carpe diem

11

"So, just to clarify one more time—"

"Must we do this again?"

"Yes. We need to clarify your immense stupidly again. Deal with it," Pandora chides sternly, snatching the joint out of Regulus’ lax hand. "So, you guys went out on your first date—"

"Still not sure if it was a 'date', as such."

"You went iceskating and out for dinner," Pandora’s tone is flat and bored. She raises a lazy eyebrow at him, and the expression alone makes Regulus scowl at her. "You’re not that dense, Reg. It was a date, and you know it, and that is why you have landed yourself in this predicament."

Regulus rolls his eyes with a huff.

"So, as I was saying," Pandora continues after exhaling a large cloud of smoke. She uses the joint as a pointer, motioning to him from where she’s sat on the other side of the window-seat alcove. "You went on a date, had an undeniably fantastic time showing off on the ice and using it as a perfect, and seemingly innocent excuse, to hold James’ hands the entire time other than when you were letting him fall over. Then, you went out to a flashy Italian restaurant where you proceeded to purposely woo him with your flawless ability to speak multiple languages, something that you know is an easy way to get into a mans pants. You both get drunk on wine, agreed to go back to his where, in your words, you had 'the best shag and bj to memory'. Yet, despite all of this positive excitement and the fact the night went without a single hitch, you woke up in the morning while James was still sleeping, got dressed and then left without a word."

Regulus glares daggers.

"I did not—"

"You left."

"I did not—"

"You left, Regulus," Pandora interrupts coolly, eyes flashing in a way that Regulus has only seen her do a few times - and all those times have been towards Barty or Evan, never towards Regulus. Until now. Go-figure. "You ghosted that poor man, have proceeded to sulk about it for three days, and you’re now here, smoking my weed, and crying about it as if you are the victim of this story that deserves sympathy and comforting."

Regulus bristles.

Pandora is making it sound so much worse. She’s making it sound like he committed bloody arson to the queen. Regulus hates it, and he hates the twist in his gut when Pandora speaks out the sequence of events he’s told her.

He’s starting to think he would have done himself more favours going to Barty. The older guy would have been incredibly unhelpful, but at least he would have just got drunk with him instead of scolding him like a child.

"You’re making it sound worse have it is!" He hisses, frustrated.

"Impossible," Pandora laughs, but the sound is not a kind one. She shakes her head, looking like a disappointed mother who’s caught her child doing something unforgivable. "You acted like a god-damn child. You are the bad guy!"

"You. . ." Regulus gapes, blinking rapidly. What the fuck did she just say? He collects himself quickly out of pure habit, eyes hardened and jaw ticking. "You’re supposed to be my friend. Therefore, by bloody default, you are meant to be on my side in this situation!"

"I am your friend. I’m your best friend," Pandora nods, face originally placid but quickly losing all it’s softness. She glares harshly, blonde eyebrow quirking in a sharp line, "Therefore, I have the power to tell you when you’ve messed up. And let me tell you, Regulus Black, you have immensely fucked this all up."

Regulus feels like Pandora has reached out and physically slapped him.

"I should have gone to Barty about this," Regulus grumbles, finally saying it out loud. He clenches his eyes shut, physically biting his tongue from letting out a scream in frustration.

Pandora laughs harshly.

"Why? Because he would have patted you on the back for getting a shag and then taken you out to drink yourself senseless?"

Regulus glares at her. "It’s a form of therapy and it works."

"It’s a form of avoidance and it certainly does not," Pandora chides. "Going out and getting yourself absolutely blackout drunk and making out with random men in a bar is not going to get you out of this mess you’ve got yourself in."

"No," he closes his eyes, "but it will make me feel better."

Regulus must have sounded as pathetic to Pandora as he feared, because a moment later she’s nudging his shin with her foot and the joint is being pushed gently into his hand.

"Talk to me, Reg," Pandora says, and Regulus wants to snap that that is exactly what he’s fucking doing— "You’ve never explained to anyone what goes through your head. I usually have you pretty well figured out in most departments, but I’ve never understood your obliterating fear of attachment."

Regulus refuses to open his eyes. The combination of the weed and Pandora cutting him in half with her clarification of his harsh reality it making him feel split open with vulnerability.

"It’s complicated," he finally replies.

Pandora scoffs gently. "Everything about you is complicated, mon chéri (my darling). You’ve never had anything more with anyone apart from one off sex since I’ve known you. At first, I always figured you just liked sex, didn’t have time to date because you were studying and then didn’t have the time after you qualified. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be alone, or being happy with your own company. But you. . . you let James in, you even sought him out at times. You clearly enjoyed his company, so what the hell happened for you to run away from something good?"

Because I’ve learnt that running away stops you from getting hurt?

Because so many people who claim to love me have hurt me?

Because being alone is easier than being hurt?

Because letting people in scares the living shit out of me?

Because how can I love someone when I don’t feel good enough to be loved?

Because I’m afraid.

Pandora doesn’t understand how much there is to unpack from that question. How Regulus has a hundred different answers as to why he ran away from James the moment it began to feel more than another one night stand that he can enjoy and move on from without any strings, without any hurt or attachments. Regulus learnt a long time ago that it’s easier to leave first than be left and hurt.

Hurt the person before they have a chance to hurt you, feels like his life fucking moto.

Regulus doesn’t think anyone understands how long it took for him to let Pandora, Evan and Barty truly in. So much time they spent together and yet, Regulus’ walls were still standing strong between them. None of them suspected a thing, none of them realised that he was refusing to get attached to their kindness, their friendship because in the back of his mind, he couldn’t allow himself to let himself live in their welcoming warmth incase they snatched it away again.

