Chapter 2
The next morning, Regulus wakes up painfully early. Eventually he’ll get into the habit of sleeping in here. There are no cars honking outside his window, no trash trucks, no noisy neighbors leaving for their early morning shifts. There are just the birds chittering noisily outside the window in the morning sun, and the occasional creaky floor board or rattling pipe. Luckily, on account of the wine, Regulus didn’t hear James and Henry come in last night, and maybe if that luck carries over into today he’ll be able to avoid them entirely. He has his own last-minute Christmas shopping to do, and anyway, he’s gotten into the habit of trying to get out of the house when he’s here. Wander back through the familiar streets of the village, or drive one town over where the cute little shops draw in winter tourist crowds. There’s a market in the evening that he’d planned to invite Sirius and the lot to, but now that circumstances have changed he thinks he might be better off going on his own.
It’s still dim inside when he climbs out of bed. The sun isn’t up all the way, and nobody has wandered through the halls flicking lights on. Regulus takes his time getting ready, bleary-eyed and hungover. He leaves the bathroom light off and lets it fill up with steam from the shower, ignoring his toiletries in favour of the ones Effie has stocked for him. She’s always replacing them with the seasons. Now, it’s cranberry shampoo and conditioner, a body wash that smells like figs.
The shower is loud, old pipes creaking and water pelting him from all angles. He stands naked under the spray and tries to reason with himself about this whole terrible situation.
Fact: He and James dated several years ago.
Fact: He was the one who did the dumping.
Fact: James is allowed to have a boyfriend, even if that boyfriend isn’t his type at all.
Realistically, he’d always known James would get a partner. For some reason he’d imagined him settling down with a woman, someone traditional and lovely, and then maybe he could blame their falling apart on James not liking men after all (you did the dumping, he reminds himself, pressing his fingers against his eyelids until he sees stars). Henry is a big wrench in the plan he’d made for James inside his own head. He’d also, perhaps stupidly, imagined one of two things. The first being that, by the time James did find someone, he’d also have found someone of his own. He’d be happy, he’d be over him, and they’d go on to laugh about their early-twenties relationship as a funny little blip in their history. Alternatively, and embarrassingly the subject of much of his daydreaming of late, James would date someone drab and temporary, and then they’d both realize they’d made a terrible mistake and find their way back together. He isn’t ready to confront the fact that he’d sort of hoped this Christmas trip would be the catalyst of said reunion.
Downstairs, Effie is busy at the stove, stirring vibrant berries into a pot of oats. The kettle is bubbling merrily away next to her, threatening to scream, so Regulus snatches it off the hob before it can wake up everyone in the house. Her smile is warm when she turns it on him, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Hungry, dear?”
Effie probably should have started hating him after he broke up with her son, but didn’t. Regulus loves her.
She sits him down at the table with a bowl of porridge and a hot cup of tea next to him. This is the sort of Christmas holiday he expected to have, quiet and slow, socked feet bumping against the radiator, indulging in a second spoon of brown sugar in his breakfast, still dressed in his pajamas.
Good things, however, cannot last.
When the floor creaks he hopes desperately for Monty or for Sirius or even Remus by himself. But his luck has run out and around the corner comes James and Henry, both of them already dressed and showered despite their late night out.
Effie turns her beaming smile away from Regulus and toward the two of them. “How about breakfast?” She asks, already dishing oats into two ceramic bowls.
“Sure mum,” James laughs.
Henry makes a bemused noise, watching Effie with raised eyebrows as she plants a kiss on James’ head. When they settle down at the table Regulus hears him say, under his breath, “Your family sure is affectionate, aren’t they?”
James raises one shoulder in a shrug.
The Potters are jarringly affectionate. It took Regulus a long time to adapt to it, but most people don’t come from the sort of affection-free home he and Sirius did, so Henry shouldn’t find it odd.
It’s only then that Regulus notices Effie is already in her going-out clothes, a skirt that falls to the middle of her shins, which are covered in a pair of tall, wool socks James got her last Christmas. “You boys behave,” she says affectionately, circling around the table to give Henry and James both kisses on the tops of their heads, and then she leans across the bench to kiss Regulus’, too.
