Chapter 6
+1. The Time Regulus Stole Something Back
James couldn’t sleep.
The dorm was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt unnatural, pressing in around him like a weight. He stared up at the canopy of his bed, his mind spinning in circles, caught in a storm of thoughts he couldn't escape. It wasn’t like him, this overthinking, this endless loop of should-have-saids and why-didn’t-Is.
But Regulus Black had always been the exception.
James exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair.
He had spent so long pretending it wasn’t something, that whatever existed between them was just a byproduct of rivalry, of proximity, of the strange way the universe kept pulling them into each other’s orbit. But there were only so many times a person could lie to themselves before the truth started breaking through the cracks.
And the truth was—
He didn’t want to stop looking at Regulus. He didn’t want to stop reaching for him, even when he knew he shouldn’t.
It had started with stolen glances. With sharp words and narrowed eyes. With an argument in a dim corridor and a bloody cat choosing the wrong lap. And somehow—somehow—it had turned into this.
This unbearable, electric, dizzying pull.
And James had let it happen. Had wanted it to happen.
He had spent months watching Regulus, catching every tiny flicker of emotion in his otherwise unreadable face. The way his fingers twitched when he was frustrated, the way he held his breath when he was concentrating, the way his lips parted ever so slightly before he spoke. The way he had stopped calling him Potter like it was an insult.
James had waited.
Had hoped.
And then, like the idiot he was, he had gone and said something he couldn’t take back.
"For wanting what I want."
James squeezed his eyes shut.
He had blurted it out like a fool, like he was daring Regulus to notice, to call him on it, to push back. And then he had run.
Coward.
James let out a frustrated breath, sitting up too quickly. The sheets twisted around his legs as he shoved them off, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. His hands pressed into the mattress, his body tense, his head a mess.
What if he had ruined it?
What if Regulus never spoke to him again?
The thought made his stomach turn.
They had spent too long circling each other, too long toeing a line that neither of them had ever dared to cross.
James had waited.
Had hoped.
And now—
Now he had gone and said something he couldn’t take back.
Regulus had looked at him like—
God, James didn’t even know what it was. Shock? Anger? Fear?
James buried his face in his hands, breathing hard.
He should have stayed. Should have said more. Should have waited to see what Regulus would do instead of running like an idiot.
James clenched his fists against his temples and the door burst open with a bang. James barely flinched before a rush of noise filled the room.
“—not my fault you’re bad at strategy, Moony.”
“I am not bad at strategy, Sirius, I just don’t cheat.”
A snort. “It’s only cheating if you get caught.”
He let out a slow breath, blinking at the ceiling as Sirius and Remus stormed in, still locked in some ridiculous argument. He didn’t have to look to know Peter was trailing behind, already rolling his eyes at them.
They were laughing, even as they argued, their voices weaving through the quiet like something alive—easy and light, like they didn’t have a single worry in the world.
James wished he could feel the same.
“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius called, slamming the door shut behind him. “You’re missing out. Moony’s trying to convince me he could beat me at wizard’s chess if I ‘played fair.’”
“Because I could if you didn’t use distractions,” Remus shot back, dropping onto his bed with an exasperated sigh.
Sirius sprawled onto his own bed dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You wound me, Remus.”
James didn’t react. Didn’t even pretend to be amused. Just stared up at the ceiling, silent.
The room shifted.
Peter, who had been rummaging through his trunk, paused. Sirius cracked an eye open, his easy grin faltering slightly.
“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius said, propping himself up on one elbow. “You’re quiet. That’s suspicious.”
James forced a grin, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”
Sirius narrowed his eyes immediately.
James pretended not to notice.
Remus, who had been stretching out on his bed, glanced over, a flicker of curiosity passing through his expression.
James cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone casual. “Hypothetically speaking—”
“Oh, here we go,” Peter muttered.
