Chapter 2
James, the son of a bitch Potter, was just infuriating. He kept sitting too close to Regulus, Barty, and Evan, and even though he didn't say a word to Regulus, he was always watching him. It was like an unspoken challenge, a constant presence that grated on Regulus’ nerves.
Of course, Barty and Evan were in their element. Barty found the whole thing hilarious, grinning like the Cheshire cat, while Evan was more concerned about Regulus, always looking out for him in his usual, protective way. The dynamic had been the same for years—Barty enjoying the chaos, Evan quietly worrying, and Regulus just trying to keep his cool.
But Regulus wasn’t about to let any of it show. He was composed, as ever, his expression carefully neutral as he texted Remus during particularly boring lectures, his phone held low under the desk so no one could see.
Remus: Are we cooking tonight?
Regulus: Depends
Remus: Depends on what?
Regulus: If I'll be able to walk
Remus: God, you're like a horny teenager, really
Regulus: Because that’s exactly who I am, really
Remus: Unfortunately, it’s true
Regulus: But we can cook if you want...
Remus: God, you’re so easy
Regulus rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. It was easy to banter with Remus, easy to forget the frustration of the day. The fact that James was still hovering like a shadow didn’t seem so pressing when he had Remus to talk to. Besides, Regulus was better at playing this game than anyone gave him credit for.
When Regulus entered his apartment, Remus was already there. Regulus had given him spare keys months ago; it just made things easier. No need for formalities or waiting for one another to arrive.
Remus was sprawled on the armchair next to the wall, which was made almost entirely of windows, offering a stunning view of the Thames. He was reading a book—nothing unusual there. The guy was practically addicted to reading. He was dressed in brown sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, looking effortlessly comfortable, and—Regulus couldn’t help it—godly. There was something about the way Remus looked when he was lost in a book, his eyes soft and absorbed, his whole presence calming. Regulus felt that familiar pull in his chest.
Regulus kicked off his shoes, tossed his backpack on the floor, and headed straight toward him, the weight of the day already slipping away the closer he got to Remus.
"Me time," Regulus muttered, swiping the book from Remus' hands, placing it on the coffee table with an ease that only came with months of familiarity. Without waiting for a reply, he straddled Remus, settling comfortably on his lap.
“Demanding,” Remus teased, a sly smirk curling at the corner of his lips. But he didn’t protest, as he never did. Regulus had learned long ago that Remus wasn’t one for resistance—not when it came to things like this.
Regulus didn’t bother responding. He simply leaned down and kissed him, soft at first, then deeper as the tension from the outside world seemed to melt away. Before long, they were tangled in one another, the armchair creaking softly as they moved. Nothing new—this was their usual routine, the rhythm they’d fallen into after months of navigating the chaos of their lives.
There was no grand declaration, no complicated emotions to untangle. Just a sense of comfort, of familiarity, of needing this closeness more than anything else. Regulus lost himself in the feeling of Remus beneath him, the easy connection they shared, and the fact that, in moments like this, nothing else mattered.
Later, they decided to cook. It started off hilariously, mainly because Regulus, despite the fact that his mother was an exceptional cook, had never really taken the time to cook for himself. Remus wasn’t any better—his cooking experience was limited to whatever basic meals he could throw together when he was feeling lazy. But they both had the enthusiasm to try, and somehow, despite the chaos, they made it work.
They clumsily navigated the kitchen together, bumping into each other, scrambling for the right ingredients, and laughing at their failures. Regulus had never realized how much could go wrong when you actually tried to cook. He was used to everything being prepared for him, organized, and perfected. But here, with Remus, everything was a little messier, a little more spontaneous—and, somehow, that made it all the more fun.
And then there were the distractions. Whenever Remus would get too close, leaning over Regulus to grab a spice or pass him something, Regulus would end up with his back pressed against the kitchen counter, or the island, or even the fridge. Remus had a way of pulling him into kisses that were sudden and electrifying. A hand would be at the back of Regulus’ neck, pulling him in, and before he knew it, their lips were tangled together.
