The Glass Starts to Crack
Regulus was over James Potter.
Completely, totally, and wholly over him.
He didn’t stay up at night thinking about him.
Definitely not.
Regulus didn’t stay up every night regretting everything: his family, his life, his choices…everything that led him to the moment when the sun set on his once again dark life. And he was left to grope frantically at the wall for any slither of sunlight of the boy who used to be his guiding light, now trapped behind the dark shadows of his life.
…
Okay, Regulus wasn’t over him.
Shocker
But how could he not? When he had the sun in his grasp after a freezing storm. He had felt what it was like to thaw and then wholly melt due to James' presence. To become a puddle of water under his gaze. But now it was over, and Regulus had frozen again, turned back into ice, and retreated to his eternal raging storm. To the cold, rough, and unpleasant cage he’d created for himself. But it was safe. And that was all that had mattered. A cell he had previously cracked open for someone to slip through is now locked tight, with the keys thrown away.
It was not the first time Regulus Black and James Potter had broken up, but it was undoubtedly the last.
Their fight was bloody and brutal. It was powerful lashes, venomous strikes, teething biting, and hot flames. Neither was willing to give up, digging their claws into each other, letting their teeth sink into their souls, and refusing to let go. Eventually, they spilled, torn to shreds, blood spilling onto their hands and surrounding them, choking them until all they could taste was red. But most importantly, it was love. Intense, all-consuming love.
It consumed them so much that all they could see was the inside of each other's skin. They had molded and become one. Each other's souls bared for anyone to see. Their beating heart and organs are in full display, left for them to play, heal, and destroy.
They were addicted to each other.
They fought and were the cause of some of their nastiest wounds but kept returning for more despite the scars littering their already broken-down bodies.
Addiction is the engagement in behaviors that become compulsive and often continue despite harmful consequences. And they were the definition.
Like a never-ending song.
It was replaying on and on, always coming and going, regardless of the circumstances, stitches ripping open blood cascading down their bodies, mixing forever entangling them in this cycle of corruptive drug that was James and Regulus' relationship.
But no more, the cycle or toxicity was ending; no more would they have to bare their bodies, hearts, and souls to a hungry and then be surprised when it lunges—biting down and tearing them apart, eating them outside.
No, not anymore.
Regulus had made sure of that.
———
In a dimly lit room, James and Regulus stood facing each other, their eyes filled with tears as they struggled to find the words to say. It was a familiar scene, one that had played out time and time again throughout their tumultuous relationship.
"You know I love you, Regulus," James said, his voice gruff and shaking. "But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you hurt."
"Please, James," Regulus pleaded, his voice desperate, gripping his lover's arm tightly. "Don't leave me. I need you. Don't you understand? I love you, James. I love you more than anything in this world."
James raised his voice in anger. "Then why can't you leave? Why do you keep letting them hurt you?"
"Because I have to, James! I can't- I just can’t. They're all I have left. They're all I've ever known."
"But what about us, Reg? Don't we matter too?"
Regulus' voice was barely a whisper. "Of course, we do-"
"But you won't leave your family," James interrupted, tears streaming down his face. "You won't leave the people who hurt you, who hurt Sirius. I can't keep watching you suffer like this." He said it so matter of fact, oblivious to the turmoil Regulus faced on his own about this very subject.
Regulus opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He couldn't bring himself to tell James the truth. No, that would just complicate the already delicate situation.
They stood in silence for what felt like hours, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air. Finally, James pulled away from Regulus and took a step back.
"I can't do this anymore, Regulus," he said, his voice breaking. "I love you more than anything, but I can't keep watching you suffer like this, Reg. Every time we break up, it's like I'm dying inside. I can't do it anymore. I have to protect myself, too. Goodbye."
"You're the only good thing in my life, James. You're the only thing that makes sense in this chaos. Please don't leave me."
“I’m sorry.”
Regulus reached out to grab James, to pull him back, but it was too late. The door had already closed, and James was gone. Regulus crumpled to the ground, tears flowing freely down his face as he realized that he had just lost the person he loved more than anything in the world.
