james is nervous. he ruffles his hair in the mirror, then ruffles it again, fixes all the pieces sticking out. the moment he manages to smooth it down, a few locks pop back up. he suppresses a groan. he’s jittery, shaky hands and wobbly knees. he’s never been so nervous for an ice skating championship before (nor has he ever attended one, but that’s besides the point), but then again, this is no normal show. it’s the next step toward competing the olympics, the true championship regulus has been training years for.
he’s meant to meet sirius and remus there in thirty-five minutes. they are already on their way, as confirmed by a text from remus. ever since remus and sirius had gone on a second date two weeks ago, then a third date a few days later, they’ve been practically inseparable. it’s hard to find time with remus where sirius isn’t included. not that james would complain, of course. sirius is a fucking delight. they’re cut from the same cloth, which is probably why remus is so taken by him. remus and james are thick as thieves, so it only makes sense that remus and sirius would be too.
the rink is only a few minutes from his flat — twenty-two to be exact — and roughly half an hour from sirius’. the two of them, remus and sirius, were planning to be two hours early, because regulus is apparently extremely superstitious and has a very strict pre-performance ritual including a three hour loop of exo’s ko ko bop and a very intricate handshake with his brother, and sirius has always sat in the front row. all of this information was of course gathered from sirius, seeing as james doesn’t have regulus’ number and also does not possess the balls to ask for it.
he leaves his house twenty-seven minutes before he’s meant to arrive, leaving a five minute grace period in the inevitable event of him getting lost. and he does get lost, walking aimlessly around the parking lot in search of an entrance. eventually he finds it, well within the time limit he’s given himself, and walks into the seating area, where he then wastes another two minutes searching desperately for remus and sirius.
“sorry i’m late,” he whispers as he drops down beside remus. sirius gives him a bright smile from his seat, then turns his attention back to the rink, where a woman who is very much not regulus is performing.
“you’re only, like, five minutes late. it’s no problem,” remus whispers back. “you look nice, prongs.”
james looks down at himself. he’s sporting a simple white button down tucked into bright patterned trousers he’d found in a second-hand store. he’d paired it with his lucky pair of red converse and an ensemble of fun rings and dangly gummy bear earrings. it’s not his best outfit by a mile, but his best outfit was dirty, so he’d had no choice but to wear this.
“thank you,” he mumbles bashfully. he’s not quite used to compliments. the smallest ones leave his cheeks pink and his smile shy. perhaps he and regulus are a decent match — neither one of them are good at handling compliments. regulus resorts to crafty insults, and james shuts down and panics internally.
the first handful of performers are clearly not regulus. they seem to be grouped according to gender — women first, then men last. there’s a break in the middle, a small intermission where the results are announced for the first grouping. none of them are regulus. james is an impatient man by nature, and he’s growing quite tired of watching all these other skaters when the best of them all is yet to come.
regulus isn’t the first performer of the next grouping. or the second. or the third. six contestants in, he finally steps onto the ice. he’s pretty, which he was the first time they’d met, only now he’s so very clearly in his element. he skates like he’s a part of the ice, like it’s an extension of his soul. james is already enraptured and the actual show hasn’t even started. regulus is dressed in a black costume, silver jewels glimmering across his chest and shoulders. his hair is perfectly curled around his ears, a few strands secured away from his face with star shaped clips. somehow, regulus has managed to look even more like a celestial being than he usually does.
true to sirius’ word, regulus sticks to his bunny hops. james knows next to nothing about figure skating, which is unfortunate because he’d love to know everything about it if it meant talking to regulus more, but he’s fairly certain bunny hopping is unusual to incorporate into a routine. it pays off, though. regulus is a flurry of spins and jumps and elegance as he dances his way through his routine. his facial expressions are exaggerated, amplified, shimmering in sweat and glory.
james can’t get enough. he’d thought regulus was gorgeous before, impossibly beautiful in the best and worst of ways, but watching him now, it’s like watching a deity take his first step among mortals. he holds his breath through the entire performance, sitting on the edge of his seat, cheering every time regulus flawlessly pulls off an elaborate jump.
at some point, he spins for so long in the air that the entire audience goes insane.
