Chapter 10
“Should we still do all the scenes we planned on for the show?” Regulus asked, eyeing the eyebags under Evan’s eyes.
Evan nodded, “I want you to. My parents don’t get to control how you guys act.”
Barty mussed Evan’s hair and winked. “You just like watching us, you little shit.”
“Why the hell do you guys always have raging hormones?” Pandora whined.
“We’re adding a song from the Deathly Hallows album to the set, right? The one without Regulus on the guitar?” Evan asked, scrolling through the updated setlist on his phone. “This time we get those fancy face mic things again, didja see that?”
Barty shot Regulus a knowing look. “You’ll get full use of your hands, Reg.”
“And you better make me,” Regulus responded, wiggling his eyebrows with a laugh. They had an elaborate routine planned for the upcoming show, and Regulus was ready . “James is coming again, by the way.”
Evan, Barty, and Pandora all groaned in protest, giving Regulus matching worried looks.
They didn’t talk about what happened last time Regulus was with James, and they didn’t talk about the breakdowns that always seemed to follow their interactions. For better or for worse— for better , Regulus was content to believe—they drew little to no attention to it. And he had no fucking clue what to do about it besides performing his heart out, drinking himself stupid, and fucking older men.
Regulus had gotten maybe twelve hours of sleep in the past week, for every time he closed his eyes, he saw Mother. Or Him. Or any one of the bastards that had used him and abandoned him. He was nearing delirium, and every breakdown pushed him closer to an edge he’d only seen twice before, and the frenzied whirlwind of flashbacks, unwelcome thoughts, and the pain that never seemed to go away pushed him further and further and further.
But he had excellent balance—Mother stuck pins in his heels to train him to walk on the balls of his feet—so he teetered on the edge, making a home for himself before the tremendous view of everything he no longer had to lose.
“Are you ready?” Pandora asked, and Evan gave her a salute.
“Fuck yeah. Let’s show my parents what it really means to be gay,” Evan said, pulling Barty in by his shirt for a kiss. “The dark red outfits are my favorite,” he added, eyeing Barty and Regulus with hungry eyes.
Pandora flicked Evan’s forehead and groaned. “Save it for after the show, I beg you.”
“Are you ready to make James jealous out of his mind?” Barty murmured in Regulus’ ear, grinning like a shark.
Regulus winked, not quite able to get his mouth working. As always, he hung back when the rest of the band took to the stage, waiting for his cue. The opening notes of their first song rang out and he allowed himself a single step away from the edge as music flooded his veins.
In keeping with tradition, they added a new move to their show, one Evan had suggested after a particularly harsh text from his dad. A little over halfway through their set, when the band took a short break to get some water, Regulus walked out to the very edge of the stage.
“Hi, everyone!” Regulus sang, and the crowd erupted. He grinned. “We want to thank you all for coming, and to show our appreciation, we have two surprises!” He dragged out the word “surprise” and plopped down, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the stage.
The fans closest to the stage, contained behind a barricade about a foot from the edge, reached out but none of them got close enough to touch. When the audience quieted down Regulus looked out over the crowd and Jesus, that was a lot of people .
“Before we get back to it, I wanted—did someone just untie my shoe?” He stared down at his undone laces. Laces that were definitely done up into a tight bow seconds ago. “Who the fuck untied my shoe?”
A hand found Regulus’ head and pulled his hair back to look into his eyes. “Good lord, Reggie, you’re a handful,” Bardy complained.
“And a mouthful,” he responded, winking at the crowd. Barty yanked harder at his roots and Regulus inhaled sharply before a sharp smirk took over his face. He stood and pointed to his shoe. “Will you tie it for me, please?”
Barty stared at Regulus, unamused, and sank to his knees to retie the bow. He maintained eye contact the whole time, his face never shifting from its unimpressed glare.
“Good boy,” Regulus said, low and smooth, and as soon as the words left his mouth he knew there’d be clips of it all over the internet by the end of the night. And Barty might end him that night. Worth it .
Barty turned to the crowd and crossed his arms. “What this little shit was trying to say is that we are so happy to be here tonight, and we can’t wait to meet some of you after the show!” They rarely had fan meet and greets, but the particular venue housing this concert had a built-in area for a facilitated fan meet and greets. Might as well , they’d decided.
Their next song started up, a new, slow addition to the set that featured Evan’s vocals, a rare occurrence—Evan could sing just as well as Barty, but he preferred the drums. They’d experimented on a new song that used all of their voices, even a bit of Pandora’s, with no drums—and the song was supported by the keyboard and both guitars. Barty’s voice was low and raspy, Regulus’ was higher and walking the line in between raspy and smooth, and Evan’s complimented them in a gentle, even tone that fused Regulus’ and Barty’s voices perfectly.
The opening chord vibrated through the building and the lights went out. In the darkness, Evan moved from behind the drums to stand beside Regulus. Similar to in their opening song, the lights flashed deep red for a moment, just long enough to illuminate Evan grabbing Regulus’ chin. The lights flickered off again and Regulus dropped to his knees, looking up at Evan like he had dozens of times before behind closed doors. Lights on. Barty stepped up to the pair and his hand found Regulus’ hair, yanking up and back until Regulus’ neck strained. Lights on.
