Only if
James was losing it.
Regulus, Regulus, Regulus. It was all-consuming. Even at soccer practice, where he should’ve been focusing on drills, his mind wandered back to Regulus. Every time his foot connected with the ball, his thoughts would flash to that morning—back to those stormy grey eyes, stubbornly refusing to eat the bowl of cereal in front of him.
It had all started innocently enough. Regulus, looking every bit like a spoiled prince, pushed the bowl away with a frown. “Do you have... other cereal?” he muttered, barely looking up.
James rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. “Just eat the damn cereal, Reggie.”
But something wasn’t right. Regulus started picking at his fingernails—something James had noticed he only did when he was nervous.
“What’s wrong?” James asked, his voice softening, the teasing smile dropping.
Regulus hesitated, eyes flicking down to the bowl. There was guilt written all over his face. “It’s nothing. I just… wasn’t allowed sweet cereal growing up, and—” He trailed off, awkwardly stirring the cereal with his spoon. “I just wanted to try it, that’s all.”
James felt a pang in his chest. Of course, Regulus hadn’t been allowed sweet cereal. His childhood had been strict, controlled. The idea of something so simple being denied to him? It made James furious, and he wasn’t about to let Regulus miss out on any more.
“C’mon,” he said, standing up and grabbing his car keys.
Regulus blinked up at him. “Where are we going?”
“To the store. We’re fixing this,” James said, determined, already pulling Regulus toward the door.
As they wandered down the aisles of the grocery store, James could see the excitement Regulus tried so hard to hide. The way his eyes lit up whenever they passed by the colorful cereal boxes. He’d point at things hesitantly, like he was asking for permission, shy and almost embarrassed, which made James’s heart ache a little more.
“Just grab whatever you want,” James insisted, grinning as he tossed another box of sugary cereal into the cart. “We’re going all out.”
What started as a quick trip for cereal turned into an entire snack haul—candy, pastries, chips, anything that James thought Regulus might have missed out on growing up.
By the time they got back, the kitchen counter was covered with snacks, and Regulus dug into them like a kid on Christmas morning. James couldn’t stop watching him, feeling a ridiculous amount of pride as Regulus finally got to experience what he’d been denied for so long.
As they sat on the couch later, James noticed a small bit of cream from one of the pastries stuck to the corner of Regulus’s mouth.
“Hey, you’ve got something—” Before he could think twice, James reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.
The world seemed to stop. For just a second, everything stilled. Regulus blinked, staring up at him. James’s hand froze, still hovering near Regulus’s lips, and for a heartbeat, he thought maybe—*just maybe*—he was about to do something reckless.
Regulus’s gaze darkened, and James could feel the pull between them, like gravity was working extra hard to bring them closer.
But then—
“What the fuck is happening here?” Sirius’s voice sliced through the moment like a knife, full of suspicion and a healthy dose of exasperation.
James practically leapt back, nearly falling off the couch in his haste to create some distance between him and Regulus. “Oh, hey, Sirius!” he yelped, his voice way too high-pitched. His hand immediately dropped into his lap, and he scooted to the farthest end of the couch as if the cushion was on fire. “What… uh, what are you doing here?”
Regulus, still looking slightly dazed, blinked and muttered, “Hello to you too, brother. Who let you in?”
Sirius stood there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “I have a key,” he said flatly, holding it up.
“Right,” Regulus nodded. “Of course.”
“I was supposed to pick James up for lunch,” Sirius continued, eyeing them both suspiciously. “And he has soccer practice in, like, an hour.”
James tried to laugh it off, but it sounded strangled. “Yeah, I—uh, I forgot.”
Regulus glanced at the clock and forced a smile. “It’s fine. I was going to meet up with Barty anyway.”
The second Regulus left, Sirius wasted no time. He grabbed James by the arm, dragging him outside to his car, his grip firm and his expression unreadable. As soon as they were in the car, Sirius turned to him, eyes blazing with frustration.
“James, I swear to *God*—”
“What?” James snapped, defensively raking a hand through his already messy hair. “We’re not doing anything!” He could feel his pulse quicken, the defensiveness rising in his voice.
