carpe diem

7

Being invited to pottery class with a doctor and his friends at three in the morning was not what James was expecting to happen to him when he answered that phone call. Being woken up from his sleep, James had answered the phone automatically, even before he was remotely half conscious. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone rang him at the ass crack of dawn, so there was little to no hesitation in answering. In the back of his mind, he was waiting for Sirius’ voice to come filtering through to say Remus was in hospital again or something along the lines of having had another nasty seizure. So, when a random voice came through, slurring and excited, James’ sleep-hazed mind had catapulted from bracing itself for bad news to just downright confused.

It had taken him a few too many moments to connect the dots, when Regulus had introduced himself with such confidence, and then proceeded to sound personally hurt when James didn’t recognise the name. James’ mind was in spiral when he finally realised that this Regulus was actually Doctor Black: the super cute guy in green scrubs that so far, has refused to tell James his first name. Why? James has no idea, but he’s enjoyed the chase none the less. It’s kept him on his toes, and while he didn’t need any other reasons to keep going to the hospital to see the cute doctor, it created a kind of game between them to keep showing up to find out.

James won’t lie, when he realised who was on the phone with him, he was incredibly confused. The combination of the time and the state of the doctors voice very quickly gave away to James that the man was drunk. It thrilled James none the less that the darling Doctor Black has finally phoned him and made his heart race far too fast for the unsociable time in the morning. 

When Regulus had mumbled out that there was an emergency, James had, of course, panicked. A cute young doctor, drunk and out in the city somewhere, phoning someone he barely knew saying there was an emergency? Instantly, nasty and worrisome scenarios went through James’ mind. He was on the verge of throwing back his bed covers and going out on a search party immediately. When he’d read the texts to discover this 'emergency', was in fact his lack of reply to an invitation, he probably should have been annoyed. 

He wasn’t, though. 

Not in the slightest.

If anything, James found it both intriguing and adorable. Regulus had thought of him when him and his friends were planning a drunken day out doing pottery, and Regulus had been so eager for James to go that he had added urgency to the response. It was cute, and James did of course get Regulus to verbalise that the emergency was his lack of reply to an invitation and not a situation he’d completely misread. 

Drunken phone calls was the last of things James was expecting to come from the doctor who every time James has seen him at the hospital has been calm and collected, albeit quite mean and stand-offish. James hadn’t expected Regulus to be the type to drunk phone people and pout - James may have not seen him, but he’s been on the phone with Sirius enough times to know how to recognise when someone is pouting without actually seeing them. 

James’ mind had been spinning when he got off the phone. After being shouted at by someone called Barty, or also referred to as by Regulus as his 'body guard', about how pottery is going to be his 'initiation', James had been reeling at the idea of what the hell this pottery class was actually going to endure. James had felt a shameless spike of jealousy when he heard Barty talking about how wonderful Regulus was, and a small part of James felt like Barty sounded far too fond to only be a friend. James had been relieved when Regulus had come back on the phone, a combination of enjoying talking to the doctor and also to shut down the voice in James' head making him feel tense with the idea of how close Regulus and Barty really are. 

He knew it was stupid: this Barty wouldn’t be on the phone trying to judge if James is a good enough character to even know Regulus if him and Regulus were involved themselves. 

James has always been told, even growing up, that when he loves something he loves it with his whole heart. He knows this, and he doesn’t always mind. Sure, sometimes it’s rough when people haven’t reciprocated the same energy back to him, or when they’ve taken his loving and caring as overbearing. James is overbearing, he knows this as well. 

So when he first met Regulus that morning on the hospital ward, he’d instantly become intrigued. Mysterious, clearly smart as hell, and picture perfect like he’d been crafted by Gods, James had instantly wanted to know more. He enjoyed Regulus’ dismissiveness, enjoyed the fact that whenever he saw his mother she refused to give any information on the fleeting Doctor Black that she worked with other than the fact that he’s one of her favourites. Euphemia said anything Regulus hasn’t told James himself, he hasn’t said because Regulus doesn’t want to share it yet. James had found it annoying at first, but the fondness in his mothers eyes made him feel even more compelled to work for it himself. His mother clearly held a place in her heart for the young doctor, and James was determined to find out why.

When he left Regulus his phone number and didn’t hear anything for a few days, James won’t lie that it wasn’t on his mind. It was, almost all the time. He was worried he’d gone too far, concerned that it made the doctor repulse him, worried that he’d read all the signs wrong and maybe the resentment the doctor presented was genuine and not teasing. James knows he overthinks things far too much, always has and probably always will. It’s a side effect of having a brain that constantly feels like it’s working on 20 different levels and twice as fast as everyone else’s. He got in trouble for it at school, always berated for getting distracted in classes or taking peoples tones too personal. James is a natural worrier.

So, naturally, he worried when Regulus didn’t text him. He knew the levels his brain took it to were irrational, but it didn’t make him think about it any less. It didn’t stop him from losing sleep, or feeling sick every time he looked at his phone. 

Regulus phoning him made him feel like a fool, mostly because he’d been worrying about it for days and completely ignored the known fact that the young man is a doctor, that he has a life, a heavy work load and him not using James’ number could have come down to a multitude of things. James is refusing to obsess over the fact that it took Regulus to be drunk to make the contact, and instead just relishing in the adoration that he has used the number, and drunk or not, he invited James to pottery.

No one has ever invited James Potter to pottery.

James finds it incredibly cute.

The text Regulus sent with his address and instructions for the morning was surprisingly clear. Granted, it came in a bunch of separate texts that made it clear the sender was trying really hard to make sure there was no mistakes.

When James woke up (again) Sunday morning, he managed to get to Regulus’ apartment the exact time the text said.

10 o’clock sharp.

If no one replies to knocking, let yourself in with the key under the mat. 

If I’m asleep, feel free to wake me up.

Be warned I’m not a morning person, so bring coffee.

James, of course, took the texts very seriously and made sure to grab coffee on the way: two freshly brewed lattes from Mrs Pettigrew’s cafe, because James only serves the best possible coffee when he can, and if Regulus is hungover (which James will not be surprised about considering the amount he claimed he was drinking last night) then Mrs Pettigrew’s latte crafted from literal heaven will be a solid a step in the right direction to curing the self-attempted alcohol poisoning Regulus has potentially gifted himself today.

