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Chapter Text

1

A stack of files drops down on the desk in front of Regulus, jumping him out of his trance he was in while scrolling down the drug list to prescribe an epileptic with another round of prescription drugs.

"When are teenagers these days going to learn the consequences of not knowing their alcohol tolerance?" 

Without looking up from the computer, Regulus replies, "Having fun down in emergency?"

"It’s a Friday night, I should have braced myself for the herd of vile drunk individuals filling up the waiting room," Euphemia sighs, dropping down in the chair next to him with a huff. "How’s the ward going?"

"Standard so far," Regulus shrugs. "That chap you sent up a few hours ago? He’s already in theatre. Subarachnoid haemorrhage. I’ll be surprised if he makes it through the night if he’s lucky enough to actually make it off the table."

"I love your pessimist attitude this early in the morning, Regulus," Euphemia sighs, but when Regulus looks up, she’s smiling. "Who’s the chief surgeon on tonight?"

"Aldridge," Regulus grunts, swiping the printed prescription as it comes out of the printer and placing it straight in the patients file. "Hence why I’m here writing up yet another prescription for our favourite dementia patient instead of assisting on a juicy brain surgery."

"You’ll get another chance," Euphemia smiles. Then she frowns, "Penny lost their prescription again?"

"Indeed," Regulus kisses his teeth as he tosses the file on the desk and leans back in the chair. He glances up at the clock: 2:05AM. Six more hours to go and then he can crawl into his bed in his silly little apartment and sleep for the next four days.

"She’s sweet," Euphemia says through a wide yawn.

Regulus loves night shifts because of his natural nocturne body clock, but he has to applaud Euphemia, who is in her early 50’s and still puts herself down for equal amounts of night shifts as everyone else.

"She’s a pain in my ass," Regulus counters, and Euphemia barks a laugh loud enough that a trainee anaesthetist glances over their shoulder at them. 

"You love her really." 

"She was nice, up until me and Dorcas had to literally dance with her for 40 minutes the other night just to convince her to go back to her bay," Regulus rubs a hand down his face. 

"How many times have you had to rewrite her prescription for her recently?"

"This is the fourth time in two months," Regulus looks at her, instantly recognising the calculating and suspicious look on her face. "Don’t worry, I’ve checked her bloods and urine each time, she hasn’t been overdosing. I’m going to contact social services in the morning because she needs more support at home. Her dementia is progressing too fast, she might even need to be moved to somewhere someone can look after her properly."

"No family?"

Regulus shakes her head. "None that are alive. I’ve asked and I’ve checked the records as well. Widowed at 35 and never had kids. The only family she had was her brother that lived in Australia, but he passed away three or so years ago."

"That’s sad."

Regulus shrugs a shoulder lazily, eyes down on the prescription as he scraps his signature, "That’s life."

Beside him, Euphemia scoffs, "If you weren’t like this when I was your mentor I’d be worried this job is turning you cold."

Regulus grins at her. "I’ll only get worse as my years of practice rank up."

"Or you’ll get softer."

"You wish, Doctor Potter."

Regulus has been a qualified neurologist doctor for just over 16 months now. Qualified at 22 years old, he was thrown face first into the world of working on the front lines of a busy neurology ward in the middle of London after four years at university. Regulus remembers being surprised when he applied for the course back over five years ago when he was 18 to find out it would only take four years to study and to qualify in a specified speciality, but when they started and the professors explained the course he’d chosen was different from other courses because they’d practically thrown seven years worth of studying into just four years. Regulus was expecting it to be intense, and it was. It was so hard sometimes that he was sure he was going to give up. Out of 50 students in his university class, only seven qualified into their chosen specialities. 

Regulus met Euphemia Potter during his third year placement on the neurology ward, back when as students, they were ping-ponging between different departments to soak all the information on every single injury and illness and disease possible. She became his official mentor when he chose neurology to be his speciality at the end of third year, and she became the first form of a mother-figure since Regulus cut ties with his own when he was 18. It wasn’t like Walburga was much of a mother to begin with anyways, so it took a while for Regulus to warm to Euphemia’s kindness around the workplace. She might have favoured him at some points, not that Regulus ever really understood why she took such a liking to him, but Regulus still pretends to take all the credit for his impeccable reputation as a young doctor. 

Since qualifying, the neurology ward has become somewhat of a second home to Regulus. Or more like, his own apartment has become his second home, considering he spends more than half of his life actually at work. It still mesmerises Regulus how quickly respect came when he put on the dark red scrubs and white coat. Instead of walking around in the pale blue scrubs that had STUDENT stitched on the back in huge white letters, he got to wear the same colour as those who are qualified. Wearing the same colours as people like Euphemia filled Regulus with a pride he hadn't ever felt before. 

Regulus loves his job. He loves the knowledge, the work, the unpredictability for those who are sick in different ways. He loves the buzz he gets when he figures out suspicious and difficult patients. 

Regulus doesn't know how he managed to slot into the ward like he's always belonged there. He knows he's not the easiest person to get along with, and he knows some people think he's harsh and rude to most people unless he knows them well enough (apart from patients, of course, although there are plenty Regulus would happily throttle). The students that come onto the ward  shadowing other nurses and staff members instantly seem scared of him. Euphemia says he just has the kind of face that intimidates people. Regulus knows she isn't wrong: the Black genes have that natural effect on people. 

Four months ago, it was Euphemia who pushed him towards studying to become a neurosurgeon. 

At first, Regulus declined the idea. He’d only been qualified a year, barely got his foot in the door of being a neuro doctor, and he will never admit that the idea of progressing so early into his career was absolutely terrifying to him. He listened to her though, all the while cringing listening to her gushing about his abilities and natural knack of medicine and neurology, but it’s times like now he sorely regrets it because Aldridge is the second chief of neurosurgery and absolutely despises Regulus. He hated Regulus even before he qualified, when back in his fourth year, Regulus showed the neurosurgeon up with a patient because he argued that Aldridge had misdiagnosed them and was going to perform a futile surgery for no reason. Regulus was right, which is why Aldridge hates him with a burning passion, and continues to hate him even after he’s qualified and been accepted into the neurosurgeon programme. 

"Doctor Black, can you sign these? They’re the discharge papers for room 450," the nurse, Alex, asks as she drops a file down on the balcony of the reception desk. 

"Only if you’re an angel and grab another coffee when you go down to the mess room," Regulus replies as he swipes the file and takes his pen out of the chest pocket of his scrubs.

Everyone on the ward are also aware of Regulus' slightly concerning caffeine addiction. It's often the way people get him to soften up by offering him lattes and free coffee. Alex is practically good at remembering about it.  

"Black with no sugar?"

"You ask every time and it never changes," he replies as he hands back the papers.

"Thank you. Nice to see you, Doctor Potter," Alex smiles.

"You too, Alex," Euphemia smiles back, and then Alex is jogging off.

"What are you doing up here anyways?" Regulus asks as he leans back in the swizzle chair. 

"The consultant took over for a little while so I could do some paperwork," Euphemia replies. "Figured I’d come up here were I won’t be disturbed and I can spend time with my favourite grumpy doctor."

"How kind," Regulus grunts, tilting his head. "This the paperwork that you haven’t started yet?"

Euphemia sighs. "Do you ever take a break?"

"Never have time," Regulus replies, and just as he finishes speaking, the phone console next to him rings. He side-glances the older doctor, a smug smirk twitching the corner of his lips. "See?"

He see’s the flicker of Euphemia’s eye roll before he’s spinning in the chair and snatching the phone off the holder.

"Doctor Black speaking."

"Reggie!"

Rolling his eyes, he replies, "What do you want, Bartemius?"

"Always such a pleasure to speak to, darling," Barty laughs. "I’m sending some scans up to you. We got a young lad sent to us that was complaining of chest pain but blood works have come back and we’re potentially looking at meningitis. Do me a favour and double check the CT scans and confirm for me?"

"Does your brain stop functioning after two in the morning?"

"Regulus, my darling, everyone’s brains stop functioning after two in the morning apart from yours," Barty replies. "Just do me the bloody favour and I’ll bring you a latte when I get my break."

"Alex might beat you to that. She’s already promised me coffee."

"Stop using the nurses and appreciate me wanting to come and see your sorry ass," Barty laughs. "Also, Alex makes a shit coffee."

"No one can mess up black coffee."

"That’s because having just black coffee is messed up already," Regulus can hear Barty’s eye roll through the phone. "You need some milk and sugar anyways, sweeten your morbid ass up."

"Go fuck yourself, Barty."

"Such vulgar language on the hospital phone!"

"Just send the scans over and get your ass down to wherever you manage to get lattes from at two in the morning," Regulus replies. "And no sugar, seriously!"

"Anything for my sweetie pie," Barty sing-songs, and his cackle is cut off when Regulus slams the phone down. 

"No one would ever believe you two are best friends," Euphemia muses. She’s got her files open now, fountain pen in hand. She looks amused as she glances at him from over the top of the papers.

Regulus rolls his eyes. Again. 

"He’s like a parasite," Regulus replies as he opens the scans that have been sent over on the computer. "As soon as he latches onto you, he never lets go."

"Lovely," Euphemia chuckles. "Barty’s assumption correct? We got a meningitis case coming up?"

Regulus looks at the scans for another moment. It’s small, but it is there, clear as day on the mans spine.

"Indeed," Regulus sighs. He phones Barty back and tells him to bring the patient up whenever they’re ready.

Within an hour, the young boy is on the ward with antibiotics going through an IV line and settled in one of the side rooms. Euphemia is gone by the time Regulus gets back, but it doesn’t matter because a nasty trauma patient is sent up from A&E that has Regulus’ hands tied with CT scans and MRI’s for the following two hours before he’s wheeling them into surgery. 

The rest of the shift passes in it’s orderly and jam-packed fashion. Barty never comes up with his latte, but Regulus figures cardiology got busy at some time during the last hours of the shift as it did for neurology. Barty was right though, Alex did make a shit black coffee, but Regulus is so used to them now that he drank it purely for the fuel of the caffeine instead of the taste.

Regulus is 40 minutes late handing over to Dorcas, but he doesn’t think she minds as when he finally makes his way back to the neurology reception desk she’s happily flirting with Mary.

"Sounds like a fun night," Dorcas muses once he’s finished giving her the rundown of the patients and schedule for the day. "Enjoy your four days off, Black. Anything fun planned?"

Regulus scoffs as he bands over his bleeper. "Coursework and wine are the only things on the agenda for the next 96 hours."

"I’m not even surprised," Dorcas laughs. 

Dorcas qualified a year before Regulus, and despite being in different training years they spent a lot of time together when they were both students on the neurology ward. Both with particularly hardened and cynical personalities, they have always gotten along like twin flames. Dorcas also smelled Regulus’ raging homosexuality from a mile off, and was actually the one who made him confident enough to admit it. Everyone seemed to know before he’d said it, of course, but Dorcas, being so openly lesbian in and out of the work place, helped him come to terms and break away from the shame of liking men that his parents had been shoving down his throat since he was old enough to know what sex was. 

As he’s walking down to the mess room to change out of his scrubs, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Pulling it out while dodging the traffic of wave of fresh staff coming in for the morning shift, he reads two texts from Barty.

Barty (08:04) breakfast round pandora’s? evan said she’s been up all night stress baking because she had a shit shift yesterday so we’ve got about 50 muffins each to eat through

Barty (08:52) running late again? dorcas won’t be happy

Rolling his eyes and ignoring the latest message, Regulus types out a reply.

Regulus (08:53) will there be blueberry muffins?

Barty (08:53) of course 

Barely three seconds later, another text comes through.

Barty (08:53) and pancakes!!

Regulus types out his reply as he walks into the ward changing room.

Regulus (08:54) say less. getting changed now, meet you down by the car

Regulus changes out of his scrubs and into his normal clothes. It’s September in London, and despite driving to the hospital since he’s now got a frequent wage to pay for a car instead of having to battle the public transport chaos before and after shifts, Regulus still refuses to wear his scrubs home like some members of staff. 

Just like he refuses to wear his own clothes at work like some other doctors. He likes wearing scrubs, likes having a uniform that he can take off at the end of the shift. He loves his job, and being a doctor is practically his whole lifestyle, but there is something about being able to take off a uniform that makes him feel like he’s leaving his workplace and going out into the real world. It was something Euphemia taught him back when she was his mentor: that there is a glowing importance to learning how to leave ones work and home life separate, and Regulus’ easiest way of doing that is by physically stripping it off when he finishes a shift. 

Plus, they don’t lie in medical school. Hospital scrubs are bloody comfortable.

Barty is leaning against the bonnet of his car when he makes it down there, two hospital cups in hand.

"A latte, your highness," Barty greets.

"Better late than never," Regulus grunts, and Barty flashes him a shit-eating grin as they climb in. 

Regulus met Barty in university. Regulus had started the course three weeks late due to swapping universities to escape his parents that were still in France. He was dormed with Barty, back then a savvy 19 year old who’d gone to university a year late because he was made to work with his father for a year before he finally admitted to his parents law wasn’t for him and that he wanted to be a doctor. Barty said it was only because of the respect the job beholds that he thinks his parents were so okay with him not following in his fathers business footsteps. Evan was their other dorm mate, same age as Regulus, 18 and fresh out of college wanting to be a paediatric nurse. 

Regulus doesn’t know how he managed to click with them so fast, considering Barty is an asshole to everyone and Evan was as stuck up and pretentious as Regulus was. All of them coming from old money and strict families where their childhoods were filled with standards and high-class dinners. Regulus was a loner as well, as he never had real friends before due to his parents unreasonable demands about who on the level of high society he could be associated with growing up. Regulus wasn’t under his mothers thumb anymore when he dropped out of law school in Scotland and trained himself down to London at 18 to get away from their talon claws of control over him, but he still found it hard to migrate into actually having friends instead of just having his fathers business associates for company. 

Living with Barty and Evan for four years made it almost impossible for them not to become friends though. When they spend every second of the day together apart from when they were showering, it was surprisingly easy for Regulus to become accustomed to them and actually enjoy their company. 

Five years after they met, and despite working on different wards in the hospital and no longer living together, they still spend a considerable amount of time together.

Barty and Regulus quickly bonded over their difficult families. Though Regulus hasn’t ever gone into much detail about his own, Barty was quick to spot the symptoms of a toxic home. Barty’s parents never physically hurt him, but they sure did keep him on an unreasonably tight leash growing up, which is why Barty was so wild during their first year at university. Regulus wouldn’t have been surprised if they were qualified for AA meetings by the time they went on summer holidays after surviving first year. Barty was open about his relationship with his father, or more lack of, if anything. Bartemius Senior was described to be the classic business man that always puts work before family, and despite Barty being a successful and qualified cardiology doctor, his fathers expectations still haven’t been met.

Barty’s father’s reaction to him qualifying was literally you could do better than just a doctor. 

Regulus is still surprised that Barty hasn’t held it against him that’s already studying to be a surgeon, but that’s what he loves about Barty. Despite his attitude to everyone, Barty is incredibly loyal to his friends and will protect anyone he loves to no end. So when Regulus admitted to him that he’s already studying to become a level up, Barty was nothing but supportive. He took the piss for a long time about Regulus being a smart-ass and a nerd, but the pride in his voice drowned out the snideness. It was meaningless teasing, and Regulus knows that.

Barty and Evan became the brothers Regulus lost since Sirius ran away when he was 15. Them and Pandora replaced the family that either abandoned him or drove him to literally cutting them off. Regulus hasn’t spoken to a single member of his family since he was 18, and yet five years on, he still doesn’t need them. 

"It’s my mothers birthday on Tuesday," Barty says after ten minutes of sitting through London traffic. Rain is hammering down on the windscreen, so Regulus can’t even begrudge sitting in London rush hour because if they’d got the trains, they would have be soaked to the bone before they even got to the station. 

"That’s come around fast," Regulus replies after a greedy gulp of coffee. "You going home to see them or are they coming here?"

"Are you kidding me? I’m going to them. No way am I giving my father anymore ammunition to slate my life by showing him my bullshit apartment," Barty scoffs. 

"Didn’t your dad give you the money to put the deposit down on the flat?" Regulus asks, despite already knowing the answer.

"You’re point?"

"You know my point. He gave you the money to buy a hot-shot flat anywhere in London, yet you chose to buy a dingy one just to spite him."

Barty shrugs, feigning innocence but Regulus can see the twitch of a smirk as he pointedly looks out the window.

"Maybe I wanted to see what it was like to live without luxury for once in my life."

"We lived in dorms for a year and then a student house for three more where we had to share one bathroom," Regulus replies. "Was that not lacking luxury for you?"

"You don’t get to comment on my life choices when you keep the last 18 of yours so secret," Barty chides.

Regulus replies with nothing but a silent nod. Barty is right, he supposes. None of them know where Regulus came from apart from he was born in London but lived in France for a while. He just thinks it’s easier to keep the rest of the details to himself.

"He already thinks my career is a fluke because I’ve 'settled for being a doctor'," Barty grumbles, naturally changing the subject.

"Your dad is a dick. You’ve been qualified for barely 16 months."

"You’re already training to be a surgeon, Regulus," Barty replies dryly.

"Yeah, well, I’m smart," Regulus shrugs a shoulder. "It’s a wonder you made it past second year if you ask me."

"Fuck off!"

Regulus grins, flashing his teeth. 

"When are you going down?"

Barty moans pitifully. "Train’s booked for Friday morning."

"It could be fun," Regulus tries, even though he knows it’s futile. Barty hates going home. Regulus supposes he would be the same if he still spoke to his parents.

"It’s a waste of holiday that’s what it is," Barty grumbles. He groans loudly, slumping down in the passenger seat dramatically. "Feel free to crash the car anytime now so I’m too injured to make the journey."

"Say you got food poisoning. Can’t get the train cos you’re shitting yourself every five minutes."

"Used that one last year, they won’t believe it again," Barty moans into his hands.

"Well, I’m out of ideas."

Barty glares at him. "You’re meant to be smart."

"I am, I just don’t want to waste brain function when it’s fun to see you suffer."

"You’re evil."

"You wouldn’t like me if I wasn’t."

Regulus indicates to get off the busy main roads of London and takes a backstreet short cuts to head towards Pandora’s.

Regulus met Pandora Fontayne in his first year of university too, except she wasn’t living on campus but instead at home and just commuting to campus for classes. She was taking a midwifery course, but Regulus and her first interacted in the library when she sat down at his table and said he looked lonely. She instantly declared herself to be his friend, and at first, Regulus was repulsed. She was far too bubbly and happy for Regulus to even fathom spending any decent amount of time with her. She bothered Regulus a lot in the library, always sitting with him. Regulus doesn’t know when he went from dreading her to adoring her, but it was a gradual switch so subtle that he doesn’t remember when he started to enjoy her company. Pandora wedged herself into his life and has refused to take leave ever since, but Regulus knows if she went away now, a gaping hole would be left in her place.

Pandora ended up taking two years out of studying when her mother became sick with breast cancer. Too far gone for chemotherapy, Pandora and her father looked after her at home. However, her father worked abroad a lot, so the caretaking was often left to Pandora and become so heavy that she took a sabbatical on her studies halfway through her second year. Her mother was lovely, and Regulus was more than devastated when she passed away last year. Mrs Fontayne was a tough cookie, easily the most wonderful woman he’s ever met, and he’d spent a lot of time round the Fontayne household helping out towards the end. Her mother held out a lot longer than the doctors destined her, which is why her death last January took a toll on the whole friendship group as well as Pandora.

So, Pandora continued her studying last September, after taking a year out to cope with the huge loss. She needed the time off, which is why she’s still training while everyone else has qualified. Hence, the stress-baking through the whole of a Saturday night.

Regulus doesn’t mind though, because he’s so tired he can’t even fathom the idea of cooking for himself right now and if Pandora’s breakfast wasn’t on offer, he would be going home to sleep on an empty stomach (which happens more often than not). 

Pandora lives in a flat in Islington. It’s small and shabby, but with the money she inherited from her mother she’s managed to snatch up a decent place for a student living in London. Plus, it’s not too far from the hospital or Regulus’ apartment in Kensington, so it’s never out of his way to go up after a night shift for some free breakfast and muffins. 

Finally parked up and letting themselves into the apartment, the two of them are swarmed with the small of fresh pancake batter and coffee.

"Honey, we’re home!" Barty calls as he kicks off his shoes.

"Kitchen!" Evan shouts back.

Walking into the kitchen, Regulus realises Evan wasn’t exaggerating when he told Barty that Pandora was stress baking. Every surface of the small kitchen is covered in trays of muffins, piles of pancakes, and an unnecessary amount of variety cupcakes.

"Fucking hell, Pan," Barty cackles. "What the fuck happened to cause this?"

Pandora is elbow deep in needing some pastry by the sink. Flour and batter is in her hair and on her face. Her pyjamas are covered in bits of uncooked food and crumbs. Barty drops down on a bar stool next to Evan, who is munching through a muffin, cheeks stuffed like a hamster. Barty instantly takes a pancake off Evan’s plate, shoving the entire thing in his mouth. Regulus passes them just as Evan starts squabbling and instead heads straight to Pandora.

"Morning," he greets, leaning on the side next to her. "Rough night?"

"I like to call it therapeutic," Pandora replies. She stops needing as looks at him, a warm smile forming on her face. "You look tired."

"Don’t all people after four night shifts?"

Pandora tilts her head slightly. "I made blueberry muffins. Just for you."

Regulus smiles. "That’s why you’re my favourite."

"Oi!" Barty cries from behind them. He’s got flour in his hair now, and Evan has cupcake icing in his eyebrows. "I thought I was your favourite?"

"You were six hours late giving me my latte," Regulus replies. "You’ve been demoted."

"What about me?" Evan gasps.

"You don’t bake me muffins or bring me coffee."

"Speaking of muffins, please start eating them," Pandora says, waving a flour and pastry covered wooden rolling pin over her shoulder. Regulus watches as bits of food fly off it and land on the surface of her kitchen counter and floor. "I’ve got 15 sausage rolls ready to come out of the oven in five minutes and I haven’t got anywhere to put them."

"You know, Panda, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to make us fat," Barty muses.

"Well, you can all do with more meat on your bones so stop whining and start eating," Pandora demands. She points at Regulus with a batter-covered finger, "Especially you."

Regulus blanches, leaning back to avoid getting assulted with food debris. "Why me?"

"Because your thighs are skinnier than my forearms," Pandora quips. "I’ve seen babies come out of the womb weighing more than you. Now sit down and eat a muffin."

"You’re mean when you stress bake," Regulus grumbles, but still, he takes a seat beside Barty and snatches a blueberry muffin off the stack.

It takes him a lot of self-control to not audibly moan when he takes his first bite. Pandora is a seriously good baker.

"So what happened yesterday?" Barty asks. Him and Evan have stopped having their food fight and are now both scoffing down pancakes drenched in a nauseating amount of syrup.

"I flunked cannulating a 20-something year old in front of her family, my mentor and a room full of doctors," Pandora says, and her voice is low with sadness. "The head midwife was there too, never been so embarrassed in my life. I took two attempts before the mother asked for someone more competent to try because I was hurting her child."

"What a bitch!" Barty grumbles. "Don’t worry, Pan. We’ve all been there. You wait till you’re qualified and trying to show a student how to do it and still can’t get the vein. That is embarrassing."

"Happen to you often, does it?" Regulus asks as he picks a chunk of muffin off and plops it in his mouth.

Barty rolls his eyes. "Not everyone is a natural at shoving needles into peoples veins, Black."

"I’m a natural at everything."

Barty knocks the muffin out of his hand and it smacks Pandora in the back of the head. Safe to say, Barty does not get to take home any of the homemade sausage rolls.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

2

Regulus remembers the day he formed the plan to finally escape his parents. Despite it being six years ago, when he had just turned 17, he remembers it like it happened only yesterday. 

Him and his parents been in France for two years by the time Regulus reached his breaking point. It had been two long, painful, soul-crushing years, but that was all the time it took to drain the last of the life out of Regulus. 

Regulus always thought his home life was as bad as it could get when Sirius was there, but when his older brother decided enough was enough and he was going to save himself, he left Regulus to burn in the fire he left behind. His parents were awful to the both of them when Sirius was there, fuelled by their own anger and antagonised by Sirius’ growing desire to break the mould they’d wanted them to form into, and when Sirius ran away, they turned all their anger and frustration to the single target left in their reach: Regulus. 

The pressure of being their son catapulted to the maximum. Their expectations and demands to be not only the son they’d desired, but now better because they wanted to prove to themselves that they created at least one perfect child. They failed with Sirius, and it was shoved clear as day in their faces because Sirius was brave enough to run away from it all, or at least, he’d been able to to as he had somewhere to run too. 

Regulus didn’t have that. He had no where to go, and after Sirius left, he had no one to confide in either. Life simply became worthless without his older brother around. Even if they didn’t get along all the time in the last year before Sirius left, he was the only person Regulus had in that house. The only person in his life that didn't treat him like an object to be moulded was his older brother, the only person who could comfort him and selflessly take the punches and hits when he messed up as a child was gone suddenly. 

Regulus saw a very dark outlook on life when they upped suddenly and moved to France. Home-schooled so he could never do was Sirius did and make friends to run away too, Regulus spent every second of his days trapped inside the four walls of the Black's new French home. Two years of mentally living in a dark hole, wishing everyday for life to end so he'd be out of his misery lead him to doing something so drastic that if Mr Kreacher, their butler, hadn't found him that gloomy Sunday morning two weeks after he turned 17, Sirius would have become an only child. 

But Mr Kreacher had found him. 

After those two years in France, it was Mr Kreacher, who had tried so hard to help keep Regulus afloat while the teenager was drowning in the eternal misery of his years in France alone with his parents. It was Mr Kreacher who was the reason that Regulus decided enough was enough, much like his brother had two years before. Mr Kreacher told him if he wanted to get out, if he wanted to live, the only way he was going to do that was by being brave. 

Regulus wasn't brave though, which is why he never ran after his brother when he came home to find Sirius had left without so much as a goodbye, or why he never stood up to his parents, or why he stopped fighting back to defend Sirius' honour after his brother finally made it out of the cruel household. 

Regulus wasn’t brave, but having Mr Kreacher collapse on the bathroom floor in front of him, frantically sewing up the self-made slashes on his wrists, proved to be enough to light a spark inside of Regulus. 

He realised that day that he needed to be brave, because if wasn't, his parents were one way or another going to kill him. 

A week after the 'incident', Regulus formulated his way of escape. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to do it like Sirius. He couldn't just run away. He didn't have anywhere to go, didn’t have anyone to run too that wouldn't send him straight back into his parents suffocating arms. He had to be smarter, more patient, more cunning. He had to allow for Walburga and Orion to practically hand him the key to unlock the way out. 

And he did exactly that. 

He fed into their desires for him to go to law school, to become a flawless business man like Orion, respected and feared and skilled enough to carry on the toxic family business. He played along with their games, feigned interest and ambition. He became the person they’d always wanted their son to be, all the while inside he was like a caged animal biding his time to finally be free. 

They didn't wave him off when he got the flight from Paris to Edinburg when he was 18 to start his university degree in law. Mr Kreacher took him to the airport, hugged him tight and told good luck. Mr Kreacher didn't know the details of what was about to happen, but Regulus knew that the older man was saying goodbye for good. Mr Kreacher knew something was going to change for Regulus. He knew Regulus wasn’t really going into to law to become a pre-version of his father, because Mr Kreacher more frequently checked in on Regulus after that night to make sure his pretend 'interest' in his parents goals for him were still only pretend. 

So, Regulus boarded the flight to Edinburg. He spent two weeks in the most expensive dorm room with people pretentious enough that it made to make Regulus want to slam his head through the dorm wall.

Two weeks in, he drew all the money he had in his bank out in cash, changed his name from Rasalas Arcturus Black to Regulus Arcturus Black, and sent a hand written letter to his mother and father, posting it all the way to France, to say that he doesn't want to be a lawyer, never did and never will, and that he's dropping out and not telling them where he's going. 

Regulus posted the letter from the train station the day he travelled down to London. The last memory he has in Edinburg was posting that letter and boarding the train with a whole new identity.

The money in Regulus’ bank didn’t last long once he started studying, but Barty, once he’d become suspicious enough of Regulus’ home life that he refused to ever talk about and the clear loneliness in Regulus’ attitude, told him about funds people apply for to help pay for tuition and accommodation. Regulus is going to be in debt for the next 20 years of his life, but it was more than worth it. 

To be honest, Regulus still surprised he managed to get away with it all. 

The first six months in London, he was more paranoid and scatty than a war soldier fresh from the battlefields with PTSD. Despite changing his first name, he still felt like every shadow and movement was his parents about to jump about at him. Anytime he was out of the dorm, alone or even with people, he spent more time looking over his shoulder than he did looking ahead. He changed his phone number every six weeks, and when people questioned him about it, he came up with as many reasonable excuses as possible. 

Barty was convinced that Regulus was hiding from the police, Evan became scarily convinced that Regulus was hiding from a stalker to the point that he was prepared to contact his father to get Regulus a lawyer ready. In a way, he was hiding from both. 

Walburga and Orion never came looking for him. Or at least, if they did, they never found him. Regulus wishes sometimes he was able to keep in contact with Mr Kreacher, but no matter how much he missed the man, any contact with anything in that house would have been a potential risk to lead his parents right to him.  

Regulus doesn’t know what it was inside him that decided he wanted to be a doctor. A part of him wanted to choose a career that would disappoint his parents if they ever found him, but the larger part of him figured the enormous waste of time that would have been. Not going into law and cutting all ties would be disappointing enough, he didn’t have to sabotage the next 10 years of his life as well. 

So, he chose to do something worth while. Regulus has always been smart, and he’s always enjoyed medicine and biology, so he figured a doctor was the best avenue to take the next part of his life down. 

Attending university was easily the best decision Regulus ever made. He was terrified of going back to London at first. To be surrounded with the daily reminder of being back in the city where he was brought up, where some of his most raw childhood trauma would be there for constant torment. Regulus also didn’t know where Sirius went when he ran away, and it crossed his mind more than once before he came back if he would one day run into his long-lost brother. But it’s been five years, so Regulus figures wherever Sirius went, he went far away enough that none of them, not even Regulus, would be able to bump into him. 

Adjusting to London took a while, the fresh paranoia, the brutal reminder of Grimmauld place still standing, and also getting used to living without his mother and fathers cruel and watchful eyes on him. 

If Regulus is honest, he wouldn’t have survived the last five years if it wasn’t for Barty, Evan and Pandora keeping him through. 

"Daydreaming again, Doctor Black?"

Regulus blinks. The neuro mess room comes into focussed view.

"Break over already?" He asks, rolling his head against the wall he’s sitting up against to look up. His ass has gone dead from sitting on the hard linoleum. 

Dorcas crouches down on the floor in front of him. Her pristine white trainers are stark against her deep navy blue scrubs. Regulus will always be confused why she choses to wear such a colour shoe inside a hospital where they spend a minimum of half the days hours surrounded by the risk of bodily fluids. 

No," she replies, "Just came to ask if you want to come out for a smoke with me."

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Does Marlene know you’re smoking again?"

"I’m not smoking again," Dorcas rolls her eyes, a hint of a smug smirk pulling at her lips. "I’m a social smoker. And if you’re there smoking too, it counts as social smoking."

"I only smoke when I’m drunk or stressed."

"Well, you’re always stressed, and when you’re not stressed, it’s normally because you’re drunk," Dorcas grins, "So, come on. You’re too posh to be sitting on the floor anyways."

She’s on her feet with a bounce, holding a hand out for Regulus. He takes it, allowing Dorcas to pull all his weight up. 

They grab a coffee on their way down to the area that all the staff go to smoke. 

It's empty, thankfully, because Regulus isn't in the mood for people today. Not that he's in the mood for people ever, but today less than normal. He's on his third shift and still has another two more, because he clearly doesn't know how to say no to Euphemia when they're short staffed and sacrificed one of his precious four days off to cover some staff that phoned in sick. 

Regulus leans against the barrier as Dorcas hands him a cigarette and the lighter. 

It's true that Regulus only smokes when he's stressed, so contrary to Dorcas' statement, isn't actually that often. He has an emergency pack in the glove box of his car for the end of super stressful and late running shifts. The only other time he smokes is when he's drunk, something Barty and Evan got him into during their partying years at university. 

The first inhale makes his throat feel hot, makes his heart race a little instantly. 

"You’re quiet today, little star," Dorcas says. 

Regulus sighs, taking a long drag. "Just having a quiet day."

Dorcas hums next to him, blowing out her own cloud of smoke. "If you ask me—"

"I’m not."

"— I’d say Doctor Black is in need of some action."

Regulus looks at her blankly. "Is that your professional diagnosis?"

"Always," Dorcas winks. "What happened to that guy the other week? The cute blonde who you went home with."

"We shagged," Regulus answers simply.

"Was it good?"

"Standard," Regulus nods. "Worth risking being kidnapped for drunkenly taking home a guy from a pub."

Dorcas laughs, shaking her head. "Not good enough to date though?"

"You know I don’t do that kind of stuff."

"Seriously, Black, when are you going to fall in love?"

Regulus scoffs. "I can barely get a full nights sleep, Meadows."

"Don’t be so cold, little star," Dorcas nudges him with her shoulder. "You deserve someone to love, and someone to love you."

"Have you been talking to Pandora?" Regulus raises his eyebrow at her. "Because that is exactly what she says at least twice a week when she takes a routine interest in my love life."

"You don’t have a love life."

Regulus nods. "Good, glad we agree so we can stop talking about it."

Dorcas groans, and Regulus has to hold back a smirk. He hates everyone meddling in his life, but he does sometimes feel warmed when they get a bit concerned. It’s nice, having people worry about him every once in a while. He’s making up for years of living without it, as long as they don’t get overbearing.

"I enjoy having no ties," Regulus shrugs, taking a toke and breathing it out. "Plus, if I got a boyfriend, you’d see less of me because I’d be sharing my already little amount of spare time with them and not with you. Is that what you want?"

Dorcas grins widely, "You’re right. You’re going to be single forever. You will never be able to put anyone before your job."

"Sounds about right."

His pager bleeps on his scrub trouser pocket. He looks down at it.

"You just enjoy being a little whore don’t you?" Dorcas laughs, flicking ash.

"Always a pleasure, Meadows," he replies, tossing the almost finished cigarette in the bucket and heading towards the doors.

"Hey!" She shouts, "You’ve got another 10 minutes of break!"

"Not according to this," Regulus jiggles the pager as he walks backwards towards the automatic doors. "They want me in 406."

"They need you more like," Dorcas teases. "Go get 'em, Doctor Black!"

Regulus salutes as he makes his way in. The elevator up to neurology takes a while as it’s on the 12th floor, but it wasn’t an SOS bleep, so he doesn’t worry about sprinting up the stairs to save time. 

His phone buzzes on its way up.

Barty (13:12) regulus if someone does not kill me in the next 5 minutes I fear I am going to commit murder

Regulus smiles. Barty is having a good time with his parents then. He juggles his coffee in one hand and types out a reply with the other.

Regulus (13:12) kill yourself kind of murder or kill your dad kind of murder?

Barty (13:13) whichever one is easiest

Barty (13:13) I swear to fuck man i’ve been here for less than a day and I can already feel my hair going grey

Regulus (13:13) don’t worry mate, your hair was going grey before you left

Barty’s reply buzzes in his pocket as he sends Regulus a multiple of texts after that, but the elevator doors slide open so he slides the phone in his pocket and steps out. Barty has been texting him non-stop since he arrived in Bath for his mothers birthday weekend the day before. Regulus has found his typed out commentary of the weekend immensely amusing. 

Making his way through the neurology ward, Regulus places his coffee cup down at the reception desk before he bursts through room 406.

Euphemia is standing beside a bed currently cradling a young lad who doesn't look like he can be any older than 16. He also looks like absolute crap, eyes sunken and skin a washed out white. Regulus has called time of death for people looking for healthy than this guy. 

"Regulus," Euphemia greets, smiling. 

Regulus nods. "Euphemia. Who have we got here today?"

She hands him the chart to look through as she begins the handover. 

"This is Connor Reynolds. 17 years old, was found at home today by his mother having a tonic clonic seizure. It went on for a total of seven minutes, by then she'd already phoned an ambulance and had him in the recovery position. She thought he'd finished after approximately seven minutes but apparently he never came around and in less than a minute he was having another tonic clonic. Paramedics said he stayed in status for 15 minutes on the way to the hospital. He's suffered with diagnosed epilepsy since he was seven, takes regular medication for it and has seizures between 2-3 days as routine. He's never had a seizure longer than four minutes, and never had a status fit as he has today."

Regulus nods. "Obs?"

"All normal. Pupils as well. Diazepam sent him under about 20 minutes ago down in emergency before they sent him up here."

"They got him up here quick," Regulus quickly scans over the observations the paramedics and A&E staff have recorded. "Blood works?" 

"Sent off, haven't come back yet."

"MRI? CT?"

"They should be coming through now."

Regulus looks up from the chart. The kid does looks bloody awful. He’s asleep, thankfully, for all their sakes. Wires are attached to his chest, a high-flow oxygen mask cradled on his face. His heartbeat is steady and stable, blood pressure reasonable for a teenager who’s suffered a hefty sounding status fit. Regulus looks at him closely, eyes zeroing in on the young lads bare feet poking out beneath the blue hospital blanket draped over his prone body.

"You done a urine sample?" Regulus asks.

Euphemia shakes her head. "Do you—"

Regulus cuts her off by stepping up and tilting the boys foot. On the base of his foot, between the flesh of his toes, are bruises and track marks. 

Euphemia face falls. The usual for fuck sake expression takes over face. "Brilliant."

"Drug user and epileptic," Regulus muses. "A concoction for carnage."

Euphemia sighs, nodding. "I'll request a urine sample. Let's take a look at the scans, see if we can find anything before we bring mum up here."

"Might be an idea to speak to him first about it, be a lot easier if we can get him to admit it," Regulus answers as they step out. "Having his mother in the room and fearing she's going to blow up because she already knows what he's done might make him reluctant to tell us exactly what he's been taking."

Euphemia nods. "Gain his trust before we allow his mother to rip into him for being a silly teenager?"

"Exactly. When did the status fit finish exactly?"

"Approximately 30 minutes after mother found him," Euphemia answers after she's asked one of the junior nurses to get them a urine sample from Connor. "She doesn't know how long it was going on before. She was at work all morning. He was on his own for hours."

Both of them take seat on the wheel desk chairs. 

"Does he have any history?" Regulus asks, flicking through the file again. 

Euphemia shakes her head as she grabs the scans from the folder and begins to place them on the light board behind them. 

"Just standard, what you'd expect from an epileptic."

Spinning around, arms crossed over his chest, Regulus looks at the scans. 

"Everything looks normal," he observes, chewing the end of his pen (a habit that he has never kicked since he started studying). 

Euphemia hums almost disappointedly. "They do appear as expected. Diagnosed epileptic, not surprised. We just wanted to rule out any potential bleeds to cause such a status fit."

"Head injuries and all that jazz," Regulus agrees. His phone buzzes twice in his pocket again. "I’m surprised the kid doesn’t have some kind of brain trauma though. Not from a fall, but a status fit lasting over 30 or 40 minutes? He’s lucky the only potential trauma he’s going to get after today is after his mother beats his ass for taking drugs."

Euphemia smiles beside him. "He’s a lucky boy. Stupid, perhaps, but lucky none the less. Can you check if the blood work has come back? I’m going to go and speak to the mother, maybe—" Euphemia cuts off, "Darling! What are you doing here?"

Regulus looks over his shoulder with curiosity. Euphemia’s tone just completely changed, but when he see’s her hugging a tall bloke on the other side of reception with the same dark hair as her, Regulus turns back to the computer.

His phone buzzes again. He finally caves and takes a look.

Barty (13:14) fuck you reg I am not going grey

Barty (13:16) oi! reply to me you fuckwit !!

Barty (13:38) he’s started up about the facial hair again

Barty (13:39) seriously I can NOT DO THIS

Barty (13:40) I haven’t shaved my face for two days because I’ve been working 50+ hour weeks in a hospital before I had to travel six hours to see these ungrateful cunts and he’s having a go at me for STUBBLE

Barty (13:45) regulus black someone is going to die tonight unless you drive here asap and get me away from them

Regulus smirks to himself. 

Regulus (13:47) you didn’t shave on purpose didn’t you?

Barty (13:48) why would I make this weekend harder than it already is????

Barty (13:48) you’re supposed to be the smart friend why are you making this more difficult for me

Regulus (13:49) you live to disappoint your father. bet you fifty you won’t grow it out like a yeti for his birthday in march

Barty (13:49) I bet you 50 you won’t make it through the rest of the weekend cos i’m coming back right now to whip your tiny ass

Regulus (13:49) so kinky. don’t do that to me you know i’m at work

Regulus picks up his coffee off the desk, putting his phone down long enough to check the blood works that ping through on the computer. Standard results, nothing showing any drugs in the boys system, but Regulus isn’t surprised about that. Routine blood tests don’t show any drugs lurking around, not unless they asked for a specific blood drug test - which Regulus strongly assumes is a no considering Euphemia didn’t notice his foot before the bloods were taken. 

His phone buzzes against the desk.

Barty (13:49) regulus i swear to god if you don’t pick me up tonight I will never speak to you again

Regulus (13:50) it was a pleasure knowing you then

"Blood works?"

Regulus looks up. Euphemia is still standing on the other side, the lad beside her. 

Regulus shakes his head. "Nothing to be suspicious about. Everything has come back normal. Whatever caused the status fit isn’t showing up in this."

"We thinking drugs?"

"I think they need to hurry up with that urine sample," Regulus mutters before he takes a large gulp of his rapidly cooling coffee. His eyes flit from Euphemia to the boy standing just over her shoulder. He’s got Euphemia’s gentle brown hair, curly and ridiculously messy. His hazel eyes are vibrant behind a set of round glasses as they linger on Regulus for a moment too long, and Regulus instantly knows who this is. 

"I’ll see you later, mum," the boy smiles, hugging Euphemia again. As he’s walking away, he turns around and shouts, "Enjoy the coffee. It’s Mrs Pettigrew’s finest!"

"Bye, love!" Euphemia beams, giving him a small wave. She rounds the desk again and sits down next to Regulus. 

"I’m guessing he’s one of yours," Regulus muses, eyes trained on the retreating back.

Euphemia is still slightly beaming as she leans back with a happy sigh. She’s got a flask of coffee in her hand now, courtesy of the tall lad. "He’s my boy. Well, one of my boys. He’s been away for four years, studying up in Scotland."

Regulus hums. He finishes the coffee and tosses the cardboard cup in the bin behind them. 

"I’m going to go and do the rounds," Regulus announces, standing up. "Have you had a chance to discharge 402?"

"No, not yet," Euphemia shakes her head. "Sorry, love. I was going to but then Connor came up. The papers are all signed, I think her husband is here too so just give them the green light and we can have the bed back."

"Aye captain," Regulus replies. "Page me when those urine samples come back."

The urine samples take far too long for a simple task. By the time they come back, Regulus has done another trauma call, four MRI scans, diagnosed someone for a surgery, discharged three people and had a very lengthy conversation with an elderly gentleman about literally every single detail of TIA's strokes so he knows what to look out for with his wife next time. Regulus should find it sweet how concerned the man was, but in reality, he found it incredibly annoying and he would have happily swapped places with Barty to avoid having to do it. 

The urine samples come back as positive for cocaine and ecstasy. Regulus volunteers to talk to the kid, asking Euphemia to give him 15 minutes before they tell mum. He's surprised when the kids admit it upfront, claiming he's struggling with school and all his friends do it so he gave it a try. That was six months ago. Regulus is more shocked it’s taken this long for the class A drugs to land his epileptic riddled ass in hospital. 

"You’re going to tell my mum, aren’t you?"

Regulus takes a deep breath. "You’re underage, we legally have no choice. Regardless of that, I’d be pushing you very much to telling your mother aways. You clearly are in the beginnings of what could turn into a very serious problem. I’m sure you’ve heard plenty in schools about the consequences of drug addiction?"

The boy nods.

"Good," Regulus flashes a smile, and then drops it as he says, "then you don’t need me to remind you that what you’re doing is stupid."

At that, the boy looks up, face strikes and anger slowly tightening his eyebrows. "What the fu—"

"Look, kid. I refuse to beat around the bush about this, drug use is not smart and drug use while you’re taking epilepsy medication? You don’t need to be a doctor to know what you have been doing is brainless," Regulus replies. "You’re not addicted yet. So, we’re going to tell your mother, and you’re going to listen to her scream and shout and cry and if that doesn’t break your heart, then listening to Doctor Potter going through the list of help you’re going to be signed up to stop this addiction will."

The boy shakes his head. "I’m not addicted."

"I don’t think you are," Regulus nods. "I think you’re a teenager with a shit epilepsy diagnosis and you more than anyone in your school, is desperate to fit in. So desperate, in fact, that you’re willing to throw your health and life down the drain before you even get to university. You can live with epilepsy, you’re living with epilepsy, but good luck living with a drug addiction."

"You don’t understand what it’s like."

"No, but I’ve seen it enough patients to know what you’ve lived with has been tough. You’ve been restricted in your living since you were eight years old, Connor. You can’t do what normal kids can do, can’t participate in certain things, have to jump through so many hoops to prove you qualify for things your friends will never have to do because they don’t live with your diagnosis. It’s shit, I won’t lie to you, and you have every right to be an angry lad about it. But what you’ve been doing, even your friends without epilepsy are harming themselves."

"Drugs are cool though."

"No, taking cocaine on weekends at parties and smoking pot in school is cool. Getting so addicted that you live on the streets, sell your body to buy shit drugs and inject yourself with literally anything possible to chase a high, is not cool. And if you keep going the way your going, you will end up like that."

"I’ll stop before that happens."

"You didn’t manage to stop before you almost killed yourself with brain damage," Regulus challenges, "so how do you know you’ll stop before you start giving up anything and everything for a hit?"

Connor is quiet for a long time, staring down at his lap. He woke up an hour ago, and after some more tests they have deemed him to have made it through the status fit without any brain damage. Whatever the kid thinks of them, he clearly has a guardian angel looking over him today.

Finally, Connor looks up.

"I get it," he murmurs, fingers picking at the blanket over his legs. "I just. . . can I see my mum please?"

Regulus nods. "Doctor Potter should be finished speaking to her now. I’ll let them know you’re ready to see her."

Connor nods so Regulus heads for the door.

"Doctor Black?"

Half way out, Regulus stops and looks over his shoulder.

Connor licks his lips nervously. 

"Thank you," he says, voice small, childlike. 

Regulus smiles, nodding his head. "You’re welcome, Connor."

Regulus finishes an hour and a half late off the shift. He doesn’t get home till 9:50pm, and by then he’s dragging his feet up to his apartment. He barely has enough energy to feed his cat and shower, so instead of cooking dinner he munches on an apple and calls it a night.

Despite doing his degree for a year, and four years before that going to placements at the hospital as a student, Regulus never gets used to switching from day shifts to night shifts. It’s a horrific adjustment to ones natural body clockwork, but Regulus’ last two shifts on his run of five are night shifts, as often are his last two shifts on every stretch. He doesn’t do specific hours every time, but the standard of four shifts on, four days off stays the same, and Regulus more often than not cops at least one night on a run of shifts.

He sleeps through most of Saturday, waking up around three o’clock in the afternoon to his cat, Sylvester, curled up on the other side of his double bed, the cats black and bushy tail inches from his nose. His phone is filled with spam texts from Barty updating him on his second day in Bath, and reading them is more entertaining than watching TV as he drinks his first cup of coffee of the day. 

The Saturday night shift blurs into Sunday. Another 12 hour shift that stretched into 14 because he couldn’t walk away from the c-spine trauma case that came flying in at 6am. The guy was only 35 years old, driving to work on his motorcycle when he unfocused for just a second and ran a red light. It wasn’t hitting the car at 40 miles per hour that broke the third and forth vertebrae of his spine, but the force of him colliding with the edge of the pavement at the most unfortunate angle that shattered his quality of life into pieces. Only 35 years old and Regulus had to be the one to diagnose him to never be able to walk again. 

He ended that night shift with a very large pineapple flavoured gin and tonic at 11am on Sunday morning with only a breakfast croissant in his stomach. 

The Sunday night shift was easier. Or at least, less mentally draining than diagnosing a man with paralysis at the end of the shift. Euphemia and Dorcas aren’t on the ward with him, as their rotas aren’t exactly the same, but Evan is down in the children's department, so they meet at 3AM for their breaks in the paediatric mess room and laugh over Barty’s current torture at his parents house. Barty has been bombarding Evan with just as many texts as he has Regulus, but by 3AM he’s stopping replying to him so they assume the birthday celebrations have ended and Barty has managed to escape the wrath of his overbearing parents for the night. 

It’s the most unusual luck that Regulus manages to finish his last shift of five on time. He hands over at 8AM Monday morning, eyes blurry and body drove to the purest exhaustion he’s felt since he covered a manic two weeks back in August when he did a 90 hour week because he was the only doctor on neurology that didn’t catch the nasty summer flu that spread through the hospital like wild-fire. How he makes it home Monday morning without t-boning his car is a miracle he doesn’t wish to investigate. Instead, he crashes as soon as he gets in after throwing some cat food down for Sylvester. 

Regulus wakes up to tapping. 

It takes him a moment to realise that said tapping is something hitting him in the forehead. 

Grunting, he peels his eyes open only to flutter them closed again. The tapping continues, his forehead and nose scrunching as he moves his head away. He’s too tired to care about how someone has potentially broken into his apartment and instead of just breaking and entering, they’re subjecting Regulus to a kind of gentle but annoying torture before they kill him. Regulus does not care, expect for the fact that the poking of his forehead is pushing dreamland further and further out of reach. 

Managing to muster the strength in his feebly weak limbs, he reaches out suddenly and slaps at anything in front of him. His hand collides with something soft, and the sound of slapped skin rings out in the quiet, dark room.

"Ow!" They cry, voice loud and shrill. "You slapped me!"

Without opening his eyes, Regulus sighs loudly. He could recognise that voice in the middle of a coma.

"Barty," he croaks, voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing in my room?"

"I came back early to visit my favourite person," Barty replies cheerfully. The bed dips beside him, and Regulus knows his friend is now laying down beside him where he's curled up on his side. The tapping doesn’t resume, and Regulus is finally inching back towards slumber. 

"Are you going back to sleep?"

"Yes."

"You’re cute when your sleepy."

"Get out."

Barty laughs.

"So grumpy."

Regulus cracks open his eyes. The room is dark, but light still pours in from behind the black-out curtains, giving him enough light to be able to clearly see the face in front of his. Barty is literally inches from him, laying on top of the duvet and blankets in his day clothes. His face is split with a shit-eating grin, and Regulus is seconds away from slapping it right off his stupid head.

Glaring, Regulus asks, "What’s the time?"

Barty hums quizzically as he looks at the watch on his wrist.

"Just gone two o’clock in the afternoon."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Regulus whines shamelessly, scrunching his eyes shut. "You woke me up after I’ve barely had five hours sleep?"

"That’s a whole night sleep in Regulus hours!" Barty laughs.

"Get out," Regulus buries his face in his pillow. "Seriously, get the fuck out."

"But I missed you!"

"I don’t care, go bother someone else," his voice is muffled against the fabric of the expensive pillow.

"Nope!" Barty quips. He sounds so damn smug. "We’re going out for a super late brunch and then to get drunk. I have to drink enough to forget the last 48 hours." 

Without moving, Regulus snaps, "Barty, I just worked almost 65 hours in five days."

"Good idea, I’ll make coffee. You’re always nicer after coffee."

The bed moves as Barty climbs off. Footsteps retreat from Regulus and he knows Barty is going to the kitchen.

Regulus groans again. "Don’t use my expensive pods!"

Silence emerges him again. If he tries hard enough, Regulus reckons he could get back to sleep. Rolling over, he snuggles further under the duvet, cocooning himself in the heavy-tog cover. His head eyes fall shut again. 

Five hours. Barty gifted him only five hours after five long hospital shifts before he broke into his apartment and woke him up like a toddler prodding him in the forehead. Regulus could kill him, if only he could find the strength in his exhausted, sleep deprived muscles to move that fast.

Regulus is convinced he falls back into a light sleep, because when Barty’s loud voice rings through the flat again, it makes him jump and muscles tense up like he’s fallen. 

"Regulus!" Barty shouts the another room. "Have you fallen back to sleep again?"

Regulus refuses to answer. Maybe if he pretends to sleep, Barty will leave him alone long enough that he will actually be able to get back to sleep.

"Get up or your coffee will get cold, and then I won’t buy you brunch!"

Regulus wants to shout back that as it’s two o’clock in the afternoon it is no longer brunch time, but he doesn’t. He’s known Barty long enough to know his friend isn’t going to give up on this mission to drink away his sorrows.

Dragging himself out of bed, Regulus untwists the sweatshirt he slept in before he throws the covers back so his bed is relatively made. Shuffling into the kitchen, he rubs his eyes to try and get the grit of sleep out of them. He groans at the light that bleeds through the windows of the rest of his apartment. His bedroom was so beautifully dark and warm, perfect for sleeping. 

"There he is!" Barty beams, throwing his arms up. "The light of my life! The brightest star in the sky! He has arisen!"

Regulus blinks lethargically. He glares at Barty as he takes the coffee cup from his hands and drops down heavily on the bar stool.

"I will never stop loving your bed hair, Reggie-kins," Barty smiles sickly sweet, leaning on his elbows on Regulus’ kitchen island and cradling his face in the palms of his hands.

Regulus continues to glare over his coffee cup. 

"How did you get in?" He asks.

"Your spare key," Barty shrugs. "You shouldn’t keep it under your doormat, by the way, it’s a very obvious hiding place. Someone could break in super easily."

"Yeah," Regulus grumbles, sipping his coffee and quickly realising that Barty did use his fancy coffee pods. "You’ve made that clear enough."

"You know, you’re making me believe you’re not happy to see me."

"I’m not," Regulus replies easily. "You broke into my apartment, woke me up, dragged me out of bed and are now going to subject me to listen to you whine and bitch for hours on end about your parents."

Barty grabs his chest. "Reggie! You’re breaking my heart."

"Cry me a river."

"Drink your coffee, sugar plum. We’ve got reservations at Leaky in an hour and you, my beautiful friend, seriously need to shower."

"Can’t you subject someone else to this today?" Regulus rolls his eyes. "Pandora? Evan? A homeless man on the street?"

"Pandora has classes till five and then she’s going out for dinner with her dad because he’s home for the week, Evan is sleeping before his night shift so drinking is off the table for him, and while you smell on par with a homeless man right now, I would much rather bask in your glorious company instead," Barty grins. "Plus! A homeless man can’t afford his own drinks, and I may be filthy rich, but I draw the line at buying all the rounds for a whole night."

Regulus rolls his eyes, which only makes Barty cackle.

"You’re not going to let me get out of this, are you?"

"Absolutely not," Barty smiles. "We have lots of catching up to do."

"You were gone for three days and you spammed me with so many messages I felt like I was there with you," Regulus snaps dryly.

"I’m going to make you another coffee while you shower," Barty says as he takes the empty cup from Regulus’ hands. "You’re still being more mean than normal." 

Regulus does shower. He takes a long, hot stand under the spray, letting the warm water roll over him. When he gets out, Barty woof-whistles at him as he goes into his bedroom with the towel wrapped around his waist. Regulus throws him a middle finger over his shoulder and slams the bedroom door.

An hour and a half after Barty broke into his apartment, they’re on the train travelling towards the Leaky Cauldron - a place they discovered when they were students and have claimed as they’re regular ever since. Cafe and restaurant by day, bar and borderline club by night. Versatile, which is why Barty loves it so much. 

Once they’re seated and have ordered food and coffee, Regulus threads his hands together and leans back in the booth.

"Go on then," he says. "Catch me up on your traumatising weekend at your parents."

"You sure you're awake enough to take in what I'm about to say?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Just spit it out so you'll stop vibrating with annoying energy."

"Still cranky but not as mean as earlier," Barty states with a satisfied nod. 

Regulus eyes the clear tension in his friends shoulders. He’s playing it off as if it was funny, but Regulus knows deep down the weekend has taken its toll on Barty. He’s a stiff wall of agitated tension and burning desire to talk about what’s bothering him.

"Barty, talk and then we can drink. You said you wanted to drown your sorrows? So talk and then we can drink our body weight in tequila later."

Barty grins.

He rants for 40 minutes without stopping. Coffee arrives, then it’s drank, and Barty’s even talking as he’s munching through his food. His father started on him as soon as he arrived, calling him lazy for getting the train with other 'commoners' as he likes to call anyone who earns a salary smaller than £40,000 a year. He commented on Barty’s travel clothes, which Regulus has to laugh at that because he knows Barty definitely travelled down to Bath in sweats and a hoodie because he left so early in the morning and despite Barty being very pompous about his clothing and dressing to impress - much like Regulus and Evan - he definitely put no effort into getting a train in the early AM. His father apparently brought up his future a total of 14 times over the weekend, managing to squeeze in countless digs about how being a successful cardiology doctor should not be what Barty settles for. 

It reminds Regulus too much of his own parents. He doesn’t want to imagine what Walburga and Orion would say to him about his career. If there was anything certain about his parents, it’s that there was nothing Regulus or Sirius could ever do to please them. Even if Regulus was the most richest, smartest, successful person in the world, he knows his parents still wouldn’t be satisfied. Good thing they don’t know what Regulus has done since he disappeared from them five years ago, because he knows even him qualifying to train to be a neurosurgeon two years earlier than others, they would still think he could be doing better.

Barty does in fact pay for brunch, and Regulus’ first two coffees at the Leaky Cauldron. By four o’clock, Barty has switched them from lattes to beer and martinis. 

They don’t leave the Leaky Cauldron until gone midnight, and Regulus knows the hangover in the morning is going to catapult him into his own form of personal hell, but it’s okay. It’s worth it, because Barty needs this and as his friend, Regulus will sacrifice his liver for him.

That’s what friends do.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

3

Regulus’ four days off pass by quickly after his night out with Barty were they responsibly used alcohol therapy to revive Barty from weekend with his parents. Regulus spends Tuesday sleeping off the hangover and catching up on the much-needed sleep he didn’t get after his nightshift. Wednesday and Thursday he spends holed up in his flat studying for his exam in December. Barty, Evan and Pandora come round the Thursday evening when he refuses to go out due to be being back on shift Friday. Regulus only allows them in when Pandora holds up a large bag of takeaway Chinese. 