James shot him a look. “Hypothetically, if you wanted to—uh—talk to someone, but you weren’t sure how—”
Sirius grinned so wide it was dangerous.
“Oh, my sweet summer child,” he said, eyes glinting with pure amusement. “Are you asking us for romantic advice?”
James immediately regretted every decision that had led to this moment.
“No,” he said quickly. “It’s not—it’s not that.”
“Oh, it’s absolutely that.” Sirius sat up properly, delighted. “You’re trying to woo someone, aren’t you?”
James groaned, flopping back onto his pillows. “Forget it.”
“No, no, no, this is fantastic,” Sirius said, ignoring him completely. “Prongs, my dear idiot, why didn’t you say anything sooner? Who is the girl? Evans? You haven’t talked about her in ages, I was starting to worry.”
James groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “There’s no girl, Pads.”
Sirius blinked. Then, to James’s absolute horror, grinned even wider.
“Oh,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “Oh. My dear Prongs, are you harboring a secret romance?”
James groaned louder. “No. And if I were, I wouldn’t be talking about it with you.”
Sirius flopped onto his side dramatically, propping his head up with his hand. “That hurts, mate. Truly. I’d give fantastic advice.”
Remus snorted from across the room. “You’d give horrible advice.”
Sirius ignored him. “Alright, so no Evans, no mystery girl—are you trying to figure out how to confess your undying love, or is this more of a ‘what the hell do I do with these feelings’ situation?”
James buried his face into his pillow, wishing the bed would swallow him whole.
Peter, who had been listening with growing amusement, piped up, “Honestly, if Prongs is this twisted up about it, it’s probably a ‘what the hell do I do’ thing.”
Sirius beamed. “Excellent deduction, Wormy. Prongs is in turmoil. And you know what that means?”
James lifted his head just enough to glare at him.
Sirius ignored it completely. “It means it’s real. It means you’ve got it bad.”
James gritted his teeth. “I don’t—”
“Prongs,” Sirius cut in, suddenly serious. “It’s fine. Honestly. You love too loudly, anyway.”
James frowned, caught off guard.
Sirius smirked. “It’s part of your charm.”
James groaned, again, because Sirius was the most infuriating person alive. “I’m not in love.”
Sirius wagged a finger at him. “You’re in denial.”
James sat up, exasperated. “You are the last person who should be giving me advice.”
Sirius gasped. “That’s so rude. I am incredibly wise.”
Peter cackled, and even Remus, who had been pretending to read, was clearly trying to fight off a smirk.
Sirius leaned forward, smirking, eyes glinting with mischief. “Look, if you’re that twisted up about it, you have to ask yourself—what’s the worst that could happen?”
James tensed.
He had already imagined the worst.
The worst was Regulus not feeling the same.
The worst was Sirius finding out and never looking at him the same way again.
The worst was James not being enough—not enough to pull Regulus away from the dark path ahead, not enough to keep him safe, not enough to matter.
The worst was the war swallowing them both whole before James could ever figure out what they could have been.
He swallowed, forcing the thoughts down before they could surface too clearly on his face. He had always been an open book, his emotions too big, too loud, too impossible to contain—but not this. This he had to guard.
James cleared his throat, forcing his voice into something carefully neutral. “I just—I don’t know how to talk to them about it.”
Sirius tilted his head, watching him closely. “Then don’t talk. Just—do something about it.”
James exhaled through his nose, his fingers twitching slightly. He could almost laugh at how simple Sirius made it sound.
If only it were that easy.
There was a beat of silence, and then—
“You’ve gone quiet,” Sirius said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s suspicious.”
James forced a too-casual shrug. “I’m just thinking.”
Sirius grinned. “Ah, yes. A rare occurrence.”
James lobbed a pillow at his face.
Sirius dodged, laughing, and finally let it go, launching into another debate with Peter about wizard’s chess.
But James wasn’t paying attention. He turned his head and noticed that Remus was still watching him.
Not teasing. Not grinning.
