Three
James was excited, he really was, but he was also a little nervous. It wasn't something he found himself feeling often, but when he did feel it, the same thing happened without fail.
His boots got a cleaning.
When James felt nerves sparking his fingertips into sharp twitchy movements and making his heart beat faster for no reason, he'd pull out his tools and get to work shining them up, checking all of the seams, making sure everything was in pristine condition, as usual. He'd expertly pull off the bottom of the shoe—they were old, his father's, and he wore them everywhere, so there was considerable wear and tear—and put on a fresh sole. Then, he'd take out his shoe-shining kit, and make those damn things shine like a bald man's head.
He did this now, as he took deep breaths and tried to calm his racing heart. His fingers twitched as he worked, and every now and then he'd have to stop to take another claiming breathing.
"Why am I freaking out?" He muttered angrily to himself. This was unusual for him, to say the least; he'd never gotten a case of stage fright in his life.
So why was he shaking like a leaf as he locked his front door behind him? Why was his leg bouncing as he rode the little trolley that went through the city, feeling as though every one were staring at him? Why did he jump when he opened the door to the small nightclub and heard voices that did not belong to his bandmates?
"You look like you're going to puke," Barty commented, popping up behind him and swinging an arm around his shoulders. "Just breathe and remember, the worst that can happen is everyone hating you forever!"
James glared at him, shrugging off his arm. "That's all, is it?"
Barty nodded, smiling brightly. "Mhm. Never heard of anyone going to jail for bad playing before, but I guess it's always a risk."
James wanted to smile, he really did, but his face just wasn't listening to him right now. If he had to guess, it was permanently stuck in a terrified position, which wasn't going to help him onstage.
Taking a deep breath, he smoothed out his face and shrugged. "Whatever you say. When do we start?"
Barty looked behind him at the clock on the wall, squinting. "Uh...about..."
"You can't read an analog clock, can you?" James chuckled, glancing at it. "It's 8:15."
Barty frowned, tossing his head. "I can read them! It just...takes me a while. Anyway, we've got thirty minutes before we're on, I think the Twisting Vines are opening for us."
He grinned. "You're going to love them. They're really hot, and Pandora is their manager, just like us."
"I didn't know you could manage two bands," James said. He looked for Pandora but didn't see her. "Where is she? Actually, where is everyone?"
Barty chuckled. "They in the back, setting up. Come on."
He led James through multiple doors, a long dark hallway with two flickering lights illuminating it, and finally through to a dimly lit area behind the second set of curtains. James could hear the other band starting through the slit in the curtains, glancing through and catching a glimpse of a girl with fiery red hair and wide hips walking around on stage, a microphone in her hand.
Regulus, he noticed immediately, stood off to the side, his hand pulling back the far edge of the curtain so he could look through. Evan already had his guitar strapped across his chest, his fingers meddling with the tuning. Barty grinned at James before moving beside Evan, scooping up his base.
James slowly went to his drums, running a hand along them. These were, by far, the most expensive drums he'd ever handled. When Regulus had told him he would take care of it, he didn't expect him to buy the most high-end drums he'd ever seen. Sighing to himself, he picked up his sticks and twirled them, hoping to get some of his nerves out before they played.
Unfortunately for him, it didn't work.
As the Twisted Vines ended their last song, James' anxiety skyrocketed. Two minutes, and he would be on stage. Two minutes, and hundreds of people would be staring at him, watching him, noticing his mistakes. Two minutes, and he was going to spend them having a panic attack.
A firm hand pressed into his back as his breathing started to get thin, jolting him out of his panic. Crystalline blue eyes stared into his, the hand moved slowly, and Regulus spoke softly.
"You'll be great. Just breathe and play as if you were at home, alone, just having fun," he said in the gentlest voice James had heard from him.
Swallowing, James forgot his fear for a moment, absorbed those eyes and that voice and the hand on his back. Then the hand retracted, and he breathed out, nodding. "Alright."
He faced forward as the curtain rose, and played like no one was there.
James barely even noticed when the lights started to dim and the people started filing out. He was stuck in a strange trance, like all his blood was rushing in his ears and his breathing wouldn't even out and he couldn't think of anything but musical notes. Looking up, it took him a few moments to snap out of it. Regulus was already strapping his microphone into the little box he carried it in—although James didn't quite understand why he didn't just use the mics provided—and straightening. He ran a hand through his hair, the curls ironed straight.
A large part of James wondered what they looked like wet, or early in the morning, before Regulus had a chance to rid himself of them. Then he blushed, because who thinks of their bandmates—coworkers, even—and how they look in the morning? It was absurd, so he pushed it from his mind and got to work cleaning up his sticks and packing his stuff up.
Barty, already done with his packing, came to hover over his shoulder, a wild grin on his face.
"Did you feel it?" He asked, voice full of unbridled joy. "Did you feel the high?"