Regulus living in Kensington also doesn’t surprise James. Upscale and colourful houses? Pretty streets and independent pubs? Elegant neighbourhoods and endless amounts of parks? Yeah, James can see Regulus living here.

Standing outside the building addressed in the text, James feels a pool of dread in his stomach. He’s nervous, of course he is. The instruction to go in even if no one answers using a key underneath a doormat makes James both uncomfortable and also concerned - mostly because for all his obvious brains of being a 23 year old neurosurgeon student, it does seem rather daft to keep the spare key under a doormat. This problem James is determined to address later, because the concept at the stupid attempt at home safety makes James want to run out and buy Regulus a key safe straight away. 

When no one answers the knocking, James braces himself once more. He picks up the key with sweaty palms, balancing the lattes in one hand unlocking the door with the other. 

Inside, James doesn’t know what he was expecting to find. What kind of apartment did he expect from the young doctor, James had no idea. The doctor was mysterious enough that not a lot of apartment designs would have surprised him. 

Peaking his head around the door, the sight that greeted him almost made James laugh. Open plan, huge windows, and enough house plants to make Moony drop to his knees. 

And books, James notes. Lots of books. Enough to put national libraries to shame. Stacks and mountains in every spare spot of space. 

Stepping inside, James lets the door fall shut gently behind him.

It’s then that he notices the body laying on the floor, limbs sprawled out and blanket half falling off them. They’re still fully clothed, haven’t even taken off their shoes or leather jacket. 

James swallows thickly. The person on the floor is definitely not Regulus, but who is it? Surely if it was someone Regulus invited over for that, then they wouldn’t be sleeping fully clothed on the wooden floor in the living room?

James is tempted to turn and leave. He wants to walk out and lock the door, and pretend he never came here. He could text Regulus an excuse, or text him to say he didn’t know if the invitation was legit or not due to how drunk Regulus sounded on the phone - which, at the moment, James is now really starting to debate how genuine the offer really was. 

The body on the floor snuffles and shifts, but doesn’t wake. James stares, blinking stupidly. He’s about to leave when he spots a lump on the sofa and— oh.

Face half concealed by a thick blanket draped over him, dark hair spread out over the sofa cushion like a curly halo, is Regulus. 

Doctor Black.

Regulus Black.

James loves his name. He loves how unusual it it, how fitting it is, how it rolls of the tongue like a spoonful of fresh, hot honey. James would have never been able to guess it, but he loves how it suits the doctor more than anything he’d imagined in his head. Like the missing puzzle piece, learning the doctors first name last night really did make James feel some kind of way. 

Now, James can finally look at him and think Regulus.

And James is looking at him. Swallowed whole underneath the green blanket that reminds James of those scrubs he wears, James’ chest swells with adoration. He barely knows the guy, has only just learnt his name, and he’s already ready to swipe him off the sofa in front of him and carry him off into the sunset.

He can hear Moony calling him a simp in his head. He doesn’t care. 

"Who the fuck are you?"

James almost startles so hard he barely manages to avoid dropping the lattes in his hand.

He blinks down at the guy on the floor, who's looking at James like he's got two heads. 

Well, James supposes that's fair, considering he's currently standing in an apartment that some would consider he's broken in and entered. He used a key, yes, but technically—

James' eyes snap to Regulus', who's now awake and lifted his head enough that the blanket has fallen and revealed all of his lovely and sleep-rumbled face. 

He's squinting at James, eyes narrowed and sleep-hazed. He looks very confused, which does not make James feel any sort of comfort. 

"Uh. . . hello," James says, waving weakly. Why is he waving? He drops his hand like he's touched a flame and scolded it. 

A moment of silence passes. It's barely a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime when James is standing there and he's got two very sleepy people staring at him.  

"James?" Regulus finally asks. The raspiness of his voice almost makes James drop the coffees again. No one's voice should sound that good, especially when the raspiness actually sounds painful, like it's grating on Regulus' throat as he speaks.

"That’s James?" The guy on the floor practically shouts. "That is your James!?"

Your James. 

"Inside voices, you imbecile," Regulus grumbles, and a pale hand reaches out from under the blanket to rub at his eyes. And oh, that is just adorable. James' heart swoons embarrassingly at the tiny, almost childlike action. Regulus is just so—

"Hey! Don't tell me to use inside voices when—"

"Barty, I will stomp on your windpipe so hard it crushes like a fucking lady bug if you shout one more god-damn time!"

"Inside voices, darling."

"Fuck off."

James blinks, eyes flicking back and forth between the bickering. He wants to laugh, because it reminds him of Pads and Moony bickering, but these two sound genuinely angry. Their tones are mean, snappy. 

Regulus wasn't joking when he said he wasn't a morning person. 

James looks at the body on the floor. So this is Barty. The bodyguard and the defender against all predators. He's also the person that Regulus made sleep on a cold hard floor after a night out. 

James is definitely not slightly pleased and smug about that. 

No, definitely not. 

"Is that coffee?"

Regulus' head snaps up from where he'd dropped it to rest back on the arm of the sofa. "Coffee?"

James looks at the cups in his hand. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I didn't realise you'd be here as well, so I’ve only got two—"

"No worries, mate. There's two of us, so perfect number," Barty grins, and as he's speaking he's crawling off the floor and snatching one of the cups out of the cardboard holder. James watches, dumbfounded, as Barty leans back against the sofa, jean clad legs sprawled out in front of him as he drinks. 

"Oh, man. This is fucking good!" Barty sighs, head falling back against the blanket still covering Regulus’ legs. "Is this caramel? Nice touch. Regulus, you have to try this."

James doesn't have time to react as Barty is suddenly sprinting forward again, taking the other cup and handing it to Regulus. 

When Regulus moans after taking a sip, it takes all of James control to not leap across the room and jump right on the doctor. No one should be able to make drinking coffee so dirty like that.

James pushes the thoughts from his mind. He watches Regulus take delicate sips of the coffee, and feels a warm pool filling his stomach. The young doctor looks significantly peaky: skin slightly paler than normal, hair flat and messy, bags framed with dark circles. Yet to James, he still looks beautiful. 

