Rome, Italy
REGULUS
Regulus has been having a rough ass time. Why? James Potter is the reason. He won't fucking stop teasing Regulus, and honestly, Regulus is enjoying it so much, too much. But that's exactly the issue; he knows that James is just joking around, doing it for the hell of it, or maybe looking to toy with someone, since Lily didn't want him. Or perhaps it was one of James' major 'pranks.'
Whatever it was, Regulus knew it wasn't serious. James didn't truly care. Regulus knows that he should put a stop to James' flirting, but how could he when James was this good at flirting and that insanely hot?
Regulus lets out a groan as he hears his alarm ring. It was fucking 9 am and he was up for fucking therapy.
James.
James, who had somehow ended up half-draped over Regulus in his sleep, warm and comfortable, like he belonged there. His curls were a mess, his mouth slightly parted, his arm loosely thrown across Regulus’s waist.
Regulus let himself linger. Just for a moment.
Then, carefully, he slipped out of bed before James could wake up, ignoring the way his body immediately missed the warmth.
He made himself tea. Sat on the balcony. Opened his laptop.
Regulus was still too tense when he joined the Zoom call. He could feel it in his shoulders, in the way his fingers curled against his lap, in the way his breathing wasn’t quite even.
But then—
"Hello, dear," Monty greeted, his voice warm and steady. “Rough morning?”
Regulus let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
"Something like that," he muttered.
Monty hummed knowingly. “I take it the party last night was a success, then?”
Regulus scoffed. “That’s one way to put it.”
Monty just smiled. "And how are we feeling today?"
Regulus hesitated. He knew what Monty meant. He wasn’t asking about the hangover.
He was asking about James.
Regulus exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s—complicated.”
Monty nodded, patient as ever. “Tell me about it.”
And so, Regulus did.
He talked about James, about the tension, about how it felt like they were always toeing the line, like James was always pushing, always testing, always seeing how much Regulus could take.
And Regulus let him.
Every. Single. Time.
Because he wanted it.
And that was the worst part.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Regulus muttered, his voice quiet. “The fact that he keeps doing it or the fact that I let him.”
Monty’s face softened. “Letting someone in—allowing yourself to be vulnerable—it’s not a weakness, Regulus.”
Regulus hated that his chest ached at that.
“I don’t even know if he means it,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’m just—temporary."
Monty frowned. "Why would you think that?"
Regulus swallowed, fingers tightening around the edge of the desk.
"Because he’s James," he said, like that explained everything. “Because he always wants what he can’t have."
Monty tilted his head slightly, studying him. "And you think that’s all this is?"
Regulus hesitated.
Because he didn’t know.
And that was the real fucking problem, wasn’t it?
Monty’s voice was gentle when he spoke again. "Regulus, love, have you considered that maybe James isn’t the one you don’t trust?"
Regulus stilled.
His stomach twisted.
Monty just looked at him, calm and unwavering.
"Maybe," he said softly, "it’s yourself you don’t trust."
And fuck.
Regulus didn’t have an answer for that.
By the time the call ended, Regulus felt exhausted.
He closed his laptop with a quiet sigh, rubbing his temples. Monty always did this. Always forced him to look at things he wasn’t ready to face.
But maybe—maybe he needed to.
Maybe he needed to stop running.
Regulus stared at the screen, at the reflection of himself in the dark screen of his laptop, at the faint redness in his eyes, at the exhaustion written into every tense line of his body.
And then—
His breath hitched.
Fuck.
Not now.
He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, but it was too late. The weight in his chest finally cracked open, and before he could stop it—
The first tear fell.
Regulus pressed his palms into his eyes, willing himself to breathe, to get a fucking grip, but it only made it worse. His shoulders trembled, his throat tightened painfully, and a soft, broken sound escaped before he could swallow it down.
Monty’s words wouldn’t stop playing in his head.
"Maybe James isn’t the one you don’t trust."
"Maybe it’s yourself."
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to pull himself back together before—
A quiet creak came from behind him.
Regulus’s entire body stiffened.
His stomach dropped.
Slowly—too slowly—he turned.
