etched into my skin

The flat reeked of cigarette smoke, stale takeout, and a sharp, chemical tang of paint thinner, a trifecta that, in Regulus' opinion, summed up the three of them rather perfectly. Chaotic. Unfiltered. Somehow still standing.

He was sprawled sideways across the battered leather sofa, one leg hooked over the armrest, sketchbook propped against his knee. His pen moved in slow, deliberate strokes, sketching something aimless and abstract, more about keeping his hands busy than anything else.

Across the room, Barty was upside down in the armchair again, legs dangling over the back, phone held above his face as he flicked through something mindless with twitchy fingers. His shirt had ridden up, revealing a mess of sharp ribs and bruised skin like half-finished graffiti.

Evan had claimed the windowsill, as always, perched with one foot tucked under him, the other tapping against the frame to some internal rhythm. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, the ash falling into a chipped coffee mug on the ledge beside him. The window was cracked open, but it didn't help much. The smoke clung to everything.

It was an ordinary Thursday.

Until Regulus, without lifting his gaze from the page, said evenly, "I've been speaking to Sirius again."

The silence that followed hit like a dropped glass, sharp, immediate, and shattering.

Barty moved first, jerking upright with such force the chair nearly tipped. He caught himself at the last second, phone forgotten, mouth twisted in disbelief. "You're joking."

Evan didn't speak. He just stared, cigarette frozen mid-air, brows climbing so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

"I'm not," Regulus said, turning the page with the kind of calm that dared someone to question him. "And it's fine."

"Fine?" Barty's voice cracked up a few octaves, incredulous. "Regulus, the last time you spoke to your brother, you threatened to set him on fire."

"It was a metaphor," Regulus muttered, without looking up.

"You had a lighter in your hand," Evan said, flat as the ash he flicked into the mug.

That finally got a reaction. Regulus snapped the sketchbook shut and looked up, slow, deliberate. His eyes were cool, unreadable, the kind of calm that felt more like the eye of a storm than any real peace. "I said," he repeated, voice like cut glass, "it's fine."

He let the word hang in the air like smoke, sharp and clinging, waiting to see if either of them was brave, or stupid, enough to push back.

They didn't. Not really.

Barty huffed, flopping back into the chair and throwing his arms over his face like the entire conversation was giving him a migraine. "Fucking therapy culture," he muttered into his elbow.

Regulus allowed himself a thin smirk. Then he stood, stretching lazily until his spine cracked, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of ink curling along his rib, sharp black lines half-hidden in the shadows.

"Also," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I got a job at his shop."

This time, the silence was heavier, not shocked, just tired. Like the universe had sighed.

Evan sighed, setting the mug in his hand down with a quiet clink. "Christ," he said dryly, "we're living in a fucking sitcom."

Barty squinted at Regulus like he was trying to see if he'd been replaced by a particularly sarcastic clone. His head tilted, brows scrunched, gaze narrowing like he was expecting to catch a zipper at the back of Regulus' neck.

"You're telling me," he said slowly, voice thick with disbelief, "you're going to work with Sirius Black, every day, in close proximity, and you're not going to stab him in the eye with a tattoo gun?"

Regulus tipped his head back with a theatrical sigh, as though the sheer weight of being misunderstood was physically exhausting. "I'm an adult," he said, like he was trying to convince himself as much as them. "I have self-control."

Evan snorted from his perch by the window, exhaling smoke through a grin. "Since when?"

Barty nodded solemnly, folding his arms across the back of the chair. "Wasn't it last week you nearly bit my hand off because I ate your leftover noodles?"

"That was different," Regulus said, brushing off the accusation as he reached for his leather jacket, draped haphazardly over the sofa's arm. "You deserved that."

"So does Sirius," Evan said, flicking his burnt-out cigarette into the ash-filled mug with expert aim. He tossed his lighter onto the windowsill like a punctuation mark. "Man's been asking for it since birth."

"True," Barty added with a grin. "If you do stab him, at least make it artistic. Minimalist. Like a single-line, abstract stab. Something with... intent."

Regulus rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn't strain a muscle. He pulled the jacket on with a sharp, practiced motion, smoothing the collar with exaggerated calm. "I'm not going to stab him," he said, like he was laying down law. "I'm going to tattoo pretentious rich kids and overgrown punks, collect my paycheck, and mind my business."

"And if Sirius gets annoying?" Evan asked, lips curled around a grin as he lit another cigarette.

Regulus didn't even blink. "I'll just tattoo twat on his forehead."

Barty let out a delighted whoop, tipping backward in the chair with a thud, kicking his heels against the legs like a kid on a sugar high. "God, I missed you when you were brooding in your bedroom for six months," he said between cackles. "You're so much funnier when you're plotting war crimes."

Regulus gave them a razor-thin smile, sharp, all edges, no softness. He bent to grab his keys off the cluttered coffee table, the metal jangling faintly in his grip.

"Wish me luck," he said, turning toward the door, voice flat and dry as dust.

"You're gonna need it," Evan called after him, already flicking ash out the window.

The door slammed shut behind Regulus with a final, reverberating thunk, cutting off the haze of cigarette smoke and whatever passed for warmth in the flat.

For a long second, there was silence.

Then Barty turned to Evan, eyes wide with something between amusement and horror. "How long do you think before he comes back in handcuffs?"

Evan took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily from his mouth. "Three weeks," he said. Then, after a beat, "Two if Sirius breathes too loud."

The shop was tucked into the kind of street that felt like it had been forgotten on purpose, wedged between a dodgy, neon-lit pub with flickering signage and a long-abandoned laundromat where the windows had been smashed and never repaired. Graffiti climbed up the brick walls like ivy. The scent of stale beer and old city clung to the air.

Grim Ink, the tattoo shop in question, didn't look much friendlier from the outside, but it had a certain deliberate style to its menace.

Its front windows were painted over in matte black, but covered in intricate white linework: curling snakes, blooming roses, crescent moons, skeletal hands, all tangled together in a mural that was either chaos or art depending on the angle. Overhead, a battered metal sign swung on rusted hooks, the name scrawled in messy, hand-painted letters that looked like they were trying to be punk rock and accidentally ended up as a cry for help.

Regulus stood on the cracked pavement and stared at it for a long moment.

He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, rolling his shoulders under his leather jacket. The morning air was cool against his neck. He exhaled once, steady, practiced, then pushed the door open.

The little brass bell above the door jangled a few notes too brightly for a place like this.

Inside, the scent hit him immediately, sharp antiseptic, warm ink, and something oddly comforting beneath it all... cinnamon? Strange. Not unpleasant. The buzz of tattoo machines hummed from deeper in the building, a low, electric heartbeat.

The interior was industrial, concrete floors, exposed pipes, matte black walls broken up by framed flash sheets and scattered posters of punk bands and gothic art. There was a plant in the corner, alive against all odds, and a mismatched collection of vintage furniture that somehow worked together in a kind of curated chaos.

And in the middle of it all, lounging like he owned not just the shop but the entire block, was Sirius Black.

He was slouched on the front counter, one arm resting across a stack of appointment books, the other tossing a coin in lazy arcs through the air. His sleeves were pushed up to the elbow, revealing arms covered in tattoos, bold black lines, flashes of color, chaotic symbols that told stories only Sirius probably understood. A combat boot was braced against the wall behind him like this was his throne and the city could wait its turn.

When he looked up and spotted Regulus, his entire face lit up.

"Well, well," Sirius said, flipping the coin one last time before catching it. "Look who didn't flake."

"Still might," Regulus replied coolly, dropping his duffel bag beside the counter. "Depends how unbearable you are."

Sirius grinned, big, bright, infuriatingly unbothered, and clapped a hand on Regulus' shoulder. The contact was light but familiar, enough to make Regulus stiffen out of instinct. He forced himself to relax a moment later, jaw tight but composed.

"Come on," Sirius said, already moving toward the back room. "Gotta introduce you to the real boss."

Regulus followed, boots echoing softly on the concrete floor. They passed a half-finished mural on the hallway wall, all swirling ink and jagged teeth, and entered a back room that was somehow messier than the front.

Behind a battered old desk sat a man who looked like he'd lost a long-term fight with both sleep and caffeine. His honey-brown hair was messy, curling slightly at the ends, and his glasses were smudged. The desk was covered in half-empty coffee cups, a few open appointment books, a laptop held together with stickers, and what looked like a handful of paper napkins with sketches scrawled across them.

"Regulus, meet Remus," Sirius said, gesturing grandly. "Our shop dad, piercer, part-time therapist, full-time coffee gremlin."

Remus looked up, blinking behind his glasses before pushing them up the bridge of his nose with ink-stained fingers. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, showing off the neat blackwork tattoos that ran like vines along his forearms, clean, elegant, and precise.

"Hey," Remus said, voice warm but edged with a quiet kind of scrutiny, like he was mentally evaluating Regulus before committing to a judgment. "Good to finally meet the infamous Baby Black."

Regulus turned a sharp look on Sirius, who had the audacity to grin even wider.

"Charmed," Regulus said dryly, reaching out to shake Remus's offered hand.

Remus had a steady grip and a quiet smile. "Don't let Sirius talk you into doing walk-ins for free," he said. "He seems to think 'exposure' pays rent."

"Hey!" Sirius squawked from behind them. "I'm building a brand here."

"Your brand is 'disaster in eyeliner,'" Remus muttered, sipping from one of the many questionable mugs on his desk.

Regulus, despite himself, huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop it.

Maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster.

He opened his mouth to ask about his booth when the front bell jangled again, louder this time, like someone had practically kicked the door in.

Sirius perked up immediately, eyes brightening with chaotic glee.

"Oh," he said, already smirking like he knew something Regulus didn't. "You're gonna love this."

Regulus frowned, brow furrowing, and turned back toward the front.

And that was when he saw him.

The bell above the studio door didn't just jingle, it clanged, like someone had shouldered it open with zero respect for physics or boundaries.

Two guys stumbled in on a wave of noise and laughter, the kind that bounced off the tattoo shop's walls and shattered the quiet hum of needlework and lo-fi music.

The first one , shorter, all grinning mischief and boundless energy , made a beeline for Sirius like a man on a mission.
"Oi, Padfoot!" he shouted, already mid-lunge for a hug. "You still pretending you know how to run a business?"

Sirius barked a laugh, spinning just in time to catch him in a one-armed, half-hearted embrace. "Pete, you absolute goblin. Don't you have a family to terrorize or something?"

The second guy drifted in behind them, a stark contrast to the chaos of his friend. He moved with a lazy kind of ease, like he had all the time in the world and no reason to rush through any of it. His sunglasses were shoved up into a mop of dark, messy curls, and he wore a sun-warmed smirk that looked lived in, like it had never really left his face.

Regulus, who prided himself on his ability to remain unbothered by literally anything, felt his stomach take a swan dive into the earth's crust.

The second guy was obnoxiously attractive. All golden skin and effortless charm, dressed like he'd rolled out of bed in the clothes of someone far less tragic and still managed to look like he'd walked off a runway. A faded grey t-shirt clung in all the wrong-right ways, and his ripped jeans sat low on his hips, like a dare.

Regulus stared, for a fraction of a second too long. Then, with the kind of composure that could make glaciers jealous, he shifted his weight against the counter and looked away.
Casual. Bored. Completely unfazed.

Untouchable.

Peter, still latched onto Sirius like a barnacle with a vendetta, finally peeled back with a grin. "James, you getting anything today, or just here to clutter up the place?"

"Dunno," the hot one, James, of course it was, replied, voice smooth and easy. He leaned against the counter beside Peter, tugging the sunglasses off his head and tucking them into the collar of his shirt. "Might get something small. Nothing too serious."

He winked at Peter, who snorted like a badly tuned trumpet.

Regulus felt something in his brain spark with irritation, or possibly attraction, and he hated it. Viscerally.

"Oh, speaking of serious," Sirius said, grinning like a cat who'd found the cream and the chaos, "this is my little brother, Regulus. He's the new artist I keep bragging about."

James' gaze flicked toward him instantly, sharp and warm and interested, and Regulus cursed the universe for every decision that had led to this moment.

"Regulus," James repeated, tasting the name like it was a spell he wasn't qualified to cast. His voice caught at the end, just slightly, but enough.

Peter noticed. Of course he did. He elbowed James in the ribs hard enough to make him wheeze.

Regulus let the corner of his mouth curl, not a smile, not quite. Something sharper. Meaner. A warning dressed up like amusement. He straightened just slightly, unfolding from his lean against the counter like a cat stretching before the pounce.

"Problem?" he asked, voice slow and syrupy. Mock-innocent, with just enough edge to draw blood.

James opened his mouth like he might try to play it cool. Then seemed to remember who he was talking to.

And promptly failed.

"N-no," he stammered, shaking his head too fast, eyes wide. "No problem. Great name. Brilliant name. I mean- suits you. You're- it's- yeah."

Peter gave up and physically turned away, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Sirius was vibrating, hand clapped over his mouth like he was holding in a scream.

From the back room, Remus muttered around a sip of coffee, "We're witnessing a live stroke."

Regulus folded his arms, letting one finger tap against the soft fabric of his sleeve in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He tilted his head just a bit, like he was thinking. Like he was hunting.

"Suits me how?" he asked, all airy curiosity, as if James wasn't already drowning in his own sweat.

James opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then, with the desperation of a man clinging to the last life raft, said, "Sharp. You look, sharp. Like you could, I dunno, stab me."

A beat.

Then, helplessly: "In a good way."

Silence.

Peter let out an unholy noise and collapsed forward against the counter, wheezing. Sirius doubled over behind the front desk, laughter strangled and feral. Even Remus choked on his drink, coughing into the sleeve of his flannel.

Regulus didn't laugh. He didn't need to. He just looked at Jame, deadpan, dead-eyed, for a long, excruciating second.

Then, slowly, he smiled.
All teeth. No soul.

"Lucky for you," he drawled, stepping closer, close enough to be unkind, "I'm the one holding the needles today."

James made a sound that was part whimper, part prayer, and practically threw himself into the battered leather chair across in Regulus' booth.

Regulus flipped open his sketchbook, not sparing him a glance. "Walk-ins today," he said, voice smooth and clinical. "You want something small, or are you just here to flirt badly and waste my time?"

James flushed, properly flushed, a warm, pink bloom that crept up his neck and painted his cheeks. It was disgustingly attractive.

"Small," he said quickly. "Small tattoo. Definitely."

Regulus hummed, flipping to a fresh page in his book. "Pity," he murmured, half to himself, letting his pencil glide in clean, practiced lines. "I was hoping for something... bigger."

James short-circuited.

Regulus didn't look up. Didn't need to.
The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth was slow and wicked and private, like he'd just found a new favorite game.

And today?

Regulus was already winning.

James just didn't know the rules yet.

James managed, somehow, to steady himself after the first few minutes.

The initial sting of the needle had made him jolt, but now it was a background hum, sharp, repetitive, almost hypnotic. The buzzing machine, the faint pull on his skin, the low thrum of music from the speakers in the corner, it all folded into a rhythm he could settle into.

But more than that, more than the pain, more than the needle, was Regulus.

Bent low over his arm, focused and silent, brows drawn in concentration. The overhead light cut sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the elegant line of his nose, the sweep of his cheekbone. His lashes were long and dark, flicking down every time he blinked, casting delicate shadows that James couldn't stop staring at.

And that was when something in James clicked into place.

Right.

He wasn't some blushing schoolboy. He was James Potter. He'd survived exams, Football finals, and Sirius's cooking. He could flirt in his sleep.

So he shifted slightly in the chair, just enough to tilt his head down, catching Regulus with a lazy half-smile. His voice dropped, smooth and quiet, threading through the space between them.

"So," James said, the corner of his mouth curling, "how many poor souls have you charmed into permanent regret with that face?"

For the briefest of seconds, Regulus's hand stuttered, just a tiny hiccup in the flow of the line, before he corrected, seamlessly. Anyone else might've missed it.

James didn't.

Regulus didn't answer right away. He didn't look up either. Just adjusted his grip, posture stiffening ever so slightly.

"None that I regret," he said evenly, but there was something tighter around the words, like the sentence had been forced through clenched teeth.

James grinned wider, sensing the shift in the air, the tension pulling taut, less one-sided now. The tide was changing.

"You didn't answer the question, though," he murmured, his tone a little lower, a little more deliberate.

That made Regulus look up.

Their eyes met, heat and challenge sparking between them. And that was when James saw it: a flush creeping along the line of Regulus's high cheekbones, delicate but undeniable. A faint dusting of pink blooming beneath the cool facade.

James tilted his head, slow and deliberate, his smirk deepening. Inviting. Knowing. A little dangerous.

Regulus scowled, or tried to. It didn't quite land the way it was supposed to, not with the way his ears had turned pink too.

"Focus," Regulus muttered, tapping two gloved fingers against James's side. The gesture was firm, but not unkind. "Unless you want a shit tattoo."

James didn't even flinch. "Wouldn't be your fault if you got distracted," he said, voice velvet-smooth now, settling into the game. "You've got a lot to manage, staring at me like that."

Regulus made a sound that might've been a scoff, or a splutter, it was hard to tell. The needle slipped again, just slightly, and he swore under his breath, sharp and irritated. Not just at James. Probably at himself, too.

He bent his head quickly, back to business, trying to regain control.

James bit down on the laugh that bubbled up in his throat, pride and something warmer twisting in his chest. He'd gotten to him.

Finally.

Regulus was usually made of ice and sharp edges. James had spent years around Sirius, he'd built up immunity to most kinds of cold stares. But this? This was fun.

"Be quiet," Regulus muttered without lifting his head, jaw tight with focus.

"You're enjoying this," James teased, feigning innocence, dragging each word out slow and syrupy.

