If You Have To Ask, You´ll Never Know
“Is that—” James started, his hand instinctively reaching toward Regulus’ neck. His fingers brushed over the faint bruise, lingering there as if analyzing the mark. “Is that a hickey?”
His touch was soft, almost hesitant, but the jealousy simmering in his chest was anything but. He didn’t need confirmation—he knew exactly who had left it. Barty Crouch Jr. Of course, it had to be him.
James had picked Regulus up at eight sharp, just as promised. He’d worn a suit like Regulus requested, even brought another bouquet of his favorite flowers. The drive to the restaurant had been quiet, the car filled with soft music and James’ failed attempts at conversation. He hadn’t minded; he figured he deserved the silence, and truthfully, he was lucky to even get this chance at all—a chance at redemption, at a date with Regulus.
Now, they sat across from each other at the most elegant table in the fanciest restaurant he could find, the low hum of piano music setting a sophisticated tone. The French cuisine was exquisite, the drinks finely crafted, and yet none of it registered for James.
His focus was entirely on Regulus, his every detail—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the way the dim lighting softened the hard lines of his face. And now, the mark.
The twisted, bruised mess on his neck had been there the whole evening, and James had only just noticed. It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that someone else—Barty—got to mark him. He should’ve been the one.
Regulus slapped his hand away, his voice cutting through the moment. “Yeah, so?” he asked, his tone sharp and defensive.
James froze for a second, every nerve in his body urging him to snap back, to let loose the torrent of frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He wanted to curse out Regulus, or more accurately, curse out Barty. He wanted to demand that Regulus ditch that arrogant asshole, to forget he even existed. The jealousy clawing at his chest was unbearable.
But then he stopped himself.
After a tense beat of hesitation, James swallowed the anger and forced a calming breath. He’d made a promise, hadn’t he? To be a good boy tonight. To make no complaints, no demands, no drama. And breaking that promise now would mean losing any chance he still had.
“Nothing,” James said, his voice soft but wounded. He tried to keep the hurt from spilling out, but it bled into the words anyway. “It’s just… um—” he fumbled awkwardly, trying to pivot. “Is the place okay? Do you like it?”
Regulus’ lip twitched, caught somewhere between guilt and pity. Watching James try so hard, biting back everything he so obviously wanted to say, made something twist in Regulus’ chest. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair for him to be so cold and distant when James had gone out of his way to do all of this. When he was trying.
Regulus sighed, his voice softening. “It’s really pretty,” he admitted.
“And the—” James started, but Regulus interrupted him.
“James,” he said softly, and James jolted at the sound.
It was the first time Regulus had called him James and not Potter. It was a small thing, but to James, it felt monumental. His chest tightened with warmth, a strange flutter spreading through him. Hearing his name roll off Regulus’ lips—so soft, so deliberate—was progress, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what to do with the feeling except hold onto it.
“Everything is as it should be,” Regulus continued, his tone calm and measured. “The food’s great, the music, the drinks… even the place itself.” He paused, glancing at James with a faint but genuine expression. “You’ve outdone yourself, so stop worrying. Let’s just… talk about something.”
James blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected shift. “Uh—alright, yeah,” he stammered, sounding more like an awkward schoolboy than he’d care to admit. “So, uh, what do you want to talk about?”
Regulus tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “I suppose…” he began, then hesitated, almost as if the words tasted foreign on his tongue. “Why don’t you… update me about your life?”
James raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“It’s been too long,” Regulus added, his voice quieter now. “Too long without knowing anything about you.”
“You want to know about me?” James asked, his voice laced with surprise.
Regulus let out an amused scoff, his lips quirking in the faintest of smirks. “Geez, Potter,” he said, and James’ heart sank. He wanted to cry, to grab onto that fleeting moment when his name wasn’t just Potter.Go back, James thought desperately. Call me James again.
“Isn’t this how dates are supposed to work?” Regulus continued, the faintest tease in his tone. “Aren’t we supposed to… I don’t know, get to know each other? Or so I assume,” he added, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “I haven’t exactly gone on many dates myself.”
“You haven’t?” James blurted out, his surprise clear. A mix of confusion and disbelief flickered across his face. “But why not? You’re… you’re absolutely gorgeous,” he added, the words spilling out before he could stop them.
“Hm,” Regulus mumbled, his tone nonchalant but with a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
It was… nice, knowing James thought of him that way. Regulus wasn’t oblivious; he knew he was attractive. But gorgeous? That was a word he’d never used for himself, nor believed anyone else truly would.