James was standing in the doorway.
And he had seen.
Regulus’s breath hitched sharply, panic flooding through him. James was staring—not with amusement, not with teasing, not even with pity.
But with concern.
Regulus’s throat tightened. No. No, he couldn’t do this right now.
James opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, like he was going to ruin everything—
Regulus bolted.
He grabbed his laptop, shoved past James without a word, and locked himself in the bathroom.
He barely made it before the next sob ripped out of him.
James knocked once.
"Reg—?"
Regulus squeezed his hands into fists, pressing them against his temples.
"Go away, James."
Silence.
For a second, Regulus thought he might listen.
But then—
A sigh. A soft thump as James slid down against the door from the other side.
He wasn’t leaving.
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing past the ache in his throat.
James didn’t say anything else.
He just sat there.
And somehow—that was worse.
Regulus wasn’t sure how long he sat there, curled up on the bathroom floor, arms wrapped around his knees.
He could still hear James outside the door, still feel his presence, even though neither of them had spoken in what felt like forever.
Regulus hated it.
Hated that James had seen him like this. Hated that, out of all the people in the world, it had to be him.
Because James was the only one who could actually make it worse.
James, with his stupid golden retriever heart. James, who flirted like it was second nature, who teased and touched and never meant any of it.
James, who had gotten too close, and Regulus had let him.
And now?
Now, James had seen the cracks.
Regulus let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into his sleeves. This was a mess. He needed to pull himself together before—
Knock, knock.
"Reg," James’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "I’m still here, you know."
Regulus closed his eyes.
He knew.
James wasn’t going to leave. He never did.
Regulus exhaled slowly, trying to even out his breathing. "Go away, James."
"No."
Regulus tilted his head back against the wall, glaring at the ceiling. "I don’t want to talk."
"Okay."
A beat of silence.
Then—James again, carefully, tentatively:
"Then just let me stay."
Regulus’s chest ached.
Because James didn’t just walk away. He didn’t push, didn’t demand answers, didn’t tell Regulus to stop being so difficult.
He just—stayed.
Regulus hated him for that.
And maybe—just maybe—he loved him for it too.
He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling sharply. "You’re annoying."
James huffed a soft laugh. "And you’re a menace. So what else is new?"
Regulus’s lips twitched—just slightly.
James must have caught it because his voice turned lighter, teasing.
"I mean, let’s be honest, you’re not the easiest person to like, Reg. Kind of an asshole, actually."
Regulus snorted. "Says the man who flirts with literally everything that moves."
James gasped, mock-offended. "I do not!"
Regulus arched a brow—even though James couldn’t see him. "Mhm. Right. That’s why you kissed Sirius on the plane?"
"Okay, first of all, that was a dare," James argued. "Second of all, I would like to formally announce that Sirius tastes like regret and bad decisions."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Obviously."
Silence.
Not awkward. Comfortable.
Then—James’s voice again, quieter.
"You know it’s different with you, right?"
Regulus froze.
His breath caught in his throat, his fingers tightening in his sleeves.
James didn’t sound like he was joking.
Not teasing. Not messing with him.
Just—honest.
Regulus swallowed. His voice came out small, hesitant.
"I don’t know what you mean."
James sighed. "Yeah, you do."
Regulus’s throat tightened.
Because he did.
But that was the whole fucking problem, wasn’t it?
He knew.
And it scared him.
James exhaled. "Look, I—" He hesitated, then sighed. "Never mind. We can talk about it later."
Regulus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
"Fine."
Another pause.
Then—James knocked on the door again, lighter this time. "Let me in?"
Regulus hesitated.
He should say no. He should tell James to leave.
But… he didn’t want to be alone.
Not right now.
Not with this.
So, slowly, cautiously, he unlocked the door.
James was still sitting there, back against the wall, arms resting on his knees. He looked up, eyes flickering over Regulus’s face, searching.
He must have seen something there, because his expression softened.
Regulus’s chest ached.
Without thinking, James reached out.
Not forcefully. Not demanding.
Just—offering.
Regulus hesitated.
Then, finally, he took James’s hand.
