He's not sure how it starts exactly. It's an accident, he's almost certain, a coincidence—that he finds himself heading up to the astronomy tower almost every night after his friends have gone to sleep. Another coincidence, that Regulus is always there. It's strange how quickly he starts to know Regulus. The different ways he smiles without using his mouth. Or how he tugs at his fingers when he gets nervous. James doesn't know what it means that he notices these things. He doesn't try to figure it out. Maybe he doesn't want to.
"You're telling me you've been at this school for four years," James is lying on his back, arms thrown behind his head as a cushion, "and you've never stepped foot in the Forbidden Forest?"
"Excuse me for taking the 'Forbidden' part of the name seriously," Regulus says from where he's sitting, one knee pulled up, chin resting on top.
James snorts. "Right little rule follower aren't you?"
"I just happen to be in possession of something called common sense, you might want to try it."
"Pfft," James says dismissively, "sounds dead boring."
"Yes, well, you would think so."
James pushes himself up onto his elbows so that he can look at Regulus properly. He seems different like this, curled up, shirt untucked. Soft, James's brain supplies, he looks soft.
"I'll take you," he's says finally.
Regulus arches his brow. "You'll take me where?"
"The forest, obviously."
Regulus makes a disapproving huff. "I'm not going in there."
"Aw come on," James knocks his foot against Regulus's. "You'll love it, promise."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"Listen, if you're scared—"
"I'm not scared," Regulus interrupts sharply, and James does his best not to laugh.
"I'm not scared," he repeats. "I'm smart. There's a difference."
"If you say so," James knocks his foot again, this time staying there, pressed to Regulus's ankle. "But my point was that if you did happen to be scared," James holds up his hand the minute he sees Regulus open his mouth, "which you aren't, obviously. But if you were, you should know that you'd have a distinct advantage going in there with me."
Regulus snorts. "And why's that?"
"Because," James grins. "Gryffindors are contractually obligated to sacrifice themselves. So you'll have a decent head start while whatever terrible monster we run into feasts on my flesh."
There's a beat of silence before Regulus drops his face into his knees, shoulders shaking with laughter.
Making regulus laugh is new. Good new. Really good new. It feels like scoring a goal in a quidditch match. Like scoring the winning goal.
"I can't believe you stole a Snitch," Regulus says, batting the ball in question away from his face.
James smiles, catching it easily in his hand as it starts zooming over the edge of the tower. "Really? You can't believe it?"
Regulus rolls his eyes, but James can tell he's trying not to smile.
"Besides," he goes on, feeling smug. "I'm not stealing, just...borrowing."
"Of course you are."
James tosses the Snitch up and down a few times before he notices Regulus watching him. The younger boy quickly turns back to his telescope.
"The Catapults are your favourite Quidditch team," Regulus repeats in shock. They're sitting on the ground, leaning against the castle, James's most recent haul from Honeydukes piled between them.
"I don't know why you're so surprised," James says, biting off the end of his jelly wand.
"The Catapults?" is all Regulus has to say in return.
James rolls his eyes. "They play like absolute badasses. There's a reason the award for riskiest play is named after one of their players."
"Because he was eaten by a chimera," Regulus says flatly. "Not because he did anything particularly impressive on the pitch."
"Correction," James waves around his half-eaten gummy to emphasize his point. "He was eaten by a chimera AND he was impressive on the pitch. Can't ask for a better legacy than that."
Regulus stares blankly at him. "I can't tell if you're joking right now or if you're genuinely this ridiculous."
James grins. "Part of my charm, that."
"He's trying to collect them all?" Regulus asks incredulously as he passes over his chocolate frog card to James.
"Yeah."
"That's absurd."
James laughs, "Yup," he slips the card into the pocket of his hoodie, "but you gotta respect his commitment."
Regulus arches his brow in a manner that suggests he does not think that you actually do have to respect it, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he turns his head and stares out over the grounds, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing in.
"Bad day?" James asks eventually, when the silence drags on too long.
Regulus sighs. "Maybe, I don't know."
James watches him, waiting for him to keep going. He's learned in these moments that Regulus needs to feel like he's in control.
