Rhythmic Lulling of Life's Strange Shores
Today was a No Mirror Day.
No Mirror Days were very important to Regulus. If he ignored a day like this, it often became the catalyst to weeks-long depression episodes.
Remus never said anything whenever their bathroom mirror got covered up by sheets, nor when their shiny, reflective toaster mysteriously disappeared for 24 hours. He never commented when Regulus emerged from his room wearing the darkest sunglasses he owned and drowning in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants that made him look like one of the very people he sneered at for bad fashion.
He smoked a lot on No Mirror Days, anything to keep his dull his brain and the horrible thoughts plaguing it. Weed turned him into a rather feral version of himself—all reservations were gone, replaced only with the manic chaos within. Remus often joined him, and he turned into an instigating troublemaker with dangerous overconfidence.
Several times this happened had resulted in getting police called on them (they tried tying the building’ fire hose to themselves and jump off the roof after watching Die Hard) and the fire department called on them (for accidentally causing a grease fire trying to make corndogs and dumping a potful of fiery grease out the window instead of trying to put it out).
Yet another reason why he was a very important and dear part of Regulus’ life—not that he would ever utter it aloud.
Nearly four years had passed since he started transitioning, and while he was very happy with his results, that didn’t mean they cured the dysphoria permanently. Often, it was a certain mannerism or mindset that caused it—some part of him that was still trapped as the porcelain doll of Grimmauld Place.
Suddenly his hands looked too dainty and his face too feminine, or his waist too curved and skin too hairless.
The thought that made today a No Mirror Day was one that crossed his mind nearly two months into weekly not-dates with James—was he the proverbial woman in their dynamic?
Logically, Regulus knew there was no such thing. But dysphoria didn’t care about logic.
James was a pure, perfect form of masculinity. Broad and lean with a perfect stubble and angular features, big hands and just the right amount of hair dusted on his forearms. He was everything Regulus had ever been envious of.
It made him feel too soft and round in comparison, which was ridiculous, considering he was nothing but skin and bones thanks to his (probably concerning) relationship with food.
Being the porcelain doll of Grimmauld Place came with strict diets and “it’s impolite not to finish a host’s meal, but go throw it up in the bathroom afterward, it’s too much food and you’ll gain weight!” mentality.
As a result, Regulus often forgot to eat altogether, save Remus’ breakfasts. That was sometimes his only meal for the day.
Regulus knew he was fucked up, but he also knew there was nothing he could do about it. An obvious suggestion would be a therapist, but he’d rather skewer his own eyeball and roast it on a spit before he trusted any part of himself to someone else.
So instead, he wore sunglasses and sweats to hide his reflections from himself and his body from his sight, and smoked enough weed to see gods.
He sat hunched at the breakfast table, squinting at the crossword with a blunt between his fingers, staring as the white and black squares warbled and danced off the paper.
“Grub’s up.” Remus said, setting a stack of pancakes in front of him. “Pass it over.”
Regulus handed him the blunt in favor of snatching five pancakes from the tower and dumping syrup over them.
Remus took a long pull from the blunt and closed his eyes, tilting his head back and letting it out with a sigh.
“It tastes different.” He remarked. “New strain?”
“Barty gave it to me.” Regulus replied, dumping the cup of melted butter over his pancakes and mixing it with the syrup. “He grows some on his apartment’s roof.”
“Illegally, I assume?”
“I don’t think he’s ever willingly done anything legally.”
“He didn’t mix it with something harder, did he?”
“No, he doesn’t fuck with harder drugs. Furthest he’s gone is acid. His dad—that politician I was telling you about—got addicted to cocaine while he was in office. Pretty sure he’d never do anything like his father if he could.”
“Politician on crack. So glad he’s running our country.” Remus snorted.
“Not anymore. Got kicked out when his snorting buddies ratted on him to seize power.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that cokeheads are leading our government.”
Regulus shoveled more pancake into his mouth without even the slightly bit of dignity before taking another deep pull from the blunt.