His first three shifts of four are day shifts. There’s no solid correlation as too if days or night shifts are more likely to overrun. Regulus just always assumes he won’t be leaving the hospital on time as it’s normally once in a blue moon he actually manages it. 

It’s a perks of being one of the top doctors on a busy neurology ward; people always want or need you even if your shift ends in a mere 10 minutes.

His third shift is a warm Sunday. It’s quiet, thankfully. They had a trauma come in first thing, and by the time noon comes around the patient is already under the knife in the operating room. 

Regulus’ favourite regular is in - a funny 23 year old called Derek with a learning disability that has helped keep his mind beautifully innocent and adolescent. The first time Regulus met Derek, he was still in his studies and training, and was absolutely terrified of looking after someone with such complex needs that Regulus hadn’t dealt with yet. Regulus had fallen in love with the guy when the second time he was admitted on one of his shifts, when Barty had come up to the ward to bring Regulus a sandwich while Regulus was taking Derek’s observations and Derek had called Barty the ugliest person he’s ever seen. Regulus has to excuse himself to quite literally collapse outside Derek’s room and laugh like he was on happy gas while Barty kicked him in the shins.

Derek’s mother is kind too, very patient with her son and the doctors that can rarely do anything for her son apart from monitor him after he has seizures because Derek likes to spit his medications out every now and then. 

All in all, the two are a pleasure to have in the ward. Despite it never being nice to see people become regulars, especially when it involves their brain not working as its pathologically meant too, but Derek is a torch of light in the ward when he’s in. 

Regulus also likes it when Derek calls him his favourite. Especially in front of Euphemia and Dorcas, as they say Regulus is too mean to be any patients favourite. It makes him feel incredibly smug, and he has no shame in hiding it.

His peaceful morning is shattered when his pager goes off in his pocket the same time that Dorcas comes jogging up to the reception desk where he’s sitting typing out the observations he took for Derek on the last ward round. 

"We’ve got a trauma coming in. They need us down in emergency when they bring him in," Dorcas states, slamming her palms on the desk top before making her way to the lift. Regulus follows her, both of them borderline running down the ward. She smacks the elevator button impatiently.

"What do we already know?" Regulus asks.

Very often when a trauma call is coming into the emergency department and they know it’s going to be a large spinal or brain injury they call down doctors from neurology so they have specialists to analyse and diagnose as quickly as possible.

"Male. 45 years old. Fell down the stairs at home. Suspected c-spine damage and head injury," Dorcas lists as they step into the elevator.

"That all?"

"That and he’s en-route fast so we need to get our asses down there ASAP. I’ve already paged Slughorn to keep an OR free. Paramedics are suspecting intracranial hepatoma as well as cervical fracture."

Regulus nods with a tired huff. "Fantastic."

"Good thing they’re got the dream team coming down, eh?" Dorcas smirks at him.

Regulus’ lips twitch. "Couldn’t have said it better myself."

Regulus and Dorcas are often too referred as the 'neurology dream team', much to Regulus' demise. They very often work together, and both enjoy working on trauma patients in their speciality. They seem to think on the same brain wave in complex situations and work very well in a duo. Calm and collected, they are very good at keeping stressful situations down to a minimum. 

The elevator dings on the ground floor. Stepping out, the mood in them shifts like a strike of thunder cutting through a sky. Regulus has learnt to adjust to the atmosphere of the emergency pits and not to get immediately sucked into the panicking adrenaline it seems to be want to suffocate you with. 

Accident and emergency is often filled with intense and unnerved patients, people in pain, blood spotted blankets, nurses and students running around like headless chickens. It's very easy when someone isn't used to it to get dragged into the fervent heart-racing notions at keeping patients in resus stabilised, or the angered people who have waited for hours to stay calm, or to not be overwhelmed with fright at the sight of a gushing head wound that isn't usually that bad under the smeared pool of blood. 

It’s a past-passed process when trauma patients come in, and always sports a dauntingly large team that rush to take the handover from paramedics while they’re trying to get the patient on the hospital bed and attach enough wires and cords to give a mother a heart attack. 

In sync, Regulus and Dorcas grab gloves as they move, slipping them on and walking briskly towards resuscitation. Bursting through the double doors, the room is already filled and overcrowded with nurses and consultants. The paramedics have just wheeled the man in, laying flat on the stretcher up to the bed. Regulus and Dorcas don’t hesitate to push through the swarm to stand next to the bed to help transfer the man over.

Five years ago, Regulus would have panicked at the sight of bloody gauze wrapped to a mans head and neck braces holding his neck straight. Now, Regulus has seen enough and learnt enough to know he has enough expertise and training that just the sight of blood and neck braces is no where near enough to make his heart race. 

Grabbing fistfuls of the sheet automatically, the paramedic on the head counts down from three. They lift and carefully, but also quickly, move the man over onto the hospital bed.

Regulus grabs the ECG leads as Dorcas grabs the blood pressure cuff, ready to start their own set of observations. 

"Ready for handover?" The paramedic asks.

Regulus nods. "Go for it."

"This is Mark Donald, 45 years old male. Tripped on the top stair of his home this morning and fell approximately 12 stairs to the ground floor where he landed on wooden flooring. Wife was home, didn’t see the fall but heard it and phone the ambulance immediately. Mark was conscious during and after the fall. Lost consciousness about five minutes out from hospital. GCS was 15 when we arrived, reduced to GCS 3 by the time of arrival at hospital. Physical assessment and presumed diagnosis on scene suggests towards C5, C6, and C7 damage. Large laceration to cranium of the skull, approximately nine centimetres long and estimated five centimetres deep. Mark could not identify any response to pain or pressure stimuli to lower extremities but responded to pressure on the arms, shoulders and chest. No previous medical history. Didn’t experience any cardiac episode before the fall."

"Observations?"

"Heart rate 120, BP 140 over 110, temperature 36.7 and sats 98. Strong radial and carotid pulse."

"Good. Pain management?"

"IV paracetamol 500 and 10 milligrams of morphine given over static intervals."

"And the wife?"

"She’s waiting outside."

Regulus nods, jotting down the new observations flashing up on the screen. "Good. Keep her there please until we have him stable and ready to move."

He signs the handover form for the paramedic and turns back to Mark. He checks the carotid pulse again; its still has a steady rhythm but now considerably weak. 

"Blood pressure is now 85 over 50," Regulus reads when it flashes on the monitor. "Can someone get some IV fluids ready and can we get him on a ventilator, please."

He rounds the bed, coming to the mans head. Pealing away the bandages, Regulus looks at the wound. It’s nasty and deep, going to need stitches but it’s not the restoration of the outside of the wound that is concerning Regulus, it’s the damage the fall has done underneath. The wound has clotted, as long as they keep it sterile and clean it can wait until they’ve done further investigating.

Regulus peels back the mans eyelids and checks his pupils with the torch. They roll back quickly, but they roll back towards the right, which Regulus knows can be a sign of a brain bleed. 

"Secondary survey done," Dorcas says. "Superficial wounds and bruises but nothing else seems to be broken. Have you examined his head?"

"Wound will need stitches but has clotted for now," Regulus replies. "There are no physical abnormalities I can feel but his pupils are different sizes and rolling towards the right. Are obs stable?"

"Yeah," Dorcas nods. "Heart rate has come down, blood pressure is still low. Do you want to give fluids?"

"I want to confirm if he has a bleed before we do," Regulus replies. He turns to the nurse, "Can you book Mr Donald in for an X-ray and a CT scan please. We need to assess as soon as possible if he has an intracranial hepatoma and cervical fracture before we move any further. Until then, keep him stable and I want observations redone every 10 minutes."

A sea of nods is his response and once satisfied, he accepts the file from the senior nurse to read over the details again. 

It’s the rule of accident and emergency department that if someone with a head injury comes in with a GCS of less than 13 they need to be in some form of a X-ray or CT scan within an hour. Regulus doesn’t want to progress on with pumping the man with fluids to restore his blood pressure until the CT scan shows them if the man is actually bleeding in his brain, as fluids could risk it just getting worse due to thinning the blood. 

They get Mark bumped up the list to get into the X-ray scanner sooner. The results show that the paramedics hit the prognosis right on the nail: fractures in the C5, C6 and C7 vertebrae. There is no visible damage to the skull, so at least skull fractures is not on their list of difficulties to deal with. While Regulus is in the CT scanner office, he pages for Doctor Slughorn, the chief neurosurgeon and Regulus’ surgery mentor.

"What have we got?" Slughorn asks as he walks in.

Regulus likes Slughorn. He’s a strange man, slightly quirky, and looks like he’s strolled straight out of a 80’s hippy van. He walks around with an extremely strong smell of incense wafting off him, but he likes Regulus and lets him assist on surgeries when he’s on shift.  

Regulus looks over his shoulder. "Mark Donald. 45. Fall down wooden stairs at home. X-rays already told us he’s fractures C5, 6 and 7. No other breakages or injuries, but he has a seven by two centimetre gash on the frontal of his head."

"Skull fracture?" Slughorn asks as he comes to stand behind Regulus and eye the screens where the scans will show up any minute.

Regulus shakes his head. "No, Doc."

"Lucky man."

"Wouldn’t call having a broken neck makes him a lucky man."

"Better than a broken neck and a damaged skull," Slughorn smiles. "Treatment so far?"

"Paramedics gave him paracetamol and morphine while he had GCS 15 but by the time he got to emergency he was GCS 3 and hasn’t come up yet."

"Intracranial hepatoma?"

Regulus nods. "Just double checking now."

The CT scans come through and Regulus leans back in his chair. 

"Definitely a intracranial haemorrhage," Slughorn nods. He looks down at Regulus, "Thoughts?"

"It’s all localised around the temporal lobe," Regulus observes. "As he has no skull fractures but a severe trauma to his c-spine, would a surgical drain be a better option to start than a craniotomy?"

Slughorn smiles. "You read my mind, Doctor Black. Very good. I suggest we get on with it though, as Mr Donald does not need more time for his brain tissue to continue to bleed inside his skull. I’ll meet you in the OR. You can be my assistant for this one."

The procedure is simple and easy. Regulus enjoys being Slughorn’s assistant, as he hasn’t been involved in an incision and drainage surgery before. 

After, they get Mark Donald comfortable in a private room to reduce any risks of infections from being on the ward with other patients. Regulus is checking the fluid accumulating in the container when Dorcas brings Mrs Donald in.

"This is Doctor Black, Mark’s doctor for today," Dorcas introduces. "He’ll update you on Mark’s progress and give you a chance to ask any questions."

She leaves, and Mrs Donald stands by the door. She’s staring at her husband, face stricken and scared. She looks hesitant to come towards the bed, clutching her handbag to her chest. Regulus gives her a moment to take in all the wires and the tube sticking out of her husbands head.

When she looks at him, he smiles gently.

"I know it looks scary," he says. "I’m not sure what Doctor Meadows has told you, but your husband suffered a severe trauma to his skull and neck. X-rays showed fractures to his neck that we are going to need to monitor and when he wakes up, we will need to run a series of tests to assess his mobility and if any actions need to be taken further. The drain in his skull is currently draining the bleeding caused by his head injury during the fall. If all goes well, the tube and drain will be taken out in a few days and the bleed in his brain should be sorted."

"And if it isn’t?"

"Then we will reassess and potentially your husband will need further surgeries. We’ve started with the drain because it’s the least risky procedure and your husbands body has been through a lot in the last few hours. We didn’t want to put him through a whole surgery if we didn’t need to."

Mrs Donald nods, eyes drifting back to her husband. She still hasn’t moved from the doorway.

"You," Regulus pauses, his tone uncharacteristically soft, saved for when he's talking to patients that need the gentle reassurance. "You can come closer. He isn’t in any pain, he’s under anaesthesia at the moment to keep the brain as calm as possible while he’s undergoing the drain."

"He’s not in any pain?" She asks, voice small.

Regulus shakes his head. "We’re keeping him well medicated. Please, sit with him. You can hold his hand, just don’t move his head or neck of course. He needs to stay as still as possible until we can determine the damage from the fractures in his neck when he’s conscious."

Mrs Donald finally steps towards the bed. She looks very sad, mouth drawn down. 

She looks back at Regulus.

"Thank you," she says, flashing him a wobbly smile. "For everything you’ve done for him."

Regulus returns a smile. 

"He’s not out of the woods yet, and he has a long road to recovery. However, he’s made it this far, so I have plenty of faith in him."

Mrs Donald drops down in the chair, taking Mark’s hand. Tears are in her eyes, and she bites her lower lip.

"I’ll leave you with him," Regulus says as he heads to the door. "We’ll be coming in regularly to check the drain, so don’t be alarmed that we’re disturbing you often." 

"Thank you," she says again.

Regulus nods and leaves. Dorcas is by the reception desk with Euphemia, and she grins when he walks over.

"Hello, Mr Junior Surgeon. Neurology’s little star. Slughorn’s favourite student," Dorcas grins. "Proud of yourself, are we?"

"Please, the stuff we did today we can do in our sleep," Regulus scoffs, dropping down in the chair beside Euphemia. "The only thing I did that you didn't was watch Slughorn take a scalpel to his skull."

"You two did good today," Euphemia says, standing and picking up a file. "Consultant in emergency said they had no work to do for Mr Donald because the two of you did it all for them."

"Child’s play, right, Black?" Dorcas laughs. "Dream team."

Regulus winks. "Dream team."

Regulus clicks the computer on as Euphemia walks off to go into room 404. He needs to update Mark Donald's charts to add their most recent observations they took after his drainage surgery. 

"Oh, by the way," Dorcas leans over the desk. "It’s Marlene’s birthday next week and we’re all going out on Saturday night to get absolutely and appropriately drunk. You in?"

"I’m working I believe," Regulus replies, absentmindedly typing away. "Sorry, Cas."

"Don’t apologise to me, apologise to Marlene. She keeps asking me if you’re coming, and now you’ve singlehandedly ruined her birthday by not coming. You know you’re the funnest person to go out with!"

Regulus frowns, side-eyeing her. "How am I the funnest?"

"Because you know how to drink and despite being nothing of a lightweight, you are so funny when you peak your limit," Dorcas cackles like the witch she's turning out to be. "Which isn’t often, but when it happens, you turn into an absolute whore of a dancer and your French accent comes back."

"Wow, thank you so much," Regulus deadpans. He turns back to the computer. "Definitely not going to come now."

"It’s a compliment!" Dorcas laughs.

Regulus looks at her pointedly. "Bold of you to call me a whore and say it’s a compliment."

"Oh please," she rolls her eyes. "You have literally pulled every guy you set eyes on."

"It’s a charm you’ll never understand."

"No, I won’t, because I don’t like cock."

"I’ll send some flowers to Marlene to apologise if you stop calling me a whore and saying 'cock'."

"Fine. She likes roses."

"She has no taste. I’ll send her lilies." 

"So thoughtful," Dorcas muses. Her pager goes off and she groans, "Why me?"

"No rest for the wicked."

"Doesn’t make sense why you’re still sitting down then," Dorcas grumbles before she pushes off the desk top and stomps away.

"Bye, Meadows!"

He smirks at the middle finger thrown his way and turns back to the computer. 

"Hi."

Regulus looks up. A boy is standing in front of him. Well, not a boy. A man, really. A very cute man. Attractive, even. With dark skin and rich curly hair and a smile that would make Regulus’ knees weak if he wasn’t being interrupted at work.

This guy isn’t in scrubs, but instead a pair of jeans and a simple burgundy red t-shirt, which means he’s probably a relative of a patient about to bombard him with questions. In fact, no, he looks too happy to be visiting someone sick enough to be on neurology ward - which means he’s probably lost.

Regulus blinks. "Hello?" 

"You’re cute," the guy says, "How long have you worked here?"

"Long enough to be immune to flattery," Regulus replies dryly. "What do you want and who are you here to see?"

The guy laughs, but Regulus wasn’t trying to be funny. 

"My mum. She works here," the guy is still smiling. "Effie Potter."

"Ah," Regulus nods. It clicks now: he remembers the guy from last week, who came in to bring Euphemia coffee. Discarding with a sense of disinterest, Regulus turns back at the computer. "She’s in 404. She should be out in a minute."

"Perfect," he grins. "What’s your name?"

Regulus looks up, blinking tiredly. This guy is starting to grate his nerves. 

"Doctor Black."

"I meant your first name," the guy chuckles. "My name is James."

Regulus kisses his teeth in exasperation. "That’s great."

"You’re not very chatty, are you?"

Regulus sighs heavily, and shamelessly exaggeratedly. "What gave you that idea?"

"So, are you’re a doctor?" James asks, and when Regulus nods, he adds, "Why do you wear green scrubs?"

"Because they match my eyes."

James blinks. "Woah, really? You get to choose the colour?"

"No, you idiot," Regulus huffs. "It’s because I’m a junior surgeon."

"Woah. That’s cool!" James beams. "You’re very young to be training to be a surgeon though."

"You don’t know how old I am."

"Okay, fine, you look very young to be a surgeon in training."

Regulus rolls his eyes. 

"That was a compliment!" James yelps.

"I don’t care," Regulus drawls. "Leave me alone. Wait your mother over there."

"Are you this rude to your patients and visitors?"

"Only the annoying ones."

James laughs at that. Bloody moron. Regulus refuses to acknowledge the strange tingle in his spine at the sound. 

"James!" Euphemia’s voice calls out, and Regulus could sigh with delight. Finally, took her bloody time. "What are you doing here, love? I thought you and Peter were going out?"

"We are, but I wanted to bring you some food first," James replies as he holds up a brown paper bag. Regulus didn’t even notice that had been in his hands the whole time.

"You didn’t have to do that," Euphemia smiles, coming to stand next to him. She places the file down on the reception desk and takes the bag.

"Well," James shrugs, still smiling lopsidedly, "you know, hospital food sucks."

"That it does," Euphemia laughs. She looks over at Regulus, and his face must be a beacon sign for annoyance because she smirks suddenly, "Have you been annoying Doctor Black while you’ve been waiting?"

"No!"

"Yes."

James grins at him before turning back Euphemia. "He’s lying, mum. We’ve just been talking."

Euphemia hums. "I see. Well, you can go for your break if you’d like."

Regulus nods in thanks and gets up to leave.

As he walks away, behind him James shouts out, "Lovely to meet you, uh. . ."

"Doctor Black," Regulus calls back as he heads for the elevator. 

He pulls out his phone, texting Evan to ask if he’s going on break anytime soon. 

Evan works as a paediatric nurse in the children’s part of the hospital, which is actually a different building but can be accessed through the general hospital. As soon as Regulus met Evan back at the beginning of their first year, he had an inkling Evan was going to be fantastic with children. He has the calming but playful aura about him that kids always love. 

Plus, the man has more patience in his little finger than anyone else has in their whole body. 

Evan (15:36) yeah man, in the cafeteria with lily now. want me to grab you something then meet you in the paeds mess?

Regulus (15:37) coffee please

Evan (15:38) of course your highness

Regulus makes his way to the ground floor then to the link between the two buildings. 

He forces his mind to stop replying the memory of James laughing because it was not cute or attractive. Regulus likes to have sex, of course he does, he's human and more importantly, he's a 23 year old. What Regulus doesn't like is relationships. He barely managed to accept friendships since coming back to London, because any kind of tie or dependency on people scares him more than his mother herself. People leave, it's in their nature and Regulus has had enough of that in his life time. His favourite cousin, his brother, his grandfather, he doesn't think he can handle anyone else. Everyone that claims to love him has either hurt him or left. That's why he's kept his immediate friendship group small. Why he is so cold and callous, so people aren't tempted to get close to him and give him the false sense of security just to leave him in the mud. 

So, Regulus only does sex, and he doesn't think Euphemia, who is his boss, will appreciate him using her son as a one-night stand. And as far as first impressions go, James Potter does not look like a one-night stand kind of guy. 

He is fit though, Regulus is proud enough to admit that. 

But he is not going to think about it. After all, he seems like the type who is far too happy for Regulus to stand to be around for long. Pandora is the only freakishly happy and bubbly person he can stand. 

Striding through the paediatric hospital, Regulus makes his way to the mess hall where him, Barty and Evan have spent many evenings and days huddled together on our breaks either bitching about staff when they were students or bitching about staff as now they're qualified doctors. It's therapeutic really, and if Regulus didn't get those opportunities to rip the people he works with and the patients that test his will to live to shreds behind their backs, then realistically he'd end up saying to their face - which is never ideal. Regulus only acts like an asshole to patients when he knows he's in the right, that way the superiors of the ward will just give him a stern look for being rude, not for being rude and wrong. 

"Hey, there's the prettiest doctor in the whole of London!" Evan cheers as he walks in. He's got an half eaten sandwich in his hand, and various snacks and treats bought from the hospital cafe on the table in front of him. 

Lily is sat beside him, on her phone and classily sipping on an open cup of tea. She smiles and nods at Regulus in greeting as he walks in. 

Regulus collapses down onto the chair with a heaved sigh. "Don't let Barty hear that, you might hurt his feelings."

Evan barks a laugh. "Barty already knows. It's public knowledge that you're the doctor that charms everyone with your stand-off broodiness but eye-catching assets."

"Eye-catching assets?" Regulus deadpans. 

"You're gorgeous, Black, and you know it," Evan states, as if it's a global known fact. "You more than know it, in fact. Even Lily agrees, and she likes women."

"Don't drag me into your flirting," Lily snaps, not looking up from her phone. Regulus doesn't doubt she's reading an E-book of some sort. It's something he shares with only Pandora and Lily, is the love for books and learning. Everyone else in Regulus' life would probably burn a book before they even contemplated reading it. 

Evan tuts at her. "It's not flirting if it's platonic."

Lily side eyes him, unimpressed. She has a fantastic resting bitch face. 

"It's still flirting."

Evan looks at her smugly, "What do you know about flirting?"

"Lots, actually," Lily replies. "When was the last time you got laid, Rosier?"

Evans smirk drops off his face very fast.

"I'm not answering that," he says. "When was the last time you got laid?"

"About seven hours ago," Lily replies without a missed beat. "Just before I left for work this morning."

"Vance?" Regulus asks. 

Lily nods. "Of course."

"You guys together yet?"

"Casual sex," Lily shrugs. 

"You disgust me," Evan groans, and Regulus smirks because he knows exactly what that translates from Evan as - 'you're getting more sex than me and I'm going to be mean about it'. 

Lily sips her drink delicately. "Jealous is an ugly emotion."

"Evan knows plenty about being ugly."

"Fuck off, Black."

Lily chuckles smugly and Regulus ducks his head to hide his smirk. 

Lily Evans is a diamond among stones. He met her through Evan, as she's also a paediatric nurse with Evan but she qualified the year before the three of them did. Regulus has also met Lily through Dorcas, though the two girls didn't study together because Lily attended university in Bournemouth, but she somehow knows of Marlene, Dorcas' girl friend, and all of a sudden Regulus found himself drinking porn-star martinis with Lily a year ago on a small hospital night out and have been sort of friends ever since. 

They're not close enough for Regulus to probably ever reach out to Lily on their own, but they do gravitate towards one another when they're drunk. Lily also gets along great with Pandora, which he's not surprised about because they're both the physical embodiment of kind and gentle till you cross them. Lily is just like Pandora in that sense - scary as hell when she's angry.  

"Did you get my coffee?" Regulus asks. 

"I did," Evan nods to the cup in his hand, "but I might not give it to you now as you've been so mean."

Regulus raises an unimpressed eyebrow. Evan signs dramatically and hands over the cup. 

"I grabbed you also sandwich," Evan adds, holding out a takeaway sandwich, "because I have no faith in you actually consuming anything today other than coffee unless someone makes you."

"Evan, I'm 23," Regulus deadpans. "I'm an adult."

"No, you're 23, a certified genius that, despite all his brains, forgets that food is needed to survive," Evan smiles kindly. "So shut up, say thank you, and eat your stupid sandwich."

Regulus only eats half the sandwich. James was right though, not that Regulus didn't already know, but hospital food really does suck.  

Regulus doesn't really know how he fell into living in Kensington. 

When they all finished studying and graduated, him, Barty and Evan were living in a student house in Greenwich. Barty and Evan's parents both paid for their first apartments as graduation presents and Regulus slept on Barty’s sofa for five months into working at the hospital so he could save enough money to put a deposit down on a flat. He didn't have his parents overflowing bank account to rely on anymore, so he had to save as much of his wages like a hoarder the first few months to make enough to impress the housing estate that he could hold down his rent payments. 

His apartment is a decent size, not as small as a hole in the wall but not as large as a studio. It's considerably open plan, with the kitchen and living room one big space but split with the bar keeping the kitchen it's own area. His bedroom is comfortably big enough to fit a double bed in, his wardrobe and a dressing table. The spare room he uses for studying, a mixture between a personal library and office. He has so many books they've overfilled into the living room, with stacks of books on the floor in mini mountains for easy grabbing when he finishes a book on the sofa and is too lazy to go into his office to get another one. 

Regulus knew when he was looking for places to live a year ago he didn't want to be on the ground floor, simply because he didn't fancy being woken up consistently by people coming in and out of the building entrance during the day when he was sleeping for night shifts. When he managed to find a three-storey house converted into three flats, he knew he’d found gold. His neighbour immediately downstairs is an elderly lady who lives alone and is so quiet that Regulus has had to check on her a few times she’s even still alive. She also travels to her children’s homes a lot, so very often Regulus doesn’t even have to worry about being too nosy to bother her. The couple on the ground floor are also deaf, which comes in handy when Regulus gets back from shifts late or ends up staying awake all night for nightshifts and knows noise is never going to bother them. 

The view from being on the top floor is unmatched, in Regulus’ opinion, but it’s nights like tonight when he’s crawling his way up three flights of stairs to get to his floor that he regrets slightly not finding somewhere on street level.

Unlocking the front door, he walks on tired legs into a dark apartment. It's gone 10, but he's mostly late because he had to pick up some food on the way home to make sure he doesn't allow himself to starve to death after tomorrows night shift. He hates eight o'clock shifts, but they're handy when going onto night shifts because he gets back late enough that he doesn't have to spend hours staying awake to make sure he's able to sleep during the day. 

He takes a long hot shower, soaking the tension out of his muscles. Sylvester is asleep on his bed when he gets out, stretched out like a tiny fluffy black blanket over his bedsheets. The cat eyes him as he drapes his towel over the rack. Regulus sighs, putting him some food down before shoving his own left over pasta from last night in the microwave. When it dings finished, he takes it to the lounge and collapses on the sofa. 

As he's switching from days to nights, he needs to stay up tonight to make sure he sleeps enough of tomorrow to survive a whole night awake. Sometimes, if the ward is quiet enough nurses and doctors can take extended breaks and find somewhere quiet to sleep, but Regulus is never successful at that. Very often he runs the night shifts, so taking the top dog off the floor for a two hour kip is often detrimental and ends with him being woken up and having to perform high intense assessments half asleep. 

He mindlessly puts on some reruns of British Bake Off, stretched out across the sofa as he slowly munches through the pasta. As soon as he's done and rests the bowl on the coffee table, then a weight jumps onto his chest. He curls his arm around Sylvester automatically as the cat curls onto him. 

"You alright, buddy?" Regulus asks. 

The cat doesn't answer, of course, but he does look at Regulus in response. Sylvester yawns, whole body shuddering as he lays his head down and uses Regulus as a human pillow. 

"Yeah, same here," Regulus murmurs, unconsciously running his hand down the cats spine through his dark fur. He lets out a deflating sigh, "Same here."

Regulus turns off around around four in the morning and wakes up at midday. A solid seven hours despite the wake up time is enough to carry him through the night. 

The shift has been calm so far - or as far as calm can go on the neurology ward in the centre of London. Neither Barty, Evan or Pandora are on shift, but Dorcas and Mary are on with him. He spends his break at 2AM lounging with them in the neuro mess room eating Cookie Crisp out of the box because none of them can be bothered to do anything about Dorcas forgetting to bring the milk to eat the cereal with. The girls get into a heated debate about irrational fears when Dorcas reveals her inability to touch cling-film without wanting to throw up. Regulus listens, amused as he sips on his coffee and just enjoys the time that bleeper on his scrubs is, for once, not beeping at him. 

Chaos resumes around 4AM down in emergency when a herd of drunken morons come in, all with busted heads and so shit-faced on alcohol that they start arguing with staff trying to stitch up their split foreheads. Regulus is called down and begrudgingly stitches a 24 year olds cheek back together while he slurs about his tragic love life that lead him to starting a bar fight. Regulus pointedly ignores him until when he’s done, he tells the guy his girlfriend dumping him did not constitute him to throwing the first punch to a bunch of random blokes - especially when the outcome lands him in A&E with 14 stitches in his face. The guy does not like his statement in the slightest, but Regulus doesn’t stay around long enough to hear his complaint.

Back up in neurology, Slughorn finds him when the older man starts his shift at seven o’clock and discusses the patient that came in at the start of the night has been scheduled for an emergency anterior cervical discectomy and fusion, which is a juicy major surgery involving removing a slipped disk in the neck. Regulus will forever be proud of how he manages to mask his glowing excitement when Slughorn asks him to be his assistant in the operation. Regulus doesn’t bat an eyelid about the fact he’s meant to be finishing his shift in less than an hour, because this is the best reason for him to run-over instead of looking after idiotic drunk people down in emergency like he’s sure Dorcas is going to end up suffering. 

Managing to keep himself to sound eager but calm, inside Regulus is vibrating with anticipation. He hasn’t had a neck surgery yet, and while brain surgery is the ultimate skill when it comes to neurosurgery, the neck and spine are more than interesting too.

Regulus is honoured with the usual routine of briefing the patient with the correct information about the surgery, making them away of the potential consequences and steps of recovery to come. He walks them through the process of what will happen while they’re under the knife and double checking medications, allergies and past medical history to make sure nothing has been missed or forgotten before they start. The patient, Mrs Wheeler, is calm and accepting considering they’re going in for major neck surgery at eight AM on a Monday morning. 

Mary is the ward anaesthetist , but has already left by the time they wheel Mrs Wheeler in, so Regulus obliges with doing the cannulating and anaesthetic procedure to get them started while the next anaesthetic on shift is still having hand over. Slughorn doesn’t watch Regulus over this, as it’s something he has become so accustomed to do that Regulus is sure he could do it in his sleep. 

The surgery, for Regulus especially, is incredible. He doesn’t get involved specifically, but it’s an unbeatable learning curve that even when he leaves his shift at 12 o’clock - four hours after he was meant to leave - his mind is so wired that he spends another 40 minutes just itting in his car in the parking lot reading up about the surgery and noting details about it to research later. 

When he doesn’t make it back to his flat until gone one in the afternoon, Regulus doesn’t bother with sleeping. He needs to switch back to a normal bedtime routine, so he figures going to sleep so late in the day would just ruin what could be. Instead, he quickly showers and finishes reading The Tobacconist before he hides himself away in the small office to research up on the ACDF surgery he helped Slughorn with. 

His phone buzzes when he’s on the last two pages. He takes his hand away from where its mindlessly twirling Sylvester’s tail between his fingers. It’s the group chat that was created when they were students and has unsurprisingly survived past graduation. 

Pandora (15:25) attention whores! fajita night tonight, 7 o’clock sharp and do not be late!

Barty (15:25) sounds like a plan pan

Evan (15:26) stop badly rhyming bartemius

Barty (15:26) bite me rosier

Regulus (15:27) does this fajita night involve you having the ingredients or are we all required to get things on the way?

Pandora (15:27) i have peppers

Regulus (15:27) just peppers?

Pandora (15:28) yes but they’re all different colours so it will look pretty :)

Regulus (15:28) not surprised

Barty (15:29) i already have chicken

Evan (15:30) i can grab a kit on the way over 

Regulus (15:30) i’ll bring the wine

Pandora (15:30) i’ll make up the spare room for you darling

Regulus (15:30) thank you 

Barty (15:30) go regulus bringing the essentials

Regulus (15:31) no wine for you

Barty (15:31) reggie :(

A private message from Barty comes through.

Barty (15:33) how much did you overrun last night?

Regulus (15:33) got home at 1

Barty (15:34) yikes. you slept?

Regulus (15:35) stupid question

Barty (15:35) you good to drive?

Regulus (15:36) always

Barty (15:37) perfect! have a nap now and i’ll be at yours for 630 :)

Regulus (15:38) counting down the minutes already

Barty (15:39) charmer

Regulus does have a nap, much to his discretion. The plan to stay awake works when he isn't required to go out during the evening and socialise. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up he’s got a crick in his neck from where it had slumped over the curve of the sofa arm. It’s just gone six, so he knows Barty will be there any minute as the older guy has a stellar habit of turning up early whenever he comes to Regulus apartment so he can raid his fridge and take advantage of his collection of coffee pods. 

There’s a knock on the door at 6:15.

"It’s open!" Regulus shouts from the kitchen.

The door swings open and Barty strolls in, a cocky smile already on his face. He’s dressed in one of his smart button downs and a pair of black skinny jeans and his famous leather jacket that Regulus loathes for personal reasons.

"Hello, my darling," Barty greets. "Only you could look this beautiful when you clearly just woke up from a nap that was not nearly as long as it should have been."

Regulus huffs, unimpressed. "I'm fine."

"You should get that tattooed on your forehead considering it’s your favourite lie."

"I’m not lying," Regulus replies. "Coffee?"

Barty scoffs, "Sure, and yes please. Why did you finish so late?"

"Got to assist an ACDF," Regulus replies as he slides over the mug he’s already made. 

Barty’s eyes widen comically. "No way! Dude, that’s—"

"Don’t call me dude."

"—fucking awesome!" Barty exclaims, face beaming. "Check you out, y’little surgeon prodigy."

Regulus fails to hide his smile. 

"Surgical brain drain and a ACFD in four days. Almost makes it sound like it was worth going in," Barty wiggles his eyebrows as he takes a greedy sip of coffee. 

"And what did you do on your days off?" Regulus asks. "Didn’t pester the cute girl in the coffee shop down from your apartment for two days straight I hope."

Barty rolls his eyes. "I didn’t but that wouldn’t matter because I don’t pester her anyways. She loves it when I go in."

"She loathes it more like," Regulus remarks. "The girl doesn’t look older than 16, Barty. It’s gross."

"She’s not sixteen," Barty rolls his eyes. "And it’s harmless flirting to get cheap coffee, sue me."

"And if she came on to you, you wouldn’t turn her down?"

"Well, that’s—"

"My point exactly."

"Fuck off. Get dressed, we need to go."

Regulus frowns. "It’s not even six-thirty?"

"Yes," Barty smiles, "and it will take you about an hour to decide what you want to wear, so better start now." 

"Coming from the person dressed like a motorbiker wanna-be."

"You are always so mean about the jacket," Barty pouts, actually pouts.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Because I hate it."

"I hate your attitude."

"You’re the one in my apartment."

"Because hating you brings me joy in life."

"You’re incredibly insufferable."

Regulus ends up dressing casual smart, in a simple black long sleeve turtle neck and black skinny’s and the ankles of the jeans tucked into a pair of black lace up boots, because Pandora’s text were clear code for this is their famous fajita night and everyone must make an effort as they always do. They don’t leave at six thirty, but they still make it for seven o’clock because as Barty likes to say, Regulus likes to drive his car like he stole it.

Regulus does not agree with that, but he also doesn’t enjoy driving behind slow people when he’s in danger of being met with Pandora’s wrath over them being late for fajita night. 

Regulus ends up cooking, which he should have expected as Pandora is the group baker. Ever since they learnt towards the end of first year that when he puts the time into actually cooking, Regulus is a very good chef. Since then, he became the groups resident chef.

By the end of the night, they’re all filled with food and drunk on wine. Evan and Barty are giggling like school girls about the hot nurse in emergency calling Severus Snape - a grumpy consultant in emergency that graduated a year before them - an 'incompetent greasy slop' because he couldn’t cannulate a dehydrated 80 year old. Evan and Barty continue to bring it up, despite neither of them also being able to cannulate the pensioner,

Regulus watches them from the other couch where him and Pandora are slumped into each other, half-empty wine glasses in hand.

"They bring this up at least once a month," Regulus murmurs, voice hushed.

Pandora smirks, sipping her wine. "I can’t believe they’re qualified to have responsibilities for vulnerable people."

"It’s a wonder the hospital is still standing sometimes." 

"They’re not going to be able to get the trains home tonight, are they?"

Regulus shakes his head. "Not a chance. You want to send them out to the public like that?"

"Absolutely not," Pandora chuckles. "Spare room?"

"Yeah. I’m not sharing a bed with either of them in this state."

"Not everyone can handle red wine like you, Black."

"Not everyone can handle anything like me."

Pandora scoffs, draining the last of her cup at the same time as Regulus. She stands up suddenly, "Right. Come on, you drunken egg rolls. Bed time."

"We can stay?" Barty gasps. His cheeks are flushed and glowing, smile so large it’s practically splitting his face.

"Spare room. Sort the blankets out yourselves and do not wake me up in the morning unless it’s with a vegan full English."

Evan mock salutes as Barty drags him up. They immediately go stumbling and snickering into the spare room, and Pandora is shaking her head fondly as she gathers the plates off the dining table.

Regulus is collecting the bottles of wine from the lounge when Pandora says, "How much do you want to bet they’re going to shag tonight?"

Regulus frowns. "Nothing. They won’t shag."

"Sure about that?"

"They may be drunk but they’re also both straight, and neither of them are the type to sleep with blokes just because they’re drunk and horny."

"Straight," Pandora echoes as she places the plates in the dishwasher. "Sure."

Regulus pauses from where he’s scrapping the leftovers in the bin. He looks up at her, "What?"

"Nothing."

"Pandora."

"I’m just saying that the way Evan looks at Barty is not the same look you give a friend." 

Regulus blinks, his brain short-circuited. "Pardon?"

Pandora chuckles, taking the plate out of his hands. "Reg, please, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You don’t recognise love-eyes, just fuck-me-eyes.

Regulus sputters, which only causes Pandora to laugh more.

"Come on, let’s go to bed."

"Wait—"

"I think you’ve had too much wine to comprehend what I’m trying to get at," Pandora giggles.

"You think Evan likes Barty?" Regulus murmurs, struck.

Pandora looks at him for a long moment. "Isn’t it obvious?"

"No!" Regulus throws his hands up. "It’s not— how do you— I don’t—"

"Regulus, seriously, you don’t see it?" She looks at him softly. 

"I see they're both always flirting with girls and sleeping with girls and talking about girls," Regulus replies. "Evan's never. . . he’s never said anything about. . ."

"Why would he?" Pandora shrugs. "Why would he say anything when Barty doesn’t look at him the same?"

Regulus gets that, at least. Well no, he doesn’t really get it, because Regulus has never felt that way about someone, let alone someone who doesn’t like you back.

"Don’t think about it too hard," Pandora squeezes his shoulder. "Pretend I didn’t say anything."

Regulus looks at her, defeated. "I just. . ."

"You’re so hopeless when it comes to love."

"I am not!" Regulus blanches.

She chuckles, "Oh, yes you are. Come on now, my hopeless romantic, bed time."

"Little spoon or big spoon?"

"I’ll be big spoon tonight, you look like you need a cuddle."

"I don’t—"

"Regulus."

He huffs.

"Fine."

— tbc.

Chapter Text

4

JAMES

Despite spending four years in Yorkshire, London hasn’t changed for James. The atmosphere of the busy capital city makes him feel alive, igniting a spark inside him that makes him feel like he’s a child again. It brings a glistening sparkle back into him, even when it is busy with pavement pedestrians or grid-locked with traffic. He loves it, because it’s home.

Growing up, James couldn’t imagine a world outside of London. He had everything he needed here: his parents, his friends, his life. Visiting his grandparents in the Scotland Potter Manor felt like a holiday across the ocean, but never once did he feel sad about going home.

James knows he’s incredibly lucky. He has both his parents, who are healthy and loving and kind. He has the best friends, one of which he’s lived with since they were both 16. He’s never been gravely sick, and the only time he’s been in hospital as a patient was when he broke his arm falling out of a tree when he was eight years old because he wanted to see if he could fly. 

He’s lucky, and he knows it. Which is why he tries to do all the good in the world to make other people feel lucky too.

And sometimes, buying people food and drink is the easiest way to do it.

Which is why he’s currently sitting on Remus’ sofa munching through a bag full of fresh pastries and drinking two steaming hot, gourmet-made, caramel lattes from Peter’s mums bakery. 

All the Marauders have keys to each others flats. It started when Remus and Sirius gave each other keys when they first got their own flats despite dating since they were 15. Since James has been in Yorkshire, he’s moved back in with Sirius as they lived together before he left. Upon hearing of the couple exchanging keys, as a joke, James and Peter gave each other keys to their apartments until Peter realised that meant him and Remus couldn’t hang out easily when Sirius and James were having infamous 'Potter family days', so then they were all exchanging keys with the promise that no one turned up unannounced unless they were accepting of the potential of walking into Remus and Sirius christening their furniture (the rule came in place after Peter made the grave mistake). 

"If you could be any pastry, what pastry would you be?"

Remus looks across at him. A beat passes. 

"What?"

"You heard me," James shrugs, motioning to his half-eaten almond croissant. "What pastry would you be if you could be any pastry?"

Remus stares at him for another moment. James stares back with full seriousness.

"A croissant," he says.

James scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Knew you’d say that."

"What?" Remus blanches, tone offended. "What is that supposed to mean? Croissants are a classic, timeless. They're simple but effective."

"They’re boring," James replies seriously. "Why don’t you want to be an eclair or a pain aux chocolate?"

"Because I like croissants."

"Plain butter ones or almond?"

Remus hums, "If I say butter, are you going to continue to look at me like I’m a boring old man?"

"You were reading a book when I turned up," James supplies. "It’s midday on a Wednesday, and you were spending your free time reading a book."

"Your point?" Remus shrugs. "I like reading. You know this."

"Old man motives," James nods in affirmation.

Remus laughs, shaking his head. "Shut up, you pain aux in my ass."

James gasps, clutching his chest.

"You wound me, Moony."

"It’s not like I could do a lot with my day anyways," Remus shrugs, "I was waiting for you to turn up to feed me before I go to the hospital."

"You’re going to the hospital?" James asks, heart picking up. 

"Yeah," Remus nods as he absent-mindedly picks apart his croissant. "The doctors have been messing about with my meds and I’m due a proper checkup anyways, so I booked an appointment at the hospital instead of the GP because they’re normally more efficient with this kind of stuff."

James met Remus on the first day of school when they were 11. The largest and oldest private school in London, Hogwarts was one of James’ favourite places as growing up. It was there that he met his three best friends and made some of his best memories.

He met Remus first, even if it was only by a few minutes before a tiny, chubby-cheeked Peter stumbled through the classroom door with so much excitement he practically landed in James’ lap. Before Peter, it had just been the two of them in the classroom at first, both having turned up early. Remus was shy, ducking his head as soon as James walked in, but James didn’t give him a chance to shy away, instantly introducing himself and cracking a joke about how Remus’ tie was done so much better than his. Then Peter came barrelling through, and then minutes later came Sirius. They’d sat there talking for twenty minutes before Remus pointed out classes had started and no other students or a teacher had turned up. 

Turns out, they’d been in the wrong classroom and arrived half an hour late to their first ever lesson by the time they eventually found where they were meant to be.

It kind of sealed the friendship though, and James has certainly never looked back since. 

"Can I come?" James blurts suddenly. 

Remus looks up in surprise. 

"You want to come to the hospital with me?"

"Yes."

Remus narrows his eyes. "You’re not going to spend the whole time annoying your mum, are you? It’s her work place, mate, she’s going to be busy and—"

"I’m not going to see my mum," James rolls his eyes. "I see her plenty. Plus, she’s not even working today."

"Then why do you want to come?"

Because there’s a cute doctor there I’ve been bringing coffee and sandwiches the last two weeks, James thinks. He can't say that though, because thats not the whole reason. He'd be going for Moony too. 

"Support?"

Remus raises a single eyebrow. "And the real reason?"

"That’s it!" James laughs nervously. "Support. Y’know. Being a good friend and that."

"You want to flirt with a nurse there, don’t you."

James scoffs, automatically correcting, "They’re not a nurse."

Remus’ cackle is so loud James opens his eyes in annoyance and mild-defeat.

"You’re unbelievable," Remus laughs, shaking his head. "So much for going to be supportive, huh?"

"Leave me alone," James grumbles, cheeks burning. He smiles suddenly, tilting his head in what he hopes is his best pleading expression, "So, I can come?"

"If you really want to sit in a boring hospital for hours with me while they take bloods and send me off with a shiny new prescription bag, then sure," Remus smirks, shrugging. "Your loss of a decent afternoon, Prongs."

James grins, giddy. "Great! What time?"

"One o’clock," Remus replies. He glances at the clock. "You’ve got an hour to choose an appropriate outfit and fix your hair to impress your crush."

"It’s not a crush."

"Sure," Remus smirks again. "Who’s the poor doctor you’re going to subject to your awful flirting today?"

"I will not be flirting!"

"Then why are you coming?"

"To get to know them," James shrugs. "And admire their intelligence and beauty from afar."

"That sounds very creepy."

"Shut up," James grumbles. "Not all of us can live happily ever after with their high school sweetheart."

Remus smiles smugly, eating the last of his croissant. 

James has spent plenty of time on neurology ward in the London hospital. His mother has worked there for 15 years now, so James has visited her many times and also been to the ward with Remus since they became friends back in Hogwarts. Lots of the staff and people who knew him since he was 10 years old have resigned and left, and most of the new staff that have joined in the last four years don’t know James since he’s spent three years in Yorkshire doing his studies to become a paramedic and then one year qualified on the road. 

He’s taking a year off from it now though, since Sirius has now qualified in his own art degree and moved back down to London to be with Remus, and James missed being home with everyone, so he came too. He'll apply for London Ambulance service soon, he doesn't doubt having lots of time off won't make him incredibly bored, but for now he's enjoying having time that isn't taken up with emergency calls and traumatic bloody car accidents. 

The place has changed since his mother started when he was 15. Of course, as medical science has developed so has the hospital, but the atmosphere is still the same familiar clinical setting. The nurse leads him and Remus to a bed on the ward, closing the curtains behind her with a gentle smile after letting them know the doctor will be in soon. Remus ditches his jacket as he situates himself stretched out on the bed, so James takes the chair next to him. 

 "Do you ever wonder what the person in the bed before you was like?" James asks.

Remus cringes, face scrunching up. "No, Prongs. I do not, and please don’t either."

"I was just saying," James shrugs. "I know they clean the beds and all, but imagine if someone who laid on this bed right before we came in was like covered in—"

"Stop, please," Remus sighs, eyes pinched shut. "If you’re going to be this annoying I will get security to kick you out."

James pouts. "Sorry, Moony. You nervous?"

"I always hate checkups," Remus murmurs, head falling back against the bed. "They’re never bad, just not fun. Suppose being in hospital is never fun though, is it?"

"Least they’re not making you wear a hospital gown," James replies.

"They will if they want to give me a scan."

James’ phone buzzes and he smiles when he reads the message.

"Peter sends his luck," he says. "He said his mum sends hugs and love to you too."

"They’re so soppy, those Pettigrews," Remus smiles softly. "Tell them I’m fine."

"Already am," James replies. "And of course you’re fine, you’re with me!"

Remus hums, shifting on the bed. The sheets shuffle underneath him. 

James is dashing another text to Sirius, who's messaged him to double check Remus is as fine as he says he is, when he hears the sound of the curtain moving. 

"Afternoon, Remus," they greet, "Just a check up today?"

"Yes," Remus nods. James looks up then, eyes zeroing in on the familiar emerald scrubs and dark head of hair. "Hi, Doc—"

"Doctor Black!" James cheers, warmth pooling in his stomach when he realises who it is standing at the end of the bed. 

The doctor looks up from where he was looking at the file in his hands, eyes piercing and sharp and directly at James. It’s the kind of gaze that if James wasn’t so taken already on the man, he would probably find it incredibly rude. 

"Hi, how are you?" James beams, and he knows he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat at the moment but he can’t help it. His heart feels like the sun in his chest, warm and large and glowing. 

The doctors eyes drift to Remus. "Friend of yours?"

"Afraid so," Remus smiles sheepishly. "He came today for. . . uh, moral support."

The doctor hums, dull and bored, and looks down at the chart again. 

James stares at the way his brown, almost black, curls fall in his eyes slightly, framing his face like a gentle dark halo. It’s hypnotic the way that his dark green scrubs stand stark against the white long sleeve he’s wearing underneath them. It makes his skin look pale, and even under the harsh clinical lights, he’s barely a shade above being washed out yet he still looks radiant. 

It’s like staring at a watercolour of dark with light. His black hair and forest scrubs harsh against his milky skin.

"Anything happened to leading to you having a checkup today or did you just fancy coming in and having some bloods taken?" Doctor Black asks, and as he looks up he flicks his head subtly so the curls bounce back. James feels his stomach swoop. 

Remus rubs the back of his neck. "I’ve had a few seizures since they changed my meds. The doctor said I probably needed a reassessment but they couldn’t see me for at least a few weeks."

The doctor nods, expression unchanging. "Okay. I’ll come take your numbers in a minute and order some bloods. It might lead to having some scans today if your bloods show up fine and we need to investigate further. Do you mind me asking why they changed your meds?"

"I got a rash on my legs."

"How long ago was this?"

"About four months," Remus replies. "They changed it straight away and I waited three months to see if the meds would work, but I still seem to be having seizures more than normal."

The doctor nods again, jotting down something on the chart quickly. 

James wants to reach out and pull gently on his hair. It looks darn so soft. How can someone's hair look that soft? He wants to ask what this man uses as his conditioner. He almost does, except the man speaks again and if James was standing, he'd go weak at the knees. 

"Sounds like they’ve done the right thing so far," he closes the folder and tucks it under his arm, swiftly tucking his pen into his breast pocket. "It might be that you’re on the wrong medicine or it could just be the wrong dose."

Remus smiles. "Thanks, Doc."

The doctor leaves as quickly as he came, not sparing a glance to James as he moves with the gracefulness of a ballerina but the confidence of a runway model. 

James sighs dreamily, looking at Remus. "Isn't he lovely?"

Remus just stares at him. "That is your crush?"

"What?" James reels back, gaping. "What's wrong with him?"

"I mean," Remus shrugs, staring at the space where the doctor stood for five minutes, "he's fit and all, I agree, but he’s quite mean."

"Is he your regular doctor?"

"Yeah," Remus nods. "Or at least, he has been for a year or so."

"But you always say your regular doc is the best!" James yelps.

"Yeah, because he’s the only person, besides from your mum, who doesn’t look at me with bloody pity every time I come in. But he stared at you like you just breathing has personally offended him."

James blushes, shrugging. "I liked it. He's got a hard exterior, that's all."

"Fuck sake," Remus whispers, dropping his face in his hands. 

"You can't deny as well he looks great in those scrubs," James grins. "Green is definitely his colour."

"You're so whipped," Remus groans, head still in his hands. "You don't even know this guy and you're already so whipped, Prongs."

"I know him!" James defends, and when Remus doesn’t reply, he adds, "I do!"

Remus laughs as he lifts his head. "How many times have you met him?"

James feigns thinking for a moment even though he knows the exact number of times he’s coincidentally come into contact with Doctor Black. How could he forget? Each time is a clear memory in his mind as if each have only just happened.

"I’ve accidentally bumped into him while I’ve been bringing my mum lunch about six times now," he admits.

Remus cocks his head to the side. "Accidentally?"

"I like to consider it fate."

"I think others would consider it stalking."

"It is not— I’m not stalking!" James sputters, feeling his cheeks burn. "He’s just very often on shift with mum and they work together so—"

"So you just so happen to always catch him at work?" Remus laughs. "Next thing you know you’re going to be bringing him lunch too."

James bites his lip.

"Oh," Remus murmurs, eyes growing wide. "Oh no. Prongs, please tell me you haven’t?"

He stays silent.

"James!" Remus gasps, gaping. "Prongs, that’s—. . . you— you bring him fucking lunch?"

"He looks hungry!" James whines. "He always looks so shocked and surprised and—"

"Yeah because a stranger is bringing him food at work!" Remus almost shouts. "Repeatedly! I might add!"

"Keep your voice down," James grumbles hastily, eyes darting to the closed curtain. "He might hear you!"

Remus chuckles darkly. "That is the least of your worries at the moment, mate. I think you should be focusing more on making sure you don’t get a bloody restraining order!"

"You’re so mean," James rolls his eyes. "Stop taking the piss and leave me to my wooing."

"Wooing?" Remus barks. "Prongs, do you even know if he likes b—"

He cuts himself off when the curtain swings back and a flash of dark green steps inside.

"Right," Doctor Black starts, placing Remus’ file down on the table at the end of the bed. "Ready?"

Remus nods, smiling. "Always."

James sits back in the chair, eyes stuck following the man as he steps around the bed to the wires and equipment attached to the pole on the bed. James feels transfixed at watching as the doctor swiftly wraps the blood pressure cuff around Remus’ arm. Within seconds, Remus is covered in small bits of equipment and wires and Black is staring at the machine. Wordlessly, the doctor scribbles down in the file again before he’s taking off the equipment as fast as he put it on.

"All good?" Remus asks.

Black nods. "Your numbers are fine. I’ll take some bloods now and get them sent off. Hopefully we won’t need to do scans today but I won’t make any promises."

"It’s okay, I don’t mind," Remus sighs. "I just want to get this sorted."

"I’m not surprised," the doctor smiles briefly, and James has to clenched his jaw to stop himself from gaping stupidly at how pretty he looks when he smiles. 

Doctor Black disappears out the curtain for a moment, and James glares at Remus as he looks at him smugly.

"Enjoying yourself?" Remus asks.

"Buggar off, Moony," James snaps, but it’s without heat because he is, in fact, having a very lovely time.

The curtain sweeps open again. Doctor Black places a handful of individually wrapped bits on the table before he peels on some blue gloves. 

James does not stare. He doesn’t. He’s just curious at the mans lovely hands.

"I finished reading that book you recommended by the way," Remus says.

"Before the Coffee Gets Cold?" Black asks, and when Remus nods, he adds, "Enjoy it?"

"I reread it four times," Remus admits, a small smile on his lips. "There’s a sequel out now. Have you read it?"

"I haven’t," Doctor Black says as he comes to stand by the bed. "You’ll have to read it and let me know if it’s any good."

"Might have to be the next check up if these meds work," Remus replies.

"It’ll be worth the wait, I’m sure. Right, you know the drill with this," Black says, unwrapping some bits. He arranges Remus’ arm palm up as he tightly wraps a rubber single-use tourniquet around above his elbow. He taps Remus’ inner forearm with the back of his fingers for a few moments before he’s reaching for a needle attached to a tube.

James cringes, and it must be obvious because the doctor looks up from where he’s bent over by Remus’ arm.

"Not good with needles?" He asks.

"Fine, thank you," James swallows. He’s actually indeed not very good with needles unless he's on shift and they're not going into his friends. He doesn't understand it either. He can put 20 cannulas into patients all day long when he's working as a paramedic without an eye twitch, but it's like something switches in his brain when he's not on shift and suddenly, all he can vision is the sight of the needle going into his friends veins. 

"You can leave, Prongs," Remus offers gently.

"I’ll be fine," James smiles. "It’ll be over in a second. I just won’t look."

"If you faint on the floor be reassured I will do nothing to help you back up."

"That’s not very doctor-y of you."

"My duty of care doesn’t stretch to those who can’t comprehend correct English language."

"You’re lovely, you know that?"

"You’re annoying," the doctor replies. "Now shut up."

Remus laughs loudly and James pouts. 

"That’s rude."

"Shut up," the doctor meets his eyes, "please."

James smiles, "Perfect. See? Lovely."

Doctor Black stares at him for a moment longer, expression bored and exasperated. He looks at Remus and says, "Sharp scratch."

James watches, mostly because he's suddenly hypnotised by the doctors bony, delicate hands hidden behind the vibrant blue latex gloves. He forgets to look away, transfixed, and Doctor Black does the process so quickly, almost impossibly well and James feels like he’s barely blinked before suddenly Moony's blood is rushing into a tiny vial. 

And then, as quick as it was applied, the doctor is detaching the tubes and covering the cannula swiftly with a white plaster. 

"All done."

James beams, smiling at the doctor as the other man writes on the labels of the tubes. Doctor Black rolls his eyes at James and then looks at Remus again, who now has a cannula taped and stuck down in his forearm. 

"You're very good at that," James says. "You must put anaesthetists to shame."

The doctor hums as he strips his gloves and tosses them in the waste bin.

"These shouldn’t take long," he says to Remus. "I’ll let you know as soon as they come back."

"Thank you," Remus replies, and then the pretty doctor is gone again. 

James looks at Remus, mouth open in surprise. "You recommend books to each other?"

Remus shrugs one shoulder. "He has good taste. When I spent the night here about six months ago he kept me company and we ended up talking about books. Why do you think I always go to the library after I’ve been in here?"

James blinks dumbly. If the man wasn’t lovely before, now he’s just straight up adorable.

"I'm going to go and see if I can find my mum," James announces, standing up. "Be back in a minute."

"You said your mum isn’t working today?" Remus frowns.

"Uh. . ." James scratches the back of his neck. Oops. "I was—"

"Prongs, don't you dare go and annoy that doctor!" Remus scowls. "The poor man is at work, leave him be and admire from afar!"

"I'm not going to annoy him," James scoffs, offended that Moony thinks he'll be annoying. He's never annoying. He's lovely, and so is Doctor Black. "I promise!"

"James," Remus warns, shifting on the bed as if he's a moment away from leaping up and tackling James down to stop him. "Prongs, I mean it. Don't—"

"Don't worry," James singsongs, hand on the curtain. "You just rest, darling."

"James, fuck sake!" Remus whines, but James isn't listening. He's moving through the closed sterile curtain and into the main area of the ward. 

Narrowly dodging a rushing nurse, James quickly strides towards the reception desk where he can already spot the head of dark perfect curls and a set of hunched green clothed shoulders. 

James runs a hasty hand through his hair, letting out a breath to ease the anticipation in his chest. 

Feigning carefreeness, James leans against the reception desk. 

"Hello, Doctor Black," he says. 

The doctor looks up, and James beams. 

The man truly is beautiful. Face structure as if chiselled from marble. Sharp cheek bones, strong pointed jaw, a delicate nose and hypnotic Cupid bow lips. 

It's his eyes that capture James the most. A watercolour mixture between grey and green, swirled together like a rain cloud. 