Its the same with James.

If anything, it’s worse with James.

It took his friends years to chip and break his walls down. It took James a blinding smile and a latte and his walls shattered like thin glass.

Regulus is scrambling to rebuild them, because the things he feels for James scares the living shit out of him. He feels raw when he’s around the older boy, and he allowed himself to relax into the warmth that James radiates that night on the date. It wasn’t until he woke up, face inches from James’ sleep-slack own that he realised he was in too deep. He was going to to drown, the warmth was going to be replaced by cold water pooling in his lungs the moment James realised what a horrible, unloveable person he is.

James would inevitably leave, so it was only safest for Regulus to leave first.

"I don’t know how to explain it," Regulus whispers.

"Reg—"

"I’m afraid," the words spill from his mouth before he can stop them.

"Of?"

"Everything," he shakes his head. "It was too good with him. He was— I couldn’t—. . ."

After a moment, a warm hand clasps his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"What about James scares you so much?"

"People always leave me," Regulus replies.  He opens his eyes, trying not to physically shatter at the look of sadness in Pandora’s eyes. "They always have, and if they haven’t left, they’ve fucked me up in the process. It’s easier to get out before it gets ugly."

She frowns, eyebrows pulled tight. She shakes her head slightly, "How do you know it will get ugly?"

"It always has," Regulus shrugs. "My track record hasn't exactly been a positive one. I can't let it go any further with James. I can't add him to the skeletons in the closet of people who have made me who I am."

Pandora looks stricken.

"Who hurt you so bad that they made you believe everyone would hurt you?" She asks, voice so gentle that it makes Regulus' heart clench in his chest.

Everyone. Everyone before you and Barty and Evan, and now I’m scared everyone after you will too.

"I think you know you," he whispers, and Regulus hopes she doesn't ask more. He hopes that she can read enough between the lines that he isn't talking about past love relationships. Instead he's talking about his family, the people who were meant to love and care for him but instead chewed him up and spat him back out.

"You don't know that James will be like that," she says.

"I'm not prepared to wait and find out."

She shakes her head vigorously. "You can't live like that, Reg. You can't go through life never letting people in, never letting people love you incase there's a chance they might leave."

"It's safer that way," Regulus argues. He snatched the joint back, lighting it again as it's gone out from them talking. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

Pandora is quiet for a long time. Slumped back, Regulus can feel her watching him as he smokes and stares out the window, trying to find anything more entertaining to look at so he doesn’t have to face her.

This isn’t what he came over for. He came over because he’s tired, feels like shit and wanted to have a break from reality. He wanted to smoke with her, to listen to her babble on lightheartedly about placement and university work. He wanted to forget about the colossal shit going on in his own everlasting miserable existence.

He didn’t want to rehash the sequence of events with James. He didn’t want to be told the harsh truths that he already knew but was in the process of burying deep. He didn’t want to be reminded of how incapable he is at being normal, or have to explain his actions when he knew, he’s always known, no one would understand.

That’s because no one was there. No one saw Walburga and Orion ruining his deception of love and trust growing up. No one saw the way they’d hurt Sirius like he did, or see the way they turned on him when Sirius ran away to save himself.

No one saw the process that’s made him this way, they only see the consequences.

Consequences are easier to judge, and harder to decipher.

"You don’t need to explain," Pandora finally says. "I don’t understand, you’re right, but that’s because I don’t know whatever it is that you went through. However, I do know, that you deserve things everyone else deserves. I won’t lie and say James will never hurt you, but you can’t live life never taking the risk. That’s not living, Reg, that’s just existing, and you’re too much of a good, smart, kind person to spend the rest of your life existing."

Regulus sighs. "I’m not kind."

"You are," she smiles. "In your own, pessimistic and slightly arrogant way. If you weren’t kind, I wouldn’t be your friend."

He can’t find it in himself to smile back.

"It doesn’t matter now," Regulus states, shrugging. "I did exactly what I always do. I hurt him, so he couldn’t hurt me first. Whatever we had, or could have had, it’s gone now."

"When will you realise that people have a capability called forgiveness?"

"Don’t know. Can’t say I’m familiar with the process."

"That’s because you’re you, and your responses and coping methods are clearly askew from the general compass," she huffs, reaching out and flicking a curl off his forehead. "If you didn’t care about James, or like him even remotely, then you wouldn’t have been sulking for the last three days and sitting in my flat now looking like a kicked puppy."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I have not been sulking—"

"This is clearly making you miserable, Reg. You clearly liked him, and I know this because he is the first person I have ever seen you give the time of day to that isn’t me, Barty or Evan."

"I give Dorcas the time of day."

"She’s a friend."

"Still."

Pandora groans. "You’re killing me here, Reg."

"Die quietly, then."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"You’re making me sick."

"I love you, Regulus."

…

"Je t'aime plus (Love you more)."

Pandora grins. "Whenever you’re ready, you should talk to him. Even if you don’t want anything more, he deserves an explanation."

"I know," Regulus whispers - and he does. He’s more than aware that James deserves better.

"Now, enough of that," Pandora lights another joint, leaning back once more. "Tell me something funny. I need a good laugh after ruining your day."

Regulus rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Did you know James and his friends all refer to each other by nicknames they gave themselves when they were 11?"

Pandora laughs so hard she almost throws up and coughs until her eyes are bloodshot.

