The café was small, tucked away in a quiet Muggle street where nobody would think to look for a Black. It smelled of freshly ground coffee and warm pastries, the air thick with the comforting hum of conversations that had nothing to do with blood purity or family obligations. It was an odd place for a reunion, but then again, nothing about the Black brothers had ever been conventional.
Sirius sat with his hands wrapped around a chipped ceramic cup, the warmth grounding him as he stared across the table. Five years. Five bloody years since he had last seen Regulus in person. The boy who once trailed after him with wide eyes and hesitant smiles was gone. The man sitting before him was poised, sharp, and distant, his fingers delicately wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, his expression unreadable.
Regulus had always been good at masking his emotions, at playing the perfect son, the perfect heir. But Sirius had spent too long believing there was nothing beneath that mask—until it had been too late to see otherwise.
"You look well," Sirius tried, though it came out more uncertain than intended.
Regulus quirked an eyebrow. "Do I?"
Sirius hesitated. He did, in a way. He was dressed well, his dark robes subtle enough to pass as expensive Muggle attire. His hair was neatly kept, his movements composed. But there was something in his eyes that made Sirius hesitate. Something cold.
"You left," Sirius said finally, cutting to the truth. "I didn't know."
"You never asked," Regulus countered, tone measured. "You assumed I was exactly like them."
There it was. The unspoken wound, finally given voice.
Sirius swallowed hard. "Regulus—"
"Don’t," his brother interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "I don’t want apologies. I don’t want you to try and fix something that’s already broken. I just came because I thought it was time we said it properly." He took a slow sip of tea, then met Sirius’ gaze. "Goodbye."
The words landed like a curse.
Sirius exhaled sharply. "You’re serious."
Regulus gave a mirthless smile. "For once, yes."
"I—" Sirius faltered. He wanted to reach across the table, to shake him, to tell him that he had been wrong, that he had been blind, that he had been a fucking coward when it came to seeing his brother for who he really was. But what good would that do now?
Regulus sighed, setting his cup down gently. "It hurt when you left, you know. But it was the right thing to do. I never blamed you for that." His voice was steady, measured, but his fingers clenched slightly against the porcelain. "What hurt was how easily you dismissed me. How you decided I was beyond saving, that I was just another Black."
Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but Regulus continued. "I lost half of my brother the day you stepped into Hogwarts. I lost the rest when I was sorted into Slytherin. And your words—your contempt—were the final nail in the coffin. So, yes, I mourned you. I even gave myself an anniversary for it. Once a year, I allow myself to grieve the brother I once had."
Sirius stared at him, stricken, guilt curling like smoke in his lungs. "Reg—"
"I don’t want a reconciliation," Regulus interrupted again, his voice quiet but firm. "You made your choices. Now live with them. You valued your own peace, and I will never hold that against you. But I deserve mine as well." He leaned back slightly, tilting his head. "And in case it’s guilt that’s been gnawing at you, let me save you the trouble. I forgave you years ago. I had enough expectations from our idiotic parents without carrying a grudge against a stranger."
The finality in his words left Sirius breathless.
Regulus pushed his chair back, standing smoothly. He placed a few coins on the table, even though neither of them had touched their drinks. "Take care of yourself, Sirius."
And with that, he was gone.
Sirius remained seated, staring at the spot where his brother had been. Five years apart, and now, perhaps, a lifetime more.
The coffee in his hands had long gone cold.
End.