Sirius narrowed his eyes. “But he wants
to do something.”
James’s stomach churned. I do too, he thought bitterly. He didn’t need Sirius to spell it out for him. The tension between him and Regulus had been thick enough to cut with a knife. And truth be told, there were a lot of things he wanted to do in that moment—none of which were remotely innocent.
“James,” Sirius’s tone shifted, quieter now, but no less frustrated. “You can’t keep tiptoeing around him. He’s 17 he just got out of that house, and he’s vulnerable. Don’t…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Don’t lead him on.”
James slumped in his seat, guilt tugging at him like a heavy weight. “I’m not dragging him along,” he muttered weakly, though even he didn’t believe it.
Sirius shot him a hard look. “James, I’m serious. I know you *care* about him. I know you do. But he's not some crush you can mess around with. He’s barely figured out who he is, and you—” Sirius’s frustration flared for a second before softening into something more concerned. “He’s not like the others, alright? You can't just fool around and move on."
James opened his mouth to argue, to defend himself, but then he closed it again, realizing with a sinking feeling that Sirius wasn’t wrong. He did care. *Way* more than he was willing to admit. Maybe more than he even realized. But that only made things more complicated.
Sirius’s expression softened, though the tension between them didn’t ease. “Look, I know the whole ‘love is love’ spiel, but you’re not allowed to mess him up. Not him.” His voice dropped lower, his protective nature showing. “Regulus is... delicate, James. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
James let out a long, frustrated sigh, sinking deeper into the seat. “I know,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sirius.
Sirius, though still visibly tense, patted James’s shoulder with a touch of reassurance. “Alright. Now, go to practice. Kick a ball around.
Get your head on straight,” he said, though he threw a glare James’s way before adding, “but this conversation’s only on a raincheck. We’re not done.”
James nodded, knowing there was no escaping the inevitable follow-up to this. As he walked toward the soccer field, his cleats tapping lightly on the pavement, all he could think about was Regulus—how close they’d been to crossing that invisible line. He was starting to realize that it wasn’t a question of *if* they would cross it, but *when*. And whether or not he’d be ready when they did.
James turned toward Regulus, catching his gaze. A familiar, warm smile spread across his face, masking the tension swirling beneath the surface. Regulus had a way of pushing just a little too close, getting under James’s skin in a way that both intrigued and unsettled him. It was always like this—a game of tug-of-war, but lately, the stakes felt higher.
“Why didn’t you mention you were actually famous?” Regulus’s tone was casual, but James could feel the weight behind it, even if Regulus tried to disguise it with a half-hearted smile. The words hung between them, daring James to deflect.
Fame. It wasn’t something James thought about much, especially not when he was around Regulus. With him, things were different. It didn’t matter that the world outside saw James Potter as the golden boy, the Quidditch star, the one people pointed at in hallways. Here, it was just the two of them, and none of that should’ve mattered.
James shrugged, letting the question roll off him like water. “Didn’t think it was important. Does it matter, Reggie?”
He knew the nickname would irritate Regulus, but that was the point. James liked getting a rise out of him, liked how it chipped away at the icy exterior Regulus clung to. But today, when the name slipped from his lips, it wasn’t just playful. There was an edge to it, something deliberate, something dangerous.
Regulus stiffened, just as James had expected, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “Don’t call me Reggie,” he snapped, the sharpness in his tone cutting through the air between them.
James leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh? And what should I call you, then?”
It was familiar ground for them, this back-and-forth, but today, James could feel the tension underneath it all—like they were circling something they hadn’t yet named, but both could sense. It wasn’t the first time they’d bantered like this, but lately, it felt like they were toeing a line, daring each other to cross it.
Regulus rolled his eyes, but his response was quicker than James expected, his voice dripping with something more than just teasing. “Baby would be nice.”
James faltered for half a second, caught off guard. Regulus never went that far, not with him, not in this way. His smile slipped, just for a moment, but he recovered quickly, pushing the unease back down where it belonged. “Regulus it is, then,” he said, voice steady, though something unspoken flickered behind his words.
