Rule #13

Planning ahead has never, not once, failed Regulus. 

It got him into a boarding school for “gifted children”, a year before the age requirement. It got him into three different Ivy Leagues for the entirety of his higher education. And it got him his position at MIT, a feat he still can’t quite believe.

Though the less adept might advise backup plans, Regulus knows such a method is ill-fated. On the contrary, the more backup plans, the less the probability of success. The logic is simple: by putting effort into alternatives, humans spend less time and energy on their true goal. There’s reputable research on this, of course, conducted by some of Regulus’ colleagues. Not his favorite colleagues, but alas, amiability isn’t a requirement in his field. 

The point is: Regulus makes plans, and good ones at that. There is no Plan B, C, D, or god forbid E. 

There is only Plan A. 

A for ambition. 

A for ascendancy.

A for—absolute, abysmal amor. 

13 steps Regulus made in his impenetrable plan to woo James Fleamont Potter. And 10 of them he’s finished. 

Step #1: Have a real conversation with James. 

Regulus is proud to say he’s managed this eighty-four times in the past four weeks at Hogwarts, an average of three conversations a day, which brings him to a 72% success rate, given his thirty-two failed attempts, mostly in the form of incoherent babbling, passing out, and silent stares. James, however, doesn’t seem to notice the difference.

Step #2: Laugh at all James’s jokes.

This was a fruitful endeavor until Sirius said in front of James: “There’s no need to fake a laugh at his jokes, Reggie. Prongs isn’t that desperate for attention.”

Step #3: Stare into James’s eyes while maintaining sanity for 60 seconds. Without blushing. 

Despite the odds and his experiential failures, Regulus managed to do this while waltzing with James; he utilized the choreography and rigid counting to ensure his mind didn’t…stray. 

Step #4: Conduct chivalrous actions to endear James. 

This should have been the easiest step, but thanks to James’s unending charm, it posed quite a challenge. When Regulus opened a door, James reached his hand above and held it instead. When Regulus tried to refill his water, James ran off to fill both of their bottles from the Brita filter, courtesy of Evan. When Regulus got up early to make James his favorite tea, Kashmiri Chai, James was already sitting in the dining area with some tea and a fresh cup of coffee for Regulus. 

Eventually, Regulus enlisted Mary’s help; he covered for James during his twenty-four hours off, pitting his own cabin and James’s in an innocent, friendly series of competitions, that were not so innocent or friendly in the end. Nevertheless, when James returned and discovered that Regulus had been watching his campers, his grin nearly knocked Regulus out. 

Step #5: Discover James’s secrets and any necessary private information.

Admittedly, some of this, most of this, Regulus already knew…James’s blood type is A negative. Shoe size 10. Pants size XL. He could wear a medium shirt, but he prefers the fit loose, so large is more typical. B student in secondary, but A student in college. Well-liked as a coach at a high school, though Regulus isn’t interested in details on the sports front. Family in Pakistan and Southern California. As for secrets? Regulus doesn’t think James could keep a secret for his life. 

Step #6: Insult James to create an aura of mystery and intrigue.

The most diverting of all the steps. Strangely, even when Regulus is mean, James smiles. 

Step #7: Demonstrate physical prowess. 

A quick spin on the aerial silks did the job. Regulus was sure to wear his extra-tight leggings that day. 

Step #8: Demonstrate intellectual prowess.

Though none of the Marauders could believe it at first, Regulus played chess with Peter and won.

Step #9: Demonstrate creative prowess.

This one was rather embarrassing; Regulus made James a bracelet to match his bead and shell necklace from a previous camper. In return, Regulus had thought James sent him a Shakespeare sonnet. In the end, it was just Gilderoy making an ass of himself on one of the camp excursions. So much for the romance of the arts. 

Step #10: Try a new look. 

Reg tried to wear red to catch James's attention, but besides an insult from Pansy, and a long-knowing look from Mary, the fashion choice was a fail. 

The last three steps are the most bold, the most terrifying. 

Step #11: Convince James, without words, to touch me.

Step #12: Kiss James. 

Step #13: Tell James you love like him. 

The plan’s deficiency is apparent to Regulus, just as it was when he first formulated the 13 steps. Despite his detailed courting and aggressive attention, Regulus will not succeed. 

He can’t tell James he loves him because he can’t convince James to love him back. 

So the right, sensible verb is like; Regulus likes James. It’s just a crush—easy to recover from—a compliment to James—a small letdown to Regulus, and nothing more. 