“Don’t you have rehearsal today?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Maybe take it easy on the ganja. I doubt your conductor will be pleased if you show up high as a kite.”
“Ollivander loves me.” Regulus waved a hand dismissively. “And I can play just as well, sober or not.”
——
He was incredibly high walking into The Cadogan that night, but also excellent at acting sober. He hadn’t bothered changing—several of his fellow musicians gave him funny looks when he entered. They hadn’t ever seen him in anything other than perfectly fitted designer clothing without a hair out of place.
Regulus grinned over at Barty, who was trying his best not to laugh and taking photos of him with his phone. Sober Regulus would have to hunt him down later and eradicate those images from existence, but Baked Regulus couldn’t give less of a shit.
James’ reaction, however, was very different. He was staring at Regulus with his jaw hanging, and rushed over to him the moment he could.
“Are you high?” He hissed out of earshot of Ollivander.
“I brought another joint. You want some?”
“Regulus, you can’t come to rehearsal high, are you insane?”
“Yep.” He grinned lazily at him. “Runs in the family. Absolutely bonkers.”
James almost short-circuited.
“I’m going to ignore the fact that you just used the word “bonkers”. Are you okay? Why are you high? And why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”
“What, don’t like my fit?” Regulus stuck out his bottom lip. A pleased heat curled in his stomach when he saw James’ eyes fixate on the action. “Easier to take off sweats than a button down, wanna go to the bathroom and I’ll show you?”
Weed truly was a miraculous thing, because suddenly every inhibition Regulus had ever had about wanting to fuck the lights out of James Potter were dusted from his mind, and suddenly, he wanted to achieve that goal very much in that very moment.
“Actors, onstage please! We’re starting at page 35!” Ollivander rapped his stick on the stand.
James pinched the bridge of his nose, disturbing his glasses slightly. Regulus wanted to gnaw at the golden frames.
“Let’s get dinner over break, alright?” James said. “Wherever you want. The Delacour?”
“Ugh, I’m sick of French food.” He grunted, words Sober Regulus would scream at. “I want a goddamn burger.”
“Great. Burgers. Can you…are you able to play?”
“Please.” He laced his fingers together and stretched, cracking the knuckles. “I could play a piano while sucking a dick.” He grinned up at James again. “Wanna try?”
“Jesus christ.” James muttered.
“Potter!” Moody barked. “Stage! Now!”
James had no choice but to leave, and Regulus plopped inelegantly on his bench with a sigh.
——
As he claimed, he played perfectly and acted completely sober the entire time, all while enjoying the floaty weightlessness of the world around him.
By the time break was called, Regulus’ stomach was practically eating itself. The munchies were the only times he ever experienced hunger, and it was ruining his good mood.
James made a beeline for him the moment break was called.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m hungry.” He complained. “And I wanna smoke my joint.”
“You’re not smoking on my watch.” James said firmly. “We’re getting burgers.”
“Fine, fine, straight lace.” Regulus grumbled, following James a block down to a little hole in the wall. It was crowded and smelled delicious, and they found a booth in the back while James flagged down a waiter.
“A double patty and a mojito!” Regulus ordered with a lazily smile. He waggled his eyebrows at James, who stared at him with wide eyes. “You said I couldn’t smoke, but you didn’t say I couldn’t drink!”
He just shook his head and ordered a patty and extra water for the two of them.
——
A half hour in their dinner and two mojitos in, Regulus was most definitely a little bit crossed and having the time of his life.
——
“We should fuck.” He said casually while they waited for the check. James, who had been drinking his water, inhaled sharply and spluttered, spewing water everywhere and hitting Regulus in the face with it.
Instead of cringing, he locked eyes with James’ watery ones and deliberately licked the water that landed on his lips.
James wheezed out another cough before regaining his voice.
“We definitely should not.”
Regulus crossed his arms and pouted again.
“Why not?” He said petulantly.