"I'm regretting this," Regulus snapped, but it didn't have its usual bite. Not quite. The edge of his voice had curled into something softer, warmer. Embarrassed.

James leaned back in the chair with the lazy confidence of a man who knew he was winning. His grin was slow, smug, and entirely unapologetic.

He was definitely getting a second tattoo.

Maybe three.

Just to see how far he could push this.

And judging by the color still lingering on Regulus's cheeks, he had plenty of room to play.

James stumbled through the door of Sirius and Remus's flat later that night, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His chest ached beneath the fresh bandages wrapped snugly around it, but he was certain it had been worth it, totally worth it. He kept telling himself that, over and over.

Totally fine decision. He was fine.

That is, until he stepped into the kitchen, where he found Sirius standing there, arms folded over his chest, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The kind of smirk that made James's stomach drop because it was the kind of smirk that said Sirius knew every single thought James had ever had.

James's instinctive reaction was to back out of the room as quietly as possible, hoping to avoid whatever inevitable teasing was coming his way.

But no such luck.

"Oi!" Sirius barked, voice sharp with that infuriatingly gleeful tone. He pointed at James like he was some kind of guilty criminal. "Get your arse back in here, lover boy."

James groaned, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. "Not in the mood, Pads."

"Oh, I think you are," Sirius said, practically bouncing with excitement as he reached out and yanked James back into the room by the sleeve. "In fact, I think you're in exactly the mood to explain how you walked in earlier asking for a tiny tattoo and somehow ended up with a bloody chest piece that looks like it could cover a dragon."

James muttered something under his breath, shifting his weight and trying to inch toward the fridge, hoping for a distraction.

Sirius blocked him with ease, stepping right into his path.

"You realise," Sirius said, his voice practically vibrating with amusement, "that Regulus barely even had to try? He smirked once, once, and you folded like a bloody lawn chair. I wish I'd seen it."

James scowled, feeling the heat rise to his face. "I didn't fold," he grumbled, his voice tight with irritation. "I just... wasn't thinking clearly."

"Mate," Sirius said, cracking up, "You folded, rolled up, and set yourself on fire. I've never seen anything like it." His laughter filled the room, echoing off the walls, and James could practically feel the mocking warmth of Sirius's eyes.

Determined to act unfazed, James grabbed a beer from the fridge, popping it open with an exaggerated, aggressive twist. He took a long gulp, trying to wash away the embarrassment. "It was a good tattoo," he said, gritting his teeth.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his amusement unrelenting. "Was it the tattoo you wanted?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sorry, did you actually plan to get an entire mythical lion sprawled across your chest, or did Regulus just do a good job of seducing you with his... charm?"

James hesitated, the beer bottle suddenly feeling too heavy in his hand.

"...Technically no," he admitted after a long moment, his voice barely audible.

Sirius didn't even try to stifle the laugh that burst from him, a sound so loud and unrestrained that it could've shattered glass. "You absolute wanker," he wheezed between fits of laughter. "You let my evil little brother tattoo a bloody mythical stag on your chest because you thought he was hot."

James groaned, sinking into the nearest chair and pressing his hands to his temples. "It looks cool," he muttered, defensively. "Really cool."

Sirius was doubled over now, tears of laughter streaming down his face. "Yeah, it does look cool," he managed to get out, gasping for air. "Too bad you also looked like you were five seconds away from asking him to step on you while he was doing it."

"Fuck off," James shot back, throwing a bottle cap at Sirius, who dodged it with ease, still grinning like an absolute menace.

"You're fucked, mate," Sirius said, his voice full of mirth. "Absolutely done for. You've got Regulus Black permanently inked into your skin now, metaphorically and literally."

James flopped back onto the couch, letting his head thunk against the cushions with a dramatic groan. "It's not that bad," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

Sirius plopped down next to him, clapping him on the shoulder so hard it nearly sent him sprawling forward.

"Welcome to hell," Sirius said cheerfully, a wide grin still plastered across his face. "Hope you enjoy the ride."

James just groaned louder, burying his face in his hands. This was going to be a long night.

James woke up the next morning with two things:

A dull ache spreading across his chest from the still-fresh tattoo.

A terrible idea blooming like a firework behind his ribs.

He was going back to the shop.

For... healing advice. Maybe a touch-up. Something important. Something legitimate.

(It had absolutely nothing to do with Regulus Black's stupidly sharp cheekbones, or the way his voice dipped when he said Potter, or the ghost of that smirk that had practically carved itself into James's memory.)

Totally above board.

James hauled himself out of bed, hair sticking in ten different directions, and immediately regretted every single shirt he owned. The tight t-shirts were out, too obvious. But a hoodie was too casual. He needed something that said I just threw this on while still screaming hot, eligible bachelor you should maybe ruin your life for.

He tried three different button-downs before settling on the oldest one, soft and half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He tugged it on, mussed up his hair to look like it wasn't already a disaster, and checked his reflection.

Cool. Chill. Definitely not desperate.

That was when Sirius appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he'd been summoned by the gods of dramatic irony. He had a mug in hand that read Number One Nuisance, and he was grinning like Christmas had come early.

"You're picking out a fit to see my brother," Sirius said, eyes gleaming. "This is tragic, James. No, this is historic levels of tragic."

James scowled, dragging his fingers through his hair again. "I'm just going for a touch-up, Pads."

Sirius took a slow, obnoxious sip of coffee. "Sure you are. You're gonna waltz in, rip your shirt off like a tragic romance novel pirate, and pray Regulus notices you."

"I am not," James snapped.

"You literally just spent twenty minutes doing your hair," Sirius said, practically vibrating with glee. "What's next, swooning? Flowers? Gonna recite poetry in iambic bloody pentameter?"

Before James could throw something heavier than a pillow, Peter poked his head into the room, grinning so hard he looked winded. "Five quid says he asks Regulus out before the week's over."

"Put me down for three days," Remus added from the living room, not even looking up from his book.

"You're all bastards," James muttered, snatching his keys and stomping toward the door.

"Good luck, lover boy!" Sirius called, cackling behind him.

Twenty minutes later, James was standing in front of Grim Ink, trying not to let his heartbeat echo off the windows.

The bell over the door jingled as he pushed it open, and he tried, tried, to walk in like he had a purpose, like he didn't feel like an idiot in an overpriced button-down with his heart halfway up his throat.

Lily was behind the front desk today, lazily flipping through a schedule book and sipping iced coffee. The second he spotted James, one eyebrow arched like a challenge.

"Back so soon?" he asked, voice dry and amused.

Before James could string together a coherent excuse, Lily laughed, her expression somewhere between impressed and exasperated. "Didn't even last twenty-four hours. New record."

"I—" James cleared his throat, trying not to visibly die. "Just wanted to, uh... ask Regulus about the healing. You know. Check everything's going okay."

Lily didn't even pretend not to smirk. "Sure. Let me summon your tattooing knight in black denim armor."

She turned toward the back and called, way too loudly, "Reg! Your biggest fan's here!"

James resisted the urge to dissolve into dust.

There was a pause, then footsteps, then Regulus emerged from the back room, wiping his hands on a rag, brow lifted in mild surprise. His arms were bare today, black tank, fitted jeans, more ink visible than should be legally allowed. His hair was slightly mussed, falling into his eyes.

He looked like a dream and a problem and a mistake all wrapped in one unfairly attractive package.

"Potter," Regulus said, voice low and edged with curiosity. "Didn't expect you back so soon."

James swallowed the stupid smile threatening to spread across his face. "Just wanted to make sure everything's healing right."

Regulus gave him a long, unreadable look, then stepped closer, slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed lightly at the edge of James's bandage, lifting the corner with clinical precision.

"You're fine," he said, eyes flicking briefly to the exposed skin. "No redness. No irritation. Color's setting clean."

But he didn't step back.

And James didn't move.

There was maybe three inches of space between them, and it felt electric, a wire stretched taut, waiting to snap.

"Unless," Regulus added, head tilting just slightly, "you were just looking for an excuse to see me."

His eyes flicked up through dark lashes, and the smirk curled like smoke across his mouth.

James grinned, lazy and low and dangerous. He met Regulus's gaze head-on, voice dropping just a touch.

"Maybe I was."

For a heartbeat, just one, Regulus faltered. His lips parted slightly, breath catching, and a soft flush crept up the line of his throat, painting a faint pink beneath his cool exterior.

Got him, James thought, triumph pulsing like heat under his skin.

Behind the counter, Remus turned away with a little shake of his head and handed Peter a crumpled tenner without a word. Both only came in just to see the mess that is James Fleaumont Potter.

James leaned casually against the counter, heart still thudding in his chest but trying to look like he wasn't burning alive.

"You free later?" he asked, almost too casually.

Regulus blinked. "For what?"

"Dinner," James said, shrugging one shoulder. "Drinks. Something that's not needles and teasing me in a professional setting."

Regulus stared at him for a second longer, and something in his expression shifted, softened. Like he was letting something slip through the cracks.

"...Maybe," he said finally, his voice quiet, rough at the edges. "Text me."

He reached behind the desk, grabbed a card, scribbled a number on the back, and handed it over. Their fingers brushed, barely, but it sent a jolt through James like he'd been shocked.

He took the card like it was something precious.

Like a promise.

"I'll hold you to that," James said, flashing a grin so cocky it could've powered a city block.

He sauntered out of the shop with all the swagger he could muster, hands in his pockets, heart beating out a rhythm that felt a lot like mine, mine, mine.

Behind him, Regulus was still standing there, still slightly pink, still a little wrecked, watching the door long after it closed.

And back at the desk, Remus just said, "We should've bet how many tattoos it'll take before they hook up."

"Six," Lily said immediately.

"Three," Peter guessed.

Remus hummed. "I give it two."

Regulus slammed the front door hard enough to make the coat rack rattle and his keys hit the entry table with a metallic clatter. The sound echoed down the narrow hall, followed quickly by the heavy stomp of his boots as he kicked them off with enough force to send one skidding into the wall.

From the living room, the telltale click of a game controller being hastily muted cut through the silence. Two heads popped up over the back of the sofa, one with wild curls and a maniac grin, the other cooler, smoother, holding a half-smoked joint and a raised brow.

"Bad day at the office, princess?" Barty asked, tone lazy and obnoxiously smug as he shoved popcorn into his mouth, the bowl nestled between his knees.

Evan exhaled a slow drag of smoke and offered a dry, amused, "Do tell."

"I made a mistake," Regulus announced, stalking toward the kitchen like a man going to war. His voice was sharp, clipped, brimming with the kind of dramatic doom that could only mean one of two things: someone had either died, or flirted with him successfully.

Barty sat up straighter. "Ooh, go on."

"A massive, massive mistake," Regulus continued, throwing open the fridge like it had insulted him personally.

Evan didn't even look up from the couch. "What, finally stabbed a customer with the tattoo gun?" he asked, almost hopefully.

"No." Regulus yanked a bottle of red from the fridge like it was a weapon. "Worse."

"Worse than a felony?" Barty's eyes lit up. "God, I've missed you."

Regulus uncorked the bottle with a vicious twist, poured a wineglass far past the polite limit, and took a long, savage gulp. When he slammed the glass down, the stem rattled on the counter.

"I- he said, pointing at them like they were somehow at fault, "-let a hot man talk me into a date."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then Evan, bless his soul, howled.

He actually tipped sideways off the couch, clutching his stomach, wheezing with laughter.

Barty slapped a hand over his heart and gasped, "You? You got hit on? And said yes? Who the hell was deranged enough to try their luck?"

Regulus didn't answer at first. He just took another swig of wine and braced a hand on the counter like he needed it to stay upright.

Then, with the sort of dramatic dread usually reserved for Greek tragedies, he muttered, "James Potter."

The laughter stopped instantly.

Evan sat up slowly, blinking. "I'm sorry. What?"

"James fucking Potter?" Barty repeated, jaw falling open. "As in Sirius's James Potter? His childhood trauma comfort blankie James?"

"The very same," Regulus muttered into his glass.

Barty let out a sound that could only be described as gleeful shrieking. "You absolute whore. You traitorous little goblin. Sirius is going to murder you!"

"You realize," Evan said, voice full of dangerous delight, "that if this goes sideways, Sirius is going to skin you alive and salt the earth where you stood?"

"Oh," Barty grinned wickedly, "and if it goes well?"

Evan matched his smile. "Then you're dating your brother's golden retriever for the rest of time."

"I know!" Regulus exploded, slamming the bottle back on the counter and pacing in tight, frustrated circles. "I panicked, okay? He was- he was standing there all charming and confident with his stupid glasses and that infuriating smile and he was flirting and I just-" He flailed one hand helplessly. "I blacked out!"

"You folded," Barty crowed, nearly vibrating with glee. "Folded like cheap laundry, Reg. Like wet tissue paper."

"Shut up!" Regulus groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Evan stood and leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, grin sharp. "So, when is this catastrophic romance happening?"

Regulus thumped his forehead lightly against the fridge. "Tomorrow. Messaged me just before I came in."

That was all it took.

Both Barty and Evan erupted.

There were cheers, applause, loud whistles, Barty pretending to cry with joy.

Regulus didn't move from where he was slumped against the fridge, middle finger raised lazily behind him in silent protest.

"I hate you both," he muttered, with the resignation of a man watching his own funeral from the audience.

"We love you too, sweetheart," Barty said, still beaming. "Now tell us, are you going to let him kiss you, or are you gonna self-destruct halfway through the appetiser?"

Regulus just groaned louder and refilled his wineglass like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

Tomorrow was going to be a disaster.

He already couldn't wait.

Regulus stood in front of the mirror, buttoning his black shirt with sharp, practiced movements. His fingers moved fast and precise, too fast, too precise, like he could outrun the nerves building in the pit of his stomach. The collar sat crisp against his throat, the fabric smooth and cool under his hands. He adjusted it twice, then a third time, narrowing his eyes at his own reflection.

He looked... fine. Clean lines. Dark eyes. Composed. Dangerous, even. Like he had everything under control.

Which, of course, meant he was doomed.

The door burst open behind him with no warning - because of course it did - and Barty swept in like a storm in leather boots and chaos energy.

"Ooooh," Barty sang immediately, eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like a wolf. "Someone's getting all dressed up for his hot date."

"Fuck off," Regulus said without turning, his voice flat as concrete.

"No, no, don't mind me," Barty replied, sauntering in fully and flopping onto Regulus's bed like he owned it. He sprawled across the duvet, shoes still on, arms thrown dramatically above his head. "Just here to provide moral support."

Regulus arched an eyebrow in the mirror. "You don't know the meaning of moral support."

"Absolutely I do," Barty said, flashing a grin sharp enough to slice glass. "I support you morally - by mocking you until you cry or commit murder. Character building."

Before Regulus could reply, Evan drifted in behind him like smoke, a half-finished beer in one hand and his usual devil-may-care smirk playing at his lips. He looked Regulus up and down with lazy amusement, taking in the black button-up, the fitted jeans, the way Regulus's jaw was set like stone.

"Damn," Evan said, giving a low whistle. "Look at you. All polished up like a freshly sharpened blade. You gonna survive, or are you planning to combust the second Potter flashes that stupid golden retriever smile at you again?"

Regulus glared at him through the mirror. "I hope you both die slowly and painfully."

"So violent," Barty tsked, propping himself up on one elbow. "That's how you know he's spiraling. Need a practice flirt session, sweetheart? We could run lines. You say, 'Hey, James, your glasses make me weak,' and I pretend not to laugh."

"'Tattoo my soul, James,'" Evan said solemnly, raising his beer like a toast. "'Right over my heart, where I'll never recover.'"

Barty snorted so violently he nearly slid off the bed, wheezing with laughter. Evan just grinned wider, clearly proud of himself.

Regulus turned, slowly, eyes glittering with menace. "I will literally stab both of you."

"Hot," Barty said brightly, flipping onto his back. "Say it slower."

"Honestly," Evan added, unfazed, "it might be the most physical contact we get this month."

Regulus exhaled through his nose - long, slow, deadly. He looked like a man weighing the pros and cons of multiple murders.

He turned back to the mirror, smoothing down his shirt again, jaw tightening. "I'm not nervous."

"You're vibrating," Evan replied. "You're like a nuclear kettle on the verge of detonation. It's adorable."

"And dangerous," Barty added, thoughtful. "We should get him drunk. For public safety. Maybe just one shot. Loosen him up before he walks into enemy territory."

"I hate you both," Regulus growled, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of his desk chair and shrugging it on in one fluid, angry motion. It fit him like a second skin - black, worn-in, and perfectly intimidating.

Evan and Barty both whistled again, this time in perfect, mocking harmony.

"Lookin' like a villain on a redemption arc," Barty said approvingly. "Ten out of ten. Would fall for you at a bar and immediately regret it."

"You're a menace," Regulus muttered, storming toward the door.

"We love you too," Evan said cheerfully, saluting him with his beer.

Regulus gave them both a pair of emphatic middle fingers as he stepped out, but not before Evan called out, sing-song, "Don't forget to swoon! And use protection!"

"Snog him good, darling!" Barty yelled after him.

The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame, making a stack of mail flutter off the hallway table.

Silence fell for a moment.

Then Barty turned to Evan, grinning ear to ear. "Ten says he falls in love by next week."

Evan clinked his beer against Barty's lazily. "Make it five days. He's already halfway there."

They both leaned back on the bed, smug and content, as the chaos they'd just unleashed made its way across the city.

James was already two beers deep by the time Regulus walked in.

It wasn't because he was nervous - no, absolutely not, that would be ridiculous - but because Peter had insisted, loudly and with the sort of persistent enthusiasm James could never quite shake off, that James would "need a bit of liquid courage, mate." And then, without further ceremony, Peter had promptly abandoned him at the bar to go meet some girl he'd been texting.

So, there James was: perched on a bar stool, fidgeting with the corner of a coaster, and doing his absolute best not to look like he was panicking.