Just watching.
James knew that look.
Remus was perceptive. Too perceptive. He always noticed things before anyone else, always picked up on the things left unsaid. And right now, James could feel the weight of his stare like a question he wasn’t asking out loud.
James held his gaze for a moment.
Then, Remus sighed, shaking his head slightly before turning back to his book. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push.
James let out a slow breath, leaning back against his pillows.
Sirius and Peter were still talking, still laughing, but James barely heard them.
Because across the castle, Regulus Black was packing his trunk.
And James would have to spend a whole summer before seing him again.
Summer nights at the Potter house usually meant laughter echoing softly from room to room, whispers exchanged like secrets, warmth and comfort blanketing them all. Tonight, however, the silence was heavy—too heavy. James lay awake, restless, eyes tracing invisible patterns on the ceiling. Sleep refused to come, chased off by a relentless feeling clawing at his chest. It wasn’t nerves; he’d felt nerves plenty of times before Quidditch matches. This was something else entirely.
War.
His stomach twisted painfully as the whispers he'd overheard earlier echoed in his mind. He and Sirius had lingered at the top of the staircase, straining to hear the his parents talking about Order's conversation downstairs. Voldemort’s supporters were growing in number, new recruits joining faster than anyone had anticipated. Some were familiar names, names from Hogwarts. James clenched his jaw, unable to shake the unease that wrapped tightly around him.
A gentle creak at the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Sirius stepped into the room silently, slipping inside with a practiced ease. James moved aside automatically, making space on the bed without needing words. Sirius dropped down heavily beside him, letting out a tired breath.
“Can’t sleep?” James murmured softly.
Sirius let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Not even close. Can't stop thinking about...everything.”
James hummed in agreement, gaze returning to the ceiling. They sat silently for a few long moments, the quiet wrapping around them, heavy but comforting.
"They're scared, aren't they?" Sirius finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “TYour parents, I mean. They sounded...worried."
James nodded slowly, jaw tightening. “Never heard them talk like that before. Like they think we're losing."
“Apparently Voldemort is really popular these days,” Sirius muttered bitterly, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Pureblood pride, superiority complexes…great crowd.”
James nearly smiled at Sirius’s sarcastic tone, but it died quickly. Silence stretched again, heavier now. He sensed Sirius had more to say but wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it. He knew exactly whose name hovered between them, unspoken but heavy.
“I hate that he’s probably one of them,” Sirius said finally, voice cracking slightly. "Regulus."
James’s heart squeezed painfully at the mention. He stared at the ceiling, the thought of Regulus wearing that ugly mark twisted in his chest, sickening him.
“I never thought he’d actually do it,” Sirius continued softly, voice strained. "I always thought... I don't know. That he'd figure it out. That he'd see through all their bullshit. But now—I don't know. Maybe it was stupid to think that."
James swallowed around the lump in his throat, hesitant to speak but unable to stay silent. "Do you think there's still a chance he'll change his mind?"
Sirius didn't answer immediately, just exhaled slowly, heavily. "He's proud. And stubborn. Too much like me. Once he decides something, he doesn't back down.” His voice dropped, almost breaking. "I'm afraid it's already too late, that I– That he can't be saved anymore."
James felt a rush of helplessness, the reality settling over them, suffocating. He wanted to reassure Sirius, but the truth was harsher than empty comfort. Instead, James reached out, gripping Sirius’s shoulder firmly, a silent promise that didn't require words.
“We’ll keep fighting,” James said quietly, with a resolve he didn't fully feel. "Even if it’s bloody terrifying."
Sirius nodded slowly, leaning into the touch slightly, accepting the comfort without another word. Silence enveloped them again, heavy yet comforting. James stared back at the ceiling, his mind drifting uneasily to Regulus once more. He wondered, stomach churning, heart aching, what it would be like the next time he saw him—if he'd see regret or defiance in those familiar dark eyes, if they'd share quiet words hidden from view, or if they'd merely exchange silent, broken glances across the widening divide.
