Chapter 5
Regulus is busy, he has class every day and then he has to spend hours studying himself, and Gryffindor, Barty’s new gym, is further away than his previous gym. At least that’s what Regulus tells himself. And Barty. But when two weeks pass and he still hasn’t visited Barty at Gryff, he knows he can’t avoid it forever.
Barty hasn’t said anything but Evan’s disappointed looks say enough. Regulus knows he’s being a bad friend. It’s not like he’s any busier than usual, it’s not exam season yet, and Gryff is only five minutes further than where Barty used to train with Riddle. He’s just making up excuses, but he’s not willing to admit, even to himself, the real reason why he hasn’t visited.
It’s not that he’s scared of Remus Lupin, it’s not. But maybe he is slightly scared of the way Lupin—sorry, Remus, as Barty has insisted on calling him—makes him feel. Fragile. Small. Breakable.
Regulus drums his fingers on the steering wheel. He should’ve parked closer, it’s raining. Maybe he can use that as an excuse? No. It’s always raining.
Groaning, Regulus gets out of his car, not bothering with an umbrella, and rushes across the car park into the gym.
He enters a reception area, decorated with posters of bloodied, half-naked men holding up championship belts. Regulus pointedly ignores the ones of Lupin. To the right, there’s a trophy case that’s overfilling and to the left a hallway which leads to the rest of the gym. Regulus can faintly hear grunts of exertion and the crack of knuckles against punching bags.
“Hi!” a bubbly receptionist with dark skin and tightly coiled curls greets him. Regulus’ own curls are probably a frizzy mess from the rain. “Were you looking to sign up?”
A scoff from behind. “I’d like to see that.”
Regulus would know that voice anywhere. He spins around to glare at Remus. He’s shirtless, muscles on full display as he smirks down at Regulus. Regulus wishes he’d use the towel around his neck instead of just letting himself glisten with sweat. It was disgusting. Truly. “God, why are you everywhere?”
“You’re at my gym, sweetheart.” Remus saunters forward and Regulus instinctively backs away, the counter of the receptionist's desk digging harshly into his back. He glares when Remus looks at him with amusement. “Don’t worry, Mare.” Regulus flushes with embarrassment when he realises Remus was just leaning around him to talk to the receptionist. “I’ll take care of this one.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Just bring me to Barty.”
Surprisingly, Remus complies with a lack of snark. Regulus takes in the gym as he follows Remus to Barty. It’s smaller than Riddle’s place and the layout is slightly different to compensate. The main area is completely open, but segregated into different areas, bags, mats, etc.. In the centre of the room, there’s an octagon, smaller than the one at Riddle’s, and beside it, a boxing ring. A staircase in the back leads up into a mezzanine, Regulus can see assault bikes and treadmills behind the rails, he assumes there’s other workout equipment there. Unlike the reception, there are no posters or decorations on the wall. They’re completely bare, painted a clinical light grey that almost reminds Regulus of the hospital.
“Reggie!” Regulus doesn’t even blink as he takes in Barty, struggling on the mat as he tries to focus half his attention on putting a man in a chokehold and the other half on Regulus. Off to the side, Evan looks faintly amused. “Reg! You’re here— Fuck! Mother—” Barty swears when the man takes advantage of his distraction to slip the choke and try to reverse him. “One second.”
“Hello, Bartimus,” Regulus says in a sing-song voice a few minutes later once Barty has successfully submitted the man. “You’re looking good.”
“I know right.” Barty puffs out his chest. Then he ruins it by bounding up to Regulus like an excited puppy. “I missed you!”
Regulus stops him with a finger to his chest and shakes his head. “Absolutely not.” He looks disdainfully at Barty’s damp rashguard—but at least he’s wearing a shirt—and wrinkles his nose. Barty's hair is almost as wet as his own, only it's sweat and not rain.
“Aw come on, Reg.” But he stops protesting when Evan wraps an arm around him in a half hug. “Time for rounds?” Barty asks. For a moment Regulus is confused thinking he’s talking to him, but then he remembers Remus is still behind him.
“Yeah. Warm up and then let’s go a few.”
Regulus stiffens when he feels Remus’ breath tickle his neck. Why is he so close?
Barty just grins. “I’m warm.”
Regulus refuses to turn around to look at Remus but he hears him say, “Okay,” and then hears footsteps as Remus walks away towards the cage.
Barty says a quick, “Thanks,” to the man he was sparring, for what, Regulus has no idea, and then follows Remus.
Regulus and Evan find a place to sit, close enough to the cage to watch but far enough they’re not in the way. Regulus opens his textbook determined to get lost in the familiarity of it. When Barty was at Riddle’s, Evan and Regulus used to visit nearly every day, Evan sometimes trained, other times he watched Barty, and Regulus usually just found a corner to sit in while he studied. Evan had kept up the routine after the switch to Gryff and Regulus feels another stab of guilt when he sees how familiar Evan is already with the gym.
Anger gnaws at the guilt when Regulus sees Remus and Barty climb into the cage. Everything could be blamed on Remus Lupin.
Regulus has seen enough of Barty’s training to know it usually involves protective gear but he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees headgear and even shinguards. Remus is wearing them too, Regulus just doesn’t care about him.
The coach—Frank—calls out, “Fight!” and Remus and Barty circle each other. Barty is dodging a punch, shooting for a takedown, when Evan says, “You’ve been a shit friend lately.”
“Yeah,” Regulus says quietly. “Yeah, I know.”
Evan softens, but this is about Barty. He doesn’t let it go. “Barty’s always supported you,” he continues. “Always showed up for you. I know he’s all—” Evan waves a hand, “—Barty about it, but he was nervous about quitting his old gym and starting a new one. It was a big deal and you knew that. You should’ve been there for him.”
Regulus hangs his head. Guilt is a foreign feeling. Or rather, guilt with no underlying terror is a foreign feeling. “I’m sorry,” he says and he is.
Evan huffs. “Don’t apologise to me,” he says.
Regulus nods. He’ll talk to Barty later. Knowing Barty, it’s already forgiven.
Evan sighs like he’s all-suffering, shifting to get more comfortable. “Don’t beat yourself up too much, Reg. It’s not like we don’t know why you wouldn’t come to Gryff.”
Regulus’ face flames. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denies. In front of them, Remus and Barty are between rounds. Regulus watches as Remus takes a swig from his bottle, a stray trickle of water escaping and running down his chin.
“Uh-huh,” Evan couldn’t sound less impressed. “What is it about him?” he asks, curious eyes lingering on Regulus.
“I literally,” Regulus grits his teeth, “have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lie. Lie. Lie.
“Right.” Evan draws out the vowel, teasing, but Remus and Barty have restarted, turning Evan’s attention away from Regulus.