Just A Coincidence

"So," Sirius announced, slamming his hands onto Regulus' desk with enough force to jolt him upright. "When are you going to set me up with Lupin?"

Regulus groaned, glaring up at his brother through tired, half-lidded eyes. "Jesus, Sirius. It's eight in the morning. Can you not?"

It had been a month since the last big race. The event planners—or whoever managed the chaotic schedule—seemed to thrive on keeping the audience guessing, dragging out anticipation and giving racers time to prepare. Random as it was, the downtime meant that while the low-stakes Thursday night races continued, Remus Lupin hadn’t been showing up.

Much to Regulus’ misery, this absence had left Sirius with far too much time to hound him about setting him up with the elusive Remus Lupin.

This month had been a whirlwind of Barty, Sirius, James, and, tangentially, Evan. Barty had dragged Evan into the mix, which Regulus didn’t entirely mind. He and Rosier had been getting friendlier, something Regulus welcomed. Another friend besides Barty was a nice change of pace—even if, deep down, Regulus was almost pathetically in love with Barty. 

He was also, much to his own frustration, in love with James Potter. Though he hadn’t fully realized it yet, his heart was definitely playing tricks on him. He and James bantered constantly—whenever they crossed paths, which, given Sirius, was nearly always. It was a strange dance: they could fight for hours, but by the end, James would be flirting with him, and Regulus would be a mess of confusion and flustered irritation.

Sirius, of course, was completely oblivious to the whole thing. That was the worst part—Regulus hated it. He hated how it made his chest tighten whenever James flashed that cocky smile, how his thoughts seemed to spiral every time James got too close. It was a game to James, but for Regulus, it felt like everything. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending it didn’t matter.

But was it really just a game?

James had told him that he had changed, that he was determined to win him back. A part of Regulus—somewhere deep down—wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe in James’ sincerity, in the possibility of something more. But the other part of him, the part that was still that sixteen-year-old boy, raw and heartbroken after James had ghosted him to chase after his dream girl, couldn’t let go of the bitterness. That part was pure rage, fueled by old wounds and grudges that hadn’t healed, and it overshadowed anything else.

He couldn’t give in to James Potter. He just couldn’t.

Sirius was still leaning over his desk, waiting for an answer, his grin practically feral. Regulus sighed. It was going to be a long morning.

“It’s eight in the morning,” Regulus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “How the fuck did you even get in?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Sirius replied breezily, completely unfazed. “I stole your spare key and made a duplicate.”

“What?!” Regulus snapped, suddenly wide awake. “You made a—what? When was this?”

Sirius tilted his head, pretending to think. “Hmm… a couple of weeks ago, I think?”

“You’re done,” Regulus growled, throwing off his blanket as he got out of bed, fully prepared to march over and throttle his brother.

But before he could take a step, James appeared in his bedroom doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His mouth parted slightly as his eyes swept over Regulus, who froze mid-step, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing but an old shirt and his underwear.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Regulus demanded, his voice climbing an octave. He turned sharply to glare at Sirius, who was grinning like the cat that got the cream.

It was, of course, Sirius’ fault. It was always Sirius’ fault.

“Gotta fix up my car, and James is gonna handle it for me,” Sirius explained casually, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “So, we just need to get to the repair shop, but I figured I’d stop by to say hello first.”

“You,” Regulus said, blinking in surprise. His gaze shifted to James, brows furrowed. “You fix cars?”

James shrugged, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I’m pretty handy.”

Regulus felt his throat go dry. The thought of James Potter fixing cars—arms flexed, biceps and triceps taut, grease streaked across his skin, a worn, dirty V-neck clinging to him as he worked with tools—made him flush all of a sudden.

He tried to snap out of it, shaking the image from his head, but it lingered. Damn it.

“Since—uh, when?” Regulus asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

“Picked it up in Spain,” James said with a casual shrug. “Figured it’d come in handy for Sirius whenever his car needed fixing.”

Oh, how humble. Ridiculous.

“Anyways!” Sirius interjected, snapping Regulus’ attention back to him. “Lupin. When are you setting me up?”

“Never? You literally stole my key,” Regulus shot back, his head jerking back in disbelief. “And you’re bothering me at eight in the morning. The only person who gets to do that—”

James groaned dramatically, already rolling his eyes before Regulus could finish.

Regulus turned to glare at him, eyes sharp as daggers.

“As I was saying,” he continued, voice pointed. “The only person who gets to do that is Barty.”

“Why aren’t you with him? I mean—” Sirius blurted out, unable to contain his curiosity. “You’re obsessed with him, and he’s obsessed with you. Don’t get it, though, because you’re just pale skin and bones.”

“You’re pale skin and bones too!” Regulus shot back, clearly offended.

“Yeah, but I look cool,” Sirius said with a nonchalant shrug. “You, on the other hand, look ill.”

“I think he looks great,” James chimed in with a smirk.

“What? No,” Sirius said, his eyes flicking to James with sudden alarm. “Don’t do that. Don’t flirt with my brother. Especially not when he’s half-naked—”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” James replied casually.

“What?!” both Sirius and Regulus exclaimed in unison.

James jerked his head back, taken aback. “Geez, relax. School locker rooms? Hello?”

“Oh right,” Sirius said, realizing the situation and then quickly turning back to Regulus.

Regulus couldn’t help but roll his eyes, irritated. What an oblivious twat, he thought to himself as he shot James a look of annoyance. Meanwhile, Sirius had returned to his commentary about Barty, blissfully unaware of the tension brewing between him and James.

“You’re such a traitor,” Sirius groaned, throwing his hands up dramatically. “I’m literally your brother. We’re blood-bound.”

“So?” Regulus replied flatly, utterly unbothered. “Barty’s been inside me. Pretty sure that trumps blood-bound.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Both Sirius and James stared at him, jaws on the floor, their expressions a perfect blend of shock and disgust.

“Regulus!” they exclaimed in unison, their voices sharp with indignation.

