Paris, France
REGULUS
Greece is truly beautiful. No one could change Regulus's mind.
Greece was almost too beautiful to leave behind. The golden sunsets that melted into the Aegean Sea, the ancient ruins whispering stories of gods and mortals, and the quiet moments spent walking along quiet, winding streets—it all felt like something out of a life he wasn’t quite meant to live. For a brief moment, he’d allowed himself to forget who he was. He could almost believe that the weight of his name, his family, and his choices had been left behind somewhere between the marble columns and the sea breeze.
But dreams ended, and reality waited impatiently in the form of a half-packed suitcase, and James Potter sprawled across one of the two hotel beds.
Regulus stood in the middle of their shared hotel room, staring at the mess on his side. Clothes were strewn across the chair, the desk, and one of the beds—his bed. He’d made the mistake of trying to unpack in some order when they’d arrived, but travel had undone his efforts with ruthless efficiency.
With a sigh, he picked up a neatly folded shirt from the chair and placed it into his suitcase. The fabric felt smooth beneath his fingers, a comforting reminder of the control he was trying to regain.
James, of course, wasn’t helping. He was lying on his stomach on the other bed, flipping lazily through a travel guide he’d picked up the day before. His legs were swinging back and forth in a way that would have been obnoxious if it weren’t so annoyingly endearing.
“You could at least pretend to be useful,” Regulus muttered, not looking up from his task.
“Why would I do that when watching you stress out is far more entertaining?” James grinned, his voice tinged with mischief.
Regulus shot him a glare, but James didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care. He just rolled onto his back, holding the travel guide above him like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
“You know,” James began, his tone far too casual, “you’re going to miss Greece once we’re in France. You’ll think, ‘If only I’d let James pack for me, I’d have more time to enjoy those last moments.’”
“I’d sooner let Sirius pick out my outfit." Regulus snapped, but there was no real bite to his words.
James just laughed—that warm, infuriating sound that made something twist in Regulus’s chest. It was easier to focus on the suitcase.
The room was quiet momentarily, save for the soft rustle of fabric as Regulus folded another shirt. He could feel James watching him, though, that irritatingly intense gaze of his. It was like James was trying to unravel him, to peel back the layers Regulus had worked so hard to build.
“France will be nice,” James said after a while, his voice softer now. “You’ll like it. I promise.”
Regulus didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if he believed him. Greece had felt like a dream, but France felt like an obligation. Another place, another crowd, another set of expectations. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure if he could handle it.
But he’d made his choice, and there was no going back now.
***
Somehow, Regulus managed to pack his suitcase in time for the flight—though, of course, James had to swoop in and “help.” Helping, in James Potter’s terms, meant shoving everything into the suitcase haphazardly while grinning like an idiot. Regulus had to resist the urge to punch or kiss him right there in the middle of their hotel room.
“You’re welcome,” James had said with a smug grin, zipping up the suitcase and ignoring the pile of socks left on the desk.
Regulus hadn’t dignified him with a response.
Now, standing at the steps of the private plane, Regulus felt his stomach churn. Flying had never bothered him before—he’d even found it exciting once. The way the clouds stretched endlessly beneath them, the world reduced to a patchwork of green and brown far below. But that was before he’d been forced to share flights with his brother and his stupid band.
The plane was sleek and luxurious—the kind of thing most people could only dream of stepping foot inside. But no amount of comfort or elegance could make up for the noise that awaited him onboard.
As he climbed the steps, the sound of Sirius’s laughter hit him like a brick wall. His brother’s voice was loud enough to drown out the plane’s engine, and it was accompanied by the unmistakable chatter of the Marauders. Sirius was already sprawled across one of the oversized seats near the back, legs propped up on the armrest as he tossed popcorn at Peter, who was sitting across from him.
Peter caught a piece midair with his mouth and smirked triumphantly. “Still got it.”
“Cheater,” Sirius declared, throwing another piece at him, this time missing entirely and hitting Remus instead.
Remus sighed, brushing popcorn off his lap, while Peter cackled from his seat beside him.
Regulus hesitated at the top of the stairs, briefly considering turning around and making a run for it. Unfortunately, James chose that exact moment to appear behind him, giving him a light push forward.
“Come on, Reggie,” James said, his voice far too cheerful. “It’s not that bad. It’s just a few hours of bonding time.”
“Bonding time,” Regulus repeated dryly, stepping inside. “Is that what you call it?”
The interior of the plane was as opulent as expected—plush leather seats, polished wood accents, and more legroom than anyone could possibly need. It should have felt like a privilege, a moment of luxury. Instead, it felt like a punishment.
