Love is for fools and Regulus Arcturus Black is anything but

Regulus

Regulus tells himself it’s fine.

It’s nothing, really. Just a close moment in a crowded alley. Just James being James—too warm, too there, too earnest in a way that makes Regulus feel like he's standing under direct sunlight.

He’s always been good at pretending. So he deflected. Easy. A quick comment, a shrug, and James backed off like Regulus knew he would.

Simple.

Except it’s not.

He’s alone now, in the Slytherin common room, pretending to read the same page of a Potions text he’s had open for twenty minutes. He’s not taking anything in. His mind keeps circling back.

Back to James. Standing too close, eyes shining with something that made Regulus forget how to breathe for a second. Back to the weight of the silence between them. The way James had leaned in, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like Regulus would let him.

He almost had.

That’s the part that bothers him.

He almost did.

Regulus closes the book with a soft thud and leans back into the armchair, letting his head tip back, eyes on the dark green canopy above. The fire crackles low. Around him, the room is quiet—only a few other students left, heads down, voices hushed.

James Potter. Of all people.

He’s not supposed to like Gryffindors, especially not him. The loud, stubborn, golden boy of Gryffindor Tower. All windblown hair and crooked smiles and stupid jokes. And yet—

James had remembered he liked green sweets. Had brought them without saying anything, just tucked them into Regulus’s bag like it was nothing.

He does that sort of thing. Kindness with no angle. No cost. Just… there.

It’s infuriating.

Regulus exhales through his nose, quiet and sharp. He tells himself James misread the moment. That he imagined the weight of it.

But he hadn’t.

Because Regulus had felt it too.

That soft, flickering thing in his chest—dangerous and uninvited. He’d wanted—just for a second—he’d wanted to lean in too. To see what it might feel like, the stupid impossible warmth of James Potter's mouth on his.

And then he’d heard Sirius’s voice and bolted behind the shield of his own indifference like it was armor.

Of course he did. It’s what he always does.

Still, hours later, he can’t shake the feeling. Can’t stop seeing the look on James’s face, hurt and unsure, when Regulus brushed it all off with a single, practiced shrug.

He presses a hand over his eyes.

Damn it.

---

Regulus is hanging out with Remus in the Gryffindor common room. They’re sprawled on the couch like two cats who barely tolerate each other but somehow keep ending up in the same sunspot. Regulus didn’t mean to befriend Lupin. Or Remus now. But it sort of…happened.

Remus has a half-finished book in his lap. Regulus has a blanket over his shoulders and a mug that went cold an hour ago. Neither of them is really talking. They don’t need to.

Eventually, Regulus says, “You ever think it’s weird that we’re friends?”

Remus glances over. “Constantly.”

Regulus snorts. “I tried not to like you.”

“I noticed.”

“But then you were all quiet and kind and… full of opinions about obscure books.”

“Terribly manipulative of me,” Remus says dryly.

Regulus smiles at his mug. “It’s just… easy. With you.”

Remus tilts his head. “You too.”

They sit with that for a second, and then Remus shifts slightly closer, nudging Regulus’s foot with his own.

“I mean,” Remus says lightly, “you’re Sirius’s little brother. I expected you to be twice the chaos and half the charm.”

Regulus smirks. “And instead I’m just a tragically repressed overachiever with trust issues.”

Remus lifts his mug in a toast. “To trauma bonding.”

Regulus clinks his cold mug to Remus’s. “Cheers.”

They’re quiet again, and then Remus says, softer, “I’m really glad you’re here, you know.”

Regulus doesn’t respond right away. Just breathes in. Out. And then:

“So am I.”

Which is probably the closest he’s ever come to saying I care about you without immediately running away.

That’s the moment Sirius walks in.

He’s wrapped in a scarf like he’s just come in from the Arctic, even though the common room is room temperature. Dramatic as always.

He freezes at the doorway, eyes wide.

Regulus and Remus blink at him.

“…What?” Remus says.

Sirius stares at them, horrified. “Are you—is this—WHAT THE HELL, MOONY?”

Regulus blinks. “What hell, exactly?”

“You’re cuddling!” Sirius gestures wildly. “You’re tea-drinking, book-sharing, emotion-having cuddling!”

“We’re sitting on a couch,” Remus says.

“Your knees are touching!” Sirius cries.

Remus looks down. “Barely.”

“This is betrayal,” Sirius says, pointing accusingly at them both. “You—Regulus—you mocked our relationship. You said if we were any softer we’d dissolve into mist.”

“I stand by that,” Regulus says calmly. “And also, you’re being dramatic.”

“You’re sitting there being soft with my boyfriend!”

“Ex-boyfriend if you keep this up,” Remus mutters.

