i know places we can hide
Regulus likes watching James sleep. He usually has this restless energy about him, thrumming through him at all times, leg always bouncing, but he's peaceful when he sleeps, the only time he's still, really. His eyelids flutter slightly and he nuzzles his face closer to Reg's neck, but he doesn't stir, arm thrown over the other man’s waist almost reverently.
He loves moments like this, when they can afford to steal some time together, away from the cameras and the spotlight, and the watchful eyes of their fans: not James Potter ™ and Regulus Black ™, not the superstars you see on magazine covers, but Jamie and Reg, two men—two boys, really, because he still feels like they’re kids, even as they've crossed the threshold of their twenties—madly in love, safely tucked into each other's arms. James’s chest rises and falls steadily, his head resting on Regulus’s shoulder. His mess of black hair slightly tickles Reg's skin where it brushes against his neck, but he can take it, if it means he can feel the warmth and weight of James's body pressed against him.
His scent is intoxicating, cedarwood and soap, and vanilla lip balm, and he takes it in. He's missed this. It's been a while since they've had a chance to get away in peace. Regulus has just wrapped up the European leg of his tour. The moment he got off stage from the last show, he had hopped on his private jet and flown home to James, not a second to be wasted away from him. It's rare that their schedules coincide like this, because James has just finished filming his most recent movie, a Greta Grewig piece about girlhood and the crushing loss of childhood innocence in which he plays the romantic interest whose relationship with the main character is doomed by the narrative. Regulus was there when he first read the script and decided he wanted to do it. He was there when he got the call that he got the role. He's sure he'll be there, too, when James gets his Oscar nomination.
He won't be there for the premiere, on the red carpet by his side where he belongs though. It's not something they're allowed to do. It's the one place he cannot be. He won't be there when James inevitably wins his award for his heart-wrenching performance, cheering him on from the audience. Out in public for the world to see is the one place James goes where Regulus can't follow. It makes his heart sag with guilt. It feels like a betrayal that he can't be there for James when it matters most, that he gets to hold him in private but must keep his distance when they step outside the safety of their little havens.
Some days, he wishes he wasn't a coward. He knows James has no issues accepting who he is. If it were up to James, they would have been out a long time ago. But Regulus— the way he was raised, the people who brought him up taught him it was shameful. Disgraceful. And even if he knows that what he and James have is beautiful, and precious, and real, he still struggles sometimes with the complexity of his identity, with fully internalizing the belief that there is nothing wrong with what— who he is. Those deeply rooted feelings of shame don't even begin to cover the rest of it: the legal challenges with his label, his family's outrage even if he doesn't speak to them anymore, the potential backlash, the public outcry. The fear of losing his fans, of walking out on stage and no longer seeing the looks of quiet adoration but facing, instead, their outright disgust. It's a nightmare he has fairly often. Those anxieties, crawling under his skin at all times, have made their way into his lyrics, seeped their way into his music, desperate, urgent, sad songs about being plagued with worry that those who love you will leave you when they finally see you for who you are. Some days he thinks the songs are about his fans leaving him when they realize he's been lying to them. Other times, when he's feeling particularly self-effacing, they're about James finally seeing him for the coward he is and choosing to walk away because he deserves to be with someone unafraid and unashamed of his love for him.
James shifts again in his arms, mumbling softly, and Regulus presses a kiss to his temple, blinking the sadness away from his eyes. They haven't seen each other in months, and he'd been exhausted last night when he finally made it to James’s beach house so they hadn't been able to spend much time together before they fell asleep in each other’s arms. He won't be ruining their reunion with his melancholy.
It's still early, the first rays of sunlight creeping their way through the linen curtains and bathing the bed in soft light. His sleep is usually restless, turmoiled, and he knows once he's woken up, he won't be going back to sleep. Gently, so he doesn't wake James, he slides out from under him, running his fingers through his hair and caressing his face lovingly one more time before he sneaks out. The thick soft carpet swallows his feet when he swings his legs off the bed and a smile flickers across his face. James and his small comforts: his fluffy carpets, his pillow forts, his feather down blankets, surrounding himself in soft, warm things. It's a stark contrast to Regulus’s apartments and houses, cold floors and tiles, sharp angles and open spaces. Part of him thinks he's done it on purpose, made his own places rigid and uncomfortable so that he has an excuse to run to James’s. Part of him thinks James has done it on purpose too, made his home a warm, welcoming place, so that Regulus—who is used to vast cold rooms haunted by angry stares—can have an actual home to go to. It makes something warm pool in his stomach, a wave of affection for James almost suffocating him.
