The Dying Swan

James shot up from his bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The loud crashing sound had woken him instantly, and panic surged through him. His mind raced as he scrambled for his glasses, fumbling across the nightstand in the dark. His hand brushed against the cold surface of his lamp, then his watch, and finally, yes, his glasses.

With a swift motion, he shoved them up the bridge of his nose and pushed himself out of bed. His first thought was the worst: someone had broken in. He couldn’t breathe as he rushed toward the source of the noise, the kitchen.

“Harry?” he called out, his voice shaky with fear. “Harry, are you okay? Where are you?”

James half-ran, half-stumbled toward the kitchen, his mind conjuring all sorts of horrifying scenarios. Was Harry hurt? Was someone in the house? He was almost afraid to look, but he had to.

When he finally rounded the corner into the kitchen, James froze.

There, sitting on the floor surrounded by pots and pans, clanging together and scattered in every direction, was his son. Harry grinned up at him, completely unaware of the panic he’d caused.

James exhaled in relief, his racing heart slowing to a more normal pace as he adjusted his glasses. "What happened?" he asked, still a little shaken from the scare.

Harry looked up, his eyes bright with excitement. "I was trying to make pancakes for breakfast, Daddy," he said with a proud smile, holding up a small, plastic mixing bowl like it was the key to the world.

James couldn’t help but laugh, his worries dissipating as he saw the determined look on Harry’s face. The kitchen was a disaster, sure, but the sight of Harry’s earnest effort made James’s heart swell with affection.

“Oh, kiddo,” James chuckled, kneeling down to lift Harry up. “You’re lucky you didn’t knock the whole kitchen down. C’mon, let’s get you off the floor.” He carefully placed Harry on the kitchen table, brushing some of the flour off his son’s pajamas. “I’ll make the pancakes this time, okay? You wait right here.”

Harry’s face fell a little, but then he perked up again. “Can I help?” he asked eagerly, his little hands gripping the edge of the table as he bounced in excitement.

James smiled and nodded. “Sure, buddy. You can help me mix the batter. I think you’re a pro at that already.”

Harry clapped his hands and beamed, clearly thrilled that he’d still get to be involved in the process.

As James started gathering ingredients, the warmth of the moment settled over him. He loved mornings like this, simple, quiet, with Harry’s infectious energy filling up the space around him.

...

James flipped the last pancake onto the plate and set it on the table with a smile. Harry’s eyes lit up, his tiny hands immediately reaching for the stack. They settled down together, the quiet hum of the morning filling the space as they ate. James watched Harry, his heart full. The way his son grinned with a smear of syrup on his cheek, the way he chattered about cartoons between bites, it all made the long hours he worked feel worth it.

After breakfast, James carried their empty plates to the sink before sitting down next to Harry on the couch, ready to enjoy a lazy Saturday morning. The TV flickered on, and soon enough, Harry was glued to his favorite cartoons, laughing at the silly antics on screen. James leaned back, letting his own thoughts drift as he watched his son’s bright, innocent smile. It was moments like this that made everything else fade into the background.

James worked nearly every day, Monday to Monday. Since the divorce, he had taken on extra clients, pushing himself harder than ever to cover both the alimony and the divorce expenses. It had been rough, but he never complained. Harry was always his priority, and no matter how busy he was, he made sure to carve out time for his son.

He hadn’t wanted Harry to feel abandoned, especially after the split with Lily. The fear had gnawed at him, would Harry think less of himself if his parents weren't around? Would he feel torn between his parents? But James had promised himself he would make sure Harry always knew how much he was loved, no matter what.

Harry was still small, barely four, his world revolving around his cartoons and toys. The divorce had been tough on both of them, but for Harry’s sake, they’d made sure it never felt like a fracture. He and Lily were great friends, great parents, but as a married couple, they hadn’t been able to make it work. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, just a reality that came with time. Lily had needed something more. She’d been trapped in their home, in their life, yearning for freedom. For adventure. For a career she could call her own. James understood that, even if it hurt.

It had been the hardest decision of his life when Lily had asked for the divorce. But James had learned a painful lesson: if you love something, you have to let it go. And that’s exactly what he’d done.