It’s better this way, Regulus knows.

Only failure doesn’t suit him, not in the belly or the brain. His entire body, in fact, riots at the thought of defeat. Regulus knows with these last three steps, the disappointment will punch him in the dick he doesn’t have, and rip him apart. 

But James saying no isn’t quite a failure, is it?

The point of the plan is to woo James—that doesn’t require romantic reciprocity much less Regulus’s happiness. The plan will be successful if only James ends up flattered, pleased that for once, he was sought out instead of the other way around.

“I can do this,” Regulus whispers. “I will succeed.”

Regulus wishes to bash his head into the shower tile before him, but he holds himself back because A) the showers are disgusting B) his head is his best, perhaps only admirable feature, and C) Sirius would be upset. 

The water, blissfully hot, pours onto his curls, flattening them against his brow and neck, across his chest scars, down his abdomen, and splattering onto his shower shoes. Regulus is not a morning person, yet he drags himself out of bed every day so he can enjoy ten minutes of solitary hygiene before he faces the dirt, zeal, and contamination of camp. 

It’s not unlike his time at the Whitmore Group Home, waking up before the sun to steal a shower before the other foster kids get up. With his unconventional body, unconventional gender, bathing was the hardest part of his life. That was why he rarely did it. Why Sirius stumbled out of bed and guarded the bathroom door.

And it is why now, Regulus showers every fucking day. 

He finishes up his four-step hair wash and conditioner, ending with a deep scrub that exfoliates every inch of his skin. When he shuts the water off he’s quick to pat himself dry and slide into his black shirt, black pants, and black sweatshirt, thank you very much, Pansy. 

There’s a small smile on Regulus’s face as he slides on the friendship bracelets his cabin made for him. Not the usual knotted thread, but sparkling beads on elastic; a more classy token of affection, according to Draco. 

They’d spent the weekend away, Regulus and his cabin. It was the first time the cabins split up for excursions. Luckily, that meant that Regulus got to pick the destination. Only because he pitched in some of his own money did Lily let Regulus take his campers to a spa an hour north of Hogwarts. 

He’s not above buying children’s affection. 

In between hot tubs, massages, clay masks, and meditations, they spent the day “becoming family” as Dumbledore put it in his precious handbook. Regulus would use less magniloquent phrasing, but the basic premise was accurate. 

He talked with Theo about his passion for bowties, his latest everyday accessory, bonded with Blaise and Pansy over their aversion to skiing and preference for reading beside a fire, and played Millie and Draco in cards. Regulus didn’t let them win, that would be insulting, but he did have to actually try to win, which is remarkable evidence of their skill. 

It was fun, Regulus realizes as he brushes his teeth. He felt that wild, rare joy that he saw so often in Sirius and James. Sure, there was a schedule, but the spontaneous water fights, the giggles in the middle of meditation, the strange but amusing conversations five kids posing as mature included him in…it was everything and nothing like what he imagined summer camp to be. 

The real test, however, was when he sat his cabin down for Star Chat and asked: What do you think is your biggest weakness?

Lily would pass out if she knew Regulus was giving them such a pessimistic prompt, but he’d had over three weeks to observe them by that point—he knew what they needed. 

All of them, every single one of them, said that they feared disappointing their parents. 

Regulus admitted the same: “My parents passed away a long time ago, and then my other guardian, my Uncle, died when I was around your age. But despite their absence, and despite all I’ve accomplished, I still feel that pressure.”

And there it was. He could tell from their open expressions, finally unguarded, that they didn’t need to hear that it got better, they didn’t need finely dressed lies, they needed someone to say I understand. I know. I see. 

His campers liked him before, but now? Now they adore him. 

Regulus brushes his hair, finding his reflection almost as arrogant as Sirius’s grin. 

It’s well-earned. 

Even Draco, haughty, aloof Draco, seemed to enjoy himself. It helped that Regulus had pulled him aside the morning of their return to camp:

“Next week I’ll be writing your mom with a camp update.”

Draco’s eyes blew wide. “And what, exactly, are you going to say.”

Regulus knew that Draco was asking quite literally, word for word, what Regulus planned to write. It was what he would have asked for in his position. So he obliged: Draco is an extraordinary camper who constantly challenges himself socially, intellectually, and physically. I’ve seen him connect with many of his peers, and he often offers a sage perspective in any cabin activity or camp challenge. He takes care to be patient and kind while remaining brave and candid; Draco Malfoy is a remarkable kid.

