the rumors are terrible and cruel
Regulus Black did not like idiots. His pet peeve was stupidity. One might have thought that after making it into Columbia, far away from his abusive family, he would have been able to escape the dense people of this Earth, but he seemed to have instead jumped straight to them. He didn’t particularly want to live in New York, but it was far enough from his homeland, France, and it was the first city that came to mind when he decided to leave. Columbia just happened to be in the city, and he just happened to be accepted.
While he would never admit it, he was glad that he had chosen that specific college and this specific city. He had met one of two people who had ever managed to get close to him. Remus would never replace what Sirius was to him once, but he had wrangled his way into Regulus’ heart somehow, and it was considerably nice not to be lonely. That was the emotion he associated with France and everything that had to do with his life before.
Sirius had left to pursue his dreams of music in England first, then moved over to America after he had made a name for himself. He was a rock-and-roll sensation and a household name. He was a legend, and everyone wanted either to be with him or be him. Regulus would have preferred if he had never existed in the first place. Well, that wasn’t true. He supposed somewhere deep inside, in a place so dark he would never dare venture into it, he wanted Sirius to be alive. He just wanted to never hear his name. Why couldn’t his brother have been an accountant or stayed in France, where artists very rarely became mainstream enough for Americans to know their names? But Sirius was Sirius, and seemingly no one had managed to do anything to change that fact, so, of course, he had run away from home and became the most popular man in music.
So because Sirius was who he was, Regulus had to see his name on every social media post. He had seen as his brother became more and more famous, as he had sold out larger and larger venues, as he had shrugged off every question about his past before England, and Regulus hated it. Truly hated it. Sirius always found ways to shove everything about him into their conservative parents’ faces. So, naturally, Sirius had to shove his glorified name into Regulus’ face every time he dared to step outside of his apartment.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine how bad his life would have been if the media and the world knew that he and Sirius were related. It had come up in interviews, and Regulus had always chalked the resemblance and the last name to coincidence. It did help that Sirius had picked up a British accent from his time in London, and Regulus had never fully managed to shake off his French accent. It only came out when he said certain words, but it was still there enough to annoy him.
When Sirius had run away from home and left Regulus with their parents, Regulus had been thirteen. It was then that he figured if he pushed away any memories of Sirius and just avoided thinking about him, he would move on. After all, Regulus would never have been able to forgive him for abandoning him. Sure, Sirius had been a kid, but Regulus had been a kid, too.
Now, they were both grown and were supposed to have matured, but even though Regulus knew that he was in the same country as Sirius, he would never reach out. He would continue to ignore his existence and conveniently forget the stabbing feeling in his gut every time he saw Sirius’ face on a billboard or heard his name on the subway. Regulus had never actually listened to Sirius’ music because if he knew what it sounded like, well, then he would recognize it everywhere because he knew that it was played everywhere.
There was a knock on the door, and Regulus stood from his spot on the couch. The television was on and playing some long-running sitcom, but muted. His apartment was too big for his taste, but he had bought it for the building’s security measures, not how it looked. This was how he ended up with a home that looked more like a highly technologically advanced hotel. There were countless sleek edges and black tables. But it looked modern, so even if he didn’t love it as much as he could, at least it didn’t remind him of his childhood home.
Regulus pulled the door open, not caring that he was wearing sweatpants and a large black t-shirt. He had given the people at the front desk a list of people who could come up to his apartment. He could have counted the number of people on that list with one finger, and Remus had already seen Regulus at his worst during their college years, so he didn’t quite care how he saw him now.
“What are you doing here?” Regulus spoke, no warmth to his words. He truly didn’t know why Remus stuck around, but he was secretly thankful that he did.
Remus shrugged, pushing past Regulus and into the apartment. “Was bored,” he explained miserably as he set his backpack on the wide kitchen table and shrugged off his winter coat.
Closing the door, Regulus raised his eyebrows. “Still can’t write?” He asked, knowing fully about Remus’ problems with his newest book because he talked about them. Often. They walked further into the room, and Remus dropped onto the couch, propped his feet up on the coffee table, and sighed deeply. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Regulus spoke and moved to where he had sat before.
Remus dropped his head against the wall. “Lily told me to stop forcing it and listen to music.”
“What’s music got to do with writing?” he asked.
He hadn’t met Lily many times. If he thought about it, he had really only seen her a few times at gatherings for one of Remus’ accomplishments. For example, the last time he had seen Lily, it had been on the day of the publication of Remus’ fifth book. It had been a small get-together with very few people. Lily had asked for his number, and Regulus had reluctantly given it. He knew it was so Lily could text him for the surprise party she was planning for Remus’ birthday, but he tried not to let his personal phone number get out too much.