"Potter," the doctor sighs, eyes hooded as if he's incredibly bored. "Something I can help you with?"

"Yes," James grins. "Actually, I was—"

"Something to do with Remus, I hope," Doctor Black drawls, looking back down at the paperwork he's filling in. "Otherwise you have no other reason to be bothering me while I am working." 

James lets out a breath, steeling himself. "I was actually going to ask how you are."

Doctor Black looks up, blinking twice. 

"How I am?" He repeats slowly.

"Yes!" James replies. "How are you, Doctor Black?"

The man stares at him for another long moment, blinking slowly as if he's surprised. James wonders how many times people ask him this question. 

"Well, let's see," the doctor replies, smiling tightly. "I'm on the last shift of four. I'm running on at most a possible of four hours sleep and I still have another six hours of my shift left. One of the nurses stole my latte, I'm behind on paperwork because of a trauma case before you and your friend came in, two people have phoned in sick today so were understaffed and the chief on shift replacing your mum just got dragged down to emergency to cover them so I'm covering the ward up here. Oh! And I have an insolent man-child pestering me at my desk instead of staying with his sick friend." 

James stands in surprise. 

"Do you want me to get you a latte?"

Doctor Black groans, dropping his head in his hands.

"No, that’s—" he breaks off with a sigh, not lifting his head. "Is that really all you got from that whole thing?"

"I think thats the most words I’ve ever heard you say at once," James chuckles. 

"Please go annoy someone else."

"That’s it, I’m getting you a latte," James nods, pushing off the desk. "I’ll be back in five. Do you like any shots in it?"

"Vodka," the man grumbles into his hands.

James stops mid-step. "Did you. . . did you just make a joke?"

"Potter, I beg of you, please for fuck sake—"

"Going!" James laughs. "One latte and a snack coming up!"

Black lifts his head. He suddenly looks impossibly tired. "You don’t—"

"It’s fine!" James interrupts, stepping away. "I was going to get something for myself and Remus anyways."

The doctor huffs. "That’s clearly bullshit."

"Hey, we have to eat too?" James beams. "You got 10 minutes to finish your paperwork then I’m coming back to keep you company."

It’s only when he’s halfway down to the cafe in the elevator that James’ phone buzzes.

Remus (14:05) where have you gone? has dr black murdered you and stuffed your body in a freezer?

James (14:05) nope, still very much alive. i’m getting him a latte and a sandwich because he’s stressed :) want anything?

Remus (14:06) you are a dangerous level of whipped prongs i'm actually very concerned. stop motherhenning a grown man

James (14:06) i'm not motherhenning him!! he's overtired and someone stole his latte. i'm just being NICE!

Remus (14:07) you're being desperate

Remus (14:08) can i have a chai latte and a bacon roll pls :)

James (14:08) only if you stop teasing me about the cute doctor

Remus (14:09) i'm content with starving

The cue for the cafe takes long enough that James is away from the ward for closer to 20 minutes by the time he gets back up. 

As he approaches the reception desk, he see’s Doctor Black on the phone, a serious expression on his face. He normally looks like that, James has observed. Concentrated and calculating, eyes sharp and hair wild as if he anxiously runs his hands through it several times a day. James wouldn’t mind also running his hands through it.

The doctor doesn’t look up from where he’s resting on his elbows, one hand cradling the handset phone against his ear.

"Yeah, Jennings is ready for discharge. If you give me half an hour I’ll get the papers ready and help him organise transport then you can send your guy up. Can you send me over all his paperwork? And did you say it was C8 you think is damaged?" Doctor Black pauses as the person on the phone replies, his eyebrows slowly climbing up his forehead as his eyes scan something on the screen at the same time. "Yeah, they just come through now. It looks like the man squashed it in a fucking clamp. I’ve never seen one that badly shattered. What did you say he did again?" The doctor scoffs, "Fucking idiot. Another reason to forever put me off mountain biking. Okay, I’ll discharge Jennings now and let you know when he can come up. Thank you."

Doctor Black puts the phone down before swiftly typing something on the computer. Behind him, the printer whirls into life.

"Working hard as always, I see?" James smiles.

Doctor Black looks unimpressed, but he barely has time to acknowledge James before a nurse is coming up beside him and looking at Black.

"You paged, Doc?"

"Go on your break, Alex. We got a C8 trauma coming up in half an hour and I’ve got a wonderful feeling he’s going to need surgery," the brunette says. "So go eat something and re-caffinate yourself because it’s going to be all hands on deck as we’re three men down." 

The nurse, Alex, nods, "Got it, boss. Hello, James."

"Oh, hello," James smiles. When she’s walked off, he looks back at Doctor Black. "How does she know my name?"

"You have come in here six times in the last two weeks," the doctor replies as he snatches the paper that just came out of the printer. "People are starting to recognise you." 

"Oh," James murmurs. "That’s nice of them."

"It’s not a compliment. Your mother had to explain to a couple of staff the other day who you were so they didn’t get suspicious that you’re from psychiatric who keeps getting lost."

"Does that happen often?"

"More than it should," the doctor sighs, tiredly. Under the fluorescent light of the ward, his eyes look bruised. Purple half moons frame the underneath as physical signs of exhaustion. It makes James' chest clench and he is overwhelmed with the strong urge to wrap the man in a blanket and carry him to the nearest comfy bed. "We have a couple of regulars that like to come here and chat to the staff. One of them hits on your mother quite often."

"Ew," James grimaces. "Do they flirt with you too?"

"They do, but not as badly as you do."

"Do they also bring you lattes and sandwiches?" James grins, holding up the bag.

"No," the doctor replies. "One of them tried to give me a handjob once though."

"What the fuck?"

"Never a dull day on neuro," the man replies nonchalantly. Seemingly without thought, he takes a sip of the coffee James has put down. He pauses in putting it down, eyes snapping to the cup, and then up to James.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Caramel latte," James shrugs. "Like it?"

Black rolls his eyes, "What happened to people just enjoying the taste of coffee?"

"I figured you were the type of guy to pretend he doesn’t like sweet things to keep up the whole dark, brooding and intimidating thing going on, when on the inside, you’re really craving something sweet."

The doctor stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

"You don’t know me."

James blinks, smiling slowly. "No, I don’t, but am I wrong about the sweet thing?"

"Yes," Doctor Black replies without a beat. "Very wrong. I hate sweet things."

"Oh," James tries to stop his shoulders from slouching in defeat. "Sorry. Do you want me to go and get you a regular—"

"No," the man huffs, shaking his head. "Don’t be ridiculous. It’s. . . it’s tolerable."

James smiles, having a strong feeling he’s actually got the order and the assumption about the doctor correct.

"Tolerable is good enough, sometimes."

The doctor rolls his eyes again.

"Thank you for the coffee and food. Remus’ bloods should be coming through any minute so I’ll be in to see you both in a bit."

"Perfect!" James chirps, beaming. He makes his way back to Remus’ spot, sparing a glance over his shoulder to watch Doctor Black stand beside the bed of a middle aged woman.

Slipping through the curtain, James is thrumming with energy.

"Hello, my darling," he smiles at Remus, who’s still laying on the bed on his phone. "I got you a chai latte and bacon roll as to your order."

"Are you finished harassing the pretty doctor now?" Remus asks, taking the bag and placing his phone down.

"Only because he’s busy with other patients," James sighs happily as he sits down, taking a tentative sip of his own drink. "He said he’ll be in in a sec. Apparently your results should be coming through soon."

"Reckon you’re going to be able to contain your drooling while he’s talking to me?" Remus grins.

"If you keep on, I’m going to start reciting all the cringy memories of when you were pining over Pads at school," James grumbles around a mouthful of bacon roll.

Remus grimaces, "Well, there’s no need for that."

"Good. Pipe down then, lover boy."

Turns out, Remus’ bloods came back and Doctor Black has already decided what medication he wants to put Remus on, but to be on the safe side he’s organised for Remus to have a quick MRI just to cover his back. James stays in the cubicle while Remus is wheeled off in a chair to get changed and scanned. He texts Peter, scrolls through his phone, and is undoubtably bored by the time Remus is wheeled back in.

"All good?" James asks.

Remus nods. "Done, at least. Black said he’s happy with the scans and is sorting out the prescription now."

James smiles and squeezes his hand. "You alright?"

Remus shrugs a shoulder. He looks tired, worn out. James feels bad suddenly, because he’d forgotten in his excitement of seeing and speaking to Doctor Black that his friend was going through yet another medical hurdle in his life-long condition. 

Remus has had lots of checkups before. He’s been to hospital for way worse than a blood test and an MRI scan, but each time James knows it takes a toll on his friend. The check outs seem to emotionally wear him out more than the seizures themselves. It’s almost like a calm but cold reminder that even after twenty years of his diagnosis, he’s still suffering the effects of something programmed wrong in his brain. 

The first time James saw Remus’ epilepsy was before his condition was even revealed to the Marauders. They’d been friends for four weeks, and were playing on the field during lunch time at school. James remembers tagging Sirius, who instantly dove to chase Peter and ended up tackling him to the ground when they both tripped. James was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes when he heard a groan beside him. He’d only glanced over his shoulder, but when he did, his heart had dropped to his stomach.

James had never seen an epileptic seizure before that day. He thought Remus was dying when the boy collapsed on the floor, limbs locked, thrashing and making gurgling noises. James remembers crying, they all were by that point, screaming for help. The teachers had backed them off as soon as they arrived, crowding round Remus. When the movements stopped, one of the teachers scooped Remus up and took the rest of the boys into a classroom to explain Remus was sick, that he had an illness that caused him to frequently have seizures and that's what they'd witnessed on the school field. Remus was taken home after that, absent for the rest of the school day. James grilled his mother with questions that evening, scared for his friend.

James will never forget the sadness in Remus’ eyes two days later at school, when he told the three of them they didn’t need to be friends with someone like him if they didn’t want to. Of course, they’d all disagreed instantly, shutting down the idea because why wouldn’t they still want to be friends? It didn’t change the Moony they already knew and loved. Remus had cried, and then they all cried, bawling their eyes out before classes had even started. 

When James started studying to be a paramedic, he took great interest in seizures and epilepsy. He already knew a considerable amount with having a best friend who's suffered with it, and he's always made it a personal mission of his to take extra compassionate care when looking after those they go to who have had seizures. 

Remus' epilepsy is still hard, and James will never get used to seeing Remus like that, but it’s got easier to manage. They know what to do now, and they’ve seen them enough to know the do’s and do not’s during and after a seizure. They know Remus’ quirks and medication for when things go south, and when it’s time to panic or not. 

It’s still hard, and it will never be easy, but James and the others never make Remus feel like a burden for it. He’s their Moony, after all.

"Is Pads working this afternoon?" James asks.

Remus nods. "He said he’s going to try and get out early, but you know how it is. Whenever he wants to get out early, something always happens that leads him to working late. He's really busy with clients at the moment. Clearly everyone is London want to get new tattoos at the moment. He seems to always be drawing designs at the moment, so I can't really be mad."

"Want to come to mine this afternoon?" James asks. "We can have a Stephen King marathon and order a takeaway?"

Remus smiles. "Thanks, Prongs."

A nurse discharges Remus. James has to refrain from asking where Doctor Black is, but he figures the man is tied up in whatever trauma job he was talking about on the phone earlier. 

When they walk out, he sees the half eaten sandwich by the desk and the coffee cup how has in bold, clear letters written on it saying 'DR B’S DO NOT TOUCH'.

James walks out smiling, warmth blossoming in his chest even after Remus side eyes him and says he looks like a maniac. 

REGULUS

There is one hour left of Regulus' shift when Barty comes up to the ward. Regulus has just got back from having a 10 minute break when he needed some air after performing a gruelling hours worth of CPR on a 23 year old with a brain tumour and only had a newly qualified nurse to help. Safe to say, Regulus feels incredibly strung out by the time he shuffles back onto the ward at 5:05 in the evening. The only reason he's grateful he had a six o'clock start that morning is the stomach-warming realisation that at six o'clock he can rush through his handover and be done with the hospital for the next four days. 

Coffee in hand, because the one from James earlier did nothing to help ease the fatigue settled like a permanent fixture in his bones, Regulus returns to the reception desk to finish the notes he was supposed to be taking about the 23 year olds observations when the kid's heart decided it didn't fancy working properly anymore. He's sent the nurse home, because the poor girl didn't seem to feel any better after their debrief about the situation and insisted on being with Regulus when he gave his condolences to the family - which Regulus did not recommend considering she was so shaken up. After she admitted that was her first cardiac arrest she's witnessed, he told her to go home because she wasn't in the right state to stay on the ward anymore. She didn’t even try to argue with him, so he’s sure in his decision it was the right thing to do, even if it means they’re now four staff members down. 

Collapsing down in the chair, Regulus eyes the still half eaten sandwich on the desk from James earlier. Knowing he doesn't have the appetite to finish it anymore, he tosses it in the bin with a sigh and logs onto the computer. 

Regulus will never admit it, but he does rather enjoy it when James comes into the ward. Since the first time he spoke to Regulus, the man has come in at least five or six times since. Every time with the excuse he's coming to see Euphemia, but the last few times, he's brought double the coffees and food as usual and instantly given half to Regulus. 

Regulus does shamelessly enjoy free coffee, especially when it's being gifted by a pretty boy with glasses and ridiculous hair. 

James is just quite relentless. He's insistent on spending time with Regulus whenever he comes in, and even seems satisfied with just standing at the reception desk with him while Regulus works just so they can share each other's polar opposite company. 

Regulus also had no idea that Remus was friends with James, so that was quite the surprise when he found Potter sitting beside Remus this morning. 

Regulus has been Lupin's regular doctor ever since he qualified on the ward, and he’s one of the few young regulars that Regulus doesn’t mind coming in. For someone so young and having been dealt like a shit hand practically his whole life, Remus is refreshingly pleasant as a patient. Regulus is very good at not looking and treating people with floods of pity, mostly because he hates it when he gets it himself. So when Remus stayed for a observation night about six months ago and they got to chatting at three am about books, the older boy admitted Regulus was his favourite because he was one of the only doctors he’d ever had that doesn’t look at him like he’s a fragile flower that deserves a medal just for getting out of bed every morning. When Regulus had replied with sympathy is not always his forte, Remus had just laughed and said that’s what makes him feel like a human instead of a charity case. 

"Day dreaming again, Doctor?"

Regulus jolts slightly in surprise. He looks up from where his eyes had unfocused on the computer to be greeted with the smug and slap-worthy face of Barty.

"Evening, Bartemius," Regulus sighs. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"You look like crap, as always," Barty smiles. "Rough shift?"

"Isn’t it always?" Regulus rubs his eyes. "It actually hasn’t been too bad today, just wiped out from being understaffed."

"Your team up here is shocking," Barty says. "Do you ever have a shift fully staffed?"

"Doesn’t feel like it anymore," Regulus replies, sipping his drink. "What are you doing up here anyways?"

"I’m here, my tired little star friend, to tell you that you need to drink more coffee because tonight," the man pauses, smile growing, "we are going to out."

Regulus blinks slowly. "Out?"

"Out out!" Barty cheers. "Leaky Cauldron, baby! Evan and Pandora are off and have already said yes, and I bumped into Dorcas down in emergency and she said her, Marlene and Mary are in too." 

Regulus groans, dropping his head in his hands. "Barty—"

"No!" Barty shakes his head, interrupting him, "Nope! Nope! Do not try and get out of this, Black! You need a good night out, you need to drink your sorrows away and drown your never-ending misery in martinis. Do not deny yourself of this golden opportunity."

"Golden opportunity for what?" 

Barty grins wolfishly, almost crazed. 

"To get rat-arsed drunk in a club with your friends and prove to everyone, yet again, that Regulus Black is the best heavy-weight drinker in all of London."

"I’m not the best heavy-weight drinker in all of London," Regulus deadpans.

"Okay, fine, slight exaggeration," Barty rolls his eyes, "But you can drink Dorcas and Marlene under the table combined and that is a massive accomplishment for someone of your dainty size."

Regulus glares heatedly at him. "I’m not dainty."

"You, my beautiful friend, are dainty," Barty states. "But that’s okay! Because you’re going to come out tonight and have fun and it’s going to be worth every second of the hangover tomorrow."

"And if I said I’m too tired?"

"I’d firstly call you a liar," Barty holds a finger up, "because you don’t do 'too tired' for anything. And secondly, I’d tell you to stop being a boring pussy and come out with your friends." 

Regulus rolls his eyes. He knows he’s not going to get out of this and despite how tired he is, he does actually rather enjoy going to Leaky Cauldron and getting absolutely lashed with his work colleagues.

"Fine," he sighs. "What time?"

"Everyone is meeting at Leaky Cauldron at nine, which means me, Panda and Evan will be at yours to get ready at seven."

"Why are you guys getting ready at mine again?" Regulus asks. 

"Because you have the nicest apartment and Evan wants to raid your jewellery for something pretty to wear," Barty shrugs nonchalantly. "Oh, and Pandora said you need to do her eyeliner."

"Fine," Regulus grumbles again. "You guys can bring food then, because I don’t have anything in to feed myself let alone the three of you too."

"Well, that’s hardly a surprise," Barty scoffs. "You finish at six tonight, yeah?"

Regulus nods tiredly, "If all goes smoothly in the next 45 minutes, then yes."

It does, in fact, go smoothly and Regulus gets out a few minutes after six. He drops Barty off at his own apartment before heading back to his own. He takes a showers, just standing for a solid 10 minutes under the spray of hot water to try and ease the ache in his muscles from running the ward on his own on his last shift of four. 

Regulus tries his best to not let his mind wander as he’s shampooing his hair, but he can’t seem to stop his thoughts from trailing over and over again to James. Stupid Potter and his contagious smile and ridiculous round glasses and loud laugh that seems to make it feel like the world stops moving. 

When Regulus gets out, he feeds Sylvester and is drying his hair when he hears his front door open. 

"My beloved!" Barty sing-songs loudly. "We are here!"

Regulus tosses the towel on his bed and steps out of his room, sock-clad feet padding into the main room. 

"Do you guys ever knock?" He asks, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. 

"Nope!" Evan grins, placing a plastic bag that suspiciously clings when he puts it down on the kitchen counter. His blonde hair is slicked back as it always is, and he’s dressed up in a simple black long sleeve, black jeans and an obnoxious leather belt that Regulus is sure probably put a hefty dent in one of his pay checks when buying. "You should try locking your door sometimes."

"An unlocked front door does not mean you aren’t required to knock."

"You'd be suspicious if we started knocking," Pandora adds as she skips up to him and places a kiss on his cheek. "Hello, darling. You look ravishing, even in your pyjamas."

Regulus hums, eyeing the bag Evan put down. "What's in there?"

"Pre-drinks!" Barty cheers, throwing his hands up. "Like the good old days!"

"We're not 18 anymore, Barty," Regulus deadpans. "If we start drinking now you won't make it past 11."

"Challenge accepted," Barty chuckles as he grabs four glasses out of the cupboard. He’s wearing his stupid leather jacket again, tossed over the top of a white shirt that is a size too small so clings to his toned forearms. "Panda, go get changed and blow our minds with your stunning choice of outfit tonight. Me and Rosy will get the drinks ready." 

"And me?" Regulus asks, quirking an eyebrow as he eyes Barty’s overambitious pouring measurements.

"Get your hands steady so you can do my eye make up," Pandora answers.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "You seriously need to learn how to do eyeliner."

"I don’t need to," she shrugs. "I have you."

"Go!" Barty barks. "Get ready, amigos! We have drinks to be drank!"

Regulus rolls his eyes again and walks back into his room. He knows Pandora has followed him, even before he hears the door click shut gently behind him.

"What are you wearing tonight?’ Pandora asks as she places her bag down on the foot of the bed.

Regulus is already by the wardrobe. "Not sure yet."

"I vote the green shirt and black trousers," Pandora says as she strips off to her underwear and begins to slip on her dress. Regulus doesn’t even bat an eyelid - he’s seen Pandora in states of naked and half dressed a dozen times platonically during their university years to not be fazed by her standing in just pants and a bra a few feet away from him. 

"Tonight isn’t special enough for the green shirt," Regulus says.

"Oh, yes. I forgot," Pandora’s tone is teasing, "you only wear the green shirt when you want a shag."

"I do not!" Regulus blanches, snatching a navy and white striped shirt out and tossing it on the bed.

"Don’t be ashamed," Pandora laughs. "It’s true because it works every time. You always pull when wearing that green shirt and you know it."

Regulus rolls his eyes but he can feel the twitching pull at the corner of his lips. "It’s my version of a little black dress."

"It does make you look very sexy," Pandora hums approvingly. "I like the navy too, though."

Regulus settles for buttoning up the shirt low enough so the relaxed collar flashes a generous amount of his collarbones and a pair of black trousers. He slips on a multitude of silver rings on and his silver chain hanging round his neck. His hair is almost dry, falling in almost perfect curls around his face. If there is a feature Regulus takes the most pride in, it's definitely his hair. He will admit he's vain about his curls.

He settles with Pandora on the bed once she’s finished her face makeup and takes the eyeliner pen from her bag.

She stares at him for a moment, face soft and a small smile on her face. Her hand gently comes up to pluck at a curl, smile growing when it bounces back instantly.

"It’s getting long," she murmurs softly. "I reckon if you straighten it it’ll come past your shoulders now."

"It needs a cut," Regulus replies.

"I prefer it like this," she says. "It makes you looks softer."

Regulus rolls his eyes playfully. "Don’t move or you’ll get ink in your eye."

"Yes, sir."

He’s done one eye when the bedroom door opens. His eyes flick to see Evan at the door.

"Reg, my star, can I—"

"Take your pick, Rosy," Regulus replies, already knowing Evan is going to ask to borrow some silver to wear. "You know where it is."

"Angel!" Evan smiles, bouncing in the room and diving straight into raiding his jewellery collection.

"You know, Rosy, you could afford everything in that box and have your own," Pandora laughs. "You could afford it even before you graduate."

"Why would I do that when I can just borrow Reggie’s?" Evan grins as he clasps a necklace around his neck.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Am I just a source of favours and possessions to you people?"

"Yes," Barty answers, appearing in the doorway. "Rosy, come on. I poured us shots."

"Save some for us!" Pandora shouts as Evan and Barty go crashing out of the room. She rolls her eyes, "It’s like babysitting children."

"Can I do the other eye now?" Regulus huffs. "It’s going to ruin the look if you go out with one finished eye."

"Yes," Pandora giggles, "Please do."

Regulus sits back when he’s done. Looking between both eyes, he nods, satisfied.

"Drawn to perfection, Doctor Black?"

"Only to be worn by the radiant, midwife student Miss Fontayne."

Pandora giggles again, leaning to kiss him on the cheek again. She cups his face, eyes twinkling.

"Thank you, mon ange."

"Toujours, mon préféré," Regulus winks. 

"You’re going to break a heart one day with that French heritage," Pandora says as she climbs off the bed, adjusting her dress. 

"You’re just weak for the French language," Regulus replies.

"Most people are," Pandora retorts. "I wish I could understand more of it."

"You understand the best bits."

"I understand the pet names, more like."

"I could insult you instead if you'd rather."

"No, save that for Evan and Barty," Pandora winks. "It’s more funny that way."

How they manage to get into Leaky Cauldron is a mystery to Regulus. Pre-drinks, like it always used to, ended up turning into full blown drinking that led to Evan smashing a glass on Regulus’ kitchen floor and Barty almost falling face first down his flat stairs when they were going down to the taxi.

They find Dorcas and Marlene already seated in a booth, faces close and talking in each others ears. Dorcas notices them first.

"Hey! You made it!" She cheers, sliding away from Marlene and bouncing up. She throws her arms around Barty, and they’re almost the same height with the scarily high heels she’s in.

"Of course we did!" Barty replies, "And might I say, you both look ravishing."

"Of course we do, Crouch," Dorcas smirks, moving past him to give Pandora and Evan kisses on the cheeks.

"Surprise to see you, little star," she says to Regulus, "Crouch manage to convince you to come out after impressively running the ward for 12 hours?"

"You know what he’s like," Regulus replies. 

"Don’t listen to a word he says, Meadows!" Barty shouts from where he’s sat down next to Marlene. "He’s more than happy to be here to fuel his alcoholic needs!"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "You literally turned up at my apartment. I didn’t have much choice."

"Bless you, Black," Dorcas laughs, putting an arm around his shoulders. "It’s alright, you don’t look like you’ve come out after four hospital shifts in a row. You look good enough to eat."

"Thank you, I’d say the same about you if your heels didn’t make you taller than me."

"It’s not my fault you’re only five foot six."

"Five foot seven," Regulus corrects hotly.

Dorcas ruffles his hair, "Still a short ass."

Dorcas looks stunning, Regulus won’t lie, not that she doesn’t always look fabulous. In a pair of blue jeans and a black strap top that shows more boob than it hides, Regulus knows she’s going to be getting men and women combined coming up to her all night.

"Where’s Mary?" Pandora asks.

"At the bar," Dorcas replies.

"Good idea!" Barty says. "I’ll buy first round. What does everyone want?"

"Gin and tonic," Pandora says, sliding in the seats opposite Marlene. 

"Espresso martini," Regulus adds. 

Barty points at Evan.

"Whatever you get," Evan shrugs. 

"Perfect. Two beers, one g’n’t, one espresso martini and eight shots of tequila!" Barty grins. "Evan, come with me and help me carry the beverages."

Evan has barely taken a step before Barty grabs his hand and yanks him away into the crowd towards the bar. 

Regulus slides in next to Pandora as Dorcas returns beside Marlene. 

"McKinnon," Regulus nods in greeting. "How are we?"

"Fine thank you, Black," Marlene smiles. "How are you both?"

"Living the dream," Regulus replies. "And do everyone a favour and ask Pandora that question a few drinks in otherwise all you’re going to hear the ins and outs of the maternity ward for the next hour."

"Hey!" Pandora yelps, smacking him on the arm. "Have you forgot what it’s like being a student? You were just as bad."

"Have you forgot the number one rule of going out out? No hospital talk, and that includes bitching about your mentors and mean patients who didn’t approve of a young lady looking at their vaginas." 

Pandora rolls her eyes. "That happened one time."

"You taught me more about the female anatomy on that one night out than the whole of my educational history has combined."

"Must have been very informative considering posh-boy little star over here was home-schooled," Dorcas smirks.

"Yeah, and Regulus doesn’t need to know about female anatomy anyways," Marlene nods, winking at him.

Regulus flashes her a glare. "Not helpful, Marls."

She flashes a shit-eating grin as she takes a sip of her almost empty drink. 

"Reggie!" Someone shouts, and he turns in time to see Mary half-running half-walking towards the table, three glasses balanced her hands. She places them down before grabbing him roughly by the collar and pulling him up.

He laughs as she throws her arms around his neck.

"Hello, Mary. Lovely to see you too."

"It’s so nice to see you not in scrubs," she says as she pulls back, holding him by the shoulders. 

"I could say the same for you," Regulus replies. "Did you see Barty and Evan at the bar?"

"I did indeed. Barty already seems drunk."

"We started drinking at seven," Regulus nods. "It’s a miracle he even got in."

"You clearly need to catch up with him then, you seem far too sober," she smirks. "Good thing I heard him ordering tequila."

Regulus grimaces. "Yeah. Great."

"Oh, shut up," Mary smacks him on the arm. "You love tequila!"

Regulus rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest because he does, in fact and incredibly surprisingly, love tequila. Or at least, he likes it enough because he knows he can drink more of it than Barty and Evan combined, and it’s funny every time when they try to out-do him on every single hospital night out. 

"Panda!" Mary cheers, stepping round him. She slides next to Pandora, giving her hug tight enough to make Pandora squeak. 

Regulus sits down next to Dorcas, who instantly puts her arm around his shoulder, her other one linked with Marlene’s on her lap.

"How drunk is she?" Regulus asks hushed.

Dorcas chuckles into her drink next to him.

"Quite. We had pre-drinks too," she says. "Mary started on the shots. Never a good idea for her but always guarantees it’s going to be an amusing night out. We have a mission, by the way, and you’re now in on it."

"And what is that?"

"To find Mary a shag tonight. Man or woman, she doesn’t mind."

Regulus nods. "Got it. Get Mary a shag."

"Here’s your drinks, you sluts!" Barty suddenly appears, setting down four glasses, quickly followed by Evan with a tray of shots. The four of them pick them up, holding them up while Barty shouts, "To doctors, anaesthetists, and midwife students!"

Seven rounds of drinks and an uncountable amount of tequila shots later, and Regulus is laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes and he feels like his ribs are about to tear from his muscles.

Next to him, Dorcas is laughing so loud it’s almost drowning out the music of the club and Evan is moments away from falling off his chair in fits of giggles.

"You did what!" Marlene shrieks as she recovers from almost spitting out her drink.

"Don’t make me say it again!" Barty whines, dropping his head on the table with a painful thud.

"Why haven’t we heard about this before?" Mary cries. "We’ve known you three for two years and you have never mentioned this!"

"Truth or dare in university was brutal," Evan chuckles, straightening himself on the stool at the end of the table. "I still can’t believe you didn’t back out of it."

"It was Regulus’ fault!" Barty screams. "He was the one who dared me!"

Regulus shrugs, "You didn’t have to do it."

"The forfeit was to go to class the next day in Pandora’s mothers night-dress!" Barty exclaims. 

"Regulus, that was pure evil," Marlene laughs.

Regulus smiles proudly.

Pandora shakes her head at him, "Remind me to never play truth or dare with you people."

"What did your teacher say?"

"What do you think he said?" Barty shouts, flailing his hands. "I tried to give him a fucking lap dance! I had to go for a meeting with the course directors and plead my case that it was just a drunken mistake!" 

Dorcas throws her head back and howls. 

"The only reason they didn’t kick me out was because I was first year!" Barty adds. 

"Please tell me you got him back," Mary says, wiping under her eyes to catch the tears before they ruin her makeup.

"Skinny dip in the campus fountain."

Mary’s eyes widen as she stares at the table at Regulus. "Did you do that?"

Regulus shrugs again and takes a tentative sip of his drink. "All I’m going to say is that water was fucking cold. Not the ideal dare to get in the middle of January."

"You guys are doctors!" Marlene cries. "What would London hospital say if they had any idea what you’re like!"

"Hey!" Evan chides, "We don’t do that anymore!"

"Yeah," Barty nods, eyes hooded with lack of soberness. "We’re grown up now, thank you very much!"

"Speaking of being grown up, can everyone finish their drinks please because Lady Gaga is currently playing and it’s unacceptable that we are still sitting down," Pandora says.

Regulus looks at his mostly full glass of espresso martini and meets Evan’s eyes, who also has a full glass of rum and coke.They nod at each other, silently clinking their glasses together before chugging the whole things. It burns the back of Regulus’ throat, and he winces as he puts the glass down. He barely has a moment to control the spinning behind his eyes before Dorcas is grabbing him by the arm (he doesn’t remember when he ended up sitting in-between her and Marlene) and yanking him out of his seat. 

Dorcas practically drags him as she goes running into the crowd with impressive speed in her heels. They’re suddenly in the middle, a sea of bodies and humid air surrounding them. Pandora is screaming at the top of her lungs as Mary hugs Regulus from behind, arms loosely slung over his shoulders and all of them singing along to Alejandro. 

Regulus suddenly feels more drunk, the addictive atmosphere combining with the amount of liquor in his bloodstream. Mindlessly and easily, he sways his hips in time with Mary’s, holds his hands clasped with Pandora’s as they bellow out with all the power in their lungs.

Don't call my name

Don't call my name, Alejandro

I'm not your babe

I'm not your babe, Fernando

Don't wanna kiss, don't wanna touch

Just smoke my cigarette and hush

Don't call my name

Don't call my name, Roberto

He grinds with Mary teasingly. He spins with Pandora like they’re the only ones in the room. He jumps with Evan and Barty like they’re at a rave. Him and Dorcas sing Love Game with enough passion to give Lady Gaga a run for her money. He does more shots at the bar with Marlene. He slides back into the booth with Dorcas and Marlene to find Mary some eye candy to take home (they succeed with an attractive ginger girl who Mary seems besotted with the moment they start dancing like they’re characters out of dirty dancing). He makes out with a guy at the bar who buys him a drink, talks to them dirty in slurred French before swiping his free drink and making his way back to the dancing circle the rest have formed. 

He drunkenly kisses Dorcas and Marlene on the cheeks when they leave early, but it’s another hour before the rest of them stumble out. He skips ahead with Pandora, arms linked and screaming ABBA at the top of their lungs. 

They walk Pandora home first, then the three of them break apart with unsteady hugs and drunk laughs that echo in the sleeping city. 

It takes Regulus longer than normal to get home. He’s drank so much he can barely walk in a straight line and the few flights of stairs to his apartment feel like the Tour de France. He’s seeing double when he finally gets his keys in and falls through the door. 

When he lays down on the bed, he strips his clothes and tosses them on the floor. His body feels like it’s floating and the room is spinning but it doesn’t matter, because hospital nights out are the best. He knows he’ll regret it tomorrow, but at the moment his body feels on cloud nine.

Regulus’ phone buzzes on his nightstand, and he barks a drunken laugh when he reads the notification. 

Barty has changed the group chat name to 'lady gaga’s fan club’.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

5

"I need you to do me a favour."

Regulus openly and loudly sighs. Nothing good has ever come from anyone asking for a favour, especially when they’re asking him something at work. 

He's just finished cannulating a 17 year old girl who probably had the most extreme fear of needles he's come across in his years of training and since qualifying, and he's barely got two feet out the cubicle before Euphemia is stepping up to him. 

"Where you waiting for me?" He asks, stepping round her to put his already stripped off gloves in the waste bin. When Euphemia doesn't answer him, he turns around and admits quick defeat. "What's the favour then?"

"We've got a trainee coming to the ward this week," Euphemia starts, and Regulus already does not like where this is going. 

"We always have trainees in every week," Regulus retorts. "Why is this one so different?"

"He's second year, so he knows his basics but this is his first time on neurology," Euphemia says, but Regulus really knows that translates to he’s second year and therefore is going to either be incredibly cocky and a pain in the ass, or he’s going to so scared of messing up in his second year that he’s going to be entirely useless. Regulus doesn’t know which one he was, but judging by his general personality, he’s pretty sure he was the former.

"Please," Regulus drawls, "Tell me more. This sounds riveting."

Euphemia flashes him an unimpressed look. Regulus appreciates he’s being slightly cranky today. 

"He's meant to be shadowing me today, but they've just paged me up to maternity," Euphemia says.

Regulus crosses his arms over his chest and stares at her tiredly. "What does this have to do with me?"

The older woman sighs, running a hand to push her fringe off her forehead. It springs back, messy and untidy. He feels bad for a short nanosecond, because Euphemia looks stressed and the older woman rarely ever looks stressed, but then he realises that she's more than likely going to ask for more than just one favour now if she's going off the ward and he's the next in line to be the doctor in charge. 

"You're the best doctor on shift today," she says, and Regulus rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't be asking if I thought there was anyone here more suitable than you—"

"Flattery won't get you very far, Euphemia," Regulus deadpans. "If you are about to ask what I think you're going to ask, then please save us both from this awful ass-kissing—"

"I need you to run the ward and mentor my student today."

Regulus should have made a bet she was going to ask that, then at least he would have made some money as well as be thoroughly miserable. Despite only being qualified for 16 months and remembering very well and very recently what it was like to be a student on a busy London hospital ward, Regulus has absolutely no sympathy for those in his previous shoes. 

None at all. 

Literally none.

Regulus hates all doctor and nurse students that walk through that door and he has no shame in admitting it. They're all annoying, they're too eager, they try to run before they can walk and they ask too many stupid questions. 

Thankfully, because Regulus hasn’t been qualified for long enough and he’s also studying again himself, he isn’t given the personal responsibility of students that spend time on the ward. Not officially, anyways. He’s covered for senior staff before and even mentored one of Dorcas’ students six months ago for a stretch of shifts (it ended with the young girl crying in the mess room because Regulus pulled her to the side and said she should never promise a patient an outcome because nothing is promised in health care - which Regulus still stands by to this day that he was right, even if he had used harsh enough words to put him in the dog house with Euphemia). 

"I know you hate having a student, Regulus, but it’s only for today and you’d be doing me a huge favour," Euphemia pleads, speaking as if she could literally read his train of thought.

Regulus huffs. "Isn’t there someone else you can ask? You know I’m not good with—"

"You are great with students," Euphemia interrupts, tone stern and in-arguable. When Regulus raises an eyebrow, she rolls her eyes at him. "You’re mean but you’re fair. You’re a fantastic doctor and they look up to you for it. Plus, as much as you claim you hate them, you’re a damn hell kinder than someone of the doctors in this place to them."

Regulus scoffs. 

"How have you come to that glowing conclusion?"

"Because you’re one of the few that won’t embarrass a student in front of a room full of qualified staff," Euphemia smiles. "Even that time with Dorcas’ student, you still pulled her to one side before you made her cry."

"And that makes me good with students, does it?"

"It makes you different from the rest."

Euphemia is right: Regulus does make sure to never embarrass a student unless absolutely necessary. There is nothing worse than learning and being called out, having your confidence shattered and ego irreversibly bruised in front of a room full of qualified and skilled people. It happened to him many times when he was learning, and it’s one thing he promised himself to make sure he never did to anyone else. 

Regulus likes to be impressive, he likes to be good at what he does, but he refuses to believe belittling others when they’re trying in front of superior staff makes anyone feel better about themselves. It reminds him too much of his parents, and if there is one thing Regulus does not want to be, is to be like them.

He sighs, meeting her gaze again.

"What do they need you up in maternity for?" He asks.

"Epileptic young mother," she replies. "Lots of risks on the table, and they need someone from neurology there to be on hand if anything goes wrong with the mother."

Damn. That’s a pretty understandable excuse to go. 

Regulus groans, rubbing a hand down his face. He knows he’s not going to get out of this, and even if he argued till his throat was raw and he had no voice left, he can never truly say no to Euphemia Potter. She has that effect on people. Regulus sometimes hates her for it.

"Fine," he snaps, and Euphemia’s face lights up. "But! You owe me a drink at the Christmas party and you can give Slughorn a glowing report of me next time he’s in so he’ll give me all the surgeries to assist on."

Euphemia smiles softly, "I don’t need to say anything to Slughorn to make him think anymore positively of you, but of course I will."

Regulus juts his chin out. "And you owe me a coffee."

"You say that as if my son won’t be in here in a few hours giving bringing you one himself."

Regulus flushes suddenly, hot and red. He opens his mouth, sputtering. 

"I—" he laughs weakly, pathetically, shaking his head. "I don’t— he doesn’t—"

Euphemia chuckles at him, resting her hand on his shoulder. He stares at her in shock.

"Don’t worry about it, love," she murmurs softly. "I know he doesn’t come in to see me anymore."

Regulus sputters again, "No, it’s not—"

"You’re blushing, Doctor Black."

Regulus knows that, he wants to shout at her. He is more than aware that his face is burning as bright as a stupid beetroot right now in the middle of the ward. Euphemia does not need to point it now. 

Does she know? Regulus suddenly panics. 

Does she know that James has come into the ward on almost every shift Regulus has been on during the last month and given him pastries and sandwiches and coffee? 

Does she know that James has been more than obviously flirting with Regulus, even though he didn’t actually realise until Dorcas witnessed their chat one afternoon and told Regulus that the guy clearly wanted to jump his bones?

Does she know that the eye rolls every time James speaks are slowly becoming less hostile and simply just sarcastic?

Euphemia is smiling, so she clearly isn’t annoyed about it. If anything, she looks pleased.

Regulus has decided that’s just as bad. 

"I am not blushing," he growls, ducking his head regardless. His phone burns a hole in his pocket where he knows James’ phone number is saved since he wrote it on the coffee cup he gave to Regulus yesterday. At the time, Regulus had told James he was going to throw the cup away and to stop harassing him. James, the idiot, had just smiled and said he knew Regulus wouldn’t. He was wrong, slightly, because Regulus did throw the cup away, but not before he put the number in his phone. 

The same number that he hasn't used yet, and doesn't plan to. He doesn't know why he put it in his phone, or why he's looked at it multiple times since adding it. He also doesn't know why he now looks forward to James coming in, but he does. He looks forward to seeing his stupid smile or hearing his contagious laugh. He also enjoys free coffee and food, considering he rarely has time to get away from the ward to get his own and very often relies on Barty getting him something when they're on shift together. 

Regulus scowls at Euphemia as she laughs, breaking him out of his internal crisis. 

"Have you forgotten that I’m doing you a favour today?" He snaps, cheeks still hot. "A huge favour in fact, considering you've said multiple times I'm the best person on shift to do it."

"No, I have not forgotten," she smiles. 

"Good, then stop mocking me."

"Oh, sweetheart, I’m not mocking you," she says, and her voice isn't mocking, it's kind and soft and Regulus despises it. "I’m just observing."

"There is nothing to observe," Regulus says, feeling slightly twitchy. For the first time ever, he wants his pager to go off just so he has an excuse to make a brisk exit from this moment. 

Euphemia stares at him, smile small but knowing. 

Finally, she nods. "Of course."

"Good," Regulus nods back, clearing his throat. "Where’s your stupid student then?"

"Downstairs getting changed into some scrubs. He’ll be up any minute," she explains, glancing down at her fob watch. "I’ll stay and explain to him the change and then I’ll go up to mat. You got a good team on today, you’ll be fine."

"I know I will be," Regulus replies. "You should be worried about your student."

"I’m not worried at all. If he’s got you today, he’ll be half qualified by the time I have to mentor him tomorrow," she grins as she claps him gently on the shoulder and walks back to the reception desk. 

Regulus grumbles all the way as he follows her, dropping into the chair with a largely exaggerated huff. He pointedly ignores Euphemia's side smirk at him as he logs onto the computer. Sometimes he feels like half of his job is writing stuff down to prove he’s done it, but it’s moment like these that he’s grateful for the annoying amount of paperwork and documentation being a doctor comes with because it means he can purposely have a valid reason to ignore Euphemia and her stupid observational skills. 

Regulus Black does not get flustered, that is a known fact. Regulus is cold, calm, collected. He is everything but flustered, so he will not admit to anyone in his life that he felt a strange swarm in his stomach when he stared at the handwritten scrawl of a phone number on the side of the coffee cup that day. Even after James had gone, Regulus was left looking at it, trying to decipher the consuming pit in his stomach. 

"Uh, hi, I’m looking for Doctor Potter."

Regulus looks up, and it takes all of his control to not let his jaw open in shock, or laugh manically, or throw up into the waste bin beside him. 

On the other side of the reception desk, is Frank Longbottom.

Frank, who Regulus met at The Leaky Cauldron three months ago.

Frank, who Regulus drunkenly kissed and went back to his apartment.

Frank, who Regulus slept with and then proceeded to walk away the next morning because that’s what Regulus Black does: fuck and then leave.

So far, it’s never come back to bite him on the ass.

Until today.

"That’s me," Euphemia stands up, smiling and shaking Frank’s hand over the desk. She’s completely oblivious to Regulus’ silent crisis, but Frank isn’t. He’s looking at Regulus like he’s his dead grandmother resurrected from the dead. "You must be Frank Longbottom."

Frank’s eyes take a second to snap away from Regulus. He laughs suddenly, awkwardly, letting go of Euphemia’s hand.

"Uh, y-yeah. Yes, I’m— I’m Frank," he stammers, eyes flicking to Regulus once more. 

"Well, welcome to Neurology ward!" Euphemia says. "You're with us for a week, yes?"

Frank nods. His face is red, cheeks blushed. Regulus is worried he looks the same, but he's had plenty of years of practicing his poker face to remain calm enough in this situation to not give Euphemia any sort of queries. 

"I'm sure you're going to enjoy yourself here. It's a fantastic ward, you'll see plenty of stuff," Euphemia smiles. "I'm afraid, however, I won't be working with you today. I've been paged up to maternity, so Doctor Black here is going to be your mentor for this shift."

If possible, Frank’s face becomes more red at Euphemia’s announcement that the pair are going to be working together all day. Regulus would be worried about the man looking like he’s about to combust if he wasn’t so focused on trying to not verbalise that he personally wants the ground to swallow him whole.

Euphemia looks at him, then smiles sympathetically at Frank. "He looks intimidating, but don’t be worried. Doctor Black is the best doctor on this ward after me, and he may look like he’s five seconds away from attempting murder, but he’s actually a sweetheart."

Regulus glares at her, clearly his throat harshly.

She laughs at him, squeezing his shoulder. "All bark and no bite, aren’t you, Regulus?"

Regulus smiles, tight lipped as his eyes snap towards Frank. 

"I bite."

He watches Frank swallow thickly while Euphemia chuckles.

"I am sorry about today, Frank. Please don’t think I’m abandoning you on your first day here, but Doctor Black will take good care of you."

Frank smiles at her. "It’s fine, Doctor Potter. I’m sure we’ll have fun."

Regulus wants to punch him in the face, and the urge becomes almost in-ignorable when Frank winks at him. 

Asshole.

"Doctor Black?"

Regulus tears his eyes away from where they’re burning a hole in Frank’s face to look up at Euphemia.

"Be nice, please," she says, voice slightly hushed. "You were in his shoes once, remember that."

"How could I ever forget the glory days of being a med student on the neuro ward," Regulus replies, a mean twitch pulling at the corner of his lips. "Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll make sure to give him the full experience."

He glances at Frank, who’s beet red in the face again. Regulus smirks, and then he winks at Frank, who instantly looks like he’s going to bolt from the ward.

Ha, Regulus thinks. Payback, bitch. 

"Okay," Euphemia says, rounding the desk. "I’ll leave you two boys to it. Frank, best of luck, darling. Regulus, I won’t forget the favour you’re doing me today."

Regulus hums, unimpressed.

"Oh!" Euphemia adds, leaning over the desk, "And just to let you know, James won’t be in today."

Regulus quite literally chokes on his own saliva in surprise.

"What?" He sputters. 

"It’s Monty’s birthday," she explains calmly, and Regulus’ brain has come to some kind of halt. Not because James isn’t coming in and Regulus won’t get to see him while pretending he doesn’t want to see him, but because Euphemia is telling him this as if she has a reason too. "So, he won’t be dropping by to see you."

Regulus blinks stupidly. He can feel the heat in his cheeks. 

"Who’s James?" Frank asks.

Regulus’ eyes snap to him, and his lip curls as he snarls out, "No one."

Frank swallows visibly. He looks uncomfortable. 

Good, Regulus decides, because he’s also really uncomfortable about all of this too. 

"So, um," Frank rubs the back of his neck, shifting from foot to foot. "Listen, I know we—"

"Shut up!" Regulus interrupts shortly. "There is no 'we'. There was no 'we'. Whatever you are thinking about, stop it, because we don’t have a choice about working together today, but we do have a choice about we what we talk about, and if we want the next ten hours to be even remotely tolerable then you are not going to mention that. Understood?"

Frank nods, eyes wide and mouth firmly closed. 

"And stop fucking fidgeting!" Regulus snaps. He lets out a short sigh, flicking his curls off his face. "You know how to do obs, yes?"

Frank nods quickly. "Yes."

"Good, then you’ll be competent enough to do Mrs Mason’s in side room 401," Regulus slams the file down on the desk. "She’s in for a check up. Take her obs, come back, and then if something more important hasn’t come up I’ll show you around the ward so at least it won’t be my fault when you get lost later."

Frank nods again, taking the file. "Uh, where—"

Regulus points at the first door on the left silently, and it’s only when Frank scurries away does he let out a heavy breath. Dropping his head in his hands, he groans to himself. This has been a horrible start to the shift. First, Euphemia turned him into a sputtering blushing mess just by mentioning her son, and now he’s got to work with a bloke who Regulus deep throated and shagged two months ago. 

Regulus isn’t going to pretend Frank Longbottom isn’t attractive - Regulus wouldn’t have slept with him if he wasn’t, because even drunk Regulus has exquisite taste in his men. He’s lovely, and he was kind and he was a fantastic kisser. He didn’t hold it against Regulus when the he left the morning after, and didn’t get defensive when Regulus told him blankly that it was a drunken one night stand, that he had fun but now it’s done because Regulus doesn’t date. Instead, he smiled and said he had fun and made Regulus a coffee before he let him leave. 

When Frank is done with the obs, Regulus shows him around the ward and follows Regulus’ instructions when he told him to stay silent during the tour. Frank follows him round like a lost puppy when Regulus does a few ward rounds during the first hour. He smiles politely when Regulus introduces him to patients, does as he’s told when Regulus asks him to pass over equipment during checks and a consult. He asks Frank afterwards if he's ever done a consult, to which he replied he hasn't and he was grateful Regulus didn't ask him to do one, but flushed under the warning that he’s going to be doing them by the end of the week. 

"Look," Frank starts when Regulus gets off the phone at the reception desk. "I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I just need you to know I’m not that kind of guy."

Regulus blinks at him, huffing. "And what do you imply with that?"

"Y’know," Frank shrugs. "The kind of guy that sleeps with colleagues."

Regulus barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

"You didn’t know we’d be working together today. In fact, you didn’t know I worked here at all or that we would be stuck together today. So how would it imply you 'sleep with colleagues'?"

"I just. . ." Frank runs a hand through his hair hastily. 

"I already told you," Regulus says, "what happened that night doesn’t come onto the ward. It happened. It’s done. So feel free to stop bringing it up."

"I— just please don’t let it affect what you’re going to write in my report after today—"

"I wasn’t planning to," Regulus snaps. "That report is for me to document if you’re an incompetent doctor or not, but if you keep trying to talk to me about my personal life, I might just be a little less understanding in how lenient I am towards your report."

Frank nods, swallowing. "Right. Okay. Sorry."

Regulus caves this time and rolls his eyes. 

"Why aren’t you more freaked out by this?" Frank asks.

"Because I’m not a child who can’t mask my emotions," Regulus sneers. "So stop thinking with your dick, and start thinking like a doctor."

Frank steps back. "Okay. Y-yeah, sorry."

"We’ve got a patient coming up who’s complaining of spinal pain. You can run it."

Frank’s face pales. "Wh-what?"

"Don’t panic. I’ll be with you the whole time," Regulus says. He almost feels bad. "You know what to do, don’t play stupid. I won’t let you make any mistakes."

The older man nods. "O-okay."

"And stops stuttering," Regulus says as he grabs the file and shoves it into Frank’s hands. "It’s unprofessional."

Twenty minutes later, Regulus is walking out of the cubicle and has Frank storming after him.

"What was that?" The student shouts.

Regulus raises an eyebrow, turning around slowly. "Excuse me?"

"I asked, what was that!" Frank snarls. "You completely embarrassed me!"

Regulus glares at him with a look that can kill. His tone comes out harsh when he speaks, cold and chilling because he doesn’t appreciate being shouted at on the ward by an inferior student.

"That man is here for pain," Regulus hisses. "Pain management is the first part of your job so when someone says they are in pain, it is your duty of care to give him relief."

"He’s an addict!"

"You do not know that."

"I can see it!" Frank shouts. "He’s covered in pinpricks, his obs don’t match the pain he was complaining of. He was lying!"

"Lying or not, if a patient is in pain, you manage it," Regulus snaps. "Do not shout at me on my ward, and don’t ignore my instructions. If that man is a morphine addict, we deal with it later, but addict or not, you can not discharge him when he’s withering on the bed complaining of something you can fix."

Frank scoffs, shaking his head.

"Take your break, Longbottom," Regulus glares. "Get out of my sight and cool down." 

He watches Frank walk away, and rolls his eyes at the students retreating back. 

Stupid egotistical student.

Regulus appreciates it’s frustrating when a patient comes in and you know you’re being bullshitted, but when someone comes onto the ward wailing of spinal nerve pain, a doctor can’t refuse them just because they have an inkling that they’re using you for morphine.

Regulus is more than aware of the track marks on the patients arms, which is why when Frank has gone, he logs onto the reception computer to see that the man has been in and out of hospitals 15 times in the last three months just receiving high painkillers for all excuses of pain.

Frank wasn’t wrong - the man is bullshitting them, but Regulus knows how to deal with bullshitters, and sometimes the easiest way is to give them what they want for a moment. 

Regulus goes on his break a few minutes before he knows Frank is coming back. He doesn’t want to see him again for a little while. The last thing he wants is to see the students stupid face that Regulus remembers kissing or to hear his childish attitude at not agreeing with his mentor.

Regulus makes his exit from the ward and sends a text to Barty.

Regulus (14:47) got time for a coffee?

Barty (14:53) always for you my darling. cardio mess room or neuro?

Regulus (14:54) outside. bring your cigarettes

Barty (14:55) yes captain

Regulus grabs a coffee from the hospital cafe before going outside to the staff smoking area. When he steps out, Barty isn’t there so he takes the small moment he has to take a deep breath of fresh air. He’s exhausted, from the combination of this being his fourth shift out of five and the last three all overrunning in a row, he is also dealing with a stupid student. 

"Darling!"

Regulus looks over his shoulder in time to see Barty come skipping out the double doors, face split with a grin and hair its usual puffy mess.

"Wow," Barty laughs, coming to stand next to him and lean on the railings. "What happened?"

"You’d never guess," Regulus sighs, taking a cigarette out of the box offered to him. 

"Well, you look rough so my wildest guess is that Euphemia ditched you and your sorry ass is carrying the ward today?"

"That is correct," Regulus takes a greedy drag after he’s lit it and on exhale, he breathes, "but that’s not all."

"If your day is worse than mine I’m going to throw a shit fit."

Regulus looks at Barty. "What’s so bad for you?"

"Snape and Mulciber are on my shift today," Barty grumbles. "That a good enough explanation?"

Regulus laughs bitterly. "Hate to break it to you, but I still have you beat."

Barty gasps, "How? What is possibly worse than Snape and Mulciber?"

Regulus takes a lengthy toke from his cigarette. 

"I'm mentoring Euphemia's student for her today."

Barty raises an eyebrow. "Okay, and? Sure, students suck and they're a pain in the ass. Actually, no, scratch that - they're a massive pain in the ass, I'll give you that. I absolutely refuse to ever believe we were as annoying as the runts they shove through those doors nowadays."

Regulus chuckles, "We were the last generation of decent students."

"Amen to that," Barty nods, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. "What’s so bad about this student then? They too happy for your emo ass to handle? Do they smile too much?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "No. It’s not that."

"What is it then?"

"The student that I’ve been blackmailed to mentor today," Regulus sighs for dramatics, "is the same guy who fucked me up the ass drunk two months ago."

There’s a beat of silence, and then Barty is choking next to him, hacking and sputtering so hard he’s hunched over like he’s been stabbed in the gut. His coughs echo loudly, they sound hard and painful.

"Are you alright?"

"What the fuck!" Barty squeaks, hacking so hard Regulus is worried he’ll bring up a lung. After a minute, the older doctor straightens, eyes red and tears streaming down his cheeks. He looks at Regulus like he’s grown a second head, panting and coughing a few more times. 

"I told you, I win in the most fucked up day," Regulus shrugs, stubbing out his finished cigarette.

"You win," Barty rasps, nodding, still catching his breath. "You win, holy shit. That. . ."

"I know," Regulus nods. "You can’t make that shit up." 

Barty seems to have recovered enough to stand next to Regulus. They share another beat of silence.

"Is he fit?"

"Barty!"

"What?" He shrieks, throwing his hands up in surrender. "It’s a valid question!"

Regulus groans, closing his eyes. "Yes. Fine, yes. He’s fit."

"And was he good?"

"We were drunk."

"Not the question."

Regulus groans again.

"Yes," he admits. "Yes, it was good. But it takes two too tango, you dick."

"Ironic of you to mention dicks, you whore."

"Barty!"

The other doctors bleeper goes off, cutting his howling laughter short.

"I fucking hate you," Regulus snarls.

"Yeah, yeah," Barty laughs, "Love you too, my little hooker. I’m going to go save lives now, have fun bossing around your one night stand."

"Fuck you."

"Say that to—"

"Barty!"

Regulus goes back to the ward 10 minutes after Barty left him outside. Annoyed and fed up, he tiredly strolls back into the neuro ward with his unfinished coffee. It’s not even half past three - he still has 4.5 hours left of the shift. Thats 4.5 hours of pretending he hasn’t had sex with his student. 

Frank is surprisingly not trying to make it awkward. Regulus thinks he’s doing a decent job of also not making it awkward. It’s the elephant in the room that Regulus is pointedly avoiding that’s making Regulus feels like all the hairs on his arms are standing on end every time Frank smiles at him. There’s no connection there, and Regulus is normally far from a prude when it comes to mindless sex, but he’s always stuck by the rule of not sleeping with his co-workers, and today Frank ruined that. 

Commitment is something that Regulus is not familiar with. Commitment requires trust and dependency, and Regulus’ track record with relying on people has been unsurprisingly shattered by his family history. Sure, he loves his friends platonically, but he knows if anything was to happen between them all he could live without them. 

Regulus has never liked, or loved, someone enough to ever fathom the idea of learning how to commit to them. Hence the one night stands, because Regulus may have issues but his dick certainly works. 

Regulus is draining the last of the coffee when he spots Frank making a beeline for the reception desk.

"Look," the blonde starts, "I just wanted too—"

"You ever looked at CT scans before?" Regulus interrupts. 

Frank blinks in surprise, then nods though he looks uncertain. "Yes, why?"

"Ever looked at a brain scan before?"

"A few," he shrugs. 

"Good," Regulus nods, tossing the empty cup in the bin. "Come with me, our patient in 406 is going in now. You can figure out if there's anything obvious on the scans as to why Miss Richards is having random bouts of leg paralysis."

He's turned around, walking away and is half way down the ward by the time Frank has caught up with him. Regulus knows he's half-ran to get to his side, and falls in line with him but still trying to keep up with Regulus' natural speed walking. 

Regulus isn’t going to mention the small spat they had before their individual breaks. He isn’t going to mention to Frank that he’s looked up the patients history and he’s going to deal with it when the pain management is finished. Instead, he leaves Frank to fester on the fear that Regulus hates him. 

"Do you have ideas what's wrong with them?" Frank asks. 

"I have an idea, but scans will confirm it," Regulus replies, which is true, because Regulus is almost certain what is wrong with this patient but it’s a bit of a long shot and he wants the scans to confirm it. "And it will give you a chance to figure it out."

"How have you already got ideas on what could be causing it?"

"Experience and intelligence," Regulus answers simply. 

