make them see it
James
“Lockhart!” James booms as he sprints to an open position, kicking up dark crumbs of astroturf behind him and readying himself for the football to come into his possession. Gilderoy’s signature golden hair bounces when he looks up from fighting off Fenwick’s very passionate attempt at tackling him, and thankfully sends the ball straight over to James, an expression of relief relaxing his face at no longer being faced with the possibility of being at fault for the other team seizing the ball from James’ one’s tight clutches. James runs in long strides, taking the ball with him at his feet with careful precision as he’s painstakingly aware of the few men desperately following him close behind, and pauses only for a split-second when he arrives in front of the opposing team’s goal. With a swift, practiced kick of his foot he launches the ball into the net, only unfocusing from its movement after it slides past the goalie’s gloved fingers by an inch, he got lucky there, really, and Kingsley’s whistle loudly signals another goal scored.
“Alright! That’s enough, lads,” Moody’s voice blares, and James exhales a few panted breaths, tilting his head up towards the sky and allowing himself a minute to rest before he has to gather with the rest of his team around their manager and coach. Peter staggers his way over to James from under the net of the goal he just scored into—their team practices a five-a-side match the training session before an actual one as per tradition and Moody’s stubborn insistence—also breathing heavily as he tugs his goalkeeper gloves off with some difficulty. They nod to each other, grinning and sloppily exchanging the handshake they created together on Peter’s first week with the Lions’.
“Good game,” Peter exhales with a self-deprecating smile after his team lost to James’, though considerably narrowly. James nods jerkily.
“Good game,” He mutters back, and they set off slowly towards their teammates and various coaches, plus Moody who is their team manager, everyone trickling into one sweaty, exhausted mess of a huddling group, a little reluctantly as they all just want to shower and go home. Moody finishes hollering for people to hurry up when Peter and James finally stumble to his side, and he claps his hands a few times to gather the attention he always naturally commands anyway.
“Lads, we’re shaping up real nice this season, but that doesn’t mean we can get too comfortable! Jones, you’re favouring your left, book a personal training appointment right bloody now or I’ll do it for you. Boffin, I want you to sprint to the ball, not jog like you’re on a lovely Sunday stroll, alright? Pettigrew, you’re holding your own damn well but Durmstrang is ruthless, you’ve got to be focused and ready for them tomorrow. Potter, anything to add?” Moody turns to him abruptly, his prosthetic eye darting all over the place with the sudden movement and James opens his mouth to answer until he notices Kingsley’s extremely pissed-off expression and decidedly shuts it again.
“Alastor, you can’t just do my job for me,” Kingsley tells the man sternly, clearly scandalised, though Moody doesn’t pay him any attention, not even dignifying him with a second glance, and Kingsley just sighs and shakes his head, muttering something about self-centered bastards under his breath. James stares for a second, slightly bewildered, before he remembers himself and clears his throat, looking around at his team with a proud smile.
“Everything Moody said, but Lockhart you need to pass the ball if you’re about to lose it, look around at your options, yeah? Good game though lads, I think we’ve got a good chance of winning tomorrow,” He shares his wisdom, and everyone, including Kingsley, Moody and the several assistant coaches and personal trainers hovering in the background immediately press a hand to their heart at James’ last words. A superstition created to unjinx a Gryffindor Captain’s encouraging words from accidentally cursing his team into losing their next match, and something to do with caressing the heart of the Lion – James used to find it ridiculous but now he feels as if he’ll personally combust if he doesn’t ensure the warding off the bad luck is practiced by absolutely everyone present. He’s not taking any chances. Moody and him are similar in that way, so his teammates know better now than to roll their eyes and claim they can’t be bothered like they used to when James first joined the Gryffindor club.
Kingsley puts in a few words of his own, though in an entertainingly petty manner aimed towards Moody who visibly couldn’t give a flying fuck, and then with a final clap on the back they’re granted permission to change and leave, except for Daniel Jones who is grumpily ushered into a PT’s office at Moody’s express order to sort out his leg-favouring, and James who is intriguingly asked to stay behind.
“What’s up?” He asks, walking the few steps over to Kingsley and Moody when mostly everyone else has left the pitch. To his surprise, both Moody and Kingsley smile at him like something very exciting is going on and he should be smiling too, and so he does, even if slightly unsure of why.
“Potter, we’ve been informed of an opportunity—” Kingsley begins before Moody predictably cuts him off in a classic disregard of the other man’s authority and feelings, thankfully not giving James the chance to grow nervous at whatever they’re trying to tell him.
“Albus Dumbledore invited you to the Yule Ball,” Moody says bluntly, and Kingsley’s head whips around to face him, frowning.
“We were going to tell him together,” He complains, and Alastor shakes his head plainly.
“I never agreed to that,” He insists and Kingsley scoffs loudly, clearly gearing up to start the argument that has been brewing between them all day, as it does everyday, though James who was previously just watching the both of them silently decides he’s officially had enough and wants whatever this is to be over so he can go and have his shower, thank you very much.
