Something in the air at Grimmauld seemed to bring him nothing but issues, plagued with negative nostalgia. At Hogwarts? Dry. At the Potters’? Dry. Well, those aside from when he got absolutely sloshed, but then at least he could own it. A jab at himself, teasing Moony in bed about how he’d inevitably need reminding in a few hours to get up and wee lest he wet himself all over his lovely secret romance. It was silly. It was lighthearted. It was okay. If he soiled his bed after a raucous afterparty, James chucked a new set of trousers at him and mindlessly charmed the mattress dry. Remus woke him softly and they laughed, cleaning it with a whispered spell. It wasn’t embarrassing. It wasn’t shameful. It wasn't naughty. It was occasional, like how James would heave inconsolable sobs whenever they smoked pot, like when Peter would go from dancing to sleeping in seconds when pissed. Just silly habits when substances left them like children, nothing wrong with that. At Grimmauld, or the Chateau, or on the yacht, or any of the many properties he was meant to stay with his family, there were no substances to blame it on, and there was certainly no tact or understanding.
He’d been sent to bed early tonight, the first night home. His fault, apparently his mother didn’t appreciate jabs at her decor. Who knew! It was alright, he supposed, more time to chat with James on that enchanted compact. But soon, dinner was ready at the Potters’ and Prongs had to go.
4 pairs of boxers and half a roll of toilet paper stuffed between the cloth and himself. He looked ridiculous, but trying was better than not trying. He tucked a towel under the sheets for good measure, and tried to fall asleep in this uncomfortable bulk.
He didn’t dream that night, none that he could remember. So thrashing, juvenile nightmares were not to blame for this one.
The navy windows told him it was not yet morning when Sirius stirred in the deteriorating toilet paper surrounding his bottom. He tried to roll over onto his stomach. But as he shifted, he resigned to the reality that he wasn’t wearing a functional pull-up. He was wearing four layers of soaked fabric and unintentional paper mache. His pajamas were still wet, his sheets were still soaked through, and he seriously doubted the towel did much to save the mattress. He would have been better off just sleeping like normal. He would have been more comfortable, at least.
Noticing the wet was easy, leaving it proved hard. Sirius’s limbs were heavy with sleep, and a childish part of him debated rolling over and pretending he didn’t notice until morning. He found that fifteen-year-old brain in there somewhere, though, and pushed the blankets off of himself forcefully.
“Jesus fuck.” This was the worst. He wasn’t even embarrassed, he knew it wasn’t a big deal, he knew how to hide it from his parents, he knew it wasn’t his fault. But none of that stopped the bitter anger.
He wasn’t even sure what his anger was directed at. Himself? His parents? His body? His failed attempt at a homemade nappy? Maybe any of those were the root causes. All he felt was crushed, utterly crushed, and disappointed, and angry, and all he could seem to find to feel it at was the mess. Not even he who caused it. He was angry at the stain, the towel, his pants. He felt like fighting his mattress in the way one does a corner after stubbing one’s toe.
He didn’t even bother stripping the bed, he only threw his failed padding on the floor with a squelch and grimaced.
Pajamas were in the closet. Christ, were there no regular ones left over from the last time he stayed? No. Of course Mother had thrown them all out, and had them replaced with itchy, frilly, girly nightgowns. He’d ruined his only good pair of muggle pajamas, which he had to sneak in at the bottom of his trunk. Maybe he could write James, or Andromeda by muggle mail and ask for an emergency clothes run. Yeah. It would be fine. He would be fine.
He sure as hell wasn’t wearing those nightshirts, though. Boxers and a muggle band tee it was. He needed to get use out of them before his mother burned them all up in front of him anyway.
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The hallways were dark as hell. The single window at the end didn’t even bother to let in the dim blue moonlight. Goes to show how everything in this house was evil, he supposed.
Regulus’s room was down the hall. He knew exactly where he stood with his brother, and where his brother stood with him. But he’d be dammed if he wasn’t 100% sure that Reggie was in there somewhere. Maybe it was childish, especially since he was supposed to be older, but oftentimes Reg liked to act older anyway, and this had been the routine since they were children.
