When the Sun and Stars Unite (Jegulus Oneshots)

Forget-Me-Not

When a new florist shop opens across from Regulus' tattoo parlour, Regulus finds himself pining away for the adorable man.

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Regulus turned the key in the lock, and was only half-surprised to find it was already open. He let out a tiny sigh, then stepped into the shop. One of the back lights was on, and he flicked on the main shop lights, wincing a bit because he still had a left-over headache from the night before. His wrist was itching like hell, his latest tattoo in the awful peeling stage which he both loved and hated—and was too used to since a good percentage of his body was covered in ink.

He'd done this one himself, an intricate, hyper-realistic sunflower stretched across a space just beneath his elbow, on the side of his forearm. Resisting the urge to pick at it—in spite of tattooing people for the better part of the last six years, Regulus still had to resist the urges to peel at the flaking skin—he busied himself with checking inventory, unlocking the safe for any cash customers, then looking over the appointment book.

After a while, the back door squeaked open, and his brother strolled out, his motorbike boots clunking loudly on the polished tile, making Regulus wince. "Another?"

Regulus shrugged. "You know how it is. What are you doing back there?"

It was a redundant question based on the smear of blue paint across Sirius' dark-olive skin. His hair was pulled back into a knot at the back of his head, streaks of yellow in the few coarse strands that hung down round his temples, making it clump together. Regulus had a sudden thought—bright yellow hair would actually suit his brother.

He smiled to himself as he pulled out some of his tracing paper, preparing to get a few things done for the walk-in book.

"I have a showing next week," Sirius said as he reached down into the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of what looked like sludge. He took a sip of his drink and grinned.

"I cannot believe you drink that shit cold," Regulus said, eyeing the qahwa turkiyeh with distrust. "Mum is probably rolling in her grave."

"Good," Sirius said with a wolfish grin. "You know it's my eternal goal to make sure her soul knows no rest."

"Bismillah, get me through this day," Regulus muttered. "Are you going to be at the shop all day?"

"Who else is coming in?" Sirius asked, taking another drink of the coffee before shoving back into the fridge.

Regulus shrugged. "Benjy at noon, I think—taking all the walk-ins, and I'll be here until tea. I think Nym might have a couple of clients, but she's only appointments for the rest of the week."

"Tolerable," Sirius said, hopping over the counter and walking toward the window. "I'll be here until Remus is out of work, then we've got a date."

Regulus rolled his eyes, but mostly out of a quiet place of jealousy because he envied his brother for many things—falling in love being one of them. Regulus had always been a bit more stoic—more hesitant to disobey his parents, even when he knew he was not straight, and didn't believe in a lot of the things they did. He'd been afraid to branch out too far from his studies at University, until he finished his Master's and realised he didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps. He wasn't interested in politics or anything of that nature.

He was an artist. He wanted to be as free as Sirius was, and not conform to what the rest of the world thought he should be. He was tired of being a polite person only valid in his brown skin because he followed their rules about it.