The air between them thickened as Regulus’s knee brushed against James’s leg. James felt the heat of it, though he refused to acknowledge it, keeping his face carefully neutral. He knew better than to think it was an accident—Regulus never did anything by accident. The closeness was intentional, every inch between them buzzing with tension.
“Mhm? Why not ‘baby,’ James?” Regulus asked, voice low and full of challenge.
James forced himself to keep his cool. “Careful,” James muttered, his voice dropping, though the warning in his tone sounded weak even to him. It wasn’t a warning at all. It was a dare.
Regulus, of course, didn’t back down. He leaned in closer, he tilted his head to the side lettinf his curls fall sligthlty on his fsce that sent a jolt of heat through James’s chest. The deliberate slide of Regulus’s hand onto James’s thigh made his pulse quicken, though James fought hard to ignore it. His breath hitched, just barely, but Regulus didn’t miss it.
“Still haven’t answered my question,” Regulus murmured, his hand resting casually, provocatively. “Is there something else you’re hiding from me, James?”
The weight of Regulus’s hand was distracting, pulling James’s focus, drawing his breath short. The easy, teasing banter was slipping away, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. Regulus was pushing him, and James wasn’t sure if he wanted to push back or give in.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to respond. “I don’t think you’re ready for that answer.”
Regulus’s eyes darkened, his smile turning predatory. “Oh, I think I am,” he whispered, leaning in so close now that James could feel his breath against his skin. James’s mind spun, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Reckon you’re pushing your luck," James muttered, his voice rougher than he’d intended, strained under the pressure.
Regulus’s grin widened, eyes gleaming. "Luck? Or skill?" His fingers dug slightly into James’s thigh, and the heat of his touch was becoming impossible to ignore.
James’s breath was shaky now, his composure hanging by a thread. He was teetering on the edge, and Regulus knew it. “Fuck—Regulus, please…” The words escaped before he could stop them, a slip in the facade he was trying so desperately to hold onto.
Regulus’s grip tightened just enough to send a shiver down James’s spine, his voice low and triumphant. “Please what, James?” His words were a taunt, pushing James further, daring him to break.
James’s mind raced, every instinct telling him to push Regulus away, to stop whatever this was before it went too far. But his body wasn’t listening. He leaned in, just barely, the space between them shrinking, his lips almost brushing against Regulus’s. For a second, the pull was too strong, too consuming.
But then, the image of Sirius flashed in his mind, like a bucket of cold water thrown over him. Sirius. His brother. SEVENTEEN.
James’s stomach twisted, guilt creeping in where desire had been moments ago. His hands, which had been so close to closing the distance, dropped to his sides, and with a shaky breath, he forced himself to pull back.
“I’d like you to back away,” he said, his voice rough, breath still unsteady. “If anyone walks in here, they might get the wrong idea.”
For a split second, Regulus’s confident smirk faltered. But then, just as quickly, it returned, full of that same dangerous mischief. He leaned back slightly, though his hand remained on James’s thigh, a silent reminder of how close they had come.
“The wrong idea, huh?” Regulus’s voice was teasing, but there was something darker underneath, something that made James’s pulse race for a different reason now.
“Right,” James nodded, trying to collect himself, trying to regain some semblance of control. “We wouldn’t want anyone walking in and…”
“Walking in and what?” Regulus cut him off, his fingers drawing slow, deliberate circles on James’s leg. “Thinking you’ve finally stopped pretending you’re not into me?”
James swallowed hard, heat rising in his chest. He wanted to deny it, to push Regulus’s hand away and put an end to this game they’d been playing for too long. But the words wouldn’t come. The truth was, Regulus was right, and James hated how much power that gave him.
“That’s not—” James started, but the words felt hollow, and Regulus knew it.
Regulus chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Relax, Potter. I’m just messing with you.”
James exhaled, forcing the lump on his trought to go bacm down “Yeah. Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
But as Regulus finally pulled his hand away and leaned back against the couch, James wanted to put it back where it was
And somewhere in the back of his mind, Sirius’s words lingered—a reminder of the line he’d almost crossed.