“oh my fucking god!” sirius exclaims from beside james, dashing to the barrier just in front of their front row seats. “that’s not fucking possible!”
james is completely lost. he knows next to nothing about figure skating. he’s a rugby type of guy, a big believer in sports that involve solid ground and not skates, but he has a feeling the move regulus just pulled is a record breaker. the entire crowd is cheering for nearly a minute straight, and the judges seem entirely gobsmacked from their positions overseeing the ice.
eventually, regulus’ mind-blowing routine ends, and sirius is still shouting at him on the ice. regulus merely glances up, sends their little group a mocking wave, and skates off the ice. the judgement goes far too slowly for james’ liking. as expected, regulus comes out on top. when he comes to meet them, he completely brushes off his brother, instead approaching james with a smirk and a bouquet of roses in his arms.
“what did you think?” regulus asks, tilting his head with a playful glint in his eyes. james is utterly speechless. regulus, beautiful regulus, has a duality he’ll never be able to understand. beauty and elegance one moment, playful little shit the next.
“i’m afraid if you get me started on talking about that, i’ll never stop,” james admits. remus chortles from behind him, barely audible over sirius’ grumbling.
“he’s absolutely right, reg. prongsie doesn’t stop once he gets started,” remus confirms. regulus tosses remus a smirk, then slips his arm beneath james’, gesturing with his head to the car park.
“you can rant and rave all about how brilliant i am over dinner. i’m famished,” regulus says easily. james nods dumbly, guiding the two of them into the car park.
it takes a total of two minutes to reach his car, which he somehow miraculously parked within a few spots of sirius’. james opens up the passenger door for regulus, watching mutely as the other man settles a pair of skates in the floorboard, then shuts the door and slips into the driver seat.
“so, dinner,” he says, turning slightly to face regulus.
it’s only a matter of milliseconds before regulus is grabbing his face in both hands, pressing a feverish kiss to his lips. regulus kisses like a man starved, absorbing james like the final drop of water in a stretch of desert. james is honestly having trouble keeping up with the hurried movement of regulus’ lips, running a hand through his hair, gasping for breath between harsh presses of mouths.
“well, shit,” james manages to breathe once the kiss breaks. regulus cracks a smile at this, a pleasant twinkle in his grey eyes.
“i’ve been waiting weeks to kiss you,” the man pants, unfortunately releasing james’ face in favor of pressing his palms to his thighs and turning to face the windshield. “dinner?”
james nods dumbly once again, turning the key over in the ignition. he lets regulus take control over the music, which makes for a pleasant experience, because his playlist is a mixture of older k-pop, musical soundtracks, and the living tombstones. he sings along to every song in a voice like honey, pronunciation similar to a native speaker when the k-pop songs shuffle on.
“do you speak korean?” james asks after the third girl group song starts. regulus pauses in his choreography, which is actually just dancing with his arms and upper body, and nods.
“we lived there for a few years when i was a teenager. i competed in the olympics as a dual citizen while we lived there, actually. i’ve been fighting for the uk to let me compete for them, but they’re being stubborn about it,” regulus explains. then goes back to his arm and torso choreography like he hadn’t just dropped a major accomplishment mid-conversation.
“i’m sorry,” james says, shellshocked. “did you just say you competed in the olympics?”
“yes, james, keep up,” regulus huffs with a roll of his eyes. “i only won third, so it’s not that big of a deal. but yeah, i competed back in 2015.”
“that’s fucking- holy shit, regulus,” james exclaims. he nearly veers off the road in his shock, which results in sirius brake checking him, but his reflexes are impeccable so he manages to stop before he hits sirius’ bumper.