He took another swig of beer, trying to settle himself. He wasn't going to make a fool of himself. No way.

When Regulus finally strolled through the door, James nearly toppled off his stool.

It was hard to blame him. Regulus was the perfect picture of effortlessly cool - black leather jacket, tight black jeans that hugged his frame just enough to be criminal, and hair slightly mussed from the wind. He looked like he'd just stepped off the pages of some magazine James had no business even flipping through.

"Fuck me," James muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could stop them. And of course, as if on cue, panic surged through him and he knocked over his beer, sending it sloshing over the bar top and dripping onto his jeans.

"Brilliant," he groaned, grabbing a fistful of napkins to mop at himself, completely aware of how ridiculous he looked.

When he finally managed to look up, Regulus was standing there, eyebrow arched with an expression that combined both amusement and the faintest trace of confusion, as if he were reconsidering his life choices, probably wondering why he'd agreed to meet this disaster of a person.

"Hi," James said, his voice about an octave too high, his smile far too wide to be convincing.

Regulus's lips quirked, his voice dry as the Sahara when he replied, "Hello."

James scrambled to his feet, knocking the stool sideways in a way that could only be described as a controlled disaster.

"You, uh- you look-" he stammered, then immediately abandoned the attempt. "Drink?"

Regulus just blinked, fighting a smirk that was creeping up on him. "Sure."

Somehow - and James had no idea how they'd managed it - they made it to a booth in the back. James practically launched himself into the seat, sending his fresh beer sloshing with the force of his landing, while Regulus slid into the seat across from him with the effortless grace of someone who had never tripped over his own feet in his life.

For a moment, there was only silence. James stared at Regulus like an idiot, wide-eyed and helpless, while Regulus stared back, his expression unreadable, as if studying James with an intensity that made him feel like he was being inspected under a microscope.

Then, as if the universe had conspired against him, James blurted out, "So, do you tattoo, like, dicks?"

There was a long beat of stunned silence.

And then, Regulus snorted. Not a polite little chuckle or an amused huff, but an actual snort, a completely unguarded, involuntary snort that sent James's heart skittering in all the wrong ways.

Regulus quickly hid his mouth behind his glass, clearly trying to contain the laughter that was bubbling up.

"Not usually," he said, voice strained with the effort of holding in his mirth. "But I'm sure I could make an exception for you."

James turned an alarming shade of red, his face hot with mortification.

"I didn't mean- I meant-" He ran a hand through his hair, knocking his glasses askew. "Fuck. Ignore me. I'm a disaster."

Regulus's smirk was practically audible now. The little menace. He leaned back in the booth, casually stretching an arm along the back of the seat, radiating an almost dangerous aura of relaxation and confidence.

"This is highly entertaining," Regulus said, sipping his drink, his eyes glittering with amusement. "Please continue."

James buried his face in his hands, groaning loudly, wishing the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

His eyes, however, inevitably landed on a tattered neon green poster half-hanging behind Regulus. The color was garish, loud, and incredibly familiar. It was the exact same shade of green that had once been in his hair during his infamous fifth-year DIY hair-dye disaster.

The memory hit him like a ton of bricks, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "I once accidentally dyed my hair that exact shade of green."

Regulus blinked, clearly startled. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, he actually laughed. And not a polite, controlled laugh, but a genuine one. It was loud and sudden, and he threw his head back a little as he laughed so hard it nearly knocked James out of his seat.

It wasn't the usual smirk or chuckle James had grown used to from Regulus. No, this was real, and it was like a punch to the gut.

James stared at him, completely useless. His heart started thumping erratically in his chest.

"You're joking," Regulus managed, still catching his breath from laughing.

"Swear to god," James said, a helpless grin tugging at his lips now, simply because Regulus looked so damn good when he laughed. "Sirius dared me to try this cheap hair dye from some corner shop, and I didn't think it could be that bad. Thought it'd maybe be, like, slightly darker or something. But nope. Full-on radioactive Kermit the Frog."

Regulus laughed again, softer this time, pressing his fingers to his mouth as though trying to hold it in.

It didn't work.

"How long did it last?" he asked, his eyes shining with amusement.

James groaned, tipping his head back against the booth, feeling both ridiculous and oddly proud of the absurdity of his past. "Two months. Couldn't get rid of it. Had to cut half my hair off in the end."

"Tragic," Regulus said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, though his smirk was clearly anything but remorseful.

"I'm a cautionary tale," James said solemnly, lifting his glass to his lips.

Regulus tilted his head slightly, the mischievous smile never quite leaving his face. "You're something," he remarked, his tone teasing, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

James, who had just taken another sip, nearly choked on his beer. "You're dangerous," he muttered, a grin spreading across his face.

Regulus arched an eyebrow in a way that suggested he was enjoying every second of James's inner turmoil. "You think so?" he asked, clearly thriving on James's growing discomfort.

James couldn't even find the words to respond, because, well, he was done for. Absolutely, irrevocably done for.

James was still trying to compose himself, battling the inexplicable flutter in his chest at how effortlessly charming Regulus looked when he smiled. It was a quiet, innocent expression that only made James feel like he was drowning in it, trying to play it off as normal. But before he could even recover, Regulus leaned back in the booth with casual grace, a drink in hand, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You know," Regulus said, his voice smooth and easy, swirling his drink absently, "I'm banned from two pubs around here."

James almost choked on his beer. He caught the edge of his glass before it slipped from his fingers. "You're what now?" His voice cracked slightly as he asked, and he immediately cursed himself for it, trying to cover up the slip by clearing his throat.

Regulus didn't even flinch. He just shrugged, as if it was the most mundane thing in the world. "Creative differences."

James blinked, still processing. He leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. "You can't just say that and leave it at that. Creative differences like... what? You threw a pint at someone? Started a pub brawl?" His voice was rising in excitement, and he could feel a grin tugging at his lips. This was exactly the kind of story he wanted to hear from someone like Regulus.

Regulus' lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. He didn't say anything right away, just continued swirling his drink as if James hadn't just bombarded him with questions. "Something like that," he said, as if it was no big deal.

James stared at him, half in disbelief and half in growing amusement. "You're being deliberately vague," he accused, hands on the table in frustration.

Regulus raised an eyebrow, his smirk stretching wider as he tipped his glass toward James in a mock-toast. Then, with all the poise of someone who had perfected the art of teasing, he took another slow sip, acting as though he wasn't holding onto the most ridiculous, tantalizing piece of information.

James groaned and leaned back in his seat, dragging his hands down his face. He couldn't help himself. "You're going to be the death of me, Regulus," he muttered, his words muffled by his palms.

Regulus didn't look the least bit remorseful. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the chaos he'd started. His lips twitched, his eyes gleaming in that infuriating way, and he remained impossibly relaxed.

"You're not even going to give me a hint?" James tried again, determined to get some sort of answer out of him.

Regulus tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully, pretending to weigh the decision, though it was clear from the glint in his eyes that he wasn't going to spill anything. "Let's just say Barty and Evan are... persuasive when they're drunk."

James blinked, processing the new information. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but his curiosity was burning too hot. "Persuasive how?" he asked, practically pleading.

Regulus simply grinned at him, a wide, mischievous smile that made James' stomach flip, and said nothing more. Instead, he took another leisurely sip from his drink, as though he hadn't just dropped the most cryptic and maddening hint ever.

James let out a dramatic sigh, throwing his head back in exasperation. "I can't believe I'm being cockblocked by your air of mystery," he muttered, trying to ignore how ridiculous he felt, and yet how completely captivated he was.

Regulus' lips twitched again, barely stifling a laugh. "You'll survive," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

James wasn't so sure. He stared at Regulus, knowing he'd never get a straight answer, and somehow, that made him want to press even harder.

At some point, between the teasing and the laughter, James realized he was actually having fun.

It was real, genuine fun. Stupid, ridiculous, out-of-control fun. And he couldn't stop grinning like an absolute idiot.

Regulus was actually smiling, a real one this time, soft and a little mischievous, and it made James feel like his heart had just been knocked out of his chest.

By the time they stumbled out onto the pavement, both a little tipsy and still laughing over something utterly ridiculous (James couldn't even remember what), Regulus shoved his hands into his pockets, glanced at James sidelong, and said casually:

"I had a good time."

James, emboldened by the beer and the sheer chaos of the night, grinned and said, "Yeah? So, like, do I get a second date or what?"

Regulus paused, pretending to think it over for a moment, then gave him a sly smile.

"Might let you take me somewhere that doesn't smell like old socks and spilled whiskey next time."

James beamed, the smile practically splitting his face in half. "It's a date, then."

Regulus shook his head, amused, but before he turned to walk away, James caught the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

James watched him leave, the goofy grin still plastered on his face, and for once, he didn't mind being a complete idiot.

Because in the end, he was so screwed.

Regulus shoved his key into the lock with far more force than necessary, his frustration getting the better of him. The door swung open with a bang, and he staggered into the flat, his boots scraping against the floor as he tried to regain his balance. He hadn't even made it two steps inside when the lights flicked on with an almost mocking intensity, flooding the room with blinding brightness.

There, perched on the sofa like demonic sentinels, were Barty and Evan, each holding a drink, each wearing a grin that was equal parts wicked and entertained. They didn't even need to say anything to make it clear they were absolutely ready to rip into him. The looks on their faces said it all: they'd been waiting for this.

"Well, well, well," Barty sing-songed, lifting his glass in a slow, deliberate toast. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"Tell us everything," Evan added, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he slouched further into the cushions, clearly preparing for an entertaining evening at Regulus's expense.

Regulus groaned, dragging a hand through his hair in exasperation. "No."

"Yes," Barty replied immediately, the smirk never leaving his face. It was clear that Regulus had no chance of escaping this.

With a resigned sigh, Regulus kicked off his boots and dropped onto the sofa beside them, flopping face-first into the cushions like a man who had just given up on life. His body seemed to sink into the couch, the weight of the situation pressing down on him harder than ever.

"He's an adorable idiot," Regulus muttered into the fabric of the pillow, his words muffled but thick with both affection and frustration.

Evan set his drink down with a loud clatter, his movements exaggerated for dramatic effect. "You're going to have to be way more specific than that," he said, his eyes lighting up with the gleam of a man who was savoring every moment of this.

Regulus slowly lifted his head enough to glare at them both, though the glare lacked any real conviction. "James," he muttered, each syllable feeling like it weighed a ton. "Potter. He's-" He stopped, grimacing as though even saying the name out loud was some sort of punishment. "He's stupidly charming," Regulus continued, his voice darkening as the memory came rushing back. "He kept making me laugh, and then- then he looked all proud of himself like a golden retriever who'd just learned a new trick."

Barty howled with laughter, practically doubling over with the force of it. "You're doomed," he said between fits of giggles, the pure delight in his voice making it clear how much he enjoyed watching Regulus squirm.

"You don't understand," Regulus muttered darkly, flipping onto his back and staring at the ceiling as though it might offer him some sort of answer. "He did this thing. With his face. Like- like he knew he was being a menace but couldn't help himself." He let out a frustrated breath, as though just trying to verbalize the overwhelming effect James had on him was somehow more painful than it should have been. "It was infuriating."

Evan, who had clearly been expecting this moment all along, raised a hand to cover his mouth dramatically, though the gleam in his eyes made it clear he wasn't the least bit surprised. "Oh no," he said, his voice steeped in exaggerated horror, "not the face."

"The face," Regulus confirmed with a grimace, his tone lowering as if the very thought of it was a curse. "And then-" He stopped, his frustration mounting again as he tried to find the right words. "And then he-" He scowled even deeper, clearly struggling to process the absurdity of it all. "He said I was dangerous. But like- flirty." He threw his hands up in a gesture that was both helpless and defeated, clearly lost for words.

Barty, barely containing his glee, leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. "Are you telling us you got flirted at and folded like a deck chair?" he asked, his voice practically bursting with delight at the sheer entertainment value of the situation.

Regulus groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face like he could somehow block out the relentless teasing. "I hate both of you," he muttered, though the words were muffled and lacked any real anger. He was too exhausted to even put up a fight.

"You're in love," Evan said, his voice taking on a mock-serious tone as he raised his drink in a self-satisfied toast.

"I'm going-" Regulus started, but his words were lost under the pillow.

Of course, they ignored him.

"When's the wedding?" Barty asked brightly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Should we book a venue? Something small? Intimate? Or are you thinking big and dramatic?"

"I hope you both step in gum," Regulus muttered darkly, his words barely audible under the pillow.

Evan, in his typical fashion, threw a blanket over him like he was tucking in a particularly grumpy cat. Regulus didn't bother protesting- it wasn't worth the effort. Instead, he let the blanket settle around him, making no move to remove it. He was too tired. Too emotionally drained. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was too busy replaying James's smile in his head.

James stumbled through the door of Sirius and Remus' flat, his body almost colliding with the coat rack in his haste to enter. The door swung open with an almost comical force, and James barely caught himself as he stepped inside, his usual confident swagger reduced to a state of chaos.

On the couch, Sirius, Remus and Peter were in the midst of a game of cards, their attention half on the hand they were playing and half on whatever ridiculous antics James was about to pull. Sirius glanced up, raised a single eyebrow, and smirked. "Well?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

James didn't even respond with words. Instead, he flung himself into the nearest armchair with all the grace of a dying fish, his limbs sprawling in every direction. His head tilted back, and a dramatic groan slipped from his lips. "I think I'm in love with your brother."

The room went silent for a moment, the only sound the soft shuffle of cards between Peter's hands.

Then-

Without missing a beat, Sirius turned to Peter with a wicked grin, his smirk widening with the obvious glee of someone who had been waiting for this moment. He raised his hand, palm open, and said, "Pay up, mate."

Peter groaned loudly, rolling his eyes with exaggerated annoyance. He fished a crumpled ten-pound note from his pocket, tossing it into Sirius's waiting hand. "Unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "I thought it'd at least take three dates before he started writing 'James Black' in his notebooks."

James lifted his head slightly from the cushion, glaring at the pair of them with equal parts indignation and embarrassment. "I'm not writing anything! And I'm not in love!" he snapped, though even as he spoke, he felt the truth of his words slip through the cracks. He hesitated, then sighed deeply. "Yet."

Another groan escaped him as he let his head fall back into the cushions. "Fuck," he muttered miserably, as though the word could somehow encapsulate the emotional disaster he was trying to ignore.

Sirius leaned back into the couch with a satisfied expression, practically glowing with self-assuredness. "Called it," he said smugly, eyes twinkling with that infuriating glint of someone who had always known what was coming.

James, still barely holding it together, scowled. "This is your fault," he grumbled, shifting slightly in the chair, feeling the weight of his own foolishness. "You made me go see him."

Sirius's grin only widened. He held up a single finger, a gesture that was so utterly Sirius it was impossible to ignore. "Correction," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "You begged to go see him under the very flimsy excuse of getting a 'tiny' tattoo."

Peter snorted from across the room, unable to hold back his laughter. "You came back with a full chest piece, mate," he said, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

James waved a hand in the air dismissively, clearly not interested in revisiting the tattoo debacle. "Minor details," he muttered, sinking further into the armchair.

Sirius kicked his foot lightly in James's direction, the playful gesture showing no mercy. "Face it, Prongs. You're fucked. He's got that whole mysterious, bad-boy thing going for him, and you're just a dumb golden retriever running straight into traffic." His grin was infuriatingly confident, the words cutting right to the heart of James's misery.

James let out a dramatic sigh, his head falling into the cushions with a dull thud. "He's so pretty," he whined, his voice tinged with frustration and longing.

From the other side of the room, Peter made an exaggerated gagging noise. "Get a room," he muttered, his tone filled with equal parts amusement and mockery.

"I would if he'd let me," James mumbled, his voice almost too soft to hear, a mix of sadness and longing clouding his words.

Sirius burst into laughter, the sound so loud and unrestrained that he nearly fell off the couch in the process. "You are so gone,"

"Dead and buried" Remus added, amusement laced in his voice.

James didn't even bother to argue. He simply groaned again, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. With a final, defeated gesture, he pulled a throw pillow over his face, as if somehow, it could shield him from the relentless tide of feelings that was tormenting him.

James woke up to sunlight slashing through his curtains like it had a personal vendetta against him. The bright beam of light pierced through his eyelids, a sharp, burning reminder that he had no say in the matter. With a groan, he buried his face into his pillow, hoping to block out the relentless assault from the sun. He fumbled around blindly on the nightstand, eyes still squeezed shut, searching for his phone.

One (1) unread message.

From Pads:

"How's it feel knowing you're already whipped, Prongs? xoxoxoxo"

James squinted at it, his brain still too foggy to process properly. He flipped Sirius off without even looking up, as though that would somehow help. His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating. He should text Regulus. Keep it casual. Play it cool. Normal. No need to overthink it.

His fingers finally started moving across the keys.

"Last night was fun, thanks for letting me crash your evening."

He read it back.

It was too dry. Like he was emailing a colleague. He deleted it in a snap, cursing himself for even thinking it was fine.

"Okay, think," he muttered under his breath. Just... relax, mate.

He tried again, his thumbs typing out something that felt slightly more natural.

"Had a great time last night. We should do it again sometime?"

As soon as he finished, panic set in. "Do it again sometime?" he thought. Was that too eager? Too much?

He groaned into his pillow, a dramatic sigh slipping out as he felt the pressure of his own anxiety pressing against his ribs. He deleted the message again, the sting of failure crawling under his skin.

"Alright, come on. Just be yourself."

He started fresh, this time typing quickly:

"Pretty sure I'm still laughing about the mysterious bar bans. Good luck getting unbanned from them lol."

He stared at the screen for a moment, hoping it would feel better. It didn't. He hit "send" anyway, feeling the weight of his decision immediately settle in his chest. It's fine. It's fine.