“Hm,” was all Draco said. His slow breath of relief gave him away, however. 

What Regulus didn’t tell Draco was the last part of the letter. The words that Draco’s mom wouldn’t receive, but rather Regulus’s cousin:

Narcissa. Though I might guess as to your reasons for sending Draco here, I’d prefer to hear it from you. I’d prefer to sit down and have a conversation about what has transgressed since Uncle Alphard’s passing. Don’t worry, I haven’t told Draco a thing. I can see the pieces of you in him. It is a pleasure to get to know him, even if it’s only for the summer.

Formal with the hint of affection, as it's always been between them. 

But first Regulust has to build up the courage to write the damn thing. He has until Friday to send it off, which means Wednesday in Lily-time. 

He rubs in his second layer of mineral sunscreen, so lost in the words he doesn’t want to but wants to send Narcissa, that he misses the person standing behind him. 

“Hi, Reggie,” James speaks to the mirror. 

“AhNFSK what the hell!” Regulus screams. As his heart hammers, he realizes he sounded exactly like Draco did the night before when they found a spider in his bed. 

James steps forward so he’s standing next to Regulus, watching him through the mirror. Not once does James look at himself. No, his eyes are pinned on Regulus. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Regulus takes a minute to shut his mouth, swallow, and remember the English language. “You didn’t.”

James snorts. “I totally did.”

“Why—” Regulus clears his throat. “Why are you up so early? And in the Slytherin bathrooms?”

“Another one of Fred and George’s pranks.” James’s tone is adoring and proud. “I’m just lucky I noticed the stains from the food dye before I turned on the shower.”

Regulus stares at his damp hair, his tired, swollen eyes, his unblended sunscreen, and wishes he were invisible, that James was looking at anyone, anything else. 

Only that’s not true. 

He wants James to look. 

Fuck, he wants James to gawk forever. 

When Regulus doesn’t respond, James continues: “The Marauders pulled that one in 2008.”

A huff finds its way past Regulus’s nostrils. “I remember a letter or two boasting about the rainbow showers.”

James, finally, turns away from their reflection, and it guts Regulus to lose the image of them standing next to each other, but then James is leaning against the sink, staring at Regulus head-on. “Did you keep those letters? The ones from me and Sirius?”

Yes. Of course. They’re in a safe under Regulus’s bed. “I’m not sure.”

James shrugs, pushing off the sink and heading towards one of the stalls. “I kept yours if you ever want to take a look at your younger self.”

Regulus’s knees nearly buckle as James keeps the stall door open and takes off his shirt. There’s only a bare shoulder visible, but still, it’s the knowing that James is there undressing, it’s the knowing that James is about to take a goddamn shower—

Regulus, quickly, thinks about everything but…that.

“But you don’t get to keep them,” James is still talking. “I want those letters forever.”

“Forever?” Regulus repeats. 

Yes, yes, yes—forever. 

The shower creaks on and Regulus has to grip the sink because the shower stall door is still open, and James is still talking, and this isn’t fair. He can’t be this unknowingly cruel. 

“Yeah, in fact, bury me with your words, Reggie. Though I think we should be buried next to each other. You on one side, Sirius on the other. Lily above me and Peter below.”

Regulus raises his shaky voice so James can hear him over the water: “You’ve really thought about this?”

“Course.”

“Of course.”

It takes Regulus much too long to drag himself out of the bathrooms, away from the open stall, away from James. 

******

Regulus has seen his sibling hit rock bottom only once in his life. 

Back then, they were both too young, too damaged to handle the perpetual torments that came their way. And while Regulus doesn’t believe in fate, he does believe in rationality; it was only rational for Sirius and Regulus to struggle. Or to put it less kindly, to fall apart. 

Regulus coped by pouring every last inch of his miserable existence into academic achievement, at the cost of his social life, his health, and his relationship with his sibling. 

Sirius coped by pouring every last inch of their miserable existence into distractions, at the cost of everything, but above all, her relationship with his brother. 

Casting blame is pointless, and Regulus has no interest in augmenting Sirius’ guilt, but that year when they lost contact? When Sirius used to the point of overdose—when Lily called Regulus crying at the hospital—when Regulus cut off his tits and Sirius wasn’t there. 

It was the worst year of Regulus’s entire life. 

It got better, of course. Thanks to their friends’ unconditional love, Sirius went to rehab and figured her shit out. 