“it’s really not a huge deal, james. i’ve done far greater things in life than compete in the olympics,” regulus says, like it’s nothing, then reaches over to turn up the radio. it’s a trio song by a group called stray kids, and regulus raps every word like he’s the original performer. “my brother trained with these guys.”
again, another bomb dropped like it’s fucking nothing. james is well on his way to a heart attack at this point. how else does regulus plan to completely rock james’ world? surely there’s a major plan to end his life before thirty. the more he learns about these brothers, the more baffled he becomes.
they arrive at a restaurant somewhere in the heart of london. it’s a korean barbecue place, a small business owned by korean immigrants according to regulus. it’s also the restaurant the brothers eat at after every big event, also according to regulus. the building is quite small, but the inside is a lot bigger than expected. there are a large number of tables and a door leading to what’s most likely a kitchen, as well as a pair of bathrooms on the right side of the restaurant.
the four of them are seated within a few minutes, seeing as it’s quite slow for a weekend evening. regulus is still in his outfit from the ice, though his skates are switched out for a pair of high top vans and his hair has been tugged into a half bun. sirius is still fuming, likely from regulus’ display earlier and eventual dismissal of his brother. remus, because he’s a twat, wears his amusement clear as day on his scarred face.
“you’re a fucking imbecile,” sirius spits the moment they get settled in. regulus snorts and raises up his middle finger, leaving james a snorting mess. it’s not that it’s necessarily all that funny right now, but in a few moments, the brothers are bound to start fighting over the table and james is readily amused by the prediction.
“pot, meet kettle,” regulus quips. there’s metaphorical steam coming from sirius’ ears. remus is choking on laughter alongside james.
“how could you not tell me about your axel?” sirius cries, slamming a hand to the table. “if i would’ve known, i would’ve been recording! now how am i supposed to flaunt it on my facebook where eomma can see it and fume about it?”
“remember when you went on tour with stray kids and didn’t bother to get me tickets?” regulus shoots back. sirius’ eyes are wide and gleaming with fury.
“you’re still holding that grudge? i told you — it was a favor to chan! it wasn’t my place to ask for tickets!” sirius bellows. regulus flattens his palms to the table and leans in close.
“i could’ve met the fittest bloke on the planet, but you didn’t get me tickets. you deprived me the honor of meeting my soulmate. so, no, i didn’t tell you about my quad, because it’s none of your bloody business,” regulus hisses, voice low and dangerous. if the brothers griping wasn’t so bloody hilarious, james would feel aroused by the danger so heavily exuded by regulus, but they are amusing so he’s chosen to laugh instead.
their bickering turns to a mixture of rapid-fire korean and french, escalating in volume until they’re physically grappling one another over the table. a glass of water is knocked over in the process, and a few strands of hair end up ripped out, and by the time remus and james manage to break up the squabble, regulus has a bloody bite mark on his wrist and sirius has angry red scratches on his neck. and remus and james? they’re laughing so much they’re crying with it, wheezing out painful chuckles with arms around their respective black brother.
“i can’t believe you pulled that over not meeting jisung,” sirius muses, calm now. he blots at the red beading in the open scratches on his neck with a napkin. remus is cleaning up the spilled water like nothing happened.
“i just find it severely unfair that you got to train with him and i haven’t even met him,” regulus drawls. he’s using a few drops from the puddle remus is hastily mopping up to rinse the blood from his skin. “i also don’t find it fair that you kick me out of the room every time chan hyung facetimes you.”
“wait a minute,” james interjects, hand posed in the air and jaw dropped open. “i thought you only trained with them? regulus never mentioned anything about facetime calls with k-pop idols.”
“oh, yeah,” sirius says dismissively, like it’s not incredibly impressive that he’s got the personal number of a literal celebrity. “felix calls me too, sometimes. i never trained with him, but i met him when i danced backup for them.”
“hold on,” james sputters, somehow more baffled. “you danced backup? this is getting more convoluted the more you talk about it.”
“keep up, james,” regulus sighs, brushing the pads of his fingers across james’ forearm. a jolt of electricity follows the gentle touch, stretching to his lips, where a smile is forming. “he also danced backup for bts, and more recently for rihanna’s superbowl performance in america. he’s a dancer. it’s sort of what he does.”
“no fucking way,” remus scoffs for a change. his face mirrors james’ — jaw dropped open and eyes bugging out of his skull. “rihanna?! bts?! you’re absolutely joking right now.”
“i’m not, actually,” regulus drawls at the same time sirius says, “i can show you guys videos sometime. maybe i’ll let you meet chan, or something.”