In those moments, nothing mattered except for the heat of Remus’ mouth against his, the feeling of his hands slipping under his hoodie, fingertips grazing the skin of his back. The world outside the kitchen seemed to fade as they fell into their own rhythm—kissing between cooking and laughter, hands roaming as they tried to get the food right.
Of course, in the midst of it all, they’d occasionally burn the chicken—or whatever happened to be in the pan. The kitchen might smell of scorched food, and Regulus would swear under his breath as they hurried to salvage whatever they could. But neither of them complained. The burnt food was a small price to pay for the comfort of each other’s presence, the playful intimacy of their shared mess.
They didn’t need a perfect dinner. What they needed was this—the closeness, the quiet moments when everything else faded away. Even if the chicken was a bit charred, the night felt perfect in its own way.
They ate their dinner in comfortable silence, the warm, familiar hum of their laughter still lingering in the air, as the glow of the projector illuminated the wall across from them. "I can’t believe we’re actually watching this," Regulus snorted, taking a bite of his food as he watched the scene unfold on screen.
Remus shot him a sideways glance, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Just admit it," he said, not even bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice. "I was right."
Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at his lips. "You were," he muttered, unwilling to fully admit it, but unable to deny the truth either. "Dean is hot."
Remus nodded, his eyes flicking back to the screen as he took another bite of his food, clearly pleased with his victory. "Told you," he said smugly. "I knew you’d come around."
Regulus leaned back into the couch, the leather creaking softly beneath him, and he could feel the warmth of the evening settle into his bones. Despite the ridiculousness of the show, there was something oddly comforting about it—the simple enjoyment of being here with Remus, of watching something so silly without any expectations.
The next few moments passed in easy, unhurried silence, both of them focused on the antics of the characters, but still sharing in the quiet connection between them. Regulus, ever the cynic, couldn’t help but shake his head every now and then, but he had to admit—there was something addictive about Supernatural, and even more so when Remus was next to him, munching on his dinner, his presence making everything feel a little less absurd.
As the episode progressed, Remus would occasionally throw in a comment about a plot twist or a character’s questionable decision, and Regulus would grunt in response, pretending to be irritated but secretly enjoying the easy banter. They didn’t need anything extravagant, nothing more than a couch, a bad TV show, and each other.
For once, the chaos of the outside world didn’t feel so important. What mattered was the present moment—just the two of them, sharing a dinner and some ridiculous television, and, for once, simply being content.
"Fine," Regulus grumbled as he ran a hand through his damp hair, climbing up to the mezzanine and joining Remus in bed. The night was quiet, the faint glow from the city lights filtering through the skylight above them. He settled next to Remus, his body naturally gravitating toward his warmth. "Spill."
Remus sighed, his expression a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. "He’s acting normal. I mean... he’s trying to talk to me, acting like nothing happened, like he isn’t angry at all. Which is complete bullshit. He’s pissed off—he has to be. But he’s just... pretending. And he’s talking to Mary and Marlene like it’s nothing."
Regulus hummed, his jaw clenching. "Motherfucker."
Remus snorted, shooting him a sideways glance. "You do realize you have the same mother, right?"
Regulus rolled his eyes, a reluctant laugh escaping his lips. "Right. Well, you have to play along. Act like you believe him."
"Yeah, I know." Remus’ voice was resigned, his head tilting back as he stared up at the skylight, the faint outline of stars barely visible against the city’s glow. "But it makes me feel like I’m fourteen again. It’s pathetic."
Regulus shifted to look at him, his eyes tracing the lines of Remus’ face, the furrow in his brow, the way his lips tightened in annoyance. He knew that feeling all too well—like being trapped in a cycle you thought you’d left behind. "I know. It’s ridiculous," Regulus admitted, his voice low, more vulnerable than he intended.
Remus let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Yeah, it is. But, well... I love you, so it’ll be fine. We’ll get through this."
