The Date
The next evening, Regulus felt physically nauseous walking into The Cadogan. The usual chatter and noise of the musicians warming up felt like claws on his skin, everything dialed up to eleven.
“Why do you look even more sickly than usual?” Barty asked rudely, leaning up against his piano as Regulus shakily sat down.
“Fuck off.” He grunted, trying to swallow down the anxiety that was rising like bile.
“Hey,” Barty scooted closer, frowning at him. “You alright, Reg?”
Regulus nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth. Barty’s frown only deepened. After a moment, he straightened.
“I’m texting Pandora.” He decided, and walked away without another word. Regulus was too nauseous to even try to protest.
Not even a minute later, his phone pinged with a text.
It’ll be okay, Regulus. He can’t exactly ghost you, can he?
Pandora was the only one Regulus told about the dinner with James.
It’s not a date. He texted back. We’re just getting food during break. It wouldn’t even be ghosting if he changed his mind, right?
Then you have nothing to be nervous about. She replied.
“Alright, everyone!” Ollivander announced, and Regulus was forced to put his phone away. “We’ll begin at the top of act two today! Actors, positions please!”
Regulus shakily flipped his music to the opening song and nervously flicked his eyes onto the stage.
His stomach twisted horribly—James wasn’t looking at him.
Something like a cold sweat erupted down his spine, and his jaw started trembling.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Ollivander prompted, unaware of Regulus’ plight. “one and two and three and—!”
He missed the first note, and his fingers shook terribly through the first ten bars. James still didn’t look at him. Regulus suddenly wanted to cry—or vomit, whichever came first.
A sharp rap of a snare drum caught his attention.
“Not yet, Mr. Crouch!” Ollivander reminded. Regulus looked over at Barty, who, the moment he got his attention, made a clear inhaling motion. Desperate for some grounding, Regulus followed, breathing through his nose and out his mouth as Barty signaled.
It was fine. It would be alright. Focus on the music and let it take you away like it always does. He thought. With every breath, his fingers found their confidence again. It took until halfway through the song for him to relax enough to play properly.
For the next three hours, James didn’t look at him once. Every time Regulus could feel himself panicking, he looked over to Barty, who always seemed to sense his gaze because he would immediately look up and silently guide him into breathing steadily again.
It was torture. Regulus couldn’t understand why James, who usually couldn’t take his eyes off him, suddenly was looking anywhere but at him. Had he changed his mind? Did he find out he was trans and really was trying to ghost him in real life?
It wasn’t a date. It couldn’t even be ghosting if it wasn’t a date. Regulus didn’t date—he couldn’t. Dating was too intimate, too vulnerable. He couldn’t trust anyone with the darkest parts of himself, of his past. Anyone with half a brain would run from him in terror if they knew anything more about him.
Regulus couldn’t date. They were just getting dinner. As friends. Coworkers.
It felt like no time had passed before dinner break, an announcement Regulus was both waiting for and dreading. He tried one more glance up at the stage and realized James had disappeared.
So there was his answer.
Trying to swallow back the bitter cold shivers of depression that made his chest rattle, Regulus slowly stood up. He’d have to go somewhere else for dinner, but judging by the familiar heaviness settling in his stomach he wouldn’t be hungry anyway.
“Reg?” Barty was there, looking at him with obvious concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He whispered, his eyes low. He wished he could go home and curl up in bed and never leave.
“You look about to pass out. Have you been eating?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Regulus, you can’t—“ Barty stopped short, and that made him look up. Walking towards them was James.
He had changed out of his sweatsuit and was wearing a perfectly pressed suit with the first few buttons of his shirt undone. He was beaming at Regulus, striding up to him with all the laidback confidence a guy could have.
“Ready to go? I’ve got a table at The Delacour in ten minutes.”
Regulus could only nod mechanically, the sudden antithesis of his dreary thoughts standing before him. The heaviness and cold plaguing his body vanished in an instant, replaced by a warmth that made his cheeks prickle with heat.
He was here. He hadn’t changed his mind.
“I’ll talk to you later, Barty.” Regulus said, looking away from James to give his friend a proper goodbye. He’d been a lifeline for him for the past three hours, it would be incredibly rude to do anything less.
Barty merely narrowed his eyes suspiciously at James, but nodded.
They left the theater together and headed down the street, their sleeves brushing as they moved with the tight crowd.
“I’ve only been to The Delacour twice.” James rambled on, filling the silence as they neared the restaurant. “Both times were for the museum my parents work at, for some business dinner. To this day I don’t know why I was dragged there, but I remember the food being delicious.”