“Anyway,” he said, steering the conversation back. “Let’s talk about you. I want to hear all about the people you’ve fucked since me.”
The words tumbled out casually, like he hadn’t just thrown a grenade into the middle of the conversation.
James choked on his water, coughing violently as the question landed with all the subtlety of a slap. A few heads turned from nearby tables, curious or amused by the commotion.
“Reg,” James gasped, his voice hoarse but scandalized. “You’re serious? I take you out to this place, and that’s what you ask me? Don’t—” He stopped, his eyes betraying a mixture of shock and hurt.
Maybe, just maybe, Regulus had crossed a line. He was being mean again, pushing James just a bit too far.
“Alright,” Regulus muttered, his lips twitching downward in something that almost looked like guilt. “I do apologize. That was uncalled for.”
“It’s just—” James began, his voice uncertain.
“I said I’m sorry. Just drop it,” Regulus cut him off, his tone sharper than he intended.
James hesitated, swallowing hard. “You know,” he said quietly, a hint of defeat creeping into his voice. “You’re never gonna want me, are you? This—this was a mistake. I’m gonna go—”
“No, wait—” Regulus interjected, his voice cracking slightly as James started to rise from his seat.
James froze mid-motion, looking at him, a question lingering in his gaze, his posture uncertain.
“Stay,” Regulus whispered, softer this time. His defenses faltered just enough to let the vulnerability slip through. “Tell me about Spain.”
After a moment of hesitation, James eased back into his seat, studying Regulus with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “What do you want to know?”
“Were the—” Regulus began, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if the question carried more weight than he let on. “Were the people nice to you?”
James blinked, taken aback by the unexpected question. “Wait—you wanna know that?” He let out a short laugh. “Of all things, that’s what you care about?”
“I just…” Regulus murmured, his gaze flickering to the table before returning to James. “Not that I care, of course,” he added quickly, leaning back and feigning indifference. “Like, trust me, I couldn’t care less. But also, if they weren’t nice, I mean—” He hesitated, then straightened slightly, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “I know a guy I can call.”
James frowned, both confused and intrigued. “A guy you can—wait, call? Call for what?”
Regulus’ smirk widened, taking on a wicked edge as he leaned forward just slightly. “Oh, you know,” he said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Murder.”
“Oh,” James said, his eyes widening as he leaned back slightly. “Oh, you should absolutely be behind bars.”
“Should I?” Regulus countered smoothly, arching an eyebrow in mock offense.
“Okay, Reg—” James began, holding up his hands in surrender. “Please don’t kill anybody. I swear to you, the people were nice.”
“How nice?” Regulus asked, his tone suddenly sharper, almost dangerous. “Because if they were too nice—like, nice nice, as in trying-to-get-into-bed-with-you nice—then I will call the guy. No hesitation.”
“Regulus—” James said, blinking at him, half-amused and half-terrified. He couldn’t entirely shake the feeling that Regulus might actually follow through on the threat. “You don’t need to call anyone. I promise, no one was—wait.” He paused, a grin creeping across his face as realization dawned. “Are you jealous?”
“Pfft,” Regulus scoffed, though his eyes darted nervously around the restaurant as if searching for an escape route. “Me? Jealous? That’s absurd. What an odd thing to say.” He crossed his arms defensively, scowling like a petulant teenager caught red-handed.
James chuckled, leaning in closer, unable to resist teasing him. “Oh, you’re so jealous.”
“Shut up,” Regulus muttered, his cheeks barely tinged with pink, glaring at James as if daring him to press further. “And don´t even-”
“Make me?” James quipped before Regulus could even think of telling him to stop.
Regulus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, the sheer absurdity of James’ comment making him question, for a fleeting moment, why he had agreed to this date in the first place.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Regulus sighed. “For my own sanity. Fine, people were nice. Let’s move on. Academics?”
“Top of my class,” James answered, flashing a proud grin.
“Figures,” Regulus replied, his tone teasing but faintly impressed. “You’ve always been a giant nerd under all that muscle.” His gaze drifted, not so subtly, to James’ biceps, lingering with a hint of hunger.
“Was that a double compliment?” James teased, leaning forward slightly, his grin widening.
“No,” Regulus snapped back, a little too quickly, his cheeks faintly pink. “Tell me about the car thing,” he said, abruptly steering the conversation in a new direction.
For someone who supposedly didn’t want anything to do with James Potter, he certainly had a lot of questions.
“I don’t know,” James began, leaning back in his chair. “Like I said, I picked it up for Sirius at first. You know, something to keep me busy outside of sports and academics. But then… I don’t know. It just clicked. I liked it. Felt… beneficial.”
