Chapter 2
If asked to describe himself, James would use the words optimistic, brave, and kind. Sure, his mother would probably throw in mischief maker were she there, and his father might add, loudly and proudly, good-looking, but James prided himself on the first three. They were his weapons against pain, suffering, sadness, anything that could hurt him, his shield.
He wielded words and smiles like swords, fighting every battle with a laugh or a broad smile. Never had he met an opponent that was immune;
Until he joined Regulus's band.
James played his drums with passion, head swinging in time with the music. When he was playing, everything fell away. Nothing mattered except the next note, the next, the one after that. All of his thoughts were music notes, bouncing around in his head like a child on a dancefloor.
"Stop!" Regulus yelled over the music. He turned to face them and frowned. "That didn't sound right."
The one with dark brown hair and a wolf's smile—Barty, James remembered—snorted. "It was fine, mate."
Regulus huffed and turned a glare that was rather attractive on him.
"It was not. Am I the only one with ears?" He spat, throwing up his hands.
James chuckled. Regulus, he had learned over the course of the past two practices, was something of a drama king. It wasn't often that he'd say something that wasn't a one-word answer or a snarky comment, but when he did, it was always dramatic. James had to admit, it made him pay attention to Regulus, the way he never knew what was going to come out of his mouth, the way he sang, the way he—
James frowned slightly and told himself he was not a fangirl, he was not attracted to the lead singer, he was not going to crush on him. It would be preposterous, unimaginable, unprofessional, and he was none of those things.
Okay, maybe he was a little preposterous at times, but he wasn't going to crush on his bandmate. It was just a bad idea altogether.
"Reg, you're overreacting again," Evan said. James could hear the eye roll in his tone. "Let's just play it again and see if it sounds right, yeah?"
Regulus paused, eyes lifting to above their heads for a second before he nodded. "Fine. From the top. And uh 1, uh 2, uh 1 2 3 4—"
After the song was over, everyone looked expectantly at Regulus. He turned around and nodded to them. "That's what it's supposed to sound like. Everyone got it?"
James nodded, grinning. He always felt more alive after playing, more energized. As if a lightning bolt had shot right through him, leaving behind crackling energy.
They played for two more hours before Regulus finally called it. When he did, James set his sticks down and stood.
"Do ya'll wanna get drinks?" He asked. His eyes found Regulus and stayed there. "I know a great bar."
Barty let out an approving hollar before saying, "Hell yeah. I haven't been drinking in forever. Evan, you coming?"
Evan grinned and nodded his head. "You better believe it. Let's get fucked up!"
James grinned at them, excitement tightening in his chest. He hadn't been drinking with friends in forever, and he'd been missing it. Not that he was an alcoholic—he usually didn't drink—but he wanted to bond with the band members, wanted to get to know them, actually become friends with them. That was one of the biggest reasons why he wanted to be in a band; the friendship it created.
Even he had to admit that inviting everyone to get drinks was a little...unoriginal, but it was the best he could think of at the moment. Usually he could come up with something witty to say, but ever since he'd gotten into the band, his thoughts were like dandelions; thrown to the wind and scattered. He hadn't been able to think on his feet for two days, and it was getting worse. Every time he had a thought, he'd look up to say it, see Mr. Lead Singer give Pandora a half-smile, or chuckle at something vile that Barty threw out to get a reaction, or swipe that dainty, pale hand through the top of his obsidian, jellyfish-cut, sleek hair. God, James could go on and on about that hair.
James couldn't stand it, couldn't stand him, the way he looked or acted, that cold arched brow that spoke volumes without saying anything. It was like Regulus was a weed, winding it's way into him. His skin, his blood, his bones, his organs. Everywhere, winding, twisting, pulling tighter and tighter. So tight that James almost couldn't breathe; that was how Regulus made him feel.
If asked to describe it in three words or less...James would simply refuse.
Barty was in the middle of his sentence when James zoned back in.
"—and yes, I do think unicorns are real. Does that make me any less of a person? Fuck no." Barty pursed his lips and said, at a very high pitch, "We shan't speak of it any more!"
Evan snorted, then cleared his throat. "My turn, yeah? You believe in unicorns, how am I supposed to trust you when you say that you are in your right mind? I see no evidence that you are in your right mind—in fact, I see the opposite—and with your track record? I'm thinking that you're less than dirt, which is not human, so yeah."
James tried and failed to contain a snort.
Barty frowned at Evan, eyes sparking. "Less than dirt? How dare you."
"Oh I dare."
James watched, extremely amused, as Barty stuck his tongue out at the dark-skinned blonde. Evan recuperated with a middle finger.
"Alright, let's get out of here," James said, speaking up to fill the silence left behind by the two boys who now had their backs turned to each other.
