Under the Porchlight

For as long as he can remember, James Potter has had purpose. Some devote their life to thought—the philosophers and academics of the world—while others find meaning in action, whether it be on a football field or in congress. But James’ world has always revolved around something much more simple, and much more meaningful: people. 

God, James loves people. 

He loves walking down the street and smiling at strangers, he loves stopping at his local coffee shop to flirt with the hot baristas, he loves helping his elderly neighbor up the stairs with her groceries and staying for tea, he loves calling his friends in the middle of the day just to hear their voices. He loves existing, really, as long as others are there for it. 

The labels he’s collected over the years are endless—extrovert, charmer, alma de la fiesta. He can don the fool’s balloon sleeves and supply a party’s comedic relief, or he can take shelter with an upset friend and offer amateur therapy, plus a shoulder to cry on. No matter the situation, James is amenable, adaptable, as long as he has someone there to change for. To love and know. 

And while he’s been unlucky in too many ways, the universe has dealt James a flush of friends to cherish. The Marauders and their beloved groupies, as Sirius calls the rest, are the very beat of James’ heart. His people. 

He’s never once doubted that. 

Until, well, he does. 

“Padfoot!” James jumps when the door opens but Sirius cuts left, running right for his bedroom. “Where the hell you been, loca?”

“Sorry, Prongs, been at Moony’s. We did that Lord of the Rings marathon.”

“Oh, he roped you into that finally? I thought we were all going to do that together…” James trails off when Sirius reenters the living room, his work bag thrown over his shoulder and apron over his arm. 

“I’ll be off around 5,” Sirius says, halfway to the door. He pauses when he opens the old, creaky thing, one foot on the threshold, and turns back to James. 

A tiny lightning bolt runs down James’ arms, making his fingers twitch in anticipation, but Sirius doesn’t move to hug him goodbye, much less give him a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek. James’ hands fall to his sides, deadweight. 

“Should we host the gang tonight?” Sirius says instead.

“Yes!” The word comes out like strangled nonsense, James so eager to agree. “It’s been too long since we all got together, not since Wormtail’s send-off party at least—”

“Great, text everyone, yeah?” 

Then Sirius is gone, the door slamming shut behind him. James feels his smile drop like honey in his tea, a slow, sticky descent into something searingly sweet. He’s desperate to see all his friends, absolutely. But a night with Sirius would have been lovely too. 

Where Padfoot and Prongs are unabashed idiots at parties, they’re a quiet sort of silly in private—wrapped up in each other’s words and whispers, laughing at the worst moments and crying at the best. God, when was the last time they did that?

James shakes himself out of his stupor, tearing his gaze from the door. He and Sirius are roommates, after all. They’ll be a night for just the two of them soon enough. 

He says it out loud for good measure, then picks up his phone and shoots a text to the group chat, the one that’s been quieter than ever the past few months. 

That voice in his head, a strange blend of Lily and Remus, tells James not to overthink it—that Padfoot and Moony didn’t mean to exclude him from the weird Tolkien elf films, that Wormtail didn’t move to live with his girlfriend in Seattle specifically to hurt James feelings, that his friends are all just busy, and none of this is personal. 

He knows it isn’t. 

And when he makes himself a snack, a few texts rolling in from Dorcas and Mary packed with exclamation marks saying they were coming tonight, he believes it too. 

“It’s fine, James,” he speaks into the empty apartment. “Everything’s fine.”

******

The party is the epitome of last-minute: a couple of mismatched streamers hanging from the ceiling, a loosely tied disco ball on the ceiling fan, and a row of handles that Remus bought from the liquor store by the library he works. James thinks Mary’s chip and dip is the party’s saving grace, but he doesn’t dare tell Sirius that, not when he’s so bummed about his fancy speakers blowing out. 

“It’s no big deal, Pads, my speakers do the job fine!” James shouts over the Abba song. 

“Your speakers are shit,” Sirius grumbles, pouring himself a shot of tequila. 

The apartment is packed with their friends, about fifteen warm bodies too full, half of which James doesn’t recognize, which makes him, of course, smile broadly. He’s quite a fan of making new friends. 

Remus and Lily are in the corner whispering to each other while Mary, Dorcas, and Marlene play a game of cards that looks much too complicated for James to comprehend. Regulus and his friends Barty and Evan lurk by the kitchen counter holding a sparse array of snacks, and James finds himself laughing at Regulus’ pinched expression when Sirius throws back another shot. 

“I just want tonight to be perfect,” Sirius says after he swallows. 

James’ brows furrow. “Why?”

“Because—” Sirius pauses and licks his lips, eyes going a little cross-eyed. “I’ve got a big announcement. We do.”

“I didn’t know we were announcing something but I’m all for announcements—”

“No, Prongs, not me and you. Me and Moony.”

James turns to look at Remus who’s already watching them, not quite warily, but curiously. “What’s up then?”

“Can’t tell you. I’ve gotta find Moony first.”

“Come on, you know me, I’ll just overthink it and fear the worst.” 

Sirius shakes his head resolutely. “Need Moons. And maybe some water.”

James moves to grab Sirius a glass of water, and by the time he returns to the crowded living area, pushing past a few of Sirius’ coworkers from the restaurant, and barely avoiding a drink down his shirt, Sirius is standing next to Remus, looking at him with puppy-dog eyes. 

“Pleaseeeee, Moons, you get so red when you speak in front of crowds, it’s cute.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What’s wrong?” James passes the glass of water to Sirius. “Whatever it is, Moony, I can do it for you.”

“NO!” Sirius chokes on his water. 

At Remus’ exasperated look, and James’ confused one, Sirius sighs and hops onto the couch’s side table, wobbling a little too much for James’ comfort. He begins spotting from below when Sirius proudly shouts, “Everyone! Your attention please.”

A splash of water falls over James’ hair as Sirius waves his arms around excitedly. “We’ve gathered you all today to announce something truly miraculous.” 

Sirius pauses and for a moment, James fears his best friend’s going to hurl all over him. In actuality, it’s so much worse. 

“Remus and I are in LOVE!”

“What?!” James whips his head around to Remus, but his other best friend is focused on Sirius, smiling sappily. 

“We’re dating and have been for a few months, we just wanted to keep it a secret—” Sirius hiccups. “In case it didn’t go well but oh my god it has gone well, like so well, you don’t even know—”

“Alright, love,” Remus coaxes Sirius down from the table, and James steps back, stunned and speechless. 

The rest of their friends circle around Sirius and Remus, Lily wearing a smug expression as if she predicted this—as if she guessed that two of James’ best friends would fall in love. 

James hadn’t—he didn’t think—it’s a shock to him. And, he realizes with a start, not a good one. 

Before any of his friends can read his expression, he rushes out to the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him as he gulps down the night air. 

He doesn’t mean to spend more than five minutes in the cold, sans jacket, but the time slips around him with the wind, his mind charting a childhood of Moony and Padfoot, of whatever feelings they recently discovered they shared. 

When James next looks at his clock, he realizes a half-an-hour has passed. 

“Oh don’t be such a dick,” he scolds himself. “This is good. Be happy for them.” 

He’s not sure why he isn’t, and maybe he is. His two best friends falling in love can only be a positive thing, no? James loves love, and he’s glad that some of his favorite people have found it in each other. 

So then why does it feel like his chest is caving, splattering his heart in a slow crunch? 

The watch on his wrist ticks another round, and still, he doesn’t leave the balcony, still, no one comes to look for him. But why should they? He doesn’t need to be looked for. This is Sirius and Remus’ night. Apparently. 

James groans at his own bitter thoughts and hugs his arms, his skin goosebumped and shivering. But at the sound of the sliding glass door opening behind him, all of those unwelcome thoughts dissolve. 

“Hey—” James freezes, finding not Sirius, not Remus, and sure as hell not Peter, but Regulus.

“Hi.” Regulus comes to stand beside James, looking out at the street below, Sirius’ parked motorcycle bathed in moonlight. 

James likes Regulus. Ever since he got out of his parents’ hell-house and he and Sirius reconnected, Regulus has seemed like the catalyst for everything good in Sirius’ life—a line chef job he loves, with coworkers he loves even more, happy holidays that are finally, actually happy, and a giant pause on the binge drinking and endless hook-ups. 

And, James factors in slowly, Remus Lupin as a boyfriend. 

Of course that wasn’t all Regulus’ doing, but James finds it easy to attribute good things to the younger brother. In spite of his grumpy demeanor, Regulus holds a whole lot of love in his gray-blue eyes—a storm full of affection reserved for Sirius. 

James has always envied them, siblings. Really, he envies most families, and though his brown complexion does not betray the green he’s grown over years of playdates turned meet-the-parents dinners, sometimes he’s sure he’ll kneel over and vomit from wanting what he won’t have. 

That nagging, bickering front for fondness, a repository of knowledge saved for only those who shared every birthday, every boo-boo, every Sunday dinner, and every holiday—James will never have it. He’ll never have a sibling to outlive his parents with, to swap memories when memory becomes the most precious thing he has. 

And he knows Regulus and Sirius didn’t have anything particularly good back home—James is well fucking aware that his dad outdid Walburga and Orion in every regard, but it must truly be man’s plight to want what he can’t have, because James loves his father unconditionally, yet spends nights begging for dreams with the mother he lost, and the sibling he’ll never get. 

In another world, with a different James, a better man, he’s certain that he has it all. That envy doesn’t pool in his stomach at the thought of all those Christmases with his dad grieving in silence over a mug of spiked eggnog. 

James is glad that Fleamont retired and has taken on the world, traveling through the Mediterranean on the honeymoon that he and Effie were supposed to take together before the happy accident of James got in the way. 

But every time Fleamont sends another postcard with another breathtaking view, James can’t help but wonder why his dad manages to be young and bold and happy, while James can’t even manage to leave his hometown. 

Not that he wants to leave. 

Everything he wants is right here. And with so much of his childhood lost, James is determined not to let any more of his past go. He’s determined not to let anyone else go. 

“You’ve been out here a while,” Regulus breaks the silence. “Everything okay?”

James jolts. “Hm? Oh! Yes, of course,” he rushes to say. His knot of bitterness and grief isn’t something anyone should have to handle. 

Regulus looks James up and down with a skeptical expression. “Then I’m going back in.”