Regulus felt his chest tighten, his heart doing that familiar flip it always did whenever Remus said that. It was so easy for Remus to say it, to lay his feelings out like they were nothing, like it didn’t make him feel raw and exposed. Regulus envied him for that. Saying it out loud was still hard, even after all this time. But Remus never pushed him, never made him feel guilty for hesitating.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I love you too," he managed to say, his voice soft, almost shy.
Remus turned his head to look at him, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Wow, getting better at this, aren’t we?"
Regulus scoffed, his face warming as he shoved Remus’ shoulder. "Shut up and go to sleep."
Remus just laughed, the sound soft and warm in the darkness. He shifted closer, his body brushing against Regulus’, their legs tangling under the sheets. The tension from before slowly eased, the comfort of each other’s presence settling over them like a blanket.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, both just staring up at the skylight, lost in their thoughts. Eventually, Remus’ breathing evened out, his body relaxing as he drifted off. Regulus stayed awake a little longer, his eyes tracing the faint outline of stars, his mind replaying Remus’ words over and over again.
I love you.
During the lecture, Regulus felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out discreetly, keeping it low beneath the desk as he unlocked the screen to see Remus' messages lighting up.
Remus: Sirius asked if we can grab lunch together
Remus: All of us
Regulus felt his jaw clench, annoyance immediately prickling under his skin. He could practically picture Sirius’ hopeful, insistent expression—the one that made it impossible to just say no.
Regulus: Oh, for fuck's sake
Remus: I know
Regulus exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. There was no way out of this, not without looking like he was the one holding a grudge. And that was the last thing he wanted, especially when Sirius was trying so hard to play nice.
Regulus: Fine
Regulus: But I might snap
A pause, then his phone buzzed again.
Remus: Might?
Regulus felt a reluctant smirk pull at his lips. Trust Remus to keep things light, even when it was the last thing he wanted to deal with.
Regulus: Shut up, Lupin
He could almost hear Remus’ laughter through the screen, the soft huff of amusement that always managed to ease the tension in Regulus' chest. It was ridiculous, really—how Remus could make him feel better with just a few words.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention back to the lecture. But the irritation had dulled, replaced with a grudging acceptance. They’d get through this, just like they always did. Even if it meant suffering through lunch with Sirius.
James had been glancing at him the entire time. Regulus could feel his gaze lingering, persistent and curious, and it was getting on his nerves. Deciding he was done with the silent game, Regulus turned in his seat, catching James’ eye with a cool, raised eyebrow.
"What, Potter?" he drawled, his voice low enough not to catch the lecturer’s attention but sharp enough to make his point.
James looked momentarily surprised, but his expression quickly morphed into one of playful mischief. "What what?" he replied, his eyes gleaming with that infuriating spark of amusement.
Regulus didn’t miss a beat. "Is there something on my face?" he asked smoothly, his tone mocking innocence. "Since you can’t seem to look away?"
Evan, seated beside Regulus, snorted, clearly entertained by the exchange. Barty, from his spot on Regulus’ other side, leaned back, his grin widening as he watched the scene unfold.
James just shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I don’t know what you’re implying. Maybe you’re just imagining things you want to happen, Reggie," he replied, his voice annoyingly smooth, his grin infuriatingly smug.
Barty couldn’t contain his laughter at that, and even Evan’s shoulders shook as he tried to keep his own amusement silent. But Regulus merely narrowed his eyes, his expression unimpressed.
"That must be it," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I just imagined that I ran you over with my car."
Barty outright cackled at that, his laughter echoing softly in the lecture hall despite his attempt to muffle it. James’ grin widened, clearly unbothered, his eyes still locked on Regulus with a challenging glint.
Regulus turned back to the front, pretending to pay attention to the lecture on human rights, but he could still feel James’ gaze on him, burning with intrigue. Annoying as it was, Regulus couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.
If James wanted to play, Regulus was more than willing to give him a run for his money.