Laughing, James nodded. "I think so. Is it like, your brain stops thinking in words and your skin feels tingly?"
Barty's head shook violently as he nodded. "That's it, that's it! Oh, I love that feeling. There's nothing like it."
"No," James agreed, smiling widely. "There isn't."
"Evan!" Barty called, turning away from James. His fingers twitched, James noticed, as if it took all the restraint he had to not go jumping around the stage. "Evan! Come here!"
Groaning, the blonde boy made his way over to them, his heartbeat rising in anticipation. When Barty was this excited, fun things were bound to happen. "Yeah, what? I can't stay out tonight, you know Sweetie is all by herself."
"I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your soulmate." Barty's hand flew to his forehead, like a woman about to faint. "But won't you please give us an hour? There's so much to do in an hour!"
Evan snorted. "Yeah, and one hour turns into two, then three, and then suddenly I'm blackout drunk, waking up with a blaring headache on some random street corner with drool running down my chin and a random woman staring at me as she clutches her child closer to her. Not my ideal hangout."
"Who says that'll happen?" Barty looked around, finger-pointing at the few unfortunate souls you hadn't left yet. "You? Will you do that to our twink?"
"Hey!" Evan borderline shouted. James could hear the underlying amusement though, a smile finding its way onto his face. "I am not a twink! I'm just...skinny. I'm a skinny legend, there's a difference."
"Uh-huh." Barty, rolling his eyes and looking at James in a 'are you seeing this' kind of way, pointed a thumb at Evan. "Are you hearing this guy? A skinny legend, he says. Not a twink, he claims. I see no proof, no evidence."
"Then it's a good thing we're not in court," James supplied. Evan reached out a hand for a high-five, which he gave him.
"Hell yeah, cowboys on my side!" Evan pumped a fist in the air while Barty pouted at James.
"Is that true, Jamie? Are you on his side?" Barty's eyes widened comically, almost like a puppy. James could only shrug.
"I don't take sides."
Barty made a hmph sound. "It sure seems like you do."
Rolling his eyes and ignoring the barb, James sauntered over to Regulus, his grin wide. Regulus, true to his nature, scowled as he saw him approaching, but didn't move away when he stopped at his side.
"What do you want?" He drawled, eyes narrowing.
"Thank you," James said, the smile dropping a little as sincerity filled his eyes. "Really, thank you."
The singer huffed, his neck warming. "It was nothing."
"No, no, it was really what I needed."
Regulus pinned him with a stare and said slowly, coldly, "No, it was truly nothing."
James felt his heart contract a little, but tried his best not to let it show. He'd win over the singer one day, even if it took him through hell to get there. He'd made that promise to himself the second their eyes had met at the audition, and he wasn't going to forget it now.
Remus didn't know how he ended up here, in this large cathedral with the most handsome man he'd ever seen, but somehow, this was where his day drinking had led him.
He'd never been religious, even after his father tried to kick him out if he didn't go to church, so it was a strange feeling that enveloped him as he took that first step inside the doors that were big enough for a giant. It washed over him, an overwhelming feeling of wrongness.
He was not supposed to be here.
"Let's go," He said gruffly, turning on his heel and readying to leave.
Remus paused, though, at the quiet intake of breath from his companion. Turning again, he saw Sirius—the perfect name, he thought, for someone that shone so bright among the crowds of people gathered to watch his fight today—staring at the painted ceiling. The figures were gorgeous, he had to admit. The way their skin seemed to shine and flicker against the candlelight, their eyes staring down at Remus accusingly. The more he stared the more he felt like he should leave.
"It's...beautiful," Sirius breathed, and Remus wanted so badly to tell him that he was too, but the words wouldn't come out. It was too soon, he knew. They had only just met a few hours ago, and he didn't want Sirius to think he was the type of guy to compliment and shower with gifts and then leave. He'd been a victim of that too many times to do it to someone else.
So, he stayed silent, watching as his pale throat bobbed as he swallowed and his eyes drank in the art. Then, Sirius seemed to jolt, looking at him. Remus didn't know what he saw, but apparently it was enough to convince him to leave.
"Alright, let's go. Where are you taking me next?" Sirius asked, breathing into his hands as the cold air nipped at his fingertips.
Remus ran hot, so the cold didn't usually bother him. He turned, thinking, and spotted a wild hydrangea bush a few feet down the road. As sneakily as he could, he grabbed a flower as they passed.
"For you," he said as he presented Sirius with the flower. The man's eyes shone as he looked at it, twirling it around before ticking it gently into his front pocket.
"Thank you, it's wonderful. My favorite color, too," Sirius said, smiling that blinding smile again that had made Remus pause in the ring, earning him a bruised rib.
Remus smiled a little. "Your favorite color is red?" Sirius hummed in response. "Mine is too, but not that shade of red. Darker, like—"
"Let me guess," Sirius interrupted, grinning mischievously. It made Remus suck in a silent breath. "Blood?"
