The Party
Regulus sat in his room, the faint sounds of laughter and celebration seeping through the walls from the nearby rooms. The air in the room felt thick, the remnants of chlorine still clinging to his skin despite the long, hot shower he had taken after the race. He had won. He had beaten Sirius. But instead of the rush of triumph he had expected, there was only a lingering sense of emptiness. At least in this competition he had been able to qualify for the semifinals, but Sirius would likely also qualify. Yes, his brother had slipped, but nonetheless he was fast and had a brilliant time. There was no doubt in Regulus's mind that he was going to see him in the semifinals.
With a sigh, he leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes as he tried to push away the thoughts swirling in his mind. The image of Sirius's face after the race kept flashing in his mind—those unreadable eyes, the way his brother had looked at him as if he were trying to see something beneath the surface, something Regulus was not sure he wanted anyone to see.
The sound of a soft knock on the door and Regulus opened his eyes, glancing toward the door with a frown. He had not been expecting anyone, and for a moment, he considered not answering. But the knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Come in," he called, his voice rough from the hours of silence.
The door creaked open, and Barty stepped into the room, a mischievous grin already playing on his lips. Behind him, Evan followed, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a couple of glasses in the other.
"Well, look who we have here," Barty said, his voice full of playful mockery. "The pretty boy himself."
Regulus rolled his eyes, sitting up straighter as he watched his friends enter. "What are you two doing here?" he asked, though the amusement slipped out of his voice.
"Celebrating, obviously," Barty replied, plopping down on the bed beside Regulus, unbothered by the glare Regulus was giving him. "You did win your heat today, you know. It’s kind of a big deal."
Evan settled in on the other side of Regulus, placing the glasses on the small table by the bed before popping the cork on the champagne. The sound was a sharp crack that echoed in the quiet room, followed by a soft fizz as the liquid bubbled up to the top.
"I thought you could use a drink," Evan said, pouring the champagne with a practised hand. He handed one glass to Regulus, the other to Barty before taking the last one for himself.
Regulus took the glass, staring at the golden liquid for a moment before raising it in a small toast. "To victory," he said, his tone flat, lacking the usual enthusiasm such a statement might have carried.
Barty snorted, clinking his glass against Regulus's. "To victory," he agreed, taking a long sip.
Evan said nothing, simply lifting his glass before taking a drink. Regulus noticed the way Evan's hand lingered on Barty's shoulder for just a moment longer than necessary as they settled back onto the bed, the subtle touch barely noticeable unless one was looking for it.
The three of them drank in silence for a few moments, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Regulus could feel the weight of their gazes on him, though neither Barty nor Evan said anything about the race. They did not need to. They had known him long enough to understand that whatever he was feeling, he was not ready to talk about it yet.
After a few minutes, Barty broke the silence with a sigh. "So," he began, his tone more serious than usual, "how does it feel?"
Regulus frowned, glancing over at him. "How does what feel?"
"Winning," Barty said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Beating Sirius. You’ve been gunning for this for years, haven’t you?"
Regulus hesitated, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. He did not know how to answer that, not without revealing the storm of emotions that had been raging inside him ever since the race had ended. He had spent so long focused on this goal, on proving himself, that now that he had achieved it, he was not sure what was supposed to come next.
"It feels…" he started, then trailed off, searching for the right words. "I don’t know. "
Barty raised an eyebrow, his expression curious but not pushing. "You don’t know?"
Regulus shook his head, his eyes dropping to his glass as he swirled the champagne. "I thought it would feel different. Better, maybe. But it doesn’t. I mean he could still end up with the golden medal."
Evan reached out, his hand resting lightly on Regulus's arm. "It’s just the first round," he said, his voice low and soothing. "There's no need to worry about who wins the final at the moment. Maybe Sirius gets knocked out of the semis. You never know."
Regulus knew Evan was right, but it did not make the strange emptiness any easier to bear. He sighed, leaning back against the headboard once more. "I guess."
Barty watched him for a moment, then smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes. "Maybe you just need a distraction," he suggested, his tone lightening as he shifted the conversation away from the heavier topic. "That’s what we’re here for, after all. We can’t have our star swimmer moping around in his room all night."
Regulus let out a short, humourless laugh. "And what kind of distraction did you have in mind?"
Barty grinned, setting his empty glass aside. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a party?"