Regulus knows he's smart, but a lot of the assumptions in this line of work comes from experience as much as it does knowledge. Health care is rarely textbook, and never are two patients the same. Learning the theory is one thing, but adapting it is often paired with experience. Something Regulus can't blame Frank for lacking, but he can use his own to make himself seem impressive. 

And Regulus enjoys being impressive. 

They meet Miss Daisy Richards, a 19 year old girl laying on the hospital bed, outside the CT scan room. 

Regulus goes into the room with her, Frank hot on his heels. Daisy smiles when she see’s them.

"Doctor Black," she says, and Regulus can see the tension in her body swamped in the hospital gown. 

"Daisy, I hope it’s safe to assume the nurses have been taking care of you up here," Regulus smiles, keeping his tone soft. She’s young, she’s scared, he’s not that much of an asshole to refuse any kind of comfort to her. 

She nods shakily, eyes glistening like she’s a second away from bursting into tears.

"Have you ever had a CT scan before, Daisy?" He asks.

She shakes her head.

"They’re nothing to be scared of," he assures. "You literally don’t have to do anything but lie down. The machine does all the work, you can even go to sleep if you want to."

"How long will it take?"

"Anywhere between 10 to 20 minutes. We’ll be right outside, we even have mics that we can talk to you through. Anything you say we can hear, so you only need to say if you need anything. But, it’s essential that you stay as still as you can so the scans come out clear."

"Okay," she nods. "I can do that."

Regulus smiles. "Good. I’ll leave the nurses to get you ready."

He turns around and nods at Frank to follow him out.

They last a total of 14 long, blissful minutes of peaceful silence before the serenity is shattered.

"Um, Re-Doctor Black?"

Regulus sighs. "What?"

"Why do you wear green scrubs?" Frank asks.

"I’m a surgeon student," Regulus replies as he continues to look through the observation window. When Frank doesn’t reply, Regulus looks across at him slightly to see the other male wearing a surprised look on his face. "What?"

"How old did you say you were again?"

"I didn’t," Regulus retorts. He sighs, and adds, "I’m 23."

Frank’s eyes widen like saucers. 

"Jesus," he laughs, shaking his head. "That’s. . . that’s. . ."

Regulus raises an eyebrow. "Surprised?"

"Impressed," Frank replies. "Really impressed, in fact. Euphemia wasn't lying when she said you're one of the best. I mean, I’m 25 and I’m only two years into my doctors degree. By the time I even qualify you’ll—"

"Still be in training," Regulus interrupts. 

"Well, yes, but—" Frank laughs, shaking his head, "It’s still mad. Impressive, but mad."

"Yes, you’ve already gushed about your surprise," Regulus says, matter of factly, eyes focused on the screen. "What do you see on the scans?"

Frank jumps forward, eyes eagerly staring at the computer as the scans come through. Eyes darting everywhere, he drinks in the sight and his face is twisted in a serious, concentrated expression. 

"What are her symptoms?" Regulus asks, seeing the signs of a student struggling. It was something Euphemia always did with him when he was learning, to look at the answer but work your way towards it from the beginning. The best way to learn and recognise things it to connect all the dots. "Start from the beginning to make sense of what you’re seeing."

"Back pain, numbness and weakness in lower back and legs," Frank lists.

"She’s also mentioned pins and needles symptoms in her feet and she admitted to losing her control of her bladder before," Regulus adds. 

Frank nods. He’s quiet for another long moment before he says, "Spinal stenosis?"

"That a question or an answer?"

Frank nods, this time more firmly. "It’s spinal stenosis."

Regulus smirks slightly. "It is. So advanced, in fact, I’m not surprised at all that she’s experiencing paralysis in her legs. Normally cases don’t progress this far till people are in their 50’s or 60’s."

"Why is it so bad then?" Frank asks. "She’s only 19."

"Did you read her file?"

Frank nods.

"She was in a car accident two years ago. Spinal injuries or trauma are the most common cause for young people to develop spinal stenosis," Regulus spares a glance through the window where Daisy is still in the CT scanner. "It’s just a case of shire bad luck that her’s has progressed faster than others might have."

"You knew it was spinal stenosis before the scans even came through, didn’t you?" Frank asks.

Regulus shrugs a shoulder. "I told you, I had an idea."

Frank scoffs. "Are you good at everything?"

Regulus feels the corner of his lips twitch up and he side-eyes the student doctor.

"Yes."

"Can you go and check Mr Cohen’s obs," Regulus asks when they’re sitting at the reception desk later.

Frank looks up sharply from where he’s scribbling down notes in his little notepad. "What?"

"Are you deaf?" Regulus almost snaps. "I said go and check Mr Cohen’s obs. I’ll be in in a minute, just need to finish prescribing—"

"Why do I need to check him obs?" Frank scoffs. "There’s nothing—"

"If there was nothing wrong with him, emergency wouldn’t have sent him up here," Regulus replies simply. He doesn’t add that the reason he was sent to neurology ward is a load of bullshit, but the fact still stands: there is something wrong with the man, just not for this ward. "Now go. As I said, I’ll be in in a minute."

Frank sighs heavily as he stands, practically throwing himself out of the chair. Regulus wouldn’t have been surprised if he stomped his foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum before he stormed towards the bay where Mr Cohen is.  

Regulus rolls his eyes, following a minute later. Frank has a sour look on his face as he’s taking Mr Cohen’s blood pressure.

"Mr Cohen," Regulus greets, voice sickly sweet. "How are you?"

"All the better now, doc," Mr Cohen grins. He’s an overweight man, with a mousey face and patchy facial hair. Just the flash of his smug smile makes Regulus want to slap him.

"Wonderful," he smiles. "And the pain? On a scale of one to ten?"

"Zero, doc," the man replies. "Your morphine did wonders."

"Fantastic. In that case, I think it’s time to discharge you from neuro."

The man’s face drops. "What?"

"There’s a bed down in psych ready for you," Regulus replies, tone unchanging. He refuses to look at Frank, who’s paused suddenly in his movements of taking the mans temperature. "The mental health team down there are ready to help you with a consult on your morphine addiction."

"E-excuse me?" The man scoffs, face growing red with either embarrassment or anger - Regulus doesn’t care. The man can get as riled up as he wants, the deal is done and the cat is out of the bag.

"We managed your pain," Regulus says. "Me and Doctor Longbottom have done our jobs, now it’s time for psych to give you an assessment and treatment so you don’t have to keep abusing hospital services to get a hit."

"You can’t do that?" The man whispers.

Regulus smiles, tight lipped. "I just did."

The man is gaping, as is Frank. Regulus doesn’t falter. He’s seen this before, and he’s handled it in the easiest way for the patient. Now though, it’s time to get asses in gear and get the man some help with the real problem.

"Addiction is a disease, Mr Cohen," Regulus continues. "A disease that we take very seriously, which is why I’m not prepared to throw you out on your hind like others have done just to have you come crawling back with another excuse of being in pain. Be assured that you’ll be taken care of very well down in psychiatric."

"I don’t— you don’t— this—" the man stammers, shaking his head. 

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Cohen. When Doctor Longbottom is finished taking your obs, I will page down to psych and someone will come and transfer you." 

He doesn’t give the man to argue any further, instead spinning on his heel and exiting the bay. 

He's finished writing the email down to psych ward when he sees Frank come out. 

"That was badass!" He breathes when he comes to the desk. He's grinning from ear to ear, looking quite idiotic.

Regulus hums. 

"Seriously, I didn't think you believed me earlier when I said about him being an addict," Frank says. 

"It wasn't a case of not believing you," Regulus replies shortly. "I saw the track marks too, but it didn't affect the fact that the man was here saying he was in pain. Duty of care means pain management comes first, after that you then deal with the secondary issues next. Once his pain was managed, it was appropriate to address that his physical state and medical history showed clear signs towards addiction."

Frank frowns, "You looked up his medical history?"

"In and out of hospitals for months claiming pain medication," Regulus nods. "Have you ever dealt with addiction before? Not yourself, but in patients or friends?"

"No."

"I recommend doing some research on it. It's a growing condition in health care, and commonly mistaken for a burden. Addictions aren't burdens like everyone seems to jump to treat them, but they're a form of disease. Just because most people have put themselves in that situation doesn't make it any less of a problem for us to solve. They need our help, and sometimes the kindest thing to do is give them the hit they need before giving them the psychiatric help."

Frank blinks, nodding. "Why do you know so much about this? Do you know someone who’s an addict?"

"No," Regulus replies. "I don’t, but I have a lot of time for those that do."

"Do you deal with a lot of addiction on this ward?"

"Not many, but when we get transferred to other wards like emergency or cardiac it can be quite common," Regulus sighs. "It's important even when you pick a speciality to make sure you keep your skills in other departments. You don't have to be a master at everything, but you need to be able to deal with all kinds of patients."

"I will," Frank smiles. "Thanks." 

Regulus nods in reply. He looks at the time, and it’s a little past seven, which means they’ve got less than an hour to go. The ward is calm, but he knows the moment he discharges the four patients ready to go then they’re going to get a fresh wave down from emergency. He doubts he’ll get off on time, not that that surprises him anymore.

He demonstrates a discharge procedure to Frank with one of the more complicated patients before he lets Frank take the reins and do the following three. Regulus observes the first two before saying to Frank he can do the last one on his own. 

Frank comes back to the desk beaming, clearly pleased with himself the last one went successfully. By this point, it’s almost eight o’clock, so Regulus tells him to grab his report booklet from his bag so Regulus can sign it before the rush from emergency comes up.

"You can go," Regulus says when he gives it back. Frank takes it gingerly, and Regulus can tell it’s taking all of the students self-control to not immediately look at what Regulus has written down. 

"Are you sure?" Frank asks.

"Yeah. Emergency have already dialled to say they’ve got a bunch of new patients coming up, so if you stay you’re going to be off late."

"Okay," Frank nods, smiling widely. "Thank you. Today has been great."

"I have a lovely track record of making students cry, so it’s a good sign that you’re not running out with your tail in-between your legs."

Franks eyes widen, and Regulus scoffs.

"Don’t act surprised, makes you look like an idiot."

Frank laughs at that, and Regulus feels like the moment is about to get mushy and soft so he waves his head.

"Go. Get out, before you get trapped and get off hours late."

"Okay, okay," Frank smiles, "Thank you, again."

True to his theory, there is a rush almost as soon as Frank leaves. It gives Regulus no time to think about the day, which is nice. No time to fret over the fact he’s had to spend 10 hours with Frank, or that there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind because a certain person hasn’t been in to see him. 

It’s a long hour and a half of consults, blood works, scans and paperwork. It’s gone 9:30 by the time Euphemia comes back to the ward. 

"I wasn’t expecting to still see you here," she says.

Regulus looks up from the file he’s finishing up. He tiredly brushes his curls out of his eyes.

"I could say the same for you," he replies. "All okay up in brats and twats?"

Euphemia rolls her eyes at the crude nickname for the ward, but nods and smiles warming. "Yes. It went well, no complications. Mother and baby are well."

"Good."

"Frank gone?"

"Sent him home before the rush," Regulus replies. "Didn’t see the need to make him stay an hour and a half over his shift. He has plenty of time to do that in later shifts."

"Generous of you."

"I was also tired of having a shadow, and getting all this work done would have taken double if I had to explain why I was doing everything."

Euphemia laughs a bit at that. "How was Frank?"

Regulus sighs, leaning back in the chair.

"Abysmal," he says, "but I guess he could have potential."

"You are horrible, Doctor Black," Euphemia laughs, shaking her head. "If he’s traumatised for his shift tomorrow with me because of you—"

"I wasn’t that bad," Regulus rolls his eyes. 

Euphemia hums, eyes twinkling. "Well, go home. Hand over to Doctor Meadows and get yourself out of here before you’re here all night."

"Yes, mam," Regulus nods.

"And, Regulus?"

Regulus hums in reply, looking up from his pager that he’s used to summon the night shift team.

"Thank you for today. For covering the ward and taking my student. You did me a huge favour, and I promise I won’t forget it."

Regulus smiles, "You’re chief."

"I am," she nods. "But there isn’t enough credit where it’s due in this job, and I want you to know I give you credit for everything you do for this ward."

Regulus heaves a heavy sigh, because she’s right - there is rarely any credit given to even staff as high as doctors.

"Thank you."

"Good night, Regulus."

"Good night, Euphemia."

He hands over to Dorcas in quick time. Apologising for being so late, but Dorcas shrugs it off with a laugh -  it’s the norm, she says, and she isn’t wrong.

He gets out a little after 10, and the effects of the 14 hour day have him dragging his feet to his car. He’s got a missed text from Barty, saying that he managed to get out on time and waited till 8:30 till he got bored and has gone home. Regulus replies to say he’s only just got out so probably a smart move from him. 

When Barty asks how it went with Frank, Regulus ignores the text. He doesn’t have the energy to get into that, because as modifying as it was, it’s over now and hopefully Regulus will never have to see him again.

He’s about to shut off his phone when he finds his finger hovering over James’ contact. Regulus doesn’t understand the sudden swoop in his stomach. He doesn’t understand why his brain is fighting with the idea of texting him.

He left his number because he wants to text, surely?

But why would Regulus text him?

Why would James want Regulus to text him? 

Brown eyes flash in his mind. Round glasses, chocolate skin, a wide smile. 

Regulus just closes his eyes, locking his phone and resting his forehead on the steering wheel. James is taking over his conscious thoughts and he hates it. He hates how someone Regulus has only met a handful of times, doesn’t know anything about apart from he’s his bosses son, can consume so much of his time and space in his head. Regulus hates how attached he already feels, how it felt like a punch to the gut when Euphemia said he wasn’t going to see James today. 

The amount of times James has visited him at work is border-lining harassment. Regulus is half convinced he’s managed to get ahold of the hospital rota to know exactly when Regulus is scheduled to be in as he manages to get it right so many times.

He’s always so happy as well. No matter how much Regulus tries to shoot him down, or belittle him, or simply tells him harshly to go away, James never falters is his happiness to see Regulus. 

Regulus hates it.

He hates that he enjoys James coming to see him. He hates that it’s starting to become a conscious part of his mind while he’s working. He hates that he wonders frequently during his shifts when James is going to come in.

He hates that he’s gone from Euphemia’s son to James.

But after all, that’s the life engraved in his road, isn’t it? When you spend enough time surrounded by everything hateful, it’s easy to hate everything else beyond it.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

6

The day after Regulus’ day shift where he had to allow Frank Longbottom to shadow him like an annoying buzzing fly, Regulus is up far too early to compensate for the lack of sleep and strenuous activities he partook working almost four 14 hour shifts in a row. Bleary eyed and chronically sleep deprived, he drags himself out of bed just before nine o'clock when Sylvester doesn’t stop clawing his pillow because the cat is hungry. The little shit. 

Regulus grumbles the whole way to the kitchen and the whole time he’s getting the stupid cats food ready. He then even proceeds to glare at the cat with a look that could kill while he’s eating his meal, because the horrible cat ruined his precious sleep just to get a full stomach of food. 

Regulus didn't get to bed the previous night till after three in the morning, mind so focused on revising for a theory exam set to take place in a months time. He got home from work just before 11 o’clock, because even at nighttime it still takes 45 minutes to get from the hospital to his flat. He still refuses to begrudge it though, because he really hates getting the tubes. By the time he got home after his shift with Frank, having a shower prioritised over everything else, and only when he got out did he manage to find the motivation to reheat some lasagne Dorcas gave him the day before. He ate the food and treated himself to a generous half a bottle of wine while he was studying, losing time in his work and when he looked at the clock next still sitting at his desk, it was almost three AM. Hence, he was not impressed when he looked at his clock this morning to find Sylvester had woken him up at 8:45.

Again, the little shit. 

It takes the desperate downing of three coffees for Regulus to stop internally murdering the cat, and by the time he's on his fourth, it's just gone 10 in the morning. He's in his study office once again, nose deep in a textbook in the office, one hand scribbling down notes and the other occasionally running through Sylvester fur where the cat is curled up on his lap. 

He’s entrapped in an article about a rare neurological disease recorded back in 2004 when his phone buzzes beside him, breaking him out of his trance. 

Pandora (12:02) i’m having problems with someone

Regulus rubs the dryness out of his eyes from staring at the bleak white pages of the huge textbook for so long before he replies.

Regulus (12:03) like their dead body won’t fit in a bag kind of problems or you like them kind of problems?

Pandora (12:05) so charming

Pandora (12:05) the second one i think

Regulus (12:06) you think?

Pandora (12:06) love is complicated!! you would never understand

Regulus (12:07) then why did you text me about it?

Pandora (12:07) because you give good advice and i want to see you. so wrap up whatever studying you’re doing and meet me <3

Regulus (12:08) retail therapy and lunch?

Pandora (12:09) see, this is why I texted you and not barty or evan

Regulus (12:09) usual place?

Pandora (12:09) always <3

Regulus tosses the textbook to the side and when Sylvester jumps off his lap, he stands up too. He’s been engrossed in his studies for a solid two hours, which isn’t much but he’s got time to do it later. Pandora didn’t need to say it, but he knows she’s being serious about needing some help. Plus, they haven’t seen each other in over a week because of shifts and classes clashing and their timetables being so opposite. He misses Pandora, so studying, for once, can wait a few hours. 

It’s sunny out, but the October chill has barrelled into London over the last week like a bowling ball through a glass cabinet. Regulus untucks the collar of his jacket and folds it to stand up straight to give his neck some grace against the autumn bite of London weather as he makes his way towards his and Pandora's favourite cafe. 

It's a hole in the wall kind of place. Vintage furniture, mismatched mugs and saucers, handmade paintings and art plastered on the walls. The place looks like a yard sale that offers coffee and sandwiches, and when him and Pandora first started coming here Regulus had never felt so out of place. Still coming to terms with not being under his mothers thumb anymore and being able to speak and breathe his own opinion and desires, he felt like he stuck out in the cafe like a sore thumb when they found it back in first year of university. He still does, sometimes. It's the kind of place that only Londoners know because to visiting tourists it doesn't compete with the Oxford road cafes or the artsy places by Big Ben. It's small, run down, and borderline falling apart, but they make the best banana bread Regulus has ever tasted so he folds every time Pandora says that's the place they're going. 

Now-a-days, Regulus stops fighting the inevitable and just accepts that he loves the metaphorical runt of the London cafes. 

Pandora is already waiting for him outside by the time he arrives, which is also to be expected: Pandora takes Regulus' need to be on time to places to a whole new level. The time management has been slowly beaten out of Regulus since he qualified as a doctor, mostly because he can't remember the last time he managed to finish his shift on time or not run over into an arranged dinner. Pandora, however, has yet to battle through the mental breakdown of time management that shift work in a hospital does to you, and hence is still the most time precise person Regulus knows.  

If Pandora isn't 10 minutes early to an arrangement, she, in her eyes, is late. 

You can never be late if you always plan to be early, is what she likes to drill into their heads when all three of the boys are late for dinners or the last to arrive for nights out. 

Regulus used to be very good at it, but it's just another thing working as a full time doctor has taken away from him. 

She looks up from her phone as she approaches him, lips curling upwards. 

"It wouldn’t be a Regulus and Pandora fun-day if Regulus wasn’t dressed straight out of a fashion magazine for funerals," she greets.

"Good afternoon to you too," Regulus smiles replies. "And have to remind people my surname is Black somehow."

"I only speak out of envy, my darling," Pandora giggles. "You know you’re the best dressed in London."

"Oh, I know," Regulus winks, "but feel free to keep reminding me."

Pandora rolls her eyes.

"Swot."

Regulus kisses her cheek, "Ma chérie (My darling)."

Pandora hums, looking at him with warmth. It's almost concerning how quickly she can switch from being the most sassy person in the world to feeling a the mother hen. It still confuses people to this day how Regulus and Pandora get along so well. Seemingly crafted from completely different roots, they are polar opposites of one another. Even by looks, with Pandora’s thick and flowing blonde hair that is now reaching as low as the small of her back even as it’s braided in a loose plait, and dressed in a pale blue pinafore dress and long sleeve white top underneath the straps, with cream wool socks pulled up to her knees and feet covered by a pair of brown boots. She’s a stark contrast against Regulus' black peacoat, black thick knitted jumper, black jeans and his favourite black Doc Marten shoes.

It wasn’t until Regulus met Pandora that he believed the saying opposites attract. 

"Sleep well?" She asks as they go inside. She waves at the girl behind the kiosk, before leading Regulus to their usual seats that thankfully, are free. 

"Yes, until the cat decided breakfast comes before beauty sleep," Regulus replies, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair. 

"I've missed you this week," Pandora smiles, sighing. She adds, "and Sylvester. I missed him more than you, actually."

"Thanks," Regulus scoffs. "I'm sure Sylvester missed you too."

"Of course he did. I'm his favourite."

Regulus raises an eyebrow. "He's my cat, remember?"

"And he'll be mine if you die," Pandora nods, voice so stiff with seriousness that it punches a heartily huff out of Regulus' chest. 

"Yes, Pan, we've discussed this a dozen times. If and when I die, if Sylvester is still alive and kicking, you may have him." 

"Good," she smiles, "just double checking you remember."

"You hardly let me forget." 

They order their usual: a chai latte and vegetarian full English for Pandora and a caramel latte and scrambled egg and bacon on toast for Regulus. 

"Caramel latte?" Pandora asks, tone teasing.

"Yes," Regulus replies, ducking his head to straighten his sleeves so his hair will fall over his face enough to hide the creeping heat settling in his cheeks, "and what?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head, eyeing him. "Just never seen you order anything sweeter than a regular latte. Who the hell managed to get you into something so. . . lovely?"

Regulus stops short quite abruptly. 

Round glasses and smooth dark skin flashes behind his eyes. His chest tightens as James comes to mind. James, who has no right to take up so much space in Regulus’ head when the man has barely supplied Regulus with enough caffeine put together to get him through a tough shift. 

The man is so kind and gentle it makes Regulus sick to his stomach, ashamed how quickly he’s become reliant on the guy coming in during shifts to give him that five minutes of change. 

James is the only person not already in Regulus’ small and tight friendship circle to ever make him feel warm in a room, and James has no right to be able to do that. He’s annoying and loud and always overstepping his boundaries on multiple occasions.

Yet Regulus is finding himself craving that warmth like a man who's spent years inside an igloo. 

Blinking, he shrugs, "No one has 'managed' anything. Cafe got my order wrong once on shift and put a caramel shot in my latte. It’s nice to have a change sometimes."

Pandora narrows her eyes inquiringly.  

"Black, are you hiding something?"

"Va te faire foutre, je ne cache rien (Fuck off, I’m not hiding anything)," Regulus growls, slipping back into French in his haste to hide his growing panic.

"Don’t swear at me in French," Pandora laughs, and then she gasps, "You’re blushing! Someone has made Regulus, the cold stone of a human, Black blush?"

"I am not blushing and there is no ’someone’," Regulus snaps. He rolls his shoulders straight, huffing a breath. "We’re here to talk about you, so stop asking me questions about my coffee order."

Pandora holds her hands up in mock surrender, only driving Regulus to roll his eyes so hard he worries for a moment they might get stuck to the inside of his head.

"What's your problem then?" Regulus grumbles. "Do I need to buy a shovel and a body bag?"

Pandora giggles, shaking her head. 

"No, I don't think so. Not yet, anyways," she says. "You remember Xeno?"

"The one we met in the Leaky a couple months ago that squared the asshole round the jaw because he refused to refer to them with non-binary pronouns?"

Pandora nods. "Yeah, that's them."

"They still have that ridiculous bleach blonde hair?" 

"Regulus, it's their natural hair colour."

Scoffing, he replies, "No one's hair is naturally that white. I refuse to believe it."

Pandora rolls her eyes. 

"Anyway," she says, taking a delicate sip of her latte, "we had our fifth date on Thursday. We went out for dinner, it was so lovely and honestly that Italian place did the best spaghetti bolognese I think I’ve ever tasted."

"Better than Papa Fontayne’s?"

"Yes, but do not tell him I said that," Pandora says seriously. "So we went our for dinner and naturally, we went out for drinks afterwards—"

"Naturally."

"— as we’d already drank wine at the restaurant. So, then later when we’re walking along the thames after all the drinks, by this point we’re both quite drunk and laughing at some stupid TV show Xeno's been watching. Then, my phone rang and guess who it was."

Regulus doesn’t even bother opening his mouth, mostly because he knows whenever Pandora asks someone to guess something, she only gives about 0.5 seconds to make the guess. He lifts his mug to take a sip of his coffee when Pandora leans over the table and stares him straight in the eyes.

"Benjy Fenwick."

Regulus chokes on his coffee so hard it almost comes out of his nose.

"Fucking hell," he sputters, hacking loud enough to echo in the cafe. "I haven’t heard that name in years. Is he back in London?"

"Yep, and he wants to meet," Pandora sighs.

Regulus raises an eyebrow. "So, the problem is Benji?"

"No, the problem is my ex is back in the city and Xeno feels uncomfortable about it."

"You have explained that Benji wasn’t 'Benji' when you dated, right?"

"Of course I have," Pandora practically hisses. "I told them straight away that we dated for a year when we were 19, that at the time we were both girls, that Benji admitted to me eight months in that he was transitioning into a man and was going to change his name. I told Xeno everything, Reg."

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," Regulus frowns. "It was sweet, actually. You and Benji. You helped him transition, supported him the whole way and then he moved back to Japan to live with his parents. What’s Xeno’s problem?"

"The problem is Benji is my ex, and I don’t think Xeno likes that he’s back and I agreed to meet him before he goes back to Japan," Pandora admits.

Regulus never had a problem with Benji. He didn’t like him as much as the rest of his friends, only because the guy was gravely annoying and had the mental maturity of a six year old during a sugar high. When Benji transitioned, Pandora was genuinely the best. Supportive and open minded, she did everything she could to encourage Benji to do whatever he needed to feel comfortable in his own skin. She even accepted the breakup, when Benji decided that after all these years of being in England trying to find himself, he’s ready to go home and confront his family to see if they accept him as a boy. 

Regulus knows Pandora was expecting the relationship to end, so when it finally did happen she wasn’t sad about it. Again, like everything else, she was endlessly supportive and motivated for Benji to do what he needed to do to pursue the life he’d been depriving himself of from being too afraid to come out. 

That’s who Pandora is though: a force to be reckoned with if you do her wrong or she’s fighting for something she believes in, but when you need her, she’ll will drop everything and stop at nothing to make sure you get it. 

Regulus runs a hand through his hair. 

"Pan, you’re not doing anything wrong here in my eyes. You’re always the one to preach that ex’s can still be friends. Plus, you and Benji went through something not a lot of couples go through. In the end, you two were more friends than partners anyway."

"I know, but Xeno doesn’t believe me," she says.

"Then introduce them."

She blinks. "What?"

"Introduce them," Regulus repeats, shrugging. "Take Xeno with you when you go to meet Benji. Show them that there is nothing between you and Benji apart from a heartwarming history and friendship."

"What if they don’t get along?"

"Firstly, it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like the two of them are going to be part of the same friendship group anyways if Benji is only visiting. Secondly, that’s a ridiculous thought because those two are literally cut from the same cloth."

Pandora frowns.

"They are both disgustingly happy all the time and think the world is turned by rainbows and angels."

Pandora throws her head back with a laugh. 

"My, Regulus," she muses, "people can be happy all the time, you know."

"They can't."

"They can."

"It's annoying."

"So lovely," she smiles. 

The waitress comes over with their food, beaming smiles as she converses kindly with Pandora about the last time she was here and talking about her exams. When she leaves, Regulus stares Pandora down, horrified, as she saturates her plate in enough salt and pepper to give someone a heart attack. Regulus takes a bite of his own meal before she speaks again.

"Do you think it will work?"

Regulus swallows his mouthful. "Taking Xeno to meet Benji?"

She nods.

"I think it will make Xeno feel better. Firstly, it will make you look like the angel you are for what you did for Benji, and secondly, it will shoot down any ideas Benji may have about getting back together," he replies. "Not that I think Benji does want to get back together, but you meeting him with your new partner will make it nice and clear."

She smiles round a mouthful of vegetarian bacon.

"See," she says a moment later, "this is why I ask you for advice and no longer Barty."

"Did you ask Barty?"

"I mentioned it to him the other night."

"And what was his advice?"

"Have a threesome with both of them."

Regulus stabs at his scrambled egg, smirking, "That doesn’t surprise me. Maybe make that plan B."

"I will not be making that plan B. Maybe plan Z, more like!" Pandora exclaims. 

"I agree. My plan won’t fail. You won't even need a plan B."

When they finish with lunch, Pandora drags him to the underground vintage shops. While Regulus never finds things he likes apart from the odd coat or jumper, he does enjoy shopping for Pandora. He’s always enjoyed clothes, enjoyed looking and feeling good, and while he’s not the best at up cycling old clothes, Pandora is a gem at it and always seems to find the hidden diamonds in vintage stores.

Regulus remembers how pristine and perfect him and Sirius had to look growing up. They never got to play in mud as children, or go to the park or dig their fingers in the dirt in the garden to make mud pies. Their childhoods consisted of being moulded as early as possible to be the perfect business men their parents desired. They were never children to them, they were simply heirs and spares. 

Regulus knows he hasn’t fully shaken off the lifestyle his parents shoved down his throat growing up. There are still some parts of him that scarily remind him of his parents, but moments when he’s in the literal underground shop that smells like stale clothes and is flicking through the old racing jackets to find the perfect one for Pandora, he likes to think he’s broken the mould enough. 

"What about this one?" 

Regulus turns around to see Pandora holding a bright orange jumpsuit.

"That's for Halloween, right?"

Pandora gasps, blanching, "No! Why would it be for Halloween?"

"Because if you wear that it will look like you've dressed up as a giant traffic cone," Regulus replies, tone very matter of fact. 

Pandora rolls her eyes before stuffing the jumpsuit back on the rack. "You have no fashion imagination, Black." 

"Yes I do. I imagined you looking like a traffic cone in that prison jumpsuit," Regulus says, mindlessly going back to flicking through the rack. He pulls out an old looking suede tan leather jacket that looks like its come right off a western runway. "What about this?" 

Pandora gasps loudly and snatches it out of his hands.

"Yes!" She cries, looking at the jacket like Regulus has handed her a million dollar diamond. "Oh, it’s perfect. Yes!"

Regulus smirks and leans back to watch her as she stands in front of the mirror, sliding the jacket over her clothes and turning in every angle to check out the item he found. 

"Like it?" He asks, smug.

She looks at him over her shoulder, face split with a smile.

"It was made for me."

He nods.

"Couldn’t agree more." 

He buys Pandora the jacket as she paid for lunch. They quickly dip into the pet store where Regulus bought far too pricey treats for Sylvester because the cat is more fussy than a human and will only eat the chicken flavoured ones from a specific shop downtown. They end up spending about half an hour in there when Regulus struggles to drag Pandora away from goggling at all the fish at the back. 

Pandora is wearing her new jacket, looking in every shop window they walk past when Regulus’ phone buzzes in his pocket.

(3 unread notifications from 'lady gaga’s fan club')

Barty (15:33) lady, gentlemen and regulus

Barty (15:33) hospital night out out tonight at leaky, everyone confirm you are free

Barty (15:33) and if you’re not free, cancel whatever you’re supposed to be doing because OUT OUT PEOPLE!!

Regulus looks up from his phone to see Pandora already looking at him. She smirks suddenly.

"I mean, it is a Saturday," she grins, baring her pearly white teeth. "Saturdays are meant for partying."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "If Barty heard you say that he’d correct you to say everyday is meant for partying."

His phone buzzes again, only this time it’s Evan in the group chat.

Evan (15:36) I confirm I’m free

Barty (15:36) yes rosy!!! frypan??

Regulus smirks at Pandora. She hates that nickname. 

Pandora (15:37) always free to go to LC

Barty (15:37) that’s my girl!

"Does this mean we need do more shopping to find you a new dress for tonight?" Regulus asks.

"Oh, no need for that," Pandora smiles, "I have the perfect dress at home."

"This 'perfect dress' a gift from Xeno, perhaps?"

"They have got exquisite taste," Pandora nods. 

Regulus rolls his eyes. He wants to say that Xeno dresses like they’ve fallen off the back of a hippie van, but he doesn’t. Mostly because Xeno is the only person who seems to be able to actually pull the look off without looking like a total idiot. Head turning though, absolutely. 

Barty (15:45) reggie-kins?? you there sweetheart?

Regulus rolls his eyes again and types out a quick message.

Regulus (15:46) don’t call me that

Barty (15:46) confirm yes or no to tonight

Regulus doesn’t even bother entertaining to decline the evening. He knows, more than anything, that Barty is not going to take no for an answer. Hospital nights out are a tradition, much like fajita night or getting breakfast if they’re all on a nightshift together. Plus, as much as he enjoys moaning about being forced to go out, Regulus has a burning weakness for cocktails and dancing. 

Regulus (15:48) yes, only because I already know I don’t have a choice in the matter

Barty (15:48) correct you do not :)

"Guess that's our evening organised," Pandora muses, tucking her phone into her jacket pocket. "I feel foolish for ever thinking graduating was going to get you guys to grow up."

"Growing up would involve Barty no longer trying to pull girls in freshers," Regulus corrects, closing his phone. "Just be grateful he's grown up as much as he has."

"It wasn't hard for us all to pass as first years even when you guys were finishing your courses," Pandora smiles. "I mean, you still get asked for ID most of the time."

"We all still get asked for ID," Regulus huffs indignantly. "You and Barty should be the ones insulted, as you're both 25 next year."

Pandora closes her eyes dramatically, holding her hand up as she bites her bottom lip.

"Don't remind me," she whispers.

 "Don't worry, ma chérie (my darling)," he smiles, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as a nudge to get her walking again. "You don't look a day over 35."

She rips his arm off her and shoves him so hard he almost stumbles straight into a large restaurant dustbin.

Regulus already has the glasses out ready when the trio arrive at his door hours later. Freshly showered and dressed, he's standing in the tiny kitchen in his flat washing up the plate he used for his dinner, when the front door opens behind him.

"There he is!" Barty’s voice rings out.

"The man!" Evan adds.

"The myth!" Barty cries.

"The grumpy git!"

Regulus turns just enough to glare directly at Evan over his shoulder, who’s shit-eating grin falters slightly.

"Oh, don’t be like that, Reggie-wedgie," Barty croons, skipping over to him.

"Don’t call me that."

"So mean," Barty kisses him wetly on the cheek, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "Did you enjoy your day out with Pandora today? Must have been boring considering you forgot to invite me."

"Don’t be so envious, Barty," Regulus says as he dries his hands on a tea-towel. "You know me and Pandora meet up every two weeks for a lunch just to specifically gossip about you."

Barty stares at him, eyes narrowing a fraction. "You know, I can never tell if you’re joking about these things."

"Good."

"Hey, Black!" Evan says from where he’s already snatched the glasses from the side and is pouring them all vodka and orange juice mixers. "Barty told us about your exciting shift on Thursday. Want to fill us in on your exciting rendezvous with your student?"

Regulus’ eyes flick to Barty beside him, who grins sheepishly and shrugs. 

"What the fuck did you tell them?" Regulus hisses.

"That the dude you mentored the other day was also the guy you slept with a few months ago drunk off your ass," Barty grins.

"And why, dare I ask, did you decide to tell them about that?"

He snatches a glass off the side and takes a greedy gulp. "It’s exciting news, Black."

"Exciting?"

"It’s incredibly riveting to me when things like this happen to you," Barty shrugs. "Your whore lifestyle comes catching up to you and in the most funniest way possible."

"Whore lifestyle?" Regulus echoes. "You sleep with far more people than me!"

"Yeah, but they never come into my work." 

"That’s because everyone you sleep with is either too young to have finished university or too stupid to work at a hospital."

"Now, now, boys," Pandora smiles as she slinks up, kissing Regulus on the cheek, scooping Sylvester off the side and gracefully sitting down on the bar stool with the cat in her lap. "Though, it does make me sad you left out that glowing part of your week when we met up earlier."

"Hardly a glowing part of my week," Regulus grumbles. "More like a 12 hour shift I’m ready to block from my memory."

Evan laughs into his glass. "It’s too funny. The coincidence is unmatched."

"Rosier, shut the fuck up."

"Touchy, are we, Doctor Black?"

"Did you really not expect us all to be informed of this, Reg?" Pandora asks, stroking Sylvester like a villain out of a film. "You told Barty Crouch Junior. You should have known better."

"I should have," Regulus huffs. "The only thing to tell is a one night stand shag turned out to be a student on neuro on Thursday and Euphemia blackmailed me into mentoring him before I found out who the guy actually was."

"How did Euphemia blackmail you?"

"She knows Regulus can’t say no to her when it comes to feeding his ego at being ward manager for a shift," Barty grins, flashing his teeth. "Ain’t that right, Doctor Black?"

"Keep talking and I won’t come out tonight."

"Lies!" Barty wails with a laugh. "Now, less talking about Regulus’ tragic non-existent love life and instead hilarious backstabbing sex stories, and more drinking because we have to be at the Leaky in exactly two hours to meet the beautiful ladies of neurology and cardiology and none of us are even a fraction of tipsy."

"We just got here?" Evan quizzes. "How are we meant to already be tip—"

"Less talking, more drinking!" Barty cheers, clinking his glass with Regulus’ before chugging the just over half-full drink. 

Evan roars a laugh and does the same, while Pandora rolls her eyes. 

Four drinks in each later, they’ve moved from the kitchen to the lounge. Evan and Barty are sitting on the sofa, Pandora is spread out comfortably on the large sofa chair that practically swallows her body whole and Regulus is laid out on the floor, wine glass cradled loosely in his fingers and Sylvester curled up by his legs. 

Barty is pouring shots when Evan suddenly grabs a deck of cards out of the bag, declaring he wants a poker rematch. Crowded round the coffee table, all buzzed on vodka and shots with cards in hand reminds Regulus painfully of their university days. Many blurry nights were spent the four of them, sitting round for hours losing money to each other with card games. They haven’t got the cards out since way before they (minus Pandora) graduated and started the rollercoaster ride of their careers. Regulus’ stomach is pinched with nostalgia and warmth when Evan is laying out the cards to play rummy, Pandora and Barty already in a semi-yelling argument about the rules. 

Regulus’ favourite thing about card games is that Barty absolutely sucks at them. Evan’s older cousins taught him how to play many games when he was growing up, and Pandora’s parents had a Sunday tradition of playing rounds of rummy after dinner. Regulus was never taught to play cards, but he stole a deck from Sirius’ room after his older brother ran away and before they moved from London, so he’d taught himself some pretty impressive shuffling skills before they met at university, making Evan believe for a while that he was actually raised in Vegas instead of France. 

Regulus picked up all the rules to card games very quickly when they all first started playing, becoming Evan’s number one rival at poker, but Barty never did. Still, to this day after four years of friendship, he still sourly sucked at any and all card games. 

And to top it, he was an incredibly sore loser. 

They start playing with chips for bargaining, but after a few more drinks Evan decides they were going to bring real money into the games. When Barty loses five rounds and is £150 down to both Regulus and Evan, he swipes his wallet off the table and declares that they were bargaining shots instead. Already hammered and drunk enough to feel giddy and senseless, they all agree. 

They stop playing just before Barty looks ready to flip the table when Pandora beats him at another game of rummy, and quickly shoves a homemade sex on the beach cocktail under his nose.

That is another thing about Barty: he is classically macho enough when sober to consistently rip the shit out of Regulus for always drinking cocktails, but as soon as he's drunk enough, he too is downing them himself like they're merely water. 

After obliterating Evan’s ass at poker, Regulus has moved closer to Pandora in the last games of rummy between her and the other two. He’s reclined in-between her legs, slummped enough that his head is cradled on her knee and her hand calmly running through his hair. When Barty tackles Evan on the sofa after calling him a sore loser, Regulus tilts his head up and meets Pandora’s eyes that are already gazing down at him.

"Are you alright, mon ange?" She asks, hand never moving out of his hair. 

"If you keep playing with my hair I’m going to fall asleep," Regulus murmurs back. 

"I know," she smiles, "I’ll stop in a minute. It’s just nice to see you so relaxed. You’ve been very stressed lately."

Regulus closes his eyes slowly. "I live a stressful life. Today was nice though. I enjoyed it."

"So did I," Pandora replies, and a moment later a kiss is pressed against his forehead. "Thank you."

"Toujours, mon préféré (Always, my favorite)," Regulus recites automatically.

"Oi!"

Regulus lifts his head, glaring at Barty where he’s now somehow sprawled out on the floor and Evan is looking victorious on the sofa.

"Are we ready to party, my disgusting platonic lovers?"

"Fuck off, Bartemius."

As per, everyone is already at the Leaky when they arrive. In their usual booth, the girls are all sat with a table of cocktails and empty shot glasses. 

"Lily!" Evan cheers, beaming and eyes lighting up, "You made it!"

The red-head grins as she stands up to hug Evan. 

"Managed to convince Fred to swap shifts with me," she replies. "Couldn’t miss another night out. Feel like it’s been forever since I went out with you guys."

"It has been forever," Dorcas corrects. "You need to talk to the paeds chief and swap your rota so you have more time off when we do."

"I’ll get right on that, Cas," Lily rolls her eyes, sitting back down. "My sincerest apologies that I haven’t worked my shifts accordingly to match all of your social lives."

"Get right on it, Evans," Barty says, "You miss too many evenings here. It’s essential for your mental health, y’know."

Lily narrows her eyes at them. "I feel like all you four do is shift work, go out for lunch and fuel your borderline alcoholic disorders."

"Obviously," Evan replies, scoffing, "What else is there to do with life? Can’t be all work and no play."

"There is no better way to wind down after 50 hour weeks than to get black out drunk," Barty adds.

Lily tilts her head, "And what would your patients say if they saw you all knocking back tequila like water?"

"They’d say 'Wow, what a unit! Doctor’s are so much more fun than nurses!'" Barty cheers, tone confident and mocking. He shoulder bumps Evan when the blonde glares at his comment about nurses. 

"Right!" Barty claps his heads, "Drinks! Usuals, my lovers?"

When the three of them nod, Barty is running to the bar like a race gun has gone off.

Regulus sits down next to Dorcas, frowning when he finds her smirking at him.

"Can I help you, Meadows?"

"Taking an evening off to spend time with your best friends, Black?"

"I literally never miss a night out unless I’m on a shift and yet you all seem surprised I turn up?" Regulus frowns. "Why does everyone expect me to ditch you all?"

"Because you’re a grumpy loser who spends all of his free time studying."

Regulus looks around at the girls, "Do you all expect me to become a surgeon without studying?"

"Darling, you work too much." 

Huffing, Regulus rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it - mostly because he knows they’re right but isn’t going to give them the verbal confirmation. 

When Barty comes back, he practically slides onto Mary’s lap before she shoves him right off with impressive strength and he takes his appropriate spot in-between Evan and Pandora. It’s a tight fit, all eight of them and in the already hot and stuffy club, it would be unbearable if the atmosphere wasn’t making it entirely worth it. 

Bright lights flicker and flash around them. Music plays blaring through the speakers, contributing to the buzzing alcohol thrumming through their systems. 

"Oi!" Barty shouts, breaking all the conversations at the table suddenly. He has a mischievous glint in his eyes when they momentarily dart towards Regulus, making the latter’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Nothing good has ever come of Barty having that expression. The last time he wore it he ended up roping Regulus and Evan into going to a casino drunk out of their minds at 4am after spending hours drinking at the Leaky. "Has everyone heard about Regulus' super fun week?"

"Barty," Regulus warns, eyes hardening into a glare but it only seems to spur his friend on more.

Barty’s grin only grows as he dismisses Regulus with a tut and looks back at everyone.

"Official information was confirmed this week. Reggie-kins here likes to sleep with his students!"

Regulus has to refrain from throwing his drink over Barty there and then. So much for best friends. The drunk evil shit.

"I'm going to kill you," Regulus growls, moments away from jumping out of his seat and strangling Barty when the girls start laughing. 

"Regulus Black!" Mary roars, "You saucy devil!"

"It's not— that is not what happened!" Regulus snaps. "I do not sleep with my students. I don't even have students."

"You don't get assigned students because you're a walking spawn of satan," Dorcas laughs.

Regulus closes his eyes in despair. They’re not going to let this go tonight. It’s going to be the highlight of all conversations, he can feel it like a apprehension in his gut. 

"They were Euphemia's student that I looked after because she's horrible and decided to spend the day in with ugly babies," Regulus grumbles. 

"Ah, so you sleep with Euphemia's students," Mary grins, nodding. "Because that is so much better."

"I didn't even know he was a med student!" Regulus almost shouts. "We met months ago, slept together once, and then I had to mentor him for one shift for Euphemia. End of story."

"No, no, no," Marlene laughs, shaking her head and holding up a finger to silence him. "That's not the end of story! Who is this guy? Was he good in bed? Are you going to meet again? Did you reconcile your love on the romantic neuro ward? Details, Black! We want details!"

"McKinnon," Regulus hisses, "Seriously, I will actually kill y—"

"Wait," Dorcas says, blinking. "Are we talking about that Frank guy you mentored this week?"

"You slept with Frank?" Lily gasps, jaw dropping open comically. "As in Longbottom?"

Regulus groans, "Evans, I swear to God if you know him—"

"Of course I know him!" Lily beams. "He did some paediatric placement earlier this year. Oh, he's lovely!" 

"For fuck sake," Regulus moans, dropping his face in his hands. "Donne-moi une putain de force. Je vous déteste tous tellement (Give me fucking strength. I hate all of you so much)."

"He's lovely, Black," Mary mocks, tone teasing and sickly sweet. "Was he so lovely when he was ploughing into you that special summer night?"

Barty and Evan's laughing had Regulus lifting his head enough to glare at them underneath his eyelashes. 

"Regulus isn't interested in Frank," Dorcas scoffs, hand clapping him on the back where he's hunched himself over the table in the hope he would disappear. "Isn't that right, little star? Your dick is too focused on pining after James."

Well done, Dorcas. If tonight couldn’t get any worse. It just went from colossal, to nuclear bomb.

Silence falls around the table like someone's turned off the volume button. 

"James?" Barty echos, now frowning.

"Who the fuck is James?" Evan adds, voice high with excitement. When no one explains, he adds, "Regulus, you little whore, answer us!"

Can people stop calling me a whore?

"James," Dorcas starts, because Regulus refuses to lift his head. His cheeks feel hot and he knows he's blushing, and not just from the drink. He hates this. He hates them all. He hates how his heart has sped up. He wants them to go back to talking about his rendezvous with Frank. "Is a little birdy who's been bringing ickle Regulus here expensive coffees and lunch almost everyday for the last few weeks."

It's actually been over a month, Regulus wants to correct, but he doesn't even have a chance to open his mouth before the table erupts into more chaos. 

"Regulus!" Barty practically screams, voice shrill and loud. "How could you keep this from us? Why have we not heard about this James before?"

"There is no James," Regulus grumbles, finally lifting his head. "Don't listen to Dorcas. She's lying—"

"I am not!" Dorcas gasps. "Don't bullshit everyone, Black. You are in smitten—"

"I am not!"

"You are," Dorcas smiles, "Don't be ashamed, my dear. You guys should see him too, James is absolutely whipped for our Regulus. I've never seen someone look at Regulus like the sun shines out of his ass."

Regulus opens his mouth to object he doesn't even manage to get a word out before Dorcas is using one arm to wind round his chest, locking his arms down with undeniable strength and slapping her hand over his mouth. His eyes widen comically, body bucking to shake her off and screaming muffled behind her hand. She doesn't even flinch, face still split with a wide smile. 

Evan looks genuinely confused. "What Regulus are we talking about? Because there is no way anyone thinks the sun shines out of your ass."

Regulus bites Dorcas' hand and she pulls away with a sharp yelp. 

"Fuck you," he spits at Evan. 

"He’s getting mean, guys," Barty hollers. "That means it’s true!"

"Fuck you too."

"You wound me, Black."

"You bit me!" Dorcas shouts. 

"Is this who has gotten you into caramel lattes?" Pandora asks, eyes wide. 

Regulus gives her a pointed look when Evan squeaks next to her. 

"Have you got his number?" Mary asks. "Please tell me you're going to actually meet him outside of work, Regulus."

"He does have his number," Dorcas says, completely unfazed by the glare Regulus shoots her with. "James gave it to him on a coffee cup."

Regulus groans as he flops his head back against the booth wall. He mutters, "Dorcas, you are dead to me."

"Love you too, little star."

"Have you text him?" Marlene asks.

"No."

"Are you going to?" Pandora adds. 

"No."

"Do you want to?" Evan throws in.  

"No!"

"Lies!" Barty roars. 

Regulus lifts his head and snaps, "Si vous ne vous taisez pas, je vais cracher dans chacun de vos verres toute la nuit! (If you guys don't shut up I am going to spit in every single one of your drinks all night!)"

"I love it when you talk dirty to us, Regulus," Mary purrs, fluttering her eye lashes.

Regulus huffs, rolling his eyes. 

"Tas de chattes irritantes (Irritating bunch of twats)."

"Stop insulting us in French!" Barty shouts, jabbing his finger over the table at him, "You know we can't understand. Be a man and say it with your chest!"

"Mourir."

"I know that one!" Evan laughs.

"What did he say?" Barty asks, and when Evan only chuckles at him, he whines, "Evan! Tell me!"

"He said he loves you."

Barty narrows his eyes. "He did not say that." 

"No," Regulus hums, taking a sip of his drink. "I did not. Meadows, with me now. We need shots and you are going to buy them for the stunt you just pulled."

"Stunt?" She echoes, feigning an frown despite her lips twitching as she fight a smirk. "What stunt, my little star?"

"Up. Now."

Regulus grabs her wrist and yanks her up into standing with him before leashing her to the bar. There is a decent enough of a que that the bartenders are busy but Regulus still finds an empty spot and has to restrain himself from collapsing his head and arms on the bar top in exhaustion from the teasing from the group. The bar is always sticky, and Regulus has ruined many sleeves from previous nights of forgetting to not saturate his clothing in the spilled drinks on the bar top. 

"James really get you that flustered, star boy?" Dorcas asks, and for the first time tonight her tone isn't teasing, but instead curious. 

Regulus grunts, staring at a knot in the wooden bar. "Of course he doesn't."

"Of course, he does," Dorcas shoulder bumps him, resting her head against his a moment later. "It's a not a weakness to like someone, darling."

"I don't like him."

"Of course."

"I don't."

"That why you saved his number?"

"I wanted it incase I needed to get hold of Euphemia and she doesn't answer her own phone."

"Ah," Dorcas chuckles softly, "because that makes total sense."

"It does," Regulus nods stiffly. "What's your poison tonight? Strongbow or pornstar?"

"Pornstar," Dorcas grins. "For me and for Marlene, and I believe Mary will drink anything that contains vodka."

"Vodka, gin, battery acid," Regulus muses, "Mary will take anything that makes her feel less sober."

Dorcas laughs, "Don't let Mary hear you say that. Are you getting shots?"

"Tequila?"

"I was thinking along the lines of sambuca."

Regulus side eyes her, "This is why I brought you and not Evan."

"Rosy is a darling but he is afraid of shots like Barty is scared of the dark."

"Are you surprised? Getting alcohol poisoning from drinking black sambuca straight from the bottle in university has scarred him."

"I love that story," Dorcas says. "Every time you guys talk about your university days it made me realise mine were incredibly boring." 

"Surprised we're not stuck up prudes who always drink out of champagne flutes?" Regulus asks. 

"More so about you," she smiles, "You radiate rich, snotty boy energy. Don't get me wrong, you're still a crude mean bitch, but you're also a lot of fun. It's very confusing."

Regulus laughs, the emotion punched out of his chest like a physical blow. "So kind, Meadows. Glad to be confusing."

"I didn't know you before university, of course," she muses, "I've heard plenty from Evan and Barty on how much you've changed. They brought you out of your shell, and who knew you'd be more wild than them."

"I'm not wild."

"No, you're very contained," she agrees, "But you can be wild, when you loosen your leash."

"You're making me sound like a dog."

She squeezes his shoulder, "Order our drinks, sweetheart. The bartender is looking at you like you're something to eat."

When they get back to the table, Mary and Barty are having an arm wrestle across the table while Evan, Marlene and Pandora have moved the glasses out of the way of the pending carnage about to come from wherever wins. 

Mary wins. Barty says he let her, because he's a gentleman. Mary steals his tequila shot and Evan gives his to Barty, which is disgustingly sweet and has both Regulus and Dorcas gagging into their cocktails. 

At some point, Regulus and Barty go outside for a smoke. The night air is chilled, but the alcohol keeps the heat seeping through their muscles. It’s early enough into the evening that the smoking area is empty par from another pair standing in the opposite corner.

"Why didn’t you tell me about James?" Barty asks after a few minutes of smoking in silence. 

Regulus should have known the question was coming. Barty was being too silent, too quiet. Even sober, Barty wouldn’t have been content with standing in a peaceful serenity while they smoked, and drunk Barty would never. The lack of conversation should have had Regulus prepared.

He wasn’t prepared though, so when Barty finally did ask, Regulus felt thrown off guard.

Looking up from where he was staring unfocused at a crack in the paving slab, Regulus blinks at him. 

He breathes out a lung of smoke before he answers, "There wasn’t anything to tell. Still isn’t, in fact."

"Reg," Barty murmurs. He looks shockingly sober suddenly, a whip-lashing change from the hysterically laughing and flushed cheek friend Regulus was sitting across from inside. "There clearly is something."

Regulus closes his eyes with a huff, moments away from throwing his arms up like a frustrated child. 

"Dorcas spilled all the beans," he assures Barty. "He comes into work to see his mum and has started bringing me coffee when she’s in too. He’s too nice. Really, it’s actually infuriating. I can’t upset him, no matter how mean I am, it’s like his body doesn’t register when he’s being insulted." 

"Is he clinically insane?" Barty laughs. "Half of the hospital staff run away when you simply look at them."

"Exactly," Regulus takes a greedy toke from the cigarette, breathing it out with a hint of a sigh. 

"Do me and Evan need to bring in the big guns?" Barty asks. "You know we will. Regulus Black’s personal body guards to the rescue."

Regulus raises an eyebrow. "You’re a doctor now, Crouch. Don’t think they would like you and Evan beating up a visiter in the hospital. Kind of defeats the object of duty of care."

"Don’t be dim, I wouldn’t do it in the hospital," Barty scoffs. "But seriously, if this guy is bothering you and it starts going weird, you know me and Evan have your back. After all, that little twat in second year never touched you again after me and Evan had a chat with them."

"A chat?" Regulus asks. "Is that what you’re calling it now? Kid got sent home with two broken arms and trauma so bad he became a psychiatrists wet dream."

"Went full circle then, didn’t?" Barty grins wolfishly. "Got the creepy dude away from you, and helped the economy by potentially sending him to counselling."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "You don’t need to do that to James. He’s. . . harmless."

Barty stares at him for a moment. And then suddenly, his eyebrows pinch inwards.

"You like him."

"I do not," Regulus replies quickly. His skin feels hot and he hopes it’s the alcohol. "I simply enjoy getting free coffee."

Barty’s face splits slowly with a grin. "No, you like him."

"Barty—"

"My Reggie!" He cheers, and Regulus bristles at the nickname. "My little Reggie-poo is in—"

"Don’t call me that."

Barty roars as he throws an arm around Regulus’ shoulders and pulls him into a suffocating side hug.

"You’re a naughty boy, Reggie-winkle. Falling in love with your bosses son? Scandalous!"

"I’m not— will you stop—" 

"Never did I ever think we’d see the day!"

Regulus throws Barty’s arm off, glaring at him with a look that could kill.

"If you keep going on about this, I will rip your jugular vein out and stomp on it while you die from blood loss."

"Kinky," Barty winks, unfazed by the gory threat. "Tell me, does James know you have a foul mouth?"

"I’m going to kill Dorcas," Regulus mutters as he walks away.

Barty meets him at the door, slinging an arm around his shoulder as they walk inside.

"Shots?" He asks.

"Always," Regulus huffs. He’s more than desperate now to drown his sorrows in tequila like the days when they were at university. 

When Barty skips off to drag Evan to the bar, Regulus slinks back towards the table. Pandora gives him sympathetic eyes as he drops down beside her.

Wordlessly, she slides her martini towards him.

"They’re ripping you limb from limb this evening, aren’t they?" She asks as Regulus finishes off her drink in a few sips.

"Only a smidge," he grunts. "Do me a favour, bring up some drama in your life so they’ll leave me alone?"

"No can do, my treasure," she smiles, "I’m an open book. Plus, nothing anyone can be doing at the moment tops your situation."

"It’s not a situation."

"It’s something, though, isn’t it?"

Regulus looks away, mostly because he can fool the others with insults and crude threats, but Pandora can read him like no one else. One look and she’ll probably understand more about Regulus and James than Regulus does.

That’s the hardest part, really. Regulus doesn’t even understand what this 'something' is. He doesn’t know when or why or how he came to start enjoying the irritating boys company. He doesn’t know why James occupies his brain, or why he fills Regulus' thoughts. 

James makes his heart speed up. He makes Regulus nervous, makes him jittery. His laugh makes Regulus’ spine feel like it’s got a ball rolling down it, making him shiver. Just seeing him makes every nerve ending in Regulus’ body feels like they’re set on fire. He’s like a breath of fresh air when the ward get’s too stuffy, or a secure blanket of warmth when it gets too cold. 

Regulus has never looked at someone and feel like he does until James. The walls, the defences, the egotistical persona Regulus has built around himself since running from his parents feels like it cracks every time James comes close. It’s like he can see past the defence mechanisms already. As if he already knows that beneath the glares, harsh scowls, the blazing self confidence, he can see the Regulus beneath that’s terrified of living still.

Regulus hates that.

It doesn’t take long to feel the buzz of tequila and espresso martini’s again. Soon, the atmosphere of Leaky comes alive. Alcohol travels through the moisture in the air. Regulus doesn’t remember getting to the dance floor and he's lost count of the drinks they’ve all consumed, but he gets a suspicious feeling that they’re giving him more than they’re drinking themselves. The club sways and spins around him, but he manages to embrace the vertigo feeling when they’re all dancing. Dorcas requests for Lady Gaga's song Love Game, as she does every time and her and Regulus practically climb on top of their table booth to sing it. 

At some point, Evan loses his shirt, so Barty and Mary do body shots off him that has Regulus and Dorcas laughing to the point they both end up toppling on the floor. Pandora records the whole thing, and Regulus makes a drunken mental note to ask her to delete that immediately in the morning. He’ll be damned, drunk off his ass or not, if anyone has videos of him rolling around on a dirty club floor.

