Cheek Kisses and Other Catastrophes
James and Regulus still bicker. That hasn’t changed—except now, their insults are gentler, dulled at the edges by affection they’re still getting used to showing in public. Regulus rolls his eyes at James, but his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. James calls him “your highness” when Regulus gets particularly snobby about something—but it’s laced with fondness now, not mockery.
There’s a noticeable shift in the space between them. They stand closer. Their knees brush under tables and neither one moves away. When James laughs, his eyes dart toward Regulus, like he’s hoping to share the moment. And when Regulus speaks, James listens—really listens—like every word is worth keeping. And Regulus listens, too, like he wants to memorize the way James talks about literally anything.
James just feels good when he’s around him. Safe. Giddy. Anchored.
Regulus, for his part, tries to act normal. But his sarcasm softens around James. And sometimes, when James flashes that crinkly-eyed grin, Regulus forgets what he was going to say entirely. James feels smug every single time.
It’s subtle. But everyone notices.
They sit together in the library now—even when it’s crowded. Regulus claims it’s because he needs to be near the Potions texts. James doesn’t even pretend.
When they’re in a group, Regulus is quiet, as always. Unless James is speaking—then he perks up. Offers a comment. Challenges him, just to be difficult. James grins every time.
Their friends exchange knowing glances like it’s a full-time job.
Remus watches with quiet amusement. Pandora and Dorcas smirk whenever Regulus says anything even remotely kind to James. Peter is confused but supportive. And Sirius… Sirius watches them closely. Not in a possessive way, but with the cautious attention of someone waiting. Waiting for them to finally say it out loud. He doesn’t seem upset that they haven’t told him yet. Just... careful. Protective. Like he’s making sure Regulus doesn’t get hurt. Like he’s making sure James is actually happy.
Then there’s the hand-holding. Quiet. Under the table. Regulus initiates it sometimes—just a brush of fingers, then a slow, deliberate curl until their hands are twined together. Every time, James glances over like it’s the first time. And sometimes, James starts it. But it feels different when Regulus does—like he's just as gone for James as James is for him.
They’re still figuring it out.
Sometimes Regulus freezes when someone says the word “boyfriend.” Even as a joke. And James thinks maybe he feels guilty for needing time. But James tells him it’s fine. That he’ll wait. That he doesn’t mind.
Because he doesn’t. He likes what they have. Even if he’s dying to call Regulus his boyfriend. Even if he wants to hold his hand in the hallway. Even if he wants to kiss him again.
And he really does want to tell Sirius. Sirius probably already knows—but still.
James sometimes blurts things too early, too eagerly, and then immediately backtracks. But in the middle of the awkwardness, there are smiles. And warmth. That quiet, private kind that simmers between them like a secret they both love keeping.
There are cheek kisses. Gentle brushes of fingers. Hugs that linger too long to be platonic. They flirt. They haven’t properly kissed again since that first time—but James said he’d give Regulus time.
So he does.
The cheek kisses nearly make him combust anyway.
And the thing is—James is happy.
They’re not shouting it from the Astronomy Tower.
But they’re not hiding it, either.
Not really.
---
They’re in the library. Again. To study for James’s NEWTs that are creeping closer.
It’s not romantic. Not even close. There’s a weird smell coming from the Herbology books section, someone’s cat is yowling outside the window, and James has just managed to spill half a bottle of ink across his own notes.
Regulus looks mildly horrified. “How are you alive?”
James shrugs, smiling helplessly, ink on his fingertips, shirt cuff, and probably his soul. “Charm and luck. Heavy emphasis on the charm.”
Regulus rolls his eyes like it physically pains him, but there's a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth that betrays him. James sees it. He always sees it. And even though they’re sitting on opposite sides of the table, he feels like Regulus is close. Like his gaze alone is a tether.
They haven’t kissed again. Not since that kiss. The one James replays in his head more often than he’ll admit. It’s not that he’s waiting for Regulus to make the next move exactly—except that he is. Because Regulus isn’t the type to be rushed. And James doesn’t want to mess it up by being too much, too soon, too him.
Still. He wants.
He wants so much it’s a little embarrassing. Wants Regulus’ hand in his. Wants that perfect, quiet electricity again. Wants—
“James.”
He looks up, blinking. Oh, no. He’s been staring at Regulus’s mouth. Regulus is watching him. His expression is unreadable in the way it gets when he’s made some kind of internal decision.
Before James can apologize or find an excuse, Regulus stands. Walks around the table.
James’ heart stutters. “Did I do something—?”
Regulus leans down and kisses him.
Just like that.
No warning. No build-up.
Just a firm, intentional press of lips to lips, one hand resting lightly on James’ shoulder, like he’s grounding them both.
James freezes. And then melts.
Yes. Yes yes yes! This.