He glanced at Harry, still lost in his cartoons, and felt the familiar ache in his chest. In just a few hours, Lily would be picking Harry up for the weekend, and even after a year, James still struggled with the goodbye. Not because of Lily, he was at peace with their relationship now, but because of Harry. Every time Harry left, even if it was just for a day and a half, it felt like a small piece of him went with him.

The thought of Harry being away from him for even a short while always hit him harder than he expected.

Harry laughed at something on the screen, and instinctively, James pulled him a little closer, wrapping his arms around his small frame. The familiar warmth of Harry’s little body against him grounded James, offering him some comfort. Harry was so small, so innocent, and James could never get used to the idea of being apart from him, even for a brief weekend.

The hours seemed to melt away. Before James realized it, the clock read 11 AM. A sharp knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. He stood up, panic immediately setting in as he remembered with a jolt that he hadn’t given Harry his bath yet. His stomach twisted. He’d let it slip. He was the worst parent. He should’ve been more prepared.

Every time he picked Harry up at Lily’s house, Harry would be bathed and dressed in fresh clothes, looking like he’d just stepped out of a catalog. And here he was, still in his pajamas. The guilt gnawed at him.

He hurriedly opened the door, but the moment he saw Lily standing there with her new girlfriend, Mary, the familiar knot in his chest grew tighter. It wasn’t Lily, it was the way Mary McDonald looked at him, a quick glance that made him feel like he’d already failed somehow.

Lily stepped inside with her usual warm smile, but Mary’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of Harry still in his pajamas. James scratched his head, feeling like an idiot. Mary raised an eyebrow, but it was Lily who laughed first, easing the tension.

“You probably got distracted by Paw Patrol or something, huh?” Lily teased.

James gave a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, I completely lost track of time.”

“No problem,” Lily shrugged, her smile still kind. “Is Harry’s stuff packed?”

“Yeah, it’s all ready,” James replied, his voice carrying a tinge of relief.

Lily nodded, then checked her phone before glancing up at James with a more serious expression. “Don’t forget, Harry has his ophthalmologist appointment on Tuesday. Are you sure you can make it?”

James gave a firm nod, even as his mind scrambled to make sure nothing would interfere with the appointment. “No problem, I’ve got it covered.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curving slightly.

James smiled and said, “We’re thinking of picking matching glasses, right, buddy?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I’ll be like Daddy!” he exclaimed, his excitement filling the room.

James smiled, his heart swelling. He ruffled Harry’s hair. “You see? Everything’s under control,” he said with a wink toward Lily.

Lily sighed, playfully crossing her arms. “Fine, fine, but I want pictures.”

"I’ll send them to you," James promised, sensing the tension ease just a little.

Lily gave a soft, resigned sigh. “Okay, go get Harry’s backpack, then.”

James nodded and hurried to Harry’s room, his stomach sinking as he saw the chaos inside. Toys were scattered everywhere, clothes piled high on the floor. It was a mess. He made a mental note to clean up before Harry came back. He quickly grabbed the backpack, zipping it up, and walked back into the living room.

Mary reached out for the bag as soon as he entered. “I’ll take it from here,” she said, smiling softly.

Harry, already in Lily’s arms, reached out for James, his small arms wrapping around him for a tight hug.

“Bye, Daddy,” Harry mumbled, his voice muffled against James’s shoulder.

James’s chest tightened as he returned the hug, his smile softening. “Bye, buddy. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Harry pulled back, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Okay, Daddy,” he said, his little voice bright with the promise of the next time they’d be together.

With a final wave, Lily and Mary left the apartment, Harry in tow, and James stood in the doorway, watching them go. A familiar ache settled in his chest. It wasn’t just the separation, it was the feeling of being left behind, even for a short while. He watched them walk down the hall, Harry’s tiny hand in Lily’s, and felt the familiar pang of loneliness settle in his heart.

...

James turned on the water, the sound of it running filling the kitchen as he began to rinse off the dishes. The soft hum of the faucet gave him a moment of peace, though the thought of his upcoming appointment tugged at the back of his mind. His first client of the day, someone recommended by Sirius. James wasn’t sure what to expect, but he trusted his best friend’s judgment. Who could this guy be?