Regulus doesn't take Pandora's advice. The next day, any of the fear she tried to diminish in his potentially irrational way of thinking was wiped clean by the time Regulus got up and got ready for work. He tried not to think about James when he was making his first coffee, or when he was in the shower. He tried and failed to not think about James when he was driving through London on the way to the hospital, John Elton and Kiki Dee’s Don’t Go Breaking My Heart playing on the radio was not helping the situation at all.

He’s already tired before he even makes it up to the neuro mess room. Despite the weed he smoked with Pandora the evening before, he slept like a war veteran and woke at every sound outside his flat walls. He feels like he’s dragging his feet up to the neurology ward, regretting his decision of not taking the lift because there was too many people already in it that would have risked him having to have a conversation at 7:30 in the morning.

Begrudgingly changing into his scrubs and shoving his bag into his locker with more aggression than needed, he makes his way onto the ward. He runs a hand through his hair and tugs roughly on the strands.

He needs to stop thinking.

James is not his entire purpose of living.

He’s a doctor, he needs to start thinking like one.

The sight of Euphemia at the desk makes his heart drop like a stone into his stomach.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

So much for not thinking about James today when he has to work with the woman that birthed him and gave him his stupid pretty eyes.

He mentally scolds himself. He’s Regulus fucking Black. He needs to stop acting like this. It’s only Euphemia. He knew her long before he knew of James.

Refusing to let his mental anguish cause a fault in his step, Regulus approaches the desk with the same faux confidence as always.

Euphemia looks up as he rounds it, face breaking out in a smile as he drops down.

"Morning, love," she says. "How was it yesterday?"

"Same as always. Did the man in 404 make it through the night?"

"He did indeed. Good job on the quick diagnosis. I’m surprised emergency missed it."

"I’m not," Regulus huffs. "The crew they had down there yesterday was abysmal."

Euphemia laughs, shaking her head. "You’re the reason why other departments are scared of neurology doctors."

"Good. They should be scared when they don’t do their jobs properly."

"Oh, stop it," she chides playfully. "Right, ready for the handover? We’re short staffed today again, and they were down two nurses last night so the tasks are already stacking up for today."

"Colour me surprised," Regulus drawls. "Go on then. Lets get this shit show on the road."

Regulus shouldn’t have been worried about Euphemia saying anything. They get through the shift as if the last four days never happened and Regulus never shagged her son last Friday. Her ability to not get involved is remarkable, and Regulus is more than grateful because his sex life and crumbling resolve is not something he wants to discuss on the hospital ward floor.

Lunch comes and goes without a visit from a certain coffee and sandwich delivery, so Regulus is resigned to go down to the cafe and get one of the overpriced and bland sandwiches. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he’s not sure if it’s from the sandwich itself.

He gets home that night exhausted. He barely makes it through the door and into his room before he collapses in a boneless heap on the bed.

The next day is the same. The same struggle of not having James occupy his every thought and pretending like he doesn’t feel like he’s missing a limb.

He’s being ridiculous.

He’s only been speaking to James for a few months. They’ve been on one date, kissed a handful of times and spent one night in bed.

It’s a minuscule amount of time compared to everything else in his life.

So why the hell can’t Regulus stop thinking about him?

Why can’t Regulus stop wondering what he’s doing?

Why can’t Regulus stop wondering if he’s sleeping okay?

Why can’t Regulus stop wondering if he’s watched anymore Bake Off and cried when his favourites leave?

Why can’t Regulus stop thinking about the wide expanse of his shoulders, the way his muscles in his arms ripple under his dark skin whenever he moves them?

Why can’t Regulus stop thinking about kissing him? About how addicting his lips were and the feel of his large warm hands running up his back and holding his waist?

This is why Regulus doesn’t do anything more than just sleep with people, because since that Friday night when he left, he feels like he left the warmth in his body behind in that bedroom.

No matter the normalcy Euphemia brings on shifts with her, Regulus is struggling to uphold his obliviousness to the colossal mess going on in his personal life with her son. She seems to continue as if Regulus hasn’t completely ghosted her son and ignored his messages, which stopped after the first day after Regulus ran out, and Regulus can’t decide if he wished they’d kept coming for a little bit longer so he knew for sure that James was feeling the same thing he’s felt.

His last shift is a night shift. Regulus’ day starts at being woken up at 10:30 from a phone call from Barty asking him to go out drinking that evening. Regulus barely manages to grind out a snappy reply telling the older boy that he has a nightshift and if he wakes him up again he’s going to stomp on his windpipe next time they see each other before hanging up without hearing Barty’s reply. He gets an apology text, but he’s still pissed off when he can’t get back to sleep.

Regulus is exhausted before the shift even starts.

Dorcas is at the desk waiting to give him the days handover when he arrives, looking prim and fresh despite being on shift for over 12 hours during the day.

"You’ve got Effie coming in at nine," Dorcas says once she’s sprinted through the handover. "She’s coming in late but she’ll be here all night with you. Good thing too, because emergency have snatched all your HCA’s for the night."

"Fucking brilliant," Regulus mutters, sipping the coffee he grabbed on his way up. "This is like the third week that we’re understaffed from emergency stealing our lot. What’s going on down there?"

Dorcas shrugs, "The general public has gone mad, they need all the hands they can get. I heard all the new HCA’s they got in September have quit as well. Can’t handle the heat apparently."

"Not surprised. I hate it down there."

"You have to be a totally different breed of person to choose to work in an emergency room."