“I know I’m going to the Yule Ball, I got a letter a few days ago,” He announces, slightly louder than necessary to make sure they hear him over their incessant bickering and that they actually remember why they’re there and, more specifically, why James is still there with them too. Kingsley and Moody both turn to him, blinking confusedly like they were fully convinced that they would be the ones to break this extraordinary news to him, and suddenly James is very grateful that they weren’t. Moody clears his throat awkwardly.
“Right well, I’m going and bringing Shacklebolt here and potentially Pettigrew or someone else with me. You’re bringing that singer bloke Sirius whats-his-name, I assume?” Kingsley regards him curiously at this question, and James blinks, swallowing down a certain lump in his throat. He tilts his head, attempting to work out what exactly he can say to this that doesn’t give away more than he’s comfortable with.
“Well, I might but it’s complicated—”
“Alright then, I don’t care. The female Lions’ team manager, Hooch, has been invited and she’s bringing her players as well so they want us to turn it into a little PR event for Gryffindor – whatever that means. We’re all coming in together on that useless red-carpet malarkey, though, so you’ll have to make Simon–Steven–Stephanie, I don’t care what his name is, wait for you, alright? You’ll have to stick by us for a little bit before you go off and get sloshed like all you younglings do nowadays, bloody stupid if you ask me, so you can shake hands with all the right people, etc. Got it?” Moody explains in true grumpy, middle-aged white man fashion, whilst Kingsley nods along dutifully, and James listens carefully, trying not to show his annoyance at how he’s not just allowed to immediately go and get hammered with his friends, Regulus, who did get his own invite to the Ball in the end much to his astonishment and suspicion, and a bunch of absolute sports legends. He nods nonetheless, working to keep his polite smile on his face, and Kingsley races to get a word in before Moody, shooting him a smug look that he still doesn’t seem to give a fuck about when he does.
“We’ll talk about transportation and details closer to the time, and with the Lionesses there too. I’m guessing you’ve seen that bloody weird dress code but we’re thinking of all wearing a little bit of red or something,” Kingsley tells him with badly-contained enthusiasm and then him and Moody start to argue about who’s idea the wearing red thing was, and James takes that as his cue to leave. He nods to both of them and says his thanks that barely goes acknowledged further than a quick reciprocated nod from Kingsley and a half-wave from Moody before he lazily makes his way back to the changing rooms alone. Which is never a good thing, really. Alone gives James time to think, and he’s got far more to think about than he’d like to admit. It’s Friday, meaning it’s been a week since he and Sirius stumbled into Godric’s Hollow and six days since they last spoke to one another, which is a new record for them that only seems to be increasing. It also means that his dinner with his parents is tonight and no matter of its outcome he still has to bring himself to roll out of bed tomorrow to play a fucking football match against Durmstrang, and win. On top of that, he’s got this Yule Ball to think about— well, there’s not much to think about, really. He’s going, he’s bringing Regulus which won’t seem normal if Sirius isn’t with them, which he quite possibly might not be, and he’s also being forced to work for at least a quarter of the event when he was really looking forward to purely partying from the night’s start to finish like he barely ever gets the chance to nowadays. That can’t be helped, though, and so he tries to focus on the positive that he’ll get to finally spend some time with Madam Hooch, the Lionesses’ manager who he’s always looked up to from afar and some of her star players that he occasionally speaks to in passing in the hallways of the Gryffindor building, though has never had more than a few light conversations with. He might even be able to discuss Marlene’s placement on their team with them that he’s determined to get for her, despite admittedly not knowing how well she plays and her blatant refusal of the idea, and it’s as he’s making a mental note to do just this that the repetitive calling of his name blinks him back to reality and he realises with a start that he’s somehow made it all the way inside the changing rooms and is mid-way through undressing completely on autopilot. And also hasn’t said a word to anyone else, which is highly unusual for him.
Peter, of course, seems to be the first to notice and is waving a pink hand in front of James’ face, an irritated yet mildly concerned look on his own one, and James rears back slightly as the world comes into focus as much as it can do with his contact lenses removed and his glasses not yet on.
“James. James. James? James!” Peter yells incredulously when he doesn’t respond, and James has to duck out of the way of his swinging hand with a startled laugh when Peter apparently decides that slapping him around the head is the best way of shocking him out of his trance.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry!” He screeches as Peter continues to grab for him as some sort of punishment for his sins until they both fall back onto the benches laughing loudly. Peter lolls his head towards James when they’ve calmed down a bit, a question in his eyes and an amused smile on his rosy lips.
“What was that all about, then? With Moody and Kingsley,” He asks, which James really saw coming, and he leans closer to the boy which only increases the clear enthralment etched across Peter’s face.
“Look don’t tell anyone but I’ve been invited to the Yule Ball, and Moody—” James lowers his voice significantly, but of course Kieran Sparks, his most obnoxious and boisterous teammate, happens to walk past at that exact moment and just has to immediately share his newfound information with the class without giving James so much time as to bat an eye.
