chapter eleven
“I don’t like having my eyes shut.”
Reggie’s voice drifts close to his ears, though James can’t exactly pinpoint where. “That’s usually what my group members in class said.”
“And you did this exercise with them?”
“Mhm. This unit was difficult for most.”
James scoffs. He focuses on the words instead of the fact that he’s lying on his couch with his eyes shut, the lights off, and no one else but Reggie knowing where he is. He feels… at sea, almost. James Potter lost at sea. He almost laughs aloud. “But not difficult for you?”
If he strains his ears, he can hear Reggie’s gentle laugh. “Not really. I was pretty good at maintaining balance.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“Balance, Potter. Just breathe evenly.”
James scowls. It doesn’t have the same effect since his eyes are shut and he has no idea where Reggie’s face is. “I am.”
“Not true. I’ve done this enough times where I can tell.”
James focuses on his breathing. If he thinks, he realizes he is breathing rather quickly… he levels out. Imagines his chest rising and falling. How does he breathe when he sleeps? Slowly? Does he breathe when he sleep? He must, since he isn’t dead, but—
“James.”
“Sorry.” Right. Back on his bullshit. James breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. He can hear the faint sound of his lungs. The whistle through his teeth.
“Nice.”
“Is that fine? Am I breathing fine, I mean?”
Reggie chuckles. “You’re breathing fine. Now time for the exercise.”
James splutters. “This isn’t the exercise?”
“You’re just breathing with your eyes closed, James.”
“Yes, but it’s… difficult.”
“Are you ready to move on?”
Damn his pride, his distinctly red and gold pride, to hell. “Yep. Give it to me.”
“I’m going to place a book on your stomach,” Reggie explains, patiently. “You just have to keep it balanced. Level, like your breathing is.”
Oh. That shouldn’t be so bad. James opens his mouth to tell Reggie exactly that, when Reggie says, “You also have to tell me how you feel.”
Well that. That throws a wrench in things. “Like, um. Verbally?”
He can hear Reggie’s mean smile. “How else were you thinking?”
Fuck. He is fucked. “… Echolocation?”
Reggie laughs. Is he near the couch? How near? Has he gotten closer? James can’t tell.
Then he feels the weight of a book on his stomach. It’s not too heavy, but enough that it registers. For some reason, his heart rate picks up, like it detects a Foreign Object on top of him. Which is stupid. It’s just a book.
“How do you feel?” Reggie asks. He’s definitely closer. Maybe sitting on the edge of the couch, by the hideous orange throw pillow.
“Fine.”
“Mhm.” A doubtful hum. It’s insulting.
“I can keep a book balanced, Reggie,” James says defiantly.
“My heart usually beats a bit faster. Does yours?”
“A bit. I suppose.”
He hears Reggie shift. James scrunches his nose, and—odd as it is—he can smell him. Lavender, possibly. Does he work with flowers? He remembers the flowers around one of the crime scenes. Roses. Rotten and torn and cruel. How destructive, how nauseating and sick—
“The book is slipping, James.”
“Whoops. My bad. I’ll fix it.”
“I got it.” The book nudges back into place. James feels himself jump slightly at the touch, though he knew it was coming.
He clears his throat. “What’s next?”
“Now you talk about your feelings.”
Ew. Right. “Gross.”
Reggie’s soft laugh reaches his ears. “So you investigated this murderer, who your mate thinks is a vigilante of some sort.”
“Might be a vigilante. We’re not entirely sure.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it could line up,” James says, huffing out a sigh. He feels the book slip and fixes his breathing. Even. Still. “We’ll have to gather more evidence. I just get so stressed about it. All those people suffering.”
“The immoral rich men?” Reggie’s voice has a high tilt.
“Nah, not them. Not really. I’m thinking about the little girl, I suppose.”
“You don’t like when the children get hurt.”
“Of course not! I love kids.”
Reggie pauses. “I bet.”
“You bet? Do I just have a look?”
“It’s not an insult. Keep going with that feeling.”
James screws his eyes shut tight. How does he feel? “I’m… frustrated. Usually, it doesn’t take us this long to figure out a speck of evidence. We don’t have much more than a speck right now.”
“What do you have?”
“A signature. He signs his name after every murder, RAB.”
“Hm. Does it have to be a man?”
Good point. James wracks his brain, thinking back to Lily’s thoughts on the subject. “Don’t think so. But I’ll bring it up again with the team.”
“Are you close with your team?”
James smiles. It’s easy to feel relaxed when he thinks about his team. Sirius’ grin, Remus leaning on his shoulder, Lily’s jokes and jabs. He feels at home with them. Steady. “Yeah. They’re my family.”
There’s a pause. Silence. James can only hear the sound of his own breathing and the slight whir of the AC. “Reggie?”
“I’m sorry, I have to go.”
James opens his eyes. He pops up, and the book slides right off onto the floor. Reggie is staring at his phone with calculating eyes.
“Is something wrong?”
Reggie glances up at him. He shakes his head, a slight uptick to his lips. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just my roommate.” He straightens from the couch. “How do you feel now? More at ease?”
Surprisingly, he does. James cracks his back. His heart beats a soothing march in the cage of his ribs. “I do. Thanks.”
Reggie flashes him a grin. “Any time, James.”
He disappears out the door. James watches him go. He collapses back on the couch with a loud, drawn out sigh, staring at the space where Reggie had been. The space he had filled.
His phone rings. James groans. “Remus?”
“Can you get Chinese when you come back here? Padfoot is hungry, and is not being—”
Sirius’ voice shouts from somewhere nearby. “I am being just fine—”
“Just pick it up, would you? We’re kind of at a loss. Lily says she needs her ‘brain food,’ whatever the fuck that means.”
James laughs. “Yes, sir.” He clicks it shut, and sets off out the door.