"I wouldn’t last a week. I’d definitely get struck off for misconduct by telling someone to fuck off."

Dorcas barks a laugh. "It wouldn’t be mentally challenging enough for you, Doctor Black. You’d get bored of the blood and gore far too quickly."

"Got that right," Regulus smirks.

"So," Dorcas drawls, and Regulus feels his back instantly stiffen. "How’s Ja—"

"Don’t."

The older doctor blinks in surprise. "Pardon?"

"Don’t ask, Meadows."

The surprise on Dorcas’ face quickly morphs into one of concern. Her thick eyebrows become pinched in a frown.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Grand. Great, even. Everything’s fine."

"Did something happen?"

"Nope."

"Reg—"

"Nothing happened."

"It sounds like it did. I thought. . ." her frown suddenly turns hard, jaw clenching. "What did he do?"

Regulus’ head snaps up. "Nothing."

"Regulus Black, what did he do? Do you need me and Marls to beat his ass? I don’t care that Effie is my boss, if her son—"

"He didn’t do anything, Meadows. It just didn’t work out."

She frowns again. "But why?"

"Because it fucking didn’t, okay?" Regulus spits, rubbing his forehead.

It didn’t work out because I’m too fucked up to let myself open up to the prospect of commitment because everyone in my life has either hurt me or left me and I can’t take anymore—

"What did you do, then?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Why would you assume—"

"Because if it wasn’t him, then it was you," Dorcas interrupts. "So what did you do?"

"I’m not talking about this."

"Does Effie know?"

"I don’t know. She hasn’t brought it up."

Dorcas whistles. "You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Black. If I was Effie, I would have grilled you to Australia and back by now."

"Well she hasn’t, and you’re not Effie, so you can drop it now too," Regulus grumbles.

He knows Dorcas is going to have the same opinion as Pandora. They both have the same opinions when it comes to relationships. Both too naive and gentle in the sense that love is apparently the best thing in the world and relationships are as important as eating a balanced diet.

Despite both of them being the strongest women Regulus knows, they are both blind when it comes to understanding the simplicity that relationships are not Regulus’ thing.

James is the perfect example of why, because since Regulus walked out on him, he’s felt like he left something important behind.

Is this how Sirius felt when he left Regulus all those years ago?

No.

He won’t allow himself to think about that.

Regulus lets out a pitiful whine, head falling on his arms on the desk top. His brain just won’t shut up. First James, now it’s dragging up stuff about Sirius.

"Looks like a lot of hard thinking is going on in that big head of yours, Black," Dorcas says, voice unfairly soft. A hand moves through his hair, and the simple action is so gentle and comforting it almost brings tears to Regulus’ eyes. "Look, I don’t know what happened between you and James— or what 'didn’t' happen. But it’s clearly affecting you. Have you talked to him?"

"Nothing to talk about," he lies into his arms.

Dorcas hums, clearly unconvinced. "Sure. Then why are you acting like me and Marls when we have silly little tiffs?"

"I’m fine."

"You’re not heartless, Regulus."

"I don’t have a heart."

"Then why do you look like it’s broken?"

Because it is, Regulus wants to shout, but not by James. Instead, by people before him and it never got repaired.

"Me and Marlene are almost two years next month."

"How lovely," Regulus bites out.

"It’s been the best two years of my life," Dorcas murmurs, voice soft as if she’s revealing something truly beautiful, as if she’s admitting something that is too precious to be shouted. "You’ve seen me and her. She’s everything to me, and I’m everything to her. It hasn’t been easy, there have been little arguments over nothing, even big ones over nothing. We work it out in the end though, and we’re stronger now than we were two years ago because of the small hiccups we’ve had along the way. They’ve allowed us to learn about each other, to adapt to each others different ways and needs. Not everything is doom, Regulus, and you look at love and commitment like it’s destined to be doomed from the start."

"It is."

"It’s not. You know it’s not, because I can see by the look on your face that you’ve been thinking about him since whatever happened went down," she says. "Seriously, you’re a hot bit of ass, Black. Why don’t you let someone have a bite of it?"

"Shouldn’t you be going home?" He asks, braving lifting his head and hoping he’s done enough to mask his face again. "Don’t you want to go home to Marlene instead of sitting here with me giving me relationship advice?"

"If it helps you get your head out of your ass, I’ll wait here all night," she smiles. "Text him. Try again. One scare isn’t enough to throw it all away. Relationships are like the degree you took to get this job. You have to work hard at them, fail and try again to eventually succeed. It’s not worth it if it isn’t scary sometimes."

Regulus swallows thickly. "What if it’s scary all the time?"

Dorcas smiles sadly, as if she’s talking to a child crying over something so heartbreaking.

"Then you’re thinking about it too much," she says. "You’ve got to let things happen. Roll with it, loosen up, let it flow and don’t think."

Regulus scoffs, straightening up. "Have you met me?"

"Yes, that’s why I’m hear talking to your pathetic ass trying to gently make you realise that not everyone in this world was brought to you to try and ruin your life," she says. "Some people come into your life to make it better. Look at me, for example—"

"Oookay," Regulus drawls, batting her hand away from his hair finally. "You’re done. I’m bored of this now. Go home, you look like shit and you’re starting to smell like it too."

"King of flattery, Doctor Black," Dorcas smirks, standing up. "Seriously, though. I meant what I said."

"About how I’m a hot piece of ass?"

"No," Dorcas deadpans. "About texting James and fixing whatever happened. Give it a go. You won’t know you don’t like it till you try it."

