Tangled Threads
The soft morning light crept through the small, grimy window in the far corner of the room. Regulus blinked against it, the brightness cutting through the throbbing in his head. For a fleeting second, he didn’t remember where he was or why his muscles ached in unfamiliar ways. But then, in the stillness of the unfamiliar bed, reality hit him like a stunning spell.
James Potter was lying next to him.
Regulus’ breath hitched, his heart pounding erratically as the events of last night came crashing back. The party, the drinks—so many drinks—the heat of James’ body pressed against his, and the way they had stumbled out of the common room in a haze of alcohol and something much more dangerous.
He could feel James’ weight on the bed, his steady breathing soft against the too-loud silence of the room. His arm was still draped across Regulus’ chest, and the warmth of his skin seemed to burn where they touched. Regulus lay there, tense, terrified that if he moved, the reality of the situation would unravel into something even more unbearable.
This couldn’t be happening.
No one can know. No one can ever know.
Regulus’ mind spun as panic tightened its grip around his chest. This wasn’t just about a stupid mistake after too much Firewhisky. It wasn’t even about the fact that James Potter—James bloody Potter—was the one lying next to him. It was about the terrifying, gut-wrenching truth he had tried to bury deep inside himself for years. A truth he could never afford to let anyone, not even James, glimpse.
He wasn’t like this. He wasn’t queer. He wasn’t that kind of person. He had built walls, layers of denial so thick that even he believed them most of the time. It wasn’t possible that the rush of heat he’d felt when James had kissed him had meant something.
It was the alcohol. Just the alcohol.
James shifted beside him, and Regulus froze. His pulse hammered in his throat as he watched James slowly stir, his fingers twitching against Regulus’ skin. Regulus felt the warmth of his breath as James groaned, half asleep and clearly disoriented.
For a brief moment, there was peace—James still lost in sleep, unaware of the weight of the situation. But then James blinked, his eyes slowly opening. The groggy haze of sleep fell away as realization dawned.
Regulus could see it happen. The confusion, the blinking, and then the widening of James’ eyes as he fully woke up. His face was barely inches from Regulus, and Regulus could feel his breath catch as their gazes locked.
“Regulus?” James’ voice was rough, thick with sleep and disbelief.
Regulus tensed, turning his head away sharply. His chest felt tight, his heart pounding as if trying to break free from his ribs. This was the moment he’d been dreading—the moment where everything would collapse.
James sat up abruptly, pulling his arm away as if the contact had suddenly become unbearable. He stared down at the sheets, his breath coming quicker now, ragged, as if struggling to make sense of it all.
“What—” James started, but he cut himself off, shaking his head like he couldn’t even form the words. His fingers threaded through his messy hair, tugging at it as though he could pull the confusion out of his mind.
Regulus felt sick. The pit in his stomach only grew heavier with every second that passed. He didn’t need to hear James say it. He didn’t need to hear the words that would make this nightmare even more real.
“Don’t,” Regulus muttered, his voice strained and low. He sat up, but kept his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t say anything. We were drunk. It doesn’t matter.”
James didn’t respond immediately. His breathing was heavy, erratic, and Regulus could feel his gaze burning into him, searching for something. For answers, maybe. For an explanation neither of them could give.
But it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.
“I mean—” James’ voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow. “It was just... you know. One of those things. Stupid, really.”
Regulus clenched his jaw, his entire body wound tight with tension. James was doing exactly what he needed him to—pretending it was nothing, brushing it off like a drunken mishap. But Regulus could hear the hesitation, the slight quiver in James’ voice that gave him away.
It wasn’t nothing, and they both knew it.
“I don’t even remember half of it,” James said, still forcing a laugh that fell flat. His hands were shaking slightly as he fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand. “It’s all a blur, yeah?”
Regulus nodded stiffly. “A blur,” he echoed, though his mind replayed every single moment with painful clarity.
James shifted awkwardly in the bed, pulling the sheets around himself as if trying to put some physical distance between them. Regulus could see it in his face—the tension, the confusion, the raw vulnerability that James was so desperately trying to hide behind his usual bravado.
He couldn’t handle this. Regulus needed to get out before things spiraled further.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up too quickly, and the world tilted. His head pounded from the hangover, but he forced himself to steady his breathing. He needed to act like none of this had happened. It was the only way to make it go away.
“I’m leaving,” Regulus said flatly, avoiding James’ gaze as he bent down to retrieve his clothes from the floor. His fingers trembled as he hastily pulled on his trousers, but he kept his face emotionless, not letting any of his internal panic show.
James sat there in silence, watching him. Regulus could feel his eyes on him, could feel the unspoken words hanging thick in the air. But he wasn’t going to give James a chance to say anything. He wasn’t going to let him make this worse than it already was.
“You—” James started again, but Regulus cut him off.
“No one can know about this,” Regulus said sharply, his voice cold and hard. “No one.”
James blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in Regulus’ tone. “Yeah, of course. I mean, no one’s going to—”
Regulus rounded on him, his eyes blazing. “I’m serious, Potter. This never happened.”
The force of his words seemed to shock James into silence. He looked up at Regulus, and for a moment, there was something in his expression that Regulus couldn’t quite place—something almost like hurt. But Regulus ignored it. He couldn’t afford to care how James felt about any of this.
It was about survival.
James nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the bed. “Right,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “It never happened.”
Regulus exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. That was all he needed to hear. He finished buttoning his shirt, not bothering to make it look neat, and grabbed his robe from the chair near the door.
As he moved to leave, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Part of him wanted to say something more, to explain, to make James understand why this could never be more than a mistake. But the words lodged in his throat, thick and impossible to swallow.
Instead, he opened the door without looking back. The cold air from the hallway rushed in, a harsh contrast to the warmth of the room, and Regulus stepped out, letting the door click softly shut behind him.
Inside the room, James sat frozen in place, staring at the door. His heart was still pounding in his chest, the sound of it almost deafening in the silence that followed Regulus’ abrupt departure.
He didn’t know how to feel.
The haze of the hangover had cleared enough for him to remember. Maybe not every little detail, but enough. Enough to know that what had happened between them wasn’t just a drunken mistake. It had been real. And that terrified him more than anything.
James raked his hands through his hair, his mind racing in circles. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This couldn’t happen.
But the way Regulus had looked at him last night—the desperation, the fire in his eyes—it wasn’t something James could ignore. And the kiss... that kiss had been seared into James’ memory. He could still taste it, still feel the way Regulus’ body had responded to his touch.
Why did it have to be Regulus?
James knew he wasn’t ready to admit it, but he’d always known something was off about the way he felt. Something about the way he looked at other boys, the way he couldn’t force himself to be as interested in girls as his friends seemed to be. He had shoved it down, ignored it, hoping it would go away. But last night had torn open that box, and now everything was spilling out, messy and undeniable.
And Regulus—of all people, it had to be Regulus Black—was the one who had made it real.
James swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to piece together what came next. Regulus had made it clear that he wanted to pretend none of it had happened. He had been adamant. But the way Regulus had looked at him before he left... there had been something else in his eyes. Fear, yes, but also something raw and vulnerable.
James wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing—he wasn’t going to be able to just walk away from this. Not without figuring out why he couldn’t shake the need to be closer to Regulus, even if everything about it was wrong.