carpe diem

13

Sirius first taught Regulus the star constellations when he was six.

Regulus remembers many nights they spent, tucked up together in Sirius’ bed long after their parents had gone to sleep, curled around each other while Sirius explained the origins of their names and the star constellations. Once Regulus had learnt them, Sirius would draw them on his back to help him sleep. It started out as a game, trying to learn what constellation the other one was drawing, but once Sirius caught on that it calmed Regulus down, he began to do it when Regulus crawled into his bed after a nightmare.

It’s why Sirius used to call Regulus 'little lion'.

Regulus used to love that.

For the first 15 years of his life, Sirius was Regulus' best friend. Sirius was always more than a brother. They were carbon copies by looks, both with the same high cheekbones and dark hair. Their cousin Andy once said they could have been mistaken for twins, despite being completely different by traits and personality. Sirius was always bold, lively and loud. He took up the space he stood in. There was never a time when you didn’t know that Sirius Black was in the room.

Regulus was different. Regulus was small, could slip into any shadow and corner of the room. Regulus seemed to be able to make himself invisible as a child, to disappear from the rooms presence.

That was the biggest difference though: Sirius thrived off the attention, good or bad.

Regulus has always loathed it.

Regulus never minded being in Sirius’ shadow growing up. At least being in his shadow meant that Regulus could stay close to him. He could protect Sirius when he could, and if he couldn't, he'd patch up his big brothers wounds and hold his hand through the pain.

Regulus can’t pinpoint the exact time that him and Sirius began to drift. Regulus blames his friends from school, who preoccupied him in the afternoons and evenings and stopped him from coming home to Regulus. Or maybe it was when Regulus started protecting Sirius from their parents. He couldn’t help Sirius’ hits when the older boy lied to their parents and took the blame for things. The only thing Regulus could think to do was not get in trouble anymore. If he moulded himself to the point that their parents wouldn’t want to punish him anymore, then Sirius wouldn’t have to protect him.

Sirius seemed to take that as Regulus was becoming their parents.

He called Regulus weak, said he didn’t recognise him anymore.

Spineless. A puppet. A coward.

In retaliation, Sirius acted out more. He took more hits because he talked back, shouted, screamed, said things to purposely rile them up.

Sirius did everything that Regulus changed himself to avoid.

Sirius took everything when he left. Regulus doesn’t know how he managed it. They didn’t have a lot of stuff growing up anyway, so in hindsight, Regulus can’t imagine it would have taken many bags to fit all of Sirius’ clothes and photos. The only thing he left behind was his music books, but Regulus knows Sirius never enjoyed playing anyway - it was something forced upon them as children.

His big brothers bedroom was stripped bare, as if Sirius never existed. His posters and drawings, the photos stuck on the walls and in frames around his desk and window, all gone.

Perhaps that’s why it became easy, after a while to pretend he was dead. Sirius only existed in that house in London and later in France in Regulus’ memory. Their parents never mentioned him, and if anyone ever asked about Sirius, they just introduced Regulus as their Heir son. Kreacher didn’t speak to Regulus about Sirius unless Regulus brought him up first, so eventually, Regulus stopped bringing him up altogether.

Sirius always hated Kreacher anyway. Their relationship was nonexistence compared to Regulus and Kreacher. Sirius hated the butler for allowing their parents to be so cruel to them, accusing him of enabling them to push them down the stairs as boys and use Orion’s belt as a whip.

Regulus always forgave him. Perhaps he shouldn’t of, or maybe it was because Kreacher always looked so helpless whenever the punishments happened. Regulus knows his parents hurt Kreacher too. He wasn’t a person in that house, merely a bit of property. Kreacher was as much a prisoner as Regulus.

Sirius got out when he was 16, and Regulus broke away when he was 18 three years later.

They haven’t seen each other for seven years, yet they managed to find themselves in London, sharing the same person.

James.

Sirius’ best friend. His safe space, his saviour that stole him from Regulus the day they met at school when they were 11. The boy who tore Regulus’ life permanently. 

His James. Regulus’ own safe space. The man who introduced him to caramel lattes, and spent days and days coming to hospital to bring him lunch and make sure he ate. Who persisted even after Regulus was rude and sharp with him. Who never faltered in his determination to make Regulus feel special. James, who gave Regulus warmth, who held him tight and called him beautiful. The man who made Regulus feel like he was something worth looking at. Who made Regulus brave, who took him out of his comfort zone and held his hand the whole day.

His James, is the same James that shattered his life seven years ago like thin glass.

Regulus has hated Sirius’ James for so long, and he allowed that same James to hold him at night.

Regulus hasn’t left his flat in six days. He’s assuming it’s been six days, as he’s watched the light come and go from outside his windows six times since he climbed into his bed the morning of January 1st, but he can’t be sure. He also doesn’t really care. He phoned in sick on the 2nd, telling them he’d be off all week. He didn’t bother with an excuse, he can’t even remember who he spoke to, he just remembers hanging up on them as soon as he told them his name and that he wasn’t going to be in.

