Reverse if you could
James needed his headache gone.
He waddled down to the wine cellar, glancing briefly at the door to the first room upstairs, now firmly shut as he descended the steps. The chill of the stone walls pressed in around him, but he hardly noticed.
He didn’t bother sifting through his parents' meticulously curated selection. Instead, his hand closed around a random bottle of port wine — probably worth more than he cared to think about. The label gleamed faintly in the dim light, but James ignored it. He had no intention of savoring it.
Prancing back into the living room, he sank onto the couch, bottle in hand. Regulus wasn’t coming downstairs anytime soon anyway. Uncapping the bottle, James dismissed the idea of fetching a glass. Screw it, he thought.
The rich liquid burned as it slid down his throat, each gulp blurring his thoughts further. A hazy numbness crept over him, settling into his limbs.
“Fuck,” he gasped, slumping deeper into the cushions.
The world wavered on the edge of consciousness. He heard a door creak open but barely registered it. No footsteps echoed on the stairs—just the fading remnants of sound slipping through the haze.
And then, nothing but silence.
“Reg...?” James mumbled, his hand grasping at empty air. His voice was thick, slurred by the haze of wine and exhaustion.
“Yeah, it’s me, Jamie.” A voice—soft, familiar, almost angelic—cut through the fog. James clung to it like a lifeline, though the words barely registered.
He didn’t remember what else was said. Everything blurred and twisted together. One moment, there was warmth, the next, a biting cold, like something had been pulled away from him. His skin prickled in protest before a new warmth settled over him, steady and grounding.
“Regg—ugh,” he groaned, his body sinking further into the couch, caught between oblivion and awareness.
Somewhere beyond the thick veil clouding his mind, Regulus stayed near. Silent but present. And that, somehow, was enough.
James tried to force his eyes open, but the weight of the wine and exhaustion held him down. The warmth lingered—maybe a blanket, maybe Regulus himself—but James couldn’t be sure.
“You’re a mess,” Regulus muttered softly, though his voice lacked any real bite. A hand brushed over James’ forehead, pushing damp hair out of his face.
“Didn’t... ask,” James mumbled, his words trailing off before they fully formed.
“I know you didn’t,” Regulus replied. “But here I am anyway.”
Silence stretched between them, thick but oddly comforting. The cold edge of reality faded, softened by Regulus’ presence. James’ breathing steadied, and he let the pull of unconsciousness tug at him again.
“You're always so dramatic,” Regulus whispered, almost to himself.
James huffed a half-laugh, the last of his energy draining. “Takes one... to know one.”
A quiet chuckle followed before the world finally slipped away into a dreamless void.
James drifted between sensation and confusion. Warmth pressed against his skin—soft, insistent. Lips.
Lips.
His breath hitched. The hazy pleasure of it felt dangerously good, too good for the alcohol-numbed clarity he fought to hold onto. His body arched slightly against the contact before his brain caught up.
“Wait—fuck,” James groaned, panic slipping into his voice as realization struck. Regulus.
“Off, Reggie,” he tried to protest, voice slurring. “Shit, never mind, just—ugh—off.”
But his words wavered between protest and surrender, caught in the confusion of want and disbelief. Regulus, silent and composed as ever, stilled but didn’t pull away immediately. James’ heart pounded against his ribs, the room spinning beneath him.
“What the hell are you doing?” James gasped, voice raw.
“Kissing your abs,” Regulus said shamelessly, his voice calm and unapologetic.
James groaned. “Off—ugh, Reggie, get off me,” he demanded, though his tone lacked conviction. His body was still sluggish from the wine, warmth pooling in places he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Regulus didn’t move right away, his lips hovering just above James’ skin, teasing without touch. “Do you really want me to stop?” His voice held a challenge, laced with the faintest trace of amusement.
“Yes,” James said firmly. Then, softer, almost to himself: “Maybe. I don’t—ugh, I don’t know.”
Silence thickened between them. The boundary they danced on wavered, unsteady and undefined. Regulus finally relented, pulling back just enough to give James space.
“You’re a mess, Jamie,” Regulus murmured, though his gaze lingered. “But I’ll stop... for now.”
James squeezed his eyes shut, willing the chaotic pounding in his chest to settle.
When James woke up, everything burned—his skin, his senses, his head pounding from the aftermath of the night before. The heat clung to him, sweat slicking his body. Instinctively, he shook off the remnants of his clothing until he was left in just his boxers. The discomfort dulled his awareness; nothing fully registered.
“What the actual shit…” someone muttered nearby.
“Come on, leave him be,” another voice hushed.
James barely acknowledged them, slipping in and out of consciousness until distant sounds pierced the fog: screams—not terrifying, but playful—and splashing.
His brow furrowed as he winced at the sunlight filtering through his eyelids. The golden glare stung, pulling him reluctantly into full wakefulness. Groaning, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Reg?" he called hoarsely, wobbling unsteadily as he followed the sounds.
Sand crunched underfoot. He blinked down in surprise. Sand. Right, the beach. His private beach, a secluded sanctuary his family rarely used.
The splashes and laughter grew louder as James stumbled forward, shielding his eyes from the sun. His head swirled, body still heavy from the wine haze, but curiosity pulled him toward the shoreline. “What the hell are they doing?” he muttered, not sure if he meant Regulus or himself.
James's brain jolted back into place the moment he realized it—people were swimming on his beach.
"James!" Dorcas's voice rang out, bright and cheerful as she waved from the water.
Right, Dorcas. He blinked sluggishly, lifting a hand in acknowledgment while his eyes scanned the scene. Barty, Evan, Pandora... familiar faces, carefree and wild in the waves. Then his gaze landed on him.