"I got a letter from home."
James feels himself stiffen. They don't talk about his family. James isn't sure that he wants to — that he can.
"It—my dad," his voice is clipped, words barely making it out. He struggles to keep going. "He's...sick."
"What?"
Regulus leans back against the pillar behind him, head tilted up towards the sky. "I thought Sirius might have told you..." he lets that hang there between them while James tries to collect himself.
"No," he can hear the hurt in his voice and he hates it. "No, he didn't say. Has it been...has your dad been sick awhile?"
Regulus nods, not dropping his eyes from the sky.
"And the healers can't do anything?"
A dry laugh, James is learning to hate those, they're nothing like his real laugh which is full and strong—a hand on your back.
"No, blood curse or something. Hereditary. Purebloods, you know, all that inbreeding."
James did know, he had the vague memory of his mum telling him about an aunt who had died from something similar.
"Does that mean..." a sentence he can't bring himself to finish.
Finally, Regulus's eyes come back to him, "That Sirius has it?" he shrugs. "We don't know—won't, not until it happens."
James feels a little light headed for a moment, fingers digging into the stone building underneath him. The pain helps, it keeps him grounded.
We figured out how to turn ourselves into animagi for Remus, he thinks to himself, trying to get his stomach muscles to unclench. We'll figure this out too if we have to.
It takes a moment before he realizes that Regulus is watching him, a curious expression on his face. "You really care about him, don't you?"
"Yes," James answers without question. And then; "Not just him though."
Regulus's expression flickers and then quickly goes out. He looks down at his lap, picking some lint off his pants in a poor attempt to appear indifferent.
"Anyway," he presses on, voice carefully held. Guarded. "it's hard, hearing from him, when I can't...do anything. To help."
James isn't sure what to say. He realizes, suddenly, that he doesn't know much about Mr. Black. Most of Sirius's stories centre around Walburga—her rules and her bigotry and her sharp magic. Magic that liked to slice into him any chance it got, sometimes lashing out unconsciously, his mother's anger bleeding out of her and leaving him broken. If Sirius spoke of his father, it was as the shadowy figure in the background, who said and did nothing.
"He works at the ministry right?" James says finally, pulling out the one piece of information he thinks he can remember.
"He did. But it—he's gotten worse recently. He can't really use his magic anymore. Too bad really, he used to be brilliant."
James recognizes that tone, knows that that's how he sounds when he talks about his own dad. He tries not to feel angry at Regulus, really he does, but he can't get the images of Sirius alone on his doorstep out of his head. Or showing up to the Hogwarts express every year held together by tape and glue.
"They're nice to you?" James finds himself asking.
Regulus doesn't seem surprised by the question. "I love them."
James bites back the automatic responses of; how? and why? Because he knows they won't get him anywhere. Knows they'll just shut Regulus down.
"That's not the same thing," he says finally.
Regulus smiles dryly. "No," he concedes, "but it's the thing that matters."
James has started sleeping better, which is ridiculous considering how much less time he's spending in bed. But it helps, for some reason, talking to Regulus. There's something...steadying, about the other boy. Now when he closes his eyes, the darkness is full of stars.
"Oi, you lot, hurry up we're going be late," James is walking backwards down the hill towards the pitch, desperately trying to corral the majority of the fifth year Gryffindors.
Mary and Sirius are messing about in some strange mating ritual that's halfway between wrestling and dancing, and not moving them any closer to the Quidditch pitch.
Marlene and Dorcas are making bets on the match with a group of Hufflepuffs and Peter is having an adamant argument with Giffard Abbott about whose chocolate is better; Honeydukes or Cadbury, which for some reason has effected their ability to walk at a reasonable pace.
James sighs, running a hand over his face before looking at the lone figure beside him. "You're my favourite Moony, have I ever told you that?"
Remus snorts, watching the chaos unfolding behind them with mild amusement. "Uh huh."
"Wait," James eyes the bag hanging off of Remus's shoulder. "Did you—did you bring textbooks with you?!"
Remus clutches at the bag like James is about to rip it away from him, sending his friend a sheepish look. "Uh...might have, yeah."