“Regulus, you’re drunk and high.” James told him. “First, I would not do that while you’re this way because you can’t give me full consent under the influence—“
“I sure as hell fucking can—“
“And secondly, you don’t even want to call our dinners ‘dates’. If you’re not ready for that, how could you be ready for sex?”
“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Regulus grunted, slumping in the booth.
“Well, I can’t do that.” James said bluntly, crossing his arms too. Regulus looked over at him.
“What?”
“I don’t do that. Meaningless sex. Because if we did, it wouldn’t be meaningless to me. And I can’t put myself through that.” There was a vulnerable note in his voice that made Regulus unfurl his arms and sit up a little straighter.
He’d spent nearly three months observing and studying James, including during their dinner outings, and this was the first time he’d ever witnessed the underside of his character. He’d always been confidence and sure of himself, but this was the first glimpse of vulnerability, that there was more beneath him that Regulus had discovered yet.
And the longer he spent in James’ presence, the more he wanted to know about him. And somewhere deep within, a part of him wanted James to know him too.
That was terrifying and daunting, and new. Things Regulus hated when it came to his character and past.
But the ache to know James, to be known…
“It…doesn’t have to be meaningless.” He said quietly.
“Then we come back around to the first problem.” James said softly. “You’re not ready.”
“I could be.” Regulus insisted, looking up at him hopefully, a little desperately, wanting James to understand. He also desperately wished he wasn’t drunk anymore, but the alcohol and weed was also making the vulnerable words easier to say. “I…I want to be. I have…doubts. About my convictions. I…want.”
James just looked at him a little sadly.
“I want you to tell me that sober.” He said gently. “Believe me, Regulus, there’s nothing more I’d like to hear than that, but not when you’re crossed. If you call me and say the same thing to me tomorrow, then we can take a step closer to that. And if you call me tomorrow and you’ve changed your mind, that’s okay too. I’d still like to get dinner with you sometimes, but we can be friends.”
Regulus knew, even sober, there was no chance they could just be friends. Every time they got dinner together, every time their eyes met or their fingers brushed, was piling volatile gunpowder between them, and someday Regulus would light a match.
James was too warm, addicting the way a cracking fire feels after being out in the snow. His skin prickled and stung from the heat, but he couldn’t bear to pull away.
For months, Regulus burrowed himself in the heat, finding sanctuary from the cold world he’d walked his whole life.
Now, his life was starting to become the warmth—or at least, becoming used to its visits. He couldn’t bear to deny himself.
He could bear to open up more if it meant still feeling the warmth.
As they headed back to The Cadogan, it was quiet between them. New York was never silent, the thrum and hum of the city buzzing between them. The cold was quickly sobering him up, scrubbing away the worst of the haze. Regulus was deep in thought as his mind cleared, and it seemed James was too.
Before he could pull open the door to the theater, however, Regulus gave into one small urge, one tiny temptation he’d been squashing for months, small enough that the weed and alcohol let it slip through.
He grabbed James’ collar and tugged him into the alleyway between the theater and the next building, dragging them into the shadows until passersby couldn’t see them.
“Regulus?”
“I…” He hesitated, biting his lip and preparing for the rejection. “You can tell me no again, and I’ll respect it.” He began. “But…I just…I promise I’m much more sober than before. The cold always gets rid of the worst. I don’t know what I’ll say tomorrow—“
His fingers twitched as he felt James shift, strengthening their hold on his shirt. If he let go, the rest of him would spiral along with the fall.
“Right now I’m present but loose. I’m not…worrying. But I’m here. And I…can I…” he stared at James’ lips, wishing he knew how to ask. “You can say no. I swear I’ll let it go. But can I just…I have to know—“
“You want me to kiss you.”
Regulus nodded a little desperately. “I swear I’m here.”
“Regulus…” James said a little sadly. “But you’re not fully here.”
“Please, James.” He begged. “Stop being so noble. I’m just not worrying right now, but the rest of me is here.”
“I want all of you to be here. Even the worrying.”
“The worrying might stop me tomorrow.”
“Then I want to help you not to worry.”