He focused on finishing the chores, scrubbing pots and pans, tossing dirty laundry into the washer. Harry’s clothes went in, a small pile of colorful shirts and pants that seemed to have accumulated over the week. He smiled softly as he folded a shirt, remembering how Harry had insisted on wearing the same one three days in a row. Kids.

As he worked, he found himself wondering about the client. Sirius hadn’t given him many details, just that the man needed help getting in shape. James pictured some sedentary guy in the middle of a midlife crisis, probably a stressed-out executive or one of Sirius’s colleagues from the law firm who had spent too many years behind a desk munching on donuts. Whoever it was, James would do his best. He always did.

The last plate went into the sink, and he wiped his hands off, glancing at the clock. He had just enough time to get ready. After a quick shower, he pulled on his workout gear and ran a hand through his hair, making sure everything was in place.

As he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, he reminded himself of the most important thing: Harry. Always Harry. With that thought, he closed the door behind him, locking it securely.

...

James drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he circled the block for the third time, cursing under his breath. Visitor parking was a nightmare, and he was already running dangerously close to being late. Not exactly the best first impression for a new client. Finally, he spotted a space a bit farther down than he’d have liked, but at this point, he’d take what he could get.

He pulled in quickly, killed the engine, and grabbed his gym bag before jogging toward the building. The flat complex was nicer than he’d expected, modern, sleek, the kind of place that could cost a fortune. He double-checked the address on his phone as he stepped inside, following the signs toward the building's gym.

When he arrived, the space was empty. James frowned.

Had he gotten the time wrong? He pulled out his phone again, scrolling through his texts with Sirius. The address was right. The time was right. So where the hell was the client?

A sharp, sudden squeak cut through the air, the distinct sound of rubber soles skidding against the polished floor. James’s head snapped up, his heart lurching from the unexpected noise.

And that was when he saw him.

The man standing across the room was, quite frankly, the most beautiful person James had ever laid eyes on. For a second, James thought he had imagined him, like some sort of ethereal vision conjured by the gods of distraction.

Tall and lean, the man had a presence that demanded attention without even trying. His wavy dark hair framed his sharp features perfectly, and his ice-blue eyes seemed to pierce straight through James. A small, delicate mole sat just beneath his left eye, like an artist’s finishing touch on an already perfect masterpiece. There was something about him, something graceful, effortless, the kind of elegance that didn’t need to be forced.

James stood there, frozen, suddenly convinced he was in the wrong place. Of course he was. There was no way in hell this man was looking for a personal trainer. He was toned in all the right places, no hint of the usual signs of someone desperate to get in shape.

Then, the man parted his lips.

“Are you James?”

James swallowed, his gaze flickering to the man’s mouth before he could stop himself.

Yeah. He was doomed.

James blinked, scrambling to remember how words worked.

“Yes,” he managed, though it came out slightly rough.

The man stepped closer, extending a hand. “Regulus Black.”

James barely had time to process the introduction before he took the offered hand, his brain short-circuiting for an entirely different reason now. Up close, Regulus was even more breathtaking. His skin was impossibly smooth, his features so finely crafted that James was sure if he looked too long, he’d start believing in divine sculptors.

“James Potter,” he replied, forcing himself to focus.

Regulus’s handshake was firm but not forceful, a delicate balance of control and ease. James wanted to blame the warmth in his face on the fact that Regulus was absurdly pretty, but it was probably also because his brain had finally caught up to his last name.

Black.

Black hair. Blue eyes. Aristocratic posture. The last name.

Oh. Oh.

“You’re Sirius’s little brother,” James blurted out, his eyes widening. “God, I can’t believe I didn’t clock that sooner, he talks about you all the time.”

Regulus hummed, lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “All good things, I’m sure.”

“Well,” James started, then decided against full honesty. “Mostly.”

That earned him a faintly amused look before Regulus continued, “I suppose that’s fair. But yes, he’s the one who recommended you.”

James nodded, piecing things together. “I thought you lived in like Russia or something?”

“Germany, I did,” Regulus confirmed. “But I moved to London less than a year ago. I work at the Royal Ballet.”

