Regulus groans as he throws another shirt onto his bed, standing hopelessly in front of his closet. He's freaking out a little bit. A lot. He has no idea why he agreed to this.
"I have nothing to wear! What does one even wear when they're meeting parents and they're the freak that's scared of food and is weird and socially awkward?!"
Dorcas holds up the graphic tee with a wrinkled nose, "Not this, that's for sure."
Regulus groans louder in response.
Dorcas stands up, shooing him out of the way, "Move, I'll find an outfit, you fix your hair."
"What's wrong with my hair?" Regulus says, his hand flying to touch it self consciously.
"It looks like you've been shoving your hands through it all afternoon, plus your curls are dry," She says bluntly, over her shoulder, pushing through the hangers of shirts in his closet.
"I have been shoving my hands through it," Regulus mumbles, turning to look in the bathroom mirror with a grimace. "I should cancel, right? This is clearly a sign that it's not going to go well. What was James even thinking? He knows me, he knows this isn't going to go well in any sense of the word. I don't even know what they're making for dinner, what if I can't eat it?"
"It's too late to cancel darling, it'd just be rude, and he does know you, which is why he wants you to meet his parents. He loves you, they'll love you, even if you're awkward and weird and scared of food. Wear this," She lays out corduroy trousers in forest green and a plain black button up with a matching belt on his bed. Then, she joins him in the bathroom, batting his hands away from his hair, her bracelets clinking as she scoops up some curl cream and works it in. "It won't be just you anyway, Sirius will be there, and he'll be a great buffer if you don't know what to say. As for the food thing, James knows you well enough to tell his parents to steer from certain foods, so I don't think you'll have to worry too much."
"This is a horrible idea," Regulus says dejectedly, "If this goes wrong, he'll break up with me."
Regulus catches Dorcas rolling her eyes in the mirror's reflection, "You're putting far too much pressure on this one night, I promise it'll be fine, you're a mostly functioning human being, I doubt you'll manage to mess it up that much."
"I wouldn't say mostly."
"Eh, like, partially? Half functioning?"
Regulus drops his face into his hands.
James opens the door and beams immediately when he sees his two favorite people standing on the stoop. "Hello! Nice to see you," He throws an arm around Sirius and smacks a kiss on his cheek, "Nice to see you," He repeats the same with Regulus, who rolls his eyes but leans into his side.
"Would you tell your boyfriend that he's going to be fine? I thought he was going to toss his cookies in the passenger seat of my car, and we haven't even eaten yet," Sirius jokes, strolling into the house with a familiarity and confidence Regulus does not possess, and likely never will.
He was James' friend years before Regulus started dating James, and he visited often for holidays instead of going home. Sirius was also the only person that could joke about his eating disorder, maybe because he's spent so much time cleaning him up and picking him off of bathroom floors with a gentleness Regulus never felt he deserved. James wasn't a huge fan of the jokes, but it never bothered Regulus, it was easier to swallow if they were making light about it, rather than being overly concerned for him. And anyway, Regulus was doing pretty well, he hadn't purged in months, and was eating more, though that was still an uphill battle. James had waited until Regulus was in a more stable place to propose dinner, and he did it with a loud disclaimer that if he wasn't ready, Regulus absolutely didn't have to go, but he said it with these big hopeful eyes, and really, Regulus wasn't strong enough to deny him anything, regardless of how he felt. James' puppy dog eyes were criminal.
"You're really that nervous?" James asks him, drawing him closer.
"I'm fine," Regulus answers with a tight lipped smile, expression basically screaming of course I'm nervous, you idiot.
James coos, "Aw, it's alright, my parents know so much about you and love you already, you don't have to be nervous," He lowers his voice so only Regulus could hear, "Is it the food? I didn't tell them much, but I did ask to avoid your trigger foods, and certain conversations around food, too."
