Chapter 8
James sipped his chamomile tea and wondered what Regulus’ drink of choice was. Black coffee, probably. He supposed he’d find out, if Regulus decided to show, but James wasn’t confident that he would. He’d been surprised enough when Regulus had messaged him, and then again when Regulus picked up his call, even if their conversations were brief and shallow.
The bell above the door chimed and James couldn’t believe Regulus had actually shown up. Perhaps he ought to give the man a bit more credit.
Regulus ordered at the counter and sat down across from James, looking around. “Is this a cat cafe?” he asked, his voice betraying nothing about his feelings on the matter.
“Maybe,” James said, smiling. Regulus just blinked at him, but when a fuzzy black cat sauntered up to Regulus and plopped itself in his lap, his expression softened. James wasn’t sure which was cuter, the cat or Regulus. He was whipped.
James was entranced by Regulus’ long, slim fingers when he reached down to stroke the cat’s long fur. “My eyes are up here, Mr. Potter,” Regulus said.
Focus, Jesus Christ!
He cleared his throat and ignored the bright grey eyes watching him like they could read his mind. “I didn’t expect you to accept my offer,” he said and that wasn’t what he wanted to say.
Regulus’ eyes narrowed. “I haven’t, yet.”
“But you’re here.”
“I’m here to hear what you have to say, and so far it hasn’t been worth my time.” Regulus grabbed his jacket from beside him and James’ chest tightened.
His hand darted out to stop Regulus, hovering over his wrist but never touching. “Wait, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Regulus’ glare practically skinned James alive, analyzing him down to the bones. “I do not care for your intentions, Potter,” Reggie growled slowly, and if it weren’t for the cat asleep in his lap, he surely would’ve been out the door.
James took a deep breath, “You gotta talk to Sirius, Regulus,” he said.
Reggie rolled his eyes and dragged a hand through his hair, “If you haven’t fucking noticed, I don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t owe him a goddamn thing, especially not my time.”
James’ mouth opened and closed soundlessly like a fish. Or maybe a frog. “Sirius misses you so much,” he whispered once he’d regained control of his mouth, his voice hoarse. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but just talk to him. Please?”
Reggie’s jaw clenched. “Give me one fucking reason why I should do that, because I can’t think of a single goddamn one.”
James’ answer was immediate: “I’ll never bother you again.”
Reggie blinked. “That’s pathetic, Potter.”
“I’ll, uh,” James’ eyebrows furrowed, “ I’ll get you two ounces of the good weed, even better than the kind Remus gets for his chronic pain.”
“Barty would lose his mind if I showed up to their next smoke circle with two fucking ounces of the expensive shit, not to mention what Evan would do…” Regulus trailed off, seemingly unaware he was talking aloud, and James fought to tamp down the irrational jealousy burning in his stomach.
“By the end of the month?”
James nodded, tracking Reggie’s every move with a victorious smile.
“I’ll think about it.” Regulus said.
“I want to hear you say it.”
Reggie shot him a glare. “I’ll think about it,” he spat, wrinkling his nose.
“Aw, you’ll think about me?” James asked, changing tactics. He smiled wider when Regulus’ hands froze halfway to his coffee mug—black coffee, ha!
They stared at each other soundlessly for a long moment. “I’m certain the nature of my thoughts regarding you is far from the kind you desire,” Regulus said, his even tone revealing nothing. The monotony with which his words were spoken was eerily similar to the first time James met Sirius, caught on the boy’s French accent and wild eyes; Regulus was the opposite of Sirius, though, he wasn’t impulsive, loud, or warm, and James wondered if their differences were the product of the drastically different amounts of time they’d spent in their parents’ house.
And Regulus was angry, it was the first emotion to slip through his careful mask. The moment Regulus opened his mouth on stage, it was immediately clear that the man was nothing if not angry, angry at the world. He was nearly boiling over with it, but the red-hot fury that collected under the man’s facade of indifference was carefully contained—familiar?—and James knew being a Black meant being as stubborn as you were manicured in the face of scrutiny.