James barely had time to process that before his brain made a very logical assumption. “Ah,” he said, nodding. “So, you’re an attorney as well?”

Regulus’s expression twisted immediately, like James had just insulted his entire bloodline.

“Oh, God, no.” He even shuddered slightly. “Can you imagine? That sounds miserable.”

James huffed out a surprised laugh. “Well, what do you do there, then?”

“I’m a ballet dancer.”

James’s mind went blank.

For a second, he was convinced he’d misheard. He looked Regulus up and down, the sharp jawline, the broad shoulders, the poised but effortless stance. He did not look like James’s idea of a ballet dancer. Not at all.

“There’s no way,” James blurted before he could stop himself. “You’re too...” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

Regulus tilted his head slightly, and James swore there was something knowing in his gaze, something that said I already know exactly what you’re thinking, and you’re an idiot for it.

James cleared his throat, feeling strangely caught. “I mean, that’s... unexpected,” he said, shifting gears. “But, uh... how can I help you?”

Regulus exhaled sharply, as if just admitting it aloud was a frustration in itself. “I need to build muscle. Especially upper body strength.”

James nodded, professional mode engaged, until Regulus reached for the hem of his hoodie and tugged it off.

James was not about to tell him he didn’t need to strip for this conversation. By all means, be his guest.

“I’m having a hard time landing bigger solos,” Regulus continued, utterly unbothered as he pulled his arms free of the sleeves. “They always go to the guys with more...” He gestured vaguely at his torso. “Presence. And muscle, apparently.”

James barely heard the last part. He was too busy not staring.

Regulus was lean, which made sense for a dancer. His chest and arms were toned, but James could see what he meant, there wasn’t much mass there.

Regulus frowned down at his own arms, flexing slightly, unimpressed. “It’s my arms, mostly,” he said. “And my thighs. I've been dancing for years, but my thighs just won't grow."

James arched a brow, finally managing to refocus. “Your thighs?”

Regulus nodded. “They’re not defined enough.” He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his shorts, and James immediately forgot how to breathe.

For the love of all things holy, please take them off.

It took everything in him to keep his expression neutral as Regulus sighed and let go, not actually stripping any further.

James nearly groaned in disappointment.

Instead, he shifted his stance and tilted his head slightly, studying Regulus with a more critical eye. Now that he was looking properly, he realized something, Regulus had Sirius’s body type.

James had known Sirius for years, had seen firsthand how much effort it took for him to put on any real muscle. He and Regulus were built the same lean frames that required twice the work to gain mass.

Nothing James couldn’t handle.

He crossed his arms, considering. “Alright,” he said, his tone slipping into something more businesslike, even as his brain continued to reel from the very distracting visuals. “I can work with this.”

James paused for a moment, watching Regulus as he got dressed, his eyes lingering for a second longer than they should have. Regulus’s body was lean, but James could see the potential beneath the surface, he knew with the right program, he could help the man build the muscles he so desperately wanted. He just had to make sure Regulus was on board with the changes.

“Alright,” James continued, folding his arms and speaking in a tone that was a mix of reassuring and professional. “We’ll work together on this. It’ll take time, but we’ll get you where you want to be. I’ll design a workout program tailored to your needs, focusing on building up your upper body, but there are a few things I need to ask you first.”

Regulus, still pulling on his hoodie, nodded, his attention focused on his clothes. “Go ahead.”

James ran a hand through his hair, mentally preparing the questions. "Do you have any history of heart disease in your family?”

“No,” Regulus replied without hesitation, pulling his shirt over his head, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Any injuries, past or present?” James asked, watching Regulus closely as he finished buttoning his shirt.

Regulus paused for a second, before giving a small shrug. "A few, hip problems, a bit of back pain from the dancing, but nothing serious. It’s just part of the profession."

James looked at him more seriously now, his brow furrowing. "Back problems... that doesn’t sound great."

"It’s just the nature of the work," Regulus explained, his voice almost apologetic. "Dancing like I do, it’s hard on the body."

James made a mental note to focus on strengthening Regulus’s back and hips. He couldn’t afford to ignore these issues; if they weren’t properly addressed, they’d eventually get worse.