James’s gaze drifted toward the Slytherin table once again, drawn there as though by some unbreakable force. It had become a habit—one he couldn’t seem to break. He barely registered the familiar warmth of the Great Hall, the gentle hum of conversation, or even Sirius’s sarcastic comments at his side. Instead, his attention was fixed, almost painfully, on the empty spot where Regulus usually sat.
At King's Cross Station, he had scanned every face with quiet desperation, searching for a glimpse of familiar dark hair, the distant and guarded eyes he'd grown used to seeing from afar. When Regulus hadn't appeared, the relief he'd expected to feel had instead twisted into anxiety, growing sharper and heavier the longer he waited.
The anxiety gnawed deeper now, churning uncomfortably in his chest until suddenly, James’s breath caught. There, finally, slipping into the hall unnoticed by most, was Regulus.
But the relief vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by something colder and harsher. Regulus looked worse—far worse—than James had imagined. He was gaunt, his robes hanging loosely around his thin frame, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones. His dark hair lay dull and disheveled around a face that had grown impossibly pale, marked by shadows that darkened his eyes, making him look like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
James felt sick. Reality hit him hard—harder than ever before, harder than he was ready for. His chest tightened unbearably, and he stared helplessly as Regulus sat down, isolated even among his own housemates. It was as though Regulus were fading away right in front of him, becoming little more than a shadow.
As though sensing his stare, Regulus lifted his head sharply. Their eyes met instantly, a connection startling in its intensity, charged with unspoken words and unresolved tension. For a brief moment, James saw something flicker behind Regulus’s guarded expression—pain, defiance, accusation?—before the younger Black looked away again, breaking their gaze abruptly.
James swallowed thickly, his fists clenching tightly beneath the table. He felt utterly powerless, overwhelmed by a nauseating blend of anger, fear, and helplessness. He barely noticed Sirius leaning closer, concern lacing his words.
"James? You alright?"
James forced himself to nod, tearing his eyes away from Regulus’s diminished form. "Yeah," he lied quietly, voice rough and unsteady. "I'm fine."
But James’s heart twisted painfully, a dull ache throbbing relentlessly in his chest as he wondered what it would feel like when they inevitably crossed paths again—whether he’d see defiance or sorrow in those familiar dark eyes, and if either would shatter him completely.
James had never been good at waiting. He had always been the restless type—impatient, impulsive, eager to act. But now, as he sat in the dim dungeon classroom, his fingers tapping absently against the edge of his cauldron, he found himself waiting.
His gaze kept drifting toward the far side of the classroom, anticipation clawing at him despite his best efforts to ignore it.
Then, finally, Regulus arrived.
James forced himself not to react, not to stare, but it was impossible to ignore the sight of him. Regulus moved with the same quiet precision as always, slipping into his seat without a word, but something about him was off. His dark hair was neatly combed, but even from a distance, James could see it lacked its usual shine, as if it, too, had given up. His robes, always immaculate, hung looser on his frame, the fabric draping over sharp angles that hadn’t been there before
James's stomach twisted uncomfortably. It was one thing to worry about Regulus in theory, from afar, when he could pretend the concern was fleeting, meaningless. But seeing him like this—seeing him truly—made something inside James clench in a way he didn't want to acknowledge.
Slughorn’s voice pulled him back to the present, calling out names, pairing students together. James barely had time to process the moment before he heard his name alongside Regulus’s.
He hesitated for half a second before forcing himself to move. Sirius nudged him with his elbow as he passed, muttering something about making sure he didn’t “get hexed,” but James didn’t react. His focus was already locked on Regulus, who still hadn’t looked up.
James sat down beside him, the air between them thick with an unspoken tension. He was used to Regulus being quiet, guarded, but there was something different about it now. More final.