Regulus was silent but listening, absorbing every word he said while also trying to sort out his own thoughts. Why would James have ignored him for the entirety of the rehearsal if he wasn’t backing out? He’d had no problem openly ogling him before. Had Moody reprimanded him on paying proper attention?
James talked all the way to the moment they sat at their table, tucked away in the corner of the building up against the windows. Regulus had an excellent view of the bustling city outside.
“—and that’s how they ended up working with the museum. They do other collections, but mostly they work with them.”
Regulus now knew quite a bit about James’ parents’ careers despite never asking.
“Why weren’t you looking at me today?” He blurted out. The question was burning on his tongue, and it had taken a moment of blind courage to speak it, but he had to know. He didn’t want to feel that feeling again, that rejection came very close to triggering a depressive episode, and Regulus wanted to make sure that could be avoided.
James, who had been relaxed and cheerful, slumped a little sheepishly.
“You, uh, noticed that, huh?”
“I notice everything.” About you.
James rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Truth be told, I’m, uh, I’ve been really nervous about this dinner.”
Regulus stared at him. There was absolutely nothing about his behavior of body language that would indicate that.
“Why?”
“I don’t know if anyone’s told you,” James peeked at him with a grin that had no business being so charming. “you’re a bit intimidating, Regulus.”
He huffed, leaning back and crossing his arms.
“I am not.”
James waved a hand at him.
“Sure, you look very approachable right now.”
“I just don’t like being approached.”
“You didn’t seem to mind me.”
“Your way of approaching me was to bash your head into my piano!” Regulus said indignantly.
James smiled at him dreamily. “And I’m so glad I did.”
Regulus glared at him.
“Stop looking at me like that.” He snapped. “You look like an idiot.”
James laughed and started perusing the menu. But that didn’t stop him from sneaking glances that Regulus pointedly ignored.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy,” the waitress appeared a few minutes later. “Dois-je le mettre dans votre ordre habituel?”
“Oui, avec une bouteille de votre meilleur vin rouge s'il vous plaît.” Regulus replied. He came to The Delacour at least once a week and with the Malfoy name, the restaurant owner gave him special attention.
“Bien sûr, et pour votre compagnon?” The waitress turned to James expectantly. Regulus looked over and quirked an eyebrow. James was frozen in the seat across from him, staring with slightly parted lips and a light color in his cheeks.
“Monsieur?” The waitress asked again. James blinked again, and looked at her dumbly.
“She’s asking what you’d like to eat.” Regulus translated.
“Oh.” James cleared his throat and fumbled with the menu. “Your, uh, steak au poivre.” He said vaguely, mispronouncing ‘au poivre’ so terribly it made Regulus want to twitch.
“Of course, sir.” The waitress said in thick English. “I will return with the wine in a moment.”
She took their menus and whisked away, leaving James to gawk at Regulus openly. He allowed it for about fifteen seconds.
“What?” He demanded, his own cheeks starting to heat under his scrutiny.
“You speak French.” James said almost reverently.
“So?”
“That is incredibly hot.”
Regulus felt his cheeks get warmer. “I had an expensive education.” He snapped, hating how easily flustered James made him.
“So what made you want to play piano?”
The question threw him even more off-kilter.
“What?”
James just smiled. “You wear designer clothes and say you had an expensive education. Obviously, you’re not financially struggling. So why become a pianist?”
It gave Regulus some hope that James knew how to identify designer clothing, that he wasn’t surrounding himself with yet another mindless buffoon (i.e. Remus and his ratty sweaters or Barty and his dumpster diving crop tops) who didn’t understand good fashion. He felt far more willing to point this out than to get into the intimate and personal history with a piano.
“Seems you grew up rather well yourself,” he said, hoping to come off cool and aloof. “your parents dine here often and you know your Dolce.”
“I did,” James said easily. “my mother taught me Marathi and my father taught me Spanish. They don’t put much value in having designer clothing, but they know what brands are worth the price. I wouldn’t have had the opportunities that got me onto The Cadogan stage without their help. I’ve got a lot to thank them for.”
The waitress came back with their wine. Regulus felt that distant twinge in the back of his head— hardwired into him from years of socialite training—that the conversation was staling. He tried to ignore it, as he often ignored the remnants of his past.
“—what about your parents?” James was saying.
In a knee jerk reaction, Regulus sharply said,
“They’re dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Came the reply, simple and sincere as everything James did was. Regulus hated how easily it came to him.
“Don’t be. They were terrible.” He sniffed, pretending to survey the dessert menu.