It’s softer than the first kiss. Slower. But there’s something behind it, something deliberate. A question. An answer. A promise tucked into the way Regulus tilts his head and parts his lips just slightly—and oh, oh, James is kissing him back now, of course he is, how could he not?
Time folds a little.
There’s tongue, eventually. Just a teasing brush, like Regulus is testing a theory, and James actually gasps a little because bloody hell, he missed this. Missed him.
When they part, Regulus is still close enough that James can feel the warmth of his breath.
“…Hi,” James says, voice a little wrecked. “That was... uh. Good. Great. Excellent. Ten out of ten, would recommend.”
Regulus gives him a look that’s far too fond for someone pretending not to be in love. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” James says, grinning now, a little dizzy. “But I’m your ridiculous, right?”
Regulus sighs, like this whole interaction has deeply exhausted him, and sits back down. But he doesn’t move away. Their knees brush under the table.
James doesn’t stop smiling for the next hour. Maybe they’re getting closer to being…boyfriends?
---
It happens later that evening.
The library kiss has been haunting James—in a good way—all day. He keeps replaying it in his head, over and over like a favorite song he’s not ready to stop listening to. Every time he sees Regulus, it’s like his brain short-circuits and forgets what words are. Regulus, for his part, has been frustratingly calm. Cool. Like he didn’t just shatter James Potter’s entire emotional equilibrium with a single well-timed kiss.
They’re in the corridor outside the Great Hall now. People are trickling in for dinner. The air smells like roast something and treacle tart and James is trying to act normal. He’s talking to Peter about… broom polish? Transfiguration? Something that doesn’t matter.
And then he feels it.
A brush of fingers against his hand.
He glances down—and there it is. Regulus, walking beside him like he wasn’t just hiding behind a suit of armor a second ago (which he absolutely was), curling his fingers into James’ hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
James stumbles.
Trips over his own foot and slams a massive Charms textbook directly onto his toes.
“Merlin’s—ow—fucking hell,” he wheezes, hopping on one foot like a tragic little stork. The book thuds to the floor with dramatic flair.
Regulus, entirely unbothered, just picks it up for him. He’s not smiling, exactly, but his eyes are glittering with way too much satisfaction for someone who just caused minor bodily harm via affection.
“Gravity works. Just like your knees app-“
“Not again! Think of something new, would you?”
“…Fine. You okay there?” he asks, all innocent.
James gapes at him. “You—you can’t just—ambush kiss my hand in public like that!”
“I didn’t kiss it,” Regulus says, smug now. “I held it. Subtle difference.”
“Subtle my arse,” James mutters, grabbing the book back and very nearly dropping it again. His hand is still warm where Regulus touched it. His brain is not okay. “You can’t just go around being affectionate and stealthy like that. It’s illegal.”
Regulus shrugs one elegant shoulder. “Well, arrest me.” He kisses his cheek. Merlin, he knows exactly what he’s doing to James with those. And he uses it against him. Prick…Lovely prick.
James groans and leans against the wall like he’s winded from sheer feelings. “You’re going to kill me, Regulus Black. I hope you know that.”
“Not before breakfast tomorrow,” Regulus replies, already strolling ahead, calm as ever. “I’m bringing you toast.”
James stares after him, still cradling his poor foot. “I’m going to marry him,” he says to the corridor at large. “I don’t even care. He’s dangerous. I’m in danger.”
Peter, somewhere nearby, just pats his shoulder in solidarity.
---
On a Wednesday, Regulus asks James about the cheek kisses.
It’s late in the Gryffindor common room.
Most of the house has gone to bed—there’s a few stragglers, but the fire’s low and the energy’s mellow. James is curled up on the sofa, one leg tucked under the other, flipping through a Quidditch magazine he’s not really reading. Regulus is beside him, somehow looking elegant even while stealing James’ blanket and leaning against the armrest like this isn’t enemy territory.
Regulus has been “visiting” Gryffindor more lately. No one’s stopped him. No one really dares. Not when James lights up the second he walks in like he’s just been waiting for him. Which he has, obviously.
They’re quiet for a while, until Regulus says, casually, “You know, you react to cheek kisses more dramatically than actual snogging.”
James blinks, glancing over. “What, like I blush and fall apart and get starry-eyed every time you do it?”
Regulus doesn’t look at him. “Exactly.”
James grins. “That’s because it means something.”
Regulus scoffs. “So snogging doesn’t?”
James shrugs. “It can. But people snog all the time without really meaning it. Or shag. Or flirt. It happens.” He pauses, watching the firelight flicker. “But cheek kisses… those feel honest. Like something you only do when you really care. Especially the way you do it.”
Regulus finally looks at him. “The way I do it?”
“Yeah,” James says, turning toward him fully now, one arm draped along the back of the sofa. “You’re so serious about it. Like it’s a little ritual. You always pause, just a second, like you’re asking permission. And you have to stand on your tippy toes every time, which is—sorry—but adorable.”