They had polite conversation every so often. She texted Regulus her review of whatever movie or show he was in, and it was always an honest review. He knew for sure because the last movie he had acted in, she hated it, and he read a two-page essay about how much. It had been entertaining, to say the least, and very descriptive. He saw why she was a writer, but he knew nothing about writing, which was why he found it so hard to tell Remus how to fix his state.
Regulus was the type of person who fixed someone’s problems instead of just listening to them rant. He didn’t understand why someone would want to just talk about a problem when it could have gone away had they done anything about it. He supposed that was why he had so few friends, but he was fine with that. He liked isolation. He thrived on it. He would have much preferred to act completely alone, but that was impossible, and he wasn’t about to put on a one-man act, so he sucked it up.
Remus shrugged once more and dragged a hand over his face, only strengthening his tired image. “I don’t know. Something about feeling the music and finding inspiration in it.” Regulus scoffed. “Hey, I’m desperate here. If it works, I’ll mock you for thinking otherwise until the end of time.”
“Go ahead,” he said, completely serious. “Better yet, name a character after me in the book you can finally write and kill them off.”
Grabbing the remote, Remus nodded his head slowly, thinking over the idea. “That sounds fun, actually. I’ll try that.” He began to flip through what was on cable instead of watching the rerun episode of the old comedy show that had that repeating laughter track every few minutes, which was why Regulus had muted it.
Regulus pulled out his phone and began to scroll through his email. Eventually, Remus settled on some soccer game, and Regulus was shifting through his never-ending inbox. He looked up to see a man clutching his leg and rolling on the ground. He had always found how sensitive soccer players were funny.
He lifted his eyes to the television and saw that it was still on the game. “I didn’t think you were a soccer fan,” Regulus prompted, raising his eyebrows in amusement.
Remus laughed and slightly shoved Regulus, which he responded to with a kick to Remus’ side. He pulled back in mock pain. “Ow. And I’m not, but I’ve read too much about this game not to be curious,” he responded, looking back at the screen.
“Since when did you read about sports?” They had both strayed away from any type of team sport since they were children. Really, Regulus only worked out because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get the roles he wanted.
Casting directors wanted him not just because he was a brilliant actor but also because he was easy to fall in love with on the screen, which was more than slightly due to his attractiveness, and society's beauty standards dictated that being fit was an important part of being beautiful. But he could embody another person and make you think they were real. He had learned to be the son his parents’ had wanted after Sirius made it very clear that he wasn’t. Regulus had been lying to survive since he was born, so, naturally, he was very good at it. People fell in love with the person he pretended to be, but the moment the camera turned off, he was cold. He was distant and sarcastic. Still, there was something charming about how mean he was that made people not want to turn away. Everyone wanted to be the one to change him, but no one would. They just hadn’t realized it yet.
Remus snorted and turned his head to pear at Regulus. “I will do anything not to think about writing until I can’t anymore. This game is all over the news. How James Potter, star player of America’s national soccer team, tore his ACL three weeks ago, crushing the hopes of the team winning the World Cup,” he recited like he had read the headline five thousand times and had memorized it.
Regulus looked up at the television once more and saw the man who had been clutching his leg—James Potter, he assumed—being lifted off the field and taken somewhere. It was sad, sure, but Regulus didn’t follow sports, so he didn’t really care too much.
“Well, are you hungry? I was just about to order something.”
He hummed and turned off the television, erasing the images of concerned teammates from Regulus’ living room. “I could go for some pizza,” Remus suggested. “How about from that place down the block? The one with the really big slices.”
He nodded, moving to the kitchen table where he had left his charger and plugged in his phone. “I don’t want to go out.”
“When was the last time you left the house?” Remus asked, but Regulus didn’t answer because if he had thought about it, the answer would have been almost a week. He hadn’t started filming for his newest movie, and there were no interviews he had to push through yet. “Exactly, you need fresh air, Reg.”
No one else would have been able to coax Regulus out of his beloved hole, but Remus was like no one else. He had stayed no matter how hard Regulus had pushed him out. Even when he hadn’t given Remus a place to stay, he had. He had stood on the other side of Regulus’ door and hammered on it until Regulus had had no other choice but to open it.
Regulus rolled his eyes, admitting defeat to the only person he would. “Fine, but you’re paying.”
Leaping off the couch, Remus glowed in victory. It only took ten minutes for Regulus to get changed and step out of the door to his apartment. His phone still wasn’t fully charged, but it had enough battery to last a few hours. They walked to the pizzeria Remus had mentioned.