The hours bleed together. Barty, Evan, Mary and Marlene have a dance off in the middle of the dance floor that ends up involving a handful of strangers. Regulus was easily placing bets on Mary and Marlene winning until Barty and Evan spiritually find the embodiment of pole dancers inside them and thoroughly wiped the floor with the girls. 

They all find themselves outside. Dorcas steals a cigarette off Regulus but she only manages to take two puffs of it before Mary is spewing up all over the floor. Barty is howling with laughter and Evan looks sickly pale at the sight as the girls drag Mary inside to the toilet. Pandora takes Evan in when he won’t stop staring at the pile of sick, slowly getting more and more ashen to the point that Regulus is concerned he’s going to add to the mess. 

Regulus leans against the wall, head back and eyes closed as he smokes. He’s vaguely aware of Barty chatting to the strangers next to them, and he zones back into the focus of the world when he feels someone poke his shoulder.

He blinks at Barty hazily. "Yes?"

"Pottery."

Regulus blinks again. He feels like his brain has just buffered.

"What?"

"Pottery," Barty repeats. "Want to go pottery painting?"

"Have you been spiked?"

"No!" Barty laughs. "I mean it, Pandora talks about it all the time. She goes to this place in Camden market and paints pottery. It’s where she gets all her cool mugs from!"

Regulus narrows his eyes. "And you, Bartemius Crouch, want to go pottery painting?"

"Hell yeah!" Barty cheers. "Don’t you?"

Regulus breathes out a breath of smoke before he grins, loopy and drunk. "Fuck yeah. When?"

Regulus is aware they’re both slurring and grinning like idiots. Barty is barely standing, swaying from side to side and loose fingers threatening to drop his cigarette at any second. Regulus knows he’d be the same if he wasn’t using the wall as support.

"Tomorrow?" Barty asks, and suddenly his face lights up, "We can invite James!"

"My James?"

"Yes!" Barty roars, practically jumping up and down. "It will be so fun! And plus, we’ll all get to meet him!"

"Barty," Regulus whines, high-pitched and childish. "You can’t meet James. You’ll scare him off. He’s too nice. He’s like a small puppy."

"Come on," Barty drawls, "He needs proper initiation if he’s going to get the hottest piece of ass in the whole of London! Only the best for our Reggie, and we’re the best judges of that."

Regulus whines again, but Barty isn’t having any of it.

"Plus, there is nothing more romantic than pottery."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "You need help if you think pottery is the most romantic form of attraction."

"Are you saying you don’t want to paint some mugs while staring at his lovely face?"

"You haven’t even seen him. You don’t know he’s lovely."

"I trust your judgment when it comes to attractiveness."

Regulus hums, lips twitching into a smile. "He is lovely. Unfairly, actually. He’s very pretty."

"Then he must come to pottery!" Barty declares. "Text him now."

"M’fine," Regulus huffs. "This is peer pressure, y’know."

"Shut up and text your pretty boy."

Regulus tries. He does, but his fingers refuse to work properly. It takes him a whole minute to just find James’ number and text him.

Regulus (02:56) do you want to com to pottery wit ne?

"He’s probably sleeping," Regulus pouts, taking another cigarette out. 

"Give him a minute," Barty slurs, lighting his own as well. "If he doesn’t reply, we can phone him."

"What if we wake him up?"

"This is an emergency."

"It is?"

"Yes, a pottery emergency."

It’s not funny, but somehow Regulus and Barty are doubled over chuckling. Time feels indifferent, and Regulus is sure at least 10 minutes has passed before he sends another text. 

Regulus (02:59) wake yp this is a emrrgenvy

"He's not answering," Regulus whines, and Barty bumps into him to look at his phone screen. "I can't believe he's asleep!"

"Phone him," Barty nods, lips pursed. "Phone him. This is serious."

Regulus nods, and fumbles with the buttons. 

It rings long enough to almost go to voicemail, and on the last ring, it answers. 

"Hello?" A groggy, deep and sleep-riddled voice comes through. 

"James!" Regulus squeaks. "How are you?"

"Uh, who is this?"

"Regulus?" He frowns. "Have you forgotten me already?"

A beat of silence passes. "Doctor Black?"

"Yes! You do remember me! Barty, he remembers me!"

"Let me speak to him!" Barty shouts at the same time that James' rumble of a laugh goes straight into Regulus' ear. 

"So that's your first name," James muses. "Regulus Black. It's lovely."

"He says my name is lovely," Regulus says to Barty, and his cheeks hurt from smiling. Barty huffs in reply and makes grabby hands at the phone, which has Regulus twisting away from him to avoid and asks, "Were you asleep?"

"It's three in the morning," James laughs. He has a nice laugh, Regulus wants to tell him. "Of course I was asleep. Why aren't you asleep?"

"You ignored me texts," Regulus says, and he's pouting as if James can see him.

"You haven't text me?" James replies. "Wait, it's really loud were you are. Are you—"

"Yes I did!" Regulus whines, brain not registering that James was half way through asking him a question. "You ignored them. It's an emergency too!" 

"What's wrong?" James sounds concerned now. "Reg, what’s—"

"Read the texts! They're important!" Barty shouts, and James must hear him. 

"Who is that?" James asks, then he adds hastily, "I'll read the texts now. Stay on the line. Don't hang up!"

"Perfect," Regulus breathes, he side eyes Barty, "he's reading the texts now."

After a moment, a soft chuckle comes through. 

"Please tell me the emergency is going to pottery and not because you're in trouble somewhere?"

"Of course that's the emergency," Regulus slurs a garbled reply, because isn't that obvious? "You weren't replying, and me and Barty need to know if you can come or not."

"Barty?"

"My body guard."

James sounds like he's choking for a moment. 

"Body guard?" He repeats. "You need a body guard?"

"Of course," Regulus physically nods. "He fends off the predators."

"Right, okay," James laughs. "I feel like I should be concerned about that. Are you alright though? I'm guessing you're out considering I can hear lots of noise and music around you. You're safe, yeah?"

"James, emergency on hand here, stop stalling. Will you come to pottery with us?"

Regulus doesn't get to hear James' answer, because suddenly the phone is snatched out of his hand with such force that it sends him unsteadily stumbling to the side. 

"James, this is Barty," Barty is suddenly saying, phone against his ear. He winks at Regulus, and his words are more slurred and messy than Regulus'. "Yes, the body guard. You better remember that if you're infiltrating yourself with our Regulus."

"Barty, give me back my phone!" Regulus grumbles, reaching for it only for Barty to twist away.

"Don't feign innocence!" Barty shouts at the phone, "I know he's a hot piece of meat everyone wants a slice of, which is why you need to participate in your initiation. . . Yes, were we will all judge if you are the best person for our Regulus. . . The pottery, obviously. . . Don't be stupid, of course we'll feel well enough to go to pottery class tomorrow morning. Who do you think we are? We're London's finest! We don't get hangovers! Do we, Reg?"

"Give me my phone," Regulus growls, and when Barty doesn't, Regulus grabs his chest and gives him a very mature nipple twist until Barty is screaming high pitched enough to shatter a wine glass. Regulus snatches the phone back, breathless suddenly with victory. 

"James! Hello, me again. Sorry about Barty, ignore him. However, pottery?"

James is laughing on the other end. Regulus is starting to get impatient. This is the longest it's taken him to convince someone to do something as mundane as pottery. Why isn't James saying yes yet?

"Yes," James says, tone soft and fond and silky as velvet. "I'll come to pottery class. What time?"

"We haven't figured that out yet," Regulus answers, because now he thinks of it, they hadn't actually got that far into planning this escapade. 

"Meet us at Reg's apartment!" Barty shouts, chin practically smacking the end of the phone to Regulus' ear. "He'll send you the address!"

"Okay," James replies with a breathless laugh. "You sure you're able to text? Your last ones weren't very accurate in your wording."

"Shut up, if you'd drank as much as us tonight you wouldn't even be standing right now," Regulus grumbles.

"How much have you drank?" James asks. 

"Enough to put a heavy weight in hospital."

"That's. . . incredibly reassuring," James sighs, and he doesn't sound as impressed as Regulus was hoping. "Please be safe tonight, your bodyguard still there?" 

Regulus looks at Barty, who's making immature gestures with his mouth and hands at Regulus. 

Regulus rolls his eyes and says to James, "Yes, unfortunately he is still present."

James just laughs at him again. Regulus doesn't think anyone has ever found him so amusing before. 

"Okay. Good. Text me your address," James says. "It's nice to finally hear from you, even if it is when you're clearly very drunk." 

"Thank Barty for this," Regulus replies. "He's the one who suggested bringing you to pottery class."

"Well, I'll be sure to thank Barty."

"Not in sexual favours, though."

"No! Fuck— what?" James cries indignantly, "Regulus, no, why?"

"Just checking. He's making blowjob gestures at me right now," Regulus shrugs. His words are still so garbled together he's surprised James is even understanding him at this point. 

"Lovely," James chuckles. "Be safe tonight. I'll see you tomorrow, text me if you change your mind though."

"Yes, sir. Good night, sleep well, don't let the bed bugs bite!"

"Good night, Regulus."

Regulus doesn't know if he manages to hang up the phone or if James does it on his end, but he doesn't get a moment to process what the fuck just happened before Barty is jumping on him. 

"Reggie and James sitting in a tree!" He sings, loud and jarring and tone deaf. 

"Barty!" Regulus shrieks, pushing back at his friend and unlocking his phone again. "I need to send him my address!" 

"I'll do it!" Barty says, swiping the phone. "If you do it, you'll manage to sober up enough to change your mind and this would all be for nothing!"

"All be. . . huh?"

"Hush, my angel," Barty murmurs, placing a finger on Regulus' lips to silence him. "Just trust me."

"Never done me anything good doing that."

"So cynical."

When they find Pandora and Evan again, the pair are on the dance floor holding everyone's drinks. Apparently the girls have gone home, because Mary became concerningly paralytic after throwing up and needed some sleep.

The four of them keep dancing and drinking. Regulus feels transported back to his university days, when it was just the four of them going out and crawling home at ungodly times in the morning dragging their tired feet from dancing for hours on end. 

Pandora leads them all out just before The Leaky closes. She tugs Regulus onto her back, and if he was sober he would be embarrassed that she can easily give him a piggy back. Evan and Barty are skipping ahead until Barry's leg gives way on the curb and he goes rolling over, trying to drag Evan with him. Crying in hysterics, Evan has to practically help Barty walk the rest of the way home. 

"Barty is staying with you tonight," Pandora says. 

"Alright," Regulus murmurs against her neck where he's slumped over her back. "Why?"

"Because I can't be asked to try and get him home," she laughs. "I've never seen him this drunk."

"Enfant idiot ivre. Il ne peut même pas marcher tout seul (Silly drunk child. Can't even walk on his own)," Regulus murmurs. 

Pandora laughs, tightening her grip on his legs. "I have no idea what you just said, but I'm sure it wasn’t complimenting."

Regulus chuckles halfheartedly. "Just to clarify, if you put me down I would be able to walk just fine on my own."

"I know," Pandora turns her head slightly so Regulus can see her grin. "But I want to carry you. It’s easy, plus the fact you’re going to severely kick yourself tomorrow when you’re sobered up over it."

"Wow. Thanks."

After a few more minutes of walking - or in Regulus’ case, being carried - Pandora speaks again.

"Did you have a good night?" She asks. She’s speaking softly, despite the two ahead of them being loud enough that they probably wouldn’t hear Pandora even if she was shouting.

Regulus hums in affirmation. "Did you?"

"Yes. It’s been a good day, actually."

"Felt like it wasn’t even today that we went shopping," Regulus hums again. 

Pandora chuckles softly. "Time flies when you’re having fun."

"I hate that saying, you know."

"You hate anything remotely optimistic."

"C'est exact, ma fleur (That is correct, my flower)."

"I love measuring how drunk you are based on how much your French accent comes back."

"It does not."

"It does. You sound more French at the moment than you do English."

"Va te faire foutre (Fuck off)."

Regulus doesn’t remember them getting to and into his flat, but suddenly he’s going from being comfortably draped over Pandora’s back to being launched onto the sofa. He lands with a groan, flopping against the cushions and looking up to see Pandora looking down at him disapprovingly.

"You’re not even going to put me to bed?" Regulus asks.

Pandora smiles softly at him. "If you want the bed, you get up and go to the bed. I still have to get Evan home yet."

"Is he not staying?"

"You know Evan," she shakes her head. "No matter how late or how drunk, the boy will not sleep anywhere other than his own bed after a night out. Pretty sure he’s got an ego-thing about people seeing how hungover he gets trying to keep up with you and Barty."

"That’s because no one can keep up with me and Barty."

"Of course," she muses, brushing his hair off his forehead affectionately. "Evan has put Barty on the floor, by the way. He’s already asleep, so don’t worry about him."

"Wasn’t going too," Regulus mumbles. "Bloody flat crasher."

Pandora hums at him. "Evan has got you both water. We’ll leave them in arms reach. Sleep well, and stay on your side. No choking on vomit in the night."

"Oui mère (Yes, mother)," Regulus mumbles. "Have fun getting Evan home. Je t'aime chérie (Love you, darling)."

She places a kiss on his forehead. "Je t'aime plus (Love you more)."

"Bye, Reggie!" Evan shouts, walking past him with a gaiting stumble. He swings to clearly smack Regulus in the head, but misses and ends up smacking the back of the sofa cushions.

"Come on now, Rosy," Pandora laughs. "You home next."

Regulus is asleep before he hears the front door close.

The first thing Regulus is aware of when he sluggishly crawls to consciousness is that his mouth feels drier than a drought in a desert. That, and the rhythmic pounding in his temples.

Regulus doesn’t often get hangovers. Normally, he can go out on a night out drinking and wake up the next day just a few levels down from normal and fresh. He can thank his father for that, because the only good thing the man ever passed down to Regulus was the older mans immaculate drinking skills.

Clearly though, today is not one of those glorious days where Regulus can spring from his bed feeling a little bit tired but otherwise fine. 

No. Oh no, no. Instead, he doesn’t even need to open his eyes or move a muscle to know that his body is in serious danger of rejecting the last sources of life inside of it.

Keeping his eyes shut in the hope he will drift back to unconsciousness and sleep off the mistakes he’s done to his body, Regulus grasps at the wisps of drowsiness still fogging his mind.

At least, that is until a shrill and hoarse voice shouts out.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Regulus’ eyes snap open. His vision instantly flicks down to Barty, who’s laid out sprawled on the floor with nothing but a blanket thrown over him. It takes him an extended minute to realise Barty is looking across the room. When Regulus looks too, his brain stops short as if the circuit has been cut.

James Potter is standing on the other side of his living room.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

7

Being invited to pottery class with a doctor and his friends at three in the morning was not what James was expecting to happen to him when he answered that phone call. Being woken up from his sleep, James had answered the phone automatically, even before he was remotely half conscious. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone rang him at the ass crack of dawn, so there was little to no hesitation in answering. In the back of his mind, he was waiting for Sirius’ voice to come filtering through to say Remus was in hospital again or something along the lines of having had another nasty seizure. So, when a random voice came through, slurring and excited, James’ sleep-hazed mind had catapulted from bracing itself for bad news to just downright confused.

It had taken him a few too many moments to connect the dots, when Regulus had introduced himself with such confidence, and then proceeded to sound personally hurt when James didn’t recognise the name. James’ mind was in spiral when he finally realised that this Regulus was actually Doctor Black: the super cute guy in green scrubs that so far, has refused to tell James his first name. Why? James has no idea, but he’s enjoyed the chase none the less. It’s kept him on his toes, and while he didn’t need any other reasons to keep going to the hospital to see the cute doctor, it created a kind of game between them to keep showing up to find out.

James won’t lie, when he realised who was on the phone with him, he was incredibly confused. The combination of the time and the state of the doctors voice very quickly gave away to James that the man was drunk. It thrilled James none the less that the darling Doctor Black has finally phoned him and made his heart race far too fast for the unsociable time in the morning. 

When Regulus had mumbled out that there was an emergency, James had, of course, panicked. A cute young doctor, drunk and out in the city somewhere, phoning someone he barely knew saying there was an emergency? Instantly, nasty and worrisome scenarios went through James’ mind. He was on the verge of throwing back his bed covers and going out on a search party immediately. When he’d read the texts to discover this 'emergency', was in fact his lack of reply to an invitation, he probably should have been annoyed. 

He wasn’t, though. 

Not in the slightest.

If anything, James found it both intriguing and adorable. Regulus had thought of him when him and his friends were planning a drunken day out doing pottery, and Regulus had been so eager for James to go that he had added urgency to the response. It was cute, and James did of course get Regulus to verbalise that the emergency was his lack of reply to an invitation and not a situation he’d completely misread. 

Drunken phone calls was the last of things James was expecting to come from the doctor who every time James has seen him at the hospital has been calm and collected, albeit quite mean and stand-offish. James hadn’t expected Regulus to be the type to drunk phone people and pout - James may have not seen him, but he’s been on the phone with Sirius enough times to know how to recognise when someone is pouting without actually seeing them. 

James’ mind had been spinning when he got off the phone. After being shouted at by someone called Barty, or also referred to as by Regulus as his 'body guard', about how pottery is going to be his 'initiation', James had been reeling at the idea of what the hell this pottery class was actually going to endure. James had felt a shameless spike of jealousy when he heard Barty talking about how wonderful Regulus was, and a small part of James felt like Barty sounded far too fond to only be a friend. James had been relieved when Regulus had come back on the phone, a combination of enjoying talking to the doctor and also to shut down the voice in James' head making him feel tense with the idea of how close Regulus and Barty really are. 

He knew it was stupid: this Barty wouldn’t be on the phone trying to judge if James is a good enough character to even know Regulus if him and Regulus were involved themselves. 

James has always been told, even growing up, that when he loves something he loves it with his whole heart. He knows this, and he doesn’t always mind. Sure, sometimes it’s rough when people haven’t reciprocated the same energy back to him, or when they’ve taken his loving and caring as overbearing. James is overbearing, he knows this as well. 

So when he first met Regulus that morning on the hospital ward, he’d instantly become intrigued. Mysterious, clearly smart as hell, and picture perfect like he’d been crafted by Gods, James had instantly wanted to know more. He enjoyed Regulus’ dismissiveness, enjoyed the fact that whenever he saw his mother she refused to give any information on the fleeting Doctor Black that she worked with other than the fact that he’s one of her favourites. Euphemia said anything Regulus hasn’t told James himself, he hasn’t said because Regulus doesn’t want to share it yet. James had found it annoying at first, but the fondness in his mothers eyes made him feel even more compelled to work for it himself. His mother clearly held a place in her heart for the young doctor, and James was determined to find out why.

When he left Regulus his phone number and didn’t hear anything for a few days, James won’t lie that it wasn’t on his mind. It was, almost all the time. He was worried he’d gone too far, concerned that it made the doctor repulse him, worried that he’d read all the signs wrong and maybe the resentment the doctor presented was genuine and not teasing. James knows he overthinks things far too much, always has and probably always will. It’s a side effect of having a brain that constantly feels like it’s working on 20 different levels and twice as fast as everyone else’s. He got in trouble for it at school, always berated for getting distracted in classes or taking peoples tones too personal. James is a natural worrier.

So, naturally, he worried when Regulus didn’t text him. He knew the levels his brain took it to were irrational, but it didn’t make him think about it any less. It didn’t stop him from losing sleep, or feeling sick every time he looked at his phone. 

Regulus phoning him made him feel like a fool, mostly because he’d been worrying about it for days and completely ignored the known fact that the young man is a doctor, that he has a life, a heavy work load and him not using James’ number could have come down to a multitude of things. James is refusing to obsess over the fact that it took Regulus to be drunk to make the contact, and instead just relishing in the adoration that he has used the number, and drunk or not, he invited James to pottery.

No one has ever invited James Potter to pottery.

James finds it incredibly cute.

The text Regulus sent with his address and instructions for the morning was surprisingly clear. Granted, it came in a bunch of separate texts that made it clear the sender was trying really hard to make sure there was no mistakes.

When James woke up (again) Sunday morning, he managed to get to Regulus’ apartment the exact time the text said.

10 o’clock sharp.

If no one replies to knocking, let yourself in with the key under the mat. 

If I’m asleep, feel free to wake me up.

Be warned I’m not a morning person, so bring coffee.

James, of course, took the texts very seriously and made sure to grab coffee on the way: two freshly brewed lattes from Mrs Pettigrew’s cafe, because James only serves the best possible coffee when he can, and if Regulus is hungover (which James will not be surprised about considering the amount he claimed he was drinking last night) then Mrs Pettigrew’s latte crafted from literal heaven will be a solid a step in the right direction to curing the self-attempted alcohol poisoning Regulus has potentially gifted himself today.

Regulus living in Kensington also doesn’t surprise James. Upscale and colourful houses? Pretty streets and independent pubs? Elegant neighbourhoods and endless amounts of parks? Yeah, James can see Regulus living here.

Standing outside the building addressed in the text, James feels a pool of dread in his stomach. He’s nervous, of course he is. The instruction to go in even if no one answers using a key underneath a doormat makes James both uncomfortable and also concerned - mostly because for all his obvious brains of being a 23 year old neurosurgeon student, it does seem rather daft to keep the spare key under a doormat. This problem James is determined to address later, because the concept at the stupid attempt at home safety makes James want to run out and buy Regulus a key safe straight away. 

When no one answers the knocking, James braces himself once more. He picks up the key with sweaty palms, balancing the lattes in one hand unlocking the door with the other. 

Inside, James doesn’t know what he was expecting to find. What kind of apartment did he expect from the young doctor, James had no idea. The doctor was mysterious enough that not a lot of apartment designs would have surprised him. 

Peaking his head around the door, the sight that greeted him almost made James laugh. Open plan, huge windows, and enough house plants to make Moony drop to his knees. 

And books, James notes. Lots of books. Enough to put national libraries to shame. Stacks and mountains in every spare spot of space. 

Stepping inside, James lets the door fall shut gently behind him.

It’s then that he notices the body laying on the floor, limbs sprawled out and blanket half falling off them. They’re still fully clothed, haven’t even taken off their shoes or leather jacket. 

James swallows thickly. The person on the floor is definitely not Regulus, but who is it? Surely if it was someone Regulus invited over for that, then they wouldn’t be sleeping fully clothed on the wooden floor in the living room?

James is tempted to turn and leave. He wants to walk out and lock the door, and pretend he never came here. He could text Regulus an excuse, or text him to say he didn’t know if the invitation was legit or not due to how drunk Regulus sounded on the phone - which, at the moment, James is now really starting to debate how genuine the offer really was. 

The body on the floor snuffles and shifts, but doesn’t wake. James stares, blinking stupidly. He’s about to leave when he spots a lump on the sofa and— oh.

Face half concealed by a thick blanket draped over him, dark hair spread out over the sofa cushion like a curly halo, is Regulus. 

Doctor Black.

Regulus Black.

James loves his name. He loves how unusual it it, how fitting it is, how it rolls of the tongue like a spoonful of fresh, hot honey. James would have never been able to guess it, but he loves how it suits the doctor more than anything he’d imagined in his head. Like the missing puzzle piece, learning the doctors first name last night really did make James feel some kind of way. 

Now, James can finally look at him and think Regulus.

And James is looking at him. Swallowed whole underneath the green blanket that reminds James of those scrubs he wears, James’ chest swells with adoration. He barely knows the guy, has only just learnt his name, and he’s already ready to swipe him off the sofa in front of him and carry him off into the sunset.

He can hear Moony calling him a simp in his head. He doesn’t care. 

"Who the fuck are you?"

James almost startles so hard he barely manages to avoid dropping the lattes in his hand.

He blinks down at the guy on the floor, who's looking at James like he's got two heads. 

Well, James supposes that's fair, considering he's currently standing in an apartment that some would consider he's broken in and entered. He used a key, yes, but technically—

James' eyes snap to Regulus', who's now awake and lifted his head enough that the blanket has fallen and revealed all of his lovely and sleep-rumbled face. 

He's squinting at James, eyes narrowed and sleep-hazed. He looks very confused, which does not make James feel any sort of comfort. 

"Uh. . . hello," James says, waving weakly. Why is he waving? He drops his hand like he's touched a flame and scolded it. 

A moment of silence passes. It's barely a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime when James is standing there and he's got two very sleepy people staring at him.  

"James?" Regulus finally asks. The raspiness of his voice almost makes James drop the coffees again. No one's voice should sound that good, especially when the raspiness actually sounds painful, like it's grating on Regulus' throat as he speaks.

"That’s James?" The guy on the floor practically shouts. "That is your James!?"

Your James. 

"Inside voices, you imbecile," Regulus grumbles, and a pale hand reaches out from under the blanket to rub at his eyes. And oh, that is just adorable. James' heart swoons embarrassingly at the tiny, almost childlike action. Regulus is just so—

"Hey! Don't tell me to use inside voices when—"

"Barty, I will stomp on your windpipe so hard it crushes like a fucking lady bug if you shout one more god-damn time!"

"Inside voices, darling."

"Fuck off."

James blinks, eyes flicking back and forth between the bickering. He wants to laugh, because it reminds him of Pads and Moony bickering, but these two sound genuinely angry. Their tones are mean, snappy. 

Regulus wasn't joking when he said he wasn't a morning person. 

James looks at the body on the floor. So this is Barty. The bodyguard and the defender against all predators. He's also the person that Regulus made sleep on a cold hard floor after a night out. 

James is definitely not slightly pleased and smug about that. 

No, definitely not. 

"Is that coffee?"

Regulus' head snaps up from where he'd dropped it to rest back on the arm of the sofa. "Coffee?"

James looks at the cups in his hand. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I didn't realise you'd be here as well, so I’ve only got two—"

"No worries, mate. There's two of us, so perfect number," Barty grins, and as he's speaking he's crawling off the floor and snatching one of the cups out of the cardboard holder. James watches, dumbfounded, as Barty leans back against the sofa, jean clad legs sprawled out in front of him as he drinks. 

"Oh, man. This is fucking good!" Barty sighs, head falling back against the blanket still covering Regulus’ legs. "Is this caramel? Nice touch. Regulus, you have to try this."

James doesn't have time to react as Barty is suddenly sprinting forward again, taking the other cup and handing it to Regulus. 

When Regulus moans after taking a sip, it takes all of James control to not leap across the room and jump right on the doctor. No one should be able to make drinking coffee so dirty like that.

James pushes the thoughts from his mind. He watches Regulus take delicate sips of the coffee, and feels a warm pool filling his stomach. The young doctor looks significantly peaky: skin slightly paler than normal, hair flat and messy, bags framed with dark circles. Yet to James, he still looks beautiful. 

Unreal, even. 

Mouth salivating. 

His skinny throat bobs and ripples when he drinks, his delicate hands cupping the paper flask it like a lifeline. 

It takes James a second to realise he's been staring for a minute. He feels himself physically jolt when he sees Barty looking at him, expression half hidden behind James' coffee, but his eyes show his smugness clearly. 

James feels his cheeks heat up, a burning blushing sizzling under his skin.

"I don't think I've formally introduced myself since you so kindly broke into our darling Reggie's apartment this morning to bring us fancy-pancy coffees," Barty smiles, and James can recognise a kind smile when he sees one - and whatever is on Barty's face is not kind. It's calculating and devious. It takes a lot of James' self control to not squirm on the spot. "My name is Barty Crouch Junior."

"Also known as the body guard?" James says before he can stop himself. "To fend of any and all predators?" 

Barty grins, white teeth almost looking sharp. 

"That's exactly right," he says. "All predators."

"Hush, Bartemius," Regulus chides tiredly. "It's too early for your bullshit. Leave the man alone and make him a coffee."

"Excuse me?" Barty barks. "Why do I have to make him a coffee?"

"Because I need a piss and you always take great joy in using my coffee machine," Regulus says as he kicks his legs under the blanket. "Now get off."

Barty instantly shuffles from the edge of the sofa with a loud huff, and Regulus throws the blanket back and climbs off with a considerable amount of grace considering he looks as shaky as a new born deer. The brunettes trousers and dress shirt are crinkled from sleeping in them, and one of his socks are half falling off his foot as he shuffles down the hallway. James' eyes following him like a moth to a flame, trying to hide the fact that his gaze zeros in on the way his trousers hug all the right places. 

Barty clears his throat loudly and James snaps back into the room. 

"Coffee?" Barty asks sweetly. 

"Yes please," James croaks.

"He has that effect on people," Barty smirks. "Not many people are immune to the Regulus Black effect."

"Uh, t-the Regulus Black effect?" James stammers as Barty climbs off the floor and strolls to the kitchen. "What is—"

"You see the state of you right now?" Barty asks over his shoulder after he's drained the last of the latte and tossed the cup effortlessly into the bin. "Whipped and desperate? Drooling merely at the sight of him despite him being hungover and wearing day old clothes that he's both slept and sweated in? Yeah. That is the Regulus Black effect. You aren't the first, and you won't be the last too caught in the bear trap that is that man's unnaturally addictive looks."

"I— uh, I'm not— that's not—" James huffs, shaking his head. "I'm not whipped and desperate."

"Oh," Barty laughs as he drops a pod in the very smart looking coffee machine. "Of course you're not. That's why you turned up to his apartment after a drunken invite to go to pottery and actually brought some lattes when asked. Yeah. Sure. You're totally not whipped." 

James is gaping, mouth open and jaw slack. His brain feels like the on-switch has been promptly turned off. 

"He asked for lattes," he mumbles weakly.

Barty laughs, a short and borderline harsh laugh. It’s clear he’s feeling victorious. Smug, even. Like he knows he’s proven something so often deniably correct. 

"That boy has got you wrapped around his little finger," he muses, shaking his head. He slides a mug across the kitchen island, now filled with hot, steaming coffee and silky frothy milk. "What was it that caught your attention the first time? Was it the hair? Everyone loves the hair. It’s as soft as it looks, you know, and the curls are natural. Or was it the cheekbones? I swear Evan would kill for those cheekbones. They’re very sharp, aren’t they? They give Cillian Murphy a run for his money. Or was it the pessimistic outlook on his gloomy life and general dismissive attitude towards your simple being that got you hooked? Wait. No, I’ve got it. It was his ass, wasn’t it?" 

"His— I don’t— I haven’t— uh, he-he has lovely cheekbones, yes, but—"

"Bartemius."

James startles so hard he almost sends the mug of coffee flying across the kitchen. He spins around to see Regulus standing a few steps behind him. James’ stomach cartwheels at how soft and cuddly he looks now that the young doctor is now dressed in an oversized hoodie and some black sweatpants that are tucked into thick white wool socks. 

Regulus’ eyes flick from James, whose face is burning with a hot flush, and then to Barty on the other side of the kitchen.

"Have you broken him already?" Regulus asks, tone almost bored. Even then, his voice sounds like hot honey. James is certain he could listen to him all day.

"Not broken, as such," Barty replies nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just spent the last few minutes making James have an internal crisis by gloating about Regulus’ cheekbones and arse. "Just a little bit of fine, friendly grilling."

"Nothing about you is friendly," Regulus grumbles, shuffling into the room further. "Did you make me coffee too?"

"You just had a latte?" James blurts. 

"Do not underestimate this man’s ability to consume endless coffee in a short space of time," Barty snorts. "You see, Reggie-kins here doesn’t have blood running through his veins, but instead the finest pure espresso."

"Right," James mumbles. 

"The latte was fantastic though," Regulus nods. "Sorry that Barty stole yours."

"I did not!" Barty cries.

"You did."

"How—"

"James had no idea your slimy being would be staying over last night," Regulus states, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans casually against his kitchen side. James loves the way he looks so effortlessly confident in his own home, despite being cursed with a clear hangover. His hair is still a mess of curls, drooping down on his forehead and making his already alarmingly pale skin seemed even more washed out. "He brought two lattes this morning because he assumed it would be just the two of us. You stole his latte, Barty. A caramel one, too. That’s practically criminal."  

"He could have said something," Barty argues. "The twat let me take it!"

"W-well," James stammers, "I—"

"He was too busy drooling over your adorable sleepy face to fight for it," Barty grins. "Isn’t that right, James?"

"Well, I. . ." James trails off, because honestly - he can’t actually argue with what Barty said. He was too busy staring at Regulus to even register Barty had swiped the latte until it was too late. "It’s okay. It was just a latte."

Barty smiles, tilting his head as he looks at Regulus. "See! He’s fine with it."

"He looks pretty overwhelmed for someone who says they’re fine," Regulus says. "How much have you bullied him while I was gone?"

"If he can’t handle me, how do you expect him to handle the others? Evan will have him cracked in seconds, and don’t even get me started on Pandora. You know she will go full mama-mode before he even gets a chance to—"

"Pandora won’t do that straight away," Regulus chides. "She’ll lead him into a false sense of security before she breaks him down."

James is certainly in no rush to meet this Evan and Pandora now. 

"E-excuse me?" He stammers. 

"Say hello to one third of the Regulus Protection Squad," Barty grins. 

James swallows. He’s not sure what’s going on here. He looks to Regulus, almost helplessly. 

The young doctor sighs. "Alright, initiation over, Barty. Get your ass out, you need to shower and you’re not using mine again."

"But—"

"You have no kind regard for other peoples soaps, Barty," Regulus grumbles. "Out. Go home and abuse your own fucking shampoo."

Barty rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. "Not my fault you buy the expensive stuff."

"It’s called having self-respect."

"Fuck you, Black. I don’t want to smell like spiced mangos anyways," Barty pushes himself off the kitchen side and takes all of two steps before his eyes narrow on James. "Are you sure you want me to leave you alone with him? He could still be planning to drug and molest you, Regulus."

Regulus rolls his eyes, motioning lazy towards James. "Does he look like a molester to you?"

"It’s the nice ones you have to be careful of," Barty says, eyes sharp and hard as they stare at James like he’s nothing but a petty criminal. "They’re always the dirtiest bastards. Are you a dirty bastard, James?"

What the fuck?

"N-no."

"That didn’t sound too confident to me," Barty glares. "Did that sound confident to you, Regulus?"

"Give it a rest, Barty," Regulus sighs.

James shakes his head, forcing himself to find his voice again. He’s so confused it’s giving him a headache. 

"No. No, I’m not a dirty bastard."

Barty hums, eyes travelling up and down him. "If you say so. Regulus, frequent updates, please. Otherwise I’ll come back, and this time, I’ll bring a shovel."

"Goodbye, Barty," Regulus interjects, and the pointed look he gives Barty must be enough to finally give him the push to actually leave.

Barty stares at James for another long moment. Eyes hard, direct and calculating. James can’t look away, but the eye contact makes him feel like he’s being questioned by the police like that one time when him and Sirius almost got arrested when they were sixteen.

Barty huffs, before he promptly stalks out of the kitchen. James watches over his shoulder as he swipes up his phone and keys off the floor. He pauses at the front door, looking back and instantly making eye contact with James again. He holds two fingers up to his own eyes, then points them at James in a very clear, nonverbal way of saying I’m watching you, asshole.

It’s only when the door shuts and Barty is gone does James feel his muscles relax. He practically melts against the kitchen island, letting out a heavy breath like it’s been trapped in his lungs for too long.

"Well," he breathes, "he’s, uh. . . lovely."

"Don’t lie," Regulus muses. "He’s a piece of shit."

James barks a startled laugh. "Yeah, okay. He was intimidating, all right. He obviously cares about you, though."

"Yeah, well," Regulus shrugs a lazy shoulder. "He’s a caring piece of shit."

"How long have you guys been friends?"

Regulus hums into his mug of coffee. 

"Since the start of university. Met him when I was 18. Him, Pandora and Evan have been the closest thing to family I’ve ever had."

"Oh," James murmurs weakly. That’s kind of sad, he realises. He can’t imagine what that must have been like, to only find your family through a group of friends at 18 years old. 

Was Regulus’ home life bad? Did he even have a proper home life before he went to university?

It reminds James of Sirius before he ran away - completely reliant on his friends because his own family at home were so cruel and nasty. The marauders and the Potter’s are Sirius’ family, and they’ve always been closer to him than any blood relations ever were. Sirius didn’t even consider those he shared blood with to be his family anymore. As far as James was aware (and he was aware of pretty much everything with Sirius), Sirius hasn't had any contact with a single member of his family since he ran away when he was 16. 

He remembers what Sirius had been like when he was living at home. This casanova of fun, noise and laughter when he was in school but after, away from everyone else and in the shadows of his own torment, he was a kid being broken down to the point of harsh return. 

James still remembers the day Sirius came to him when he was sixteen. Bloody and bruised, arm clean broken from being pushed down the stairs when he tried to leave, his best friend was a mess. Sirius didn't cry for four days after he came to the Potter's. The first night, his mother justified his sightless gaze and stony exterior as shock. James understood that, considering Sirius' parents had beaten him within an inch of his life, so he had a right to be in a state of shock. The next day, and the day after, Sirius had become a sharp act of nonchalance. He acted as if nothing had happened, wouldn't even acknowledge the cast on his arm or the healing bruises on his face. James had been walking on eggshells, waiting patiently for the outburst of realisation that he was practically disowned at sixteen. 

Sirius had broken down eventually. Of course he had. It had been ugly too: throat wrenching sobs, screaming bloody mary, crying like a parent grieving their murdered child. It had come out suddenly over dinner, taking all the Potter's by surprise despite the fact they'd been waiting for the fallout. 

James hates to think what Sirius' outcome would have been if he'd stayed in his childhood home any longer than he already did. Physically, mentally and emotionally beaten down into barely a shell of himself, he relied on the marauders and James' parents to rebuild what his own family had broken. 

It took a long time for the Potter's, Remus and Peter to put the shattered pieces of Sirius back together. While he'll never be the same, and the scars still lay on his skin and emotionally in his heart, Sirius has become the person his parents always tried to ruin: a happy man. 

James looks at Regulus and his heart aches in the same way it ached for Sirius. They're not the same, of course, but it still plucks at the strings in James' chest to know someone else has potentially had a horrible home life too. Someone that once maybe needed saving like Sirius did. 

Regulus talks about his friends being his found family with nonchalance. He says it with a kind of dejected acceptance, like the way it is, or like it's the best way it could have turned out. James knows nothing, but he'll accept that for Regulus. 

A pair of fingers clicking in front of his face startles James out of his thoughts. He jumps, breath hitching. 

Regulus is standing directly opposite him, leaning slightly over the bar to reach in front of his face. His expression is twisted slightly, dark eyebrows pulled tight and furrowed as he looks at James like he's some strange animal. 

"You okay?" He asks. "You look like someone has run over your dog."

James shakes his head, blinking himself back into the room.  

"I— yeah," he croaks, and then promptly clears it. "Yeah. I'm fine, sorry. I was just— I. . . I'm glad you have your friends."

Regulus' expression is slightly unreadable, but James can see the confusion and slight grimace. 

"Right," he says slowly, a dark eyebrow arching up. "Thanks?" 

James smiles. "You're welcome."

"Fucking hell, Barty really did shake you up," Regulus sighs, tired and exasperated. "You look like your last brain cell has died inside your very skull."

"Hey!"

"Look," Regulus huffs, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. "In case it wasn't obvious, the drunken plan of going to pottery isn't happening today. Sorry for messing you about and making you get up on a Sunday, and really sorry for whatever me and Barty said to you last night. I won't lie, it's all a bit hazy and I'm not sure I actually want to know what we said to you. It's all— fuck, this is why me and Barty can't be trusted on tequila. I blame him entirely, there is no way this was my idea. Especially phoning you at that time in the morning. So yeah, I'm sorry for messing you about. That was. . . I didn't mean to. . ."

"It's fine," James smiles, inside his chest is warm and he feels like beaming. Regulus is getting all flustered and apologetic, when he doesn't even know what the drunken phone call last night and coming round today was the most exciting thing that's happened to James since coming back to London. 

"It's not fine," Regulus grumbles, rubbing his eyes. 

"I'm just glad you texted, if I'm honest," James admits. "And the phone call was a nice surprise, regardless of the time."

Regulus stares at him. 

"Stop being nice," he mumbles. "You're making it seem like you're pathetically easy to please."

"I'm afraid I am," James shrugs loosely. "It was just nice to hear from you."

Regulus stares at him, long and hard. He stares at James like he can't quite believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"Why?"

James blinks. "Why what?"

"Why would it have been nice to hear from me?"

James laughs, surprised. "I hope I don't give the impression of someone who buys coffees and gives out their number to just anyone. I gave you my number because I like you."

Regulus blinks at him. 

"Hence, it was nice to hear from you," James adds, since Regulus actually seems to be struggling to comprehend the simple fact that James gave him his number for the purpose of it being used. 

"You don't know me," Regulus murmurs. 

"I know enough to know I want to know more," James shrugs. "Consider it your charming good looks and charisma that drew me in."

Regulus rolls his eyes, but at least the confused expression is gone. 

How can someone as attractive as Regulus ever be confused by someone giving him his number? 

Sure, James doesn't know Regulus like he knows the rest of his friends. If anything, Regulus and Moony are more acquainted than James and him are at this rate. 

What James does know so far is that Regulus is a doctor, and a good one at that if his mothers detailed comments about the ward and Moony's praises are anything to go by. He knows the doctor is already focusing on becoming a surgeon, that he has an undeniable and constant ravishment for coffee, that he's clearly smart as a whip and has the has the work ethic of a champion. Plus, James doesn't need to look hard for very long to know that undeniable, Regulus is easily the most beautiful person he's laid eyes on. 

"You're staring again," Regulus says, though he's not looking at James but instead making himself another coffee. 

"You're something nice to stare at."

Regulus scoffs, shaking his head as he puts milk in the machine. 

"You really are something, Potter."

"I'm taking that as a compliment," James shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee from earlier. It's luke warm how, but rather delicious for a home coffee machine one, so James doesn't waste it and drinks it in almost five large gulps. 

"Want another one?"

James shakes his head. "No, thank you. I can't consume coffee that frequently. Unless you want to spend today cleaning up diarrhoea off your kitchen floor."

Regulus looks up sharply, face stricken and startled. 

"Lovely," he grimaces. 

A thought comes barrelling into James' mind as fast and hard as a bowling ball.

"By the way, are you French?"

Regulus stops short as he’s moving around the kitchen. "Half. My mother is from there, and I spent a few years living there in my late teens."

"You don’t sound French now," James quizzes.

"I consider it an on-par first language with English, but it’s easier to speak and sound English when I’m working and stuff. When I drink, the accent kind of comes back without me realising," Regulus explains. "I’m guessing you heard it on the phone last night."

"Just a smidge," James smiles. "It sounded beautiful though."

"Drunk French?"

"Any French," James corrects. "Do you speak it fluently?"

"What part of being half French did you not get?" Regulus huffs.

"Will you speak some French to me?"

"No. I'm not a show puppet," Regulus replies quickly, but when he see's James' face falls, he quietly adds, "Not yet."

James smiles. He can wait, he decides.

A few minutes pass between them in silence as the machine grumbles away and Regulus eventually fills a mug full of fresh, steaming caffeine.

"So," James starts, "Uh, as the pottery thing isn't happening anymore, do you. . . if you just want to spend the day recovering, then I can go. I appreciate if you don't want me hanging around if you feel like shit, especially considering how much you guys said you were drinking last night."

Regulus huffs a laugh as he takes a tentative sip of his drink. 

"All I'm going to do today is lay on the sofa and watch reruns of bake-off with Sylvester," Regulus replies, and James doesn't have a moment to ask who this 'Sylvester' is before Regulus continues. "So, feel free to stay if you want. I'm probably going to order in some lunch too, as I don't have any food in remotely suitable for lunch, you're welcome to stay and have some as an apology for messing you around."

"I'd like that," James smiles, then he tilts his head teasingly, "However, I must admit, never took you for a Bake-off fan."

"Yeah, yeah", Regulus huffs and rolls his eyes half-heartedly, "Consider it a guilty pleasure."

After they make their way the short distance to the living room, James' temptation wins. 

"I have to ask," he says as he settles beside Regulus on the surprisingly comfortable sofa. "Who is Sylvester?"

"Oh," Regulus blinks, remote in hand. "He's my cat."

Of course, James almost laughs. 

"Not surprised you're a cat person," James smiles. 

Regulus snorts. "You won't catch me dead with a dog, I can assure you that."

"You don't like dogs?" James gasps. "Who doesn't like dogs?"

"People with sense, that's who," Regulus snarks. "They're worse than children. They smell, leave hair everywhere, drool on everything in sight. And don't get me started on the barking."

James laughs loudly. "You're very passionate about that. And children? Not a fan of those either?"

"There's a reason why I didn't go into paediatrics," Regulus grumbles. "I really hate kids."

James smiles. Regulus seems like the type to absolutely resent any human small enough to not know how to blow its nose. Dogs as well, looking at the doctor beside him, James also isn’t surprised. While James is an active believer that everyone likes dogs because, seriously, who doesn’t like dogs? He’ll accept the very clear fact that Regulus seems like the least possible dog-person known to man.

"If you had to choose which to have, and you don't have a choice on having neither, what you rather have for a day: a dog or a child?"

Regulus peels his eyes away from the TV, and after a moment of silence, he spits out casually, "I’d rather throw myself onto the tube tracks."

The statement makes James wheeze because, what the fuck? Regulus is about to take the crown for the biggest drama queen in James’ life - and Sirius has held that title far above anyone else for 15 years now. 

"Fucking hell!" James finally chokes out. "How do you have that much spite in your body so early on a lovely Sunday morning?"

"It’s a full-time job," Regulus shrugs. 

"The hospital?"

"A hobby. Carrying around this much spite is an exhausting feat."

James chuckles, shaking his head. "You’re funny."

Regulus’ head snaps to the side to stare at him so fast James is sure the action would have given him a headache if the young doctor didn’t already have one.

"You—what?"

James frowns, confused. "I said you’re funny."

"Oh."

"Sorry, does that ruin your street cred?"

Regulus scoffs, rolling his eyes and looking back at the TV. 

"You’re weird, James Potter."

"And you, Regulus Black, are lovely."

"Your definition of 'lovely' must be tainted."

"Are you always this gloomy?"

"It’s a lifestyle," Regulus shrugs a shoulder.

James chuckles again.

"Right, shut up now," Regulus says as he slouches down on the sofa. "Time to spend the next hour staring into Paul Hollywood’s unnaturally blue eyes."

They do spend an hour watching Paul Hollywood’s eyes. Then James orders them some lunch, just some bagels and more coffee, and then Regulus promptly falls asleep during the third episode. 

James doesn’t stare. He simply glances, albeit a lot, to the side at the snoozing guy beside him. Regulus sleeps into the sofa, cushioned on his back against the arm, dark curls circling his head like a halo. James moves his curled up legs so they’re stretched out across James’ lap, and if James gently strokes the sharp bones of Regulus’ ankles while he’s sleeping, then no one needs to know but James.

James’ phone buzzes beside him, the silent ringer stopping any harsh sounds blaring out in the quiet flat.

Sirius (14:34) prongsie my boy

Sirius (14:34) wormtail got out of babysitting the baby worms tonight sooooo

Sirius (14:34) maruaders night out!!

Sirius (14:35) don’t u dare say no!!

James (14:36) isn’t it a sunday pads?

A minute passes without reply, and James is about to put his phone down when it suddenly starts ringing. Startled, he jerks in surprise. Regulus shifts beside him but doesn’t wake, so James quickly shuffles out from under his legs and dips down the corridor into the first room, which turns out to be a surprisingly spacious and alarmingly clean bathroom. 

"Pads," he answers, tone hushed as he puts the toilet seat down and sits on it. 

"Prongs?" Sirius replies. "Are you whispering?"

"Yeah, sorry, I. . . I’m hiding in the bathroom."

Sirius is silent for a moment.

"You’re hiding in a bathroom?" He echoes, "I thought you were going to pottery?"

"I was," James nods, "There was a change of plan."

"Right," Sirius drawls. "A change of plan that has lead you to hiding in a bathroom somewhere?"

"Hiding is a bad way of—"

"Oh my god," Sirius suddenly gasps, "Have you been kidnapped? Are you currently hiding in a petrol station toilet somewhere? I knew you going to pottery on a Sunday was a ploy to get to you! Do I need to phone the police? Quick share your location, Prongs. Damn, I always thought I would be the first to be human-trafficked."

"What?" James sputters. "Wait, Pads! I— I’m not fucking kidnapped, you twat! We just never ended up going to pottery. I’m literally with a doctor, why did you think I was going to get kidnapped?"

"Um, because doctor is a clear plot for someone who can easily dissect you and sell your organs."

"Fucking hell, Pads," James groans. "I’m not being kidnapped, and no one is selling my organs. I’m in the bathroom because Regulus fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake him."

"Regulus?" Sirius replies. "Who is— oh, is that this cute doctor you’ve been drooling over for weeks? Wait, he’s the one who invited you to pottery? Fuck, Prongs, are you crushing on a 50 year old? Regulus is definitely an old man name."

"No!" James cries, and then flinches at the loud noise echoing. "No, he’s not bloody 50 years old. But, he is slightly hungover, so he’s currently sleeping on the sofa."

"And you stayed because. . ."

"Because I want to spend time with him," James snaps defensively. "He said I could stay, so I’ve stayed. He’s a pleasure to be around."

"Moony said he’s an asshole."

"He is not! And do not listen to Moony! It’s all lies, he loves Regulus really," James whines. "He’s just saying those things to make fun of me."

"Moony said he’s mean, has a permanent death glare and speaks to you like you're some meaningless dirt on the bottom of his shoe."

James groans, flopping his head back so it thumps on the wall. "He’s just a bit. . . stand-offish to begin with. He’s lovely once he warms up to you."

"And has he?" Sirius asks. "Has he warmed up to you?"

"Well, he let me stay here, so I guess?" James tries. 

Truthfully, Regulus hasn’t particularly 'warmed up', per se, but he is certainly less hostile. He seems to be more comfortable with James staying while he works (or sleeps, more like) off his hangover. James doesn’t mind though - he kind of enjoys the insolent tones and the jabs at his general optimism. Regulus is a special kind of grumpy, a kind that James enjoys being around because it’s kind of refreshing. James also has a feeling the grumpiness is a kind of act Regulus uses, that deep down somewhere inside him is a happy person.

James wants to make him happy.

"—ongs? Buddy? Mate, are you there?"

"Sorry, yeah, I’m still here," James mumbles. "Why did you phone again?"

Sirius huffs, "Because your response to us going out on a marauders night out was embarrassing, and I wanted to grill you for channeling your inner grandad about going out on a Sunday."

"Wow, thanks. So glad I answered the phone now," James rolls his eyes. 

"Are you hesitating on a Marauder night at the Leaky because of the mean doctor?" Sirius asks, then gasps dramatically, "I see! We’ve already been replaced!"

"No you haven’t, you knob," James grumbles, "I just don’t know when he’s going to kick me out, and it feels mean to leave just to go out drinking."

"It’s not 'just' drinking!" Sirius snaps half-heartedly. "It’s the Marauders drinking!"

"Fine!" James hisses, but he’s smiling. "Fine. I’ll come tonight. But, nothing too heavy, you and Peter both have work tomorrow morning."

"Shut up, dad."

"You’ll be eating your words if you have to go into the parlour tomorrow and puke all over the poor people you're tattooing."

"I’ll just make it into a new statement of tattoo experience."

"Disgusting, Padfoot," James grimaces. "Absolutely disgusting."

"Shut up and finish up with your doctor," Sirius teases, tone menacing and childish. "Leaky at seven. Don’t be late!"

"Yes, Pads, of course."

After Sirius hangs up, James sighs on the toilet seat for a long minute before he makes his way out of the bathroom. He gets all of two steps before he practically jumps out of his skin. Regulus is standing at the end of the sofa, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a black cat nestled in his arms.

"Sylvester!" James cheers. "The infamous cat!"

"That was a long shit," Regulus replies, not looking up from the cat as he rubs behind its ear.

"Oh," James fumbles, eyes widening. "No, I wasn’t—"

"I know," Regulus interrupts, meeting his eyes. "You talk loudly. It was clear you were on the phone."

"Sorry, I didn’t—" James runs a hand through his hair. "I didn’t want to wake you and my friend rang, so I—"

"You don’t have to explain."

"I— I’m sorry."

Regulus frowns. "Why are you apologising?"

"I feel like I was rude."

Regulus raises a dark eyebrow at him. "I was the one who fell asleep on you."

"Yeah, but that was cute," James laughs.

The young doctor’s eyes twitch. 

"I’m not cute."

"I beg to differ," James smiles, feeling almost giddy. "I actually think you’re very cute."

"Get out."

"Wait—" James feels his own face fall just as his chest tightens. "Really?"

"No, fuck sake," Regulus huffs, rolling his eyes. He gently puts Sylvester down. "Unless you want to, of course. I won’t make you stay."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I’m not objected to the idea of some company, even if it is abysmal."

James grins. "So lovely."

Regulus shuffles into the kitchen with dragging feet. 

"Coffee?"

"Do you drink anything other than coffee?" James asks.

"Yes," Regulus replies. "Espresso martinis."

Walked right into that one, James realises.

"Do you have any tea? If I have anymore coffee I’ll be bouncing off your flat walls."

It’s a long shot, because Regulus does not look like a tea drinker in the slightest. Everything about him screams running on coffee and pessimism, but James really shouldn’t have anymore coffee. He’s already had two since he arrived as he had another one with lunch, and he is, like most normal people, easily affected by the wonders of caffeine.

"I do, actually," Regulus replies. "I keep a stash here for Pandora. So, if you don’t like PG-Tips or chamomile, I’m afraid you’ll have to take it up with her."

"PG-Tips is fine, and I’ll be sure to thank Pandora and her superb taste in tea," James grins. "Do you feel any better than earlier?"

"Unsurprisingly, yes I do," Regulus switches on the kettle and goes about making himself another pod coffee. "Still, sorry for falling asleep on you. Not my finest hosting moment."

"A hangover nap is always prioritised over being a good host," James shrugs. "And don’t worry, it really wasn’t a problem. I didn’t mind at all. If I’d drank as much as you last night, I probably wouldn’t have made it out of bed this morning."

Regulus nods as he slides a cup of fresh tea across the island. "You do look like someone who would be rather pathetic with a hangover."

"Hey!" James squarks. "I’ll have you know I’m a very honorary drunks and a pro at handling my hangovers."

Regulus scoffs, shaking his head. "I would bet an undignified amount of money on you being the biggest wuss after a night of drinking."

"I will prove you wrong," James promises. "Wormtail would drink you under the table. Everyone always underestimates his drinking skills."

"Worm-what?" Regulus frowns. 

"Oh, it’s a nickname. Me and my three best friends all have them."

"That’s incredibly embarrassing."

James blanches like he's been physically slapped. 

"It is not!" He gasps. "We came up with them when we met in year seven. It was the promise of our friendship."

Unfazed, Regulus nods, "As I said. Incredibly embarrassing."

"You’ve already met Moony. Remus, remember? You'll love the others too, they’re Padfoot and Wormtail. We're the Marauders!"

"The. . . Marauders?" Regulus echoes, face taut and confused as if someone has given him an impossibly riddle to figure out. "Are you five years old?"

"25, actually," James corrects instantly. "And come on, it's not embarrassing! We're best friends."

"You sound like a group of wannabe losers trying to be a boy-band."

"Well, we did come up with it when we were 11, so I’ll agree the nicknames are slightly unusual. We're best friends though, and have been for almost 15 years, so keep your mean comments to yourself!"

Regulus shrugs one shoulder lazily. "Stop giving me good reasons to be mean then."

James groans, head flopping back on his neck painfully so he can look up at the stark white painted ceiling. 

"You’re impossible."

"Thank you."

"It’s not a compliment!"

"Rather be impossible than easy."

"Oh for fu— forget it," James laughs, "I won’t tell you anything anymore. You’re only going to be mean."

"No, please, do share more about your super interesting life. Do you have nicknames for everyone?" Regulus’ lips twitch at the corners. "Do I have a super special nickname?"

James blushes.

"Oh," Regulus’ eyes widen. "No. No! Please, tell me you haven’t—"

"In my defence, I didn’t know your first name till last night," James rushes to clarify, "So, naturally, I had to find some way of identifying you when I talked about you to—"

"You’ve talked about me?"

"Well, of course?" James frowns. "You give good reasons to be talked about."

"Do not expand on that, please," Regulus groans, closing his eyes with a grimace.

James almost wants to do what Regulus doesn’t want and ask about that. Mostly because he can’t quite understand - surely Regulus knows he’s someone easy to ramble about. With his almost picture perfect looks and insanely qualified job for someone so young, he’s any persons topic of conversation to dream about.

"I won’t lie, it wasn’t fun always calling you Doctor Black, and my mum decided to play along with the game of not telling me your first name just to watch me suffer, so I needed to find some other way of referring to you as."

Regulus’ eyes snap up to his. "Euphemia wouldn’t tell you my first name?"

"Nope," James shakes his head. "I asked her over dinner after like the second time I saw you at the hospital. She just smiled at me and said if you weren’t going to tell me then she won’t. She said it was obviously something you wanted to keep a mystery and she didn’t want to spoil it."

"You asked your mother about me?"

"You know, when you use that tone, you make me sound weird."

"That's because you are weird. You asked your mother, my boss, about me."

"Kind of your fault for working with my mum."

"It wasn’t exactly a choice I made to spite you considering I wasn’t aware of your existence when I started my placement there."

James has come to terms a while ago that his crush was on someone who’s worked with his mother for years. Sure, at first, he realised it was weird that he was bringing up his mothers colleagues at the dinner table when they have a strict rule at the home to not talk too much about work unless it was something someone needed to get off their chest (a rule mostly put in place by Euphemia because she always had a belief that when working in a place as stressful and emotionally demanding as a hospital ward, it was healthy to sometimes leave work at work and not spend every waking moment of home life talking about what you spend doing for 12 hours). So when James asked his mother back in October who the pretty young doctor is that she works with, his mother just smiled at him with a looking at thinking back on it now, James should have been unsettled by. His mother looked so knowing, so unsurprised, especially when James admitted that yes, it is the young Doctor Black that I want to know anything and everything about, especially his first name, which the guy seems to be adamant to not reveal despite James' best efforts. 

James was surprised when his mother didn't immediately start talking about Regulus. Instead, she just smiled and said that Regulus would tell him anything he wanted James to know himself in his own time. 

James isn't going to worry that it took Regulus weeks and also a considerable amount of alcohol to tell James even his name, and he is more than sure it's going to be a while longer before he gets to know anything else. But that's fine for James, because James is happy to be patient and wait for the world if that means that Regulus will open up to him. In his own time, at his own accord, and James is happy to fill the silence until he's ready.

