Nautilus
Regulus arrived at the hospital just after five in the morning, the sky outside still cloaked in the quiet darkness of early dawn. The halls of St. Mungo’s were dimly lit, hushed except for the occasional murmur of nurses and the steady beeping of monitors. He greeted the nurses on duty with a small nod as he made his way to James’s room, a steaming cup of Ovaltine in one hand and a well-worn book in the other.
He was wearing one of James’s hoodies. It was shaggy and short on the wrists at the same time, but he didn’t care. It smelled like James faintly of his cologne, of something warm and familiar. It made his absence feel a little less unbearable.
When he stepped inside the hospital room, Euphemia was already there, sitting in the chair by James’s bedside, knitting needles clicking softly in her hands. She looked up as Regulus entered, offering him a tired but kind smile.
“You’re up early,” she said.
Regulus took a sip of his Ovaltine, the warmth doing little to ease the tightness in his chest. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Euphemia nodded knowingly. “Neither could I.”
His eyes flickered to James, still unconscious, still unmoving. The sight of him like that, so still, so unlike himself, sent a sharp, aching pain through Regulus’s chest. He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He had cried too much already.
Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “Has the doctor come yet?”
“No, not yet,” Euphemia replied, setting her knitting aside. “They should be doing rounds soon.”
Regulus nodded, setting his book down on the windowsill. He didn’t know if he’d actually read it. He had brought it more as a distraction, something to keep his hands busy when the silence became too much to bear.
“I’ll take over from here,” he told her, his voice quiet but firm.
Euphemia studied him for a moment, then reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, darling.”
She rose from her chair and leaned over James, brushing her fingers gently through his messy hair. She bent down and whispered something in his ear, something Regulus couldn’t hear. Then, with one last look at her son, she turned and walked toward the door.
Regulus watched her go, then turned back to James, exhaling shakily as he sat down in the chair beside the bed.
“Come on, Jamie,” he murmured. “It’s been a whole day. It’s time to wake up.”
James, of course, didn’t respond.
Regulus sighed as he settled into the chair, shifting slightly to get comfortable. His back still ached from the night before, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except James.
He lifted the book in his hands and showed the cover to the unconscious man. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. James’s old, battered copy, the pages worn and dog-eared from years of being read and reread.
“I got your old copy,” Regulus murmured, glancing at James’s still face. “Hope you don’t mind.
Of course, James didn’t answer.
Regulus swallowed hard, adjusting the book in his lap. “You always said this was your favorite growing up. Used to tell me how you wanted to explore the world, see everything for yourself, just like Nemo.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “You made it sound like a damn adventure, even when you were just talking about law school.”
Silence. Only the steady beep of the heart monitor in response.
Regulus’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to push forward. “I figured I could read to you for a bit,” he said, voice quieter now. “I know you can’t hear me, but… I just want to talk to you.” His fingers skimmed over the cover, tracing the faded letters. “I miss you, James. I love you.”
With a deep breath, Regulus opened the book and began to read.
"‘The year 1866 was marked by a strange event, an unexplainable occurrence that surely no one has yet forgotten…’"
His voice was steady, soft, filling the quiet hospital room. He read for James, for himself, for the love he couldn’t bear to lose.
Regulus paused mid-sentence to take a sip of his Ovaltine, letting the warm drink soothe his nerves. He had convinced himself, perhaps irrationally, that if he finished the book, maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to bring James back.
...
He was already deep into Chapter 5 when the door opened, and the doctor stepped in. The man smiled at him, eyes flickering to the book in his hands.
“That’s a good one,” the doctor commented.
Regulus barely glanced up. “James loves this book.” His voice was steady, but there was a quiet desperation beneath it. Loves, not loved. James was still here. He had to be.
The doctor hummed, flipping through James’s reports before stepping closer to the bed. Regulus instinctively mirrored him, moving to the other side, eyes glued to James’s face.
“Well,” the doctor said, checking James’s vitals. “It seems like he’s still unconscious. No major changes.”
Regulus swallowed against the disappointment creeping into his chest.
The doctor glanced at him and smiled faintly. “You look exhausted. You should get some rest.”
“I’m fine,” Regulus said immediately.
The doctor didn’t seem convinced. “The hospital cafeteria has surprisingly decent coffee, for a hospital, anyway. Let me take you there. My treat.”
Regulus opened his mouth to refuse, already formulating a sharp no, when something caught his eye.
James’s fingers twitched.
Regulus’s breath hitched. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared, hardly daring to believe it. It was subtle, barely a movement at all, but it was something.
