Two years after walking the halls of the house Regulus picked out for them in Brazil, James Potter stands in their kitchen. It’s been three years since he passed, and yet James still calls it theirs. They may have never danced on the countertops together, or even been on the property at the same time. But it’s theirs. Regulus picked it out for them, and James keeps their memories alive. No matter how limited they were. It was always supposed to be theirs. A place to call home and decorate for holidays. To dry oranges and tie them on string at Christmas, and to put shitty plastic pumpkins on the front porch in October. Regulus would’ve hated them, but he’d let it slide if James asked. They were supposed to wake up together, kissing skin and refusing to leave the safety of the warm linen. They were supposed to bake together in the kitchen and twirl around even without music playing. The house was never built for one. James refuses to view it that way. So despite all their ruined plans, and waking up alone, it’s theirs. He is not the sole inhabitant even if he’s the only one actively walking the property.
The daylight sinks into the room, creating spotlights on the wooden floor beneath his feet. James stares at the counter, and the oranges he’s placed there. It’s been a week and a half since he put them there. He’s spent days staring at them, no matter how much he stares he’s never collected them into his hands. He always turns away and takes a walk instead. Whether it be through the grass just outside or the halls of this place. He always finds something else to do. Dusting the paintings sitting in the hallway, or reading Regulus’ notes, in the margins of his favorite books. It’s not that he doesn’t want to use them, taste them. He wants to. But every time he reaches out his throat closes over. It took him long enough to buy them as is. Months in fact.
The first times he went to the shops he avoided the fruit section, he couldn’t even catch a glance at them without feeling sick. Eventually he gained enough courage to walk by them, slowly inching closer until he could hold them. He didn’t buy them, only thought of it. Now he has. It took him so much time. And now he’s allowed them to rot. The brown spots reflect back into his eyes and he can’t stand the sight of them. He bought these for Regulus, and now it’s all gone to waste. He was going to make orange muffins for him. That was the plan. And yes, he knows Regulus wouldn’t have been able to taste them. But he would’ve gone outside and told his star all about them. Describing the taste in perfect detail so he could imagine it. Maybe he could even taste it in the air, James isn’t sure how being a star works exactly. It can’t be the same as being a person, there has to be something special about it. Regardless he’s ruined it. He can’t show Regulus this. After all this time, he’s still failed him, even when he’s not here to fail.
James’ throat closes up and his eyes sting, he’s kept the curtains drawn over this room, especially in the night. It was meant to be a surprise and now it’s all spoiled. James thought he was doing so good too.
He stands in the silent room for a long time, and he doesn’t even notice it. Time has been harder to grasp after Regulus died. Sometimes minutes feel like seconds, and other times they feel like hours. Slowly tugging himself to that final finishing line. Today it’s the former. James isn’t sure which days he prefers. Sometimes the slow days are nice, allowing himself to stretch out his limbs outside and hold onto the sweet hum of warm weather. Sometimes they’re gruesome and he spends his days lying in bed. Staring at the side of the sheets that should belong to Regulus. He never even got the chance to see him in them. His hair all messed up and his eyes shining with sleep. On the other hand the fast days can be overwhelming, especially when he hasn’t done much to fill it. They can be a nice luxury too, one step closer to seeing Regulus. He doesn’t like when he thinks this way, and he’s certain Regulus wouldn’t like it either. But it’s not like he can help it, he’s not sure how to.
Today is a good day for things to go fast. The sun dips below the horizon and James feels his breath stolen away from his chest. Night gleams in its cold hues and he finally takes the final step to the basket, pulling it close to his chest. There’s not much he can do now, he can’t very well use them. He’s not serving Regulus spoiled fruit, he’s not showing them off proudly. Watching them gleam in the night sky while being half-rotted. But he can’t very well throw them away, he spent so much time working up the courage to buy them, after all. What else is there for him to do? So he takes the basket outside to his front porch, sitting at the seat by one of the red and green shutters.
“Reg?” James speaks openly, placing the basket next to him, “It was meant to be a surprise, but I don’t think it’s going to work out that way.” He pauses, as if he’s waiting for a response of some kind. And though it’s not in words he swears he feels one. It’s a strange feeling to describe. He knows he doesn’t hear Regulus answer him, he knows there are no words being said in the wind and the trees. He knows this. And yet, a part of his soul gleams with the thought of it. It’s like his heart tugs with the words Regulus means to say to him, he can hear him even now. Past all the bloodshed and all the pain. Past the mask of death. They can speak to each other even now. Maybe it’s another lifetime speaking out for him. One in which him and Regulus had the chance to live out their future in this house together. Maybe this happened there too. Maybe he’s not entirely alone in this.