Unreal, even. 

Mouth salivating. 

His skinny throat bobs and ripples when he drinks, his delicate hands cupping the paper flask it like a lifeline. 

It takes James a second to realise he's been staring for a minute. He feels himself physically jolt when he sees Barty looking at him, expression half hidden behind James' coffee, but his eyes show his smugness clearly. 

James feels his cheeks heat up, a burning blushing sizzling under his skin.

"I don't think I've formally introduced myself since you so kindly broke into our darling Reggie's apartment this morning to bring us fancy-pancy coffees," Barty smiles, and James can recognise a kind smile when he sees one - and whatever is on Barty's face is not kind. It's calculating and devious. It takes a lot of James' self control to not squirm on the spot. "My name is Barty Crouch Junior."

"Also known as the body guard?" James says before he can stop himself. "To fend of any and all predators?" 

Barty grins, white teeth almost looking sharp. 

"That's exactly right," he says. "All predators."

"Hush, Bartemius," Regulus chides tiredly. "It's too early for your bullshit. Leave the man alone and make him a coffee."

"Excuse me?" Barty barks. "Why do I have to make him a coffee?"

"Because I need a piss and you always take great joy in using my coffee machine," Regulus says as he kicks his legs under the blanket. "Now get off."

Barty instantly shuffles from the edge of the sofa with a loud huff, and Regulus throws the blanket back and climbs off with a considerable amount of grace considering he looks as shaky as a new born deer. The brunettes trousers and dress shirt are crinkled from sleeping in them, and one of his socks are half falling off his foot as he shuffles down the hallway. James' eyes following him like a moth to a flame, trying to hide the fact that his gaze zeros in on the way his trousers hug all the right places. 

Barty clears his throat loudly and James snaps back into the room. 

"Coffee?" Barty asks sweetly. 

"Yes please," James croaks.

"He has that effect on people," Barty smirks. "Not many people are immune to the Regulus Black effect."

"Uh, t-the Regulus Black effect?" James stammers as Barty climbs off the floor and strolls to the kitchen. "What is—"

"You see the state of you right now?" Barty asks over his shoulder after he's drained the last of the latte and tossed the cup effortlessly into the bin. "Whipped and desperate? Drooling merely at the sight of him despite him being hungover and wearing day old clothes that he's both slept and sweated in? Yeah. That is the Regulus Black effect. You aren't the first, and you won't be the last too caught in the bear trap that is that man's unnaturally addictive looks."

"I— uh, I'm not— that's not—" James huffs, shaking his head. "I'm not whipped and desperate."

"Oh," Barty laughs as he drops a pod in the very smart looking coffee machine. "Of course you're not. That's why you turned up to his apartment after a drunken invite to go to pottery and actually brought some lattes when asked. Yeah. Sure. You're totally not whipped." 

James is gaping, mouth open and jaw slack. His brain feels like the on-switch has been promptly turned off. 

"He asked for lattes," he mumbles weakly.

Barty laughs, a short and borderline harsh laugh. It’s clear he’s feeling victorious. Smug, even. Like he knows he’s proven something so often deniably correct. 

"That boy has got you wrapped around his little finger," he muses, shaking his head. He slides a mug across the kitchen island, now filled with hot, steaming coffee and silky frothy milk. "What was it that caught your attention the first time? Was it the hair? Everyone loves the hair. It’s as soft as it looks, you know, and the curls are natural. Or was it the cheekbones? I swear Evan would kill for those cheekbones. They’re very sharp, aren’t they? They give Cillian Murphy a run for his money. Or was it the pessimistic outlook on his gloomy life and general dismissive attitude towards your simple being that got you hooked? Wait. No, I’ve got it. It was his ass, wasn’t it?" 

"His— I don’t— I haven’t— uh, he-he has lovely cheekbones, yes, but—"

"Bartemius."

James startles so hard he almost sends the mug of coffee flying across the kitchen. He spins around to see Regulus standing a few steps behind him. James’ stomach cartwheels at how soft and cuddly he looks now that the young doctor is now dressed in an oversized hoodie and some black sweatpants that are tucked into thick white wool socks. 

Regulus’ eyes flick from James, whose face is burning with a hot flush, and then to Barty on the other side of the kitchen.

"Have you broken him already?" Regulus asks, tone almost bored. Even then, his voice sounds like hot honey. James is certain he could listen to him all day.

"Not broken, as such," Barty replies nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just spent the last few minutes making James have an internal crisis by gloating about Regulus’ cheekbones and arse. "Just a little bit of fine, friendly grilling."

"Nothing about you is friendly," Regulus grumbles, shuffling into the room further. "Did you make me coffee too?"

"You just had a latte?" James blurts. 

"Do not underestimate this man’s ability to consume endless coffee in a short space of time," Barty snorts. "You see, Reggie-kins here doesn’t have blood running through his veins, but instead the finest pure espresso."

"Right," James mumbles. 

"The latte was fantastic though," Regulus nods. "Sorry that Barty stole yours."

"I did not!" Barty cries.

"You did."

"How—"

"James had no idea your slimy being would be staying over last night," Regulus states, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans casually against his kitchen side. James loves the way he looks so effortlessly confident in his own home, despite being cursed with a clear hangover. His hair is still a mess of curls, drooping down on his forehead and making his already alarmingly pale skin seemed even more washed out. "He brought two lattes this morning because he assumed it would be just the two of us. You stole his latte, Barty. A caramel one, too. That’s practically criminal."  

"He could have said something," Barty argues. "The twat let me take it!"

"W-well," James stammers, "I—"

"He was too busy drooling over your adorable sleepy face to fight for it," Barty grins. "Isn’t that right, James?"

"Well, I. . ." James trails off, because honestly - he can’t actually argue with what Barty said. He was too busy staring at Regulus to even register Barty had swiped the latte until it was too late. "It’s okay. It was just a latte."

Barty smiles, tilting his head as he looks at Regulus. "See! He’s fine with it."

"He looks pretty overwhelmed for someone who says they’re fine," Regulus says. "How much have you bullied him while I was gone?"