Regulus frowned, though he was not entirely surprised. Barty had never been one to let a victory—no matter how bittersweet—go uncelebrated. "A party?"
"Not just any party," Barty clarified, his grin widening. "A proper celebration. The French team is hosting one and I figured we might as well crash it."
Evan nodded in agreement, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You could use a bit of fun. It’s been a long day."
Regulus hesitated, glancing between his two friends. Part of him wanted to say no, to stay in his room and wallow in whatever it was he was feeling. But the other part—the part that had spent years hiding behind a carefully constructed facade—knew that going to the party was the easier option. It was what was expected of him, and it would keep him from sinking too deep into his own thoughts.
"Fine," he said after a moment, setting his glass down and standing up. "Let’s go."
Barty whooped in victory, jumping to his feet with a wide grin. "That’s the spirit!"
Evan chuckled softly, standing as well. "It’ll be good for you, Reg."
Regulus was not entirely convinced, but he did not argue. Instead, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and followed his friends out of the room, trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him this was a mistake.
The French team had chosen one of the larger common rooms for the celebration, and by the time Regulus, Barty, and Evan arrived, it was already in full swing. The room was filled with the sound of music and laughter, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and the buzz of excitement that seemed to permeate every corner.
Regulus paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Athletes from various teams mingled together, their usual competitive edges dulled by the alcohol and the shared camaraderie that came with being part of the Olympic Village. The lights were dim, casting a warm, golden glow over everything, and the sound of glasses clinking together echoed through the room.
Barty nudged Regulus with his elbow, a grin on his face. "See? I told you this would be fun."
Regulus forced a smile, though he was not sure he entirely believed it. "Yeah."
Evan led the way into the room, his presence commanding enough to part the crowd as they made their way to a quieter corner near the back. A few people turned to look at them as they passed, their eyes lingering on Regulus with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. He could feel their stares, the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the familiar comfort of Barty and Evan at his sides.
They found a small cluster of empty chairs and claimed them, settling in as if they had been there all night. Barty immediately grabbed a bottle of wine from a nearby table, pouring out three glasses with the same practised ease that Evan had shown earlier.
"To Regulus," Barty said, raising his glass in another toast. "Our star.”
Evan smiled, lifting his glass as well. "To Regulus."
Regulus raised his glass, clinking it against theirs with a faint smile. "Thanks, guys."
For a while, the three of them sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks and watching the party unfold around them. The room was alive with energy, the laughter and music growing louder as more people joined in. Regulus sat back in his chair, his glass of wine now empty in his hand. The alcohol was starting to do its job, a pleasant warmth spreading through his body, dulling the edges of his thoughts. The weight that had been pressing down on him earlier seemed to have lifted, replaced by a sort of numbness that he welcomed.
Barty and Evan were now deep in conversation with a couple of French swimmers, their heads bent close together as they laughed at some private joke. Barty, as usual, was the centre of attention, his natural charisma drawing people to him like moths to a flame. He was in his element here, effortlessly charming everyone around him, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he exchanged playful banter with the French athletes.
Regulus watched them with a small, almost wistful smile, sipping on the beer he had only moments ago received from a fellow teammate. He was used to this—used to being on the sidelines, content to let Barty and Evan take the spotlight while he observed from a distance. It was easier that way, safer. He did not have to pretend as much, did not have to keep up the facade of confidence and indifference that he wore like a second skin.
But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the lingering adrenaline from the race, or the way the room seemed to pulse with life around him. Whatever it was, it made him feel restless, like there was something he was supposed to be doing, something he was supposed to be feeling, but could not quite grasp.
He took another sip of his beer, his gaze drifting aimlessly around the room. The French team had gone all out with the decorations—streamers in red, white, and blue hung from the ceiling, and a large banner congratulating all the winners of the events today was draped across one wall. His name was obviously included in the left corner of the banner. The table in the centre of the room was laden with food and drinks, a tempting array of snacks and alcohol that seemed to be constantly replenished.
His eyes caught on a group of athletes from the English team, gathered near the bar and laughing raucously at something one of them had said. For a moment, his chest tightened, his thoughts flitting to Sirius. He knew his brother was probably out there somewhere, likely drowning his disappointment in a glass of whiskey, surrounded by his own friends and admirers. Sirius had always been good at bouncing back from a loss, shaking it off as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Regulus envied him for that—envied the ease with which Sirius seemed to navigate the world, never doubting his place in it.