Sirius spotted him immediately, his grin widening. “Ah, if it isn’t my darling little brother! Come to grace us with your presence?”
“Don’t start,” Regulus muttered, sliding into a seat as far from Sirius as possible.
“Too late,” Sirius said, tossing a handful of popcorn in his direction.
Regulus swatted the popcorn away, his scowl deepening.
James, of course, made himself comfortable in the seat next to Regulus, leaning back with the ease of someone who actually enjoyed this chaos.
“This is going to be fun,” James said, nudging Regulus with his elbow.
Regulus closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat. “For you, maybe.”
The plane’s engines roared to life, and the chatter only grew louder as they prepared for takeoff. Regulus tuned it out as best as he could, his fingers gripping the armrests. He could handle this. A few hours, that’s all it was.
But as Sirius started up an impromptu singalong, complete with Peter harmonizing and clapping along offbeat, Regulus felt his patience slipping away.
“Why couldn’t I have taken a regular plane?” He muttered under his breath.
James leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. “Because then you’d miss all this quality entertainment.”
Regulus didn’t bother replying. He was too busy plotting how he could kill the lot of them without James noticing.
As the plane ascended into the cloud-filled sky, Regulus tried to settle back into his seat. He glanced out the window, watching the fading warmth of the Greek coast as it disappeared behind them. The world below was now just a patchwork of colors, fading into the distance. Yet, despite the beautiful view, he felt a tightening in his chest—a strange unease he couldn't place. He tried to shake it off. Heights had never bothered him, at least not in the way they bothered some people. But this? This felt different. Too many people crammed into a confined space. The noise of the Marauders in the back. The chaos of his own thoughts.
Suddenly, a sharp jolt ripped through the plane, like a fist slamming into its side. The world tilted sideways for a moment, and Regulus’s stomach lurched violently. He couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped his lips as the plane trembled, its wings rattling in protest.
Regulus tried to steady himself, gripping the armrest as the seatbelt light flickered on. The captain’s voice came through the intercom, calm but firm. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re encountering some turbulence. Please remain seated.”
Regulus barely heard the announcement over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He glanced around, searching for something to focus on, anything to stop the creeping sense of panic. His eyes landed on James, who was still sitting next to him, seemingly unfazed, flipping through the pages of the travel guide. James didn’t look up, his eyes scanning the text, lost in some faraway thought.
Then the plane lurched again, this time harder, throwing Regulus to the side. His breath hitched as the pressure on his chest seemed to increase. His fingers searched frantically for anything to hold onto, something to ground him. He had to focus. He had to—
His hand found James's.
It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t planned. But in that moment of sheer instinct, Regulus’s hand brushed against James's, and without thinking, his fingers curled around James's wrist.
The touch was electric. Regulus’s heart skipped a beat, a jolt that had nothing to do with the turbulence. He tried to pull his hand away, but his grip was already too tight, and his body was reacting to something far deeper than just the fear of flying. Something primal stirred in him, a tight coil in his chest, and he couldn’t stop himself from holding on.
James didn’t flinch. His hand was warm, solid under Regulus’s, and his thumb brushed lightly over the back of Regulus’s hand. Regulus could feel the steady pulse of his heart, the way the warmth of James’s skin seeped into him. For a split second, the chaos of the plane, the loud chatter of the Marauders, and the rush of turbulence seemed to fall away. It was just the two of them, suspended in the air, their hands clasped together in a silent moment of connection.
Regulus's breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t allow it.
Another violent jolt rocked the plane, and the grip of his hand around James’s tightened instinctively. He could feel James’s pulse against his skin, steady and strong. His heart was hammering now, though, his fingers trembling in spite of his attempts to steady them.
“Regulus?” James’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, but full of concern. “You good?”
The tension in Regulus’s chest tightened painfully. He quickly pulled his hand away, as though burned by the contact, and pressed it against the armrest, fingers curling into a fist. He stared at his hand for a moment, as though willing it to stop trembling.
James, unaware or maybe pretending not to notice, let out a light, nervous laugh. “You don’t have to be so dramatic about a little turbulence.”
Regulus’s breath was ragged, and he turned away, trying to hide the panic creeping into his chest. His mouth felt dry. His throat tight. He forced his gaze toward the window, focusing on the clouds swirling outside, but even that didn’t seem to steady him.
"I’m fine," he muttered, the words coming out sharper than he intended.
“Yeah?” James asked, his voice suddenly softer, full of a quiet curiosity. Regulus could feel James’s eyes on him, but he refused to look back. "You sure? Because you kind of look like you’re about to faint."