James had been walking on eggshells around Regulus ever since that day, and if he was honest, maybe — just maybe — he had been avoiding his best friend too. Which was a massive problem, since Sirius was a clingy bastard. But Sirius was *his* clingy bastard, and James missed him dearly. Still, there was no way he was ready for the conversation they'd both been rainchecking for too long.
But sometimes, life really liked to fuck you over.
Regulus had left earlier without bothering to tell James where he was going — a habit James hated, but never had the nerve to call out. And just as James was about to leave for practice, Sirius, in that uncanny way of his, magically appeared in the doorway of his room, bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light. His timing was, as always, impeccable.
“James.”
James swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “Padfoot.”
The lack of their usual teasing nicknames made James’s skin crawl. When Sirius skipped over calling him ‘Prongs’ or ‘Jamie,’ it only ever meant one of two things: you fucked up, and you were about to die. In that order.
“I passed Reggie out back,” Sirius said, stepping closer. He twirled a piece of his hair around his finger, the light catching the flash of his wedding ring. The silent reminder of Sirius's vow to always protect what he held closest. Regulus was part of that now.
“Yeah, I was just about to head out,” James mumbled, already bracing for what was coming. He could feel it in the way Sirius’s eyes were pinning him down, sharp and assessing.
Sirius smiled, but it wasn’t the easy, carefree grin James was used to. No, this was the smile Sirius used right before going completely off the rails. “Speaking of Reggie, huh? What’s the deal with you two?”
Shit.
“Nothing. Nothing’s the deal with us.” James exhaled a little too quickly, trying not to let his voice waver.
Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “James. Do you think I’m kidding when I say I’d stab anyone who hurt him?”
James’s heart skipped. “No,” he said quietly, because he knew Sirius wasn’t joking. Not even a little. He’d seen it — seen how Regulus was Sirius’s breaking point. People thought James was Sirius’s breaking point, but no. It was always Regulus. It was his little brother who Sirius would destroy worlds for, without hesitation.
A memory flashed in James’s mind from back in their Highschool days. He had been absent that day, but when he returned, the stories had spread like wildfire. Sirius had brought Regulus to school for some reason, and a couple of idiot kids had thought it would be fun to pick on the younger Black. It had ended with Sirius bashing their heads into the rubbish bins behind the soccer field, screaming about how no one touched his brother.
James shuddered at the thought, feeling the weight of the moment settling in his chest.
“So,” Sirius continued, his voice eerily calm, stepping closer. “Tell me, James. Tell me why you eye-fuck him whenever he’s in the room. Tell me why you’ve been acting so fucking weird around him.”
James opened his mouth, but no words came out. His mind was blank, and his throat felt tight, like he’d swallowed something too big.
Sirius didn’t wait for a reply. He stepped even closer until there was barely an inch between them, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Off. Limits.”
James’s breath hitched. The look in Sirius’s eyes was sharper than any blade, cutting through him in a way nothing else could. There was a fierceness there, a protectiveness James had seen before but had never been on the receiving end of. This wasn’t a warning; it was a promise.
“I know,” James said, his voice low, barely audible. But he meant it. He knew Regulus was off-limits. He had always known.
Sirius didn’t move for a long moment, his eyes boring into James as if daring him to say something, to challenge him. But James kept his mouth shut, his pulse thudding loud in his ears.
Finally, Sirius took a step back, and just like that, the tension broke. His usual, easy grin returned, and he clapped a hand on James’s shoulder, the shift in his demeanor almost jarring. “Good.”
James exhaled, feeling like he could finally breathe again, though the knot in his stomach didn’t go away. He tried to match Sirius’s smile, but it felt forced, his thoughts still spinning.
“You’re coming by for dinner later, right?” Sirius asked casually, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “Marlene’s making that horrible stew again. We need someone else to complain about it.”
“Cant,” James muttered, nodding, though his mind was far from dinner plans. “im a bit busy at the moment.”