Regulus' chest tightens, difficult, his mind screams, you make things so difficult. He tries to smile wider in an attempt to be more convincing, but is pretty sure it comes out as more of a grimace, "It's fine, Jamie, just normal nerves."
"Okay, well, you look stunning," James says with a grin, pulling away slightly to get a better look, lifting his arm to twirl his boyfriend.
Regulus blushes,"Dorcas picked the outfit, and fixed my hair, because apparently it wasn't looking great," He says with an amused huff.
James glances around the kitchen to see that Sirius must have left to go to the sitting room, and tugs his boyfriend closer by his belt loops, "Well, it looks perfect now, gorgeous," He ducks his head to nip at the space under Regulus' ear, admittedly trying to distract him into relaxing a little and losing that hunted expression on his face, "And this cologne? Practically edible, let's forget about dinner, I've got mine right here."
"You better stop," Regulus tries to hiss, but the words lose their meaning when his breath hitches at James' ministrations, "We're in your parents kitchen, this is the last place to start something right now."
"I'm not starting anything," James mumbles into his neck, not trying to leave any marks, just nipping and kissing lightly, "But if I was, it'd be your fault for looking so delectable, I'm just a man, you can't expect me to have god level restraint."
Regulus melts into him against his will, even when he knows he should push James away just in case— that.
"Oh!" A soft voice exclaims, and Regulus practically leaps out of James' arms, putting several feet of space between them. James only laughs, ears bright red, but other than that, seeming unphased by his mother walking in on them. "I'm sorry, I saw Sirius and was only wondering where Regulus was."
Euphemia Potter wasn't a very tall woman, but she carries herself proudly, with the same confidence James does, and her smile was identical to his too, warm and big, unapologetic with a hint of something mischievous. Her face is lined with age, but she seems young, instead of weathered by time, she is graceful and bright. The streaks of gray in her hair only add to her beauty.
"No, I— I'm sorry, Mrs. Potter, I was— James was—" Regulus sends his boyfriend a furious glare when he snorts, flushed down to his neck and horrendously embarrassed, "It was incredibly rude of me to keep you waiting, and a bad first impression, I apologize."
"Oh, please, call me Effie," She walks forward to engulf Regulus in a hug, which surprises him so much, he doesn't have time to return it, and only looks helplessly at James from over her shoulder, which makes James snort again. "No need for apologies, I've been dying to meet you, and so has Monty. I hope what I've made is alright, I tried to make a variety of dishes to choose from, but please don't feel bad if there's anything you don't like."
Regulus nods quickly, hoping his face doesn't betray his nerves or humiliation, trying his best to smile and not grimace, "Thank you for cooking, I'm sure I'll love all of it."
"Come meet Monty, we can leave James to set the table," Effie says with a wink, threading her arm through Regulus' and leading him out of the kitchen easily.
Regulus sits between James and Monty and across from Sirius, plates and plates of food spread across the entirety of the table, biryani and paneer, dosa and naan, a dish Regulus can't remember the name of but that James has made for him a few times. The warmth of the spices fill the room and make his mouth water, and he does his best not to look panicked at the feast laid out in front of him.
He's been told several times that his emotions show on his face, that it's very clear when he's uncomfortable, or scared, or annoyed, so he does his best to appear neutral in social situations, or at least to have a placid smile on his face like most people do. It's exhausting, really, the amount of effort required to socialize, the expectation to look and talk and act a certain way, it baffles him how naturally it seems to come to everyone else.
He sits in his chair, fingers tangled in his lap, as he tries to focus on the conversation and not the food. He doesn't make a move to fill his plate, he hates eating around people, hates feeling like there's unspoken rules that he's always breaking, even though he knows it's in his head, hates feeling like he's being judged for what he puts on his plate and how much and how he does it. So he waits for everyone else to move for it, and tries to work up the courage to start grabbing his own food. James, the godsend he is, grabs Regulus' plate for him, and fills it with what he's already familiar with, keeping the food separate from each other and not adding an overwhelming amount of anything.