"It’s not like trying a sandwich filling, Meadows."

"It’s about as complicated as that, or at least it should be, if you weren’t such a worry-wort—"

"Bye, Meadows!"

"Love you, Doctor Black."

"Get out."

"See you in the morning!"

"Get out!"

He gets started on his rounds once Dorcas has left and Euphemia has yet to turn up. With them being down HCA’s, the jobs they’d normally go fall to the next in line which should be the nurses, but he’d rather they run the bloods and urines for him so he doesn’t have to wait for the results, so he subjects himself to the observation rounds and checks on the patients. It’s a good form of distraction, too. Talking bullshit to patients and fake smiling stops him from sinking into the black hole that he likes to categorise as his own head.

He misses Euphemia’s arrival. He’s stuck in one of the side rooms explaining to a wife that her husband has had a stroke that involves a brain bleed instead of a clot and therefore the recovery routine is going to be different than his last stroke episode. He ends up having to drag one of the nurses in to comfort her in the end and get her a cup of tea as she can’t seem to understand anything he says past 'brain bleed' and despite his assurances, she becomes completely convinced her husband is going to die in the night after she goes home.

When the nurse that comes in relieves him from the torture, he slips out gratefully and makes his way back to the reception desk.

Euphemia is already there, reading through the handover sheet Dorcas left. Regulus sits down heavily, feeling like his bones have been replaced with lead and his muscles have become stiffened masses.

"I’ll just write up these notes then I can give you a bit of a rundown of the floor," he says, pulling out the files off the wall and flicking through.

"You should talk to him, you know."

Regulus’ head snaps up so fast he feels the bones in his neck grind. "What?"

Euphemia looks at him, expression neutral and unfazed. She must see something on his face, because a moment later, her eyes are softening more than he’s ever seen them.

"I don’t know what happened between you two. I don’t like to get involved in my sons relationships, he’s an adult and it’s none of my business - especially when the other half involved is someone I work closely with," she says, tilting her head for a moment teasingly. "What I do know, is that my son is incredibly forgiving when he’s given explanations, and every time I’ve seen him this week he’s looked as low and miserable as you."

Regulus’ heart is beating so fast he’s waiting for it to burst through his rib cage and land on the floor between them like in the gory scenes in Alien. His hand trembles were his fingers are loosely clasped around his pen.

Has Euphemia been talking to Dorcas?

What the fuck is going on?

"I. . . I don’t—"

"You don’t have to explain it to me, sweetheart," she smiles, shaking her head. "I’m not saying something to try and get involved. I didn’t want to mention it at all, because it’s not my place to say, but I can see you’re beating yourself up just over thinking about it."

"Just text him. I know my son, and I know enough about you to know that you both might become something beautiful." "Don’t think too hard, okay? I won’t bring it up again. I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay too."

Regulus shakes his head. "You shouldn’t. James is—"

"He’s my son, yes," she says, the smile on her face growing fond and impossibly more warm. "He’s my whole world and more, but you’re important too. He’s needed his mothers guidance more than a hundred times in his life, and I don’t care that you’re 23 and a doctor, you need a mothers guidance too sometimes."

Regulus feels like his throat has closed up.

Everyone is making it sound like getting close to someone isn’t terrifying. They all seem to believe it’s something to be cherished, cradled, enabled to grow and flourish. To Regulus, it feels like an accident waiting to happen and every moment of it brings him closer and closer to the edge of the train platform.

Can it really be that simple? It’s almost been a week, and is all he needs to do is text James?

No. He’s left it too long. James won’t forgive him, and Regulus doesn’t have the energy to try if it’s not going to work out - because it won’t. It won’t work because Regulus doesn’t know how to let people in, and James deserves more than Regulus can ever possibly give.

Regulus isn’t enough for someone like James.

"Why don’t you take a quick 10 minute break," Euphemia offers, standing up slowly. "I can discharge 407 while you’re gone."

"Oh, no, you don’t—"

"Take a break, love," she interrupts, squeezing the back of his neck gently and walking off.

Regulus feels struck. For a minute, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t feel like he can.

He does miss James. He misses his laugh and his touch and the way he can talk about literally anything like it’s the most exciting thing in the world. He misses the warmth that blooms through him when James looks at him like he’s the most impressive thing to walk the Earth.

Standing on shaky legs, Regulus all but runs to the mess room. He locks the door behind him, not caring if anyone else needs to come in because he just needs space for five minutes while he works out what he’s about to do.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, his hands trembling to the point that he looks like he’s standing in a room full of snow.

hello, sorry for running out on you last friday and

hello, sorry for ignoring your texts since I left last friday

hi, i’m sorry for leaving last week. how are you?

hi, i’m sorry for

Regulus lets out a growl, fingers aggressively smacking the backspace button. He closes his eyes, head tipping back and clunking with the door behind him. He feels like such an idiot.

Taking a deep breath, he types again, hitting send before he can erase it again and continue this anguish.

Regulus (21:47) hi. can we talk?

He pockets his phone quickly. No going back now, he tells himself. He just has to wait and see what James replies.

He unlocks the door and goes back onto the ward.

Euphemia was being honest when she said she wouldn’t bring it up again. She doesn’t even ask if he’s text James. She carries on as if their conversation never happened, and Regulus is grateful.

He’d be more grateful if James replied.

On his break at two in the morning, he’s standing outside smoking a cigarette staring down at his phone.

No notifications, no texts. Nothing.