But as Sirius patted his shoulder one last time and turned to leave, James felt the weight of what had just happened settle deeper in his chest. This wasn’t over. Whatever was happening with Regulus — whatever had almost happened between them — was lingering, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
And Sirius knew.
The practice session that followed was a grueling test of endurance and focus. The soccer field, still slick from the earlier rain, presented a muddy battleground. James felt every splash of muck beneath his cleats, the wet ground pulling at him, making every movement a challenge.
Gideon, the team captain, was barking out instructions with his usual intensity. “Come on, Potter! Move it! You’re dragging us down!”
James swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the sting of Gideon’s words. His thoughts kept drifting back to Sirius’s warning, the tension of their conversation a heavy weight on his shoulders. The muddy field seemed to mirror his internal chaos, each step feeling like wading through quicksand.
The rain had left the field a treacherous mess, and James struggled to maintain his footing. He lost the ball in a particularly slippery patch, and the other players didn’t hesitate to take advantage of his mistakes. Every missed pass and fumbled play felt like a personal failure, compounding his frustration and sense of inadequacy.
Gideon was relentless, his voice cutting through the air with sharp authority. “Potter, keep your head in the game! We need you on top of this!”
James tried to focus, but the mud seemed to have a vendetta against him. He slipped, collided with a teammate, and felt the sharp sting of impact. The mud splashed up, dirtying his uniform and further sinking his spirits.
During a break, James sat on the sideline, his hands resting on his knees, staring at the slick field. He could hear Gideon’s voice in the distance, rallying the team, but it all felt distant and muffled against the roar of his thoughts. The warning from Sirius loomed large, making him question everything — his role on the team, his relationship with Regulus, and the strength of his friendship with Sirius.
As the practice continued, James tried to shake off his doubts, pushing through the mud and trying to keep up with the relentless pace set by Gideon. But every time he thought he was getting a handle on it, the field seemed to pull him back, reminding him of his distractions and the weight of unresolved issues.
By the end of practice, James was covered in mud and exhaustion, his muscles aching from the effort. The team, visibly tired, still managed to finish strong, but James’s performance had been lackluster. As they wrapped up and headed for the showers, Gideon gave him one last pointed look.
“Potter, are you not feeling alright? You should get home, youve been working too hard.”
James nodded, too weary to respond. He trudged off the field, the weight of Gideon’s words and his own unresolved conflicts heavy on his shoulders.
James skipped the shower, too worn out and mentally tangled to care about cleaning up. Instead, he grabbed his things, slung his bag over his shoulder, and trudged to his car, the mud caking on his clothes and shoes a testament to the chaotic day. The drive home was a blur, the steady thrum of the engine failing to drown out the storm of thoughts in his head.
He navigated the streets in a daze, the rain having started up again, pattering against the windshield. Each drop seemed to echo the turmoil inside him, a reminder of the conversation with Sirius and the muddled state of his relationships. He kept his eyes on the road, trying to focus on the familiar route, but his mind kept circling back to the tension with Regulus and the lingering weight of Sirius's warning.
When he finally pulled into his driveway, James didn’t even bother to turn off the engine immediately. He sat in the driver’s seat, staring blankly ahead. The house loomed in the dim light.
James fumbled with the key at the front door, his thoughts a whirlwind of frantic reminders: “Act normal, act normal, act normal.” He forced his face into a blank mask of calm before pushing the door open.
What greeted him was a punch to the gut. Regulus stood in the living room, an almost otherworldly figure of elegance marred by evident distress. His shirt, a too-large, off-white garment, hung unevenly on his slender frame. The exposed skin was a canvas of fresh bruises, angry red marks, and bite impressions, stark against his pale complexion. His disheveled hair looked like it had been violently raked through, and his lips were swollen, darkened by recent rough contact. He looked completely wrecked—by someone who wasn’t James.
A visceral wave of jealousy and anger crashed over James. Someone else had touched Regulus, someone who wasn’t him. The thought was a hot poker in his chest, making his fists clench tightly at his sides. Sirius’s words echoed cruelly in his mind: “Off limits.” The reminder of this boundary felt like a cold, sharp blade pressing into him.
