Takeout For Two and Other Things I Forgot

It took a moment, longer than James would have liked to admit, but finally, it hit him like a ton of bricks. His mother had a photo of him and Regulus all of this time and she had kept that from him. The realization spread through him like a cold wave, and for a split second, he thought it was some cruel joke. But how could that be possible? He’d only just met Regulus, hadn’t he?

It wasn’t a joke.

 He had met Regulus before. The photo wasn’t some trick. 

It explained so much, but at the same time even more questions started flooding to the surface. Had he always known Regulus? Had he loved him? Had it always been this way? How long had that photo been taken? Who else knew about it?The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. What had happened? Why hadn’t he and Regulus gotten married? How long had it been since he’d lost Regulus? The questions kept coming, too many to sort through all at once. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, unable to catch his breath.

He needed answers. 

He needed to know.

James' hands were shaking now, and the frustration rose within him like a fire, burning through his chest and spreading through his body. He couldn’t stay there any longer, staring at that photo, unable to remember.

James didn’t bother to put anything back in the box. He just stood up suddenly, and without thinking, he stormed out of the garage, heading straight for the house, calling out for his mother as he went. The words tumbled out of him in a frantic rush, barely coherent through his anger and confusion. “MOM! MOM!” he shouted.

He was a wreck, shaking with fury and confusion, trying to make sense of the impossible. Every nerve in his body was on fire. 

James’s pulse raced as he stood there, fuming, his eyes locked on Euphemia as she hurried down the stairs, clearly startled by his outburst. Seeing his mother's face, the calm expression, the gentle concern, only made his anger boil over. How could she? He thought, his hands shaking. All this time... He felt the weight of it all crashing down on him. His own mother, the one person he trusted above all else, had kept something so huge from him. A photo. An engagement photo for fuck's sake. Why didn’t she say anything?

His mind spiraled, thoughts whirling faster than he could process. The question just kept coming. How many other people knew? His father? His friends? Were they all in on it, too? How could they not have told him? The questions kept piling on and on, each one more painful than the last. His chest tightened with the force of it all, James felt like he was drowning, and the anger felt suffocating.

Euphemia paused when she saw him standing there, his hands trembling as he gripped the photo. “James, what happened?” she asked, her voice soft, like she was trying to calm him down.

He didn’t respond at first. He couldn’t find the words to express what he was feeling, not without shouting or breaking down at the same time. Instead, he moved toward her, and with a sharp breath, he raised the photo up so she could see it, unable to look at it any longer. He didn’t care if she’d seen it before. He didn’t care if she knew exactly what was coming. It didn’t matter. He just needed her to see it, to feel what he was feeling.

Euphemia’s eyes flicked to the photo, and for a brief moment, her face shifted from concern to a soft, knowing smile. James’s stomach twisted. How could she be smiling now, after everything? After lying to him all this time?

“Oh, you found it,” she said, her tone almost too casual, like the photo didn’t carry the weight of everything he was feeling.

James felt his chest constrict, his breath coming in shallow bursts. He wanted to scream, to demand an explanation, but instead, his throat closed up. 

He was furious, but underneath the anger, there was a hollow ache. James felt like he was trapped in some nightmare. His body trembled, his mind racing and all he could feel was the weight of the photo, the ring, the unanswered questions.

He looked at his mother, trying to find something in her face that could explain all of this, but all he saw was that same quiet smile that made his blood run cold.

James swallowed, his throat tight as he tried to steady himself, but the anger inside him was a wildfire, uncontrollable and consuming. He took a sharp breath, his voice rough and unsteady when he finally spoke.

“What does this mean?” His words cut through the tense silence like a blade. He didn’t try to mask his fury, he wanted her to hear it, to feel it.

Euphemia studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, instead of answering, she tilted her head slightly and asked, “Is that the man?” Her voice was softer now, careful. “The one that looks like a star?”