Regulus rolled his eyes, thoroughly unimpressed. “Oh, grow up,” he muttered, waving off their theatrics. His gaze shifted to Sirius, and he pointed accusingly. “You’re a slut.” Then, with equal disdain, he turned to James. “And you’re a slut.”

Before either could protest, Regulus cut them off with a scoff. “Spare me the moral high ground,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Hypocrites, the both of you.”

“Well,” James began, apparently deciding it was his turn to chime in. “I’m not the one standing around in my underwear.”

Regulus’ eyes narrowed, venom lacing his tone as he shot back, “Want me to take your pants off for you?”

“What?!” Sirius yelped, throwing his hands in the air like a referee breaking up a fight. “No flirting!”

“Yeah, as if I’d flirt with a degenerate like him,” Regulus sneered.

“Don’t kid yourself,” James sighed, exuding casual arrogance. “If Sirius weren’t in the room, I’d have you begging for me.”

“What?!” Sirius exclaimed again, his voice a pitch higher this time, looking even more distressed than before.

But Regulus ignored his brother entirely, his focus razor-sharp on James. “Brat,” he bit out, a smirk tugging at his lips as James’ eyes narrowed.

James’ jaw clenched. Of course Regulus would call him that. It wasn’t his fault he liked it when Regulus took control.

“Wanker,” James snapped.

“Tosser,” Regulus fired back without missing a beat.

“Imbecile.”

The insults flew, but their steps betrayed them—James moving forward, Regulus retreating. The tension between them crackled like static electricity.

“Salop,” Regulus spat, the French slipping out in his frustration.

James paused mid-step, his brow raising in intrigue. Oh? French? Alright then.

“Gilipollas,” James shot back in Spanish, enjoying the flicker of confusion on Regulus’ face.

Regulus’ lips curled, refusing to back down. “Enfoiré.”

“Cabrón,” James returned smugly.

Step by step, they closed the gap until Regulus’ back met the wall. James’ face hovered mere inches from his, the air between them taut and charged.

Regulus opened his mouth to retort again, but Sirius couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright, enough!” he bellowed, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You’re both giving me a headache!”

James and Regulus froze, only now realizing how close they’d gotten. James’ gaze flickered briefly to Regulus’ lips before he abruptly stepped back, clearing his throat.

“Seriously!” Sirius pressed on, rubbing his temples dramatically. “What the fuck is going on between you two? I don’t get it. Why do you banter so much? You barely even know each other!”

He threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “All I wanted—all I wanted—was for you,” he jabbed a finger at Regulus, “to set me up with Lupin, and for you,” pointing now at James, “to fix my car! But instead, I’ve got a headache, no Lupin, no fixed car, and time’s just ticking away while you two act like…like…whatever this is!”

He groaned, flopping dramatically into the nearest chair. “This is pure torture. Torture!”

Regulus glanced sideways at James, their earlier tension still simmering just beneath the surface. Sirius, oblivious as ever, was too wrapped up in his own tirade to notice the subtle smirks threatening to tug at their lips.

“Geez, you’re such a drama queen,” Regulus muttered, crossing his arms. “Fine. I’ll set you up with Lupin—if you leave me alone. And,” he added sharply, turning to James, “get him to leave me alone while you’re at it.”

“Now, get the hell out—” Regulus started, but Sirius cut him off.

“Oh no,” Sirius said, his tone shifting to something sharper, almost smug. “You’re coming with us to the repair shop.”

“Like hell I am,” Regulus shot back, glaring. “You can’t make me.”

“No?” Sirius challenged, raising an eyebrow. “One call to Mother, and your boy-kissing won’t be a secret anymore.”

Regulus froze, his defiance cracking under the weight of that threat. “You kiss boys too!” he snapped, his voice tinged with panic.

“Yeah, but Mom doesn’t expect anything from me,” Sirius replied breezily, shrugging. “She already thinks I’m a screw-up. You, though? You’re the precious silver child.”

“You’re being a dick,” James interrupted, his voice firm and disapproving.

“I don’t care,” Sirius said unapologetically, his hands on his hips. “I’m parent-trapping the shit out of you two. Because, for the love of God, you can’t keep sniping at each other like this. It’s exhausting. So, take it or leave it.”

Regulus glared at his brother, his lips pressed into a tight line. Finally, after a tense pause, he spat out, “Fine.”

Sirius grinned, clapping his hands together. “Great! Now let’s move. James, grab the keys. Reg, put on pants or don’t—I honestly don’t care. We’re leaving in five.”

Regulus groaned, dragging himself toward his dresser while muttering under his breath, “I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.”

James, meanwhile, smirked as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

“Shut the hell up,” Regulus barked, throwing a shirt at James, which the latter dodged effortlessly.

“Adorable,” James added, ducking out of the room with a grin.

Sirius’ voice rang out from the hallway. “Five minutes, Regulus! Or I’m calling Mother anyway!”

Coming to the repair shop had been a bad idea. This was a terrible idea.

The moment they reached the repair shop, Sirius had abandoned them—literally hopping into the first taxi he saw with a smug grin, leaving behind a parting threat: “Leave, and I’m calling Mother.” Then he was gone, leaving Regulus stranded with James.

What the fuck.

It had been thirty minutes of excruciating silence. James had tried to strike up a conversation—several times—but each attempt was met with a disdainful glare from Regulus, who had promptly planted himself in a corner like a sulking cat. Arms crossed, scowl firmly in place, and barely a word escaping his lips, he made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with this situation.

At least, that’s what he was trying to project.

The reality was far messier. Because James—greasy, shirtless, and glistening with sweat—was currently half under the car, working intently with his tools. His arms flexed with every movement, muscles taut and glistening. His hair was disheveled, sticking to his forehead, and his brow furrowed with focus.

Regulus couldn’t stop staring.

Oh, god. He was practically drooling.