Without the buffer of Effie, the kitchen descends into uncomfortable silence, just the sound of the furnace chugging away through the vents and spoons clinking on ceramic bowls as they eat. James has never ever been an awkward silences kind of guy, he fills them with something, whether it’s laughter or chatter. Regulus stares resolutely at his bowl, mushing a blackberry up with the flat side of his spoon.
It’s Henry that breaks it.
“So, Regulus.” James looks up sharply. Regulus sees the worry in his expression, there and then gone in a flash, carefully schooled into a grin. “James says you’re a writer.”
Regulus’ nose scrunches up, eyes drifting to James, who smiles guiltily from his seat.
“I was a writer,” Regulus corrects, shrugging. He uses a mouthful of oatmeal to buy himself a moment of quiet. “Now I’m in publishing, YA stuff mostly.”
“Oh,” Henry shoots James a puzzled look. “It seems someone is stuck on your writing career.” There’s a good-natured laugh, the obnoxious scrape of a spoon against his bowl. “We actually bonded over books when we first met. He was scouring one of the bookshops next to my office and when I saw him through the window, I couldn’t resist.”
James’ poor face is so expressive. He’s quick to smile, quick to cry, quick to blush. He’s flushing now, Regulus would normally delight in the way it colours already warm skin all the way to his ears and the sides of his neck.
He fixes his eyes on Henry.
“So, you stalked him?”
Through a startled laugh Henry says, “No, no. I wouldn’t call it stalking. I’d call it… Oh I don’t know, staking a claim.”
“He stalked me,” James deadpans. Regulus can hear the sound of James’ slipper tap-tap-tapping against the hardwood floor, can feel the way the table jiggles with his knee. Henry’s hand disappears under the table and the shaking stops.
“We ran into one another a few times,” James continues, and his expression turns a bit fond and syrupy. “Eventually he got up the courage to ask me on a proper date.”
“That sounds like stalking to me,” Regulus says flatly, attention still on Henry. “How many times did you walk by that bookstore hoping to spot him?”
To his surprise, Henry laughs. It’s a polite, controlled laugh. “So many times,” he admits. Henry isn’t looking at him anymore, turned in his chair to face James.
It’s a total accident, obviously, the way his hand slips around his mug just as Henry leans in toward James. It lands with a clatter and milky tea sloshes across the table. Henry curses loudly and leaps up from his chair, followed by James who darts across the kitchen for a tea towel.
“Shit Reg,” he huffs as he’s mopping up tea. “Didn’t burn yourself did you? Hen, can you put the kettle back on?”
Henry ignores him, too busy inspecting his jeans for damp stains. James clears his throat, but when Henry doesn’t respond, dumps the towel in the sink and puts the kettle on himself.
“Don’t worry about it,” Regulus says hastily, scooting awkwardly across the bench and bringing his dishes to the sink. “I’m done anyway.”
The market is the same as it always has been. The lot of them piled into two cars: himself, Remus, and Sirius squeezed in the backseat of Fleamont and Effie’s, and Henry and James in James’ little sedan, and even though Regulus meant to go by himself, he’s not about to let some company ruin his evening. They park one street over and amble up the cobblestone together, snow crunching under their boots and crowds becoming thicker as they make their way toward a sea of little tents and awnings. There’s a stand near the entrance selling chai, filling up the air with the smell of rich spices, and another a few paces down selling dough, fried and rolled in crisp sugar. There are stands selling hand-made soaps and goods carved out of wood, soy wax candles and jars of canned goods, knitted scarves, ceramics, and several tasters of beer and whiskey.
“So, what are we looking for?” James says jovially as he and Henry crunch toward them. Henry is undeniably handsome. He has a face that looks like it belongs on a screen, clean and conventional, with a little bit of well-groomed scruff on his jawline. He and James are standing shoulder to shoulder, both looking at him with wide, brown eyes.
Regulus is drowning, stumbling over his words. It’s Remus that swoops in and saves the day.
“I think I need something sweet,” he announces. There’s murmured agreement, and then Sirius, who can’t leave Remus wanting for even a second, is leading the whole lot of them through the rows of stands to find the very best dessert.