Regulus should have been there to help him through it, but they were too hurt. Too hurt to see that Sirius was hurting too. 

They’ve healed now. A product of the brain’s development, as well as Sirius and Regulus’s relentless desire to defy the Black tradition of inimical family, and maybe, perchance, because they like each other quite a bit. 

Siblings by blood, friends by choice. 

At least that was what Sirius embroidered on that god-awful pillow she made for Regulus’s 23rd birthday. Regulus claimed that he would throw it out, but it sits in his living room still. 

So Regulus knows Sirius at either side of the extreme—sickening happiness and revolting melancholy. Both require all the patience Regulus saves for only his sibling. 

Such imperturbability is being tested tonight. 

“You can have your space, cowboy I ain't gonna fence you in. Go on ride away, in your Silverado Guess I'll see you 'round again. I know my place, and it ain't with you.” Sirius strums the banjo, head lulling as he sniffles and—is that a whimper?

Despite Sirius’s moping, Regulus isn’t barraging them with questions. She, evidently, isn’t ready to share. 

Tonight is Peter and Pandora’s Camp Game, a play on Percy Jackson. Somehow Sirius was cast as Dionysus and Regulus as Aphrodite, and they’re both dressed in gold and glitter and gauche costumes, an entirely ahistorical representation of Ancient Greece, but one which all the campers enjoy. 

Sirius and Regulus’s stations are across from each other at the top of the Slytherin hill, Regulus’s a play on balloon darts, while Sirius’s involves something about an improvised ballad with interpretive dance. Tonight’s Camp Game is all about camaraderie, with each cabin trying to collect the most points to win different prizes. Dionysus and Aphrodite are in an isolated area, mostly hidden by cabins and trees, so the campers haven’t found them yet. 

“Well, sunsets fade, and love does too Yeah, we had our day in the sun When a horse wants to run There ain't no sense in closing the gate You can have your space, cowboy.”

Regulus sighs, watching Sirius pluck at the banjo and look at the fading daylight with utter gloom. 

“Singing your own songs is rather bombastic, no?” Regulus drawls.

“Songs are made to be sung.”

“Ah, great, we’re philosophical tonight.”

Regulus counts the woodchips, hoping his silence encourages Sirius to spill whatever has them so upset. It’s probable, a rough 77%, that the issue involves Remus Lupin. The other 33% could be a mixture of work stress, Marauder drama, or Sirius’s general existential musings.

Regardless, Regulus has to fix it. 

“Sirius.”

“What?” She looks up from the banjo.

“I’ve just had…” Regulus pauses. “The worst day.”

Anyone else would recognize the contrived drama in Regulus’s expression, but as planned, Sirius jumps to their feet and rushes to Regulus’s side. “Tell me what happened.”

And so, Regulus makes up a few grievances, hunches his shoulders, and sighs now and then. By the time they’re discussing the crudity of Regulus’s costume, Sirius is seated beside Regulus on the right, always the right, with an inch of negative space between their shoulders.

“It’s not as if Aphrodite is a saint, I mean none of the Greek Gods can be perceived in the Christian tradition, it’s anachronistic and frankly, vulgar. Regardless, the male gaze has certainly depicted Aphrodite in a sexual light; she is, of course, sexual, but not as an object, as a God.” Regulus puts his gut into one last sigh. “And here I am, representing the goddess in a cotton toga.”

“Wow. You’re absolutely right. This is atrocious.”

Regulus hums. “I’m glad you understand.”

“I’ll go down to Pandora’s craft house and find some accessories, do you think pipe cleaners will express her feminine complexity—”

“No, you can’t leave your station,” Regulus says quickly. “Why don’t you, I don’t know, distract me with some drama of your own? Tell me the camp gossip.”

Perhaps Regulus pushed too far because Sirius freezes, their eyes narrowing. 

“You want to hear…gossip?”

“Mmhm.”

“Right, okay. What the fuck are you up to?”

Regulus holds on for a second longer, then gives in. “I almost had you.”

Sirius stands up and crosses his arms. 

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Don’t get all pissy, I was just trying to help you spit out whatever’s bothering you.”

Nothing gets Sirius more vulnerable and mushy than the thought of Regulus upset. Sirius, apparently, realizes Regulus’s game and nods in recognition. 

“Not sure I want to talk about it.” Her words are clipped as if they need to enunciate every last syllable. A habit from their time with the less gracious side of the Black family. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Regulus says. “But you’ve been keeping something from me for weeks and now you’re all…” He waves a hand in Sirius’s direction. 