James cooks for them often, so he's intimately familiar with Regulus' meticulous process, and he knows what he'll be most comfortable eating. Normally, Regulus wouldn't let anyone else do this for him, Sirius has tried, but he always puts way too much food on Regulus' plate, and does a horrible job of pretending not to watch him eat it. But James fills his plate without fuss, and if anybody finds it odd, they don't comment at all, which helps him relax a little more.
"So, Regulus, I heard you're a bit of a potions genius," Monty says in between bites.
If Fleamont Potter is any indication of what Regulus has to look forward to in James' old age, then... yeah, Regulus is good with that. Fleamont wears glasses like James, though his are more rectangular, and he's tall and broad like James too, built for sports, and appears as if he'd be gruff, but his eyes give him away. His eyes are chocolate brown and earnest, kind and open. Fleamont Potter's hair is slicked, likely with the potion he invented, Sleakeezy's, and he has deep laugh lines that show when he smiles, as well as a thick mustache.
"I dunno that I'd say genius, but I do well in potions, and I quite like how methodical it is," Regulus answers, poking at his biryani with his fork. He hasn't taken a bite yet, he doesn't want them to look when he does, but he doesn't want to seem like he's playing with his food either, that'd just be rude.
The thing about Regulus is, he knows this is not normal. He knows people don't think this much about everything, he knows they just do things on autopilot, like breathing, it's not conscious it's just living. Regulus has never understood how people know when to leave a conversation, what the right response is, what his face should look like, how to pace his bites, how to laugh even if he doesn't find something funny, when to initiate physical contact or stay away. Regulus doesn't know how to eat without thinking, how to say what's on his mind without offending someone, or the proper procedure for joining a group conversation without being awkward about it. It's all difficult for him, it all takes conscious thought, too much thought, and despite that, he always feels like he's doing it wrong.
"Oh please, you've been the top of your class in potions since like, year three. Slughorn gave him personal access to his stores for extra credit, and lets Reg make the potions for the hospital wing," Sirius says, scooping up a spoonful of curry and giving his brother a look.
Bite for bite. Regulus picks up his own spoonful and takes a bite at the same time Sirius does, hoping nobody notices or finds it weird. It's an odd thing that helps him think a little less, if he paces his bites with someone else, then he doesn't have to worry about people thinking he's eating too fast or slow. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but Regulus finds himself relieved for a guide now, especially for an occasion where it was so important for him to make a good impression. To not appear weird, or broken.
"Year two, actually," Regulus corrects a little smugly, unable to help it. The food is great, spiced and rich, a perfect balance of lighter, flakier sides with heavier dishes. The calculator in his head awakens, but he's getting better at ignoring it, trying to focus on the flavors instead. Sirius taps his foot under the table and gives him a secret smile, good job.
"That's incredible, Regulus! Top of your class as only a second year, I was still fumbling about and making poisonous concoctions by then," Monty says jovially.
"Flea made his partner's cauldron explode once," Effie says, eyes glinting with amusement, "Much like our James, he was a bit of a menace in and out of class. I actually recall that happening more than a few times."
"Well that was on purpose," Monty says proudly, "You see, my partner was quite enamored with Effie, always trying to talk her up during class since she was at the table behind us. I was not a fan of his in general, but especially when he was flirting with her, so every now and then, I'd put something in his cauldron when he wasn't looking to distract him."
Sirius barks a laugh, "That's absolutely something James and I would do."
Another measured bite timed with Sirius', not too much on his spoon, he doesn't know all the ingredients, so he can't count anyway, but he wants to, his brain is trying to. Regulus focuses on the conversation and tries to ignore the coiled anxiety in his gut, ready to strike and pull him into a meltdown.
"It's his own fault really," Monty says with a conspiratorial smile, "Potions is such a precise art, can't lose focus for a second. Besides, while he was distracted with his cauldron exploding, I was able to catch the eye of the beautiful woman sitting behind me."