With a stone in his stomach, his eyes travel up to the texts James sent after Regulus left that morning.

James (08:55) hi, hope you’re okay? did something happen this morning?

James (09:01) sorry, you don’t have to tell me if something happened. just let me know you’re okay when you can

James (12:10) I had fun yesterday, I hope we can do it again :)

James (19:23) you okay?

He even text the following day. A couple more texts asking if everything is alright and that he’s there if Regulus needs him.

The last text makes Regulus’ gut twist like the first time he read it.

He sent it two days after Regulus walked out while he was sleeping.

James (03:44) sorry for whatever i did on friday. hope you’re doing okay, don’t work too hard at the hospital and remember to eat and drink water - coffee is not a substitute. take care of yourself reg x

Regulus groans loudly, feeling more and more worse because James did not deserve to be led to believe he’d done something wrong.

Regulus should have lied. He wishes he’d text some web of a false story as to why he had to leave instead of admitting he ran away because it scared him.

Regulus (02:08) i know you’re probably asleep but i really need to talk to you and explain myself. i’m sorry for last saturday morning please text me when you can.

The rest of the shift drags. No amount of emergency patients or brain surgeries can distract Regulus from the feeling of his phone burning a hole in his scrubs pocket. He can’t even find it in himself to be excited when Slughorn asks him to assist on a spine fusion surgery at six in the morning because James hasn’t replied to him and Regulus is suddenly scared he’s messed up the first good thing in his life.

He gets off shift two hours late. Its gone 8:30 by the time he gets to his car. His nerve endings feel like they’ve been dipped in acid when he sees James still hasn’t text. His stomach feels like it’s pulsating and about to explode and he can hear the blood roaring in his ears as he looks down at his phone.

He’s scared to put this off any longer. Even if James turns him away, even if he screams and shouts and makes Regulus feel smaller than he already does, Regulus can’t shake the burning desperation to explain himself. James deserves to know the reason why he should hate Regulus.

Regulus (08:41) sorry i keep texting but i really need to see you talk to you. can i come over to yours? i promise i won’t stay long, i just need to explain.

Regulus (08:42) i’ll be at yours in half an hour. please open the door

His whole body feels like it’s vibrating on the drive there. His legs are shaking so bad they’re practically jerking against the pedals. He keeps zoning out, wondering what he’s going to say, how he’s going to make James understand and to think he’s a total mess.

Regulus doesn’t want to see the look of hatred and disgust on James’ face when he sees Regulus. He doesn’t want to see how James really feels when he opens the door to his flat and finds who’s standing there. He doesn’t want to see James laugh at him, call him pathetic and weak and ruined. He doesn’t want to hear the cruel words that might come out of James’ mouth, doesn’t want to hear what James really thinks of him.

He almost stops the car and turns around when he pulls into James’ street. He hates how nervous he's gotten, his hands so sweaty they're slipping against the steering wheel.

He parks outside, checking his phone for missed messages despite knowing there won't be any because his phone is on loud the whole way. He debates ringing James, perhaps that would be more civilised than just turning up when he's been ignored, but there isn't a good ending to that idea. James might pick up, which is a problem in itself. He could pick up to tell Regulus to leave him alone and hang up, or worse he'd want to talk on the phone which would lead to Regulus being the one to hang up. Or James won't pick up at all, declining the call altogether and making any hope of Regulus reaching out diminish in embarrassment and rejection.

Regulus has to manually slow his breathing as he climbs out of the car. His legs feel like wobbling jelly as he makes his way to the building main door. He can't tell if he's relived or disappointed that the door is on the latch and open without needing a key. If it had been locked, it would have been an easy excuse to leave and forgo this entire future sequence of horrible events that are looming.

Regulus holds onto the banisters on the way up. He feels as unsteady as a new born deer. The flat door is in front of him before he can process it.

He wraps his knuckles against the door before he can stop himself. Now he's here, he wants to erase the last week. He wants James to open the door, to forget what Regulus did and just accept him into his open arms. He wants James to pick him up like he weighs the heaviness of a pillow, arms wrapped around him and spin him so he giggles. He wants to wrap his legs around the older boys waist, to cradle James' face in his hands, to feel the soft skin and cheekbones under his fingers. He wants to kiss him, to feel the electric current run down his spine that comes with touching James. He wants James to hold him, to grips his waist like he's holding on for dear life, their bodies pressed together and mould into one.

He doesn't want to talk. He just wants to be around him, to feel what he felt last week.

He wants to feel that warmth again.

The door doesn't open. Regulus' heart pounds so loudly he can't even decipher if he can hear movement on the other side of the door.

He knocks again, feeling desperate.

Please open the door.

Please.

He wants to shout out. He wants to call James' name until he opens up and shows he's stupidly pretty face and round glasses that frame in front of his brown eyes.

No one makes brown eyes look as pretty as James does.

Regulus wishes he told James that while he had the chance.

His knuckles begin to hurt from knocking. Frustration bubbles inside him like burning water. He can feel tears beginning to sting the back of his eyes.

He's ruined it.

He ruined something good before he even had a chance to get a proper taste of it. He's done the only thing he's good at: self sabotage and destruction.

"Reg?"

Regulus spins around so fast his vision has dancing stars in the corners. A soft gasp escapes him, his back slamming against the door like a cornered animal.

James.

Standing there in crumpled clothes and messy wild hair. He looks so perfect, so delicious Regulus feels like his brain has blown a fuse and stopped working completely.

James who's standing there looking like he's caught a bewildered animal.