His thumb hovered above the keyboard. A stray thought crossed his mind and before he could stop it, he typed another message.

"Also you looked really fucking good last night. Not to be weird. Sorry if it is."

He hit send.

No, no. No!

James shouted into his pillow, frustration bubbling over as he slammed his face back down. "FUCK!" he yelled, the heat of embarrassment burning through his entire body.

He stared at his phone, willing it to explode into oblivion or at least fall into a black hole. Maybe he could just... move to a different country, start fresh, and never text anyone again.

The living room was an absolute war zone, the air thick with tension, laughter, and profanity as Barty and Evan waged what could only be described as a vicious Mario Kart tournament. Barty was half off the couch, white-knuckling his controller, while Evan sat cross-legged on the floor, swearing creatively every time a blue shell came into play.

Between a shouted "You absolute WANKER" from Evan and Barty's triumphant cackling, Regulus' phone buzzed on the coffee table with a quiet little ding. Barely audible over the chaos, but Regulus heard it.

Evan, without even glancing away from the screen, called out, "Bet it's Loverboy."

"Bet it's his mum," Barty countered immediately. "Telling him he's a disgrace to the family name."

Regulus, lounging at the edge of the couch with an air of practiced disinterest, flipped them both off as he reached for his phone. He didn't expect much, maybe a calendar reminder, maybe spam, but then he saw the name at the top of the screen.

Jamie.

He thumbed it open, trying not to look as eager as he suddenly felt.

First message:

"Pretty sure I'm still laughing about the mysterious bar bans. Good luck getting unbanned from them lol."

Regulus snorted, involuntarily. His lips tugged into a reluctant smile as the memory replayed — James laughing so hard he nearly fell off his stool, his hand gripping Regulus' arm for balance, eyes crinkled, hair an absolute mess.

He was still smiling when the second message came through:

"Also you looked really fucking good last night. Not to be weird. Sorry if that's weird."

Regulus froze.

His thumb hovered over the screen. He blinked once. Twice.

And then, slowly, like the sun rising behind storm clouds, an infuriatingly smug little smile curved across his lips.

Barty paused the game mid-lap, instincts honed from years of Regulus-watching. He turned with predatory glee. "Oho. Oh ho ho. What is it?"

"Nothing," Regulus replied, far too quickly.

Evan arched a brow, finally looking up from the game. "Nothing nothing, or 'nothing' you'll spill under moderate duress and half a glass of wine?"

Regulus didn't answer. He just sipped his coffee like it was champagne and leaned back into the cushions, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, the picture of smug satisfaction.

"You're a menace," Barty muttered darkly.

"I'm charming," Regulus corrected, eyes gleaming over the rim of his mug.

"Right," Barty drawled. "So what exactly did the golden retriever say that's got you looking like you just won the lottery and committed arson in the same afternoon?"

Regulus tried to be cool. Tried to be unaffected. But he couldn't stop the tiny flicker of pink dusting his ears as he casually said, "He just said I looked good last night. That's all."

Evan snorted into his drink. "That's all?" he repeated. "Mate, you're practically glowing."

Barty clasped his hands to his chest in mock-romance and let out an exaggerated swoon. "Ooooh! He thinks you were hot. On your little date. How very romantic."

"Shut up," Regulus snapped, rolling his eyes, but his ears betrayed him, burning a deeper shade of red.

Evan gave him a knowing smirk, eyes sparkling. "Admit it. You're spiraling."

"I am not spiraling," Regulus lied.

"You're spiraling," Evan said at the same time Barty chimed in with, "You're gone, mate."

Regulus took a long, borderline aggressive gulp of his coffee, like caffeine could somehow drown out the butterflies in his stomach. He muttered into the rim of his mug, barely audible:

"I'm so fucked."

"Told you you'd crack," Barty sing-songed, looking positively delighted.

"Shut. Up," Regulus growled, sinking lower into the couch.

But the smile tugging at his lips wouldn't quite go away, and his phone, now nestled between his hands, had the message staring up at him.

He didn't respond to it right away.

His heart was to busy racing.

James was still face-down in bed, groaning into his pillow like the world had ended, screaming softly in slow, pitiful intervals, the emotional equivalent of a dying kettle. He'd been there for what felt like hours, wallowing in the cringe-flavored aftermath of his texts, when his phone buzzed again on the mattress beside him.

He froze mid-scream.

A notification flashed across the screen:
New message. From Reggie.

James stared at it like it had personally offended him.

He didn't touch it at first. Just lay there, heartbeat suddenly thudding in his throat, every possible scenario playing through his mind like a horror montage.

Eventually, after what was likely only twenty seconds but felt like a lifetime, he summoned the courage of a thousand Gryffindors, exhaled like he was about to defuse a bomb, and opened the message.

It read:

"You're lucky you're cute."

That was it.
No emojis. No follow-up. No context.

Just that.

James made a high-pitched noise, somewhere between a squeak and the sound a dying seagull might make if it stubbed its toe. He rocketed upright in bed, knocking over the half-full water bottle on his nightstand. It hit the floor with a thud, but he didn't even blink.

"OH MY GOD," he said out loud, voice cracking, limbs flailing like he was trying to escape his own body.

"Lucky I'm cute?"

He flopped back onto the mattress with the dramatics of a Shakespearean widow, phone clutched to his chest like it might float him to safety. His brain was spiraling so fast it might've short-circuited something vital.

He had three options:

Text back something witty.

Text back something flirty.

Text nothing and die immediately.

He shot up again like Frankenstein's monster being electrocuted back to life, hair sticking up in five directions, and started typing furiously.

"Well you're lucky you're insanely hot so guess we're even??"

He blinked.

Too much.

Deleted.

Tried again:

"Not sure if lucky is the word I'd use. I feel like I've been hit by a bus. A very attractive bus."

He stared at it for three solid seconds before deleting it too.

"Fucking hell, Potter," he muttered, scrubbing his hands down his face. "Pull yourself together."

He hurled the phone dramatically to the far side of the bed. Five seconds passed. He lunged after it like a man possessed.

What if Regulus texted again?

He rolled onto his back, phone against his chest, grinning like a complete idiot in the middle of his emotional breakdown.

This was hell.

Actual, real, living hell.

And he was smiling about it.

Regulus calmly set his phone down on the coffee table and lifted his mug, fingers curled delicately around it like he had all the time in the world. His expression was perfectly neutral, at least until a smug little smirk crept in at the corners of his mouth.

On the other end of the couch, Barty had paused mid-race in Mario Kart, staring openly. Evan had turned down the volume and was very pointedly not looking away.

Regulus took a slow sip of his coffee.

"What?" he asked, deadpan. Completely innocent.

"You sent one text," Barty said, eyes wide, "and I could hear him scream through the astral plane."

Evan nodded solemnly. "Powerful."

Regulus didn't respond, just smiled into his mug, eyes gleaming like he'd just set fire to something and walked away without looking back.

And truthfully? He felt unstoppable.

James was pacing the length of the living room like a man being slowly driven mad by his own thoughts, barefoot, hair in complete disarray, and muttering under his breath like someone three steps away from summoning a demon. He clutched his phone like it had personally wronged him, glancing at the screen every few seconds with the wide-eyed panic of someone expecting either a love confession or a death threat.

The front door creaked open and Sirius stepped in, pausing in the doorway as he took in the chaos: furniture askew, a throw pillow on the floor, and James making frantic laps like he was training for an Olympic nervous breakdown.

Sirius sighed deeply, tossing his keys into the bowl by the door. "Okay. What did you break?"

James spun around so fast it was a miracle he didn't fall over. "Nothing!"

Sirius raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow.

"Nothing... important," James amended, voice cracking slightly.

Sirius didn't say anything for a beat, just walked over, grabbed him by the shoulders, and physically steered him to the sofa. He shoved him down with all the grace of someone handling a caffeinated toddler. "Sit. Breathe. Tell Uncle Sirius why you're vibrating at a concerning frequency."

James flopped back into the cushions like a puppet whose strings had just been cut and groaned into his hands. "Regulus texted me."

Sirius blinked. "...Okay?"

James lifted his head, eyes wild. "He said, and I quote,'You're lucky you're cute.'"

Sirius stared.

James waved his phone around like it was Exhibit A in a murder trial. "And now I don't know what to do, because what does that even mean? Is he flirting? Is he mocking me? Is he just trying to destroy me emotionally like some kind of gorgeous, vindictive Victorian ghost?!"

There was a long pause.

Then Sirius doubled over laughing.

"Oh my god," he wheezed. "You are so gone for him. This is embarrassing. I'm embarrassed for you."

James threw his arms in the air, utterly exasperated. "Help me, you absolute troll!"

Still chuckling, Sirius dropped onto the sofa beside him and held out a hand. "Give me your phone."

James blinked. "Why?"

"Because," Sirius said, very seriously, "if anyone knows how to flirt with my brother without immediately dying of shame, it's me. Now hand it over."

James hesitated like he was about to hand over a live grenade, then passed the phone to Sirius like it was a hostage negotiation.

Sirius cracked his knuckles, muttering under his breath as he typed. "Okay. Simple. Direct. Mildly chaotic to match his emotionally repressed energy. A little reckless, but not desperate. Boom."

He shoved the phone back into James' hands, looking far too smug for someone enabling a romantic disaster.

James read the message aloud in horror:
"If I'm lucky, does that mean I get to see you again before I combust from how good you look in leather jackets?"

His jaw dropped. "You can't just say that to people!"

"You can and you will," Sirius said, already standing up and stretching like a man who had just done God's work. "Send it, coward."

James made a strangled noise, somewhere between a whimper and a full-body sob, but his thumb hit send before he could second-guess it.

It was out in the universe now.

He curled into the sofa with a dramatic groan, like he was trying to disappear into the upholstery. "This is it. I've peaked. Everything from this moment forward is just shame and regret."

Sirius grinned and headed for the kitchen. "I can't believe I'm helping you flirt with my baby brother. I'm going straight to hell for this."

James flung himself across the cushions with a pathetic wail. "I LOVE YOU, YOU GORGEOUS BASTARD!"

Sirius flipped him off casually over his shoulder without missing a step.

James stared at his phone, heart thudding against his ribs like a war drum.

Then, the typing bubble appeared.

His breath caught. "Holy shit," he whispered. "Holy shit, it's working."

Regulus was stretched out across the couch like a cat in the sun, legs tangled in a blanket, half-watching the movie Evan had put on after Barty rage-quit their Mario Kart tournament. The lights were dimmed, the volume low, and there was a mostly-empty bottle of wine on the table, the kind of calm that only ever lasted ten seconds when his friends were involved.

So when his phone buzzed on the armrest beside him, both Barty and Evan turned to him in unison like synchronized bloodhounds who had just caught the scent of chaos.

"No," Regulus said immediately, not even having looked yet.

Evan leaned forward with the grin of someone already ten steps ahead. "Was that Lover Boy?"

"No, Evan, it was his mum, obviously," Barty quipped, shooting him a look of exaggerated seriousness.

Evan stuck his tongue out. Barty shoved him in the shoulder. It was a whole thing.

Regulus ignored them with the cool detachment of someone who'd grown used to their nonsense, and who also, maybe, didn't trust himself to speak just yet. He unlocked his phone, fully intending to pretend like it was a work email or a notification from his bank or literally anything else.

But the second his eyes landed on the message, he flushed scarlet, not just pink-cheeked, but full-body, neck-to-ears crimson.

Barty sat up straighter, eyes lighting up. "You look like you're about to spontaneously combust."

"Spill," he added, propping his feet up on the coffee table and grinning like the devil himself. "Give us the gossip. I live for this."

Regulus, still pink-faced and fuming, gave them both the finger in a very mature show of composure.

They cackled like witches over a bubbling cauldron.

Regulus, despite himself, read the message again, partly to make sure he hadn't hallucinated it, and partly because it made something warm and ridiculous flutter in his chest.

"If I'm lucky, does that mean I get to see you again before I combust from how good you look in leather jackets?"

He dragged a hand down his face, trying to scrub the smile off before it could settle too deeply.

"He's so annoying," Regulus muttered, but his voice betrayed him, soft and stupidly fond.

"You're so gone," Barty said gleefully, kicking him lightly in the shin.

"Absolutely tragic," Evan agreed, swirling his drink like he was judging a wine tasting. "Does your tragic little heart flutter every time he uses full punctuation?"

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn't bother denying it. Instead, he quickly typed out a reply, heart pounding hard enough he could feel it in his throat. He didn't let himself overthink it, which was already dangerous.

"You could always come see it up close. If you think you can handle it."

He hit send before his brain could catch up, then immediately lobbed the phone across the couch like it had burst into flames.

There was a stunned beat of silence.

Then-

"Did you just flirt back?" Barty gasped, clutching his chest like he'd just watched a soap opera twist in real time.

"I witnessed it with my own two eyes," Evan said solemnly, raising his glass in salute. "A miracle."

Regulus groaned and buried his face in the nearest cushion as they whooped like football fans celebrating a goal in overtime.

"Don't look at me," came his muffled voice from the pillow. "I no longer exist."

But they were looking at him- and cheering.

Loudly.

Because for the first time in ages, Regulus looked like someone who wanted to be seen.

James was still sprawled face-down on the sofa, halfway into an emotional coma, when his phone buzzed on the cushion next to him.

He froze like a deer in headlights.

Across the room, Sirius reappeared in the doorway, a slice of pizza dangling from one hand, looking far too amused by the whole situation. "You gonna check that, Romeo, or just absorb it into your soul through osmosis?"

James made a wounded, vaguely strangled noise, then lunged for his phone like it was a life raft and he was three seconds from drowning. His heart was already pounding. He had no chill left. Not a scrap of it.

Then he saw the message.

"You could always come see it up close. If you think you can handle it."

James stared at the screen. Unblinking. Breath caught in his throat.

A long, stunned silence stretched across the room.

Sirius, now chewing on his pizza, watched him like one might watch a squirrel about to fall off a telephone wire. "Well?" he prompted, through a mouthful of cheese. "What'd he say?"

James squeaked.

An actual, involuntary, high-pitched squeak.

Then, without warning, he rolled off the sofa with all the grace of a sack of bricks, landing on the floor with a thud and zero dignity. He lay there flat on his back, clutching his phone to his chest, staring at the ceiling like he'd just seen a divine vision.

Sirius blinked. "Did... did you die?"

"He flirted back," James gasped, wide-eyed and breathless.

"No shit," Sirius said, now fully invested. "What'd he say? Gimme the goods."

James sat bolt upright, wild-haired and shining like a man on the edge. "He said- he said I could come see it up close if I think I can handle it." His voice cracked somewhere between 'see' and 'handle,' which only made him clutch the phone harder like it might leap out of his hands and run away.

Sirius dropped the pizza slice onto a plate and sat down slowly, shaking his head in awe. "James. My man. You are so, so screwed."

"I know," James wailed, flopping backward again with an arm thrown dramatically over his face. "I can't just show up! That's desperate. He'll know. He'll smell it on me."

"You are desperate," Sirius pointed out helpfully. "You reek of it. You're practically sweating pheromones."

"I need to be cool," James decided, sitting up and starting to pace the room like a lunatic. "Mysterious. Unreadable. A sexy enigma, like- like a spy who drinks black coffee and broods in windows."

Sirius snorted so violently he almost dropped his plate. "Mate. You just squeaked and rolled off a sofa like a fainting goat. Your 'sexy enigma' era is dead on arrival."

James made a distressed, gargling noise and dragged his hands through his hair, making it stick up even more violently than before. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. What do I text back? It has to be good. Clever. Not desperate. No smiley faces."

"Text him back," Sirius said calmly, like he wasn't enjoying every second of James' breakdown. "Before your brain explodes and leaks out your ears."

James stared at his phone like it had personally insulted his entire bloodline. "What if I say something stupid?"

"You will say something stupid," Sirius said cheerfully. "That's your whole appeal. He's clearly into it. Just lean in."

James collapsed back onto the sofa with a tortured groan. "This is it. This is how I die. Bury me in leather and denim, and tell Regulus he was right about the eyeliner."

"Can I have your record collection when you croak?" Sirius asked sweetly.

"Fuck you," James muttered, but he was already typing, thumbs shaking as he tried to craft the perfect response with all the elegance of a man hanging from a cliff by his shoelaces.

Across the room, Sirius just grinned, watching the whole thing unfold like it was his favorite soap opera.

The second Regulus hit send on his dangerously flirtatious text, a wave of regret surged through him like a freight train. His eyes widened, and without a word, he grabbed the nearest couch cushion and promptly shoved it over his face.

From beneath the muffling fabric came a long, tortured groan. "He's gonna think I'm desperate."

"You are desperate," Barty chirped cheerfully, not missing a beat as he chucked a handful of popcorn in Regulus' general direction.

"I give it thirty seconds before you check your phone again," Evan added lazily, stretching out along the other end of the couch like a cat in a sunbeam, utterly smug.

The movie, some chaotic action flick Evan had insisted on, was now a distant memory. None of them were even pretending to pay attention. All three were now subtly (or not so subtly) hunched toward Regulus' phone, which sat ominously on the coffee table like it was counting down to detonation.

Regulus peeked out from under the cushion, dark eyes narrowing. "You're worse than vultures."

"We're supportive friends," Barty said, adopting an innocent expression that fooled no one. "Now suffer with dignity."

Then the phone buzzed.

Regulus jolted so hard he nearly spilled Evan's drink, hand flying to his chest like he'd just been shot.

"OPEN IT!" Barty and Evan yelled in unison, practically lunging across the couch.

"Fuck off," Regulus hissed — but his hand was already halfway to the phone, fingers trembling slightly, heart thudding with embarrassing urgency.

He picked it up. Read.

"If you think I can handle it, you better be ready to test me. When are you free? ;) "

Regulus blinked.