“I wanted to make you muffins, I know how you love them.” He says tentatively, his eyes peeling up to his star. It may not be the brightest but it most certainly is the brightest to him. His eyes immediately meet it’s glow over all the others. It’s the one James sees first. A light in a crowded room. “But I couldn’t do it,” he admits, his words clawing out his throat. Tears spread over his stinging eyes and he doesn’t shy away from them, not even in this light. He doesn’t wish to let Regulus see him cry over this, but he wants his light to comfort him in it regardless. It's a selfish thing to ask, but he doesn't think Regulus would've minded. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, blinking quickly, “I promise I’ll be better next time. I promise.”
He swears Regulus’ star shimmers, if only for one singular moment. That’s all it takes really. Because now James’ chest is growing warm at the sight of it, and he can finally breathe again. Just like that. His lungs are no longer rotting, they’re filled with an endless love instead. That’s all it takes. One single moment and everything feels manageable again. James isn’t sure how Regulus does it when he’s not even here in person.
He sits out there for a long time, time moves slowly within the night. He doesn’t take the oranges with him inside, he doesn’t put them in the bin either. He decides to make a compost bin with them instead. Maybe something can grow out of his mistakes, maybe he can plant a vegetable garden or orange trees. He’s got all the time in the world after all, doesn’t he? As he walks back inside his chest aflame he falls into the warm linen of his bed. When he sleeps he doesn’t dream at all. Not of Regulus, or even the idea of orange trees. It’s an endless slumber of nothing. Sometimes it’s nice like this. Sleeping and escaping his mind for a little while, besides, in the morning he has much to do.
And much to do he does.
As soon as the sun pours into their bedroom, shining over his eyes and waking him from his sleep he pushes the covers away. He doesn’t take much time getting ready, he doesn’t eat breakfast either he’s straight out the door before he can even start to doubt himself. He still feels Regulus with him from the previous night, and he refuses to lose him today. He needs him for this.
The shops aren’t crowded when he walks through them, and he doesn’t dawdle in any of the aisles like he did before. He already did it once he can do it again. And he does. With little to no trouble he picks up the oranges and walks to the front of the store with them in his hand. He’s already got all the other ingredients at home, he’s gotten all he needs and is out in five minutes no trouble. It doesn’t feel right that it’s this easy. He took so long before. It took so much effort out of him the first few tries he could do nothing but lie in bed the rest of the day. How is it right that he did it so easily this time? There has to be something he’s missing.
Sometimes grief hits him hard, and other’s it’s soft as if it’s rocking him to sleep. He may not understand it but he’s learned to travel it’s waves well enough. At least in his opinion he has. He’s learned to open the windows and let the fresh air breathe down the halls. He’s gotten used to eating alone with the only noise being the low hum of the wind outside. He’s grown comfort in the fact that he’ll live the rest of his life alone. He knows there’s no one else out there for him. He knows he’ll never love again. It didn’t take him long to grow okay with never loving anyone besides Regulus. After all to him Regulus was everything. He was everything he needed him to be. He filled his heart, and joined his soul. He’s perfectly fine with having Regulus and no one else. Though not having Regulus or anyone else was a harder pill to swallow.
For a while he considered finding another to spend his time, not because he lost love for Regulus. Not even because he was lonely per se, because he knows he’s not. He’s got all his friends, and all the love he could ever ask for sitting in his chest. But he was terrified with the thought of dying alone in this house. Of growing old without someone to sit in a rocking chair right beside him. He still imagines that it’s Regulus, even if he’ll never see him grow old. James had to learn he’s okay with doing things alone. And anyway, Regulus is right here even when he’s not. He’s in all the halls haunting the place like a sweet spirit waiting to take him home. He’s in all the lifetimes James dreams about in his sleep, or the paintings sitting on the walls. The flowers growing outside their windows, and the shudders that he made sure were painted their favorite colors. James is okay now, he never thought he would be okay before but now he is.
Grief is a tricky wave to master. He’s not even sure he’s done it right. For all his troubles he still fails. But today he bought oranges without even a shake of his voice and hands, and that has to be something to be proud of. Isn’t it?