"If he can’t handle me, how do you expect him to handle the others? Evan will have him cracked in seconds, and don’t even get me started on Pandora. You know she will go full mama-mode before he even gets a chance to—"

"Pandora won’t do that straight away," Regulus chides. "She’ll lead him into a false sense of security before she breaks him down."

James is certainly in no rush to meet this Evan and Pandora now. 

"E-excuse me?" He stammers. 

"Say hello to one third of the Regulus Protection Squad," Barty grins. 

James swallows. He’s not sure what’s going on here. He looks to Regulus, almost helplessly. 

The young doctor sighs. "Alright, initiation over, Barty. Get your ass out, you need to shower and you’re not using mine again."

"But—"

"You have no kind regard for other peoples soaps, Barty," Regulus grumbles. "Out. Go home and abuse your own fucking shampoo."

Barty rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. "Not my fault you buy the expensive stuff."

"It’s called having self-respect."

"Fuck you, Black. I don’t want to smell like spiced mangos anyways," Barty pushes himself off the kitchen side and takes all of two steps before his eyes narrow on James. "Are you sure you want me to leave you alone with him? He could still be planning to drug and molest you, Regulus."

Regulus rolls his eyes, motioning lazy towards James. "Does he look like a molester to you?"

"It’s the nice ones you have to be careful of," Barty says, eyes sharp and hard as they stare at James like he’s nothing but a petty criminal. "They’re always the dirtiest bastards. Are you a dirty bastard, James?"

What the fuck?

"N-no."

"That didn’t sound too confident to me," Barty glares. "Did that sound confident to you, Regulus?"

"Give it a rest, Barty," Regulus sighs.

James shakes his head, forcing himself to find his voice again. He’s so confused it’s giving him a headache. 

"No. No, I’m not a dirty bastard."

Barty hums, eyes travelling up and down him. "If you say so. Regulus, frequent updates, please. Otherwise I’ll come back, and this time, I’ll bring a shovel."

"Goodbye, Barty," Regulus interjects, and the pointed look he gives Barty must be enough to finally give him the push to actually leave.

Barty stares at James for another long moment. Eyes hard, direct and calculating. James can’t look away, but the eye contact makes him feel like he’s being questioned by the police like that one time when him and Sirius almost got arrested when they were sixteen.

Barty huffs, before he promptly stalks out of the kitchen. James watches over his shoulder as he swipes up his phone and keys off the floor. He pauses at the front door, looking back and instantly making eye contact with James again. He holds two fingers up to his own eyes, then points them at James in a very clear, nonverbal way of saying I’m watching you, asshole.

It’s only when the door shuts and Barty is gone does James feel his muscles relax. He practically melts against the kitchen island, letting out a heavy breath like it’s been trapped in his lungs for too long.

"Well," he breathes, "he’s, uh. . . lovely."

"Don’t lie," Regulus muses. "He’s a piece of shit."

James barks a startled laugh. "Yeah, okay. He was intimidating, all right. He obviously cares about you, though."

"Yeah, well," Regulus shrugs a lazy shoulder. "He’s a caring piece of shit."

"How long have you guys been friends?"

Regulus hums into his mug of coffee. 

"Since the start of university. Met him when I was 18. Him, Pandora and Evan have been the closest thing to family I’ve ever had."

"Oh," James murmurs weakly. That’s kind of sad, he realises. He can’t imagine what that must have been like, to only find your family through a group of friends at 18 years old. 

Was Regulus’ home life bad? Did he even have a proper home life before he went to university?

It reminds James of Sirius before he ran away - completely reliant on his friends because his own family at home were so cruel and nasty. The marauders and the Potter’s are Sirius’ family, and they’ve always been closer to him than any blood relations ever were. Sirius didn’t even consider those he shared blood with to be his family anymore. As far as James was aware (and he was aware of pretty much everything with Sirius), Sirius hasn't had any contact with a single member of his family since he ran away when he was 16. 

He remembers what Sirius had been like when he was living at home. This casanova of fun, noise and laughter when he was in school but after, away from everyone else and in the shadows of his own torment, he was a kid being broken down to the point of harsh return. 

James still remembers the day Sirius came to him when he was sixteen. Bloody and bruised, arm clean broken from being pushed down the stairs when he tried to leave, his best friend was a mess. Sirius didn't cry for four days after he came to the Potter's. The first night, his mother justified his sightless gaze and stony exterior as shock. James understood that, considering Sirius' parents had beaten him within an inch of his life, so he had a right to be in a state of shock. The next day, and the day after, Sirius had become a sharp act of nonchalance. He acted as if nothing had happened, wouldn't even acknowledge the cast on his arm or the healing bruises on his face. James had been walking on eggshells, waiting patiently for the outburst of realisation that he was practically disowned at sixteen. 

Sirius had broken down eventually. Of course he had. It had been ugly too: throat wrenching sobs, screaming bloody mary, crying like a parent grieving their murdered child. It had come out suddenly over dinner, taking all the Potter's by surprise despite the fact they'd been waiting for the fallout. 

James hates to think what Sirius' outcome would have been if he'd stayed in his childhood home any longer than he already did. Physically, mentally and emotionally beaten down into barely a shell of himself, he relied on the marauders and James' parents to rebuild what his own family had broken. 

It took a long time for the Potter's, Remus and Peter to put the shattered pieces of Sirius back together. While he'll never be the same, and the scars still lay on his skin and emotionally in his heart, Sirius has become the person his parents always tried to ruin: a happy man. 

James looks at Regulus and his heart aches in the same way it ached for Sirius. They're not the same, of course, but it still plucks at the strings in James' chest to know someone else has potentially had a horrible home life too. Someone that once maybe needed saving like Sirius did. 

Regulus talks about his friends being his found family with nonchalance. He says it with a kind of dejected acceptance, like the way it is, or like it's the best way it could have turned out. James knows nothing, but he'll accept that for Regulus. 

A pair of fingers clicking in front of his face startles James out of his thoughts. He jumps, breath hitching. 

Regulus is standing directly opposite him, leaning slightly over the bar to reach in front of his face. His expression is twisted slightly, dark eyebrows pulled tight and furrowed as he looks at James like he's some strange animal. 