Regulus arched a skeptical brow but stayed silent, so James continued, warming to the topic. “After a while, I found myself really enjoying it. There’s something about doing hand jobs—”
“Don’t,” Regulus cut him off, his cheeks suddenly aflame. “For the love of Merlin, please don’t use that term.”
James smirked, utterly unrepentant. “Relax, Reggie,” he teased. “I thought you said no touching tonight?”
“There isn’t. There won’t be,” Regulus replied stiffly, though his flustered expression betrayed him. “Just… just carry on.”
James chuckled, clearly enjoying himself, but he obliged. “As I was saying, there’s something fulfilling about restoring a car, you know? Taking something that’s a complete mess and turning it into something functional, even beautiful. It’s like… creating order out of chaos.” His voice softened as he added, “My mom used to tell me when I was little that no matter how broken something is, there’s always a way to fix it.”
Regulus scoffed bitterly, his gaze dropping to the table. “I could argue with that,” he muttered, his voice edged with something darker.
There were a lot of things in this world that couldn’t be fixed, no matter what. Regulus knew all about them.
He knew the way Barty would always feel unlovable because of his father, a man who saw his son as nothing more than a failed experiment, a disappointment in tailored robes. He knew how Barty would laugh like a madman while the wounds in his heart festered, turning bitterness into a weapon and shame into a shield. He knew that no matter how many times Barty’s knuckles healed, they’d always be broken again—split against walls, tables, or faces in an unending search for control.
Regulus knew about voids, the kind that hollowed out your soul until there was nothing left but a deep, aching loneliness, swirling like ink in water, poisoning everything it touched. He knew about apothic states, that numb darkness where even the sun felt like a burden rather than a reprieve. He knew what it was like to wake up every morning and feel the weight of existing, heavier than it was the day before.
He understood damaged bonds better than most—the way a sibling's love could turn into rivalry, resentment, and silence. He knew the apathy of parents who gave only as much as they had to, who looked at you and saw a piece of their legacy, never a person. He knew what it felt like to exist in the shadow of expectation, to be loved for a last name that demanded excellence but never allowed you the freedom to simply be.
He knew about being a spare—always second to someone, an afterthought in a story that wasn’t his. The side character in a family that only cared about its lead roles. He knew the pain of being left behind by the only boy he'd ever wanted, abandoned for a girl with shining hair and a perfect smile. Regulus knew how it felt to have that boy look at him like he was his whole world one day, only to turn around and call him a mistake the next.
And the cruelest irony? That girl dumped him too. The golden couple fell apart, and yet it didn’t matter. James Potter wasn’t his to reclaim, not really. Regulus had spent so long convincing himself he didn’t care, that he didn’t need anyone, but James made him want things he had no right to want.
He knew there were things in this world that could never be fixed. Some cracks ran too deep, some stains were too dark.
Regulus knew that, because he was one of them.
He was the untouchable broken thing, the unsalvageable wreck. It didn’t matter how many people tried to pull him out of the abyss—he was tethered to it, a part of it. He wasn’t like James, with his shining optimism and his stupid, reckless belief that anything could be fixed if you tried hard enough.
Because some things couldn’t be fixed. Not Barty, not Sirius, not the wreckage of the Black family. Not Regulus.
And as he sat there, staring at James’ hopeful face, something inside him ached. He wanted to believe in the lie James offered—that broken things could be made whole again. That maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t beyond saving.
But Regulus knew better. He always did.
He smiled faintly, a flicker of something soft, almost tender. “That’s the thing about fixing things,” he said quietly, his voice edged with sadness. “Sometimes, they weren’t meant to be fixed at all.”
And though James didn’t say it, Regulus could see the hurt flash in his eyes, as if somewhere, deep down, he knew that Regulus wasn’t just talking about cars.
“I never said they needed to be,” James said softly, his voice carrying a quiet warmth. “There’s beauty in imperfections. They make people who they are.”
Regulus tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp but distant, as though trying to find the flaw in James' optimism. “And what if they don’t like who they are?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with bitterness and something else—a fragile vulnerability he didn’t mean to show.
James hesitated, his expression softening. “That’s alright,” he said, his tone steady but gentle. “People will love them either way.”
The words hung between them, suspended in the stillness of the moment. It felt like a confession, one meant only for Regulus to hear.
“Right,” Regulus said, swallowing nervously as he shifted in his chair. “So, uh—what’s your plan?”
“My plan?” James asked, leaning back slightly, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah, like... with life. Your ten-year plan or whatever,” Regulus clarified, swirling the wine in his glass with a feigned air of disinterest.
James chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t—wait, do people actually do that? Plan out their lives for the next ten years?”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a smirk as he took a deliberate sip of wine. “Oh, sorry,” he said, voice dripping with mock pity. “I forgot you weren’t part of the elite.”
James’ eyes narrowed in amusement. “Ah, Reg, you’re such a classist,” he teased, shaking his head in mock disapproval.
Regulus tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he interrupted smugly, cutting James off before he could retort.
“Just what exactly is the elite to you, then?” James asked, leaning forward, his interest piqued.
Regulus set his glass down carefully, his fingers lingering on the stem as if considering his answer. “The elite,” he began, “are the ones who know what they’re doing. The people with power, connections, and enough foresight to plan their futures—people who don’t stumble around waiting for life to happen to them.”
James gave him a look, half-amused, half-challenging. “And you think you’re one of them?”
Regulus let out a sharp laugh, low and almost bitter. “I know I’m one of them,” he said, his voice tinged with pride, though it faltered slightly, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced himself. “At least, I was raised to be. Whether I like it or not.”
James leaned closer, his gaze softening. “You know, you don’t have to be what you were raised to be.”
Regulus’ smirk faltered, his expression hardening just enough to signal that James was treading dangerous territory. “It's the only thing I've ever known.”
James paused, his expression thoughtful as he chose his words carefully. “You’re smart, Reg,” he said, his voice low but steady, each word deliberate. His gaze locked onto Regulus’ with an intensity that was almost disarming. “You could reinvent yourself if that’s what you want. You know that, don’t you?”
There was no teasing in James’ tone, no playful lilt to soften the sincerity behind his words. It was raw, piercing straight through the guarded exterior Regulus so carefully maintained, and for a moment, it was as though James had seen straight into the cracks he tried so desperately to hide.
Regulus blinked, caught off guard, his fingers tightening slightly around the stem of his glass. He looked away, his lips parting as though to respond, but no words came. That kind of belief in him—so absolute and without conditions—was foreign, unsettling even.
“I don’t—” he began, but his voice faltered, betraying the confusion swirling within him.
“You don’t have to say anything,” James interrupted gently, offering him an out. “I just mean... you’re more than what anyone’s ever told you to be. And if you’re not happy, you can change it. You´re allowed to change.”
Regulus scoffed, but there was no real bite in it. “Happiness is overrated,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else—doubt, perhaps, or longing.
James smiled softly, leaning back. “You don’t believe that,” he said, certain. “Not really.”
Regulus’ gaze lingered on James for a moment too long, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Tell me your plan, Potter,” he said, changing the subject with a sharpness that didn’t quite mask his discomfort. “Or are you just stumbling through life like I suspect?”
James chuckled again, letting the shift slide. “Alright,” he said, humoring him. “My plan? Well, step one: kiss you again. And after that... I guess I’ll figure it out as I go.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost betraying a smile. Almost. “Terrible plan,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” James replied with a mischievous grin, leaning in just enough to blur the line between teasing and intention. “But what about you, huh? Don’t you wanna kiss me?”
Regulus nearly choked, his composure unraveling like threads from a worn tapestry. Flustered didn’t even begin to describe it—his pulse raced, his ears burned, and dammit, was it getting hot in here? He tugged off his suit jacket with the kind of effortless grace that came from years of practice, hoping it would mask his unraveling nerves.
“I’ll have you know,” Regulus said, forcing his voice into something resembling control as he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, “that unlike you, I actually have my life figured out. Not all of us spend our days thinking about sex.”
James laughed softly, the sound rich and teasing, but with a warmth that made it hard to take offense. “Oh, Reg…” he said, his grin widening, “you really think I only think about sex?”
Regulus arched a brow, finding just enough footing to shoot back, “It does seem like it, yeah.”
James tilted his head, his gaze dropping ever so slightly before meeting Regulus’ eyes again, a glint of something playful—and dangerous—dancing in them. “I only think about sex when I’m looking at you.”
And there it was. The bombshell.
Regulus froze, his carefully rebuilt composure crumbling like sandcastles against a tide. Why would he say that? What kind of absolute nerve—? He could feel the heat crawling up his neck, flooding his cheeks. He averted his gaze, determined not to let James see the effect his words had, but it was too late.
James chuckled again, softer this time, clearly reveling in the victory. “What?” he teased. “Cat got your tongue?”
Regulus let out a sharp breath, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table as he scrambled for some semblance of control. “You’re a twat,” he muttered, but the words lacked their usual bite, his voice betraying the fluttering chaos James had stirred inside him.