“Oi oi! Potter’s going to the Yule Ball, bring us with you Cap?” Kieran hollers, actually cupping his hands around his mouth, and proceeds to clap James on the shoulder just a little too hard, prompting all nine of their other teammates to do the same but in a considerably nicer and well-meaning way. James bears through it with an exceptionally strained smile and the fake high-spirited, rowdy athlete persona he’s forced to undertake occasionally in his profession, and only falters momentarily when he catches Peter staring at him with something strange and unreadable flashing in his eyes before it’s gone and he’s joining in with all the animated shouting and shoulder-punching again. James considers telling him how Moody is considering taking him to the Ball in an attempt to cheer him up from whatever that was, but decides against it in case it doesn’t actually happen and he gets Peter’s hopes up for nothing. Shaking it off, James showers and changes as quickly as possible so he can get away from all of these people trying to shove him around and shout congratulations right in his face, finding himself speed-walking and swearing under his breath by the time he reaches the parking lot. He told not only himself but both his therapist and Regulus that he was going to stop pretending to be happy when he’s quite clearly not but that situation had to be the exception if he doesn’t want to be seen as the strict, short-tempered Captain that nobody likes. He would rather pretend to be happy for the rest of his goddamn life than ever be perceived as that.
With a shake of his head, James makes the journey with such ease that it could be to his own home to Regulus’ house, where he’s been staying since Regulus had to go back to collect some book copies to sign, feeling the tension seep out of his shoulders as he unlocks the front door with the key Regulus gifted him over two years ago now.
“Meu amor, estou em casa!” He calls out, a pure happiness in his tone that he feels flood through him as the familiar scent of lavender that Regulus insists on vigorously filling his home with tickles his senses all at once.
“Estou na sala de jantar!” Regulus’ voice yells back from somewhere in the distance, and James grins widely to himself. He steps out of his trainers that he treats like his own children to ensure that they stay stark white, and drops his red duffel bag down on the floor in the way Regulus hates, and with a relieved roll of his shoulders he tells himself that he’ll deal with its contents properly later on. First, he’s going to find his practical fiancé in this practical mansion he’s always secretly thought is quite unnecessarily large, however well-decorated it is.
He blindly follows the echo of Regulus’ voice to the dining room, where he said he would be, and steps through the dramatic archway of an entrance to find him right where he left him approximately seven hours ago. A little worrying, to say the least. Regulus is sitting at his oak dining table, his shoulders slightly bent—which is the direct equivalent from Regulus’ eternally impeccable posture of a normal person being completely folded over onto the tabletop with exhaustion and muscle pain—and is scribbling what looks like his signature in impressive swirls on the opening page of the book James has already read the entirety of, twice, before quickly moving onto the next copy with the efficiency of a factory machine. Regulus’ brand new manuscript got made and manufactured into a book stunningly fast, and James doesn’t even want to know how much money he had to flash around his fancy publishers’ house to make that happen. James is very aware of the type of slimy businessmen and women that Regulus has to associate himself with daily to ensure he gets the absolute best deal possible for his work and as much as he doesn’t like it, he trusts that Regulus knows what he’s doing. That isn’t to say this hasn’t been the topic of a good amount of arguments between them in the past though, until James eventually accepted with a heaving sigh and unmistakable unease that Regulus is going to carry on as he is whether he likes it or not, so he might as well grow accustomed to the idea.
“Hi,” He mutters into the crook of Regulus’ neck as he darts forward to wrap his arms around him, forcing him to take a break from his endless book-signing he’s subjecting himself to. Regulus laughs fondly, the noise contrasting against the small grumble of protest he made as James purposefully knocked the thick, black pen out of his hand, now instead using it to cover James’ own as it rests loosely against his chest. A few more, deliciously warm moments are spent exactly like that until James feels a tug of hunger deep in the gaping pit of his stomach that he often gets right after training and breaks away from Regulus carefully with a chaste kiss to his cheek, starting off in the direction of the kitchen that connects straight to the dining room anyway. Standing in front of the smooth, grey cupboards, James considers preparing himself a late lunch despite it almost being four in the afternoon, and remembers with a drop of his stomach and, coincidentally, a significant loss of his appetite that he’s meeting his parents for dinner in a mere couple of hours too. This normally would make his stomach growl more at the thought of his parents’ mouth-watering cooking, and it still does, but the inevitable conversation topic to be brought up makes him feel rather violently ill afterwards. He braces himself against the counter, hoping to all that is holy that Regulus isn’t watching him right now, and decides with a drop of his head and a hand pressed to his cart-wheeling heart that he’s going to eat something anyway because important conversations about secret-boyfriends to parents shouldn’t be made on an empty stomach. James personally doesn’t have any experience in that specific field, but it sounds about right and so he proceeds to make himself a basic sandwich because he’s far too inexperienced to quickly whip up anything better and he doesn’t have the proper supervision Regulus claims he needs when making a proper meal in the kitchen currently. Munching on his sandwich, if a little reluctantly due to his nervous system making it a bit hard to eat right now, James leans backwards against the cupboards behind him and watches Regulus work, as elegant as ever. He finishes his sandwich quietly a few minutes later, not speaking until he’s eventually put his plate down into the sink because Regulus can’t stand when people talk with their mouth full, and rightfully so James is finding himself beginning to think as he matures slowly from young adulthood into ‘proper’ adulthood. Emerging from the sink, he takes his place by the counter again and folds his arms, eyeing the extremely large cardboard box resting by Regulus’ feet amusedly.