James kept returning to the fact that there was no way Regulus had lived the easy life Sirius wanted to believe he did. The degree of anger in Regulus Black’s eyes wasn’t something that formed overnight, it grew and thrived in years of pain and isolation.
Regulus was beautiful, dark clouds, booming thunder, and lightning that never touched down, but from the beginning, Sirius had been harsh ocean currents, crashing waves, and chaotic depth. The sky and the sea battled for the sun, moon, and stars alike where they were doomed to meet, but James knew the horizon was approaching, drawing him in and spitting him back out in a merciless dance.
“This conversation got away from me,” James muttered, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. He wished he could start over.
The cat on Regulus’ lap lept to the floor and he stood, slipping his jacket on. The movement sent a shudder through the younger man’s body and James fought the urge to reach out and steady him.
“Are you okay?”
Regulus rolled his eyes and sighed. “Perhaps you can try this conversation again after the next concert.”
James’ head whipped up and damn those emotionless eyes—“You mean it?”
“Apparently I’ve got a thing for idiots,” he said, head tilting to the side, “but I don’t give third chances.” He was gone before James could collect himself enough to get a word in, and but the older man was positive he wouldn’t’ve said the right thing, anyway.
James shook his head and groaned; as always, the sky reclaimed the sun once more, choking it with thick rain clouds and thunder that screamed Regulus Regulus Regulus—James’ stomach churned with seasickness that refused to fade, even as he made his way to Remus’ house. When Sirius answered the door with dried tears on his face, James felt like a traitor for worrying about the sky when the ocean was at war with itself.
[Regulus POV]
The day of their next concert was not kind to Regulus. Ever since his talk with James, his nightmares had worsened and he was one wrong word from dissociating. It was exhausting, and he knew Barty, Evan, and Pandora must feel like they’re walking on eggshells around him. He hated it—he hated that his brain wouldn’t let him move forward with his damn life, that his body hurt for no good reason, that he couldn’t control his thoughts for the life of him. He just wanted to fucking forget.
The choreography for their upcoming show was their most intricate yet, to the point where they rehearsed twice as much as usual to prepare for each song. Evan and Regulus took shots together before the show, and then the concert began like usual, the audience roaring when Regulus made his appearance. Pandora had decided on a deep green for this particular show, and Regulus had on a forest green dress shirt—half unbuttoned, of course—and another pair of the leather pants he usually wore. His piercings were all in place, all heavy silver hoops except the stud in his tongue—which he could still hear Barty and Evan praising in breathless, raspy voices in the back of his mind.
He was wearing his usual eyeliner and something new that Pandora dusted on his cheeks to apparently make him “sparkle.” In the back of his mind, the quiet part of his brain that was easiest to ignore, he had the sneaking suspicion that his bandmates had seen his flushed cheeks when he returned from the coffee shop with James. They’d been friends long enough to say that Evan, Pandora, and Barty could no doubt see past the thinning veil of anger he felt towards James, all the way to the odd attraction that drew him to the man. And so he’d even let Pandora put mascara on him, though he drew the line at the eyelash curler that looked more like a medieval torture device than anything.
Evan and Barty had also applied eyeliner—as usual—and Barty’s fingers were decorated with a dozen rings. Pandora had bright red lipstick on and the prettiest shirt Regulus had ever seen, all sheer sleeves and lace; he planned to steal it once the show was over.
Everything went as planned, and when Evan played the opening beats of a special addition to their set, the crowd went positively bonkers. All the lights were cut when Pandora joined in, and Regulus quickly abandoned his guitar by the edge of the stage and made his way behind Barty before the lights came back on. When the red lights at the back of the stage flickered on for a fraction of a second, Regulus was gone. They turned off again and Barty shifted to the side so he had Regulus in a dip in one hand and his guitar in the other. The lights flashed on once more and the crowd got louder still, eating up Regulus’ and Barty’s fake romance. The lights shut off once more and Regulus dropped to his knees in front of Barty, back to the crowd, and when the stage lit up, Barty’s hand was in his hair, pressing his head into his thigh.