“Been a while,” James muttered, attempting something close to nonchalance. He wasn’t sure why he said it—he just needed to break the silence, needed something other than this unbearable stillness.
Regulus finally glanced up at him, and James felt it like a physical blow. His dark eyes were unreadable, detached, but there was something behind them—something James couldn’t quite name.
“Has it?” Regulus said coolly, his lips curling just slightly. “I hadn’t noticed.”
James huffed, shaking his head. “Typical. I bet you missed me.”
Regulus let out a short, dry breath—not quite a laugh, not quite anything at all. But his lips curved just slightly as he turned back to their ingredients, the barest shadow of something that might have once been amusement.
"Let’s not be delusional, Potter."
The words were cutting, but James found himself relaxing into the familiar sharpness of Regulus’s voice. It was bitter, but it was something. Something closer to how things used to be.
They worked in relative silence, the occasional clink of knives against chopping boards or the soft bubbling of their potion filling the space between them. James was careful not to overstep, letting Regulus set the pace of whatever this conversation was.
Then, just as he was feeling almost comfortable, Regulus clicked his tongue in irritation. “Merlin, Potter, if you’re going to do it wrong, at least do it wrong consistently.”
James frowned, glancing at the mess of crushed Valerian root he had just prepared. “What?”
Regulus sighed, exasperated, and without a second thought, reached over and took James’s hand, adjusting his grip on the pestle. "Like this," he muttered, guiding James’s movements effortlessly. "You need even pressure."
The touch was brief—fleeting, really—but warm. Natural. As if Regulus hadn’t even realized he’d done it. But James had. His skin tingled where their hands had met, the heat of it lingering long after Regulus had already pulled away.
James cleared his throat, trying to focus on the task in front of him, but his hands suddenly felt clumsy, his heart an unsteady rhythm in his chest. He stole a glance at Regulus, who was already focused back on his own work, his expression unchanged, indifferent. Like it hadn’t meant anything at all.
But for James, it had. Because it was then that he realized—
Somewhere between the sharp words and fleeting glances, between quiet moments and cutting remarks, Regulus Black had stolen his heart.
And James—foolish, reckless James—had let him.
James had never been this nervous in his life. And that was saying something.
The Astronomy Tower loomed ahead, bathed in moonlight, the cool night air sharp against his skin as he climbed the stairs. His pulse thrummed in his ears, each step carrying him closer to something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.
The last time he had been here with Regulus, he had said too much—let something slip that he couldn't take back. He had seen it clearly in Regulus’s eyes. And then he had run.
He had run.
Since when did he run from things?
Maybe Regulus wouldn’t even be here tonight. Perhaps James had imagined the silent understanding between them, the unspoken promise wrapped in glances held for too long and words never uttered. Maybe this had always been one-sided, and he was about to humiliate himself completely.
James hesitated at the final step, exhaling slowly, his breath curling gently in the cold air.
Then, as if the universe wanted to prove him wrong, he saw him.
Regulus stood near the edge of the tower, arms crossed protectively over his chest, gaze fixed resolutely on the horizon. He was bathed in silvery moonlight, still and almost ethereal, sharp lines and delicate angles etched in quiet tension. For a brief, surreal moment, James almost believed he was imagining him.
But Regulus was undeniably real, and he was waiting. James swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching anxiously at his sides. There was no turning back now.
And then, James noticed the familiar ball of fur curled up near Regulus’s feet.
Cosmo.
James blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sight of the cat settled beside Regulus instead of running toward him, as he usually did. He let out a breath and, before he could stop himself, said, “Well, this is a first. No greeting for me tonight? I thought we had an agreement, Cosmo—mutual affection, occasional bribery via treats, and all that."
Regulus turned at last, the movement slow and measured. His expression remained unreadable as his sharp gaze settled on James, but he didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he studied him, assessing, as if deciding whether James should even be here at all.
Then, with the slightest tilt of his head, he murmured, “Looks like he’s finally come to his senses.”