“How many books are you signing?” James asks, raising his voice a little to make sure Regulus hears him from the dining room and the smile in it. Regulus sets his pen down, which James counts as a small victory, and exhales, stretching his back and his arms as he turns around to face James in his chair with a soft smile of his own.
“A thousand,” He replies with a weary tone once he’s finished stretching, and James takes a few steps towards him instinctively; though he hasn’t always known what it meant, he’s naturally gravitated towards Regulus in any room, in any circumstance for as long as he can remember.
“And how many copies are you predicted to sell?” James knows the answer. Regulus knows he knows the answer but adheres to his antics anyway, a small smirk growing on his lips that James suspects is subconscious which makes it even better in his opinion.
“A million,” Regulus says proudly, and certainly not for the first time this past week because James so far hasn’t failed to bring up in conversation at least once a day how his boyfriend is literally a million-copy bestselling author, the same faint blush spreading across his cheeks as it always does. James grins toothily, walking forwards quickly to close the gap between them and tug Regulus into a kiss that hopefully shows him just how proud he really is, even though James is quite sure he must already know it.
“James,” Regulus pants into his open mouth, enclosing his own hands around James’ to get them to still their roaming underneath his jumper, and James pulls back, the edge of the table cutting into him from where he somehow ended up on Regulus’ lap, straddling him, in the time between now and five minutes ago. A common problem the two of them keep facing, but also one they don’t particularly want to get rid of. Except in times like these, apparently. Regulus stares into his eyes apologetically, and James’ body is already protesting what’s bound to come out of his mouth next. “I have to work, I’m sorry. These need to get done by Sunday,” He gestures a loose hand around to the piles and piles of books surrounding them, and James flicks his eyes over them, chewing his lip as he attempts to think of a solution. It looks as though Regulus is very nearly halfway done anyway; James thinks he can just about coax an hour or two of rest out of him, if he plays this right. No need for that though, as when he turns his gaze back on Regulus, he’s already staring right back at him, or more specifically, the lip he’s been absently biting for the past thirty seconds. James smirks, shifting forwards on Regulus’ lap purposely and hums as if thoughtfully when a quiet gasp escapes his mouth.
“Take a break for me?” James whispers, bringing his face closer to Regulus’ and using his hands to frame it. Regulus swallows, considers, and nods earnestly after the longest moment of James’ life. James grins, shifting himself once more.
* * *
They did indeed take a break together. James sighs contently into Regulus’ chest, letting his eyes fall shut as he feels his fingers carding through his hair gently, stretching his legs out across the bed they’ve since found themselves on. Regulus presses a kiss to the top of his head.
“I’m coming to your match tomorrow,” Regulus tells him, his voice slow and still slightly rough. James pushes himself up so he can look at him, a grin spreading across his face.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Regulus confirms, mirroring his obvious excitement, and James surges forwards to kiss him again, unable to help himself. Most of the time Sirius comes to James’ games and would immediately recognise Regulus anywhere, honestly it’s like they’ve got a sixth sense for each other, which James learnt the hard way over these past seven years, meaning that Regulus has only risked attending a handful of his games as opposed to the dozens that he plays each year as a simple precautionary. It doesn’t have to be that way anymore, though. They aren’t too worried about what the media will have to say about Regulus’ sudden repetitive attendance to his games as either the son of renowned and also globally hated politician Orion Black, or the brother of astounding superstar Sirius Black, or even the anonymous ultra successful author R.A.B that very, very few know the true identity of. Everyone will probably assume they’ve just become fast friends through Sirius, anyway. History will say they were roommates and all that.
They eventually go back to lying innocently together, talking idly about their respective days; James raising his eyebrows when Regulus mentions how his cousin, Narcissa, attempted to call him today when he was so sure he blocked her number, and Regulus’ shoulders shaking with laughter when James tells him how Moody accidentally called Sirius ‘Stephanie’ today. It’s as James is sitting up to do a demonstration of how Kieran fully attempted, and failed, to single-handedly pick him up in the changing rooms as some sort of celebration to the Yule Ball invite for an extremely amused Regulus that the time on their glowing alarm clock once again catches his eye and once again it leads him to sigh disappointedly. When James falters, Regulus twists his body and follows his gaze, looking back to him with a sympathetic expression.