“Oh my god,” Regulus whispered, his voice trembling. He reached for James’s hand, his grip gentle, eyes wide with hope. “He moved.”
The doctor’s attention shifted immediately, stepping closer to examine James. But Regulus hardly noticed. His entire world had shrunk down to the faint, flickering movement of James’s fingers.
He was still in there.
James was coming back to him.
Regulus’s heart was still racing as he stared at James’s hand, willing him to move again. The doctor, however, remained calm, watching the small reflex with a practiced eye.
“That’s a good sign,” he said reassuringly. “Small reflexes like that can indicate he’s beginning to recover consciousness.”
Regulus barely breathed. “So, he’s waking up?”
The doctor held up a hand, tempering his excitement. “It’s too early to say for certain, but it’s promising. I’ll order another CT scan to monitor the brain swelling.”
Regulus nodded, though he hated the idea of waiting.
The doctor gave him a small smile. “In the meantime, why don’t I take you up for that coffee? It’ll be a little while before we get him down for the scan.” His voice had a certain charm to it, something smooth and easy, the kind of tone that might have worked on someone else.
But not on Regulus.
He barely spared the doctor a glance as he replied, “I’d rather stay with James. In case he wakes up.”
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”
“And I don’t like coffee,” Regulus added. “I prefer my Ovaltine.”
The doctor chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He lingered just a second longer, then excused himself to arrange the scan.
As soon as the door shut, Regulus let out a shaky breath, tightening his grip on James’s hand.
“You’re coming back to me,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “I know you are.”
Shortly after, a pair of technicians arrived with a stretcher to take James for his CT scan. Regulus stepped back, watching as they carefully transferred James, his heart clenching at how still he was.
As they wheeled James out, Regulus pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen as he sent a message to Euphemia and Fleamont.
James twitched his fingers. They’re taking him for a CT scan now.
Almost instantly, Euphemia responded: That’s wonderful, darling. We’re on our way.
Regulus exhaled, running a hand down his face. He knew it wasn’t much, a small movement, a tiny sign, but it felt monumental.
When the technicians returned with James, Regulus immediately stepped forward. “Can I see the results?”
One of them gave him an apologetic look. “You’ll have to wait for the doctor.”
Regulus clenched his jaw, irritation flickering through him. He understood protocol, but he was a medical student. He could read the scan himself if they’d just let him.
Still, he swallowed his frustration and turned back to James as they settled him in bed again.
The anger melted away as he stared at him. All he could think about was that small twitch of his fingers the first real sign that James was still in there, still fighting his way back.
Regulus sat down, gripping James’s hand again.
“I know you can hear me,” he whispered. “I’m right here. Just come back to me.”
Regulus pulled his chair closer, settling in beside James as he took his hand again. He let out a slow breath before continuing where he had left off in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, his voice soft but steady.
“If I can just get to the last page, maybe that’ll be enough,” he thought, gripping James’s fingers lightly. “Maybe he’ll wake up.”
The hours passed in a quiet rhythm, Regulus reading, pausing only when the nurses came in to check James’s vitals and change the bandages on his hands. One of the nurses, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, glanced between them with a knowing smile.
“You two are adorable,” she said as she carefully wrapped fresh gauze around James’s fingers.
Regulus felt heat rise to his cheeks. “Thank you,” he murmured, looking down at James’s still face.
She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry too much. He’s responding well to the treatment. I have a good feeling he’ll be up in no time.”
Regulus forced himself to breathe, nodding. “I hope so.”
The nurse finished up and left the room, leaving him alone again with James. He read a few more pages, his voice faltering slightly when exhaustion started creeping in.
Eventually, he sighed, placing the book down. He needed to use the restroom, just for a minute. He squeezed James’s hand gently before letting go.
“I’ll be right back, babe,” he whispered, standing up.
The walk to the restroom felt longer than it should have, but he splashed cold water on his face, straightened James’s hoodie over his shoulders, and took a deep breath before heading back.
Euphemia and Fleamont were there now, standing beside James’s bed, their faces filled with the same mixture of hope and worry that had settled in Regulus’s chest since the accident.
Euphemia hugged Regulus the moment he stepped back into the room, holding him tightly.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice soft and full of concern.
Regulus forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m okay,” he said, voice quiet but steady. He didn’t want to admit how exhausted he was, how the weight of uncertainty was pressing down on his chest.
Before Euphemia could say anything else, the doctor entered, clearing his throat. Regulus straightened, his heart picking up speed.
“The new scans show that the swelling is going down,” the doctor announced, offering a reassuring nod. “That’s a very good sign.”