James’s heart slammed against his ribs. His stomach twisted violently.

He stared at her, his jaw tightening, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Was she mocking him? He couldn’t tell, and that only made the rage in him burn hotter.

He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. His voice felt trapped in his throat, strangled by the sheer weight of his emotions. Instead, he lifted the photo again, shaking it slightly as if that would make her understand.

“What does this mean?” he demanded, his voice raw, his patience gone.

Euphemia sighed, her expression shifting, something sad, something guilty. “James,” she said gently, “I’ve told you too much already.”

Too much?

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped him, but it held no humor, only disbelief, only frustration that was now boiling over.

“Too much?” he repeated, his voice rising. His pulse pounded in his ears. “Are you serious? This isn’t enough. This isn’t even close to enough! I have no idea who I was before the accident, and you, you’ve been sitting on this?” His hands shook. His whole body shook. "There’s so much I don’t know,” he continued, his voice breaking with emotion. “Did he loved me? Did I love him? How long were we together? What happened? Why aren’t we together now?”

The questions poured out, one after another, but Euphemia didn’t answer. She just watched him, her mouth pressed into a firm line, her eyes filled with something James couldn’t begin to untangle. And that silence, her silence, made his stomach sink.

She wasn’t going to tell him.

James’s breath came quicker, more ragged, as the weight of that realization settled over him. He felt sick. Nervous. Desperate.

“Mom,” he said, quieter this time, but no less urgent. “Please.”

Euphemia’s gaze softened, sorrow lining her features as she whispered, “I’m sorry, James.”

James clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the Polaroid. Sorry wasn’t enough. Sorry didn’t explain why she had sat on this for so long, why she had watched him stumble through the past year, lost and desperate, without giving him the one clue that could’ve changed everything.

“I promised,” she continued, voice wavering. “I swore I wouldn’t tell you anything, not until he was ready.”

That made James freeze. When he had his conversation with Sirius he had said something very similar. It was the same damn excuse again and again.

James let out a harsh breath, his hands trembling with frustration. “This is my life,” he said, his voice raw. “I deserve to know the truth.”

Euphemia looked away for a moment, as if she couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve already done enough by showing you the picture.”

James let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Enough?” he repeated, his anger flaring again. “You think this is enough? You drop something like this in my lap, something that changes everything, and then just expect me to figure the rest out on my own?”

Euphemia exhaled, something heavy in her expression. “I wish I could tell you everything,” she admitted. “I do. But this isn’t my secret to tell, James. It never was.”

James shook his head, feeling the sting of betrayal settle deep in his chest. “I don’t get it,” he said, his voice quieter but no less urgent. “Why is this a secret? Why has it always been a secret?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, the frustration in her own voice evident. “Believe me, I was one of the people who wanted to tell you the whole truth when you woke up. But I couldn’t.”

James swallowed hard, his throat burning. He searched her face for something, anything, but all he found was sadness.

Euphemia reached out, hesitated, then let her hand fall back to her side. “I just hope,” she said softly, “that one day, you can find a way to forgive me.”

James’s breath came fast and shallow, his chest tightening with every unanswered question weighing him down. He gritted his teeth, his frustration boiling over as he looked at his mother. “I’ll forgive you,” he said, his voice sharp, “if you tell me the truth. The whole truth.”

Euphemia didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. James stiffened, his anger warring with the comfort of her embrace, but he didn’t pull away.

“I can’t,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I wish I could, my love. But this story isn’t mine to tell.”

James squeezed his eyes shut, his grip on the photo faltering. “Then whose is it?” he rasped, even though he already knew the answer.

Euphemia pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands warm on his arms. “Regulus,” she said softly. “Regulus is the only one who can tell you the truth.”

James swallowed hard, his whole body thrumming with restless energy. His thoughts were a mess, his chest tangled with emotions he couldn’t name. He was tired. Tired of the secrecy, tired of the vague answers, tired of being left in the dark while everyone around him held the pieces of his life in their hands.

