It was late. Or, maybe it was early, too early. Regulus casts a quick Tempus, swearing at himself and the stag peering at him from outside his window. He stares at it a few seconds more before tossing his covers to the side and slipping his feet into his slippers and throwing on his fuzzy robe.
Sneaking around isn’t a new concept to him. He knows which planks to avoid on the floor, where to step on the stairs, and how to open doors and windows without any such of a peep. You can’t blame him for knowing escape routes when you account for who his parents are.
He sighs and curses himself, again, before making his way down the four sets of stairs to the foyer. He avoids every third stair, plus the first and last step, and the dents and stains in the floor that have been covered with rugs, which he generally avoids anyways. The moon shines through the windows that have sheer drapes, highlighting the cold paintings lining the halls, the wainscoting distressed in some places. One of the few things the house elves hadn’t fixed; they knew Mother would have their head eventually. Maybe that’s why they hadn’t.
When he finally reaches the ground floor, there's a dim light coming from the parlour room, he’s struck with a sense of fear. What if his parents had seen James? What if they heard him coming down the stairs? Fuck. At least there’s no screaming, but that could mean it’s something worse.
He keeps his back as close to the wall as he can without bumping into anything, grabbing a metal picture frame in one hand and palming the wand in his pocket with the other, though he knows if its one, or both, of his parents in there he's done for, whether or not he has a defence tactic. His heart beats faster and faster, every hair standing on the edge, his whole body tensed and on high alert. He sets his face to stone as he approaches the corner and when he does he’s met with black hair and wide hazel eyes.
Regulus and James stare at each other for a few second before all the tension in Regulus’ body leave him. He deflates, taking a few deep breaths. He can hear James struggling not to laugh in front of him. “Thought you might kill me there for a second, to be honest.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “James,” he deadpans, “What are you doing here?”
He looks sheepish, at best, mischievous at worst. “I’m getting you out.”
“Go home, James.”
“Wait! Regulus…”
He stops and hangs his head. Hadn’t he gone through enough begging and pleading? Hadn’t he already disappointed enough of the people closest to him? “What?” He looks at James again, he’s starting to look defeated, but Regulus can see he’s not going to back down. He has always loved a challenge. He shakes his head, “You can’t get me to leave, James."
“Can’t I?”
“How exactly do you think,” he takes a small step towards him, just a small one, he figures he can let himself have that, “you’re going to do that?”
James blinks a couple of times and looks down before licking his lips and bringing his head back up.
“Go ahead. Tell me.” Regulus sways in place, fighting the urge to take another step closer. But he doesn’t have to take the step. James grabs the front of the shirt, bunches it in his hand, and pulls Regulus to his chest. And Regulus has already closed his eyes, the tips of their noses touching, breaths puffing, in and out, in and out. James tips his head ever so closer, and their lips meet.
Against his better judgment, his hands find James’ hips and stay there, fingers slipping through the belt loops of his jeans when James’ hands cup his face, and drift to the hair, wrapping his fingers in it.
It lasts a minute before Regulus pushes him away and steps back.
He turns to the side, away from James’ face, the defeat and hope and want that was written there. He takes a deep breath and pinches his nose… fuck. God, in all eighteen of his years, did he ever think James fucking Potter would break into his ancestral house and kiss him in the entrance hall to convince him to leave. He sighs and curses to himself, again.
“Okay," he pauses, "Go fuck yourself, first of all.”
He glances at James, sees that stupid, cocky, smile that’s somehow always full of hope and joy and though it’s dimmer on his face right now, Regulus can see it in his eyes.
“I take it you’ll come with me, then?”
Regulus shakes his head. “You’re unbearable.” But he's fighting a smile.