"Always vying for my attention, weren't you?" Effie says sweetly. "Relentless, no matter how many times I tried to ignore you."
"James is absolutely your son," Regulus says with conviction and a shake of his head, a small, pleased smile gracing his face when everyone laughs. "He was constantly flirting and showing off during quidditch, nearly got his head taken off by a dozen bludgers because he was always distracted, Frank was always yelling at him to stop ogling at Black and get your head in the game!"
"Couldn't help it," James says with a saccharine, lovesick smile, "I always loved the crowds at matches, cheering and chanting and watching me, but when you were on the pitch, I only ever cared about you watching me. What you were thinking and if you were impressed by me."
"Gross, do we have to talk about this whileI’m eating?" Sirius says with a wrinkled nose, and Effie swats him on the arm playfully.
"Don't pretend you're much better, Sirius, I remember just how bashful you were around Remus that year the boys came for Christmas," Effie chides lightly, making Sirius splutter.
"I was never bashful, that's more of Reg's thing, I was cool and collected, thank you."
Regulus kicks him under the table, and Sirius sticks his tongue out in response.
"If that's how you choose to remember it, that's fine, love," Effie says, "But I remember the way you would look for his approval every time you told a joke, or brought out a new vinyl. Your entire world revolved around him before you really seemed to realize it. And oh, when he showed you that little earring he got on boxing day I thought you would pass out."
"I remember that," James says with a laugh, "He climbed into my bed that night, and he just kept saying, an earring, Prongs, an earring! He's trying to kill me, he's doing this on purpose. He refused to look at Remus for the rest of holiday."
Sirius groans, "None of that ever happened, this is defamation of character and I will have you know the Blacks have a very powerful lawyer."
The table laughs and they fall into companionable silence as they continue to eat, Regulus relaxing into the rhythm of it, methodically clearing the little piles on his plate. Sometimes eating is very easy, almost thoughtless, like when he's really tired or really hungry, or really engaged in something else. Most times it isn't, but he's healthier than he's been in awhile, despite the effort it takes, he's proud when he manages clear his plate.
"Is the food alright, Regulus?" Effie asks simply, and Regulus comes to a screeching halt, spoon halfway to his mouth.
Immediately, he's worrying that he did something wrong, gave some indication that he didn't like it, or wasn't grateful. Suddenly they're looking at him and he's eating and they're watching. He doesn't know what his face looks like, but James drops a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly, and Regulus lowers his spoon with a warm face, feeling ashamed, though he doesn't know why.
That's the problem, eating has always felt shameful for him, it's just food, there's no morals attached, or so Sirius tells him. But Regulus thinks about his mother and her sharp fingers poking at his ribs, his father's snide comments about the sugar quills Regulus loved as a kid, Bellatrix and Narcissa talking about skipping meals close to events so they could fit into their corsets, telling Regulus that respectable heirs don't eat like this or that, that he must watch his figure so he does not appear glutinous or lazy. With a family so concerned about looks, his body was always up for discussion, just as Sirius' was, and Bellatrix and Narcissa, new diets and restrictions and good foods and bad foods.
They were always looking at him, and he knew they were thinking about his body, the way he carried himself and what he ate, how fast or slow, they were always watching and judging. Regulus looks down at his plate and finds it mostly cleared, and glances at Sirius' and finds that his plate is still half full and it makes him spiral. He was so carried away that he took bites without Sirius, and the Potters were watching, they were thinking about his body, they were judging him, and this was their first impression and oh god, Regulus was so—
"Reg?" Sirius prompts, worry evident in the slope of his frown, and Regulus looks away from his plate but won't look him in the eye, he doesn't want to see the judgement written on his face, glutinous, disrespectful, shameful.
