Almost
Regulus wasn’t supposed to stay.
He wasn’t. He had rules. Boundaries. Walls so high they’d given Sirius stress for years. But somehow, it was past eleven. The café had long since closed. They’d moved to the park down the street, sitting on a bench under one of those too-yellow streetlamps, the manuscript forgotten between them.
James’s coat was too big for Regulus, and he wore it anyway, sleeves hiding his hands.
“I don’t understand you,” Regulus said quietly, pulling the collar closer to his face.
James leaned back on his palms, head tilted to the stars. “That’s fair. I don’t understand me, either.”
Regulus huffed. “You’re infuriatingly kind. And open. And bright. Like you’ve never been hurt before.”
James blinked. “That’s… not true.”
Regulus glanced at him. “No?”
James shook his head, still watching the sky. “I just stopped letting it make me bitter.”
Silence. Regulus sat very still.
Then, “I don’t know how to do that.”
James turned to him. Regulus was staring at the ground, jaw tight, the edge of something fraying in his voice.
“I don’t know how to be soft,” Regulus said. “I don’t know how to let someone in without feeling like they’ll ruin everything.”
James didn’t speak for a moment. Then he shifted closer—just enough to brush their shoulders.
“You don’t have to be soft,” he said gently. “You just have to be honest.”
Regulus looked at him. Really looked at him. James Potter, who wrote stories about magic and grief and survival. James Potter, who didn’t flinch from his sharp edges. Who smiled even when Regulus tried to push him away. Who was close enough now that Regulus could see the freckles across his nose.
Regulus’s voice was barely a whisper. “What if honesty ruins it, too?”
James’s breath caught. Their knees were touching.
“I think,” James said, “you scare the flip out of me.”
Regulus blinked. “What?”
James smiled, just a little. “You see things. You don’t let me get away with the easy answer. It’s like you look at me and already know the truth—and I’m not sure I’m brave enough for that.”
Regulus opened his mouth. Closed it. Then...
James leaned in. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t careful. It was instinct.
And Regulus didn’t move. Not at first. But just as James’s lips almost brushed his, Regulus pulled back. Not far. Just an inch. But it might as well have been a mile.
His voice cracked. “I—I can’t.”
James froze. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” James said quickly. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Regulus looked like he wanted to say something else. Something important. But the words didn’t come.
They never did.
Instead, he stood. Shrugged off the coat. Placed it gently on the bench. And walked away. James stayed very still. The manuscript fluttered in the wind between them.