It’s only when the sliding glass door closes behind him that James realizes that Regulus is the only one who noticed he was gone.

******

Sundays are for brunch. It’s an old tradition of the Marauders, one started by Flemont’s slightly lethal adventures in the kitchen and saved by Peter’s impressive knack for baking. 

Now that Peter’s MIA in Seattle, James has warily taken the reins of Sunday brunch. He isn’t sure how, exactly, Peter learned the fine art of Quiche Lorraine, but he’s grateful for his careful instructions nonetheless. 

“Good, the crust is always the most important part so don’t let that over crisp. Check up on it in five minutes, yeah?” Peter speaks from the phone James propped on the kitchen counter. 

“Five minutes,” James agrees, setting his stag timer with impressive antlers. 

He leans over to grin at Peter’s face on the small screen. “So what are your plans for cupid’s day? Is Lea into Valentine’s?”

“Not really, thank god.” Peter laughs. “The whole city is practically covered in roses, it’s ridiculous.”

“It’s cute.”

“‘Course you’d think that. Remember when you spelled Lily’s name out in chocolate strawberries in the caf?”

“I could never forget that,” James says dreamily. It was one of his more successful endeavors to woo Lily Evans—the first Valentine’s Day where she actually deigned to give him any of her precious attention. “I told her she was welcome to recycle any of my ideas for Mary but she just gave me one of her signature sighs.”

Peter mimics said sigh. “I don’t think Lily needs any love advice from her ex, Prongs. Seems a bit odd.”

“It would be if we weren’t friends,” James insists. When he and Lily first broke up, they’d both been terrified of what it would mean for their friend group, if spending time all together would become awkward or god forbid, they all would pick sides and start a civil war. 

But save for an unexpected bump when Mary first asked Lily out the year before, everything had been smooth sailing post the Jily affair, as they all call it now. 

James is just glad he got to keep one of his favorite people in his life. Even when they were in Kindergarten, Effie used to say that Lily Evans was something special. 

The timer chimes and James moves to open the oven when Sirius’ bedroom door opens. “And he’s finally awake!” 

James only slightly falters when he sees Remus walk out into the living room from behind Sirius. “Oh and Moony is here too,” James says, turning Peter around so he can see the couple in crumpled pajamas. 

Thanks to an indecent picture in the Marauders’ group chat of Moony half-naked in bed, Peter’s well aware of Sirius and Remus’…updated relationship status. But unlike James, Peter didn’t find any of it that surprising. No, instead he texted:

It’s about time!

James spent a few hours too long looking at that message, debating whether or not to call Peter so that he could explain it all to him. So that Wormtail would make it all make sense. Make it all stop hurting like a bleeding wound James has to hide beneath cloth and smiles. 

In the end, James clicked his phone off and let Peter be in peace.  

“Why are you baking so fucking early?” Sirius groans at James.  

“It’s Sunday!”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

Peter laughs from the phone while Remus crosses the room to pour himself a cup of coffee. James is sure to give Remus a big smile, he’s been rather careful about that ever since their ‘announcement’. Of all the Marauders, Remus is the best at reading people, and James knows there are some truths better left unread.   

Like the fact that James has to clench his fists behind his back when Sirius sits next to Remus and whispers in a soft tone that is definitely not meant for either Peter or James to hear. 

“The quiche still needs about an hour,” James interrupts, turning to take the crust out of the oven for real this time. 

“Smells delicious,” Remus hums. “Will you save us some for tomorrow?”

James takes a breath before responding. Sirius and Remus do that now, speaking in terms of “us”—a pronoun that used to mean the Marauders, but as of recently had dwindled down to two. 

“Not sure there will be any leftovers, I invited the others. Though they haven’t told me if they were coming so maybe—” James pauses when he turns around and finds Remus and Sirius sharing a look. 

Not a fond, loving one, but a knowing one. 

James places Peter on the counter and grips the edge. “What’s up?” he keeps his voice light. 

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Sirius starts slowly. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“We shouldn’t have just assumed Sunday brunch would be canceled,” Remus cuts in. 

“But we have reservations at Annabeth’s Bistro,” Sirius finishes. 

Peter snorts from the phone. “Finishing each other's sentences now?” 

“Wormy!” Sirius’ eyes brighten and he reaches across the counter to grab James’ phone. As he gets lost in a conversation with Peter, Remus looks at James with real, cloying regret. It makes James want to cry a little. 

All of this makes James want to cry a little. 

“We’re sorry, Prongs. You’ve gone to all this trouble but these reservations were ridiculous to get and—”

“Nah, it’s fine!” James smiles easily, but perhaps not convincingly, because Remus freezes, eyes flicking over James’ expression. 

“It’s not, James. We should have told you.”

James wants to say that’s not the issue—he would have been just as crushed if they told him even a month before. The issue is that Sundays are reserved for Marauder brunches, even if that means Peter facetimes from afar, even if that means James wakes up early to burn his fingers while trying a new recipe, even if that means Sirius and Remus have to stop being a private, perfect couple for one fucking second. 

“It’s fine,” James repeats. 

He leaves the cooling crust on the counter, clicks off the oven, and unties his apron. “I’m going to take a shower.”

If Remus or Sirius respond, James doesn’t hear them. 

******

Unlike Sirius, James isn’t used to the brutal grind of sulking. He’s had his fair share of depressive episodes, of course, most notably after his mom died and after he and Lily called it quits, but petulance and pouting generally make little sense to him—he likes being happy. Especially around other people.

But the more and more James spends time with Sirius and Remus, the less and less he wants to be the bright light of the room. It’s exhausting, casting light over their budding romance, making sure neither catches on to his budding resentment in the shadows. 

None of his other friends seem to mind, however, which only doubles the loneliness growing thorny vines around James' lungs. Dorcas and Marlene think the pair are frustratingly cute together, while Mary and Lily call them inevitable. Fated, even. 

It’s almost painful, the realization that James is surrounded by couples. That all of his friends, his beloved, favorite people, have significant others and he—he—he’s happy alone. He could date if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, really. 

He hasn’t, really. Not since Lily. 

The idea of trying to find someone to replace Lily had seemed silly, at first, and now? Well, James is used to being a friend over a partner. He likes it too. 

Only it’s getting harder and harder to play that part when everyone he cares about is determinedly, ruinously in love. 

“And it’s just…I know we’re young but sometimes I look at her and I fucking know she’ll be by my side together. Like I get Juliet’s madness now. I understand why Orpheus had to look back. I love her as ardently as Darcy did Elizabeth.”

“You’re such a fucking English major!” James laughs at Lily, taking another sip of Dorcas’ impressive attempt at a Moscow Mule. Sirius demanded that Remus have his favorite cocktail at his birthday party, and Dorcas, ever the overachiever, came through. 

“I know, I know.” Lily smiles at James, her gaze drifting back to Mary across the room. It’s an echo of the last party in James and Sirius’ apartment, lovers watching each other longingly in between snack breaks and ABBA hits. “I’m serious, though. I’m going to marry her one day.”

James squeezes Lily’s hand. “I’m happy for you, Lils.”

It’s not a lie—he might be tired of all the ‘true love’ around him, but he’s over the moon that Lily found her person after she realized that James didn’t fit the bill. She deserves it, love. 

“You should go tell her that,” James gestures to Mary. 

“What?” Lily snorts. “You want me to propose right now?”

“NO!” James brings his other hand into Lily’s. Another brash announcement of romantic affection is the last thing he wants. “I’m saying you should tell her that you love her. It’s nice to be reminded.”

Lily agrees and after a kiss on James’ cheek, weaves past a dancing Marlene and Sirius to tell Mary just that. James watches her go with only a smidgen of envy—not that Mary has Lily’s love, James knows he’s a permanent fixture in Lily’s heart, but that Mary gets to be loved so obviously. So thoroughly. So loudly. 

James thinks the last time someone told him he loved him was in a postcard from his dad in Italy, the Leaning Tower of Pisa its centerpiece. 

“What’s that look for?” Remus sits beside James, taking Lily’s seat on the couch. 

“Oh, nothing, just glad to see Lily happy.”

Remus hums, fiddling with his cup of Moscow Mule, the fourth of the night if James has been counting correctly. His mathematics are confirmed when Remus slurs, “Can I ask you something, Prongs?”

“Always.”

“And since it’s my birthday, you’ll give me a real answer?” Remus insists. 

“I—what are you talking about?”

“Do you think I deserve him?”

James' mouth snaps closed, his head reeling from the sincerity in Remus’ eyes. After a moment of silence, Remus sips his drinks and laughs lowly. “Right.”

“I didn’t say anything?!” James scrambles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Moony.”

“It’s alright, I agree, you know? Don’t know if that helps. I keep waiting for Sirius to realize that I’m—that we—I don’t know. It seems like there’s only one way this ends.”

The word comes to James without Remus having said it: badly. 

“Let me be absolutely clear, Remus. I think you deserve to be in love with whoever you want to be.”

“But you’re disappointed that it’s Sirius, no?” 

James falters because, in truth, he is. He’s a little more than pissed that of all the billions of people, his best friends had to go and pick each other, shutting a door on years of friendship, years of a past that James so badly doesn’t want to leave behind. 

“I was surprised is all,” James says slowly. “Still am. It’s not something I expected, you and Sirius together. It’s been…a hard adjustment.”

“So it’s not me?” Remus wobbles a little on the couch cushion when he leans forward. 

James steadies him. “No, Moony. It’s me.”

“There you are!” Sirius runs over to the two of them, his black curls tied in two pigtails, one drooping sadly. 

For a moment, James thinks Sirius means both of them—then Sirius plops himself on Remus’ lap and kisses him sloppily, and James laughs at himself. 

A hard adjustment is an understatement. 

He leaves his friends to it, feeling something like a cloak of invisibility fall over him as he makes his way past friends and Remus’ coworkers until he’s back on the balcony, sealing the world of Sirius and Remus off with a shut sliding door. 

A jolt runs through him when he realizes he’s not alone. 

“Oh, hey.” 

Regulus nods. “Hi, James.”

“Smoke break?” James asks, walking up to lean on the balcony’s railing. 

“I don’t smoke,” Regulus says. “You?”

“Wish I did. Always envied Remus for the way he can sneak out with an easy excuse.”