It wasn’t just the sight of James—although that was a problem in itself. It was the whole vibe: the competence, the casual confidence, the way James’ hands moved expertly as he tightened a bolt or wiped his brow with the back of his arm. The occasional grunt of effort wasn’t helping either.

This was torture.

“Regulus,” James called out, his voice slightly muffled from beneath the car. “You good over there, or is sulking a full-time job now?”

Regulus blinked, snapping out of his trance, and immediately adopted a look of pure disdain. “I’m fine,” he snapped, though his voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying him.

James slid out from under the car, sitting up and wiping his hands with a grease-streaked rag. His eyes met Regulus’, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. “You sure? You’re staring pretty hard for someone who hates being here.”

“I’m not staring,” Regulus shot back, face heating as he looked anywhere but at James.

“Right,” James drawled, clearly enjoying himself. He leaned back slightly, the movement drawing attention to his bare chest. “Must’ve imagined it then.”

Regulus clenched his jaw, his nails digging into his palms. Breathe. Don’t kill him. Sirius would enjoy that too much.

“I hate you,” Regulus muttered under his breath, glaring at the floor.

James only laughed, a low, rich sound that made Regulus’ stomach twist uncomfortably. “Sure you do, Reg. Sure you do.”

Regulus was absolutely, positively going to murder Sirius for this. Slowly. Painfully. Right after he figured out how to stop his pulse from racing every time James looked at him like that.

“I do, though,” Regulus insisted, his tone sharp, though the slight crack in his voice betrayed his nerves. “It’s the truth.”

James raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning downright wicked. “Oh, yeah? And I totally don’t pop a boner every time I see you,” he shot back, mimicking Regulus’ tone with exaggerated sarcasm. “It’s the truth!”

Regulus froze, his face heating so fast it felt like it might combust. His mouth opened to retort, but no words came out—just an indignant, half-strangled noise.

James leaned closer, clearly reveling in Regulus’ reaction. “What’s the matter, Reg? You look a little… flustered.”

Regulus glared at him, mustering every ounce of his composure to appear unaffected. “You’re disgusting,” he hissed, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

“Maybe,” James said with an infuriating shrug, wiping his hands off on the grease-stained rag again. “But at least I’m honest.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, turning his face away in a futile attempt to hide the red creeping up his neck. “Go fix your stupid car,” he muttered, though his voice was quieter now, less venomous.

James grinned, leaning back as if he’d won some unspoken battle. “Whatever you say, Reg.”

Regulus wanted to scream. Or melt into the floor. Or possibly both.

Another thirty minutes crawled by, and Regulus found himself questioning how long it could possibly take to fix a car. Surely not this long?

James finally broke the silence, his voice casual as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. The movement made his biceps flex in a way that was frankly criminal. “Your brother’s kind of an idiot,” he said offhandedly, as if they were discussing the weather.

Regulus raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that? He is, but—”

“Honestly,” James cut in, a playful smirk spreading across his face, “there’s so much sexual tension between us, I don’t know how he hasn’t figured it out yet.” His tone was smug, like he was savoring his own audacity.

Regulus’ expression didn’t change immediately, though his stomach twisted at James’ words. He tilted his head, his voice deceptively calm. “Hmm. Probably because you’ve only ever cared about Lily Evans,” he said, his gaze sharp as a blade. “Meanwhile, you ghosted me and never talked to me again.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Regulus didn’t regret them. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, even as James froze, his smirk faltering.

“That’s what I thought,” Regulus said quietly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. His tone wasn’t angry—it was worse. It was cold, dismissive, a clear attempt to shield the vulnerability that still lingered.

James sighed heavily, running a hand through his already messy hair before crouching down in front of Regulus, dropping to his eye level. He crouched. Right there, mere inches away—no space, no barriers, no shirt. Just James Potter, all raw sincerity and glistening skin, looking at him like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Reggie,” James began, his voice low, steady. “I’ve already said I’m sorry a million times.” His gaze softened, but his tone carried a thread of frustration, of desperation. “I’ve been chasing after you ever since I got to London. What else do you want?”

Regulus opened his mouth to retort, but James didn’t give him the chance.

“And I’ve been patient. So damn patient,” James continued, his jaw clenching briefly before his words spilled out in a rush. “I know you’re screwing Barty, and it’s fine—I mean, no, I hate it. I really hate it. But it’s your right. I’ve done my waiting, and I haven’t complained because I figured—”

“What?” Regulus interrupted, his voice sharper than intended, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

James looked at him, his brown eyes uncharacteristically vulnerable. For a moment, he seemed hesitant, like he was weighing whether to say it. Then he exhaled, and the words fell from his lips, quiet and unguarded.

“Well, I figured you’d love me.”

The world seemed to hold its breath, and for a fraction of a second, Regulus didn’t know what to do with himself. James’ words hung in the space between them, heavy and unyielding, demanding acknowledgment. Regulus felt his defenses waver, the walls he’d built cracking under the weight of James’ unflinching honesty.

But even if James was being sincere, it wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Regulus had been waiting for James since he was eleven, enduring the sting of rejection and the ache of unfulfilled longing. He’d been patient, too—just as patient, if not more. And for what? For James to ghost him the moment Lily Evans batted her eyelashes again? The thought made his chest tighten with anger and a bitterness he couldn’t shake. Fuck that. It wasn’t fair, and it never would be.

“You know,” Regulus began, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant but no less sharp, “I’ve wanted you ever since I was eleven, right?”

James froze, his expression shifting from smug confidence to something unreadable. Shock, maybe? Confusion? Vulnerability? His brows knit together as he searched Regulus’ face for some hint that he was joking, but there was none to be found.

“You—um, what?” James stammered, his voice faltering as if the air had been knocked out of him. He blinked, taken aback, the weight of Regulus’ admission hitting him like a punch to the gut.