"You okay?" He asks. "You look like someone has run over your dog."

James shakes his head, blinking himself back into the room.  

"I— yeah," he croaks, and then promptly clears it. "Yeah. I'm fine, sorry. I was just— I. . . I'm glad you have your friends."

Regulus' expression is slightly unreadable, but James can see the confusion and slight grimace. 

"Right," he says slowly, a dark eyebrow arching up. "Thanks?" 

James smiles. "You're welcome."

"Fucking hell, Barty really did shake you up," Regulus sighs, tired and exasperated. "You look like your last brain cell has died inside your very skull."

"Hey!"

"Look," Regulus huffs, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. "In case it wasn't obvious, the drunken plan of going to pottery isn't happening today. Sorry for messing you about and making you get up on a Sunday, and really sorry for whatever me and Barty said to you last night. I won't lie, it's all a bit hazy and I'm not sure I actually want to know what we said to you. It's all— fuck, this is why me and Barty can't be trusted on tequila. I blame him entirely, there is no way this was my idea. Especially phoning you at that time in the morning. So yeah, I'm sorry for messing you about. That was. . . I didn't mean to. . ."

"It's fine," James smiles, inside his chest is warm and he feels like beaming. Regulus is getting all flustered and apologetic, when he doesn't even know what the drunken phone call last night and coming round today was the most exciting thing that's happened to James since coming back to London. 

"It's not fine," Regulus grumbles, rubbing his eyes. 

"I'm just glad you texted, if I'm honest," James admits. "And the phone call was a nice surprise, regardless of the time."

Regulus stares at him. 

"Stop being nice," he mumbles. "You're making it seem like you're pathetically easy to please."

"I'm afraid I am," James shrugs loosely. "It was just nice to hear from you."

Regulus stares at him, long and hard. He stares at James like he can't quite believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"Why?"

James blinks. "Why what?"

"Why would it have been nice to hear from me?"

James laughs, surprised. "I hope I don't give the impression of someone who buys coffees and gives out their number to just anyone. I gave you my number because I like you."

Regulus blinks at him. 

"Hence, it was nice to hear from you," James adds, since Regulus actually seems to be struggling to comprehend the simple fact that James gave him his number for the purpose of it being used. 

"You don't know me," Regulus murmurs. 

"I know enough to know I want to know more," James shrugs. "Consider it your charming good looks and charisma that drew me in."

Regulus rolls his eyes, but at least the confused expression is gone. 

How can someone as attractive as Regulus ever be confused by someone giving him his number? 

Sure, James doesn't know Regulus like he knows the rest of his friends. If anything, Regulus and Moony are more acquainted than James and him are at this rate. 

What James does know so far is that Regulus is a doctor, and a good one at that if his mothers detailed comments about the ward and Moony's praises are anything to go by. He knows the doctor is already focusing on becoming a surgeon, that he has an undeniable and constant ravishment for coffee, that he's clearly smart as a whip and has the has the work ethic of a champion. Plus, James doesn't need to look hard for very long to know that undeniable, Regulus is easily the most beautiful person he's laid eyes on. 

"You're staring again," Regulus says, though he's not looking at James but instead making himself another coffee. 

"You're something nice to stare at."

Regulus scoffs, shaking his head as he puts milk in the machine. 

"You really are something, Potter."

"I'm taking that as a compliment," James shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee from earlier. It's luke warm how, but rather delicious for a home coffee machine one, so James doesn't waste it and drinks it in almost five large gulps. 

"Want another one?"

James shakes his head. "No, thank you. I can't consume coffee that frequently. Unless you want to spend today cleaning up diarrhoea off your kitchen floor."

Regulus looks up sharply, face stricken and startled. 

"Lovely," he grimaces. 

A thought comes barrelling into James' mind as fast and hard as a bowling ball.

"By the way, are you French?"

Regulus stops short as he’s moving around the kitchen. "Half. My mother is from there, and I spent a few years living there in my late teens."

"You don’t sound French now," James quizzes.

"I consider it an on-par first language with English, but it’s easier to speak and sound English when I’m working and stuff. When I drink, the accent kind of comes back without me realising," Regulus explains. "I’m guessing you heard it on the phone last night."

"Just a smidge," James smiles. "It sounded beautiful though."

"Drunk French?"

"Any French," James corrects. "Do you speak it fluently?"

"What part of being half French did you not get?" Regulus huffs.

"Will you speak some French to me?"

"No. I'm not a show puppet," Regulus replies quickly, but when he see's James' face falls, he quietly adds, "Not yet."

James smiles. He can wait, he decides.

A few minutes pass between them in silence as the machine grumbles away and Regulus eventually fills a mug full of fresh, steaming caffeine.

"So," James starts, "Uh, as the pottery thing isn't happening anymore, do you. . . if you just want to spend the day recovering, then I can go. I appreciate if you don't want me hanging around if you feel like shit, especially considering how much you guys said you were drinking last night."

Regulus huffs a laugh as he takes a tentative sip of his drink. 

"All I'm going to do today is lay on the sofa and watch reruns of bake-off with Sylvester," Regulus replies, and James doesn't have a moment to ask who this 'Sylvester' is before Regulus continues. "So, feel free to stay if you want. I'm probably going to order in some lunch too, as I don't have any food in remotely suitable for lunch, you're welcome to stay and have some as an apology for messing you around."

"I'd like that," James smiles, then he tilts his head teasingly, "However, I must admit, never took you for a Bake-off fan."

"Yeah, yeah", Regulus huffs and rolls his eyes half-heartedly, "Consider it a guilty pleasure."

After they make their way the short distance to the living room, James' temptation wins. 

"I have to ask," he says as he settles beside Regulus on the surprisingly comfortable sofa. "Who is Sylvester?"

"Oh," Regulus blinks, remote in hand. "He's my cat."

Of course, James almost laughs. 

"Not surprised you're a cat person," James smiles. 

Regulus snorts. "You won't catch me dead with a dog, I can assure you that."

"You don't like dogs?" James gasps. "Who doesn't like dogs?"

"People with sense, that's who," Regulus snarks. "They're worse than children. They smell, leave hair everywhere, drool on everything in sight. And don't get me started on the barking."