And Regulus, Doctor Black, had been holding the biggest piece of all.

James’s grip on the Polaroid tightened as his mind whirled. He had thought he was obsessed with Regulus before. But now? Now, he wasn’t sure if he was more desperate for the truth or for the man himself.

James barely felt Euphemia let him go as he shoved the Polaroid into his pocket, his mind already racing ahead. His feet moved before he could second-guess himself, carrying him toward the front door with a single, unwavering purpose.

Behind him, his mother called his name. “James! James, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. He was done with half-truths and carefully chosen words. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

His hand found the familiar weight of his mother’s car keys hanging by the front door, right where she always kept them. Without hesitation, he grabbed them, the metal cool against his clammy palm.

“James, stop,” Euphemia’s voice was urgent as she followed him. “Talk to me. What are you going to do?”

But James didn’t slow down. He pushed open the door, stepping into the afternoon air. The driveway felt longer than it had ever been, his mother’s car sitting there like a challenge.

His fingers clenched around the keys as he reached the driver’s side. He hadn’t driven since the accident, since the night he lost everything.

James exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. He couldn’t afford to think about that now.

His body hesitated, even as his mind screamed at him to go. He could feel it, the panic curling in his gut, the way his hands felt too light and too heavy at the same time. 

He swallowed, his throat dry.

Euphemia reached the car, her hands bracing against the window as she pleaded, “James, please. You don’t have to do this, I can take you wherever you need to go.”

But that wasn’t the point.

James needed to do this himself. He was taking control of his life, his choices, his memories. He was done letting everyone else decide what he could and couldn’t handle.

So, despite the fear clawing at his chest, despite the way his breath hitched as he forced himself to settle into the driver’s seat, he pushed the key into the ignition.

The car roared to life, and so did something deep inside him.

His mother’s voice wavered through the open window. “James, please.”

But he wasn’t stopping. Not now.

He gripped the wheel, took a breath, and drove.

The world outside blurred into streaks of neon and streetlights, but James barely registered any of it. His foot pressed against the gas pedal harder than it should, but he didn’t care. He barely noticed how fast he was going, how the engine roared in protest every time he took a sharp turn.

He didn’t care.

He just needed to get there.

The city passed by in a haze, faceless buildings and empty streets rushing past his vision, but his mind was consumed with only one thought. Regulus.

His hands clenched around the steering wheel, his knuckles aching with the pressure. He could still feel the Polaroid burning in his pocket, the image seared into his mind, Regulus smiling, showing off his ring. A ring that meant something. A ring that meant everything.

James sucked in a breath, his heart hammering. How long had he known Regulus? Had they been in love? Had they been happy? And if they were, if they had once built a life together, then why had he lost him?

And if it was real, if every piece of it had truly happened, then why the hell had no one told him? Why had Regulus pretended not to know him? Why had he looked James in the eye and lied, said they had never met?

He felt the frustration tighten around his ribs, squeezing the air from his lungs, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

The next thing he knew, he was swerving into the hospital parking lot, his foot slamming on the brake. The tires screeched, the car jerking forward before settling.

James barely noticed. His breath came fast, shallow, his hands still locked around the wheel as if prying them off would shatter the fragile grip he had on himself.

For a long second, he just sat there, the car idling around him, the hospital’s fluorescent glow spilling through the windshield.

And then, without another thought, James shoved the door open and stepped out.

...

James burst into the hospital, his pulse hammering in his throat as he scanned the halls. His mind was a storm, tangled with too many questions, too many emotions. He needed to see Regulus. Needed to look him in the eye and demand answers, no more secrets, no more lies. But Regulus was nowhere in sight.

His frustration mounted with every passing second. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he forced himself to stay calm. He needed information, and there was only one place to get it. Spotting the reception desk, he strode toward it, barely registering the dull hum of conversation around him.