“so you’ll let them meet your idol friends but not your little brother?” regulus guffaws, offended. james just barely manages to hold in his laughter.
the rest of the dinner goes rather swimmingly, aside from a few smacks exchanged across the table by the brothers and also regulus purposefully burning the shit out of sirius’ arm against the grill on the table (sirius merely blew on his burn for a few moments, then carried on like it hadn’t happened). regulus name drops a few celebrities he knows personally — including kylie jenner and tom holland, which gives james a heart attack — and sirius dismissively mentions giving post malone a tattoo — which also gives james a heart attack.
then they’re standing outside the restaurant chatting amiably, remus with his arm thrown over sirius’ shoulder, sirius pretending not to be extremely nervous about it, and regulus and james loosely linking pinkies from a foot apart, because regulus apparently craves physical touch but refuses to be gross with pda.
“as much fun as this was, my calves are absolutely decimated and i’m pretty positive i’ve dislocated my knee again. i’d like to lay down in nice cold sheets and watch a romcom so i can have an excuse for crying about my knee pain,” regulus quips. he shoots james a weird look that he can’t quite decipher the meaning to, and steps just the slightest bit closer.
“prongs has netflix,” remus offers helpfully, a smug smile playing on his lips. sirius looks between the three of them and his face slowly morphs into disgust.
“absolutely not,” sirius declares. “no one is taking my baby home tonight except for me.”
“i thought i was your baby,” remus gasps, mock offended. sirius glances at him with prissy judgment written all over his face.
“no, rem. we’ve been over this. regulus is my baby, remember?”
it takes everything in james not to giggle. sirius is quite dumb when it comes to social cues, product of his autism, so it’s wrong to laugh. except, well, james is also quite dumb with social cues, and he’s absolutely positive he looks exactly the way sirius does every time he takes a joke literally.
“i am not your baby, hyung. i am twenty-six. get over yourself,” regulus scoffs. then he tugs on james’ hand, and james has no choice but to walk to his car, otherwise he’d surely trip over his own feet and wind up with even more bruises to explain to his concerned colleagues. (“no, i’m not in an abusive relationship. i’ve just got boats for feet and legs like a baby deer,” james has explained far too many times to count. that’s where he’d gotten the nickname prongs — he’s as clumsy as they come.)
“are you actually planning on staying the night?” james asks as they settle into the car. regulus shifts in his seat, raising an eyebrow to james, face otherwise blank. james is coming to realize that the lack of emotional expression is both a coping mechanism and likely a product of thinly veiled and unmentioned autism. while sirius is more on the side of hating physical contact, it seems that regulus craves it like he craves air. not that james is complaining, of course. he’d love to hold regulus’ hand all day if he could. it’d be a privilege, actually.
“if you wouldn’t mind having me,” regulus responds. james mulls it over for a moment. it’s not that he minds, necessarily. he doesn’t. he would actually love to have regulus over.
except he’s got a massive collection of spider-man themed lego sets displayed on a shelf, and his house is quite cluttered with abandoned hobbies, and his bedroom walls are plastered with posters of musicals. not to mention the stack of pop culture stuffed animals at the foot of his bed and the levi ackerman body pillow he sleeps with every night. and also the piles of rope on his nightstand from his obsession with knot tying a few months back.
there’s also the concern that this is only a second date and he’s not quite prepared to put out just yet, but he doubts that regulus is thinking of anything of that caliber if his knee truly is dislocated. it’s highly unlikely, actually, that anything will happen. and it’s also incredibly domestic. sleeping together just to sleep? that seems more on a committed relationship level rather than a second date level.
“i wouldn’t mind,” james eventually says, once he gets over the pre-humiliation of his adhd-infested house. the ride there is relatively silent — regulus holds his hand the entire time, presses gentle kisses to his fingertips, sings along softly to the quiet folk music playing over the car radio.
