ένα
The heat was suffocating. Regulus had known, in theory, that Greece in the summer would be hot, but knowing something and experiencing it were entirely different things. His linen shirt clung to his back by the time the taxi pulled to a stop in front of the villa, and when he stepped out, the sun pressed against him like a solid thing.
This wasn’t the Thebes he had pictured.
He had imagined sprawling ruins rising against an endless blue-and-white backdrop, something out of a painting or a textbook. Instead, the streets were narrower than he’d expected, winding in ways that made no sense, the buildings an unassuming mix of old stone and newer plaster. There was color, but it wasn’t the crisp white and blue of the islands. Here, earth tones ruled, sun-bleached and worn.
The taxi driver grunted as he hauled Regulus’s suitcase from the trunk. Regulus, still disoriented by the heat and the unfamiliarity of it all, fumbled for money. The currency was still strange to him, Greek drachmas instead of British pounds. He handed over what he hoped was an appropriate amount, a crisp paper note pressed into the man’s weathered palm.
The driver’s face split into a grin, all gold teeth and sun-leathered skin."Efharistó, kírie.” he said, tucking the note away with a satisfied nod.
Regulus hesitated. Had he overpaid? Underpaid? The man seemed pleased, which could be either a very good or a very bad sign. Before he could second-guess himself further, the driver clapped him on the shoulder, got back into his car, and sped off in a cloud of dust.
Regulus exhaled slowly.
The villa in front of him was grand but worn, a house that had seen better days but still carried itself with the dignity of something once magnificent. It was large, larger than he’d expected, with faded green shutters and a courtyard tangled with vines. Someone had repurposed it into a pension, a guesthouse, though it still had the air of an old family home.
Dragging his suitcase behind him, he stepped inside. The air was cooler here, thick with the scent of lemons and something floral. The reception area was simple: a wooden desk, a few chairs, a rack of keys hanging behind the counter.
A woman stood behind the desk, flipping through a ledger. She looked up as he entered and greeted him in Greek, her voice warm and automatic.
"Kalós írthate! Pós boró na sas voithíso?"
Regulus blinked, his brain scrambling for something, anything, in Greek.
“…Hello,” he said stiffly, already exhausted. Then, after a hesitant pause, he attempted, “Eh… ého… uh, krá… krátis—krátisí?” His pronunciation was atrocious, the syllables stumbling over each other like a newborn deer on ice.
Regulus barely had time to process the woman’s confused expression before she turned on her heel and disappeared through a doorway. His exhaustion deepened into irritation. Was she fetching someone? Had he said something wrong?
With a sigh, he reached for the worn dictionary in his backpack, flipping through the pages with stiff fingers. He needed something, anything, that might help him bridge the gap. Before he could find a suitable phrase, voices floated from the other room. The woman was speaking in Greek to someone else, her tone brisk.
“Miláei angliká,” she said.
Regulus caught angliká, English, but the rest was lost to him. He tensed, gripping the dictionary a little tighter.
Then, she reappeared, and with her was a man about his age.
Regulus went still.
The stranger was tall, sun-kissed, with dark curls that tumbled onto his forehead, a lazy sort of confidence in the way he moved. There was something about him, his effortless beauty, maybe, or the ease with which he carried himself, that made Regulus feel abruptly self-conscious.
The man smiled, warm and easy. “How can I help you?” he asked in perfect English.
Regulus hesitated, glancing back at his dictionary. He suddenly felt ridiculous holding it.
“I—uh, I have a reservation,” he said, clearing his throat. “Regulus Black.”
James, if his name tag was to be believed, nodded, reaching for a black ledger. “Regulus,” he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. He flipped through the pages, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Basiliskos, not a very Greek name.”
Regulus frowned slightly, unsure if the comment was meant to be teasing. “It’s not.”
James hummed, still skimming the book. “So, what brings you to Thebes?”
Regulus hesitated. He wasn’t here to make conversation. “Research.”
James arched a brow but didn’t press. His fingers trailed down a page, then stopped. “Here we are,” he said, tapping the entry. He turned the book towards Regulus and slid a pen across the counter. “Just need your signature.”
