The One Where Sirius Black Becomes the Embodiment of Chaos
The problem with Sirius Black was that he was incapable of chill.
Not just low on chill. Not just lacking chill. No—Sirius Black had violently rejected the concept of chill sometime around 1980 and had been wreaking havoc on social dynamics ever since.
So when he barged into James’s flat two days later, holding a full bag of takeout in one hand and his phone in the other, James knew something bad was coming.
“Okay,” Sirius said, without so much as a greeting, “you and Regulus.”
James, who was trying to drink tea and not collapse from stress, froze. “Me and—?”
“Don’t even try to play dumb.” Sirius slammed the takeaway on the counter. “I saw the photos.”
James blinked. “What photos?”
“Peter took them, obviously,” Sirius said, as if this was a completely normal thing to admit. “He was on his way to pick up his dry cleaning and saw you both in the café. And then he took pictures. Because I asked him to.”
“You asked him to stalk me?!”
“Not stalk. Observe. Lovingly.”
James groaned and dropped his head on the counter.
Sirius continued, delighted. “So? What’s the verdict? Are we in broody enemies-to-lovers territory or is it giving romantic comedy with unresolved trauma and coffee stains?”
“It’s giving none of your business,” James said into the countertop.
Sirius grinned and poked him in the shoulder. “You like him.”
“I like that he tore my writing to shreds in front of me and then helped me rewrite an entire scene in five minutes like it was nothing?”
“You love that,” Sirius said. “It’s disgusting. I’m proud.”
James lifted his head just long enough to glare at him. “Please never say that sentence again.”
“Too late,” Sirius said smugly. “I’ve already added it to the toast at your wedding.”
James groaned louder. “We’ve barely spoken!”
“Yeah,” Sirius said, “but he annotated your book. That’s like his love language.”
Meanwhile, across the city, Regulus Black was deeply, deeply in denial.
He was not thinking about James Potter. He was not thinking about the way James smiled when he got nervous, or how he’d offered up his new writing like it was something of an offering. He was definitely not thinking about the fact that James had remembered his glitter pen notes or quoted them back with that stupid grin like he found every snarky comment charming.
He was not thinking about the freckles.
He was not.
“Why are you staring at your tea like it insulted you?” asked Barty, sliding into the seat across from him.
Regulus blinked. “I’m not.”
“You’re making that face,” Barty said, pointing. “The one where you’re secretly spiraling and pretending you’re not.”
“I don’t spiral,” Regulus muttered.
“You do,” Barty said. “And it’s always over boys with too much hair and too much confidence.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “He is not—he’s just—”
“Hot?” Barty offered.
Regulus glared harder. “Infuriating.”
Barty grinned. “Those two are not mutually exclusive.”
Back at James’s, Remus had joined the circus of chaos and was now sitting on the arm of the couch, sipping tea and watching James pace.
“You’re overthinking,” Remus said calmly.
“I’m not—he hates my book, Remus!”
“He annotated it,” Sirius chimed in. “With a glitter pen. That’s not hate, that’s marriage.”
Remus nodded. “Honestly, I haven’t seen you this fixated since—”
“Don’t say Lily,” James interrupted quickly. “This is not a Lily situation.”
“No,” Remus said, “it’s worse. You’re emotionally invested.”
James stopped pacing and dropped dramatically onto the couch. “Merlin, I think I like him.”
“We know,” Sirius said.
James groaned into a pillow.
And then—because the universe had no sense of mercy—his phone buzzed.
REGULUS BLACK [6:32pm]
> I marked up your new scene. You’re still too fond of metaphors, but it’s not terrible.
(That’s a compliment. Don’t let it go to your head.)
Also—same time tomorrow?
James stared at the screen. Then he looked up slowly, eyes wide.
Sirius leaned forward. “What?”
James blinked. “He texted me.”
Remus looked smug. “And?”
James smiled—slow, stunned, a little breathless.
“…I think I just got asked on a date.”