Armageddon was minutes away
Regulus Black stands motionless in a frenetic crowd. Eyes closed, he is out of place and time; a warm crew neck jumper in contrast to the 90s rave attire and naked torsos that surround him. A strobe casts him in light then darkness, light then darkness.
A voice echos from behind the beating sound but Regulus can barely make the words,
Ladies and gentlemen, we will
shortly begin our descent. In
preparation for landing, please
make sure your seat backs and tray
tables are in their full upright position.
As the beat escalates, on the verge of falling into a groove, Regulus opens his eyes.
He sees James, dancing alone just a few steps from him, his head turned up to the boom, boom, boom of the rave, his body a transient being escapable from materiality itself. His skin is glowing in the lights and Regulus needs a second to ground himself, both feet on the ground, before it all makes sense. He is not sure he has ever seen something as beautiful as James dancing under the gleaming of life. He thinks I love him, God. I love him. Some of you will know what I mean. This love, throbbing, is large enough to contain a whole lifetime.
Regulus does not mind the bodies separating them. He steps around and reaches for sun kissed skin and a smile as joyful as the presence of the sun. James is this sort of brightness measured by the darkness it casts. He dances and it feels liberating and animoso and free.
James’ eyes lock with Regulus and his smile transforms into something fleeting when their hands touch, as if this moment is already gone, not exactly being lived in the present but in memory itself. James moves with the music, his arms loose and free. For a moment it’s as though he’s somewhere else.
Reg, he says and reaches for his waist. Their bodies meet with the elegance and tranquillity of words who found each other in a dead language. Oh, hello there, they say, here you are. Welcome home.
With his free hand, James leans forward and grabs his hair, the one locket — his favourite — that stubbornly falls on his eyes. James leans and kisses his eyelids and the arch of his eyebrows and the contrast of this gentleness with the music pulsating around them makes something twist on Regulus’ stomach.
Regulus is missing something.
I love you, Regulus thinks he hears James whispering at him but he cannot be sure. The music is too loud.
Before he can ask for them to go get some air, maybe go back home, James twist him and kisses his mouth when Regulus faces him again. James is still jumping to the song — but Regulus cannot feel what he is feeling; the music is not music but a noise oscillating between pain and something else, something unnatural, as if an open wound was left unattended.
James does not stop though. He keeps jumping and Regulus jumps with him, their smiles a reflection of each other. I love you, they say at the same time and then laugh at their own silliness. A rock cascades on a lake surface and Regulus is sure James’ expression — this gutural smile that translates into everything good in Regulus’ life — will always remain waving into perpetuity, a mirror of all the kindness in the world.
Laughing hysterically, hand in hand, James turns him around again and kisses his shoulder, turns again until they are facing each other. Their foreheads bump and Regulus can barely contain his smile. He can feel the warmth from James’ blushed cheeks on his own, the texture of his skin on the tips of his fingers. I love you, he says.
You need to go home Reg, is what James mumbles back but Regulus can barely hear his voice over the drum. He asks You are not coming? and James’ smile fades, his denial gentle in his eyes and in the shake of his head.
Regulus is missing something.
The lights flits again and James’ hands are not on his waist anymore. He reaches out but comes empty handed.
Someone bumps into him.
James, he calls, but it’s too dark and the strobe continues to cast the space in and out of darkness, offering up momentary glimpses of James as Regulus pushes through the messy crowd, his eye line steady. Jamie, he whispers and it’s the first loud sound he can identify in the mess around him and James is smiling but he is not reaching back.
Somebody crosses in front of him, then James, further obstructing Regulus from his view. He strains to keep him in sight.
Regulus continues to push on through the ever-tightening crowd. Each person requires more effort to overcome. Through the gaps, he glimpses James dancing with abandon, but as he closes in on him, it doesn’t feel as free as it did at first glance. It feels desperate, endless.
Jamie, he tries again but James is not even looking at him anymore.
Regulus nears James, still dancing. More dancers crowd them now. More obstacles. The sound of breathing, heavy, erratic, dictates the soundscape. The pace slows. The breaths endure. James’ eyes, straining wide open, his ashen skin, sweat trickling down his sideburns, down his jawline, finally dripping onto his already soaked shirt. He looks like death.
Regulus stops.
He is missing something.
Music from the rave fades out, at first slowed, warped by the sound of something else. A slow tap, tap, tap from crayons over table. The sound of sirens, glass cutting his skin.
Go home, James says and Regulus’ mind flashes images of an ambulance, someone mouthing to him Sir, please, can you tell me your name? Sir, do you know where you are? We are taking you out of the car now. Everything will be okay.
He pushes back, fights this reality that is bright and alive and tries to go back to the darkness of the light but it’s pushing him away now, it does not want him anymore. Sir, please, just stay calm. We are taking you out. The ambulance is right here.
Reality creeps in. It’s cold under him and Regulus knows it’s snowing. You are going to be okay, sir. Just a few more minutes.
Regulus wants to say no, no, no, stop this madness. Let me back in. He gathers his strength but the only word he is capable of mouthing is
Jamie.
The hands stop. Sir, is that your name? (pause) We are taking you out now, okay? We can call your emergency number at the hospital.
Belatedly, Regulus thinks his emergency number is James.
He is not at a rave. He is not dancing. James is not dancing with him.
In a soundless wave, everything comes back.
He answered the phone. His hands started shaking. He thought airport, he thought hospital, he thought James. He took his keys out of his pocket, left the classroom full of children who have never seen him cry. He ignored the questions. He stopped at a red light and thought I need to call Sirius, and then. His feet hit the breaks. Boom. A crash. The rave. James.
James.
James.
James.
You are going to be okay, sir. We are taking you to the hospital now. You are going to be okay.
Regulus does not say anything. He thinks, the last thing James heard was my voice-mail. Then, No, I am not going to be okay.