unavailability.

“Whatever, Pands, I promise I’ll be good and ponder on why I am the way I am, although I think we both know the answer will be my parents.”

Pandora sighs. “Don’t worry, Reg. I’ve been manifesting their deaths every night. All the negative energy I’m sending their way has to be doing something. Now, tell me again about your loverboy and him throwing Lily under the bus!”

“Okay, but you have to promise you won’t tell Lily about this. I wanna have fun with it when I tell her how much of an idiot Potter is.”

“You, Regulus Black, are the biggest little shit I have ever met.”

If there is a God out there, Regulus wants to make it very clear with them that he truly abhors their existence. If there is a God out there, and Regulus is almost entirely certain there isn’t one, they have it out for him especially.

Otherwise, there is no logical explanation for why James Potter is waiting for him outside his Monarchy in Shakespearean Plays class, a lecture that Regulus knows for sure Potter has no idea of. Clearly, he does know about it, Lord knows how or who he had to drill the information out of. What matters in this moment is that Potter, Harry-less, is stationed outside his classroom, two paper cups in his hands and another paper bag hanging from between his fingers. He keeps scanning each person that steps out of the room, eyes losing the bright sparkle in them each time he doesn’t seem to catch who he’s looking for.

Now, expecting Potter to be there for him, is quite self-centred of Regulus, he’s well aware, but… There simply can’t be anyone else in his year that holds Potter’s attention. He won’t allow it, even if the only way in which he will do something is by glaring at the person that Potter waits for and asking Pandora to manifest their death also.

He’s not about to throw a temper tantrum just because Potter doesn’t find him shiny enough to be worthy of his regard.

Regulus is a grown man, unlike his brother.

And yet, the moment he steps out, after having asked his professor some burning questions that have been plaguing his mind– his professor doesn’t need to know that the only reason Regulus is even asking him questions outside of class is to make a good example and hopefully get an extra point on his exam– Potter’s eyes light up properly. The gleam in them doesn’t go away, unlike he’s seen it do while he was waiting for his professor to stop going on a tangent about Christianity and the importance of God.

Regulus’ insides do not start burning with glee. They burn with distaste and anger and whatever other bad emotions there are. The only positive feeling he’s allowed to feel towards Potter, he had decided after Dorcas joined her forces with Barty to make fun of him, is sexual attraction. And even with that one he’s still debating if everything is worth the mockery he has to endure.

Potter’s voice is as warm as it always is when he greets the brunet with his usual blinding grin. “Reggie! There you are! I was starting to think you skipped class!”

Holding back a smile proves to be almost impossible, but he manages either way. He steps aside from the front of the door, making sure he won’t be blocking the way of any students that were looking to get inside. Potter follows him wordlessly, the grin doing nothing to ease Regulus’ ongoing internal struggles.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Too harsh, even for you. “I mean,” he coughs, doing everything in his power to not look directly into Potter’s eyes. “I mean, how did you know about this class? Did Sirius tell you?”

Potter has the audacity to continue looking happy, smug even. “Maybe… Maybe not… That’s for me to know and for you to find out, Reggie,” he says, looking down at Regulus as if he’s having the time of his life.

“I asked you, Potter,” Regulus points out, glaring at him for good measure. “And you are clearly unable to give me a good answer, so how about you tell me unless you want me to walk away?”

His smile doesn’t falter, but Potter’s eyes do this thing where suddenly they seem to be searching his, drilling into his soul and turning each bit and piece of it until he finds whatever he’s looking for. It’s… It makes Regulus squirm in his own skin, unused to anyone paying so much attention to him.

“Always so mean to me, Reggie,” he pouts. That same primal instinct takes over Regulus’ whole body and all he can hear in his brain is a hungry chant of kiss him, kiss him, kiss him that doesn’t want to stop no matter how much he tries taping the bodiless voices shut.

A painful breath catches in his throat.

Mean.

“Are you like this with everyone or should I start feeling special?”

Regulus can feel his ears burn. If only he knew… He doesn’t feel suicidal enough to actually tell Potter that he managed to worm his way into his heart without too much effort, him and his son both. There’s no reason why he should be made aware of such incriminating facts.

“You’re really avoiding my question, aren’t you? I bet you had to beg my brother for him to send you my schedule.” In spite of himself, he smiles, although he can feel it form more like a smirk than anything else.

Potter blushes right back, that intoxicating darkening of his skin making Regulus want to do bad, awful things to him. He holds himself in check, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie to grab onto his own fingers.

“Maybe… Maybe not,” he repeats himself, all but shoving the paper cup into Regulus’ chest. That is promptly followed by the bag hitting him in the stomach. “Coffee! For you! You like it, right? And a bagel! It’s like a thank you because you gave Haz that cookie! Goody ol’ James, that’s me!”

He takes the offered cup gracefully, mentally cursing himself for the buzzing that’s filling his stomach, bees and butterflies and who knows what other insects currently reside within his body. Having Potter in front of him, all but leaning on the wall that Regulus himself is standing against, is not something that’s healthy for his body. The fact that all nonchalance just left Potter’s body and he may not be aware that he’s caging Regulus with his body doesn’t help either.

Really, do men just lose all common sense the moment they get their DILF diploma?

He has to resist the urge to lean forward, to touch Potter's chest or biceps or stomach, to grab him by the collar of his shirt– who in their right mind wears t-shirts during autumn, honestly– and to pull him down into a kiss. Bad, bad thoughts.

Still, with his heart beating out of his chest, the smile he offers is almost one to one with the one he’s only given Harry so far. Regulus blames it on how hot the empty hallway has gotten all of a sudden. Infuriatingly, Potter’s body goes rigid and the smile he’s been sporting since Regulus first greeted him freezes on his pretty face. He’s having an honest, bodily reaction to Regulus smiling at him. Oh, Regulus feels cruel for what he’s about to do, but he can feel it in his bones that it’s going to be brilliant.

“Thanks, Potter.” His forefinger circles the cup’s lid, silver rings catching the sickly yellow light the university refuses to let go of. Potter’s eyes burn through the silver, fixated on the easy motion like a starved dog begging for a treat. “But I hate coffee, you know? And I can’t stomach bagels unless they’re gluten free…”

If Pandora could see him right now, she’d be doing her tut-tut, shaking her finger at him like one would do to their dogs. Fortunately, she’s nowhere near him and so he can pout towards his shoes and look at Potter through his lashes just to really hammer it home.

The sound that fills the hallway, which incidentally is also the noise that Potter lets out, sounds like nothing Regulus has ever heard. It’s a mix between a sob and groan and an annoyed huff, all laced with exasperation and desperation. It’s glorious, but the previous chant gets replaced with mean, mean, mean and all Regulus can do is immediately regret his words.

Before his body can actually catch up with his thoughts, he laughs.

The first time he’s done it around Potter as well, today seems to be a day of firsts for James Potter. He really can’t help it, it’s just so stupid. Potter and his noises are stupid, the whole situation is stupid, hell, Regulus is stupid!

Still caging him, oblivious to what he was doing, Potter’s stillness goes even stiffer at the sound of Regulus’ barely contained giggles. He’s staring at him, eyes boring into Regulus’ quickly reddening face as if he’s trying to commit each detail to memory.

The muttered pretty that greets his ears must be the wind, or his own sleep deprivation catching up with him. There’s just no way, none.

“Alright, let’s see what this coffee is all about, Potter. Just so you know, I am a snob when it comes to it so–” The moment the cold liquid hits his tongue, Regulus chokes on it, utterly disgusted by the bitter taste.

Instant coffee.

Potter gave him instant coffee and he’s finally rewiring his brain to smile again, eager for praise, or a thank you or a good job. He should be grateful that Regulus handles himself so well and doesn’t spit that dreadful liquid in his face. Slowly, incredibly so, Regulus swallows the coffee, grimacing at the aftertaste that will not leave his mouth for the next few hours.

“Potter.” Regulus swallows again, urging the taste to just go away. “Please tell me you don’t drink that shit regularly.”

To his credit, Potter does have the ability to look embarrassed, glancing at the ground instead of Regulus for the first time in what may as well be ages. That blush, that horrible, horrible blush will single handedly kill Regulus.

“Well… Not regularly. I also have protein shakes sometimes…”

Of fucking course he does. What a cruel joke, for Regulus to be obsessed with a man who not only drinks instant coffee, but protein shakes too. Really, God just chose him as the sole target of his abuse. At least his parents split it between him and Sirius, like decent people.

“Give me your phone,” he demands.

There’s no room for arguments left, nothing but a cold order and an outstretched hand. Potter’s lips are downturned, that ugly frown present again, as if he’s trying so, so hard to understand what Regulus is trying to get at.

He’s such a nimrod, it makes Regulus want to scream.

“I’ll give you my number, Potter. I need you to come over, not now–” he rushes to say the moment he sees excitement glow on Potter’s face. “Now, I have a job to go and clock in. Another time. But you’ll come by and I’ll teach you how to make coffee. And then, if you’re good at it, I promise to buy you some decent equipment so that you don’t have to drink that… toilet water you call coffee.”

Potter’s smile is fully back by now. Regulus takes another drink of that tremendous coffee just to stop himself from jumping the man’s bones.

“Is that a… Are you asking me on a date, Reggie?”

“If you’re gonna be good, it may be one,” he answers coyly, biting on the inside of his cheek until he feels blood coating the previous bitterness.

And all Regulus can think is that the blood may be easy to overlook, if he can get Potter to smile like that inside his own home.

Before he can even think about inviting Potter over on his first free day, Barty, Evan and a video calling Pandora are making themselves comfortable on his couch without a single care about his scheduled alone time. Normally he wouldn’t mind, he welcomes them with as much warmth as he can when they drop in on him out of nowhere, but today he’s really not in the mood to entertain Barty’s nonsense.

He can already tell that Evan will be useless in controlling his boyfriend from putting more gasoline on Regulus’ burning patience and that Pandora finds their banter– borderline proper fighting at this point– hilarious from the safety of her house.

So he’s alone in telling Barty to fuck off. And he’s currently doing a piss job at it, anxiously staring at his phone and waiting, begging, manifesting a text from Potter.

“You’re literally obsessed, mate,” Barty’s agitating, grating voice says from behind him. He must’ve left the living room sometimes in between him looking at his phone and him tapping his phone awake in case he might have blinked when the notification came in. “Have you tried therapy?”

“No, but I tried fucking your dad last night and it didn’t do shit, so shut the fuck up, Crouch.”

A hit on the back of his head makes Regulus throw the used napkin at Barty’s face, completely missing his target. What’s with him and throwing crumpled pieces of paper at his so-called friends lately? He needs to buy a gun if he really wants to do any damage.

“Sometimes, I wish your parents fucking aborted you, you useless arse,” Barty says, lacking all the venom Regulus knows he is capable of injecting into his words.

He responds without really thinking it through, already picking his phone up again to check if there’s any new signs of life from Potter. The word is barely loud enough to be heard by his friends when he says it, “same.”

Regulus doesn’t flinch at the silence. It wouldn’t be unheard of for the group to settle into a comfortable quietness, each one doing their own little thing and simply enjoying the company. He only notices that something is amiss when Evan clears his throat, the first noise he made, besides his shushed conversation with Pandora that’s been going on.

It’s still Barty who talks. “Reg, we’ve talked about this, mate…”

Regulus rolls his eyes, fed up with his friends’ worry. As if they don’t act the same way about their traumas, with Barty mentioning his daddy issues at least five times a day and Evan and Pandora just plainly refusing to talk about their parents and their lack of acceptance of their identities. They do, however, love making jokes about how they just switched genders in the womb to play the biggest prank on their parents later on in life, but that’s about it from them.

Between the four of them, Regulus may be handling his parental shit best, but he thinks he must be biased about it.

Sighing and placing his phone face down on his coffee table, Regulus looks at his friends. Their faces are gloomy and dark, a testament of his own inability to help keep their mood up.

“Right, sorry.”

No one dares to say anything for a few seconds, still processing the brunet’s harsh words about himself.

Sighing more obnoxiously than the first time, he stands up and walks over to the couch, dropping on top of Evan and holding his arms open for Barty to join them. In moments like this, the only way to reassure his friends that everything is fine is by cuddling with them, something he learned to accept as part of his friendly duties a long time ago.

“Panda, I’m cuddling with you in my mind, I hope you can feel it.”

Pandora’s voice is sweet, sweeter than honey and so far away from them that it pains Regulus when he hears her.

“I can, Reg. It’s like you’re right next to me.”

And for a brief moment, Regulus can allow himself to really believe her.

The incident with his friends leaves Regulus feeling worse than he would like to admit to anyone. It's something that he would sooner take into his grave, the one for which the headstone is already in the making, with Harry and Potter as the main reasons for his death. He knows that his big brother is always just a call away, more than willing to listen to him without being a dick when he’s in need of a shoulder to lean on.

But it feels wrong to burden Sirius with the same things he worked through already, just because the fear of actually going to therapy is so overwhelming that it makes Regulus want to tear his hair out.

He tried it a few times, a compromise that he took because Sirius told him it would be good to see someone and talk. And for a bit, it was. But then he started feeling like his problems were not that important, that they were getting smaller and more insignificant and that he was just waiting both his and Poppy’s time so he simply… stopped going. Poppy just said she understood and that she would always have her door open for him, no matter the hour.

He hasn’t called her since, but in moments like this, he’s really considering chewing on his brain and contacting her again.

Right now, since the moment his phone buzzed while he was getting suffocated in the cuddle pile, Regulus’ mind is filled to the brim with thoughts about Potter, so his whole pity party has to be put on hold just so that it doesn’t consume what he’s trying to achieve with Potter.

What he’s trying to achieve, he’s still not quite certain about. He knows he wants to fuck Potter, that much is a given, but he doesn’t know if Potter would be, well… willing to do anything more. He can see he’s attracted to Regulus, he’s not blind and his flirting is quite atrocious, but he’s a dad… A dad whose focus is on his son and making sure that he’s raising him right. There’s simply no way Potter would be inclined to let Regulus into his perfect little world. Not when he has to know all about how he hates kids from Sirius.

That bastard of a brother of his, always making sure that Regulus can’t get what he wants.

Still, he invited Potter over after spending hours glued to his phone, talking with the man about whatever small thing he had on his mind. Potter send him photos of his notes, photos of Harry, asleep on his chest– Regulus has to take a moment to compose himself, lest he wanted to send back a very inappropriate paragraph about Potter’s fathering skills– videos of whatever animal graced him with its presence, tips and tricks about how to woo the cafeteria ladies into giving Regulus an extra piece of brownie.

Throughout their conversations, he tried to be as responsive as possible, sending back photos of his own, or insightful commentary or, when he was feeling incredibly drained from the on-going stream of consciousness that were Potter’s texts, a simple emoji. Potter didn’t seem to mind the dryness that were his responses. Instead, he took it upon himself to carry everything when he noticed that Regulus was starting to slip.

Regulus, as he often found himself thinking when it came to Potter, could only imagine himself grabbing the man by his messy hair and kissing him forcefully, burying himself into Potter’s chest and never coming out of there. It was starting to worry him, everytime he found his thoughts stray to Potter’s pouty lips and how nice they’d feel trailing kissing down Regulus’ throat.

It took an embarrassing amount of time for him to propose the idea of Potter coming over. The time was never right, always full of Potter’s thoughts and throwaway ideas. He was starting to think, mournfully, whenever Potter beat him to start another talk, that maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe his smooth attempt of getting the man into his kitchen was not the way to go and he should try another way.

But then, during his Monday shift, that cursed, cursed period of time, Potter sent him a simple so, when will you actually teach me about coffee, you snob? and that was all Regulus needed to ask him properly. Saved by Potter, maybe that fate wasn’t so bad after all.

Which is why he spends the whole Monday night and Tuesday morning cleaning his apartment, dusting the nonexistent dust from every surface available. He cleans his espresso machine, goes out to buy more purified water, just in case the one that he’s been using went unpurified in the time it’s been open, takes the beans out of his grinder, contemplates changing them because if he’s being honest, they did taste a bit burned, then promptly throws that whole idea out the window when the doorbell rings.

Has it always been so loud? Regulus doubts it. Usually it doesn’t manage to cover the ringing in his ears, the continuous noise that doesn’t seem to ever stop buzzing in his head.

Today, all of it stops when Potter chimes his buzzer.

He was so focused on cleaning his kitchen that Regulus forgot to change into something more appropriate for having Potter over. The shorts and Remus’ old sweater, while incredibly comfortable and definitely something he loves lounging around on, are hardly something one considers suitable for the possible date they will have.

There’s no time for him to change so his only option is to hope that Potter isn’t good today and that this won’t end up being a date.

He can only hope, although his heart squeezes at the fleeting thought.

As soon as he opens the door, he starts regretting the choice of not making Potter wait, if only for him to have a chance to change. Because Potter clearly took the possible out of possible date and fully committed to making sure that Regulus would pass out and die on his feet the moment he sees him.

Otherwise, he can’t explain why he’s dressed like that, when it’s barely ten AM.

Potter’s usual t-shirt and jeans combo is nowhere in sight, to Regulus’ despair. Instead, he is wearing what must be the most skin-tight pair of slacks, the smooth, black material wrapped around Potter’s thighs in such a way that Regulus is close to having an aneurysm. He knows they belong to Sirius and the thought of basically thirsting over his brother’s clothes makes him sick, but Potter’s thighs have never looked better.

He wants to rip those pants off, to sink to his knees in front of the older man and bite the muscles until Regulus’ teeth marks are the only thing visible, until Potter is desperate and whining. He wants to bruise him, to hurt James Potter in a way that will make him think of only Regulus, no one else. Never anyone else.

Reluctantly, he looks away from those sinful, thick thighs. He eyes the shirt, thin, tight, buttons not fastened all the way through. Regulus feels faint. Potter’s arms are covered by that bothersome burgundy jacket, the bane of Regulus’ existence in this very moment. That may be the only reason why he’s still managing to stand upright, which is why he thanks God that Potter had the decency to cover himself, instead of whoring out the goods for everyone to ogle at.