James laughs loudly. "You're very passionate about that. And children? Not a fan of those either?"

"There's a reason why I didn't go into paediatrics," Regulus grumbles. "I really hate kids."

James smiles. Regulus seems like the type to absolutely resent any human small enough to not know how to blow its nose. Dogs as well, looking at the doctor beside him, James also isn’t surprised. While James is an active believer that everyone likes dogs because, seriously, who doesn’t like dogs? He’ll accept the very clear fact that Regulus seems like the least possible dog-person known to man.

"If you had to choose which to have, and you don't have a choice on having neither, what you rather have for a day: a dog or a child?"

Regulus peels his eyes away from the TV, and after a moment of silence, he spits out casually, "I’d rather throw myself onto the tube tracks."

The statement makes James wheeze because, what the fuck? Regulus is about to take the crown for the biggest drama queen in James’ life - and Sirius has held that title far above anyone else for 15 years now. 

"Fucking hell!" James finally chokes out. "How do you have that much spite in your body so early on a lovely Sunday morning?"

"It’s a full-time job," Regulus shrugs. 

"The hospital?"

"A hobby. Carrying around this much spite is an exhausting feat."

James chuckles, shaking his head. "You’re funny."

Regulus’ head snaps to the side to stare at him so fast James is sure the action would have given him a headache if the young doctor didn’t already have one.

"You—what?"

James frowns, confused. "I said you’re funny."

"Oh."

"Sorry, does that ruin your street cred?"

Regulus scoffs, rolling his eyes and looking back at the TV. 

"You’re weird, James Potter."

"And you, Regulus Black, are lovely."

"Your definition of 'lovely' must be tainted."

"Are you always this gloomy?"

"It’s a lifestyle," Regulus shrugs a shoulder.

James chuckles again.

"Right, shut up now," Regulus says as he slouches down on the sofa. "Time to spend the next hour staring into Paul Hollywood’s unnaturally blue eyes."

They do spend an hour watching Paul Hollywood’s eyes. Then James orders them some lunch, just some bagels and more coffee, and then Regulus promptly falls asleep during the third episode. 

James doesn’t stare. He simply glances, albeit a lot, to the side at the snoozing guy beside him. Regulus sleeps into the sofa, cushioned on his back against the arm, dark curls circling his head like a halo. James moves his curled up legs so they’re stretched out across James’ lap, and if James gently strokes the sharp bones of Regulus’ ankles while he’s sleeping, then no one needs to know but James.

James’ phone buzzes beside him, the silent ringer stopping any harsh sounds blaring out in the quiet flat.

Sirius (14:34) prongsie my boy

Sirius (14:34) wormtail got out of babysitting the baby worms tonight sooooo

Sirius (14:34) maruaders night out!!

Sirius (14:35) don’t u dare say no!!

James (14:36) isn’t it a sunday pads?

A minute passes without reply, and James is about to put his phone down when it suddenly starts ringing. Startled, he jerks in surprise. Regulus shifts beside him but doesn’t wake, so James quickly shuffles out from under his legs and dips down the corridor into the first room, which turns out to be a surprisingly spacious and alarmingly clean bathroom. 

"Pads," he answers, tone hushed as he puts the toilet seat down and sits on it. 

"Prongs?" Sirius replies. "Are you whispering?"

"Yeah, sorry, I. . . I’m hiding in the bathroom."

Sirius is silent for a moment.

"You’re hiding in a bathroom?" He echoes, "I thought you were going to pottery?"

"I was," James nods, "There was a change of plan."

"Right," Sirius drawls. "A change of plan that has lead you to hiding in a bathroom somewhere?"

"Hiding is a bad way of—"

"Oh my god," Sirius suddenly gasps, "Have you been kidnapped? Are you currently hiding in a petrol station toilet somewhere? I knew you going to pottery on a Sunday was a ploy to get to you! Do I need to phone the police? Quick share your location, Prongs. Damn, I always thought I would be the first to be human-trafficked."

"What?" James sputters. "Wait, Pads! I— I’m not fucking kidnapped, you twat! We just never ended up going to pottery. I’m literally with a doctor, why did you think I was going to get kidnapped?"

"Um, because doctor is a clear plot for someone who can easily dissect you and sell your organs."

"Fucking hell, Pads," James groans. "I’m not being kidnapped, and no one is selling my organs. I’m in the bathroom because Regulus fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake him."

"Regulus?" Sirius replies. "Who is— oh, is that this cute doctor you’ve been drooling over for weeks? Wait, he’s the one who invited you to pottery? Fuck, Prongs, are you crushing on a 50 year old? Regulus is definitely an old man name."

"No!" James cries, and then flinches at the loud noise echoing. "No, he’s not bloody 50 years old. But, he is slightly hungover, so he’s currently sleeping on the sofa."

"And you stayed because. . ."

"Because I want to spend time with him," James snaps defensively. "He said I could stay, so I’ve stayed. He’s a pleasure to be around."

"Moony said he’s an asshole."

"He is not! And do not listen to Moony! It’s all lies, he loves Regulus really," James whines. "He’s just saying those things to make fun of me."

"Moony said he’s mean, has a permanent death glare and speaks to you like you're some meaningless dirt on the bottom of his shoe."

James groans, flopping his head back so it thumps on the wall. "He’s just a bit. . . stand-offish to begin with. He’s lovely once he warms up to you."

"And has he?" Sirius asks. "Has he warmed up to you?"

"Well, he let me stay here, so I guess?" James tries. 

Truthfully, Regulus hasn’t particularly 'warmed up', per se, but he is certainly less hostile. He seems to be more comfortable with James staying while he works (or sleeps, more like) off his hangover. James doesn’t mind though - he kind of enjoys the insolent tones and the jabs at his general optimism. Regulus is a special kind of grumpy, a kind that James enjoys being around because it’s kind of refreshing. James also has a feeling the grumpiness is a kind of act Regulus uses, that deep down somewhere inside him is a happy person.

James wants to make him happy.

"—ongs? Buddy? Mate, are you there?"

"Sorry, yeah, I’m still here," James mumbles. "Why did you phone again?"

