Prelude To Ecstasy
Go get us some new record, they said.
Blondie might cheer Barty up about Evan going away for two months, they said.
But no, of course they would not say 'Go to the record store, you might find James Potter', because out of all the people Regulus might see on his only weekly outing , the young man did not think he would have to see those stupid glasses and curls. And the smile too was stupid, it was a big part of the act, the sexy but normal people-ish rock band act. He could recognize James Potter, and any detail about the man really quickly, as following closely whatever his brother was doing had become a weird habit of Regulus. He would buy most magazines in which Sirius seemed like the front man of the band and had all of their vinyls at home. He never touched, too scared to break the delicate fabric which held hours and hours of work. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but sometimes the little pile of records felt heavy, he felt highly aware of its presence and the lyric sheets of the albums. Some part of him was scared that Sirius had sung about him in a way that would be too true for Regulus to handle. He pushed back those thoughts, labelling them as narcissistic but deep down, he knew he wasn't wrong, such trauma would make a lot of money for artists and Sirius probably liked the idea of badmouthing on their parents and making money out of it. The bastard had practically invented Walburga and Orion bashing that Regulus had been rigourously practicing the last few years. But he could not tell that to Sirius, ever. It would mean a lot of things from starting simple conversations to tougher ones, ones which held too much meaning for Regulus to be comfortable about it. That's why he was watching from far, celebrating his brother's victory in a distance and that's also why he recognized Sirius's band mate and best friend James Potter the moment he spotted his jean vest. And now, Regulus could not ignore the obvious staring the other boy seemed to maintain. His glare felt as if someone was reading over his shoulder : it was annoying and weirdly very loud. Weighing the karma of the situation, he thought he would at least make some fun out of it, and when he saw the discreet boy peering over classic records, he saw his chance, walked confidently towards his stalker and decided everything could start with clearing his throat.
- Oh hi hello! blushed James, dropping the record he was taking, the record being the perfect opportunity for Regulus.
- You should not take it, the younger one said pointing at the pink vinyl.
- I like the colour, retorted quickly James.
- Sure, but it's shit.
- Right, chuckled James, I mean i've listened to it and the colours are the only good thing, it's like utter shit, right?
- It's mine, grinned Regulus, proud of his big 'fuck off' move towards karma.
- What?
- It's my record, see that's my name, he said while pointing at the little black letters that spelled out his name on the bottom, I'm the professional musician who made this utter shit, explained Regulus in the most neutral tone he could. And then he walked out of the store, making a mental picture of how stupid James Potter had looked. Weirdly, it was really satisfying to know that Sirius's best friend since 10, and The Marauders's drummer, the one and only James Potter, was utter shit at flirting.
Not a lot of things made Regulus Black happy. Humiliating people elegantly did. It left a sweet taste in his mouth, which was fastly ruined by remembering that, one, he had in fact not bought a record for Barty, and two, he had spoken to James Potter. The first issue was something he could get away with, as he immediately decided to travel accross town to buy one. The second issue, by its own nature, could not be resolved. Regulus was a bitter man, and his mood depended a lot on the people he came accross during a day. James Potter, whom he slightly hated, would not put him in a good mood. As he was walking towards another music shop, he had decided (quite solemnly) that he had ruined his day. Though he didn't entirely hate him, a part of him was glad that his brother had found friendship in James and a way to escape their hell family, he was the type of person that fit well outside of Regulus's life. He had no right to know him, to know the way his voice sounds on a Tuesday morning, the constant smell of coffee emanating from him, the clothes he owned and wore, and especially not the music he made. It felt like being seen, it felt like ruining his life. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn't, and that thought stuck to him. Nothing would happen, and even if it did, Regulus would not let James Potter matter in his life.
There was something empowering in that decision, and there was also something empowering about going back to his place and opening his door to see Evan and Barty pressed against one another on his sofa, slowly waking up. They heard Regulus entering the flat and lazily grew apart. That was just how they were, keeping delicate moments for themselves and showing rough edges to the rest of the world. Regulus respected that, he could be the same. Overall, Evan, Barty and Regulus tended to be the same. They had grown together, lost hope and then had found out together that life didn't have to be so miserable. When Regulus had first run away from his family, he had isolated himself. He had spent hours as a child forcing himself to be a certain way, feel a certain way and act a certain way to survive. It had taken him years to feel even slightly normal. He had to learn how convince himself he could have a life of his own, for himself only, without it being the end of world. It had been six years since he had run away from his family house and he would still have days where the internalised void he had forced upon himself to feel would catch him back. Seeing his friends casually greeting him in his flat meant he also saw the efforts he had to put again and again in choosing life rather than the void. Now Regulus knew he was allowed to live, to have friends and have his own apartment and invite his friends to his home if he wanted to or tell them to leave his apartment if he wanted to. He could do both, he had the choice, and that was what mattered most at the end of the day.