But thinking about Sirius only made Regulus's mood darken, so he pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the conversation happening beside him.
“—and then he told me, ‘If you think you’re better than me, you’re welcome to try,’” Barty was saying, his tone light and teasing. The French swimmers laughed, their eyes shining with admiration as they looked at him.
“Did you try?” one of them asked, her voice thick with a French accent.
Barty grinned, leaning back in his chair with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. “Of course I did,” he replied. “And of course, he lost.”
Evan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable, Barty.”
Barty gave him a mock-offended look. “Just because I’m better than everyone else doesn’t mean I’m insufferable.”
Evan rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness in his expression that softened the gesture. Regulus caught the subtle exchange between them—the brief touch of Evan’s hand on Barty’s arm, the way their eyes lingered on each other for just a moment longer than necessary. It was so subtle, so fleeting, that Regulus doubted anyone else would have noticed. But he did. They were good for each other, Barty and Evan. They balanced each other out in a way that made sense, even if they would never admit it openly. Barty’s wild, reckless energy was tempered by Evan’s calm, steady presence, and in return, Evan seemed to come alive when he was around Barty, his usual reserve giving way to something warmer, more vibrant.
Regulus did not begrudge them that. If anything, he was glad they had found each other, even if it was in the quiet, unspoken way that they had. It made the world feel a little less lonely, knowing that there were still connections like that, still moments of genuine affection in the midst of all the chaos and competition.
But it also made him acutely aware of his own isolation. Even surrounded by friends, he felt alone in a way that he could not quite articulate.
The thought made him take another long drink of his beer, draining the glass and setting it aside. He could feel the alcohol working its way through his system, blurring the edges of his thoughts, making everything seem a little less sharp, a little less real.
“Reg,” Barty’s voice cut through his haze of thoughts, drawing his attention back to the present. “You alright?”
Regulus blinked, focusing on Barty’s concerned expression. He had not realised he had been staring off into space. “Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears. “I’m fine.”
Barty did look convinced, but he did not press the issue. Instead, he glanced around the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were looking for something—or someone. “You need another drink,” he said after a moment, standing up and holding out a hand to Regulus. “Come on, let’s get something stronger.”
Regulus hesitated, glancing at the empty glass on the table. He was not sure if more alcohol was the best idea, but the thought of staying in one place, stewing in his thoughts, was even less appealing. So he took Barty’s hand, letting his friend pull him to his feet.
Evan stood as well, a small, knowing smile on his lips as he watched the two of them. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit, just going to the bathroom” he said, his tone casual.
Barty raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking between Evan and the crowd. “Oh?”
Evan just shrugged, but there was something in his expression that made Barty’s grin widen.
“Alright,” Barty said, clapping Evan on the shoulder before turning back to Regulus. “Come on, let’s get you that drink.”
They made their way through the throng of people, Barty leading the way with his usual confidence. The crowd parted for him easily, people greeting him with smiles and nods as they passed. Regulus followed in his wake, feeling a little like a shadow, but not minding it. It was easier this way—letting Barty take the lead, letting him absorb all the attention while Regulus stayed in the background.
The bar was crowded, but Barty managed to squeeze them in, catching the bartender’s attention with a sharp whistle. “Two whiskeys,” he ordered, flashing a charming smile at the woman behind the bar.
She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips as she poured their drinks, sliding the glasses across the counter with a practised flick of her wrist.
“Cheers,” Barty said, handing one of the glasses to Regulus.
Regulus took it, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as he raised it to his lips. He did not usually drink whiskey—it was Sirius’s drink of choice, and the association was too strong, too loaded with memories he did not want to unpack. But tonight, it felt appropriate, almost like a challenge. He took a sip, the burn of the alcohol sharp and immediate, cutting through the fog in his mind. It was stronger than the beer, more potent, and it made his head swim a little as he swallowed.
Barty watched him closely, his eyes bright with something like approval. “There you go,” he said, taking a drink from his own glass. “That’s the spirit.”
Regulus just nodded, taking another sip. The whiskey was warming him from the inside out, making everything seem a little less overwhelming, a little more manageable.