James is still squeezing his thigh, in pulses like he's trying to draw Regulus away from that spiraling staircase of thoughts that always manages to take him over, like he knows what happens when Regulus reaches the bottom. And he would, Sirius is not the only one who's pulled Regulus off the bathroom floor over the years.
Regulus takes a breath and tries to smile, tries to wrangle his thoughts enough to respond normally, "Sorry, yes, the food is wonderful, thank you. You must've put so much effort into it, an—and it's really great, Effie."
The table is so quiet, everyone has stopped eating, and they're all watching him, and the thoughts spiral and spiral, he's being weird and he doesn't know how to fix it, how long were they watching and how much did they see him eat when he was focused on the conversation and what were they thinking and what if he's bloated and how embarrassing—
"Oh, thank you, love. I'm glad you like it," She smiles at him warmly, and Sirius presses his shoe against Regulus' and James' thumb rubs his thigh and Regulus tries so hard not to show everything on his face. "Now, tell me about quidditch, I hear Slytherin is in the lead this year."
Just like that, everyone resumes eating, but Regulus' thoughts are there to stay. Sirius tries to get him to do bite for bite again, but Regulus pretends not to notice, and shuffles his food around instead, feeling too full and so guilty for it. The conversations move on without him, and Regulus does not jump in anymore, but he answers as enthusiastically as he can muster when he's spoken to directly, his attention split between a good impression and his screaming thoughts, and the rest of the night passes quickly.
James goes home with them, even though he could stay at his parents for the night, and he doesn't say it, but Regulus knows it for his sake. Regulus doesn't speak on the drive home, but his legs jump up against his will, and his fingers trace an anxious pattern on his knee over and over.
He's nauseous, he's full, and he hates the feeling so viscerally, wishes desperately he could tear out of his skin so the sensation can't sit with him anymore, making him feel so weighted. It's so easy for the temptation to come, it always is, the briefest thought, a comment or a look at his plate, brings up the feeling. It takes nothing because the temptation sits under his skin and waits for the trigger, waits for a good reason, for any reason to convince him to purge. When they make it to the flat, Regulus tries to make a beeline for the bedroom, but Sirius catches his arm, lip trapped between his teeth as he scans Regulus' face.
"Reg, just— keep the bathroom door open, alright?" Sirius says it gently, treading lightly because he knows Regulus, he knows the signs, he knows how this goes.
Regulus opens his mouth to respond, but his eyes fill with frustrated tears instead, so he gives a curt nod and pulls his arm out of Sirius' grip, heading for his room.
It was nothing really, Effie didn't do a single thing wrong. She asked an innocent question, having no idea what Regulus' brain is like, having no idea how twisted up he was inside. It takes nothing for Regulus to get like this, years of judgmental looks and comments play on a loop inside his head often, and he has an active enough imagination to imagine looks that aren't there, to read between lines that aren't intended.
The problem with addiction is that the craving doesn't go away, no matter how healed you are, and despite knowing exactly what the end result will be, Regulus can hardly find it in himself to care. He's always repenting for something, eternally repenting for things he cannot control, for taking up space, for not knowing how to be a person, for having a difficult mind.
He hears James and Sirius talking quietly behind him, but he ignores them, shucking off his clothes and putting on his pajamas. He sits on the end of the bed and stares at the adjoining bathroom, debating with himself, always debating with his addiction. Whenever he starts listening to the points his addiction makes, he starts losing the battle, he believes it, every time. He wants to brush his teeth and wash his face, but he knows if he heads for the bathroom now, with his stomach churning and the burn of shame in his chest, he'll hit his knees before he can process what he's doing. He's been so good lately, so he sits on the bed and he debates, and he aches and wants.
After a few minutes, James comes in, his eyes shooting to the bathroom first, because he knows Regulus as Sirius does, and it makes Regulus hurt, the way his shoulders release their tension when he realizes the bathroom is empty. He shuffles over, dropping a kiss on Regulus' head before turning to take off his clothes too.