“You can’t expect me to feel sorry for you,” Regulus shot back, his voice low but sharp. “You’ve been patient for what? A month? A month and a half?” He scoffed, the bitterness in his words thickening. “It’s not fair. Not when I’ve waited for more than five years. I had you, James. You were mine, and then you turned me into nothing—just a crumpled piece of paper, tossed aside, forgotten.”

His gaze burned into James, unrelenting, and for the first time, Regulus let the full weight of his hurt settle between them. He didn’t look away. Not this time.

“I’m gonna go,” Regulus said, rising to his feet abruptly. “And don’t you dare tell Sirius I left.”

James couldn’t bring himself to respond. His words lodged in his throat, suffocating him. Regulus had wanted him—wanted him so badly—since he was eleven, and James had treated him like absolute shit. He had been cruel, and now, for the first time, he was facing the consequences of his actions.

James turned, desperate to stop him, to plead with him to stay, but it was too late. Regulus was already gone, slipping out of the room without a sound. The empty space between them felt suffocating, and James was left standing there, paralyzed by the realization of how much he had fucked up.

******

"I don’t know how people do it," Regulus sighed, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Do what?" Dorcas asked, glancing up from her book.

"Trust each other."

Dorcas paused for a moment, considering his words. "It’s a leap of faith, I guess," she said quietly, trying to offer some perspective.

Regulus scoffed, shaking his head. "Well, it's bullshit," he muttered. "Take the leap, and you just end up falling on concrete. That’s all that ever happens. It always does."

“You don’t have to let him in, you know?” Dorcas said softly, her voice firm yet understanding. “He hurt you, so he can go fuck off.”

Regulus let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. “What if I can’t do it?” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “What if I don’t survive it? I barely made it through the first time.”

“But you did,” Dorcas pointed out gently. Her gaze was steady, grounding him. “You did, and you will again. Whatever choice you make, you’ll survive. I know you will.”

His eyes glistened, betraying the emotions he was trying so hard to suppress. “You think?” he asked, his voice cracking just slightly.

Dorcas smiled, a small, reassuring curve of her lips. “I know you will,” she said simply, her faith in him unwavering.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Barty slipped inside, a drink in one hand and Evan Rosier trailing behind him. But the second Barty noticed Regulus sitting at the edge of the bed, his face clouded with sorrow, everything else faded into the background. It didn’t matter that he was tipsy or that Evan was still lingering in the doorway. His focus narrowed entirely on Regulus.

“Oh, darling, don’t cry,” Barty said, his tone unusually soft as he crouched down in front of him, meeting him at eye level.

Regulus didn’t lift his head, but his hands gripped the edge of the bed, his knuckles pale. Dorcas watched the exchange for a moment, then quietly stood. She slipped past Evan, who moved aside without a word, and closed the door behind her as she left.

The room fell silent except for the faint hum of music from the party downstairs. Barty reached out, hesitant at first, before resting a hand on Regulus’ knee. “Whatever’s got you in this state, it’s not worth your tears,” he murmured. His voice carried the kind of tenderness that only surfaced when Regulus was involved.

Regulus looked up then, his red-rimmed eyes meeting Barty’s, searching for something—anything—that might soothe the ache inside him.

“Hey, Ev,” Regulus greeted, his voice steady but tinged with a subtle warmth as his gaze locked onto the figure leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Reg,” Evan replied, his tone soft and genuine, a flicker of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He gave a small, effortless nod, a tilt of his chin. 

“Do you want me to shut the party down?” Barty asked, his voice low and uncharacteristically gentle. “I can also ask Rosy to head out—no offense,” he added, casting a brief glance at Evan before turning his full attention back to Regulus. His expression softened further. “Just say the word, and it’s done.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement lighting up his otherwise weary expression. “Rosy?” he repeated, his tone half incredulous, half entertained.

“Oh, piss off,” Barty retorted with a laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Evan. Rosier. Rosy. It’s whatever,” he said with a casual shrug, though his grin widened when he added, “You’re whatever,” this time directing the remark pointedly at Evan.

Evan smirked, leaning against the doorframe with a calm, practiced ease. Though Barty’s words could have stung, he knew better. There was no venom in the playful jab, and besides, this past month had been far too chaotic for him to take such remarks to heart. Chaotic, indeed—navigating the complicated waters of whatever undefined thing he had with Barty, all while watching the undeniable remnants of Barty’s love for Regulus linger like an unresolved melody.

It wasn’t easy. Barty’s heart seemed tangled in too many places at once—still hopelessly tied to Regulus, yet wandering far enough to find temporary solace in others. And Evan? He wanted Barty for himself. Completely. Yet he knew better than to push. Barty was his own person, and Evan couldn’t claim ownership over someone who refused to be bound.

Even so, Evan wasn’t blind. He recognized how hard it could be to get over a first love, and he could see the threads of that love still binding Regulus and Barty together in subtle but unyielding ways. It irritated him, sure, but he wouldn’t act on that irritation—not openly. No, Evan was too calculating for that.

This wasn’t just a mess to endure—it was a challenge. A game, even. Regulus and Evan were competing, and all was fair in love and war. Evan just needed to play his cards right, and he’d win. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Besides, Evan genuinely liked Regulus. Sure, he could be a diva at times—sharp-tongued and demanding when it suited him—but beneath the polished veneer was someone who was deeply, achingly hurt. It wasn’t hard to see if you looked closely enough.

Evan often caught glimpses of it in the quiet moments, those times when Regulus thought no one was paying attention. The way his gaze would linger on the horizon, distant and wistful, or the subtle shift in his posture when certain names were mentioned, like he was bracing for a blow. And now, with his weary eyes clouded over James Potter, the pain was unmistakable.

It struck a chord in Evan. Regulus wasn’t just some aloof, self-absorbed enigma. He was someone who had been shattered and rebuilt himself with edges sharper than glass, trying to keep the world at bay. And despite everything, Evan couldn’t help but admire the strength it took to wear that armor so flawlessly—even if it came with a few cracks.

“Why don’t we head over to my sister’s place?” Evan suggested, his tone light but purposeful.