Regulus glares. “I do not stand on my toes.”
James leans in with a mock-sympathetic look. “Reg, love, don’t lie about it. It’s sweet. Even if you wore high heels you’d still have to lift your head a little.”
Regulus is halfway to a retort when he suddenly shifts closer—just a breath—and kisses James right on the cheek. On purpose. No hesitation.
James goes still. Soft. Eyes fluttering just a little at the warmth of it.
Then he smirks. “See? That. That’s the good stuff.”
Regulus exhales, somewhere between amused and exasperated, and then—shockingly—lets James pull him in.
James throws an arm around him, casual but deliberate, and Regulus leans without resisting. It’s not dramatic. No sweeping gestures. Just Regulus fitting himself against James’ side like they’ve done this a thousand times before. Like it’s normal now.
James feels warm all over.
Regulus says, voice quiet, “I still think you’re being ridiculous.”
James rests his cheek on Regulus’ hair. “You literally just kissed me on the cheek. Don’t pretend you’re not into it.”
A beat.
“…It is kind of nice,” Regulus admits.
“Right? Soft. Romantic. Makes me feel like I’m being claimed by a very tiny monarch.”
Regulus elbows him in the ribs, but doesn’t move away. If anything, he sinks in a little more. James adjusts the blanket, makes sure Regulus is warm too, and they stay like that—legs tangled, fire crackling, the castle quiet around them.
James kisses Regulus on the forehead. Regulus blushes. James teases him which he gets another elbow for. But it’s worth it. Regulus even lets him play with his hair for a while. James is so fucking happy, it’s insane.
They don’t talk again for a while.
But James smiles, cheek still tingling, and thinks, this—this is exactly what he wants. They might not be dating just yet. But Honestly? It feels like it. If Regulus doesn’t want to call it that? Fine. Because to James, this feels like dating.
---
It’s after practice.
The pitch is emptying slowly, the sky streaked orange and pink, and James is still straddling his broom like he hasn’t noticed the world turning. He’s got that faraway look on his face—the one he’s got a lot these days. It’s getting warmer. Easter holidays are getting closer.
Marlene strolls over, helmet tucked under one arm, bat slung over her shoulder, casual as ever. “Oi, Potter.”
James blinks. “Hmm?”
“You coming in or planning to stay out here till sunrise?”
He grins lazily. “I do love it here. It’s getting warmer. And…y’know, very poetic Quidditch captain energy.”
Marlene snorts and drops onto the grass beside him. “You don’t even know what poetry is, don’t lie.”
They sit in comfortable silence for a few beats. The wind ruffles their hair. The fading sunlight hits just right.
Then Marlene says, without looking at him, “So. You and Baby Black.”
James chokes on absolutely nothing. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I—Marlene—why would you—?”
“You didn’t tell me for long enough,” she says, smiling like she already knows everything. “And I love gossip. Plus, Regulus looked like he wanted to murder anyone who dared touch you during that last match. I’m not blind.”
James covers his face. “Marlene.”
She bumps his shoulder. “Relax. I’m not going to hex him or anything. I’m not even judging. I just want details.”
He peeks through his fingers. “Promise you won’t tell Sirius?”
“Cross my heart, swear on my broom, though he probably already knows. You two are so obvious,” she says solemnly. “Now spill.”
James sighs and lies back in the grass, arms flung out. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. We’re… something. We’re not calling it anything yet. But there’s kissing. And hand-holding. And ridiculous eye contact. And toast. So much toast.”
Marlene raises an eyebrow. “Romance by bakery goods. Charming.”
James grins up at the sky. “You’d get it if you saw the way he butters it.”
She laughs. “Alright, alright, I’ll allow it. But seriously… you happy?”
James nods, just a little too fast. “Yeah. Stupidly.”
Marlene smiles. “Good. You deserve that.”
There’s a pause. Then she smirks. “So, cheek kisses, huh?”
James groans and covers his face again. “How do you know that? And why does everyone focus on that?”
“First: Because, like I said, you are not subtle and he kissed your cheek in an open hallway once. I saw. And second: Because you get all soft about it. It’s cute. You’re a menace 90% of the time and then he pecks your cheek and suddenly you’re the human embodiment of a romantic ballad.”
“I hate you,” he mumbles.
She just leans back beside him, hands behind her head. “You love me.”
“…A little.”
They lie there until the stars start poking through the dark. Just two friends. One deeply in love, the other smugly supportive. And also deeply in love. With Dorcas.
And when James stands up to head in for dinner, Marlene just says, “If you ever need help keeping it quiet from Sirius, I’ve got a system. I’ve hidden a whole relationship from him before.”
James pauses. “Wait—what?”
She just winks and walks off. “Another time, Potter. Although… Sirius seems to know already. So it’d be a bit late for my advice.”
James shakes his head, smiling a little. All of his friends really are amazing.