"That wasn't too bad, was it? My parents can be a lot, but they clearly thought you were brilliant," James says conversationally, pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room. Regulus is the elephant, his addiction and disease is the elephant, his shame and his inability to be normal is the elephant.
Regulus only opens his mouth when he's sure words will come out and not a scream, his nails dig into his thigh because he wants so badly, so desperately to not have the mind he does, he wants so badly to have the dignity to not fall to his knees and expel everything he's eaten.
"Yeah, they're great," He says shortly, his throat tight, maybe it was burning with acid, maybe he was imagining it.
James glances at him over his shoulder, peeling his socks off and throwing them in the hamper by the closet, "You charmed them, I reckon they'll insist you come along every time I visit now."
"That's good," Regulus says absently, eyes drifting to the bathroom every few seconds.
James sighs, sitting next to him and taking the hand currently clawing at his thigh, rubbing circles into his palm, "Tell me how to help you, lovely."
That hurts too. It always does, the care James offers him, the kindness cuts and soothes in equal measure. Regulus' throat tightens around the want he cannot put words to, how could he explain to someone so normal and easy that Regulus is constantly punishing himself, feels the need to punish himself, can never get enough of punishing himself. It's all so big, it's all so impossible, and he is choking on all of it, while his loved ones choke on their inability to help him, and Regulus laments that he hurts them even when he's fighting, just by struggling not to give in, it hurts them because they cannot fight his thoughts for him.
James takes his silence in stride, squeezing his hand a murmuring a quick, "I'll be right back, don't move," He returns with a glass of water, sitting next to Regulus again and handing it off, "Drink some water for me, lovely. I know you're fighting it, and we're so proud of you, you did so well tonight, and you've been doing so well lately. It's okay that it was hard, what matters is you're fighting, and we're so so proud of you."
Regulus takes a shuddering breath, shaky when he raises the glass to take a sip, feeling a little less overwhelmed as the cool water slips down his throat. After a few quiet minutes, Regulus sipping his water, and James rubbing between his shoulder blades, he finds his words enough to ask, "Did they think something was wrong with me? I tried to be as normal about it as possible, but then, I ate too much and realized they were watching, and I couldn't hide it."
"No, no, you were perfect. You didn't eat too much, and they weren't watching you, lovely, not like that. You ate what you needed to fill your stomach, and that's all that matters, nobody noticed or thought anything different, I promise."
"It feels like I—" Regulus waves his hand, searching for the words, "I feel so guilty, I wanted so badly to be good."
"Oh, baby you're so good, you were good," James says, understanding, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck, earnest brown eyes like his father's. "There's nothing wrong with you, you did nothing wrong, and you don't need to punish yourself for anything."
"I don't know what to do, how to make it stop," Regulus chokes, setting down his glass to scrub at his face, to press at his eyes until stars burst behind them, desperate for pressure, for pain, for release.
James gives him a moment before tugging his hands down and pulling him into a tight embrace, Regulus' head tucked under his chin, "It always passes, baby, it's not forever. We'll just sit here until the urge passes, and we'll go to bed when you're ready. We can sit here for hours if you need, I've got the time, and we can invite Sirius in to annoy us, too, and before you know it, it'll be over. It'll pass like it always does."
Regulus scrunches his eyes closed and lets himself be held and rocked, lets the words sink into his skin and try to soothe the roaring thoughts and temptations and all the things that take up far too much space inside him. James' hand slips under his shirt and his warm hand traces little stars all over his skin, and they sit and wait, tangled together, Regulus silent and James whispering soothing words.
As quick as temptation can rise to the surface, it can be just as quick to fade again, if you have the will to fight, to wait it out. Nothing lasts forever, not even the relentless things that haunt us, that chase us and insist we listen and bow down to the fear of it all. If you wait it out, you allow calm to catch up to you again, and joy eventually, and when your favorite person laughs at a joke you've made, you'll realize nothing feels quite as bad anymore, nothing as permanent.