“I’m what?”

“You’re acting like Uncle Alphard on the anniversary of Princess Diana’s death.”

Sirius’s hands move to his hips and she looks at the sky. “Fine. I’ll fucking tell you.” 

A long pause, so long that Regulus counts all ten seconds of it. Then:

“Remus kissed me. Or I kissed him. There was a kiss.”

Regulus waits. 

“Obviously, I wanted that. I want a lot more than that, but I was trying, I am trying to get him to like me for me. And not just want to…” Sirius looks around, then mouths “Fuck me.”

Regulus waits some more.

“And it’s like, of course it was the best fucking kiss of my entire life. Of course I’m thinking about it, about him, 24/7, I have been since I was twelve years old, but that’s not the point! I knew the kiss would be good. I know everything between us will be good because—”

Regulus keeps on waiting. 

Sirius lowers their voice. “I feel like a goddamn fool trying to hide from him and every time I see him my heart literally cleaves in half like there’s an axe slicing me open the way Peter chops firewood and honestly, I’m better off split, because I love him, you know, I love him and he—”

“Doesn’t?” Regulus guesses.

“No. Not even close.”

Regulus lays out all of Sirius’s rushed words in his head like a computer code, picking apart the syntax, the kernels of raw truths embedded in the figurative language, and the verbs. Not like, but love. 

“Since you were twelve years old…” Regulus trails off.

There Sirius is, looking at the sky. No, not the sky, the rising moon. 

Regulus chokes. “Holy shit.”

Sirius’s head snaps down. 

“He’s your Moony,” Regulus whispers. “Remus was a Marauder.”

Before Sirius can crumple, before Regulus can catch him, a group of campers come hiking up the Slytherin hill. It’s a testament to Sirius’s love for the campers, and their skill for performance, that she turns around and smiles, slipping into character. 

“Have you come to entertain me, young worshippers?”

******

It takes the rest of the Camp Game for Regulus to factor Remus into the equation. Memory by memory, Regulus replaces the unknown, blurred image of Sirius’s “Moon” with a younger Remus—before he lost his memory, before he moved to Colorado and met Ty.

Surely Regulus had seen pictures of Remus during Sirius’s time at Hogwarts, but it seems his photographic memory fails him now, his own cunning intellect too. Regulus should have guessed that this was Sirius’s dilemma. 

There had only ever been one boy who made Sirius a soppy mess.  

Regulus sits with the other counselors at the campfire circle, gaze trailing between Sirius and Remus. Each cabin gets to choose between different prizes auction style, and as Lily runs down the options, Regulus works to merge the Remus he’s come to call a friend with Moony, Sirius’s first love. Only love.

Why would the Marauders not tell Remus about their shared history? Even more perplexing, why would Dumbledore hire a former camper, and not tell him? 

All the unsolved mystery gives Regulus a sort of thrill—he loves puzzles. He loves solving problems even more. But above all, he loves making Sirius happy. 

He can fix this. 

Then again, as of yet, Regulus’s romantic plans lack a stable success rate. 

He’s so focused on Sirius’s Moon Predicament that he misses when Lily offers the next prize: Kidnap Your Counselor. Even worse, Regulus misses the smirk on Draco’s face as he whispers to his cabin mates, convincing them to bid all of their 120 points on it. 

“And the prize goes tooooo—” Lily points to Pansy, who stands with their makeshift paddle raised. “Slytherin Cabin 3!”

******

A couple of nights later, it’s not Sirius who is hiding from the boy he loves, but Regulus. 

“I’m walking into the kitchens,” Regulus announces, hand over his eyes. “I’m now stepping through the doorway and entering the room.”

Something hard hits Regulus in the gut. He takes his hands off his face, finding a tomato by his feet, and levels a glare at Evan and Barty. “Good. You’re decent.”

“You walked in on us one time.”

“This is a kitchen, not a bedroom.” Regulus blinks. “And don’t pretend as if you weren’t fornicating before I walked in.”

Evan’s misbuttoned shirt and Barty’s rough hair say it all.

“We’re celebrating our engagement,” Barty says, smiling knowingly at Evan. 

“That excuse is old.”

Evan giggles. “Ah, but a true celebration never ends.”

Regulus sighs and walks over to the table where Evan is finishing prep for tomorrow. He washes his hands and takes a knife and cutting board, slicing up the last few tomatoes. 