The idea of work makes him shiver.

Euphemia would be there, the same mother who took Sirius in as if he didn’t have a family of his own. The woman who later took Regulus under her wing when he walked into the neuro ward years ago. The kind eyed woman who replaced the cold woman in France that left scars on Regulus’ back, is the same woman that helped steal Regulus’ brother from him all those years before.

Regulus hasn’t moved from his bed since he crashed into his apartment a few minutes past midnight on New Years Day apart from a couple of times. He’s got up every few days to feed Sylvester, putting down extra food to excuse him to stay in bed the next day. He got up to pee once, but found it to be too much effort to do again, so he stopped bothering with drinking water from then on.

The headache and stomach pains from not eating or drinking have surpassed, and now as he lays cocooned in the duvet, he feels numb. So tired, so empty that he’s sure he couldn’t even move his hand to pet Sylvester if he tried. He hasn’t moved in days, yet he feels exhausted. He’s so tired, yet he can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s watched the light come and go a few times, so he knows it’s been days since his body allowed itself to properly rest.

Regulus is staring at the wall when he hears the faint sound of his front door opening. If he had the energy and the will, he would be worried that someone has finally broke into his lifeless flat, but he doesn’t. He’s not bothered if it’s a burglar or a murderer, they can take what they want and leave a knife in his chest on their way out.

He probably wouldn’t feel it anyway.

He doesn’t hear any footsteps, but a minute later, his bedroom door is inching open. He closes his eyes, slowly but firmly as if a stage curtain coming down. Whoever it is, he doesn’t want to see them. His chest clenches with the sudden worry that it’s James. Before he turned his phone off after calling in sick to work, he’d seen James’ name in some of the many texts and missed calls and voicemails filling up his notification bar.

Regulus wouldn’t put it past James to break into his flat.

The bed dips suddenly. A weight sinks beside him, and then goes still.

Right. Not a murderer then.

Unless they’re laying down for a cuddle first.

Peeling his eyes open, the action as hard as running up a mountain, he stares at the face staring back at him.

"Hey, buddy," Barty whispers.

Regulus grunts softly. It’s all he feels he has the energy for. 

"I won’t lie, I’m really pleased to see you’re still alive and breathing right now," Barty says, flashing him a sad smile. "Pandora insisted we gave you space, but five days ago your phone died and we’ve all been worrying since."

Regulus doesn’t reply. He’s not sure he can.

"Sorry for breaking in here, but I—we just had to know that you hadn’t died in your sleep or. . . or something worse."

"Sorry," Regulus croaks. It’s the first time he’s spoken in five days and his voice sounds like he’s swallowed glass. "Sorry for worrying you."

"Don’t apologise, Reg," Barty murmurs. "Please. We just. . . let us be here for you. We gave you space, but let us look after you now."

Regulus wants to tell him to go away. He wants to tell him to leave him alone, to let him stay in bed where it’s safe and he doesn’t have to move. He wants to tell Barty to leave him to rot, to let him decompose physically like he feels mentally.

"How are you doing?"

"I’m okay."

"And the truth?"

"I don’t know."

"That’s okay," Barty whispers, nodding. "I. . . I didn’t know you had a brother."

Regulus doesn't even know if he wants to ask how Barty knows about Sirius. He supposes it was inevitable; as he ran out of the pub he saw Sirius in, James watched it happen and then his friends were at a table not too far. 

"I didn’t know I had one anymore either," Regulus admits quietly. "He ran away when I was 15. Left in the middle of the night, took everything and didn’t tell us where he was going."

"Reg. . . we had no idea."

"I never told you. I haven’t told anyone," Why would I? Regulus thinks. "I didn’t even know if he was still alive. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even say goodbye to me. He wasn’t physically dead, he was dead to me at least."

"He’s not dead though."

"No," Regulus whispers, voice quiet like it’s a dirty confession. "He’s not."

"How do you feel about that?"

Ruined.

Scared.

Like I’m drowning.

Like I’m rotting.

"I don’t know."

"I’m guessing by the obvious fact that you haven’t left your bed in days and the fact that the bags under your eyes have their own bags too, you’re not feeling good," Barty smiles sadly. "You’re breaking my heart, Reg. I’ve never seen you like this."

"I’m sorry."

"Please, don’t apologise, otherwise I think I’m going to start crying."

"Don’t cry."

"I’m trying not to, you twat," Barty laughs, but it sounds wobbly and wet. Regulus closes his eyes and buries his face in his pillow.

"Reg, I have to ask because we don’t want to say something that might upset you," Barty starts, and Regulus’ heart begins pounding with anxiety. "Sirius called you Ras. We heard him saying to James your name is Rasalas. Are you. . . are you trans?"

What?

Regulus moves his face enough that he can look at Barty, who’s face is nervous. Regulus feels incredibly confused, mostly because as far as he's concerned, Rasalas is a blokes name and Barty has seen Regulus naked hundreds of times.