Nodding, Remus decided he'd take this gorgeous man to his favorite place. It wasn't big, or grand, like the cathedral, but it was cozy and warm, and Sirius was starting to shiver. So, he quickly walked him down a few streets and held open the door to the tiny bookstore tucked between two tall buildings. The inside was heated by a fire in the fireplace to their right, rows and rows of books sprawling in front of them. Remus dropped himself into a rugged, falling-apart chair near the fire, Sirius following suit.
"What is this place?" Sirius asked, looking around.
Remus expected to see a level of disgust or at least indifference, considering the fine quality of the clothes he wore, the way he perched in the chair, his posture, the way he talked. All of it pointed to a rich snob, but this man was anything but. His eyes were full of wonder as he took in as much as he could, seemingly as enthralled by this little bookstore as he was by the grand cathedral. Something in Remus's chest warmed, and he flinched a little realizing it. His mind immediately started to close off, draw back. His heart became a dead, lifeless thing in his chest again.
Sirius took one look at him, and his face fell. "I did something, didn't I? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin our outing. I can fix it, I promise. Whatever I did, I'll fix it. What's wrong? What did I do? You're angry, I can tell. I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"You didn't do anything." Remus cut him off, panic rising in him. He'd never seen someone crumble so fast. He thought he'd hidden the shift really well, but somehow Sirius saw it and thought it was his fault. "I promise, you didn't do anything. And there's no fixing it. I just...forgot, for a second, who I am. I thought that maybe...maybe I could... It doesn't matter. You didn't do anything, just forget about it."
But Sirius, he could tell, was already spiraling. He didn't believe Remus, his fingers twitching on the armrests of his chair as his eyes flicked back and forth between Remus and the door, as if waiting for one wrong or sudden move from him to bolt. Remus raised a hand, to calm him, to steady him, to assure him he hadn't done anything wrong, and Sirius flinched. His whole body flinched, his hands, fingers, legs, face.
And that's when Remus understood.
His eyes softened, and his heart melted a little. In a very, very soft voice he said, "Sirius, you didn't do anything wrong. I won't hurt you. It's just that it's been a long time since I've...liked anyone, and I think I'm starting to like you. It just took me by surprise, and scared me a bit, to be honest. So I pinky promise it wasn't your fault and you didn't do anything."
Sirius seemed to deflate, the air whooshing out of him as his eyes shuttered for a moment. Then, his grin was back, and he swept his hair off his shoulder nonchalantly. "Whew, thank god. For a second there, I thought I might be ugly to you. Which, by the way, isn't something I've encountered before. Good to know it's just my charming personality and amazing good looks that are getting to you."
Remus chuckled, feeling a bit of that warmth from long ago seeping back in. This time, he didn't try to close it off, or ignore it. He let that little bit of warmth spread through him, reacquainted himself with it. If he was going to be seeing more of Sirius—which he really hoped he was—then he'd have to get used to it.
"So, tell me about yourself," Sirius said, leaning back in the chair and relaxing. His leg crossed the other in a feminine way, shirt riding up and exposing a small sliver of his pale skin. Remus had the strange urge to bite it.
"I'm not good at talking about myself, to be honest," Remus replied, his neck heating. He rubbed it, willing the heat to go away.
"Me neither. Okay, so we start small. What's your favorite food?"
"Chocolate." The answer was immediate, bringing another grin to Sirius's face. Remus liked that, liked that he could do that.
"Mine's Crepes." As he played with one long tendril of hair, swirling it around his finger, Sirius asked, "Do you have any siblings?"
Remus frowned, but it was lighthearted. "that's a bit of a loaded question. Depends on who you ask. My mother would say I've got an older sister, my father would say I don't even exist. So, I've supposedly got an older sister, but I've never met or talked to her. I have no idea where she lives or what she's like, which is fine by me. Never needed her before, I sure don't now."
Something in Sirius's eyes was... It wasn't sadness, it went deeper than that, like an endless expanse of emptiness. A bottomless pit Remus could sink into and never return from. Then it blinked out and he was...fine? Remus's stomach twisted as he realized there was so much hiding under that smile and behind those eyes. The urge to peel the layers off him, to wiggle inside and see the real him, to strip him bare of any shame or fear of judgment and just know him, was so strong he leaned forward and put a hand on Sirius's knee. His fingers rubbed gently as he asked quietly, "What about you?"
Sirius's eyes sputtered out, a wall slamming shut. "I don't want to talk about my family. That's my new rule. No talking about my family."
Chuckling to hide his disappointment—he could be patient, he could wait until the man was ready to tell him— Remus said, "Alright, then my new rule is that you can't ask about my past, only things that relate to right now. Like my favorite things, plans for the future, questions about what I would do if I had all the money in the world. Stuff like that. For now."
"For now," Sirius echoed.
For now, it would be enough.