Regulus let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “So… what now?” he asked, gripping the edge of James' hoddie.
“We’ll continue monitoring him,” the doctor said. “I’ll check up on him again tomorrow.” Then, as he turned to leave, he caught Regulus’s gaze and winked.
Regulus blinked, startled by the gesture, but before he could react, the doctor was gone.
No one else in the room seemed to notice, but before Regulus could dwell on the awkwardness of it, the door opened again, this time, Sirius strolled in.
“If I knew doctors were that good-looking,” Sirius joked, “I would’ve applied to med school with Reggie.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Really, Sirius?” He couldn’t understand how his brother could be so flippant when James had been unconscious for almost two days.
Sirius just shrugged. “What? I’m just saying, if you’re gonna be stuck in a hospital, at least there’s some eye candy.”
Regulus groaned, rubbing his temples. “Unbelievable.”
Euphemia and Fleamont took turns hugging Sirius, holding onto him like he was a lifeline. Sirius let them, patting Euphemia’s back, squeezing Fleamont’s shoulder. But when he stepped away, his attention immediately landed on James.
He walked up to the hospital bed, staring down at his best friend’s sleeping face. His usual vibrance, his endless energy, his ability to light up any room, gone.
Sirius swallowed hard, his fingers curling around the railing of the bed. “I can’t believe this happened to him,” he murmured, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.
Regulus stilled, watching him. For the first time, he really saw his brother, he saw the way his shoulders hunched, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to shake James awake but couldn’t.
Sirius was hurting, too. Just as much as any of them.
Euphemia’s voice broke the silence. “Where’s Remus?”
“Parking the car,” Sirius said, rubbing his face. “He’s been worried sick. He spent the entire flight home reading some book on coma patients.”
Fleamont tried to smile. “Well, this certainly wasn’t the wedding gift we had planned for you two.”
Before Sirius could reply, the door opened again, and Remus stepped in, holding a teddy bear attached to a balloon that read It’s a Boy!
“Sorry,” Remus said sheepishly. “Hospital gift shop only had this or the pink one.”
Euphemia smiled, walking up to hug him. “It’s the thought that counts.”
Fleamont plucked the bear from Remus’s hands, placing it on James’s bedside table. “Don’t worry. James would’ve found it hilarious.”
Regulus’s stomach twisted. Would have. Would have. The past tense hurt.
Remus looked at James, then at Euphemia. “Is he in a coma?”
“No,” she said. “He’s unconscious, but the doctor said it’s not a coma.”
Remus frowned. “How did this happen?”
Fleamont sighed. “Drunk driver. Hit him at the corner of Fifth Street and Elmo Lane.”
Sirius’s head snapped up. “What was he even doing there?”
And that was when Regulus remembered.
The fight. Their voices raised, screaming, cutting each other open. The look in James’s eyes, the betrayal, the fury, the heartbreak. The way he’d stormed out.
Their fight had escalated beyond their usual back-and-forth, past the sharp remarks and bruised egos. This was different. This was final.
James stood by the door, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his eyes dark with something Regulus had never seen directed at him before. Defeat.
“If you want space, don’t worry,” James said, voice shaking but firm. “I’m leaving. You’ll have all the space you need.”
Regulus froze, his heart lurching painfully.
James wasn’t just storming out to cool off. He wasn’t going on a drive to clear his head.
He was leaving.
For good.
“James, wait—”
But James was already grabbing his coat, his movements rushed, clumsy. He fumbled with the buttons, blinking hard like he was trying not to cry.
“No, Regulus.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before forcing out the words. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Regulus felt something in his chest splinter. “You don’t mean that.”
James let out a bitter, broken laugh. “Don’t I?” He gestured vaguely between them. “This. You, me. We’re not us anymore. All we do is fight. And I-I don’t even know who I am with you anymore.”
Regulus opened his mouth, desperate to say something, to stop him, to take it back. But nothing came.
James took a shaky breath and reached for the door handle.
“I love you, Regulus,” he murmured. “But I can’t keep hurting like this.”
And then he walked out.
Regulus stood there, staring at the empty space where James had been, at the door that clicked shut behind him.
He didn’t chase after him.
Didn’t call his name.
Didn’t stop him.
And that was the worst mistake of his life.
Fleamont sighed. “James hasn’t been himself these past six months.”
Six months. The exact amount of time since the fights had started.
Regulus saw it all again, James, furious, throwing their portrait to the floor. His voice cracking, his hands shaking.
James had left.
Because of him.
Because of Regulus.
The weight of it hit Regulus like a sledgehammer. His chest constricted, breath coming out in short, sharp gasps, and before he knew it, he was crying. No, sobbing.