Regulus slept in complete darkness. Blackout curtains. Not a nightlight, nor a reading lamp. Any small bits of color from a telly or computer weren’t to be worried about, since Regulus didn’t own such things. Sirius almost tripped over something in the middle of the carpet, and had to do a Jack Sparrow arm whirl to steady himself without waking Reg. He miraculously reached the bedside, and, out of character for himself, felt a little nervous.
Maybe he’d overestimated his brother’s nostalgia.
Just because he would let Reg sleep in his bed, doesn’t mean Reg will let him sleep here.
Maybe he ought to go find a guest room.
Nah, he was being silly…
Before his better sense could tell him to turn around, or his nonexistent tact could suggest gently waking Regulus to ask permission, Sirius was clunkily climbing into his brother’s bed. Trying to build up his blasé older-brother composure.
Regulus didn’t even stir, he was likely silently awake the entire time Sirius had been in here. Eye mask and two-piece pajama set, looking like a proper dork.
“Sirius.”
“Oh, hey! Look at ‘chu! Awake!” Sirius poked him in the side as he settled under the covers. Regulus finally took his eye mask off and smacked Sirius’s hand away.
“What are you doing?!” He scolded as he sat up in a huff, reaching for the lamp and turning it on with a tap.
“Sleeping,” Sirius closed his eyes at the harsh light, curling up and tucking his hands beneath his head in a show of innocence.
“Why are you doing it in here?” Regulus shoved his tucked arm, increasingly annoyed at this childish behavior.
“Shhh, Reggie. It’s nuh-night time…” He kept his eyes closed and feigned a few dramatic snores.
“Sirius!” Regulus fully pushed him now, beginning to whine like a child himself.
Sirius sighed, and rolled onto his back, “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” He huffed “Why are you in my bed?” He couldn’t help whining, he always felt like a little kid when Sirius did this whole beating-around-the-bush thing.
Sirius didn’t reply for a moment, looking up at the stormy blue curtains above the four poster.
“Whatever.” Regulus laid back down and turned away, obviously Sirius had a reason, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t really want him to leave.
The two lay with their backs to each other for an excruciatingly uncomfortable 15 minutes, before someone finally gained some guts.
“Jesus- I pissed the fucking bed. Okay? S’at what you wanted to get out of me?” Sirius tried to sound upset, but his words were so soft and unintentionally shy that he only sounded sad.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry.”
“‘S fine.”
“Nah, I was kind of prying.”
“‘S your bed, you’re allowed to wonder.” He shrugged, even though Reg couldn’t see it.
“You… wanna talk? Or something?” Regulus stole a peek at the back of Sirius’s head over his shoulder.
“Christ, we’re not a couple of girls, Reg.” Sirius fiddled with the hem of his tee.
“Right.” He suddenly felt quite silly for suggesting it.
“‘S not a big deal, don’t be all weird.” Sirius shifted uncomfortably, he hated being serious, despite his namesake.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not, swear.”
“Feels like it.”
“Don’t.”
“Can’t not.”
The two sat in silence for a stretching moment, eternity collapsed into 60 seconds.
“Come here,” Regulus finally rolled over to face Sirius’s back.
“Bloody- I told you I’m not a bloody school-girl!” Sirius curled his shoulders further in, he hated all of this vulnerability stuff.
“Not for you! Maybe I just want a fucking hug!” Regulus couldn’t help but snap slightly, Sirius could be right stubborn when he felt like it.
“Oh.” Sirius replied after a long silence, he was almost more embarrassed to turn around now, so he only flipped onto his back. Regulus was slow to lay tensely on his chest.
Sirius awkwardly rested both of his arms around his brother, and Regulus lay stiffly in them.
“I don’t bite, you know,” Sirius spoke up softly, disliking how nervous his little brother seemed now.
“But you do pee,” Reg smirked.
That comment relaxed them both, earning Regulus a soft poke in the back.
“You’re not funny,” Sirius grinned.
“Neither are you,” they were both smiling now.