Regulus fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking with sobs. "Please, James. Please, no” Crying out to anyone who would listen, the gods, the universe, and anything else out there to bring back James. His Jamie.
But no one reached back out, and Regulus was left alone in the dark, his sobs echoing through the empty room as he cried out for the only person who had ever truly loved him.
And would never love him again.
———
Regulus couldn’t breathe. His tie was too tight, and there were so many sounds and way too many people.
Hundreds of people were being hosted at his family's annual charity ball. The Blacks could care less about the less fortunate or anyone below what they deemed “respectable,” but they put in a good show—raising hundreds of thousands of dollars for every ball they hosted.
Every time they hosted any event, he was supposed to act perfectly; he was supposed to be the perfect heir they wanted him to be. He felt the pressure weighing on him, and it increased tenfold daily. He could only take so much before he snapped in half.
But he could do it tonight. Had to, or Regulus' parents, Walburga and Orion, would do cruel things to him. Not physically. Not anymore; that was for when they were younger and dropped a plate, a little slap to mold him into a proper man. Now Regulus' parents turned to words, razor-sharp words that cut at his very soul. They had already created him; now they just needed to keep him contained. And contained he was.
Before, he felt security in his role and routine, but now he felt like an animal in a zoo. He was trapped behind glass, ogled by everyone, as an attraction. He wanted to let go of all his etiquette, and let go, bang against the glass until it shattered and set him free. Free to run as far and as fast as he wanted.
But people like him couldn’t be free. No, he was doomed to be forever trapped behind the glass, seen but not heard, locked away inside his dark, lonely cage, too far away from the sun to feel its warmth.
He had started to freeze. And he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.
“Regulus.”
He flinched. Not due to his mother being loud. No, she never raised her voice. Deeming everyone not worthy of the energy to do so, that or she simply did not care enough. But he flinched because he knew what was about to happen. He hadn’t been doing his job as the “perfect heir” to lost in the pages of his story, trying to turn the page, stop the song, but it wasn’t stopping.
“You should talk to some of the guests, shouldn’t you?”
It might have sounded like a question, but it was intended as a demand.
“Yes, maman, I would love to.”
Lie. Regulus instead did anything but talk to the horridly pretentious and rude guests they were hosting, he thought. But he would never dare utter that aloud, especially to his mother.
Walburga eyed him suspiciously before stalking off, head high, face looking like she was permanently sucking on a lemon.
Regulus let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and surveyed the room to decide who would be the best person to talk to. One that would appease his parents and not make him want to jump out of a window when a young woman stalked up to him. It took a second for Regulus to put a name to the face, but soon it came to him.
Emma Vanity. She was wearing a dark green off-the-shoulder mermaid dress with a sit on the side, cap sleeves, and an empire waistline. It was aide-draped, which meant a fabric train trailed after her. The dress was made to look like very expensive satin. Along with the dress, she wore shiny bracelets that clinked together whenever she moved, dangly earrings weighing down her ears, and a small nose ring. All gold complimented her outfit and makeup, consisting of a deep red lipstick and a dusting of light brown on her eyelids, bringing out her green ivy eyes.
She looked like a goddess.
“Forgive me if I’m coming off creepy, but you look divine.”
The beauty looked him over and glanced him up and down, a smirk settling on her lips once she saw she had the curly-haired boy's attention.
“Just a little creepy. But that’s okay. I daresay you look quite exquisite yourself.” He turned his entire body, facing her.
“You flatter me,” Emma stated.
“Well, you flatter me as well.” He shot back teasingly.
“Well,” she smirked, “that is because you deserve it.”
Regulus’s gaze turned questionably while still holding a faint, amused light in his eyes. “And you do not?”
Emma smiled a bitter, sad smile, “No, I believe I do not.”
He straightened, confusion and concern filling his face.
“What was that?”
“What was what?” She questioned, tense, a bitter look crossing her face.
“That!” He exclaimed, “That sad, forlorn face you keep making. Like a cat forced to take a bath. Like you’d rather be anywhere else, anyone else.”
“Well, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else than here to so,” She deadpanned
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Regulus muttered,
His eyes found hers, “Is it that obvious?” flashes of sadness appeared in his guarded eyes.
