Crimson Rivers

Chapter 40

On Regulus' twenty-sixth birthday, James shows up at his door not with a flower, but with a hat.

A very, very old hat with a fluffy ball on top that used to have a working bell in it, but no longer does. Regulus hasn't seen it in literally eleven years, down to the exact day.

It's cold outside, there's a blanket of snow on the ground, and James stands there with a hat he kept for eleven years like all the years in between haven't changed a thing.

But they have.

Everything is different now.

It's been hard for them since the announcement. For a solid week, James didn't leave his house—didn't leave his parents' sides, and Monty has been a mess, according to Sirius—and Regulus was in basically the same predicament. Even if James had bothered to come, Regulus wouldn't have gotten out of the bed to let him inside. The only reason he got out of bed when he finally did was because Barty coaxed him out.

Eventually, James did show back up with a flower, and Regulus didn't answer the door, or let him in. He let the flower die on his stoop, but James just replaced that one, too.

Regulus was angry that he was still fucking trying. No matter how this goes, their chance—it's gone. Regulus made the mistake of thinking that they'd actually get to have it, what they wanted, only to have it ripped from him immediately after. He couldn't understand how James could bear it, could bear to still bring him flowers, to still hope when there's no fucking hope left for them. He was so, so angry.

That passed, too. Slipped away into simple resignation and overwhelming regret. Shifted and morphed into a sharp pulse of purpose in his chest, because before everything falls apart, he wants every flower he can get.

Once he started taking them again, he opened his door to let James in, and they had a very, very difficult conversation.

"You can't volunteer for me," Regulus had said. It was the first thing he said. It was what needed to be said, the very thing sitting between them, a topic they hadn't yet broached.

It was a fight. Sort of. James was mostly just begging, so close to some inner collapse, wanting to shut the conversation down and turn away from it. Angry that Regulus would demand it from him. A promise, one he would honor, one he would look Regulus in the eye and mean.

Regulus, stubborn as he is, wouldn't let it go. Even when James cried. Even when he reached for him and begged. He stood right there and broke James open to reach into the depths of him and carve out the promise he needed. He got it.

And, when James demanded the same from him, Regulus eased himself into James' arms, hid his face against James' shoulder, and returned it. He promised, too, his eyes shut and his heart breaking. It was the last time they spoke, the last time they touched, because Regulus didn't open the door again to let him in until today.

And now, here they are. James standing on his doorstep with a hat, and Regulus standing across from him, wanting to let him in, wanting him so badly he can't breathe around it.