After exchanging weak "good morning", Regulus left his friends to get up as he made some cream bagels, coffee and tea. He put out the Blondie record Evan had requested the night before as a parting gift to Barty on the table. Evan was about to leave for two months, along with Regulus and the rest of their orchestra for a national tour playing live video games music. Regulus had slightly winced at the idea, he was a bit of a purist but he secretly loved it. He was particularly excited about playing the live rendition of Stardew Valley's music. He had played that game during his first sleepless nights in university and then the ones in his first flat. He tended to go back to it each time he could not sleep or had to distract his mind for extended periods of time. Evan had had the same reaction, they had complained during their lunch break but also had been the first one to give feedback when the company had asked the musicians what they would like to play. They spent a lot of time together despite not playing the same instruments. Evan played the piccolo and the oboe, alternating depending on what the orchestra needed the most.Regulus alternated between playing the violin, the viola, the cello and the double bass. He figured that the number of instruments they could play was the reason why Evan and he were still employed. They both were deeply grumpy and could not function without coffee. They complained way too much about the artistic choices the company made and had the reputation of being stuck up assholes among most their coworkers. A few of them had warmed up to them like Pandora. She played the horn which she was practically hidden by and had a marching band background that Evan and Regulus could not help but find extremely cooler than their own rigid education. The rest of their coworkers however, disdained them while still being impressed at how truly good musicians they were. Maybe that disdain had grown when Regulus had released his first album last year. He had kept to himself his piano skills, looking at it more as a personal hobby than a skill to monetize off. He had composed over the years, without having a direct goal, a dozen tracks that he had ended up putting together as an album. He had pondered on the title to finally name it 'noyade' which meant drowning in french. He was very proud of it and had signed it as Arcturus. Nothing his family could ever find out he was behind, even if it had the signtature pretentious Black side. The cover was pastel pink, the letters in pitch black. He had worked a while on the aesthetic after signing with his label. It was simple, a bit dark, but surprising. It fit Regulus's ego and its expectations. And he had grown his own fanbase, which was scary. Regulus had now been thinking about going on a tour after the orchestra one, he was in a middle of organizing it with his label. He planned on spending the rest of the year far away from home and the 100th anniversary of the Noble House of Black's most successful archtectural prowess: the Gringotts national bank. If the Blacks were the richest architects and estate owners of the country, Regulus didn't have to witness it. He wanted to be far away from it when the endless interviews and publicities would come.
- Thanks for the bagel, said Barty while grabbing a piece. And the tea. Regulus looked up to see a sleepy Evan following in, and grabbing the coffee Regulus had brew. As the three waited for Evan to finish it to start any conversation, Regulus sat down on one of the chairs and pushed the record towards Barty.
- Thanks, finally Barty as Evan put down the cup he was clutching onto before.
- How was the record store by the way? Evan had politely asked though he was truly asking about how the hell Regulus could have woken up so early on a Tuesday morning without wanting to immediately go back to sleep.
- I made fun of an idiot, Bart snorted and the morning slowly started as he went on to grab the dishes to wash them. And as Evan was taking his shower, Regulus escaped to the balcony to smoke and tap on his own shoulder. If he didn't tell his best friends, then surely James Potter had been an illusion, he hadn't really talked to him and it would not matter.
James had never seen such a beautiful man. That's what he decided the moment he saw the unsettling green eyes and the man owning this gorgeous pair of eyes. Dark curls, sharp face and a weird (slightly scary) aura was emanating from him. James had been looking for a new record. As The Marauders were going back into writing mode after a tour and holidays, James was looking for inspiration. He had this weird superstition though, that if he were to listen to any similar music as the one he liked to make, during the writing and creating process of the album, then the album wouldn't truly be his, but someone else's. With years, he had slightly worked through his paranoid logic and had settled on classical music. It was such a wide genre that the delicate art of mastering instruments and wielding them made him feel grow wings. He could do it, make an album himself, he could be original, he could write devastating lyrics and original sound. He was his own person and had his own talent and skills, which was sometimes hard to remember in a band. So when he caught sight of the pastel pink record among brown vinyl design, he immediately felt called by it. Maybe he was a bit superificial when choosing records, but pink was nice. And then he lost any coherent thought. Because that's what happens when James is faced with beautiful men with beautiful voice, nice clothes, and nice scent. He gets sidetracked and ends up making a fool of himself. As he gets out of the shop, incredibly embarassed but grounded, he realises he bought the record of the pretty man. Ah. James ends up thinking it might be of double help. If the music is as good as the man looked, then he'll make a fucking great album. And if each time he listens to the tracks, he remembers what had just happened, fame might not get to his head. How humbling.
He comes home to his flat, empty and silent. He finds secret peace in the calmness of it all. He knows the next months won't be like this. When making an album, The Marauders always go back to being their 13 year old selves who had no sense of boundaries. They'll sleep at each other's place, put their groceries in each other's fridge, wear any cloth that is near, stay up until 2 am to finish writing a verse. So James takes it all in and tries to appreciate the calm before the utter chaos that will take hold of his apartment for the next few months. He doesn't hate it though. He happens to be a slightly clingy friend with a tendency to be codependent, especially with Sirius. With Peter, he had time to grow that relationship into something more stable over time. They had been friends since childhood and had had hard conversations early on, fights and silences having been overcome in early teenage years. James thinks they're better now. And if Peter happens to be the best guitarist in the world, it's an extra to what he already has. Remus is different, he had been so self-preserving when they had met. Not necessarily shy, just incredibly untrusting of anyone. James, Sirius and Peter seemed like an exception to other people. But they were not, they simply had put the effort to make Remus trust them because Remus was Remus, and that was enough to want to be his friend. He played bass, James the drums, and Sirius could play whatever, sing whatever. They all had long learnt that Sirius's pluridisciplinar education was never unsuprising, both in how wide and dense, and how terribly dark it was. But The Marauders stuck together if anything, played together if anything, lived together. So obviously, their third record had to be fucking insane.