“Well then, good riddance.” James laughed. The bluntness made him look up in surprise.
“My best friend’s mother and father were awful to him. I have no problem condemning shit parents. If they chose to raise a child, they should’ve been better people.”
It wasn’t about raising a child for them. Regulus thought bitterly. It was strategic.
“He turned out alright though,” James continued, seemingly happy to carry the conversation along. “he had an uncle that backed him up and my parents sort of adopted him when we became friends. Y’know, blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, and all that. We all build our own ramshackle little families over time.
“I hope, at least, you’ve got your own ramshackle.”
“I do.” Regulus said quietly. “It’s small.”
“But good?”
“Yeah.” His lips twitched a little with fondness, thinking of quiet mornings with Remus or drunk-hazy nights with Barty, Evan and Pandora.
“Are you opposed to it getting bigger?”
He narrowed his eyes, not buying James’ innocent look for a moment.
“This isn’t a date.”
“I didn’t ask if it was.”
“It was implied, Potter.”
“All I’m implying right now is if you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Can’t you tell?”
“At the moment? No. You’re a little hard to read. But,” James leaned in closer across the already intimately small table, his eyes dark and mischievous. “give me time, and I’ll learn your language.”
Regulus flushed again, and James’ lips split into a gentle grin.
“Like that,” he murmured happily. “I think that means you are.”
Regulus scowled, wishing he could scrape his blush from his face with a cheese grater.
“If I wasn’t enjoying myself, I would have left.” He said bluntly.
“Good to know.” James leaned back and took a sip of wine. Regulus couldn’t help but follow the way his fingers delicately wrapped around the stem, couldn’t help but catalogue the moment the rim touched his lips. His urge to absolutely devour James Potter was getting harder to ignore.
“Here you are,” the waitress returned with their food, perfectly plated and served far quicker than any other customer. “please enjoy, Monsieur Malfoy.”
“Merci.” Regulus replied.
“This place has the best steak.” James moaned around a mouthful of food. “I swear they put crack in it.”
“There have been restaurants found using opium poppies as seasoning in their food before.” Regulus said casually. “I’m sure crack would add a nice flavor.”
James snorted. “Did they know it was opium or did their supplier mix up the cargo?”
“I can only assume it was intentional.” Regulus sniffed. “Several of them were sinking financially until they started using it. No better way to make sales than to get your clients addicted to your goods.”
“That’s rather cynical to assume. Maybe it was an accident.”
“Cynicism is simply a reflection of truth.” Regulus replied, delicately cutting into his confit de canard.
“I agree there’s truth in a cynic.” James said thoughtfully. “But I would argue it doesn’t take into account every possibility that can occur.”
“But it does cover the most probable ones, which always end up being the ones that happen.”
“But optimistic ones inherently must occur, otherwise we wouldn’t know of them to exist.”
“That doesn’t mean they have the highest probability of happening. Optimistic outcomes are either a fantasy or luck. Fantasy isn’t based in reality, and luck is beyond our control. Therefore the common denominator is a cynical state that is marred by unrealistic dreams and random, sparse moments of innocent mistakes or favorable circumstances.”
Regulus said all of this in a matter-of-face tone and an almost bored expression, idly cutting up his food into perfect pieces. Nothing about his experiences with life had left him with any proof that cynicism was an unfit way of looking at the world.
The world only ever tried to do things to hurt him or delay him. The only good things in his life were things beyond his control—having Narcissa on his side hadn’t been a choice, but a matter of circumstance. Having Sirius protecting him hadn’t been his choice—Sirius had chosen that. The murder of his parents and the subsequent freeing of himself…well, that could hardly be seen as an optimistic thing. Bloody hands were never auspicious.
Nothing in his life had ever changed that. And nothing, he feared, ever will.
——
The conversation turned throughout the rest of their dinner break. James happily talked about his cast mates and funny rehearsal stories, and Regulus was content listening to him.
He’d never been good at looking interested in a conversation, his mother used to reprimand him for having a “disengaging attitude” during business dinners.
But James didn’t seem to mind at all, perhaps not noticing his “attitude” or…maybe noticing that he truly had Regulus’ full attention.
Even when he said something rather rude about one of the actors, James just smiled at him and—honest to god—sighed dreamily.
James paid for dinner—Regulus hardly had a choice in the matter, not that he really cared—and they walked back to The Cadogan as James chattered away about the time Moody’s glass eye popped out and fell into a bowl of punch. Regulus listened to it all, not even noticing the slight smile quirking at his lips.
He also found, for the entirety of the next four hours of rehearsal—James didn’t look away from him once.