Regulus hums, stepping to stand beside James beneath the night sky. “I didn’t think you were one to sneak out.” 

“I’m not supposed to, no.” James winces, wishing he could start this interaction anew. Something about the dim tone of the porchlight, the brisk boldness of the cold air, and sudden privacy have him speaking truths instead of white lies.

It’s dangerous, that. 

James doesn’t look at Regulus, his eyes trained on Sirius’ motorbike parked below. The sense of deja vu—Regulus’ quiet company, improper clothing for the night’s chill, and an ache in James’ chest—unsettles him. 

“You know, when Sirius first described you to me, he called you the life of every party.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

When Regulus doesn’t say anything more, James can’t help but look at him. 

“Sounds exhausting,” Regulus breathes. 

“It’s not. Not when you’re making your friends happy, helping them have a good time. Sort of electric, really.”

“So you only have a good time when everyone else does?”

James knows the answer to that question, of course, but he hates that Regulus posed it so easily. Understood him so simply. 

“I don’t know,” he evades. 

“I’m not judging you, James,” Regulus says. “I guess I just don’t understand it. I’m at my best when I’m alone. With my thoughts.” 

When James doesn’t reply, Regulus laughs lowly. “They don’t have a charming word for that, just introvert.”

“What kind of thoughts?

Regulus turns to look at James and for a brief, breath-taking moment, James is absolutely lost in his stare, a shrapnel of attention so rarely given, and god, it’s nice. Nearly life-saving. 

When did James become such an attention whore?

“Dangerous question.” 

Emboldened by Regulus’ dilated eyes, by his sharp, low drawl, James dares to reply: “Is it?”

Whatever invisible current is dragging James under doesn’t let up when Regulus’ focus shifts, and he gestures to the clouds gathering above, hiding the starlight with a greige cotton mist. “Before you interrupted, I was thinking about lightning.”

“Hm?”

Regulus smirks at the brewing storm. “It’d be a lovely view, seeing it from an airplane, no?”

“Lethal too.”

“I did warn you.” Regulus turns his smirk on James. “Dangerous.”

As if he had threatened the gods above, a loud clap roared above them, a bolt of lightning flashing across the sky a bit too close for James’ comfort. The thunder stuns them both for a beat, until they smile in unison, laughing at the absurdity. 

“That was…” Regulus trails off. 

“Dangerous?”

“Precisely.”

It occurs to James then that Regulus had been out here alone before the lightning, the invasive questions, and James’ dejected escape—he had come to stand and think about flying beside death, not for James to stare at him. 

Why is he staring at him? Regulus is beautiful, of course he is—that runs in the family—but James has never stared before. It wasn’t hard to see that Regulus preferred the life of a wallflower to a social butterfly, so James didn’t push. He didn’t look. 

And now that he finally is, Regulus isn’t running away. 

“I can leave you to your lethal lovely thoughts if you’d prefer,” James says, in case Regulus needs an excuse to do just that. 

“I’ll let you know when I do.”

James’ lips quirk up at the ‘when’. He likes the set expectation—it makes Regulus’ inevitable departure less personal. 

“I’m already terrified of flying.” James rests his arms on the railing. “If I saw lightning while I was in a plane I’d flip.”

“Odds are you’ll crash your car instead.”

“Comforting.”

“Isn’t it?” 

“‘M not really for road trips either so I guess I’m safe.”

James is surprised when Regulus nods appreciatively. “Wanderlust is quite an expensive, exhausting affliction,” Regulus hums. “I have no urge to travel.”

“Not even to escape?” 

Regulus shifts so his arm is almost touching James’. “I already did.”

“Oh, shit.” James chokes on his own obliviousness. What a fucking word to say in front of one of the Black brothers. “I didn’t mean—”

“Calm down. I don’t care.”

“O—okay?” James stutters. 

“I don’t need distance between them and me—the ties have already been permanently cut. Besides, I can tolerate this place, these people. Why start again somewhere unfamiliar? Just a waste of time and energy.”

James nods, not trusting his voice for the moment.

“Do you want to escape, James?”

“I—” James takes in a breath and tries again. “Honestly, I can’t think of anything more terrifying than leaving them behind.” 

He turns around and catches a glimpse of the people he loves most through the streaked, sliding glass doors—Dorcas and Marlene balancing shots on their foreheads, Lily and Mary dancing on the coffee table, and Remus and Sirius sitting with their brows pressed together, giggling like the schoolkids they all used to be.

For a moment, James doesn’t feel it—the festering, ugly anger that they’re together, dating, after all these years of friendship. Then Sirius kisses Remus’ cheek, which turns into a trail of sloppy, open-mouth bites down his jaw, and James' stomach drops. 

When he looks away, Regulus is watching him. Slowly, Regulus takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then a lighter from the other. 

After the cigarette is lit, James drawls, “I thought you didn’t smoke?”

“I lied.” Regulus takes a long drag. 

“Why’d you stop?” James finds himself asking. “Lying, that is.”

“‘Cause you did.”

Neither says another thing, Regulus shifting his attention between the lightning above them, James beside him, and the cigarette between his lips, until it’s nothing but a stub beneath his shoe. 

“Bye, James.”

“Bye?” 

James watches Regulus return to the party, stuck in the trance of the porchlight, and the cracks of thunder, thinking, for once, not about his lovesick, preoccupied friends, but Regulus’ cutting attention.

******

James: An incense shop catches fire

Regulus: ???

James: Just another lovely, lethal thought to add to your collection

Regulus: Is this James?

James: Yes :) 

Regulus: Not bad. 

Regulus: But oceans seem much more eerie than fires, no?

James: I’m listening…

Regulus: Ride a dolphin into the sea, just to drown beneath the waves. 

James: Brutal

Regulus: And beautiful. 

James: Yeah

Regulus: Yeah.

******

Beneath the bright streaks of the sun sneaking into the apartment, James tries to clean the remnants of Remus’ party. Hangovers are no match for James Potter, or so Mary attests, and mornings are James Potter’s bitch, or so Lily envies, and yet, James sits on the carpet, matching the sun’s glare and neglecting the red-solo cups, wrapping paper, and disarray around him. 

He clicks on his phone, debating another text to Regulus, but decides against it. He decides against it all, caught in a sluggish limbo within a mess he really ought to clean. 

But he doesn’t want to. 

That is until he hears muffling behind Sirius’ door, Remus’ voice crackling with an anger James knows means danger. 

When the door swings open, James holds a trash bag in one hand and a bowl with only chip crumbs in the other. 

“Everything okay, Moony?” he asks carefully. 

Remus’ shoulders loosen an inch, and he sighs at James. “It’s fine, Prongs. Just need a little space. Thanks for last night. I’m heading back to mine but I’ll text you later, yeah?”

Remus is already out the apartment door before James can respond, before he can ask if Remus needs space from James too. If “you” means James, or an indescriptive general “you” including the others. If Remus had a good birthday, if he believes that James thinks he is worthy of Sirius, fuck, if he even wants to be James’ friend anymore—

James’ swirling thoughts suddenly still at the sound of sobs. He peers into Sirius’ room, finding a blob beneath the covers shaking in breathy gasps. 

“Padfoot?” James crosses to sit on the bed’s edge, placing a hand on what he thinks is Sirius’ back. 

“He’s a fucking asshole!” Sirius’ whine is muffled from the covers. 

“Who is? Remus?”

Sirius yanks the covers off of him, turning to James with swollen eyes and a shaking frown. 

“Oh, Pads, what happened—”

“All I did was ask him to move in. I was trying to be nice because his roommate is shit and his place is shit and we all know that he’s having a shit fucking time there but when I offer my room rent-free he calls me inconsiderate! Inconsiderate!?”

James reels, his hand pulling away from Sirius almost in slow motion. “You—you asked Remus to move in?” 

It’s not as if Remus hasn’t crashed with them before—even before he and Sirius got together, Marauder sleepovers were a regular event, one emphatically endorsed and organized by James. 

But moving in? 

James swallows down the string of exclamations crawling up his throat. Honestly, he’d love it if all of his friends could live just a room away—Moony moving in would be a dream come true, in many ways, an echo of the childhood James clings to so firmly. But why would Sirius ask Remus without talking to James first?

Did Sirius forget that James lives here too? Or when it comes to Remus, does he just not care? 

The questions fill with air until little needles poke into the balloon’s plastic, popping childish wonder into nonrecyclable trash. James barely catches the end of Sirius’ sentence. 

“—he’s happy when he wakes up next to me. I’m happy when I get to wake up next to him! Why won’t Remus even consider making this permanent, I don’t fucking get why he’s being so—so—”

“Inconsiderate?” James offers, mostly in sarcasm. But Sirius doesn’t catch it. 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, James. Exactly. Remus is being an inconsiderate piece of shit.”

And it’s here, James knows, where he can offer a slice of honesty, tell Sirius who, exactly, is being inconsiderate right now. 

Sirius would hear him out, James is fairly certain—Sirius trusts James’ opinion, he values his advice, he cares, he cares, he cares. 

But at the pain glazing Sirius’ eyes in a thick film, at the quiet shudders rolling through Sirius’ body, the way he shook when he first ran away from his parents, James can’t find the strength to do anything but comfort. 

So he opens his arms wide. 

“Look,” James begins as Sirius crawls into his embrace. “You know how Moony is when it comes to money. He’s probably uncomfortable with the idea of you paying his rent and all that.”

Sirius breathes in shakily, and James can feel tears stain his shirt. 

“Just give him some time to cool down and then you can talk to him, figure out if there’s a way you two can live together, share the financial responsibility, yeah?”

Sirius nods lightly, and James presses a hand into the back of his head, holding him the way Euphemia did James a long, long time ago. 

“You don’t think it’s a little early?” James dares to ask after a moment. “To talk about moving in together, I mean?”

When Sirius pulls back, James isn’t prepared for the solemnity in his expression. “Remus is it for me, Prongs. I swear to god, I’m going to marry that man.”

“Oh.”

“You—” Sirius flickers with uncertainty. “You don’t think we—”

James doesn’t let him finish the thought, “I’m so happy for you, Padfoot.”