Barty let out a long sigh, seeming to deflate into a casual slouch as a lazy smile spread across his face. "Thank god, that took forever."
"What did?" James asked, his head tilting as his brows furrowed. "I don't understand."
Barty didn't laugh at him the way he thought he would. Instead, he responded in a deadpan. "Someone breaking the silence so I could stop standing straight. Shit hurt."
"Why didn't you just stop?"
"Because," he wiggled his eyebrows, "Funny."
A snort tore out of James. He put a hand over his face in shock. With wide eyes, he looked from Barty to Evan to Barty to Evan to—
"Stop fucking looking at me like that!" Barty laughed, his shoulders shaking. "You look like you just shit your pants, dude."
Evan burst out laughing, so forcefully that his head was thrown back. It was a full-body laugh, the kind that came from his soul.
James dropped his hand, frowning. "That's not very nice. I haven't crapped my pants in...let's see...two days now!"
Evan doubled over and began sputtering, more to himself than to anyone. "You...pants...shit...shut...the...fuck...up..."
Giving him a half-smile—Euphemia Potter called it his 'I did something and got away with it ' smile—James raised a hand, mockingly waved, and bowed. "Thank you, thank you. Oh, you're so kind. Stop it, no more, please. Thank you, oh you're welcome, yes—
"—Alright, that's enough," Barty interrupted, wielding one finger like a weapon in front of him. He wiggled it back and forth. "Ah, ah, ah. Monologues are strictly forbidden 'round these parts. Sorry, Sheriff."
The bad country accent was enough to make James crack a smile. "That was the worst fake accent I've ever heard."
Barty rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Don't come crying to me when you need someone to practice talking normally to."
"Normally, huh?" Laughing, James slapped his knee. He couldn't remember where the habit came from, but he was pretty sure his grandfather had something to do with it. He could picture a big white house; the acres of land stretching out into the background; that magnolia tree that sat in the front yard with a tire strung up on it; his grandfather sitting on the steps, grinning, with his gray-streaked beard that reached to his midchest, and a pair of dirty overalls. "Who says I ain't talking normally?"
"You just said 'ain't'!" Barty pointed a finger at James as he said it, his face one of triumph. "That isn't normal!"
"For you," James said coolly. "For me, it's normal. Perspective, brother."
Barty's face soured. "That was...new."
"What? Brother? It's a habit, but if you don't want me to..."
Waving a dismissive hand, Barty said, "No, no. It's fine. It just caught me by surprise, is all."
"You know what caught me by surprise?" Evan's grin split across his face from ear to ear. "The way you cry. I never expected someone so large to bawl like a baby."
James snorted when Barty pointed his tongue at Evan, for a second time.
"Crying is very manly, I don't know what you're talking about." He finished his sentence with a middle finger.
"Is that all you know how to do?" Evan asked. His grin hadn't dropped an inch; actually, it was getting bigger and bigger by the second.
The bigger it got, the tighter James's chest got, like a rubber band being twisted around a finger, cutting off more and more circulation with every twist, every breath, every movement. Hell, even looking at Evan was painful; he could tell easily that something that wrong. Something that shouldn't be happening. Something that was definitely Evan's fault.
Was he going to ask what it was? Absolutely not, but he would wonder about it for however long it took for him to forget about the whole ordeal.
Unfortunately, there was no pleasurable way that he could have gotten out of that room, and so, he stepped between the two boys boldly, both hands splayed at his sides, as if warding off a crowd. "Alright, that's enough of that. You two shouldn't fight like this, you know. I thought you liked each other?"
A snort burst out of Barty. He jabbed a thumb at the dark-skinned blonde. "This guy? You think I like this guy? Ha! You've got to be joking, right? Right?!"
James met his eyes with intensity, looking through the glassy windowpanes of eyes and into the house that held all of his secrets inside, locked safely away from James. It wouldn't stay that way for long, however. James was nothing if not fantastic at persuasion. He didn't know how or why, but people jus sort of...spilled their secrets around him. He wasn't sure if it was because of his face, his eyes, or the way he spoke to them, but whatever it was, it was sure that getting him useful information about the people around him. He liked knowing things about the people around him; it was how he made sure not to hurt them. If he knew what hurt them, he could avoid it. He often found himself worrying so much about others that he forget to worry about himself.
for example, at that very moment, James hadn't eaten anything for about two days.
It wasn't intentional, he just...forgot. It didn't seem that important, eating. It was more of a pleasure than a necessity to him, and he didn't know how else to live.
After a few more moments of the tense, silent staring contest, James smirked. "Alright, if that's what you wanna believe, I'll let you go on and believe it, brother."