Read it again.

Then again — just to be sure he hadn't hallucinated the winky face from sheer delusion.

He dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burst into flames. "Oh my God."

Evan, now sitting upright with laser focus, was practically vibrating. "WELL?"

Regulus stared at the middle distance, expression blank. "He-" He faltered, shaking his head slightly, like he needed to reboot his brain.

"He asked me when I'm free," he finally said, dazed.

That was all it took.

Barty let out a victorious howl, flinging popcorn in the air like confetti. "You slut!" he declared, eyes gleaming with pride. "I'm so proud of you."

"Little Regulus, all grown up," Evan fake-sobbed dramatically, wiping a phantom tear from his cheek. "He's flirting like a real boy now."

Regulus, cheeks flushed a suspicious shade of pink, flipped them both off without even looking. "You're both unbearable."

"You're the one who's blushing like a schoolgirl," Barty said, grinning wickedly. "Don't act like you're not into this."

"I'm literally going to die," Regulus muttered, seizing his drink and tossing back half of it like it might erase his entire existence.

"Good," Barty replied smugly, already reaching for Regulus' phone. "Now text him back before he thinks that wink emoji broke your spirit."

"I hate you," Regulus said automatically, but his fingers were already hovering over the screen, heart racing, a barely contained smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he started typing again.

Because he was absolutely going to text back.

And they all knew it.

Regulus sat on the couch, his face flushed a deep red as his fingers hovered nervously over his phone screen. He stared at the message he had just typed, weighing the words carefully.

"I'm free Friday. If you think you can survive another night with me, Potter."

He grimaced, biting his lip as he read it over one more time. Was it too forward? Too much? Was he coming on too strong? His thumb hovered hesitantly over the send button, and his eyes flicked to the room around him for reassurance.

"Too much?" he muttered to himself, anxiety bubbling up inside him. He glanced up at Barty, who was lounging lazily on the opposite couch, wearing a smirk that could only be described as villainous.

"Not enough," Barty replied smoothly, his grin widening as he lazily twirled a glass in his hand.

Regulus groaned in frustration and turned his gaze to Evan, who was sitting next to him, barely paying attention as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth.

"Send it before you start writing a love letter," Evan said with a muffled voice, not looking up from his snack.

"Ugh," Regulus grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I hate both of you." But with a deep breath, he hit the send button, feeling an immediate mix of exhilaration and regret.

Without even glancing back at the phone, he tossed it onto the couch and buried his face in his hands, praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

Meanwhile, across the city, James was a bundle of nerves, just as tangled up in his emotions as Regulus. He paced back and forth in his living room, clutching his phone as if it were his lifeline, his fingers gripping it with white-knuckled intensity. Every second felt like a century as he waited for the notification to pop up. When it finally did, he snatched the phone up like it might vanish at any moment, his heart hammering in his chest.

The message from Regulus appeared on the screen, and James stared at it with wide eyes. He read it again, his mind racing as the meaning sank in.

When his brain caught up with his excitement, he made a sound, an almost squeaky gasp, that was so high-pitched it startled Sirius, who had been walking past the door.

"What the actual fuck," Sirius said, stepping into the room with an incredulous look on his face, clearly not expecting to find his best friend acting like this.

James was too far gone to notice the sarcasm in Sirius' tone. "He- he said Friday!" James gasped, waving his phone in the air like it was some kind of holy artifact. "And- and he called me Potter. With attitude! That's got to be good, right? That's flirting, right?"

Sirius paused, staring at him for a long moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly resigned to the chaos that was about to unfold.

"I cannot believe I'm about to say this," Sirius muttered to himself, "But yes, James. Congratulations. My baby brother is flirting with you. Jesus Christ."

James didn't hear the sarcasm or the slight edge in Sirius' tone. All he could focus on was the rush of joy that coursed through him. His heart was racing, and he felt like he was floating.

"Should I play it cool??" James asked, his voice high with excitement. "Should I- should I say something clever??"

Sirius, however, was quick with his response. "No. Absolutely not. You're physically incapable of playing it cool. Just... just be normal."

James puffed out his chest, feigning indignation. "I am normal!" he protested, though even he could hear the desperate note in his voice.

Sirius turned to leave, his eyes narrowing. He looked over his shoulder, muttering under his breath, "I can't believe I'm helping you flirt with my baby brother."

James, oblivious to the sarcasm in Sirius' tone, beamed at him like a wide-eyed puppy. "LOVE YOU, PADS!!"

Sirius didn't even turn around as he walked out of the room, flipping James off with a casual hand over his shoulder.

"I hate you," he muttered, but his voice lacked any real heat.

James, grinning like a maniac, flopped back onto his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand. He had no idea what was coming next, but one thing was certain- he couldn't wait to find out.

Regulus sat on the couch, absolutely motionless, his phone lying face-up in front of him as if it were some cursed artifact, its bright screen mocking him with its silent promise of impending doom. His heart was hammering in his chest, and the phone felt like a weight that might crush him at any second.

Barty and Evan, meanwhile, had long since abandoned the pretense of watching the movie. The two of them were leaning forward, eyes locked on Regulus, their faces split into matching, devilish grins that were all teeth and mischief.

"Well?" Evan prodded, his voice sharp with impatience as he jabbed Regulus' arm with his elbow. "Did he reply?"

Regulus shot him a withering look. "You literally saw me send the text two seconds ago," he snapped, his frustration bubbling over as he grabbed a pillow from the couch and half-heartedly tossed it in Evan's direction.

Evan, unfazed, caught the pillow with a casual flick of his wrist. "Yeah," he said, his grin widening. "And two seconds is more than enough time for True Love to bloom."

Regulus groaned and dropped his head back against the couch with a heavy thud, the sound exaggerated enough that even Barty raised an eyebrow. "I'm actually going to vomit," Regulus muttered, his voice thick with both embarrassment and dread.

Just as the air in the room thickened with the tension of waiting, the phone buzzed.

All three of them jumped, the noise startling them out of their own thoughts. Regulus, despite the nausea that was already swirling in his stomach, shot forward, his hand grabbing the phone with such force he almost slapped Barty in the face in the process.

His fingers trembled as he unlocked the screen and stared at the message that had arrived.

James' reply read:

"Survive? Reg, I think about you and I start making plans for a funeral. Mine. You're lethal. Friday it is. I'll meet you at seven?"

Regulus just... stared at it. His brain seemed to short-circuit, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. The words swam before his eyes as if they might rearrange themselves into something less horrifying, less intimate, but no, what he saw was exactly what he feared.

He blinked.

Then he blinked again, convinced that if he stared long enough, the message might change. It didn't.

Barty was the first to break the silence. "WELL?!" he demanded, practically bouncing in his seat with excitement.

Regulus, still in shock, turned the phone around to show them. His face had gone a deep shade of red, and he couldn't bring himself to look at either of them directly, too mortified to even meet their gazes.

For a long moment, there was only silence as the three of them processed what had just happened. Then, without warning, both Barty and Evan let out the most filthy, exaggerated, and unholy whistles Regulus had ever heard in his life. The sound made his skin crawl with equal parts mortification and disbelief.

"Oh, he's so down bad," Evan cackled, practically vibrating with barely-contained excitement. His fingers drummed eagerly against the couch.

Barty's eyes were wide with mock horror as he leaned in closer. "Mate," he said in awe, his voice almost reverential, "I think you just killed James Potter with flirting. Actual manslaughter."

Regulus, by now curled in on himself like he wanted to disappear into the couch cushions, made a pathetic strangled noise in the back of his throat, his face buried in his hands.

Evan's tone turned oddly serious. "You can't die now," he said, still grinning like an idiot. "You've got a date Friday. And also because I have ten quid riding on you kissing him first."

Regulus nearly choked. "You, you bet money on me?!" he spluttered, his voice rising in pitch with disbelief.

"Of course we did," Barty said, his grin growing even wider, if possible. "It's called investing in our entertainment."

Regulus could feel his soul leaving his body as he shoved his face into yet another pillow, muffling a groan so deep it almost sounded like a death rattle.

Barty, as usual, wasn't finished. He tossed a handful of popcorn at Regulus' head, a playful but insistent nudge. "Face it," he said, his tone playful as he threw popcorn at him again. "You're smitten."

"You're all idiots." Regulus said,his voice muffled. "And you're the reason I have trust issues."

"Yeah, yeah," Evan said. "Now what are you wearing Friday? We need to prepare. This is life or death."

Regulus lifted his head just enough to glare murderously at them, but there was a tiny, traitorous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth too.

"Okay," Barty said, his voice suddenly serious as he stood up, clapping his hands together with the enthusiasm of someone about to launch a military operation. "Step one: outfit."

Regulus, still half-buried under a pile of pillows, mumbled from beneath them, "I have clothes."

"You have funeral clothes," Evan countered, his voice full of mock judgment as he grabbed Regulus by the wrist and yanked him upright with surprising strength. "Not date-with-a-hot-idiot-who's-obsessed-with-you clothes."

Regulus flushed a deep shade of red, already protesting, "He's not-"

"He is," Barty interjected with unshakable confidence. "We all saw the text. Accept your power, Regulus. This is your moment."

"Anyway," Evan cut in, completely unfazed by Regulus' protests, and kicked open the door to Regulus' bedroom with all the drama of a Broadway star. "Let's see what we're working with."

Regulus stumbled after them, his feet dragging like he was walking to his own execution. His mind was spinning, torn between the absurdity of the situation and the deep, undeniable tension in his stomach.

Inside the room, Barty wasted no time. He began pulling clothes off hangers with the speed and precision of someone preparing for battle, tossing them onto the bed as if they were disposable. Each item was met with an exaggerated commentary.

"Nope."

"Also, no."

"Jesus Christ, no—what are you, a Victorian ghost?"

"This one's so boring I'm falling asleep."

Regulus, now half-leaning against the doorframe, deadpanned, "I hope you both step on Legos."

Evan, who had been rummaging through the closet, surfaced triumphantly with a pair of black jeans and a silky, dark green shirt. He held them up with a flourish, as if he'd just found the Holy Grail.

"This," he declared, his voice full of dramatic flair, "This is what you need to wear. You need to look like you didn't try too hard, but also like you could ruin his life if you felt like it."

"I could ruin his life," Regulus said, raising a single, skeptical eyebrow.

"Exactly," Barty said, looking both impressed and proud. "You need to dress the part."

Regulus eyed the clothes warily, clearly weighing the pros and cons in his mind. He stared at the dark green fabric for a long moment, his brow furrowing.

"It's green," he said suspiciously. "Are you trying to make me look like a goblin?"

"Yeah," Evan said with a grin that was far too pleased with itself. "It matches your villain origin story."

"And your eyes," Barty added sweetly, batting his lashes dramatically. "Makes them pop."

Regulus gave them both a flat, unimpressed look. But despite himself, he found his hand reaching out to snatch the clothes from Evan's grip.

"Fine," he muttered, heading toward the bathroom with as much dignity as he could muster. "But if I end up looking like an idiot, I'm burning this entire flat down."

"Worth it," Barty called after him cheerfully, barely containing his excitement.

The moment the bathroom door slammed shut, Barty and Evan collapsed onto Regulus' bed in unison, the smugness radiating off them like an aura.

"He's so gone for him," Barty said, flopping onto his back and kicking his feet up, his voice full of quiet triumph.

"It's actually pathetic," Evan agreed, leaning back with a mischievous grin. "He's already in too deep."

They exchanged a high-five, the sound echoing through the room, both of them practically vibrating with glee.

Inside the bathroom, Regulus stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection for what felt like an eternity. His fingers brushed against the fabric of the shirt, the smoothness of the material surprising him. He couldn't quite explain it, but there was something about the outfit that felt... different. For a second, he considered just slipping out of it and throwing on something safe, something comfortable. But the thought of the upcoming date, of James' teasing message still burning in his mind, made him pause.

With a deep breath, Regulus exhaled slowly, letting the tension slip from his shoulders. He didn't look like an idiot. In fact, he looked - dare he admit it - kind of good.

And then, despite himself, a small, traitorous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He couldn't help it. It felt ridiculous, but there it was, the beginning of something new.

Regulus took one last look in the mirror, straightened his shoulders, and adjusted the collar of his shirt, ready to step out of the bathroom. It might be a disaster, or it might just be the start of something that could change everything. But for once, he wasn't running from it.

When he opened the door, Barty and Evan looked up, their eyes widening at the sight of him.

"Well, well," Barty said with a slow grin. "Look at you, Potter's new favorite accessory."

Regulus shot him a glare, but the smile that still lingered on his lips made it clear, he wasn't quite as bothered as he'd let on.

Evan threw himself onto the bed dramatically.

"He's toast," he said, shaking his head. "I've never seen someone so gone."

Regulus was leaning casually against the wall of the pub when James arrived, the soft glow of the streetlight above casting a golden halo around him. He was scrolling idly on his phone, his dark green shirt and even darker jeans cutting a sharp silhouette against the night. His hair was a little messy, as though he'd run his hands through it on the way there, and the way he stood, so effortlessly cool, made something in James' chest tighten.

James paused for a second, taking in the sight of him, then started forward with a bright, confident greeting. "Hi-" he said, his voice high and a little too eager, only for it to crack halfway through. He cleared his throat, trying again, "Hey."

Regulus looked up from his phone at the exact wrong moment. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he studied James, his gaze so piercing that James felt a blush rising in his cheeks. "You alright there, Potter?" Regulus asked, his voice laced with amusement.

James, caught off guard and already scrambling for something to say, dragged a hand through his hair in a panic. He tried to recover, but it was hopeless. He was already way past the point of saving face. "Yeah," he stammered, though it was definitely not a confident "yeah." "You- you look good. I mean, you always look good. Not that I've seen you always- I don't, like, watch you. Obviously. That would be-"

Regulus just stared at him, his eyebrow slowly arching higher with each word James fumbled. The silence stretched on, and James, now thoroughly mortified, shut his mouth with an audible click, his face turning a brilliant shade of crimson.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Regulus took mercy on him. He pushed himself off the wall with a fluid motion, slipping his phone into his pocket, and took a step closer to James. The proximity was almost too much; James could smell the faint trace of cologne and soap on him, a clean, sharp scent that seemed to match the casual yet dangerous air Regulus exuded.

"You're cute when you panic," Regulus said, his voice low and amused, his eyes gleaming with the kind of confidence that made James feel like he was about to combust.

James made a noise that was absolutely not human- a strangled half-choke that sounded more like an animal in distress than a man. He quickly covered it up with an awkward cough, trying to recover, though he was well beyond salvaging the situation. He gestured toward the door, his thumb jerking nervously. "Should we- should we go in? Before I embarrass myself any further?"

Regulus' smirk widened at that, clearly enjoying every second of James' discomfort.

"Lead the way, Hotshot," he said, his tone teasing but somehow affectionate, like he knew exactly what he was doing to James' already frazzled nerves.

James, now feeling completely undone, pulled open the door with an exaggerated flourish, hoping it might, at the very least, give him a scrap of dignity back. Regulus breezed past him without missing a beat, his movement so effortlessly graceful that James almost forgot to follow for a second. He stood frozen for a brief moment, staring after Regulus as he entered the pub, and then, realising he was grinning like an absolute fool, James shook his head and hurried after him.

He was so, so doomed.

James was still grinning when he leaned back in the booth, his fingers absently twirling the nearly-empty glass between them. The dim light of the pub danced off the surface of his drink, casting small glimmers across his skin. His head was buzzing from the laughter and the drinks, his thoughts racing faster than he could catch them. He should probably stop talking now.

He really should.

But then again, he was never one for shoulds.

"You know," James said, his voice dropping lower, a little rougher than usual from the drinks and the night of easy conversation, "if you play your cards right, I might just let you take me home."

He tossed the words out half-joking, expecting Regulus to roll his eyes or maybe kick him under the table like he had earlier. But instead, Regulus just tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes catching the low light in the pub, the smirk on his lips growing.

"Oh?" he said, his voice smooth and quiet, like velvet being dragged over steel. "I think you've got it backwards, Potter."

James blinked, feeling a heat rush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol. His brain scrambled to catch up.

Regulus leaned forward, his arms folding lazily across the table, bringing them dangerously close. James could smell the faint trace of his cologne, something crisp and clean that smelled entirely too good, completely unfair, given how effortlessly Regulus wore it. The proximity made his heart stutter in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite name but knew was dangerously close to being in over his head.

"I don't need to play any cards," Regulus continued, his voice casual, like they were discussing something mundane, like the weather. "You'd come home with me if I looked at you the right way."

James opened his mouth to argue, to say something, anything, to stop this before it went too far.

But nothing came out. Not a word. Not a sound.

Instead, the only thing that escaped him was a strangled, pitiful noise, somewhere between a squeak and a gasp.

Regulus, the bastard, smiled. It was a slow, smug thing, the kind of smile a cat might wear after knocking over a priceless vase, on purpose. He leaned back in his seat, clearly enjoying the complete disarray he'd caused, sipping his drink like he hadn't just shattered James into a thousand pieces.

James, utterly defeated, shoved his hands through his hair, his heart pounding in his chest so loudly he was sure Regulus could hear it. He could barely breathe, his pulse racing with the kind of heady, chaotic mix of exhilaration and panic.

"Okay," James finally managed, his voice rougher than he intended, clearing his throat to try and find something resembling control. "First of all, rude."

Regulus just hummed, an amused sound, clearly not sorry in the slightest.

"Second," James pressed on, pointing a finger at him, his face flushed a shade of red that was impossible to hide, "you don't know what I would or wouldn't do."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, the kind of eyebrow and said, "Sure, Jamie. Whatever you say". He said it mockingly, but it made James' heart trip over itself. The nickname making his whole body shiver slightly.