“your house looks very cozy,” regulus comments as they pull into the driveway. and it’s true. james lives in a rather small, tudor-style home he’d had built during the cottagecore obsession of 2020. it’s in a subdivision, so it’s not quite the cottagecore dream, but it’s got a big back yard meant for the tiny cow he had planned to buy. there’s a garden in the front full of dead flowers, seeing as he’d fallen off of caring for them a few months into having them. the outdoor is a mix of brick and creme paneling, and the drive is slanted to a two-car garage, and there’s a long set of stairs leading to the front entrance.
it’s not just cozy — it’s fucking massive. three bedrooms, two and a half bath, an office. he’d had it built for a family back when his love life was rich, before covid had swept in and ruined his long-term relationship via a lockdown and forced proximity.
not that he and lily aren’t on good terms now. being around each other consistently like that had just solidified the fact that they didn’t work together, and the break had been mutual. it was lily who’d set him up with regulus, after all, once she’d gotten wind of his refusal to move on, even though she’d already fully committed herself to mary.
the moment regulus and james enter the house, regulus manages to sniff out the kitchen. james follows him blindly, even though this is his house and it should technically be him leading the way. he stands by idly while regulus raids his refrigerator and pantry, coming out with a bag of crisps and a bowl of pistachio ice cream he doesn’t remember buying.
“where’s the telly?” regulus asks, in the midst of preparing himself a glass of orange juice. if james weren’t so nervous about the fact that he’s got an embarrassing amount of spider-man and my little pony memorabilia upstairs awaiting their time to shine, he’d find the fact that regulus has already settled himself in to be hilarious. but he does have an embarrassing amount of spider-man and my little pony memorabilia, so he is in fact too nervous to find it funny or endearing.
“upstairs. my room,” james answers simply. regulus makes a gesture toward the stairs, and james leads the way. his bedroom is massive, with the largest bed on the market, a television mounted to the wall above his short wardrobe, and a desk pushed to the wall beneath the window. there’s a gaming pc set up atop the desk, and a large mousepad with a rather embarrassing print of hatsune miku on it. the wall behind his bed is almost completely covered in posters from musicals, and at the foot of the bed there’s an ottoman entirely taken over by pop culture stuffed animals, and the cursed levi ackerman pillow rests atop the sheets. there’s a shelf above the bed dedicated to his lego sets, all of them being various scenes from spider-man.
to put it simply, his room is embarrassing, and that’s without mentioning the duvet remus had gotten him for christmas, which is covered in a collage of markiplier’s face (he’s got a jacksepticeye one in the closet downstairs, but regulus doesn’t need to know that).
“i love this,” regulus comments, simply plopping down on top of markiplier’s face and shoving his legs beneath the duvet. james heaves a sigh of relief and sits on the bed with regulus, fishing the roku remote from his rope-covered nightstand. “please tell me you have good taste in romcoms.”
“i think my room is living proof that i’m not all that interested in romcoms,” james admits guiltily. regulus scoffs and snatches the remote, scrolling through netflix until he finds titanic, which thankfully had been added back to netflix last week.
“this one isn’t a comedy, but i cry every time,” reg hums, settling into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. he tugs out levi ackerman and elevates his leg on it, presumably the injured one, while james makes himself comfortable on the bed beside him.
unfortunately, james falls asleep literally ten minutes into the movie. he wakes up to the sound of regulus sobbing rather loudly, clutching the duvet to his chest, bag of crisps and bowl of ice cream long-empty.
“i can’t believe this,” regulus wails, but james has a feeling that he can, in fact, believe it seeing as he’s watched the movie apparently more than once. “jack deserved to live!”
it takes james exactly three minutes to wake fully, and during that time, he notices the lack of trousers on regulus’ legs and the ginormous shirt he’s wearing. which is james’. and so are the minecraft briefs.
“you’re not wearing pants,” james rasps intelligently. regulus manages to laugh through his tears, wiping hastily at his face while james ogles his bare legs. they’re soft, long and golden, spotted by a few freckles and more than a few tattoos. james has a feeling it’s sirius’ artwork sitting on regulus’ legs, but there’s no way to be certain. there are a few scars, too — a long one on his swollen and misshapen kneecap (most likely dislocated, then) another on the calve of the uninjured leg.
“i couldn’t sleep in the same clothes i wore on the ice, silly,” regulus muses, eyes glistening once james finally brings himself to meet them. “besides, i think your minecraft underwear suits me far better, don’t you?”