He knew from experience that sometimes all a person needed was the warmth of good company, and his sister had a knack for making everyone feel seen and valued. Her ability to lift spirits was effortless, her presence like a gentle balm for even the heaviest of hearts. If anyone could coax a smile from Regulus, it was her.

“Your sister?” Regulus asked, dumbfounded, his brows furrowing slightly.

He had never met Evan’s sister before, and the idea felt oddly invasive. But as he listened to the music coming from downstairs, the thought of staying here was even less appealing. He wasn’t quite ready to head home either, so maybe…

“She’s chill,” Evan assured him with a casual shrug. “I’ll call her and let her know we’re coming. Oh, and we can just swipe some alcohol from here to bring along.”

“You’re gonna make me steal my own alcohol?” Barty asked, a sly grin creeping onto his face.

“Is it really yours, though?” Evan shot back with a raised brow. “I’m pretty sure you just make everyone else bring their bottles while you claim host privileges.”

Barty smirked, his head tilting thoughtfully. “Hm. You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

“Only sometimes,” Evan replied smoothly, the hint of a challenge in his tone.

“All right, fuck it,” Regulus cut in, his irritation sharpening his voice as he glanced between them. The flirtatious back-and-forth was grating on him. Barty was still his, no matter how much Evan wanted to act otherwise. “Let’s just do it. Let’s go meet your twin.”

Evan’s lips quirked into a small, victorious smile, but he didn’t push his luck. “Cool. Let me make the call.”

“Dorcas is coming too,” Regulus said firmly, crossing his arms as if daring anyone to challenge the decision.

“Sure,” Evan replied without missing a beat, his tone light and easy. He gave a slight shrug, his eyes flickering with amusement. “The more, the merrier.”

Regulus raised a brow, clearly skeptical. “You’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Evan countered with a smirk. “She’s got a sharper tongue than anyone here. It’ll be entertaining.”

“Or dangerous,” Barty muttered under his breath, but he didn’t argue.

“Danger keeps things interesting,” Evan said, a teasing edge in his voice.

Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small quirk of his lips. “Fine. Let’s get moving before I change my mind.”

About an hour later, the five of them stood outside Evan’s sister’s flat. Evan knocked confidently on the door, while Regulus hovered beside him, his arms crossed in mild impatience.

When the door opened, Regulus froze, his lips parting slightly as disbelief washed over his face. He almost wanted to kiss Evan on the spot—not out of affection, but sheer relief. Yet, beneath that relief lay shock. The world really was absurdly small.

“Pandora?” he blurted, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement.

Pandora’s eyes widened, and her face lit up with a radiant smile. “Oh my god. Regulus?”

Evan frowned, looking between them in confusion. “Wait...you two know each other?”

Regulus smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Hold up—you’re Evan’s sister?”

“And you’re Evan’s neighbor’s ‘pretty boy’!” Pandora exclaimed, putting two and two together with a delighted laugh.

“My pretty what—” Barty interjected sharply, popping his head between Regulus and Evan, his tone laced with playful indignation.

Pandora’s attention flicked to him, her expression unbothered and direct. “And you’re Barty. The neighbor, right?”

“What the fuck is going on?” Dorcas asked bluntly from the back, her voice cutting through the chaos as she folded her arms, clearly baffled by the tangled web of connections unraveling before her.

Evan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the corners of his lips twitched with restrained laughter. “Well, this is off to a fantastic start,” he muttered.

“Okay, okay—come in,” Pandora said, stepping aside with a grin as she gestured for them to enter.

The group shuffled in, all varying degrees of confused, but it was clear Regulus and Pandora were enjoying every second of it. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a shared amusement that only deepened the others’ bewilderment.

It was surreal. They hadn’t seen each other since that night at the club, a chance encounter that had ended without last names or any way to reconnect. Both Regulus and Pandora had quietly hoped to cross paths again, but neither had considered it a real possibility. And yet, here they were, the universe proving how small it could really be.

“Wait a second,” Dorcas said, narrowing her eyes as she looked between them. “You two definitely know each other.”

Pandora shrugged, her grin widening. “You could say that.”

“Oh, come on,” Barty chimed in, throwing his hands up. “Someone explain before my head explodes.”

“Relax,” Regulus drawled, his tone teasing. “Pandora and I had...a night. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“A night?” Evan echoed, clearly caught off guard.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Pandora clarified quickly, but the glint of mischief in her eyes said she was loving the chaos.

Barty groaned, flopping onto the nearest couch dramatically. “I can already tell this is going to be exhausting.”

Pandora laughed, her gaze flicking back to Regulus. “Well, I have to admit, I didn’t think the ‘pretty boy’ would end up on my doorstep.”

“And I didn’t think Evan’s mysterious twin would turn out to be you,” Regulus shot back, his smile tugging higher. “Wait, why do you call me ‘pretty boy’?” Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly puzzled.

Pandora shrugged, her tone nonchalant. “Evan says you’re a pretty boy.”

“I do not!” Evan shot back immediately, his face flushing bright red with embarrassment.

Barty leaned forward with a grin, clearly enjoying the scene. “Hell, Rosy, I knew you had a thing for Regulus.”

“I do not!” Evan repeated, but this time his voice wavered, betraying him.

Pandora snorted with laughter, her amusement barely contained. “Oh, come on, Ev. You’ve definitely got a thing for him.”

Evan groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. “This is not happening.”

Barty shot Regulus a conspiratorial wink. “You’re welcome for the entertainment,” he said, enjoying every second of Evan’s discomfort.

Regulus smirked, leaning back in his seat. “I’m starting to think I should make Evan my personal fan club president,” he mused, thoroughly entertained.

Evan shot him a pleading look, clearly hoping the teasing would end. "Can we just—"

“Not a chance,” Barty interrupted with a grin. "This is gold."

Dorcas, clearly still lost in the whirlwind of revelations, finally spoke up. “Wait, can you guys just... specify what a ‘one-night’ meant?”