James leaned against the counter, watching as Regulus signed his name in careful, precise strokes.
“So, research,” James said, his tone light. “That sounds serious. Are you a professor?”
Regulus glanced up, momentarily thrown. “No,” he said quickly, setting the pen down. “I’m working on my doctorate.”
James let out a low whistle. “Impressive. What’s the subject?”
“Ancient Greece.”
James grinned. “That’s a bit broad, don’t you think?”
Regulus exhaled through his nose, already regretting answering. He wasn’t here to make conversation, he was here to work. But James had a way of making it sound like they were simply chatting in passing, as if they were already familiar.
Before Regulus could decide whether to elaborate, James closed the ledger with a soft thud. “Well, Professor Black, let me help with your luggage.”
Regulus hesitated, but his suitcase was heavy, and his exhaustion was settling deep into his bones. “…Alright.”
James grabbed the largest suitcase with ease, leading Regulus toward the stairs. As they ascended, he talked effortlessly.
“This house belonged to my grandfather,” James said, taking the steps two at a time. “It was a mess when my dad took over. He wanted it to be a hotel, but my mum thought that was too much fuss, so now it’s something in between.”
Regulus followed, slightly breathless from the heat and travel. “And you work here?”
“Sometimes.” James glanced at him over his shoulder, grinning. “When I feel like it.”
That tracks, Regulus thought. James had an easy air about him, as if life had never been particularly difficult.
They reached the third floor, and James pushed open the door to Regulus’s room, setting the suitcase down by the bed. Regulus stepped in after him, taking it in. The room was simple, but clean. White walls, dark wooden furniture. A desk sat by the window, big enough for his books and notes.
It would do.
James leaned against the doorway. “Need anything else?”
Regulus turned, glancing at the bedside table. There was a phone. That was something, at least. He gestured toward it. “Does this work?”
James followed his gaze and shook his head. “Only for national calls. Why?”
Regulus hesitated. “I need to call my parents.”
James straightened. “I can let you use the reception phone.”
“That would be… nice,” Regulus admitted.
James nodded, but for once, he didn’t immediately move. A pause stretched between them before James clapped his hands together. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it, then.” He turned on his heel, stepping back into the hall.
Regulus was exhausted, but he knew he couldn’t sleep just yet, it would only worsen his jet lag. So instead he opened one of his suitcases, pulled out a towel, and headed to the bathroom. The shower helped wash away the sweat and fatigue from his body, leaving him feeling a little more awake.
Once he was dressed again, he made his way downstairs. James was standing behind the reception desk, reading a book. At the sound of footsteps, he looked up, his face breaking into a welcoming smile as he closed the book and set it aside.
“All settled in?” James asked.
Regulus nodded. “Yes, thank you. I was wondering if I could use your phone to call my parents, let them know I'm still alive.”
“Of course,”James reached for the phone and set it in front of him. “Here you go.”
Regulus hesitated. “How do I call internationally from here?”
James leaned forward, resting his elbow on the desk. “Dial 00, then your country code. I’m assuming Great Britain, right?” Regulus nodded, and James continued, “Then 44, next it's the area code and the number.”
Regulus nodded. “Got it. Thanks.” He carefully dialed the numbers, lifting the receiver to his ear as he waited for the call to connect. After a few rings, Walburga’s sharp voice sliced through the static.
“Yes?”
“Mother, it’s me. I'm calling..."
“Finally Do you have any idea how long we’ve been waiting to hear from you?”
Regulus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My flight was delayed. I called as soon as I could.”
“You should have planned better,” she snapped. “Honestly, Regulus, you’re in some filthy, godforsaken place, and you don’t even have the decency to check in properly? Do they even have working phones over there? Or are you speaking to me from some barbarian’s shack?”
Regulus glanced at James out of the corner of his eye. The man was politely pretending not to listen, flipping through the pages of his book, but Regulus wasn’t convinced.
“Mother,” Regulus said, keeping his voice even. “I’m at my hotel. It’s fine.”
“It’s fine?” she repeated, disgusted. “Do you know what I read about that place? The stench, the pickpockets, the absolute filth, and you, gallivanting through the streets like some common tourist. Do you want to catch something?”