Regulus wants to ogle but he has to be the only one allowed. If Potter wants that too. God, being a decent person is so hard, he should have stayed obsessed from afar.

Potter recovers faster, his own staring cut short. It takes so much out of Regulus to not combust when he catches Potter licking his lips with hunger, as his eyes trail down his legs. “Are you going to let me in, or do you plan to teach me how to brew coffee in the hallway, Reg?”

Damn him. Damn Potter and everything about him; especially his thighs. If he thought his ass was sonnets worthy, oh, his thighs need to be the focus of volumes, upon volumes of poetry, of reflexive yearning, of lustful desire.

Conscious of how underdressed he is, Regulus steps aside, pondering if making a run for his bedroom and throwing on a pair of longer pants is something a normal person would do. Potter doesn’t let him think it through, to weigh the pros and cons of just abandoning the man in his hallway for a few minutes, because he takes that bloody jacket off and Regulus’ brain stops working.

God really, really loves being cruel.

Not only is the shirt unbearably tight around his chest, the buttons so close to popping open, but the linen material is stretched so thin around Potter’s biceps that Regulus can clearly see how they flex when he hangs his jacket. His mouth waters.

Mind reeling out of his own control, Regulus pushes past the man, leaving behind any half-formed idea about pants.

“Espresso!” he all but yelps when Potter bends to take his shoes off. Sweet Jesus, have mercy. “I’m–” Regulus wheezes out a choked noise, spit stuck in his throat. “I’m teaching you how to make an espresso. It tastes better than your regular coffee– We are not counting your instant shit, Potter,” he rushes to say.

Potter beams at him, amused and pink in the cheeks. His hair is slightly mused, no doubt from having ran his hands through the locks. He craves to do that to Potter too. Maybe this really was a bad idea, maybe he bit off more than he could chew and now Regulus was left choking and begging for air, all because his hubris was too large.

Leading the man into his kitchen, Regulus makes a quick mental list of all the places he cleaned, making sure that his espresso corner is indeed amongst them. It is; that was the first place he cleaned in his frenzy, but that means nothing right now.

“Right so first I need to teach you the theory behind getting a perfect, smooth shot. I hope you brought a notebook, Potter, because I’m gonna test you about it at the end.”

“And if I do well, this will be a date?” God, he sounds like an overexcited puppy. Regulus melts, just as eager to tell Potter that yes, this has always been a date, he’s just being so good for Regulus.

Ignoring Potter’s question, Regulus goes into snob mode, explaining everything he can about his De’Longhi La Specialista Prestigio machine, his literal child and most prized possession. How coarse the beans should be ground, how to prep the puck, what a Weiss Distribution tool does and why it just can’t be skipped, because the ground coffee will form lumps no matter how expensive and fancy your grinder is. Which beans are the best, how to tell that the beans were actually roasted recently and that the specialty roastery isn’t trying to scam people. How hot the water has to be, how long the extraction needs to be. All he can think of, he shares with Potter, who, to his absolute amazement, manages to stay quiet while Regulus’ enthusiasm borders on fanaticism.

After the theory part of his impromptu class is done, Regulus fully immerses himself into the familiar ritual of preparing the coffee. He makes sure to explain what he’s doing thoroughly, despite having gone through everything already when he summarised the science of it. Regulus would bet his precious child that Potter needs hands-on practice in order to fully grasp something.

He holds out the bag of beans. “Smell these.”

With all of his nonexistent tact, Potter almost buries his nose into the open bag. He inhales deeply, moaning at the smell of freshly roasted coffee. Regulus sputters around the letters that want to form in the back of his throat; nothing comes out but an incomprehensible string of sounds.

“It’s a… a medium roast of Ethiopian beans…” Potter nods into the bag, still fascinated by the scent. “See how they smell slightly fruity?” A low hum is the only response he gets. “So, that’s because they dry them with cherries usually. But this specific roastery makes sure there’s a nice mix of strawberries and blueberries along with that.”

“I love strawberries.”

Potter’s voice is so deep, gravely and almost like a rumble from his chest. It sends shivers down Regulus’ spine and the urge to simply forgo the coffee lessons and instead make out with Potter in his spotless kitchen intensifies.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The silence is deafening. It rings inside Regulus’ head, his ears buzzing persistently with that same unhinged chant.

Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.

Regulus is struggling to maintain his focus on the lesson, the proximity to Potter and the intensity of their exchange are making it increasingly difficult. His mind is racing, his heart pounding, and the desire to give in to the moment grows stronger with each passing second. But he's determined to finish what he started, to guide Potter through the process of making the perfect shot, even though every fibre of his being is screaming for more.

He has to turn back to face his station, so that he can regain some of the composure that has simply vanished. It does absolutely nothing, only proves to make him more aware of the body that’s inching closer towards his back, the hands that are creeping down his spine before they settle on his hips.

Potter’s fingers are shaking as they come to a rest above his sweater, not daring to move under the soft material and touch Regulus’ overheated skin. The realisation that Potter is just as affected by their little game helps make Regulus feel better, but in the end it proves to be futile, as the portafilter trembles between his fingers, coffee grounds spilling over the sides.

“This ok?”

“Yes, Potter. Just make sure you pay attention to what I’m doing.”

Regulus can hear the smile in his voice. “I always pay attention to you, Reg.”

With the apples of his cheeks burning bright red, Regulus stays quiet, watching as the extraction begins without another hiccup. Potter doesn’t move his hands, but his thumb shifts, rubbing circles into the knit with practised ease. The motion has an immediate effect on Regulus, his whole body hyper-focused on the thin layer that’s separating Potter’s touch from his hip.

"You have to make sure you're keeping an eye on it when you first start…" Potter places his chin on Regulus' shoulder, watching the brunet's hands with a feverish gaze. The silver rings. He's looking at them, Regulus can tell.

"Start what, Reg?"

He’s so wrong for everything that he’s putting Regulus through at this moment. He deserves to feel himself burn alive the exact same way Regulus does, insides melting into a puddle of blood and tissue. Someone’s got to chain this man and he will be damned if he’s not gonna be the one to do it.

It’s the only payment he thinks Potter deserves for all the turmoil that he’s making Regulus experience.

“Start getting into coffee. After a while you’ll just know but for now you have to keep a close,” Potter’s hold on him tightens, his chest pressing into Regulus’ back with obvious intent. “A close eye on the machine. You really need to keep the timing just right so as to not mess with the flavour profile.”

Potter hums, no doubt having stopped paying attention to what Regulus is trying to teach him. The thought of pushing his hard work aside, of pressing his ass into Potter’s crotch in hopes of driving him wild, of putting him through the whole torture he’s been subjecting Regulus to, reels its head out again and this time around it’s harder to ignore it.

At last, the extraction finishes and his shots have a lovely crema on the top that Regulus can’t wait to taste. As Regulus demonstrates the milk-steaming process, he feels Potter’s chest against his back with each breath that he insists on taking. The exhales land on the nape of his neck, soft and yet overwhelming enough to make him mad. He’s grateful that the steam wand masks the flush creeping up his neck. Perhaps it would have been smarter to start with the steaming.

Potter watches every step, although it’s getting more and more complicated for Regulus to tell if he’s looking at his fingers or if he’s truly processing what’s happening in front of his eyes.

When it’s finally time to offer his hard work to Potter to taste, Regulus carefully pours the latte art, creating a simple heart on the creamy brown surface. The older man has to take a step back, breaking the physical closeness that had both electrified and rattled Regulus.

Silence fills the kitchen, that same stillness full of tension that wrapped over the two while Regulus was trying not to scream.

He hands the cup to Potter, whose eyes light up with curiosity and excitement. The man takes a sip, a mix of delight and surprise written all over his features. It’s a small victory, a moment of triumph that warms Regulus’ heart.

“You wanna give it a try, Potter?”

Taking another, prolonged sip, Potter thinks his options through.

“Nah, I think I’m good, Reggie!”

Regulus’ face falls. All the effort he put into this, wasted like this. He feels sick, but now that sickness is devoid of any arousal. It’s just nausea, churning at his stomach and making it hard to breathe.

“I think I should leave this for you. You can be the one that’s in charge of making coffee in the morning and I can handle the food.” The smug look on Potter’s face is radiant, without a doubt proud of himself.

A lump forms in his throat. No matter how many times he tries to swallow around it, it doesn’t bulge, stuck where it is. His heart is racing, torn between leaning in, doing what he’s been fantasising all day and labelling this as another joke, anything to make it easier to wrap his head around.

This won’t lead to the hook-up he was expecting Potter to look for. This tender, will they, won’t they will only make it so that Regulus falls in love in a matter of seconds, that he’s devoting his entire being, body and soul, to one James Potter. This doesn’t line up with what he was prepared for.

Potter places the ceramic mug down, the remnants of coffee staring mockingly at Regulus. He asks, tongue darting out to lick his lips, “I really want to kiss you right now, Regulus. May I?”

Regulus nods, a minute movement of his head.

James leans in.

Warm hands come to rest on the side of the brunet’s neck. He’s so close that Regulus can practically taste the kiss they both seem to be yearning for.

They jump apart the moment Regulus’ phone starts to ring. The obnoxious sound of Sirius’ personalised ringtone is enough to make Regulus consider disowning his brother also.

James laughs, merry and unbothered by the interruption. If anything, he finds it amusing that Sirius managed to cockblock his younger brother even from afar.

It may not be ideal and he’s surely not letting this go after he curses his brother out in French and English both, but as he watches James pick up the mug once more, hip jutted out to lean on his pristine countertop, playful smirk tugging at his lips… He decides to add Italian to the mix of insults too, just because Sirius needs to be put in his place.

Chapter Text

There is a dog on Regulus’ bed. He’s well aware of the existence of said dog in his humble abode, he is the one who brought it in, but still: there is a dog on Regulus’ bed. Dog is a bit of an overstatement for what the little guy is, since Regulus doubts it’s older than three months. It’s a puppy, really, small enough to fit in his hands and doze off right there; he knows it can because it did that while Regulus was walking with it back to his apartment.

When he woke up today, he didn’t plan to end up coming home with a dog, but life’s funny like that.

It’s Peter’s fault that he now has a small, tiny puppy yapping excitedly on his clean sheets, trying to chase its own tail in a poor attempt to entertain itself. Peter texted him all panicked and ready to beg, because he still had one more puppy to rehome and no one could take the little guy off of his hands. Dorcas and Marlene already had two dogs and they couldn’t take another in, Remus had to hold Sirius back from grabbing all of them from Peter (he ended up taking two in), Mary and Lily’s apartment was too much of a cat sanctuary. Regulus stopped reading after this, he didn’t particularly care why Peter’s friends and acquaintances couldn’t take any of the dogs.

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know why he agreed to take it. He doesn’t like dogs. Well, he does, but if he were to choose between dogs and cats, he would much rather prefer the feline companions. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he’s been feeling rather lonely lately, or maybe it’s because having to read all of Peter’s iterations of the word please got boring after the first five texts. Or, the craziest, yet most viable theory, something possessed him into agreeing.

He’s hoping that Barty or Evan will fall in love with it and steal it from Regulus because he is in no way capable of taking care of a dog. There is a small, almost inconceivable part of him that hopes he can keep it. It is a he, Regulus knows this, he checked when Peter gave it to him and after he got home, but using a personal pronoun for it would shatter all of Regulus’ so-called self-control.

The thing is: he does want this dog. In the span of not even a full hour, the little thing managed to squirm and yap its way into his heart and getting rid of it after it has already made a place for itself feels counterproductive. But– and there is always a but with Regulus– he doesn’t feel ready to care for it, to dedicate his entire life to it and make sure it doesn’t starve and that it pees and poops at regular times and that it’s loved and cherished.

Hell, Regulus doesn’t feel loved and cherished most of the time, how is he supposed to make sure that the puppy does?

A small thud makes Regulus look up from his laptop– where he’s been researching the best puppy food brands money can buy– only to find Dante, he means the puppy, the dog he won’t keep, it asleep on his pillow. It’s so small that barely any of his pillow is actually being slept on.

Something in Regulus melts, turns into goop and water and other slightly liquid forms that he doesn’t want to touch.

Perhaps having a dog around won’t be too bad… Maybe it can make him feel less lonely when his friends are out on dates and he’s stuck in his apartment, all alone because the only person he actually wants to go on a date with has been busy with stupid studying for stupid exams.

James doesn’t make him feel ignored, the opposite honestly, but everytime Regulus wants to invite him over, the man has to remind him that he is, in fact, supposed to be studying right now and even just texting him is too much of a distraction.

So for the past few weeks, Regulus has been drowning in self-pity.

He knows that James’ exams are important, that his grades will determine where he will be placed for his residency and he’s been working his ass off for so long just to get a good spot. Regulus is well aware that this is something crucial in James’ studies, but he’s been thinking about the other man continuously.

He’s been replaying the kiss they managed to share after Sirius hung up, waking up to it, falling asleep to it; whenever he closes his eyes, the kiss is there, behind his eyelids as if someone tattooed it there.

The way James picked him up, how he effortlessly put him on the counter– after making sure that nothing was in his way, pushing things aside as neatly as he was capable when driven by lust– how his lips felt against Regulus’. They felt divine, heavenly really. As if his whole life led to this perfect moment, as if they were moulded around each other and the moment their lips touched everything fell into place.

But what he’s been dreaming about the most is James’ hair. As soon as his fingers were buried in it, Regulus could tell that would be it for him. He hasn’t been the same ever since; his fingers itch to run through James’ hair again.

Texting James isn’t enough to satiate his hunger, no matter how often they text and how many times James tells him that he misses him. It doesn’t do much because, if he’s being fair and honest, they’re both very stupid.

There is a small problem about spending the better half of an hour kissing James Potter in his kitchen, coffee forgotten and all: while they text and James calls him love, they have yet to put a name to what they’re doing, to properly discuss it. Neither of them tried to bring it up, Regulus out of his anxieties and overthinking nature bringing the worst to light and James… Well, it’s not like he can ask Regulus if he’s his boyfriend out of the blue. He’s probably aware that this would lead to a very unfortunate complete shutdown from him.

Dante– The puppy sighs loudly, waking itself up and starting another journey of chasing its tail and making excited noises to get Regulus to play with it. Regulus closes his laptop, deciding that he can just ask the vet what the best food is for it. After all, he does have to take it there so that it can get its shots… Maybe he will chip it too, just in case.

As he stands up and puts his laptop aside carefully, the puppy acts as if senses that all the noise finally seemed to work and melt Regulus’ cold, mean heart. It jumps up and down, up and down, up and– Regulus catches it midair, bringing it to his chest.

He lifts the puppy up until its nose is almost pressed to Regulus’. “If I keep you, you have to promise me you won’t hate me when I end up not being enough for you, ok?”

The dog huffs in response, its stupid, empty eyes full of unlimited eagerness and nothing else.

“I promise to try, Dante, but when you realise that you’re stuck with the shitty brother, you have to stay by my side, alright?” Regulus’ voice breaks as he reiterates what’s bothering him. The fear is sharp and lodged in between his ribs without a chance of it disappearing.

Another huff, followed by a wet tongue licking his nose.

That has to be some sort of agreement.

It takes Sirius one whole day to find out that Regulus is actually keeping Dante and as soon as he does, he’s bombarding him with messages upon messages, ranging from pure outrage of not being informed sooner to devastating sadness to him disowning Regulus as a brother. That last one is followed by an apology and a planned play date for Dante and his siblings, Ziggy and Jane. He can’t excuse himself out of that one, not if he wants Dante to have a happy childhood around his siblings.

Talk about trying to give your child what you lacked growing up.

Still, he leaves his brother on read for one whole day before agreeing to the preset date, just because he’s petty and the disowning jokes hurt a bit too much. And thus, almost a week after he got Dante, the two of them are expected to drop by Sirius and Remus’ place, armed with toys and a bright smile, Reggie.

Until then, he brings Dante to the vet, holding back a whimper of his own when he hears the little one whine in distress as he gets his shots. He feels lighter when the doctor tells him that Dante is in great shape for being the runt of the litter and that he seems to be growing alright. It’s some of the best news he’s ever gotten in his life.

James demands photos of the two daily, while still choosing not to mention that their relationship is nowhere near platonic anymore. As a reward for sending the man blurry pics of Dante running away from him with a sock in his mouth, Regulus gets the usual Harry photograph when he’s with his father, or, the less exciting James ones when he’s alone.

When he tells James that there is not a single time where he wins against his son at the cuteness contest, James sends back so many distraught looking emojis and emoticons, no doubt copy and pasted from a shady website, Regulus has no choice but to take back the oh so cruel statement.

In between spending his time talking with James and holding Dante back from chewing all his furniture, Regulus takes the pup out on numerous shopping sprees, accompanied by Barty, Dante’s self-proclaimed godfather.

If he thought Sirius lacks money managing skills, Regulus was met with the great surprise that as soon as there’s a dog thrown into the equation, all of Barty’s logical thinking goes out the window, not a chance of it surviving.

Nothing can convince Barty to hold back from spending far, far too much money on Dante. Not the argument that he, in fact, does not need three separate beds, in different sizes in case he grows out of them, nor does he need ten bandanas, all in the same shade of black. Every time they went out, Barty would find a way to buy more things to add to the pile of things Dante doesn’t need and, without a doubt, every time Regulus would only shake his head disapprovingly and move on with checking the teething toys out.

It’s not the most exciting time, but it beats sticking to the same routine. Having Dante in his life already proves to make everything better, though he still pretends that Peter asked the world of him when he texts him for updates on the pup. He hasn’t even had him for a full week, but if anything were to happen to Dante, he’d burn the world to the ground, kill everyone on the planet and then himself.

The play date arrives faster than he would’ve liked, not that he doesn’t want to see his brother again. Whenever Sirius can’t meet up with him, be it because he’s on holiday with Remus or because he’s simply busy, Regulus ends up missing his brother so much that he seriously considers calling him on his own volition.

He arrives at Sirius’ place a few hours before the time Sirius set, because he’s an annoying little brother and he’d be damned if he doesn’t spend his time bothering Sirius just to remind him that. Dante, bless him, has been asleep for almost the whole day, after running around the apartment the night before, as if he could feel the day that awaited him.