They stood there for a while, sipping their drinks and watching the party unfold around them. The music had shifted to something slower, a soft, pulsing beat that thrummed through the floor and into their bones. People were dancing now, swaying together in the dim light, their movements languid and almost hypnotic.
Regulus found his gaze drifting again, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. He spotted a few—athletes from other teams he had competed against today, some of them congratulating him with nods or raised glasses. He acknowledged them with a small smile, but his attention kept shifting, searching for something he could not quite define.
Barty seemed to notice, his expression thoughtful as he watched Regulus. “You’re restless,” he said, his tone more serious than usual.
Regulus glanced at him, then shrugged. “Maybe.”
Barty just nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey. “You don’t have to stay, you know,” he said after a moment. “If you feel like leaving.”
Regulus hesitated, looking down at his drink. The idea of leaving had crossed his mind more than once since they arrived, but something kept him rooted in place. Maybe it was the fear of being alone with his thoughts, or maybe it was the way Barty and Evan had gone out of their way to include him in this celebration. It felt wrong to abandon them, even if the party was the last place he wanted to be.
"Yeah, I think I’m probably gonna head back to my room. I really appreciated this though," Regulus replied after a moment.
“No problems mate, anything for you.” The two fell into silence, not knowing what to say. Regulus could sense that Barty was itching to get away, as if he had places to be.
“You can go, you know, I’m just gonna finish this,” grabbing his glass and making the whisky inside twirl.
“You sure?” To this Regulus only stared at him. Giving him a look of disappointment and Bart laughed. “Well I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that he was off, pushing through the crowd.
Regulus stood in comfortable silence next to the bar, sipping his whiskey, the noise of the party fading into the background. Regulus's gaze drifted once more, scanning the room without really seeing it. His thoughts were starting to blur again, the alcohol making it difficult to hold on to any one idea for too long.
Then from nowhere panic flared in his chest, sudden and intense. He was alone, truly alone, in a room full of people, and the realisation sent a cold wave of fear washing over him. God, he should have told Barty to stay, he should have never told him to leave. His breath hitched, and he stumbled backward, knocking into someone who muttered a curse under their breath before shoving him aside. Regulus mumbled an apology, though he was not sure if it was heard over the pounding in his ears. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pressing closer with every passing second. The alcohol, which had once been a comforting numbness, now felt like a poison, spreading through his veins and clouding his thoughts.
He needed to get out. He needed air, space—something other than this suffocating, disorienting chaos.
Without thinking, Regulus turned and pushed his way through the crowd, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He could barely keep his balance, his legs unsteady beneath him as he stumbled forward. The noise of the party faded into a dull roar in his ears, and all he could focus on was the need to escape.
Somehow, he managed to find the door, his hand fumbling for the handle before he finally pushed it open and staggered out into the corridor. The cool air hit him like a shock, and he sucked in a deep breath, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself.
The hallway was blessedly empty, the only sound the faint thrum of music coming from the party he had just left. Regulus leaned heavily against the wall, his head spinning as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. It did not matter. All that mattered was that he was out of that room, away from the noise and the pressure and the weight of other people’s expectations. He closed his eyes, trying to centre himself, but the alcohol was making it difficult to think straight.
After a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked down the corridor. It was empty, stretching out before him in both directions, with no sign of where his friends might have gone. The thought of going back to the party was unbearable, so Regulus did the only thing he could think of: he started walking.
His steps were uneven, his body swaying slightly as he made his way down the hall. He knew he should get back to his room, however at this moment he had no idea where he was going, and in his current state, he could not bring himself to care. He just needed to move, to keep going until the restlessness in his chest subsided, until the tightness in his throat loosened.
The corridors of the Olympic Village were labyrinthine, twisting and turning in ways that would have confused even a sober person. Regulus wandered aimlessly, his thoughts a tangled mess as he tried to navigate the unfamiliar hallways. He passed doors that all looked the same, occasionally hearing muffled voices or laughter from the rooms beyond, but he paid them little attention.
At some point, Regulus found himself in a quieter part of the building, the noise from the party and the rest of the Village fading into a distant hum. The silence was both a relief and unnerving, making him hyper aware of his own unsteady breathing and the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls.
He rounded a corner and nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself just in time to avoid crashing into the wall. He cursed under his breath, frustration bubbling up as he tried to steady himself. He was a mess, and he knew it—a drunk, confused mess who had no business wandering around in this state.
