Reintroduction
Stars. He was seeing stars. He had to be because the person before him wasn’t real. Can’t be real—a figment of his imagination he’s seen so many times before. Yet, when he reaches out, he can touch him, feel him. He can feel his heart racing. Can feel how his hands are cold, like always. He can see his crooked, wry smile. He can hear his shallow, uneven breaths. But he doesn’t understand how. The person in front of him, Reggie, is- was dead. How can he be here now, letting James touch and breathe him in? Allowing the memories to flood back, colliding with James' psyche like a kilonova, unstable and bound to explode, leaving a path of wreckage in its wake as it devours anything that dares to come near it. The memories consume him. These moments bring him back to a place he hasn’t been in…he can't even remember how long. “Reggie?” he breathes out, his breath light as a feather. Almost like he’s afraid that he’ll disappear if one wrong move is made, if one word is spoken too loudly or harshly or wrongly. It’s a question because he doesn’t believe his eyes, doesn’t trust his nerves, and has long since learned to despise his memory. So this can’t be real, yet Regulus responds anyway.
“James,” he breathes out, almost sounding relieved. Or like he’s been holding in a breath he can finally let go of. It’s just one word. One single word. Yet it sends James’ mind flying, swirling with everything they used to be. Everything they could be again. Just given a slight chance, a sliver of hope with Regulus standing before him, and his heart flutters with possibilities, with new infinities.
So, he utters the one question that he’s terrified of. The question that could tear his reality, and most likely his sanity, right out of his hands. He’s spent so much time grasping at the straws of his reality, planting new seeds of sanity into his heart and nursing them into a flowering garden, just for a new blaze to come and burn his carefully curated garden into cold, dark, lonely ashes. Yet, he musters up his courage and asks anyway because, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he craves the burn when it comes from the touch of Reggie. He would become a black hole, throwing away his existence at any moment if it was for Reg. “Are- are you real?”
He prays for the right answer. It may seem like he’s trying to grasp a cloud or touch the stars, but he wants to hear it anyway. That single word, the uttering of a life they could’ve had. A yes; that’s all he needs.
“Oh Jamie, no. Not in the way you want me to be.” His heart drops. Of course, he should have expected this. He should have never let his hopes climb that high. Because everyone knows that you can’t grasp clouds, and the stars will burn you down any chance they get. He feels like Icarus during his fall, crashing back to Earth at a deathly pace, counting the few moments until he feels the impact and his time of death comes. But it never does. Because he’s not Icarus, and he’s not dying today. His feet never left the floor, let alone got high enough to reach the sun.
So he gathers himself, forces himself to look straight into his past lover's grey eyes, and asks a question that he thinks is simple. “But why? After all these months of me finally starting to find myself again and finally starting to be happy again, why are you here? Why now?”
Reggie sighs. He meets James’ gaze and shakes his head. It’s subtle, so subtle that James almost doesn’t see it. But he had loved this boy for 9 years, so, of course, he saw it. “Go back to sleep, James. I can’t tell you now. Maybe someday, when our stars align again, but not now. Now, you need sleep.”
James shakes his head and opens his mouth to object, but Reggie is too quick to interrupt. “No, James, go back into your bed. Lay down. I must leave.” Reg backs out of the room after laying a soft kiss on James’ forehead. As the door closes, James sighs. He looks down and crawls back into bed. James tries his best not to let his mind wander; he tries his best to go to sleep like Reg said, but he can’t help it. Reggie had always been meticulous with every word said; every single one thought and planned until all possibilities had gone through his head. So, of course, James could not stop thinking about how Reggie, his Reggie, James’ Reggie, had said the word when and not if.
☀️—————————————☀️
James could not stop thinking of him. Days had passed, almost an entire week had passed, but he couldn’t get Regulus out of his mind. It felt suffocating. He had finally started getting better, and now he was right back to where he was 4 years ago after Regulus’ death. He couldn’t sleep; he could barely close his eyes without seeing him, missing him. He knew none of it was real; it couldn’t have been real. Although, that fact doesn’t make it any easier to force the memories from flooding back. Nor does the fact that James had walked into his apartment at 10 o’clock after a late day of work to find Regulus playing the piano that James still had. James didn’t know how to play; he didn’t even want to learn, but it was Regulus’, so he couldn’t get rid of it. At this moment, though, he wanted to burn it to force the memories away. He didn’t understand how he could hear the music, how he could hear Regulus humming along to it, or how he could see Regulus, how he could reach out and touch him…no, not just touch him, how he could feel him. Feel his touch burning into his skin like the star he was named after.