Regulus.
He wasn’t in the water. Instead, he sat curled up on an old towel, book balanced carefully in his hands. The breeze toyed with his hair, and for a moment, he looked peaceful, almost soft—so unlike the sharp-edged menace James knew too well.
But as if sensing the attention, Regulus looked up. Their eyes met, and James’s stomach twisted painfully as the memory resurfaced:
"Kissing your abs."
"I’ll stop for now. "
James’s throat went dry. His mind stumbled between mortification and a heat that prickled under his skin. He clenched his fists, trying to shake it off, but the memory lingered like static in his nerves. Get a grip, Potter.
“James!” Dorcas called again, oblivious to his internal crisis. “You joining us or standing there like a sand sculpture all day?”
He forced a smile, throat tight. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he managed, though the words sounded hollow even to him.
James grabbed his crumpled button-up from the floor, shaking off the sand clinging to it before draping it over his shoulders. He left it undone, the fabric flapping in the breeze as he trudged toward the waves. The rhythmic crash of water was steady, familiar—a promise of clarity after the chaos swirling in his head.
The cool sand shifted underfoot, grounding him as he moved closer to the shore. The salty breeze pressed against his skin, sharp and bracing, but James welcomed the sting. Swimming had always been his cure for anything that lingered too long—thoughts, headaches, or hangovers alike.
Behind him, Regulus sat quietly, book open, his face calm and unreadable. It was almost infuriating how unbothered he seemed, as if nothing from last night lingered for him. No tension, no weight—just the steady turn of pages and the occasional flick of a glance toward the sea.
“Volleyball?” Evan called out, waving toward James from the makeshift court they’d set up near the dunes.
“Swim first,” James mumbled, shrugging off the half-clinging fabric of his shirt. The need to clear his head outweighed any interest in joining their games.
Without waiting for a reply, he strode toward the water and dove in, the cold instantly biting into his skin and shocking his senses awake. The rhythmic pull of the waves steadied him, the last remnants of the wine haze washing away with each stroke. He swam hard, pushing himself until the burn in his muscles matched the weight pressing on his mind.
It could have been hours, but it was likely just a few minutes before he surfaced near the shore, breath heavy but thoughts clearer. James ran a hand through his soaked hair, blinking water from his eyes as he made his way back onto the sand.
Regulus stood waiting, towel in hand, calm and composed as ever. There was something almost surreal about seeing him like that—out of place among the carefree chaos of James’s friends.
"Enjoy your enlightenment?" Regulus asked, voice low but teasing.
James snatched the towel, rubbing it briskly over his face to hide the flicker of heat rising to his cheeks. "Better than volleyball," he muttered.
Regulus’s lips quirked slightly, the faintest hint of a smile before he returned to his book. "I'll take your word for it, Potter."
James dried off, the rough fabric of the towel doing little to erase the lingering tension in his shoulders. The swim had cleared his head, but it hadn’t drowned out the memories still tugging at the edges of his mind. Regulus, though calm and composed, seemed to sense it—his gaze flicking up from his book every so often, unreadable but present.
“You’re quiet,” James observed, wrapping the towel around his neck.
Regulus shrugged. “I’m reading.”
“Right.” James let the word hang awkwardly between them, unsure what else to say. The usual sharp retorts or teasing jabs didn’t come so easily today.
In the distance, Dorcas and Evan shouted at each other over a missed volleyball serve, laughter following soon after. The carefree energy of the group felt worlds apart from the strange undercurrent between James and Regulus.
“You didn’t have to wait,” James said eventually, voice quieter than intended.
“I wanted to.” Regulus didn’t look up from his book, but the weight of his words lingered. Simple, but deliberate.
James swallowed hard, the sand beneath his feet suddenly feeling unsteady. “Yeah, well... thanks.”
Regulus's mouth curved into that familiar teasing smirk, though his eyes stayed on the page. “Don’t get used to it, Potter.”
“Are we not going to talk about it?” James muttered, the weight of the words pressing between them.
Regulus’s eyebrows furrowed, his expression hardening. “No. If you don’t accept my feelings or yours, apparently , so be it. I’m moving out in a few months anyway. Sirius’s house is almost ready.”
James winced, guilt gnawing at him. “And you kissing me while I was drunk?”
“lapse in judgment,” Regulus said flatly, his tone detached but not quite cold.
“I like you, Reg. I really, really do,” James said, the words rushing out before he could stop them. “I just—can’t. You’re—”
“Not good enough for you?” Regulus interrupted.
James shook his head vehemently. “No. That’s not it. You’re... too young. Too fragile. I’d break you.”
Regulus hummed softly. “And if I wanted to be broken?”
James stiffened, his chest tightening painfully. “I wouldn’t want to break you, love. That’s not fair for you.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “It was stupid of me to even tell you how I feel. Even if it’s mutual—and I know it is—I’m not using you to get my dick wet and then tossing you aside.”
Regulus stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then keep me around.”
James let out a haughty laugh, the sound sharp and incredulous. “You’re impossible, you know that? Like a puzzle. A really damn hard puzzle.”
Regulus turned his head, dark eyes unreadable. “A puzzle you won’t finish.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and final.
James stepped closer, determination flickering in his chest despite the turmoil swirling between them. “You don’t get to decide that, Reg.”
Regulus’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not asking you to.” His voice softened just slightly, a quiet defiance underneath. “I just don’t expect you to try.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The crashing waves filled the silence, but it did nothing to ease the tension between them.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” James admitted finally, voice rough with frustration. “But I know I don’t want this... distance between us. Not like this.”
Regulus regarded him carefully, guarded but not entirely closed off. “Then figure it out, Jamie. And fast.”