“i- uh- yeah,” james stutters, mouth dry. regulus is a very, very beautiful man. a very beautiful man in his bed in his clothes watching his tv. naturally, james is more than a little overwhelmed. he’s really overwhelmed, actually. his heart is in his throat, and his mouth is dry, and his palms are sweaty, and he wants to kiss those pretty pink lips so, so badly. earlier, he’d been caught off guard, but now, he’s very much on guard. and he’d very much like to snog the daylights out of regulus. he’s waited two weeks — two very long and very hard weeks, thank you — to see regulus again, and he’ll be damned if he walks away from this second date (but is it really a date if it involved spending most of it in the audience? james doesn’t know. dates are odd.) with only one kiss.
“you’re looking at me like you want to eat me,” regulus whispers, a bit of humor lingering in his heated gaze. regulus has pretty eyes. james is noticing it very strongly now. they’re grey, though there’s a bit of blue lingering around the irises, giving them more of a metallic hue than dull fog. as far as he knows, regulus is full-blooded korean, born and raised in seoul, so it’s odd that his eyes are such a light shade. if there’s anything the brothers walked away from their parents with, it’s good genetics. and god, was regulus blessed.
his features are softer than sirius’, and he’s a slight bit shorter, and much more muscular than lean. his thighs are thick with muscle, and so are his shoulders, and his biceps. his jaw lingers more toward soft than angular, as do his cheekbones and nose, though he and his brother have very similar features. regulus is pretty. point blank, period. pretty. gorgeous, even. ethereal, if james wants to be specific. if he’s getting technical, otherworldly. heavenly.
and james wants to kiss him. very badly.
“maybe i do,” is james’ eloquent response. his brain is short-circuiting. it’s probably the five nights at freddy’s t-shirt regulus is wearing. probably. most likely. oh, who is he kidding? it’s not the fnaf shirt. it’s just regulus. pretty, gorgeous, ethereal, heavenly regulus. he should ask to kiss him. that would be the best way to go. there’s no way he’s going to have the balls to do it tomorrow when he’s fully awake and in no way swayed by the lateness of the evening. it’s a known fact that james lacks impulse control even more than usual when it’s dark, and it only gets worse as the hours grow later. he should absolutely ask to kiss regulus, right here and now.
“we should get some sleep,” is what he says instead, because he’s a masochist and hates himself. unfortunately, regulus nods, though it’s not without visible hesitation.
“let me get my nighttime playlist fixed up,” regulus mumbles. he fetches a pair of airpods that somehow ended up on his side of the bed’s nightstand, and places them in his ears, and fiddles around on his phone for a few moments. “sorry. i have to listen to ethel cain or i can’t sleep.”
“ethel cain?” james inquires, amused. regulus gives a sheepish smile, laying his head in the mountain of pillows behind him. he’s on his side now, facing james, looking so damn beautiful with his cheek smushed against a shrek pillowcase and his hair fanned out beneath him. oh, james wants to kiss him. oh, james is a fool.
“yeah. the preacher’s daughter album, to be specific,” regulus responds, then pauses, then continues, “it’s a bit morbid, but it reminds me of living with eomma and appa. the screaming in ptolomaea especially.”
and if james didn’t know previously about the cruelty of the black family through sirius, he’d be a lot more shocked than he is. he knows sirius has to play loud screamo to get to sleep, because it apparently reminds him of his mother, so it’s not much of a shock that regulus needs similar music to rest. it’s sad, but it can’t be helped. time machines aren’t a thing, and as much as james would love to go back and kill walburga black during the brothers’ youth, he can’t. so, he settles for comfort instead.
he tugs regulus into him, touching their foreheads together, draping one arm over thin hips and slipping the other beneath a pillow. regulus relaxes into him, letting their knees touch beneath the duvet. he knows he’s still in very colorful trousers and a very soft button up, but he’s so tired, and changing can wait until the next day, and at least he’s removed all of his jewelry. regulus matters more than basic physical comfort. and he intends to sleep beside him right this very moment.
and so he does. and if he kisses regulus soundly the following morning (like a badass, even if he was having a very discreet panic attack the entire time) that’s his business and no one else’s.