“Your dinner with your parents is soon?” Regulus guesses, and James runs a hand over his face, adjusting his glasses from where they were knocked slightly askew.
“Yes, in forty-five,” James says reluctantly once his hand drops back down to his side, his mouth set in a firm line as he thinks of what’s to come. He can’t allow himself to get overwhelmed and back out as he fears he might do, which is exactly why he’s decidedly repressed his plans for today until this very second where the prospect of coming out to his parents is suddenly seeming really quite terrifying, and with the added weight of admitting to them that he’s been in a serious relationship with their second, non-biological son’s, who’s also now not speaking to him, little brother for years without telling anyone. Jesus christ, if James could fight anyone in the world it would be his past self, really.
Regulus must sense his unease as he pulls James into a hug that he immediately melts into, and even though it doesn’t work to disperse his fear, it makes it a little less unbearable to know he’s not facing it alone. That at the end of the night he’ll have Regulus to go home to, whatever happens.
“I would offer to come with you to make it easier but I don’t think it would help this time,” Regulus mutters into James’ bare shoulder, and James exhales, nodding his head in a way he knows Regulus can feel against his skin. However daunting it may sound, he does need to do this alone, for himself, and he’s so glad Regulus understands that without needing to be told at all. He pulls back, gripping James’ shoulders lightly but sternly, as if James is preparing to go to war and his amazing speech of encouragement is about to follow, which is actually not too bad of a metaphor for his situation because the washing machine his stomach has spontaneously turned into is really making him feel like he is heading straight into a battlefield. “Your parents really love you James, and that’s something that can’t simply change in one conversation, whatever it may be about. They’ve never made a homophobic comment, right? And they’re accepting of Sirius, so I think your odds are looking pretty good. And about me, I’m sure they’ll be a little confused at first, maybe doubtful since this is the first time they’re hearing about me in this way, but they’ll come around, I’m sure. I’ll be by your side throughout all of it, okay sweetheart? It’ll be fine though, they love you James, I’ve seen it,” He has, at birthday parties and album release parties and even one exceptionally strange Christmas, Regulus has met James’ parents. Quite awkward for James and Regulus as Effie kept gushing over her three sons and how they all act like brothers, but still, they’ve met and James knows Regulus knows what he’s talking about, and that he’s right, deep down. He can’t do anything but stare at Regulus with eyes he knows have gone all big and sad in the classically pathetic way that they still do even at his grown age of twenty-three, and yet Regulus doesn’t seem to mind as he moves his hands up to cup James’ face, swiping his thumbs to rid him of tears that he can’t form, and smiling softly, dotingly, desperately as if James is the light of his universe and it’s physically paining him to see him from a darker angle. He tilts their foreheads together. “I love you James, make them see it,” He whispers, and coincidentally opens James’ metaphorical eyes that he was keeping tightly screwed shut in fear of what he’ll have to face in front of him if he doesn’t. James doesn’t feel scared anymore. Well, yes, he does, he’s shitting bricks actually, but he feels very inspired as well now after hearing Regulus say those words like they’re in a fucking play or something, and James is about to leap up and break into a song and dance routine about empowerment. So of course he does just that. Leaping out of bed in an energetic and motivated way, he means, not a complete song and dance routine, however tempting it was, he suspects Regulus might’ve broken up with him if he did. They both chuckle as James races about the room though, twirling from one cabinet to another, Regulus shaking his head affectionately when he attempts to give the permanently mundane action of buttoning up a shirt some flair with occasional swishes of his fingers.
Regulus drags himself out of bed to put on some clothes of his own as James sprays the bottle of cologne he keeps specially round Regulus’ house and straightens his shirt collar in the mirror with a set of his shoulders. Regulus tugs on the black joggers that he was wearing earlier, that he also never leaves the house in as a general rule, which is how James already knows when he mumbles, “I’ll be here,” to him as they kiss goodbye for what’s probably a few moments too long compared to what can normally be classed as a ‘goodbye kiss’. Even after they break apart, James still feels all warm and fuzzy inside, and it’s not until he’s sitting in his car on his parents’ driveway fifteen minutes later that his thoughts begin to freeze over again. His engine is cut off, so he relies on his phone screen to watch the time change over to 18:01. He’s officially late. James has never, not once, been late to one of his parents’ dinners; he’s almost always early, in fact. It feels weirdly like a new beginning to a new person. His parents are about to find out about such a huge part of himself that will change the way they view him forever, because, yes, they love him, but they also just love the parts of him that they know. They don’t know the pathological liar he’s become. They don’t know the utter betrayal and hurt Sirius is dealing with that he’s at the hand of. They don’t know that he’s practically engaged to another man whilst they’re still tirelessly searching through their network of family friends to find a suitable female first date for him. And after they know all of these things, after he’s about to tell them, will they still love him, or will they yearn for who they thought they knew before; a person that never really existed? He checks his phone at 18:03. He unlocks it, desperately looking for a distraction that prevents him from exiting his car. He searches and searches with his eyes fixated on his homescreen, finds Regulus’ own multiple times from where he’s since renovated his phone to make him his background and unhid all of the photos and videos they have together that he previously kept private for Sirius’ sake. If one good thing had to come out of the dire situation, it would be that. His eyes linger on the Twitter app logo. That would certainly keep him busy for a while. Since last week’s paparazzi photos got released to the press, James has been too much of a coward to check his social media to see what the world thinks of him, and Sirius by extension, currently. He did get Regulus to look for him a few days ago in a brief moment of bravery, and watched Regulus’ face work to remain neutral as he scrolled through Twitter silently until it inevitably contorted with rage and disgust that made James know that he’d come across something racist aimed towards him. When he got his phone handed back to him, the app had been deleted off it entirely. He doesn’t know why he redownloaded it. Averting his gaze with a harsh swallow, James stares at the small numbers displayed at the top of his screen. 18:05. Right.