The lights flashed off one last time and Regulus was behind Barty once more, hands on his chest when the overhead lights flipped on and the song took off. Regulus made a show of touching every inch of Barty while they sang, exaggerating his movements so it looked like he was antagonizing the bassist. Barty’s solo came up, all gruff, enchanting baritone, and Regulus let himself be manhandled to the front of the man before being thrown to the ground on his stomach. Barty crouched down beside Regulus and dragged a hand through his curls, yanking the lead singer’s head up and forcing his back to arch obscenely, similar to how they’d done it in the previous show.
Barty sang the last notes of his crude solo with his head tilted towards Regulus, feigning talking down to him as if Regulus was the scum of the Earth. The audience ate it up, cheering wildly when Barty stood up and kicked Regulus in the face—not actually, obviously. Regulus just turned his head at precisely the right moment, ensuring he didn’t break his nose again so as to save himself from another one of Evan’s famous lectures and a million apologies from Barty.
Regulus curled into a fetal position onstage, exaggerating the heaving of his chest until the song ended and the stage was again plunged into darkness. His hands were already bleeding when he picked up his guitar again, and he smeared the blood from his hands across his lips, under his nose, and on chin so it looked like Barty had broken his nose when he reappeared onstage. Pandora rolled her eyes when Regulus looked back at her. He grinned as wide as he could, leaning hard into the “psychotic masochist” vibe his fans had decided he embodied.
The rest of the show went similarly with no major hiccups, and Regulus acted his absolute heart out until the very end. He was exhausted, covered in blood, and bruised all over when they finally made it backstage, but it felt amazing.
“Just when I thought you asshats couldn’t get any more hormonal on stage,” Pandora muttered, tossing a wet wipe and a box of bandaids at Regulus’ head.
Evan distributed bottles of water to each of them, shaking his head with a tired smile. “Some of those moves looked painful, Reggie. Are you okay?”
Regulus shrugged, aborting the motion halfway through when it jostled his sore ribs. He hissed and pressed his cool water bottle to the already forming bruise. “The second to last shove you do, Barty, the one with your guitar…. You managed to hit me right in the ribs. I didn’t brace myself fast enough.”
Barty’s face contorted into a look of concern. “Shit, Reg, I’m sorry. There’s some ice here somewhere,” he said, traipsing over to the freezer in the corner of the room. He rummaged around for a moment before coming back with three ice packs. Regulus groaned when they met his aching ribs and hips.
“You’re gonna need to do fucking aftercare with the direction this shit is headed,” Pandora teased, settling next to Regulus’ head on the couch he’d claimed. “You did so good, baby. We’re so proud,” she purred, mocking so thick in her voice that, had Regulus the energy, he would’ve punched her in the arm.
Evan snorted and shook his head at them. “If you told high school me that in a few years time I’d be exploring Regulus Black’s kinks in front of thousands of people, I would’ve had a stroke.”
“We’re hardly exploring my goddamn kinks, thank you very much,” Regulus said, refusing to look any of them in the eyes.
Pandora ran a hand through Regulus’ hair, detangling the knots and unsticking the strands that were glued with sweat to his face. His eyes drifted closed, too tired to stay open any longer.
“You have to be more careful, Reggie,” Pandora muttered, tracing his nose with her pinky. “The band is nothing without you.”
Regulus forced even, measured breaths through his aching chest and focused on Pandora’s gentle touch. His thoughts were slippery when pain, sleep deprivation, and alcohol combined in his mind, and memory after memory leaked through the carefully locked drawers he preferred to confine them within. His head was pounding as if the memories were fighting to leap from his brain and create some new hell before him.
He wanted it all to stop, if only for a moment.
[James POV]
The Regulus that took the stage at Anarchists for Entropy’s concert was not the man who’d met him for coffee. He was not the man who held cats tenderly and winced when he stood. He was kicked across the stage with a manic grin, a terrifying vision of pure masochism so utterly different from the version who drank coffee with his pinky up and spoke with a vocabulary far beyond what James’ would ever be.