Regulus clenched his jaw. “I’m fine, Potter. Just… keep your hands to yourself next time.” The words felt like an immediate lie, but he couldn’t bear the thought of James knowing how badly the simple contact had affected him.
James chuckled lightly, the tension in the air shifting with his usual easygoing attitude. “You’re such a drama queen, Reggie.” He nudged him gently with his elbow. “But if you need something to hold onto, I’ve got two perfectly good hands right here.”
Regulus stiffened, feeling his cheeks flush despite himself. He wanted to say something biting, something sarcastic, but his mouth was dry, and his thoughts were a whirlwind. He turned away from James completely now, focusing on the seat in front of him, desperately willing his heart to slow down.
But the touch… the warmth of James’s hand still lingered on his skin, and Regulus couldn’t shake the image of their fingers locked together, the way his pulse had raced against James’s. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest.
It was just turbulence, he told himself. Just a moment of fear. He would forget about it in a few minutes. But the memory of that touch, of the closeness, was something he couldn’t ignore. Something he didn’t want to ignore.
JAMES
James had been to a lot of hotels in his life, but there was something different about this one. Maybe it was the sleek, modern design that felt too fancy for a bunch of rowdy teenagers to be staying in, or maybe it was just the constant buzz of excitement that still lingered in his chest. They were in France now—another country, another adventure.
But as he made his way down the hotel hallway, pulling his suitcase behind him, there was only one thing on his mind.
Regulus.
James had tried to shake it off—the feeling that something had shifted in the air between them during the flight. It wasn’t like it was the first time they’d had a close encounter or even shared a moment of genuine, if awkward, connection. But that moment, when Regulus had grabbed his hand amid the turbulence, was different.
James didn’t understand it. He’d never seen Regulus like that before—vulnerable, completely unguarded. In all the years they’d known each other, Regulus had always been the composed, aloof one. The boy who didn’t let anyone in. And yet, for that split second, in the chaos of the plane, it had felt like Regulus was… human. Just like everyone else. Terrified, shaken, and clinging to anything that would make him feel safe.
And James had been the one to catch him.
The thought made something in his chest tighten, and he pushed the door to their hotel room open with more force than necessary, barely noticing the plush, elegant décor inside. He tossed his suitcase onto the bed, suddenly aware of the stillness in the room. Regulus was unpacking on the other side, his back to James as he neatly folded clothes.
The silence felt heavier than usual.
James set his bag down with a soft thud and glanced over at Regulus. The other boy hadn’t said anything since they got off the plane, had barely even looked at him, and James couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of what had happened during the flight.
That hand-holding moment. It had been so... unexpected. When Regulus’s fingers had wrapped around his, it had felt like the world had stopped spinning. His heartbeat had raced, and it wasn’t from the turbulence anymore. It had been the soft warmth of Regulus’s skin, the way his hand had clung to James’s as if he had nowhere else to turn. For a brief, terrifying moment, James had wanted to pull him closer, to make sure he was okay. But the plane had leveled out, and reality had returned, along with the tension that always seemed to hang between them.
Now, in the hotel room, it was like that moment hadn’t even happened. Regulus was acting like his usual self again—cold, distant, absorbed in his own world.
James shifted awkwardly on the edge of the bed, not sure what to do with himself.
Was it weird that he couldn’t stop thinking about it? That he couldn’t shake the feeling that Regulus had been a different person in that brief instant, and now he was back to the guy who was always just out of reach? It was like they’d crossed some kind of invisible line that James wasn’t sure they were supposed to cross.
He stared at the back of Regulus’s head, wondering if he’d ever get an answer. Was Regulus aware of how much the hand-holding had affected him? Would he even acknowledge it if James tried to bring it up?
James felt a strange, unfamiliar urge to make sure everything was okay between them. It wasn’t like he was about to start talking about feelings or whatever this was. That was ridiculous. They were the Marauders and the Emeralds, after all. They didn’t talk about feelings, especially not with each other.
But something in the back of his mind told him it wasn’t that simple.
“So,” James began his voice light, trying to sound casual even as his stomach did somersaults. “This place is kind of... fancy, huh?”
Regulus glanced over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow as though he were barely tolerating the conversation. “I suppose.”
James chuckled nervously, pushing himself off the bed and moving toward his suitcase. “I guess I should be grateful I didn’t have to share a room with one of the others. Not sure I could handle the snoring.”
Regulus snorted, and for a moment, it almost felt like old times. But James couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in his stomach. There was more he wanted to say—more he needed to say—but the words caught in his throat.
Instead, he settled for a weak, forced smile, turning away from Regulus and beginning to unpack.