"Excuse me," James said, his voice tight, urgent. "I need to know where Dr. Black is."

The receptionist barely looked up. "I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t disclose information about our doctors’ whereabouts."

James clenched his jaw, his patience fraying at the edges. "Please," he pressed, his voice lowering, thick with frustration. "I just need to talk to him. It’s important."

The woman finally met his eyes, offering a sympathetic but firm shake of her head. "I understand, but we have strict policies regarding..."

"I’m his fiancé," James interrupted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His own voice startled him, but he didn’t take it back. It felt too raw, too real to be a lie. His fingers twitched at his side, itching to pull the Polaroid from his pocket, to shove it in her face and demand she explain it if no one else would. Instead, he swallowed hard and pressed on. "I’ve been trying to reach him, but he won’t answer. Please, I just need to know where he is."

The receptionist hesitated. Her eyes flickered with something, uncertainty, maybe suspicion, but James didn’t waver. He held her gaze, his heart thundering, his breath coming too fast.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she exhaled and glanced at her screen. "Dr. Black is about to finish his shift," she said, her tone reluctant but resigned. "He should be in the ER."

James released a sharp breath, his chest tightening with a strange mix of relief and renewed urgency. "Thank you," he said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then he turned and ran.

James doesn’t wait for the elevator. He doesn’t have the patience, doesn’t have the time. His legs burn as he takes the stairs two at a time, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles turn white. His heart is racing, not just from exertion, but from the sheer desperation clawing at his chest. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he sees Regulus.

How do you start a conversation like this?

"Hey, I found our engagement photo.

"Hey, I think I loved you once, and I was wondering if you did too."

"Hey, why did you lie to me?"

His thoughts are a tangled mess, a blur of anger, confusion, and something deeper, something raw and aching that he doesn’t dare name.

When he reaches the ER, he barely stops to catch his breath. His eyes dart around the room, searching, frantic. The place is chaotic, filled with patients and nurses moving about with practiced efficiency. He forces himself to focus, to find someone who can help him.

Then he spots a nurse and quickly reads her name tag. Dorcas. He doesn’t waste a second.

"Excuse me," James says, stepping up to her, his voice rough with urgency. "I need to find Dr. Black."

Dorcas looks up at him, blinking in surprise. Her gaze flickers over his face, assessing, but there’s no suspicion there, only something softer. Understanding. Sympathy.

For a moment, James braces himself for another rejection, another firm reminder about hospital policy. But instead, Dorcas exhales through her nose, a quiet sigh, and tilts her head slightly.

"He’s in the locker room, getting changed," she says. "His shift just ended."

James barely hears the rest. Relief and adrenaline surge through him all at once, and before she can say anything else, he mutters a rushed "thank you" and takes off down the hall.

James slows his steps as soon as he spots Regulus leaving the locker room.

For a moment, everything else falls away.

Regulus looks unfairly good, dressed in dark slacks and a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like he hasn’t just spent hours working. His hair is slightly tousled, like he’s run his fingers through it absentmindedly, and his sharp features are softened by exhaustion. James can’t stop himself from staring, drinking in every detail, the way Regulus moves, the way the fluorescent hospital lights catch the angles of his face, the way his lips part slightly as he notices James standing there.

And just like that, James forgets.

He forgets how mad he is. He forgets the lies, the confusion, the aching pit in his stomach. Because all he can think about is pinning Regulus against the wall and kissing him breathless, the way he did at the pub, the way his body is screaming at him to do right now. The memory is so visceral, so intoxicating, that he almost takes a step forward, almost gives in to the pull Regulus has on him.

Then Regulus raises his eyes and meets James’s gaze.

For a split second, there’s something there, something raw and unguarded, something lost. But then Regulus blinks, his expression smoothing over into careful neutrality.

"What are you doing here?" Regulus asks, voice steady but quiet.

James swallows, his throat dry. His heart is still hammering, but for an entirely different reason now.