Sirius gasps, scandalized. Regulus sips his cold tea to hide a smile.

“We’re just friends,” Remus says. “Calm your Gryffindor.”

“But—he’s you!” Sirius says to Regulus. “And you’re him!”

“Insightful,” Regulus says. “A+ observational skills.”

Remus leans back against the couch. “For the record, I wouldn’t date Regulus if you paid me.”

Regulus nods. “Likewise. One emotionally unstable person is enough in my life, thank you very much.”

Sirius squints at them. “Are you sure you’re not secretly in love?”

They both answer in perfect unison:

“Absolutely not.”

Sirius stares for a moment longer, then grumbles something about codependency and weird bookish soulmates and stomps off.

Regulus and Remus wait until he’s gone before dissolving into laughter.

“Do we really come off like that?” Regulus asks.

“I think we broke his brain,” Remus says, wiping tears from his eyes.

Regulus stretches out, still grinning. “Honestly? Worth it.”

---

The Great Hall is buzzing with late afternoon light and the low hum of post-class chaos. Regulus is sitting beside Remus at the Gryffindor table—he still doesn’t technically belong there, but nobody's kicked him out yet.

James bursts in, late, as usual, laughing at something Sirius says behind him, and Regulus looks up.

And that’s when it happens.

Not a lightning bolt. Not some poetic, sweeping wave of clarity.

No. It’s James Potter, sweaty from Quidditch, hair a disaster, sleeves rolled up to his elbows with a quill tucked behind one ear and ink on his jaw—and Regulus malfunctions.

Because James runs a hand through his already-wrecked hair, grinning like he owns the castle, and—

Oh no.

Oh no.

Regulus stares. Blinks. Looks away. Then looks back. Bad decision. James is talking to Peter now, laughing at something dumb, face lit up with that golden, casual kind of joy that should be illegal. He rolls his shoulder like he’s trying to work out a knot and flexes—flexes—his forearm!!!

And Regulus feels something twist low in his stomach.

“Regulus?” Remus says, mildly.

“What,” Regulus says. It’s not a question, it’s a panic response.

Remus eyes him. “You're gripping your fork like it's a threat.”

Regulus immediately drops it. He tries to play it cool. He fails.

James walks past them and claps Regulus on the shoulder. Warm. Solid. Smiling like he does it all the time. “You coming to the library later? Gotta suffer through Potions together, yeah?”

Regulus manages a sound. It's not a word, but James doesn’t seem to notice. He just winks—winks—and keeps walking, dragging Sirius with him.

Regulus stares after him. The jaw thing. The tie loose around his neck. The smirk when he says something clever and knows it.

“Oh no,” Regulus whispers.

Remus glances at him. “What?”

Regulus puts his face in his hands. “I think I’m in love with a golden retriever.”

Remus just pats his back like he's been waiting for this moment. “Yeah. Welcome to hell. Finally realized it then huh?”

---

The library is quiet, too quiet for the way Regulus’s heart is absolutely slamming against his ribs.

James is across the table, tongue poking out slightly as he rereads the same paragraph for the third time—quill twirling between his fingers like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Regulus is pretending to review notes, but he’s mostly just trying not to stare. Or sigh. Or combust.

"Okay," James says suddenly, leaning back, stretching his arms over his head, and exposing a strip of stomach where his shirt rides up. "This—" he groans, "—is hell. Why does Slughorn hate us personally?"

“He’s only human,” Regulus says without looking up. “You’re an affront to his patience. And mine.”

James grins, clearly delighted. “You wound me, Black.”

Regulus finally lifts his gaze. Mistake. James’s hair is even messier than usual, ink smudged across his cheek, sleeves pushed up to his elbows in the way that should be classified as a public threat. Forearms. Why are they allowed to exist like this?

"You have ink on your face," Regulus says flatly, absolutely not at all flustered. He’s not.

James swipes randomly at his cheek. “Where?”

Regulus sighs, reaches across the table, and wipes it off himself. His fingers brush James’s skin, and James tenses up. Just slightly. Just enough that Regulus feels it.

“Right there,” Regulus says, voice a little too quiet.

James swallows.

The silence stretches. It feels... charged.

“You’re really good at this, you know,” James says suddenly, eyes dropping to Regulus’s notes. “You always look like you’ve got everything under control.”

Regulus huffs, mouth twitching. “Well, I don’t. Obviously. I’m here tutoring a Quidditch captain who thinks wand movements are a vibe rather than a technique.”

James laughs—full, open—and Regulus wants to bottle the sound and keep it hidden in his pillowcase. Salazar, he’s pathetic.

