Chapter Text
Regulus Black had never been, and is not, a good flyer.
Something about hundreds of people being packed together like sardines in a cold metal tin, with no Wi-Fi, no fresh air, and certainly no privacy offended him on a spiritual level.
To be frank, planes and airports made Regulus want to slit his throat a thousand times over.
And yet here he was, boarding flight 981 from Paris to London, with everything he owned crammed into a suitcase and his entire future encapsulated in a single ticket crumpled between pale fingers.
This was not how he had envisioned spending his 20th birthday.
Not that the Blacks had ever spared a thought for birthdays, anyway.
The flight attendant at the front of the plane is saying something that might be a thank you or a question, but Regulus made no move to take off his headphones, the only creature comfort he allows himself. Instead, he nods and continues down the aisle, the stench of sweat and recycled air hitting him with full force.
Someone get him rope and a chair.
He moves quickly towards his seat, shoulders tight as he squeezes past screaming children and arguing parents, ignoring the glances people cast at him.
He knows what he looks like, and he knows very well how people can react to it, and he’s been reminded of it constantly. According to his mother, the ideal man is six foot, broad shouldered, immaculately kept hair that falls no further than the ears, and a bright, charming smile.
Regulus, of course, could not be further from those, and one would expect that since he doesn’t fit any of those standards, his mother would make it her life mission to change and meld Regulus into the perfect man. Except, he had never been forced or asked to change, because to Walburga, Regulus is, and will always be, Regina Arcturus Black.
She had never accepted Regulus, not since he tried to come out to her three years ago, and Regulus had never really expected her too. She had put all mentions of him into a locked box in her mind and threw the key down into the abyss. To her, Regulus did not exist. To her, Regina was a puppet just waiting for someone to grab the strings.
A sharp cough snaps him out of his head, and he realises with a hot flush of embarrassment that he’s been blocking the aisle.
“Sorry,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse.
The man waiting behind him barely acknowledges it, already shoving past with a muttered complaint in French. If Regulus can appreciate one thing about the French language, it would be its never-failing ability to make someone feel like absolute shit. He continues down the aisle until he finally finds seat 20B. Talk about irony.
Middle seat.
Fuck no.
No. Nope. Non. Regulus is not doing this. He’s not going to submit himself to the torture that is the middle seat, he simply refuses.
There’s no one sitting in the row yet, so Regulus lifts his chin and sets his shoulders, and plops himself right down into the window seat. Maybe it makes him entitled. Regulus could not give a flying fuck.
Regulus pulls his sleeves over his hands and stares out the tiny oval window, jaw tight as more passenger's filter in. A child somewhere near the front starts crying, loud and shrill enough to make his eye twitch.
“Fuck right off,” he growls to himself. “We’re all going to die.”
A soft laugh interrupts his thoughts, and Regulus startles, glancing over to the aisle where a woman stands. She’s older. Maybe mid-forties. Regulus doesn’t like her.
“First time flying?” she asks in French.
Regulus stares.
The woman blinks a few times, clearly put off by the lack of response. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re in my seat.”
The woman’s smile falters, a hand coming up to tuck some air behind her ear. “I really am sorry, but I booked that seat specifically-”
Regulus sneers, a look his mother would be particularly proud of, and the woman reached up to clutch her necklace, eyes wide with shock, and she sits in the aisle seat with a great deal of reluctance, angrily muttering to herself when she sits.
Does it make Regulus an asshole? Of course. Does Regulus care? No. It’s his birthday, for fucks sake, cut him some slack.
The plane continues filling up, noise swelling. Overhead compartments slam and seatbelts click. Someone nearby is eating tuna, which should genuinely qualify as a criminal offence in enclosed spaces.
Regulus closes his eyes.
In for four.
Hold for four.
Out for four.
It worked sometimes, not now, though. Now, all he can think about is the fact that he's really doing this.
He left. He actually left.
Regulus had waited until three in the morning, taken the emergency cash he’d hidden over the years, packed two suitcases, and walked out of Grimmauld Place.
He’d like to say he did it without looking back, but he had looked. In fact, he’d stopped and waited. A silly, naive part of him had wished someone would run after him, stop him, pull him back and say tell him to stay, that he was loved, that he was accepted. Stupid Regulus.
The intercom crackled overhead, the pilot beginning the safety announcement, but Regulus turns up the volume of his music, head falling against the window, neck bent in a way that will leave it half paralysed tomorrow, and lets his eyes drift shut as the plane starts to move.
///
Regulus jolts awake to the sound of the pilot announcing that they have arrived and will land in ten minutes. His headphones had somehow slipped off during his nap, which explains why his sleep was so rudely interrupted
He sits up a bit, looking out the window. Outside, the sky is a soulless, dull grey, but what else is to be expected from London? The city slowly emerges beneath the clouds in patches, roads and tiny cars coming into sight. The reality of everything hits him all at once, all over again.
It hits him finally that he’s here for good, starting a new life.
He’s going to see Sirius.