"Because if you are, you know we’re totally fine with it!" He barrels on desperately. "It won’t change a thing, you know it won’t. We don’t care, in fact, if it’s true, you’ve done a cracking job because I’ve seen you naked tons of times and whatever work you got done is immaculate—"

"I’m not trans, Barty," Regulus interrupts. "My birth name was Rasalas. I changed it to Regulus when I moved to London for university so my parents couldn’t find me."

"Oh," Barty says. "Well, that’s. . . nice. Cool. Good to know, glad we’ve got that sorted—"

"Barty?" Regulus sighs, eyes closing again. "Shut up."

"Got it."

Silence passes between them. He can feel Barty fiddling with the hem of the duvet wrapped up to Regulus’ chin.

"Evan and Pandora are outside," Barty admits.

"Why?"

"Because we all love you, so we came over together."

"I meant why are they outside?"

"I asked them to wait. I figured if we bombarded you, you might tell us all to go away," Barty says.

"Thank you."

"Pandora brought over stuff to make margaritas, and Evan said he’s got your favourite pizza place ready to order us some food," Barty says. "Why don’t you go shower while I let them in. We can get the drinks ready and food ordered while you have a wash?"

Regulus sighs, eyes fluttering closed. "I don’t want to move."

"I know, mate, but you need to get up otherwise we’re gonna have to start rolling you over every four hours to stop you from getting bedsores," Barty smiles when Regulus opens his eyes into slits to glare at him. "Come on. We’ve let you wallow for six whole days, but we can’t let you do it anymore. You’re Regulus Black, the most arrogant, unnaturally smart, best dressed, sexy motherfucker I know, and I won’t let you waste away laying in bed anymore over a stupid guy and your dumbass brother who chose the worst possible time to return from the metaphorical dead. Now, surprisingly, you somehow don’t smell like a homeless person after clearly not washing in six days, however, you don’t look great. So, go shower, use your best, though slightly pretentious, 12-step shower routine, then Pandora will make you en extra strong margarita and Evan will hand feed you pizza."

"And what will you do?"

"Sit back and contain the urge to drive across town and kill James Potter and Sirius mother-fucking Black."

That's exactly what Regulus was worried his friend would say.

"Barty. . ."

"Shower, now! Come on. Up! You smell like misery and self-pity and if you do it for any longer, I’m going to have to start calling you Evan."

"I’m sure Evan will be honoured to hear that."

"Stop deflecting," Barty smiles.

The older male bounces off the bed, throwing back the covers and extending a hand. Cold air swarms around him and Regulus doesn’t want to move. He’s not sure he even has the energy to do so. Instinctively, he curls up tighter, limbs feeling like jelly beneath his hoodie and sweatpants. He see's Barty standing above him, watching and waiting, and Regulus doesn't trust him to not grab Regulus' legs and drag him out of bed screaming and kicking. Against his better judgement, he sits up and swings his legs over the bed. He feels shaky and boneless, but finally admits defeat and stands up.

Then the world spins and goes dark. He snaps back just as he feels himself sway.

"Woah!" Barty cries, grabbing him by the shoulders and steadying him. He squints at Regulus, eyes darting over his face. "You good?"

Regulus nods, the dots in his vision receding as fast as they came. He doesn’t want to think about how mortifying it would have been if he’d collapsed and face planted in front of Barty. They've passed out in front of each other plenty of times before, but that's always been alcohol induced and therefore funny. Regulus knows Barty, despite the blokes ability to find everything funny, would not be a amused in the slightest and become a bigger motherhen than Pandora.

"Maybe we’ll get some food in you before Pandora makes you a margarita," Barty frowns. "Fuck, you didn’t look that peaky laying down. You going to be alright in the shower?"

"I’m alright," Regulus grunts. There is no way in hell he’s having Barty mother hen him in the shower too. They're not in university anymore, there's no way in hell he's letting Barty see him naked now.

"You look half dead, but sure, you’re fine," Barty quips, sounding unimpressed. He sighs, shaking his head. "Go on. Go shower, I'll let them in."

Regulus nods, slipping away silently and going into the bathroom.

He knew he was going to look rough, he's not that stupid or naive to think that he'd look the definition of health right now. Six days of laying down in the dark, not eating or drinking, and swapping between sleeping, crying and staring at the wall was going to have some form of physical affect on him. He knew that, but the certainly wasn't quite expecting it to be so detrimental, and he can't really blame Barty for looking at him like he was about to drop dead.

He wishes he could blame the lighting for making him look like a corpse, but he knows it'll only be an excuse. He really does look like shit: bags dark and deep enough they make his eyes look like they've sunken into his skull. His already pale skin is practically translucent, his lips cracked and white enough they're barely distinguishable from his pasty skin. His hair is a greasy, wild mess, eyes puffy and bloodshot. The headache that appeared when he stood up becomes a pounding, making his eyes hurt and feel like someone is trying to sledgehammer their way through his temples.