Sirius opens the door, takes one look at him, dark circles and all making Regulus feel slightly better about his own dishevelled appearance, and steps aside without another word.

Just like in Regulus’ case, the excitement of having a dog has worn off and all the sleepless nights have started to take their toll on his older brother’s body. At least they’re in the same boat, along with Dante, Ziggy and Jane. Remus has an open space there as well, but since he’s nowhere in sight, he can go choke.

“I’m really starting to dread this already, Reggie, I won’t lie to you,” Sirius says, walking back to the kitchen where Regulus can hear him making coffee.

“You wanted them to bond. Deal with it, fucker.”

“You’re such a shithead! Dante deserves to spend time with his siblings! I bet you’ve been boring him to death with your reading and dowry ambiance!”

Regulus ignores his brother in favour of putting Dante’s cage on the floor, gently picking the little one out and holding him to his chest. Ziggy and Jane are both surprisingly quiet, staring up at their youngest brother with obvious interest in their eyes. It has to be Remus’ influence on them because he doubts Sirius would be able to train these dogs into being obedient when he himself is nothing like that.

“For your information, arshole, Dante loves my reading,” he says matter-of-factly as he finally steps into the kitchen. Sirius is waiting for the coffee grounds to bloom in his beloved french press, back turned to his brother. “Unlike some people, he actually appreciates books.”

“Books, shmooks! Leave him with me for a day and I bet he’d develop some taste.”

Once more, he ignores his brother, just because he knows Sirius is right with this one. Everything about him is so enticing, so mesmerising that he doesn’t doubt Dante will fall for his brother’s charm and abandon Regulus for him.

Sirius and Remus' kitchen is the exact opposite of what it usually looks like: frankly, it's a mess and Sirius seems to not pay any mind to the bits and bobs that are spread across his countertops. Bits and bobs, dog toys, books, pieces of metal that Regulus would sell his left testicle are from the auto shop. It's horrible.

"God, how do you live like this? I know you brought two animals in your apartment but my god, did you and Remus transform overnight into feral creatures?"

"Kill yourself, Reggie. Some people can't bore their dogs to sleep and because of that they don't get any sleep."

"Pitiful excuses."

Sirius throws a sugar cube at his head, hitting him dead centre on his forehead. The little bitch got Bella's deadly aim. It hurts, but Regulus is worse, about ten times worse than his brother. The next move is to be expected, but Sirius doesn't see it coming.

He juts his bottom lip out, sniffling a few times for good measures. Then, it's only a few seconds in which he keeps eye contact with his older brother, both of them silent. Regulus proceeds to tear up, feigning hurt and tugging at Sirius' heart strings with ease.

It works. For about two seconds before he catches on with Regulus' act.

After that, another sugar cube hits in the exact same place, because Sirius is a horrible, horrible older brother who doesn't give a shit about Regulus' feelings.

"Put your dog down and let him play with Ziggy and Jane for a sec, Reggie. I asked you here for more, not just the puppy date."

The tone in Sirius’ voice makes Regulus’ heart stop. His brother is seldom this serious, in spite of his ridiculous joke that he believes to be oh so funny. His brother wasn’t even serious when Regulus knocked on his door, a single backpack in his hand, asking him for a place to stay.

There is only one thing that could make Sirius Black so sombre and the thought of him finding that out is enough for Regulus to start panicking. He doesn’t want to lose his brother because of a misunderstanding, he has to explain it to him before the relationship they had managed to rebuild goes up in flames.

Dante runs off with his siblings as soon as Regulus puts him on the ground. Anything to give himself another moment in which his brother doesn’t hate him.

“Look,” he starts, meeting Sirius’ eyes. They’re clear, not an ounce of venom swimming in them. “Look, I’m sorry I had a crush on Remus. I promise it’s long gone and that as soon as I realised it I told Remus about it to… get rid of it, I don’t know! I was never gonna act on it anyway, it was mostly a moment of… vulnerability or something. Please don’t be mad at me, I can give you and Remus space if you–”

“Woah, woah, Reggie, breathe. You had a crush on Moony?”

Oh. Oh, he is a complete and utter moron, isn’t he?

At least Sirius still doesn’t seem to be mad. If anything, he seems to be enjoying Regulus’ on-going torment.

“Yeah… When I first came here, he was…” Regulus lets out a shaky breath, urging his heart to slow down. His big brother doesn’t hate him, he’s fine, they’re fine. “He was really kind to me and besides you and my friends, no one really showed me any kindness, not like that. And well, Remus was– is pretty and he took me book shopping on my first birthday here and, and–”

“Hey, hey, you’re fine, I’m not upset!” Sirius, who by the time Regulus was done spiralling and over explaining himself, has come stand next to him, puts his hand on the younger’s arm. “Can I hug you, Reggie?”

Regulus doesn’t bother to answer, he throws himself into his brother’s arms, trusting him that he’d catch him. Sirius does. He always does.

He can hear the dogs barking in the living room, a few thuds followed by a rapid pitter-patter that leads the noises farther away from the kitchen. At least they are having a successful bonding time, even if their owners aren’t.

“You know, everyone has a crush on Moony. I just learn to accept it because it’s how it will always be. Remus is easy to fall for, trust me, I know that best, but at the end of the day no one can take my Moony from me. Wanna know why?” Regulus makes a noise, something between a questioning hum and a wet inhale. “Because I will always be the only person Moony has ever had a crush on. I win in life, Reggie!”

He may have been losing his mind not even five seconds ago, but right now all Regulus can do is laugh at his brother and the stupid grin that he can hear in his voice. He should have known that Remus would not have spilled his secret, not even to his brother, but a part of him is glad that Sirius now knows of his embarrassing past.

Having a crush on Remus was great, the whole day it lasted before he broke down in front of said boy. It was the first crush he allowed himself to have on a boy since getting out of Walburga and Orion’s hands and he cherishes it to this day, even if it was childish.

“Well, if you didn’t find out about this, then what is it you wanted to talk about, arshole?”

Sirius pushes his brother out of his arms, so that they can look at each other. He really should have realised that the gravity Sirius adopted was all a facade, part of his game to probably fuck with Regulus.

“James told me something interesting, you sly, sly fox,” the older man winks, face breaking into a knowing grin.

Without meaning to, Regulus goes pink. Just a simple mention of James and he’s feeling giddy, butterflies doing their acrobatic routine in his stomach, filling his chest with the fuzziness that only James manages to put there.

Oh for fuck’s sake, Regulus was so sure that he avoided an imminent doom, only to have another missile dropped right on top of his head, splitting it open without a single care for the white kitchen tiles. Why did he think he could keep this from his brother? Him and James share everything with each other, it was only a matter of time before he told Sirius that they’re–

Did he tell Sirius they’re together? Before Regulus? Now that’s just cruel on James’ part.

“He mentioned this thing, Reggie… Something about you and Harry…” There are so many things about him and Harry that James could have told him. He asks James to send him photos of the boy daily, fuck, he tries to get James to put Harry on the phone with him sometimes, just to fuck with him.

Why can’t Sirius fucking hurry up and cut the dramatics?

“Something with a cookie… Sounds familiar, little brother?”

“You…”

He… James Potter is a dead, dead man, if Regulus has any say in this. How dare he scare him like this, how dare he make Regulus rethink each and every choice that led to this moment and that made him want to kiss Sirius’ best friend.

“Do you mean when I gave Harry a cookie? This is what you wanted to talk about, Sirius?”

Sirius picks up the abandoned coffee mugs, giving Regulus the smaller one that he was pouring for him before the delay of emotions coming out. Grateful for the weight in his hands, Regulus nods, bringing the mug to his nose and inhaling deeply. It smells sweet; the flowery blend that he gifted Sirius a few weeks ago.

The distraction provided by the coffee doesn’t last long, just enough for both brothers to drink it silently, enjoying the warmth and deepness of the liquid without making a fuss. But coffee can only last so long, especially when Sirius is dingy with the water and he makes his as strong as if you’re chewing on the grounds.

A quirk of his eyebrow, a quiet nod for Sirius to just get on with it, a pleading sign with his mug to start talking. Regulus does it all, but his brother is prolonging the inevitable, still very much savouring the last sips of his drink.

“Sirius, why are you bringing this up now? I don’t understand what your problem is.”

Sirius sighs, letting go of the cup once it’s been placed on the table. Taking a page from Regulus’ book, he weeps pathetically, pout tugging at his lip. “You never give me free stuff when I come over. How come, hm? Do you not love me enough? Am I not worthy of a single cookie?”

“Not really,” Regulus confirms his brother’s fears. “I let you take all the sweeteners you want, you should be grateful for that.”

“They’re free, Reggie!”

“Doesn’t mean you can take them all. Have some dignity, Sirius, mother raised us upper class.”

They both pull a face at the mention of their mother, before bursting into laughter. Walburga Black would choke on her gold foil if she saw that her sons were taking handfuls of sugar packets from coffee shops. She’d explode if she were to see them step into a coffee shop, period.

The door to the kitchen opens, the three merry pups running and tackling each other to the ground. Apparently the rest of the house wasn’t interesting enough for them to play in, but Regulus would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad to see Dante again. The little one brings him so much comfort, just by being near him.

One moment he’s watching Dante bark at Ziggy and the next he’s being snatched by Sirius’ greedy, greedy hands. The pup doesn’t even squeak at the sudden change in scenery. He takes it like a champ, just happy to be included and to see a face that looks similar enough to that of his owner. Dante barks at Sirius’s nose, before giving it a quick lick and then jumping down from his arms, falling on his face and resuming the chase game with his siblings.

He is such a stupid little puppy, Regulus adores him.

“I find it funny though,” Sirius starts, in a way that makes Regulus feel like he doesn’t actually find this funny at all, “that you’re willing to give the kid you hate a free cookie. But your brother, your beloved, older brother who taught you how to hide bruises–” Regulus cringes at the phrasing. Maybe that joined therapy should be something to consider again.”

“And to steal candies from the kitchens, he doesn’t get shit… Weird if you ask me.”

He should tell Sirius he doesn’t hate Harry. He really should, but whatever he’s trying to get at is way funnier and frankly, Regulus wants to see how insane he can be before he shatters the illusion.

His brother’s eyes are on him, studying him closely, like any sibling who knows their family too well, who knows what signs to look for in order to tell if said family is acting weird. Fucking hell, Sirius basically raised him, he knows that Regulus touching his left ear means that he’s hiding something, which is exactly why he gasps loudly when Regulus does just that.

“You fucking bitch!” Sirius yells. “You never hated Harry, did you?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Of course I didn’t, he’s adorable. How could anyone hate him when he looks like a ray of sunshine?”

There is another beat of that same heavy silence. Even the dogs are quiet, staring up at the two humans as if they are trying to comprehend what the hell they’re talking about that requires so much dramatic screaming from Sirius’ part. If he’s being honest, Regulus doesn't know either. He finds the whole exchange useless.

Still, the quiet worries him a bit. Clearly something that he said made Sirius’ brain kick into, processing and reprocessing whatever it was that triggered it.

“Regulus…” Oh, he fucked up if he managed to get Sirius to sound this quiet. “Do you want to fuck my best friend?”

His hand goes straight to his left ear, as if he’s a child and can’t even attempt to make the lie believable. “No–”

“For fuck’s sake–”

“He’s hot, Sirius, what do you–”

“My boyfriend first and then my best friend? Regulus–”

“You can’t fucking blame me, arshole! He’s a DILF and I have daddy issues!”

“Oh you have issues, alright–”

Ziggy barks, the biggest out of the three and the first one to join into their improvised concert. Jane and Dante follow, and everything gets incredibly loud, incredibly unintelligible and just overall far too migraine-inducing for Regulus to continue the screaming match with his brother.

It seems to reach Sirius’ stupid brain too, for he stops, takes a deep breath, red in the face and eyes wide, and then he just… starts laughing. Full-on body-shuddering, to the point where Regulus starts worrying that his brother is just going to drop to the floor.

From his spot, leaning on the table after he stood up to yell at Sirius with more flair, Regulus watches his brother closely, taking in the hyena-like laughter that seems to have possessed him out of nowhere. He doesn’t think the reaction is that justified. He just wants to fuck James, maybe hold his hand in between that and the non-fucking periods, maybe help him, Lily and Mary take care of Harry, teach him French so that the two of them can talk shit about Barty behind his back. Hell, the fucking isn’t even his number one priority anymore, but still, it’s not enough to get such a reaction out of Sirius.

“Oh, man,” he wheezes out after he’s stopped, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes. By now, his hair managed to fall out of the claw holding it, and waves of black are sticking out in every direction, clearly unwashed. “Oh, this is too good, Reggie. He’s hot, yeah and a DILF, sure, but the fact that you’re blaming it on your daddy issues is just so idiotic, even for you. No, actually,” Sirius scratches his cheek, stopping, deep in thought. “Actually, it makes sense. You seem like the type to just become stupid when you like someone.”

Regulus is sick of hearing his brother shit on his life choices and ways of dealing with emotions– he is correct about everything. He picks the three dogs up, a feat considering that they all begin squirming as soon as Regulus manages to grab them in such a way that won’t end up with all of them falling, and he walks out of the kitchen, leaving Sirius behind. Sirius, who by the sounds of it, is going down another laughter route.

The four get almost a full minute of silence, time which he spends trying to coax Ziggy and Jane to betray Sirius and just pee on all his belongings. The two pups don’t look like they understand much of what he’s saying, but he swears he sees a bit of an evil glint in Jane’s eyes. Maybe he can manipulate them into his minions after all.

The minute ends far too quickly. Sirius comes out of the kitchen, holding his hair up to clip it again. He’s calmed down enough to not break into giggles when he sees him, but his face is redder than when he was screaming and there are actual tear streaks running down his face.

It’s good to see that the possibility of his little brother ending up with his best friend garners such strong reactions.

“I’m done, I promise,” Sirius holds his arms up in surrender after he finishes tying his hair up. “At least you just wanna fuck him and not anything else, so I can let it slide. It makes sense why you were so nice to Harry though. It’s not just that he’s cute, but you were also trying to get into James’ pants. I have to respect your slutty behaviour, little brother!”

Regulus pretends to vomit. “Never say that about myself, please.” Still, because he really can’t learn his lesson, he moves his fingers from Ziggy’s head to play with the lobe piercings on his left ear.

“Goodness gracious, do you have anything else you’re not telling me at this point? Because three secrets to find out in the span of not even, what, fifteen-twenty minutes is enough to last me a lifetime, Regulus!”

“It’s your fault for assuming shit,” he tries to sound mean, but it comes out weak and defeated. He sticks out his tongue at Sirius nonetheless.

“Right, recap. Had a crush on Moons, don’t actually hate Harry and you also want to fuck and maybe do more with my best mate. Superb, this is just sublime if you ask me.”

He isn’t in the mood to reveal more by accident, so he bites the bullet and pats the open space next to him on the sofa. May as well tell Sirius himself since he doesn’t trust James to do anything of the sorts.

Sirius joins him, an expectant look on his face. Dante goes straight in his lap, plopping down and closing his eyes to sleep. All the pups are tired and in various degrees of asleep; Regulus would do anything to be like them at this moment.

“James and I, we kissed.” He can tell Sirius wants to interrupt, possibly to act outraged or to laugh in Regulus’ face and call bullshit, but he doesn’t give him the chance to do so. “We kissed and we’ve been talking and I think we’re dating? But I’m not sure?”

Sirius’ eyes harden. “What do you mean you’re not sure, Reggie?”

James Potter is a dead, dead man and it won’t even be Regulus that kills him.

“Well… So I told you we’ve been talking but neither of us really mentioned the whole kissing bit… We’re both at fault so don’t even think about killing James!”

“Fine.” It’s Sirius’ time to roll his eyes, visibly upset that he doesn’t get to defend his brother’s honour. “You can date James when you figure your shit out, you have my blessings. But if he breaks your heart I will kill him. And same goes to you, you’re not getting off without any threats just because you’re my baby brother.” Something in Sirius’ voice turns Regulus’ insides into a burning mess of shame and guilt.

“Look,” Regulus begins, petting Ziggy just to calm his deafening heart. “If you want me to stop… pursuing him or whatever, I will do it. I don’t want to make you choose between us when– if we break up. Cause, let’s face it, Sirius, we both know you’ll choose him over me. And same goes for him. Same goes for everyone, honestly.”

He will not cry in front of his brother, no matter how hard it is to hold the tears back.

“Reggie…”

And that, the broken whisper of his name coming from his big brother, is enough to make Regulus cry, for the dam to break and for him to just bury his face into Ziggy’s fur in a poor attempt to hide himself. Sirius sounds so saddened, so defeated, as if Regulus’ confession is not something that plagues his mind at every living moment, as if the thought of being abandoned is not something that continuously worries him.

“Regulus, hey,” Sirius sounds as if he’s next to him. He must have moved closer. He doesn’t touch Regulus, doesn’t even put his hand on him like he did when he was panicking over the whole Remus crush fiasco. “Can I touch you or would you rather I didn’t?”

Regulus shrugs his shoulders, sniffing into Ziggy’s fur, no doubt getting his snot all over him.

“Ok, then I won’t–”

“No!” He must have said it louder than how he intended to, because Ziggy whimpers in his hands, clearly bothered by the noise and no longer willing to act as a puppy shield in between the two brothers. He wriggles himself until Regulus lets go of him. “You can touch me,” he croaks out. After a second, he adds an even quieter, “Please.”

And Sirius does. At first, it’s tentative, barely a touch on his arm, but then he’s being pulled into his arms for the second time today and Regulus feels like he’s a child again and his brother’s arms are the safest place where he can be.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way, Regulus. I know I apologised for… for leaving without you, but I don’t think that was enough and clearly you don’t think so either. So I will try to make it as clear as I can now, and if you ever feel like you’re not enough for me I will tell you again, and again and again until you will believe me.”

Regulus bites his lip, so hard he tastes blood on his tongue.

“I won’t leave you behind, never again. I won’t abandon you, I won’t choose James over you, I won’t choose anyone over you. Ever. Because Regulus, you and I? We’re brothers. We may not have been the greatest and we had our ups and downs and we obviously need to try therapy together again, but we are here now, and we’re together and I will never let you feel like we are anything else. I love you.”