Barty's eyes burned holes through him, but he only chuckled and turned away, not the least bit bothered. Most people got upset when you stared at them for a long time; James thought it was funny to stare back. Granted, this often got him in deep shit with girls and guys, both thinking he wanted to fuck them simply because he didn't look away when he caught them staring.
It was tough out there, man, and James struggled with being undeniably attractive every single day. It really was a burden, to be so good-looking. But alas, if he didn't do it, who would?
Remus grinned blood, spitting to the side before turning his predatory eyes back on his target, his victim, the poor soul who dared challenge him to a fight.
If there was one thing Remus was good at, it was fighting. He almost never felt more alive than when he was fighting. It was like therapy for him, being able to take out all of his anger, his hatred, his disgust, on some random boy who thought he might try his hand at fighting the champion of the Underground Ring.
The Underground Ring was just that, underground, and consisting of four boxing rings spaced a yard from each other. Men and women alike stood inside the rings, each holding their fists up with malicious smiles on their faces. They all looked hungry, starving for a fight, and ready to destroy whoever faced them.
Remus stayed loose, keeping his hands in front of his face and his elbows covering his stomach. His defense was perfect, practiced for years, and put into use too many times to count over the years. And why would Remus ever count his fights? They were nothing to him, inconsequential bugs that were squished under his feet. He always won; that was why he was Champion. No one could beat him, not when he was like this. Not when his nose was bleeding and he couldn't feel it, when his mouth was full of blood and all he could do was grin like a maniac in pure joy because nothing felt as good as fighting, nothing. He needed it, he wanted it, he was addicted to it. It was half of who he was, if he was being honest, and he didn't mind.
At least he wasn't a coward who couldn't protect himself or others.
That's what he told himself as he threw a punch at the dark-skinned, broad-shouldered man who was currently attempting to back away without looking like a coward.
Remus smirked. "You want to stop, pretty boy?"
"Shut the fuck up," the man snarled. His nose was a little crooked. "You're going down, asshole. Come on, just try to—OOF!"
Remus laughed to himself at the sound that came out of the man when his fist landed in his stomach, right where it was most tender. The man doubled over, breathing heavily. Remus backed up, letting him take a breather. When the man straightened, his face was red with fury, eyes screaming death.
That brought a smile to Remus' face. He loved it the most when his opponents put up a fight; otherwise, it felt like beating up pathetic assholes, which Remus would not be opposed to, but he wanted to change it up, wanted to fight someone who wanted to fight back, wanted a struggle. He wanted to be pushed so far past his limits that he couldn't control himself. He wanted to go crazy, let it all go, let everyone know just how he felt inside.
Two punches to the face. Remus didn't feel it.
A right hook to the man's side. He cried out when Remus' fist connected, and oh, it was the sound of heaven. It was the sound of satisfaction, or joy, or pride. Remus felt it all when he saw the man's labored breathing.
His eyes were hungry, taking in every single moment. He wanted to remember this, wanted to think back on it later and feel this high over and over again. And he would; who the fuck was going to stop him?
Absolutely fucking no one. Remus grinned so hard his face hurt, but the pain was good, sweet, satisfying.
Okay, maybe he was a sadist, but who cared? He sure as hell didn't.
The fight ended much too quickly for his liking. Fists itching, teeth singing, skin shining with sweat and blood, Remus strolled down the street leading to his small shitty apartment with his hands shoved into his pockets. That was how he always walked; it was the only thing keeping him from hitting stupid strangers.
He always felt energized after a fight, as though his entire body had been electrified. He was shaking, not from fear, but from an overwhelming desire to fight again, to hit something, to hurt something, to break something. When it got like this, there was only one thing he could do to satisfy himself.
Beat someone until they were crying...or go get lit. He picked the second option.
Genny's Corner was one of the only bars in the city that Remus liked. There were always plenty of hot people there, as if they were drawn by the big dancing floor, or maybe it was the poles that were placed around the room randomly, left empty for anyone who wanted to try their hand at seducing, or if they just wanted to dance. Remus himself had never gotten on a pole, but he sure fucking appreciated when someone did; they never disappointed.
The outside of the bar was lit up with blue and purple lights that lined the door and wound up the wall into elegant swooping letters. 'Genny's Corner'. A tall black man stood outside the door, a smile on his face and a clipboard in his hand.
When Remus approached, the man looked at him, checked his list, and nodded. Remus jerked his chin up before walking through the door and into the dimly lit room.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the beautiful, pale man currently swinging a slow circle around a pole, one foot dragging softly across the ground, face tilted up like some Greek statue. His dark hair was glistening and falling around his face like a halo. It was, in a word, unforgettable.
