It’s warming. Apparently, it’ll reach the weather for the cooling globe to be put up in a couple of days. The announcement said it’ll only be for a week, though James is excited. Yes, the air becomes a little stickier, or, whatever it is, but James loves the biting chill of it. The coats and hats that cover everyone for the short time, the flushed cheeks and the kindness of handing out tissues when someone goes over their appointed pack. It’s a break in the relentless summer that beats down on them. It’s cool.
Regulus seems unimpressed when James graces him with the idea though, and more thoroughly unimpressed when James attempts the pun. He cracks a small smile though, which makes James smile in turn.
The man in question smiles a little wider and opens his mouth to speak, before promptly closing it and swallowing. He looks the same, as amused as before, but something is different. There’s panic in his eyes.
James falters in his smiling, surveying Regulus’ face for any remaining signs of something wrong, but he’s returned to normal. Just to check, he asks, “You okay?” anyway.
Nodding rather profusely, Regulus rushes out, “Yeah, yeah. All good,” he huffs a laugh, “I just remembered I had some work due, wasn’t supposed to have a break today.”
The words, ‘shit, can you leave it until Tomorrow? This is fun.’, surface in James’ mind, but he remembers and instead asks, “Oh, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
His hand finds the back of his neck, cool against the rapidly heating skin there.
Regulus blinks a couple times, looking back up at James from where his eyes had snagged on a tall black woman trailing behind a group of blondes.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
James wants to ask him if he’ll be missed, but of course he doesn’t. Work is more important. Swiveling around in his chair playfully, James smiles to himself as he listens to the sound of Regulus’ boots getting quieter and quieter. He hopes the man has a lovely remainder of his day, he hopes Regulus smiles and gets ice in his water. James knows how much Regulus likes ice- for some strange reason.
There’s five minutes left on his break before he must go back to his desk too, and he tries to repress the thoughts and be positive, but they come anyway: he can’t be bothered- he doesn’t want to return to work. Instinctively, James’ hand finds its way to the nape of his neck, the prickling is easily calmed with a hardened weight upon it.
Looking around as he takes a bite into his sandwich, James finds another person doing the same- hand at their neck, rubbing. The ham tastes a little more artificial than usual today, he wonders if it’s a new recipe. His eyes water inexplicably, but he blinks and forgets why the tears found his eyes in the first place. Hand at neck, he scalds himself and decides to cut his break short.
It’s rebellious to think such things, but it’s surely not a thought and rather something James knows when the fact of his job’s futility comes to mind. He swallows, feeling irritated, anyway.
He pulls his hand away from his neck to reach down to the mouse, curious as to why it is named that, and feels a prickling that he does not sooth. He moves one file at a time, from one folder to another, one that can be accessed by Regulus and the others in his department. There’s a little thrill in that, knowing something James has touched- despite its virtuality- will be managed also by Regulus. His friend.
The room is quiet, only the tapping of computers and the low buzzing of the island making any sound. It’s just warm enough to make James sweat, and just a tad too scandalous to remove one’s jacket. He wonders how the woman- surely menopausal, at her age- is doing in the warmth, the same jacket snug around her middle. His neck prickles, and James has to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
The afternoon passes slowly, according to the clock on his computer. Which James loves because that means he gets to work for a time he feels is longer. His foot taps against the floor, he’s never been patient. This whole week has gone slowly, truth be told, and James is glad the weekend is approaching. It’s Thursday, the screen says. Said screen also tells James they will be too near to the sun to go without the cooling globe by Monday, next week. James shudders, excitement running up his spine in anticipation.
Someone taps his shoulder. Alert at once, James looks up almost immediately. The instigator of the tapping is none threatening at first glance, so James gives himself a moment to take him in. He’s a short and stubby man, with a receding hairline and long grey hairs coming from his nose. He doesn’t say anything at first, only stands a little too close for James comfort, jaw clenched and eyes hard as they stare at him.
His voice is clear, but traces of an accent spill out. Scottish maybe?
“Stop tapping your foot. It’s loud.”
James wants to scream, and his neck stings sharply in retaliation but he deliberates it anyway. How wonderful it would be to hold the man’s head in his hands, thin hair between his fingers and wrinkled skin against his palms, and snap his head so far left that his bones crunch and he falls limply to the floor!
The sensitive skin at his neck feels acutely close to bubbling up blood, so James represses all other thoughts.
He stops tapping his foot.
He waits, holding eye contact with the shriveling man who looms above him. When the elderly gentleman turns around all at once to return to his desk, James brings his hand to his neck.
He almost laughs.
Coating his fingers, and filling the lines and crevices of his hands, is blood. Blood extracted from thousands of pin-prick holes in his neck, swelling and prickling with what James knows to be censorship. He smiles as he leaves sticky red tracks over his keyboard, and he sends the next file over with a new name.
All’s fair, huh?
-
Regulus receives the file like he does any other.
An article meant for the masses must be checked meticulously- rule 27 from training guide 11. They don’t explicitly mention what it is they’re checking for, but Regulus knows. But he’s new-ish to this job, but still getting the hang of it. So, when he clicks send (after spending a careful ten minutes reading and rereading the article) and watches the loading bar fill, noticing for the first time: the title, it really isn’t his fault. The titles are never strange, always random letters- there's no point in checking them. But there is. He should have been meticulous. He should have checked. And now there’s no going back, and he really should have checked. Because- shit.