Regulus and Pandora exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them before Regulus broke the silence. “We just met at a club, had a really good conversation. You remember?” He glanced at Dorcas, his voice light but with a hint of amusement. “That night when you took me clubbing with Marlene and Potter was there—”

Dorcas frowned, thinking hard. “Yeah… Still didn’t see you talking to anyone.”

Regulus grinned, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah, because you were too busy making out with Marls on the dancefloor,” he teased, his smirk widening.

Dorcas rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. It was the truth, after all. When she was with Marlene, everything else blurred out of focus, leaving just the two of them, fading to black. 

“Wait, so—” Dorcas asked, her brow furrowing in thought. “Why didn’t you introduce us to her?”

“Oh, well, that shit-for-brains came over and stole Regulus because he was jealous,” Pandora explained, nonchalantly.

“Shit-for-brains?” Evan asked, his voice laced with disbelief. He blinked, clearly not sure if he had heard that right.

“Potter,” Regulus clarified, his tone amused.

Barty burst into laughter. “Did she just call Potter a shit-for-brains?” he asked, grinning widely. “Oh Rosy, I’m liking your sister way more than you.”

“Haha, very funny,” Evan said, his voice flat and unimpressed.

“It is Barty, right?” Pandora asked, turning her attention to him.

“In the flesh,” Barty replied, puffing out his chest playfully. “What’s Rosy told you about me? Good things, I hope?”

“Hmmm,” Pandora said, her lips curling into a smirk. “Mostly bad ones.”

Barty looked dramatically at Evan, feigning offense. “Rosy, what did I ever do to you?” he asked, his voice dripping with theatrical drama.

Evan just clicked his teeth in response, as if saying Really?

Pandora continued, unfazed by the banter. “Got a lot of noise complaints. Hm, rude, selfish, self-absorbed… kind of a slut…”

Evan yelped, clearly embarrassed. “Panda!” he protested, his cheeks flushed. Sure, he had said all that about Barty before, but that was before they started properly hanging out.

Barty’s smirk only grew wider. “Hm, well, I sure know how to uphold my reputation.”

It should’ve offended anyone else, but not Barty. He knew exactly who he was, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. He wore his reputation like a badge of honor.

“So, you’ve been talking about me?” Barty asked Evan, his grin widening, clearly pleased with the idea.

Of course, he would be delighted, Evan thought to himself, the edge of frustration creeping into his mind. Stuck-up motherfucker.

“She’s my sister,” Evan replied quickly, attempting to cover up his slip-up. “I tell her everything... you’re not special.” His tone was casual, but the slight defensiveness in it didn’t go unnoticed.

“I mean, us meeting was just… a coincidence,” Barty said, shrugging nonchalantly. “But don’t kid yourself. I am special.”

“Barty, you’re so full of yourself, it’s exhausting,” Regulus shot back, his voice laced with mock annoyance.

“Want me to fill you in?” Barty quipped, his smirk widening.

“I—” Regulus stammered, his face flushing a deep red. “Oh, come on! Be decent for once. We have company,” he said, gesturing toward Pandora, who was watching the back-and-forth with mild amusement.

“I volunteer,” Evan blurted out, the words leaving his mouth before he could think them through.

“Oh, do you now?” Barty asked, arching a brow, his tone teasing. Meanwhile, Regulus blurted out a very alarmed, “What?!”

“No, no,” Regulus interjected quickly, his nerves evident but his determination clearer. He turned to Barty with a pointed look. “Bee, you can fill me up as much as you’d like.”

It was a bold statement, one that left Barty grinning like a Cheshire cat. Regulus wasn’t about to let Rosier—or anyone else—steal what was his.

“Too slow, Black,” Evan chimed in, his tone smug. “You already turned him down.”

“Shut up,” Regulus shot back, glaring.

“Fair’s fair,” Evan continued, unwilling to back down.

“Well, maybe Barty doesn’t want to fill you up,” Regulus countered, his voice laced with mock confidence. “Have you thought about that?”

“Oh, but maybe he does,” Evan retorted with a smirk.

“Does not,” Regulus snapped.

“Does too,” Evan fired back.

“Does not—”

“Does too—”

“Does not—”

“Guys!” Barty finally interrupted, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Cool it! There’s enough of me to go around,” he said, his grin wicked.

Both Evan and Regulus turned sharply to him, their voices uniting in a rare moment of solidarity.

“Shut up, Barty.”

Dorcas let out a long, slow whistle, shaking her head. “Anyway… if you two are done competing over someone as lame as Barty—”

“Hey!” Barty protested, clearly offended.

Dorcas continued without sparing him a glance, her tone utterly dismissive. “We should pop open a bottle and throw on some music.”

“Yes!” Pandora chimed in, her face lighting up as she clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “We shall.” 

They started by cracking open a bottle of vodka, the sharp pop echoing through the flat. Pandora moved to the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and a tray of ice cubes with practiced ease. She lined up five mismatched glasses on the counter, pouring a generous mix of vodka, juice, and ice into each.

In the background, The Breeders hummed to life, their raw, grungy sound filling the space. The music seemed to wrap around them, blending seamlessly with the soft clinking of glasses and murmured laughter as the group settled into the atmosphere.

“So, Reg,” Pandora began, settling herself gracefully on the couch next to him, her curiosity sharp and inviting. “Ev mentioned one of his friends was upset. I’m guessing it isn’t Barty, so… what’s up?”

Oh, Regulus liked her very much. Her ability to read the room and get straight to the point was genuinely impressive.

“Remember the shit-for-brains?” he asked, leaning back into the cushions.

“Of course,” Pandora replied, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“Well,” Regulus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s been trying to win me back ever since he got to London. And like… yeah, we’ve been making out and screwing around from time to time, but it’s just a fuck, you know?” His voice quickened, spilling out the words like they’d been bottled up for too long. “But no. He’s so nice before and after, flirts with me non-stop, and we banter every single time we see each other because I cannot stand him.”