He strode past Regulus, who looked up with a mix of confusion and hurt, and headed directly for the bathroom. James slammed the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the quiet house. He turned on the shower, the hot water hissing as it hit the porcelain, and let the steam envelop him. The roar of the water drowned out his chaotic thoughts, but it did little to soothe the storm inside him.
“Why am I so fucking angry?” James muttered, his voice ragged and edged with frustration. He slammed a fist against the shower wall, the sting a small distraction from the emotional turmoil. “This isn’t supposed to be my problem. Why does it feel like everything’s falling apart?”
The steam around him was thick and heavy, carrying with it the faint, cloying scent of Regulus—a mix of salt from the sea, a hint of musky cologne, and something deeply earthy. The combination was intoxicating and maddening, amplifying James’s feelings of betrayal and loss. He stood under the pounding water until it turned cold, trying to clear his head but finding only more confusion and anger.
When he emerged, dressed in a rush, Regulus was still in the living room. The oversized shirt he wore now clung to his frame, accentuating the bruises and marks on his skin.
James’s jaw tightened as he observed Regulus. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, was both beautiful and infuriating. “Regulus,” James said, forcing his voice to remain even, though it felt brittle. “Do you think you could fix yourself up something to eat? I’ve got things to do.”
Regulus looked up, a soft, hurt pout on his lips. His eyes, shadowed with fatigue, searched James’s face. “But I like your cooking,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a blend of sadness and resignation.
James’s frustration was palpable, his words spilling out as a garbled, angry mess. He mumbled something—harsh, jumbled, and barely coherent—before turning sharply and retreating to the study, slamming the door behind him with more force than intended.
Inside, he paced furiously, his thoughts spiraling. It infuriated him how Regulus’s pouty face, and the ridiculous fact that James was actually worried about whether Regulus would cook himself dinner, gnawed at his mind. It felt absurd, and yet, it consumed him.
The sound of Regulus’s footsteps heading to his room, followed by the loud slam of the door, only made things worse. The idea of Regulus being angry or hungry twisted in James's gut. His jealousy burned hot and fast, knowing that someone else—someone undeserving—had touched Regulus. Someone who couldn’t possibly understand him the way James did.
His pacing grew more frantic, and his thoughts tangled into a chaotic knot of anger, jealousy, and longing. He wanted Regulus's attention, to be the one who made him smile, that small, knowing grin that always seemed just for him. But now, it was like someone else had stepped in where James belonged.
Desperate for some kind of distraction, James pulled out his phone and dialed Lily’s number. If anyone could snap him out of this spiral, it was her.
"James?" Lily’s voice sounded groggy and annoyed. "Why are you calling me this late?"
“Just... talk, Lil. Please. Just talk and don’t stop,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.
Lily sighed but didn’t argue. “Alright, fine. You better appreciate this. I was in the middle of a very good dream, but I’m here now,” she said with a mock dramatic tone, before diving into her usual flood of updates.
She began rattling off details about the company, the state of a few major projects, and some ridiculous office gossip about two coworkers sneaking into the supply closet for a “meeting.”
“Pretty sure they weren’t discussing quarterly reports, if you know what I mean,” Lily said with a snort.
James grinned despite himself. “Honestly, more power to them,” he muttered.
“And don’t even get me started on that one girl who’s trying to single-handedly turn our café into some kind of avant-garde art installation. Mary. She comes in every day, orders her ‘existential crisis’ coffee, and spends hours trying to make our menu more… ‘thought-provoking.’”
James blinked. “Who the hell is Mary? How long have I been checked out?”
“She’s this barista with an art degree, and now she thinks our café is her personal art project. I’m telling you, James, if I let her, we’ll be serving ‘postmodern’ cappuccinos and ‘surrealist’ flat whites by next week,” Lily deadpanned.
James chuckled, though it felt hollow. “I mean, could be a selling point. ‘Come for the caffeine, stay for the existential crisis.’”
“Yeah, sure, if you want to market us to tortured artists and philosophy majors.”