The kitchen welcomes him as soon as he steps foot into it, twirling around the floors as he takes out all the ingredients he bought specially for this. He has the old recipe he used to use stashed within his memory, he doesn’t even need a parchment with all the measurements. He doesn’t need a recipe book, though maybe one day he’ll make one. Today he doesn’t, instead he mixes the flour and sugar, and zests the oranges. He doesn’t weep over the dry ingredients, or feel the heat of the oven break his heart. He sticks the uncooked muffins in the oven and sets the timer just as he remembers to. He doesn’t eat the left over oranges, he doesn’t think to. He doesn’t think he could bear the citrus taste right now. And that’s okay too. It’s okay to go slow. It’s okay to take his time. He knows that now.
He spends his time waiting outside, feeling the winds brush against his face and the gentle feeling of spring. His favorite season may be winter but now living in Brazil, Christmas comes in the summer. So he’s come to appreciate not only summer, but spring too. Summer was Regulus’ favorite season, Christmas here is like a combination of the two of them. James holds it close to him as much as he can.
He sits beside the flowers, careful to be near the open window so he’ll be able to hear the timer go off. He watches the sunflowers as they sway in the wind, absent-mindedly tearing the weeds as he sees them sprout. The sun warms his skin and soothes his aching heart. It still aches so, not as bad as before. But longing is an emotion not so easily erased. He misses Regulus. He always misses Regulus. No matter if he’s spent more time without him than with him. He misses him in the morning, and in the night. In the sunlight and in the starlight. He misses who he was when he was with him, but he never misses who he was without him. No matter how much happened, James has never longed to be his old self again. He never wished he never met Regulus. It’s all worth it in the end. Even if he continues to live with only half a functioning heart. To love Regulus was worth it.
When he almost died in the heist that last thing he wanted to end with was love. That’s the last outpouring message he planned to leave with. Regulus did the same. James would never want to destroy that, would never want to ignore it. Their love is something strong enough to traverse the passage between life and death. It’s still held between them even without Regulus being here with him. That’s more than anything he could’ve gotten in a life without him. It’s everything to him.
The timer tears him from his harmony. He’s slow to get up. He’s not sure how long it takes, he feels every individual muscle move with every step he makes. He knows he needs to get to them before they burn, and yet he can’t. He was perfectly fine before. But he knows that smell. He recognizes it the instant it touches him. Suddenly he’s back in the house in New Hampshire making orange muffins for dinner just because Regulus told him they were his favorite. Regulus is right beside him a breathing being, smiling and trying to hide it. He’s making pinky promises later that night like they’re five. Regulus is here, but he’s not here. He’s there but his image has begun to grow hazy, and his laugh is growing fuzzy. He’s not even sure he remembers the exact shade of Regulus’ eyes, they flash between colors the more he pushes at the edges of his mind. He doesn’t remember his voice anymore. James sees him, he feels him, he hears him but he doesn’t at the same time. Suddenly he’s back there in that kitchen, dancing on the countertop using a spoon as a microphone and Regulus is yelling at him. Screaming at him to get his feet off his counter. He remembers it. Every little detail and yet the edges are growing worn with age and time. Sometimes it feels like a curse to heal. The longer it goes, and the more scars that curl over his wounds the less he knows. The less of Regulus he’s able to hold onto. He doesn’t know. He loves being able to breathe but sometimes he wishes he was still drowning in Regulus, even if it’s with grief. Anything of his he’ll take, even if it’s blanketed misery.
The burning smell knocks him out of his thoughts.
And so there he is tumbling forward breaking through to the kitchen as the smoke billows in the air. Coughing as it enters his lungs he lunges forward and turns the oven off before grabbing an oven mitt and taking the muffins out. Though he’s not certain he could even call them that anymore. They’re blackened beyond recognition and he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until his tears are falling directly onto them. Flowing down the hard rocks that were meant to be for Regulus.
“Oh,” his voice wavers, as more tears spill from his eyes like brushstrokes on a painting. “Oh I didn’t, I didn’t mean to, Regulus I’m so sorry.” He looks up and the sun is still shining there are no stars in the sky and yet he repeats it, “Regulus I’m so… I didn’t mean to. Please forgive me, I tried I wanted to… I’m so sorry, Reg I’m-“ again and again until his voice grows numb. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care how many times his voice cracks he needs Regulus to know he didn’t mean it. He needs Regulus to know he tried. He just keeps trying. That’s all he’s been able to do.