Regulus was on his feet, pinned in between Barty and Evan. Lights on. Barty dropped to his knees, staring up at Regulus, who was leaning his shoulders against Evan’s chest and pouring his heart into the strings of his guitar. Lights on.
The crowd was louder than Regulus had ever heard them, and as Evan’s warm, wide hands directed his hips to the slow beat of the song, Regulus allowed his eyes to close. Though Evan’s voice was higher than Barty’s, he still had a way of sounding unbearably sultry, his words dripping like molasses from lips ghosting over Regulus’ neck and jaw.
After Barty’s guitar portion of the song came to an end, he rejoined them at the front of the stage, wrapping a hand around Regulus’ neck while Evan’s hands traveled down Regulus’ hips. Regulus had to carry the guitar pieces for the rest of the song, and he fought to keep his hands on his instrument, especially when Evan and Barty sang together.
Evan’s part in the song was only the first surprise. Years ago, Regulus had written a song for the band in French. He sang the melody in French, and Pandora came in with the harmonies in English, weaving together in, as Evan coined it, an enchanting experience. They’d put off releasing it partially because they worried it would drive away their primarily English-speaking fans, and partially because French was not kind to Regulus.
“Chambre des Secrets” would be some of the first French Regulus ever sung in public, because he was fine , dammit, and French didn’t make him think of Him, it didn’t .
The French song was reserved for the very end, and Regulus willed it from his mind as the crowd went feral for Evan’s vocals. They went even crazier for Pandora’s soft harmonization, and Regulus wondered what they must sound like from outside the venue.
Before the final song, Regulus approached the edge of the stage, knowing better than to sit again. “We have one song left,” he said, pausing when the crowd roared, “and I need you all to listen very carefully. I have a secret for you,” he said, dropping his voice down to a whisper and marveling at the nearly-instantaneous silence that followed.
An arm snaked around his waist and Regulus was surprised to find the rest of the band next to him. “Yeah, Reggie here has a dirty little secret,” Barty interjected, and Evan elbowed him in the ribs.
“It’s a super duper secret,” Regulus whispered.
Pandora rolled her eyes and sighed, “just spit it out already.”
Regulus schooled his expression into a look of pure, innocent confusion and tipped his head to the side. “But I thought I was always supposed to swallow?”
The crowd must’ve forgotten their vow to be silent, for they erupted with noise. Barty was no better, and his cackling was contagious. Pandora cracked a smile and shook her head.
“You’re incorrigible.”
Evan put his hand over Regulus’ mouth before he could respond. “Regulus has a secret just for you all, to show how much we appreciate you all being here!” He said, not yet uncovering Regulus’ mouth. “Do you want to tell them what it is?” His words were overly patronizing, and Regulus’ cheeks flushed. Evan released him and winked.
“It’s called Chambre des Secrets,” he whispered, following up the words with a salute. The rest of the band matched the gesture and took their places. They were all at their instruments and Pandora led the opening with a rapidfire keyboard sequence, her fingers dancing on the keys. Regulus wished he could watch her play all night.
Regulus let the lyrics he’d pulled from the depths of his brain take him away. The chorus came and Pandora sang it with a stable, steady cadence while Regulus chanted the words like a plea. His cheeks glistened as he sang about the ache of past lives and the years he spent carving out his own heart, one chamber at a time, to feed the rabid dogs that raised him.
The last words rang out and Regulus was on his knees, face towards the ceiling, as if his words could mend some celestial disconnect.
qu'est-ce que tu m'as dit?
‘être bon pour moi’?
A second of utter silence followed the echo of Pandora’s last chord, and then the building fulminated into more noise than Regulus had ever known. It was all-consuming, and it grabbed him by shoulders like a riptide, pulling him beneath the surface.
“Reggie, relax your hands,” Evan said, prying open Regulus’ clenched fists to wrap his brutalized fingertips. They were in the dressing room, somehow, and there were ice packs taped to his ribs and new bandages on his hands.
“That was our best show yet, guys,” Barty announced, settling into a chair next to Regulus. “You guys can all sing so fucking well,” he added, grabbing his husband’s waist when Evan stepped too close. They shared a kiss that Pandora booed from her spot at the vanity.
“We have the meet and greet soon, so fix yourselves up, yeah?” She said, dabbing smeared eyeliner from under her eyes.
Regulus couldn’t move his hands, but he wasn’t sure why. He could feel them— right? —but they wouldn’t move. His chest was heavy, like there was a body pressing into him and he couldn’t breathe and— être bon pour moi.
Être bon pour moi.
Something churned in Regulus’ stomach, and his tongue felt too big for his mouth, too big to swallow around but he had to try anyway, he had to otherwise he’d be forced to, and if it was on his own terms, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly?
Être bon pour moi.