"You think I'm a lost cause, then?" James leans in, smirking slightly. The hot eyebrow raise. Of course.

Regulus looks down at his notes before he makes another mistake.

“Not a lost cause. Just... dangerously charming in a hopeless, academically doomed sort of way.”

James blinks.

And then—blushes.

Regulus stares at him, horrified and delighted.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs. “Really James? You’re blushing because of that?”

James ducks his head, grinning at his parchment. “Shut up.”

“No, really. Are you going to swoon next? Should I catch you?”

James is definitely blushing harder now. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Regulus says, flipping a page, “you begged me to tutor you.”

James grins at him sideways. “Maybe I just like your company.”

Regulus pauses.

Looks up.

And smiles, soft and crooked. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I don’t mind yours either.”

The good thing is: Regulus has a chance. He knows that. He’s not naïve—he’s observant, meticulous. He watches for patterns, and James is nothing if not a pattern. The way he lights up when Regulus laughs, the way he hovers a little too close when he thinks Regulus won’t notice, the way he waits—like he’s hoping Regulus might choose him, even if he doesn’t know what that means yet. The almost kiss. Him being flustered whenever Regulus flirts with him. He knows.

James is obvious. And Regulus, despite himself, keeps looking.

The bad thing?

Regulus is scared. Not of James—never of James. But of what he might break if he tries and fails. James is bright and good, and he feels like the kind of person you only get once. Regulus doesn’t want to ruin that. Doesn’t want to be the reason James stops looking at him like that.

Because Regulus knows what he is. He knows the sharpness in his words, the distance he keeps like a reflex. He’s always been better at pushing people away than letting them stay. And he thinks, in some quiet, unspoken part of himself, that he would be a terrible boyfriend—too guarded, too cold, too much of a mess beneath the surface.

And besides…

Love is for fools, and Regulus Arcturus Black is anything but.

---

Regulus can feel the warmth of James beside him, a comforting weight in the otherwise empty corridor. They’re walking back from the library, the dim glow of the lanterns casting soft shadows across the stone walls. The only sound between them is the echo of their footsteps, a rhythm they’ve fallen into after weeks of doing this—talking, teasing, existing in the same space with a kind of quiet understanding.

But tonight feels different.

There’s something in the air, something thick with possibility, hanging just out of reach. Regulus tries to ignore it. He tries to keep his gaze fixed ahead, focusing on the way the hallways curve, the sharp corners of his thoughts that he can’t quite escape.

James’s hand is right there. Stupid as it might be, Regulus wants to hold it. This hand is so attractive to him right now. Salazar, he’s down bad.

Regulus swallows hard.

Do I—? Should I—?

His heart beats faster than it should. He feels a sudden pressure in his chest, a knot that’s been there for too long, twisting tighter. He’s never been one for touch. Never been one for softness. It feels wrong, even though it doesn’t, and the weight of it makes him feel like he might crack in half.

His fingers twitch, wanting to move, wanting to do something. But the fear holds him back. The fear that one touch will lead to something else—something messy. Something complicated. Something he’s not ready for.

But James is still walking beside him, oblivious, lost in thought. There’s a part of Regulus that knows, if he doesn’t act now, he’ll be too scared to ever do it. That this moment will slip away, like everything else he’s ever been afraid of.

So, slowly, carefully, Regulus reaches out. His hand brushes against James's, with purpose. He hesitates, his fingers just inches away from James's palm, the warmth of it drawing him in, making his pulse race. His breath catches in his throat.

James stops. The air shifts between them. Regulus freezes, unsure if he’s done something wrong, unsure if he’s crossed a line. His fingers hover in the space between them, trembling just a little. He’s already retreating in his mind, already considering pulling his hand back, pretending it was nothing.

But then James looks at him, eyes wide, a surprised softness in his gaze. Regulus feels his heart lurch, a mix of hope and fear twisting together.

For a moment, neither of them says anything. James is waiting, like he doesn’t know whether to say something, to ask, to move, to—

“Don’t mention it,” Regulus says quickly, his voice a little sharper than he intends. It’s an automatic defense, something to cover up the nervousness creeping up on him.

But then he does it. He does what he’s been fighting against all this time. Regulus moves, just slightly, his fingers brushing against James’s again, a quiet, deliberate touch. James’s hand responds, sliding into his, warm and sure, like it was meant to be there all along.

The world feels a little lighter in that moment, a weight lifted that Regulus didn’t even realize he was carrying.

And then James grins—so wide, so genuine, that Regulus can’t help the faint flicker of warmth that spreads through him. The grin is crooked and bright, the kind that makes everything inside Regulus feel a little unsteady, but in a good way.

James gives his hand a small, tentative squeeze, and for the first time, Regulus doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t think, doesn’t second-guess.