Shutting his phone off, he climbs out of his car slowly, extremely aware that his parents have probably been watching him stall in their driveway this entire time, and prays to all that is holy that they won’t bring it up. Tonight is going to be awkward enough already. He knocks on the tall front door even though there’s a key weighing heavy in his back pocket. He still doesn't know why. So he doesn’t give himself anymore choice to back out now, that’s why. He has approximately three whole seconds to process this and everything that lies behind this flimsy piece of wood before it suddenly sweeps open in front of him, startling him into almost falling forward directly into his father’s broad chest. Great start to the evening. He reaches out and steadies him before fixing him with a stern, deadly serious look that makes James want to shrivel right back into his ten year old self’s body.
“Filho, you are late,” James’ father states, the deep tone of his voice without any ounce of the humour that it usually contains reverberating throughout James’ skull, shocking him to his core. James blinks up at him, dumbfounded.
“Yes, yeah–er, desculpe,” He stutters, his Portuguese coming out in a strange pronunciation that he never normally messes up, making his father’s face fall with disappointment even further, and coincidentally James’ heart too.
“Come in,” His father steps aside, gesturing for him to enter and James swallows, already feeling disconcertingly close to tears. He’s met with his mum’s beautiful face marred with distress and concern almost as soon as he steps into the kitchen, and that. That sight is a very tough one to just move on from, especially when he’s the main cause of it. She takes his sullen face in her hands, her eyes boring into his.
“What’s going on, Jamie?” She asks desperately, and James’ father comes to stand beside her, face no longer hardened but softened with worry as he gazes down at James, placing one weathered hand on his wife’s shoulder and one onto James’. James takes this in at the same time as taking a deep breath, before finally bowing his head in shame.
They end up in the living room, the idea of dinner discarded as none of them find themselves able to stomach food currently, all for the same but different reasons; James. His mother is perched on the large, cracked-leather sofa, absent-mindedly twisting her wedding ring round and round her finger as she waits anxiously for James to speak, his father sitting beside her with a steady, supportive hand on her knee as if she’s the one about to utter possibly one of the toughest sentences of their life, not James. James himself is quite literally on the edge of his seat, the matching leather armchair diagonally across from them, and about one second away from bolting straight out of the door. After dealing with far too much uncomfortable staring than anyone should have to go through in four consecutive minutes, James finally snaps.
“I’m sorry I’ve worried you so much,” He blurts out before he can catch himself, and both of his parents’ frowns only deepen, his words having the opposite effect than they were intended to. Fantastic. His mother leans forward slightly, taking James’ father with her.
“That’s okay, Jamie, we just want to know what’s happened and that you’re okay,” She replies, her voice cracking towards the end of her sentence, though she lets no tears fall from her eyes, to James’ profuse internal thanks. He wouldn’t be able to handle that. At all. Fleamont nods soberly in agreement to his wife, his eyes trained unwavering on James’, almost interrogating. James clears his throat, shifting his eyes downwards to his lap, delighted to find it makes the challenge of admitting to his sins a hell of a lot easier.
“I…I haven’t told you guys some things about me for a long time,” He begins slowly, not needing to look up to see lips pursing and eyebrows furrowing. ‘We don’t keep secrets in this household’ is what he was told constantly for as long as he can remember. How ironic. Maybe he should have at least rehearsed this in his head a bit before he came. Slightly too late for that thought now, though. He breathes in, breathes out, reminding himself that he gets to do this his way, and that alone should be enough to calm him down. “I’m bisexual.” He doesn’t dare look up. “Like Sirius,” He adds carefully after a moment of terrifying silence in case his parents somehow didn’t understand him the first time. Silence. Tense, angry silence. A tear falls from James’ eye, making a small mark on his jeans, and he brings himself to lift his head because he needs to know what they’re thinking instead of just being left to assume it. What he isn’t expecting is to find exact mirrors of him staring back at him, though, as he registers his parents’ wet eyes and trembling hands. Both of them. The parents he’s never seen shed a single tear collectively between them in his entire existence, both crying before him like waterfalls right after he told them that he’s gay, or at least partially anyway. James doesn’t know what to think. He’s also thinking far too much, far too fast to make any sense of his brain at the moment , simultaneously. Maybe he should leave; that he understands. He’s about to stand up and actually bolt out of the door and straight into Regulus’ arms when his mum’s face stretches into a soft, watery smile that makes him hover for a second in his seat nervously. Her and his father make eye contact for a long minute, invisible words passing between them that James would really fucking like to understand right about now, then they both abruptly leap out of their seats and surge straight towards him, wrapping their comforting arms around him before he can blink, and suddenly James understands perfectly. He almost melts into a puddle purely from the relief coursing through his veins, making him incredibly grateful he’s the one sitting down as his knees feel quite weak. He lets tears roll down his face freely, something he hasn’t done in front of his parents in years, and it feels like healing. He listens through muffled sobs as his parents whisper in his ears.