Looking away, Regulus refuses to look at his reflection anymore. He feels dead inside, he doesn't need to see it staring back at him too.

The shower is nice, albeit tiring. The hot water and steam adds a subtle pink flush to his cheeks, making him look a bit more human. He didn't realise how grimy he felt before until he steps out, fresh and clean and warm. He towel dries his hair, arms too heavy to rise for long enough to blow dry it.

He dips back into his bedroom quickly, and almost drops his towel in surprise to see Barty sitting on the bed.

He frowns, noticing the bed has been made and the sheets changed, a fresh glass of water on the bedside and his phone now plugged in. The clothes he changed out on New Years and tossed on the floor are gone.

"I got you some fresh clothes out and Panda changed your bed for you," Barty says. "I was just sitting here so I could make sure I could hear if you passed out in the shower or something."

"Oh," Regulus breathes. "Thanks."

"I'll leave you to get changed. Panda has the drinks ready, but she wants you to drink that water first, and Evan has ordered the food. I think he said it should be here in about 10 minutes."

"Okay."

He dressed as quick as he can, already feeling a chill. His flat is freezing, he realises, with having not moved to put the heating on for the last week. He drinks the glass of water as Pandora's request, and it doesn't make him feel great, but it does help.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Regulus stares at the fresh sheets. Such a little, simple favour makes his chest feel tight with emotion, and if he wasn't so dehydrated, he's pretty sure he'd be crying at it. It's just so Pandora of her, to change his bed and make it look nice and tidy for him.

The idea of seeing them all makes Regulus feel vulnerable. He has to battle with himself to not crawl beneath the sheets again and continue to hide. Hiding is easier than seeing them, because he knows they want, and truly deserve, an explanation as to what happened on Saturday. They deserve to know why he ran away, why he's locked himself up and ignored them for almost a week. They deserved to know before this all happened, and for that he's suddenly scared to see them.

Regulus doesn’t know how long he sits on the bed, but when he hears the doorbell ring, he assumes it’s been long enough that he needs to make it obvious to them he hasn’t keeled over since his shower.

His breath picks up like he’s run a marathon as he opens the bedroom door. Hands shaking and heart going so fast and loud he’s convinced he’d be able to see it pulsating against his rib cage if he looked.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but something about how the three of them have turned on the lamps, closed the curtains, and set out plates and glasses by the coffee table make him feel carved open and scooped empty. The radiator in the hallway is blasting out heat for the first time in a week, warming his legs and making his breath catch in his throat.

They all spot him at the same time. Heads snapping up, three pairs of wide eyes fall to him.

For a moment, none of them move or say anything. Silence settles over the flat as if none of them are there.

Regulus opens his mouth to speak, but finds the words aren’t there when he spots the tears pooling in Pandora’s eyes.

His stomach fills with dread quickly. He made her cry. He hates making Pandora cry, because her emotions play on her face clear as day. Her face is always like an open book, and it looks heartbroken right now. 

"Oh, Reg," she croaks, lurching forward.

He barely has a second to process before she’s barrelling into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He catches his balance at the last minute as she tucks herself into his chest, blonde hair tickling his nose and arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

"Hey, Dora," he whispers, voice cracking. He can feel her trembling, and then realises he’s trembling too. Tears fall from his stinging eyes, dripping into her hair but she doesn’t move, just continues to hold him tightly. "I. . ."

"Don’t you dare apologise, Regulus Black," she mutters, voice stern but wobbling at the same time. She pulls away, holding his face gently and eyes fleeting across his face, drinking him in as if she hasn’t seen him for years. Her eyes finally settle on his, the blue of her iris’ blurred and smeared through her tears. "Oh, mon étoile. We had no idea. We didn’t even know you’d left until. . ."

She trails off, face twisting.

Regulus looks to Evan and Barty, who are standing by the island bar watching them.

"James found us," Evan explains. "Said you’d ran off. He was quite hysterical, kept going on about how he didn’t know. Then this other guy came up, saying someone called Sirius was freaking out. So we dragged James outside and made him explain everything."

"What did he say?" Regulus asks.

"Not a lot," Barty replies gruffly. "He didn’t seem to know what was going on other than this Sirius guy freaked you out and you'd run off."

"So then, naturally, Barty went up to this Sirius guy and started blowing up at him," Evan starts.

"I thought he was like a stalker or something," Barty adds, shrugging. "So, obviously I wanted answers and to intimidate the fuck out of him."

"Then this Remus dude said that apparently Sirius was your brother," Evan says. "We didn’t really need to know anymore. It was quite easy to put the pieces together ourselves."

"I’m sorry," Regulus whispers, because that’s all he can think to say.

Evan approaches slowly, shaking his head. Pandora steps back at the same time that Evan drags him into a hug. Evan is easily a head taller than him, and has the subtle muscle beneath his clothes to make Regulus feel like he’s being completely enveloped in a steady, grounding warmth.