[James POV]
On his way backstage, Pandora caught James' arm and pulled him to the side of the hallway. For a long moment, there was only the sound of Pandora’s heavy breathing, and James’ chest tightened. Pandora ran a hand through her hair and shook her head, finally looking James in the eyes.
“I don’t know you very well, but Remus likes you. So you must be decent.”
James just nodded, not sure what he was supposed to say to that.
Pandora sighed. “Regulus is not fragile, not in a million years, but he’s not okay, James.”
James gaped like a fish, trying to string together a coherent sentence. “Regulus?” He managed, his mind racing, because he knew Regulus wasn’t exactly stable, but Pandora’s eyes were teary and he didn’t peg her for the emotional type.
“You do something to him, I don’t know what, but he’s never the same after he sees you. His eyes are empty and his hands shake,” Pandora whispered, her voice taut with the same overwhelming tension James could feel creeping up his spine. “We can’t lose him, James, and I think you know what needs to be done.”
James swallowed hard. “They need to talk.”
Pandora’s eyes slipped closed and she pursed her lips. When was the last time she’d gotten a good night’s sleep?
“We can’t lose the small piece of Regulus we still have,” Pandora said, her words rough as they caught on all the things sitting unnamed in the silence of the hallway.
She nodded once and disappeared down the hallway, leaving James scrambling to right himself. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and breathed as deeply as he could muster. Regulus .
The dressing room was unlocked when James arrived, and he let himself in. Regulus was laying on the couch in the back of the room. He didn’t acknowledge James’ presence.
“Reggie, can you hear me?” James asked, approaching the man from an angle so as to avoid his blind spots. “The show was amazing,” he said, sitting on the floor beside Regulus’ waist.
“S’fine,” Regulus breathed.
“Do you want to get out of here?” James tried, studying the unfocused quality of Regulus’ eyes and the shallow, too-fast movements of his chest.
“I can’t,” R whispered, silent and explosive.
James was silent for a long moment. Perhaps Regulus had gotten the wrong idea? James wanted to take Regulus out for ice cream or coffee or something, nothing more. “You deserve to have some fun, baby. Let’s go get a treat or something?”
“ I can’t, ” Regulus begged, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. “Don’t make me, please. I can’t do it, I can’t do it anymore,” he sobbed, and James froze. Who was Regulus talking to?
“Regulus, can you hear me? It’s just me here, just James. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Regulus sucked in a breath through his teeth and shuddered. His lips were moving faintly, but James couldn’t make out the words he was mouthing.
“Regulus, you’re in a dressing room after a concert. You’re here with James, Regulus,” he continued, maintaining an even tone.
“ Je n'en veux pas, ” the younger man whispered, “ s’il vous plaît, ” and James could’ve sworn he’d heard that one before, when Sirius was still a teenager and nightmares tormented him in his sleep. James wracked his brain for a solution. What calmed Sirius down when they were kids?
There was a freezer by the wall, and judging by the ice packs on Regulus’ sides, there had to be ice in the freezer. He rummaged around the miscellaneous freezer burnt items until he found a ziplock bag of ice cubes.
Regulus’ fingers were bandaged, so James could place the ice in his hands without worrying about harming the man if the plan didn’t work. He adjusted the ice in the bag and stepped towards Regulus and the younger man’s mouth was open, he was muttering a frantic stream of French and—
“ Sirius , où es-tu? S’il vous plaît, j'ai besoin de toi ,” Regulus whispered.
Sirius?
James nearly dropped the ice in his hurry to find his phone and pull up a translation.
I need you .
His heart dropped to his toes.
How many times had Regulus called for Sirius, only to be met with silence? How many times did he beg Sirius for help that would never come? How many times did he scream for Sirius to come back, to take his little brother with him? How many times had Regulus needed Sirius?
James was aware that Sirius didn’t know what befell Regulus after he left, and James didn’t really know, either, but he couldn’t suppress the anger that spiked through his chest at the thought of the man.
I need you .
And nothing James could say would remedy the gashes cut into Regulus’ flesh by years of betrayal, because it was easy to say he wouldn’t hurt Regulus, that he’d help Regulus through difficult times, that he wouldn’t leave. It was so easy to promise to stay by his side, but what did a promise mean to a man to whom words meant nothing? To a man who believed promises were meant to be desecrated and broken and betrayed because that’s all people had done with his words.
What was James without words? Was he enough cash to cover his date’s meal thrown on the table after a date? Was he the constellation of hickies he painted onto tender flesh? Was he the hug he gave his friend after a child had been left with monsters? Was he a coward for existing for so long without using the words he’d known since grade school?
In middle school, Sirius changed the subject when someone asked about the long, silvery scar across Sirius’ shoulder. “ It isn’t safe there. ”
Preparing for homecoming, Sirius nearly tripped on the hem of his dress and winced, muttering about chronic pain from an old injury. “ It isn’t safe there. ”
At college orientation, icebreakers about siblings were tossed around and Sirius grinned, jabbing a thumb at James when asked. “ It isn’t safe there. ”
The first night, when Sirius stumbled through the door with blood matted in his hair and bruises climbing up his jaw, finally free. “ It isn’t safe there. ”
I need you.