“I’m so proud of you, Beta. So proud,” Beta. He doesn’t know the last time his mum called him that. Somewhere inside of him, his inner child is dancing through meadows of flowers, singing to the wind with glee.
“Obrigado, filho, obrigado, eu te amo. Thank you,” This is what he’s needed, and James doesn’t know how long for, but he feels so much better and complete and warm as his parents cradle him like he’s a child who has no heavy pressures or responsibilities bearing down on him, and for a just second, he becomes that. His mum pulls back, prompting his father to do so too, and she scans his face with more love and acceptance on her own than James could ever wish for.
“Thank you for telling us, baby. How long have you known?” Effie asks him gently, smiling, and his father watches him intently but patiently for an answer. James scrubs at his eyes a little, swallowing as he gathers enough wits about him to curate a suitable answer.
“Um– a long time, since I was a teenager, so yeah, a long time,” He says sheepishly, guilt pooling in his chest as he watches his parents realise how long ago that was. He half expects them to ask him why, why didn’t he tell them sooner? It seems like the obvious next question, and yet after a quiet moment they just nod and shoot him and each other reassuring smiles. James doesn’t know what he would’ve said anyway, he really should have rehearsed this, and so the wave of gratitude he feels for his parents is immense at their clear understanding. Regulus was right; his parents love him, as he does them, James is sure it would be clear to anyone who even spared them a single glance right now, he feels it so heavily in the air.
Regulus, he remembers. This next confession, admittedly, could be a gamechanger. He takes another deep breath, strangely motivated after that lovely reconciliation, and decides that he needs to treat this like a plaster. Quick and painful. He puts on a tiny smile, looking between them to make sure both of his parents are listening as they crouch down on either side of him, which they are, intensely so, before summoning the most courage his body has to offer. “There’s something else, too,” His parents exchange a curious glance of their own, this, he had prepared for, and turn back to him almost immediately in their eagerness to display their acceptance and affection. Deep breaths, James tells himself firmly. Deep, deep breaths. Like ripping off a plaster. “I’ve got a boyfriend, I’ve had a boyfriend, actually, for the past seven years. We might be getting engaged soon,” James is very unsure of why he added this last part; he’s excited, okay? This seems to hit his parents a little harder than his coming out, in terms of much more silence and unreadable facial expressions and silent tears. Understandable, James attempts to soothe himself, if he had just found out his son has been in a serious relationship for years and he had had no idea, he would be slightly confused and upset too. Effie blinks up at him, hurt flickering in her eyes like a switch she’s trying so hard to turn off but it keeps coming back on again, no matter her efforts.
“Why…why didn’t you tell us, Jamie? You know we would’ve accepted him, and you, with open arms,” Her voice trembles, and James doesn’t miss the way his father’s grip instinctively tightens around her, squeezing comfortingly. James sets his shoulders, swallowing the lump in his throat in determination to do this his way and not give up his control of that to his stupid emotions any longer.
“Because my boyfriend is Regulus Black, and if I couldn’t tell Sirius then I didn’t want to tell anyone else,” He admits shamelessly, his tone coming out mostly steadily, which gives him a little boost of confidence on the inside. That confidence flickers and falters until entirely snuffing out when his parents don’t say anything, just blink some more as they assumably go over every interaction they’ve ever had with Regulus in the past seven years. Including that one, awkward Christmas from the way his mother’s eyes momentarily widen. His father clears his throat gruffly, demanding attention.
“He’s a nice boy if I can remember correctly. Quiet, yet polite. I approve,” He nods his head at James shortly, his tone all business-like in such a classic father-esque way that James almost bursts out laughing until he manages to contain himself. He smiles genuinely at his dad then, who returns the gesture with a little less enthusiasm, perhaps because of James’ grand revelation of lies but he still smiles nonetheless, which is all the reassurance James needs for now. His mother is still rendered speechless, tight-lipped and teary-eyed, which James decides not to focus on to protect his own feelings, leaving his dad to point a deeply concerned look in Effie’s direction before turning and asking the questions she just can’t bring herself to. James accepts this plan graciously, simply relieved that at least one member of his family is speaking to him.