As Lily rambled on, James’s attention wavered. His gaze drifted across the room, pulled toward the arched window that looked out over the beach. He didn’t even realize what was happening at first, but something was calling him, tugging at him like a force he couldn’t resist.
Without thinking, he stepped toward the window. His eyes scanned the moonlit scene outside, but it was more than just the beach. It was something else. Something that drew him in, making the conversation with Lily fade into the background like static noise.
“Oh, fuck,” James muttered under his breath, his pulse quickening as he finally locked onto what had caught his attention.
Lily’s voice still echoed faintly from the phone, but James could barely process her words. He murmured a rushed goodbye before tossing his phone onto the couch, not even caring where it landed. His hand moved almost automatically, pushing the window open and letting the cool night air flood the room.
The salty breeze hit his face, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of the ocean. James inhaled deeply, his frustration momentarily replaced by something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name.
But standing there, with the beach stretched out before him and the night sky above, everything felt heavier, like he was teetering on the edge of something big, something that would change everything.
Regulus sat on the sand, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, like a figure from a dream that James could barely believe was real. There was something hauntingly beautiful about the scene, about how serene Regulus looked as he sat there, his knees pulled up to his chest, a book resting delicately in his lap as he read, seemingly unaware of the world around him. The moonlight played tricks with the shadows, casting an ethereal glow over his pale skin, making him appear almost divine.
James’s heart twisted painfully in his chest as he watched from the window. The phone call with Lily had long since faded into the background, his fingers still gripping the device tightly as his gaze locked onto Regulus, sitting like some sort of untouchable figure of perfection. The ache in his chest grew with every passing second, a feeling so deep and raw that it made breathing feel difficult.
He ended the call with a short, almost robotic goodbye, not even hearing Lily’s response. The phone fell from his hand to the floor with a dull thud as he moved to the window seat, pulling it open to let the cool, salty air of the sea breeze wash over him. It hit him like a wave, but it wasn’t enough to clear the fog in his head or the weight in his chest. All he could do was sit there, transfixed by the sight of Regulus on the sand, the sound of the ocean waves crashing gently in the distance.
Why did Regulus have to be so beautiful? Why did everything about him have to be so utterly, heartbreakingly perfect? James felt like he was being pulled in, like Regulus was a force he couldn’t resist, and no matter how hard he tried to look away, to pull back, he simply couldn’t. The ache in his chest only deepened as he watched, helpless against the swell of emotion rising within him.
Regulus was more than just beautiful. He was something else entirely. He was a divine gift, wrapped in human form, a masterpiece of perfection that James couldn’t tear his eyes from. He sat there, book in hand, the moonlight reflecting off the pages, and James’s heart clenched with the overwhelming urge to protect him. He would fight the world to keep Regulus safe. He would take on anyone, destroy anything that dared to harm him. Who could even touch Regulus? Who was even allowed to make him frown, to bring him pain? The very thought of it sent a flash of anger through James’s veins, though it was dulled by the heavy weight of his own helplessness.
But the more he watched, the clearer it became to James: he was utterly, hopelessly, and completely in love. It hit him like a punch to the gut, a realization so powerful that it knocked the air from his lungs. He was in love with Regulus Black—the boy who sat in his living room, sneaking jellybeans like he was committing some grand act of rebellion, the boy who dove into literature like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
He was in love with the way Regulus rambled about poetry, his eyes lighting up with every word, his hands gesturing in that passionate way that made James want to listen forever. He was in love with the way Regulus apologized afterward, thinking he was boring James, when, in reality, James could have listened to him for hours without ever getting tired. Regulus’s voice was music, his presence a symphony that James longed to hear on repeat. Every word, every glance, every subtle smile was a note in a melody that James couldn’t stop craving.
But then there was the painful reality that hit James harder than anything else. Regulus didn’t see things the same way. To him, this was all just a game, something light and easy, something to be laughed off. It was something fleeting, something to play with before moving on to the next. That reality shattered James’s heart into a thousand pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last. How could Regulus not see? How could he be so nonchalant, so dismissive of something that felt so monumental to James?
