thunder
James doesn’t expect Regulus to be scared of thunder. They live in England, and it’s rained a thousand times before. Surely if Regulus were afraid of thunder, James would know about it by now.
“Reg, baby, dinner is ready,” James calls up the stairs of their new flat. They’ve just moved in together, and the place is still not quite theirs. They’re working on pictures, on pieces of art and little knick knacks that scream James and Regulus.
It’s a Wednesday, which means it’s James’ day to cook. He’s dramatic about it, wears an apron and puts his too-long hair in twin pigtail sprouts on his head. Regulus thinks it’s ridiculous, but that’s why James does it.
He’ll do anything if it makes Regulus laugh.
When there’s no answer from upstairs, James calls again. A clash of thunder, and he worries maybe Regulus answered him but he didn’t hear it. Rain beats against the windows of their flat, relentless.
Concerned, James pads up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom.
“Reg?”
A muffled sound from their closet. It’s a walk-in, but not ostentatiously large. James opens the door to find Regulus sitting on the floor amidst a pile of clean laundry, arms around his shins, knees pulled up to his chin.
He looks up at James with startled gray eyes, and even though they’re in their late twenties, he looks small. Terrified. A child in an adult’s skin.
James drops to his knees in front of Regulus and grips his ankles. “Reg, love, what’s wrong? What is it?”
“Thunder.” Regulus rests his chin on his knees. “I don’t like the thunder.”
“Why—?”
“Once, when Sirius and I were very little, Mum did her worst during a really bad storm. I don’t even remember why.” He rubs absently at his left arm. “Sirius had to take me to the hospital. I think a neighbor drove us. We told them I fell out of the tree while playing.”
James swallows around the lump in his throat.
“Anyway, I think our neighbors all knew it was a lie. But no one had the proof.” Another boom of thunder, and Regulus flinches. “Not a fan of the loud noise anymore. I wasn’t expecting it and I—I’m sorry. I dropped all of the laundry.”
“It’s fine, love. It’s just laundry.” James settles on the floor and pulls Regulus to him. Opens his legs and lets Regulus settle between them, back to James’ chest. James runs his fingers through Regulus’ hair, a gesture he knows always soothes him. “She’s not going to hurt you again. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“And I’ll protect you. From the thunder and everything else.”
“I know.”
James kisses the curve of his neck. “I made pasta. Do you want me to bring you a plate? We can eat it here, if you want.”
“That feels ridiculous.”
“But you feel safer here, right?”
Regulus doesn’t respond, which is answer enough for James.
“Alright. Give me a minute to go grab us two plates.”
James is quick about it. He makes two plates of spaghetti, tucks a bottle of wine under his arm, and heads back upstairs in record time. He kicks at the clothes that litter the floor until there’s space for them to sit cross-legged across from each other, knees touching.
Regulus flinches every so often, but James is quick to lean over and kiss him, to ground him back in their little walk-in closet. They talk, and they eat, and they drink, until eventually the thunder stops and the storm passes.
That night, when they crawl into bed, Regulus whispers, “Thank you. For tonight.”
James reaches for him and thumbs his cheekbone with a smile. “No need to thank me, love. There’s no one else I’d rather eat spaghetti in a closet with.”