“Does Sirius know, then, if you’re telling us?” Fleamont inquires, sounding a little more like his parent instead of his friend now. James nods, feeling his face fall simultaneously with the mood of the room.
“He found out last week, it…didn’t end well. We haven’t spoken since, and neither has he and Regulus.” Effie’s head snaps to attention at this, her lips parting. Knowing how Sirius and James are usually permanently attached at the hip, even though they live and work apart, they still somehow find miraculous ways to be together, this news is very, very concerning. The way the sets of eyes around him darken, covering him in a blanket of disappointment, make James’ head hang low as they seem to realise the true extent of how royally he’s been fucking up for the past seven years. James’ mum clears the hoarseness out of her voice, and she puts on a very convincing smile, James had to learn his tendencies from somewhere after all, and gets to her feet again, brushing off her colourful patterned trousers.
“How about we make and eat some food and you can tell us all about it? And tell us about Regulus, Beta,” She offers lightly, and God James missed that nickname. He smiles appreciatively back, going to stand up and assisting his dad in doing the same in the process.
“That sounds really good,” James responds honestly, and so they migrate back to the kitchen where he finds out that tonight they’re set to make pizzas together with a large array of toppings including a blend of elements from both of his parents’ cultures, of course. This turns out to be a rather good activity for relaying the events of the past week and the past decade to his parents, so refreshed to finally hear their opinions on things he’s wanted their words of wisdom and small sarcastic comments on for years. They do not, indeed, create a plan to make James’ situation any better as they both agree with sympathetic eyes and some very philosophical quotes that are supposed to cheer James up that it’s best to just let Sirius come to him and Regulus when he’s ready, which will be soon as apparently his mum can ‘feel it’. James secretly hopes she’s right, though he doesn’t let it show on his face with a non-committal hum and a shrug of his shoulders.
He adds the finishing touches to his pizza, yelping and dissolving into fits of laughter and sneezes when James’ dad throws a bout of paprika at his face, thankfully not reaching his eyes, for no good reason at all. He grabs a handful of grated cheddar cheese and shoves it down Fleamont’s shirt in completely valid retaliation, though Effie stops them from escalating any further so they don’t trash the kitchen, having regrettably learnt her lesson from last time. As their respective pizzas slide into the oven, James’ with far too much paprika after he unknowingly dusted off his face directly above his pizza but he’s just decided to accept his fate, they sit at the breakfast bar together, sipping from tall, much-needed wine glasses. When James solemnly tells his parents about Sirius’ panic attack, Effie nearly bursts into tears all over again and insists that she simply must call him and ensure that he’s alright, and Fleamont goes very silent though stands close and listens into their brief phone call that James decidedly moves to another room for, knowing that Sirius wouldn’t want him there at the moment. He almost collapses with relief when Effie assures him that Sirius sounded and claimed to be perfectly fine, this being something that has been relentlessly plaguing the back of his mind since Sirius’ body first began to shake on that fateful morning. A lull of thoughtful silence between the three of them as they regather in the kitchen, wine glasses in hand and pizzas currently charring to perfection, and then.
“Did you say something about engagement earlier, filho?” James’ father asks, suddenly turning to James with accusatory raised eyebrows, prompting his mother to gasp excitedly and James to choke on his inconvenient sip of drink and almost fall off of his stool as both of his parents reach out to pat him aggressively on the back. Shoulders shaking with laughter, James composes and steadies himself against the counter and shares with them how Regulus accidentally let slip how he wanted to propose and how they agreed to wait for Sirius to get used to the idea of them first and how James would hate to be engaged and have his parents know nothing about it, hence why he’s sitting with them having this conversation now. They listen to all of this graciously, seeming genuinely happy for him despite all of the lying and betrayal he’s subjected them to over the years. They even invite both Regulus and James round for dinner together at the next convenient date and James almost cries (again) with pure gratitude towards his parents.
The conversation drifts from Regulus and his books to all of the amazing people James reluctantly left behind in Godric’s Hollow, including Remus and Sirius’ possible relationship which his parents become very interested in, to the Yule Ball to James’ footballing career to Monty and Effie’s tireless work in parliament. When the evening begins to creep into the night, James leaves his parents’ house laughing and beaming to no one in particular even though his father ensured he drank five whole glasses of water before he left in order to sober up for the drive home, which James finds himself incredibly grateful for as he climbs into his car sharp-minded and clear-visioned yet still grinning widely ear to ear. He’s about to turn the key in his engine, thinking excitedly about how he’s going to tell Regulus everything after he arrives home when he suddenly feels his phone vibrate demandingly against his jean pocket, making him pause. He pulls it out to see Regulus, the man himself, on his screen calling him. His heart flutters warmly, and he swipes his finger to accept immediately.
“Hi baby, is everything okay?”
A pause. A breath.
“James. Sirius has released a new song.”
James pauses. James takes a breath.
“I’ll be home in fifteen.”