Hoping You’ll Come Around
“James Potter. I know you.”
His voice melted like the smoothest of butter, dripping onto the floor like candy. Deep. And dark. It was almost unsettling.
Barely finding the words, his English failed him as he mumbled out nonsense. He hadn’t felt this flustered in a very, very long time.
“You know me? How?”
He laughs with his head thrown back, he thinks, dazedly, watching this magnificent creature infront of him, laughing as if he had cracked the joke of the century.
If they were starting to attract attention, James wouldn’t know. He was to mesmerized at the sight in front of him he just couldn’t think. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Regulus either.
“Have you competed in the Olympics or not? You scored quite high last year, I remember. 9th, was it?”
“Y-yes. That’s right. It was a miracle, really, that I even placed in the Top Ten at all. Of course, for you it must seem like nothing much, since you got the gold but…”
It was a common trait for him to depreciate himself in front of those he felt nervous talking to. With his friends, he bragged like it was his last day on Earth, but something about the ambiguous glint in the other man’s eye caught his tongue in any lie. Definitely unsettling, then.
“I don’t believe it to be a miracle at all, James Potter. You are quite some skater. Your quads were a flawless I hadn’t seen in a long time in Olympic ice. I couldn’t help but rewatch it from time to time, even now, so many years after the games.”
There must be a unique kind of confidence that comes with winning a gold title, because James could never have said that to Regulus even when he had done the same thing this morning.
“Wow, well, I am flattered to hear this, Regulus Black. And please, I insist, call me James. You represent the French team, if my memory has not failed me?”
“Represented, and yes, James. I am of French nationality although I have lived in London for many years. It is more of a home to me than Paris ever was, I’m afraid.”
James had already chastised himself for his mistake when his curiosity sparked again.
“I am sorry to hear that; I’ve always liked to visit Paris. What was it like, is it much like they describe it? The city of romance?”
“I believe anyone who has lived there, long or short, could answer that question better than me. I stayed locked in the ice rink for the whole day for as long as I can remember. It is safe to say I’ve never had much of a childhood. Nor, as you’ve said, an opportunity to explore the ‘city of love.’”
James is quick to realize too many boundaries had been crossed in such a short period of time. Yet neither he nor Regulus seemed to mind it; if not for the stiffness of his feet from standing to long.
So he does the thing he hadn’t expected himself to do; no one could have seen this coming.
“Would you like to continue this conversation elsewhere? My apartment is not far from here; a 10 minute walk at best.”
“Your apartment ?”, Regulus chews on his underlip.
Despite his anxiety, James find this gesture endearing, and he’s sure the emotion is reflected in his eyes. When, to immense surprise, Regulus agrees, the reflection increases by twofold.
“Great! Follow me. I know a shortcut close to the coastline.”
The two grab their coats and greet the brisk morning air on a of brighter note. Both haven’t felt this happy and safe for a long time.