James’s fingers curled around his—steady, grounding.
And for the first time all morning, Regulus let himself breathe.
"How about we get breakfast together?" James asks, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb.
"Just us?"
"Yeah,"
"Why?"
James tilts his head, considering. "Because you look like a sickly Victorian child, and I feel the need to feed you." He grins, bright and insufferable.
Regulus deadpans. "Fuck off, you cunt."
"Shut it, sickly Victorian child. I'm getting you breakfast."
Before Regulus can protest further, James reaches forward, grabs his wrist, and starts dragging him out of the room.
"James!" Regulus hisses, tripping over his own feet. He barely manages to grab his coat off the chair as James practically hauls him toward the door.
James doesn’t stop. If anything, he speeds up.
"Christ, Reg, when’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee and spite?" James teases, tugging him down the hallway.
Regulus digs his heels into the carpet but James is fucking strong, so it doesn’t do much. "I eat."
"Oh yeah? Name three meals you’ve had in the last 24 hours."
Regulus scowls. "That’s a stupid question."
James gasps dramatically. "You can’t, can you? That’s it. I’m feeding you. You’re wasting away in my arms, love."
"I hate you."
"That's the malnourishment talking."
Regulus lets out an actual growl, which only makes James laugh harder.
By the time they reach the hotel café, James hasn’t let go of his wrist, and Regulus, somehow, hasn’t forced him to.
James shoves Regulus into a chair and immediately starts ordering for him.
"He'll have the full breakfast, extra eggs, two croissants, and a hot chocolate." James tells the waiter with far too much authority for someone who doesn’t actually work here.
Regulus raises an eyebrow. "Are you quite finished?"
James hums, then reaches over and grabs Regulus’s hand again. His thumb brushes absentmindedly over his knuckles, warm and steady.
Regulus blinks at their joined hands.
James doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it. He’s just looking at Regulus like he’s something worth looking at.
"No," James says simply. "I think I’ll keep looking after you, actually."
And Regulus?
He doesn’t pull away.
***
Regulus should have known James was going to be insufferable today.
No—not just insufferable. Unbearable. Impossible. An absolute menace.
It started at breakfast, when James had dragged him out of bed, forced him to eat like some fragile Victorian child, and then had the audacity to be charming about it.
Now? Now, they’re on stage for sound check, and James Potter is trying to kill him.
And Regulus is losing.
The band is fine-tuning the setlist for tonight’s show, making sure the sound levels are right, adjusting their positions—but James? James isn’t adjusting anything except Regulus’s self-control.
Regulus feels him before he even sees him.
A large, warm hand ghosts over the small of his back.
James doesn’t press—not fully—but the heat of his palm lingers.
"Stand here, love," he murmurs, like Regulus hasn’t been doing this for years.
Regulus doesn’t react.
If he doesn’t react, then James won’t get the satisfaction.
But James just hums, leaning in close—too close.
His breath brushes the shell of Regulus’s ear, low and teasing.
"You smell good today."
Regulus’s entire body locks up.
James notices.
And because James is a bastard, he hums again, voice dipping into something smoother, silkier.
"New cologne?"
Regulus exhales, controlled. Even.
"Go away, Potter."
"Can’t, darling." His fingers graze Regulus’s hip. Barely. A whisper of touch.
"I’m in a band, remember?"
Regulus’s jaw clenches.
Do not engage. Do not engage. Do not engage.
But then—James touches him again.
This time, it’s a hand at his waist. A light touch, nothing dramatic, nothing obvious—but it’s James, and it’s too much.
"Do you have a fucking problem?" Regulus snaps, turning sharply—and oh.
The rest of the band is watching.
Sirius lets out a low whistle.
Barty snickers.
Dorcas, not even looking up from her bass, mutters, "This should be good."
James?
James grins.
"I don’t know," he muses, "do I?"
Regulus wants to strangle him.
Or kiss him.
Or both.
The song starts. The band plays. Regulus does what he always does— he shuts everything out, lets the music take over, ignores the way James is watching him.
Except—James is moving.
Not a lot. Just enough.