Sobbing, Regulus buries his head into Sirius’ chest, tightening his hold around his brother’s body. “I love you too, Sirius.”

“Good,” Sirius breathes out, body relaxing. “Good, cause you’re like, stuck with me. Forever. And I am definitely dragging you to Poppy’s soon cause God… So many issues and trust me, a DILF’s dick won’t help with any of them.”

Startled, Regulus pulls back, hitting Sirius in the chest, right where he was hiding not even a moment ago. “I take everything back, I hate you, please die,” he tries to keep his voice steady, but it quivers and his lip is threatening to start shaking along with it and God, he can’t even pretend right now, he’s useless.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Sirius agrees easily with him, grabbing him and hauling him back into the brotherly, bonding hug. His hand rests atop of Regulus’ curls, petting him as if he is one of the puppies. “Doesn’t change the fact that I have to have a talk with your almost-boyfriend or whatever he is.”

“Sirius, no!”

“Relax,” he groans. “I won’t tell him I know. I wanna gather some intel, see what his intentions are with my baby brother and all that shit I’m supposed to do.”

“Sirius, I swear if you break my almost-boyfriend I will break your balls,” Regulus threatens, pointing his nails to Sirius’ neck, an anticlimactic threat considering he filed his nails short recently.

Sirius just laughs in response, but for the first time in what feels like years, Regulus thinks that they may actually be ok.

Regulus is stuck in a perpetual state of boredom when he gets the text from James, begging him to babysit Harry tomorrow morning. He silently lets Benjy know he’s taking five, and before he’s even fully stepped into the backroom, he’s already dialling James’ number, as if it’s second nature to him.

James picks up before it can even ring once. He sounds out of breath and strained and Regulus wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and calm the man down. “Please, I hate doing this, Reggie, but you’re my last chance!”

“James, from the beginning. What happened?” He can’t help the fret that makes its way into his words. He can feel it pouring out of him and Regulus doubts it will stop unless his brain can fully convince itself that James is ok.

“Stupid professor changed the time for my exam tomorrow and no one can watch Harry. Lils is helping Mary’s mom with moving, your brother and Remus are both working, Peter is banned from babysitting on his own–”

“What?” Regulus asks, a chuckle escaping him. “What did he do to be banned?”

“Almost gave me a heart attack is what he did! Last time he was looking after Haz, he was also fostering some baby snakes. Reggie, do you understand the scare I had when I saw Harry’s pocket became the home of one of them? I think I saw Jesus that day and let me tell you, he wasn’t thrilled with seeing me!”

Regulus laughs at his almost-boyfriend’s stupidity. He’s so cute. “Right, I see. So I just have to look after him for a few hours?”

“My exam is three hours long. I’d say four hours tops is how much you’ll spend with him. I can bring him over to your place, he would love to see Dante again. And when I’m done with my exam I will bring some lunch and we can have a little date or something or other…” James mumbles the last bit, clearly unsure of it.

Regulus is not letting this chance slide, he grabs what James offers him and hauls it in his court. “A date sounds nice,” he admits, a bit rushed, ignoring the heat that floods his face. “Can’t wait to see you and Harry tomorrow,” he adds, mumbling in the exact way James just did because he, too, is unsure of the way in which his whole body softens at the idea of seeing his two boys again.

“See you soon, Reggie,” he vows, as if it’s a promise, something he is undoubtedly looking forward to. “Thanks!”

“See you,” Regulus smiles into his phone, face raspberry pink.

Half way through the night, Regulus realises, with fear blooming in his chest, that his apartment isn’t toddler proofed. It’s puppy proofed, alright, but that doesn’t mean Harry won’t be able to hurt himself. What if he pulls on one of the throw blankets on his sofa and he ends up tangling in it and suffocating himself with the fluffy material, just because Regulus wasn’t looking at him for one second. What if he tugs on a book and the whole shelf falls on him. Or a chair. Or he wanders into the balcony and falls from the window.

James will hate him. Harry is the most important person in his life, it’s his fucking kid for fuck’s sake. Anything happens to him and Regulus is as good as dead. He’d kill himself before James could hate him.

Pandora picks up the phone, despite the late hour. She sounds sleepy and Regulus would feel bad if he wasn’t panicking himself into oblivion. She listens to him ramble, humming every now and again, letting Regulus exhaust himself.

“Reg, kids are like dogs, alright? Your house is Dante-proofed, so it’s basically–” she yawns and now Regulus does feel bad. “Basically Harry-proofed already. Hah, proofed,” Pandora giggles, delirious from lack of sleep. “You’re worrying about nothing. Keep an eye on him and everything will be a-okay. I promise you.”

“Thanks, Panda,” Regulus whispers in reply, but all he gets from the other side is a soft snore, Pandora already fast asleep.

As soon as James knocks on his door, Regulus’ heart starts beating faster, almost in time with Dante’s rapid barks. For such a little guy, he sure knows how to make his presence known. He’s all bark and no bite, however and James knows this well because the moment Regulus lets him and Harry in he’s trying to outbark the pup, eliciting a contagious giggle out of Harry.

Hoisting Dante in his arms, Regulus gives the little one a kiss on his head. “Oh, poor baby, getting bullied by the big, scary meanie. C’mon my prince of darkness, to me you are the scariest one around.” Dante’s tongue lolls out, panting at his owner. Barty took to calling him the prince of darkness and now Regulus can’t stop himself no matter how much he tries.

Harry is passed to him quickly after James sets down all of his bags. Overflowing toys, diapers, snacks, small plastic dishes with printed dinosaurs, Dindin, of course. It’s like he’s planning to move in with Harry, right into Regulus’ heart, not just leave him for a few hours.

When he finds himself with Harry in his grasp, resting on one hip while Dante takes the other, Regulus presses a mindless kiss on top of the boy’s head too, exactly how he did with Dante. “Oh, Harry, your dad is a big bully, isn’t that right? I think we should teach you how to bully him back, teach him a lesson on not to mess with little guys, hm?”

Harry giggles, his favourite thing to do besides chewing on Dindin when he’s in his hands.

“Yes, that’s exactly what we will do when we make your daddy realise he’s not that scary!” Harry pokes him in the cheek, sticky fingers making Regulus cringe on the inside. Why is this boy so fucking sticky whenever he touches him? Honestly, it’s a little worrying. Perhaps he should ask Lily if this is normal, if Harry has a rare disease that makes him sticky all the time or if it’s just James’ fault. Still, he pretends to bite Harry’s finger just to get him to laugh again.

It takes him a second to realise how quiet James got, a bit too caught up in his quest to see how red Harry’s chubby cheeks can get from all the chuckling, but when he does notice it, he’s quick to turn his gaze towards the man. For the first time since he stepped into Regulus’ apartment, he can take a proper look at his almost-boyfriend.

In spite of the sleep deprived look that seems to stick to everyone lately, James looks absolutely breathtaking. His hair is hidden under a beanie, a shame and a surprising feat considering he’s never seen him with anything weather appropriate since he met James. He wishes he had the confidence to lean in, tug the hat off, run his fingers through James’ hair just to feel the curls again. He wishes his hands were empty, but the combined weight of Harry and Dante is exactly what he needs to ground himself.

What forces Regulus to steer his heart off of the edge of his ribcage, however, is the fond smile that’s pressed on James’ full lips. Love dances in his dark eyes, love that Regulus can feel in his soul, can feel it pull him in. It’s magnetic. Everything about James is.

It’s the same way he looked when he walked into Regulus’ lecture, when he made Regulus fall with just one look. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but something about the way his heart skipped a beat when he laid his eyes on James, something about James just makes him want to believe.

“James.” Calling his name doesn’t do the job of catching his attention; his smile widens if anything, but that’s all Regulus manages to do. “James, your exam.”

That seems to do it. As if Regulus dunks his head in cold water, James shakes himself out of the little whatever that he got stuck in. His eyes widen with mortified realisation, body going rigid before it snaps into action.

“Right! Thanks, love, would be dead without you!” The man jokes, he has to be joking, before he leans in and presses his lips to Harry’s forehead. “Bye Haz, be good for Reggie,” he smiles down at his son, who matches the grin like the little carbon copy of his father that he is. James moves on to kiss Dante, who by now was fast asleep, expected after he’s been in Regulus’ hold for so long, and then, like clockwork, he pecks Regulus on the lips.

It’s a chaste kiss, not even long enough for Regulus to fully wrap his head around it, but it still sends sparks down his spine.

“Bye, love. Thanks again!” And just like that, with little to no acknowledgement of the kiss or the pet name, James runs out of the door. He bolts through the hallway so fast that Regulus is amazed he manages to not run into any walls.

Stunned, he can only listen as James hops down the stairs and hope that he’s careful enough to not twist his ankle.

“Right, Harry, how about we give you a bath first and foremost?”

Harry, as Harry does, claps his hands together, joyous, elated by the idea of taking a bath as if James has banned him from having any. It surely has no relation to the fact that Regulus is bouncing him in his arms on the way to the bathroom.

“Bath!”

Maybe taking care of a kid isn’t that bad after all.

Taking care of a kid is something horrible, Regulus comes to learn five minutes into Harry’s pseudo bath. He was quick to look through the bags of things and realise that James didn’t pack any of Harry’s soap so the only solution to trying to get rid of the boy’s clammy nature was through wiping him down with wet towels. Now, Regulus may not be a parent and he’s no mother hen either, but that seems barbaric and he’d sooner die than wash little Harry like that.

So while he set the boy down for five seconds in order to quickly scan the ingredient lists of his shower gels and make sure they’re safe for kids, Harry managed to waddle out of the bathroom and into the living room. It’s truly amazing how fast kids can be when they can barely walk on two feet, yet Harry was proving to be some sort of superhero with his speed.

The absence of the little boy sent Regulus’ heart into overdrive and while his body was getting ready for a premature heart attack, he was lucky enough to find Harry in the doorway to his living room, staring at Regulus with his big, green eyes, as if he didn’t just almost killed the man.

That accident took place almost half an hour ago and since then Regulus didn’t once stop touching Harry. At all times, he has to have at least one finger on Harry, just to make sure he’s with him and that he doesn't wander off again. If he can’t touch him, be it because he has to pick up a toy that Harry dropped or because he’s texting Sirius regular updates, then he’s double, triple, quadruple checking that Harry doesn’t move an inch.

It’s absolutely exhausting and he has no clue how people can be parents when the amount of stress that he’s been feeling rivals the stress felt throughout his whole twenty five years of being alive. He can feel the white hairs coming out everytime he looks at Harry and his body is moved in a way that’s different from the last time he looked at him.

He can feel his heart give out. This cannot be healthy.

And the fact that Sirius keeps insisting that Harry would be fine if Regulus just looked away, that he’s a big boy who never gets in any trouble and who is the splitting image of Lily’s lack of mischief doesn’t help at all. Because he can’t trust his brother, not with this, not when his relationship with James is hanging from a thread, a piece of thin, slowly dishevelling thread that can snap with one wrong move.

All because he may be like his parents. Because Walburga and Orion’s influence on him may be too great, too pronounced when it comes to taking care of a child. A little boy, who trusts him to keep him safe, who’s looking at Regulus with so much interest, hanging onto every single word that Regulus tells him.

He has to be good, to handle this one nice thing in his life without throwing it on the ground, breaking it into millions and millions of pieces. It’s what he does best, but for once in his life he wants to be bad at it, to keep just something that makes him happy.

From his spot in between Regulus’ legs, Harry leans his head back, so that the top of it rests on Regulus’ stomach and the boy has a perfect watch point for him. There’s something in his gaze, as if he’s trying hard to understand why Regulus is the way he is, as if he’s looking directly into his soul.

Regulus swallows his anxieties. He smiles down at the boy, trying to ease his face into anything but the grimace he feels it stretch into.

He’s contemplating doing a quick Google search just to see if kids can actually look into people’s souls, but he doesn’t get the chance to do so, for Harry breaks into that same gummy grin that’s been melting his heart and, with a voice that can bring Regulus closer to Heaven, he starts singing a chant of the man’s name.

“Reggie! Reggie! Reggie!” He sings with all his might, laughing at himself, hand reaching out towards Regulus’ face as if he’s trying to just pull it off of his skeleton. He would let Harry do whatever he wanted, no questions asked. If he wanted Regulus’ bones scraped clean, he’d find a way to do it, he’d scrub them clean himself.

“Harry,” he sighs, face relaxing into a smile. “Harry, Harry, Harry.” Each utterance of his name is accompanied by a light touch on the boy’s nose, a gentle boop, boop, boop that only pulls at his chest.

“Reggie! Reggie! Reggie!”

“Ok, I think we’ve established you know my name now, Haz.” Pandora did say kids are like dogs, so all Regulus can come up with next is, “How about a treat for being such a smart little lad, hm?”

And Harry simply nods his head, as if he fully processes Regulus’ words and he isn’t just nodding along because his tiny brain is still trying to make sense of all that’s going on around him. The little, solemn nod is followed by another, “Reggie,” this one sombre and far too dramatic for the boy to not have picked it up from Sirius.

This is how James finds them when he comes back after his exam, Pad Thai and chicken nuggets packaged nicely in a takeaway bag. Regulus opens the door for him, Harry on his hip, just like when he left, and as a greeting all Harry says to his father is the song that simply became his favourite thing.

“Reggie! Reggie! Reggie!” When James merely looks at his son, stunned and confused by the turn of events, Harry continues, louder than ever. “Reggie! Reggie! Reggie!”

James regains consciousness far quicker than Regulus did when Harry just started spouting his name out. With a subtle shake of his head, Regulus can't tell if it's a fond shake or if he's trying to reboot his brain again, James nods along with Harry's cries of delight.

"Yes, “Yes, Harry!” James agrees effortlessly. “You make a very compelling argument there, I find myself agreeing with your point!”

Regulus blushes, red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. He just… I don’t know– imprinted on me or something! I think he’ll stop when he finds another funny sounding word.”

“Oh, just like your daddy, huh, Haz?” James mutters gleefully, bumping Harry’s fist with his own. Regulus ignores that. He is not touching that, not until he can scream at Sirius about how annoying his best friend is and how he needs to learn some fucking manners.

“Reggie?”

James nods, solemn. “Reggie.”

The man in question finds himself with a pleasant fuzziness blossoming in between his ribs. These two may be a bit dumb, like father, like son and all that, but he’d be damned if he doesn’t cherish them more than air itself.

“Potters,” Harry and James almost snap their necks to look at him when he addresses them. Regulus’ heart does not soar. “Food. How about we get some food and,” he boops Harry on the nose, his new favourite pastime activity, “and daddy can bore us to death by telling us about his exam. Does that sound nice, mon ange?”

“A–” James sputters, almost choking on his saliva. “Ange? F-French?” God, he’s so cute when he’s stuttering like the biggest nincompoop known to humankind. Regulus has no choice but to kiss him, which he allows himself to do because if James Potter can kiss him goodbye then Regulus Black can damn well kiss him you’re-so-dumb-I-only-want-to-squish-you-under-my-boots.

“French, good job, mon soleil.” This is just so fun, he’s having the time of his life making James go redder and redder with each word. Why hasn't he been doing this before? Honestly, flirting with James, properly flirting, is one of the best conscious choices he ever made. He needs to go back in time and tell Regulus from the past to stop worrying over nothing and just kiss him.

Only because he’s high on power, on the flush of James’ dark skin, on the choking noises he keeps making, Regulus gives him another kiss. A treat. Like he’d give Dante for being good and not chewing his chairs again.

He continues, leading James into his apartment properly, “I doubt Sirius’s been teaching him any and I want Harry to know as many languages as possible so that he can be the coolest kid in the sand pit!” Dante finally decides to join them, after having woken up from his nap in Regulus’ bedroom. He doesn’t even make a yap at James, that mean, mean bully.

James is speechless as he’s following behind Regulus, so he goes on, not wanting to give the man a moment of rest, in case he starts questioning why he’s getting kisses left and right. “He has Remus and Lily to teach him Welsh, you’re teaching him Punjabi, French from Sirius and I. Maybe I can convince Barty to pick up Italian again so that he can have the two of us for that… Hm… Didn’t Peter know Scots?”

“He does… Regulus, what? French? I mean– What?”

He’s definitely texting his friends after this, Sirius too. He has to tell them about James’ brain shutting down from a few basic French words. His legacy.

“Should we eat in the kitchen, or the living room?”

It’s Harry who answers him with his most beloved word. “Reggie!”

“Right,” Regulus weighs the options minutely. “Living room it is, little one! Great choice, as always.”

Harry looks so pleased with himself that Regulus feels a sudden urge to bite his cheeks. He doesn’t, because he’s still a sticky boy and he really, really doesn’t want to do anything like that unless he is one hundred percent sure that Harry’s been given a proper bath.

“You coming, James?” He’s stuck in the doorway, looking at Regulus as if he’s grown a second or maybe even third head. His face is enough to tell Regulus that the whole situation is probably too much, too confusing for someone who had to take a three hour exam and who is simply looking to destress with his son and his almost-boyfriend.

“What– what about soleil?” The horrendous pronunciation makes Regulus shudder. He is a dog with a bone, with a shiny new toy. Regulus is not omitting anything when he’ll be telling his friends and Sirius.

“I’m sorry, mon soleil. Come, sit, keep an eye on Harry while I go grab some water for us. I… I fed Harry myself, should I… Should I have let him eat on his own?” Now that he’s thinking about it, about everything him and Harry did today, he can’t stop himself from worrying about fucking shit up again. It’s not even justified, he has no reason to think about that now when he obviously did a decent enough job at taking care of Harry for his name to become the only word the boy’s been saying. Still. He worries.

“No, that’s fine! Sometimes we feed him, sometimes we let him do it on his own. Depends. We can just cut the chicken nuggets in small pieces for him to grab, you don’t have to feed him again if you don’t want to–”

“Hey, no, I want to! I don’t mind.”

Harry, safely deposited in his father’s lap, spits a bubble at Regulus, as if he’s trying to tell him to stop being such an idiot. Maybe the kid’s onto something, after all Regulus is still fully convinced he can see into his soul.