Remus’ idea of the best dessert was a chocolate monstrosity that turned Regulus’ stomach upside down, so he left the lot of them to it, privately glad for a moment of quiet wandering.
You love your brother, he reminds himself as he rounds the corner to the last row of stalls. Sirius, of course, isn’t the problem. Neither is Remus, neither are Effie or Monty. He is at least trying to stave off the moment of ‘woe is me’, handing coins to the chai vendor with clumsy, mittened fingers, when an exuberant laugh catches his attention. He’d know James’ laugh anywhere. He memorized James’ laugh, dreams about it to this day, and even though he suspects Henry might be the source of it, he can’t help the way his lips quirk up at the corners. Still, he hasn’t finished his solo-wandering, so he gives a quick glance up to scan the crowd so he can find them and go in the opposite direction.
When he sets eyes on them, they’re next to a stand of ceramic pots. James’ hands are swinging at his sides as he chats up a woman Regulus doesn’t recognize. She has dark hair braided down her back and a hand resting gingerly on Henry’s shoulder while she tells a story with big, emphatic gestures. The whole lot of them laugh, James too, and then a curious thing happens. The woman’s hand leaves Henry’s shoulder and James’ goes to replace it, James jostles Henry around, both of them laughing, and after a second or two Henry steps sharply to the left and lets James’ hands fall. Nobody but Regulus seems to notice the way James’ brows furrow behind his glasses or the brief purse of his lips, there and then gone in a second by the time the group’s attention turns back to him.
“Sir?” The woman in the chai stall has a cup in her hands. “Sorry for the wait.” She smiles quizzically, and Regulus’ face flushes when he takes it from her.
By the time he looks up again James and Henry are gone.
“I don’t think I like Henry that much,” Regulus says to Sirius as they weave with Remus through the crowd toward the whiskey tasters. He can feel Sirius’ sigh and rolls his eyes.
“Henry’s fine,” Sirius says. His voice is careful and measured and if Regulus were anyone else he’d buy it as genuine.
But Regulus isn’t anyone else, he’s Sirius’ brother, and so he turns on him, crosses his arms over his chest and says, “You don’t either!”
Sirius’ frown creases his entire face.
“Henry’s fine!” He insists too loudly, and then quiets himself. “He’s nice, James seems happy.” That makes Regulus’ stomach squirm uncomfortably. Suddenly his chai doesn’t seem that appetizing.
“I don’t know,” Regulus sighs. “Something seems off about him.”
“Reg…”
“Not because I’m not over James, which I am. He just doesn’t seem like the right fit.”
“Well you hardly know him,” Sirius says flatly, stepping into the short queue.
Remus’ mouth is firmly closed, like he knows better than to say anything.
“I don’t need to know him to know he and James aren’t the right fit,” Regulus argues, furtively scanning the crowd to make sure the two in question aren’t hovering somewhere nearby. It’s a good thing he does, because as they round the corner he’s able to elbow Sirius sharply in the ribs, cutting him off midway through a loud defense of James’ boyfriend.
“Just try to get along with him, Reg,” Sirius says quietly. Regulus can’t quite look at him, because he knows just what sort of expression he’ll be faced with.
“Are we doing liquor!?” James gives an apologetic grin to the couple behind them in line when he and Henry join. Regulus’ jaw flexes hard enough he thinks he feels his teeth creak. Sirius shoots him one last look before throwing his arm around James’ shoulder, they lean heavily together as they listen intently to a man wearing a Christmas-red apron describe the aging process, and in the end they bring home two bottles of each.
Sirius’ bottle is heavy in the tote draped over Regulus’ shoulder. He’s gotten his hands on many little things, a gift for Effie and another for Sirius. Finally something for James. Honestly, it’s been a disaster trying to Christmas shop; over the last few weeks he’s passed no less than a dozen things he thought James might like, but none of them felt right. What do you get the man you heartlessly dumped in favour of a life in the city? He and James had always loved books, but books are what ended them, aren’t they? So he’d written them off, just like he’d written off the silly little figurines and the gold bracelet he’d seen in the window of the jeweler under his flat; he’d written off anything too sentimental, anything that felt too much like an inside joke, anything too expensive; but none of the trivial little things felt right either, the candles, boxes of chocolate, or gift sets. The scarf he landed on is objectively a bit frumpy. A lovely dark maroon, soft under his fingers where his hand is shoved inside the tote bag. He’d spotted him looking at it before Henry dragged him away. It’ll have to do.