"Are you okay?" He asks, keys gently swaying and hooked on his fingers.

"You're here," Regulus murmurs, the words releasing before he's had a chance to catch up with what's happening.

"Well, this is my flat," James laughs slightly, still frowning and looking at Regulus like none of this is making any sense. Regulus wants to kiss the tension out of his forehead, stroke the harsh lines between his eyebrows. "I hope it's me you're looking for, or you've been knocking on the wrong door."

"N-no. No, I’m—" he shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. "I'm here to speak to you."

"Okay," James nods. He motions to the door behind Regulus. "Do you want to go in?"

"Yes please."

"Okay," James says again, flashing him a smile.

Regulus steps out of the way, for the first time in his life feeling too big for a space as he lets James get to the door. They're suddenly so close, so close that Regulus can see the small faint indents of acne scars on his cheeks and the whisks of shaven hair growing back above his top lip. Regulus is stuck between wanting to reach out and touch or slip aside and run away.

Either choice is taken away when James pops the door open and steps inside. There's another small moment where Regulus is waiting for James to come to his senses and slam the door behind him, but the older male doesn't do that. He holds the door open, expectant and waiting, a kind smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Regulus is sure his legs aren't going to work, but before his mind can make up if it's in flight or fight mode, he's stepping inside and James is closing the door behind them.

James comes round as if to move further into the flat, but he must notice Regulus still standing by the door like a statue, because he stops and looks even more concerned and confused than before.

"What's going on, Reg?" He asks.

Regulus opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He has to resist the urge to wring his hands together, something he hasn't done since he was a teenager.

"I texted," Regulus finally chokes out. "I. . . I tried to tell you."

"Oh," James says. "Sorry, Reg. I stayed round Peter’s last night and my phone died."

Regulus swallows, feeling like he's got a marble in his throat. "He didn’t have a charger?"

James chuckles easily, shaking his head. "Believe it or not, but Peter is a Samsung guy."

"Concern for friendship if they’re a Samsung user," Regulus replies. He can feel the tension in his shoulders slowly bleeding away. This is nice, easy even. This is the familiar James he remembers. "Don’t tell me he has a book phone case as well?"

"He doesn’t have a phone case at all. I’ve seen banger racing cars in better conditions than his smashed up phone," James laughs. When a moment of silence settles between them, he bites his lip and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "Let me plug my phone in and then we can talk."

Regulus feels himself nod despite not feeling like he's in control of his body anymore. "Do you want me to put the kettle on?"

"Sure," James nods, grinning. "You know where the coffee and tea is right?"

"Yeah."

"Sweet," he beams, turning on his heel and disappearing into his room.

Regulus feels like he's moving on autopilot in the kitchen. His fingers don't feel like his own when he flicks the kettle on and grabs two mugs from the cupboard. Everything feels like a fog, like he's watching the world through frosted glass as he spoons coffee and sugar into the cups and grabs the milk from the fridge.

The kettle clicks done the same time that Regulus hears padded footsteps come into the expanse of the open plan flat. He doesn't turn around, just robotically stirring the coffees. He stirs for longer than needed, but the hypnotic rhythm is hard to stop when he wants to avoid the inevitable about to happen now he's here.

When he turns around to place the cups on the table between them, he has to force himself to look up.

James has changed out of his jeans and jacket, now dressed in joggers and a old looking t-shirt. He looks so damn soft that Regulus wants to close his eyes and savour the moment, to walk into him and let himself be held again.

"So," James begins. "How've you been?"

It feels like a punch to the throat.

"Don’t do that," Regulus croaks, shaking his head.

James frowns suddenly, face dropping. "Don’t do what?"

"That. This!" Regulus stresses, pointing between them manically. "Don’t pretend you’re not mad and hate me and—"

"I’m not mad," James cuts him off. "Confused, yeah, but I’m not mad. I assumed something happened last week and—"

"Nothing happened," Regulus admits.

James just nods. "Okay."

"Nothing happened. I just left."

He nods again, slower. "Okay."

"I. . ." Regulus sighs, wiping his sweaty palms slightly against his jeans. "I left. I walked out, without a word, so why aren't you mad?"

James chuckles breathlessly. "Well, I figured you had a reason. Even if something didn't necessarily 'happen', I figured something was wrong. I just didn't know if it was you or me."

"It wasn't you," Regulus says instantly, almost desperately. He doesn't want James thinking that way.

"Okay," James nods again. "You ready to tell me what happened, then? Is that why your here?"

Regulus nods but doesn't speak. It's been all he's been thinking about for days, but now the moment is here to admit it out loud, he can't find the words to actually do it.

"I. . ." he growls in frustration. "I don't know how to do this."

James is looking at him, expression open and waiting but somehow not impatient. "Do what?"

Regulus shakes his head, feeling the familiar burn in his eyes. He blinks, refusing to cry. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Then don't explain. Just say it in the simplest way. One sentence, then we can break it down from there—"

"I don't know how to do let you in."

James blinks, then he nods, fingers twitching on his mug clasped between his hands. "Okay. Why did you leave on Saturday?"

"Because I was scared."

"Of?"

"Us. You. Myself. Take your pick," Regulus spits out.

James just nods. "So, commitment?"

Regulus groans, shaking his head violently. "No. It— you make it sound so pathetic when you put it like that and--"

"Okay, okay, sorry," James interrupts. "I didn’t— shit, I didn't mean to make you sound pathetic, Reg, I'm just trying to understand—"

"Everyone leaves," Regulus blurts. "Everyone either leaves, or they break your heart when they're not meant to. It's easier to not get attached to people, to not let them get too close so incase they do leave then it doesn't hurt as bad."