James throws his hands up over his head. "Forget it, I take it back, I hate all of you equally."
"Oh please!" comes Sirius's voice as he starts making his way towards them, Mary now on his back. "You love us."
"I'd love you more if you could get your asses moving," James says as they start walking again, throngs of other students in yellow and green moving with them.
Sirius rolls his eyes. "I don't know why you're so interested in this game, we all know Hufflepuff's got it in the bag."
"Is that a bet I hear Black!" Marlene calls from behind them.
Sirius laughs. "Not a chance McKinnon, I've learned my lesson. You cleaned me out last time."
"Hufflepuff does not have it in the bag," James says resolutely.
"Do you wanna—"
"No Marlene," James cuts her off. He thinks he hears her mumble 'cowards' but he can't be sure.
"Wow, I never would have expected the marauders to be so cautious with their money," Mary says, dropping her face down and planting a kiss on Sirius's cheek.
James shoots a quick glance at Moony but he's staring straight ahead, hands wrapped tightly around the strap of his bag. They haven't talked about...well...anything, since the library. James has gotten the distinct impression that Remus has been going out of his way to avoid being alone with him, which he personally thinks is a bit dramatic. If Remus doesn't want to talk about it that's fine with James, but that doesn't mean he's gonna let his friend suffer.
"Oi, you two, lets keep it decent yeah? There are children present."
"And by children do you mean yourself?" Mary asks, eyebrow raised.
"Mary, don't be ridiculous," James holds a hand to his chest as though deeply offended. "I meant Peter."
She laughs, sliding off of Sirius's back.
"I heard that!" Peter calls out.
"Inside voice sweetie," James shouts over his shoulder, causing general laughter to bubble up from the surrounding group.
"We are literally outside!"
"Don't make me get your father young man!"
Mary raises her brow as Peter mumbles a myriad of curses behind them. "You're not the father?"
"Pfft," James says. "Obviously not, Sirius is the father, clearly. Never gives you his a approval, emotionally distant, can't be relied on—"
"Twat," Sirius laughs, punching him in the arm before turning to Mary. "He's right though, I am clearly the father."
Remus makes an exasperated noise. "The amount of bollocks you two talk is truly astounding."
James grins, opening his mouth to speak before Mary beats him to it.
"I'd have thought Remus would be the mother."
Remus groans, "Please don't encourage them, they're insufferable enough as it is."
"See," she says, gesturing to the unimpressed blond.
Both James and Sirius look back at her unconvinced.
"What exactly about dry acerbic wit screams "mother" to you?" Sirius asks.
"Yeah, Moony's really more of an angsty teenager," James agrees.
"For Christ's sake," Remus mutters beside him, prompting James to swing his arm around his friend, pulling him into a hug.
"But we love him anyway."
"Our wittle moody Moony," Sirius uses a baby voice that has James cackling.
Remus eventually manages to shove James off, attempting to glare, though his eyes are a bit too bright to make it believable. The truth is, Remus can take a joke better than most people.
"Alright," Mary says finally, squinting at Remus like he's a painting she's trying to work out. "I guess I can see your point."
"Trust me," Sirius pulls Mary in and kisses the top of her head. "We've thought about this."
James doesn't miss the way Remus looks away.
The crowd gets thicker as they enter the stadium, the noise suddenly so big you can feel it in your chest. A group of Hufflepuffs in the middle of the stands have started a chant:
Hufflepuffs are just and loyal
unafraid of any toil
But don't cross yellow and black
We will always get you back
Which quickly devolves into the simpler refrain of:
Yellow and black
On the attack!
Yellow and black
On the attack!
James smiles. He loves this. He thought his heart was going to explode the first time he stepped onto the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. The Potters have a sprawling backyard and some play hoops set up but it's nothing like this. He never gets less excited no matter how many games he watches. Already he can feel his skin buzzing with anticipation.
The group of them push their way through the throngs of other students, looking for a group of seats together—which wouldn't have been a problem, James thinks bitterly, if his friends could walk in a straight bloody line.