Of course, everyone was already gathered around the table in the campus cafeteria. Regulus spotted them immediately—Remus, James, Sirius, Barty, Evan, Mary, and Marlene—all crammed around the small table, trays of food spread out before them. It was almost painfully normal, and yet nothing about it felt right.
Regulus approached with measured steps, sliding into the seat next to Remus, who offered him a small, reassuring smile. Regulus didn’t bother returning it. His eyes flicked over to James and Sirius, who were engaged in some animated conversation but immediately fell silent as he sat down.
"Well, this is totally normal," Mary commented, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she leaned back in her chair, giving Regulus a knowing look. Her gaze flickered between him and Sirius, the tension between them palpable.
"Of course it is," Regulus replied smoothly, his expression betraying nothing. He was a master at keeping his emotions locked away, face carefully blank as he unwrapped his sandwich.
"Don’t tell me you’re playing civil now," Marlene interjected, one eyebrow raised in disbelief as she took a sip of her drink. Her eyes lingered on Sirius before drifting back to Regulus, her curiosity barely concealed.
"We’re always civil, McKinnon," Sirius drawled, his tone mockingly sweet as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. There was that infuriating, self-satisfied grin on his face—the one that always made Regulus’ blood boil.
Regulus fought the urge to grab his brother’s head and slam it against the table. A few times, maybe a dozen for good measure. Instead, he clenched his jaw, his grip on his sandwich tightening as he forced himself to remain calm.
"Sure. Civil," Regulus echoed, his voice flat as he finally looked up, meeting Sirius’ gaze with a steely glare. "That’s exactly the word I’d use."
Sirius’ smile faltered, just for a second, before he shrugged nonchalantly. "Glad we’re on the same page."
The table fell into an uncomfortable silence, tension hanging heavy in the air. Barty and Evan exchanged amused looks, clearly entertained by the exchange, while Mary and Marlene watched with thinly veiled curiosity. Remus, ever the peacekeeper, gave Regulus’ knee a reassuring squeeze under the table, a silent reminder to keep his cool.
Regulus exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. He’d promised Remus he wouldn’t start anything. But if Sirius kept up this charade, all bets were off.
Of course, Sirius was talking to Remus. It shouldn’t have bothered Regulus as much as it did, but it did. Because of course Sirius was leaning in, his expression earnest, his eyes fixed on Remus with that familiar intensity that made Regulus’ skin crawl. And of course, Remus was talking back, his posture relaxed, his face carefully neutral, just friendly enough to play along but distant enough to keep his guard up.
It was all about the façade, after all. The illusion that everything was fine. That Sirius hadn’t shown up out of nowhere and thrown their lives into disarray. That they were just old friends catching up.
Regulus hated it. Hated how easy they made it look. How effortlessly Remus could smile and nod, keeping up the charade while Regulus was barely holding it together.
He tore his gaze away, focusing on his food as if the half-eaten sandwich on his tray was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. But he couldn’t tune them out. Couldn’t ignore the way Sirius’ laughter cut through the air, bright and genuine, or the way Remus responded with a quiet chuckle, his eyes softening just the slightest bit.
They were good at this—both of them. Pretending. Playing their parts. And Regulus was left watching from the sidelines, trying not to let his resentment show.
He took a slow, measured breath, his fingers curling around his drink as he forced himself to appear composed, unfazed. It was all about the façade, after all.
He just wished it didn’t have to be.
But Regulus had to play his part too, didn’t he? That was the whole point of this ridiculous charade. Pretending. Acting like nothing was wrong, like his brother hadn’t shown up out of nowhere to dig up old wounds. Like he wasn’t quietly seething every time he saw Sirius’ easy smile directed at Remus.
So he did what he did best—he slipped on his mask and played along. He laughed at the right moments, kept his voice light and his tone casual. And he talked to James like nothing had ever happened between them.
It was disturbingly easy. James made it easy. He was the same as always—charming, annoyingly charismatic, his humor sharp and quick. He grinned at Regulus like they were old friends, like they hadn’t gone through that messy, complicated thing that neither of them were willing to name.