“Right, you’ve come to help me.” Evan rolls his eyes. “Because you clearly don’t do enough labor with your twenty-four-hour work day.”

“I can’t go to bed, so I need to keep my hands busy.”

Evan giggles.

“And that’s not an option, so I’m cutting tomatoes instead.”

Barty swings over, hopping on the metal table beside Regulus. “Why can’t you go to bed?”

“James is planning to kidnap me.”

Barty doesn’t bat an eye, but Evan turns around from whatever he’s boiling. “Why the hell would he do that?”

“It’s my cabin’s prize from Peter and Pandora’s Camp Game.” Before today, Regulus hadn’t known who exactly was going to kidnap him, but he figured it out rather quickly. 

Taking a tomato, Barty drawls, “Sounds like more of a prize for you than for your cabin.”

“Well, the point is that they have to find me in the middle of the night. My campers are into true crime, unfortunately, so I’m their next victim.”

Barty bites into the tomato, obviously looking for a reaction from Regulus. He doesn’t get one. 

“Soooo why do you think it’s happening tonight?” Evan says, returning to his pot. 

“I know James’s tells.”

“Do tell.” Barty leans forward. 

Regulus scoops the tomatoes into the bowl. “Well for one he wouldn’t stop looking at me.”

“And that’s not normal?”

“No.” Regulus sighs. “It’s not.”

Barty snorts. “Sure it’s not. Well, you won’t find much help from us.”

“I don’t need your help, I just need a hiding spot—ANFwkenFNH” Regulus flinches as something warm falls over his eyes. A blindfold. 

“You always make the loveliest sounds when I scare you,” a low voice speaks into his right ear. 

“J—James?”

“Hey, Reggie.”

Regulus shivers from James’s breath on his neck. 

“Okay if I touch you?”

For a moment, a hideously wonderful moment, Regulus thinks James means something else. Then he hears Evan’s giggling and remembers that this was a ploy, and he’s been duped. He’s always been a sore loser. 

It’s entirely pathetic how breathless Regulus sounds when he answers: “Fine.”

“Bye, Regulus. Have funnnn,” Barty’s voice follows Regulus and James out of the kitchens. The traitorous bastard. 

Regulus doesn’t bother trying to figure out where James is taking him, there’s no chance he can focus on the slope of the ground, the drift of the wind, the sounds of the camp, with James’s warm hand pressed into his lower back, guiding him somewhere, anywhere, everywhere.

It’s torture, Regulus thinks. His vision stolen and senses benumbed to all but James. Is this his cabin getting payback for something? No, they don’t know the depths of Regulus’s desolation, luckily. 

This is all one happy, horrifying coincidence. 

“I get you all to myself until your cabin finds all the clues,” James says, voice still devastatingly low. “Unless, of course, you try to run away.”

It’s a dare, but Regulus can’t bring himself to match James’s tone. Besides, he won’t run. Why the hell would he run from James?

They eventually make their way into some sort of building, perhaps a cabin. James helps Regulus up a few stairs, guiding him to a cushioned spot across the room. A bed.

“Blindfold?” 

James laughs from beside him. “Nope.”

Regulus settles on the mattress, folding his legs under him. Without his vision, he’s at 75% capacity, a remarkable deficiency combined with his general impotence around James. 

At least he’s managed to handle actual conversations with him. Step #1 required the pen pal Regulus honed all these years; a dash of snark paired with subtle curiosity, a touch of banter, and a sprinkle of flirtation. 

Perhaps without the distraction of James’s face, Regulus might even be able to handle the next step. 

Step #11: Convince James, without words, to touch me.

The only issue is: how the fuck does he do that?

While Regulus has partook in extensive studies of romantic comedies, and arduous bouts of Star Trek fanfiction consumption, he carries no empirical knowledge of romance. Until this year, he hadn’t thought he’d ever need to learn such frivolous things. Regulus wasn’t built for things like true love or first dates, he was made to think. Mostly in solitude. 

Then he overheard a little conversation on New Year's Eve:

“It’s alright, Prongs,” Peter says. “I’m not going to judge you.”

James and Peter are sitting on the balcony outside, or rather, their legs are dangling off the edge, with their foreheads pressed to the railing. The comfortable chairs that Regulus helped Sirius thrift have been pushed to the sides so they can sit on the wet wood. 