Sirius' smile is pure relief, the tears giving way to the sort of glow on Lily’s expression the night before. And James smiles back, wondering when Sirius stopped recognizing his lies. When Sirius stopped consulting James with every decision. When Sirius stopped loving James and Remus the same. 

At least James still has this, he thinks to himself, scooting closer to cuddle Sirius. At least when times get hard, James is still needed. 

******

In the weeks leading up to his birthday, James, for once, doesn’t itch with anticipation. He barely glances at the calendar hanging on his wall, featuring a pile of kittens and a bedazzled border around March 27th. 

His attention has always been a fleeting thing, but it’s never been weak in nature, and James thinks he should be concerned that he doesn’t mind the time rolling by, the postcards coming in from Fleamont, the air warming outside, but the only thing that can hold his interest is his phone. 

Or rather, one text chain in particular. 

Regulus: Would texting a loved one before a car crash qualify?

James: Depends on the text…Maybe if it’s a confession of love?

Regulus: Who confesses their love over text?

James: Fair

James: How about a love letter? 

Regulus: I can see that.

Though their conversations are infrequent, Regulus easily wins the feat of James’ most recent messages. The group chat, the Marauders, and even Sirius’ texts are neglected artifacts beneath Regulus’ macabre thoughts, each and every word a boost of adrenaline. 

But it’s not quite enough to keep James afloat.

Beneath all of the weight piling and piling, he flips through old pictures of Euphemia. She’d get Regulus’ humor too, he thinks. She’d probably nudge James and say he oughta ask Regulus out. Or maybe she wouldn’t. 

These days James imagines Euphemia more than he remembers her. 

After a couple of days locked in the apartment, nodding at Sirius in between his shifts and dates and sleeps, James has an idea. The first he’s had in a while. He packs a bag with the essentials—Flemont’s old sweater, water, and his car keys—and jogs down to his truck. 

He considers texting the group chat, the Marauders, or even just Sirius. But he doesn’t think he can take being left on read another time, so he turns the key and loses himself in the rumble of the ignition.

James drives and drives and drives.

He cries at some point, stops at some point, breathes at some point, and parks at some point. He finds himself at the town’s border, teetering on the edge of home and not, unable to step forward. Unable to leave, even when it feels like everyone else has left him behind. 

When the weight buckles his knees, he gives in to gravity and sits on the wet grass alongside the road, twisting his head to look behind him.

Home. Home. Home.

It doesn’t feel quite so homely without the people who make it so. 

James jolts when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He has not one expectation when he pulls it out, not one flicker of hope, just a well of dried-up love, a thirsty man gasping for a sip.

Regulus: Coffee?

The word itself startles James first. Why would Regulus want coffee so late? 

James blinks and looks around, sighing at the sunrise rising on the horizon. Oh. Oh! Regulus wants coffee. With James. He wants to spend time with James in person. He wants James. 

It’s only after James runs back to his truck, speeding his way back home, that he realizes he forgot to reply to Regulus. 

James: YES.

They meet at James’ coffee shop—the one with the hot baristas, the Polaroid wall, and the cozy seating. 

Regulus is sitting in the far back when James arrives, and James tries to tame his grin when he orders his coffee, feeling Regulus’s gaze like a buzz in his blood. 

“Hi,” James says, sitting across from Regulus.

 “Morning, James.”

“What have you been thinking about today?”

Regulus sips his black coffee, the steam curling around his sharp gaze. “Will it disappoint you if I say nothing dangerous?”

“Depends on the subject,” James says slyly. 

“You.”

James chokes on his drink. “Excuse me?”

“I was thinking about you. Have been more and more these days.”

There’s always been a blunt quality to Regulus that James has admired, but to feel it wielded in his direction is a bit overwhelming, making James wiggle in his chair. “That’s—wow—okay, why have you been thinking about me?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Something to do with my unconscious, and I don’t care to psychoanalyze myself—too many monsters lurking beneath the ego.”

James hums like he knows what Regulus is saying, like he can understand a word when his body is a live wire of feeling, the most he’s felt in a while.

“So I figured I’d stop thinking about you, and just spend time with you instead.”

“I’m incredibly okay with that,” James eventually manages. 

Regulus’ grin is slow. “I had a feeling you might.”

After a moment of comfortable silence, Regulus asks, “And what have you been thinking about today?”

James tenses and Regulus, with his careful, cutting attention, catches it. “Go on, James. Even if it’s dangerous.”

“Sirius is my best friend but sometimes he’s not the best of friends.”

Regulus blinks at James’ words and James can’t help but join him. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to say that—”

“Stop, James.” Regulus holds up a hand. “I asked, you answered honestly. I’m not going to fault you for following the prompt.”

“Thank you?”

“So what has my brother been doing?”

James looks at the table and sighs. “I guess it’s what he’s not been doing. I’m probably making a big deal out of nothing but—well, ever since Peter left, and Remus and Sirius got together, I don’t know. It feels a little like I’ve been forgotten.”

Regulus nods, and James gets a little thrill from the fact that someone, finally, is listening. Caring openly. 

“Sirius is notorious for his selfish qualities,” Regulus says. “Though I’m surprised Peter and Remus have been neglecting their Marauder duties.”

James shrugs. “It’s fine—”

“Is it?”

James swallows and Regulus continues staring, leaning across the table with a knowing gaze. 

“No,” James says quietly. “It’s not.”

And Regulus doesn’t offer any solutions, he doesn’t dish out any pieces of advice, he sits with James and listens, each sipping on coffee and spilling thoughts until Regulus has had enough. 

“I’ll see you soon, James,” Regulus promises when he leaves. 

And James believes him. 

******

It’s always short and fleeting, moments with Regulus, but James doesn’t mind, not when Regulus seems to pack every ounce of his attention into every exchange. James can’t help but compare Regulus to a shot of espresso, a brief, rich explosion of taste, fueling him for the rest of the day. 

When James says as much to Regulus, however, he rolls his eyes. “You’re comparing me to bean juice, Potter?”

“Hey, I like coffee. It’s a compliment.”

“Not one of your most romantic moments.” Regulus tilts his head in thought. “You’re not addicted to me, James. You’re endeared by me.”

“That’s—yeah that sounds about right,” James admits. 

They’ve upgraded from drinks to a meal today, and James quietly overthinks to himself about whether it’s a date or not, about whether he wants it to be a date or not. He’s happy either way, he concludes, a bit smitten just by the simple blessing of Regulus’ attention. 

“Your birthday’s coming up this weekend, no?” Regulus says after a bite of rigatoni. 

“Oh yeah, guess it is.”

“Do you have any plans?”

“I—” James hesitates, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass. The Marauders usually get together for every birthday, often throwing an outrageous party and getting outrageously drunk for tradition's sake. But Peter’s in Seattle and Sirius and Remus haven’t said anything, so James isn’t getting his hopes up. “No. Do you want to do something?” 

Regulus’ eyes brighten. “I’d love to.”

James takes a moment to catch his breath. 

******

They end up going to the movies, at James’ request. The cinema has a showing of “Back to the Future,” and after James learns that Regulus hasn’t seen it, he demands they remedy that right away. 

It’s nearly a perfect birthday, sitting arm-to-arm beside Regulus, fingers brushing in a bucket of popcorn until the accidental touches turn intentional, Regulus taking James’ hand with a confidence that knocks every thought, even the dangerous ones, out of James’ head. 

“So…” James says after the credits roll and the rest of the audience vacates. 

“Hm?”

James looks at their fingers intertwined, scrambling to find a question, but he realizes, he doesn’t really have one. Or doesn’t really need to pose one. He’s just happy, he thinks, to hold Regulus. 

“Want to go back to yours?” Regulus says in James’ silence. 

It’s the last thing James wants, actually. He’s got a running streak of avoiding the apartment, trying to give Remus and Sirius the space they clearly want. But Regulus is already standing, guiding James along, and he doesn’t have the heart to refuse him. 

As James turns the key in the door, he says, “Sirius usually has a shift on Saturdays so we’ll probably be alone—”

A chorus of “Happy Birthday” cuts James off.

He freezes in the doorway, eyes bouncing over all his gathered friends in cheesy cone hats, red and gold balloons floating over their heads, and confetti falling over their faces. 

“Oh.” James feels tears burst in his eyes. “That’s so nice.”

Sirius runs up and tackles James into a hug, one of those tight, bear embraces that James has been missing sorely. James holds his best friend as long as Sirius lets him, then walks around in a bit of a daze greeting the people he loves most, accepting their well-wishes with a disbelieving smile. 

They remembered. They care. They care. They care. 

James rides the high into the first birthday shot and into the second, basking in his friends’ attention, finally. Until the spark of the surprise fades into another party and James finds himself alone on the couch, surrounded by a crowd of couples. Again.

 “Oh,” James repeats from before, a little smaller now.

But when he searches the room for someone, anyone, his gaze lands on Regulus in the corner. 

Regulus gestures to the balcony, and James quickly crosses the room, pushing the sliding glass doors open and stepping under the porchlight. 

“So you’re surprised?”

“Absolutely,” James confirms. “Did you know—”

“I wanted to see you regardless, but then Sirius texted me about your surprise party yesterday and it all came together.”

James laughs. “He planned this all in a day?”

“It is Sirius.”

Yes, that’s Sirius’ thing, James reminds himself. He didn’t forget about James’ birthday, this wasn’t a last-minute plan, he’s just a person who does things last minute, that’s his style, it’s not personal, it’s not personal, it’s not personal. 

James staggers to the railing, leaning all of his weight onto the chipped wood. “I’m being ridiculous.”

“Are you?” 

“I said that out loud?” James breathes. 

Regulus comes beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “What if you talked to him about it?” 

“He’ll be hurt.”

“You’re hurt,” Regulus presses. “That matters too, James.”

“What do I even say? That I’m feeling left out now that my best friends are in love? They get to be in love! I don’t get to come in between them. That’s not—that’s not fair of me.” 

Regulus looks up, the night sky not clotted with clouds, the stars open and free, blinking back at them. “When Barty and Evan first got together I was a mess. I quite like being alone, but otherwise, they’re some of my favorite company. All of that became…different after they started dating.”

“Third wheel?”

“Third wheel,” Regulus confirms. “The three of us had to figure out a balance. Figure out how to tend to the friendships from before.”

“Did you?” James asks, his voice more hopeful than he wills it. 