Just enough to press too close, to linger a little longer than necessary, to brush against Regulus every time they move.
Regulus knows what he’s doing.
And it’s working.
Because he misses his cue.
He never misses his cue.
The room goes silent.
Regulus wants to disappear.
James?
James looks fucking delighted.
He tilts his head, eyes alight with amusement, voice a little too smooth.
"Am I distracting you, love?"
Sirius actually cackles.
Evan snorts into his drink.
Barty clutches his chest dramatically. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen."
Regulus wants to die.
James just smirks, stepping closer, eyes dark with something else now—something dangerous.
He leans in, dropping his voice so only Regulus can hear.
"You keep looking at my lips, sweetheart."
Regulus’s breath catches.
James smirks. Sees it. Feels it.
He tilts his head, just slightly. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s daring.
Regulus’s stomach tightens violently.
James exhales a quiet, amused breath.
"Want something?"
Regulus’s fingers tighten around the mic stand.
He fucking hates him.
James just winks. "Don’t worry, Reggie. I’ll behave."
Regulus doesn’t believe him for a second.
***
Regulus needed to get away.
Not forever—just for a few hours. Just long enough to breathe.
Rehearsal had been a disaster. James had been insufferable, unbearable, a menace in human form. The teasing, the flirting, the way he had pressed too close and let his voice dip too low—it had been too much.
Regulus had held it together, kept his face carefully blank, ignored the smug glances from Sirius and Barty and the quiet amusement in Dorcas’s eyes.
But the second sound check ended? Regulus was gone.
He had slipped out of the venue unnoticed, hood pulled up, hands in his pockets, weaving through the cobbled streets of Rome with no real destination.
It was easier to breathe like this—away from the band, away from the noise, away from James fucking Potter and his infuriating smirk.
The sun was setting now, casting the sky in soft shades of gold and pink, the city buzzing with life.
And for the first time all day, Regulus felt like himself again.
…Until a familiar voice shattered the peace.
"You’re shit at sneaking off, love."
Regulus stopped walking.
Of course.
Of course.
He turned slowly, already scowling, and found James leaning against a streetlamp, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Are you following me?" Regulus demanded.
James grinned. "Obviously."
Regulus exhaled sharply, biting back the urge to throw something at him.
"Go away, Potter."
James tsked, pushing off the streetlamp and falling into step beside him. "Not happening, Reggie."
Regulus walked faster.
James walked faster.
Regulus stopped.
James stopped.
Regulus turned sharply. "I am going to kill you."
James’s grin widened "You don't have killing material, darling."
Regulus’s eye twitched. "Then I’ll push you into the fucking Tiber."
James gasped dramatically. "Violence? Against your beloved bandmate? I’m wounded."
Regulus rubbed a hand over his face. "What do you want?"
James tilted his head, studying him. "You looked like you wanted to be alone."
Regulus glared. "And yet, here you are."
James shrugged, completely unbothered. "Yeah. But if you really wanted to be alone, you would’ve disappeared completely. No phone, no trace, nothing. But you didn’t."
Regulus stilled.
James smirked. "Which means, deep down, you don’t actually mind me being here."
Regulus was going to commit a crime.
Instead of answering, he turned on his heel and kept walking.
James followed.
Regulus sighed. "Fine. If you’re going to be a parasite, at least keep quiet."
James mock-zipped his lips, then grinned and offered his pinky. "Swear it."
Regulus did not take his pinky.
James wiggled it expectantly.
Regulus stared at it. Then, with the slowest, most deliberate movement possible, he wrapped his pinky around James’s.
James beamed.
Regulus hated him.
They walked in comfortable silence after that.
Rome was quieter in this part of the city—less tourists, more locals, the warm glow of streetlights reflecting off cobblestones.
Regulus felt himself start to relax.
Which, really, was his first mistake.
Because James noticed.
James always noticed.
"Alright, mystery boy," James said after a while, hands tucked into his pockets. "Tell me something."
Regulus side-eyed him. "No."
James grinned. "C’mon, you have to like something. What’s your favorite book?"
Regulus blinked.
That was…not what he expected.