He doesn’t deserve him, and he knows it, but he's selfish enough to keep him. There's a price to fame, to being so big an artist, so well known a figure that certain things aren't yours anymore. You're not yours anymore. It didn't matter to him, before he met James. He didn't care that he couldn't love in public, that he had to hide who he was, that the relationships his fans knew about were orchestrated and scripted, that the women he was seen with were paid to do so. The lies never seemed to bother him. Staying in the shadows never seemed to phase him. But James— James was real. James made him feel like the world had clicked into place, like laughter was easy and happiness wasn't unobtainable. Like he wasn't hard to be around and even harder to love. James made it seem like loving Regulus was as easy as breathing.
So he's been finding it progressively harder to keep their relationship a secret, to stand on the sidelines for the big, important things in James’s life because his friendship is not enough of a cover to justify his presence. He wants, sometimes, to just be able to hold his hand, kiss him, wrap his arms around him without fearing being seen.
He makes his way to the porch facing the ocean and quickly descends down the stairs to bury his bare feet in the sand. The sun has already started crawling up the horizon but the waves are still tinted a reddish-orange shade as the sky dissolves from pink to purple to blue. It's July, so even this early the heat is almost oppressive as it clings to his skin like a jealous lover. He slowly trails towards the shoreline, letting the waves kiss his toes, feeling the seafoam dissolve when it touches him.
He's always loved the beach, loved staring at the waves, at the depths of it, so inviting, so mournful, so luring. He's glad that they have private access to it, that it's something he gets to share with James.
"You're up early."
Without turning around, he can tell it’s Barty. Can always feel his presence. He's not his only bodyguard but he's definitely Regulus’s favorite, and the one that's been with him the longest. The one he trusts the most being around James. Of course he's snuck up on him like a shadow, it's just what Barty does.
"Can't sleep," he says, eyes still locked on the crashing waves.
"Reckon he'll be up soon, then," Barty grins and even though Regulus isn't looking at him he can imagine he's glancing back at the house.
"How come?"
"He's always like an over-excited puppy when he's around you," a hint of amusement colors the bodyguard's voice. "I doubt he'll stay put for much longer."
Regulus tries to glare at him but is unsuccessful as he breaks into a smile. Still, he tries to be stern when he says, "Bold words from you, Crouch."
"Yeah," he retorts, "You keep me employed because of my renowned ability to keep my mouth shut."
They stand in silence for a while. It's not that Regulus necessarily needs protection out here on James’s private sliver of beach, but he likes having Barty around. He finds it rather comforting. It's a lonely life that he leads, rarely free to go wherever he wants to, or to do whatever he feels like. People like Barty or Evan, his other bodyguard, are the ones who always end up being there for him, an inescapable part of his life. Pandora, one of the producers he most frequently works with. Dorcas, his publicist and closest friend. He finds it a little sad, that the line between his employees and his friends is so thin and blurry it's hard to tell the difference, but he can hardly make other friends when every move he makes is being tracked by the paparazzi and by some of his more perceptible fans, the ones who have been able to put the little trails he leaves behind for them together.
It's with faint amusement that he thinks of a tweet he saw just last night, a repost from right after his previous tour when he'd been less careful and had gotten himself papped sneaking into James's apartment almost immediately after his last show on closing night.
jegulus truther @regulusfruit
okay but how much do you wanna bet his ass was on a jet the second he got off that stage last night so he could run to james potter’s house because i’m betting A LOT of money on this
2:16 AM - 7 Jul 23 - 71,6k views
261 Retweets 32 Quotes 16,8k Likes
Even though he knows he should probably be more careful, it makes him feel almost giddy with excitement that there are people out there who see him, who know him. Who are rooting for him and James to be together. It's a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless to know that not all of them would abandon him. That some of them listen to his lyrics, and actually hear him. Hear the declarations of love and promises for the future he's woven into his music, hidden behind fake pronouns when he gets especially daring to include incriminating details. But they know. It makes him feel like less of a liar, less of a fraud.
"Frank's about to take over from Gideon in an hour," Barty says, shifting his weight. "I can send Gid for coffee before he leaves, or I can have him ask Frank to stop by on his way."
"You know me so well, Barty," he flashes him another smile, even if it's a little strained and tired. "Please do order something for you three as well. Can't have our faithful protectors uncaffeinated."
"Would be a pity," Barty laughs, but doesn't move from his spot until he's made sure that Regulus is safely back in the house. The death threats he gets are frequent, but they're there. The stalkers. The psychos determined that they're destined to be together and the way for their meet cute to happen is for them to pop up at his house. It used to scare him when he was younger, and the goons his parents had hired for him had been less friendly than Barty and Evan. He's kind of resigned to it now, aware that it's happening but somewhat unbothered by it. It's quite abnormal, he's aware, but you get used to it eventually, when you've been chased by thousands of people screaming your name as you try to take the five steps from your studio to your car. There are days, more frequently as of late, when he doesn't even feel like a person. So few people see him as one, it's easy to forget every now and then that he's an actual human being under the public persona everyone knows and loves. Never with James, though. James never makes him feel like that. He grounds him, helps him feel more present, more aware, more grateful to be alive.