Fuck; all of this might just kill James all over again.
He approached Regulus hesitantly, but once he finally got to be standing behind him, watching his hands move gracefully over the keys, Regulus stopped. “Sit with me. I can show you how to play something.” James sat, he doesn’t know why he didn’t force himself to leave and to push this illusion away, but he sat. He had always wanted Regulus to teach him something. In fact, James had used to beg Reggie to teach him something. He thought it would be fun. It seems to him that Regulus finally will, even if it is just pretend. Even if none of this could possibly be real, he so dearly wishes that it was real that he ignores that fact and decides to simply sit and allow Regulus to show him a song. He lets Regulus cover his hand with his own and guide his fingers over the keys to correct the mistakes James had made. He let Regulus take over as he gave up and decided just to sit and listen. He loved listening to Reggie play the piano, it was something Reggie loved, and therefore James loved watching him do it. He always seemed so at peace while he played. James wished that he could see Reggie like this every day without having to remind himself that it wasn’t real.
☀️—————————————☀️
When James woke up that morning, he had convinced himself that everything last night was a dream. He had not seen Regulus, he had not talked to Regulus, he had not spent half the night thinking about the occurrence, and he had definitely not woken up to his dead lover standing at the end of his bed. No, none of that had happened. Because it can’t have happened. Regulus is dead, and James is alive alone. James refused to believe any second of that dream was real. Even if he hadn’t had dreams of him in weeks or had barely thought about him for days, this was just a coincidence, a setback. His therapist told him there would be setbacks, and this was one of them. It was just one dream. One single dream.
So why can’t he get it out of his head; the memory of him meeting his eyes, touching him, holding his hands in his after all this time, wishing they could be more once again yet knowing they can’t? He knows none of it is real, so why won’t it escape his thoughts? He just wants Regulus out of his head. Maybe a distraction will help? Yes, a distraction should do nicely. So James calls his friends to invite them to the bar. He needed a good distraction and a drink, and someone new sounded perfect.
So he met his friends at the bar, having a good time and drunk; he was in the bathroom making out with some boy he didn’t know. He was pushed against the stall wall, and the boy kissed his neck. James was enjoying himself, which he hadn’t done in so long. This is why he gave in when the boy started pulling off his shirt; in hindsight, it might have also been the alcohol. James didn’t care, though, because he wasn’t thinking of Regulus. That is until he accidentally moaned Reggie and not… whatever this boy's name was. James had thoroughly freaked after that. “I- I’m sorry. I- uh- stop, stop,” James demanded, pushing the boy away. But the boy returned and tried to kiss him again, trying to pull at his belt. “Fuck, I said stop!” James snapped, he shoved the boy, and the boy slammed into the wall across from James.
“What the fuck?” the boy said; at least, James thinks he did. James doesn’t fully know. He was too busy grabbing his shirt off the floor and leaving the bathroom. Suddenly, everything felt small and insignificant. It was like James had tunnel vision, and he couldn’t find Sirius, or Peter, or Remus. He couldn’t find them, and he needed them. He was drunk and wanted to leave, so he needed them. He needs them. Where the fuck are they?
James felt like he had walked that entire bar before finally finding Remus. “Rem, we have to go.” Remus gave him a questioning look. “I want to go home now,” James said, explaining but not answering.
Remus didn’t question him. He nodded and went to get Sirius and Peter, who were doing shots together. He pulled them away from the bar and paid the tab before returning to get James. “Ready?” Remus asked. James nodded, and they left.
Once back home, James had gone to grab something to eat; he was stressed and starving. He doesn’t even bother turning on the light before opening the fridge. To his surprise, though, he walks right into someone. He panics and immediately starts to reach for something, anything, to stop this intruder, but then the light is flipped on, and he stops in his tracks, holding a wooden spoon over his head. “Reggie, oh my god, you scared me. What are you doing in my kitchen? Shouldn’t you be at home?” He goes to hug him as he talks, but Reggie steps back.
“You’re drunk.” It’s not a question; it’s an accusation. Reggie’s mad, but why? James didn’t understand what was wrong with him having a couple of drinks with his friends.