"So, you’re actually keeping up with Human Rights? I thought you’d have dropped that class by now," James teased, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief.
Regulus rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Please. Just because you keep up doesn’t mean the rest of us are slackers."
James laughed, loud and bright, completely unfazed. "Touché, Black. Touché."
They fell into an easy rhythm after that, the banter coming naturally, almost alarmingly so. It was like muscle memory, falling back into old habits, the effortless way they used to joke and bicker. Regulus hated how familiar it felt, how simple it was to slip back into that dynamic.
He could feel Evan’s eyes on him, sharp and calculating, probably trying to gauge how much of this was real and how much was an act. Barty looked amused, his smirk suggesting he was enjoying the show.
And Regulus was performing, wasn’t he? Playing his part perfectly, giving them all exactly what they wanted to see. Because that was the game, wasn’t it? Acting like nothing had ever happened. Like James hadn’t once meant something to him. Like Regulus hadn’t been stupid enough to care.
"Still planning on joining that internship over the summer?" James asked, his voice casual, his attention fully on Regulus.
Regulus didn’t miss a beat. "Yeah. Figured it would look good on a résumé."
James grinned. "Yeah, you always were strategic." His eyes softened just a fraction, something unreadable flashing across his face before he masked it with another easy smile. "You’ll be good at it."
Regulus felt something twist in his chest, a flicker of something he refused to name. But he smiled back, his mask firmly in place. "I know."
He was playing his part perfectly. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that James was playing one too.
After all, Regulus and Remus were masters of this game. They’d played it too well a few months ago to falter now. They knew exactly how to keep up appearances, how to play their parts perfectly. So when Regulus was talking to James, and Remus was chatting with Sirius, they still maintained that invisible thread that tied them together, grounding each other even across the chaos of the cafeteria table.
Remus’ hand rested on Regulus’ thigh, his fingers warm and steady. It was a subtle touch, perfectly concealed under the table, invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking closely. Remus was good at that—at finding ways to remind Regulus that they were in this together, without drawing any unwanted attention. His fingers tapped lightly, almost rhythmically, a silent reassurance that made Regulus’ shoulders relax just a fraction.
But Remus was also infuriatingly cheeky. He made sure to weave in sly remarks whenever he could, making it perfectly clear to everyone—especially James—that whatever had existed between Regulus and James was over. Completely over.
"So, James," Remus drawled with a casual smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Remind me again why you’re still single? Thought you’d have moved on ages ago."
James’ smile faltered, just for a second, his eyes flickering to Regulus before he quickly recovered. "Just haven’t found the right person, I guess."
"Shame," Remus continued, his voice light, his hand giving Regulus’ thigh a light squeeze under the table. "Maybe you should try looking somewhere new. Might do you some good."
Regulus didn’t even try to hide his smirk. He took a slow sip of his drink, pretending to look interested in something across the cafeteria while his chest warmed with satisfaction. Remus was ruthless when he wanted to be.
And it wasn’t just James who was getting the reminder. Remus made sure to keep Sirius in check, too. Every time Sirius leaned in a little too close, or his smile lingered a little too long, Remus would effortlessly shift the conversation.
"Oh, by the way, did I mention how happy I am these days?" Remus said, his eyes flickering to Regulus, his tone just a little too sweet. "Funny how things just... fall into place when you find the right person."
Sirius’ face tightened, his jaw clenching ever so slightly before he forced a casual smile. "Yeah," he replied, his voice strained. "Funny how that works."
Regulus nearly laughed at that. It was almost too easy. Remus was ruthless, and Regulus loved him for it.
By the end of the lunch, Regulus was deeply satisfied. Remus had played his role flawlessly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. James was left with no doubt that Regulus had moved on, and Sirius was forced to watch the easy affection between Remus and Regulus, reminded again and again that his role in Remus’ life was firmly in the past.
They’d played their parts perfectly. And the best part? They’d done it without anyone ever realizing there was a game being played at all.