"The only thing you need to apologise for is not punching the guy the moment you saw him," Evan says. "We don’t know what happened, but for something to freak the great, unreachable Regulus Black enough that he had to literally run, which I don’t think I’ve seen you do since the time Barty started that bar fight in second year, then the guy deserved to have his jaw swung into the next decade."

Regulus smiles, despite himself. He can feel the sob crawling up his throat, and it feels like he’s swallowing around a golf ball to keep it down.

"We’re here for you, mate," Evan says, patting his back. "Sorry it took us so long, but we didn’t want you to feel bombarded."

"It’s okay," Regulus whispers.

"It’s not," Pandora argues. "You look wrecked, mon étoile."

"Yeah, what’s your secret?" Barty asks. "I’ve never seen anyone drop that much weight in a week. You could make a mint telling supermodels your method."

"Barty!" Pandora chides, looking horrified.

"What? Look, he’s grinning!"

It’s true; the insensitive quip managed to bring the first genuine smile to Regulus’ face. He didn’t expect any different from Barty, despite how controversial it was.

"Well, considering we’re addressing your ungodly state right now, shall we have some food?" Evan asks. "The pizza is getting cold and I won’t lie, Reggie, you’re not as nice to hug when you feel like a bag of bones."

"Fuck off."

"I’m not surprised you managed to feed the cat but not yourself," Evan laughs. "Though the poor thing looked relieved to see actual life in this flat when we came in instead of the lump in the bed you’ve been for days."

"A very lovely lump, none the less," Pandora adds, stroking his hair gently despite him still basically being cradled against Evan’s chest.

He feels like a child, coddled and wounded and cherished. He can’t tell if it’s making him feel loved or more vulnerable.

"Come on, sluts!" Barty says, clapping his hands together with a sharp slap. "Lets eat. We need to get food in this doctors stomach so he can drown his sorrows in Pandora’s fabulous martinis."

The food is good. Regulus didn’t realise how hungry he was and manages to stomach enough to stop them all from looking at him in worry. He feels unpleasantly sick afterwards, but the nausea settles quickly. They lay, lounged in his tiny sitting room, spread out on the sofa and cushions on the flood. Regulus won't admit it too eagerly, but he does feel better being out of his room and out of his 'gloomy pit of misery' (as Barty so kindly called his bed now). The flat warms quickly, with the heating on combined with hot pizza and margaritas leaves Regulus feeling warmer than he has in days. 

Having them over is nice, and his friends make sure to talk about mundane things to pass the time. It makes the atmosphere feel lighter, enables Regulus for small moments, to forget about the cluster of things gone wrong in his short life so far. He listens to Barty bitch about Severus’ attitude at work, or when Evan talks about the difficult and clueless parents who have brought their parents into the paediatric emergency floor the last week. Pandora talks about her girls lunch with Dorcas, Mary, Marlene and Lily and that Mary and Lily kissed on New Years as a drunken whim but have apparently not left each others sides since.

"Mary and Lily?" Barty gawks. "No way? Is everyone in this group gay apart from me and Evan?"

Regulus see’s Pandora’s gaze flick to Evan in the corner, and Regulus barely manages to contain his frown at the sight of Evan’s bowed head.

"You’re just bitter because you’re outnumbered, Crouch," Pandora remarks, and Regulus watches the grateful expression flick across Evan’s face as he seems to gather himself.

Interesting, Regulus muses.

They’re two martinis deep when the inevitable silence falls over the room. They’ve run out of enough things to chat about to avoid the elephant in the room, and Regulus knows the time has come to finally talk.

None of them are looking at him. Pandora is making more martini’s, Evan is fiddling with the cardboard of the pizza box and Barty, who’s lap Regulus’ head is laying on, is seemingly content with just twirling a clump of Regulus’ hair between his fingers.

Regulus knows, if he stays quiet for long enough, one of them will think of something else to talk about. None of them seem in any rush to force him to explain himself. In fact, ever since they’ve arrived, they haven’t mentioned once about him explaining himself. Instead, they’ve fed him and gave him drinks and talked about anything and everything to distract him from what’s happened.

Regulus doesn’t want to do that though. He reminds himself they deserve the truth, they deserve an explanation.

Pandora brings them all drinks, dropping down on the cushions next to Evan. Regulus meets her eyes for a moment, and he knows she’s about to talk about something else.

No, he thinks.

He needs to do this now.

"Before I moved to France, I lived in London until I was 15," he starts, looking down at his hands because the idea of looking at them feels too hard. He knows he's about to vomit his words, and he'd thankful if everything just comes out without him being able to stop it. If he gets it all out and in the open now, then he won't have to try and find the words to explain it again. "Sirius is my older brother, and he lived with us until he ran away eight years ago. I don’t know where he went, he didn’t say anything and he left in the middle of the night. We went to different schools, so I never met his friends and he wouldn’t talk about them much in the house incase my parents heard. He left without telling us where he was going, which I can’t blame him for because our parents were shit. My parents moved us out to France to stop me from doing what he did. They didn’t even look for him when he left, just asked me if I knew and then moved on."