In the end, Peter and Abbott find seats together so they can continue the great chocolate debate of '75 and Dorcas and Marlene break off to sit with Lily and Alice. James very determinedly does not look at Evans.
"These seats aren't bad," Sirius says as they finally settle, far closer to the ground than James would like. He only grumbles in response.
"Oh don't sulk."
"I mean, he's not wrong," Mary leans over the railing, peering at the grass below. "These seats are rubbish."
"Thank you Macdonald," James says, feeling deeply validated.
Remus is the only one sitting, textbook already open on his lap. It physically pains James to see it.
"I'm gonna wear you down one of these day you know," he says, nudging at him playfully.
Remus smiles without looking up.
"Sure you will James."
He turns back to the pitch. It's late afternoon, slightly overcast in that way the weather always seems to be in the fall. Some how it makes all the colours more saturated—the greens and yellows. James starts drumming his hands against the railing, impatient for the game to start.
"I'm telling you," Sirius says, leaning next to him. "Hufflepuff has this one in the bag. Morrow is the best Seeker at this school."
"Better not let Marlene hear you say that," Mary says in a sing-song voice.
"It's not all about the Snitch," James adds automatically, because it isn't. And then, before his brain has time to catch up with this mouth; "Besides, you're underestimating Regulus."
He feels, more than he sees, Sirius stiffen. That comment even catching Remus's attention, causing him to look up from his reading.
"Am I?" there is something far too careful about Sirius's voice—too controlled.
James sighs, running a hand through his hair before turning to his best friend. "Sorry mate, I didn't—just Quidditch brain you know? I wasn't—"
But Sirius cuts him off with the wave of his hand. "It's fine. You're right, he's not bad, Reg," but there's still an edge of bitterness to his tone that doesn't feel right. "Helps that he has the newest broom model as well, hard for Morrow to compete with that on his three-year-old Cleansweep."
James has to bite down on his tongue to keep from telling Sirius that he doesn't think that that's, strictly speaking, entirely fair. Even if part of him knows that Sirius has a point.
"Yeah," is all he ends up saying.
James feels himself let out a sigh of relief when Madam Hooch steps onto the field, distracting them from the newly uncomfortable silence that's settled around them.
The announcer calls out the names of the Hufflepuff players as they file out, waving at the crowd and inspiring a new round of "Yellow and black, on the attack!"
James isn't really thinking about how watching him play might be different now that he knows Regulus. Their conversations in the astronomy tower are so disconnected from everything else that James hasn't really tried to...make sense of them. To make them fit. Sure he sees Regulus every once and a while in the great hall or the corridors between classes, but they're only glimpses. Nothing has changed really.
So he isn't expecting to feel like anything when Regulus walks out onto the pitch in tight white Quidditch pants and a green kit. Isn't expecting his stomach to drop into the soles of his shoes beating at about a mile a minute. An exhale shooting out of him like he's just been punched in the gut. Sirius sends him a questioning look.
He doesn't know what's happening. He doesn't know what the hell this feeling is. Nerves? Is he nervous? Nervous that Sirius might notice? Might figure it out? Might be mad? Well, okay, that last one isn't a might, he knows that Sirius will be mad. He keeps meaning to tell him—he's been meaning to tell him since the first time with Snape. He doesn't know why he hasn't—mostly, he imagines, because he's not sure what to say.
But oh—oh Regulus is mounting his broom and James's heart gives another lurch.
"You alright there?" Sirius asks.
"Yup," James's voice is clipped, hands gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles have gone white.
"You look like you're gonna be sick?" Sirius sounds genuinely concerned.
James is too, if he's being honest. Maybe it's something he ate? Maybe he is sick?
"Well if you're gonna be sick make sure to do it on your other side," Mary says, without taking her eyes off the pitch. The Snitch has been released, the players are in the air, and James is making a concerted effort not to look at anyone.
"Oi, not on my book you better not," Remus says, but his eyes linger on James too.
"Prongs? You really do look a bit—"
"I'm fine," he bites out, putting on a smile that he knows is too shaky to be reassuring. "Just...headache. It's okay."
"Do you wanna go back?" Remus asks, a little too excitedly if James is being honest.
"I'm not missing the match!"