Regulus hovers by the screen door, the platter of cheese and pickled vegetables that Lily gave him resting lamely in his hands. If he had any shred of decency, he’d leave, but as James speaks, Regulus can’t bring himself to move. 

“After River, I don’t know, Pete…I guess I’m just asking myself what’s the point? Why bother dating, loving all these partners, when I always end up with a broken heart? And besides, I’ve got the best friends and family in the world, I’m loved, I don’t need—“ James’s voice cracks. 

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a break from dating, Prongs,” Peter says soothingly. “It doesn’t have to be forever, just for now.” 

“Wise of you, Wormy.” 

Peter chuckles. “You know in all the time we’ve been friends, you’ve never not been dating someone?” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

“I guess I have a lot of love to give.” 

“You do, James. You definitely do.”

Regulus made a decision that night, a resolution if you will. This year, James Potter would get the love story of his goddamn life. Then, after he felt the might of Regulus’s affections, he’d have the confidence to return to dating. He’d get back out there and find the person of his dreams. 

And here Regulus is ten steps in, three to go. James deserves this, Regulus reminds himself. Nevertheless, Regulus is laughably, ludicrously ill-prepared for…touching. 

For rejection. 

Something crackles from James’s general vicinity and Regulus jolts. 

“Prongs?” someone asks on his walkie-talkie. 

“Hey, bud. Everything ok?”

The voice blows out a breath. “Another nightmare.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” James says gently. “You want me to tell you a happy story, that way it balances out?”

“Harry?” Lily’s voice comes next. 

“Hi, Firefly.”

“You want me to come and sit with you? Or we can take a walk around camp?”

“Yeah, can Prongs come too?”

James chuckles. “I’m actually kidnapping Regulus right now, for his cabin’s prize.”

Harry’s voice, inexplicably, brightens. “That’s awesome! No, you should definitely stay with Regulus, have a really nice chat about nice things, and just have a nice time, yeah?”

Lily sounds amused when she says, “I’m coming right now, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” James whispers. 

“Goodnight, Prongs.”

It’s awfully sweet. So sweet that Regulus forgets that he’s the only one who can’t see, and he finds himself smiling like an idiot. 

“What a smile,” James breathes. 

Regulus schools his face quickly. “So, you gave Harry a walkie-talkie?”

“Yeah, he’s been having a hard time sleeping, and I think he’s connected to Lily and me.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I wish my cabin were as easy as Harry.” James sighs. “Eddie and Fay started fighting this weekend and are still giving each other the silent treatment. I don’t know what to do.”

Mary warned the first-time counselors that this was the point where the drama began, when the campers “showed the brats within”. Regulus’s cabin is exceptional and unencumbered by such farce, so he has no such concerns, but James, evidently, does. 

“Sirius and I…” Regulus bites back a smile. “I used to give her the silent treatment because I knew how much they hated being ignored, then one day he dragged me up the group home’s attic, which locked from the outside, just to force us to talk it out.”

“Why would an attic lock from the outside?”

Regulus swallows. It had been a punishment of sorts, a time out. “That’s not the point. I’m saying you should get the two of them alone, apart from the cabin. It’s all about the right ambiance.”

“Good advice, as always,” James hums. 

The bed shifts and James unzips a bag, giving Regulus the time to build up some courage. 

I’m brilliant, I’m intelligent, I’m pretty, he tells himself. I can seduce James Potter. 

He lowers his voice, leaning closer to where he’s fairly certain James is sitting. “So why are you kidnapping me?”

“I volunteered, of course. And Sirius is supervising your cabin with their clues.”

“How come Sirius isn’t the kidnapper?”

James gets quiet. Suspiciously quiet. 

“We’re in the Nurse’s Cabin, aren’t we?”

James exhales. “Yeah.”

“Is Remus here?”

“No, not sure where he is actually.” James shifts back onto the mattress. “You hungry?” 

“Nope.”

“Come on, Molly made these special for us.”

“Oh wow, a kidnapping picnic.”

“Only the best for Reggie.”

Regulus cringes at James’s tone; he sounds like an older brother, like the pal in pen pal.  

“Come on, it’s really good, ” James says. 

When it comes to food, Regulus is entirely indifferent. He eats for sustenance, for brain fuel to use a crude, common metaphor, and thus picks meals based on nutrition and efficiency. Sirius and their sweet tooth has tried a hundred too many times to convince Regulus of the merits of tiramisu or crepes but besides the pies Lily makes every Thanksgiving, he never indulges. 