“Yes. Because we talked.”

“Mm.”

At the sear of Regulus’s stare, James turns to look at him. “You deserve to be loved like you love, James.”

James' heart slams against his chest, the distance between Regulus’ lips and his growing smaller and smaller. Then Regulus’ fingers tangle in James’ hair and they’re kissing like it’s another lovely, lethal secret—only there’s nothing shameful about the way Regulus opens for James, the way their tongues glide together and chests press closer and closer. 

The porchlight flickers above them as if it too feels the danger between them, passed through fingertips over hips and lips across necks. 

Then the sliding door opens, and Sirius finally, finally notices. Of course he finally notices that James left, right when James doesn’t want to be fucking found. 

“Prongs, I’ve another surprise for you—” Sirius’ voice cuts off. 

James and Regulus quickly step away from each other, breathing heavily. As if on instinct, James’ hand stays on Regulus, holding the small of his back to keep him from darting away. 

“What the fuck?” Sirius’s eyes dart between them. “Get your fucking hands off my brother.”

And James knows that Sirius is protective, that Regulus will always be his little brother and he’ll always guard him the way Walburga and Orion should have, but to feel the tip of Sirius’ blade over the fragile skin of his own neck is harrowing. 

“I’m sorry, Pads, I—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Regulus cuts off. He pauses, turning to look at James closely. “Unless you regret kissing me?”

“No, of course not,” James answers honestly. Perhaps too honestly, given their audience. 

The porchlight flickers out, an omen James works very hard to ignore. 

“I can’t believe you.” Sirius spits, eyes narrowing with an anger James has only seen from afar. “My brother, James?!”

A hand comes out to stop Sirius from whatever punch he was preparing to throw.  

James wishes Remus would just let Sirius punch him. Let the blow land, finally, and that dizzying loss of his best friend slipping through his fingers will stop, leaving James bruised, and if Sirius is as good as he claims, a little bloody. 

Maybe this is where the two of them will end—the Prongs and Padfoot of kindergarten playgrounds and middle school dances and silent hospital rooms and new bedrooms. Maybe it’s here that Sirius will move on. 

A part of James always knew Sirius would. 

But the hand holds Sirius back. Not Remus’ scarred hand, James realizes suddenly, but something just as familiar, tanned and calloused, with nails stubbed from chewing. Wormtail’s fingers. Wormtail?

James’ head whips up, finding Peter’s blue eyes set on him. “Surprise?”

******

In the strangled silence following Peter’s arrival, Regulus marches his brother off the unlit balcony and into Sirius’ bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. 

James watches through the sliding glass door, mouth hanging not quite open but not quite closed, unsure what to say with Regulus’ kiss a lingering fizzle over his lips, and Sirius’ words a heavy chain across his tongue. 

“Come on, Prongs.” Peter leads James through the party, plucking a bottle of tequila—James’ favorite brand, Fortaleza Blanco.

He stares at the heavy glass bottle decked with two crossing swords, wondering if it was Remus or Sirius who bought it for him. Then Peter pushes him onto the edge of his bed and sits beside him. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Peter laughs. “Now that we got the bullshit answer out of the way, want to try again?”

“I’m—” James leaves the sentence hanging, and falls onto the bed, covering his face. “I’m so fucking glad you’re here, Wormtail.”

Peter lays down beside James, their shoulders brushing, and takes a swig of the Fortaleza. It’s reminiscent of too many times before they grew up into whatever the hell they are now—adults, probably. 

James misses those drunken nights together, taking turns hurling in the bathroom, Peter the giggling drunk, and James the philosophical. Sometimes Remus and Sirius would crawl into the bed with them, but more often than not, they’d curl up together in a corner somewhere and whisper who knows what. 

They had always been the cuddling drunks. Or maybe they were just besotted with each other. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” James whispers. 

“What?”

James accepts the tequila Peter offers and leans forward to take a tentative sip. “Sirius and Remus. They were…they always were close, but when they got tipsy, I don’t know, now that I think it through, it’s like whenever they drank they stopped pretending they weren’t in love.”

Peter hums in agreement. 

“What took them so long?”

“Remus, I think,” Peter says thoughtfully. “At first he was sure that Sirius didn’t like him back. Then I think he started thinking he didn’t deserve Sirius.”

James winces, recalling their conversation a few weeks prior. “How’d you know? Did Remus talk to you about it?”

“A little, but I mostly just watched. A real romance, those two fuckers.” 

“I didn’t.” James takes another sip. “Know, that is. And I’m not sure I want to even know now.”

“Ah.”

“Ah,” James echoes. A dribble of tequila falls down his chin and he sighs. “This is pathetic, I’m being pathetic. Let’s not on my birthday, yeah? Tell me how you are.”

Peter sits up with James. “I’m great.”

“Are you?” James pushes. “I just—we haven’t spoken all that much and I’m sure you’re busy but I can’t help but—well, you know, worry.”

It’s rare that Peter Pettigrew frowns—he’s not the type of guy with an expressive mouth one way or the other—but the slope of his grimace is undeniable. 

“I’m sorry, James. Fuck it’s going to sound stupid when I say it out loud, but—” Peter looks up at James determinedly. “I’ve been trying to make friends in Seattle, or, rather, trying to make friends with Lea’s friends, and I don’t know. I felt like I had to take a break from you three in order to do that.” 

Peter takes the tequila from James and cradles it in his hands. “It’s hard, Prongs. Y’all are irreplaceable and I’m…lonely.”

“But you have Lea, yeah?” 

“She’s my girlfriend. And I’ve never had a partner without having you, Sirius, and Remus too. I can’t just show up at your apartment and waste a day together. I can’t count on seeing you every week—hell, I can’t even count on seeing your face. Lea’s lovely, but I need my friends. I need you.”

James can trace the web of cracks carving his heart. “Oh, Pete, I’m so sorry.” 

“No, don’t apologize.” Peter leans his forehead on James’ shoulder. “I’m loading all of this on you because I know if I don’t, you’ll think it’s your fault I haven’t been responding.”

James quiets, unsettled by the ugly truth of Peter’s words. 

“I—I think you can make friends and still talk to us,” James says carefully. 

“Yeah, I know, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. It’s just easy to get caught up in the Marauders and I know I’ll never find something like that again so a part of me just…doesn’t want to try.”

“Hey.” James lifts Peter’s head, cradling his cheeks. “You’re starting a new life in Seattle, yeah? New job, new apartment, and new friends. It’s not going to come all at once. You’ve gotta give yourself time to adjust. One step at a time, yeah?”

Peter blows out a breath and follows it with a shot. “Okay.”

“Okay,” James echoes, his smile genuine. This is what he’s built for, helping the ones he loves. This is what Euphemia made him into—someone useful, someone loving, someone there, always, always there. 

He kisses Peter’s forehead and then flops back into position, his hair falling over his heavy eyelids. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a shit birthday after all—tequila and Wormtail were quite the combination. The ultimate combination, in fact. 

“So is it my turn now?” Peter’s voice breaks through James’ daze. 

“Your turn for what?” 

“To ask you questions?”

“That is a question,” James points out, feeling exceedingly like Regulus. He can’t help but turn his head to the wall his room shares with Sirius’—the two brothers aren’t screaming at each other, which must be good, right?’

“How are you, James?” Peter says in a tone that gives not even an inch of wiggle room for a teasing reply, much less a lie.

James moves his arm over his eyes. “I’m losing him.”

“Sirius?”

“I—I didn’t kiss Regulus to hurt him, but it did, and now he’ll have another excuse to avoid me. Another reason not to respond to my texts or spend time with me in the apartment that we fucking share. He’ll have another reason to start a new life with Remus, one that I’m only on the margins of, a nostalgic reminder of a childhood they’ve both largely forgotten, and then soon enough everyone will be gone, everyone will move away like you, and that’s good, that’s great for everyone, but, fuck, what about me? What about me?”

James tastes the salt of his tears over his lips and he quickly scrubs it away, wanting only Regulus’ kiss to linger. 

Peter’s arms envelop James—a rare hug from a man who tends to hate them. James folds himself into Peter’s warmth and cries onto his shoulder. 

“I worried that it would be hard for you when Sirius and Remus finally got together,” Peter says. “I just thought I’d be here to help you through it.”

The words do little to keep James' tears back. 

“I’m certain that Remus has been distant because he’s worried that he’s disappointed you, not the other way around.” 

“I—I think you’re right,” James gets out.

“And as for Sirius? Well, I won’t dare speak for Sirius cause he’d kick my ass.”

James laughs on a sob. “He almost kicked mine.”

“Yeah, thanks to me, he avoided that lifelong regret.” Peter squeezes James, then pulls away to look him in the eye. “Sirius can be fucking clueless. But if he knew he was hurting you…come on, James. He’d be all over you in a minute.”

“That’s the thing,” James whispers, sniffling. “He shouldn’t have to. This is my shit. I need to get over myself and be happy for them, I—I don’t know why I can’t.”

“What was that thing you just told me?” Peter smiles. “All of this is new, hell, they’ve only been dating publicly for less than a month. You’ve gotta give yourself time to adjust. One step at a time, yeah?”

“What if I don’t adjust?” 

“You won’t if you don’t talk to Sirius,” Peter says matter of factly. 

“He’s not going to want to talk to me after…” James turns back to the wall as if he can see past his Abba posters and watch the Black brothers have at it. 

“He’ll be an ass about it for a couple of days, and then he’ll remember how much he adores both of you, and if you and Reg get together that means you two could be brothers in a legal sense, and then he’d be all for it.”

James laughs wetly. “You think?”

“Come on, we both know how Sirius works. We’ve been putting up with him for years.”

“We have,” James says, his smile growing wider. 

“So lay low for a bit, and when he reaches out, talk to him.” Peter’s brows furrow. “Really talk to him.”

James nods quietly. 

“Good, now we can get to the question I’m dying to ask.” Peter’s smirk is troubling. 

“And what’s that?” 

“You and Regulus?”

******

Though Sirius’ absence is a festering wound James keeps picking at, he takes Wormtail’s sage advice and continues their game of cat and mouse. Only James isn’t sure he’s being chased, really. Sirius hasn’t returned to the apartment since the night of James’ birthday, not even to spend the weekend with Peter, the Marauders reunited. 