Sirius lets out a puff of laughter from his other side. "Junky."
James just nods and Remus, reluctantly, goes back to his reading.
It's okay. This is okay. It's quidditch. James loves Quidditch. He watches the keepers closest, since they're who he needs to know best. Distracting himself by breaking down their saves and misses, picking apart the gaps in their training. Focus on the game, he tells himself, just focus on the game. Slowly his breathing evens out, his grip on the railing relaxing.
"Fucking foul!" Mary shouts, as a Slytherin Beater nearly knocks a Hufflepuff off her broom with his club.
"She'll get back up," James says confidently, watching as the girl—who is currently hanging onto her broom with one hand—starts to swing, gaining momentum and then beautifully throwing her leg back over the handle.
"Still a fucking foul," Mary mutters.
"You reckon Slughorn's paying Hooch off?" Sirius asks as the badgers score another goal.
"What's that—thirty to ten?" James asks, not taking his eyes off the game. "And no, bastard's too cheap for bribery."
Sirius snorts. "Touché."
"Maybe she does it for the slug club invite," Mary smirks.
Sirius and James make nearly identical noises of disgust.
"Not fans?" she asks innocently.
"I can't think of anything worse than a dinner party with that toad and a bunch of swots," Sirius says, shivering at the very thought.
"Well fuck you very much," comes Remus's dry tone.
"Oh come on Moony, you know I didn't mean you," Sirius leans around James so he can shoot Remus a smile, "besides, you only went the once. Barely counts."
"Wasn't worth the heckling I got," Remus says flatly.
Mary laughs, "Jeez, you lot really are arseholes aren't you?"
"Oi!" James and Sirius say at the same time that Remus says: "Yes."
"Though," Remus goes on, "to be fair, it was a bloody insufferable dinner party."
"Aha!" Sirius exclaims happily. "See, exactly, that's what I'm saying."
"And there's Slytherin with their second goal of the game!" comes the announcers magnified voice.
"Shit," James whips his head back to the game. "I missed it. You two," he gestures between Remus and Sirius, "no more bickering until the game is over."
"We're not—"
"Shhh," James waves his hand in Sirius's face, not daring to take his eyes off the game again. The Hufflepuff Keeper is new and James really wants to figure out his strategy before they play against each other.
And that's when something small and green catches his attention. He'd been doing a good job of not looking at the Seekers—not particularly hard considering they're usually on the fringes of the game anyway. But this—
Regulus has done a straight dive for the ground, moving almost impossibly fast. For the third time this game James feels something weird pull at his chest. Be careful, he thinks before he can help it. Be careful, be careful, be careful.
"Has he seen the Snitch?" Mary demands, her upper body halfway over the railing. "I don't see anything. James?"
He tears his eyes away from the speeding figure to look around him. "No," he says slowly, "No I don't see it."
"Morrow's going now," Sirius says, though James thinks he hears a new anxiety in his friend's voice as they watch his younger brother hurtle towards the earth.
Be careful.
Be careful.
Be careful.
"Holy shit!" Mary says all of the sudden.
James is about to ask her what she's on about when Regulus abruptly pulls up—it's truly an incredibly show of broom work. Morrow doesn't stand a chance, realizing too late what's happening and trying desperately to pull himself out of the dive.
He doesn't manage it, not completely anyway, slowing down enough that he doesn't crash, but not enough that he can avoid the ground completely, rolling off of his broom as he hits the grass.
"Merlin," booms the commentator's voice through the stadium. "We just witnessed one of the best Wronski Feint's I've ever seen."
James grins, heart beating out of control as the adrenaline buzzes under his skin. He watches Regulus flying in smooth circles above the game, the Slytherin's going absolutely mental.
"Magic," James breathes, happy that Sirius is distracted by an excited Mary.
"And there's Hufflepuff with another goal, bringing the score to forty - twenty," the announcer calls out, another goal James misses. Distracted again.
Now that he's found him he can't seem to look anywhere else, he watches the cool way that Regulus maneuvers through the game, tracking Morrow, waiting. Seekers require absolute control, self-restraint—the ability to sit back and observe. Regulus was practically born for this.