Only here James is, voice whiny, breath close, and Regulus can’t refuse. He opens his mouth slightly and takes a bite of whatever James is holding out. 

It’s impossibly, outrageously, delicious. 

Crisp honey-coated rolled oats and dark chocolate chips and roasted almonds and Regulus is moaning, he’s squeezing his eyes and shaking because it’s so good. 

“You like it?” James asks simply. 

Regulus’s answer is just as simple, just as understated: “Mmhmm.”

“You must really trust me, huh?” James laughs. “I could have been feeding you anything.”

“I trust you,” Regulus says seriously.

“That’s lovely to hear.”

Regulus tries to scoot closer in James’s direction, but the bed shifts, and he knows James is scooting away. Always respectful. Always distant. 

Step #11 is too ambitious, Regulus concedes. Of course James isn’t going to touch him without explicit permission. He’s the most tactile man Regulus knows and yet he’s painstakingly careful with Regulus, as if he were a doll one slip away from shattering.

“Can I ask you a question?” Regulus rasps. 

“Hit me.”

“Why don’t you touch me?”

“I touch you all the time,” James waves him off. 

“Not without me touching you first.”

“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence, and Regulus keeps his limbs still despite the urge to wriggle and writhe. 

“I, well, you might not remember this…but in one of your letters all those years back, you told me you hated when people just hugged you out of the blue. Felt like they were taking something from you, forcing you into physical affection.” James’s voice is slow and serious, as if he was thinking out every word. “I vowed then that when I finally met you in person I wouldn’t touch you unless you asked, or you touched me first. I guess it’s just stuck.”

Regulus thinks of the day they met. How nervous he was to finally meet Sirius’s new roommate, best friend, and his own pen pal in person. How crushed he was when James didn’t embrace him like he embraced Sirius every other minute. 

“I didn’t—” Regulus rubs his face, his fingers catching on the blindfold. “I didn’t know that.”

James doesn’t say anything, and Regulus wants to rip the fabric over his eyes, burn it to ashes, but he finds the restraint to ask: “Can I please look at you?”

“Yeah, Reggie.” James is gentle untying the blindfold, tugging it out of Regulus’s curls, and balling it in his hands.

Regulus blinks, his gaze catching first on the tattoo on James’s thigh, just the hint of something more beneath his shorts. Then he looks up slowly, marking his camp sweatshirt, his sharp chin, his honey-brown skin, and finally, his kind eyes. 

“I don’t like when most people touch me, that’s true.” Regulus swallows and the rest of his sentence almost swims down his lungs, hiding from the world, from James. 

“But—” Regulus forces himself to admit. “But you aren’t most people.”

James grins. “I’m not?”

“I said I trust you, James. You can…touch me whenever you want to.”

Regulus doesn’t know what he expects. A high-five? A handshake? A hug? 

It’s none of those things. 

Instead, James takes Regulus’s left hand and threads their fingers together. Their palms press against one another, James’s slow, steady heartbeat an inversion of Regulus’s frantic pulse. 

This isn’t anything breathtaking, heartracing to James, Regulus knows. And that’s alright. In fact, it’s perfectly predicted. 

Regulus watches their laced hands and knows what comes next; the next step will shock James’s system and convince him to return to romance, to return to dating—just not with Regulus.

Step #12: Kiss James.

“Jamie?” Regulus begins. 

James tilts his head and Regulus audibly gasps. “Jamie can I—”

“WE FOUND YOU!” 

Regulus rips away from James, yanking their hands apart, and turns to his cabin. Sirius stands behind Draco, Pansy, Theo, Millie, and Blaise, her flashlight beaming right into Regulus’s face. 

“My saviors,” Regulus says dryly. 

Millie steps forward, her expression proud. “We finished in record time.”

“Thirty-three minutes to be exact,” Sirius confirms. 

Regulus smirks at his campers. “I expected nothing less.” 

Everyone but Draco smiles back. It’s not lost on Regulus the strange look Draco gives him and James, the disappointment he’s failing to hide. But what had Draco expected?

“Great job Cabin 3!” James moves to stand when Sirius holds up his hand. 

“Not so fast, Prongs. You’ve got to face your punishment for kidnapping their counselor.”

James’s eyes brighten. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Before Regulus can duck, his campers are squirting water guns at James’s face, staining his perfect skin with Slytherin green. 

James laughs as the food dye rolls down his face, and gives Regulus one final wink. 

As if nothing has changed at all.