That’s what terrifies him right to the very core. The idea that they won't be separated any more, he’ll finally have his brother for good. It’s too much, too overwhelming. too much, too overwhelming.
They talk, of course. Sirius is adamant on calling every single day without fail, but it’s not the same as seeing him. Living with him. And that’s what he’s going to be doing. Moving in with Sirius and his brother-in-law (whom he loves very much.)
Sirius had left when Regulus was 13 and he was 23. If the age gap wasn’t explanation enough, even those 13 years they had together they never really got to form a proper relationship. Sirius was a rebellious teenager whilst Regulus was in diapers. And yet Regulus has never, and never will, love anyone more.
Sirius was his brother, his friend, his parent, the person he laughed with, the person he cried with, the person he hit and punched and screamed at, the person who was his everything. Regulus would not be alive if it weren’t for him.
And yet guilt racks every inch of his body, because Regulus knows deep down that Sirius would have left the house on his 18th birthday, but Regulus had begged him. He’d gotten down on his knees and begged Sirius with everything in his being, and Sirius gave in immediately, and he’d stayed until he broke. What more could Regulus have asked for?
The jolts of the plane make him snap his head up, and he realises they’ve landed. Maybe he should think about depressing things more when he flies, it seems to drown out the fear.
Everyone immediately stands the second the seatbelt sign turns off, because apparently human beings lose all rational thought on planes.
Regulus stays seated.
He wonders what would happen if he stayed on the plane. Would they take him back to Paris? Would they force him off? He doesn’t know. He can wait to find out, or he can grab his bags, and take his ass off this plane and start a new life.
Regulus sits, and sits, and sits.
Five minutes later, Regulus is walking through the terminal.
///
This is it. He’s gotten his bags, done every possible thing to procrastinate leaving, and now, his time has run out. He walks embarrassingly slowly out the doors towards the parking lot, and he barely has time to process what is happening before a body collides into him.
The smell of coffee and something spicy hits him first. Then the long black hair in his face. Then the leather under his hands.
Sirius.
Sirius wraps around him like he’s trying to physically fuse them together, arms crushing tight around Regulus’ shoulders while Regulus lets out a strangled noise that could have been a gasp or a sob.
“You’re here,” Sirius says breathlessly, voice muffled against his neck. “Holy fucking shit, you’re here-”
Something inside Regulus cracks. His suitcase slips from his hand and hits the pavement with a clatter, and he grabs Sirius back hard.
“Oh my god,” Sirus keeps saying, laughing a little hysterically. “I didn’t think you’d come. I mean I knew you were coming, I just didn’t actually know-”
“Yes, well, deal with it. I’m here.” Regulus mumbles weakly.
Sirius pulls back to look at him, and Regulus feels at home. He brings one hand up to cup Regulus’ cheek and whispers, “Happy birthday.”
That’s what finally does it.
Regulus makes a quiet, awful sound in the back of his throat and suddenly he’s crying.
“Oh, star – hey, hey-”
“Don’t call me that,” Regulus chokes out, burying his head into Sirius’ neck.
“You’re literally sobbing in Heathrow parking lot right now; I’ll call you whatever I want.”
“I am not sobbing-”
“You absolutely are.”
Regulus pulls back and wipes furiously at his face, making Sirius chuckle.
There’s a moment where they just stare at each other properly for the first time in seven years.
Sirius looks older. Not physically, he always looks immaculate. Just... happier. His hair is longer, now well past his shoulders, yet still those same messy, dark waves. He’s wearing his leather jacket and low waisted black pants that seem to be painted on. Rings adorning every finger. He looks free.
And for the first time in his life, Regulus thinks maybe freedom could exist for him too.
After a moment, Sirius clears his throat, eyes glistening. “Right, ok,” he claps his hands together, taking a step back. “Let’s get in the car so we can have a huge mope in privacy.”
He clears his throat again, swinging his head back and forth to get the hair out of his eyes. Regulus loves him.
“I know I’m thirty and flirty, but can we stop staring and help me with your suitcases?”
Regulus scoffs, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands, but he does reach down and pick one up, Sirius taking the other, grabbing Regulus’ hand with his free one.
Rain starts tapping steadily against the pavement as Sirius drags Regulus across the parking lot, the suitcases bumping along behind them.
“Slow down a bit,” Regulus complains, being pulled along at a pace far too fast and nearly getting whipped in the face by Sirius’ curls. “You walk like a greyhound on crack.”
“I’m excited. Sue me.”
“You’re clinically insane.”
Sirius cackles, looking over his shoulder. “I have the same blood as you, good luck.”
With that he turns back around, practically bouncing as he yanks Regulus’ suitcase behind him, destroying all the precious Paris skincare Regulus smuggled back.
They walk for a few minutes, Sirius chatting excitedly about all the things they’re going to do, and Regulus can’t help but take it all with a pinch of salt. How can this be true? How can Sirius just accept Regulus into his life? He’s had seven years to create an entirely knew family, how does Regulus fit into that?