“Alright,” James said after a pause, "Let’s move on. Do you drink regularly?”

“No,” Regulus replied quickly, his gaze meeting James’s for a brief moment.

“Smoke?” James asked, his eyes narrowing as he observed Regulus’s reaction.

For the first time, Regulus looked away, a hint of discomfort crossing his face.

James didn’t press, though. “You’ll have to quit,” he said firmly, and Regulus looked back at him, an expression of slight surprise. “Smoking’s terrible for your metabolism and muscle growth. If you want to make progress, you can’t keep it up.”

“I don’t smoke every day,” Regulus defended, voice softening. “It’s not even a regular thing... Just sometimes, when I’m stressed. I’m not addicted.”

James didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway. "Great. I’ll take your word for it, but you need to quit if you’re serious about this."

Regulus gave a small sigh, but said nothing more.

“And your diet?” James asked, his voice dipping slightly as he looked at Regulus, his tone more curious now.

Regulus’s face immediately turned a faint shade of pink. James raised an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“I—I eat three meals a day,” Regulus stammered, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just, my life is... busy. I don’t always eat the same thing. It changes a lot depending on the day.”

James watched him carefully. “What do you mean, changes a lot? What are you eating?”

Regulus dismissed the question with a quick wave of his hand. "It’s nothing, really. Just different stuff depending on the schedule. You know how it is."

James made a mental note of that, too. He would need to investigate what exactly Regulus was eating; diet was just as important as exercise, especially when building muscle. "Alright," he said, trying to keep the conversation light. "I’ll look into that as well. We’ll make sure your nutrition is in line with your goals."

Regulus offered a small, almost relieved smile, but James could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the topic. Regardless, James was determined to help, no matter how much Regulus resisted the process.

James leaned against the wall for a moment, watching the way Regulus carried himself. Graceful, but still somehow guarded, that James found both intriguing and intimidating. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he was beginning to sense there was more to Regulus than just his lean frame and striking looks.

"To be honest," James began, his voice a little softer now, "I’ve worked with a lot of athletes, but never a male ballerina. I’d really like to understand more about your routine and the physical strain your job takes on your body. I’m sure there’s a lot more involved than just the standard workout."

Regulus nodded thoughtfully, clearly not offended by the question, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes, maybe hesitation, or maybe just curiosity. "It’s definitely not like other sports. The flexibility, the strength required, it’s a delicate balance. Ballet doesn’t get nearly as much credit for how demanding it is on the body."

James tilted his head, giving him a small, encouraging smile. "I’d really like to see it firsthand, if you’re okay with that. Would it be possible for me to follow a day in your life? Just to get a better sense of what it’s like?"

Regulus hesitated for a moment, then gave a small shrug, his face softening. "Sure. I wouldn't be opposed to it. Could help you get a better idea of what you’re working with."

James grinned. "Great. It’ll help me build a better workout for you. When would it work for you? I want to make sure we’re on the same page here."

Regulus thought for a moment, then replied, "Probably Tuesday. That’s my least busy day of the week."

James’s face dropped almost immediately, his mind flashing to his plans with Harry. "Tuesday doesn’t work for me. I’ve got to take my son to the doctor. It’s been planned for a while."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "What about Monday?"

James nodded quickly, relieved. "Monday’s fine. That can work."

Regulus smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that made James’s stomach tighten. "Great. Just a heads up, my day starts at six a.m."

James groaned quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Six in the morning? You’re killing me, Regulus."

Regulus laughed lightly, and James couldn’t help but feel a little lighter at the sound. "I know, but it’s the only time I get to squeeze in everything. You’ll survive."

James sighed, resigned, but smiled back. "I guess I’ll have to. We’ll make it work."

Regulus pulled out his phone, and James did the same, their fingers briefly brushing as they exchanged numbers. "Alright," Regulus said with a small nod, "I’ll see you Monday at six, then."

"Yeah, I’ll be there," James replied, already bracing himself for the early morning. But as he looked at Regulus, a sense of anticipation settled in his chest, the thought of learning more about this mysterious, graceful man pulling him forward.