The irony was cruel, twisted. James, who had never let anyone in so completely, had given his heart to someone who saw it all as a passing amusement. The weight of that truth settled over him like a blanket of cold despair, seeping into his bones. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt, but even that pain couldn’t stop him from loving Regulus.
Time seemed to slip by without James even realizing it. The night grew darker, the moon shifted higher in the sky, casting longer shadows across the beach, but James remained where he was, rooted to the spot, his eyes never leaving Regulus. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was distant, barely noticeable against the steady beat of his own heart in his ears.
Regulus sat there, completely absorbed in his book, his expression relaxed, peaceful, as if he were in another world entirely. He wasn’t thinking about James. He wasn’t thinking about their fight or the harsh words that had been exchanged. He wasn’t feeling the same ache, the same longing that was tearing James apart from the inside.
And that realization—that Regulus could be so at peace while James was drowning in his own feelings—was the hardest pill to swallow.
Eventually, with a heavy sigh, James forced himself to stand. He moved away from the window, though it felt like a part of him stayed there, tethered to Regulus by an invisible thread that he couldn’t break. His legs felt heavy, each step taking more effort than the last as he made his way to the kitchen. His movements were mechanical, automatic, as he started to make himself a cup of coffee, though he barely registered what he was doing.
The world felt muted, distant, like everything had dimmed in comparison to the light that was Regulus Black.
When Regulus finally entered the kitchen, his clothes were still speckled with sand, carrying the faint, nostalgic scent of the sea. The sight of him, looking so casual and at ease, with his tousled hair and relaxed demeanor, only deepened James’s feelings of melancholy and yearning. James busied himself with the coffee machine, trying to mask the turbulent emotions roiling inside him, but he couldn’t shake the image of Regulus from his mind.
James barely registered the trivial conversation they’d had—something about being up all night, and flashlights—he didn’t care. His mind was elsewhere. He watched Regulus move to the fridge, retrieving the chocolate milk he had guiltily asked James to buy. James had gotten it without complaint.
Regulus poured the milk into a cup, and James turned his attention to his coffee. But then, there was a sudden crash—the cup slipping from Regulus's hand, milk spilling across the white marble counter, splattering onto Regulus’s pristine shirt.
Under his breath, Regulus cursed, and then—in one swift, casual motion—he peeled off the wet shirt. James’s gaze snapped back, and for a moment, everything in the room froze. The sight was... straight out of of a fucking porno Regulus had no business being thst pretty. The way Regulus’s pale skin glowed under the dim kitchen light, the muscles in his back rippling as he wiped himself down—it was more than James had ever dared to imagine. His waist, his chest, the marks contrasted against his ivory skin—it was sinful.
James’s breath caught in his throat, and when he finally dragged his eyes up to meet Regulus’s face, he saw the boy was watching him. Watching him with a knowing, smug look that made James’s blood boil.
Regulus bit back a smirk, lazily dabbing at his chest with the discarded shirt, wiping the spilled milk from his skin. “What?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “I spilled something. Can’t exactly walk around soaked, can I?”
James’s jaw clenched. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. This was all a game to Regulus, teasing him, playing with his emotions. But for James? It was anything but a game.
Regulus tilted his head, stepping closer, closing the distance between them with deliberate, lazy steps. “And what if I do?” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He was testing James, pushing him, and James could feel himself teetering on the edge of control.
“Stop this,” James rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of everything he had been holding back.
Regulus raised a brow. “Stop what?” He was still playing coy, but his eyes were sharp, watching James carefully, waiting for his next move.
And then the dam broke.
“I just fucking—God, Regulus, it’s wrong!” James burst out, unable to contain the flood of words. “It’s so wrong to want to kiss you, to be jealous of anyone who’s ever been with you! It’s wrong because—you’re Sirius’s brother, you’re 17, and I—fuck—I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. Every waking second, I just want you. I want you so badly I can’t think straight, and it’s tearing me apart, because you’re playing with me, Reg. And I—I can’t take it anymore.”