"Third," James added, feeling the panic rise to new levels of absurdity, "you're buying the next round if you're gonna keep emotionally devastating me like this."

Regulus laughed - actually laughed. It wasn't just a chuckle or a quiet snort; it was full-bodied, head tilted back, chest heaving with the kind of genuine, carefree joy that made something in James' chest twist. His hair fell into his eyes as he laughed, and for a moment, James thought he might actually die from the weight of how good it sounded.

Regulus caught his breath, still smiling. "Deal," he said, his voice light, before standing up and stretching in that effortless, casual way that made it all the more unfair. "Come on, adorable idiot. I need something stronger if I'm going to keep flirting with you without passing out."

James barely registered the words. He was already scrambling to get up, his brain barely functioning as he hurried to follow Regulus. His heart was doing something illegal in his chest, racing at an impossible speed as his thoughts scattered, and all he could think about was how dangerously close he was to losing control of everything.

This was going to be a disaster, one he was absolutely, undeniably, and ridiculously okay with.

The pub was alive with noise, a thick hum of chatter and laughter that bounced off the walls, vibrating in the air as James and Regulus squeezed through the crowd toward the bar. James kept jostling Regulus's shoulder, maybe a little on purpose, each time he bumped into him, earning a raised brow and an unimpressed side-eye from Regulus. The cold, measured glances only made James grin wider, the corners of his mouth curling as the electricity between them buzzed with every touch.

"So," James said, leaning with what he hoped looked like casual ease against the bar (though it was more of a stumble than anything else), "what's your poison, pretty boy?"

Regulus blinked at him once, slow and calculating, like he was measuring James with some unspoken thought behind his dark eyes. And then, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, he smirked and replied, "Tequila."

James blinked, momentarily stunned. "You're trying to kill me," he said, leaning back just a little, eyes widening as he took in the sheer audacity of Regulus's choice.

Regulus merely shrugged, nonchalant. "Not my fault if you can't handle it," he said airily, his fingers tapping the bar to get the bartender's attention. His confidence made James feel both a little jealous and far too eager to impress.

And for reasons James couldn't quite justify, he found himself responding before his brain could catch up with his mouth. "Two shots then."

Regulus shot him a look that was equal parts amused and dangerously intrigued. It was the kind of look that made James' heart pick up speed, the kind that made him feel like he was already in way too deep and there was no escape.

The bartender set the shots down in front of them, and James raised his glass high with a mischievous grin. "To bad decisions," he toasted, holding Regulus's gaze with a dare in his eyes.

Regulus didn't skip a beat. "And worse company," he countered sweetly, clinking his glass against James's with a little more force than necessary before knocking it back in one fluid motion that could only be described as too impressive.

James, determined to keep up, threw his own back, the alcohol burning as it slid down his throat. He nearly gagged, his stomach doing a somersault as the tequila hit him hard, but somehow, miraculously, he managed to keep his dignity intact - if by dignity, he meant barely managing to keep his face from contorting into something close to regret.

Regulus, meanwhile, was casually licking a bit of salt off his wrist in a way that was so effortlessly seductive, it made James wonder if his entire nervous system had just short-circuited. The sight of Regulus's tongue on his wrist was like a punch to the gut, but James still couldn't look away.

"You're a menace," James managed to say, his voice hoarse from the shot, his throat still burning from the sting.

Regulus tilted his head in mock innocence, his smirk widening. "You invited me out," he pointed out, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

James, still reeling from the whole situation, threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Yeah," he said, his voice growing reckless with a kind of giddiness he hadn't expected, "best decision I've made all week."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, eyes sweeping over him slowly as if making a note of every little detail. "You must have very boring weeks, then," he said, the challenge in his voice like an invitation James wasn't sure he was ready to accept but wanted to anyway.

James barked a laugh, his chest warming in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. "You have no idea."

And, on impulse, he bumped his shoulder into Regulus again, this time with a little more force. Regulus, without hesitation, bumped him back, harder, sending James stumbling toward the bar. He barely caught himself, the back of his hand brushing the counter as his body tilted dangerously to the side.

They were a mess.

But somehow, they were thriving.

A little further down the bar, Peter was giggling uncontrollably, struggling to keep his phone steady as he snapped a blurry photo of the two of them. James was leaning a little too far into Regulus, their shoulders almost touching, both of their cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the closeness. Their eyes were bright, sparkling with some shared, unspoken amusement.

Peter, still laughing, sent the photo to Sirius with the kind of urgency only alcohol-fueled excitement could produce.

[Sirius]
if they get married tonight i am NOT paying for the wedding
[Peter]
bro they're not even gonna remember tonight
[Sirius]
even worse. they'll wake up engaged and hungover.

Back at the bar, James, already a little too eager for another round, slid closer to Regulus, his voice a touch too loud. "Another round?" he asked, his grin wide, fingers drumming on the counter in anticipation.

Regulus's eyes darkened with amusement as he looked back at James, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Only if you can keep up, Potter," he said, his voice a low, dangerous drawl.

James's pulse quickened, an absurd thrill racing through him. He slammed his hand on the bar in a move that was equal parts bravado and desperation. "Challenge accepted."

It was, without a doubt, the worst (and best) decision he was going to make all night.

Somehow, despite their best efforts, or lack thereof, they survived a few more rounds without anyone dying or puking, which honestly felt like an accomplishment at this point. The alcohol was beginning to weave its warm, dizzying spell on James, leaving him light-headed and giddy as he leaned against the bar, laughing at something Regulus had said. It was something about Barty getting banned from a bowling alley for "philosophical differences," and James couldn't stop chuckling at the absurdity of it.

Regulus nudged him gently, his fingers brushing James's arm with an easy familiarity that sent a jolt of warmth through his chest. "Come on," Regulus said, his voice low but carrying that edge of amusement, "I need air before I punch someone."

James straightened up immediately, like a puppy who had just been offered a walk. "Where to, my fair knight?" he slurred just slightly, but the goofy grin on his face was too wide to hide.

Regulus rolled his eyes, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. James counted it as a win. Without waiting for an answer, Regulus grabbed the sleeve of James's jacket and yanked him toward the door, his fingers brushing the fabric with an ease that sent an unexpected thrill through James's veins.

The cool night air hit them like a breath of fresh clarity, sharp against the heat of the pub. They both laughed too loudly as they stumbled out into the street, the yellow glow from the pub spilling out behind them like a halo. The world felt a little off-kilter, but in the best way possible. Regulus fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, his fingers moving with a practiced fluidity. Without a word, he offered one to James, who hesitated only for a second before accepting it. He tried to look cooler than he felt, but the clumsy way he held the cigarette betrayed him. He knew he was failing miserably, but the night felt too alive to care.

"Got a light?" James asked, his voice slightly breathless from the alcohol and the adrenaline.

Regulus didn't respond with words. Instead, he stepped in close, so close that James could smell the faint mix of whiskey and mint on his breath, the heat of him nearly searing. He leaned in and lit James's cigarette with a practiced flick of his lighter, cupping his hand around the flame in a gesture that seemed almost intimate.

James's heart raced in his chest, pounding hard enough that he could feel it in his teeth. He didn't know how long they stood there, the air between them crackling with something unspoken. Regulus was looking at him with eyes that were dark, sharp, and full of something James couldn't quite place, amusement? Challenge? It was all too much to figure out in the moment, and yet it was all he could focus on.

"You're staring," Regulus said, his voice low, a little rough around the edges.

James blinked, feeling his face go warm as he tried to recover from the weight of Regulus's gaze. "No, m'not," he managed, the words barely forming as he floundered under the weight of his own thoughts.

"You are," Regulus replied, and his tone softened, just slightly. "Not that I mind."

James's heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. There was just a kind of haze in his mind, a complete inability to form a coherent thought when all he could focus on was how close they were, how impossible it was to look away. Regulus was still watching him, eyes steady and dark, and the ground beneath James's feet felt less like solid earth and more like a fleeting memory.

Without thinking, because thinking would definitely ruin it, James took a small, unsteady step closer. His pulse pounded in his ears. Regulus didn't move away. If anything, he tilted his chin up slightly, a subtle challenge written across his features, daring James to close the space between them.

James swayed forward, heart hammering, barely a breath between them. Their faces were inches apart, inches, and James could feel the heat from Regulus's skin, the warmth of his breath mingling with his own. This was it. This was the moment.

And then-

"Oi!" A voice from the doorway shouted, loud and grating, shattering the bubble they'd created. "You two shagging or freezing to death?"

The sudden interruption made both of them jump apart like they'd been struck by lightning. James, who had been swaying slightly from the alcohol, stumbled back, his feet tripping over themselves in an all-too-embarrassing display.

Regulus snorted, a genuine, rough laugh escaping him as he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. It was the kind of laugh that caught James completely off-guard, warm and unguarded, and it made James's chest tighten, something soft unfurling inside him.

"You're hopeless," Regulus said, amusement dancing in his voice as he shook his head, clearly fond despite the teasing.

James's cheeks burned, but he grinned helplessly, feeling utterly and completely caught up in this moment, in Regulus, in the chaos and the ease between them. "Yeah," he said, voice a little breathless. "You like it, though."

Regulus shook his head again, but the smile on his face told James everything he needed to know. There was something different about this, something far more real than the careless flirting they'd been doing all night.

"Come on, Potter," Regulus said, turning back toward the door, the challenge lingering in his voice. "Before you embarrass yourself worse."

James followed, still grinning like a fool, his heart still racing. He felt like he'd been on the edge of something, something too big and too exciting to name, and maybe, just maybe, he was going to kiss Regulus Black. He was definitely going to kiss Regulus Black someday.

And, considering the way Regulus was looking at him, it might even happen sooner than he thought.

The pub had grown quieter, the once-boisterous chatter fading as people began to trickle out. Chairs scraped across the floor, the sound jarring in the otherwise hazy atmosphere. The staff, their patience wearing thin, shot increasingly pointed looks at the remaining patrons, as though daring anyone to linger too long. The air was thick with the sharp, cloying scent of cheap beer and lingering bad decisions, a fog that clung to the room, making everything feel a little too heavy.

James, leaning heavily on the table, propped his elbow under his chin, letting his cheek rest in the cradle of his hand. His gaze was unfocused, eyes squinting as he studied Regulus through the haze of empty pint glasses. "M'serious," he said, his words thick with the effects of too much alcohol, slurring at the edges. "Don't wanna go home yet."

Regulus, who had been nursing the dregs of his drink with a casualness that suggested he was well past the point of needing more, raised an eyebrow. He set his glass down with deliberate slowness, eyeing James over the rim. "Well, tough," he replied, his voice smooth and unbothered. "Unless you plan on sleeping under the table like some stray dog, we're leaving."

James, despite the weight of the night pressing down on him, managed to pull a messy, wide grin across his face. "Could come with me," he offered, words tumbling out in a rush of sudden enthusiasm.

Regulus blinked, his gaze assessing, eyes narrowing slightly in thought as he processed the suggestion. "To your place?" he asked, drawing the words out as though the idea itself was something worth considering.

"Yeah," James said quickly, sitting up a little straighter now, his posture betraying a sudden spark of hope. "S'just me. I mean sometimes Sirius but he stole a key, can't get it back. We can—" he waved a hand vaguely in the air, the thought still half-formed but enticing nonetheless. "Raiding the fridge, watch a movie, pass out on the sofa? Could be fun."

Regulus chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and it landed somewhere deep in James's chest, making his heart skip a beat. It was the kind of laugh that felt like a secret between them, a quiet moment of something unsaid. "Tempting," Regulus said, but the tone was dry, his lips curling into something approaching a smirk. "But I don't trust myself to not murder my brother while hungover."

James pouted, the exaggerated gesture all too familiar. "You love him," he shot back, his voice mock-petulant, but the words were laced with genuine affection.

"Not at six in the morning when he's belting out Bowie at full volume," Regulus replied with a dismissive flick of his hand. He rose from his seat, tossing on his jacket with a casual, practiced motion. "Come on, Potter. You're not done with me yet."

James blinked, confusion flickering across his face as he watched Regulus stand. "Where-"

Before he could finish the sentence, Regulus grabbed the sleeve of James's jacket, pulling him to his feet with a firmness that brooked no argument. "You're coming with me instead," Regulus said, his voice lighter now, almost teasing. "Congratulations. You've been kidnapped."

James stumbled slightly as he was yanked forward, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. The suddenness of it all, the way Regulus had taken control of the situation without so much as a second thought, left him momentarily breathless. The cold night air hit him like a shock, biting at his flushed skin as they made their way out of the pub and into the street.

"Best kidnapping ever," James muttered under his breath, a grin spreading across his face, wide and goofy, as though he couldn't help himself. His mind was racing, but it was impossible to focus on anything but the way Regulus had swept him along, the effortless warmth in his presence, the way his fingers had curled into James's sleeve and hadn't let go.

Regulus laughed again, a low sound that was both warm and affectionate, something more than just amusement. It settled around them like a blanket as they walked through the darkened streets, the sounds of the world outside the pub muffled and distant. He didn't release his hold on James's jacket, as though ensuring that, whatever happened, James wasn't going anywhere.

And James, for all his usual bravado and chaotic energy, couldn't help but feel that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Sunlight sliced through the thin curtains, its harsh, unforgiving rays stabbing straight into Regulus's skull like a thousand tiny daggers. He groaned softly, trying to shield his eyes from the light, but the headache throbbing behind his temples made it almost impossible to think. The warmth of a heavy arm draped across his stomach only added to the weight pressing down on him.

For a moment, Regulus simply lay there, disoriented and sluggish, his mind moving through thick fog as he tried to piece together the fragments of the night before. Pub. Drinking. James. Regulus grabbing him, pulling him along like some kind of lifeline, dragging him back to his place. The two of them attempting (and failing) to get through some truly awful movie before both of them had collapsed, tangled in a mess of limbs, on the bed.

Regulus blinked blearily up at the ceiling, then turned his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate.

James was sprawled next to him, his face buried against Regulus's shoulder, his hair a complete disaster of curls and tangles, his mouth slightly parted in deep, utterly undisturbed sleep. The sight was absurdly domestic, too peaceful in contrast to the chaotic mess of the night before. Regulus's chest tightened involuntarily, his heart giving an irritating, traitorous flip that he couldn't quite shake.

"You're absurdly cute," Regulus muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything. He didn't mean for the words to leave his lips, but they did anyway, and he couldn't help the way they felt like an undeniable truth.

He carefully eased himself out from under James's arm, moving with the kind of slow deliberation that felt almost unnatural given the state of his head. James made a soft, confused noise in his sleep, his arm twitching slightly as if to hold onto the warmth that Regulus had just slipped away from. Regulus shoved his hair out of his face, grabbed a crumpled hoodie from the floor, and pulled it over his head, his movements still sluggish but determined.

"I'm making coffee," Regulus said softly, even though he knew James wouldn't hear him. "Try not to die while I'm gone."

He padded down the stairs with heavy, lethargic steps, rubbing at his face in an attempt to wake up fully, only to nearly trip over Barty and Evan, who were waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. They were perched there like vultures, mugs in hand, grins on their faces that were entirely too knowing for Regulus's liking.

Barty's voice was teasing, dripping with mock sweetness. "Well, well, well," he sang out. "If it isn't our little Casanova."

Regulus groaned, not even bothering to look at them as he walked past. "Shut up."

Evan, leaning casually against the wall, raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his tea. "So," he drawled, his tone dangerously amused, "did you have a good sleepover, or should we be worried about... trauma?"

Regulus shot them both an exasperated glance, but didn't slow his pace. "You're both actual demons," he muttered, shoving past them and making his way toward the kitchen.

Barty and Evan followed him without hesitation, like overgrown puppies who had been let off their leash. Barty, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, sidled up next to him, clearly enjoying the moment far more than he should. "He's still here, isn't he?" Barty asked, his voice full of mischief. "You let him sleep over. Are we picking out wedding colors yet?"

"Leave him alone," Regulus grumbled, his fingers already reaching for the coffee cupboard. His cheeks were burning, a heat that wasn't entirely due to the remnants of last night's alcohol. "He's-" He hesitated, then caught himself. He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. "harmless," he added after a brief pause, trying to sound casual, but the words felt awkward coming from his mouth.

Evan snorted, clearly unconvinced, and took another slow sip of his tea. "You never call anyone harmless," he said pointedly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You call people insufferable. You call people dickheads. You call us many colorful things. 'Harmless'? That's new."

Regulus's jaw tightened as he focused on the kettle, watching it hiss and bubble as the water came to a boil. "He's just-" He struggled for the right words. "He's just nice."

The way Barty's face lit up at that was almost unbearable. He let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest as if he had just witnessed a monumental moment. "Oh my god," Barty said, practically squealing. "You like him."

Regulus shot him a glare that could have melted glass, pouring hot water into the mugs with an exaggerated force, as if the act alone could dissipate the building tension. "Fuck off," he muttered under his breath.

Before either of them could respond, a faint thump echoed from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of a groggy voice. "Regulus?"

Regulus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stood, shaking his head. "I'm going to pretend neither of you exist," he said grimly, glaring at Barty and Evan as he gathered the mugs. "Maybe you'll disappear if I don't feed you."

Barty flashed him a devilish wink. "We'll be waiting for the wedding invite."

Regulus flipped him off without even turning around, but his ears betrayed him, burning bright red. He didn't bother to acknowledge their snickers as he made his way back upstairs, the two mugs of coffee clutched firmly in his hands, his heart racing with an awkward energy he couldn't quite place.

They sat in relative peace for a moment, the silence between them comfortable, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock and the faint hum of the outside world. But then, there was a knock at the bedroom door. A single, sharp rap.

Then another.

And another, louder this time, more insistent- like whoever was on the other side was determined to break the door down.