Before he could fully recover, he stumbled again, this time colliding with something—or rather, someone—solid.
Regulus let out a startled gasp, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady himself against the other person. He looked up, his vision still hazy from the alcohol, and found himself staring into a pair of familiar hazel eyes.
James Potter.
Regulus’s breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat as he realised who he had just run into. James was standing there, his expression a mix of surprise and concern, his hands gripping Regulus’s arms to keep him upright.
“Whoa, easy there,” James said, his voice soft but steady. “You alright?”
Regulus could feel his face heating up, a flush of embarrassment washing over him as he realised how close they were standing. He tried to pull back, to put some distance between them, but his legs wobbled beneath him, and he had to grip James’s shoulders to keep from falling.
“I—I’m fine,” Regulus stammered, though the words came out slurred and uncertain. “Just…lost my balance.”
James raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You sure about that? You look like you’re about to keel over.”
Regulus bit his lip, feeling his face grow even hotter. He was painfully aware of how ridiculous he must look—dishevelled, drunk, and clinging to James of all people for support. This was not how he had envisioned this night going.
“I’m fine,” Regulus repeated, though he knew it was a lie. “Just…had a bit too much to drink, I guess.”
James’s expression softened, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked at Regulus. “Yeah, I can see that.” He paused, glancing around the empty corridor before turning his attention back to Regulus. “Where were you headed?”
Regulus blinked, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t really thought about where he was going—he had just wanted to get away. Now, faced with the question, he realised he had no answer.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice small and uncertain. “I just…needed to get out of there.”
James nodded, his grip on Regulus’s arms relaxing slightly but not letting go. “I get that,” he said, his tone understanding. “But you can’t just wander around like this. You’re going to get yourself hurt.”
Regulus frowned, the words stinging more than he cared to admit. He was not a child—he did not need James Potter of all people telling him what to do. But at the same time, he knew James was right. He was in no state to be wandering around alone, especially not in a place as unfamiliar as the Olympic Village.
“I’m fine,” Regulus said again, more insistently this time. He tried to pull away, to prove that he could stand on his own, but the movement only made him sway dangerously. James caught him before he could fall, his hands firm and steady.
“Sure you are,” James said, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”
Regulus wanted to protest, to tell James that he did not need his help, but the words would not come. He was too tired, too disoriented, and the thought of arguing with James seemed like too much effort. So instead, he nodded mutely, letting James take control.
James slipped an arm around Regulus’s waist, guiding him down the hallway with a surprising amount of care. Regulus leaned into him, the warmth of James’s body a comforting anchor in the midst of his swirling thoughts. It was strange—he had never been this close to James before, had never really had a reason to be. And yet, in this moment, it felt almost natural, like James was the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.
They walked in silence for a while, James leading the way with a confidence that Regulus envied. Even now, even after everything that had happened between them, James was still so…James. Steady, dependable, always knowing exactly what to do. It was both infuriating and reassuring, and Regulus was not sure how to feel about it.
Eventually, they reached the door to Regulus’s room. He had no idea how they got there or why James knew that this was his room. Another question on his mind was why. Why was James, of all people, wandering the halls of the French building? Why had he not been at the party with the English team? And where was Sirius, because everyone knew that the two were inseparable. Wherever Jamees was, so was Sirius within a three mile radius. James fished the key out of Regulus’s pocket—a move that made Regulus’s face heat up again—before unlocking the door and pushing it open. He guided Regulus inside, helping him over to the bed and sitting him down with a gentleness that surprised Regulus
Regulus sat on the edge of the bed, his mind swirling in a haze of alcohol and confusion. The room felt like it was spinning around him, the walls closing in and then expanding again as he tried to focus on something—anything—to ground himself. He looked up at James, who was still standing nearby, watching him with that infuriatingly calm expression that Regulus both envied and resented.
“Thanks,” Regulus muttered, his voice barely audible. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but he knew he had to say it. James had helped him, and despite everything that had passed between them, he could not just ignore that.
James nodded, acknowledging the thanks without making a big deal out of it. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “Just take it easy, alright?”
Regulus nodded, though the movement made his head swim. He tried to focus on the bed beneath him, the solidness of it, but the sensation of nausea that had been lurking at the edges of his awareness suddenly surged forward. His stomach twisted violently, and he felt a cold sweat break out across his skin.