Regulus gritted his teeth. “I’ll be careful.”
“And the people...Regulus, you can’t trust them. You know how foreigners are.”
His father’s voice cut in from the background. “This whole trip is unnecessary, Regulus. What do you think you’ll gain from it?”
Regulus closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling through his nose. “I told you. I need to be here for my research.”
Orion huffed. “Ridiculous. If you spent half as much time applying yourself to something useful, you wouldn’t need to be running around in a country that should’ve stayed in the past.”
Walburga sniffed. “And you’re sure this hotel is clean? You checked?”
Regulus’s patience was wearing thin. He cast another glance at James, who was now watching him with something like amusement.
“I have to go,” Regulus said quickly. “The...uh...the connection here is terrible. I think it’s cutting out...”
“Regulus!”
“I’ll call again soon. Bye.”
He slammed the receiver down before she could get another word in.
Regulus took a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as if that could shake off the conversation.
James, still leaning on the counter, raised an eyebrow. “Rough call?”
Regulus huffed a short laugh. “You’ve no idea.”
James offered a sympathetic smile. “Well, if you ever need an escape, Thebes is a very charming city. And I promise, it doesn’t stink too badly.”
Regulus felt heat creep up his neck, embarrassed that James had overheard his mother’s words. He barely managed a small smile in return. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a few banknote and extended it toward James. “Thank you for your help."
James frowned at the note, then looked up at him. “What’s this?”
“A tip,” Regulus said simply.
James glanced at the money and then back at Regulus, a bemused expression on his face. “You’re not very familiar with the currency here, are you?”
Regulus frowned. “Is it that obvious?”
James chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “Well, let’s just say you nearly tipped me a hundred pounds for a phone call.”
Regulus’s eyes widened. “I—wait. How much did I give the taxi driver earlier?”
James reached under the counter and pulled out a newspaper, flipping to the financial section. He pointed to the exchange rates. “Here’s the current rate. As of today, one British pound is equivalent to approximately 140 Greek drachmas.”
Regulus scanned the figures, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “I wish it was all the same rate. My life would be much easier.”
James grinned. “I bet. Keep the newspaper; it might help. I can also update you on the rates tomorrow if you’d like.”
Regulus nodded. “That would help. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Regulus was about to head back to his room when something occurred to him. He turned back to James. “You called me something earlier.”
James tilted his head. “Did I?”
Regulus frowned slightly. “It started with a B.”
James' face brightened with realization. “Oh, yes, Basiliskos?”
Regulus nodded. “Yes. What does it mean?”
James smiled, something almost conspiratorial in his expression. “It means ‘little king.’ Or prince, in a way”
Regulus blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’m not following.”
James leaned against desk. "The star Regulus is called Basiliskos in Greek. Or Kardia Leontos: the heart of the lion.” He tilted his head. “That’s what you were named after, right?”
Regulus was momentarily thrown. Most people assumed Regulus was a family name, or just something odd his parents had liked.
“…Yes,” he said, quieter than before.
James grinned. “Figured.”
James smiled, looking pleased with himself. Regulus didn’t know why, but that made him smile, too.
Regulus left the reception area and climbed the stairs back to his room. As soon as he stepped inside, his eyes landed on the open suitcase sitting by the bed. He knew he should put everything away. He would be staying here for three months, after all. The sooner he got organized, the better.
With a tired sigh, he set to work, carefully unpacking his clothes and placing them in the modest wooden wardrobe. He arranged his books and notes on the desk, making sure everything was in order for his research. His toiletries went into the small bathroom, and his shoes lined up neatly by the door. It was a slow, methodical process, but it kept his mind occupied.
By the time he was finished, the sun had dipped lower in the sky. He checked the clock that said six o’clock. His stomach should have been reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the airport, but exhaustion settled deeper in his bones.
Without bothering to change out of his clothes, he dropped onto the bed, sinking into the mattress with a sigh. His body relaxed instantly, his mind too drained to wander.
He didn’t wake for supper.
He slept through the night, dreamless as always.