But no matter how much he tried to distract himself with the mundane task of folding clothes, his mind kept drifting back to that moment on the plane. To the warmth of Regulus’s hand, the brief connection that had felt so real, so raw. It wasn’t just a one-off thing for James; it had left a mark on him.
And he didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
***
The night had been a blur of flashing lights, loud music, and the intoxicating energy of a club filled with strangers. Regulus had barely said a word since they stepped inside, his face a mask of disinterest as he sipped his drink, but the more James watched, the more he noticed the subtle shifts in his demeanor—the way his gaze lingered a little too long on the group, the way he laughed a little too loud when Sirius made a joke.
By the time they left, it was clear: Regulus had been drinking more than he’d intended. Rosier, ever the vigilant best friend, had noticed too, and was now half-dragging Regulus and Crouch out the door with Pandora and Meadowes following behind.
James, for once, wasn’t in the mood for the usual after-party antics. He was tired, his body aching from the night’s escapades. So, when they finally reached the hotel, he made his way back to their room, grateful for the quiet. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and he sank down onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows.
For a moment, the world was still—just the hum of distant noise from the city below and the soft shuffle of footsteps outside their door.
But then came a quiet knock. James raised an eyebrow, confused, before the door creaked open slightly, and there stood Regulus, swaying ever so slightly on his feet. His face was flushed, eyes glassy, and there was an almost unnatural determination in the way he stood.
“Regulus?” James asked, a frown creasing his brow. He could already tell where this was going.
The younger boy didn’t respond at first. He just stood there for a moment, as if contemplating whether he was in the right place. Then, with a soft sigh, Regulus stepped into the room, moving toward James with an unsteady gait.
“I—uh, James…” Regulus murmured, his words slurring just a little, before he collapsed onto the bed beside him. “I think I’ve had too much.”
James didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned. He reached out instinctively, steadying Regulus as he flopped down onto the bed, half-draped across the covers.
“Clearly,” James said, trying to keep his voice light. “Maybe you should lay off the drinks next time.”
Regulus didn’t answer. Instead, he let out a soft hum, clearly not fully aware of his surroundings. James shifted uncomfortably on the bed, unsure what to do. He didn’t want to leave Regulus like this, but he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of situation he’d gotten himself into.
But then, before James could even react, Regulus moved again. This time, he curled into James’s side, his head resting on his chest. His arm draped lazily across James’s stomach, and James froze, caught completely off guard.
“Reg?” James murmured, his voice more uncertain now, trying to understand what was happening. “What are you—?”
Regulus just hummed again, too far gone to answer. His body was warm against James, too warm. His breathing was slow, uneven from the alcohol, and his soft exhale tickled the skin of James’s neck. James could feel the weight of Regulus’s body, the heat of his breath, and the strange, intimate closeness of it all.
“Regulus, what are you doing?” James repeated, but his voice wasn’t nearly as firm as it had been moments ago. Something about the way Regulus was curled up next to him, seeking comfort in a way he never had before, threw him off balance. It was hard to focus, hard to think.
Regulus didn’t reply, his eyes half-lidded, clearly drunk and too far gone to make sense of anything. But still, he stayed. His hand found James’s, fingers curling around his wrist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
James swallowed hard, trying to process everything in the dark quiet of the room. It wasn’t like Regulus had never been close to him before—they had shared their fair share of heated moments, but never like this. Never this soft, this vulnerable.
James’s heart pounded in his chest, but he tried to keep his breathing steady, not wanting to make the situation worse. “You’re—” He cut himself off, unsure of what to say. How could he explain this?
For a moment, everything was just still. The bed felt too small, the room too quiet. Regulus’s weight against him felt both comforting and disorienting, like a dream James wasn’t sure he wanted to wake up from.
Regulus’s hand tightened slightly around his wrist, and James couldn’t help but notice how soft his skin felt. The warmth of Regulus’s body pressed against his sent a strange flutter of warmth through his chest, but he refused to let it distract him.
“Reg,” James said softly, his voice low, almost uncertain. “You should probably sleep on your own side of the bed.”
But Regulus didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted, tucking his head deeper into James’s chest, as if he didn’t hear him at all.
For a long while, James lay there, the tension in his chest growing with each second. His hand remained frozen at his side, unsure of whether he should pull away or give in to the strange, confusing pull of the moment.
The night stretched on, the sounds of the city below a faint hum in the distance. Regulus’s breathing was slow and steady now, and for a moment, James allowed himself to close his eyes, to breathe in the moment and accept the quiet chaos of it all.
And as Regulus’s hand tightened around his, James had to admit—he didn’t want to move.
Not yet, anyway.