No one talks when he trails off. They’re watching him, faces pained and sad but also reassuring. Barty’s hand has frozen in his hair, hand splayed in the strands and palm resting on his head, but no longer moving and playing with his now dried curls. None of them try to interject, instead they wait for him to be ready to continue.

Regulus appreciates it.

"I hate him," Regulus says, voice soft as if he's confessing a secret. He supposes it is, really. Everything he's telling them has been a secret he's kept from them for five years. "At first I hated him for leaving, for running away, being a coward and not being able to face them anymore. I realised quite quickly that was unfair of me. He managed to get out, get away from them. He wasn’t the coward. He found an escape route and he took it, and I can’t blame him for that. I’d like to think if I had one back then I would have taken it too. I realised I’d begun to resent him long before he left because he had everything I wanted. He had good friends, he had the freedom of school and going out that I never got. Our parents never gave me the freedom they mistakenly gave Sirius because it allowed him to break from the mould they’d been carving us into since we were born. By the time we’d moved to France, I realised it wasn’t all that surprisingly Sirius had left. He was always the stronger out of the two of us. If anyone was going to get out and be themselves, it was going to be him."

"You got out too," Pandora argues softly. "You’re here. You’re free. You were strong enough to get away from them too, Reg."

"It wasn’t the same," Regulus shakes his head weakly. "I tricked them. I wasn’t bold enough to leave in the middle of the night and never look back."

"You were smarter then," Barty grumbles above him. "Doesn’t matter how you did it. You got out, just like him. You did it better too, because you didn’t leave anyone behind."

"He had every right to leave. I shouldn’t have hated him for saving himself."

"Why do you hate him then?" Evan asks.

"Because he didn’t say goodbye," Regulus says. "He didn’t trust me enough to tell me what he was going to do. He didn’t warn me, he didn’t even give me a chance to say I’d go with him. No contact, no word. He could have been dead for all I knew, and he just let me live with that."

"He left you there," Barty says, hand stroking his hair again.

"He left me with them," Regulus agrees, "and he clearly didn’t care what they might do. All he cared about was himself."

They all seem to allow a minute of silence to let the news sink in. Barty continues to scratch  his scalp softly, but it's so rhythmic and mindless that Regulus doesn't know if he's doing it for his own comfort or for Regulus. Evan is looking at Regulus, eyes sharp as if he's waiting for the outburst to follow the confession.

Pandora looks simply wrecked.

"Your parents. . ." Evan starts, and when he doesn't finish, Regulus sighs.

"Exactly what you’re likely to be imagining is true," Regulus murmurs.

"Abuse?" Pandora whispers.

Regulus flinches at the word. He hates it.

"In more ways than one," Regulus shrugs.

"Don’t shrug!" Pandora cries suddenly, shattering the gentle quiet they’ve created since Regulus started talking. "This— you shouldn’t shrug about that!"

"It was a long time ago," Regulus tries to ease, but Pandora does’t have it.

"Five years, Regulus!" Pandora shouts. "Five years ago is not a long time when you lived with it for 18!"

"Pandora—"

He cuts himself off when she breaks down, tears rolling down her cheeks and sobs being punched from her throat. Regulus climbs out of Barty’s lap and moves to the floor, pulling her into a hug. She collapses against him, sobbing hard and harsh. It reminds him of the day they laid her mother in the ground.

"I’m sorry," he whispers. "It’s. . . shrugging it off is easier than letting it eat me alive anymore. It’s in the past, Dora. I can’t change it."

"We could fight them. We could go to the police, take them to court, get them arrested—"

"What good would that do?" Regulus laughs harshly. "My fathers family took their first steps in a court room. He’s part of the largest law firm in France. I wouldn’t stand a chance. All it would do is bring it to light and the papers would gobble it up and spit it back out like a pile of shit."

"Reg. . ."

"Please," he begs.

Pandora backs down. She’s looking at him like a heartbroken puppy, eyes huge and watery, but she doesn’t keep trying. Regulus assumes that’s because he actually pleaded her to do so.

"Okay, so we’ve clarified your brother is a walking waste of space for leaving you in an abusive home," Barty says, causing everyone to look at him. "Why do we hate James?"

James.

Oh, James.

Regulus swallows thickly. The sunshine that made Regulus feel warm for the first time in years. The mans who’s laugh and smile made Regulus forget about the world around him. The man who held Regulus’ heart in his own hands and cradled it so gentle and delicately. James, who made Regulus feel alive.

His James.

"He took Sirius from me."

Three confused faces stare at him.

"James told me that a person he considers a brother moved in with him when they were teenagers. This friend ran away from home, and has lived with him and his parents ever since. I. . ." Regulus shakes his head, pulling away from Pandora but not taking back his hand that she seems to be squeezing in silent reassurance. "I never connected the dots before. I didn’t even think of it, but James is the person who let Sirius leave me."

"I don’t think he knew—" Pandora starts.