James tries to put on a brave face and focus his wavering attention on Peter and Remus, but they must catch wind of James’ sadness, or maybe it’s just the lack of Sirius’ bad jokes and loud laughs because none of them can summon much conversation. 

They end up rewatching The Office together, like they used to every anniversary of Euphemia’s death. And when Peter not so subtly goes to pick up Chinese for dinner, James takes the chance to sit beside Remus and assure him, again, that he’s deserving of Sirius. 

“But you’ve been acting like—” Remus hesitates, pulling at his sweater’s sleeves. “It’s hard not to read between the lines, James.”

“I’m disappointed, that’s true. But only because the two of you have been distant since you got together. I know it’s selfish but I miss my best friends.”

“That’s not selfish.”

James levels Remus with a long look. “It fucking feels like it.”

Remus sighs, his eyes falling to the couch cushion between them. “You and Sirius have always been practically in love, it’s not unfair to be a little jealous now he and I are—”

“I’m not jealous.”

Remus turns to James. “You are a little.”

“I’m not! I don’t want to kiss Sirius.”

“No, you want to kiss Regulus.”

James sputters at Remus’ smirk. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Maybe, but I am curious about that. We can return to it later.”

“The point is that whatever I am, it’s not that. Sirius has had many romantic partners before and I’ve never felt anything but happy for them, and now—now—” James crumples at Remus’ expression. “It’s not you, Remus. Or it is, just not in the way you think.”

“Do tell,” Remus rasps. 

James reaches over and grabs Remus’ hand. “We’ve always been the same, the four of us. No matter what, I could always count on you, me, Padfoot, and Wormtail. Now Peter lives in Seattle and you two are in love, it’s—I feel frozen. And I want to be frozen, that’s the thing. I just wish everyone would stay still with me.”

Remus’ expression softens, and he squeezes James’ hand. “You have to let people change. That’s what we’re supposed to do.” 

“But I haven’t.” James swallows. “I’m still the same person I was when I met you, just a bit bigger and smarter.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“What’s different then?” James asks though he’s scared to know, he’s scared for any scrap of proof that could undermine what he’s always known is his purpose. People. 

“You used to be fearless.”

James reels backward, the arm of the couch softening his fall. “And now I’m not?”

Remus continues, his voice even in spite of James’ reaction, “When you lost your mom, you lost that…reckless part of you. The part of you that would do anything and everything no matter the consequences, the boy who always did first and thought later. Now…now time and loss have changed you, made you a man who thinks first. You’re always overthinking now, I can see it, look, you’re doing it now.” 

James blinks, looking anywhere but in Remus’ direction. He doesn’t bother caging his expression, nor his thoughts, both running away far out of his reach. 

Remus laughs under his breath. “You’re not fearless anymore, James. You’re something better. You’re brave.”

It’s stunningly kind of Remus to say, but James can make no sense of the words, finding only absurdity beneath the kindness so characteristic of Moony. So he laughs. “Sure, I am.”

“You know what it is to fear—you know loss more intimately than anyone should—but that doesn’t stop you from loving. And loving deeply at that. God, no one loves like you do, Prongs.”

James hugs himself, feeling more and more adrift the more Remus speaks. 

“I was always afraid to love Sirius,” Remus admits. “I had a million excuses not to—didn’t think he’d want me, didn’t think we’d handle each other’s tempers, you can guess all the rest, really, but do you know what convinced me to try?”

There’s no room for words in James’ head, so he settles on shaking it. 

“The night Peter left, we were all wasted and you got all reflective like you tend to do.” Remus runs a hand through his brown curls, smiling softly. “You said you had an answer to that question everyone always asked. The one about why we were put on earth? I mean, I was barely coherent, but I still remember it so clearly—you turned to us with an expression that was pure awe…and then you said ‘love.’ We were here to love. And if we weren’t loving then we weren’t living.”

James couldn’t recall ever saying that, but he trusts even a drunk Remus’ memory over his, so he nods. “Well, I’m sure someone has said that before.”

“Maybe, but I wasn’t listening until you said it. It meant something because you did. The next day I asked Sirius out.”

“I wouldn’t have meant—” James debates finishing the sentence. 

“Go on.”

“I wouldn’t have meant romantic love. That’s never really interested me, not like my friends do.”

“I know.” Remus leans back. “That’s why Regulus has come as such a surprise.”

“But he makes it easy,” James insists. “With Regulus, he doesn’t have to become my whole life, he doesn’t claim all my love and time and energy. I guess we just—we can love each other without smothering each other.”

James doesn’t trip over the word ‘love’—he latches onto the classification, eager to offer Regulus the reason for his existence, the point to his breath. 

“You think Sirius and I are smothering each other?” Remus says in a quiet voice. 

“Honestly?” James sighs. “I think all of our friends are. At least it feels like they’re so caught up in each other they’ve nothing to give their other loved ones. I just think that kind of devotion is…limiting.”

“Not everyone can love like you, James.” Remus’ tone is half-teasing, but James can sense the worry within it. 

“Moony…”

“You know how we wouldn’t leave Peter’s side the days before he left?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Sirius even sat outside the bathroom.” James chuckles.

“I think I love Sirius a little like that. Like I’m waiting for him to go, only I don’t know when.”

“Remus—trust me, he’s not going anywhere.”

“A part of me believes you.”

“And a part of you doesn’t,” James guesses.

“So I know I ought to love like you do, but I’m not sure I’m built for that kind of bravery.”

“I think you are, but I know how stubborn you are so I won’t try to change your mind.” James smirks, reaching over to squeeze Remus’ shoulder. It’s a lie, obviously. James will work very, very hard to make sure Remus realizes just that. 

“I’ve no idea why Sirius has been depriving you of his presence.” Remus, predictably, moves on from any and all focus on him. “He keeps turning to the side with a smile as if expecting you to be there, then huffs like a puppy when you aren’t.

James can’t help but sit up at that. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Remus rolls his eyes. “He even did it once when we were in bed.”

“I’m honored.”

“I knew you would be.”

Remus smiles and James matches it sincerely, the first time he’s managed to since his best friends got together. 

“I’ll try to do better, try to get less in my head about all of this,” Remus says. “And you—well, you still have to talk to Sirius, but we’ll all figure it out.”

“I hope so.” James breathes. “I really, really hope so, Moony.”

******

In the limbo of a life without Sirius’ attention, and god forbid, his affection, James seeks comfort in the other Black brother. Regulus is by no means a replacement for Sirius, of course, but he is another name on the list of people James adores, and so, James does what he does best. He loves. 

The credits of Midsommar roll, James doodling absentmindedly on Regulus’ spine. They’re curled up together on Regulus’ couch, Barty and Evan unusually quiet in Barty’s bedroom. 

“Did you like it?” James asks. 

“No.” Regulus shoves his face farther into James’ chest, which is quite the feat given how closely they’re already pressed together—Regulus' legs and arms wrapped around James like a small, cuddly Panda. “I hate horror movies.”

“You wanted to watch it,” James reminds him softly. 

Regulus’ tone turns bitter. “Yeah because I don’t want to hate horror movies.”

“Right.” James hides his smile by kissing the top of Regulus’ head. “Of course. Exposure therapy.”

With a small huff, Regulus nods, and they fall into a comfortable silence. 

“Fair warning, I’m going to kick you out soon. I want to finish my book.”

“Alright,” James agrees, and he means it too. He’s never known anyone as particular as Regulus, but he likes learning the ins and outs of his rules and comforts, he likes learning the language of love that only they get to speak with each other. 

In fact, all of Regulus’ boundaries make it easier for James to say his own. The sort he never had the courage to express, not when it opposed those of someone he loved. So when they decide to spend their last few moments together in Regulus’ bedroom, James shoots for the bravery Remus claimed he grew into. 

“I should tell you, uhm, I’m more of a giver—” James gasps on Regulus’ lips, both of their hands reaching beneath fabric, dancing on hips and spines and bellies. 

“A giver?” Regulus repeats. 

“Yes—or I mean I guess I only want to give.”

Regulus pulls back, hands still on James’ shoulders. “I need you to tell me explicitly what you want, Jamie.”

The nickname stuns James for a moment, and he has to take a breath to recollect his thoughts into something coherent. 

“Don’t touch me.” James winces. “That came out more blunt than I hoped.”

“I like blunt.” 

Then Regulus’ hands disappear, and James sputters, pulling his fingers back where they belong. “No, please touch me, that’s not what I meant—I mean—well—” James sighs at himself. “I get off watching you get off, not the other way around.”

“So you don’t want me to touch your dick?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Regulus’ eyes narrow, not with distaste, but curiosity. “And what about your ass?”

“Not—not that either.”

Regulus presses a soft kiss onto James’ lips. “Okay.”

“I—I know what you’re thinking, I’m a people pleaser even in bed.”

Regulus swipes a thumb across James’ cheek. “You’ll never know what I’m thinking unless I tell you. I thought we already established that.”

James laughs, pressing their brows together. “Will you tell me then? Otherwise I’ll come up with some horrible options of my own.”

“To be quite honest, I’m not thinking very much with your hands where they are.”

James moves to pull away from Regulus' hips, but he tsks in warning. “And I’m thinking that there’s a lot of talk about getting me off but not a lot of—”

Regulus quickly quiets when James pushes him onto his back and straddles his legs. 

James takes his time tracing the zipper of Regulus’ pants, leaning forward to press hot kisses over his chest. “You were saying?” 

An incoherent mumble falls from Regulus’ lips as James pulls his pants down, lapping at his nipple. 

“I—I—” Regulus gasps. “Never mind.”

James looks up, his hand reaching below the waistband of Regulus’ boxers. “What do you want, Reggie?”

“Reggie?” Regulus rasps. 

“Mmhm. You called me Jamie,” he says in explanation. “Now tell me what you want, love.”

“Love?!” Regulus moans when James’ knee presses forward. “Yeah—okay, yes, call me whatever you want.”

“What do you want?” James whispers into Regulus’ ear, setting a slow pace with his hand and knee working in tandem. 

“Whatever you want,” Regulus gasps. “Whatever you want.” He repeats those three words over and over, chasing James’ touch at his hips, his kiss at his lips. “Whatever you want.”