They sat at a secluded booth in the back of the restaurant. Their frames were mostly covered by fake trees, which Regulus appreciated. It was funny how being a famous actor and a famous writer were completely opposite in terms of recognition. People would recognize Remus’ name on paper, but rarely his face. People would recognize Regulus by his face, less by his name. As someone who enjoyed the shadows, he occasionally thought that he should have just become a writer. Or done something in the dark. But he did like acting, and even if he hated the socialization aspect, he liked being known. He liked being intimidating and maybe even feared. After all, it was the least a Black could be. He had to be powerful; the need was quite literally in his blood.
The waitress brought their pizza to them. Remus had chosen, and Regulus had gone with his choice, even if he had been slightly appalled at the idea of putting honey on pizza, but Remus had sworn it was amazing. Regulus let his shoulder-length hair hide his face as she placed the food in front of them. He usually ordered his food to his apartment to avoid the stares.
Luckily, Remus kept most of her attention on him, and she was very clearly flirting with him. He was polite but didn’t flirt back. The waitress left them to their own devices soon enough, and Regulus stifled a laugh as he passed a plate to Remus and grabbed a fork and a knife. He placed a slice on his plate and began to cut into it with his utensils.
“Seven years later, and I still can’t believe you eat pizza with a fork and a knife,” Remus laughed, holding his own slice with his hands.
Regulus was European; sue him. He had been taught to eat his food with a fork and knife. Besides, it was more hygienic anyway. “She was flirting with you,” he pointed out, changing the subject.
“She wasn’t.” He took a bite of his pizza, and so did Regulus.
He hated Remus. The combination was good. He never would have guessed. Honey on pizza. He couldn’t tell his Italian friends; they might have killed him.
“Why didn’t you just tell her?” he asked, ignoring Remus’ denial.
Remus shrugged, placing the pizza on his plate and taking a sip of water. “She was probably just being nice for tips,” he reasoned.
“Twenty bucks says her number will be on our bill.” Regulus very rarely made bets, but this one was harmless, and he was very certain it would be.
“Fine.” There was a pause in conversation before Remus’ eyes widened in excitement. “You’ll never guess what music Lily has me listening to.”
Neither of them were particularly passionate about music. Remus simply liked the spoken and written word more than lyrics paired with sound. Regulus had been forced into classical music, so he hated all music on principle. He knew how to play the piano and violin. He could even sing pretty well, but he left that to his brother. He figured that if he came out with the fact that his voice was at least half decent, then the conspiracy theorists would double down on them being related, and one person who recognized Sirius from France would be enough to pair their names together forever.
“Who?” He was fairly confident that it would either be some incredibly niche artist with unusual music or someone he knew. He had worked with enough people on soundtracks for movies and met them at premieres and award shows.
Remus took another drink of water and picked up another slice of pizza before answering. “Sirius Black. You know, that guy who everyone thought was your brother for a while?” he added, trying to jog Regulus’ memory when he would never need to be reminded just who Sirius was.
Regulus froze. He had never told Remus they were related. He didn’t think Remus knew, but could he? Was there something in Sirius’ lyrics that would lead to him? No, there couldn’t be. Someone would have found it and sold it to the first tabloid. But Remus had always had a way of seeing through him, even when he thought his walls were pitch black. He had been quiet for too long, and now Remus was looking at him with an odd expression.
“Oh,” he forced himself to choke out. “Is it working? Are you inspired?” Regulus hoped that Remus would take this as an invitation to ramble on about Sirius’ music, and Regulus would block it out because he couldn’t stand to know anything about his brother’s success.
“Well, I haven’t listened to many songs, but it’s good so far. I got through a bit of his debut album on the way to your place. He has good lyrics. I think you’d like them.” Remus didn’t know how cruel he was being. “You should give him a listen.”
Regulus nodded his head, trying to get this part of their conversation to end. “I’ll try.” He wouldn’t. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to the bathroom.”
Before Remus even had the time to process what he said, Regulus was out of his side of the booth and moving toward the bathroom. He needed a moment. There was a bulletin board in front of the doors to the restroom, and he looked at the posted ads. As if the universe were laughing at him, there was a printed flier with Sirius’ face on it. He couldn’t stop himself from reading it, from almost reaching up to trace the ink that formed Sirius. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t realize it.
There was that feeling in his stomach again. It only worsened when he realized the flier was advertising Sirius’ long-awaited tour. The Star’s Journey Home tour would be in New York City for three nights. February 25. February 26. February 27. Those dates were now engraved in his memory, like the date Sirius ran away from home. October 14, for anyone asking.
He fell against the wall opposite the bulletin board, not making it to the bathroom. He slid down until he sat on the dirty floor in a dark corridor. He heard the chatter of people a few feet away, but he couldn’t really hear it because Regulus Black was thirteen again, sitting on his bedroom floor, crying his eyes out because his hero had left him with the monsters. And he wouldn’t be saved by his brother this time either.