Hufflepuff gets another two goals.
Sirius leans over, "told you," he says smugly.
"No, you said Morrow would get the Snitch. Which he hasn't."
Sirius rolls his eyes. "I said Hufflepuff would win."
"Because Morrow was going to catch the Snitch."
"Jeez, you're as anal as Marlene with her bets."
James snorts. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The Hufflepuffs get another goal—the crowd is going wild, students holding up their wands and shooting off alternating yellow and black sparks.
"Damn," Mary says, sounding impressed, "they're really kicking ass this game."
James hums noncommittally, eyes bouncing around the field from player to player.
"What are they doing?"
All three of them turn to look at Remus, who shades his eyes with his hand as he stares up at the sky. After a moment or two he seems to notice the rest of them staring at him.
"Yes?"
"Moony," Sirius says, sounding slightly awestruck, "are you...watching the match?"
Remus rolls his eyes. "I looked up for a second and—but then I saw...well...that," he jabs his finger at the sky and they follow it to Regulus, currently floating next to the Hufflepuff Seeker...talking?
"Are they having a date in the middle of a quidditch match?" Mary demands, half amused and half indignant.
"I—" and then James stops. Because—because he sees it. The tiny fleck of gold just by Morrow's ear.
Regulus is apparently laying on the charm because Morrow is suddenly laughing, his entire attention on Regulus and completely oblivious to the Snitch currently behind his head. James blinks, rubs his eyes, blinks again. But no. No it's really happening. Regulus Black is going to flirt his way into winning this Quidditch match.
"The Hufflepuff's are in possession again," the announcer calls out, as oblivious as everyone else. "Johnson speeding down the pitch—ooh, nice Bludger dodge mate. The badgers really are on fire today. Avery trying to make a save and—Oh my god, oh my god he's got it, Black has caught the Snitch! Where the hell did that come from?!"
A horn blares out signalling the end of the match, Morrow looking dazed and confused as Regulus glides down on to the pitch still holding the Snitch in his hand, his team tackling him almost as soon as his feet touch the ground. All the Slytherins in the stands are on their feet, stamping and shouting and throwing green scarves around.
"How did that just happen?" Sirius asks, dumbfounded.
"God I feel bad for Morrow," Mary adds, "no one's going to let him forget this."
James means to respond but he's working too hard on controlling his face, on not smiling as broadly and as madly as he currently wants to, watching as Regulus is hoisted up onto his teammates's shoulders. Even now Regulus doesn't smile with his whole mouth, his happiness hiding in the corners, the Golden Snitch sparkling in his hand as he holds it up. It makes James breathless.
James doesn't expect him to come—not after the first win of the season. But he goes up to the astronomy tower anyway, brings a book and the map. His whole body feels like it's still buzzing from the match, and he can't help running over the plays in his mind again and again. He gives up on homework eventually and starts scribbling down strategies to run by Frank.
There's a cool breeze drifting in off the grounds. It's halfway through October now and the weather is always crisp and sharp. Goosebumps pepper James's skin but he doesn't mind it.
His head snaps up when he hears the door open, blinking as Regulus stumbles in, still in his Quidditch uniform.
Oh.
James blinks.
Regulus's hair is mussed in a way it never is, his pale cheeks pink and eyes wide and glassy.
"Well look who it is," James can't help but smile, placing his parchment and quill down beside him and turning to face Regulus head on.
"Here I am," his words come out overly articulated—like he's thinking hard about each one.
"Figured you'd be busy celebrating that win," James goes on when Regulus continues to stand there.
"But you came anyway?"
James shrugs, not sure he knows what to say to that. Not sure he could explain it to himself even.
"You gonna sit down or...?"
"Right," Regulus nods to himself. "Right. Yeah."
He moves the same way he spoke—with too much thought, one foot placed cautiously in front of the other every step of the way until he's collapsing next to James on the ledge. He smells like Quidditch and firewhiskey.
"Good party?" James asks, watching Regulus pull his legs up, crossing them on the ledge. It makes him look painfully sweet, especially when he runs a hand through his messy dark curls.