Pandora raised a brow, but he didn’t stop.

“And it’s like—I can’t stand him because of how much I like him. It drives me nuts! He shouldn’t be trying to win me back. Not after what he did. How am I supposed to trust him? I can’t, so I keep pushing him away. But no matter what, he just… persists. Comes right back to me. Like a bloody boomerang.”

Pandora sat quietly for a moment, letting his words settle between them. Then she tilted her head and gave him a soft smile. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself in quite the knot.” 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Regulus groaned, his head tipping back against the couch as if the memory itself was exhausting. “A couple of days ago, I had to see him—shirtless and oiled up, mind you—because he was fixing a bloody car. I mean, come on. I was practically drooling!”

Pandora’s lips quirked, her amusement clear, but she let him continue.

“And of course, he knows he’s handsome,” Regulus went on, gesturing dramatically as if to emphasize the injustice of it all. “He knows exactly what he’s doing. He enjoys the attention, thrives on it even, and then—of course—he acts on it. The smirks, the little comments, all of it.”

He threw his hands up, exasperated. “And I had to not give in. Do you know how hard that was? Walking away from that? Bloody impossible.”

Pandora let out a low whistle, resting her chin on her hand. “You poor thing,” she teased lightly, though there was a glint of genuine empathy in her eyes. “Sounds like the universe is conspiring against you.”

“It bloody well feels like it,” Regulus muttered, crossing his arms.

“Why do you even like him?” Pandora pressed, curiosity lighting up her features. “I mean, you can screw him all you want, but what makes you like him? What’s so special about this one guy? You have plenty of options—one of them’s sitting right there.” She pointed toward Barty, who was currently engrossed in some animated conversation with Evan.

Regulus huffed, taking a sip from his drink. The alcohol was beginning to blur the edges of his thoughts, making him more open than he usually would be. “Okay, first of all,” he began, holding up a finger, “Barty doesn’t like me. Not in that way.”

“Eh, I could argue against that,” Pandora cut in with a sly grin.

“No, he doesn’t,” Regulus insisted firmly, swirling the drink in his glass. “Trust me. He’s been drooling over your brother for over a month now. And besides…” He trailed off, exhaling softly before continuing. “He made it very clear a long time ago that he doesn’t—and won’t ever—love me like that. I confessed to him when I was, what, nineteen? And he turned me down.”

Pandora’s face softened with surprise, but she said nothing, letting him have his moment.

“So, anyway, moving on,” Regulus said, brushing off the lingering sting with a wave of his hand. “Potter. Why do I like him?” He paused, tipping his head back against the couch as if searching the ceiling for answers.

“That,” he said after a beat, “is a great bloody question.”

“I guess it’s just…” Regulus trailed off, trying to piece together the chaotic swirl of emotions in his mind. He exhaled, his eyes unfocused as he continued, “He’s probably the only person in my life who’s ever shown me there’s light in the darkness.”

Pandora tilted her head, listening intently.

“Barty…” Regulus hesitated, searching for the right words. “Barty accepts me as I am. He doesn’t try to change me, and I appreciate that—I really do. But it’s also… I don’t know, self-destructive, in a way. It’s like he’s willing to walk through the darkness with me, but he doesn’t push me to leave it.”

“And James?” Pandora prompted softly.

“James…” Regulus’s voice softened, his lips curving into a faint, almost wistful smile. “James cared for me as I was—he didn’t try to fix me. But at the same time, he’s… he’s one in a million. I don’t know what it is that makes him so bloody warm, but it’s like he’s swallowed the sun itself, and his touch can turn you into pure euphoria.”

Pandora blinked, captivated by the poetic way Regulus spoke about James.

“He made me feel,” Regulus said, his voice breaking slightly. “Like life was worth living. Like… maybe, just maybe, I could be more than the shadows I’ve lived in my whole life.” He looked down, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “It’s maddening, the effect he has on people.”

“So, if James is all that for you, why are you still hung up on Barty?” Pandora asked, her tone both curious and direct.

Regulus froze, her words striking a chord no one had dared to touch before. It wasn’t that he hadn’t asked himself the same question—he had, countless times—but hearing it from someone else made it feel raw, exposed.

For a moment, he said nothing, the air between them heavy with unspoken truths. Then, he finally spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

“I don’t want to walk the darkness alone,” he admitted, his gaze fixed somewhere distant, as if the words themselves hurt to say out loud.

Pandora studied him for a moment, her expression softening. “Look, I get it,” she began gently. “It’s scary. But maybe you should give it a shot—with Potter, I mean. He’s been behaving, hasn’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” Regulus replied, his lips curling into a smirk as he clicked his tongue. “Very well-behaved.”

Unbidden, memories flooded his mind—the way James would surrender to him in bed, so eager, so desperate to please. The way he hung on Regulus’ every word, doing exactly what he wanted, begging for more, completely undone by the simplest touch. Oh yes, James Potter was the picture of obedience when it came to him.

“Ew.” Pandora’s voice cut through his thoughts, her face twisting into a mix of amusement and mock disgust. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Regulus let out a laugh, shrugging with an unapologetic grin. “Well, you should’ve been more specific.”

Pandora rolled her eyes, but the smile that tugged at her lips betrayed her amusement. “You’re funny.”

“Am I?” Regulus arched an eyebrow, genuinely curious. “I’ve never really thought of myself as funny.”

Pandora gave a dry chuckle, leaning back against the couch. “It’s a morbid kind of funny,” she clarified, her tone light but knowing.

Regulus was about to speak when, out of nowhere, Barty slid into his space, standing between his legs and tilting his chin up with a smirk. “Open up,” he said, his voice laced with seduction. Before Regulus could respond, Barty was tipping a bottle of vodka into his mouth.

Regulus recoiled, grimacing at the harsh burn, his face scrunching as the liquor hit his tongue. “I hate you,” he muttered, his voice tight with distaste.