“Love, Reggie–”

“Reggie!”

James’ face melts at his son, then he’s looking at Regulus and it stays soft, open, vulnerable. “Thank you so much for today. It– You really saved me, you have no idea how much it means to me.”

“It’s alright, James– mon soleil,” he corrects himself swiftly. “I loved every moment of it, really. There’s no need to thank me.”

And Regulus finds himself meaning every word.

He met James on a Friday, so Regulus guesses it makes sense that as soon as he walks out of Slughorn’s class, where he somehow managed to bring Ackroyd back into the picture, even if they’ve finished studying him ages ago, he bumps into Lily Evans.

She looks absolutely radiant, skin glowing and smile friendly even when students run into her in their hurries and don't bother to apologise. She's the first person Regulus meets that doesn't look like they've been fighting God at night instead of sleeping in the last few weeks; Regulus is just a little bit envious of her sleeping abilities.

"Oh! Regulus!" She smiles so, so brightly that for a moment Regulus thinks his skin will start melting. He can see that Harry didn't just take his smile from James; he was blessed with radiance from both sides. "I was supposed to meet with Slughorn," Lily lowers her voice theatrically, "but just between you and me, I'm not really in the mood. Wanna join me for a coffee? My treat!"

"Uh…" Regulus says, eloquently. "Yeah, sure. I've been meaning to talk with you about–"

She interrupts him, laughing. "James, I bet. Let me just tell you, he's been going on and on about you. Harry too." Regulus' cheeks redden. "You're in luck, Reggie. I've been meaning to talk with you about James also."

Uh-oh. Having your almost-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend want to talk to you about said common man must surely be bad news. Ignoring the fact that Lily Evans is the nicest woman Regulus knows, she is obviously here to threaten him. Maybe she wants to look into his soul, like her son does, and read Regulus' deepest, darkest desires; see if he's right for James.

He isn't, they all know this. Everyone must be well aware that Regulus Black is the farthest person from being right for James and they're all just having a laugh.

"Stop fretting, Regulus. It's nothing bad, I promise. Not here to be a bitch and tell you you'll never be good enough for James and my son." She can see into his soul. Lily offers him the gentlest smiles he's ever seen on another human. "Really, I just want to have a talk with you. Give you some insight, share my experiences, yada yada. Mary said I should ease your mind by telling you why James and I aren't together, just so that you don't end up with white hair cause you'll spend your days thinking he's gonna leave you for me because… Ah, what was it that she said…" Deep in thought, she starts humming a little tune. He swears he heard James do the same before. "Ah, because a boy and a girl can't be friends after a break-up without still having feelings for each other according to society. Always forget that bit."

"That's nice of you…" Regulus at least thinks it has to be. He's still not entirely sure, a bit confused by the whole exchange. But he did read enough novels to know that doubt always starts settling in, that no amount of reassuring can help ease an anxious mind.

The coffee shop Lily led him to is Starbucks' competition, a small business. A small business who sells overpriced coffee, just like Starbucks does, and who charges full price for each espresso shot you add to your drink. He finds them greedy and just as hungry for profit like Starbucks, but at least Starbucks doesn't paint themselves as a good company.

Their coffee doesn't taste burnt, at least.

Lily orders herself a matcha latte, while Regulus asks for a cold brew, not in the mood to spend too much time within the competition's walls.

As soon as they have their to-go cups, Lily and Regulus make their way out of the shop, choosing instead to walk around campus and enjoy the brief sunlight they've been blessed with.

"So…" Regulus ends up saying after their conversation still hasn't picked back up. "Your… uh…" Why is this so nerve wrecking? "Your insight?"

“Mr. Black, first you have to attend my little history lesson, then you’ll be able to unlock the secret insight.”

Regulus nods. Lily may look like the sweetest woman, but right now she seems to be on a quest to torture him mentally. She takes a sip of her matcha, prolonging the silence for a few more moments in which Regulus can only follow her example and drink his subpar coffee. Anything to not get stuck in his own head.

“Right,” she says, wrapping an arm around Regulus’, effectively cuddling into his body and trapping him there. “So, I used to hate James. Well, hate’s a bit of a strong word. When we were in high school he declared to the whole class that he would marry me, got on top of his desk during lunch break and shouted it as loud as he could. And when you’re a big girl you kinda get used to not being anyone’s choice, especially not boys like James.

“So I just ignored it, thought he was playing a cruel joke because why else would he say something like that, you know? But he didn’t stop after that. He tried to win my heart or whatever and I just resented him for it.” Lily nudges his shoulder. “Guess he has a type, eh? Anyway, he never really gave up. He wasn’t pushy, lord no, I think Effie would have smacked him into another dimension if he ever disrespected anyone, or forced himself on anyone for that matter, but he was persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“When James Potter sets his eyes on you, you don’t stand a chance,” she shrugs. Doesn’t he know that too well?

“Yeah, kinda gathered that much,” he jokes, because there’s not much else he can do.

Lily beams at him. “So somewhere along the line I realised that he wasn’t taking the piss and that he actually wanted to be with me. I think we were seventeen by that time, so he’s been confessing his love for almost three years. I confronted him about it. I cried. He cried. And we decided to give it a go. I found myself enchanted by him, honest to God. Like he was the brightest thing in the universe and I couldn’t look away.”

“Gathered that too.”

“James made me crave love. I don’t know how he did it, but I found myself needing more and more of it. It’s one of the best feelings you could ever have, Regulus: being subjected to James’s love. When he loves you… You’re everything to him and he makes sure you know it. I tried to match that love, to give it back to him tenfold, but you quickly learn no one can love like James does. And for a moment you’ll probably think of yourself like a fraud. He’s giving you all of this and you– you can’t even give him a fraction of it back.”

It’s like she’s pulling all his thoughts out of his head, spreading them out into the open for anyone to see. Each time she unravels something else, Regulus finds himself more and more alike to Lily than previously thought.

While the heavy words settle over them, they do a wrap around the giant tree that’s planted in the middle of campus. Regulus saw photos dated centuries ago of the exact same tree so it only makes so much sense that it gets to witness another student’s drama to add to the neverending collection it must be storing.

“I’m not trying to discourage you from allowing yourself to love him, Reg. I just don’t want you to end up like me, spending so much of the time I had with James merely wishing I could be better. I was enough, I know it now. And I wish I could go back and tell that to myself.

“Alas, we were happy for a long time, in spite of my insecurities. I really thought he was it for me, Regulus.” He doesn’t like where this is going. He can feel the imminent heartbreak that Lily must be preparing to drop on him, the pain of their relationship ending. “Then James and I just… fell out of love. That's all. One day we sat down and asked ourselves, what are we doing?" Lily sips her matcha, a sad smile tugging at her lips. Regulus was correct, yet not. It is heartbreak that’s pouring out of Lily, but not in the way he thought.

He nudges her shoulder back, the way she did moments ago. Lily looks at him; stares into his soul. Warmth rushes down his neck at the raw tenderness that blooms in her gaze.

"That was after we had Harry, you know? He was taking over our lives and– don't get me wrong, I'd die for him, but we were young– still are, too young and a baby was the sole reason we were still sleeping in the same bed. Except we didn't really realise it. We had these dreams of growing old together, of seeing Harry grow into a lovely person, into someone we could both be proud of. Together. Hell, James was telling everyone he was gonna marry me when he was fifteen. But then we talked and, again, asked ourselves why are we still together? Just because of our son? We barely kissed, the little pecks he'd give me before he left were mechanical at that point and neither of us thought much of it."

Regulus blinks at the redhead, taking everything in. "And you broke up? Like that?"

Lily chuckles. "Well, not like that. We did break up just... we tried again after a while. We were so sure that some time would do us good, that a break would bring back the romantic feelings. It's safe to say that didn't work. I think we both wanted it to work, though. Our love was... it was easy, Regulus. It was easy to come home to him cooking dinner, to get into bed with him and just sleep. I was scared of letting go of that. The whole relationship was... familiar."

"Familiar..." Regulus looks at his hands, unsure if he should offer more comfort to Lily or not. There’s a rawness in it all that’s pulling at Regulus, making him want to give her more. But he’s not sure he’d survive another genuine look from Lily.

"Yeah... Before Mary and I got together, James was the only person I'd ever loved like that. Who would have thought that the man I spent years ignoring in a poor attempt to shield my heart from would end up the one taking such good care of it? That’s James Potter for you! He was safe, I knew what to expect from it. And I think he felt the same way. Realising that you're not in love with someone anymore is a scary thing, Regulus, especially when that person is the only one you'd ever loved.

"Still, after that attempt at getting back together we just gave up. Neither of us was happy and we could tell it wasn't healthy for us."

"That's... surprisingly mature of you two."

"Hey! I'll have you know I'm very mature. And James too, believe it not!”

Hiding a smirk behind his own cup, Regulus hums.

"Anyway, when I told my sister we broke up but still kept in touch, mind you we have a son to raise together, she told me I was making a big mistake, that lovers can't be friends and all that stupid, societal bullshit. She was all serious about it too, hence why Mary made sure I mentioned that to you. It’s sort of a joke between us now. Anyway, I told my sister I wasn't about to give up on James just because he found my clit a few times in bed."

Regulus gapes at the woman, too stunned to speak.

"Kidding! He knows where the clit is, bless him." The redhead gives Regulus a wink, all mirth and smug and devious. "James is a very thorough lover, I'll have you know."

"Fuck you, Lily Evans!"

“Oh, dear, I would but you’re not exactly my type. And I am not yours either.” She shakes her arm out from where it’s been cuddling into Regulus and, with a speed that is far too reminiscent of Harry’s, Lily ruffles his curls. In a split second her arm is back where it was. “So, did I put your heart at ease? Are you less panicky about James and I falling back in love?”

“Yes, actually,” he confesses. “Thank you. I know you didn’t have to do all this and explain your whole history with James, but I appreciate it.” And he does. Lily Evans is a gift to humanity and she’s just made it to his top three beings he’d die for, dethroning Sirius from his last place in the chart. She’s just behind her son and Dante, both placed on number one. Number two is left bare; he enjoys lying to himself that it doesn’t hold the shape of James.

She may also be soon dethroning Barty and Evan from their place as his best friends. Simply because of how her eyes sparkle with mischief, Sirius’ claims that she has none stand as nothing but bullshit, when he tells her that she has two distinct things she wants to talk about with her.

“First,” he claps his hands after the cup is thrown into a bin. Regulus snakes his arm around Lily’s. “Why is Harry so… damp?

“Oh, God,” she exclaims, “right? I swear, everytime I leave him with James he just… develops the stickiness!”

“So it is James’ fault…”

He knew he was right in blaming his almost-boyfriend for it. There is no way Lily would allow Harry to get so… so moist without trying to do something about it.

“I took him to the doctor, you know? Cause maybe one of us had a distant uncle who sweats a lot and it got passed to us or something… Nothing. Regulus, I have never been more confused than when James brought Harry back after his first time with him alone.” Lily’s laughter is enough to get a giggle out of him as well.

“Second thing?”

“Oh, right. The first time he came into the coffee shop he had Haz with him.” Regulus pretends he doesn’t see the surprised expression on her face at the nickname. “And I knew for a fact he was supposed to be with you, because the… I don’t know, night before I think it was, he told Sirius that he’d be all alone without Harry.”

Recognition spreads on Lily’s face. “Oh, I remember that. He said he wanted to have Harry for a few more days because he thought he was missing out on time with him. That little fucker wanted to use our son to get laid.” He can’t tell if she’s proud of James or fed up with his shit. Either way, he thinks she won’t be too happy with what he’s about to tell her.

“And did he mention that he planned to tell me you died?”

“What?!”

Regulus giggles, leaning on the woman for support. Now she sounds like she is fed up with James.

“I asked him about it cause I told you I knew you were supposed to have Harry and he just panicked and blurted out you died. He was adamant about it too, Lils. I thought he’d run and kill you himself just to not admit he fucked up.”

Students around them are starting to stare at them. Regulus doesn’t blame them; it’s not a daily occurrence to have Regulus Black openly giggle in public, nor is Lily’s red face, as bright as her hair, something they must be used to seeing.

“Lily, I think I’m in love with him and his stupidity,” he whispers wistfully.

The woman puffs her cheeks out. She pushes the hair out of her eyes and presents Regulus with the most understanding yet exasperated look he’s ever been given. It rivals Pandora’s therapist looks, which is something to be praised.

“That’s how he gets you. And you, my friend, are too far gone to be saved.”

James

taking haz to a strawb field outside

london next week

wanna give him a cute strawb picking

day

wanna join us, love?

Regulus thinks about his talk with Lily, about everything she said regarding James and his love, about the yearning he’s been feeling to truly experience that love, properly, as his boyfriend. God, James is just so stupid. How dare he call Regulus love and then not even ask him to be his boyfriend. How dare he–

Oh.

Oh.

The idiot has got to think they’re already dating. Oh, he is the biggest dumbass Regulus has ever met and he is the love of his life.

It doesn’t take him too long after the realisation to text James his answer, already buzzing with delight at the thought of spending a day with Harry and James, picking strawberries that will probably taste like shit since they’re out of season and watching his boys messily smush the fruits in their faces. He’ll join them in their ridiculousness just to make them both laugh.

He will do anything, whatever it takes to make them smile. And then, at the end, when James’ cheeks are stained red from the berries, he’ll kiss him senseless and hit him over the head for the unrest that’s been brewing in his chest.

Regulus

Sounds good. Can’t wait, mon soleil

And after a second, he decides to add:

3>

James

<3

Chapter Text

The strawberry farm that James found was three hours away by train, a decent distance, especially when considering the size of London. That meant that the three of them were at the train station a full hour before their train was supposed to leave, just because Regulus and his anxieties managed to bully James into wasting a full hour on sitting around and pointing pigeons out for Harry to chase.

Which is exactly where they are right now, cozied up on a bench, like the couple they apparently are, while Harry is trying to capture a pigeon in his grubby, sticky hands. It doesn’t fail to awe Regulus that now the boy is able to stand and run on his own. Sure, he still falls sometimes, but according to James and Sirius it happened less and less.

When Sirius recalled how often the child would fall on his ass, he actually started tearing up, which, of course, led to James crying as well. Regulus and Remus had to hold back their laughter, lest the two drama queens would cease their theatrics.

Harry runs straight into a flock of pigeons just roaming around on the ground, breaking into delighted giggles when they start flying away. Next to him, James laughs in response to his son’s antics, pulling Regulus closer into him without thinking.

It’s not hard to allow James Potter to pull him in, Regulus learned since the realisation of their relationship dawned upon him. It’s the easiest thing he’d ever done, if he’s being honest, right up there with loving the two Potters. Almost as if it’s in his blood, as if he was made to love them, to spend time in James’ arms, to lean into him.

A few weeks ago the thought would have scared the shit out of him, but now Regulus accepts it with open arms.

He presses a kiss right under James’ jaw, having to manoeuvre the scarf Lily’s been forcing him to wear. The skin is hot under his lips, as James’ body always is, but the burn only fuels his desire to cut the charade already, to tell James that he’s an absolute buffoon and that no, people don’t start dating after a kiss without some talking taking place.

James’ breath hitches minutely, before his hold on Regulus tightens.

Face hidden in James’ shoulder, he doesn’t look up when the man calls out, “Haz, do you want some juice?”

Harry’s ear-shattering scream just makes him hide more, a futile attempt to not seem as fond of the hyper child as he truly is. Harry sees right through him, of course he does, and he jumps straight into Regulus’ arms, not caring that the man is currently also holding the backpack full of Harry’s things.

Now, instead of hiding in James’ soft scarf and warm body, he hides his face in Harry’s wild hair, pressing a kiss on the top of his head as he blindly searches for a juice pack. He pulls out a box of apple juice, quickly stabbing it with the paper straw and giving it to the boy to enjoy.

“Reggie, reggie!” Harry bounces in his lap to turn himself so that he’s facing Regulus, foregoing his father entirely. Next to them, James gasps. With one final Reggie he pushes the straw in Regulus’ mouth, mustering all his might and glaring up at the man to take a sip of his juice. Regulus doesn’t like apple juice, loathes it, really, but he drinks enough to satisfy the boy before he’s shoving the straw in James’ mouth also.

Oh my God, an indirect kiss, a voice that sounds distinctly like Barty’s says in his head. He squishes the voice and the metaphorical person, hoping that somewhere in London, Barty feels the pain of being squished alive.

Regulus tries to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside him as Harry continues on being set on sharing the juice, one sip for him, one for Regulus and finally, one for James. He always cuts James short, glaring at him when he takes more than the tiniest sip, no doubt being annoyed that his father dares take the juice that he and Regulus are meant to… savour. At least one of them certainly is happy with the juice!

He can feel James’ amused gaze on him, a warmth that reaches deep into his heart, that’s making the butterflies in his stomach soar high, high into his throat, threatening to spill into the world.

James leans in closer, his lips grazing Regulus’ ear as he whispers, “He caught onto me, trying to save you from drinking it.”

Regulus does not swoon. He’s an adult man and he has enough self-control to stop himself from swooning. Albeit, that self-control does not exist when it comes to James Potter, because one simple hint that he’s doing something so that Regulus doesn’t have to and he’s gone. Giddy and red in the cheeks, happier than ever.

“It’s ok, mon soleil,” he whispers back, distracting Harry by giving him his keys to play with. Harry likes shiny, loud things and Regulus’ keys, adorned with so many keychains that they jingle with a simple touch, are by far his favourite. Regulus turns to face the man, the love of his life, his sun; he smiles. “Thank you for your service, my knight,” he rewards James with a kiss, placed just on the corner of his mouth.

A tease.

The platform announcement interrupts their quiet moment, stating the arrival of their train. Regulus has to rip his eyes from James’, mourning the loss of seeing his pupils dilate with want. Reluctantly, he untangles himself from Harry and James’ different holds on him, sliding the backpack on his shoulders. James helps him get everything in order and then they’re off to board the train.