He's still sleeping as Regulus pads across the bedroom floor, leaving the sliding glass door open so the ocean breeze can ruffle the curtains. The expression on James’s face is soft and peaceful, and Regulus leans over to plant a kiss on his forehead.
"I love you," James mumbles in his sleep, and his words tug at the corners of Reg's lips, as well as at his heartstrings.
"Je t’aime aussi, Jamie," he breathes out.
There are scripts scattered on the coffee table in the living room, chaos an ever-present aspect of cohabitation with James, and he leafs through them: a Hunger Games remake; an Austen adaptation; a Nolan biopic; a young adult adaptation of a fantasy series about dragon riders. He curiously pores over the pages, reading James's thoughts and remarks scrawled in the margins, observations, reservations, and ideas Regulus might have guessed even if he hadn't read his notes. Whatever James picks as his next project, there's no doubt he'll shine through, as evidenced by the Golden Globes statuettes lining the mantelpiece. Both he and James hope there will be an Oscar to join them one day. The thought lodges in Regulus’s side painfully, reminding him of his many failings. Reminding him that when James does win, he can't be there for him. Some days the realization is more painful than others.
His phone buzzes on the counter and he walks up to it with a sigh. Never a moment of peace.
[6:20am] How are we feeling?
[6:20am] Jetlagged. But I'm happy to be here.
[6:20am] You wouldn't be jetlagged if you weren't in such a hurry to get back to LA.
[6:21am] Like I said. Happy to be here.
[6:21am] I'm catching a flight now.
[6:21am] To London, I hope.
[6:22am] Back to LA, I fear.
[6:22am] You're being an idiot.
[6:23am] I'll survive a day without my publicist.
[6:23am] Go to the Wimbledon, Dorcas.
[6:24am] Go watch your wife win a tournament.
[6:25am] You will not survive a day without me and you know it.
[6:25am] When was the last day without a crisis situation?
[6:26am] I was antsy to leave you on your own even for a night.
[6:26am] No disaster has struck yet.
[6:26am] That you know of.
[6:27am] I'm that good at my job.
[6:27am] I'll watch Marlene's match on the plane.
[6:28am] I'll make it up to her for the US Open.
[6:28am] Suit yourself.
[6:28am] But you should have more faith in me.
[6:29am] I do have faith in you.
[6:29am] Can't say the same for James Potter.
[6:30am] 🙄
Out of all of them, Dorcas is his favorite, fierce and stubborn, and dedicated to her job to a degree he hopes won't turn out to be unhealthy. He can't imagine it's easy being married to a tennis legend, and it has to be exponentially harder being married to one when your own job requires you to be managing disaster almost around the clock. He wishes being Regulus Black ™ wasn't as exhausting as it is, both for him and for everyone else around him.
He finds himself curled up on a couch with a notebook while he waits for coffee and for James to wake up. That's always his favorite part: writing the music. It's not that he doesn't enjoy the rest of it, being on stage, connecting with the crowds, hearing his own words, his own feelings shouted right back at him by thousands of people. But this— just him and a pen and some paper. That's when he feels the most at home, when he can pour his heart out. When he can say everything he wants to but is too afraid to. His fears, his anxiety, his love for James, his anger, at his parents for doing what they did, at his brother for leaving. All of it pouring out on the page, beautiful and delicate in a way he never could express if he had to speak about it.
"Morning, angel."
When he looks up, the sun is spilling through the windows. He's not sure how much time has passed, too lost in his own words. James is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest, a wide grin on his face.
"Jamie," Regulus says, slamming the notebook shut. "How long have you been standing there?"
"A while," his voice still carries the trace of sleep, slightly muffled, and he's rubbing at his eyes in a way that's so adorable it makes Regulus’s heart do a somersault. "But I like watching you when you write."
James approaches him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and placing a kiss at the top of his head, lips brushing his curls.
"You weren't in bed when I woke up," he mumbles, "I almost thought it was only a dream that I had you here with me."
Regulus tilts his head up to meet his lips, a slow, deep kiss that he almost purrs into, as James's hands grab his chin, then slide down his neck playfully.
He smiles into the kiss, heart almost bursting with joy.
"Frank or Gid should've brought coffee," he says when they finally break the kiss, which causes James to perk up, eyes bright.
"Have I told you I love you?"
"Mmm, yes," Regulus murmurs, pressing another kiss into the corner of his lips, "but that was all them, not me."