Sirius huffs, "Because your response to us going out on a marauders night out was embarrassing, and I wanted to grill you for channeling your inner grandad about going out on a Sunday."

"Wow, thanks. So glad I answered the phone now," James rolls his eyes. 

"Are you hesitating on a Marauder night at the Leaky because of the mean doctor?" Sirius asks, then gasps dramatically, "I see! We’ve already been replaced!"

"No you haven’t, you knob," James grumbles, "I just don’t know when he’s going to kick me out, and it feels mean to leave just to go out drinking."

"It’s not 'just' drinking!" Sirius snaps half-heartedly. "It’s the Marauders drinking!"

"Fine!" James hisses, but he’s smiling. "Fine. I’ll come tonight. But, nothing too heavy, you and Peter both have work tomorrow morning."

"Shut up, dad."

"You’ll be eating your words if you have to go into the parlour tomorrow and puke all over the poor people you're tattooing."

"I’ll just make it into a new statement of tattoo experience."

"Disgusting, Padfoot," James grimaces. "Absolutely disgusting."

"Shut up and finish up with your doctor," Sirius teases, tone menacing and childish. "Leaky at seven. Don’t be late!"

"Yes, Pads, of course."

After Sirius hangs up, James sighs on the toilet seat for a long minute before he makes his way out of the bathroom. He gets all of two steps before he practically jumps out of his skin. Regulus is standing at the end of the sofa, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a black cat nestled in his arms.

"Sylvester!" James cheers. "The infamous cat!"

"That was a long shit," Regulus replies, not looking up from the cat as he rubs behind its ear.

"Oh," James fumbles, eyes widening. "No, I wasn’t—"

"I know," Regulus interrupts, meeting his eyes. "You talk loudly. It was clear you were on the phone."

"Sorry, I didn’t—" James runs a hand through his hair. "I didn’t want to wake you and my friend rang, so I—"

"You don’t have to explain."

"I— I’m sorry."

Regulus frowns. "Why are you apologising?"

"I feel like I was rude."

Regulus raises a dark eyebrow at him. "I was the one who fell asleep on you."

"Yeah, but that was cute," James laughs.

The young doctor’s eyes twitch. 

"I’m not cute."

"I beg to differ," James smiles, feeling almost giddy. "I actually think you’re very cute."

"Get out."

"Wait—" James feels his own face fall just as his chest tightens. "Really?"

"No, fuck sake," Regulus huffs, rolling his eyes. He gently puts Sylvester down. "Unless you want to, of course. I won’t make you stay."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I’m not objected to the idea of some company, even if it is abysmal."

James grins. "So lovely."

Regulus shuffles into the kitchen with dragging feet. 

"Coffee?"

"Do you drink anything other than coffee?" James asks.

"Yes," Regulus replies. "Espresso martinis."

Walked right into that one, James realises.

"Do you have any tea? If I have anymore coffee I’ll be bouncing off your flat walls."

It’s a long shot, because Regulus does not look like a tea drinker in the slightest. Everything about him screams running on coffee and pessimism, but James really shouldn’t have anymore coffee. He’s already had two since he arrived as he had another one with lunch, and he is, like most normal people, easily affected by the wonders of caffeine.

"I do, actually," Regulus replies. "I keep a stash here for Pandora. So, if you don’t like PG-Tips or chamomile, I’m afraid you’ll have to take it up with her."

"PG-Tips is fine, and I’ll be sure to thank Pandora and her superb taste in tea," James grins. "Do you feel any better than earlier?"

"Unsurprisingly, yes I do," Regulus switches on the kettle and goes about making himself another pod coffee. "Still, sorry for falling asleep on you. Not my finest hosting moment."

"A hangover nap is always prioritised over being a good host," James shrugs. "And don’t worry, it really wasn’t a problem. I didn’t mind at all. If I’d drank as much as you last night, I probably wouldn’t have made it out of bed this morning."

Regulus nods as he slides a cup of fresh tea across the island. "You do look like someone who would be rather pathetic with a hangover."

"Hey!" James squarks. "I’ll have you know I’m a very honorary drunks and a pro at handling my hangovers."

Regulus scoffs, shaking his head. "I would bet an undignified amount of money on you being the biggest wuss after a night of drinking."

"I will prove you wrong," James promises. "Wormtail would drink you under the table. Everyone always underestimates his drinking skills."

"Worm-what?" Regulus frowns. 

"Oh, it’s a nickname. Me and my three best friends all have them."

"That’s incredibly embarrassing."

James blanches like he's been physically slapped. 

"It is not!" He gasps. "We came up with them when we met in year seven. It was the promise of our friendship."

Unfazed, Regulus nods, "As I said. Incredibly embarrassing."

"You’ve already met Moony. Remus, remember? You'll love the others too, they’re Padfoot and Wormtail. We're the Marauders!"

"The. . . Marauders?" Regulus echoes, face taut and confused as if someone has given him an impossibly riddle to figure out. "Are you five years old?"

"25, actually," James corrects instantly. "And come on, it's not embarrassing! We're best friends."

"You sound like a group of wannabe losers trying to be a boy-band."

"Well, we did come up with it when we were 11, so I’ll agree the nicknames are slightly unusual. We're best friends though, and have been for almost 15 years, so keep your mean comments to yourself!"

Regulus shrugs one shoulder lazily. "Stop giving me good reasons to be mean then."

James groans, head flopping back on his neck painfully so he can look up at the stark white painted ceiling. 

"You’re impossible."

"Thank you."

"It’s not a compliment!"

"Rather be impossible than easy."

"Oh for fu— forget it," James laughs, "I won’t tell you anything anymore. You’re only going to be mean."

"No, please, do share more about your super interesting life. Do you have nicknames for everyone?" Regulus’ lips twitch at the corners. "Do I have a super special nickname?"

James blushes.

"Oh," Regulus’ eyes widen. "No. No! Please, tell me you haven’t—"

"In my defence, I didn’t know your first name till last night," James rushes to clarify, "So, naturally, I had to find some way of identifying you when I talked about you to—"

"You’ve talked about me?"

"Well, of course?" James frowns. "You give good reasons to be talked about."