James leaned back with a triumphant smirk, as if he’d just scored a goal in some invisible game only he was playing. “You love me,” he said, and Regulus hated how much that might actually be true. “So, about your plan—” James began, but Regulus cut him off smoothly, his tone almost too casual.
“How’s your mom doing?”
James blinked, momentarily thrown by the abrupt change in topic. “My mom?” he echoed. “She’s... she’s alright. She asks about you sometimes.”
Regulus froze, his wineglass hovering halfway to his lips. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected, and for a moment, it felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him.
“She what?” Regulus asked, his voice quieter now, as if trying to mask the surprise.
James shrugged, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah. She asks about you.”
“You told your mom about us?” Regulus pressed, eyes narrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle.
“Of course, I did,” James replied with an easy smile. “Couldn’t tell Sirius, could I? Had to tell someone.”
Regulus set the glass down, suddenly feeling far too exposed, as though James had opened a door to a room he’d thought locked tight. There was something unnervingly genuine about the idea of Euphemia Potter knowing about him.
“And what exactly did you tell her?” Regulus asked carefully, his voice laced with suspicion, though his heart raced in his chest.
James leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his grin softening into something more vulnerable. “Just that you were someone special.”
The weight of those words hit harder than they should have. Regulus looked away, feigning interest in the flickering candle on the table between them. His throat felt tight, but he managed a dry laugh.
“Bet she loved that,” he muttered.
“She did, actually,” James said, his voice unwavering. “She said anyone who can make me look that happy must be worth it.”
Regulus’ breath caught for the briefest of moments. He’d never been anyone’s worth it before. The realization stung in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it was still sharp enough to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
“Well,” he said, his tone crisp as he folded his hands on the table, “let’s hope she doesn’t get her hopes up.”
James tilted his head, studying him with that same disarming earnestness that always seemed to crack through Regulus’ carefully constructed walls.
Regulus had never truly met Euphemia Potter, not in any meaningful way. Their interactions had been limited to fleeting moments—polite hellos exchanged on the rare occasions she came to pick James up from school. Beyond that, there was no connection, no shared memories or familiarity.
James had never invited him to meet his family. Regulus wasn’t Lily Evans, after all—the golden girl who seemed to exist effortlessly at the center of everyone's world. Regulus was something else entirely, something shadowed and uncertain, orbiting just outside the warmth of James’ light.
The thought that James would have spoken to his mother about him—about them—had never crossed Regulus’ mind. He wasn’t someone you brought up to your family. Not someone you claimed as important.
Because, deep down, Regulus didn’t think he was important enough.
He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself it didn’t matter. But hearing it now—knowing James had mentioned him to Euphemia, that she asked about him—it rattled something loose inside of him.
“She cares for you,” James offered. “Not only because of us, but because you´re Sirius´ brother.”
“I’m loved by extension, then?” Regulus asked, his words carrying an edge sharper than he’d intended.
It was a bitter truth he’d grown accustomed to. Everyone loved Sirius—the rebel with charm to burn. People gravitated to him effortlessly, either desperate to befriend him or aching to be something more.
And Regulus? He was the afterthought. The shadow cast by Sirius’ blinding light. The only reason anyone knew Regulus existed was because he was always an extension of something—never a whole person in his own right.
An extension of his mother, polished and poised, groomed to uphold a legacy he never asked for. An extension of his brother, tethered to Sirius’ fame by blood and circumstance. Regulus Black, always just there, orbiting someone else’s story, someone else’s significance.
And now, even with James—someone who made him feel seen in ways he didn’t want to admit—he couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same. Was he merely an extension of James’ guilt? Of his loneliness? Or worse, an echo of Sirius, haunting James in a different form?
“You’re loved because you simply are,” James said, his voice steady, as though the answer was the most natural thing in the world.
Regulus’ brow furrowed, skepticism clouding his features. “Why?” he countered, his tone low but pointed, as if daring James to justify something that had never made sense to him.
“Why?” James repeated, a soft laugh escaping his lips, tinged with both disbelief and tenderness. “You can’t ask why about love.”
Regulus looked away, his throat tightening. The simplicity of James’ words felt like a knife twisting in places he thought he’d hardened long ago. To him, love had always been conditional, transactional—offered when convenient and withdrawn when it no longer served a purpose.
“Easy for you to say,” Regulus muttered, more to himself than to James, though James heard it clearly.
“Not easy,” James corrected gently. “True.”
“But anyway,” James said, breaking the silence with a teasing grin, “I know your mind reels, so…” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “What do you want to do next?”