And ow, that hurts. But he deserves it, because- shit. The fucking title. The internal swearing is getting him in trouble, but he’s probably out of the job for this anyway so nothing matters anymore. His parents hard work, his family’s legacy, pulled down by a fucking error.
Shit.
His brother would be proud of him.
And if you combined all the pain he just felt for that fatal flaw of cockiness- not checking the stupid fucking title- it wouldn’t hurt like this. One thought and Regulus is curled over the desk, holding his stomach as if that will stop bile from crawling up his throat. He’s not supposed to think about-
He could get in so much trouble. And the smile in the back of his mind when he thought it too, shit.
For, what does it say again? His vision is going blurry, but it looks like a reference to a...
His life. Regulus’ entire life. Over. All done: with death or- may the great please forbid- banishment. For a shallow reference to a fucking romance novel.
The pain is so intense it feels like heat now, and maybe the cooling shit James mentioned earlier could come in handy because Fuck. It hurts. And he feels like a child as he falls from the chair to crawl on his knees. He needs to get out of here.
He catches the others’ attention, surely, and in fact his cousin turns to look at him- something akin to pride in her eyes, but nobody moves. They stay seated at their desks, mindless in their reading and checking and reading and checking and Regulus thinks they’ll die like that. But, or perhaps ‘so’, he continues. Crawling, that is, out of the office.
He doesn’t know where to go. Where is there to hide on a fucking floating island in the middle of space? The area is only so big. There’s only so long he can run for. Until they catch him, like they caught-
His eyes are on the floor, where his spit pools with blood leaving a trail on the floor. His breathing is shaky, and will he survive. Surely someone will come and get him? Arrest him? There’s romours, he knows, but surely-
There’s a punched out, “Reg.” and the shattering of a water glass on the floor. Glassy eyes catch sight of James and as much as he tried to repress it, his God really isn’t the self-obsessed, probably fictional, character of ‘The Great’, but James. James is fucking divine.
“I missed- I didn’t- And-”
“I know. We need to get help.”
And Regulus wants to shout, to tell him he doesn’t know, and that nobody will help. Regulus wants to whisper that he’s a fugitive now and wants to kiss James until he sees the tyranny that is The Great and whisks him away to a magic land where they can exist without this. He wants to stand on his two feet and feel his mouth clear of vomit and blood and tell James all the secrets that he’s buried deep inside himself.
But Regulus should know by now, he never gets what he wants.
-
When Regulus starts murmuring in his sleep, James is holding a cold compress to his forehead and obsessively flickering his eyes towards the door, and Regulus, the door, Regulus, door-
A heaving breath takes James out of his trance, “What the fuck?”
“Shit, Sirius, you need to get it out. He’s stopped being tortured by it but when he wakes it’ll all go wrong.”
A ragged-looking Sirius slows his breathing as he pulls out a syringe filled with a sickly pale-green coloured liquid. He looks lost for a moment as he looks at Regulus, fitfully asleep on the mattress. It’s sharp with springs and the occasional flea can be seen, but it’s all they could find on such short notice.
“I know, but you’ve gotta do it quickly. Before he wakes up.”
Sirius looks to the skies for a moment before kneeling down next to Regulus, and tugging his wrist from where it’s tucked against his side. Blue veins contrast with the green that’s soon to seep into them, and James prepares to close his eyes.
His eyelids begin to flutter shut, as all at once Regulus wakes with a start and Sirius, upon realising this, does not back away but shoves the needle deep inside Regulus’ wrist.
Regulus screams. Tears run down and across his face. Agony is painted upon him, in something as painstakingly elegant and frightening as art.
Acting as quickly as possible, James maneuvers his arm to hold it over Regulus’ mouth. He commands, “Bite.” but before the word even worms its way out, Regulus’ teeth are leaving imprints on his wrist.
His eyes are shut tightly and his whole body shakes. James wants to look away, but in the horror of it his eyes are stuck to Regulus’ face. Spit pools at the corners of his mouth and from his closed eyes come tears, thick and red as blood but glimmering a pale green.
James bites the sides of his mouth to stop from whining, and holds his arm in place. He fears that if he moves, a chunk of flesh will not come with him. And anyway, he knows worse things happen when they hear the screams. He knows that however loud you’re screaming; they can make you louder. So, he holds in place, even as Sirius practically runs away and stands across the room in shock, and even as Regulus’ veins begin to jump and squirm.
James remains, even as Regulus opens his eyes for just a moment, and they’re completely and purely the deepest shade of maroon he has ever witnessed. He gasps but does not speak. James can only feel as Regulus unsticks and unclenches his teeth from where they cut at his arms. He can only watch as Regulus blinks, red washed away to reveal white and the lightest grey. And he can only listen when Regulus says, “I love you.”, voice wet and choked.
James, who always refused the injection under the illusion that he would be able to repress any thought more harmful than the daily few that bring upon the prickling, takes a deep breath in. And James, who in his last breath thinks of kissing Regulus, keels forward- onto Regulus’ chest, dying with the words, “I love you too.” stuck in his throat.