Harry is clinging to his neck, legs wrapped around Regulus’ waist. He is obsessed with Regulus and that translates into Regulus having to carry him anywhere and everywhere, James’ stronger build forgotten and rotting away. All while Regulus’ muscles are screaming at him to stop picking up the child that’s begging for his attention.

As they find their seats on the train, Harry’s excitement reaches new heights. Regulus has never seen this animated. He’s absolutely fascinated by his surroundings, eyes wide and taking everything in, every single detail that he can focus on. Harry’s gaze ends up fixed on the window after the rest of the wagon does not satisfy his hunger. Squirming out of Regulus’ hold, he presses his face on the glass, all but pushing his squishy cheeks through the solid object.

What follows, while they have to wait for the train to leave, is Harry’s excited babbling filling the silence, pointing out each and every little thing he sees. It’s mostly people and trash cans and other trains that are pulling in, but James and Regulus nonetheless exchange a fond look, endearing pouring out of both of them at Harry’s exhilaration.

Regulus watches intently as Harry’s chubby finger traces invisible lines on the window, trying to capture everything he sees, the whole world that’s passing him by. Every now and again, James leans in close to his son, nodding along and responding to Harry’s delighted comments with matching enthusiasm. The brightness of his smile can light up the whole train car and Regulus has to hold himself back from reaching for his phone and capturing a thousand photos of it.

As the train starts to move, Harry’s eyes widen to such an extent that Regulus worries the boy will hurt himself somehow, get a rupture in his eye if that’s even possible. Yet, seeing Harry clutch the window sill with so much anticipation eases Regulus’ mind. His mouth forms into a perfect o, full of wonder. Harry’s delighted laughter fills the air and Regulus can’t help but laugh along with him.

James shifts in his seat, bringing his arm around Regulus, letting his fingers rest in the dip of his waist. Every few minutes the hold James has on him tightens, but Regulus pays it no mind, well aware that James is simply fidgeting, anxious for the day ahead.

The three of them sit there, side by side, watching the world outside. The passing scenery is a blur of dry fields, quaint little towns and distant hills. Regulus can’t imagine a better way to spend this day. Not even the thought of having to smack some sense into James at the end of it doesn’t make his smile dim.

As the train car gently sways, Harry’s initial excitement begins to mellow, replaced by a growing sense of contentment. He leans against Regulus, squeezing himself in between the two adults, his eyelids drooping ever so slightly. Still, he doesn’t stop casting occasional glances out the window, trying to catch whatever details he can.

Regulus wraps an arm around the boy, moving in his seat so that James is still wrapped around him. It’s an awkward position, the armrest digging into his side, but it shall do for the rest of the journey. Holding the child so securely, his heart fills with warmth and love. Leaning in to press his lips to Harry’s head is only natural.

James, too, seems to relax, his earlier anxieties gradually giving way to the simple pleasure of being with his lover and his son. The idea tugs at Regulus’ lips, a smirk glued to his face. Stupid, stupid James Potter.

Said man rests his head on Regulus’, his other hand coming to rest on Harry’s stomach, where Regulus’ fingers soon join it, intertwining them. James’ fingers are warm, always so warm, always burning Regulus where they touch his skin, but the man adores every second.

If it took having his skin burned to hold the sun in his arms, to feel his lips and hear his heartbeat, it would have been worth it. If it took having his body disintegrated by the scorching touch of his sun for a moment of pure, undisturbed happiness to wash over him, it would have been worth it.

Anything would be worth it, as long as James stood at the other end.

Waiting.

Sooner than he’d like, the conductor announces their arrival, pulling Regulus out of the reverie he was losing himself into. In his arms, Harry stirs from his half-asleep state, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists.

“Mon ange, you have to wake up now.” Harry whines, burying his face into Regulus’ stomach, holding onto his sweater. “Do you want Daddy to carry you?”

Again, the boy shakes his head, more vehemently this time. “No,” Regulus can hear the pout in his voice. “Reggie.”

“Right, right, how could I propose anything else? The horror!”

This time around, James has the decency to use his big, stupid muscles and pick up the backpack, offering Regulus his hand as they prepare to step out into the cold air again. With James’ hand in his and Harry struggling to wake himself up in his arms, the three make their way off the train and onto the deserted platform.

Regulus fixes his stupid boyfriend with a cautious look. “Are you sure you didn’t bring me here to kill me?”

“Reggie, love,” James chuckles in response, lifting the younger’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss on the back of it. “I would sooner die myself than see you leave me.”

His face has to be red, as red as Harry’s coat. Every single time James Potter opens his mouth, all Regulus can think is How dare he. How dare he be so perfect? How dare he say the sweetest things, all to Regulus? How dare he be so stupid and not ask Regulus to be his properly?

If by the end of their farm adventure James’ face is not pushed into a bucket of strawberries as revenge for making Regulus blush like a schoolgirl with a crush, he will count the man lucky.

“Alright, off to find the rental!” James claps his hand on his own thigh, fully embracing the whole father-in-charge-of-everything persona.

“You mean the only car that’s currently parked within the radius, mon soleil?”

James smiles at him, all smitten and in love. “I think I may just crash and burn without you, Regulus Black.”

The confession almost brings tears to his eyes. It’s not an I love you, it doesn’t have to be one. It has the same impact on Regulus’ mental state anyway; makes him crumble metaphorically, psychically, emotionally. James Potter feeling as if he’d be useless without him may be the closest thing he will ever get to knowing true peace in his soul.

Regulus mirrors James’ previous action, pressing a kiss to his hand, just over his ring finger in a silent promise. A forever just within his very reach.

He can taste it, can feel it brushing against his fingers.

In his arms, Harry squirms himself free, jumping down and landing with a grunt. Regulus mourns his knees, but there’s nothing he can do.

The excited shout is also something that cannot be avoided. “Car!”

Holding onto the straps of the backpack, James lets go of Regulus’ hand and gets down on his knees, to be at the same eye level with his son. “Very good, bud! Wanna race to the car? First one there gets to drive it!”

Regulus’ scandalised James falls on deaf ears. Both Potters start running, leaving him behind. Stunned.

All that’s left to do for Regulus is to watch, baffled, as the two run and laugh with glee and as James slows his pace to let his son win. Harry is ecstatic at the prospect of being a big boy and driving and Regulus dreads that he will have to shatter his dreams, lest he wants them to be stuck in one spot, Harry’s short legs miles away from reaching the pedals.

Once he reaches them, Regulus is already shaking his head fondly. “You’re spoiling him rotten,” he lightly scolds James.

“Good,” the man counters back. “He deserves it. He can be the biggest, most spoiled brat if his heart so much desires to. It’s not like you don’t spoil him just as much.”

Regulus opens the passenger door after making sure that Harry is strapped right behind him, no way of him doing his little squirmy dance and getting out from where the seatbelt is holding him. He is dead serious when he says, “Stop being a bully or I will tell Siri you are mean to me.”

James gulps, no doubt fearing what Sirius is capable of doing for his baby brother. “Yes, love. Anything you want, my star.” As he gets into the car, fumbling with the keys and eyes dancing from left to right, James bursts into laughter. “Ah, what a laugh, what a joke! Padfoot won’t do anything to me, love. We’re like this,” he emphasises by crossing his forefinger and middle finger, all pretend-worry melting away.

Regulus’ lips thin.

Right.

“Of course,” his voice is clipped. “Just drive, please.”

“Reggie–” James whispers, full of regret. Still, he starts the car, sensing that it would help Regulus. “I’m sorry–”

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not but…” Taking a deep breath, Regulus turns to look at his stupid boyfriend. He can’t bear looking at James’ sincere expression. “I talked with Sirius about it already, it would be stupid to beat the same dead horse.”

“Love, if it concerns your feelings then it’s not stupid. Never think that, darling.”

He takes another deep breath, just to ease himself into having another vulnerable conversation about his feelings being hurt. He’s so stupid, utterly woeful.

“Can we… just talk about this later? I promise I will tell you, just…” Regulus exhales, grabbing the door handle simply to have something occupy his hands. “Later. Please.”

“Of course, Reg.”

Still, James gives him a worried look.

All due to his inability to accept his brother’s reassurance. All because he cannot wrap his head around the idea of being wanted, of being needed.

Over the console, James’ hand waits, an invitation as well as a reminder that Regulus is in charge of where this is set to go.

Regulus places his hand over it and closes his fingers around the warmth of James’ palm.

The rest of the short drive is spent in silence, even Harry able to sense that being loud right now will make things tenser than they already are. Regulus hates every single second of it, the quiet too loud in itself, leaving an open space in his mind for it to fill with the worst thoughts it’s capable of conjuring.

Soon, the scenery fills with greenhouses upon greenhouses, hectares of trees in between them, all brittle and almost empty, a testament of how cold the weather truly is.

Even sooner, Regulus’ chest fills with dread. Regret, hatred towards himself, a need to get on his knees and beg for James’ forgiveness, for a chance to redeem himself in his lover’s eyes.

He glances at James, whose hand is still resting beneath his, their fingers interlocked. The concern in James’ eyes is evident, glaringly so, and Regulus knows he has to address the issue properly, not let it fester and ruin more of their planned day.

“James,” he begins, voice softer now. Defeated. “I apologise, I didn’t mean to be so… reactive earlier… I already talked with Siri about this, but it’s hard… not comparing my relationships with you two to the one you have with each other. I know– I assume– my brain likes sabotaging itself and it is convinced that I will never compare. I will never be good enough to match the impact Sirius had on you and you on him. I will never be good enough for you, for Harry.”

James’ expression crumbles.

“Love…”

“I know, it’s not true. I cannot compare to you because I am not you two, I am my own person and that is enough. But sometimes just a throwaway comment is enough to put me back on the self-sabotaging train.” Before James can say anything, he adds hastily. “Siri said I should go to therapy again.”

“And?”

“And I think he’s right.”

“We can talk about this after, if you want.” James squeezes his hand, reassuringly. He leans in, whispering so that Harry cannot hear him. “When it’s just us. I promise to hold you if you start crying.”

Regulus laughs, wet with unshed tears. “Bold statements from someone who is also close to tears, dumbass.”

James kisses him.

Just like that.

As if it’s the most natural thing to do. As if they kiss all the time. As if it’s pure instinct.

It may as well be.

Against Regulus’ lips, he says, “Just know you will always be part of this, love. You belong with us, with me and Harry. You’re the missing piece of our family. You’re the brightest star, love, meant to light up our world. Never doubt that.”

“Siri is meant to be brighter than me.”

“No one cares about that, love. He’s not the main star in my world.”

“Thank you, James,” Regulus allows himself a kiss, fleeting and gentle. “I just… I think I still need a lot of time to take all of this in. The whole idea of having this kind of happiness…”

“I know it’s a lot to take in, love, but we’re here for you every step of the way. And we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it, whenever you’re ready.”

The tension in the car dissipates, replaced by a newfound sense of comfort and understanding. Harry, who has been quietly observing the two, reaches out, placing a tiny hand on Regulus’ arm, as if he too, is trying to reassure the older man, to let him know that he needs him as well.

Regulus looks at the two Potters, his boys, his bright sun and the slightly smaller sun that rotates around his father. The two boys he loves more than life itself.

He clears his throat, thanks anyone who is listening for letting him have James and Harry in his life, and promptly pushes the mushy feelings nestling in his chest away.

“Ok, no more vulnerability. It’s time for strawberries!”

And just like that, the moment is forgotten, at least by Harry. The boy claps eagerly, shouting at the top of his lungs, Strawberries, strawberries, strawberries!

James chuckles, pulling back from Regulus’ personal space with a glint in his eyes that makes the younger want to rip his skin off his muscles, pull the muscles clean off his bones and make the perfect place for James to burrow in between the skeleton, right where he belongs.

“That’s right, buddy. We’re going to pick some delicious strawberries together now that Reggie is done feeling exposed.”

Suddenly, the talk is all but abandoned in his head and in its place the thought of hitting James with a strawberry crate gets louder.

And if throughout their day Regulus doesn’t actually hit James that’s only for him to know. And if he doesn’t mention the fact that James, stupid, idiotic, knucklehead James Potter is still not his boyfriend in the eyes of the Lord, that’s simply a problem for another time. As long as Sirius doesn’t know that his best friend is being foolish everything will be alright.

Famous last words.

“James is acting sus anytime I mention you. Also, I talked with Poppy about you. She says you’re more than welcome to give her a phone when you’re ready.”

“What?”

Sirius puts down the bagel he’s been spreading cream cheese on. He eyes Regulus with a confused look. Reaches for the everything bagel seasoning he swears is life-changing. “What?”

“What did you just say?” Regulus frowns, opening the jar of raspberry jam in response to Sirius’ unorthodox practices.

“That Pops is waiting for you? She’s quite excited to see you again,” he pops the knife in his mouth, talking around the sharp blade, “y’know?”

He’s insane. And far too observant for his own good.

“About James, you nincompoop!”

Sirius’ mouth forms into a perfect little o, knife dropping on Regulus’ countertop with a clank that makes the younger cringe.

“Whenever anyone mentions you and I’m around he gets all sweaty and red. It’s quite funny, as if I can’t tell you two are dating. Like yeah, sure, you didn’t tell me officially, which ouch, but I’m not blind. I can see you two trying to be subtle and not touch each other when I’m near. It’s really funny actually. You know, Moons actually–”

“He doesn’t know that technically we’re not together because he’s a fucking bonehead who doesn’t realise that in order to get a boyfriend you have to ask him to be yours. You’d think that since he asked Lily out for so long, he’d have the whole ordeal down to a T, but nope! Your doofus of a best friend thinks we’re dating– We are, mind you, Siri, I’m ready to marry him in a second, I don’t care, but it’s just so–” Regulus groans, biting into his own bagel. “I hate him.”

After a beat of heavy silence, Sirius says, “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

And after another quietness that makes Regulus want to crawl out of his body, he adds, “Also I’m killing him.”

“Sirius!”

Poppy’s office looks exactly the same as it did last time Regulus was here. The chairs are the ones in which Regulus spent so many hours plucking apart at his relationships, trying to understand everything about them and to put things behind him, to let go of his resentment of Sirius, to let go of the twisted love he felt for their parents. The worn, brown leather he missed so much welcomes him warmly as he sinks into it. All the frames littered throughout the office, some hung, some resting against the walls, they are the exact ones occupied half his sessions analysing, trying to avoid Poppy’s gaze.

Even the lights above are the same, warm yellow ones she had years ago. It brings a sense of comfort to Regulus’ racing heart while he watches the older woman pull out the dark green folder he knows has all his information, all the notes she took throughout their meetings.

“So, Regulus,” she begins, sitting in front of him. She offers him a cookie, as she always did. For the first time, Regulus takes the treat. She smiles, “How have you been?”

“Fine, thank you.”

Poppy waits for him to continue, already noting something down. He feels overexposed, put under a microscope, stared at.

He hates every second of it.

When he doesn’t elaborate, she tries again. “Just fine? It’s been almost three years, Regulus,” she sounds so calm, so patient. “Nothing significant happened? It doesn’t just have to relate to your mental health, dear. I am curious how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to.”

Regulus takes a deep breath, chewing on a piece of soft cookie. “I mean, it’s fine. Nothing exciting really happened. I’m almost done with my studies, I have the same job at Starbucks… I got a dog, his name is Dante. That’s pretty nice, I love him a lot.”

“That does sound lovely, dear.” Poppy is wearing that expectant smile, the one that tells Regulus she’s well aware he’s hiding things from her, but she’s simply waiting for him to grow the balls and tell her about it.

After he’s done with his cookie, he finally rushes to add: “Ok, I met someone. And I am in love with him and he’s a dumb boy, totally clueless because– God, I feel like I am repeating myself everytime I tell someone about this, but we’re together in his head– And in real life too, I mean– Jesus, I literally just had the exact same talk with Siri– It’s his best friend, James, by the way–”

“Regulus, breathe. We have an hour, you don’t have to vomit it all out in the first few minutes.”

“Right. So he’s Siri’s best friend, the one he abandoned me for.” Poppy doesn’t laugh at his poor attempt to ease the tension. “I mean, the one who helped get him out. It’s James Potter I’m in love with because my life is a joke and of course I had to go and fall for my brother’s best mate and his adorable son.”

Across from him, she puts down another piece of information.

“Anyway, we did some dancing around the other and then one thing led to another and we kissed. And after that I thought perhaps we’d both ignore it. Why would he want to be with me when he already has the better brother?”

“Regulus…”

“It’s fine, I’m already working on it, don’t worry. James’s actually been helping quite a bit. And Sirius makes sure to reassure me that we are not in a competition over James so that’s also nice. They’ve both been good to me, really.”

Poppy nods. “And yet? There’s clearly something bothering you, Regulus.”

Always so sharp-eyed, always seeing right through him.

Regulus sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, gathering his words to put his insecurities and self-doubt as nicely as possible. Leaning back into the chair, he traces over the indents in the leather, a discoloured maze from so many people leaving their mark on it.

“It’s just that… I can’t shake this feeling off,” he admits hesitantly. “The feeling that no matter what, I’ll never be good enough, that I’m just a convenient replacement for when Sirius isn’t around, for when James isn’t there to be an actual brother. That as soon as they’re in the picture, I’ll be left alone. I told Siri about this, had this whole… emotional talk with him about how I’ll always be his brother and all that. And I know he meant it, every word. But deep down, the doubt is just so… so loud.”

“It seems like you are dealing with an intense feeling of self-doubt and insecurity, dear. And that’s normal in a new relationship, especially one that involves a child as well and that’s tied to your brother.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “No shit, Pops.”

The woman pushes the cookie tin towards him, her eyes still impossibly soft, in spite of his sass. “Get comfortable, Regulus. We have quite a lot to talk about today.”

The talk with Poppy helped ease his mind, enough for him to not feel like he’s drowning anytime he looks at Sirius or James, to not sit and wait on the edge of his seat for them to announce that he’s being thrown aside.

He forgot just how nice it was to have someone to express his worries to without fear of being laughed at.

The moment he gets home, he texts Pandora that yes, Poppy is indeed still married to Minerva, so her plan of asking the older woman to form a power couple in the field of psychology has to remain on hold. He also makes sure to mention that she can rest easy now, that his phase of bottling his emotions is over and that she can retire from her pseudo job as his therapist.