“If I don’t know what it’s like, I won’t know if I make the right choice tomorrow.” Regulus pleaded. “You’re sober, right? You can give consent. I could kiss you. Then it would be okay.”
He could see James struggling with himself, fighting temptation and his own morals.
“It’ll mean something to me, Regulus.” He whispered, a little shakily. Regulus could actually feel a slight rattle in his breathing. “You…I can’t be an experiment.” But their noses were almost touching, his warm breath was making his lips tingle.
“Trust me, Potter.” Regulus breathed as the gap between them got achingly closer. “It will mean something to me too.”
James’ eyes slid shut, and Regulus took it as permission.
Everything fell away the moment his lips meant his own. The entire world narrowed down to the connection between them, hot and soft and everything Regulus never thought he could have.
He pulled James down further by his collar, deepening the kiss, feeling a thrill when James whimpered against him in response. He teased open his lips and felt James’ tongue trace his.
It was the answer. The thesis of the universe. The solution to Why?
This was why. Connection. Experiencing something that challenged everything Regulus had ever known. Every truth he’d ever trusted.
James Potter was the beacon, the turning of the tide. He was everything good in the world that Regulus had never seen.
He was the first to break away, inhaling the cold winter air sharply. He still had an iron-clad grip on James’ collar, and James’ hands were in his hair. They were both panting, their foreheads touching, unwilling to let the moment fully break between them.
“I know what to say.” He whispered.
“Say it to me tomorrow.” James breathed.
——
The first person he told about his kiss was James as Remus because he was dying to tell someone and didn’t want to hear Pandora saying “I told you so” just yet.
After a considerable amount of ribbing and light-hearted teasing from his roommate, Regulus slunk back to his room to pretend to stew. In reality, he was working up the courage to call James like he’d promised.
Sober Regulus was utterly terrified and mopey about the whole thing. He was terrified to call James and tell him he wanted to go on a real date, to nix all the not-dates and status quo and dive into a territory he had absolutely no experience with.
But he was also moping because he wanted to see James. He wanted to kiss him again and wished he hadn’t been so goddamn noble protecting Regulus’ integrity, or whatever.
He was pretty sure he would have happily let him fuck him against the dirty alley wall last night if James wasn’t so gallant.
On the bright side, the kiss had also completely eradicated the No Mirror Day mentality he’d had. Regulus was sure a good fuck would’ve done an even better job, but it the fact that he still didn’t feel shitty because he was too busy replaying that moment in the alley was a triumph.
With shaky hands, he dialed James’ number.
“Hey,” James’ voice was soft and careful when the call connected.
“Hi.” Regulus replied quietly. Neither of them spoke. He knew James was waiting. He wasn’t going to fill the silence between them this time.
“I, uh…I’m sober.” He said, just to clear that up.
“Alright.”
“And…and I’m…I’m going to say the same thing I would’ve said last night, if you’d’ve believed me.” His voice was stronger this time, a little more snooty, a little more like him. “I’m not opposed to you taking me out on a date so long as you don’t wear that horrid sweatsuit.”
“You’re one to talk about sweatsuits.” James hummed, voice full of amusement and significantly lighter.
“We’re not talking about that right now.” Regulus said pointedly. “I am completely sober and now you don’t have to be all gallant and worried about accosting me. Do you believe me now?”
“Yes, I do.” He could hear the smile in his voice.
“Good. So ask me, then.”
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me on a date, you idiot.” Regulus snapped, already feeling flustered and annoyed by it.
“I have to ask the pretty piano boy on a date?” James teased. “Well, gosh, let me gather up my courage.”
“Don’t hit your head on the way over.” Regulus grumbled impatiently.
“What if he says no?”
“I just gave you permission, you nob! Go on a date with me!”
“Alright, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll go on a date with you.” James said, sounding smugly pleased with himself. And that was when Regulus realized he’d been played.
“You’re an ass.”
“And you’ve just asked it out. Shall we say G’s Hollow at 7 tonight?”
“Fine.” And Regulus hung up on him.