Loud, unrestrained, ugly sobs.
The room went silent. Then Sirius was in front of him, hands on his shoulders, guiding him into the chair.
“Hey,” Sirius said, crouching in front of him. “Reg, breathe, okay? What’s wrong?”
But Regulus couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but feel guilt, the grief, the unbearable, suffocating weight of it all.
He wanted to say it. Wanted to tell them the truth. That this was his fault. That James had been leaving him, and that’s why he was out there, in the car, in the crash, in this hospital bed, because of him.
But the words wouldn’t come.
He just kept crying.
Remus stepped closer, voice gentle. “He must be exhausted.”
Sirius squeezed his arm. “Reg, just breathe, alright? We’ve got you.”
But Regulus didn’t deserve to be held. Didn’t deserve comfort.
Not when James was here because of him.
Euphemia looks at Sirius and Remus, her expression soft with concern. “Regulus has been here with James since five,” she tells them quietly. “He hasn’t left his side.”
Sirius glances at Remus, a silent understanding passing between them. He squeezes Regulus’s shoulder gently before turning to his husband. “Can you take him home?”
“Of course,” Remus says without hesitation.
He helps Regulus stand, but Regulus is still crying, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. He’s a mess, his face is blotchy, his nose running, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Remus doesn’t say anything, just keeps a steady hand on his back, guiding him toward the exit.
By the time they make it outside, the cold night air hits Regulus’s damp cheeks, making him shiver. Remus helps him into the car, buckling him in when he fumbles with the seatbelt, too shaky to do it himself. Then, Remus slides into the driver’s seat, turns on the engine, and cranks up the heater.
“Try to stop crying,” Remus says after a moment, his voice low but not unkind. “My mother always said crying at night is an omen of death.”
Regulus sniffles, eyes swollen and red as he turns his head toward Remus. “You’re lying.”
Remus glances at him, mouth twitching slightly. “I’m not.”
Regulus stares at him, searching for deception. “What if it’s a baby crying?”
Remus hums as if considering. “A baby crying at night is a sign the fairies are calling him for a higher purpose.”
Regulus lets out a small, broken laugh through his tears, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Not even you believe in this Celtic shit, and you were raised with it.”
“I don’t believe in most of it,” Remus agrees, finally pulling away from the hospital. “But there’s some truth in old stories.” He glances at Regulus, softer now. “And besides, it made you stop crying for a second.”
Regulus swallows hard, pressing his forehead against the window, the cool glass grounding him. His breath still stutters, but he’s calmer now. The car is warm, the city lights passing by in a soft blur.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asks gently.
Regulus shakes his head. “I just want to go home.”
Remus nods, and without another word, he drives.
Remus pulls up in front of the old Victorian-style home, the car idling softly as the weight of the night settles over them. The house, once grand, has been divided into apartments. Regulus lifts his tired eyes to the window on the top floor and notices a light on, its warm glow spilling onto the dark street below. It takes him a moment to realize, he had left it on all day.
Remus shifts in the driver’s seat, watching him carefully. “Do you want me to go up with you?”
Regulus shakes his head. “No need.” His voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
Remus hesitates, gripping the steering wheel. “James is tough. He’ll get through this,” he says after a moment. “Try not to worry too much.”
Regulus nods, but the words don’t sink in. He pushes the car door open and steps out, the cool night air hitting his face. The exhaustion in his bones makes every movement feel sluggish. He doesn’t turn back, doesn’t look at Remus, just walks up the stairs and unlocks the door with shaky hands.
The apartment is exactly how he left it, but it feels different, hollow, incomplete. The lamp in the living room casts long shadows over the walls, illuminating the familiar clutter of their life together. A half-drunk glass of water sits on the coffee table. A blanket is draped over the back of the couch, the same one James had used four nights ago.
He exhales slowly and steps inside, closing the door behind him. His stomach twists in hunger, but the thought of eating makes him feel sick again. He toes off his shoes, rubbing a hand over his face, exhausted beyond words but knowing sleep won’t come.
Something is missing. He glances toward the coffee table and then he realizes he left Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea at the Hospital.
James’s book. The one he had been reading to him in the hospital. The one thing keeping him tethered, giving him a purpose. His breath stutters, panic rising in his chest. It’s ridiculous, he knows it is, but the book had felt like his last connection to James. The last thing he could still do for him.
He swallows hard and forces himself to breathe, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
James will wake up. He has to.
Regulus moves toward the couch and sinks into it, his body curling in on itself. The apartment feels unbearably empty without James.