She’s not happy about the former, but the latter elicits a long list of emojis that he can only interpret as true happiness.

Pandora is coming over for the first time in months. He’s so excited he can feel his muscles twitching on his bones, the soft cotton of his shirt striking to his skin, the particles of dust coming to a rest on his hands.

He burned himself twice already, too wired to actually pay any attention to the milk he’s meant to be steaming. Still, he wears the Hello Kitty bandaids with pride, over the moon that they show his clumsiness, the clumsiness that Pandora caused, because she’s coming over and she’s staying for a full week with him, in London.

But first, she has to arrive at his bloody Starbucks, so that they can leave together after he entrusts Dorcas with the rest of his shift. Neither of them are here yet, because he has to be alone before he bursts at the seams with enthusiasm.

He needs to see Pandora right now. Or he will truly perish.

Like, actually meet his own death without his best friend.

If Pandora doesn’t walk through the goddamn door right about now, Regulus will tear the whole place down.

The bell above the door rings.

Regulus almost drops his phone.

When he looks up, he is met with her.

“Panda!”

He has enough decency to not jump over the counter and run over to the woman. He walks out from behind it, careful as to not damage anything, and then, as soon as he is not about to push anything from the counter and have it break, he’s bolting for Pandora to catch him.

She does, of course she does, because she knows by now to expect an armful of Regulus Black whenever they’re in close proximity.

One moment he’s running and the next his feet are lifted off the floor as Pandora’s arms sneak around his waist. She’s taller than him and even with his platform shoes she still has a couple of centimetres on him.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much, Pands. You are not allowed to go back to Scotland. Ever. I’ll fucking tie you to my bed if I have to.”

Above him, Pandora’s face breaks into a mischievous grin. He missed her like a missing limb.

“Kinky, Reg,” she winks at him.

“No.” He cuts her off, pushing himself out of her arms with ease. “You’re not going to go into whatever shit you and Xeno do in your free time, nope, not roping me into it again. Never falling for that stuff, once was enough.”

Pandora pouts, pulling at the white beanie that’s covering her braids, throwing it on the closest table without any regard for the snowflakes that will melt on the dark wood. Her braids are adorned with pink butterflies and blue fireflies, a weird combination he’s never seen her sport before.

She very much prefers just shades of pink.

Regulus’ eyes are laser-focused on the charms. “No way.” Caught red-handed, Pandora’s hand flies to her hair, blush spreading all over her cheeks. “No fucking way you got Xeno pregnant.”

“Well, he can’t really do it on his own now, can he.”

“You left your pregnant husband alone!” Regulus accuses her, pointing a finger, as threatening as it can be when his hands are shaking from the lack of blood in them. :What the fuck, Panda!”

“Sod off, dear, he’s a man, he can be alone for a few days. Besides, his sister came by to keep an eye on him. I would have… tied him to my bed as you put it to make sure he doesn’t do anything too taxing but he did chase out of the house. Claimed that I need to see my best friend and stop worrying about him lest I give the baby bad energies.”

“Hm, he does make a good point actually…”

The woman pushes his shoulder lightly, directing him towards the counter. “Yeah, yeah, unionise against me. Now be a dear and make me a coffee before we have to leave, will you?”

Regulus gives her a disgusted look, cringing just at the thought of having to serve his best friend the horrible, burned blend they use. “You know I can make you better coffee at home, right. I need you to tell me you know this, Panda.”

“Oh, I do. But you don’t have all the fun toppings and syrups at home, Reg! Now, I wanna try a… Latte with soy milk and,” she follows him behind the counter, breaking so many rules, to take a better look at the assortment of syrups they have. “Oh, mango! And peaches! That sounds lovely!”

Fixing the woman with a stare as dead and empty as he feels on the inside currently, Regulus grinds his teeth, putting his best customer smile on. “You make me absolutely sick, Pands.”

“Love you too, Reg!” she giggles, twirling on the beads around her finger as she moves back to where she is supposed to be standing.

“So, how long have you known about the pregnancy?” He empties the soy milk carton into the pitcher, the smell making him gag. Out of all the plant based milks to choose from, of course Pandora would go for the worst one. She is doing everything to spite him today.

Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet. “Almost two months.”

Regulus almost, almost drops the pitches and burns himself again. Because what the ever loving fuck?

“What the fuck, Panda? You didn’t fucking tell me? Why?”

Pandora throws a crumpled up napkin at him. “I wanted to tell you in real life, you bitch! And! Be glad, I didn’t even tell Evan yet. Xeno wants to see if he’ll sense it when he’s coming over next month with Barty. And if he doesn’t, we kinda said we’ll just gaslight him when he starts catching on that Xen is getting rounder.”

“You’re a horrible older sister.”

“Well,” Pandora shrugs one shoulder, making her braids bounce. “It will be kinda funny, don’t you think?”

He pushes the cup towards her, mindful to not spill any. “Oh, no, absolutely. But you know Barty will catch on as soon as he sees you too, right? He’s far too smart for his own good.”

“I’m actually counting on it. He definitely wants in on the gaslighting session.”

“As I said, horrible older sister. Aren’t you supposed to be against gaslighting? Or do you lose all morality and everything you learned for your degree when Evan comes into play.”

Pandora makes a sound similar to a duuh. Regulus smiles, feeling his heart soar with a love unmatched to any sense of adoration he’s felt. It’s a different love from the one he feels for James and Harry, more familiar, a love that’s deep within his bones, that settles itself over his heart, moulding, taking its shape.

The love he feels for Harry and James is more… aggressive. It took over him, made a home in between his cells, until it consumed him, until all he could feel was a deep sense of belonging with– to them.

Regulus’ heart aches at the thought of his lover, of his boy.

Still, when Pandora is done enjoying her drink, which she seems to be loving too much for it to render a normal reaction out of any human being, and she starts to ask him about his own man with a child, he promptly shuts her down.

“No, Panda,” he throws the same napkin that she aimed at him– reduce, reuse, recycle, “we are not talking about me. Today is about you and only you. And my godchild.” Regulus checks over her face, trying to see if he’s overstepping.

She beams at him. “Oh, Reg, little Luna will one hundred percent be yours. Barty and Evan can have the next one.”

“Little Luna…” Regulus feels tears well up in his eyes. “I already love them.”

“You and me both, Reg. You and me both.”

Remus is staring at him from across the table, gazing holes into Regulus’ face. He chews on the chip, picking another one from his plate just to not comment on it rudely. After he’s done with that one too, he finally fixes Remus back with a look that’s meant to be cold, cutting, but which probably feels just exasperated.

“What?”

They’re alone, having dinner. Sirius is in the bathroom, getting ready for date night, meaning that Regulus is left on puppy sitting duties. At his feet, the three troublemakers are silently waiting for any pieces to suspiciously drop in their mouths.

Remus doesn’t tear his eyes from him. If anything, the look on his face gets more calculating. After another beat, he says, “What are your intentions with our dear boy Jamie, son?”

Choking on a chip, Regulus has to cough it out from his throat. It lands pathetically on the table, wet, barely chewed. Hm, maybe he does have to chew his food more thoroughly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, son. Now,” Remus cracks his knuckles, putting on his best parent face. “Your intentions?”

“Did– Did Sirius put you up to this?”

Finally, Remus breaks character. “Yeah. Sorry, Reggie,” he smiles sheepishly, “he’s trying to decide if you’re good enough for James. Don’t worry, he’s playing double agent, I have to ask James the same thing.”

The chair provides a smooth fall as he all but melts on the floor, joining the dogs to hide in shame. “He is so fucking stupid. How the fuck am I related to him, my fucking God?”

“He’s an idiot, yeah, but he means well. Don’t worry,” the bathroom door opens, “I’ll tell him you passed your test with flying colours.”

Regulus just lets his head thud on the cold kitchen tiles, Dante rushing to his aid and licking every part of his face he can reach.

The second time he gets pulled aside for questioning is when he’s at work, because of course Sirius has to find a way to mess with him through his friends when Regulus is supposed to be professional and not curse the customers out.

It’s Dorcas, which feels like a betrayal once again. This one, however, cuts deeper than having Remus pretend to be a concerned father during dinner. To their credit, they seem just as done with it as Remus was, but Dorcas lacks the fundamental love that Remus feels for his brother.

Unlike him, she is in love with Marlene Mckinnon, maybe the only match for Sirius’ idiocy. So really, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Dorcas allowed herself to be influenced by her girlfriend and his brother’s evil plans. Although, it is a bit too generous to call them evil when they’re both too dumb to be evil.

They’re more like… slightly inconveniencing to Regulus. That’s about it.

They corner him when he’s out in the back, restocking bags of coffee beans he’d much rather throw out. Dorcas’ face is blank as they question him, with an equally monotone voice: “James? Plans?”

“Marry him.”

“Good. There some coffee spilled near the entrance. Go clean it up.”

And that’s the second time his intentions are being questioned.

The third and fourth time come immediately after that, as he’s cleaning spilled soy, because, once again, God hates him.

The moment Peter and Benjy step in, holding hands since they want to be gross and pollute everyone visually with their disgusting behaviour, Benjy throws a glove at him. It smells like chemicals, something Regulus does not appreciate one bit.

“Reg! I’m telling Sirius you want to kill James and steal all his money!” And then, Benjy is going in the back, throwing one last smirk at him and one kiss for Peter to catch.

The rat bastard does, with a gross gooey look in his eyes, almost mooning after his lover. Regulus considers, briefly, very much so, throwing the mop at Peter, maybe killing him in the process if God is merciful.

Peter is worse than Benjy, since he’s actually one of James’ mates and not just an in-law. He hovers behind Regulus, moving side to side as he waits for Regulus to give him at least a single glance. He waits, and waits and then waits some more.

Still, Regulus doesn’t turn.

Call him petty, call him an asshole, he doesn’t want to deal with Peter’s shit right now.

Peter doesn’t seem to catch the bad energies, as Xeno would put it. If anything, he’s humming a merry tune under his breath, before breaking the silence with his questions.

“So, Reggie Black, baby Black, love of James’ life and future fourth, and hopefully final, parent of one Harry Potter-Evans.”

Regulus’ eye twitches.

“What, Pettigrew? What else could you want from me that no one asked me yet?”

Peter hums. “I had this whole interview planned out, you see. I was really committed to the bit, because I do love Sirius and because it was funny as fuck, but honestly, I can’t really be bothered. So I’m cutting it short since I know you’re one of James’ romantic soulmates and all that shit and it would be stupid of me to ask what you’re planning to do with him.”

“I want–”

“To marry him, yes. I know that look in your eyes all too well, Reginald.”

“Okay, can you just cut it short? I have to clock out and then leave as far away from you as possible.”

“Ten quid and I’m done,” Peter says, deadpan and so serious Regulus has to stop in his steps.

“What?”

“Fifteen quid.”

Regulus pushes the mop in the blond’s arms, fully intending to have him break his fingers, if his neck isn’t an option. “Just get to the point already, Jesus.”

"Alright, God, you're just as bad as Sirius. Anyway, what I want you to know is that I have access to reptiles, and venomous creatures, and a fuckload of chemicals that may or may not be able to dissolve your body. Bones and all."

"Alright?" As far as threats go this one is pretty mild. Regulus heard more from Narcissa when he was a loud, annoying kid and she was dealing with migraines. "So you'll kill me and dispose of my body in a timely manner if I dare hurt James. Or Haz. Which I would never do and even if it gets to that I'll kill myself first. Done?"

"I mean, yeah, you kinda did tick all the boxes. You Blacks are so hard to threaten, this is so unfair." Still, he wears a smile on his face, kind and amused. If Regulus wasn't currently boiling in a murderous state, he'd even consider a future in which he replaces Remus for Peter as his favourite marauder.

Such a silly name.

"An abusive home growing up will do that to you. Have a nice day, Pettigrew. Good luck with your proposal."

He leaves Peter gaping behind him, as he struts towards the back to get changed and leave.

For some reason, he blames Dorcas, Marlene's interview comes through a series of texts that Regulus chooses to ignore.

If she wants to really nail her point, she can at least grow the balls to go against her girlfriend and find him to threaten him before a live audience.

Now, when it comes to Lily and Mary, their talk comes as they're supposed to drop Harry off at his house, where James will join them after he's done running some errands with his mom. They, like Remus, give the whole ordeal a try, before Harry starts shouting in joy as Dante jumps in his arms. And just like that, their attempt ends.

The two women stay for a coffee, now that James tattered and praised his brewing skills to anyone who'd listen, he has one too many visitors popping by for a quick drink.

Regulus is still unsure if he hates the unwanted guests or if the feelings that surge whenever the doorbell rings are good. Most of the time, he's leaning towards being infuriated, so the former usually wins.

As he's preparing their drinks, a matcha latte for Lily, he's taken to buying the powder to keep for the redhead, and a simple espresso for Mary. Regulus isn't saying he'd leave James for her, but…

At least Mary has the decency to not drink instant coffee, unlike his lover.

He is incredibly jealous of Lily whenever he thinks of it.

Lily is sitting across from him, sprawled on the sofa with a lapful of Harry and his new Legos. They were a gift from Barty, who saw the building blocks that form a knife and immediately decided on buying the boy two sets.

The knives don't leave Harry's hands. Ever. It's starting to worry Regulus.

On the floor, in between the redhead's legs and with one of Harry's hands fisted in her hair, Mary is playing with Dante, tricking him into running after a toy that she's still holding.

His fingers are going numb from the book he's gripping. He hasn't read a single word, despite having picked it up to avoid the inevitable.

"Reggie Black," the woman starts, finally throwing the pup a bone, literally. Dante bolts out of the room, barking happily after the squeaky bone.

There it is.

The inevitable.

Lily and Mary are both stubborn, incredibly so, to the point where Regulus is starting to doubt his own levels of stubbornness. He may be bad, he will admit that freely, but at least he knows when to give up. Especially if the other person involved is glaring daggers at him and quite honestly willing to kill him just to get out of the thing he has planned.

"You and Pete need to stop spending time together. You both started with Reggie Black, it's a bit worrying."

"It is what all of us call you, Reggie." Lily. She will be getting demoted if she doesn't start threading carefully.

"Except for Marls. She prefers baby Black."

"Which is adorable, but not when we're trying to have a serious conversation."

Regulus' mouth twitches into an almost smile. Damn his brother and his infuriating joke.

"And every time someone tries to have this serious conversation with me I tell them that Yes, I do plan to marry James. And Yes, I love both of them with a love that's greater than the universe itself. And that Of course I will make sure no one finds your body if you mention this to anyone. Really, it's getting repetitive and I'm starting to dread the thought of James' friends."

There is a moment of silence that settles over his apartment. Harry is fascinated by his knives, so there is no way he processed what Regulus just said. Even Dante stopped biting his toy in the hallway.

It's Lily that breaks it.

"You want to marry James?"

Regulus swallows the bile rising in his throat.

"That's great, Reggie. I'll help you pick a ring if you want!"

And just like that, the anxiety that almost made him throw up dissipates.

"Ring!" Harry claps, because of course he does.

Marlene texts him again a few days later. He's cuddling with James, after they've already put Harry to bed. There is a documentary on, more for the background buzz than for the information provided, but it's enough for James' head to keep falling forward, heavy with sleep.

Regulus pushes it back gently, before just as softly waking his sun up to move him to his bedroom.

He has an early class tomorrow and while he'd love to wake his two boys up with a hot breakfast, he doesn't want to burden them with his 5 A.M alarm.

Dorcas' Marlene (soon to be blocked)

bby black.

bby blk anser

answr

i hav to milk you

mill*

koll*

k i l l

pls

i actiallu meant takj

pls

pls im teh omly one peft

pls

Regulus blocks her and quickly sends an apology to Dorcas, followed by a screenshot of the mind numbing messages.

Dorcas responds simply with a saluting emoji.

Sirius barges into his apartment, louder than ever, scaring his poor Dante from the little nap he was taking on Regulus' chest. He's a bit too big for sleeping there without almost crushing his ribs, but the little pup is still so small, still Regulus' little boy. What are a few broken ribs when he can ensure Dante sleeps comfortably.

Back to the bigger problem at hand, his living room is full of his brother and all of his noises. They're not as noisy as they tend to be sometimes, quite manageable actually, but Regulus knows this means trouble.

At last, the last enemy is waiting for him.

He cannot wait to tell his brother to fuck off, maybe even throw in a few tears for a laugh. Regulus doesn't have time to urge the tears to come out.

Sirius stops him.

"Get dressed," he orders, letting himself fall on the sofa. "We have plans."

"We do?"

His brother nods. Doesn't give him anything else. He just picks Dante up and nods towards the younger's room.

"Casual, but nice enough. Don't look like a slag."

Over his shoulder, he throws. "We both know you're the slag, brother dear."

He opts for a simple black shirt, covers it with one of Remus' nicer sweaters, one that doesn't have any holes in it from constant use, and black pants. He would say he looks rather smart, but Lord above knows what Sirius has in mind when he thinks about nice enough.

Sirius is still comfortably sat on his sofa, giving Dante all the kisses he missed in the three days the two haven't seen each other. When he looks up from the dog's belly, Sirius hums affirmatively, pleased with how his brother looks.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going now?"

Regulus hates his brother and the glint that's glimmering in his eyes. It's pure evil.

"If I do that, you'll run away. I need to make sure you're really coming, otherwise this will all be a disaster."

Regulus squints at his idiot brother. "What do you have planned, arsehole?"

Sirius squints back, but there's an unmistakable glee in his grey eyes. He giggles. "Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?"

Ignoring his brother, he leans in to kiss Dante goodbye.

He is still ignoring him as Regulus puts his shoes on and grabs his keys. The mountain of keychains jingle loudly, a reminder of all the memories held on just a few rings.

Sirius is still being ignored while he's getting ready to lock the door, going as far as giving him a fright and almost locking him in just to teach him a lesson. The problem with that is that Sirius would raid his fridge and try to unionise with Dante and that is not something he's willing to deal with.

