smoke break
Regulus was humming.
Which was weird, because Sirius didn’t remember the last time he’d heard Reg hum.
It was soft — barely audible under the sound of boiling water and the low buzz of the kitchen radio, but it was there. Some classic rock track they both pretended not to like, filtered through the Bluetooth speaker Regulus always "borrowed" from Sirius's room.
Sirius leaned against the doorframe, watching him from the hall.
Reg had flour on his nose. There was a whisk in his hand and batter splattered on the counter, and the concentration on his face was so intense it made Sirius grin.
“You know we have a mixer, right?” he said, finally breaking the silence.
Regulus jumped and nearly dropped the bowl.
“Jesus—” Reg clutched his chest, glaring. “Warn someone before you sneak around like a ghost.”
“You’re the one making ghost muffins,” Sirius said, walking into the kitchen. “What is this? Revenge baking?”
Regulus shrugged, turning back to the bowl like he hadn’t been caught mid-teenage-domestic-mode. “Wanted to try something.”
Sirius leaned over and snuck a fingertip into the batter.
“Hey!” Reg smacked his hand away.
Sirius grinned and licked the batter. “Damn. You are trying to kill me. That’s impressive.”
“Eat your own food.”
“Yours tastes better,” Sirius said, before he could stop himself.
Regulus gave him a look — not annoyed, exactly. Just… thoughtful. The kind of look that made Sirius ache a little. Because it was still new, this softness between them. This home.
He ruffled Reg’s hair on the way to the coffee machine.
“Stop,” Reg grumbled, batting at his hand. “I just fixed it.”
“Tragic.”
Sirius poured coffee and leaned back against the counter, watching his kid brother bake like it was a normal Saturday morning.
And maybe, for once, it actually was.
The apartment was small. Not in a bad way — just cozy. Lived-in. The kind of place where shoes piled by the door and mismatched mugs lived in every cupboard. There were movie posters on the walls, empty guitar cases stacked in the corner, and a dent in the coffee table Regulus swore he hadn’t caused.
Sirius had worked hard to make it feel like theirs.
And slowly — painfully slowly — Regulus had stopped acting like he was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him.
He still kept his room locked sometimes. Still flinched at loud noises or sudden knocks on the door. But he smiled more now. He talked. He made muffins, apparently.
Sirius would take it.
“You working today?” Reg asked, not looking up.
Sirius nodded. “B-shift. Got called in a couple hours early — someone’s out sick.”
Regulus made a noncommittal sound and kept whisking.
Sirius hesitated. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Reg—”
“I said I’m fine.”
There it was. The shutdown. The wall.
Sirius exhaled and set his coffee down.
“I don’t like leaving you alone this long,” he said, keeping his voice level. “I know you’re fine. I believe you’re fine. But I still worry.”
Reg didn’t answer, but his grip on the bowl tightened.
Sirius crossed the kitchen and gently pried it from his hands, setting it on the counter.
“Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”
It took a second, but Reg did.
“You don’t have to say it,” Sirius said quietly. “But I know it sucks. I know this isn’t... what you pictured.”
“I didn’t picture anything,” Regulus muttered.
“Still,” Sirius said. “You should be out with friends. At a game. Not stuck here baking crap muffins while I run off to put out metaphorical and literal fires.”
Regulus huffed, barely hiding his laugh. “They’re not crap.”
“I know. I’m offended by how good they smell, honestly.”
Sirius nudged him lightly with his shoulder.
Regulus nudged back, smaller. But it was something.
“I’ll be back after midnight,” Sirius said, glancing at the clock. “You good for food?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? I can order something before I go. Pizza. That Thai place you like. Hell, I’ll even attempt to make pasta before I leave.”
Reg made a face. “Please don’t.”
Sirius held a hand to his heart. “Rude.”
Reg rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.
“Alright,” Sirius said, grabbing his gear bag from the floor by the door. “Call if you need me. Or if the fire alarm goes off again.”
“That was once.”
“It was dramatic.”
“You left toast in the oven!”
“And whose fault is it for not reminding me that toast doesn’t go in the oven?”
Regulus opened his mouth to argue and then stopped.
“Okay, that one’s on me,” he muttered.
Sirius grinned, walking back to ruffle his hair again — just to be annoying — and leaned down to press a quick kiss to the top of his head.
Reg made a noise of protest but didn’t move away.
“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”
Regulus nodded.
Sirius hesitated in the doorway.
And maybe it was silly — they’d done this routine a dozen times — but every time he left, there was a small part of him that hated it. That feared he'd come back and find the light gone again. That some part of Regulus would shut down for good.
But today — muffins and all — today felt better.
He smiled, softer now.
“Save me one of those.”
Regulus didn’t look up. “Only if you don’t die.”
“Deal.”