A chair was sitting unoccupied in front of the man's pole. Remus sat down with a smirk, hand already reaching for his pocket. Withdrawing a stack of ones and fives, he started throwing them at the man.
The man looked at him and gave him a slow, lazy smile. Their eyes were frozen to each other for a long moment before the man grabbed the pole with both hands and turned his back to him. He went down slowly, ass bouncing to the beat when he got to the lowest squat Remus had ever seen.
The song ended, too soon in Remus's opinion. The man swept a hand through his hair and took a seat beside Remus, chest heaving.
"You were incredible," Remus said, voice raised over the music.
The man snorted. "It was mediocre at best. But thank you. Regulus Black."
Remus shook the hand the man shot out. "Remus Lupin. How long have you been dancing?"
"I don't dance," Regulus said, a satisfied smirk growing. "I just know how to."
Remus chuckled. "You sure do. Can I buy you a drink, pretty boy?"
Regulus' face twisted. "Ew. Don't call me that. But yes, you may."
Remus' eyebrow twitched, but he followed silently with a smirk as Regulus led them to the bar, where a willowy man dressed in a brown blouse and a black belt that cinched his waist and swirled up his torso. It was decorated at the edges with sparkling silver gems, along with his fingers—adorned with silver rings with the heads of different predators— and his ears, which were covered in dripping earrings and diamond studs.
"What can I get you?" He asked, his voice smooth and sweet, warm and welcoming.
Regulus took a seat with his back to the door. For some reason, Remus took notice of this. It seemed intentional, the way he kept his eyes so focused ahead, as if he were afraid of what he might find if he turned around. "Vodka for me, shots. What do you want?"
"A whiskey," Remus said, giving the bartender a slow up-and-down.
Remus took a seat around the corner of the bar, so he was facing the door. He liked to keep an eye on things, know everything going on.
The bartender whisked away to take other orders and make their drinks. It was maybe six minutes before they were sipping on their drinks, Regulus watching the dancers and Remus watching him.
Remus set his hand atop Regulus', thumb brushing against his skin. "Do you want to dance?"
Regulus arched a brow at him, head tilting slightly to the side. Remus liked it, how Regulus seemed to drift for a moment before he held out his hand. "Fine. Two dances, and then I think I'll go home."
"Will I be joining you?"
Regulus snorted. His eyes turned cat-like, predatory. "Depends on how you dance."
Remus couldn't—and didn't try—to stop the grin. He took Regulus' hand and took him into the center of the dance floor, pushing people out of the way for the dark-haired beauty he had in his hands at the moment.
Regulus seemed to come to life the way a doll that had just gotten new batteries would, his limbs moving in slow, mesmerizing sweeps in tandem with the music. His hips swayed, and rolled, along with his ass, which Remus couldn't take his eyes off of. It was circling, then bouncing, then grinding against him, and he couldn't think past the haze that settled over him as the drinks and the party haze consumed him. He touched every part of Regulus that he could, gentle at first, whispering in his ear, "Is this okay?" and then getting tougher, more possessive when Regulus nodded.
Two songs flew by, and then two more, and then suddenly it was sunlight outside and the bar was closing down. Regulus panted in a booth as the bartender talked to Remus at the bar.
"No, I really don't know where he lives," Willy, the bartender, said. He shook his head. "Check his pockets? His phone? You could call his mom or his friend or something."
Remus rubbed a hand over his head, enjoying the prickling of his short hair over his callouses. "Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks."
He rubbed Regulus on the back as he leaned down to talk to him in a gentle voice. "Regulus, I need to know where you live. Can you tell me that?"
Regulus gargled something, barely moving. A droplet of droop fell from his mouth and onto the table.
Remus smiled softly. He should take a picture, it could be a great memory. No, he wouldn't. Regulus would probably kill him. "Can you tell me where you live? Wake up, yeah, that's it."
Regulus opened his eyes, blinking rapidly before slurring, "316 Darthright Drive. It's a few blocks from here. Key is...in the glove box..."
Remus softly rubbed his head. "Perfect, thank you. Let's get you home, alright?"
The felon picked up the singer with ease, carrying him bridle-style through the streets, following the map on his phone to the singer's address. He opened the door to find a small apartment. The walls were a light grey, the countertops a marbled gray-and-black stone. The curtains were a deep green with silver swirls along the hem. The furniture was black with a green pillow, and a dark green throw rug, fuzzy and soft looking was underneath it all.
Remus explored until he found the bedroom, a room with its own master bathroom and a queen-sized bed in the center of the room, pressed against a wall. There was a window overlooking the backyard that all the tenants shared. It was a simple 6x6 space with a small garden in the corner.
Depositing Regulus on the bed, Remus admired the view—yes, that was sarcastic—before he left, turning off the lights and locking the front door behind him.