And god, the Regulus on stage was just as beautiful.
The worst part was that he knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing when he wiped his bloody fingers across his pale skin and stuck a finger in his mouth. Every move of his body, no matter how miniscule, was painstakingly purposeful, and it made James drool like a fucking dog.
He made his way backstage after taking a handful of deep breaths, and the dressing room door swung open when James knocked. He was ushered into a chair just inside the door by a very skeptical Pandora.
“You’re back,” Evan said from Barty’s lap, not appearing particularly pleased at the fact.
James nodded and his eyes found Regulus; the lead singer was on the couch, buried under ice packs, bandages, and bloodied wet wipes.
“Amazing show, of course,” he said. “Are you alright, Regulus?”
Regulus groaned and Pandora swatted his forehead. “He went overboard on the masochism tonight, that’s all.”
James raised an eyebrow. “And this is…aftercare?”
Pandora and Evan laughed. “That’s what I said!” Pandora sang, before sobering up with a glance at the man in question. “He bruised his damn ribs. Probably his tailbone, too.”
“Barty’s fingers aren’t the ones I want to have bruises of on my hips,” Regulus complained, shooting Barty a wink.
Pandora poked his temple. “You choreograph that shit, Reg.”
James snorted and shook his head, offering Regulus a soft smile when the lead singer turned his pitiful glare on James. “May I steal your lead singer? Or is he still needed?”
“Please take him, I’ll actually pay you to take him far away from here,” Pandora said, lacing her hands together in fake-prayer. Regulus slowly maneuvered to a sitting position, jaw clenched tight and his breathing labored.
“Maybe you should go to the doctor?” Barty asked, his worry mirrored on both Pandora’s and Evan’s face. James was sure he had a similar expression.
Regulus rolled his eyes. “This is nothing, Barty. You know that.”
Evan winced, “Reggie, just because you have experienced worse, doesn’t mean you should ignore it.”
James opened his mouth to argue, but Evan’s phone chimed, and the room went silent in an instant. He held his breath, unsure what the sudden tension meant. All eyes were on the drummer.
“Fuck—” Evan hissed, and Barty grabbed the man’s phone before he could fling it across the room. Barty inhaled sharply and tossed the device to Pandora, turning his attention to the man in his lap furiously rubbing his face with his hands.
He grabbed Evan’s wrists in one hand and pressed Evan’s head to his chest with the other hand, murmuring soft words that James couldn’t make out. It was frighteningly intimate, and James was certain he shouldn’t be there.
Pandora’s hand was shaking where it gripped the phone. “Fucking assholes, holy shit,” she breathed, rereading whatever was on the screen. Regulus reached for the device but she just gave him a hard look. “Absolutely not. Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
Their silent staring contest endured until Pandora tilted her head towards James. Regulus nodded wordlessly and his eyes slipped closed.
“Are you all…okay?” James asked, running a hand through his hair.
Barty’s mouth opened but Evan beat him to the punch: “We have one more show here, in my hometown. My parents are giving me shit about performing with these guys instead of visiting. Among other things,” he mumbled, burying his head in Barty’s neck.
“Er—can I…do anything?”
Pandora smiled softly, but her eyes were sad. “You’re making me like you more, James, but we’ve got it covered. Thanks, though.” Regulus nodded in agreement and stood with a shaky breath, and his hand jumped to his side. The groan he let slip through his teeth definitely wasn’t hot—get it together, James thought, time and place!
The lead singer looked back at Evan and the man winked with teary eyes. “Go, Reg. It’ll be good for you to get out a bit.”
James was sure he was in over his head, but he agreed with Evan’s statement nonetheless. He shot Evan an appreciative glance and the watery smirk he received sent heat rushing to his ears.
“Shall we?” He asked, motioning to the door. Regulus’ eyes narrowed but he led the way nonetheless. “Want to go out?”
The dressing room door closed behind them and Regulus turned to face James. “Depends. Are you going to try to talk about my brother?”
“Nope.”
“Are you going to try to get me to talk about my brother?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Then you can take me out to eat.”