"Doesn’t matter," Regulus growls. "He’s the person I’ve hated since Sirius went to that school. He’s the person Sirius started to pull away from me for. Who encouraged Sirius to stand up against our parents, to test them and aggravate him. Sirius said it a ton of times - that his best friend thinks he shouldn’t let them walk all over us. James’ advice only caused Sirius more hurt, and eventually pushed him to runaway."

None of them argue with him. Evan asks for James and Sirius’ address so he can report them to the police for hoarding drugs or something to get them arrested. Barty promises if he sees either of them in the streets he’s going to drop kick them. Pandora says nothing, just runs her hands through his hair and promises it’s all going to be okay.

He’s not sure if they all agree with him. He’s not sure if they all understand, but they do exactly what he’d expected them to do - they promise to stand by him.

For the first time since when him and Sirius were kids defending themselves against their parents, Regulus feels like he’s got people on his side.

When it becomes clear that Regulus doesn't want to talk anymore and none of them are brave enough to make him, Pandora suggests they put a movie on, and Barty instantly demands they play Wolf of Wall Street.

"I have to ask," Evan says as the movie is starting. They’ve moved the coffee table to the side and made a spread on cushions on the floor big enough for then to lay side by side like sardines. "Barty said he was going to ask but never told us if he found out, who is Rasalas?"

"My birth name," Regulus answers as he snuggles down between Evan and Pandora. "I was born Rasalas Arcturus Black. I changed it when I moved to London for university to make it harder for my parents to track me down."

"Wait—what?" Evan snaps to a sitting position, looking down at Regulus with wide eyes. "You’re telling me you had the opportunity to change your name and you chose Regulus?"

Regulus frowns. "What’s wrong with Regulus?"

Barty barks a laugh beside him, and Pandora giggles into her hand.

He looks at them sharply.

"Regulus is a star," he explains. "I wanted to stick with the tradition!"

"Fuck me, Reg! You chose such an old man name!" Evan cries. "You could have chosen something cool like Blaze or Malakai but noooo! You chose a proper fucking grandad name like Regulus!"

Barty is howling like a hyena, and when Regulus looks at Pandora with a pout, she strokes his eyebrows with pity.

"It is an usual name to choose, mon étoile," she says. "However, I think its very fitting."

"Oh, absolutely," Barty wheezes. "You don’t suit anything other than a pretentious grandad name."

"Va te faire foutre!" Regulus snarls.

"Don’t tell us to fuck off in French, Reggie-kins."

"Tuez-vous, connards."

"I don’t know that one, does anyone else?" Barty asks.

"It’s kinder if you don’t," Regulus mutters.

Pandora and Evan are asleep by the end of the movie. When the credits roll, Regulus looks to Barty, who still seems as wide awake as himself.

"Smoke?" Barty asks.

Regulus nods. "Let me grab them from my room."

He grabs a coat and his scarf too, slipping his shoes on before the two of them slide out of the flat and make their way downstairs.

It’s cold outside, winter officially claiming London in the spirit of the New Year. Regulus doesn’t know what the time is, but it’s late enough that most of the lights are off behind other peoples curtains.

They sit on the front steps, coats wrapped tightly around them and the January chill biting at their fingers exposed and wrapped around the cigarettes.

"Are you feeling better?" Barty asks.

"Getting there."

"Good enough," Barty nods. "Isn’t it mad how this entire time, your long lost brother was best friends with the guy you were finally opening yourself up to."

"Yeah," Regulus says flatly. "Mad."

"Sorry, mate," Barty apologises. "I didn’t. . . you just can’t make this shit up."

"I know. My life is a fucking BBC show."

Barty chuckles, shaking his head. "More like ITV."

"I don’t know. I reckon my storyline would be a hit on Eastenders."

"People would only watch for your sex scenes."

"Fuck off."

Regulus looks out at the street. The cold bites at his skin, making his shoulders tense and his torso shiver. He feels so cold, so empty, inside and out. It’s as if someone has locked the sun away for months.

He hasn’t felt like this since Sirius left. The morning they noticed his brothers absence, it was like he’d been plunged into a pool of ice-cold water. Everything in and out was numb, like he was in the irreversible stages of shock. He waited for someone to jump out and tell him it was all a joke. He was waiting for Sirius to appear at the end of the hall and tell him he was just hiding for a while.

Then the anger came.

Instead of feeling numb, Regulus felt like he was burning alive. He couldn’t focus. He felt like he was walking through a fog, the only thing he could see was Sirius’ face and he wanted to reach out and yank it back.

Regulus is waiting for the numbness to fade to anger now.

Barty is silent beside him, letting him think and recede back into his own head. He’s a solid weight against his shoulder, a grounding pillar to stop Regulus from floating away.

Regulus kind of wishes he could float away tonight.