"Do not expand on that, please," Regulus groans, closing his eyes with a grimace.

James almost wants to do what Regulus doesn’t want and ask about that. Mostly because he can’t quite understand - surely Regulus knows he’s someone easy to ramble about. With his almost picture perfect looks and insanely qualified job for someone so young, he’s any persons topic of conversation to dream about.

"I won’t lie, it wasn’t fun always calling you Doctor Black, and my mum decided to play along with the game of not telling me your first name just to watch me suffer, so I needed to find some other way of referring to you as."

Regulus’ eyes snap up to his. "Euphemia wouldn’t tell you my first name?"

"Nope," James shakes his head. "I asked her over dinner after like the second time I saw you at the hospital. She just smiled at me and said if you weren’t going to tell me then she won’t. She said it was obviously something you wanted to keep a mystery and she didn’t want to spoil it."

"You asked your mother about me?"

"You know, when you use that tone, you make me sound weird."

"That's because you are weird. You asked your mother, my boss, about me."

"Kind of your fault for working with my mum."

"It wasn’t exactly a choice I made to spite you considering I wasn’t aware of your existence when I started my placement there."

James has come to terms a while ago that his crush was on someone who’s worked with his mother for years. Sure, at first, he realised it was weird that he was bringing up his mothers colleagues at the dinner table when they have a strict rule at the home to not talk too much about work unless it was something someone needed to get off their chest (a rule mostly put in place by Euphemia because she always had a belief that when working in a place as stressful and emotionally demanding as a hospital ward, it was healthy to sometimes leave work at work and not spend every waking moment of home life talking about what you spend doing for 12 hours). So when James asked his mother back in October who the pretty young doctor is that she works with, his mother just smiled at him with a looking at thinking back on it now, James should have been unsettled by. His mother looked so knowing, so unsurprised, especially when James admitted that yes, it is the young Doctor Black that I want to know anything and everything about, especially his first name, which the guy seems to be adamant to not reveal despite James' best efforts. 

James was surprised when his mother didn't immediately start talking about Regulus. Instead, she just smiled and said that Regulus would tell him anything he wanted James to know himself in his own time. 

James isn't going to worry that it took Regulus weeks and also a considerable amount of alcohol to tell James even his name, and he is more than sure it's going to be a while longer before he gets to know anything else. But that's fine for James, because James is happy to be patient and wait for the world if that means that Regulus will open up to him. In his own time, at his own accord, and James is happy to fill the silence until he's ready.

So James talks while Regulus is making them dinner. He tells Regulus about his family, his grandparents that live in Scotland in the most amazing Victorian manor that makes James feel like he's on holiday across the sea whenever he goes and visits them. He tells Regulus about his family holiday to Costa Rica when he was seven years old and got stung by a jellyfish. He tells Regulus about his and the Marauders pranks they pulled at school, and Remus' genius ways of getting them out of trouble by sweet-talking the teachers to give them minimal punishments. He talks about his and Wormtails travels around the world when they were 18 and all the memories of dingy hostels and Wormtail losing at least two pairs of socks in each city. He talks about him and Padfoot moving too Yorkshire for university when they were 20, and how incredible it felt to qualify as a paramedic and start his career on the road. 

Regulus perks up particularly at that. He seems surprised when James admits he's qualified, did a year on the road and has taken some leave to come back to London because he was feeling homesick. 

Regulus makes them a simple spaghetti bolognaise for dinner, which is simple and easy but tastes divine as soon as James places the first bit in his mouth. Regulus blushes at the praise James makes about the food, dismissing the compliments that it's all he could scrap together with the minimal ingredients he has in his flat. James feels his stomach cartwheel at the red hue tinting Regulus' cheeks and decides he wants to keep showering Regulus in compliments and kindness just to keep that healthy, shy glow to his face. 

It feels so easy and natural already. Sitting in Regulus' apartment, eating at the clean and spotless kitchen bar, James chatting and Regulus listening. It's the most content James has felt since he realised he missed London all those miles away in Yorkshire. 

James doesn't want to leave when the evening rolls around, but he knows that the guys won't let him get out of drinks with them this evening, especially now Sirius knows he's been hanging around with the doctor he's gushed so much about. Before he goes, James says next time it's his turn to treat Regulus to food as he's paid and cooked both meals today. 

"Next time?" Regulus asks, and James would panic that he'd overstepped if it wasn't for the small glint in Regulus' eyes. 

"Well, I owe you now, so there needs to be a next time," James smiles. 

"You've bought me more coffee and sandwiches then I can remember at the hospital."

"Those were bribes to get you to notice me."

Regulus scoffs and shakes his head. "Don't tell me you're the kind of person who makes 10-step plans to woo people."

"Oh no, of course not," James grins. "It never takes me 10-steps. Three steps at the most. Bribe with food and coffee, stalk at work, get invited to home to crash hungover Sundays."

Regulus huffs, and then his face twists with something that James can’t decipher. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flickering away.

"I don’t. . ." he starts, shaking his head. "I’m not sure if this is a good idea, James."

James feels like the words were a physical punch.

"What?"

"Whatever this is," Regulus says, motioning between them. "I don’t. . . do this kind of stuff."

"We’re not doing anything."

Regulus sighs, finally meeting James’ eyes again. He looks defeated suddenly.

"Your mother is my boss."

"Well, I’m not asking you to date my mother."

"What— no!" Regulus groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, hey," James laughs softly. His fingers twitch to reach out and hold Regulus, to either squeeze his shoulder in reassurance or drag him into a tight hug. The boy is so stiff he looks like he’s holding the world’s tension on his shoulders. James wants to help that, wants to ease it. "It’s okay. Today was nice. I had a good time, and I really like you. I don’t. . . we don’t have to make it into anything if you don’t want to, I just— I want to keep seeing you and talking to you."

Regulus looks pained, and James tries not to take it too personal. He can see in the younger boys eyes that there is something tormenting him behind the stormy grey irises. 

"Whatever happens, we’ll take it as your pace," James smiles, hoping it’s enough. Please don’t shut me out. Please don’t shut me out. Please don’t shut me out. "And I promise to never bring up my mother, your boss, again."

Regulus, at least, laughs at that.

— tbc.