So James talks while Regulus is making them dinner. He tells Regulus about his family, his grandparents that live in Scotland in the most amazing Victorian manor that makes James feel like he's on holiday across the sea whenever he goes and visits them. He tells Regulus about his family holiday to Costa Rica when he was seven years old and got stung by a jellyfish. He tells Regulus about his and the Marauders pranks they pulled at school, and Remus' genius ways of getting them out of trouble by sweet-talking the teachers to give them minimal punishments. He talks about his and Wormtails travels around the world when they were 18 and all the memories of dingy hostels and Wormtail losing at least two pairs of socks in each city. He talks about him and Padfoot moving too Yorkshire for university when they were 20, and how incredible it felt to qualify as a paramedic and start his career on the road. 

Regulus perks up particularly at that. He seems surprised when James admits he's qualified, did a year on the road and has taken some leave to come back to London because he was feeling homesick. 

Regulus makes them a simple spaghetti bolognaise for dinner, which is simple and easy but tastes divine as soon as James places the first bit in his mouth. Regulus blushes at the praise James makes about the food, dismissing the compliments that it's all he could scrap together with the minimal ingredients he has in his flat. James feels his stomach cartwheel at the red hue tinting Regulus' cheeks and decides he wants to keep showering Regulus in compliments and kindness just to keep that healthy, shy glow to his face. 

It feels so easy and natural already. Sitting in Regulus' apartment, eating at the clean and spotless kitchen bar, James chatting and Regulus listening. It's the most content James has felt since he realised he missed London all those miles away in Yorkshire. 

James doesn't want to leave when the evening rolls around, but he knows that the guys won't let him get out of drinks with them this evening, especially now Sirius knows he's been hanging around with the doctor he's gushed so much about. Before he goes, James says next time it's his turn to treat Regulus to food as he's paid and cooked both meals today. 

"Next time?" Regulus asks, and James would panic that he'd overstepped if it wasn't for the small glint in Regulus' eyes. 

"Well, I owe you now, so there needs to be a next time," James smiles. 

"You've bought me more coffee and sandwiches then I can remember at the hospital."

"Those were bribes to get you to notice me."

Regulus scoffs and shakes his head. "Don't tell me you're the kind of person who makes 10-step plans to woo people."

"Oh no, of course not," James grins. "It never takes me 10-steps. Three steps at the most. Bribe with food and coffee, stalk at work, get invited to home to crash hungover Sundays."

Regulus huffs, and then his face twists with something that James can’t decipher. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flickering away.

"I don’t. . ." he starts, shaking his head. "I’m not sure if this is a good idea, James."

James feels like the words were a physical punch.

"What?"

"Whatever this is," Regulus says, motioning between them. "I don’t. . . do this kind of stuff."

"We’re not doing anything."

Regulus sighs, finally meeting James’ eyes again. He looks defeated suddenly.

"Your mother is my boss."

"Well, I’m not asking you to date my mother."

"What— no!" Regulus groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, hey," James laughs softly. His fingers twitch to reach out and hold Regulus, to either squeeze his shoulder in reassurance or drag him into a tight hug. The boy is so stiff he looks like he’s holding the world’s tension on his shoulders. James wants to help that, wants to ease it. "It’s okay. Today was nice. I had a good time, and I really like you. I don’t. . . we don’t have to make it into anything if you don’t want to, I just— I want to keep seeing you and talking to you."

Regulus looks pained, and James tries not to take it too personal. He can see in the younger boys eyes that there is something tormenting him behind the stormy grey irises. 

"Whatever happens, we’ll take it as your pace," James smiles, hoping it’s enough. Please don’t shut me out. Please don’t shut me out. Please don’t shut me out. "And I promise to never bring up my mother, your boss, again."

Regulus, at least, laughs at that.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

8

Regulus Black is not weak.

This is a fact. A known fact, even.

Regulus Black is not weak because Rasalas Black was. It took a while for Regulus to realise the change, but once he did, he determined that Regulus was not weak. He couldn’t be, because he spent so long living as Rasalas and being too easy to destroy.

Rasalas Arcturus Black was pathetic, ruined, easily mouldable. Regulus is not. Regulus killed and buried Rasalas the moment he stepped foot in London five years ago.

Regulus Black is a doctor, a grown man, and a surgeon student.

Sometimes, Regulus really hates Regulus Black.

He hates how the version of himself hasn’t been able to shake off the remnants of being overly obsessed with wanting to achieve anything and everything. He hates how this version of himself is always so desperate to impress people that even after qualifying he’s picking up shifts left, right and centre just to continue to prove himself. He hates that he said yes to the last two night shifts to cover for sick staff and didn’t cancel his study date with Pandora the morning he finished his sixth shift in a row. He hates how even though it’s been a week since James came to his flat, Regulus is still so confused on what is going to happen.

It’s so confusing, and nothing was confusing before James turned up. Everything was fine. Regulus had his job, his friends, his apartment with his cat, and a very active sex life that didn’t involve any stupid feelings.

Now, James has waltzed in and is making Regulus feel. He’s making Regulus feel things he’s never felt before because he’s never allowed anyone to get close to let his body and heart fight over something. James barely had to try to knock down the defences Regulus built when he buried Rasalas five years ago, but instead all he’s had to do is smile and the walls of his castle have crumbled like meagre sand.

Regulus doesn’t know why he allowed James to stay that Sunday. He doesn’t remember the clearly disorientated thought process he had when he said it was fine for James to stick around for a whole day to watch Bake Off and then cook him dinner. Regulus hasn’t ever done that with anyone apart from his three friends. No one other than Pandora, Barty and Evan even know where his flat is let alone been allowed in and hosted an entire day of company. The crisis that followed James leaving that Sunday evening was monumental and quite frankly, would have been one for the legendary books if anyone had witnessed it. Regulus was on the verge of phoning Pandora and telling her they’re leaving the country just to get away from the mess he’d gotten himself potentially into.

Regulus liked James, and the realisation hit him harder and sharper than a direct punch to the face from a heavyweight.

Regulus proceeded to hide away from the world his only day off after the James debacle. He told everyone he was studying, James included, and turned off his phone for almost 48 hours. He only revealed himself from the safe tomb of his flat to go to work, and even then he made very excuse as to why he couldn’t meet Barty or Evan on their lunch breaks.

Regulus managed to freak out alone for a total of five days, ignoring all his texts like the plague, before James came into the hospital again, coffee in hand as predicated and asked to speak to Regulus if he had a minute. Regulus wanted to say no. His brain was screaming to say he didn’t have time, to save himself the incoming, precedented pain he was luring himself into. Instead, Regulus said yes. The word fell from his mouth, body practically jumping out of the desk chair to let James take him wherever he wanted. He was on the verge of losing so much control of himself that he almost reached out and took James’ hand.

Turns out, James wanting to talk concluded of him basically excusing all of Regulus’ harsh actions over the last week and promptly blaming himself for being pushing and making Regulus uncomfortable. If Regulus was a strong man, he would have let James take the fall, walk away and the problem of his progressing love life would have been gone and he would be welcome to go back to his old ways.

Only, Regulus is not a strong man.

No. Instead, Regulus practically jumped down James’ throat, stomping on his self-depreciating attitude and apologised himself for shutting James out.

Regulus doesn’t apologise.

He realised in that moment it was the beginning of the end.

His walls had crumbled enough from James’ warmth and pained eyes at the idea of being a bother towards Regulus. He crumbled like a house of cards in a pathetic breeze.

It was hideous, to be honest.

Regulus has yet to rebuild that house of cards though. He has yet to put back up the defences against James’ warmth, his welcoming presence.

He didn’t quite manage to explain to James all the skeletons in the closet as to why Regulus was so shifty at the idea of getting close to someone so new. James seemed to see it though, after a few minutes of standing in the empty neuro mess room getting more and more flustered and panicked at the idea of James actually going away because of his own incapability to deal with his own emotions. James just gently shushed him, smile so soft and kind on his face that Regulus didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or throw up, and told Regulus that they didn’t need to be more than friends if Regulus didn’t want that.

Friends.

Regulus didn’t want that.

He wanted more, but the idea terrified him.

Still, he agreed to friends.

James is a friend. A friend Regulus wants to kiss, and who makes his stomach feel like a kaleidoscope of butterflies have been set free inside of him.

James is just a friend.

Turns out though, friends or not, James has slotted into Regulus’ life like a suspiciously perfect fitting puzzle piece and Regulus isn’t strong enough to shake him away yet.

It’s only been a week, and two days of texting back and forth slightly, but Regulus become as attached as a teenage girl with a celebrity crush.

A pair of fingers click in front of his face, jolting him out of his head with a sudden snap.

He glares at Pandora across the table. "What?"

"I asked you a question four times, then called your name repeatedly and you didn’t even blink," Pandora explains, and her face is a clear mix of amusement, curiosity and concern. "I was getting worried you'd had  a stroke, but now I realise you were daydreaming."

"I wasn't daydreaming."

Pandora hums, concern wiping off her face as she smirks at him. "Of course, petite étoile (little star)."

"I wasn't!" Regulus grumbles, huffing. "Now, what was your important question?"

Pandora runs a hand through her already frazzled hair, the blonde locks looking like she's touched a live wire. It's barely up in its bun anymore, so many pieces falling in her face that Regulus can barely see the shape of her eyebrows anymore. 

"In epileptic mothers, there are two medications women can switch to to reduce risking the children of cleft lips and heart abnormalities. I can't find anywhere what those two medications are—"

"Lamotrigine and levetiracetam," Regulus answers, taking a sip of his coffee only to grimace when he finds it's gone cold. He puts the mug down sharply and adds, "Also, mothers are at risk of their children also developing spins bifida if their medications aren't swapped."

Pandora nods as she scribbles his input down on the flash card. "Perfect. Thank you."

"That's what I'm here for," Regulus mutters as he stands, snatching his and Pandora's mugs off the table before moving towards the kitchen to make another cup of coffee. He's got the kettle refilled and is spooning in his second teaspoon of instant coffee powder into his mug when he hears Pandora's light stepping feet approaching.

"Everything okay?"

"Of course," Regulus replies as he puts the coffee away and snags a tea bag out of the pot. He tosses it with ease into Pandora's mug before he turns around to face her while the kettle boils. She studies him as he leans against the counter and crosses his arms. "Why'd you ask?"

"You seem off," Pandora says. "And not just I'm overtired from my night shift last night and I haven't caught up on the lost sleep kind of off. You seem distracted."

Regulus feigns nonchalance. He thinks he does a pretty good job as like Pandora just reminded him, he's been awake for over 24 hours now with a 13 hour shift in-between.

His shift last night was his last of six, and instead of going home to catch a nap of beauty sleep to make up for the ridiculous amount of hours of lost sleep he's had this week, he had to dash straight over to Pandora's flat because he promised her he'd help her study for her exam on Friday. Of course, Regulus knows he could have cancelled on her and she wouldn't have batted an eyelid after hearing the amount of hours he's done at work in the last six days, but Regulus didn't want to let her down. Pandora wouldn't have complained, and she even offered Regulus various times for him to go home since arriving, but Regulus has refused. Pandora has already missed out on so much due to the truly shit hand of cards she was dealt with over the last two years, and Regulus will be damned if she's ever let down again.

Hence, the study day straight off the back of Regulus' third night shift.

Also hence, the hard to penetrate bouts of closed off thinking he's been having. Pandora hit the nail on the head - Regulus is very distracted, and it's another thing he can blame the stupid James Potter for.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Regulus Black doesn't get distracted," Pandora muses, tilting her head. She looks so much like her mother when she does that, Regulus tells her often enough. She never takes it as an insult, even if it was. Being compared to her mother will always be a compliment to Pandora. Not that Regulus would ever disagree, as there wasn't anything negative to be compared to with the late Mrs Fontayne. "Talk to me, Reg."

"There is nothing to talk about," Regulus insists. He can feel his hands beginning to tremble, and he would scold himself for being such an unnaturally bad liar in this moment if the kettle doesn't click to indicate it's finished. Regulus turns quickly, facing his back to Pandora to hide the blooming flush creeping up his neck and cheeks. Saved by the bell, as they say.

"Does you're distraction have anything to do with a certain someone you invited to your flat last weekend, and have refused to talk about since?"

Fuck you, Pandora, Regulus thinks hotly. Fuck you and your stupidly accurate memory of my drunken misleadings from Barty.

"Again," Regulus says as he gets the milk out of the fridge, still purposely keeping his back to her, "there is nothing to talk about."

"I think there is," Pandora replies, and even without looking at her Regulus can hear the teasing and softness dripping from her tone. Regulus doesn't need to look either to know she's stepping further into the room. He continues to look down at cups as he drains her teabag and adds a dash of milk to her tea as she comes into line of sight at the side. "So, are you going to tell me if the infamous and lovely James Potter arrived at your flat last weekend? And don't lie, because I've already spoken to Barty and I know you didn't go to pottery after you kicked him out."

"If you've spoken to Barty, why are you asking me?"

"Because I want to know what happened after Barty left, and why it seems to have correlated to you now being a little starry eyed day dreamer on our study date?"

"Nothing happened."

"No?" Pandora muses, blowing gently on her tea. "So he left as soon as Barty did?"

Regulus debates lying. He wants to lie and say that yes, James left straight after Barty did and there is nothing more to the impending story. Except, Regulus knows that Pandora will see straight through it, and if she doesn't, hell will be paid later when she finds out he denied her the small details of his Sunday with James.

"Judging by the look on your face, I’m guessing my assumptions are correct and he stayed," Pandora says when Regulus doesn’t reply.

"He just stayed the afternoon," Regulus resigns. "That’s it. We didn’t go to pottery because I was tired so he stayed and we watched some TV."

"You didn’t feed him?"

"He’s not a stray animal, Pandora," Regulus rolls his eyes. "We ordered lunch and then later in the evening I cooked a shit pasta dish. Happy? That’s literally all—"

Pandora cuts him off with a giggle, shaking her head.

"Firstly, petite étoile (little star), you don’t do shit food, which means even if you were scraping together dust and shit out of your cupboards you would have ultimately looked something delicious for him. Secondly, that’s not all. The Regulus everyone else knows would have thrown James out as soon as Barty went too, yet you let him stay."

"I felt bad."

Pandora narrows her eyes. "You. . . felt bad?"

"Yes!" Regulus hisses. "I’d invited him over drunk on a Sunday morning, invited him to a fucking pottery class that was never going to happen and then let Barty grill into him so bad the guy looked like he was sweating with nerves. Hence, I felt bad, so I let him stay over the afternoon while we watched some TV, then cooked him some dinner while he chatted literally nonstop about fuck-knows what before he left. That’s it."

That’s not it. That’s not it at all, but the fact of that scares Regulus. He did feel bad for messing James about, but he also let James stay because a weak part of him wanted to. He wanted James to stay, he wanted James to sit beside him on the sofa and wait for him to sleep off the griping hangover that was embarrassingly plaguing him. Regulus wanted James to stay while he cooked them a mediocre dinner as a small hand of forgiveness for ruining the other guys Sunday. He won’t tell Pandora, but while it’s the truth that James did talk non-stop and most of it was strange waffle about his life and his friends, Regulus didn’t mind. He enjoyed listening to James talk. He liked the way James’ face lit up whenever he talked about his friends, or his eye softened and his whole demeanour softened when he talked about his parents. James clearly liked talking, and that’s fine because Regulus enjoyed listening.

He enjoyed it a lot.

"You look troubled."

Regulus closes his eyes.

"Is he bad for you?"

Yes.

No.

Not at all.

So much.

Never.

The truth is, Regulus doesn’t think James could ever be bad.

All James has to do is flash a smile and Regulus feels like the world stops spinning out of control. Just for a moment, he makes Regulus feel warm.

"Reg?" Pandora prompts. "I can’t tell if this is an internal crisis or I actually need to be concerned. He’s Effie’s boy, no? I don’t think anyone who’s been raised by that woman could be a bad person, but still."

"No," Regulus murmurs, opening his eyes and focussing on the wonky tile in the middle of the floor. "He’s not bad."

"Then why do you look like you’re already heartbroken?"

Glock. Aim. Shoot.

Regulus wants to laugh and tell Pandora that he looks like this because his heart was broken long before he even met James. It was broken before he even met Pandora, or Barty or Evan. Cracked, ruined, shattered and butcherly put back together with out of date glue, his heart is barely held together anymore. All the pieces are put back together wrong, mismatched and ruined.

It won’t take much to make it break apart again, which is why Regulus is so determined to protect it so much.

How many times can something shatter before even putting it back together becomes impossible?

How many times can something be ruined before it’s too broken?

"Regulus?" Pandora murmurs, and a moment later her warm hand is gently cupping his wrist, rubbing her thumb over the notch of his bones. "I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but whatever happened that Sunday and since, if it’s good, you should let it happen."

James is good. He’s so good, so pure and warm and gentle. Regulus is scared he’ll poison it.

Pandora keeps rubbing his wrist, an action so small yet so soothing, grounding.

Regulus takes a rugged breath, lifting his head enough to meet her eyes.

"We’re meant to be studying," he murmurs.

"We’re taking a break," Pandora shrugs, smiling softly. "It’s good for the brain."

Her hand moves from his wrist and comes up to gently tousle his hair, swirling a finger through a curl.

"Come on," Regulus says, and he’s relieved to hear his voice has lost it’s weak waver. "You need to study."

Pandora rolls her eyes playfully. "Another five minutes. My brain feels like mush between my ears right now."

"Fine," Regulus smirks, deciding to change the subject from his own bleeding wounds. "Have you introduced Xeno and Benji yet?"

Instantly, Pandora’s face lights up.

"I didn’t have to," she replies. "Benji went into the restaurant Xeno waiters at and spoke to them."

"What?" Regulus blanches, horrified. "Why the fuck did he do that?"

"Because he didn’t want to get in the way of me and Xeno," Pandora smiles, shoulders easing. It’s such a comparison compared to when she first told Regulus about Benji being in town and Xeno being uncomfortable about it. "He was brilliant, actually. Whatever he said to Xeno was perfect, and completely honest."

"There wouldn’t have been a reason to lie," Regulus says pointedly, albeit a little bit harsh. He has no problems with Xeno, but he doesn’t like how they’ve made Pandora feels insecure for something so long ago that made her one of the reasons she’s the best person he knows. "Xeno had no reason to be weird about it."

"They were just worried, I think," Pandora chides softly, flashing him a reassuring smile. "They haven’t had the easiest relationship history either. I think when they heard my ex was back in town they just panicked. Benji spoke to them though. He told Xeno everything that was between us before he went back to Japan, said he came back in peace to simply see everyone again. Turns out, Xeno loves him."

Regulus hums teasingly. "You got competition?"

Pandora laughs, giggling. "Think I might have to start considering I might be perhaps leading towards a polyamory."

"Saucy," Regulus teases, and then tilts his head, "and also completely unsurprising."

"Shut up!" Pandora gasps, taking her hand from his hair to smack him on the shoulder.

"I’m just glad your panic is over and now you and Xeno can continue on your gorgeous path towards happily ever after."

"Don’t be silly," Pandora rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are glowing ruby.

"I’m not," Regulus says seriously. "If you and Xeno aren’t married and with kids before I’m 30, I refuse to believe in love anymore."

Pandora hums and inclines her head suspiciously. "You claim you don’t believe in love anyways."

"I don’t."

"And James?"

Regulus’ hands twitch to smack the tea out of her hand out of pure annoyance.

Instead, he just says, "Let’s get back to studying."

When Regulus was studying before he qualified, he could count the amounts of time he got a full nights sleep on one hand. Between studying, placements and being dragged out by Barty and Evan to 'live the university life', Regulus' time was stretched and naturally, sleep was the last priority.

Full 14 hour shift and still need to study the anatomy of the brain down to the tiniest detail? Drink coffee to make up for pulling an all nighter.

Being peer pressured into going to the Leaky when you’ve been studying since four in the morning? Espresso martinis all night and caffeine pills in the morning to survive classes.

Therefore, Regulus is no stranger to sleep deprivation and staying awake for unhealthy lengths of time. He was a medical student, after all. If he couldn’t survive on little to no sleep for days on end, he wouldn’t have made it past the first six months.

Plus, forcing oneself to stay awake of for unhealthy periods of time just makes finally getting into bed so much more exciting than normal.

When Regulus leaves Pandora’s flat at almost nine o’clock that night, all he is thinking about is how the sleep he is going to get tonight is going to be unmatched. As the cold air bites at his skin as he unlocks his car, all of his thoughts are on the cuddles he’s going to demand from Sylvester when he finally gets to curl up into his cosy bed for the first time in over 30 hours.

He’s barely got the key in the ignition when his phone rings, the dial tone shattering the pleasant silence around him. With a whine that he will never admit to, Regulus snatches his phone out of his jacket pocket roughly. The whine turns into a groan when he sees Euphemia’s name lit up on the screen.

Regulus loves the woman, but it is never, ever, a good sign when she phones.

It only means one thing.

Regulus already knows what’s going to happen when he swipes answer on the last ring.

"Euphemia," he answers, and he doesn’t even bother trying to hide the discontentment in his tone.  They’ve done this dance hundreds of times before, and Regulus has long stopped trying to feign optimism to stay in Euphemia’s good books. "To what do I owe this pleasure so late in the evening? I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s not to invite me out for a drink."

"Regulus, I am so sorry to have to ask this of you," Euphemia greets, and Regulus will hand it to her; she sounds absolutely ragged. Regulus knows the ward and emergency was in chaos when he handed over to her and Dorcas this morning, so he can’t imagine the day shift has been entirely easy for them. "I know you were on shift last night that you picked up as extra, and you know I wouldn’t be asking you of this if I hadn’t exhausted all other options because you deserve some time off. The agency nurse covering tonight has phoned in sick, the other doctor I had on shift tonight has been called down to emergency because all the staff down there are down with the flu and I— I’m so sorry, darling, but is there any chance you can come in tonight?"

"You mean you and Dorcas don’t fancy doing 24-hour shifts?" Regulus tries to joke, but it comes out tired and feeble. "You’re slacking in your old age, Euphemia."

She chuckles, though it sounds breathless and tired.

"I’m so sorry. I know I said this morning that you deserved some time off after doing six shifts in a row, but I really don’t know who else to call. I thought we had tonight sorted, and anyone who would have been available was brought in today to cover other departments," she breaks off with a heavy sigh so bone-tired Regulus can’t find it in himself to even be slightly annoyed at her. He’s furious with the rest of the world, but not with Euphemia. "Everyone just keeps calling in sick."

"It’s cold and flu season, we shouldn’t expect any less," Regulus drawls, rubbing his dry and itchy eyes. "It’s okay. I get it. I can be there in half an hour."

"Please don’t rush, darling. You’re doing me a huge favour," Euphemia says. Her tone practically drips with relief and gratitude. "I don’t know how to make this up to you. Just— thank you."

"You want to make it up to me?" Regulus asks as he clips his seatbelt in. "Run down to the cafe and grab me the largest black coffee they offer and a sandwich. Any sandwich. Coffee and food, and all is forgiven."

"I don’t believe that will be enough to make up for this."

Regulus scoffs, "Oh, no. Absolutely not. Not even in the slightest, however caffeine is a decent enough bribe to get me to even make the journey and if you go now, you’ll catch them before they close and I’m forced to drink the dust in the staffroom they try to call instant coffee."

Euphemia laughs breezily through the phone.

"Deal. I’ll go now, I promise. Regulus, sweet, thank you so so much."

"Bandage your bleeding heart, Doctor Potter. Save the compassion for the patients and get your overworked ass down to the cafe. I’ll be there by 9:45 latest."

"My hero."

"I know. Feel free to rub it in everyone’s face."

When Regulus hangs up, he spots the new notification at the top of his phone.

James (21:04) serious question: marmite on pasta, yes or no?

Regulus (21:09) i refuse to sink to that level of absurdity by answering that question.

His phone pings with a reply before he’s down the end of Pandora’s road, but Regulus refuses to let himself acknowledge it. He’s so tired already, he’s worried if he doesn’t give his full attention and more to the road then he’ll wrap his car round a lamppost like a pretzel before he even makes it to the hospital.

He gets to the hospital in decent time due to it being so late, and Regulus counters the roads being quiet as a silver lining. He slugs up to the neurology floor in the elevator, and manages to dip into the mess room to change into some scrubs before anyone spots him.

He’s thankful that he was proactive enough to bring in a handful of clean long sleeve shirts on one of his middle shifts, so now he’s able to still wear one underneath his scrubs like he always does. He’s not meant to, of course. It’s against hospital regulations to have sleeves that reach below the elbow, but Regulus has been here long enough to be brave enough to twist the rules and wear them as long as he rolls up his sleeves when he’s doing work with the patients.

Slughorn pulled him up on it when he was a student, and said if Regulus was cold that’s what the white doctors coats were for. Regulus had almost laughed at him because the excuse of being cold was nonexistent when the ward radiators were permanently pumping out heat all day and all night. Regulus just showed  him the scars on his wrist and Slughorn had become more uncomfortable then a prude man watching a woman give birth.

Safe to say, no one mentioned the long sleeves again.

Regulus finds Euphemia at the reception desk, slumped in the chair and over the table top, face cradled in the cup of her hand. Her eyes are closed, face slack. She looks knackered, hair a mess and bags swollen under her eyes. She looked about 10 years older than she did when he handed over to her this morning.

Around them, the ward is quiet. The lights are dimmed, as they always are when it’s late to encourage the patients to shut up. From a glance at the board, Regulus can see that every bed on the ward is occupied.

Regulus sits down as gently as he can, but the movement disturbs Euphemia from the light sleep she must have dozed off into. She jerks before his butt is fully in the seat, eyes snapping open and body jolting up. For a small moment, she looks more disorientated than Regulus has ever seen her.

Then, her eyes fall off Regulus, and the startled look is replaced with one of warm.

"Sleeping on the job, are we?" Regulus smirks, easing back into the chair fully. "Very unprofessional of you, Doctor Potter."

"Oh, darling," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"Do not fear, your night and shining armour is here now," Regulus spots the coffee on the side with his name scribbled on it. He snatches it into his hand and takes a greedy gulp. "You look awful, by the way."

She scoffs half-heartedly. "Thank you. We haven’t had a day like today in a long time."

"Chaotic?"

"Doesn’t even begin to describe it," she sighs wearily. "I just can’t believe how much has gone wrong today, honestly."

"Well, spew me a tiny handover about the imbeciles currently occupying the beds and then feel free to get your overworked hind home so see Monty."

"Charming."

Euphemia whips through the handover, which Regulus appreciates she wants to hurry it so she can go home but his sleep-deprived mind can barely keep up.

His heart sinks when she admits at the end that he’s the only doctor on shift tonight with only one nurse and two health care assistants. Regulus knows nightshifts have skeleton crews, but the four of them means that there is more than half of the rest of the rota staff either off or in other departments.

"I’m so sorry, love," Euphemia apologises again. "I wish I could give you more help, but there is no one else I can phone to come in."

"It’s fine," Regulus smiles tightly, because it’s absolutely not fine and this night is going to be the hardest one of his career so far, but it’s not her fault.

She climbs out of the chair stiffly, rounding the desk before she stops again.

"You really are my hero," she says, and her face is crinkled with guilt and worry. "You look knackered, darling."

"Not as bad as you," he smiles. "Go on. Go home, you’ve done enough. Thank you for the coffee and the sandwich. We’ll survive without you for the night, get some beauty sleep before tomorrow."

"Thank you," she says again, and Regulus points towards the end of the ward with his already half-drunk coffee.

Once she’s gone, Regulus drags himself out of the chair and does the last of the ward round that was missed due to Euphemia dedicating all her energy to finding a doctor to cover the night shift. One of the HCA’s come and ask if he can help with a 'patients pain management', which is general health care assistant code for they want some painkillers but I don’t know if they’re allowed it, so as you’re the only adult on shift, can you deal with this please?

Regulus gives the guy some painkillers, which only ends with him being dragged into a 30 minute lecture from the guy giving a tangent lecture about blue-light from computers being used during the night and damaging peoples eyes and brain activity. Regulus doesn’t know how well he manages to hide his disinterest, but he clearly doesn’t put in enough effort towards the end as the guy breaks himself off to say,

"Sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to ramble like that. You look absolutely wiped. Y’know."

Regulus can’t be bothered to hold his tongue about the fact that he’s fully aware he looks 'absolutely wiped' as he’s been awake for over 40 hours, so instead he just grunts roughly and storms out of the room.

He takes his time writing up the notes from the ward round, pausing to finish the rest of his coffee and scoff down the sandwich from Euphemia. His head is beginning to pound behind his eyes, and he outwardly signs when he realises he hasn't got anything in his locker to aid it. He spots the HCA loitering around the reception desk when he’s almost finished, looking lost and bored, so Regulus tells him to excuse himself for a few minute break. The kid runs off the ward like a gun has gone off.

Tossing the patient files down, Regulus pulls out his phone to see two missed texts from James.

James (21:10) reggie! please, i’m in the middle of a serious debate with pads and i need you on my side about this

James (22:34) really hoping that your lack of reply means you’ve finally gone home and gone to bed and not because the idea of maritime on pasta actually offends you

Regulus rolls his eyes.

Regulus (22:57) maritime on pasta gravelly offends me, i actually can’t imagine anything worse and i lived off hospital sandwiches for the entirety of my third year studying. so therefore, no to marmite on pasta

James (22:58) you don’t know what you’re missing!!!

James (22:58) what are you still doing up? i thought you said you were leaving pandora's at 9?

Regulus (22:59) i did, but i got called into work because london is filled with incompetent doctors that don’t understand the importance of turning up to their assigned shifts

When James doesn't reply after his usual five seconds, Regulus goes to message Barty to ask him if has any headache tablets in his locker down in cardio, but only gets as far as typing out half of the message when James' name flashes up on the screen.

"James? Why are you—"

"Why are you at the hospital?" James interrupts.

Regulus blinks in surprise. "I work here?"

"Yes, I know that!" James stresses, huffing. "I mean, why are you there again? You said this time last night you were on your sixth shift in a row and you’ve spent all day with Pandora. Have you even slept? How long have you now been awake? Is it even safe for you to be there?"

The onslaught of questions catch Regulus off guard. His mind buffers like someone has tampered with the switch. He’s left gaping and grasping rapidly for thoughts.

Finally, he sighs, heavy and deep. "I don't appreciate you doubting my abilities to work professionally, James—"

"Oh, come off it, Reg!" James whines. "You know I don’t mean it like that! I just—"

"Whatever you’re doing, stop it."

James makes a hurt noise over the phone. "Doing what?"

"This!" Regulus seethes. "Phoning me up while I’m at work and telling me how to do my job—"

"I’m not telling you how to do your job, Regulus," James grumbles. "I’m just worried!"

"There’s nothing to worry about."

"Of course," James mocks snappishly. "Of course! What’s there to worry about you doing your seventh shift in a row after being awake for, like, what, over 30 odd hours now?"

"40 hours, actually."

"Regulus!" He cries, and Regulus rolls his eyes at the dramatics. "Why are you doing that?"

"Because the agency bailed on your mother, so it was either I come in or she does a 36 hour shift!"

James makes another wounded noise. Regulus is caught between being infuriated that James is making such a big deal out of this and seriously questioning his ability to deliver safe practice to his patients tonight, but also overwhelmed with the fact that James is worried about him.

It makes him both comforted and nauseous.

"Look," Regulus sighs, rubbing his eyes as he leans on his elbows on the reception desk. "It’s not a big deal. It’s one more shift, and night shifts are usually more mellow than day shifts anyways. Plus, I’ve gone longer without any sleep, so you don’t need to worry your big head about."

"That brings me no comfort at all," James grumbles, and he genuinely does sound miserable. "And I don’t have a big head, thank you very much."

"You really do," Regulus teases tiredly. "Never mind that, though. You’ve survived 25 years with a head almost too big to fit through doors, I’m sure you’ll survive a few more."

"Lovely as always," James chuckles, and Regulus chest tightens at the sound. He caused that sound, and it shouldn’t feel so good. "Are you really okay though?"

Regulus breathes out heavily. "James—"

"No, seriously. Staying up this long isn’t good for the body, you’re going to make yourself sick doing this. And before you start, no I’m not trying to undermine your professional ability, so don’t start that again. I’m just worried about you. You’re going to be dead on your feet by the morning— or more dead than you feel now."

"You are seriously underestimating my ability to survive on little sleep now."

"It’s not 'little sleep', Reg, you’re surviving off no sleep!" James says. "Do you forget I was a medical student once too? I’ve had my fair share of overrunning shifts or doing ridiculous days on the trot, but even I draw the line under being awake for over 40 hours and shoving two 12 hour shifts in the middle of it! It’s going to be over 48 hours awake by the time you finish in the morning!"

"Yes, I know, James," Regulus rolls his eyes. "It’s not a big deal. I’ll survive, so don’t start losing sleep over it."

"Not a funny joke."

"It wasn’t a joke."

"I’m not laughing."

Regulus growls in frustration, fisting his hair.

"James—"

"I’m picking you up in the morning."

Regulus freezes in his hair tugging. "Pardon?"

"I said, I’m picking you up in the morning," James repeats, tone stern. "I don’t like you taking this shift after the last week you’ve had, but clearly you won’t listen to my reasonable argument. However, I won’t stand for you also driving yourself an hour across London to get home as well."

Regulus scoffs in disbelief. "You won’t stand for it?"

"It’s my duty of care as a paramedic to not let you drive knowing you will definitely end yourself in car crash with how tired you’re going to be," James argues. "I’m serious, Reg. I’ll be there at eight o’clock to pick you and make sure you get home in one piece, and if you refuse I will be phoning the police and saying you’re unfit to drive."

"Oh pour l'amour de Dieu (Oh, for goodness sake)—"

"Don’t you dare start talking French to me to distract me from this!" James snaps, but the laugh that follows diminishes any heat he held in his tone. "I’m not joking! I won’t sleep knowing you’re going to be getting behind a wheel in the morning."

"Boo for you then."

"Regulus," James pleads.

Regulus snarls, animalistic and low. "Fine! Fine, you can pick me up in the morning and drive me home so I don’t railroad my car. Honnêtement, je pensais que j'étais têtu, mais tu prends une putain de couronne, toi persistant, rageant (Honestly, I thought I was stubborn, but you take the fucking crown, you persistent, infuriating)—"

James chuckles, "Again, no idea what you’re saying, but it sounds lovely."

"I can assure you, what I was saying was anything but lovely."

"I’m happy with staying none the wiser," James replies, and he sounds so dopey and happy it makes Regulus’ insides swirl. "So, eight o’clock?"

"I’ll probably be late."

"I don’t mind waiting."

Of course you don’t.

"What am I supposed to do with my car?"

"I’ll drive you to pick it up after you’ve had a decent night sleep," James offers.

"Are you this generous to everyone?"

"Only lovely French doctors."

"I’ll give you Delacour’s number then."

"Who’s that?"

"Scary doctor down in emergency," Regulus smirks. "Considering I’m starting to realise you have a bit of a degrading kink, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine."

James sputters indignantly through the phone. "I do not have a degradation kink!"

"You call me lovely every time I insult you."

"Shut up."

"Ooo, fiesty," Regulus smirks, and then he spots the nurse heading towards the reception desk. "I’ve got to go."

"Text me!"

"Ne sois pas désespéré (Don’t be desperate)."

"No idea still!" James sing-songs, but Regulus doesn’t answer before he hangs up because the nurse has already come to stand in front of him.

"Can I help you?" Regulus asks, pocketing his phone.

Regulus, thankfully, was correct in his assumption when he told James that nightshifts can be more mellow than dayshifts. Someone was looking down on Regulus tonight, because apart from a young lad having a series of seizures that resulted in his cannula ripping out and spewing blood everywhere that instantly lead to the HCA in the room throwing up all over his shoes, nothing happened and eight o’clock rolled around slowly. Regulus supposes at least the night would have gone quicker if it had been busier, but he’s certainty relieved he wasn’t run off his feet as he doesn’t think he would have had the energy. He consumed more instant coffee since his phone call with James than he thinks he ever has and he’s surprisingly awake when he hands-over to Dorcas and Effie in the morning, both of which, look unsurprisingly refreshed.

"Sounds like a miracle," Dorcas muses, fiddling with her hearing aid in her ear. "About time we had a quiet shift on this ward."

"You’re a miracle worker, kiddo," Euphemia smiles.

"Lucky bastard, more like," Dorcas laughs, ruffling his hair brutishly. "Saved the night and got four discharges ready before our arrival. Anyone want to place bets on how long the beds will stay empty for?"

"No, and nor do I care," Regulus sighs. "I’m not planning on stepping foot in this place until Friday."

"Wow, three whole days off," Dorcas teases. "Check you out."

"I can see if I can cover your Friday shift, darling," Euphemia offers, "I saw the rota last night before I left. You’ve got another six day week coming up."

Regulus shakes his head. "I know, but it’s fine. I’m covering for Lestrange, so hopefully I’ll be in theatres more than I am here."

"Okay, darling, as long as you’re sure," Euphemia says, though she doesn’t sound approving. "Thank you again for last night."

"I’ve lost count how many times you’ve thanked me now," Regulus muses. "You’re starting to sound like a broken record."

"I'm going to keep saying it until the gratitude wears off," Euphemia smiles kindly. "You're one in a million, Doctor Black."

"Keep praising his arrogant ass and I'm going to have to turn my hearing aids off," Dorcas chides.

Regulus smirks at her, ducking when she goes to cuff his head.

"Don't be bitter, Meadows," he says as he climbs to his teeth, "Praise or no praise, we all know I'm better than you."

"Watch your back, Black!"

"Why? Incase you try to kiss my ass?" Regulus teases. "We're hardly each others types, Cas."

She rolls her eyes, and Euphemia is hiding her face behind her hands, but the shake of her shoulders give away enough.

"Have a lovely shift, ladies!" He calls as he slowly makes his way away from the desk.

It’s almost half eight by the time he gets changed back into yesterdays clothes. His feet ache, his muscles feel heavy and weak and there’s a pounding beginning behind his eyes again, telling him the headache tablets he sneakily swiped from the drug room are wearing off. Shoving the used scrubs in his bag to take home to wash, Regulus checks his phone again.

James (07:16) good morning almighty doctor! hope the nightshift was kind to you! your personal taxi will be outside a&e at 8 sharp :)

James (08:01) here! don’t worry if you overrun, i’m happy to argue with the staff if they tell me to move until your highness arrives!

Regulus rolls his eyes for what feels the millionth time in 48 hours.

Regulus (08:22) i’m done. you still parked in a&e?

When James tells back yes, he makes his way down. He drags his feet through the emergency department, barely paying attention to the overflowing hallways and beds dumped and left wherever they fit. It’s not his problem for three days, and he doesn’t have the brain capacity to wonder if it’s going to be better or worse by the time he comes back on the weekend.

When Regulus steps out of the hospital, the ambulance bays are half full and the sun is shining down so bright and sharp it makes his head feel like there are huge spikes behind his eyes. He didn’t assume it would be hard to spot James’ car if he’s the only imbecile parking in the busy drop off area, though he realises as his eyes adjust to the light that if there is more than one car, he won’t know which one is James.

There’s only one car though, and Regulus inwardly sighs.

A crystal clean dark grey Range Rover sits alone in the drop-off bay.

Of course James Potter drives a bloody Range Rover.

Regulus knows he manages to keep his face unimpressed as he approaches he car despite the fact his stomach is doing cartwheels over the fact that of course handsome James Potter drives a handsome Range Rover.

Fuck, Regulus is so screwed.

He see’s James grinning at him out the drivers window, and Regulus rolls his eyes defiantly as he makes his way to the passenger. Stepping up into the car, Regulus is enveloped by a bubble of warm, strawberry-smelling air.

James’ car smells like strawberries, and he’s got the heated seat on for Regulus in advance.

Regulus wants to die.

"Good morning, sunshine," James greets, and Regulus’ brain fuses out because it’s on the tip of his tongue to correct James that actually, he is the sunshine and Regulus is more like a miserable cloudy storm.

The sleep deprivation is really starting to get to him. Regulus is starting to get concerned he’s turning delirious.

James’ smile slowly slides down, his eyebrows pinching. Regulus realises a moment too late that he’s taking too long to answer, and has actually just spent a minute staring at the other guy.

"Reg?" James asks gently. "You okay?"

Regulus swallows around the heavy lump in his throat. His mouth is flooded with saliva.

"You drive a Range Rover," he blurts out, and the moment it leaves his mouth, he cringes.

James chuckles breathlessly. "I do. You like it? She’s my baby."

He strokes the steering wheel affectionately and Regulus feels like he’s melting.

He blames the heated seats, it’s only aiding the deliriousness from the lack of sleep.

"You look like the type to drive a Range Rover," Regulus says.

"That better not be an insult. Don’t you dare insult Del like that!"

Regulus side-eyes him. "Del?"

"Her name is Delilah," James nods, face stoney with seriousness. "Del for short, and she deserves your upmost respect."

Regulus chuckles. "Of course. My sincerest apologies. Del is lovely."

"She is, isn’t she," James beams, stroking the dashboard.

Regulus shakes his head. He shouldn’t be surprised James is the car-lover type. Regulus takes pride in his own car, of course, but he sure as hell hasn’t named it and he definitely doesn’t stroke the dashboard like it’s a cat.

"You look exhausted," James murmurs, and Regulus rolls his head against the headrest to look at him. "How the hell did you manage last nights shift?"

"Sheer arrogance and stubbornness?"

James barks a laugh. "That, and I’ll add a generous amount of dedication and willpower."

Regulus just hums in reply, sinking back into the seat as James starts the car and begins to roll it out of the emergency parking bay.

"Are you hungry?" James asks once they’re pulling out onto the main roads. "We could grab some breakfast before I take you home? You really should eat after being up for this long. Your body is seriously deprived of energy, though I appreciate if you just want to go home instead."

"Breakfast sounds fine," Regulus assures. He’s so hungry to the point that he’s borderline ravenous. "I don’t really fancy sitting in a restaurant though. If I have to be around people for much longer I fear I’ll commit murder and lose my licence."

"Not worried about the being arrested and prison part of that equation?"

"Losing my doctors licence would be worse."

"Of course," James laughs. "What do you fancy to eat?"

"Anywhere that does coffee."

James shakes his head adamantly. "No more coffee for you. You need vitamins, like orange juice or something. If you have anymore caffeine I’m worried you’ll land yourself in hospital from a bloody heart attack."

"But--"

"No 'but's!" James chides, holding up a silencing finger. Regulus' mouth slams shut as blush heats his cheeks and neck. "You need decent food and drink full of nutrition and value, and I know just the place. Do you trust me?"

Yes.

For some reason beyond knowledge, yes.

Already.

"No," Regulus spits out, mostly out of defiance against his own heart and delusional mind.

James just smiles at him, eyes off the road for long enough for Regulus to see the kindness and mischief there.

"Let me change your mind."

When James pulls up outside of a cafe, the only thing he does is double check Regulus eats meat and cheese before he's dashing out of the car. He leaves the keys in, the car running so the heating is still blasting. It's so toasty and quiet, and it surrounds him like a sedative blanket, comforting him to his bones. He doesn’t realise he’s closed his eyes and slumped down until the drivers door is opening and he’s bolting up straight.

"Were you asleep?" James asks, climbing in with a brown bag in his hands and a cup holder balanced between his forearm and chest. He looks worried and guilty. "I should have just taken you home. I’m so sorry, you’re absolutely exhausted and I wanted to get breakfast and—"

"Potter," Regulus interrupts. "Stop fluttering like a trapped butterfly and give me my breakfast."

"Right," James swallows. "Right. Okay. Sorry. Um, here, you take these. I’ll drive us somewhere with a better view. Is that okay?"

Regulus rolls his eyes, snatching the bag out of James’ hands and the drinks. "Stop apologising and drive. I’ve been awake for 49 hours, another few won’t hurt. I don’t detest from having a view while I eat my breakfast other than restaurant bins and morning commuters. Hence, put your license to good use and put your foot down."

James blinks in surprise, seemingly frozen for a moment. Then he grins, wide and beaming. He nods, "Alright then, sunshine. Let’s go."

"Is this another moment were I need to trust you?" Regulus asks as James pulls away from the curb.

"It is indeed," James grins. "Believe me, you won’t be disappointed."

Regulus hums disbelievingly. "Asking for my trust twice in one hour?"

"Well you’ve given it to me, haven’t you?"

"You could be poisoning and kidnapping me."

"Well, then you’re not very smart for falling for it, are you?"

"Watch it, Potter."

"Starting to learn even joking about your intelligence is a sharp shot for you."

"I said watch it."

"I can’t tell if you’re being mean because you’re overtired, hangry or if this is just another level of your genuine personality."

Regulus huffs, rolling his eyes. Smells from the food in the bag are wafting up in his face, making his stomach pinch with hunger. Whatever James got them for breakfast, it smells divine and Regulus is getting impatient to eat it.

James only drives for about 20 minutes. It takes Regulus up until he's parked on the side of the road for him to clock that they're in Nottinghill and only about 15 minutes from his apartment.

"Did you seriously drive us to Lancaster road?" He asks.

James nods, blushing as he pulls up the hand break and undoes his seat belt in a quick flash, barely giving Regulus enough time to spot the tension of muscles bold underneath his long sleeve t-shirt. Regulus does not state and he does not think about how James looks like he's definitely strong enough to throw Regulus with ease.

Like onto a table.

Or a bed.

Interesting.

"I love this road," James shrugs. "It's so pretty."

"It's practically a tourist attraction."

"Yeah, but," James sighs, taking the drinks out of his hand and placing them in their own cup holders between them. "It's currently nine-thirty in the morning and I don't see any tourists about. You cannot argue that this isn't a better view than the side of the road in Soho."

"I didn't disagree that's it's not nicer than Soho," Regulus shrugs. "I was just saying that it's a tourist attraction."

"I love how easy you are to please," James huffs, shaking his head though he is smiling. Regulus is starting to wonder if it's his automatic expression. Suddenly, he claps his hands sharply, causing Regulus to barely stifle his jolt of surprise. "Now! Ready for the best breakfast you've ever had?"

"You've set my standards so high so far."

"I can't tell if that's sarcasm, but I'm going to pretend that you're practically ready to combust with excitement. Now, open the bag, sunshine."

"Stop calling me sunshine," Regulus grumbles, but doesn't resist opening the bag. Looking in, he's not sure if he's supposed to be able to tell what the mystery breakfast is supposed to be when he sees two round-wrapped sheets of paper. He looks up at James through his eyelashes, "What is it?"

"Open one!" James says, and he's practically vibrating in his seat. Regulus refuses to find it cute and directs himself to pretend it isn't intriguing how excited someone can get over buying breakfast.

Regulus is worried if he makes James wait any longer then it will be James that actually combusts, so he reaches into the bag, pulls one out and unwraps it.

"A bagel?"

James scoffs, looking hurt. "A bagel? Oh, no. No, no, no! Regulus, this isn't just a bagel. Oh, no. This? This is the best breakfast bagel to serve the Earth! The ultimate breakfast dish, an unmatchable cuisine, a meal designed before it's time!"

Regulus blinks once. Twice. Three times.

"How is this the best breakfast bagel?"

James takes an exaggeratedly deep breathe, eyelashes fluttering for a moment as if to brace himself.

"Regulus, allow me to introduce to you and your sad little life—"

"Excuse me?"

"—the most delicious bagel that is delicately handcrafted with two sunny-side up eggs cooked to perfection, melted cheese, crispy bacon rashes, an original recipe of guacamole and drizzle of just the right amount of sriracha ketchup."

Regulus looks between the bagel and James, whose face is so lit up he resembles a metaphorical Christmas tree.

"Are you going to cry when I eat it and tell you it’s mediocre?"

"No, because you won’t say that," James grins. "You’re going to say it’s the best and you want more."

"And if I don’t?"

"Then, yes, I will probably cry."

Regulus hums, pursing his lips. "Interesting."

"Will you try it now?" James whines. "Please?"

Regulus tries not to focus on how much he likes it when James is begging, and instead unwraps the bagel more so he can take a decent bite.

James is watching with such intensity that Regulus can barely maintain a semi stable heartbeat. Skyrocketing and jabbing like a rabbit, his heart races under the glued fixture of James' eyes watching his every move, every micro expression on his face.

James' own skin is flushed and Regulus would do anything to know what's going on inside the older males head.

A few moments after he's swallowed and says nothing, James jolts in his seat like he wants to stand and move around in frustration but can't.

"Well?" He pleads. "What do you think?"

Regulus hums again, tilting his head. He can see James getting more and more wound up, like a child waiting patiently for a sweet snack and their parents teasing them over their decision.

Finally, he meets James' eyes.

He shrugs a lazy shoulder. "Pretty good."

James gapes at him. His face stays slack for so long Regulus is anticipating starting a FAST test of make sure his blood pressure didn't sky rocket so much during his excitment that he had a bloody stroke.

"Pretty good?" James shrieks. Regulus is pretty sure he's never heard someone reach such a high octave. "Pretty good? Regulus, how dare you! I can't believe you—"

James cute himself off when Regulus throws his head back and laughs.

"I'm joking, Potter," he chuckles, shaking his head. "You're so easy to wind up, it's embarrassing. Your precious sandwich is lovely—"

"Breakfast bagel," James corrects sulkily.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Sorry. Your precious breakfast bagel is lovely, truly. Best bagel I've ever had."

James' pout quirks up. "I knew it! I knew you'd like it. Pretty French boy does have taste after all!"

"Watch it, Potter," Regulus warns, "or you'll be getting sriracha in your eyes before you finish your own meal."

James' eyes widen slightly, but his cheeks glow ruby red. He nods rapidly. "Noted."

They finish their bagels in silence, only speaking when Regulus grumbles about the smoothies instead of having coffee to which James ploughs into another tangent about  Regulus' general concerning caffeine intake.

"How do you afford a car like this?" Regulus asks,  in between slurping halfway down his smoothie. He won't admit aloud that it's pretty delicious, much like the bagel. "Aren’t you currently out of work?"

James shrugs, his own smoothie already finished. "I know I don’t look it, but I’m surprisingly immaculate at saving money. Worked hard when I was in the ambo service up North, saved like a starving man and bought this as a super belated graduation present for myself."

"You paid for this yourself by just saving your monthly wage?"

James flushes suddenly. "Okay, fine. I saved most of it and my grandparents made up for the rest. They wanted to get me something for my graduation and when I told them I wanted this car they helped out."

Regulus frowns. "Why do you look embarrassed about that?"

James shrugs again, looking ahead out the windscreen. "I'm the only one of my friends that comes from money. Well, Pads does too, but he doesn't have any contact with his family anymore. Moony and Wormtail have always had financial struggles growing up. Don't get me wrong, they've never gone without, and they have the most amazing families, but sometimes I feel like I grew up in a whole different world to them. I did, I guess. The playing field is always different when you grow up with wealthy parents and your grandparents like in a manor in Scotland."

"Having money is nothing to be ashamed of," Regulus says. "It’s your attitude about having money that matters."

Regulus wants to tell him then. He wonders, momentarily, if this is the time to tell James about his childhood. He’d be the first person in London to know the truth, to know where Regulus came from. No one knows that Regulus comes from old money, a wealthy family of lawyers and business men. No one knows that his family had more money growing up than they knew what to do with, and it poisoned them worse than any toxin in the world could.

James doesn’t seem to have been cursed the same way the Black’s have. None of the two Potters Regulus has met seem evenly remotely tarnished by their wealth, but perhaps that has more to do with the general poison that runs through the veins of anyone from the Ancient House of Black.

Regulus knows that when he came to London when he was 18, he started fresh. It took a while to adjust to having no money apart from what he earned himself, and the adjustment was both a physical and mental shock to him. He had to adapt fast, especially when he felt himself growing bitter by being surrounded by Evan and Barty, both of whom still had their ties with their filthy rich families and didn’t have to scrambled for a dime during the whole of their university years.

Regulus meant it though when he said to James that having money doesn’t matter, but its how you use it that does. It’s about if you rub it in peoples faces for your own pleasure and brag about never struggling, or if you keep it nonchalant and use to help out those with less than you.

"They’ve never made me feel bad about it," James says, "I just do. Automatically. When we were in school, and Wormtail had to get a job at 15 to help his parents with the rent because they couldn’t afford all of his siblings uniforms with the tax payers breathing down their necks. Or all the times Moony’s family have had to cancel Christmas because they’ve had too many credit cards maxed out to pay for his medications and treatments. I’ve never had that. I mean, we basically adopted Pads and my parents didn’t bat an eyelid at having to house and pay for another teenager. I just— shit, I— I’m making myself sound like a right bloody rich twat now. I sound like I’m fucking bragging, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean— I just—"

"Woah," Regulus shakes his head, "It’s fine, James. You’re not bragging, calm down."

"I just—"

"Stop it," Regulus interrupts firmly. "You don’t need to be ashamed about never struggling, and if the situation was different, you wouldn’t have to be ashamed about going without either. Just. . . accept what you have."

James stares at him for a moment, expression perplexed. Then, he laughs breathily, rubbing a hand down his face. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on a tangent."

Regulus shrugs. "It’s fine. We all need to get stuff off our chest once in a while."

"What about you?"

"What?"

"What about your family?" James asks. "I know you’re well off now, but what was it like growing up?"

Regulus stiffens. He should have anticipated this, although on the other hand, he’s rather pissed that James has asked.

"I don’t speak to any of my family anymore, so it doesn’t matter," he replies, hoping James will accept the answer. "What I have now is what I made for myself. I’d rather focus on that."

For a moment, James looks like he’s not going to let it go, and ask Regulus to tell him more. He looks intrigued, but also sad, which Regulus hates. There’s pity there, he can practically taste it coming off the older male in waves.

Finally, James’ expression softens, and his mouth stretches into a small smile.

"It’s sad you don’t speak to them anymore, but you’ve definitely proven you don’t need them," he says. "And I like that. What you said. To focus on what you made for yourself instead of what they did."

I don’t have much of a choice, Regulus almost says, but he manages to bite his tongue.

"Do you want me to drop you off home?" James asks, and Regulus sags in relief at the change of subject. "It’s almost 10. You should really go home and get some sleep."

"Yeah," Regulus sighs. "Probably a good idea. I can squeeze a few hours in before Pandora comes round later."

James’ eyes widen comically. "What? You’re doing stuff today? After the last 48 hours you’ve had?"

"Pandora needs help studying for her exam on Friday," Regulus replies. "She’s really stressed about it, not that she needs to be, mind you. She’s smart as a whip with this stuff, she’d probably ace it without even trying."

"Why does she need your help?"

"I think it’s more moral support."

"No one else can do it?" James asks.

Regulus looks at him sharply. "No. Barty and Evan are useless when it comes to midwifery. Her dad is out of town, so she can’t get moral support of him. It’s me or nothing, and I’ll be damned if she fails because she didn’t get the encouragement that she deserves."

"That’s. . . very noble."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "She deserved to qualify over a year ago, but she got dealt a shit hand of cards in second year and had to defer. She needs to do this, because she’s going to be the best midwife in the whole of London."

"Like you’re the best doctor?" James teases.

"Absolutely."

"I’m telling my mum you said that."

Regulus smirks. "She wouldn’t dare to disagree."

— tbc.

Chapter Text

9

If someone told Regulus two months ago that by the middle of November he'd be transpiring in daily texts to someone other than Barty, Evan or Pandora, he would have laughed in their face and had them running away from him with tears in their eyes.

In the four weeks since Regulus' drunken phone call, him and James have actually only met up again twice since he picked Regulus up from his shift over the period he was studying with Pandora, all due to Regulus' hectic work schedule and spending his one longer stretch of time off with the group celebrating Barty’s 25th birthday (the birthday celebrations actually only lasted one night out, but a day before and a day after was spent comforting Barty as he had a pretty literal crisis over turning 25).

One of those times James managed to find time when Regulus was off, he’d text Regulus to ask if he could come over after finding out that Regulus hadn't seen the Jaws films. James had turned up at his flat before Regulus had even confirmed he was home, DVD's in hand and his favourite Chinese takeaway ready to be called and ordered. His face had been as if Regulus had run over his dog, clearly personally offended that Regulus hadn't watched what he considered were 'the best masterpiece filmography of their time'. Regulus had been subjected to almost eight hours of shark movies that had literally taken them the rest of the day and all night to get through. James' kicked puppy look only grew more devastated when Regulus refused to gush to the older boys degree about how 'immaculate and fantastic' the movies were. Regulus had said they were enjoyable but certainly not up to the hype James raved about.

If Regulus has watched the movies numerous times since, that’s for him to know and nobody else.

James has also come to the hospital multiple times to make up for all the time he's not able to see Regulus outside of his work. That feels normal, at least. James stalking him and work and forcing free coffee on him? Regulus been putting up with that for months. The only difference now, is that his heart picks up a bit whenever he sees James making his way down the ward or hears his voice by the reception desk when Regulus is standing in one of the ward bays with a patient. James hangs round the ward for longer now, seeming not afraid of Regulus telling him to piss off and doesn't even hide it when he's coming in to see Regulus and not Euphemia anymore. One day, he came in with one latte and a sandwich and gave to Regulus, clearly forgetting his mother was on shift too. Regulus was sure his face was burning just as much as James'.

Regulus is still surprised James has stuck around this long. Anyone else would have told Regulus to get lost by now and that he’s not worth the trouble he gives. Regulus knows he's not the nicest person, and he doesn't even bother hiding it. Which is probably why he doesn't have a lot of friends, and those he has made the friendships started because they couldn't get away from him: either through dorm room/student house sharing for four years (Barty and Evan) or working together (Dorcas and Mary). The only close friend Regulus has got that has seemed him out since the beginning is Pandora, and for some unknown reason to all, she has managed to wedge herself into Regulus' life with no regrets and doubts.

Texting James is an unusual experience, to put it mildly. Clearly being out of work is leaving the older male painfully unoccupied and bored as he spends every waking moment of the day texting Regulus. The content of his messages ranges from random nonsense to his personal film and TV critics to hourly updates on his truly riveting daily experiences. James has clearly taken it upon himself to make sure Regulus is aware of what he is doing every moment of the day, even going as far once to update Regulus that the bathroom in his flat was so cold he hadn’t taken been to the loo for a whole day because the toilet seat was too cold. Regulus was so horrified when he read the text that he took a brisk trip to the mess room on shift to phone James and tell him to never inform him of that information again. Since then, James has thankfully stopped sending Regulus updates on his toilet trips and instead just stuck to the mindless waffle and his opinions on movies his flat mate makes him watch in the evenings.