Barty’s grin only widened, his eyes dark with mischief. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed Regulus, his lips firm against his. And damn it, Regulus loved it. Fuck you, Rosier, he thought, frustration swirling in his chest. Barty was still his. 

But was he, though? Because the moment Barty caught sight of Evan’s subtle but unmistakable look of annoyance, he pulled away with a smirk and followed after him.

“What’s wrong, Rosy?” Barty called out, his tone teasing as he strolled into the kitchen, closing the distance between them. “Can’t take the heat?”

“You’re such a slut,” Evan muttered, the words laced with a certain detachment. He wasn’t mad—he couldn’t be, not really—because Barty wasn’t his to claim. But still, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before Regulus was out of the picture entirely.

“We agreed: no strings attached,” Barty replied with a shrug, the reminder of their conversation hanging in the air. It had been necessary after their second night together, turned into the third...and into the fourth… and the pattern had only continued.

“It’s still no strings attached,” Evan said, though his voice wavered just slightly.

“Really?” Barty raised an eyebrow, studying him carefully. “Because for a moment there, I thought I detected a hint of jealousy.”

“I’m not,” Evan snapped, a little too quickly. “You can screw whoever you want.”

But for some reason, the response hit Barty like a punch to the gut. A fleeting, almost painful disappointment flickered within him. Part of him had wanted to hear something different—something that would suggest Evan wanted him too.

"My bad, then," Barty muttered, already beginning to pull away. His head was spinning just slightly—too much alcohol, too fast. Still, he couldn't deny the way the night was unfolding. Pandora was easy to talk to, ridiculously pretty—just like her brother—and the music was good. The vibes were even better. It felt nice, not being lost in a massive party for once, but instead, hanging out somewhere low-key with only his friends.

Before he could move further, Evan caught his arm, pulling him back with a firm tug. "Don’t go," Evan said, his voice low but insistent. "Stay a bit."

Barty glanced around. "Party’s outside," he replied, his tone dismissive.

"So?" Evan challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Dorcas and my sister are busy gossiping with Regulus. Let them have their fun. Stay here a bit."

"Alright," Barty said, his voice laced with curiosity. "What do you wanna do?"

Evan's gaze dropped to Barty's lips, and it didn't take long for Barty to catch the shift in his focus. He wasn't oblivious when it came to this. Without missing a beat, he set his cup down on the counter and crashed his lips against Evan’s. The kiss was immediate and fierce, a mix of drunken abandon and raw desire. Their lips met in a messy yet passionate collision, both of them just beyond tipsy, their bodies leaning into the kiss with a certain desperation. 

The kiss deepened, both of them losing themselves in the moment, their hands roaming without thinking. Barty could feel Evan’s fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, as if trying to erase any distance between them. The air was thick with alcohol, sweat, and the pulsing beat of the music still echoing in the background. It wasn’t gentle—it was frantic, urgent, as though they were both craving something more than just the kiss, something they hadn’t dared to admit to each other.

Barty's chest was tight with a mix of excitement and something darker—something he hadn’t quite figured out. He pulled back for a breath, eyes meeting Evan’s, both of them flushed and breathing heavy. There was a flicker of something unspoken in Evan’s eyes, a challenge or perhaps a question. Barty didn’t want to think too much about it. Instead, he kissed him again, his hands sliding to Evan’s waist, pulling him in closer until their bodies were pressed tight.

It wasn’t the first time they’d been this close, but it felt different now—more intense, more real. There was a part of Barty, buried beneath the heat and the need, that told him this was dangerous. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t thinking about consequences, about Regulus, or about anything beyond the way Evan’s mouth moved against his, the way their bodies fit together so effortlessly.

As they pulled away, breathless and still tangled in each other’s arms, Barty gave Evan a small, almost teasing smile. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered, his voice low and rough from the kiss.

Evan smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You’re not the first to say that.”

Barty chuckled, shaking his head, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in again, this time slower, as if savoring the moment. It was reckless, it was messy—but for the first time in a while, it felt right.

However, when the moment passed, the lingering tension between them made Evan ask, almost against his own better judgment. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just that the question had been on his mind for longer than he realized.

“Are you ever going to be over Regulus?”

Barty’s smile faltered, and his gaze shifted to the door, the one that separated the kitchen from the living room, as if seeking an escape. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh before meeting Evan’s eyes. The weight of the moment hit him all at once. The vulnerability, the openness he hadn't intended to offer.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be over Regulus,” he admitted quietly, his voice carrying a rawness that surprised even him. “He’s engraved too deeply into my bones.”

Evan’s expression faltered, his mouth opening as if to say something, but Barty cut him off, pressing forward with an urgency that surprised himself.

“But—” Barty continued, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. The confusion in Evan's eyes made him second-guess himself, but there was no going back now. Why was he even explaining himself to Evan? This was a momentary thing, wasn't it? Something fleeting, unimportant. Them meeting had only been just a coincidence. 

Evan wasn’t Regulus. Evan wasn’t him. Yet, Barty felt a pull, something in his gut telling him this was real in some way.

“You’re pretty great, yourself,” Barty murmured, the words soft, yet sincere. It wasn’t the same as what he felt for Regulus, but there was something there—something undeniable. “I can’t, well... I don’t know what it is we’re doing, but I just know I don’t want to stop.”

The admission hung in the air, thick with unsaid words, and Barty found himself waiting for Evan’s response with a sense of anxiety he couldn’t shake. Would he walk away? Would he say something that would make Barty regret this moment of honesty?

Instead, Evan stood there for a beat, eyes searching Barty’s, before he broke into a small, almost imperceptible smile. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was there.

“I don’t think I want to stop either,” Evan said softly, his tone measured, but there was a flicker of something in it. Something that Barty couldn’t quite place.

And just like that, despite everything, something in Barty’s chest eased, even as he remained uncertain of what this was. Or what it could become.