Regulus's eyes flicked to the door, his face twisting with irritation. "Go away!" he shouted, his voice rough from sleep, laced with annoyance.

Barty's voice echoed through the door, light and teasing, like a cat prodding a sleeping mouse. "Come on, Reg," he sang. "We know you're in there!"

Regulus closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the headboard. Of course they'd come and annoy him. He hissed under his breath, shooting a mortified glance at James, who, to his dismay, was openly laughing. His laughter was full and bright, completely unrepentant, as if he was finding the entire thing deeply amusing.

"And we know you're blushing," came Evan's voice, smug as always. "We heard you, you lovesick little-"

Regulus could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his face burning as the blood rushed to his cheeks. "Don't encourage them," he muttered, a desperate edge to his voice, as he shot a pleading glance at James. James only grinned wider, the traitorous fool, and shrugged helplessly, clearly unable, or unwilling, to hide his amusement.

"We just wanna say hi to your boyfriend!" Barty called again, his voice now a loud, obnoxious sing-song. To add to the absurdity, he followed it with a ridiculous knock pattern—tap-tap, ta-tap-tap—that Regulus knew all too well. It was the exact pattern they knew drove him insane.

"I will actually kill you," Regulus threatened, standing up and stomping over to the door. Regulus pushed himself off the bed with all the dramatic flair he could muster. "Go. Away," he growled, stomping over to the door with a sense of dread sinking in his stomach.

"You're blushing!" Evan cackled from the other side of the door, clearly having a blast with the situation. "Blushing like a schoolgirl!"

Regulus gritted his teeth, barely containing the rage bubbling up inside him. He flung the door open with a force that made it slam against the wall, only to immediately be swarmed by Barty and Evan, who shoved their way into the room like a pair of overzealous hyenas.

"Hey, James!" Barty called, as though he hadn't just invaded someone's private space. He waved a hand in the air, completely ignoring Regulus's attempts to shove him back. "Did you know Regulus used to practice smiling in the mirror so he wouldn't scare people?"

Regulus's face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he barked, "GET OUT!" His voice was wild and unhinged, like he was on the verge of losing his last shred of composure.

James, still lounging on the bed, looked absolutely delighted. He nearly choked on his coffee from laughing so hard. "Oh my god," he wheezed, clutching his stomach, clearly unable to contain his amusement. "That's adorable."

Regulus's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm enough to tackle Barty into a headlock, his fingers gripping the other boy's hair with determination. "It's slander," he snapped, his voice low and full of frustration. As he wrestled Barty into submission, Evan, without missing a beat, perched himself on the edge of the bed like he lived there, as though the chaos unfolding before him was entirely normal.

"You love us," Evan said serenely, his tone casual, as though they weren't actively torturing Regulus in every possible way. He picked up Regulus's abandoned hoodie and tossed it at his head without a second thought.

Regulus shoved Barty off him, his chest heaving with both exertion and rage, and fixed James with a look that was pure, unfiltered, furious betrayal. "This is your fault," he told him, his voice sharp and accusatory, but underneath the anger, there was the tiniest trace of something else, something soft, maybe, but he refused to acknowledge it. "For laughing."

James, still grinning like a fool, shrugged and looked entirely unapologetic. "Worth it," he said, the grin never leaving his face.

Regulus could do nothing but groan inwardly, frustration and affection swirling in equal measure. He wanted to strangle Barty and Evan, no, maybe just strangle James, but he couldn't seem to summon the energy to do either.

Regulus barely managed to shove Barty off him before Evan, with all the pomp of a judge at a trial, clapped his hands together with an exaggerated sense of importance, like he was about to officiate some sacred, life-altering ritual.

"Okay," Evan said, his voice deadly serious, every word like it carried the weight of the universe. "Time for the important questions."

James blinked, completely caught off guard as he set his coffee down on the bedside table, not quite sure what to expect. "Uh-"

Before James could even finish processing, Barty, lounging against Regulus's dresser like he was posing for a magazine cover, grinned widely and asked, "On a scale of one to ten, how obsessed are you with our Regulus here?"

Regulus's heart sank. He made an instinctive, horrified noise low in his throat, practically choking on the embarrassment before he could speak. "Don't you dare answer that," he hissed, his voice tinged with panic, as if somehow James could prevent the inevitable downfall of his dignity.

James, however, wasn't panicking. He was staring at the two of them with wide, almost innocent eyes, as if he didn't know what he was walking into. After a long pause, he looked between the two of them, then shrugged with all the casualness in the world, his voice unbothered. "...like, twelve?"

There was a beat of silence, a long, drawn-out pause that hung in the air before Barty and Evan lost it completely. The room was immediately filled with the sound of howling laughter, both of them collapsing into fits of giggles as if they had just heard the funniest joke in the history of time.

Regulus, mortified beyond belief, dropped his head into his hands with a groan, wishing he could vanish entirely. "This isn't happening," he muttered into his palms, his voice muffled with the weight of shame. "I'm either dreaming, dead, or both."

Barty, almost unable to contain himself, half-screeched, "TWELVE!" His voice cracked with laughter as he doubled over in amusement. "Holy shit, mate, you're gone. Absolutely gone."

Evan, too, was wiping tears from his eyes as he shook his head dramatically. "We should've made a betting pool," he said mournfully, voice full of mock regret. "Could've cashed in so hard."

James, still sitting there in stunned confusion, caught Regulus's eye across the room. The look on his face was nothing short of delightful, like he didn't quite understand the magnitude of the situation, but was enjoying it all the same. The corners of his mouth twitched up into a wide grin, full of dimples and messy hair, and Regulus couldn't help but feel his heart race as if James were absolutely no help at all.

Regulus, trying desperately to retain some semblance of dignity, wanted to feel smug. He wanted to snap back with something witty. But the damned blush was already crawling up his neck, hot and unforgiving, painting his skin a furious shade of red. It spread to his ears so quickly that Evan, ever the opportunist, pointed right at him and mocked, "Aw, look, he's matching his coffee mug."

"I will kill you both," Regulus said darkly, crossing his arms. "Slowly. Painfully."

"Totally worth it," Barty said, utterly unbothered. "Next question: James, would you say you'd die for him or kill for him?"

James, completely caught up in the mood of things, tilted his head to the side as if considering Bartys' words. His gaze flickered over to Regulus, who was still trying to shrink into himself, before he looked back at Barty and gave his honest answer, clearly not grasping how much his words would devastate Regulus's fragile composure. "...Both?" he said simply, his voice free of hesitation.

The effect was immediate. Evan's eyes gleamed with delight, and without missing a beat, he leaned forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Marry him," he declared immediately. "Marry him right now. I'll officiate. Barty can be flower girl."

Regulus, at this point, was completely and utterly done. He groaned loudly in frustration, rolling his eyes and throwing his arms up in defeat. He reached for the nearest pillow, clutching it to his chest and pressing it to his face as he muffled a scream into it, unable to handle any more of the onslaught.

Barty, never one to pass up on a chance to make things even worse, chimed in as though it were the most normal thing in the world. "I'd make a beautiful flower girl," he said proudly, tossing an invisible handful of petals into the air as if he were performing for an audience.

Regulus could only groan louder, the pillow offering him no real comfort. He tried to block out the sounds of their laughter, but it was impossible. Every word, every laugh, felt like a dagger to his carefully guarded composure. He wanted to curl up and vanish from the earth entirely, but there was no escape.

Meanwhile, James, clearly reveling in the chaos, looked absolutely delighted by the whole situation. He nudged Regulus's foot under the covers, his voice light and teasing. "I mean," he said with a playful grin, "I wouldn't say no to a third date first."

Regulus couldn't even muster the energy to look up. Without even looking, he grabbed the pillow from his face and threw it at James with all the force he could muster, the act feeling like his last, futile attempt at regaining some semblance of control over this nightmarish moment.

Regulus yanked James by the wrist, muttering under his breath, "Come on, before they make you sign a marriage certificate or something." His words were half-joking, but the urgency in his tone was all too real as he tried to drag James away from the chaos of his ridiculous friends.

James, however, didn't seem particularly bothered. He just laughed, his fingers still curled around his coffee cup as though it were his lifeline. "Could be worse," he quipped, letting himself be led down the hall, stumbling slightly as he tried to keep up with Regulus's quick pace.

"God," Regulus muttered, barely containing his frustration. He glanced back over his shoulder, glaring daggers at Barty and Evan, who were still making a ruckus in the bedroom. "You're both so annoying-"

"LOVE YOU, TOO, BABY!" Barty's voice echoed after them, dripping with exaggerated sweetness, as he clutched his chest dramatically, as though struck by a sudden, tragic blow.

"DON'T FORGET TO USE PROTECTION!" Evan's voice chimed in, loud and obnoxious, followed by the loud clatter of his feet as he rushed to the door. "OR DON'T! WE WANT LITTLE MINI-REGULUSES RUNNING AROUND!"

James, clearly caught off-guard by the chaos, nearly tripped over his own feet, laughing so hard that he had to brace himself against the wall. Regulus, on the other hand, was doing his best to pretend none of this was happening. His face was burning with embarrassment, but he still managed to flip them both off without so much as a glance over his shoulder. He practically shoved James into the kitchen, desperate to escape the madness.

Regulus sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to collect himself. "Sorry about them," he muttered, the frustration in his voice unmistakable. He paced for a moment, looking like he might just throw himself out of the nearest window to avoid the embarrassment of the morning. "They're-"

"Absolutely perfect," James interjected cheerfully, slumping down into a chair at the kitchen table, a huge grin still plastered on his face. He cradled his coffee like it was the most important thing in the world, clearly amused by Regulus's discomfort. "Please invite me over more often."

Regulus rolled his eyes, setting his coffee down and turning to face James. "No," he said immediately, the word firm and unyielding. "Never again."

James raised an eyebrow, still teasing. "We could elope," he suggested, his voice mock-solemn. "Skip the harassment. Just the two of us. No annoying friends, no dramatic declarations."

Regulus choked on his own coffee, eyes widening in surprise as he coughed into his hand. He tried to recover, but from the hallway came a loud, unmistakable shout: "WE HEARD THAT, POTTER!"

With a defeated sigh, Regulus dropped his head onto the kitchen counter with an audible thunk. "I hate my life," he muttered, his voice muffled against the cool surface.

James, completely unbothered by the chaos, reached over and patted the back of Regulus's head fondly. "You love it," he said smugly, the teasing tone clear in his voice. "You love me."

Regulus peeked up at him, scowling but unable to suppress the faint warmth that flickered in his chest. "You wish," he muttered, the words coming out with a half-hearted edge.

James grinned wider, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Yeah. I really do."

And in that moment, despite himself, Regulus found his lips curving upward into a reluctant smile. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there. And it made his heart skip a beat, as if it knew he had just crossed a line he wasn't sure he was ready for.

James practically floated down the street, hands jammed deep into his pockets, a grin so wide on his face that it almost hurt. His head was buzzing, not entirely from the remnants of last night's alcohol, but from the memory of Regulus looking at him this morning like he actually wanted him around. It was like a spark had been ignited in his chest, and despite the mild throb of his hangover, he couldn't quite shake the warmth that had settled in him.

He didn't even notice when he arrived at his building, lost in the haze of thoughts about Regulus. It was only when he found himself stumbling up the stairs, whistling absently, that he snapped back to reality. He shoved open his flat door with a tired, satisfied sigh, still mentally replaying the moments from this morning-

And froze.

There, sitting at his kitchen table with his legs kicked up and a mug of coffee in hand, was none other than Sirius Black. The unmistakable shit-eating grin stretched across his face as he looked up at James.

"Well, well, well," Sirius drawled, tipping his mug toward James in mock salute. "Look who finally decided to come home."

James, caught completely off guard, stood frozen in the doorway, blinking rapidly as his brain tried to catch up with the sight in front of him. "Pads- what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, a mix of confusion and mild panic creeping into his voice.

Sirius smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Came over to borrow some coffee," he said casually, taking a sip from the mug as if this was the most normal thing in the world. "Imagine my surprise when you weren't here. All night."

James felt his entire body heat up in a flash. His face turned an alarming shade of red as he spluttered, trying to find his words. "I—"

Sirius leaned forward in his chair, dropping the casual tone and replacing it with exaggerated faux innocence. "So tell me, Mr James Fleamont Potter," he began, his voice dripping with amusement, "you didn't go and deflower my baby brother, did you?"

James's brain stopped functioning altogether. His eyes went wide, and a strangled squeak of disbelief escaped his lips.

"PADS!" he nearly choked on his own breath, his face now an incandescent red. His keys clattered to the floor as he groped for something to say, anything. "Oh my god-"

Sirius burst into uncontrollable laughter, nearly falling out of his chair as he struggled to catch his breath. "I'm kidding!" he gasped between fits of cackling. "Jesus, Prongs, you're easier to break than Bambi."

James ran a hand over his face, mortified beyond belief. He sank down onto the couch, face buried in his palms as he groaned loudly. "Nothing happened!" he insisted, but his voice was thin and shaky, as if trying to convince himself as much as Sirius. "We just-hung out!"

Sirius's eyes gleamed with wicked amusement as he wiggled his eyebrows, leaning forward in his chair. "Hung out," he repeated, giving the words far more emphasis than necessary. "Sure, mate. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

James, now wishing he could melt into the cushions, muffled his groan by shoving his face into the nearest pillow. "You're the worst," he grumbled, his voice muffled but still heavy with embarrassment.

Sirius just grinned even wider, his tone as cheerful as ever. "You love me," he teased, draining the last of his coffee before standing up. "And you love my brother."

James didn't say anything. He couldn't. He didn't need to.

And that was enough to send Sirius into another round of uproarious laughter, echoing through the apartment as James curled into the couch, wishing for just a moment of peace. But deep down, beneath the heat of embarrassment, there was a strange kind of warmth that he couldn't quite shake, a reminder of the way Regulus had looked at him that morning, like maybe, just maybe, there was something there after all.

It was barely three days later when James found himself pacing in front of the tattoo parlour, feeling like an absolute lunatic. The sun had barely risen, casting a soft, golden light over the streets, but here he was, a bundle of nerves. He checked his reflection in the window, eyes flitting over his own image with a grimace: hair an untamed mess, shirt slightly rumpled from sleep, and an energy so restless it practically crackled around him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair for what had to be the hundredth time.

"Get a grip, Potter," he muttered to himself under his breath, the words more a plea than an order. "It's just a tattoo. Totally normal. Totally casual. Definitely not because you're obsessed with a certain tattoo artist who has unfairly nice hands and a smirk that could ruin you-"

The door swung open abruptly, cutting off his internal rambling. Sirius poked his head out with that familiar, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "Are you coming in, or are you just gonna keep wooing the pavement?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

James shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted, and he couldn't suppress the sheepish grin that tugged at his lips. He flipped Sirius off but stomped inside anyway, the little bell above the door jingling mockingly in the quiet morning air.

Inside, the shop smelled faintly of ink and leather. Regulus was behind the counter, his attention absorbed in some sketches, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing more tattoos that snaked along his forearms. His hair fell into his eyes in that annoyingly perfect way, and for a moment, James simply stood there, struck dumb. His heart thudded a little harder in his chest, and the nerves from earlier had morphed into something else entirely, something much warmer, much heavier.

Regulus looked up, catching sight of him standing awkwardly in the doorway. His eyes glinted with that familiar, knowing smirk, the one that sent an electric jolt straight through James. "Back so soon?" he asked casually, though there was a warmth in his voice that made James' stomach do a funny little flip. "Let me guess. Regret the chest piece already?"

James snapped out of his daze, managing to find his feet as he leaned against the counter, trying for casual but landing somewhere closer to excited puppy. "Nah," he said with more confidence than he felt, forcing the words out like he had a plan. "Was thinking maybe...I dunno. Another one."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, setting his pencil down with an almost predatory grace. "Already?"

James shrugged, doing his best to look aloof, but the way Regulus was looking at him, that half-smirk, the way his eyes softened just slightly, was making him feel like he might explode. "Figured I'd start a collection," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but it came out more like an apology. "You know. Commemorate...stuff."

Regulus didn't buy it. Not for a second. The skeptic in his eyes gave way to an almost amused look as he folded his arms. "Uh-huh," he said slowly, his tone teasing. "And what exactly are you thinking for this very important, deeply meaningful second tattoo?"

James blinked, his brain stalling. Shit. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "Uhh..." he started, his voice trailing off. He was pretty sure his face had just flushed a deep shade of crimson, but he tried to salvage the situation. "Maybe something small?" he offered weakly. "Like... a star?"

Sirius, who had been lounging on one of the chairs nearby, snorted so loudly it echoed through the shop. James glared at him, but the damage was done. Regulus raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. "A star," he repeated, voice dripping with deadpan sarcasm. "Very original."

James scratched the back of his neck, feeling all the heat of his earlier embarrassment flood his face. He glanced at Regulus, clearly not buying his lame attempt. "Yeah, well, you're the artist," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "I trust your judgment. Maybe you could... design something?" His voice was softer now, tinged with a desperation he hadn't intended to show.

Regulus let out a quiet laugh, his smile finally breaking free, and it was full and genuine. The teasing edges faded, and something warmer lingered in his gaze. "Alright, Jamie," he said, voice low and amused, with a glint in his eye. "I'll see what I can do."

James couldn't help but grin back, feeling completely dazed by the exchange. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't quite put words together, so instead he just nodded enthusiastically. As he turned to walk away, he found himself seriously considering the possibility of getting Regulus's name tattooed across his forehead. Not that it would ever happen, of course.

But still, the idea lingered, and for a moment, the world seemed far too small for just one tattoo.