“Next?” Regulus echoed, his voice distant.
His thoughts had been elsewhere, tangled in the labyrinth of his own mind, so much so that he hadn’t even noticed the waiter quietly leaving the bill on the table. James, true to his word, was already sliding his card into the leather folder, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You said I’d cost you tonight,” James reminded him, his tone light but his gaze steady. “So, tell me your price.”
Regulus blinked, his lips parting as though to reply, but no words came out. James tilted his head, waiting patiently, though there was an undeniable sparkle of amusement dancing in his hazel eyes.
“I’ll comply,” James added with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. “Whatever it is. Dessert, dancing, you name it. I’m all yours.”
Regulus scoffed, though his cheeks betrayed him with the faintest hint of pink. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, looking down at his glass of wine. He swirled the liquid absentmindedly, as if it held the answer he wasn’t ready to give.
“Come on, Reg,” James pressed gently. “What do you want? You’ve got me for the night—name it.”
Regulus set the glass down carefully, his pale fingers tracing the rim. “You make it sound like some kind of transaction,” he said, his voice low.
James shrugged, his grin softening. “Not a transaction. A promise. Whatever you want, I’m here. No strings, no conditions—just us.”
Regulus’ heart skipped, and for a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine the weight of that offer: anything.
Regulus fell silent, his fingers idly tracing the edge of the table as his thoughts churned. For a moment, James thought he might let the question hang in the air indefinitely, but then something flickered in Regulus' eyes—a spark, like the faint glint of a light bulb coming to life.
Regulus glanced at his watch, the movement sharp and purposeful. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Just in time.
“You remember that band I told you about?” Regulus asked, his voice taking on a rare note of excitement.
James raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “The band you have tattooed on your forearm?” he said, nodding toward the faint script peeking out beneath Regulus’ rolled-up sleeve. “Yeah, I remember. The 1975, right?”
Regulus smirked, amused at James' specificity. “Right,” he said. “Well, they’re playing tonight.”
James blinked, surprised. “Wait, what? Like, tonight tonight?”
Regulus nodded, already pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the details. “Yeah. Last-minute show. I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to make it, but if we leave now…” He glanced at James, his smirk deepening. “We’ll make it just in time.”
James grinned, pushing his chair back eagerly. “You’re kidding. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
Regulus shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he stood, slipping on his jacket. “Didn’t think you’d be interested.”
James shot him a mock-offended look. “I like good music, thank you very much.”
“Bold of you to assume you even know what good music is,” Regulus teased as they walked toward the door.
“Bold of you to think I wouldn’t drop everything to see your favorite band,” James countered, his grin widening.
Regulus faltered for a fraction of a second, the playful retort dying on his lips. Instead, he settled for rolling his eyes, but the faint flush in his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed.
“Come on, Potter,” Regulus said, tilting his head toward the door. “Let’s see if you can handle a night in my world.”
James chuckled as he followed, feeling like he’d already won something more meaningful than a concert ticket.
******
For reasons neither could quite explain, Lily Evans found herself sprawled on top of Pandora Rosier. It had all started with the shared desire to break out of their respective molds, to push themselves beyond what they thought they knew. Ballet, as much as it was a solo pursuit, demanded guidance when you were learning from someone else. And with guidance came hands—so many hands.
“Fix this,” Pandora would say, her hand resting firmly on Lily’s arm to adjust her posture.
“Change that,” Lily countered, her own hand nudging Pandora’s foot into the correct alignment.
“Like this,” one of them would insist, another hand pressing, shifting, correcting.
But hands, as it turned out, had minds of their own—stubborn and persistent, fueled by the belief that one knew better than the other. What began as guiding soon became a clash of wills, corrections turning to force, force dissolving into teasing, teasing tipping them off-balance.
And then they fell—entangled, tangled, and unmistakably close.
Lily’s laughter broke the tension first, bright and unrestrained, filling the quiet studio. Her green eyes crinkled at the edges, her smile lighting up the dimly lit space.
Pandora, on the other hand, simply stared, momentarily speechless. She had never seen Lily laugh like this—carefree and unguarded. The sound was startlingly beautiful, and for a fleeting moment, Pandora forgot how to breathe.
Training sessions with Lily had been… complicated. Exhausting, yes, because of the stubbornness that flared between them, the moments where neither would yield. But they were fun, too, in ways Pandora hadn’t expected. Somewhere between the clashes and compromises, the corrections and collisions, the studio had become a space where they were forced to see each other, not as rivals but as something else entirely.
Neither of them had planned for this—not the late-night camaraderie, nor the laughter echoing in the studio, nor the strange sense of understanding that had started to form between them.