James tilted his head. "Don’t tell me it’s something depressing."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Define depressing."
James squinted. "Does everyone die?"
Regulus thought about it. "…Some of them."
James groaned. "You are insufferable."
Regulus smirked. "Pot, kettle, black."
James looked delighted. "Oh, you are flirting with me now."
Regulus stumbled. "I am not—"
"Yes, you are," James cut in smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief. "That was quick. Was it the pinky swear? Be honest."
Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. "I should’ve thrown you in the river."
James laughed, bright and warm. "Yeah, yeah. Keep lying to yourself, Reggie."
Regulus didn’t bother arguing.
Instead, he just kept walking, ignoring the warmth in his chest, the way James’s presence felt dangerously easy.
They kept talking. About books, music, Rome.
James asked about the best place to get espresso, Regulus insulted his taste in literature, James made some stupid pun that should have been illegal.
And for the first time in a long time, Regulus forgot to be guarded.
He forgot to be careful.
He forgot that James Potter was dangerous.
But then, he caught himself.
Realized what was happening.
Realized that James had slipped past his defenses without even trying.
Regulus’s stomach twisted.
No.
No, this was not happening.
Not again.
Not with him.
"Reg?"
Regulus blinked sharply, snapping back to the present.
James was watching him closely now, brows furrowed, head tilted slightly.
"Hey," James murmured, voice softer now, more careful. "You okay?"
Regulus hated that James could see through him.
Hated that he could tell something had shifted.
Regulus forced a smirk. "Shut up, Potter."
James didn’t look convinced.
But for once—he let it go.
They kept walking.
And Regulus pretended he wasn’t falling.
They walked a little further. The air felt different now, heavier somehow.
Then, James did something reckless.
He reached out, fingers brushing Regulus’s face, tucking a loose curl behind his ear.
Regulus froze.
The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a sharp current through him, made his breath catch in his throat.
James’s eyes flickered down to his lips.
Regulus’s pulse stuttered.
It would be so easy.
Just a little closer—
A little further—
James leaned in.
Regulus didn’t stop him.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
And then—
"REGULUS BLACK?!"
A loud, shrieking voice shattered the moment.
Both of them jolted, stepping apart just as a girl rushed up to them, eyes wide with excitement, phone already raised.
"OH MY GOD, CAN I GET A PICTURE?!"
Regulus’s stomach dropped.
James turned to him, something unreadable flashing across his face.
But Regulus was already shutting down.
Already pulling away.
Like nothing had happened.
Like it hadn’t meant anything at all.
JAMES
James didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t do anything except watch Regulus Black slip through his fingers.
Again.
Because that’s what this was.
A moment dangling between them, so close, so fucking close—and then gone.
The girl was still talking, still giggling, still shoving her phone toward Regulus, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just shattered something so goddamn delicate.
Regulus was already shutting down.
James knew that look.
The carefully blank face, the slight twitch of his fingers, the way his shoulders stiffened like he was preparing for battle.
This was damage control.
This was Regulus pretending like it hadn’t meant anything at all.
And James hated it.
Because it had.
It fucking had.
Regulus took the picture. Smiled for the fan. Said thank you, signed a napkin, made some half-hearted comment about the concert.
And James just…stood there.
Watching.
Feeling something ugly, something possessive, coil low in his stomach.
It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know.
Didn’t know that she had just interrupted the single most important moment of James Potter’s goddamn life.
But Regulus knew.
And Regulus was pretending.
Like he hadn’t just leaned in.
Like he hadn’t just let James touch him.
Like he hadn’t just wanted it.
James clenched his jaw. No.
No, he wasn’t going to let this slide.
Not this time.
Regulus handed back the napkin, muttered a polite “have a good night,” then turned back toward James, expression already composed.
Already untouchable.
Like he hadn’t just—
No. Fuck that.
James didn’t think.
Didn’t plan.
Didn’t give Regulus a chance to slip away.
Instead, he reached out—fast, firm, no escape—and grabbed Regulus’s wrist.
Regulus tensed immediately. His grey eyes flicked to James’s hand, then to his face, wary, guarded.