The smoke leaves the room, escaping to the open spring air but it’s still in James’ lungs it won’t leave them. It hangs heavy in grief. That’s the other thing about grief it hangs around. Even when you think it’s gone and done with, even if you think you’ve healed past it. It comes back, to show again all the skeletons you’ve left behind in your closet. It brings tears to your eyes even when you’ve come to terms with the loss. So James cries, and he grieves, he falls to the kitchen floor clutching one of the cooling rocks in his hands and stares at it as the light goes dim. He misses Regulus, he tells him that, and he apologizes to him too. He rocks himself until his breathing evens out and his tears dry themselves. And then he gets himself up, that’s all he can do.
He picks himself up off the floor and throws the muffins out, sobbing as he does until he can’t breathe. And he falls back down, clutching his hair in his hands, apologizing again. He crawls out to the porch and apologizes to Regulus’ star too. Regulus glistens in response, and James takes a breath. It’s such a simple act, taking a breath is, and yet he revels in it anyway.
The next morning he makes a fresh patch, and he feels Regulus all around him as he does. He hears his laughter as the spoon hits the side of the bowl, even if he can’t quite remember the sound of it. He feels him in the birds cawing from outside the window, even if he doesn’t remember how he felt against his skin. He puts the muffins in the oven and watches carefully this time as they rise. Watching the clock making sure he’s prepared to take them out at the proper time. He does. He takes them out and douses them in a glaze he made perfectly for them. They still smell the same, after all this time has passed. It lingers, like an old memory left out in the sun. It still brings him back to New Hampshire, and he still can’t breathe at the thought of it. But he’s here, and he knows Regulus is too even if his star isn’t out yet. It took so long for him to be okay with the Regulus he has now. He was always so angry that the Regulus he used to have was gone, and that all he had left was a memory. But these days he’ll take what the can get. He’s tired of pushing away the remnants of his love. Regulus may not be able to be here, but he would want to be, and that has to be enough for James too.
He waits for dusk to taste them, taking them outside to the porch as he goes. “Hi Reg,” he murmurs, taking his seat and holding one of the muffins in his hands, “I did it.” He smiles to himself, “I made them perfect.”
He swears Regulus smiles, he swears he can feel it against the side of his face.
“I wish I could give one to you,” He tells him, “I know you would like them.”
He doesn’t speak again, he has no reason to. Regulus can hear him even in his own head. He can see him anywhere even when he’s not out. James doesn’t take a bite of the muffin tonight, he doesn’t even try to, he planned to but he doesn’t. He holds it instead, watching it glow in the night. Eventually, he takes it inside with him and places it on the plate, promising himself that he’ll try it tomorrow. But he doesn’t. He never does. No matter how much he craves the feeling of it against his tongue, no matter how much he begs for the taste. He knows he’ll never eat one again, and that’s okay. That taste was created in a precious time within his mind, one he doesn’t need to repeat to know it was wonderfully beautiful. Some things are better that way, held once and never again.
But he keeps making them, he can’t help himself. He loves the feeling of Regulus around him in the kitchen, he loves bringing a plate out to Regulus and smiling proudly as he shows him what he did. So instead he hands them out to the people who live around him, his neighbors and their children. He sends them gift baskets, and one day they even begin to show up at his door asking if he has any. He always does. And they’ve always been shown to Regulus first before being given away.
As James grows into an old man he continues to bake the muffins and even picks fresh fruit from his orange trees. He swirls glaze on top of them and sometimes adds orange slices to the tops of them. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, and it does, so much time. He bakes them, and he still feels Regulus with him. As a warm presence lingering at his side. He cries sometimes too. Sometimes it feels like it’s over nothing, and others it feels more like a memory than something in the present moment. It’s okay, he wipes them away and keeps breathing anyway. He dances on countertops as he waits for the muffins to cook, and sings ABBA songs under his breath as he does so. And when he has trouble jumping on the counters with his aching knees he slowly sways on the floor instead. Regulus’s star keeps smiling every time James comes out to the porch and swears the ones he just made are the best ones he’s ever.
Life goes on.
He learns to love the smell of fresh orange muffins, even if he can never bring himself to take a bite. It doesn’t even tempt him these days, it’s okay, he remembers the taste. And one day he’ll join Regulus and they’ll visit another lifetime or two, maybe he can try them in one of those, together again. Maybe not. He doesn’t mind either way. He’s had his time, he’s had his love, and it’s okay. He’s perfectly content being the kind, but strange old man who gives out orange muffins to his neighbors, and tells the story of his beloved star.