James perched on the tattoo chair, trying to keep his nerves in check, but every inch of him was on edge. His fingers drummed mindlessly against his thigh, the rhythmic tapping doing little to calm the fluttering in his stomach. The shop was eerily quiet now, just the low hum of the fluorescent lights above and the faint buzz of the tattoo machine in the corner. Sirius had mysteriously disappeared, leaving only him and Regulus in the space. The air between them felt heavy, as though something unspoken lingered, thick and tangible.

Regulus was quiet too, focused on preparing his equipment. His movements were smooth, almost deliberate, as he slipped on his gloves and adjusted the ink. James tried not to watch too closely, tried to avoid noticing how the muscles in Regulus's arms flexed as he worked, but it was impossible. Every detail about him, from the way his sleeves tugged at his forearms to the small frown of concentration on his face, was all too much.

"Alright," Regulus said, breaking the silence, his voice unexpectedly soft. He turned to face James, his eyes briefly flicking over him with that same knowing look. "I sketched a few options. You can pick one, or... I dunno. Maybe trust me?"

James, without a second of hesitation, replied immediately, "I trust you."

There was a brief pause before Regulus's hands faltered, just for a moment, before he quickly turned away to grab his sketchbook. James didn't miss the subtle change in Regulus's demeanor, the way his movements stilled for just a beat. But he didn't comment on it. Instead, he focused on the sketchbook in Regulus's hands, the anticipation building in his chest.

Regulus flipped the book open, revealing the first design. It was a simple star, delicate, elegant, small, something safe, something easy. James could tell it was the kind of tattoo anyone could get, something people wouldn't second-guess.

The second design was more complex: a constellation, intricate lines connecting distant points in the sky. It was beautiful, and James could see the appeal, a design that spoke to his adventurous side, to his love for something grand, something far-reaching.

But then Regulus turned the page, and James's breath hitched.

The third design was something else entirely.

It was tiny, almost delicate, a stag standing proud, outlined with thin, clean lines. A small crescent moon hovered above the stag, just enough to make it feel ethereal, as if the creature was a part of the night sky itself. It was subtle, almost abstract in its simplicity, but it felt deeply personal. It felt like it was made for him.

James swallowed thickly, suddenly aware that his heart had skipped a beat. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "You drew that?" he asked, the question almost sounding like a whisper.

Regulus, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of casualness, shrugged, but his cheeks had turned a soft pink. He avoided James's eyes as he spoke, his words a little too nonchalant. "Thought it suited you. The stag. Y'know. The whole... Prongs thing Sirius never shuts up about." He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering briefly to James before quickly darting away. "And the moon's for... well, new beginnings, or whatever."

James felt his breath catch, and suddenly everything around him seemed to fade. It wasn't just the tattoo. It wasn't just the delicate lines that formed the stag or the moon that circled it. It was that Regulus had thought about it, had thought about him, about Prongs, and about new beginnings. James realized, with a shocking clarity, that Regulus had put something of himself into this design, something that was far deeper than any casual sketch.

James's mouth went dry, but he didn't hesitate. "I want that one," he said, his voice urgent, almost pleading. "Please."

A small, almost shy smile tugged at Regulus's lips, and James's heart did something that was absolutely unfair. The smile was so soft, so genuine, and it made James feel like he might combust from the inside. The edges of Regulus's usual sharpness seemed to melt away in that moment, replaced by something infinitely warmer, infinitely more real.

"Alright, Potter," Regulus said, his voice dropping to a soft murmur as he stepped closer, moving behind James. His hands were steady as he adjusted the needle, preparing it for the skin. "Hold still, yeah?"

James nodded, his body rigid with anticipation. The moment the needle touched his skin, he didn't flinch. He didn't move at all. Instead, he focused on Regulus, the way his concentration deepened, the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly, the way his tongue peeked out from between his lips as he focused. It was like watching an artist in the middle of a masterpiece, and every little motion, every careful decision Regulus made, felt like it was being etched into James's mind as much as it was being etched into his skin.

And then there were the small, subtle touches, Regulus's fingers brushing gently against James's chest as he worked, guiding the needle with expert precision. It was intimate in a way James wasn't ready to define, but he could feel the weight of it, the closeness, the quiet charge in the air. It was more than just the tattoo. It was the connection, the presence of Regulus beside him, the feeling that, for a few moments, everything else in the world had stopped.

Every second of the process felt heavy, laden with something James couldn't quite name yet. It was as though something was slowly blooming inside him, something he couldn't put into words, but something that made his chest ache in the best way possible.

Not yet. He wasn't ready to name it. Not yet.

But God, was he halfway there already.

The tattoo machine buzzed to a stop with a final click, and Regulus sat back on his stool, peeling off his gloves with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes met James's for a brief moment, and there was something quietly satisfied in his gaze. "Alright," he said, his voice lower than usual, "you're done. Wanna see it?"

James didn't need a second invitation. He shot up out of the chair, his movements almost frantic with excitement. Regulus smirked, his lips twitching slightly at James's eagerness. He gently wiped down the tattooed area with practiced ease, taking his time as if savoring the moment. Then, with a smooth motion, he grabbed a small mirror from the counter and turned it toward James.

James's breath caught in his throat as the reflection came into focus. The tiny stag, outlined in delicate, clean lines, stood proud against his skin, the crescent moon floating above it in perfect harmony. The design was elegant and subtle, and yet, in a way he couldn't quite describe, it felt like a part of him? like it had always belonged there. His heart skipped a beat.

James blinked at it, once, then twice, his eyes tracing the inked shape, his mind struggling to find the right words. His mouth opened, as if to speak, but the only thing that came out was completely unhinged.

"Do you wanna be my boyfriend?"

The words hung in the air like a brick thrown through glass, loud and jarring. James's brain immediately short-circuited, and he stared at Regulus, horrified by his own stupidity. "I mean-" he stammered, his face turning bright red. "or like, y'know, haha, casual, joking, classic humour, right? Hilarious, yeah?" He laughed, a terrible, high-pitched laugh, that sounded far too loud in the silence of the room. "Haha."

It was the sound of a man trying to talk himself out of the deepest hole imaginable.

Regulus just stared at him, blinking slowly, as though trying to process the absurdity of what James had just said. James braced himself, his mind running through a list of potential ways to escape this complete disaster. He would fake his own death if necessary, move to a different country, assume a new identity. Anything to avoid the impending humiliation.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Regulus smiled.

Not the playful smirk James had grown used to, not a teasing expression. No, this was different. It was soft. Fond. Almost shy in a way that made James's heart stutter. It was the kind of smile that made everything feel warmer, more real, as if Regulus wasn't laughing at him, but rather... with him.

Before James could process what was happening, Regulus stepped forward, his body moving with fluid grace. James's breath caught in his throat as Regulus tilted onto his toes, leaned in, and placed a light, soft kiss at the corner of James's mouth.

Time seemed to stop.

For a brief, perfect moment, James's brain stopped functioning entirely, overwhelmed by the sensation of Regulus's lips, the proximity, the unexpected sweetness of it. His heart seemed to seize, and he was fairly certain he had just blacked out for a second.

When he opened his eyes, he was still standing there, staring at Regulus, who hadn't moved an inch. Regulus's eyes were warm and steady, and his voice was quiet but clear when he spoke, the words settling into James's chest like a promise.

"I'd love to, idiot."

James's mind was a swirl of thoughts and emotions, his mouth opening and closing in a way that could only be described as uncoordinated. He made a sound, it was some strange, high-pitched noise somewhere between a squeak and a whimper, a reaction that James hoped Regulus would find endearing and not completely embarrassing.

Regulus's lips curved into another smile, this one more teasing. "You're lucky you're cute," he said, rolling his eyes affectionately as he reached out to tug James gently by the sleeve. He guided him toward the sofa, where he would clean up and bandage the tattoo, but the touch, the affection in it, made everything feel a little lighter, a little easier.

James followed like a dog on a leash, his heart practically leaping out of his chest. Boyfriend. The word rang in his head like a melody he couldn't stop humming. He had a boyfriend. And somehow, against all odds, that boyfriend was Regulus Black.

James wasn't sure how he was supposed to survive this, to live in a world where this was his reality, but he wasn't sure he cared. Right now, he just wanted to savor the moment, because for once in his life, things felt exactly how they were meant to be.

James and Regulus walked side by side, their hands entwined so effortlessly that it felt like something they'd been doing for ages, not just a few minutes. The rhythm of their steps matched, and every time James glanced over at Regulus, he couldn't help but be captivated by the way the dim light of the shop seemed to soften him. For once, Regulus wasn't hiding behind his usual mask of indifference. Instead, there was something almost ethereal about him, his expression softer than usual, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as though he hadn't quite realized how much he was radiating.

And James? James was utterly, completely gone. He could feel it in the way his chest fluttered with each step, in the way he kept sneaking glances at Regulus as if he were trying to make sure this moment, this new reality, was real. But it was, and James was more than happy to be lost in it, to be completely wrapped up in whatever this was, whatever they were.

As they turned the corner into the main room, the sound of a loud, theatrical groan broke through the air, making both of them jump.

Sirius was sprawled across a chair, tossing his head back in exaggerated frustration. His dramatic sigh was enough to make James roll his eyes. "I cannot believe this," Sirius whined, and with a flourish, he pulled a crumpled £10 note from his pocket and slapped it into Remus's waiting hand.

"Told you," Remus said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He tucked the money into his wallet with a proud smirk. "Two tattoos. That's all it would take."

Regulus, ever the master of keeping his composure, narrowed his eyes at Sirius. "You were betting on us?" His voice was flat, controlled, but there was a faint pink tint creeping up his neck, betraying the small amount of embarrassment he was trying to suppress.

Sirius, however, was unphased, and only waved a dismissive hand in the air as if the whole thing was beneath him. "Please," he drawled, "we practically invented you two. We're the gods of your love story."

Remus chimed in helpfully, his tone laced with mock innocence, "You're welcome."

James couldn't help it. He squeezed Regulus's hand a little tighter, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. He ducked his head, doing his best to hide the stupid, ridiculously happy grin that was threatening to overtake his face. It was all too perfect, the way Regulus was turning red from a mixture of embarrassment and... something else, something warm that James couldn't quite pinpoint yet.

Leaning in close, he whispered softly against Regulus's ear, feeling the warmth of his skin, the gentle thrum of his pulse under the pressure of their fingers. "Let them think they're responsible," James murmured, his voice low and playful. "We know the truth."

Regulus stiffened slightly at the words, his face turning even redder, but his fingers squeezed James's hand in return, a silent agreement. He wasn't mad, not at all. The soft look in his eyes, the way his lips twitched upward, told James everything he needed to know. Whatever they were doing, whatever this was between them, it was just as real as the laugh they were both trying to suppress, just as real as the beating of their hearts in time with one another.

And so, in that quiet moment, standing in the midst of teasing and laughter, James and Regulus shared a quiet understanding: the story of them was theirs to write. It wasn't just about the tattoos, or the teasing from their friends. It was about this, this connection, this softness between them, and whatever came next would be something they figured out together.

Regulus stepped into the flat, the door clicking softly shut behind him, the quiet of the evening settling in like a blanket. The living room lights were dim, casting a mellow, golden glow over the space. Barty and Evan were sprawled across the couch, half-watching a mindless game show, their attention fully consumed by the absurdity of the contestants and the trivial task of guessing dog breeds in under thirty seconds. Their laughter was loud, unfiltered, a stark contrast to the calm quiet Regulus had just stepped into.

Neither of them even bothered to look up when he entered, too wrapped up in their own banter and the popcorn they were shoving into their mouths in between each dramatic gasp at the show's absurdity. Regulus didn't say anything, simply toed off his boots and hung his bag on its hook. He moved towards the couch, sliding in between them with a quiet sigh, his body sinking into the soft cushions. The television blared in the background, the sound of popcorn crunching filling the room, and for a few long moments, it seemed like nothing had changed.

Then, as casually as if he were discussing the weather, Regulus spoke, his voice barely rising above the hum of the TV.

"James asked me out."

A beat.

"We're dating now."

The silence that followed was deafening. For just a second, it felt like the air around them froze, like even the popcorn in their hands had stopped mid-chew.

Then all hell broke loose.

"WHAT-?" Barty shrieked, his voice high and frantic, his popcorn flying out of the bowl as his arms shot up in surprise.

"OH MY GOD-" Evan howled, his hands suddenly grabbing onto Regulus's shoulders, shaking him violently in his seat, as if trying to dislodge some hidden truth from him.

"YOU'RE DATING POTTER?" Barty practically screamed, the pitch of his voice rising several octaves, the shock still thick in his tone.

Regulus, for all the madness unfolding around him, stayed perfectly still. He sat there with an air of smug satisfaction, allowing the chaos to wash over him. He let himself be manhandled by their wild reactions, his only response a faint, amused glint in his eyes.

"When? How?" Evan demanded, tugging at Regulus's sleeve like a child unable to get enough of a good story. "You have to tell us everything. I need timestamps."

"Was it after the tattoo?" Barty gasped. "Wait, was he so worked up after the tattoo that he couldn't wait another second?"

Regulus groaned, rubbing a hand over his face in mock exasperation, but he couldn't fully hide the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're both insufferable," he muttered, but the warmth in his tone betrayed him.

"You love us," Barty sang, his legs kicking up in a display of pure, unrestrained giddiness.

"Unfortunately," Regulus sighed, though he couldn't stop the amusement from flickering in his eyes.

Despite his half-hearted grumbling, he let them crowd in closer, squeezing him into the cushions of the couch, allowing their chaotic energy to envelop him. He could feel their excitement buzzing in the air, and amidst the teasing and the questions, there was a warmth that settled in his chest. Beneath the noise and the absurd questions, beneath the wild, chaotic joy of his friends, there was a soft, steady bloom of happiness growing inside him — something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. It was simple. It was quiet, even in the midst of all the chaos. But it was there, steady and real. And for the first time in a long while, Regulus allowed himself to fully embrace it.

The soft morning light poured through the windows, spilling across the hardwood floors in golden, lazy patterns that danced over the cluttered living room. The quiet hum of the early hours wrapped around the room like a blanket, making everything feel just a little bit slower, a little bit softer. James Potter was half-awake, his eyes squinting against the sun's harsh rays as he lay on the couch. His arm was thrown carelessly over his eyes to shield them from the bright light, while the other curled around the boy, the man, tucked against his side. Regulus was sleeping soundly, his breath slow and even, his face relaxed as he rested against James's chest. The paperback he had been reading earlier had slipped from his grasp, landing forgotten on the floor next to them.

James smiled to himself, feeling the steady rise and fall of Regulus's breath beneath his arm. His fingers trailed absentmindedly over Regulus's spine, brushing the familiar lines of ink etched into pale skin. The tattoos, they were so much more than just art. They were memories. Tiny, intimate pieces of Regulus that had become a part of him. There was a small cluster of stars tucked under his ribs, a serpent curling around his hip, and a magnificent lion sprawling over his chest. James had watched those pieces come to life, each one added with the steady hands of the same artist who had marked his own skin.

James looked down at himself, a soft chuckle bubbling up in his chest. At this point, he was practically a walking canvas. His arms were covered in two full sleeves, ink trailing over his chest, a constellation scattered across his ribs, even a small matching star behind his ear, a drunken dare that had turned into something quietly meaningful, something he'd never regret. Every single mark on his skin had been done by Regulus. Each tattoo, a tangible memory, a moment they'd shared.

He thought back to the first time he'd wandered into the tattoo parlor just to see Regulus. How he'd walked in without a plan, just wanting to be near him, and ended up blurting out a question that had changed everything. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?" he'd asked, barely thinking, his heart thumping in his chest so hard he could barely hear his own voice. And then, Regulus had just smiled — that soft, knowing smile — and kissed him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

James still couldn't believe how lucky he was. He couldn't believe that this, this life, this love, these mornings tangled in sheets and limbs, was his reality. That he got to wake up every day to the sound of Regulus's breathing, the feel of his hand in his, and the way they fit together like a puzzle piece that had been waiting for years to be completed.

Regulus stirred slightly, blinking open sleep-heavy eyes. His voice was thick with drowsiness as he mumbled, "You're staring Jamie."

James grinned shamelessly, his heart swelling with affection. "Can't help it," he murmured, his voice warm with adoration. "You're disgustingly pretty."

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was a faint blush creeping across his cheeks as he pushed himself up, sitting back onto James's lap. He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to brush a stray curl from James's forehead. "You're disgusting," he said with mock primness, his voice teasing but soft.

James chuckled, feeling the weight of Regulus's gaze settle warmly over him. "Yeah, but I'm your disgusting," he quipped, his hands reaching up to catch Regulus's wrist, pulling it toward his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of Regulus's wrist, the gesture tender and full of affection.

Regulus huffed a laugh, a soft, genuine sound that made James' heart flutter in his chest. He leaned down, capturing James' lips in a kiss. It was slow and easy, a kiss that was more like a promise than an action, the kind of kiss that you give someone who knows you so well, so completely, that the world feels like it can stop and spin around you in perfect harmony.

When they finally broke apart, Regulus gave him that familiar smirk, the one that James had come to adore. "Get dressed," he said, his voice lighter now, teasing. "You promised we'd go look at new furniture today."

James groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch with a theatrical sigh. "You're lucky I love you," he complained, his voice muffled by the cushions.

"I know," Regulus replied, a smile pulling at his lips. His smirk softened into something sweeter, warmer, and his eyes shone with affection. "I love you too, idiot."

As Regulus stood and moved toward the bedroom, James lay there for a moment longer, his heart swelling in his chest. He didn't know how he had gotten so lucky, but in that moment, he didn't need to know. He was exactly where he was meant to be.

This was it.

Messy mornings, bad coffee, inked skin, and soft kisses. A life that was beautifully chaotic, stitched together by love and the kind of comfort that only time could build. James Potter smiled so wide it hurt, and then, with a quiet, contented breath, he pushed himself off the couch and followed his boy, his future.

Always.