"Party? —Oh, yeah. Yeah, you know."
James arches his brow, "You really are sloshed aren't you?"
Regulus tries and fails not to smile. "I think I may have had an entire bottle of firewhiskey," he admits a little shyly. "Also someone made Jello shots."
And that's just too much. James throws his head back and laughs. "Oh my god, I cannot imagine you doing Jello shots."
"I'm not sure if I should be insulted by that or not?" Regulus says, scrunching his face up. He's so much more expressive when he's drunk. James likes it.
"They're just, not very dignified are they? Tell me, did you raise your pinky finger when you took them?"
"Oh fuck off."
"Were they served on a silver platter?"
At that Regulus's eyes go wide before quickly looking away.
"No," James practically gasps. "No they weren't! Merlin, you absolute wankers."
"Hey, I had nothing to do with the placement of the refreshments," Regulus says indignantly.
"Oh no, you don't get to call Jello shots "refreshments."
"Well they are," Regulus retorts, putting a level of emphasis on the last word that has James barely able to contain himself.
"There is nothing refreshing about Jello shots."
"Maybe you've just never had very good ones."
James throws his hands up in the air. "I can't believe you," he says through a smile. "How're you managing to be a snob about this? You pretentious little pri—"
"Enough, enough," Regulus giggles—actually giggles—as he ungracefully reaches forward to cover James's mouth. "So much talking."
The move causes Regulus to fall forward, the hand not currently covering James's mouth being used to hold him up in a crawl position. James feels his breath hitch, Regulus's eyes big, and bright, and so close.
They freeze for a minute—not speaking, not moving—Regulus is drunk but James has no idea what his excuse is. Eventually, Regulus drops his hand away from James's face, but he doesn't move back.
"You were brilliant today," James breathes, he doesn't know why, he just suddenly feels the need to tell him. Needs him to know.
"Yeah?" Regulus asks softly.
"That feint? It was beautiful Reg, I mean it. I—God, watching you I just—how did I never notice before? How did I never notice what a fucking star you are?"
Regulus snorts. "Literally."
"Yeah," James says without the sarcasm. "Yeah, but you are though."
Something shifts in Regulus's expression that James doesn't understand. They're still so close, he can practically feel his breath.
"Guess you weren't looking," Regulus says eventually.
It takes a moment for James to realize what he's saying. "Maybe," he answers finally, "but I'm looking now."
In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. He didn't. But he should have.
The first thought he has when Regulus pushes forward, pressing their mouthes together, half crawling into James's lap, is that he's so warm. His mouth. His hands. For a boy who walks around like he's made of stone Regulus touches like the sun.
After that his brain sort of—short circuits.
He can't think.
He can't move.
He knows he should have seen this coming. But he didn't. He didn't. And for some reason that keeps him frozen. Everything overpowered by it.
I didn't know.
I didn't know this was what we were doing.
I didn't know this was who I was.
How could I not know?
How could I not know?
And then the heat is gone. James is shaking and dazed and staring up at Regulus who has jumped so far back he's on his feet, face broken open in horror as he looks down at James.
"I'm sorry," it's a word wrapped in all sorts of pain. "Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry I didn't—I didn't mean it." He's backing up towards the door, the pink flush gone from his cheeks. "I swear I didn't—" he chokes, he chokes and his voice hitches and James wants to make it better. Wants to fix this. Wants Regulus to never look like that ever again.
But he can't.
He can't.
How could he not know?
He flinches when the door slams and now that he's on his own he realizes that he isn't breathing right—too fast and too short. He's seen Moony like this before, like his body's forgotten how to breathe. James squeezes his eyes shut. Trying to get himself under control.
Breathe, he commands himself.
Breathe you idiot.
In and out.
In and out.
Fuck, something aches in his chest and he doesn't know what it's from but it hurts.
Breathe.
In and out.
In and out.
It's okay. This is okay. This can be okay.
It's just a kiss.
Except it isn't.
It's Sirius's brother.
It's Regulus Black.
It's a boy.
Breathe.
In and out.
In and out.
A boy who touches like the sun.
In and out.
In and
In and
In and
In—