"James—"
James yanked him forward.
Not roughly. Not enough to make a scene. Just enough to make a point.
Just enough to remind him.
Regulus stumbled slightly, hands catching against James’s chest, eyes wide and startled and something else entirely.
James leaned down, voice low, steady.
“Tell me that didn’t mean anything.”
Regulus’s breath hitched.
James heard it. Felt it.
Regulus swallowed, fingers twitching where they were still resting against James’s jacket.
"James—"
“Tell me,” James pressed.
Because if Regulus said it—really said it—then James would drop this.
Would let him go.
Would let him keep pretending.
Even if it fucking killed him.
Regulus inhaled sharply. His jaw tightened. James could see the war happening in his head, the hesitation, the struggle—
And then—
Regulus pulled away.
Slipped from his grasp like smoke.
And that was it.
That was the answer.
James felt something sharp twist in his chest.
But he forced a smirk.
Because if Regulus could pretend, then so could he.
"Noted, darling," he said smoothly, rolling his shoulders like this hadn’t just changed everything.
Regulus’s gaze flickered.
Like maybe he hadn’t expected James to let it go that easily.
Like maybe he wanted James to push just a little harder.
But James didn’t.
He just flashed a grin, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stepped back.
"C’mon, Reggie," he said, voice light, easy. Fake. "Let’s get back before Sirius sends a fucking search party."
Regulus hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—with a barely-there nod—he turned and started walking.
James followed.
But for the first time since this whole thing started—
He wasn’t sure if Regulus wanted him to.
And that?
That scared him more than anything.
***
James was halfway between asleep and awake when the door to their hotel room slammed open. He startled upright, fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand. By the time they were settled on his nose, Regulus was already inside, swaying slightly, the sharp scent of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin.
James sighed. "Reg—"
"James," Regulus interrupted, his voice thick, unsteady. He stumbled forward, dropping onto the bed next to James, his fingers gripping the fabric of James's pajama shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "I have to tell you something."
James swallowed, already knowing where this was going. "You're drunk, Reg. Maybe we should—"
"I love you." Regulus said it like an exhale, like something he had held inside for far too long. His stormy eyes met James's, wide and shining with unshed tears. "I love you, and I think I always have."
James’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. He had imagined Regulus saying those words before—he’d dreamed of it, even—but not like this. Not with the sharp edge of whiskey on his breath, not with his cheeks flushed from something that would be gone by morning.
Regulus shifted closer, reaching out to cup James's face, his fingers cold and trembling. "Can I kiss you? Please? Just once?"
James caught his wrist, gently but firmly. "Reg, love, you are drunk. I’d rather you remember our first kiss."
Regulus's face crumpled, and James barely had a second to react before tears spilled over his lashes. A choked sob tore from his throat, and he pulled away, curling into himself. "You don’t want to kiss me," he whispered, voice wrecked and small. "You don’t—"
James cursed under his breath. "That’s not it. That’s not it at all, Reg."
Regulus sniffled, his lip trembling, and then, in a move so achingly tender it made James’s breath hitch, Regulus lifted his own palm to his lips and kissed it softly before pressing it gently against James’s cheek. "There. Now you have a kiss anyway."
James’s throat tightened. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except look at him, wrecked and beautiful and so painfully Regulus.
He moved to grab the tissues from the nightstand, but before he could take a step, Regulus was on him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist from behind. His face pressed against James’s back, his whole body shaking. "Don’t leave," he begged, voice muffled. "Please."
James melted. He turned slowly, untangling Regulus just enough to pull him into a proper embrace. He tucked Regulus’s head under his chin, pressing a kiss to the crown of his dark curls. "I’m not going anywhere. I promise."
Regulus hiccupped against his chest, fingers fisting in James’s shirt. James just held him tighter, rubbing circles into his back, whispering soft reassurances into his hair. Eventually, Regulus’s breathing evened out, his grip loosening slightly as exhaustion pulled him under.
James sighed. He could wait. Regulus would remember in the morning. And when he did, James would be there, ready to kiss him properly.
When it meant something.