“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me,” Lily teased, still grinning as she rolled off Pandora and onto her back.
“Maybe next time you’ll actually be right,” Pandora retorted, her lips twitching into a faint smile despite herself.
They lay there for a moment, staring up at the mirrored ceiling, their breaths evening out. The silence between them wasn’t awkward this time—it was easy, even comfortable.
And though neither would say it out loud, they both knew they’d be back again for more, stubborn hands and all.
“It’s the pirouette,” Pandora sighed, her voice carrying a hint of frustration. The ache in her limbs matched the tension that had built up in her chest from trying and failing again.
Lily didn’t move, still pressed against Pandora’s chest in that awkward but familiar position, her body weight an unspoken comfort. “I don’t understand why you struggle so much with that one,” Lily murmured, her voice soft with something like amusement. “It should be the simplest of all the steps.”
Pandora let out a short, almost bitter laugh, her breath shaky. “It’s the twirls,” she admitted, eyes fixed on the far wall. “When I was younger, I’d get dizzy from them. So, I hyper-focused—locked my gaze on a single spot, every time. It worked, sure, but it was mechanical. Precise. Every turn had to be calculated, down to the tiniest detail. I suppose that’s why I can’t just let go of it now.” She paused, biting her lip as she collected her thoughts. “Everything had to be controlled. If it wasn’t, I felt like I’d lose myself.”
Lily considered this, her gaze thoughtful. “You think you’ll get dizzy if you let loose?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, as though she understood the deeper meaning behind Pandora’s words—understood it in a way only someone like Lily could.
Pandora’s chest tightened. She wasn’t sure if it was the question, the way Lily phrased it, or something else entirely. But the question lingered, heavy and unresolved. Would she get dizzy? Or worse—would she fall apart? Could she let go of that control she’d spent years perfecting, the walls she’d built so carefully around herself?
“I don’t know,” Pandora admitted, finally. Her voice trembled for just a fraction of a second, before she steadied herself. “But it terrifies me.”
Lily’s fingers grazed Pandora’s arm, a light, almost imperceptible touch, but one that sent a ripple of warmth through her skin. The contact was brief, but it felt like a quiet, unspoken reassurance, a moment of solace in the midst of uncertainty. Then, with a glint in her eyes and a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, Lily leaned in just slightly, her breath brushing against Pandora's ear.
“Fear is a great place to begin art,” she said, her voice smooth, almost teasing.
Pandora blinked, taken aback for a moment. The words challenged the walls Pandora had built so carefully around herself. Fear, something Pandora had always fought against, had somehow become the gateway to something beautiful, something worth creating.
Lily’s grin widened as Pandora absorbed the weight of her words, her gaze unwavering. She continued, her tone soft yet certain. “Sometimes, fear is exactly what makes it worth it.”
Pandora’s heart stuttered, caught somewhere between the desire to pull away from the vulnerability that Lily was encouraging and the strange pull to lean in closer, to let herself trust this moment.
“And you?” Pandora pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she leaned in, daring Lily to answer. “What are you afraid of? Why don’t you dance with technique or precision?”
Lily's gaze softened for a moment, as if the question had peeled back a layer Pandora hadn’t intended to reveal. She tilted her head, considering the challenge, then let out a quiet breath, her lips curling into a subtle smile.
“I dance free,” Lily replied, her voice calm, yet edged with a quiet confidence. “I suppose you’re scared of losing control, and I’m scared of losing independence.”
There was something in the way she said it—so simple, yet so painfully true. For all her calculated movements and careful balance, Pandora had never realized how deeply her fear of losing control ran. She wasn’t sure when it had started, but somewhere along the way, at least for dance, she’d decided that control was the only thing she could rely on.
Lily, on the other hand, seemed to dance through life with an openness Pandora could never quite grasp. There was a freedom in the way she moved, a kind of wildness Pandora both envied and feared. She was free in a way Pandora had never dared to be, and in that freedom, she saw a kind of power, a force that came from within, untamed and unshakable.
Pandora swallowed, feeling the weight of Lily’s words settle deep inside her. For the first time, she wondered if the real struggle wasn’t about control at all—it was about finding the balance between control and freedom.
But if Pandora needed to find that balance, then so did Lily.
Pandora’s gaze hardened with quiet resolve, a flicker of something fierce igniting within her. She wasn’t done. Not yet. Not with this.
“Again?” she asked, her voice firm, like the calm before a storm.
Lily met her gaze, a spark of understanding passing between them, silent and powerful. "Again," she said, her tone steady but edged with the same quiet defiance.
