The Astronomy Tower stood silent against the night, cold and unyielding. The moon, a solitary presence in the sky, cast a pale glow over the two Black brothers. It was not full, but the air felt heavy nonetheless, as if the world itself was holding its breath, bracing for the storm about to unfold.
"You always have everything," Sirius muttered, his voice low, raw with resentment. Then, louder— "For fuck’s sake, Regulus! You had the closest thing to Mum’s love, Dad cared enough not to hurt you, you get those stupidly perfect marks in every bloody subject, and it’s like you don’t even try—"
Regulus let out a sharp, humourless laugh.
"I have everything?" he echoed, incredulity dripping from every syllable. He turned, eyes dark and unreadable. "Have you ever actually looked at me, Sirius? Have you ever even thought about how much effort it takes to have these things? What I’ve had to sacrifice to get them?"
His voice was razor-sharp, each word a calculated cut.
"Unlike you, I never had it easy. I’m nothing but a spare. Always second-best. I was your replacement when you left, but I was never enough—not even for you."
Sirius shifted, his jaw clenching, but Regulus wasn’t finished.
"You were always first, weren’t you? First heir. First choice. Even with James, I was never more than an afterthought. Maybe his fourth or fifth option at best, because the Marauders would always come first. And my grades?" He scoffed. "Do you have any idea how many nights I went without sleep? How many times I nearly passed out before an exam? Ask your boyfriend how much effort I put into it—he’s seen me on the verge of collapse more times than I can count."
Sirius swallowed hard, something uneasy coiling in his gut.
"And Mum and Dad’s love?" Regulus’ lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Please. Don’t make me laugh. Do you really think they know what love is?"
The way he said it made something in Sirius’ chest twist unpleasantly. There was something too cold in his voice, too detached, too—
"I spent a year alone, Sirius," Regulus continued, his voice now quiet. "A year of nothing but curses and punishments, until I was ‘perfect’ enough for them. Until they finally broke me. Did you really think you were the first one to get the Cruciatus? That Dad never used his fucking cane on me?"
Sirius felt his breathing grow shallow.
"Reg—"
"You’re a bloody fool if you did," Regulus cut him off with a bitter chuckle. "Just because I know how to hide my wounds doesn’t mean they aren’t there. But I know how you are. Reckless. Stupidly protective. I couldn’t exactly go around letting you see, could I? Not when it would only make you angrier—only make you suffer more."
His voice had lowered to a whisper now, but Sirius had never heard anything louder.
"Is that what you need, then?" Regulus asked, unbuttoning his shirt with an eerie sort of calm. "You need to see them? Fine. I’ll show you. I can tell you the story behind most of them, if you’d like. Though, after a while, I stopped remembering why they happened at all. Or whether they were my fault or yours. There are too many to keep track of."
The shirt slipped from his shoulders, pooling at his feet.
And Sirius—
Sirius couldn’t breathe.
Scars.
Not just a few. Not just scattered marks.
There were so many. Some old and faded, others deep and jagged, twisted lines of pain carved into his skin. Burns, cuts, wounds that had never healed properly. Evidence of everything his brother had endured while he—
While he had done nothing.
The rage hit first, burning through him with the force of a wildfire, but it was the sorrow that stole the air from his lungs.
And the guilt.
Merlin, the guilt.
It clawed at him from the inside out, consuming him whole.
"How—" Sirius choked out, voice barely a whisper. "How did I never see?"
Regulus held his gaze, and there was no anger there. No pity. Just exhaustion.
"Because you never wanted to."
Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating. The moon—their only witness—shone faintly above, casting cold light over what remained of two brothers who had, one way or another, been broken by the same family.
End.