James stares at him, expression fleeting so many emotions. He settles just looking sad.

"Who hurt you so bad that you've grown to believe that everyone is going to hurt and leave you?" He asks, sounding so pained it feels like a knife is being plunged in Regulus' stomach.

"Everyone," he whispers. "Everyone in my family either left me behind or stayed around long enough to make me—"

"Make you what?"

Regulus shakes his head. He's not ready to admit what happens next.

"I can't let it happen again," he says. "I can’t— it hurts too much when people leave. It's easier to just stop anything before it becomes something important."

"Like me?"

"It was meant to be like that with you," Regulus admits, hysteria creeping into his voice. "But you. . . fuck, James! You messed it all up! You. . . you got in before I could even register you opening the fucking door, and now I don't want to let you go but I need to because I can't let myself be open to getting fucked over again and--"

"Woah, Reg—"

"I hate you because you've made me want you— need you, and we barely know each other, but this last week has been sohard being away from you and it-- it wasn't meant to be like that! It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, and then we were meant to go our separate ways, but last Friday was so good, too good and I don't deserve it and you deserve more than I can give. You deserve someone who isn't going to bail or destroy something good before it has a chance to be ruined—"

"Reg, please, stop and take a breath," James pleads, voice pained.

James is suddenly in front of him, looking down and hands cradling Regulus’ cheeks. When he blinks, his vision clears and he realises he’s crying, tears flowing down his cheeks and James wiping them away as they go. He’s panting, breath almost coming out in a wheeze. He feels like he’s run a marathon, chest tight and head spinning.

He swallows down the sob that tickles it’s way up his throat, instead gasping in a lungful of air.

"I was on a roll there," he rasps.

James shakes his head, never letting go of his face or stepping away. He stays close, so close that Regulus can practically feel the heat of his body warmth. "You were breaking my heart, Reg. I needed—. . . I had to get you to stop."

"I’m sorry," he whispers, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. He didn’t come here to hurt James. He never wanted to hurt him in the first place. He only wanted to save himself, because it’s been so long that he’s only had himself to protect from the world.

James shakes his head again, clenching his jaw. "Don’t apologise. Please, don’t you dare apologise."

"But I—"

"The only people who should apologise are the people that made you believe you aren’t worth loving and are safer alone," James says, voice hard yet shaking. "Shit, Reggie. You don’t— you do deserve good things."

"But—"

"No 'but’s!" James growls. "You deserve good things, and it’s fucking cruel and wicked that everyone used to walk away from you to believe that everyone in the future will too. It hurts, Reg, to hear that they hurt you so bad that you believe pain is only inevitable."

"It is."

Tears collect in James’ eyes rapidly. "No. No, Reggie, it’s not. Not everyone wants to hurt people. I don’t want to hurt you."

"I’m scared," Regulus whispers, sounding as fragile as he feels. "I’m so fucking scared of this. I want it, I want you but I— you might—"

James sighs, closing his eyes. A tear falls from one, rolling down his cheek and Regulus so desperately wants to wipe it away, but he’s too scared to move. When James opens his eyes, they’re slightly bloodshot, but the welling tears are gone. His hands move from Regulus’ cheeks to his neck, his thumbs stroking the line of his jaw.

"Reggie, I can’t promise that we’ll never leave each other. I can’t promise that we’ll stay together forever, because that’s not fair to make you believe that. I want to believe it, and I do believe it if we gave it a go, but I don’t want to promise you. Things change, the world moves sometimes too fast for us to keep up, but I do promise that I would never hurt you intentionally. This isn’t some huge mind game. I didn’t plan from the start to draw you in and leave you out to dry later down the line. I want to be with you, I want to spend time with you and do things. I want to spend hours just looking at you, studying every detail or listening to you talk and laugh. I look at us and I don’t see it ending badly. You can’t go through life always looking for the tragic ending because somethings last. You won’t know if we’re meant to be forever unless you let it begin."

Regulus closes his eyes, squeezing them shut.

"You’re right," James adds. "I do deserve good things, but so do you and to me, Reg, you’re good. You’re so good. You’re what I want, you’re what I think about all the time and who I get excited to hear and see. It’s meant to be scary, because sometimes scary is good, it’s new and fun and unknown."

"Scary is scary," Regulus argues weakly.

James laughs brightly, and while Regulus can’t see behind his closed eyes, he knows James’ smile would make him weak enough to melt to the floor.

Suddenly, he feels James’ forehead resting at the front of his curls, his arms coming to bracket his sides like a solid form of a safety blanket.

"I want this, Reggie. I won’t force you, but I want you to know I want to try. I’m scared too, but it means I want it badly if it’s scary."

"You make it sound so easy."

"That’s because it is," James murmurs. "They hurt you before, Reg, but they won’t hurt you again. I won’t let them."

"How are you not mad at me?" Regulus asks.

He feels James smile against his forehead.

"Because everything you said makes sense. It sucks, but it makes sense. I know some shit happened to you before you came back here when you were 18, and I hate that it’s hurt you so bad it still makes you feel undeserving and scared of good things. But, I want to change that. Please, let me change that for you."

Regulus lets out a shaky breath.

"Okay," he whispers.

He feels James jolt slightly against him. "Okay?"

Opening his eyes and looking up, Regulus nods.

"Okay."

— tbc.