In the parking place that technically belongs to Regulus, Sirius’ car waits for them. If Regulus hated his brother, he'd slam a hand down on his baby, but the car didn't actually do anything to him. It's only its owner that makes Regulus want to tear his hair out. \

The inside of Sirius’ car smells like cigarettes and the cologne Remus and Sirius share, although he doubts Remus has any say in it with how sticky his brother’s fingers are when it comes to his boyfriend. It brings a deep sense of comfort to Regulus; if he could, he’d bathe in the scent, just to have a constant reminder of his brother and his presence in the younger’s life.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

Sirius gives him a look, brief yet playful. It makes Regulus’ stomach tighten in heavy knots. “Do you trust me, Reggie?”

Regulus looks at his brother. Contemplates the implications of his true answer. Rethinks his entire life, every little thing that led to this exact moment. Says, “Absolutely not, Siri.”

And Sirius knows he is a big, fat liar.

They pull up to a house, after what may have been hours due to the horrible traffic they’ve been blessed with. But not just any house. Regulus knows this house. He knows it because Sirius lived there after running away, because his brother took him here to meet his new family.

It’s the Potter’s house.

Regulus will strangle his brother in approximately five seconds.

“No,” Regulus hisses. “No, whatever you have planned we’re not doing it and you’re taking me back home or so help me, arsehole, I’m walking back to my flat.”

“Stop being dramatic,” his brother rolls his eyes. hand already settled to open the door and step out. “They love you, Monty’s been asking about you constantly, and James and Harry are also here. It’s a family dinner.”

His world stops.

Family.

Family.

Not just his brother, who will always be his brother, no matter what, but James and Harry and loving parents. Loving parents who care about him and who hug him gently when he initiates the touch and who offer him space when he needs it. Who cooked for him food that made him feel warm on the inside, who wanted to listen to him talk about his interests.

“They loved me when I wasn’t dating their son. What if they will end up hating me for it? What if they think I’m not good enough for Harry and James? Sirius, I can’t go through that…”

“We can leave if you’re starting to feel uncomfortable or if it’s too much. But I think you should take part in this, Reggie. They want you there, I promise you.”

Regulus looks at his brother, looks at the house, back to his brother, back to the house. He remains focused on the house, brain yelling at him to get as far away from it as possible. He nods.

“I trust you.”

This time, Sirius can tell his younger brother is speaking the truth.

The inside of the Potter house is just as warm as James’ place, filled with pictures upon pictures of beaming people, with lit candles and plants on every surface. It smells like cinnamon and cloves and food made with love. Regulus' heart bursts as soon as he steps foot in, cold hands burning from the love that’s wrapping tight around him, squeezing, squeezing.

Euphemia Potter is a woman who in another world must have killed people with how tight her hugs are. And yet, Regulus feels safe in her arms.

“Oh, how I have missed you,” she whispers in his hair, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Look at you, dear,” Effie’s hands are light where they touch his face, “you grew so much. Such a handsome man you are!”

Regulus blushes. A poor attempt to hide it with a laugh. A nervous look around for Sirius or James. “You’ve seen me a few months ago, Effie…”

“Too long! You need to stop by more often! Just call and Monty and I will have a feast ready for you, dear.”

“With palak paneer?” He doesn’t want to sound too hopeful over the hypothetical dinner, but he’d give anything to eat Effie’s palak paneer, anything.

“With all the paneer you can eat, honey.”

Staring into Effie’s eyes is like looking into a pool of molten adoration, of feelings that are still too big for his body and that he will never fully express, but which the woman can so easily show with her eyes. Regulus hugs her again, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until she’s laughing gleefully and lightly smacking his arms.

He can never put into words the love he has for her and her husband, but Regulus hopes it’s enough.

“Shoo, go to your favourite Potter and tell Monty all about your books, love.”

From somewhere in the house, James whines loudly, throwing a few accusatory words at his mother in her native language. The Punjabi rolls off the older’s tongue and tightens around Regulus’ soul. It’s not often James speaks it, although he caught the man speaking it around Harry every now and again.

Hearing James talk in his native tongue makes Regulus feel giddy, head full of thoughts of near futures where he’s able to listen to the man converse with his son, of entering the kitchen and seeing them argue in Punjabi, of fighting James on which language Harry will love more, Punjabi or French.

He wants that.

He wants it so bad.

Arms wrap around his waist, James’ head coming to rest on top of his shoulder to pout down at his mother as she scolds him. There is nothing left for him but to lean back, place his hands atop of James’ and take advantage of the warmth.

Always so warm.

“Love, tell maa that I’m your favourite Potter!”

And that would simply make Regulus a liar, something he can’t be in front of Effie, not when he wants to make sure that she won’t grow to hate him.

He laughs, a melodious sound that’s enough for James to tighten his hold on him, for his fingers to try and slide under his sweater. The little shit knows no shame, not even in front of his mother.

Regulus swats his hands away, feeling Euphemia’s eyes study the two of them. Her gaze is tender, calculating, moving rapidly from each place where they are touching.

His body is burning.

Then she’s smiling and rushing them into the kitchen, once more scolding James.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is bathed in hues of orange and reds, a clear giveaway where James got his love of the colour from. At the small table, Monty is seated, Harry bouncing in his lap, Sirius trying to distract him by flipping a coin in front of the boy. Harry doesn’t seem impressed, not even interested, if Regulus is being honest with how he’s turning in his grandpa’s lap, squirming left and right.

Regulus knows what this means, although he doesn’t doubt the rest of them know it as well, still, he inches closer to the boy, to catch him when–

Harry almost falls on the hard floor.

Almost, because Sirius and Regulus reach out to catch him at the same time.

The three do end up falling, but Harry has the two Black brothers to cushion his fall, all while Monty is chuckling to himself at the ridiculousness of it.

Harry loves to fall from people’s laps, it’s a new development, yet it seems to bring him insane amounts of joy when he ends up on the ground, free to crawl away.

Regulus is still recovering from the first time the boy did it to him. His heart will never be the same.

From above them, Monty says, “Is the floor comfortable, boys?”

“Fleamont, stop teasing them, they saved the boy!”

“Oh, darling, a kid has to take a few tumbles. Isn’t that right, son?” He directs the question to James, who’s been stuck staring at the three. He stops just to frown at his father, before resuming the previous activity, seemingly without processing what’s been asked of him.

That explains so much.

No wonder James is the way he is, when his father let him fall and hit his head. His brain must have suffered irrevocable damage from such a young age. Regulus would burn down the country before he lets Harry end up like his father.

He holds onto the young child just a smidge tighter.

It’s Sirius who whines now, right in Regulus’ ear, permanently breaking his eardrums. “Ba, now Reggie will never let Haz out of his sight. I’ll never get to hold him again!”

Monty leans out of his chair to pat Sirius’ head twice. “There, there. You’ll manage.”

“I’ll die!”

A moment later, Harry is crawling out of his arms and into Sirius’ space, entertained by the loud noises his godfather is making. A child is a child and they’ll always stick together, is what Regulus learned to accept since having both Harry and his brother in his life.

Left without a child to fret over, Regulus stares uselessly around him, unsure of whether to stand up or accept defeat and pout until Harry comes back. Ultimately, the inviting smell of masala chai is all he needs to stand and help Effie serve it.

From where James remained frozen, a needy sort of sound escapes the man as soon as Regulus is within grabbing distance, as if his presence alone was enough to break James out of the spell he was under. One second Regulus is placing a mug of steaming chai on the table, right next to Monty’s hand, and the next James is pulling him in his arms.

Again.

“Mon soleil, let me help your mom. You have me all for yourself at home, anyway.”

Pressing a kiss to Regulus’ neck, James hums, sounding incredibly upset by the true statement. “Not true. Sometimes you’re too busy for me. ‘Sides, your brother made all your friends threaten me and now I swear I can feel Barty’s eyes on me at all times. He said he’d kill me if I don’t make you feel loved. I think he’d do it just because… So I don’t really wanna test it.”

Regulus turns his head, hiding a smile into James’ hair. The spices Effie used to make dinner stuck to his locks, and Regulus can’t help but inhale the smell deeply.

“He would. But I can ask him to spare you if you’re nice.”

“I can be nice,” James says, voice deepening. “I can be so nice, love.”

“If it makes you feel any better, your best friend made all your friends threaten me too. But they kinda suck at it. Peter was the closest who gave it a go, but again, he couldn’t kill a fly if he tried to.”

“Not even Lily?”

“Not even her.”

James lifts his head, aiming a look at Sirius, who isn’t paying them a single thought. He’s talking quietly with Monty, avoiding their direction at any cost.

“So, now it’s just Siri…”

“And Marlene for me, but I kind of blocked her.” James gives him a shocked look. “Yes, that just leaves my brother.” Chuckling, Regulus feels all the tension melt away from his body. His lover’s arms are a comforting place to be caged in, even though the guilt of not helping Effie is brewing in his chest. “To be honest, I think he’s a bit bored of the charade. He did have to wait quite a bit until he got us together to do his dramatic act.”

James hums. “You may be right… I doubt he’s as excited about it as he must have been when he first thought of it.”

A light kiss on James’ cheek and then he’s pushing himself out of his Heaven. “You won’t die, not by Barty’s hands, not by Sirius’. Can I go help your mom now, soleil?”

And James drives a hard bargain, for he pouts and goes as far as to pull his lip between his teeth, something he knows Regulus can’t resist. He kisses him, just to save his heart.

Against Regulus’ lips, in the doorway leading to the Potter’s living room, surrounded by the lovely scent of Effie’s cooking, James whispers, “I love you.”

And against James’ lips, in the doorway leading to his childhood living room, surrounded by the laughter of James’ parents, Sirius’ noisy complaint and Harry’s Harry-noises, Regulus whispers back, “I love you too.”

Regulus' cold hands, for once in his life, feel comfortable hidden under James’ sweater.

Later that same night, after they retreat to James’ bedroom, bellies full and cheeks hurting, Regulus is lying comfortably on top of his lover. James’ fingers are threading through his hair, untangling some of the curls in their wake.

It’s something he never would have allowed himself to feel, a love so pure and untouched by the rotten inside him that it shines bright.

In the quiet of the night, lips pressed to his lover’s neck, Regulus breaks the silence, feeling the residue of Sirius’ evilness reaching him.

“You never asked me to be your lover…”

For a moment, Regulus is sure James must have fallen asleep, with how he’s not answering him. But then he shifts underneath him and says, confused, “What?”

Humming, Regulus sneaks a finger under the cotton of James’ faded shirt, playing with the dark hair that’s leading to the waistband of his equally faded pants. He tugs on the hair when James tugs on his.

“You just jumped into the relationship after we kissed. I was expecting to be wined and dined, you know? And then my wine and dine, courtship never came and I realised you assumed we were already dating.”

Again, James says, “What?” He sounds even more confused than before, borderline desperate for an answer that’s clear. “I did!”

“Did not!”

“Did!”

“James, my sun, you never asked.”

James gapes at him, mouth wide open in pure shock. “I wanted to… Must’ve slipped my mind…”

Regulus can’t help it, he laughs. It must be loud enough to wake the whole house up, but he doesn’t care. Of course his boyfriend forgot. Of course, the brain damage from falling as a child must have messed up his ability to remember such details about entering a relationship.

In response to his giggling, James grumbles, making a sound that resembles too much a mocking mememememe.

“I’ll wine and dine you so hard,” he states, eyes fixed on Regulus’ flushed face. “You’ll have no choice but to agree to be mine.”

Regulus shakes his head. Unbelievable, this man of his dreams. Honestly, he’s simply unmatched. “You’re such an idiot. I love you, I’m already yours, dumbass.”

“No, no,” James says, with a finality in his voice, in spite of the matching colour on his cheeks. “I’ll court you. You deserve it.”

“Whatever you say, my sun.”

Still, Regulus won’t say no to a nice dinner, maybe one that will end with him finally fucking the hot DILF that stole his heart in a matter of seconds.

He deserves it.

Chapter Text

Three years later

Regulus doesn’t get a moment to come to, before he feels the weight of an almost six year old on him, breath wheezing out as Harry jumps up and down, up and down, up and down his stomach.

“Papa! Papa! Papa!” Each jump is joined by another screech, small hands grabbing at Regulus’ cover, pulling it off his face. “Papa, you promised! Wake up! Papa!”

For one more second, he allows himself to keep his eyes closed. As he lies there, pretending to still be asleep in spite of the screams of his son, Harry quiets down, enough for the man to grab him and engulf the boy into a hug.

“I promised? What did I promise, mon ange, hm?” He can’t help it; his fingers poke and poke at Harry’s sides, taking advantage of how ticklish the boy is. “Be a dear and remind me.”

In his arms, Harry giggles, hiding his face in the thick blanket to muffle the loud yelps as Regulus continues to tickle him. Each giggle brings him so much joy, puts another twist in his stomach, a happiness unmatched spreading through his chest. Regulus loves hearing Harry laugh, it’s his favourite thing.

“You– you promised–” Harry stops himself with a shout, ducking under the blanket to escape his father’s torturous fingers. “You promised me pancakes! And you promised daddy you’ll wait for him with pancakes too! Soooooooo, it’s double the promise. Uncle Pad told me when you have double the promise you get four times the things you want!”

Regulus hums, stretching out for his phone. He quickly checks for any messages from James, but at the lack of notifications he puts it back, a pout on his lips. “Did he now? Well, your uncle is quite stupid so you shouldn’t listen to him.”

“Okay!”

It doesn’t take a lot to convince Harry that something is the exact way his father tells him it is. He adores Regulus, even after he stopped babbling his name every time he saw him, and whatever Regulus says, Harry takes it as gospel. Sirius cried when he found out he’s been replaced as the favourite Black in Harry’s world. Marlene also cried when she saw that Harry no longer believed her bullshit without questioning it.

As the two make their way out of bed, Harry clinging to Regulus’ neck, chubby legs wrapped tight around his waist and excitement pouring out of him, Regulus can’t help but long for James’ arrival. The forty eight hour shifts are the worst when he’s so attached to his lover that even a few minutes away from him feels like losing oxygen, but having Harry helps. It’s so much better not being alone, having Harry’s shouts and his demands of another episode of Paw Patrol fill the emptiness of their house.

Awoken by the commotion, Dante joins them, stopping every now and again to yawn. He's still small enough to barely reach Regulus' knees, yet he yaps and jumps to try and be included in the journey.

Which is how Regulus finds himself making his way into the kitchen, his son resting on one hip, his dog on the other. He has to deposit one of his boys on the counter, the less furry one, while Dante gets placed right in front of his bowl, empty, soon to be full of kibble.

“Now, my little chef, what do you say we put in these pancakes? Blueberries? Chocolate? Should we keep them simple like your daddy likes them?” Harry pulls a face at that. “Alright, alright, no simple pancakes for you. Your choice, my liege?”

The boy pretends to think, stroking his invisible beard, deep in thought. After what feels like ages, time in which Regulus searches the pantry for flour and sugar, Harry finally decides. He shouts, with all his might, “Chocolate!”

“Chocolate chips it is, mon ange!”

He has to take a detour, abandoning the walk to the fridge to go back and grab the chocolate chips. Regulus reaches for the sprinkles as well, because he knows Harry will demand his pancakes full of rainbows too.

Once he has all the ingredients out, within Harry’s reach, he watches in awe as his boy grabs one of the eggs, his small hands fumbling, but with an unparalleled determination, he manages to crack one in the bowl. No shell in sight. Regulus pats his son gently on the head, praising him.

“Papa, papa! Did you see? I didn’t get any shells in! I’m as good as daddy!”

“You are better than your father,” he laughs, booping Harry on the nose. The child makes a delighted noise, face flushed. “Do you want to whisk the batter or do you want to choose the prettiest chips for your pancakes?”

Harry stops, unsure. This time, the options presented seem to be too big for him, the boy clearly excited to do both.

“How about you first help me make the batter and then you can choose the chips. Sounds good, my love?”

This time, Harry nods, seemingly relieved that his father made the choice for him.

As Harry gleefully stirs the rest of the ingredients in, Regulus feels his heart swell, moments like this making him feel that everything was worth the struggle in the end. A house that’s never truly quiet, the smell of food being cooked, or burned, or stolen from Sirius and Remus’ place when James is feeling extra. The warmth of a promise, of a child’s laughter ringing in his ears, of a dog’s barks alongside. The sun light catching in the green stone of a ring adorning his finger.

A promise, a promise, a promise. 

Having finished his breakfast, Dante seems to sense the flurry of activity around him. He leaps onto the kitchen chair, wagging tail hitting Harry’s leg while he tries to snatch some of the chocolate chips from the open bag. Regulus has to bonk him out of the way, tutting at the dog as he whines at his audacity.

Regulus glances at the clock. James should be off his shift soon. If he’s lucky, he can get home while there are still pancakes for him.

“Harry, you’re doing a fantastic job,” he says, ruffling his son’s hair. “I think daddy will be very happy with the pancakes. And, oh–” Regulus leans in, looking at the straight line of chocolate chips Harry arranged. “Those look amazing! The prettiest I’ve seen!”

Harry beams, proudly showing the gap where his baby tooth once was. “You think?”

“I know!” Regulus smiles back.

Just as Regulus utters those words, the front door swings open. It takes a few moments for James to step into the kitchen, exhausted from his shift, sleep tugging at the corner of his eyes. Still, he brightens up immediately as he sees his three boys, one more glad than the other to see him.

“You were fast today,” Regulus tells him, in lieu of a greeting. “Missed us too much?”

In two large steps, James stops in front of the younger man, engulfing him in a hug that’s enough of an answer. “So much. I’m never going to work again. Ever.”

Regulus lets him have his fill, lifting an arm when he feels Harry crawl towards them, squirming his way in between his parents.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! We’re making pancakes! I chose the bestest chocolate for you!”

“He did,” Regulus agrees, giving James a light push. Not too far away, never too far, not after two days of having him out of his reach. Regulus places his hand on James’ cheek, feeling the warmth under his touch. “So go shower and then join us. You can sleep after you get some food in you, alright?”

Leaning into his lover’s touch, James nods. A kiss on the inside of Regulus’ palm, soft yet revering.

“I love you.”

Regulus smiles, “And I, you.”