James scoffed, feigning offense. “Impossible. Everyone knows I’m his favorite.”
Regulus let out a quiet huff—something that wasn’t quite a laugh, but close enough that it made James’s chest tighten. But the moment passed too quickly, fading back into something heavier.
The silence stretched between them, thick with tension James wasn’t sure how to break. He had spent so much time imagining what he might say when he saw Regulus again, and now that he was here, face to face, all the words seemed to fail him.
Regulus didn’t offer any either. He simply stood there, watching him, waiting.
James took a step forward.
Regulus tensed.
It wasn’t much—just the barest shift in his posture, the way his shoulders stiffened and his jaw clenched. But James noticed it immediately. He halted, not wanting to push too fast, too soon. His gaze flickered lower, catching the way Regulus’s left hand hovered near his forearm, fingers twitching slightly before curling into a fist. It was subtle, almost instinctive, like a reflex he couldn’t suppress.
James’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t say anything about it. Not yet.
James exhaled slowly, carefully, forcing himself to move with ease, to ignore the tension thrumming between them. "I wasn't sure if you'd come."
Regulus’s grip on his own arm tightened, but his voice remained steady. "Neither was I."
James took another small step forward, deliberate in his movements, testing the invisible boundary between them. Regulus stiffened again, his breath hitching slightly before he schooled his expression back into impassivity. James had seen it though—the flicker of hesitation, of uncertainty, of something perilously close to fear.
“Why are you tense?” James asked, softer now, watching him closely.
Regulus let out a quiet breath, his gaze flicking toward the sky as if the constellations might offer him an answer. "I'm not."
The silence stretched long between them, heavy and dense like the night air around them. James could feel the tension coiling tighter, the weight of everything they weren’t saying pressing in on all sides. He could still hear the faint rustling of the wind sweeping over the tower, the occasional distant hoot of an owl somewhere beyond the castle walls. But here, in this moment, nothing felt farther away than the rest of the world.
Regulus wasn’t looking at him, his fingers still curled around his sleeve, his entire posture locked, as if he were bracing himself for an impact that hadn’t come yet. James watched him, searching his face for something, anything that would tell him where to go from here.
“You’re worried,” James said, his voice quieter than before, but no less firm.
Regulus let out a slow, tired breath. “I’m not.”
“You are,” James countered, stepping closer. “You do it every time something is bothering you. You pull away like it’s instinct.”
Regulus finally turned to him, eyes sharp, but there was no real anger there, only a deep, weary sort of exasperation. “And you do the opposite,” he murmured. “You push forward like the whole world is something you can force to bend to your will. Like everything is just a matter of trying hard enough.”
James’s jaw tightened. “Because it is.”
Regulus let out a humorless breath of laughter, shaking his head. “You always act like there’s a way out of everything. But there isn’t.”
James felt his chest tighten. "That’s not true."
Regulus turned away again, staring out over the castle grounds below. “You really believe that, don't you?” His voice was quieter now, but it carried all the weight of something long-fought, long-accepted. “That things can be undone just because you want them to?”
James felt frustration flare in his chest, not directed at Regulus but at the words themselves, at the way they settled so easily in his mouth, like he had accepted them long ago. "I believe that choices can change. That you’re not stuck, no matter what they’ve made you think."
Regulus's grip on his forearm twitched, tightening slightly before loosening again, like the words had struck something fragile inside him. His breath hitched ever so slightly before he forced himself to steady it.
"You don’t understand."
“Then make me understand."
Regulus shook his head, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "Some things are decided for us before we even have a chance to choose."
James hated that answer. Hated that Regulus believed it. That someone had made him believe it.
The air between them thickened with something heavier, something unspoken yet painfully understood. Whatever this was between them—it existed in the space between what was allowed and what was impossible.
Regulus let out a slow breath, his fingers twitching slightly where they curled around his sleeve. "You think you can change everything, James. That the world bends just because you refuse to let it be cruel. But it doesn’t. Some things are set in stone."