“No, but I have a special sense for people like us.”
He lifted one perfect eyebrow, “Care to elaborate?”
Emma smirked, “I mean people unhappy with their lives.”
Regulus's eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and he started choking on the swallow of champagne he had just drunk.
“Excuse me?” He sputtered, “I’ll have you know that I am the heir to the most respectable family, my family’s business is booming, and we are soon to be the richest family in the world.” He spoke with pride and assertiveness as if his answer would suddenly make her understand how happy he was. When it was intact, it did the opposite. “How am I not to be happy?”
“You just named your family’s achievements.”
“So? That is all I need to be happy. A successful career and my family to be well-off.” Regulus' voice had risen an octave, and his eyes took on a defensive stance to the defensive.
“Well, now I know that not to be true.”
“And how’s that?” He crossed her arms, waiting, eyeing her spitefully.
“Well, I did say people like us. Didn’t I?”
Regulus' arms dropped along with his defenses.
“Looks like we're both pretty miserable.” He sighed.
Emma smiled, “If the shoe fits.”
“Well, I, for one, hate shoes.” Regulus deadpanned.
Emma laughed, and she laughed loud; Regulus followed, and soon enough, they were clutching their stomachs, gasping for breath before making eye contact, and it started again.
They quickly gained an audience of onlookers, eyeing the laughing adults curiously. Among them were his parents, eyes cold and hard. They were willing for him to stop immediately and return to the image of a perfect heir, the ideal mold.
“Regulus.” The laughing ceased, and he straightened up.
His voice hitched, “Yes, maman?”
“I think you would do well to entertain some other guests besides Ms. Vanity. Don’t you think so?” He looked into her eyes and saw a snake getting ready to lunge, and he didn’t want to be when she did.
“Yes, Maman, that sounds delightful. I’ll start right away.”
Her lemon face twisted into a malicious smile lacking all kinds of warmth. After all, how can you be warm when the sun has shunned you away and risen you into darkness?
“Very well.” She turned to Emma, who was a quiet presence throughout the whole interaction, and nodded. “Ms. Vanity”
“Walburga.” She muttered, no kind of emotion on her face.
He sucked in a breath. No one addressed his mother by her first name, let alone a stranger who had already gotten on her wrong side. Not that she had a good one.
“Excuse me.” She turned her face rigid with quiet fury, the snake behind her eyes fixing on its new target.
“Oh. I’m sorry, don’t let me stop you. You may go.” Despite the friendly words, what she implied was anything but. It was clear that this was a sign of defiance of blatant dismissal and disrespect.
If he needed any more confirmation on whether he was correct in his assumption that it was intended as a sly blow, her mouth quirked up, and her eyes twinkled with mischief.
His mother opened and closed her mouth several times before taking in the people around them and shutting it permanently. Walburga Black would not be caught at a loss for words. But that happens, and Regulus has to pinch himself several times to ensure he sees right.
But of course, that was not the end; his mother stalked closer, her shoulders tenser than before, but otherwise the picture of calm. If you happened to look closer, you might see the snake about to strike.
“Get out of my house.” She whispered quietly and maliciously, meant only for one set of ears.
Emma smirked, tilted her flute, and drank the last remaining drink. “Gladly.” She thrust her glass into Walburga's hand and started to walk away. But before she left, she turned and uttered one last sentence while staring right into Regulus' silver eyes. “We should get better shoes.”
Regulus smirked, for once disregarding his mother's unkind eyes, “I agree mine are becoming a little too…- uncomfortable.”
She tilted her head, “Restricting?” A devious smile graced her red lips.
“Exactly.”
“Well, that settles it. Me and you need to go shopping for some new ones. I’m thinking of a whole new wardrobe.”
A smile ghosted his lips, “I’d love to.”
The goddess-like woman smiled, and the gods did. She had a beautiful smile, “Looking forward to it.” And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind a sense of hope and a smile on the black heir's mouth.
His mother's voice filled his ears, demanding an explanation of what she meant.
But even her upcoming interrogation could shake his better mood. Because it was not a good mood, it was just better than before, and he felt it would only increase from then on.
—-
The glass started to crack.