James starts to say something, but he doesn’t fully know what. He isn’t thinking, just speaking. He can’t even process the words his mouth is spewing. “James. Jamie. Jam- Goddamn it! James, stop talking,” Reggie spat, starting to sound very angry at James. James froze, just standing there with his mouth open like a fish. He couldn’t care less, though; he was too hyper-focused on Reggie’s hands on him. It wasn’t in a romantic way; Reggie’s hands were just on his shoulders, trying to get him to stop talking and pay attention to Reg. Yet, that didn’t matter because Reggie hadn’t actually touched James since before he died. Before everything fell apart. Reggie sighed, “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
James’ eyes widened, and he shook his head in horror, “What? No. I don’t want to go to bed. I want to stay here with you. I want you, not sleep. No, no, I don’t just want you. I need you. I need you like the sun needs the moon. I need you like water, I- I want you like Icarus wanted the sun. I don’t care how much it hurts. Just don’t leave me. Please. Please just don’t leave again. Pro- promise you won’t leave me again.”
James was begging; he knew that. He knew he was trying to grasp water as it slipped from his hands. He knew it was irrational to get angry when the water wouldn’t stay in his grasp like ice. He knew he didn’t deserve to be mad when he was expecting Reggie to be something he wasn’t: something he used to be. The boy in front of him was different, changed. And in an ever-changing universe, Reggie had left him behind instead of bringing him with, like they used to promise. Reggie had ridden the waves, while James was just desperately grasping onto a rock, trying to stay afloat. It wasn’t Reggie's fault James couldn’t swim, nor was it James’ fault that Reggie had been given floaties while James was left to suffer.
Reggie sighed, “Come on, Chéri. Let’s get you to bed.” Reggie took his hand to bring him to bed, but James didn’t move. He wouldn’t say anything, either. He knew if he did, he’d ramble again, and he didn’t want to ramble; he didn’t want to scare Reggie away. He never wanted him to leave; he doesn’t want him to leave again now. Reggie looks back at him, and his gaze softens when he meets James’ eyes. “I promise, Chéri. Please, can we go to bed now? You’re drunk; you need some sleep.”
James sighed. He didn’t want to sleep. Sleep meant Reggie would leave again. He can’t leave again. But he promised he wouldn’t, so maybe James should just do as he says. But he also promised he’d stay, yet he left. No. He didn’t leave. He died. He’s dead. Reggie is dead. Regulus Soran Basile is dead. This isn’t real. So James should probably go to sleep. Yeah, he needs to sleep. But why doesn’t he want to? Why does he want to stay in Reggie’s arms, listening to him hum, talk, or just breathe…like they used to? Why, after all this time, do things need to be so fucked up? Why is he here?
Regulus took his hand; James was lost in thought, so he didn’t fully register it. He only knew because suddenly, he felt heat crawling up his arm. This heat exploded within his whole body as Reggie helped him change into shorts and let him settle into the bed. The heat grew even more as Reggie climbed into the bed and pulled James into his arms; he stroked his hair, which made it even messier than it always seemed to be. James fell comfortably into his touch and quickly let sleep take him over. He drifted off to sleep, momentarily forgetting that this wasn’t real. He let himself remember the good things, the small moments in bed, listening to him play the piano, cooking for him, everything he held near and dear to his heart. It was all back, real. It was no longer a past tense. It had never been a past tense. At this moment, as James fell asleep in Reggie’s arms, it just was.
But then James woke up. Reggie was gone, and he came crashing back to reality at painfully high speeds. It angered James, but perhaps for all the wrong reasons. He was angered that Reggie broke his promise. He used to never break his promises. He shouldn’t be so angry that he woke up without Reggie beside him; of course, he would; all of it was a dream. Yet, he still was so angry because Reggie wasn’t there and he was hungover, and Reggie promised to stay to take care of him. He hadn’t; Reggie had left was dead. James forced the anger down; he took some deep breaths and chugged the glass of water he kept next to his bed at all times. He then went to the kitchen. He wanted breakfast; he paused when he got there, took a step back, felt his heart plummet to the ground then do leaps in his chest then fill with rage. He felt a million things all at once because when he walked into the kitchen, there was a glass filled with the hangover drink Reggie always made, a plate with eggs, his meds sitting on the edge of the plate and a note written in Reggie’s perfect handwriting.
Anger flooded through him, but he also felt hope. Right here, in front of James, was physical proof that this last month was real. Regulus was real; every new moment with him was real, and maybe that meant he finally had his Reggie back. Except, it also meant that everything he thought of the past four years was a lie: fake. He felt betrayed.