"They hit us for as long as I can remember," Regulus says suddenly, and he can see Barty look at him out of the corner of his eye, but Regulus can’t stop - he’s scared if he stops now then he’ll never find the courage to start again. This strange need to suddenly say it all out loud catches him by surprise. "Slaps, kicks, punches, all of it. My mother used to throw things at us, and my father would often use his cane or his belt. I broke my leg in three places when I was eight after my mother pushed me down the stairs for breaking her vase when me and Sirius were playing. She just appeared out of no where, like a ghost. She was suddenly there, glaring at us both. She pushed me before either of us could apologise, and I went down the entire flight of stairs. I just remember pain. I couldn’t tell the difference between mine and Sirius’ screams.

"They had this cupboard right at the top of the stairs on the guest room floor. It was clearly intended for brooms and cleaning stuff, barely big enough to move around in. It had this little vent in the door, not even big enough to let light in, so when they locked us in there, it was completely dark. They’d lock us in there when we misbehaved, or when we talked back, or whenever they felt like it, really. They’d leave us in there for days on end, no food or water. The longest I spent in there was five days. Well, Sirius told me it had been five days when I got out, as I didn't have a fucking clue how long it had really been. It’s hard to keep track of time in there, y’know. They locked Sirius in there for ten days once. I picked the lock on day six, mother kept the key in her purse so we couldn’t just open it for each other when she was out. So, I picked the lock and gave Sirius some water and food while they were downstairs having lunch with my uncle. I couldn’t give him much, and I didn’t want to give him so much he’d then need the bathroom, so I gave him just enough to tide him over until they let him out.

"They were always worse with Sirius when he lived with us. He’d take the blame for things. He protected me from so much when he was around. Sometimes we didn’t need to do anything, sometimes they were just angry. Mother would take him, father would take me. We’d crawl into each others rooms in the middle of the night, patch each other up. When we got older, I started to hide it from him. I got Kreacher to patch me up in secret, because seeing the marks and bruises only made Sirius angry, only made him act out so they’d be horrible to him instead of me. I did my best to behave, acted how they wanted me so they wouldn’t get angry. I didn’t want Sirius to take my punches for me. I hated that he was always getting hurt because of me.

"I think it had the opposite effect after a while. Sirius started looking at me like he didn’t know me anymore. Started acting out on his own, provoking them and starting fights for no reason.

"When he left, there was no one to take some of the hits. They got worse, more angry, more strict. We moved to France, in the middle of nowhere so I couldn’t make friends with anyone who would influence me to do the same as him. They isolated me, homeschooled me. My only company was Kreacher.

"When I came to London, I’d come from Edinburgh. I went there first, to do a law degree like they wanted. I spent two days in the dorms, then took out all my money, changed my name and got on a train down to London. I thought I was free. I thought I’d done it, made my escape and started fresh. For five years, I’ve felt like Regulus Black instead of Rasalas. Then I saw him on Saturday, and now I don’t know how to keep being Regulus anymore."

"You’re Regulus to the people who matter," Barty says. "We only see you as Regulus."

"I know," Regulus whispers. "But seeing him again brought it all back. I feel like Rasalas again. I feel weak and small, like they’re going to jump out at any moment and take me back."

Regulus unconsciously runs his fingers along the fabric protecting his scars from view. The scars that almost caused Regulus to become as dead as he believed his brother to always be.

That was Rasalas.

The scars are the only piece of Rasalas he has to carry with him every day. The only piece he can’t hide from, or pretend. They stand red and permanent no matter how much he continues to wear the mask of Regulus Black.

Regulus has told enough today. He’s stripped himself raw, openly bled in front of his friends more than he’s allowed himself to do in front of anyone. They know more than anyone else, but they don’t need to know this. They don’t need to know that the story about the car crash was all a lie.

"That’s super fucked up," Barty finally says. "I mean. . . I always knew something wasn’t right. You like a traumatised fucking bird when I first met you. Me and Evan almost went to the police for you because we were convinced you were being stalked or hunted down. Something was always sketchy, I mean we nicknamed you 'Postman' for the first year of university."

"What?"

"Postman," Barty repeats. "Evan once described you as a postman. You know, you see them everyday but don’t know fuck all about them. That’s what you were like. You managed to reveal so little it was almost scary. Me and Evan spilled every fragment of ourselves whenever we had the chance but you. . . you never did."

"Sorry about that."

"It’s alright. I figured after a while you didn’t talk because whatever happened before we met was stuff you weren’t ready to share," Barty says. "I’m glad you have though. Even if it’s made me want to kill anyone and everyone who has ever treated you any less than perfect."

"Thanks, Barty."

"I’m serious. Next time I see Sirius or James or those fucked things you call parents, I’m committing the most disgusting crime that it will be in the news for years."

"You don’t need to do that."

"That’s the thing, after everything I’ve heard tonight, I want to," Barty pauses, looking at him. "Plus, I think it’s about time someone stood in your corner for once."

Regulus smiles. Trust Barty to be able to make mass murder feel like something special.

Not knowing what to say, Regulus just tilts his head forward and rests it on Barty’s shoulder. Wordlessly, Barty’s arm wraps around his back and pulls him closer.

"We’ve got your back, Reg."

— tbc.