Those thoughts are interrupted by Sirius coming to a halt, smiling ear from ear as he points at a black car sitting a few rows down beneath the dim orange glow of parking lot lights.
And leaning against it-
“Oh,” Regulus says automatically.
Remus Lupin straightens from where he’d been reading a book, and somehow, he’s grown even taller than Regulus remembers.
That man is genuinely built like a fucking tree.
He must be at least six foot six. He towers over both him and Sirius absurdly, body covered by a dark trench coat, mousy brown curls slightly damp.
The moment he looks up and smiles, Sirius immediately melts. Like actually melts.
Regulus might gag.
Sirius abandons the suitcase and marches straight over to him, and Regulus watches in mild horror as Sirius walks directly into Remus’ space like he owns it.
“Hi, cariad,” Remus says, almost too quietly for Regulus to hear, not that he knows what ‘cariad’ means, anyway. A vague memory sparks up and he remembers that Remus is welsh.
Sirius says something back which makes both laugh, and Remus bends to kiss Sirius’ forehead.
Regulus makes a violent gagging noise.
Neither of them acknowledge it. Remus actually smiles against Sirius’s hair.
“You hear something?” He asks mildly.
“Probably just airport ambience,” Sirius says, eyes crinkled.
Regulus stares at them. “I’m getting back on the plane.
Remus’ grin widens as he steps away from Sirius and looks properly at Regulus for the first time not over the phone.
“There he is,” he says. “I knew you were small but the camera really doesn’t show just how small.”
Regulus narrows his eyes. “Wow aren’t you just the politest gentleman I’ve ever seen. Siri you’ve chose so well.”
Sirius bursts out laughing, and Remus raises an eyebrow.
“You are eye level with my chest,” Remus points out. “You make your brother look like a giant and he’s five foot four.”
“He’s got you there,” Sirius cackles.
“Traitor,” Regulus growls whilst Remus chuckles.
They stand there for a moment, rain pattering softly against the concrete around them, headlights streaking across wet asphalt.
And then Remus’ expression softens just slightly. The teasing fades into something softer, and Regulus is suddenly sixteen again, being introduced to his brother's fiancé for the first time.
Remus looks at him for another second before opening his arms a little. “C’mere, then.”
Regulus blinks. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I did, I’m just choosing to ignore you.”
But Remus is still standing there waiting. It makes something painful twist under his ribs.
“Oh, for fucks sake,” Sirius mutters fondly, walking over to Regulus and shoving his shoulders. “Just give my husband a hug before you start crying again.”
“I was not crying-”
“Regulus. Go.”
Regulus glares at him, but gives in and awkwardly, stiff as a board, steps forward.
Remus immediately folds around him.
And Jesus Christ that man is warm. One massive arm wrap across Regulus’ shoulders while the other settles carefully between his shoulder blades, solid and steady.
It’s a little awkward at first, giving their foot and four inches height difference, but it works.
“Aw.”
Regulus pulls back just enough to see Sirius watching them with the sappiest expression Regulus has ever seen in his life. Actually disgusting.
“Oh my god,” Regulus mutters, pulling fully away. “Stop looking at us like that.”
“Like what?” Sirius asks innocently.
“Like you’re about to cry because we hugged.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would,” Remus chuckles.
The tension eases as Sirius grabs both suitcases, struggling before Remus takes them off his hands. “Right!” He announces loudly. “Everybody into the car before Regulus runs back to Paris.”
Remus opens the passenger door for Sirius, who beams up at him, hopping up to peck him as he ducks in. Regulus circles towards the backdoor, but before he can open the door, Remus reaches over his head and pulls it open.
Regulus opens his mouth to say something, but Remus just smiles. “Get in the car, Regulus.”
So Regulus just ducks into the backseat before anyone can see his expression properly.
From the front seat, Remus starts the engine, winking at Regulus in the rearview mirror.
Rain streaks across the windshield as the car pulls smoothly out of the parking space, Heathrow glowing behind them in blurry orange lights.
Regulus watches it disappear through the glass.
“Regulus?” Sirius says, turning around in his seat to look at him.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Regulus blinks. Stares for a minute.
“I love you, too.”
Sirius beams from ear to ear, and Regulus can see Remus trying to repress a smile .
“So,” Regulus says, trying to move on from the vulnerable moment. “What does my room look like?”
At that, the car goes silent. Remus and Sirius turning to look at each other for a minute.
“Yeah, so, about that,” Sirius starts, but no, Regulus isn’t doing this.
“Oh, fuck, no. Tell me.” Regulus groans, throwing his head back.
“Don’t freak out, but the room may or may not have a bad case of black mold.”
Wow. Happy birthday Regulus.
Regulus takes a deep breath, because new life, new him. No freak outs from Regulus today.
“Ok, so where am I staying?”
Sirius starts to grin again, something gleaming in his eyes that could be mischief.
“You’re staying with... drum roll please.”
Regulus does not drum roll.
“James motherfucking Potter!”
He’s going back to Paris.