With a fluid motion, Lily pushed herself up from the floor, the space between them crackling with a newfound energy. She extended her hand toward Pandora, not as a gesture of submission, but one of invitation, of challenge.
Pandora hesitated for a fraction of a second, staring at the outstretched hand as if it were something foreign. Something unfamiliar. But then, she took it. Her fingers brushed against Lily’s, and the connection was instantaneous—a jolt of energy that coursed through her, strong enough to momentarily steal her breath away.
The air was different now, charged with an unspoken agreement. This wasn’t just about dance anymore. It wasn’t just about the pirouettes or the technique. This was about something deeper, something they both had yet to understand fully, but both recognized.
They were both searching for balance, for freedom. For control. And they would find it. Together.
Lily pulled her up effortlessly, her touch warm and sure. Pandora stood taller now, feeling the weight of her own body shifting, realigning. She wasn’t just standing; she was grounding herself. She wasn’t just dancing; she was reimagining everything she thought she knew.
"Let’s try again," Pandora said, a challenge in her voice, but also a promise.
Lily smiled, that same wicked grin pulling at the corners of her lips. "See? I like that about you. Giving up isn't an option in your mind."
Pandora’s lips curled into a playful smirk, her eyes gleaming with determination. “Well... that’s only because you’re my competition,” she teased, her tone light but tinged with a dare. “Over my dead body are you going to win this thing.”
Lily raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the fire in Pandora's words. “Hm,” she observed, her gaze narrowing just slightly. “Aggressive. I like it.”
Pandora met Lily’s gaze, her smirk deepening. "Don't think I won't fight for this," she said, her voice carrying a hint of something darker, something more resolute. "You might be good, but I’m better."
Lily laughed, soft and low, before tilting her head just slightly. “We’ll see about that,” she replied, voice steady, but her eyes betrayed the thrill of the competition, the rush of what was to come.
It wasn’t just about winning anymore. It was about proving something to themselves. To each other.
“Alright, tiger,” Pandora pressed on, a teasing smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Hit the music.”
Lily nodded, her fingers brushing the controls with a newfound sense of purpose. As the beat dropped, a pulse of energy filled the room.
What followed was nothing short of magic. They had a brilliant session, the kind where every movement seemed to flow, every hesitation erased. Pandora loosened up, the tension in her limbs slowly melting away as she allowed herself to get lost in the rhythm. Lily, on the other hand, became more grounded, her movements more precise, her body aligning with the music’s pulse in ways it hadn’t before.
There was a beautiful synergy between them now—Pandora’s wild energy softened by Lily’s disciplined flow, and Lily’s sharpness countered by Pandora’s free-spirited abandon. It was no longer about technique or control; it was about finding a balance that neither of them had expected, yet both craved.
Just tiny dancers, discovering what they were capable of together.
However, after hours upon hours of relentless practice, their bodies gave out, collapsing in tandem to the floor, limbs tangled with exhaustion and minds dulled by fatigue. Beyond the ceiling-high windows, the world outside had surrendered to night, the sky draped in a velvet-black veil, pierced faintly by the soft glimmer of distant stars.
The music that had guided their movements came to a halt. Or rather, the classical strains faded as Lily reached over and shifted the playlist to something familiar, something grounding. Bob Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door filled the studio, its chords drifting through the air like a gentle sigh.
“This is nice,” Pandora murmured, still catching her breath. Her voice was soft, almost distant, as though she was speaking more to herself than to Lily. “The song…it’s—”
“It’s religion,” Lily interrupted, her tone as certain as ever.
Pandora chuckled, her lips quirking upward in amusement. “What do you know about religion?” she challenged, tilting her head toward Lily.
“Nothing at all,” Lily admitted, a hint of a grin forming. “But I do know about faith.”
Pandora’s brow arched, intrigued. “And what’s faith?”
“Belief,” Lily said simply.
Pandora rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow, her gaze lingering on Lily. “And what do we believe in?” she asked, her voice soft but curious.
The question hung in the air, weighted and ambiguous. Lily wasn’t sure who the we included—was it just the two of them, lying side by side on the studio floor, or humanity as a whole? Either way, she could only answer with what she knew, with the truth she felt.
“We believe in the inexplicable.”
Pandora tilted her head, her expression shifting as though some unspoken thought was forming. Her eyes sought Lily’s, questioning, probing, but Lily met her gaze with an unflinching steadiness.
Pandora opened her mouth to speak, but Lily was quicker. A small, knowing smile danced on her lips as she whispered, “If you have to ask, you’ll never know.”