James pulls the blanket over his lap and wraps his arms around his knees, trying to get comfortable. It's futile, despite all his efforts, because the couch feels empty and hollow with just him on it, Regulus’s absence gnawing at him, pulling at his insides like a savage beast. He's used to it, of course. The price they have to pay, the price he's agreed to pay, so he feels like he has no right to complain.
The clock on the mantelpiece slowly inches toward midnight, and he can't fight the dull ache that climbs up his bones, nestles into his heart, making a home for itself there. A bottle of champagne sits on the coffee table, a thin layer of perspiration coating the thick glass, and he watches the droplets slide, exhaling slowly. Grounding himself.
Loneliness isn't unfamiliar to him, not when his love for Regulus is something he has to keep safely tucked in, behind closed doors, behind shuttered windows. Once again, he has to remind himself that he chose this. Still, New Year's Eve feels somehow lonelier than any other time of the year.
He glances at his phone in his lap, noting the unread text from Sirius. There was no shortage of invitations this year. He's been making himself known, his name now featured in the celebrity news cycle more frequently than it was the year before that. He could have chosen to go to any party, could have picked one and gotten drunk, surrounded by glamor and laughter, and loud music and fireworks, and enough people to drown out the clammy, unsteady beat of his heart.
youre missing out, the message from Sirius says, with a photo attached, and James looks at it, noting at least one of the reasons he chose to stay home: so Sirius could have a bit of normalcy this year. So he could have the night off from being his publicist and enjoy the holiday with his regular, normal-person boyfriend. The photo features Sirius, arm thrown around Benjy’s neck, the two of them wearing sparkly cardboard tiaras that read Happy New Year. Their faces are covered in glitter, Sirius’s lipstick smudged on Benjy’s cheek, and although he's happy for his friend, James feels a pang of jealousy under his ribs. He wishes he could have this.
11:50, the clock reads out its sentence, and James glances out through the window, where the waves crash against the shore in the dreary December night. It's worth it, he tells himself, it's all worth it, because no matter what, Regulus will come home to him tonight. He will crawl into his bed, nuzzle his face into his neck, wrap his arms around James. And he will wake up next to him in the morning, the lazy sun caressing his pale face, shining into his blue-gray eyes so filled with adoration, and it won't matter that James was alone tonight.
He could turn the TV on, watch the ball drop, watch the fireworks, but he chooses the quiet instead, as the hands of the clock slowly crawl to midnight.
Ten, he murmurs under his breath, willing himself not to think about what he wishes he had.
Nine. Regulus, he knows, is at Ariadne's New Year's Eve party, as would be expected of him. The world's It couple right now, supermodel Ariadne Greengrass and Grammy-winning singer-songwriter Regulus Black.
Eight. She looks stunning, with her silvery blonde hair falling down her back, her dark lipstick, her mirrorball dress reflecting every glimmer of light.
Seven. Regulus’s arm, he knows, is snaked around her lovely slender waist, his lips curled into an adoring smile that won't quite reach his eyes.
Six. They're probably dancing, fingers twined, heartbeat to heartbeat, and she rests her pretty head on his shoulder, her delicate scent lingering on his shirt. When he comes home he'll smell like Baccarat Rogue 540, Ariadne lingering on his skin, in his hair.
Five. She'll reach up on her toes, hand gently cupping his cheek, her diamond earrings dangling from her ears, and she'll smile at him lovingly, batting her eyelashes at him.
Four. Regulus’s hands will rest on the small of her back, where the fabric of her dress pools, exposing the pale skin, the curve of her spine.
Three. She'll brush her nose against his, and his eyelids will flutter shut.
Two. His forehead will rest against hers, skin against skin, their breaths becoming one, her arms thrown around his neck.
One. He'll close the distance between them, lips pressed against hers as the clock strikes twelve.
“Happy New Year, Reg,” James whispers coarsely into his blanket, chin resting on his knees, and he watches the fireworks explode in a kaleidoscope of colors over the ocean in his backyard.
Camera flashes, he knows, will be the only explosion of light Regulus sees as he steps away from Ariadne, the tips of her fingers brushing his. He'll swallow, the bob of his throat so familiar to James, the movement so intimate under his lips, and he'll look away from her, the smile on his face a ghost, a phantom.
James feels like he's drowning as he watches the dark depths of the water swallow the fizzling remnants of the firework show. The champagne bottle sits abandoned on the table, and he doesn't feel like popping it open as he dims the lights, then returns to the couch, dreading having to go to sleep alone. No, he'll stay up a little longer, he'll wait a while.
He pulls out his phone again, sending Sirius a quick happy new year message, avoiding his social media apps at all costs. Photos of Reg and Ariadne's kiss, he knows, will be all over the Internet, taunting him, mocking him. He doesn't need to do that to himself.
Sleep comes to him regardless, and he dozes off on the couch, chin digging into his chest. When he finally wakes up, it's at the whisper of a touch on his arm.
Regulus’s hair is ruffled, glitter on his face, and the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, his tie hanging loose around his neck. In the soft, dimmed light his features look heart-stoppingly beautiful. The breath hitches in James’s throat as he looks at him through sleep-laden eyelashes.
“Hey,” Regulus whispers, hand cupping James’s cheek gently, and he leans over him, the smile finally touching his eyes as their corners crinkle.
“Hey, angel,” James murmurs, pulling him into his lap, and Regulus’s arms wrap around his neck, holding him tight. His breath is warm against James’s skin.
“Happy New Year, Jamie,” he says quietly, fingers burying into his hair, caressing lovingly. I've missed you, James’s heart sings at the touch. You've come home to me.
Regulus’s lips trail up James’s neck, kissing the soft spot behind his ear, kissing along his jaw, up his cheek, ghosting over his eyes, down his nose, searching, asking, begging for forgiveness. They finally meet James’s, and as he kisses Regulus back, his heart roars mine mine mine.
“I love you,” Regulus says against James’s lips, barely breaking the kiss, “I'm so sorry, I love you, I'm sorry.”
James’s hands rub gentle circles down his back, the two of them curled into a ball of limbs on the couch, so closely pressed against each other that it's unclear where one of them ends and the other begins. It's worth it, he knows, the loneliness, the heartache, if he gets to have this, Regulus in his embrace, the steady beat of his heart echoing that of James’s.
“No need to be sorry, love,” he presses a kiss to his temple. “I'll have you any way I can.”
The clock inches towards three. Regulus looks up at him, his knuckles softly brushing against James’s cheek, and there is so much sorrow swimming in them James wishes he could drown it out.
“One day,” Regulus says, and he swallows audibly, throat bobbing. James's lips trail along his throat. He knows what Regulus means. One day, he'll have all his midnights. One day, he'll all have all of Regulus to himself.
Regulus notices the bottle of champagne on the table, long ago grown warm. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he reaches for it without ever leaving the safe cocoon of James’s embrace.
“You waited,” he grins as he holds it up.
“Nothing to toast about without you here,” James offers in response.
When they take turns taking sips of champagne, tangled into each other's arms, drinking straight from the bottle, James thinks the bubbles taste like hope.