He just holds on.

---

Later, though, as Regulus lies in his bed staring at the ceiling, his thoughts refuse to settle. Why did he do that? Why? He can still feel the faint warmth of James’s hand, the way it fit against his like it was meant to be. And now... now James might expect things.

But no—he doesn’t. He wouldn’t. Not James. He’s just... too good to be true, isn’t he? A person like James Potter doesn’t want someone like Regulus Black. He doesn’t want the coldness, the guardedness, the mess.

But—then again—James is still there. Still existing beside him. Regulus bites his lip. He wants it. God, does he want it. He wants to be with him, wants to just... be with James. Without all the walls he’s built.

But then the fear comes crashing in. What if he messes this up? What if he fucks everything up? It’s been too easy to keep people at arm’s length, to push them away before they can get too close. It’s all he’s known, and now? Now he has this... thing with James. This connection that feels too real, too fragile.

Regulus scrubs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. He can’t do this alone. He needs someone to help him make sense of it. He needs to talk to someone.

Dorcas. Pandora. They’d understand. They always do.

But before he can even make the decision to go find them, a soft voice cuts through the quiet.

“Reg?”

He looks up to find Dorcas standing in the doorway, her brow furrowed in concern, the usual teasing glint replaced by something more serious. She’s been watching him all evening, he realizes. Watching him brood, no doubt.

“You’ve been staring at that spot on the wall for the past ten minutes,” she says, her voice a little gentler than usual. “Something’s on your mind, I take it?”

Regulus doesn't even have to answer. Dorcas knows him too well. And, despite his reluctance, he knows he can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. So, he sighs heavily and finally sits up, rubbing his temples.

“I—It’s just... James,” he admits, his voice tight with frustration. “I... I did something, and now I’m freaking out about it.”

Dorcas raises an eyebrow, walking over and sitting down beside him. “You did something, huh? Care to elaborate?”

Regulus’s stomach churns, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his sleeve. “We were walking together, and... I—I touched his hand.” His voice stumbles over the words, the weight of the action feeling bigger than it really is. “Now I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m just—what if I messed everything up?”

Dorcas is silent for a moment, just watching him with a soft expression. Then, in the calmest voice, she says, “You didn’t mess anything up, Reg. You’re overthinking it.”

“Am I?” he snaps, though the frustration is directed at himself, not her. “It feels like I just invited a mess into my life. I mean... it was just a touch, but what if—what if he expects more now? What if he wants more, and I can’t be what he needs?”

Dorcas is quiet for a long while, but then she speaks with that same quiet certainty that always gets through to him.

“He probably doesn’t expect anything, Reg. Not from you. He doesn’t need you to be perfect, not the way you’re thinking. He just wants you. You know that, don’t you?”

Regulus’s breath catches in his throat. It’s the kind of thing he’s been trying not to admit. The thing he’s been running from, really—because, if he believes that, if he believes James might actually want him, he’ll have to let everything else fall away. He’ll have to let himself be... vulnerable.

But he’s terrified.

“I don’t know if I can be what he wants,” Regulus murmurs, barely audible. “I’m not... I’m not easy like him. I’m not...” He trails off, frustrated with himself. “I don’t know if I can let someone close enough to want me.”

Dorcas sighs softly, her hand gently resting on his shoulder, a rare softness in her touch. “Regulus, James is not looking for perfect. He’s not expecting you to change. He’s just looking for you to be there. To let him in. And, honestly?” She pauses, her voice turning teasing. “If he’s sticking around despite all the brooding, I think he’s pretty set on having you.”

Regulus looks up at her, the weight of her words sinking in. He opens his mouth, but no words come out—because, for once, he doesn’t have an argument. All that remains is this hollow feeling in his chest, one he’s been ignoring for so long.

“You really think... he wants me?” Regulus asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dorcas nods, her smile small but warm. “I know so.”

Regulus runs a hand through his hair, a small sigh escaping his lips. God, what is he even doing?

But then he feels it, that nagging something, a flicker of hope he’s been hiding even from himself. Maybe—just maybe—he can do this. Maybe, with James, he doesn’t have to be perfect. Maybe he can just be... himself.

“Thanks,” Regulus says quietly, his voice tinged with gratitude. He stands up, giving Dorcas a small, tight smile. “I’ll... I’ll think about it.”

She nods as he walks toward the door, her voice soft behind him. “Good luck, Reg.”

And, for the first time in a long while, Regulus feels like maybe, just maybe, he does have a chance with James. That he doesn’t have to hide, doesn’t have to push everything away.

It’s terrifying, but it’s also real. And that’s something Regulus is willing to take the risk for.