“James…” Regulus’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide with panic as he clutched at his stomach. “I—I think I’m going to be sick.”
James’s eyes widened in concern, and he was at Regulus’s side in an instant. “Alright, come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.”
He slipped an arm around Regulus’s shoulders, guiding him off the bed and toward the small en-suite bathroom. Regulus’s legs felt like jelly, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. The nausea was overwhelming now, a sickening wave that he knew he could not fight off much longer.
They barely made it to the bathroom before Regulus doubled over, gagging as the contents of his stomach surged up. James quickly guided him to the toilet, holding him steady as Regulus vomited into the bowl. The sound was harsh and awful, echoing in the small space, and Regulus felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He hated this—hated how weak and vulnerable he felt, how utterly pathetic he must look to James.
James knelt beside him, one hand on Regulus’s back, the other brushing his hair away from his face. “It’s alright, Regulus,” he murmured, his voice gentle and soothing. “Just let it out. You’ll feel better once it’s over.”
Regulus wanted to tell him to shut up, to stop being so kind, but the words would not come. Another wave of nausea hit him, and he retched again, his whole body shaking with the effort. James stayed right beside him, his touch steady and reassuring, and Regulus clung to that small comfort even as he despised himself for needing it.
Finally, the nausea began to subside, leaving Regulus feeling drained and shaky. He slumped back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, panting as he tried to catch his breath. His throat burned, his mouth tasted vile, and he felt utterly miserable.
James did not move away. He stayed there, close to Regulus, his hand still resting on his back. “You alright?” he asked quietly, concern etched into his features.
Regulus closed his eyes, trying to block out the world, but James’s presence was impossible to ignore. He felt a lump form in his throat, a surge of emotion that he had not expected. Memories he had long buried began to surface, memories of nights like this one, of feeling sick and scared and utterly alone.
He took a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke. “I…I hate throwing up.”
James frowned slightly, as if puzzled by the admission, but he did not interrupt. He waited, letting Regulus continue at his own pace.
Regulus hesitated, the words catching in his throat, but he forced them out, needing to say them even though he was not sure why. “When we were kids…my mother, she…she would make us train so hard sometimes that we’d end up like this. Sirius and I…we’d be sick, and she’d just…she wouldn’t care. She’d just keep pushing us.”
He had not meant to say all of that, had not meant to reveal so much, but the words had come tumbling out before he could stop them. He felt exposed, raw, like he’d just torn open a wound that had never really healed. James's expression softened, a deep sadness filling his hazel eyes. He did not say anything right away, did not try to offer empty words of comfort. Instead, he just squeezed Regulus’s shoulder gently, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that Regulus had just laid bare.
“I’m sorry,” James said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You and Sirius didn’t deserve that. No one does.”
Regulus swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat. He did not want to cry, did not want to fall apart in front of James of all people, but the weight of his past was pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.
He turned his head away, not wanting James to see the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I just…I hate feeling like this. It…it brings it all back.”
James shifted closer, his hand moving from Regulus’s shoulder to his back, rubbing small, soothing circles. “I get it,” he said softly. “But you’re not alone this time, Regulus. I’m here, alright? I’ve got you.”
Regulus did not know what to say to that. The kindness in James’s voice, the sincerity of his words—it was too much. He had spent so long building walls around himself, trying to keep everyone out, and now, in this moment of vulnerability, those walls were crumbling.
He failed to resist when James gently pulled him into a more comfortable position, sitting on the floor next to the toilet with Regulus leaning against him. It felt strange, being this close to James, but it was also oddly comforting. James’s presence was warm, solid, a steady anchor in the storm of emotions that Regulus could not control.
They sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the soft hum of the bathroom’s ventilation system. Regulus felt his breathing gradually slow, the panic that had gripped him beginning to ease. James refrained from pushing him to talk, did not ask any more questions. He just stayed there, offering quiet support without expecting anything in return.
After what felt like an eternity, Regulus finally spoke, his voice hoarse and barely audible. “I don’t know why I told you that.”
James shook his head, a small, understanding smile on his face. “You needed to,” he said simply. “And that’s okay. Sometimes you just need to let things out.”