Regulus’s breath hitched, just slightly, and for a second, he looked away, as if James’s words were something too dangerous to acknowledge.
"They shouldn’t be," James whispered, his voice unwavering.
Regulus swallowed, his throat working against something thick and unspoken. For the first time, James saw it—the part of him that wasn’t sure if he believed his own words anymore.
James had been watching his hand for a while now. The way Regulus's fingers twitched near his sleeve, how his grip tightened and loosened in the same nervous rhythm, as if he was caught between hiding and revealing. And James—James wasn’t stupid.
He wasn’t sure when exactly it clicked, when the realization settled deep in his chest like something inevitable, but once it did, it was undeniable. His breath caught slightly, the weight of it pressing down on him, slow and suffocating.
His voice, when he spoke, was quieter than before, steady but laced with something raw. "It's there, isn't it?"
Regulus didn’t respond.
And that, more than anything, was answer enough.
James felt something cold settle in his stomach, something bitter and aching. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he had expected—denial, maybe. Sharp words to deflect. A scoff, a sneer, anything but the silence that stretched between them now.
Slowly, carefully, Regulus pulled back his sleeve.
The Mark was there, inked deep into his pale skin, stark against the moonlight. It was worse than James had imagined—darker, more final, something that made his stomach twist violently just looking at it.
And then Regulus looked at him.
James had seen him guarded, seen him angry, seen him impassive and unreadable. But this—this was something else entirely. This was Regulus without his armor, without the sharp edges and calculated indifference. His expression cracked just slightly, just enough for James to see it—the quiet devastation beneath.
Regulus’s voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. "I can’t take it back."
James hated how small he sounded.
His chest ached in a way he hadn’t been prepared for, in a way he didn’t know how to fix. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew—knew that no words could make this okay, knew that telling Regulus it didn’t matter would be a lie, because it did. It mattered more than anything.
So James didn’t say something grand or heroic. He didn’t tell Regulus it was okay—because it wasn’t.
Instead, he just stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully.
And this time, Regulus didn’t stop him.
James wanted to fix this. Every part of him screamed for a solution, for a way to undo what had already been done. But he knew—knew with an aching certainty—that there was no fixing this, no rewriting the ink carved into Regulus’s skin, no grand gesture that could erase the weight pressing against both of them.
The air between them was charged, fragile. James felt it in every breath, in the way the night seemed to hush around them as if the entire universe was holding its breath. And then there was Regulus, watching him with an expression James didn’t know how to name. Like he was something impossible. Something just out of reach.
James, close enough now, lifted a hand—hesitated—before touching Regulus’s wrist. Light. Careful. A silent question.
Regulus inhaled sharply, his breath shaking slightly as his fingers twitched under James’s touch.
Then, barely above a whisper—like it was breaking him to say it aloud—he murmured, “I don’t know how to stop wanting this.”
James’s heart stopped.
He barely had time to react before Regulus moved.
It was sudden, but not desperate. A decision, not an accident.
His hand fisted into the fabric of James’s shirt, pulling him in sharply, and their lips met in a clash of breath and unspoken things. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was months of glances held too long, of words swallowed back, of tension stretched so tight it finally snapped.
James froze for half a second, a sharp inhale against Regulus’s mouth, before instinct took over and he kissed him back just as fiercely. His hands found purchase at Regulus’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his robes as if grounding himself, as if holding on to something he hadn’t even realized he’d been reaching for all along.
The world narrowed to this moment—the choice neither of them could take back now.
Regulus’s grip tightened, as if afraid that if he let go, this would shatter into nothing. James didn’t know what came next. Didn’t care. Because right now, all that mattered was this—Regulus, against him, kissing him like he was something worth holding on to.
James had always been the one to take. To push. To chase.
But this—this was the moment Regulus took something back.