It’s the first time James doesn’t have to pretend to get off himself so his partner won’t touch him. It’s the first time he doesn’t try to make a quick escape in case his partner wants to return the favor later. It’s the first time James gets to do what he wants, love, and doesn’t have to hide from it.

“You okay, love?” 

Regulus has been slumped and silent for a good fifteen minutes, making soft noises every now and then as James plays with his hair. 

“Reggie?”

“God, I can’t believe I’m letting you call me that.”

“Which one?”

“Either,” Regulus groans, pressing closer to James. “It’s fucking sappy.”

“I can stop?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Regulus huffs and peels off of James one limb at a time until he’s sitting on the other end of the bed, running his hands through his messy hair. Before James can comment on how adorable he is, Regulus says without preamble: “I want you to leave now.”

James listens, of course, a little stunned but, surprisingly, not offended. “Okay. I’ll text you later?”

“Obviously.”

After James collects his jacket and phone, he moves for the door but Regulus grabs his hand, pulling him back onto the bed. “You’re going to leave me without kissing me goodbye?”

James gasps. “Oh my, where are my manners?”

“I’m going to send Fleamont a postcard of my own just to tell him how you’ve become a heathen.”

“Ah, but it was my mom who taught me proper etiquette,” James says without thinking. 

Regulus’ teasing pout softens, and he pulls James down by the collar to give him a slow kiss. “Effie did a good job,” he says when he pulls away.

James doesn’t reply—doesn’t say that if Euphemia had done a good job, she would still be here. With James. It’s a twisted thought not even Regulus should have to handle, especially when he’s asked for space. 

So James kisses him once more on the cheek and leaves him to his solitude. 

 ******

When James returns to his apartment, he isn’t prepared for Sirius to be waiting for him. He isn’t prepared for Sirius, period. 

His best friend’s curly hair is tied up in a bun, eyes swollen with exhaustion and mouth pinched with something James is too afraid to name. Disappointment, probably. 

“Hi, Pads,” James greets weakly from the door. 

Sirius blinks and gestures to James’ shoes. “Don’t bother taking those off. We’re going out.”

James agrees instantly, and the thought doesn’t occur to him until after he and Sirius are seated on his motorcycle, helmets buckled, that Sirius might be driving him to haul his body into a ditch. Or perhaps a lake. Yeah, that seems more like Padfoot’s style. 

And yet, James can’t summon an ounce of regret, not when his arms are wrapped around Sirius for the first time in what’s probably only weeks, but feels like eons. They’re not built to stay apart from each other, the two of them, and even this simple touch is reviving, as if the fountain of fucking youth is pumping all that bitterness out of James’ bloodstream. 

“We’re here,” Sirius says when the motor quiets. 

James forces his eyes open, forces his arms away from Sirius’ waist, and freezes. “What—what are we doing?”

Sirius takes off his helmet, looking around the cemetery. “Do you remember when we fought back in elementary? I don’t remember why, but I know I ignored you at recess for at least a month.”

James nods dumbly.

“Well, it was Effie who sat us down and had us talk it out. So we’re going to sit at her grave and…talk it out.”

“You sure you want to?” James has to ask. 

Sirius levels James with a searing look. “Yes. I’m fucking sure. I miss my best friend.”

“O—okay.”

But when the two of them find their way to Effie’s tombstone—Loving wife and mother engraved in a cursive akin to Regulus’—neither moves to sit, much less talk. So James turns to his mother instead.

“Hi.” He receives no reply, of course, but he reaches his hand forward and presses down on the damp grass. “I miss you, mom.”

“I miss you too, Effie,” Sirius adds, his tone almost petulant. As if offended that James dared to think he’s the only way who does. 

“Your son’s been a real dick,” Sirius continues, eyes wet as they dart from the tombstone to James’ face. “He’s been weird about me and Moony—yeah, don’t think I didn’t fucking notice—and then he goes off and starts fucking my baby brother. I don’t know what’s going on with him, Effie.” Sirius forces his gaze forward. “And I’m supposed to always know what’s going on with James.”

“I’m sorry, Pads.” James runs a hand over his face, catching the tears threatening to fall. “Can I explain?”

“You better.” Sirius sniffs.

“I was being weird about you and Moony. I still am. I just—you never told me, Sirius. That was the first thing that scared me. I didn’t know, I wasn’t even a little suspicious, and then just like that, you’re standing on a table professing your love. Why didn’t you tell me? You tell me all your secrets.”

“I didn’t think it would happen,” Sirius whispers. “And—and it felt like if I told you about my feelings for Remus, well, I’d be ruining us before we even began.”

“You didn’t tell me because you were afraid of jinxing it?” James scoffs. 

“Don’t—it wasn’t like that,” Sirius insists, leaning forward as if to touch James. He doesn’t, caught in his own head with one hand extended in the air. “I love him, James. I have for a long time. But until a few months ago I vowed I’d never do anything about it. I couldn’t risk our friendship, couldn’t risk the Marauders.”

“Right. But what does that have to do with not telling me?”

Slowly, Sirius drops his hand to the grass. “I used to think about how you’d react if I did. Either you’d tell me to go for it, or you would make me swear to move on. And I trust your judgment much too much not to listen.”

“Would’ve been the latter, but only because I’m a selfish ass,” James mutters. 

Sirius sits back on his hands, watching James carefully. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you want me to move on?”

“Because if you didn’t, you’d move on from me.”

Sirius’ expression falters, and James can hear his breath catch. “What the fuck are you talking about, Prongs?”

James grounds himself with a glance at the bright sun, not even one cloud to cover its burning glow. “How many times have we seen each other in the last month, Sirius? Think about it, do the fucking math, because I have. I noticed, I’ve been noticing, while you—you haven’t.”

“Oh, James.” Sirius leans forward. “I know I’ve been distant—”

“Distant? Sirius you were barely at the apartment even before me and Regulus—” James cuts himself off. “The point is that you forgot. Y—you forgot about me.”

James tries to swallow his tears, but his words come out half-sobs, half-pleas for Sirius to care, and thank god, he does. He finally closes the distance to grab James’ hand. “I’m sorry, Prongs.”

It takes a lot for James not to challenge Sirius, not to pick apart his apology with a surgeon’s scrutiny, but instead, he closes his mouth and waits for his best friend to explain himself. Hopes that his best friend can.

“I didn’t want to be away from you,” Sirius begins, squeezing James’ hand like a parent would a toddler in a tantrum. “I just— me and Remus? It feels fragile. Everything I’ve ever loved does. Save for you.”

James nods. “Before all this, I thought the same.”

Sirius takes in a shaky breath and presses James’ hand over his racing heart. “I don’t know, I guess I’ve been spending as much time with Remus as possible because I—I—I just want to give him the most love I can before I fuck it up.”

“You’re not going to.”

“I always do.”

“You won’t,” James insists. “Not with Moony. He’s too precious to you.”

“Your faith in me is unmatched,” Sirius says dryly. 

“No, actually. I believe that you won’t fuck it up with Remus. That doesn’t mean I’m certain you won’t fuck everything else up.” 

It’s meant to be a joke, but James’ smile must not be very convincing, because Sirius releases his hand, turning to Effie to let out a shaky breath. “Regulus told me I wasn’t treating you right.”

“He did?” 

“He’s quite protective of you,” Sirius mumbles. “That’s supposed to be my job.”

“You have to look out for your brother, I understand that.”

“But you’re my brother too. ” Sirius turns back to James, expression raw and open. “I—I’m sorry about how I reacted, that was shit of me.”

“It’s not how I wanted you to find out. I intended to sit you down and have a conversation about it. Like best friends are supposed to.”

Sirius sucks on his teeth. “Yeah, I deserve that. It’s not an excuse but I was very, very drunk at that party, and a part of me felt like the sooner I told all of our friends he and I were dating, the less likely it was that Remus backed out. He’s scared off easily, our Moony.”

“You underestimate his love for you.”

“And you underestimate my love for you.”

“Can you blame me?” James whispers. “You disappeared on me.”

They both turn to Effie at the same time, and James has to clench his hands into fists. “My dad’s off in Europe and Pete’s in Seattle and then you and Moony just… disappear. Here one day and gone the next.”

Sirius wraps an arm around James’ shoulders. “I can’t promise I won’t leave you like Effie did. But I can promise to do better. I’ve been a shit friend, clearly. And if it helps, I’ve felt like shit for it.”

“Yeah?”

“Haven’t had much of an appetite.”

“I make you hungry?” James’ lips twitch. 

“Starving.” Sirius kisses James’ cheek and presses them into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Prongs.”

This time, James ignores the urge to doubt Sirius’ apology. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

They press their brows together and slowly pull away “I want to be more supportive but, well, it’s gonna take me some time to get used to…you two,” James says carefully. 

“I know the feeling.”

James shivers at the weight of Sirius’ gaze then. 

“My brother, James?” This time when Sirius says it, there’s nothing of the vitriol from before, just a tired, subdued shock. “It doesn't make sense, you and Reg. He’s so dark and you’re…not.”

“I can be dark.” At Sirius’ laugh, James crosses his arms. “Yes, I can. It’s actually how we first became close, talking about the loveliest ways to die.”

Sirius’ mouth hangs open. “Of course you did.”  

“And Reg and I have more in common than you’d think. You, for example.”

That makes Sirius smile a little, but he still shakes his head stubbornly. “You’re more different than not. I mean, you love people and he doesn’t!”

“He does, you know he does. Just in his own way.” James nudges Sirius. “Besides, you and Moony are very different and you clearly get along.”

“Oh, we get along filthily,” Sirius says with a sly smirk.

“Likewise,” James can’t help but echo.

“Ew! No talking about my brother like that, Jesus fucking Christ, James.”

“Sorry.” James isn’t that sorry, not when he’s laughing, truly laughing, for the first time in too long. It feels like a giant helping of a breath of fresh fucking air packed with all things Sirius—dirty jokes, the dank scent of wet dogs, and unabashed love. 

They fall into silence, watching mourners walk across the cemetery with bright bouquets of flowers. 

“I need to ask something and, to preface, I know it’s bitchy,” Sirius begins, turning back to James “You didn’t date Regulus to get back at me for Remus, right?”

James swallows. “For once, it’s not about you.”