"Yeah, well," James says as he heads into the kitchen, then comes back carrying two paper cups of coffee, "That doesn't make me love you any less."
He hands Regulus his order, then slumps on the couch next to him, feet in his lap, as they cozy up together. They've been a thing long enough for these morning rituals to feel like a routine, even if they get to have them sporadically, in between tours and filming, and recording sessions, and press tours, and award shows, and auditions, and fake dates with pretend-girlfriends.
When they do get to have them, they are sacred stolen moments that he's always grateful for.
"Oh my God," James sits up abruptly, almost knocking his coffee out of his lap, "I almost forgot what today is!"
Regulus scowls at him as he takes a sip.
"It's Speak Now release day!"
Before he's had a chance to roll his eyes with affection, he watches as James scrambles off the couch and into the bedroom so he can grab his phone and pull up Spotify.
"I love Taylor," Regulus whispers against his chest later, as they listen to the final notes of the closing vault track. "I'll have to text her and let her know she's amazing."
Her rerecording project means a lot to him, and has been an incredible inspiration to him, in his own struggles against Lucius Malfoy, the owner of the record label he's signed to, to regain ownership of his music. Taylor has been beyond supportive as he's dragged through the negotiations for months now. He's glad to see her succeed in reclaiming her songs in a way he hopes he'll be able to soon enough.
James bursts into laughter that vibrates through Regulus’s body.
"I still can't believe you know Taylor," James says, voice incredulous, which almost causes Reg to choke.
"James," he says sternly, propping himself up to meet his eyes, " You know Taylor too."
"Oh," James blinks at him once, then twice, then laughs again. "Right. I keep forgetting."
"That you're famous?" Regulus asks, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He always smiles more when he's with James than he does at any other time. "That you know other famous people?"
James shrugs humbly, pulling Regulus in for a kiss. He could stay here, like this, forever. He wishes they were ordinary people, not global sensations with reputations that could be ruined and legal terms that constrained them from being who they are. If wishes and buts…
"What are your big plans for the day?" he asks, fingers gently caressing James's cheek. They'll have to return to the real world soon, they both have obligations, but they've made sure to clear a day in their schedules for just the two of them, a small reprieve from everything.
"Mmm," James hums against his lips, "Beach," he says, "Wine. You. Bed."
"Yes," Regulus grins as he's buried under an onslaught of kisses, heart stammering in his chest, breath hitching in his throat, "Yes to all of this."
James’s phone is going off in the other room, vibrating almost angrily against the marble counter. They're tangled in James’s bedsheets, a mess of limbs on the bed in the slant of the late afternoon light. Nothing can be that important, Regulus thinks, mildly annoyed, as he traces circles on James’s bare back, warm and sun-kissed from their beach day. He tastes like salt and sunscreen when their lips meet, and Regulus melts into him, thinking more, and forever. There was a time when he thought he would never be happy. Now he knows that wasn’t true, but he also knows that James is his happy, that if something were to go wrong, he really, truly would never be happy again.
This time, it's Regulus’s phone that starts buzzing insistently. Despite his best judgment, he reaches for the nightstand. It can't be a coincidence. James lets out an unhappy grumble, but Regulus still feels compelled to check. His brother’s name flashes on the screen, feeling like a gut punch. His brother he barely talks to. His brother, who is James's publicist. James, whose phone has been blowing up all afternoon.
With some hesitation and a lump in his throat, he pulls up the message.
[4:35pm] is james with you
They text back and forth for a while, the frustration and anxiety stirring in Regulus’s stomach. When he finally sees the screenshot—from James’s official Instagram profile, the one that's public, the one that has millions of followers—bile rises up his throat. Before he knows it, he's scrambling to the bathroom, his knees hitting the floor. Fingers clutching at the toilet, knuckles ghostly white as he empties the contents of his stomach.
Panic is a wild thing in his chest, clawing at his ribcage, howling, rattling somewhere deep inside him. He feels short for air, like someone has sucked all the oxygen out of the atmosphere. He's vaguely aware of James’s presence, of the worry in his voice, of his insistent questions, but he doesn't hear him as he leans over the toilet and throws up again.
Because James Potter, the love of his life, has just outed him to the whole world.
The room is spinning. The tiles feel cold against his skin, but the room just won't stop spinning. He knows it was an accident. He knows James didn't mean it. He knows he was being a sappy fool, excited for Taylor's new album, trying to show their closest friends just how much Regulus means to him. God, he knows he meant well.
But as he slumps against the bathroom floor, heart skipping beats like a scratched record, something in his stomach recoils, because his worst fear has suddenly come true, and it's James’s fault, and he has no clue what to do with this.