Regulus has also come to learn that James has a very strict and religious sleep schedule. Apparently as someone who struggled with insomnia and nocturnal sleeping patterns growing up as a child, James treats his bedtime and waking up time with as much precision as a dietician would take consideration of their meals nutritional value. While the time James manages to get to bed frequently seems to vary, he always seems to rise at seven AM every morning. Regulus had started waking up to good morning texts a few days after James gave him a lift home from the hospital, which at first entirely freaked him out so much he had to have a chat with Pandora if it’s normal for friends to do this. Pandora was entirely unhelpful and had the audacity to simply laugh at Regulus and offer him no fragment of advice as to if it is normal. All she did was pat Regulus’ shoulder and ask are you and James only friends though?

Regulus has not thought about that every moment of the day since.

No, he has not.

The result of James’ consistent texting has meant that Regulus knows many small facts about James that he didn’t really need to know. He’s learnt that James’ favourite sweets are these type of vegan candy kittens that he tried because one of his crew mates six months ago introduced him to them and he’s been addicted to them ever since.

He’s learnt that James truly becomes a nightmare in the flesh if he drinks more than three cups of coffee within a 24 hour period (the texts that day had Regulus on the verge of grabbing Euphemia from the ward and demanding she goes and ties down her son until the caffeine made its way out of his system).

He’s learnt that James’ best friend, the mysterious 'Padfoot' is a tattoo artist but when they were in Yorkshire at university, his best friend had a workshop and spent 14 hours solid painting to the point the fumes made him completely delirious.

He’s learnt that James has a personal vendetta against anyone who doesn’t like lemon muffins ('They’re simply impossible to not like, Regulus!).

He’s learnt that James refuses to use tumble dryers since an incident that occurred over four years ago that resulted in one of Remus' precious knitted jumpers being shrunk small enough to fit a small dog after James tumble dried it after borrowing it. Apparently this piece of important history is brought up often enough that James had to warn Regulus to never lend him anything unless he didn’t want it back in the same condition.

All small bits of useless information that Regulus has come to pleasantly anticipate the next round of.

Of course, James insists he isn’t bothered that the ratio of texts exchanged between them is vastly large. Regulus doesn’t often reply to the onslaught of texts he gets throughout the day, especially when he’s on shift and the general content of the texts is simply nonsense. James doesn’t mind. Apparently he’s simply content with using Regulus’ phone number as a form of a diary when he gets bored.

Regulus would be lying if he didn’t enjoy it.

He woke up this afternoon after laying in in preparation for his night shift to an onslaught of texts from James about his tennis match against Padfoot that morning. Apparently, they are that friendship group that go to tennis weekly and play overly passionate and competitive games of the sport. Regulus told him in a few years they'll all be playing golf, to which James replied telling him to piss off, we're not that old!

Regulus is an hour into his last night shift, typing up a prescription for a pain medication regime for a spine injury patient when his phone buzzes multiple times in his pocket.

James (21:11) regulus!!

James (21:11) SOS!!

James (21:11) this is an emergency reply asap

James (21:11) i repeat SOS

Heart instantly picking up, Regulus rushes to print the prescription before thrusting it into the nurses hand to give to the patient. He practically falls out of his chair before dashing down to the mess room.

Why is James sending an SOS? Regulus’ mind instantly goes to Remus. Perhaps something with his epilepsy, though in the back of Regulus’ mind, buried under the instant fog of panic, there is a nagging though that James is a paramedic so surely if it was something to do with Remus’ epilepsy James would know if something was an actual emergency.

Regulus is bursting into the mess room, not even checking if it’s empty before fumbling with his phone to ring James.

It’s then that he notices two more messages have come through.

James (21:13) regulus i can’t cope anymore

James (21:13) they sent pauline home!!!

And what?

Regulus freezes suddenly, staring down at the phone.

What the hell is James talking about?

Who the hell is Pauline?

What does—

Realisation hits Regulus like a truck. The panic washes out of him in an instant, instead replaced by an itching annoyance and white hot anger.

James fucking Potter.

Not even bothering to reply to the texts, Regulus swipes the name on the phone and brings it to his ear.

James picks up after two rings.

"Regulus!" James cries instantly. "The worst has happened, I can’t believe—"

"Potter, are you texting me SOS messages while I’m at work because of fucking Bake Off?" Regulus snaps.

The other end of the phone is silent for a pregnant pause. By the time James replies, Regulus is practically seething.

"I think it qualifies as a perfectly acceptable SOS," James insists, unbothered by Regulus' harsh tone. "It’s Pauline, Regulus! She was my favourite! She didn’t deserve to be sent home, she barely messed up on the show-stopper and—"

"James!" Regulus hisses impatiently, "I am at work, you bloody moron! Why are you texting SOS messages about stupid, fucking Pauline?"

"It was an unjustifiable result, Reggie," James replies. He doesn’t sound apologetic at all, instead his voice is thick with sadness he’s practically choking out the words. "I’m in despair!"

Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose hard enough to bruise. He forces himself to calm down, taking an exaggeratedly deep breath so heavy it’s practically a tsunami of a sigh.

"You’re unbelievable," Regulus whispers. "Tu es tellement incroyable. Je n'arrive pas à croire que j'ai permis à quelqu'un comme toi d'entrer dans ma putain de vie (You're so unbelievable. I can't believe I've allowed someone like you into my fucking life)."

"Didn’t understand a word of that, darling, but what is truly unbelievable is that Gary has stayed for another week and the precious Pauline hasn’t!" James cries again.

Regulus can picture him on the sofa right now: phone in hand and tears in his eyes over a bloody Bake Off contestant being sent home. Regulus didn’t even know he started watching the show, and his stomach feels weird at knowing that potentially James started watching it after that first Sunday together. He must be watching reruns, because Regulus knows the season just gone didn't have a Pauline in it.

"I’m having a crisis, Reg," James adds, "I can’t believe you made me start watching this! It’s making me more emotional than The Lion King!"

Regulus pauses, James' words sinking in slowly.

"James?" He starts.

James hums in reply, still sounding wounded.

"Do you cry at The Lion King?"

The other end of the line is silent for a moment while Regulus is trying to process the fact that he is giving time to someone who—

"Everyone cries when Mufasa dies!" James blurts, sounding sorely offended.

"James, it’s a children’s cartoon about lions."

"His dad gets trampled and he finds his dead body! What isn’t sad about that?" James replies, tone border-lining hysteria now. Regulus can’t hold back the scoff, to which seems to only urge James on even more and he adds, "Only the most heartless people don’t cry at that scene!"

"Did you just call me heartless?"

"I’m starting to question your moral compass if you don’t get choked up when Mufasa dies."

"Oh for fuck sake," Regulus sighs, rubbing an exasperated hand down his face. "Stop sending me SOS texts when I’m at work when it’s not bloody SOS worthy of any sort. Bake Off contestants being sent home doesn’t even constitute for a fraction of a kind of an emergency. Do it again and I will block your number."

"You wouldn’t!" James gasps.

"I would, now dry your eyes and stop bothering me at work."

"So mean."

"Grow thicker skin," Regulus grunts before he hangs up. His phone pings again before he’s even made it back to the reception desk.

James (21:22) please don’t actually bloke my number

Regulus (21:23) debating it now I know you cry at the lion king

James (21:23) heartless.

James (21:23) do you cry at anything?

Regulus (21:24) no

James (21:24) you must cry at those army videos

James (21:24) of the dads coming home and being reunited with their family’s

James (21:24) I refuse to believe you’re that stone cold that even THOSE don’t get you choked up because they make everyone cry

Regulus (21:25) never watched them. why would I purposely watch something sad?

James (21:25) because they’re beautiful!!!

Regulus (21:26) you just said they make everyone cry

James (21:26) something can be sad and beautiful at the same time

Regulus (21:27) I know. I see it every morning when I look in the mirror

James (21:27) REGULUS! </3

With that, Regulus slides his phone into his pocket in time to see Mary come strutting up to the reception desk.

"Never seen you spend so much time on your phone, Black," she says as she starts riffling through a set of files.

"It’s just Barty," Regulus replies as he taps onto the computer again. He still has to write up the notes on someones neurological exam he did over an hour ago. James is becoming a reoccurring distraction at the moment.

Mary hums, "And what does our darling Bartemius Crouch want? He’s not on shift, is he? Is he still having a quarter life crisis about being half way to 50?"

"No he’s not on shift, and no he’s not having a crisis anymore. Well, he brings it up at least three times a week still, and then proceeds to shout at us all when we don’t deny the clear fact that he is 25 years old now," Regulus replies. "He’s taking it quite hard still."

"He treats being 25 as a fucking death sentence."

"Aren’t you 26 next year?"

"Fuck off, Black," Mary grunts, "You’re still a foetus, but your time will come and when it does, we all know you’ll be the biggest drama queen about turning half a quarter."

Regulus chuckles. "Will it sooth the wound if I say you don’t look a day over 21?"

"You don’t need to tell me, I already know. The number of my age may not be on my side but my lack of wrinkles are," she winks, tucking a folder under her arm. "You on all night?"

"Till eight in the morning," Regulus nods. "You?"

"Half an hour," Mary grins. "Then I’m going home and drowning my sorrows in a brand new bottle of raspberry gin."

"Spoken like a true alcoholic."

Mary cuffs him round the back of the head before she’s walking off, clearly trying to fight a smirk.

Regulus writes his report on the neurological assessment, waves Mary off when she goes at just after 10, manages to convince Alex to do a coffee run before the cafe shuts at 10:30 and they have to resolve to instant out of the kettle for the rest of the night. James stops texting after 11:30, so Regulus assumed the older boy had managed to get to bed, and Regulus is not going to admit he missed the tsunami of texts bringing him some form of entertainment during the rest of his shift.

Nightshifts at hospital always go one of two ways: its either quiet to the point of boring and time moves as slow as smudge, or its manic and everyone leaves the shift late, run ragged and regretting their choices to ever join the profession. Tonight, Regulus was sure it was going to be the former. Apart from the speedy neurological exam on a clearly positive stroke patient, it was all sailing smoothly and Regulus even had time at 3:30AM to sit down with one of the new nurses and chat freely for over 40 minutes without being interrupted.

Of course, it all had to go wrong at some point.

First, one of the patients crashed in 407 and Regulus had to firstly perform CPR for 35 minutes to bring them back before rushing them into emergency surgery. Then, a trauma call came in down in emergency for a suicide jumper with spine and neck injuries that he had to go down to deal with. After that, with barely enough time to get back up to neuro ward, the patient he diagnosed with a stroke earlier in the night had another stroke, and it was actually calming down the wife that exhausted Regulus the most. And then to finally top it all off, an hour and a half before his shift was meant to end, Regulus got paged down to the children’s department because a nine year old child had been brought in via ambulance with stroke symptoms. After a gruelling 45 minute exam and blood tests, Regulus was able to safely say whatever was wrong with the child was not stroke-related, but he didn’t feel confident in signing them off so had to direct the skeleton crew of paediatric nurses to getting the sick child moved up to the children’s neuro ward so he could speak to the doctors up there - but of course, the one neuro doctor they had had phoned in sick and the next wasn’t coming in till 7:30. So Regulus had to wait, and by the time the fresh doctor came in and they’d discussed between them the concerns, Regulus didn’t make it back to the adult neuro ward till gone 8:20.

Dorcas was taking over the day shift, but a text on his phone that he reads on his way back to the neuro reception desk from her informed him she wasn’t going to make it in till nine because of the trains. Regulus wishes he could be annoyed, but he doesn’t think he has enough energy after the last six hours of work, so just replies to say it’s fine and he’ll stay.

Regulus had been so run off his feet the last six hours he didn’t even have time to think about how he’d felt a stupid loss at James’ lack of texts while he slept. He’s debating taking a snooze in the mess room before driving home. His eyes are itchy from tiredness and while he wants more coffee to help him through the next hour of his now extended shift, except the only thing in his system right now is coffee and the sugar in the caramel syrup is probably the only thing keeping his blood sugar from bottoming out and sending him into a coma.

It’s almost 9:30 when Dorcas comes in, and Regulus is stuck in a side room with a 26 year old that came in at the start of the night with a six minute seizure. She’s only staying in for a 48 hour check due to the length of the seizure, and Regulus is just telling her that the results from her blood works (albeit, they came back hours ago but Regulus was too distracted with mangled spines and hoax stroke symptoms to make it round to her to deliver a five minute speech), when the door opens and Dorcas, looking fresh though slightly flustered from the probably run she made to get to the ward with being late, walks in.

"Ah, Doctor Meadows," Regulus smiles tightly, "Good morning. You arrived just in time for me to assure Miss Williams here that her blood works have come back as expected," he looks back at the girl on the bed, who’s clutching her mother’s hand beside her like Regulus is about to deliver her a death sentence. "There is nothing alarming in your blood works. Your potassium levels are high as is your blood sugar, but those are standard when someone has had a seizure."

"Do I still have to stay?" The girl asks.

Regulus nods. "I would highly recommend staying for minimum the rest of the day, ideally another night as well. I appreciate you probably spend a fair amount of time in hospital due to your epilepsy, but this was your first seizure last lasted more than five minutes and combined with your meds being changed four weeks ago, I believe it would be smart to stay for some observations."

"She’s going to be alright though, right?" The mother asks.

Apart from live the rest of her life having seizures and never feeling like a normal person? "I’m not concerned, the blood works are another tick box in your favour. I don’t think this is anything out of the ordinary, but I can’t promise anything of course."

"Of course," the mother echoes with a smile.

"Right," Regulus nods, "Doctor Meadows is going to be your doctor for today. I can assure you that—"

"You’re not staying?"

Do the public think people who work in health care are fucking robots? Regulus wants to ask.

"My shift ended over an hour ago," Regulus says, swallowing down the urge to tell the patient to fuck off and let him go home.

"Is there no one else on today?"

Regulus blinks. His abdomen feels like a cold, heavy rock has replaced his stomach. "Pardon? Is there a problem—"

There’s a knock at the door, and a moment later, Alex is sticking her head in the door.

"I apologise," she begins, "Doctor Black, would you mind—"

"Can she be my doctor today?"

Regulus sighs heavily, "No, Alex is a nurse, not a doctor. Doctor Meadows is the—"

"I don’t want Doctor Meadows to be in charge of my care today," the girl says.

Regulus tucks the chart under his arm, flicking his eyes to the young girl.

"Is there a problem with Doctor Meadows?" He asks sharply.

The girl stammers, looking between them all.

"Do you have a problem with the colour of ones skin, Miss Williams?" Regulus asks.

He hears Dorcas inhale sharply behind him.

"Doctor Black—" she starts, but Regulus isn’t having it.

"I don’t understand how you can decide that the shade of Doctor Meadows’ skin has anything to do with her ability in her qualification but I can assure you that she is as, and if not more, capable than me to deliver you sufficient care today," Regulus snaps.

"My daughter has a right to choice," the mother starts, face looking mildly flushed with embarrassment. Good, Regulus thinks, you racist cunt. "Is she not allowed to choose her doctor?"

"Of course she is," Regulus nods. "But surely your choice should be based on the level of capability instead of the colour of ones skin, no?"

The girl at least has the decency to refuse to make eye contact anymore, instead seeming to find the blue blanket covering her legs far more interesting that the faces of the two doctors at the foot of her bed.

"We don’t tolerate racism in this hospital, so if you or your mother have got that much of a problem feel free to self-discharge and find somewhere else to be looked after," Regulus says, shoving the chart in the holder on the end of the bed with far more aggression than needed. "It’s 2022, and in my professional opinion, I highly suggest you both catch up with the appropriate level of diverse acceptance in this day and age otherwise you might yourselves on the receiving end of very unpleasant confrontations."

Silence settles over the room. Alex, still halfway through the door, looks more uncomfortable than she ever has done. Dorcas is silent behind him, and Regulus refuses to look back at her. He feels like he’s vibrating with anger. This is not what he needed at the end of the shift, and he’s surprised he’s managed to get through this entire ordeal without actually saying something to the mother or daughter that’s offensive enough to get him struck off the registrar without even a court hearing.

"Are we done here?" He asks, and when no one replies, he nods, "Fantastic. I’m going home now, if that’s alright with you two, of course."

The mother nods stiffly.

"Wonderful," Regulus snaps. He looks at Dorcas and Alex, "Shall we?"

Again, he doesn’t wait for them to reply before he’s storming out of the door and into the main pit. Alex practically throws herself out of the door way to avoid his long strides, and Dorcas comes barrelling close on his heels.

"What was that?" She hisses.

"I believe, that was a pair of racist twats that just made it very clear that they—"

"No," Dorcas snaps, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him to an empty bay. "I meant what was that with you!"

Regulus frowns, "Excuse me?"

"You can't accuse patients of racism, Regulus," she sighs, pinching her nose. "If the board find out about this—"

Regulus scoffs. "If they find out about this, I will happily take a black mark against my name if it means that patients aren’t allowed to be openly racist on my fucking ward."

Dorcas looks at him pointedly. In that moment, she looks deceivingly like Euphemia when she used to find Regulus’ attitude on the verge of rude when he was a student. "Fuck sake, Reg."

Regulus doesn’t say anything, just leans heavily on the wall. If he thought he was tired before, he feels exhausted now.

"I don’t need you defending me," Dorcas says after a long moment.

"I know," Regulus nods. "I never said you did. Maybe I just wanted to defend you."

Dorcas sighs, crossing her arms.

"Well. . . thank you," she murmurs. "I don’t need you to jump in as my defender, but thank you."

Regulus shrugs one shoulder. "My pleasure. I think I needed to snap at a patient after this shift. It was ideal they were a pair of assholes, to be honest. Gave me an excuse."

Dorcas rolls her eyes.

"You going to be alright with those two today?"

"Of course," she smiles. "Would you be surprised if I told you that wasn’t the first time this has happened?"

"Unfortunately, no. Mary’s in at 10, you can tag team them if they kick off again."

Dorcas grins, tension finally seeping out of her shoulders.

"Sounds like a plan," she nods. "You should go home. You look like shit."

"Charming," Regulus scoffs, pushing off the wall. "Have fun holding down the fort."

"Have fun sleeping for four days."

You bet your fine ass I will, Regulus thinks as he makes his way down to the mess room. Even just mentioning sleep has Regulus drag his feet to change out of his scrubs. Glancing out the window for the first time in hours, he rips off his scrub top with a huff. Rain is lashing down at the windows, and even at 9:30, the sky is still looking dark with ominous rain clouds.

He looks down at his knit jumper, scarf and peacoat in despair, wishing he’d worn his raincoat last night. It’s only a brisk walk to the car park, but it’s raining hard enough that he knows the lack of waterproof clothing and a hood is going to have him drench before he even gets to the pay meter.

Unsurprisingly, his hair is flat and dripping in his eyes by the time he slides into his car seat. Chilled down to the bone and now immensely annoyed, he turns on the car and blasts the heating as high as he can. Sinking down in the chair to give his car a moment to warm up, Regulus closes his eyes.

He doesn't care was Dorcas' reaction was, nor does he care if the two nasty patients make a complaint about him, he doesn't regret what he said to that mother and daughter. It's not the first time he's been a witness to racism on the ward, but it's the first time since he's qualified and been in a position to have enough authority to say something. He's actually impressed with how professional he was able to stay, considering it was his 13th hour on the ward and he's lost his temper worse before for much less.

If this job has taught Regulus one thing, is that some people really, really suck. Regulus has no doubts that Dorcas is going to be able to hold her own for the rest of the day. When Mary gets in later and no doubt hears about it too, Regulus is excited to hear what she ends up doing. No doubt Mary will go to impossible levels to make today extremely difficult for the girl and her mother.

Regulus has absolutely no remorse for them.

Opening his eyes again, Regulus reads the car clock and sighs heavily. It’s already 10:15. He’s been on the hospital grounds for over 14 hours now, and he still has to sit through London traffic to get back to his flat to go to bed.

If he didn’t enjoy being a doctor, Regulus would be seriously considering his life choices.

Starting the car, Regulus pulls out of the lot and begins the crawl back to Kensington.

He gets 10 minutes down the road when the car begins to chug. He doesn’t even have time to process that his morning is going from bad to worse before smoke arises from the bonnet and he limps the car to the pavement.

Sitting, shocked and agape, he stares out the window at the plumes of smoke wafting up from his car.

Well, he thinks. Fuck.

"Fuck!" He shouts, dropping his head down onto the steering wheel.

The rain is still pelting down on the windows around him.

"This can’t be happening," he whines, clenching his eyes shut. His head is beginning to throb.

He debates just staying in the car. With the way the bonnet is smoking, he can’t even bring himself to care if the thing blows up. He’ll happily go up in flames with it, at least then he’ll get some decent fucking rest afterwards.

Regulus doesn’t know where he finds the energy in himself to climb out of the car. He’d much rather roll and crawl round to the bonnet, but the manners imbedded in him since he was old enough to walk forbid him from doing so. By the time Regulus has the bonnet up, smoke wafting in his face, he’s soaked through from the rain. The smoke burns his eyes, and he realises as he blinks the stinging tears out of his eyes that this entire ordeal is futile. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Whoever says cars are like a metal version of the human body are full of shit. It’s a mess of metal and pipes. Regulus can run through an entire emergency spinal and brain trauma from beginning to theatre bed, but he knows fuck all about cars.

He slams the bonnet shut with a frustrated groan.

Cars are driving past him mockingly. The rain is still coming down ferociously, splattering along the quickly growing puddles. The pavements are deserted, with only a handful of people running around with raincoats and umbrellas sheltering them from the impending storm. Regulus rarely see’s London so quiet for people walking on their morning commutes, but he figures everyone else is smart enough to not be standing out in the pouring rain.

At least not in nothing but a fucking peacoat.

Evan and Barty would be laughing at him right now. Style over substance, right?

"Regulus?"

He spins around, water dripping off his hair and going in his eyes. He blinks, both in surprise and to get the water out of his eyes.

The culprit of his name is standing about five foot away from, wrapped up in a thick rain coat, hood up and draw strings tightened enough that he would be hard to recognise if it wasn’t for the huge smile and raindrop covered glasses on his face.

"James?"

A smile breaks out on his face. "Doctor Black, is that you?"

"No, it’s the fucking pope," Regulus snarls, rolling his eyes. "What are you doing out in this weather?"

"I had to post something," James says, jutting a glove-covered hand over his shoulder. His hand falls awkwardly, and he looks at the still smoking car behind him. "Is that your car?"

"No, I’m standing in the rain staring at a random person’s broken down car."

James’ eyes flick from the car to Regulus.

"I don’t think it’s meant to be doing that."

"No shit!" Regulus shouts, throwing his hands up. He runs a hand over his face, then up and through his hair to get his fringe out of his eyes. When his hair is wet and being constantly battered by unyielding rain, it makes his hair flatten and the normally perfectly lengthened curls fall into his eyes like small, stabbing needles.

"Rough night?" James asks tentatively.

"It was fine," Regulus sighs.

"You don’t look fine."

Regulus growls in frustration. "My car is broken down and I’m standing in the pouring rain in a fucking peacoat, James! Of course I don’t look fine!"

A beat of silence passes between them. Nothing to be heard apart from the blearing of car horns and the aggressive splatter of rain.

"I like the coat actually," James says, and Regulus side-eyes him to see a small smile tugging at the corners of the older boys lips. James' eyes skim up and down Regulus, and the doctor is a moment away from squirming uncomfortably when James meets Regulus' eyes again. "Even if it is entirely inappropriate for the weather. The little scarf too. You look lovely."

"It’s too early for your bubbly personality, James," Regulus says. Thankfully, it's cold enough that his cheeks and nose are already coloured pink so it hides the growing blush forming on his cheeks. Thankfully, no one can hear how his heart has picked up fast enough to constitute him being an impatient in the cardio ward.

"Haven’t you been up all night?" James asks.

"Please, add more salt to the wound why don’t you!" Regulus shouts, tone border-lining hysteria now. He’s cold and his clothes are dripping, he’s tired to the point of feeling shaky, his car is still smoking and he’s got at least a two hours to walk home in Kensington.

He thinks he has a right to feel a little bit hysterical right now.

Then to make matters worse, James is now here, looking deliciously ravishing despite raindrops covering his glasses bad enough Regulus is convinced the guy can’t even see. He looks warm as well, wrapped up in his coat and hood pulled tight that only his face is visible.

His eyes are so soft and lovely, and he’s looking at Regulus like he’s an angel sent from heaven instead of a drowned, over tired street rat right now.

There is a small smile on his face too. Merely a quirk on his lips, tugging at the corners like someone is plucking a string gently. Regulus’ eyes feel transfixed, and no matter how much his brain tells him to stop looking at them he just can’t.

"We’re not doing this," he says, and instantly his stomach pools at the way his voice comes out a shaky rasp.

Fuck, he must be really delirious from sleep. He’s never wanted to do something so much before. He’s never felt a knee-jerk reaction like he’s feeling looking at James’ stupidly attractive face.

James blinks in confusion, smile dropping.

No, Regulus’ mind spins. Come back. Please smile again.

"What?"

Regulus jolts with the physical desperation to focus. James might look lovely, but Regulus will not crumble to the puppy-dog eyes and soft lips.

He will not.

"We’re not being those people who have their first kiss in the rain," Regulus demands.

James’ face twists in surprise. His mouth drops open into a comical 'o' shape, and his thick eyebrows slowly rise. For a moment, he looks frozen, and Regulus is concerned for a moment he’s gone into shock. Regulus is sure he didn’t get the wrong impression, because James was looking exactly like Regulus felt.

James’ face slowly changes from genuine surprise to gentle softness. His head tilts slightly to the side, one corner of his lips curling upwards into a blinding, close-lipped smile.

"You want to kiss me?" James asks, and his tone is so teasing and pleased it makes Regulus want to hate himself.

"James," Regulus shakes his head, hands twitching as if he’s fighting the urge to grab James by the front of his jacket and yank the taller guy into him. "I’m serious. We’re not kissing in the sodding rain."

James chuckles breathlessly. "I think it’s quite romantic."

Regulus scoffs and rolls his eyes, scrambling for some fragment of composure to reserve his dignity right now.

"Of course you do."

"Well," James says slowly, rocking back on the balls of his feet, "are you objective towards kissing me?"

"I’m soaked to the bone, freezing cold and my car is smoking from under the bonnet. I am certainly not thinking about kissing you," Regulus replies, somehow feigning difference right now despite his brain catching up with what’s happening and starting to realise that perhaps he is the one that’s suggesting this. "The only thing I’m thinking about how I’m meant to get home."

James’ smile grows. "Well, I’m definitely thinking about kissing you."

Oh.

Oh.

"You cannot possibly be this cliche."

James hums, biting his lower lip for a second and smile growing even more when he see’s Regulus’ eyes dropping down to his mouth. James steps closer, movements slow.

"Do you want me to stop?" James asks, closing the gap between them even more.

"This is ridiculous," Regulus tries to scoff, tries to remain strong but his voice barely comes out a breathless rush. His throat feels tight, heart hammering so hard Regulus can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

"Is that a yes?" James asks. He’s right in front of him now, and Regulus is suddenly overwhelmed with want. James’ head is inclined, looking down at him and Regulus only now realises the height difference between them. It’s only about half a head, but it’s enough that James has to look down and Regulus would have to roll onto his toes to reach his mouth. "Is that a yes to stop?"

James is looking down at him, their faces inches apart. Regulus can feel the warm bursts of breath on his face. He can see every shade of hazel in James’ eyes, can see every inch of his dark skin like a smooth painting. He can see the raindrops caught in the small bits of hair that have escaped out the sides of his hood by his glasses arms.

"No," Regulus whispers, so quiet he’s not even sure if James would be able to hear him over the rain and street commotion around them, but he can’t force the words to come out any louder. Everything feels fragile right now, as if he talks too loud it will shatter this moment. "No, it’s not."

James’ face remains pleased, kind.

"Don’t stop?"

"Don’t stop," Regulus practically gasps. "Please, don’t stop."

Regulus doesn’t know who it is that closes the gap between them. He thinks they do it together, both surging in at the same time.

The moment James’ lips meet his own, it’s like the world goes away. Someone has slipped a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over Regulus’ ears, because suddenly he can’t hear a thing. It’s like every focus in London has zeroed in on them.

James is kissing him.

Regulus is kissing back.

James’ glove-covered hands are cupping his jaw, thumbs curling around his cheek bones so gently like he’s cradling a bird. Regulus is grasping at James’ jacket like he’s going to rip away from him, desperate and hungry. The kiss barely managed stayed as tentative and sweet before James is deepening it, and Regulus allows it. He allows it so much, and his arms are winding around James’ neck without his awareness, pulling James closer as he pushes up on his toes to chase the high that’s making his dizzy.

Regulus pulls away first, but only because he suddenly realises maybe the onslaught dizziness is actually due to lack of oxygen. He breaks away with a shaky gasp, running a tongue over his bottom lip instantly. Regulus doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opens them, James’ nose is so close it’s touching Regulus’ own.

James’ eyes stay shut for another moment. He’s breathing deeply, and Regulus can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his own.

"Wow," James breathes, eyelashes fluttering. He laughs suddenly, merely a breath of a chuckle. "Wow. That was. . . fuck."

"Speechless?" Regulus asks.

"You’re a good kisser."

"Don’t sound so surprised."

"I’m not. I’m really not. I just—" his eyes slowly open, and instantly he’s looking into Regulus’. "Wow."

"You’ve said that."

"Wow."

Regulus huffs. "James—"

"This is the best day ever."

"Bloody hell. You can’t be serious. It was only a kiss."

"That was easily the best kiss I’ve ever had," James replies, licking his lips. "I can’t believe I finally got to kiss you."

"I’ve been up all night. There is a good chance I’m delirious from lack of sleep."

"I can accept that," James smiles. "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes please."

James’ lips don’t stay against his for nearly as long as the first time. Regulus has barely had a chance to pry James’ mouth open enough to run his tongue along the top of the older boys mouth when James is pulling back.

"Want to come back to mine?" He asks. His lips are slightly swollen, and his eyes are glinting as they look down at Regulus with adoration. "We can call the garage to come pick up your car, then go back to mine to have some breakfast. My flat mate is out, so we can have the place to ourselves."

"Are you coming onto me, Potter?" Regulus replies, and he somehow manages to keep his tone teasing and mocking despite feeling like James has ripped open every possible fragment of him.

"I meant for you to sleep," James rolls his eyes lazily. "You’ve been up all night, after all."

Regulus clears his throat. "Right."

"Come on, ring the garage," James says, but he doesn’t move his hands away from Regulus’ face. Instead, he holds on tighter, eyes flicking over every inch of what he can see. A small, twist of a frown pulls at his eyebrows. "You’re soaked through."

"Obviously," Regulus drawls. "I’ve been standing in the rain for 20 minutes."

James laughs at that, frown dropping. "Smart ass. Do you have a number for a garage?"

"Obviously."

"You’re cranky after a nightshift."

"Fuck off."

James’ hands drop away, and Regulus would be worried James read too much into his tone until he spots the smile still framing the older boys face.

James shuts the bonnet and they get in the car to shield from the rain. Regulus phones the garage, and he holds the phone to his ear with slightly shaking hands.

Shaking from the cold, of course.

"Pick up is coming in 15," Regulus says when he hangs up. He looks at the still lashing rain outside with a sigh. It hasn’t let up in the slightest. "Do you live far? Wait— did you walk here?"

James nods.

Regulus narrows his eyes. "Don’t you have a car?"

"I fancied a walk," James shrugs.

"In the rain?"

"I find it therapeutic."

"Are you mad?"

James laughs. "I’ve got to stay fit somehow, haven’t I? Being unemployed at the moment and all that, it would be too easy to sit on my ass 24 hours a day."

"Of all the days to walk, you choose to do it in the middle of a thunderstorm?"

"Firstly, not a thunderstorm, don’t be so dramatic," James says, and Regulus bristles because he is not dramatic. "And secondly, as I said before, I find walking in the rain very therapeutic. You might too, if you had appropriate weather clothing."

"You’re getting on my last nerve, Potter."

James just chuckles, shaking his head.

"I live near Dalston," James finally explains. "It’ll take about an hour to walk, so I’ll order us a taxi."

Regulus head snaps to face him. "You don’t—"

"We’re both soaking now, and there is no way we’re sitting on a busy train for 30 minutes during peak hour like this. A taxi will take 20 minutes tops," James says, and when Regulus opens his mouth to argue again, James holds a hand up and adds, "No arguments now, I’m ordering us a taxi. You need food and sleep ASAP."

Regulus slumps in tired defeat. "Fine."

"Thank you, darling," James smiles.

"Don’t call me that."

"Okay, darling."

"I hate you."

"Hush," James rests a finger against Regulus’ lips and flashes him a cheeky grin. "I’m ordering us a taxi."

If Regulus hadn’t been already dazed by the lack of sleep and now his thoughts scrambled over the fact he kissed James Potter in the rain, then Regulus would have paid more attention to James’ apologises about him and his friends flat being on the top floor. Stupid studio apartments being five floors up. Regulus would have demanded James to carry him up if he wasn’t already sure his dignity had been shattered on the streets of London for having his first kiss with a pretty boy in the rain like something out of a romantic sit-com.

James’ flat is lovely for someone who currently isn’t working. Turns out savings and your flatmates wages for making art are enough to carry over rent in a studio flat in London. Regulus would feel put out at the fact if James didn’t warn him about the fact the toilet doesn’t always flush and the window in his flatmates room doesn’t open.

It’s run down and old looking, but him and his friend have made it cosy. Well, as cosy as it can be when it looks like two university students are living in it instead of two adults in their mid-twenties.

When they get in, James instantly leads Regulus to the sofa, only getting as far as snatching his bag off his shoulder and pausing when he goes to take his coat too.

"Oh, you’re going to need some dry clothes," he says, eyeing the still wet fabric he’s wearing. "Do you want to take a quick shower too? I imagine it would be nice after a 12 hour shift."

Regulus nods, peeling off his damp scarf from round his neck.

"The bathroom is just in there," James juts his thumb over his shoulder. "I’ll find you something to wear and while you’re in there I can make us some grub. I’m sure I’ve got some old stuff that might fit you, but the trousers will probably be too long."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I’m not that short."

"Compared to me, you really are," James smiles, eyes flicking quickly down him.

They stand in silence. Regulus begins to squirm under James’ intriguing gaze.

"Uh," Regulus shifts, "the shower?"

"Oh!" James jolts. "Y-yeah. Just, uh— feel free to use anything in there. My flatmate buys nice stuff, I won’t tell him you used it if you fancy something more expensive than my supermarket shampoo."

"Supermarket shampoo? James, if you’re about to tell me you use 3-in-1 I will walk out right now and you will never see me again."

James throws his head back and laughs. "No, fucking hell, calm down Mr Bathing Connoisseur. I don’t use 3-in-1, thank you very much, but I also don’t spend over 20 quid on a bottle of shampoo like Pads does."

Regulus hums distastefully.

"It seems like this Pads at least has some taste."

James rolls his eyes. "Shut up and shower would you? Otherwise, those wet clothes are going to make your skin wrinkle, and then I’m going to have to tell you that you look like a naked mole-rat."

"Watch it, Potter," Regulus grumbles, tossing his scarf at the other boys head before storming into the shower.

"Wait!" James shouts, and Regulus pauses in the doorway to see James dashing into the room next door.

He comes out a minute later, a folded towel in hand and a set of clothes thrown over his arm. He looks flushed when he holds them out for Regulus.

"Enjoy," James smiles.

Regulus takes the clothes and towel with a light roll of his eyes. "Thanks."

The shower warms him up as well as washes the smell of hospital off him. James left him a pair of grey sweats, a clearly old and well-loved t-shirt and a navy blue hoodie with hand-made thumb holes made in the cuffs. Regulus finds it incredibly endearing and absolutely adorable that James is the type of person to like thumb holes in his jumpers, and likes them so much that he actually makes his own. The clothes are threadbare and faded, and clearly a few sizes too small for James as they’re only slightly large on Regulus. They’re warm though, and surprisingly soft for something so tatted. Regulus has to stop himself from smelling the jumper after he’s put it on to see if it smells like James.

Stepping out, the question of where James wants him to put the towel and his wet clothes dies on his lips when the smell of bacon hits his nose.

Following the smell and walking past the dining table in the middle of the main room, Regulus steps up to the doorway of the kitchen. James is standing in a pair of sweats himself, perfectly fitting and hugging all the right places. He’s got his back to Regulus, and the cotton t-shirt framing him is slightly stretched over his back, showing every curl and definition of the muscle there.

Regulus doesn’t say anything as he watches James stand at the kitchen side, frypan in one hand and using a pair of tongs in the other to distribute the bacon onto the rolls. He’s humming to himself, low enough Regulus has no idea was the tune really is. It’s only when James turns to place the frypan in the sink does he notice Regulus standing there.

"Oh!" He jolts slightly in surprise, and then his face splits with a smile. "Hi."

"Hi," Regulus murmurs.

James is silent for a moment, a blush curling on his cheeks. He seems to come back to life with a flinch.

"Hi," he smiles. "Nice shower?"

Regulus hums. "Your friend has good taste in shampoo."

"Told you," James chuckles. "Here, let me take those and I’ll put them on the airer to dry. I made us bacon sandwiches and hot chocolates, figured you’d want something other than coffee after being up all night."

"Thank you."

It’s only a few minutes later that they’re situated on the sofa, plates in hand and two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table. Now he’s dry and warm, Regulus is struggling to keep his eyes open. His mind feels exhausted from spinning in circles at how much has happened since he left the hospital hours ago. He kissed James, followed James back his flat, used his shower, is now wearing his clothes and eating a bacon butty on the sofa with a hot chocolate to top it off.

It feels incredibly domestic.

Pathetically so.

Regulus can’t help but look to his side. James is merely inches from him, their shoulders are almost touching as he makes his way through his breakfast and scrolls through the channels on the TV. Regulus wants to lean in, to feel the warmth off of him again. He wants their shoulders to brush, for James to look at him again like he did when he found him and his broken down car.

"Oh shit!" James suddenly shouts, turning to him.

Regulus jerks. He’s hoping in James’ sudden outburst he didn’t realise Regulus has been already looking at him the whole time.

"What?"

"Your cat."

Regulus blinks a couple of times, waiting for James to add more. He doesn’t, instead he keeps staring at Regulus like he’s grown a second head.

"Yes," Regulus says slowly. "My cat. Feel free to expand on your worries whenever you feel like it, James."

"Doesn’t he need feeding? Or letting out? You’ve been out all night, and—"

"I left him down extra cat food last night. I figured I was going to be late off because we were understaffed," Regulus explains, forcing himself to shove down the weird feeling of James being worried about his cat. "And he’s a cat, James. He doesn’t need letting out, that’s what cat-flaps are for."

James looks relieved. "You have a cat-flap?"

"No," Regulus admits, turning back to the TV, "but Sylvester isn’t a going-out type of cat anyways. I had a cat-flap for a while but he never used it and refused to leave the flat, so I got rid of it after Barty kept trying to fit through it after nights out."

"Barty tried to get through a cat-flap?"

"Multiple times," Regulus nods. "It was rather amusing, until one day Pandora said if Barty wasn’t always drunk while he was trying it actually wouldn’t be that hard for someone sober and small enough to fit through it. So, I got rid of it, and now Pandora has stopped worrying about me being burgled."

James laughs in amusement. "Barty sounds a lot like Pads, and Pandora sounds a lot like Moony."

"I will never get over how you’re all 25 and refer to each other in fucking codenames."

"Hey!" James yelps. "The nicknames are the foundations of the Marauders!"

Regulus rolls his eyes, eating the last of his bacon roll before putting the empty plate on the table. He reaches for the hot chocolate only for James to snatch them both up, looking at Regulus expectantly. It’s only after Regulus has relaxed back against the sofa does James finally hand him his drink.

"Now, your majesty," James beams as he point the remote at the TV, pausing in mock suspense, "drink your hot chocolate while I introduce you to the glorious world of Modern Family."

"Evan watches that all the time. He started calling me 'Mitchell' after he first starting watching it."

"Mitchell?"

"Apparently I’m high-strung, and also gay of course," Regulus shrugs, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. "I’m not opposed to disagreeing, but I have far better hair than that character, so naturally I took it to insult."

James hums softly. "Naturally."

Regulus doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t make it past the second episode.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

10

When the flat door opens behind him, James inclines his head backwards so his neck is stretched over the back of the sofa and eyes as Sirius stumbles in.

The door closes behind him with a bang, his boots dragging on the floor as he moves to shrug off his leather jacket and slings it over the back of the sofa chair.

"Morning," James greets, sitting up more so he can see as Sirius rounds the sofa.

Sirius replies with a grunt before he's flopping down heavily across the sofa and James. His elbow jigs in sharply into James' thigh, but the shaggy haired man doesn't show any remorse to James' yelp, instead sinking further into his human pillow with a sigh.

After a moment, he adds, "M'r'nin'."

James huffs a laugh. "Fantastic English, Pads."

Sirius doesn’t reply. James gives him a minute, choosing to run his fingers through his best friends hair instead. When Sirius doesn’t speak or move from where he’s draped over James’ body, James asks, "You okay?"

"Hmm," Sirius hums. He shifts his head up enough so James can see his face, his eyes closed. "Tired."

"You look tired," James agrees, because he does, but James knows Sirius has been bouncing between the tattoo studio and Remus’ place like a yoyo the last week. It’s not wonder he’s exhausted. "Where’s Remus?"

"He told me to leave," Sirius pouts, eyes still shut. "Apparently I was distracting him."

"He working today?"

"Yeah. They’ve had a huge wedding order come in and they’re super busy with these huge decorations, so Remus has gone in to help his mum despite the fact that he’s worked the last four days anyways."

"You’re worried about him," James says, and it’s not even a question. Sirius always worries about Remus. Despite being together since they were 14, and Remus living with his condition long before, Sirius always worries.

It takes Sirius a long time to let people in, to trust and let them get close, but when he finally does, he really does give everyone his all. He’s run himself into the ground caring and looking out for the people he loves before. He’s stayed up for nights on end, not sleeping a wink because he’s watching Remus after having a bad seizure to make sure he doesn’t have another one. He’s spent countless hours, of all times of the day sitting with Remus is A&E. When Peter’s dad died, Sirius practically adopted Peter’s younger siblings and helped them understand the realism of their father never coming home and giving Peter and his mum space and time to grieve properly. Whenever one of them was sick, even with something as small as just a cold, Sirius would lay with them for days, watching films and getting them anything they needed while keeping them company.

James remembers when he looked at Sirius when they’d just met, fresh meat in a huge London secondary school, and within in a few weeks James knew that they were destined to be best friends. They’re closer than brothers, all amplified when Sirius literally moved in with him when he was 16. James has always hated Sirius’ family for the way they treated him, and when Sirius finally ran away from them, James and his family welcomed them with open arms.

James has known Sirius long enough to know that Sirius being worried about Remus isn’t anything new, and while sometimes it becomes unreasonable and greatly annoys Remus, James understands. He understands that Sirius seems to have this need to look after people like he was never cared for, loved like he was never loved. He’s so terrified of losing the people that showed him life wasn’t meant to be like it was for him when he was growing up, that he almost becomes unbearable in his desperation to keep them all healthy and happy.

"I don’t want him to make himself sick," Sirius replies. "He had a bad seizure the other day, and I thought we were going to have to go back to hospital again. His mum didn’t want him to go to the shop, but he’s being so fucking stubborn about it."

James hums, not stalling in running his hand through Sirius’ hair. "Remind you of anyone?"

"What?"

"Reminds me of a little artist friend I have, who spends unhealthy hours at his art studio also working himself sick to then skip the fundamental needs of life to take care of everyone else," James muses. "Oh, and he’s also stubborn as fuck."

"Fuck off," Sirius grumbles, sitting up. "I’m being serious!"

"All in the name, Pads."

Sirius shrieks, punching James hard in the arm, glaring. "Stop it! Moony could be—"

"Moony is fine," James smiles softly, "He’s at work in a quiet flower shop with his mum who has known and looked after him since he shot out of her vagina 25 years ago."

Sirius grimaces, "Gross."

"He’s being looked after, Pads," James adds. "If he’s not being cared for by you, he’s being looked after by his parents, or Peter, or me. He’s never not being thought about. You’re going to make yourself sick by worrying about this so much, and then who’s going to fill your shoes when you’re out of action?"

Sirius slumps in defeat, head flopping over the back of the sofa. "I just worry."

"I know," James nudges him. "You’re allowed to worry, Pads, but Moony is a big boy. He knows the signs way better than you do, not that you’d like to admit that."

Sirius grunts at him.

"You’re a very good boyfriend, Pads," James teases.

"Fuck off."

"Hey!" James yelps. "I was—"

"You’re taking the piss and it’s not helping."

"It is helping, because already you don’t look as uptight."

"I’m not uptight."

"You are. You’re forehead vein is doing that thing again and you keep scrunching up your face. Keep it up much longer and you’ll have more wrinkles than dad."

"I’m telling Monty you said that."

"Go for it, he knows he’s a DILF even at 50."

"Prongs, you shouldn’t say that about your dad."

"Are you disagreeing?"

"Absolutely not."

James smiles is triumph and relaxes back into the sofa. "How’s the piece going?"

Sirius whines loudly, running a hand over his face roughly. "I hate it. I hate everything I’m producing at the moment. I can’t get it right, can’t get it how I want it."

"When’s it due?"

"End of January."

"You’ll get it done, you always do," James offers softly.

"I’ve restarted it four times now."

"Maybe wait till the end before you scrap it next time," James shrugs. "Y’know, trust the process and all that."

"Prongs, shut the fuck up, you can’t even draw stick men properly."

"Someones touchy today," James pouts, jabbing his foot into Sirius’ side. "Stop being so touchy."

"Prongs—"

James cuts him off by toeing his side again and again, watching gleefully as Sirius squirms and tries to get away, yelping and crying out from the onslaught. It doesn’t take long before Sirius is grabbing James’ foot, bending his toes back and tickling the bottom of his foot. James reacts with a squark, full-body jerking so hard he tumbles off the sofa and almost brains himself on the coffee table.

Panting and laying face down on the floor, James groans. Above him, Sirius is practically howling.

"That was completely uncalled for, you know," he grunts.

Sirius’ laughs fold into a deep chuckle. "Karma. Shouldn’t have been poking me with your stinky feet."

"You know I hate my feet being tickled," James whines, pushing himself up.

"Then don’t put them where they don’t belong," Sirius grins at him. James decides face planting the floor was more than worth it to see a sparkle back in Sirius’ eyes and healthy flush in his cheeks.

James likes it when Sirius looks happy. When his eyes are dull it reminds James too much of the times when he still lived with his old family, when he seemed to float through life sometimes with eyes as haunted as a WW1 soldier.

Happy looks good on Sirius.

"Hey," Sirius sits up straighter suddenly, "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Yes."

Sirius blinks. "What?"

"Yes," James repeats. "You have my permission to marry Moony and yes, of course, I will be your best man."

Sirius rolls his eyes with a chuckle. "Not what I meant, you twat."

"Are you saying I'm not going to be your best man?"

"Of course you will be!" Sirius scolds. "Just not yet, Prongs, don't get ahead of yourself."

James pouts, but let's it go quickly. Him and Peter have had a bet running since they were all 18 on when Sirius and Remus were going to get married. Peter bet on when they were all 24, so he's automatically lost despite being certain they'd get married after their 10 year anniversary. James bet on 26, so time is running out for him if he wants to make an easy £100 off Peter.

Shuffling forward, James rests his chin on the seat of the sofa, body sprawled out still on the floor as he looks up at his best friend.

"What did you want to talk about?" He asks, tone soft. Nothing normally comes good of Sirius wanting to chat about something. The last time they did this he was bracing himself to tell James he wanted to move to Yorkshire to go to university, and while that wasn't a bad thing, the state Sirius got in about telling everyone was. James is still fully convinced he was most scared of telling their parents and Remus, and actually not at all worried about James as he knew he'd follow Sirius to the end of the Earth if he wanted to go.

Sirius smirks, and James barely gets a moment to be confused before he blurts out, "The hot doctor."

"What?" James blinks. "Why do you—"

"Because, my soft and gooey friend, you are absolutely smitten on this man and have been talking about him nonstop for weeks, making all of our ears literally bleed with the mushy shit you come out with," Sirius doesn't even halt in his speech when James begins to sputter in defence. "Yet to my recollection, you haven't even been on a date with him yet."

James sighs, closing his eyes pitifully.

He didn't need reminding of that, nor did he need the dig about how much he's been talking about Regulus.

Regulus is just so busy though. All the time. Literally. If he's not at work, he's studying, and when he's not doing either of those things, he's got about 24 hours to spare and almost always his friends are dragging him out to get drunk somewhere. James would be concerned about the amount Regulus seems to be at the pub, except he probably only goes once every two weeks, yet it stands out against the rests of his texts when he's either at the hospital or sweating over gruelling surgery notes.

James admires him though. He admires the younger man, who's qualified so young yet knows as much as someone who's been doing it for decades. He admires, and hates, the way Regulus throws his own personal agenda and physical health in the bin the moment he's called into the hospital. He admires Regulus’ unyielding commitment to the hospital, the staff and the patients, to the point where sometimes he ends up working five or six days a week without complaint. 

James admires it. He really does. Only, James is human, and as a human, he likes a healthy amount of attention. Unfortunately, the one person he’s been dying for quality attention from is more dedicated to work than he is the general fundamentals of living.

Hence, the natural dilemma of having been texting and occasionally seeing Regulus for weeks and weeks when he sneaks onto the neurology ward to greet him while he’s working, yet they haven’t been on a date.

The only form of date they’ve are on three occasions that if one looked closely, are no where near dates. One was a cancellation of pottery that involved Regulus sleeping off a hangover and cooking a meal to make up for it. The second was when James crashed round Regulus’ apartment again to make the younger man watch Jaws, which can hardly be counted as a date and instead more of a hangout. The third was when James picked Regulus up from a nightshift when he was dead on his feet and bought him breakfast bagels to counteract the severe lack of sleep the younger boy was suffering from.

All three were not dates.

No matter how much James wished they were, they simply weren’t.

Does Regulus even want to go on a date with him?

They’ve kissed already, sure, but Regulus has already said that he doesn’t 'do' that sort of thing. What this 'thing' between them is, James isn’t so sure anymore. The lines between Regulus' wants and fears have been blurred since they kissed and proceeded to spend half the day napping on the sofa.

What does Regulus want?

Is James just a bit of fun?

Does Regulus make out with all of his 'friends’?

No, surely not. James may not know Regulus as well as he knows the Marauders, but James is certain Regulus isn’t the type to mess him around.

Regulus just cautious. Yes, that’s it. Maybe he’s had a bad relationship before and is hesitant to try again.

James is happy to wait. He’d wait as long as it takes to be able to be given a chance by the riveting Regulus Black and his soft hair and stormy eyes and huge brain. James would wait as long as it takes to show Regulus all the wonderful things the young doctor deserves.

A date would be nice though.

Very nice, in fact.

"Prongs?"

James blinks. Sirius is looking down at him with a face twisted with concern.

"You good?" Sirius asks. "You really zoned out on me then. Has something happened with the pretty doctor?"

"No," James blurts, shaking his head. "No, nothing has happened."

"I’m guessing that’s the problem, then," Sirius nods. "Nothing has happened, and you want more to happen."

"It’s not— I don’t need— he’s just—" James sighs, rubbing his eyes. "You know we kissed, right?"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Yes, Prongs. I know, Moony knows, Wormtail knows. I’m pretty sure you’ve told every stranger in London about that kiss."

"Shut up," James gripes, groaning. "It’s just. . . it’s been two weeks since we kissed, and I haven’t seen him since because he’s been so busy with work and—"

"Prongs, dude, you need to speak to this guy," Sirius says, tone cooling to stern seriousness. "If he's leading you on, you need to say something. He can't be doing this to you. You've giving him your all, and if he's not reciprocating the same then that's not fair, you need to drop the guy before he breaks your heart."

"It's not like that," James tries.

"Is it not? I bet he's not at home right now worrying about what you guys are and why you haven't been on a date yet. He doesn't ever arrange to see you or give you free coffee or--"

"He's busy working."

"Your mum is a doctor too, and she's always made time for Monty."

James wants to argue that that statement isn't entirely true. James can recall times when he was younger that his father would argue with his mother that she was spending too much time at work, missing out on too much of life and James growing up. It didn't happen often, James could probably count on one hand all the times Monty had to say to her that she needed to work less or stop picking up extra shifts and missing family dinners with them all.

It all turned around when James was 11 and his mother missed his first football game at Hogwarts because she was working. The game was only for fun, and James actually ended up quitting the team before he turned 12, but his father made a huge deal out of his mother missing it. His mother was more heartbroken than she was angry that Monty blew up at her, and she promised she wouldn't miss anything else. It helped when she became chief doctor, and she could have more control over the hours she worked and the overtime she picked up.

Sirius didn't see that, and James is never going to tell him that he spent most of his childhood with just his dad around because his mothers focus was on the hospital. Sirius had it way worse than James, so he doesn't have a right to complain about how much his mother prioritised her profession over him and his dad.

James doesn't get the same sickly feeling from Regulus like he did with his mother. He doesn't mind how much Regulus works, if anything he just worries about how much the young man is taking on his shoulders.

Sure, James misses him. James wishes Regulus had more time, and he tries not to wonder if Regulus uses work as an excuse to not see him more.

"You deserve better than chasing tail, Prongs," Sirius adds. "You’ve been talking for months, you two literally kissed and he spent half a day napping round here a few weeks ago. You’re more than in your right to ask the guy on a date. If anything, you’re long overdue a date at this fucking rate. Couples would be on their fifth date by this point."

"We’re not a couple, though."

"That’s another thing you should figure out," Sirius counters. "You’re everything a couple is without the dates and the label. You need to make sure this guy isn’t stringing you along for the fun of it, Prongs."

"He’s not!" James defends, though the clench in his chest makes him doubt it.

"Then go for it!" Sirius bellows, throwing his arms up. "Ask the jerk on a date, woo him with your Prongsie-power and get that guy as whipped for you as you are for him."

"He’s not a jerk," James grumbles. "And I am not whipped!"

"Oh," Sirius groans, "Prongs, I love you, but my guy, you are more whipped than a trained dog."

"Hey!"

"Am I wrong?"

"You are literally nicknamed after a dog."

"Irrelevant."

"We called you Padfoot!"

"Text him, Prongs. Be a man and ask this guy on a date before I steal your phone and do it for you."

"But, what if—"

"Now!" Sirius shouts, voice booming. "Before I murder you for literally killing me slowly over this shit. Take him ice skating or something."

"I can't ice skate."

"Neither can he probably. You can fall into each others arms on the ice. It will be incredibly romantic."

It sounds like the least romantic thing to James, although highly amusing. Regulus doesn't seem like the type to enjoy flailing and slipping around an ice rink.

"Fine," James grumbles, standing up. He snatches his phone off the coffee table and makes his way into the kitchen. Once the kettle is on and his tea is prepped, he types out the first text.

Him and Regulus haven’t text this morning yet due to Regulus sleeping in today for his nightshift tonight. Still, if James doesn’t text now he has no doubt Sirius will steal his phone to do it for him.

James (10:06) good morning! how do you feel about iceskating?

The reply, surprisingly, comes quickly.

Regulus (10:11) i don’t resent it. why?

James (10:11) wtf are you awake?

Regulus (10:12) sylvester has a vet check up appointment at 11 so i had to get up. don’t start worrying now I’ll have a nap later before my shift

James smiles. Regulus really loves that bloody cat.

James (10:11) when are you next off work?

Regulus (10:13) i’m on my last night shift then I have four days off. i’m not answering anymore questions until you tell me what this is about

James (10:14) because the ice rink has opened by the tower of london and i was wondering if you fancy going if you have any time off

James (10:14) don’t feel like you have to say yes!

James (10:14) it’s just an offer! no pressure!!

The reply doesn’t come as quickly as the rest. James’ heart is pounding in his chest stupidly, like a rabid animal fighting it’s way out of a cage.

He’s so stupid.

Why did he listen to Sirius?

"You okay?" Sirius asks.

James shakes his head helplessly, "I—"

When his phone pings, he almost drops his cup of tea in haste to unlock his phone and read it.

Regulus (10:17) like a date?

Will Regulus be scared off if James says yes?

Will be be put out of James says no?

James (10:18) it’s whatever you want it to be. it would just be nice to see you again when it’s not on the ward :)

James (10:19) still no pressure though!!!

Regulus (10:22) I suppose it would be foolish of me to pass up an opportunity to see you stack it straight on your ass on the ice. friday good for you?

James’ eyes widen. He reads the text once, twice, again and again. He feels like a giddy child again.

He looks up at Sirius, who’s watching him intensely from over the back of the sofa.

"He said yes," James murmurs, lips tugging into a beaming smile. "This Friday."

"Hallelujah!" Sirius cheers, punching the air. "Atta Prongsie boy!"

James smiles as he looks down at his phone again.

James (10:25) friday is perfect! i'll book the rink and let you know the time :)

Regulus (10:26) you already seem far too excited to go ice skating

Regulus (10:26) can you ice skate?

James (10:26) i'm going to leave that up to a surprise

Regulus (10:27) i'm taking that as a no. friday will be highly amusing

James (10:27) can you ice skate!!???

"You're going on a date, Prongs!" Sirius shouts, whistling and throwing himself across the sofa. "My boy is going on a date!"

"It's not a date."

"It is!" Sirius laughs. "Oh, dude, this is so weird."

James' head whips up from his phone. "What?"

"You're going on a date with your mums work colleague."

"Oh, for fuck--" James groans, "Don't start bringing that up again."

"In fact, they're one up from work colleagues really. Your mum is his boss, also his right hand man, as far as Effie always says when she's talking about how fantastic he is on shift and how she loves working with him," Sirius teases. "Does your mum know how infiltrated you are with her neuro inferior?"

"Pads, please stop," James whines pitifully.

"I'm taking that as a she doesn't know."

"Yet!" James stresses. "She doesn't know yet!"

Sirius hums, clearly unconvinced but thoroughly enjoying James' suffering.

"What happened to my supportive best friend?" James asks, throwing his hands up. "Minutes ago you were convincing me to go on a date with him and now you're teasing me for it!"

"That's what best friends are for, Prongs."