A kiss. James’s heart. His very breath. His sanity. His future.
And James let him. Let himself be drawn into the quiet desperation of the moment, into something he knew would wreck him beyond repair. He let himself fall, knowing the landing would break him, knowing it would leave scars so deep they would never truly fade.
Regulus kissed him like he was memorizing the feel of him, like he was carving the shape of James into his bones for the days when this moment would be nothing more than a memory. It was intense, urgent, filled with every unspoken fear, every suppressed longing, every quiet plea neither of them had ever dared to voice. James felt it in the way Regulus’s fingers fisted into his robes, in the way his lips trembled slightly, betraying the rawness of it all. James responded by pulling him closer, holding him like an anchor, trying to etch this moment into something permanent even as he knew it was slipping through his fingers.
The intimacy of it stole the breath from his lungs, grounding him in a reality he had both longed for and feared. He felt raw, exposed, every nerve frayed under the weight of something something vast and inescapable. Regulus held onto him with a quiet, unspoken desperation, as if James was something he wanted to believe in, even knowing he couldn’t keep him.
And when Regulus finally pulled away, just barely, their foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the cold night air. James saw the way Regulus's eyes remained closed, as if trying to will away reality for just a moment longer. It made James ache—ache for him, ache for both of them, ache for something they had never been allowed to have.
"Reg," James whispered, the name barely a breath, but filled with everything he couldn’t say.
Regulus opened his eyes then, and James felt the impact of it like a dagger to the chest. He had never seen him like this—stripped bare of all the walls, all the carefully constructed distance. There was no sneer, no sharp retort, no mask of indifference. Just pain. Just resignation. Just the quiet, aching knowledge of what had already been decided.
"We can't," Regulus murmured, voice barely holding together, raw and fragile. "You know we can't."
James knew. Merlin, he knew. He had always known. That this, whatever it was, was fleeting, doomed from the start. That the war would swallow them both whole, one way or another. That Regulus had already begun to slip away before James had even reached for him.
And yet, even knowing all that, James cupped Regulus’s face like he was something precious, something worth worshiping in the quiet of the night, thumb brushing reverently along the sharp line of his jaw, memorizing the way he felt beneath his hands.
"I know," James whispered, voice thick with emotion, with something dangerously close to devotion. "I know it can't last."
Regulus let out a shaky breath, something like a broken laugh, something like a sob. "Then why—"
James pressed his forehead against his, eyes slipping shut, hands still gripping Regulus like he could keep him here, like he could make time stop just for them. "Because I wanted this," He murmured, his breath warm, his grip unrelenting. " Because I’d rather have this moment than spend a lifetime pretending I didn’t."
Regulus trembled in his grasp, fingers digging into James’s shirt, as if grounding himself, as if trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. "It'll ruin you."
James exhaled, accepting, already knowing. “I know."
Because this wasn’t just heartbreak waiting to happen—this was devastation, this was ruin, this was a loss that would hollow him out from the inside.
He could already feel the echo of grief, lingering at the edges of this moment, waiting for the inevitable end. But still, he let Regulus kiss him again, softer this time, more deliberate, like an apology.
And James kissed him back like a promise, like a prayer, like he could make this last if only he held on tight enough.
But he couldn’t. He never could.
Because it was Regulus.
And some things, no matter how much you love them, were never meant to be yours.
But when the dust settled, when the war took everything, James would stand amidst the wreckage of everything they could never be—aching, grieving, knowing.
Because in the end, Regulus had been inevitable. A force James had never braced for, never seen coming until it was too late—until the pull of him had become something inescapable, something written into James’s very existence, like a star already burning out before he’d even learned to wish on it.
And even as time swept Regulus away, as fate dragged them to opposite ends of a war neither of them could win, James would go to his grave carrying the weight of it:
That somewhere between the silences and the stolen moments, between what was right and what was ruin—
Regulus had taken James’s heart with him—
And James had never wanted it back.