“I’m just saying—you wanted attention and he gave it to you, look, I have to ask, he’s too important—”

“A lot of people give me attention. I could date anyone I wanted to, hell, I even won Evans over.”

Sirius grins at that. After all, he did play an essential role in the Jily affair. 

“But it’s the way Regulus gives his attention,” James says, packing every ounce of sincerity he can into his voice. “It’s the way he thinks, the way he lives, the way he touches, I understand him as much as I want him—”

“That’s enough.”

“I wouldn’t date him if I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“I’m sorry too.” James takes a slow breath. “I’ll love him, Padfoot. I promise I’ll love him right.”

Sirius turns to James with a stricken expression. “Great, now you’re telling me you’ve fallen in love with my brother?”

“Yeah.” James smiles. “That’s just how I work, you know that.”

“We’re here to love. And if we aren’t loving then we aren’t living.”

James squints his eyes at Sirius’ lopsided smile. “Are you…quoting drunk me?”

“I live to quote drunk you, Prongs.”

This time, it’s James who plants a kiss on Sirius’ cheek. They hold each other there, sitting over Euphemia’s grave until the sun winks at them in farewell, and then they text Remus and Peter for a somewhat virtual dinner. 

It’s when they’re back on the motorcycle that Sirius pulls over to the side of the road and spins to look at James with a wide grin. “You could be my brother-in-law!”

“Peter said you’d say that.”

“Oh my fucking god this is amazing!”

James laughs. “I think so too.”

******

Come the next Sunday, James stands in the kitchen at the crack of dawn, also known as 8 AM, waiting for the crust of the Quiche Lorraine to cook and mixing perhaps too many eggs in a bowl. 

“You’ll need a bigger bowl, Prongs.” Peter sighs from the phone. 

“This is my biggest mixing bowl!” James bites his lip, carefully stirring clockwise and trying not to let any of the yellow spill over the edge. “Everyone RSVP’d to brunch so I have to make sure there’s enough food.”

“I know, you’ve mentioned.”

James looks up at Peter’s exasperated tone. “I’m sorry, Wormtail, you know when I say everyone I don’t mean—”

Peter breaks into a smile. “I’m just teasing you. Why are you so stressed anyway? It’s just Sunday brunch.” 

“Yeah but everyone’s coming,” James repeats. “You including. I’m not letting you hang up until they all leave and Sirius passes out for his post-brunch nap.”

“I expect nothing less.”

James switches the whisk from his right hand to his left, shaking out the cramp in his fingers. 

“Are you nervous because Regulus is coming?” Peter says after a moment. “You gonna announce your relationship to everyone Sirius-style?”

“God, no.” James sneaks a look at Sirius’ bedroom door, still firmly shut. “And honestly, I haven’t even thought about telling everyone about me and Reggie. Should we?”

Peter snorts. “That is definitely a question for Regulus.”

“What’s a question for Regulus?” Remus comes out of the bathroom, drying his wet curls with a towel. 

“Me and Reg haven’t told the girls about us yet, and Pete thinks we should.”

“That is not what I said!”

Remus laughs, sliding onto a stool behind the kitchen counter so that he and James are both in the phone’s frame. As he pours himself a cup of coffee, he gives James a small smirk. “So will you?”

“Is it strange that I don’t really mind either way?” James whispers to the bowl of mixed eggs. 

“Wow. How far he’s come from screaming Lily’s name from the rooftops,” Peter says. 

“Literally,” Remus adds. 

The oven timer beeps and James rolls his eyes, turning to take the crust out. “It was one roof, and I was barely screaming.”

“Sure, Prongs.”

James sets the crust down and turns back to his friends. “They all probably suspect something after my birthday party. Hell, maybe Sirius already told them I’m a ‘brotherfucker.’”

“I haven’t.”

James and Remus both look up, finding Sirius leaning on his door frame. “I really wanted to, mind you. But Regulus would have killed me, and—well it would have been a shitty thing to do to my best friend.”

“Thanks, Padfoot.”

Sirius shrugs and crosses the room to plant a kiss on Remus’ lips, the camera on James’ phone, and James’ cheek. He closes the bathroom door and Hozier begins blasting from his phone speaker, the sound of the shower muffling Sirius’ belt. 

“Sooooo,” Peter says. “You going to tell the others or what, Prongs?”

It’s a question James still hasn’t answered by the time the apartment’s full of all of his lovely, lovely friends snacking over a table full of pancakes, fruit, sausage, bacon, Effie’s famous pigs in a blanket (with honey in the middle), and Peter’s Quiche Lorraine. For once in his life, Regulus has decided to make a late entrance, and James flounders a bit under Lily’s gaze, feeling like she can’t see right through him. 

He’s not good at lying to the people he loves, James remembers quite suddenly. In fact, he’s shit at it. 

“So you and Sirius worked it out your lovers’ tiff?” Mary says, one arm wrapped around Lily, the other popping blueberries into her mouth. 

“We’re good,” James confirms with a smile. “Hey Padfoot?” he yells toward Sirius, who’s snoozing between Dorcas and Marlene like a spoiled puppy, Remus leaning against his legs on the floor. 

“Huh?” Sirius turns around immediately, popping his head over the couch. “What’s up, Prongs?”

“Love you!” 

“Love you too!” Sirius smiles sappily then turns back to Dorcas.

“Want to tell us what exactly you two were fighting about?” Lily asks, her green eyes terribly curious. “In all the time we’ve been friends I’ve never seen Sirius mad at you like that. It was…harrowing, honestly.”

“Yeah, that’s the word I used too.” 

“Does it have to do with him and Remus?” Mary says, popping a blueberry between her teeth. 

“I—well—it’s not exactly simple,” James stutters. He turns around, looking for backup, but Remus and Barty are hogging Peter on the phone in the corner, and Regulus still isn’t here.

“Would you, uhm, excuse me for a moment?” James manages to say, gently pushing past Lily to escape into the kitchen, where Sirius’ phone is charging. He unlocks it and quickly finds Regulus’ contact. 

“Hi, yes, I know I’m late, I had to get James a new—”

“It’s me,” James says into the phone. “We’re using my phone to facetime Peter so…”

“Ah.”

“You’re almost here?” James says, glancing around at the mess in his kitchen. It’s nothing to worry about. In fact, he and Remus like to make a concert out of clean-ups after one of them hosts, passing the aux back and forth and using dishrags and brooms as mock guitars and microphones. 

“Is something wrong?” Regulus’ voice raises.

“I—I’m realizing that we haven’t talked about…something and I’m a shit liar.” James laughs weakly. 

“You want to tell everyone about us?” Regulus guesses because of course he does.

“Only if you want. I’m not in any rush but they keep asking me why Sirius and I were fighting and I don’t really know how to answer without—”

“I don’t care. Tell them.”

James recognizes the blunt sincerity of Regulus’ voice and swallows. “Okay. That was…easy.”

“Great. I’m walking up to your door right now.”

“Okay,” James repeats dumbly.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“You going to open the door?”

James sprints out of the kitchen, skidding past Remus to throw open the door. He can feel all of his friends watching him curiously but he doesn’t let himself overthink it, he grins at Regulus standing in the doorway. “Can I kiss you?” 

Regulus cocks his head with a small smile. “I’d like that.”

There’s an audible gasp when James takes Regulus' face in his hands and presses their lips together, taking his time to nip his bottom lip and lick over the seam of his lips. 

“I—I got you a lightbulb,” Regulus stumbles when James pulls away. “Because your porchlight went out.”

“That’s nice of you.” James kisses Regulus’ cheek and takes the small box out of his hands. “Come have some breakfast.”

“Brunch,” Regulus corrects, his eyes fond.

They step into the apartment, finding all of their friends gaping at them, save for Sirius and Remus, the former rolling his eyes and the latter hiding his laugh behind his palm. 

James ignores their stares and leads Regulus to the table. By the time Lily manages to snap out of her daze, Regulus’ plate is half-full and James is fixing him a coffee—black, of course. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, James,” she says, glancing between the two of them. 

“I was happy before too,” James finds himself saying. “At least, when my friends were paying attention to me.”

The comment, to James’ horror, silences the entire room. He feels a hand press into his back and turns to look at Sirius standing between him and his brother.

“What do you mean, James?” Marlene speaks up, Dorcas following her to stand beside Lily and Mary. 

“I’ve just missed you all,” James says quietly. 

“We’re right here.”

“You’ve all been…distracted. In love and all that. Which is lovely, I love that you’re in love, but—”

Lily’s eyes crinkle in understanding. “Oh, James.”

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.” James fidgets under the weight of all their pity. 

“We’ve been neglecting Prongs,” Sirius says, leaning his head on James’ shoulder. “Remus and I especially.”

There’s a chorus of apologies and James brushes them each off. “I’m not upset—I just love you guys, and it’s hard when I’m not able to. Love you all, I mean.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve got Regulus then,” Dorcas jokes, and James knows it’s just that, a joke, but he still stiffens. 

“Reggie’s not a replacement for you guys. And vice-versa.”

Sirius’ hand squeezes James in understanding. 

“Okay.” Dorcas nods, tugging on one of her cornrows. “Yeah, I get that.”

The silence that falls over the group is, perhaps for the first time in all their years of friendship, sickeningly awkward. James even gets a little nauseous from it, and has to lean into Sirius’ weight to keep it together. 

Then Peter clears his throat from James’ phone in Marlene’s hand. “So how’s the Quiche Lorraine?”

James bites the inside of a cheek, coughing on a laugh that Sirius joins. 

“It’s good,” Regulus answers, a fork poised a few inches from his mouth. He smirks at James. “Dangerously so.”

Sirius frowns at the inside joke, nudging James to explain it to him, while the rest of the group return to their conversations, Wormtail’s awkward interruption a smashing success. James makes a note to tell him thanks later.

But for now, he entertains himself with the Black brothers bickering, delighted when Marlene pulls him aside to debate the best Eurovision performances. He finds himself being passed between his friends a bit like a new puppy, everyone wanting a chance to hold and coo at him. 

James drinks up their undivided attention, his skin settling back over his bones as the people he loves return to him, one by one. Later he’ll slip out onto the balcony and steal a kiss or two from Regulus, but until then, he laughs with his friends as Sirius recounts the latest drama in his line chef sagas.

His people, he thinks to himself. His purpose. 

His home.