“Regulus?” Sirius says impatiently, tone jumping up a notch. Regulus is too busy watching James and Henry up ahead of them. Their hands keep bumping in between their hips. Henry snatches his back and shoves it in his pocket.
“What?”
“I asked if you were ready to go,” Sirius asks knowingly, shooting Regulus a displeased look.
In the sitting room that night, they all bundle up near a fire dancing away in the hearth. This old house is drafty, its stone foundation makes for cool winter nights and people, dogs, cats, and on the odd occasion orphaned lambs, piled on top of one another inside. They’ve already opened and nearly emptied one of the bottles from the market, and for the first time since he’s gotten here, Regulus feels like he might be able to relax some, even if he is wedged uncomfortably between Sirius and Remus’ knees. His own legs are stretched out on the floor, socked toes pointed toward the fire, only a few inches from James’, where he’s doing the same on the other side of the room. Henry has his legs crossed, a tumbler in his hands. All their cheeks are red, and the conversation has taken on the ‘tumbling over one another’ quality typical of drunken evenings.
It’s weighted, though, nervous. He can tell because it all comes tumbling to a stop when he pitches forward toward James and Henry, elbow on his thigh and chin in his hand, and says, “So Henry, are you out?” Four sets of eyes swivel to him and Regulus nearly backs down, except he has plenty of liquid courage in his glass. He takes another drink for good measure.
Henry laughs uncomfortably and James screws up his face.
“As out as I’ll ever be,” Henry says cooly, though Regulus thinks his laugh sounds a little nervous.
Sirius’ knee digs sharply into his side and he hisses, “What sort of question is that, Reg?”
“I was just wondering!” He huffs, elbowing Sirius in the shin. “It must be tough, living out here is all…”
“Oh,” Henry’s well-coiffed hair falls right into his eyes when he shakes his head. James gives an amused smile and leans toward him to fix it. “I mean, I wasn’t out when I lived out here. But I am now that I’m in London.”
Regulus freezes. London? Stupid Henry could be his neighbour. He can’t stop what comes out of his mouth next, directed to James, and suddenly he regrets having drunk so much whiskey, “I thought you didn’t like the idea of distance?”
Maybe distance with Henry is different. Maybe Henry’s worth it. Sirius’ legs nudges into his side again, it feels less warning and more like comfort.
James is looking at him intensely over the rim of his glass. There’s something unreadable there, something guarded. He isn’t used to it.
Henry carries on before James can, saying, “Do you want to tell them or should I?”
“Tell us what?” Sirius’ voice next to him breaks James out of his staring.
“I know what I said about London,” he holds his hands up in defense, “but I’ll be making the move out in the New Year.”
Next to him Sirius is all but vibrating in excitement, whiskey sloshing dangerously in his glass when he pitches forward to seize James by the shoulder. Remus reaches out smartly to snatch it from his hand just before Sirius catapults across the floor, sending the coffee table scraping against the hardwood. The two of them laugh loudly enough that he’s afraid Effie and Monty will wake up three floors away, the dogs in the kitchen snuffle and amble in to see what all the fuss is about.
Regulus can’t make out the rest of what they’re saying over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
That night Regulus puts himself to bed listening to the sound of laughter downstairs, Sirius and James making excited plans for the new year, and where he’s usually quite good at shoving aside thoughts of James Potter, tonight he lets himself play through old memories: Sweet nights spent laid out in the barn behind the house, hay stuck to their clothes and country sounds acting as lullabies, holiday dinners spent hunched around the Potter’s dining table, dates spent at the pub in the village, the trip they took to the city just before Regulus gave up his dream of writing and took a job at the publishing house instead. It all went wrong somewhere, but try as he might, he can’t find the moment.
He doesn’t sleep much at all.