Regulus nodded, though he was not sure he fully believed that. He had spent so long keeping everything bottled up, pretending that nothing could touch him, that he did not know how to do anything else. But here, in this small, sterile bathroom, with James sitting beside him, he felt something shift—a small crack in the armour he had built around himself.
James reached for a glass of water that had been left on the sink, filling it from the tap before handing it to Regulus. “Drink this,” he said gently. “You need to stay hydrated.”
Regulus took the glass with trembling hands, grateful for the distraction. The cool water felt soothing against his sore throat, and he sipped it slowly, trying to calm the lingering nausea.
James watched him carefully, his eyes still filled with concern. “You think you’re done?” he asked after a moment.
Regulus nodded, though he did not feel entirely certain. The worst of the nausea had passed, but he still felt shaky and unsteady, like he could fall apart at any moment.
James stood up slowly, stretching out his legs before offering a hand to Regulus. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Regulus hesitated for a moment before taking James’s hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, but James kept a firm grip on him, guiding him back to the bedroom and once they were back in the room, James helped Regulus sit on the edge of the bed again. Regulus felt utterly drained, both physically and emotionally, and all he wanted to do was crawl under the covers and disappear. But he knew he was unable to just pass out like this, not when he was still in his clothes, still feeling so awful.
James seemed to read his mind, because he went to the dresser and pulled out a pair of pyjamas, setting them on the bed next to Regulus. “Here,” he said, his voice soft. “You should change into these. You’ll be more comfortable.”
Regulus stared at the pyjamas, a fresh wave of embarrassment washing over him. He never wanted to change in front of James, not wanting to be seen in such a vulnerable state, but he also knew he did not have the energy to argue.
He reached for the pyjamas with trembling hands, but as he did, a sudden spike of panic shot through him. His mind raced with thoughts of what had just happened, of everything he had revealed to James, and the fear that had been lurking in the back of his mind surged forward.
“Don’t…don’t tell anyone about this,” Regulus blurted out, his voice trembling. “Not even Sirius. Please.”
James’s expression softened, and he nodded immediately. “I won’t,” he promised, his tone serious and reassuring. “I won’t tell anyone, Regulus. This stays between us.”
Regulus searched James’s face for any hint of insincerity, but all he saw was honesty and concern. He wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him, but trust was something that came easily to him. Still, something in James’s eyes made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could let his guard down.
“Okay,” Regulus whispered, feeling a small weight lift off his shoulders. “Thank you.”
James smiled gently, his hand resting briefly on Regulus’s arm before he stepped back to give him some space. “I’ll just…wait over here,” he said, moving toward the door to give Regulus some privacy to change.
Regulus nodded, grateful for the consideration. He quickly changed into the pyjamas, his movements slow and unsteady. The soft fabric felt comforting against his skin, and as soon as he was done, he crawled under the covers, pulling them up to his chin.
James returned to the bed, sitting down on the edge as he looked at Regulus with a mixture of concern and something else—something that Regulus was unable to quite identify. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
Regulus shrugged, not really knowing how to answer that. Physically, he felt a bit better now that the worst of the nausea had passed, but emotionally…he was a mess. The memories he had dredged up, the vulnerability he had shown—it all felt too much, too overwhelming.
“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just…tired.”
James nodded, his expression understanding. “That’s okay. You’ve been through a lot tonight. Just try to get some rest, alright?”
Regulus nodded, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the world. He was exhausted, but sleep did not come easily. His mind was still racing, still filled with thoughts and memories he didn’t want to face.
He felt the bed shift slightly as James stood up, and for a moment, panic flared up again. He did not want to be alone—not now, not after everything that had just happened. But before he could say anything, he felt James’s hand on his shoulder, a reassuring presence that eased the fear just a little.
“I’m just going to be right here,” James said softly, his voice warm and soothing. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, alright?”
Regulus nodded, feeling a small sense of relief at those words. He had no idea why James was being so kind, why he was staying with him like this, but at that moment, he was too tired to question it. He just wanted to hold onto that small bit of comfort, that small bit of warmth, for as long as he could.
James stayed true to his word, sitting beside Regulus in silence, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. Gradually, Regulus felt himself begin to relax, the exhaustion finally winning out as his eyes grew heavy.
Before he drifted off to sleep, he heard James’s voice, soft and reassuring. “You’re going to be okay, Regulus. I promise.”
And for the first time in a long time, Regulus felt like maybe, just maybe, that could be true.