"Was I ever like this to you and Moony?" James asks, collapsing on the sofa beside him. "I'm pretty sure I was completely supportive form day one."

"Oh, you were a little shit to me and Moony!" Sirius cackles. "Do you remember how much you and Wormtail teased us for how long it took for us to get together?"

"Well, you were both pining after each other for about two years without ever hinting to one another you like each other," James laughs. "I mean, you both dated different people and flirted with everything with a pulse apart from each other!"

Sirius grumbles, rolling his eyes. "I don't recall."

"You literally had a fist fight with a kid in third year in the playground because you were jealous he kissed Moony at a party when they were playing spin the bottle, and when Moony asked why you did that, you said he was spreading rumours about everyone."

"Well, he was going on about kissing Moony, so it technically wasn't a lie."

"You were both hopeless."

"Fuck off."

"No, you fuck off."

"Love you."

Sirius rolls his eyes.

"Love you too."

"What do you fancy for breakfast?"

"Anything that's not coco pops," Sirius grumbles. "I swear Moony lives off cereal."

"Coco pops are rather lovely."

James is about to get up when his phone rings, his dads name flashing up on the screen.

"Dad!" He answers, but he doesn't get to hear his fathers reply before Sirius is snatching the phone out of his hand.

"Monty!" He cheers, bottling up from the sofa. "Long time no speak!"

James is still gaping with surprise as Sirius is walking away from the sofa. He doesn't bother chasing for the phone after he hears Sirius' laugh echo through the studio flat. Sirius can speak to Monty for as long as he wants, James decides. He'll chat to his dad later, because he knows he has no chance of getting his phone back now.

It takes Sirius an hour to get off the phone with Monty, but that's not anything new.

James lets them.

James Potter is not a self-centred man. He takes pride in his appearance, sure, as much as one can when they have a head full of untameable hair and a slight (large) obsession with red converse. James likes clothes as much as the next person, and he enjoys looking good when he goes out. He enjoys making an effort, he enjoys picking out nice clothes and standing in front of a mirror feeling confident.

Normally, he doesn’t struggle with it.

Today, however, he is currently freaking out.

A lot.

"What about this one?" He asks, stepping away from the mirror and standing in front of the phone that he’s rested up on his bedside cabinet.

Peter’s face stares back at him on the screen, looking thoroughly more exasperated than he did an hour when he picked up the phone.

"It’s lovely," he nods, "Just as lovely as the last nine fucking outfits you’ve tried on, Prongs!"

"This is actually number 14," James replies, frantically unbuttoning the black shirt with gusto. "I tried on five outfits before I phoned you."

"And I’m so pleased I picked up," Peter snarks, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, mate, all of them have looked fine. It’s just a date. What is even so special about this guy? I’ve never seen you stress over the colour of shirt you’re going to wear."

"What is so special?" James practically shrieks. "Wormtail, would I be freaking out this much right now if he wasn’t bloody special?"

"That’s why I’m so confused," Peter shakes his head. "You didn’t even put in this much effort to your graduation outfit."

"Graduation doesn’t even compare to going on a date with Regulus."

"I can’t tell if this is cute or concerning."

"Well, stop trying to figure it out and help me pick a pair of trousers," James huffs. He feels like he’s going to need to shower again. All the rapid changes of clothes and stressing has caused him to break out in a slight sweat.

"Outfit number seven was the best."

"My seven or your seven?"

"Fucking hell— the one with the grey trousers and the navy and blue pinstripe shirt," Peter says. "But keep the top two buttons undone and roll the sleeves up."

James pauses in kicking off the jeans on his legs, straightening up in just his boxers to stare at the screen. "Worms, we’re going iceskating. It’s going to be freezing, why would I roll my sleeves up?"

Peter rolls his eyes, hard. "Because, Prongs, you have lovely muscly arms and even straight men like the look of them. Also, I know you’re going iceskating, you twat, you’ve told me about thirty times since I answered the phone. You’re going to  have a jacket on top, so roll up the damn shirt sleeves, Potter."

James blinks in surprise.

"Right. Sleeves rolled up, muscles out, got it," he nods. "Uh, shoes?"

"Put some trousers on and then we can discuss shoes."

"On it."

"I’m also about to break you’re heart, Prongs, because we’re not going with the classics."

James snaps up. "What!"

"You heard me," Peter replies. "Put the red converse away and get out the black shoes."

"Wormtail," James whines. "We’re going iceskating—"

"Yes, I know, but you’re also going to a restaurant afterwards and red converse are not it."

"Black all-stars."

Peter rolls his eyes again. "Fine. Are your trousers long enough to cover your socks?"

He frowns. "Why do I need to do that?"

"Hold up your foot."

James lifts his leg so his striped socked clad foot is clear in the camera.

"That is why," Peter nods. "I don’t have the energy to argue with you about wearing socks to match your shoes because I know for a fact you don’t known a pair of plain black socks."

James quickly pulls on his trousers and grabs the all-black trainers from the wardrobe. Tying then one quickly, he shows Peter.

The blonde nods solidly. "Smashing. Right, coats next. Try on the one from outfit two."

"The tan jacket?"

Peter nods, so James swipes up the tan leather jacket laid on the bed and shrugs it on. He takes a moment looking in the mirror, running a hand through his hair only to immediately try to flatten it down a little bit.

Peter nods, satisfied. "You look cracker, mate."

"You think?"

"Ay," he nods again. "I’ve got great taste, if I don’t say so myself."

"You sure it’s good enough?"

"Fuck me, Potter. You’re going on a fucking date, not a wedding."

"It’s a date with a pretty doctor."

"Yeah, a doctor, not the bloody queen," Peter huffs. "You look grand, trust me. Don’t you dare fucking change, or I’m hanging up and you can give yourself an aneurism on your lazza!"

"Alright, alright!" James yelps. "I won’t change, please don’t hang up! I still need help—"

"Put the chain with the your grandmothers ring on, and the Marauders ring," Peter interrupts. "That’s all you need. Trust, it’ll be enough."

"Thank you, Wormtail."

"Ay, what’re friends for," Peter smiles. "Speaking of which, where’s Pads? Why isn’t he here helping with the meltdown?"

"He’s at the studio," James admits. "I managed to convince him to stay off yesterday to give him a break, but he insisted on going in today."

"Ah," Peter nods. "Lad works too much."

"You’re telling me," James scoffs weakly. "So, just the chain and Marauders ring?"

"Yeah, trust me."

"Thank you so much, Worm."

"I take full credit, so you’re welcome," Peter smiles. "Seriously, Potter, you look hot. The pretty doctor won’t know what hit him when he sees you."

James smiles and shakes his head. "I don’t know. He is really pretty."

"You’re gonna make me puke in a minute, mate."

"You haven’t seen him, Peter," James argues as he snatches up the necklace off the side and turns to the mirror to clip it on. "You have no idea."

"No, I don’t. Only you and Moony seem to have met the mysterious doctor," Peter smirks. "And Moony said he’s a bit of a cunt."

"Moony calls everyone a cunt."

"True. I’ll give you that."

"He’s just a little bit cold when you first meet him."

"Melted him with your charm, did you, Potter?"

James smirks over his shoulder. "Damn right I did."

"Atta lad," Peter laughs loudly. "What time are you meeting pretty boy?"

"I’m getting a taxi to his for five," James glances at the clock on his nightstand. It’s just gone four. "Shit. Oh my— it’s four o’clock! How—what— I started looking for an outfit at two!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. We’ve been doing this for an hour, mate," Peter says. Though his tone is exasperated, James is too busy processing the fact that he spent two hours on choosing what he was going to wear and having organised nothing else.

"Prongs, mate, you’re fine for time," Peter says, apparently being able to read the panic on James’ face. "You’ve got an hour to get your last shit together and get your fine ass over to his."

"He lives in Kensington, Wormtail!" James yelps. "It’ll take me 50 minutes to get there by taxi at this time of day!"

"Ever heard of the tube?"

"His apartment is ages away from the tube station."

"How do you know that?"

"The first time I went round to his place," James admits. "I didn’t drive because I assumed we were going to pottery. The walk to his from the underground is like 20 minutes alone."

"Sounds like you need to leave now then."

"Thanks, Peter!" James shouts, scrambling around to throw the clothes back into his wardrobe and chest of draws with some form of order so they’re not left askew on his bedroom floor. "I can’t believe this is happening. I’m going to be so late. He’s going to think I’ve completely bailed. I don’t—"

"James!" Peter yells, and James freezes, and his next words come out so thick with his Scottish accent James can barely understand him. "Yer off your head, ya twat! Calm down, would you? Text him to say traffic is shite and you’re gonna be late. Take a breath, tie your fucking shoes and book a taxi in 10 minutes when you know you’ve got your shit together."

James blinks. He looks down at his shoes, where true to Peter’s assumption, the laces are still untied and sprung on the floor. Cheeks burning, he looks back at phone sheepishly.

"You’re right," he breathes, nodding. He runs a hand through his hair and straighten his glasses that have come askew on his nose in all of his manic haste to tidy up. "You’re right. Yeah. Thanks, mate. Okay. Text Reg, tie shoes, finish tidying, find wallet and keys and book a taxi. Got it. Great."

"This is painful to witness, y’know that, right?"

"I don’t need you anymore, Wormtail!" James hisses as he picks up his phone. "I will hangup on you if you keep on at me."

"Be my guest," Peter laughs. "This whole ordeal has been sickening. I haven’t even met this guy and I already feel sorry for him having to spend the evening for you when you’re in this much of a tiff."

"Fuck off."

"Watch the language, Potter. The foetus’ are next door, ya cunt."

James throws his hand up in despair before swiping Peter’s face up to text Regulus a quick apology text and a new ETA time.

He somehow manages to get his room remotely put back together, a taxi booked and ready to go in under 10 minutes.

"Go get that doctor ass, Prongs!" Peter cheers down the phone. "I heard doctors have big di—"

"Bye!" James hangs up abruptly, cheeks flaming a violent red as he slams the studio apartment door and shoves his phone in his pocket roughly.

He takes the stairs two at a time, descending quickly before spilling out onto the London pavement in a gangle of long limbs and flapping clothes. He practically stumbles into the taxi, breathlessly panting out Regulus’ address before he melting into the seat.

He feels exhausted already. So ridiculously worked up and nervous, and he hasn’t even seen Regulus in the flesh yet.

Did Regulus know how much of a date tonight is going to be? He didn’t make the comment over their texts about it not being a date, but nor did he confirm that he wants it to be either.

Did Regulus really think it wasn’t a date?

Can iceskating and dinner not be a date?

Regulus has barely texted James since he accepted the idea of iceskating and dinner, only the odd update to show he’s still alive here and there and the one confirmation that he likes Italian food when James was stressing over where to book dinner for.

His phone buzzes in his lap. He holds it with sweaty hands.

Regulus (16:43) you never did strike me as the type to be punctual. you’re lucky we hadn’t arranged to meet in public otherwise i wouldn’t be impressed with being left stranded to loiter in the streets

James rolls his eyes. If he’s learnt anything about Regulus so far, it’s that he’s an expressive drama queen.

Not that James would ever tell him that. He can’t imagine Regulus taking the observation well.

The taxi gets to Regulus’ flat building 15 minutes after five. Late, but not too late. James pays the guy with a stream of pleasantries before dashing out of the taxi like it’s on fire. He tries the front door, and like last time, it’s left on the latch so he can get inside. His legs are trembling underneath him as he ascends the stairs to Regulus’ floor. He wipes his hands on his trousers, brain telling his heart to calm the fuck down and stop beating so fast.

Standing outside Regulus’ front door, James freezes.

His heart is pounding so fast he feels like it’s crawling up his throat. The hallway suddenly feels dark and tiny, the walls tight and the air nonexistent in his lungs.

This isn’t the first time he’s meeting Regulus outside of his work. They’ve done it various times, and most of which have been on James’ invitation, just like this evening. There just feels like there’s so much pressure now. This was James’ idea, this was James’ intention, so what if Regulus doesn’t enjoy it? What if Regulus begins to hate him for it?

What if James annoys Regulus too much tonight? Will Regulus realise he really does repulse James like he always teases he does?

James really wants this, but what if Regulus doesn’t?

He just needs to knock. He needs to knock on the door, and as soon as he see’s Regulus he’ll feel better. Regulus always makes him feel happy, a lightness he hasn’t felt in a long time. The younger man makes James feel like he’s walking on air.

So, he just needs to knock.

Yet, he can’t bring himself to do it.

He barely has to move his hand to reach the wood of the door, but the task suddenly feels too hard.

He just—

The door swings open suddenly, and then there he is.

Regulus is staring at him, jaw set and a single dark eyebrow raised. James just stares back, face slack because wow, hello.

"I could hear your heavy breathing through the door," Regulus says, tone gruff but James practically melts. "Breathe any louder and even Darcy and Malcom will hear you."

James blinks stupidly. "Who?"

"My deaf neighbours downstairs," Regulus replies, already turning away from the door. He stops a few steps away, turning to face James and frowning. "Well, aren’t you coming in?"

"Oh— y-es," James stammers, stepping in.

The flat is warm, curtains still open to allow the setting sun to shine through, making the living room glow a soft yellow. It’s as tidy as it always it, with a tasteful amount of disorganisation with it’s overflowing books dotted in the empty spaces and blankets placed haphazardly over the backs of the sofas and chairs. Sylvester is stretched along the back of the sofa like a thick black scarf, but his green eyes are open and staring at James intensely, like he’s a mouse creeping into the room.

Regulus is placing a mug in the dishwasher before he’s rounding the kitchen island. It’s then that James gets a look at him.

His jaw promptly drops to the floor.

While Regulus has never looked bad, tonight he simply looks ravishing.

A perfectly fitted black sweater vest sits on top of a crisp white long sleeve shirt, the collar unbuttoned enough to show the dainty silver chain clasped around his long, pale neck. His hands are decorated with a collection of silver rings and finger nails painted a stark shade of black, making his fingers look even longer and thinner than before. His black trousers make his legs look a mile long but hug his ass like they were made for him, the legs folded up at the bottom enough to leave a section of space where his black socks are pulled up and his clean, unmarked Doc Marten shoes are tidied tightly on his feet.

So simple, the black so dark and contrasting with the white shirt and his pale skin, yet James feels like he can barely breathe looking at him. All sharp angles and long lines, he looks like he’s come straight out of a fashion magazine.

He feels ridiculously giddy, because Regulus just looks so good.

So good that James is itching to rip off the perfectly fitting clothes to see the masterpiece underneath.

Eyes mentally underdressing Regulus from toes to head, James lets his eyes travel up until they land on his face.

Only to find two sharp grey eyes staring at him.

"You done?"

James barely resists folding to the floor there and then.

"You look amazing," he breathes, barely coming out strong enough to be heard.

Regulus must hear him, though, as he rolls his eyes before turning around. He doesn’t turn quick enough to hide the red tint colouring his cheeks, and James heart ticks at the fact that he caused that.

"I wear things other than scrubs sometimes," Regulus replies, swiping the coat folded over the arm of the sofa. He shrugs it on, and then wraps a thick, warm looking emerald scarf round his neck too.

He suddenly looks both deadly and cuddly at the same time. It does dangerous things to James’ mindset.

"You just. . ." James licks his lips, heat pooling like an open wound in his stomach. Regulus looks up at him, storming eyes practically twinkling, his curls looking practically crafted around his head and so soft. James wants to run his hands through them, pull on them, yank on them to stretch Regulus’ head back and expose the skin on his throat to— "You look delicious."

Regulus blinks, looking startled and surprised. Pink decorates his cheeks, and his normally clenched jaw seems to loosen for a moment.

As quickly as it went, the younger man seems to snap back into his usual hard focus. He tilts his head slightly, eyes travelling down James slowly enough that it makes James wants to squirm. The dark eyes snap back up to his own, and then Regulus is curling his mouth into a sly, smug smile.

"You don’t look too bad yourself, Potter."

James feels frozen on the spot as Regulus leans over the sofa to give Sylvester a gentle stroke and scratch before stepping round the statue of a man in his living room.

"Well?"

James startles, turning around so fast he almost loses his balance. Regulus has already got the door open, and is staring at James with intent.

"Are we going?"

"Yes."

Fuck yeah, we are.

"You can skate, right?"

James looks up from where he’s tying the laces on his skates. Regulus is looking down at him, arms crossed over his chest.

"Of course," James grins, standing up and immediately wobbling into balance on the skates.

Regulus looks at him blankly before rolling his eyes. "Unsurprisingly, I’m not overly confident in your assurance to not completely embarrass yourself and me this evening."

"I’m not going to be embarrassing!" James defends, still grinning. "It’s going to be fun. Plus, no one can ever actually skate that well on these things. It’s for amateurs. It’s supposed to be embarrassing and funny."

"If you fall and break a bone, I’m not helping you."

"You’re a doctor!"

"I’m a neurologist," Regulus corrects pointedly. "I don’t do broken bones and bruised prides."

"Tomato, potato! Same thing!" James sings, slinging an arm round Regulus’ shoulder as they begin to walk (or hobble, in James’ case), to the door out onto the ice rink. "Don’t lie, Reg, I know you’ll pick me up when I fall."

"Don’t rely on that assumption too much, Potter," Regulus grumbles, the tension that shot through his body when James grabbed him slowly bleeding out. James tries not to giggle about the fact that Regulus is the perfect size tucked into his side.

When they get on the rink, James keeps a hand on the railing around the outside like a lifeline. So focused on getting his balance as he practically shuffles along the ice, he barely notices that Regulus is skating alongside him instead of following behind him like he’d expected.

James jolts in surprise.

"You can skate?" He asks.

Regulus raises an eyebrow, gliding slightly ahead of him with no effort to keep his unfazed balance.

"Yes. Clearly, you can’t."

"I’m just warming up," James argues.

Regulus’ eyebrows arch higher and sharper. His eyes flick momentarily to where James’ hand is gripping onto the railing. "Let go then."

James rolls his eyes, puffing his chest. Bracing his own balance, he pushes off the side. He looks at Regulus, who’s skated a few meters away from him and is watching him expectantly. James smirks, motioning down to himself to silently say ha, fuck you, I can skate!

And then, James lasts approximately six seconds before his legs are slipping beneath him and his arms are windmilling frantically. He’s on the ground before he can blink, flat on his back and cold ice seeping into his jacket.

Regulus’ face appears above him.

"I thought you said you could skate!" He yelps, high and loud.

The younger mans face is twisted with shock and a hint of concern, but James can’t even focus on that because Regulus looks ridiculously like an angel at this angle. Curls framing his face, the dark sky behind him, everything looking like a picture perfect painting.

"Are you okay?"

James blinks a couple of times, and then he nods, mouth widening into a cheeky grin. "Yeah. I’m good. A bit cold now, though," he laughs and holds a hand out, "Help me up?"

Regulus rolls his eyes, but grabs James’ hand with hesitation.

It takes an embarrassing two attempts to get up on the ice, and he almost drags Regulus down with him the first time. When he’s finally standing, his legs are wide and body stiff in falling again. Regulus is still gripping both his hands, both his own smaller and colder than James. He’s looking up at James with tension as if he’s waiting for James to just fall again.

"You okay now?"

"Could you, uh. . ." James chuckles shakily, "Can you help me get back to the railing?"

Regulus rolls his eyes again, and as he begins to guide James back to the edge of rink, his lips begin to curl upwards.

"What are you smiling for?" James asks, slightly distracted in how easy and effortless Regulus is managing to ice-skate backwards.

Regulus shrugs half-heartedly. "Just remembering how funny you looked when you stacked it onto your ass."

"Hey!" James cries in surprise, "That’s not very nice!"

Regulus chuckles softly as he guides James’ hands back to the railing. James’ chest instantly mourns the contact, and aches even more when Regulus begins to smoothly skate away from him.

"Wait! Come back!" James whines, scrambling to catch up with him while his skates slip and slide beneath him. "Don’t skate away from me!"

Regulus laughs darkly, and then promptly turns with the grace of a gentle gust of wind and is gliding away on the ice.

James watches, transfixed, as Regulus moves across the ice with confidence and grace of a ballerina. All thin limbs and strikes of dark clothing, he’s practically moving around like a professional. He makes it look effortless as he skates with the current of other people on the rink, weaving amongst them and gliding elegantly in circles in the space in the middle.

James is still standing in the same spot Regulus left him, his jaw so wide it’s practically on the floor. Regulus laughs at him as he drifts towards him.

"You. . ." James murmurs, then abruptly shakes his head. "You’re such a show-off! Where the fuck did you learn to skate like that?"

Regulus laughs and shrugs a shoulder. "I didn’t. I’ve only been skating a few times."

"That’s clearly bullshit!" James snaps, but he’s grinning so wide and his tone holds no heat. He’s simply blown away, because if Regulus wasn’t attractive before, watching him glide over the ice like he was a professional has sold the deal. "You. . . you’re amazing! No one can do that without training!"

"I swear, I’ve never done training," Regulus replies, scratching his neck beneath his scarf. "The first time I ice-skated was when I came back to London when I was 18. Me, Evan and Barty came the first Christmas together at university. I’m just naturally good at everything."

James scoffs, shaking his head. "Fuck me. You’re good, Reg."

"I know," Regulus smirks. He holds out a hand. "Come on, then."

"What?"

"Come on. You can’t stand there holding the railing the whole time. We only have an hour on the rink, and you’ve already wasted 15 minutes of it holding the side like a child or laying on your back," Regulus says. "Time to get your moneys worth, Potter."

James shakes his head. "Reg, seriously, I can’t skate."

"I know, but I can," Regulus’ face is soft, his arm still out stretched and pale hand inviting. "Come on, I won’t let you fall."

I won’t let you fall.

The five words are almost enough to knock James on his back alone. His breath gets trapped in his throat, and suddenly it’s like the chill in his bones is melted away.

Reluctance gone, James jolts to grab Regulus’ hand and lets himself be pulled from the railing.

The moment he’s an arms length away, reality sets in and James’ whole body tenses with fear.

"Fuck! Wait—" he gasps, legs wobbling. The ice feels so much more slippery when there isn’t a whole stable bar to hold onto. "Shit. Oh my god. Reg, I can’t—"

"Relax," Regulus says. "Seriously, Potter. Loosen up, you’re too tense. Relax your legs, bend your knees slightly. Trust me, you’ll fall faster if you try to skate as stiff as a board."

"Easy for you to say," James grumbles, but bends his legs as directed.

"Not that much," Regulus chides. "Bloody hell, Potter, you don’t need to bend over! There’s kids on the ice, keep it P.G."

"Regulus!" James gasps, snapping back into standing, and ultimately sending himself scrambling for balance once more. Flailing back and forth, a scream is on the brink of his tongue before Regulus is grabbing him by the waist and yanking him forward, making them flush together.

James gasps, but this time it’s with pleasant surprise.

Regulus looks up at him, but his arm doesn’t move from where it’s wound itself around James’ back.

"Stop messing around," he snaps, but James is more focused on the pink in his cheeks that is definitely not from the cold. "Or I’ll push you on your ass and leave you there."

"You wouldn’t," James grins.

Regulus merely responds with a quirk on his eyebrow, and James can barely resist the urge to reach up and run his finger gently over the sliver of dark hair there, to ease the tension in the smaller males forehead.

"Come on," Regulus murmurs. "Let’s teach you how to skate."

Ultimately, James does not learn how to skate by the time their hour is up. Regulus manages to stop him from falling over again, but James’ expertise only stretches to being able to bend his legs (slightly this time), and kick with enough gusto to carry him a small distance of space.

He doesn’t let go of Regulus’ hand until the very end when Regulus says to give it a try skating alone. James tries to protest, but Regulus has already detached their hands and slides away from him. When James freezes, arms outstretched and body frozen, Regulus chuckles at him.

"Come on, Potter," he says, skating around him in circles as if it’s as easy as breathing. "Like we’ve done. Just kick your legs slightly. You’ve done it with me, you can do it alone."

"Shut up, this is scary!" James whines. "And stop skating around me. You’re just showing off now and it’s putting me off."

Regulus chuckles again, gliding away slightly. Stupid show-off.

When the time comes for them to get kicked off, James is so startled by the whistle that his back straightens and his legs slide straight under him and Regulus laughs so loud it practically echoes through the whole of the Tower of London beside the ring.

James lays defeated on the ice, arms and legs spread, until Regulus skates over to him and stands by his head.

"Always graceful, ay, Potter?"

"Fuck off and help me up," James grumbles, and only when he’s standing and being guided back to the exit of the rink, Regulus’ arm looped through his own, does he add, "I thought you said you wouldn’t let me fall?"

"You told me to go away," Regulus argues. "How am I meant to catch you when you told me to give you space?"

James whines but cuts it short when he practically scrambles off the ice and onto safe, stable ground.

Regulus laughs at him again, and James can’t even tell him to shut up because he’s making a beeline to the desk to get his own shoes back. Romantic iceskating be damned, he’s never doing that again.

It takes him a moment to get his legs used to being back in shoes instead of balancing on a sliver of metal, but once he does, he practically skips out of the building with a humoured Regulus in tow.

"Well, that was fun," he beams.

"Indeed," Regulus nods, smirking. "I knew it would be fun watching you fall over."

"So mean."

"Where are we going for dinner?"

"You still like Italian, yes?"

"You asked me that two days ago, Potter," Regulus replies. "My food platter doesn’t change that fast that I no longer like a whole food group. Of course I still like Italian."

"Good," James grins, looping their arms once more. "Then you’re going to love this place."

"How far away is it?"

"Just round the corner."

"We’re going to Luca’s?" Regulus asks when they stop outside.

James’ stomach drops like a cold stone.

"Yes. That. . . is that okay?" He asks, "If you don’t like it here, we can go somewhere else. It’s no problem. I know some other places we could go. Or you can choose! Do you want to choose? We don’t even need to have Italian if you don’t want—"

"Woah, slow down," Regulus laughs lightly, hand resting on James’ chest. When he drops it, the space where his hand was burns. "It’s okay, James. I’ve never been here before, but Evan swears by it. I’ve always wanted to try it, but I’ve never had time when I’ve been in this area of the city."

"Oh," James murmurs, taking a few breaths. "Okay. Great! Shall we?"

Regulus nods, smiling slightly.

Inside, it’s as fancy as James expects. He’s never been before, but his mother said it was the best Italian place in London. The waiter walks them to the table, and James is grateful they’re not in the middle of the restaurant but instead slightly to the side where it’s not so loud. The soft glow of lights is complimented by the gentle flicker of the candles on the tables. The waiter hands them their menus, before asking their wine of choice.

James looks to Regulus, already feeling slightly out of depth.

"Do you like red, or white?" Regulus asks.

"White, I think."

Regulus smiles at him slightly before turning to the waiter. "White please, and a pitcher of water."

"Of course."

Regulus nods in thanks before turning to James.

"This isn’t your type of place, is it?"

James blushes sheepishly. "Is it obvious?"

"Yes," he replies, plucking the menu off the table and looking down at it. "But it’s also cute."

James blushes harder. Regulus called him cute.

"Is this your type of place?"

"Used to be," Regulus replies, still looking at the menu. "I guess old habits die hard."

"I wouldn’t say its a habit that needs to die, being able to eat in fancy restaurants."

Regulus looks up through his eyelashes and flashes him a shy smile. "I guess."

James picks up his own menu and is still browsing when the waitress brings them the wine and a porter of water.

"What are you thinking of having?" James asks.

Regulus hums, eyes scanning the menu still. "I’m thinking the gnocchi di patate, ragù di cervo e Sola, or maybe the pizzoccheri della Valtellina."

James blinks in surprise. "You. . . you can speak Italian?"

Regulus looks up at him, expression placid. "Vaguely. Enough to be able to not butcher the pronunciation when I’m eating in an Italian restaurant. I could have a conversation in Italian if I needed to, but I wouldn’t consider myself completely fluent."

"You. . ." James feels hot suddenly. "You can speak Italian and French?"

"And I know a bit of German," Regulus nods. "But I’d be hard-pushed to have a conversation with someone in German."

"Fucking hell," James breathes. "That’s. . . incredibly hot."

Regulus’ face flushes pink. "Oh. Uh, do you know. . . do you know what you want too order?"

"I feel self-conscious now trying to pronounce it."

Regulus smiles slightly. "Maybe read it in the English version then."

"The pasta parcels."

"Cappellacci di zucca e amaretti al burro e salvia."

James nods, grinning. "Exactly."

When the waitress comes to take their food orders, Regulus orders for both of them in flawless Italian. Even the accent sounds natural, and James’ toes curl at the way the words roll off the younger mans tongue effortlessly and smoothly. Like the few times James has heard him speak French, it makes his already smooth voice sound like liquid velvet.

It takes a lot of effort for James to not drool all over the table there and then.

When the waitress goes, Regulus turns back to James, who currently hasn’t got out of his slightly inappropriate thoughts about wanting to sink under the table and devour Regulus like a starter.

"James?"

"Yes?"

"You okay?"

"Smashing, why?"

"You look like you’re having a stroke."

James jolts, blinking hard. He plasters a smile on his face all the while mentally shooing away the thoughts that are highly inappropriate for a fancy restaurant table. "Nah. I’m good."

Regulus hums suspiciously and sips his wine.

"When did you learn Italian and German?"

"Started when I was 15," Regulus says, his tone taking on a slightly harder edge. James notices he does that a lot when he talks about anything in his life before he was 18. "I was homeschooled when I lived in France."

Regulus has been very private since they first met. James has been okay with it, of course, but he can’t ignore the fact that Regulus seems to know every detail of his life and gives nothing back. James has always wondered why, because whenever James brings up life before qualifying as a doctor, Regulus always manages to smoothly turn it on it’s head back to James.

"Where did you live before you moved to France?"

James tries not to think too much on the way Regulus’ shoulders tense into a sharp line at the question.

"I lived here," Regulus replies hesitantly. "I was born in London."

James almost gasps in surprise.

"You lived here?" When Regulus nods, James gasps. "No way! Did you got Hogwarts?"

"No."

"That’s a shame. If you had, we might have met!"

"We would have been in different school years."

"Still!" James beams. "Did you not like France, then? Is that why you moved back?"

Regulus’ jaw tightens so hard James can practically hear his teeth grinding. James’ chest tightens momentarily, wondering if he pushed Regulus too far.

Why is Regulus so worried about talking about his life? What is he trying to hide?

"You. . . you don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to," James murmurs, and he smiles gently when Regulus’ eyes snap up to meet his. "I didn’t mean to pry."

Regulus releases a shaky breath, and his face seems to collapse slightly in relief. "Thanks. I don’t. . . I don’t like talking about it. It was. . . lets say it wasn’t a good time."

"Well, I’m glad then that you came back to London," James replies, itching to reach out and take Regulus’ hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "I’m glad you went to uni and met Barty and Pandora and Evan. I’m glad you qualified, and I’m glad I met you."

Regulus blinks, jaw slacking slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and then his face breaks out in a smirk.

"You’re a soppy bastard, Potter, you know that right?"

James rolls his eyes and grins, "Cheers, you absolute charmer."

James decides then to not bring up anything to do with Regulus’ time before London again. It’s clearly a sore subject, and he doesn’t want to see that tense distress on Regulus’ face again tonight. He doesn’t mind waiting a little bit longer to get to know Regulus’ history.

Deciding to change the subject to something far more interesting, James leans forward on his elbows and says, "So, tell me about dorm sharing with Barty in uni. I won’t lie, I’ve been dying to know what kind of a roommate he was considering my first impression of him was to run for the fucking hills."

That, at least, has Regulus throwing his head back and laughing.

By the time their food arrives, Regulus is in the middle of telling James a story about their first year at university where they took a night of drinking in the dorm room too far and ended with Evan having to have his stomach pumped in hospital, and how Regulus and Barty didn’t stay with him in hospital but instead ended up going to get a subway and being so drunk they completely forgot to go back and get him.

"You just went back to the dorm?"

"James, I can not express how obliterated we were. It took Barty forty minutes to eat a sandwich because he was so drunk he was trying to talk through his chewing and kept choking. I ended up dropping half of mine on the floor, then we were kicked out and were still so pissed we just wanted to sleep so we went home."

"What did Evan say?"

"He woke us up when he got back to the dorm in the morning by pouring the last of the Sambuca on us. The smell instantly made Barty vomit in his right in bed. I swear the smell  of that shit lingered for weeks. Barty ended up buying a whole new mattress because he couldn’t get the smell of Sambuca out of it."

Regulus tells James all the memories of him and Pandora sitting in the library all night with coffees and energy drinks revising for exams and clinical placements.

He talks about how Evan was the first of them to learn to drive and his parents bought him a fresh plate BMW as his first car, only for Pandora to crash it a week later when he was trying to teach her in a carpark and she managed to hit the only car in the carpark.

James almost chokes on his dessert laughing at the story Regulus explains about the time when during a game of drunk truth or dare they got Evan to run across the campus naked only to realise half way through all of them forgot their dorm keys to get back into the building and they had to phone maintenance to let them back in while Evan was standing stark bollock naked.

They’re on their third bottle of wine when they start talking about their own experiences as medical students and James mentions the time when he was doing his maternity placement and fainted the first time he saw a baby being born, smacked his head on the table and ended up spending four hours of the shift down in A&E being observed. Regulus laughs so hard James can't even chide himself for drunkenly revealing the story that currently only the Marauders know because he still so mortified.

It's only when James knocks over his last glass of wine do they pay and take their overdue leave. They stumble out onto the streets, having consumed so much wine and hardly moved for hours causing the bones in James' body to turn to jelly. He would have stacked it face first onto the pavement if Regulus hadn't caught him, yanking him arm so hard they ended up smacking into each other and staggering in a fit of giggles.

"Fucking hell, I hate wine," James whines and he loops his arm in with Regulus' and practically uses the smaller male to keep himself upright. "I never drink wine. I really, really hate it."

"I can tell," Regulus laughs. "You're like a child who's gone round at a wedding and stolen half the glasses. Can you even walk on your own?"

"No," James pouts, pressing his face into Regulus' hair - which ultimately knocks his balance off even more as he's not longer even looking where he's going. "Don't let go of me."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to. You're hanging onto my arm like a bloody koalas."

"Would you love me if I was a koala?"

"Absolutely not!" Regulus scoffs. "Do you have any idea how unsanitary they are? They all have chlamydia, Potter."

"Reggie!" James cries, tone petulant and whiny.

He abruptly tightens his grip on Regulus’ arm, yanking the smaller man into him and spinning them quickly.

"Woah, James—shit—" Regulus gasps, arms scrambling for purchase on James’ coat and struggling to stay upright as he’s practically plastered against James’ chest. "You’re insane! Are you trying to make us fall over?"

"No, just wanted to cuddle you," James smiles, looking down. He loves their height difference. Regulus is about half a head shorter, so not much, but enough that he slots against James like a perfect puzzle piece.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but his lips are tugging into a smile.

"You’re sickening, Potter."

"Please don’t mention sick," James grimaces. "I’ve drunk far too much wine for that word to be in tonight’s vocabulary."

"I’m getting you water."

"I don’t—"

"Stay here. I’m getting you a bottle of water from the shop."

Regulus leans James against a lamppost and runs into the convenient store on the corner. James feels like he’s barely blinked before he’s back and a bottle is being shoved into his hands.

He’s drank half of it when he notices something else in Regulus’ hands.

"What is that?"

Regulus pulls the large bottle away from his mouth and frowns in confusion, "It’s Chardonnay."

"You bought a bottle of wine?" James gasps, shaking the bottle of water in his hands for emphasis. "I thought we were sobering up?"

"No, you are sobering up," Regulus holds up the wine bottle, "I am keeping dosed up because I can still walk in a straight line."

James gapes, eyes flickering from the bottle to Regulus’ face in surprise.

"You are the last person I imagined to ever see drinking wine from the bottle in the middle of the streets."

Regulus smirks, quirking an eyebrow. "Maybe you don’t know me well enough then."

And with that, he takes a large and gloating gulp of wine without a single flinch.

James cackles a laughs, loud and manic. Regulus is truly full of surprises. He never imagined he’d see the usually uptight doctor doing something like this, and doing it with such ease it’s clearly not the first time he’s drunk wine from the bottle in public.

"You never cease to amaze me, Doctor Black."

"Yeah, yeah," Regulus waves a hand lazily. "Finish your water, Potter, and maybe then I’ll share some more of this with you."

James just stares as Regulus smugly continues to drink the wine from the bottle in an action filled with such ease it's as if he's drinking water from a container. James watches, focus impenetrable as Regulus' thin throat bobs and waves as he drinks, his Adams apple rippling beneath the tight skin. He looks at Regulus' curls, so perfect and fitting on his head, curling around his ears and laying gently on his forehead. He wants to run his fingers through it, wants to curl his hands around Regulus neck and feel his strong pulse beneath the skin. He wants to leave marks with his lips on ever inch of the skin he can see.

"Reg?"

The younger man looks at him. "Yes?"

James takes a breath, short and punched, and before he can stop himself he's surging forward, hands desperately but gently cupping Regulus' cheeks and smashing their lips together.

Regulus gasps against his mouth, but barely takes a moment to catch up and quickly kissing back. Slotted together, lips moving in sync, James' body feels like it's on fire. His veins are buzzing like live wires, his skin sensitive beneath his clothes. Everything suddenly feels so tight, so constricting apart from the weight of the body pressed against him.

He wants to do this forever. He wants to hold Regulus against him, feel the rush through his body as they kiss and moan into each others mouths. It feels addicting, and James is already craving it like a starved man. He doesn't want to stop, and when Regulus runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth slowly, James can't help but let out a deep groan.

Regulus pulls back first, but only enough that their foreheads are still pressed together, James' neck craned down and Regulus' stretched up. They're both panting, and James' lips feel hot and swollen.

"Come back to mine," James breathes, the words coming out in a rushed, desperate demand.

"Okay," Regulus nods. "Yeah. Okay."

James grins, letting his hands drop from Regulus' face and winding them around his shoulders instead.

"Phone a taxi," Regulus says, "I don't think either us will be able to wait for the train."

Oh.

Yes.

"I like the sound of that," James murmurs, stealing another kiss before pulling out his phone.

They finish the wine while they wait, and James feels the familiar pleasant buzz again when they climb into the taxi.

Its then that it suddenly occurs to James that he has a roommate, and he's currently inviting Regulus back to their flat to hopefully rip each others clothes off.

He rushes to text Sirius.

James (21:42) are you home?

"You okay?"

James looks across the taxi. Regulus is so close yet so far across the seats, looking delicious in his scarf and pea coat.

James nods, feeling his cheeks heating with the sudden onslaught of thoughts about tearing the scarf from around Regulus' neck and mouthing at the heat of his collarbones.

"Yes. Just checking we have a free flat to go back to."

"You think your flatmate will be in?"

"I doubt it. He's probably at Moony's."

Sirius replies in good time considering James is barely holding back the itch to move across the seats and connect his and Regulus' mouths again.

Sirius (21:45) at moonys. why?

Sirius (21:46) OMFG YOU'RE BRINGING THE CUTE DOCTOR HOME AREN'T YOU?

James (21:46) neither confirm or deny. just do us both a solid and don't come home tonight!

Sirius (21:46) GO GET SOME PRONGS!!!!

Rolling his eyes, James pockets his phone before quickly unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding into the middle seat. His arm is around Regulus' shoulders before he younger man can blink.

"Free house confirmed," he murmurs into Regulus' ears, grinning wildly when he feels the younger man shiver against him.

Regulus smirks, turning his head so their lips are brushing, grey eyes so close and despite it making James' vision blur, he can feel the intensity of the hooded gaze.

"How splendid," Regulus mutters, breath hot on James' skin and if that doesn't make James want to rip his clothes off, then when Regulus starts mouthing at the corner of James' jaw does it.

Trousers becoming uncomfortably tight, James squirms. His breath becomes slightly faster, body coiling in anticipation.

"Careful," Regulus whispers, grazing his teeth along the lobe of James' ear. James groans softly, breathing hard. "Wouldn't want to make it obvious to the taxi man you're having too much fun."

"You're a fucking menace, Regulus Black," James hisses. "Teasing isn't very nice."

"No," Regulus grins, nipping at his ear softly with a chuckle. "But it is rather fun, don't you think?"

"I hate you," James sighs, though it comes out shaky and choked.

Regulus' laugh is low and rumbles through James like a shockwave.

"You can get your own payback when we're at your flat," the younger man teases. "I dare you."

The taxi takes far too long, but when it finally arrives, James practically throws the money at the driver before shoving Regulus and himself out. He's barely got two feet on the pavement before he's grabbing Regulus by the collar and smashing their lips together once more. He feels like adrenaline and arousal has replaced all the blood in his system. He feels hot and sweaty, his heart racing and his muscles surging with energy.

Regulus laughs against him, arms wrapping around his neck and tugging at the hairs at the base of his skull. He moans into James' mouth, biting his lip between sharp teeth. He tastes like wine, sweet and sour and addicting.

James walks them to the door without breaking apart, unlocking the main door with ease. It's only when they're inside and Regulus' ankles collide with the stairs and almost send them tumbling does the younger man push on James' chest.

"Maybe we should stop for a moment," he pants.

"Reg," James whines in displeasure.

"Patience, Potter. I don't fancy being undressed in the hallway for all to see," Regulus replies. "It's not for everyone's pleasure."

"Right," James croaks. He swallows thickly, nodding frantically and desperately trying to gather some form of a clear thought. "You're right. Yeah. We should-- we should--"

"Let's go, Potter."

Regulus grabs his hand, leading them up the stairs faster than James has ever seen the young male move. James can barely remember to keep one foot in front of the other as his eyes are practically glued to the clothed ass in front of him. Regulus' trousers really are perfect in a sense that they show off everything.

When they get to James' floor, he practically throws himself to unlocking it. Regulus takes the moment to teasingly run his fingers over his shoulders, tracing down his back and being incredibly distracting.

"Regulus, has anyone ever told you that you're an absolute menace?"

Regulus hums, biting softly into James' coat covered shoulder before murmuring, "Maybe once or twice."

James swings the door open, turning enough to grab Regulus as he steps inside. Their lips are connected in a desperate, hungry heat before James has even got the door closed behind them. Regulus kisses him with more gusto and drive than before, hot breath mingling.

Suddenly, Regulus moves to kiss along his jaw, moving down his neck as he pushes James gently against the closed front door. James lets him, going easily as his body feels as if it's being set on fire everywhere Regulus' lips and hands travel.

Regulus stops for a moment, looking up at James with huge eyes and flushed cheeks. There's a glint in his eyes, a hunger in his whole expression that makes James feel so weak at the knees he feels as though he's melting against the door.

Regulus smirks, swollen lips stretching.

Then suddenly, hands are on James' trousers, the belt and zip undone before James' muddled brain can catch up. Regulus kisses him once on the lips, hooking a finger along James' boxer band in a slow, agonisingly teasing way, and then he's sliding down to the floor and takes James' trousers and boxers down with him.

James barely has time to gasp in surprise as his cock springs free, hard and aching. Regulus licks up the underside slowly and steady, resting his lips barely against the dripping head. James looks down, panting like he's run a marathon. The sight of Regulus looking up through ridiculously dark and long lashes is enough to almost send him over the edge, and then Regulus is taking him in full.

James lets out a low and long, stuttering groan as the heat of Regulus' mouth surrounds him. His knees are trembling embarrassingly beneath him, threatening to give out as Regulus swallows his whole length. His entire body is on fire, but the focus is in his cock as it throbs and pulsates to the rhythm of Regulus' mouth surrounding him.

"Fuck!" he curses, panting through an open mouth.

He can't help but run his fingers through Regulus' hair and giving the dark locks a testing tug. When Regulus hollows his cheeks, James lets out a groan and drops his head back against the door with a loud thump. He's panting, sweat dotted along all of his body. He's trembling, brain short-circuiting because holy fuck fuck fuck! How is Regulus so good at this?

He feels completely consumed by pleasure. His mind is offline to everything but the wet heat surrounding his cock. Regulus is teasing him, teetering him along the edge slowly and quickly all at once. He can't help but grind once or twice, his hips practically twitching against his control.

He's getting close, so close, and if Regulus doesn't stop now he's not going to be able to hold back. His stomach is in knots, every part of him pulsating and hot and tight and—

"R-Reg," he gasps, groan punching out from deep in his throat. "Reg, I'm gonna— if you don't stop, I-I'm gonna—"

Apparently hearing his warning, Regulus gently cups his balls, grazes his teeth slightly in a way that has James shuddering breathlessly. He hollows his cheeks once more, not slowly in the slightest.

"Re-Reg—" James groans. "I’m— fuck!"

His orgasm rips out of him and makes his vision white out. His legs go boneless, and the only thing that keeps him up is the door behind his back.

Breath stolen, he stutters out as Regulus swallows, the wet heat of his mouth barely affected by the sudden orgasm against him, milking him to the very last inch of its ability.

James feels weak and shaking when it's over, cock over sensitive as Regulus pulls back with a wet pop. Unable to catch his breath, he's gasping when Regulus pulls his trousers and boxers back up and stands straight.

James pants, taking in the swollen red lips and messy hair in front of him. Regulus looks completely wrecked, and James can't even begin to imagine how debauched he must look himself.

"Holy fuck," James croaks. "How the fuck did you learn how to do that?"

"I told you," Regulus rasps, smiling, and bloody hell he sounds so fucking good like that. "I'm good at everything."

"You're damn right about that," James mutters, jolting forward and crashing their lips together again in a bruising and messy kiss.

He can't help it, and he doesn't care that he can taste himself on Regulus' tongue because, sue him, Regulus is like the most addicting drug on legs right now. He pushes himself flush against Regulus, hands gripping the small of his back tightly, roaming the expanse of the younger mans back. Regulus groans against him when James cups and squeezes his ass, their breaths mingling, and James can't wait anymore.

He grabs Regulus from under the legs, yanking him up. Regulus' legs wrap around his waist instantly, grinding their groins together and their lips never disconnecting. Every moan and groan sends shock waves straight down James' spine and along his already re hardening dick again.

Without needing to see, he walks them, Regulus' legs wrapped around and the younger man's arms and hands in his hair, tugging and messing it up as their lips move in sync. The kiss is hot and messy, desperate and devouring like their lives depend on it.

In his room, James waits until he feels the edge of his bed hit his shins before he's lowering Regulus down, laying the younger man flat on his back. Fire burns down James's spine like a ball rolling, hitting every vertebrae one by one. He feel hot and tight, his boxers uncomfortable. He moves from Regulus' mouth, kissing along his cheek bones, over the sharp curve of his jaw. He kisses down his neck, mouthing at the pulsating point he's been thinking about all evening. Regulus is panting and squirming underneath him, making the most delicious sounds when James crawls down his body, shucking up the black sweater vest and begins to mouth at the perky nipple beneath the white shirt still covering him.

"F-fuck," Regulus whispers as James tightens his grip on his waist, sounding breathless.

He pulls back, out of Regulus' reach and pulls the hem of Regulus' sweater vest. Moments later, the fabric is flying over Regulus' head, his curls going wild and bouncing from the momentum. James unbuttons the white shirt slowly, kissing the skin down Regulus’ chest and torso as it becomes more and more exposed. When he undoes the last button, letting the unbuttoned shirt still on his arms and shoulders pool at his sides.

James’ mouth waters and his hands burn with a desperate need to reach out and touch. Regulus’ chest is smooth and hairless, his torso long and hips deliciously narrow. He’s thinner than he’d appeared with the shirt and vest on; but the skinniest suits him with the way the lines of his ribs stand under the skin that’s so pale that a roadmap of blue veins are visible across the flat expanse of his stomach.

James licks his lips, mouth salivating, throat tightening. His eyes scan over every inch and centre meter of Regulus' body, laid out below him.

Regulus' blushes, cheeks glowing a cherry red, and looks up at James with enormous grey eyes. James's hands trail down Regulus' slim sides, touch light and teasing. Regulus shivers and trembles beneath him, gasping when James brushes the pad of his thumb over one of nubs of his nipples.

Regulus grinds up against him again, breathless and restless.

"Come on, James," he whines. It’s riveting to hear the younger man be the one begging for the first time tonight.

"Patience," James whispers, leaning down to kiss the groove of Regulus’ sternum and begins to trail kisses down again.

He didn’t realise how long Regulus was considering he’s a head shorter than James, but it takes what feels like a lifetime before James is finally at the zip of Regulus’ trousers.

He unzips it slowly, deciding to torture Regulus like the younger man has done to him far too many times tonight. Regulus’ hips buck sharply, a high whine coming from up the bed. James risks a glance, and heat pools inside him when he sees Regulus practically withering, chest heaving and breaths coming out like punches.

Pulling the trousers down and grinning, James gently brushes his fingers over the obvious swell of Regulus’ pants he’s left clothed over the younger mans cock. Regulus curses, letting out a small growl.

"James, I swear to fuck if you take any longer, I’m going to—"

James doesn’t let him finish.

Instead, he yanks down the last remaining clothing protecting Regulus’ modesty and watches as the hard and straining cock bounces free. His mouth floods with saliva, when Regulus' cock hits his stomach with a wet noise, making James bite back a moan. Regulus rushes to kick off his trousers and boxers so they’re off his legs, James helping get them past his feet when the younger male begins to flail frantically to get them all the way off.

Regulus lets out the longest, most obscene moan, borderline a cry, when James takes his cock in his large hand. He jacks slowly, stroking and teasing the end.

Regulus writhers and quivers underneath him, head thrown back on the pillows and mouth open in a breathless moan.

"You. . ." Regulus starts, breath hitching, "You need to be naked too."

James raises an eyebrow, smirking as he huskily murmurs, "Do you want me to stop?"

"I want to see you," Regulus corrects, voice high. "But don’t you dare stop."

James smiles, letting go. Regulus sits up like a shot, his long fingers scrambling to unbutton James’ shirt. James shoves down and kicks off his trousers and boxers, and when he’s finally naked too he crawls up from the end of the bed, inch by inch over the long, thin legs, like a wave rolling over the pebbles of a shore. He hovers above Regulus, the younger mans dick pressing against his stomach, red and strained. James leans down, licking a long stripe up the shaft, twirling his tongue over the sensitive head.

Regulus curses, melting into the bed, spread out and bucking up his hips.

James takes Regulus in whole, and the sound that comes out of Regulus' mouth is absolutely astounding: long, stretched out moans and swallowed whimpers. James spares a glance up, finding Regulus panting, face flushed and eyes blown.

That's it.

He needs to be in Regulus soon.

Regulus makes a protesting noise when James pulls his mouth off, and the older male shushes him, rubbing his large palm over Regulus’ stomach as he reaches over the bed and plucks the bottle of lube out of the top bedside cabinet draw.

James generously coats his fingers before he reaches down and circles Regulus' hole slowly, slicking him up. He takes Regulus in his mouth again, and then slides a finger in. Regulus is tight and hot, moaning loudly as James opens him up slowly.

He slides in a second finger.

"Fuck, James!" Regulus cries abruptly, back arching.

He hollows out his cheeks around Regulus' cock, feeling them grind against the firm flesh, before sucking off with an audible sound.

"Soon," he promises.

He works his fingers quickly, scissoring them to stretch Regulus as fast as he can. It only takes a few minutes before James has a third finger in, working and thrusting his digits into Regulus' hole.

"Fuck," Regulus curses, "Get inside me. I'm ready, James. Just— please! James—"

Regulus incoherent begs and pleas are cut off when James's fingers slip free and he grabs a condom from the same bedside draw as the lube, ripping it open and sliding it on.

"Shh, I got you," he murmurs, getting up on the bed and lining himself up, dick nudging against Regulus' hole. He pushes forward an inch, the ring of muscle stretching around the head. He stares at it for a moment, listening to Regulus moan, his own breath punched out of his lungs. James grabs hold of Regulus' hips before he slides in completely, his cock disappearing inside Regulus.

Regulus' hole is hot and tight around James. He stills for a second, drinking in the moment of complete bliss. He doesn’t want to hurt Regulus, and while he’s fighting the urge to go slow, he knows he needs to.

Except…

"James," Regulus growls sharply, "Move."

James says nothing, just takes one look at Regulus' face below him before he pulls back and slams in. Regulus screams in pleasure underneath him, meeting James's deep and quick thrusts. After a while, he switches and goes along for the ride as James slams into him, moaning and grunting. James finds Regulus impossibly breathtaking below him, neck and collarbones purple with love-bites, eyes closed and face lax. His hair is darker with sweat, the curls laid out around his head like a fucking halo. There is a single curl against his forehead, bouncing and springing with each thrust between them.

James grips Regulus' hips so hard as he moves that he isn't going to be surprised to move him hands and find bruises underneath. The sight of Regulus spread out beneath him makes James want more, need and ache for more. He pushes Regulus' legs further open and presses his body flush with the smaller one beneath him. He attaches his lips to Regulus’, biting his bottom lip.

James grabs underneath one of Regulus’ knees, bending it up at the same time that Regulus raises his pelvis to meet his own.

"James—fuck! I'm gonna— I need—"

"Regulus," James cuts him off, sliding a hand between their stomachs and taking Regulus' leaking cock between his fingers. He tilts Regulus' hips up, nailing his prostate and thrusting faster as he strokes the slick member between them. "I've got you," he murmurs over Regulus' whimpers, "Come for me, Regulus."

Regulus screams as he comes, nails scratching down the skin of James's back. His hole clenches and spasms around James's cock, pulsating and pushing James over the last hurdle before he's coming too. His second orgasm is punched out of him. Regulus moans his name, his spilling cock coating their stomachs.

Panting, James rests his forehead against Regulus', barely stopping himself from collapsing on the younger male. Regulus wraps his arms weakly around James's shoulders, a loose attempt to hug hims while James runs his hands up and down the smaller mans flank.

For a long time, all that can be heard is fast and hard panting between them. The room is filled with the smell of sweat and sex.

After a moment, James pulls out, both of them groaning from the movement. He quickly pulls off the condom, tossing it in the bin by the chest of draws and making a mental note to definitely change that later. He collapses heavily on his back on the bed, their sweaty sides flush.

"Holy shit," James heaves, lungs burning.

Regulus laughs beside him, a low rumble. James looks out of the corner of his eye to see Regulus run a hand through his hair.

"That was incredible," James adds, because really, it fucking was. It has never been that good, and he feels a whole kind of different drunk now. "Holy shit."

"Yeah," Regulus breathes beside him. "Holy shit, indeed."

James feels giddy. Every muscle in his body aches, but holyfuckfuck does he feel so good.

"Do you want a cigarette?"

James swivels his head, still trying to catch his breath. "What?"

Regulus looks at him. His cheeks are still flushed, and he’s still got his shirt on and unbuttoned, showing off the glint of sweat on his pale chest.

"Did I not speak English?"

"You smoke?"

"Sometimes," Regulus shrugs. "Mostly when I drink. Nothing beats a cigarette after sex, though."

James blinks in surprise. "But. . . you’re a doctor?"

"Thank you reminding me," Regulus sighs. "You aware of how many health care professionals smoke despite the health issues it entails?"

James thinks for a moment. Then nods solidly, "Valid point."

"Lovely, glad we got that clarified," Regulus huffs. "So, I’ll ask again; cigarette?"

"You got some? Because I don’t think there’s any here."

"Got some in my coat pocket," Regulus nods. "Can I borrow a top? This one is slightly sweaty now."

James grins in satisfaction. "Top draw of the dresser. I’ll grab us some shorts too."

He grabs two from the wardrobe, slipping the first pair on and turning around in time to see Regulus’ bare back and shoulders as the younger man swiftly strips the shirt and slips on a grey cotton long sleeve.

James almost trips on his own feet as he drinks in the brief sight of the narrow stretch of shoulders and the skin of his back milky white, smooth and covered in a littering of freckles. His eyes quickly travel down, catching a glimpse of a pinched, tight waist that James wants to wrap his hands around as fast as he can.

The moment is gone when Regulus turns around, but James’ brain still can’t quite catch up with what’s happened.

When his eyes finally flick up and meet the grey eyes across the room, he sees Regulus’ face sly and knowing. The guy knows exactly what he’s caused inside James’ head.

"Enjoying the view?" He asks.

James opens his mouth to answer, but nothing manages to come out. Regulus laughs softly, then holds his hand up.

"Come on," he says. "Gimme them. I want to smoke."

James tosses the shorts across the room. When Regulus slips them on, they barely stay up even after Regulus tightens the drawstrings, leaving them hanging loose on his hips as he leaves the room.

James practically runs to follow him, and when Regulus has retrieved the box and a lighter from his cot pocket, he leads them both to sit by the large window in the living room.

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, both of them basking in the serenity of the moment. James allows the cigarette to relax him again, leaning against the wall and glancing at the other male across from him.

Regulus has his eyes closed, head resting back against the wall to slightly stretch his neck. He looks so tranquil, dark curls slightly damp on his forehead, bow lips still red from all the kissing, cheekbones more defined by the shadows of the dim studio loft.

James can’t decide if he wants to cuddle him or rip his clothes off again.

Preferably, he’d like to do both.

Multiple times again.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a slutty waist?"

Regulus’ eyes snap open and he looks across at James incredulously. "What?"

"You have a slutty waist," James repeats. "Did you know that?"

"You— I— no one— what?"

James chuckles. Regulus’ cheeks are practically glowing and he’s looking at James like he’s grown a second head, but the older man doesn’t care. "Speechless?"

Regulus blinks a few times, so fast he looks like he’s merely fluttering his eyelashes. "In shock, I think."

"Well," James shrugs, taking a drag, "you deserve to know."

"Wasn’t aware I had a waist," Regulus murmurs in-between intakes, exhaling smoke as he speaks."I’ve always been told I have the bean-pole kind of figure."

"Oh, you do. You are quite skinny, almost alarmingly so, but you have got a lovely waist."

Regulus smiles, tilting his head.

"A slutty one?"

James nods, smug, "A slutty one."

Regulus hums, eyes intense as they stare at James with a daring kind of tease.

"What makes it so slutty?" He asks.

"The fact that just looking at it makes me want to bend you over the table."

Regulus’ eyes widen and he lets out a shaky breath. James smiles, stomach already pooling with heat again and he brings the cigarette to his lips to distract himself from the temptation to grab Regulus by the neck and mark any skin he can get his lips on.

"Finish your cigarette, Potter," Regulus grunts, flicking his own dead butt out the window quickly. He stands up abruptly, already walking back to the bedroom as he calls, "I’ll show you what else this slutty waist can do."

James tosses the cigarette immediately.

Regulus has barely made it past the bedroom threshold before James is running in and tossing them both back into the bedsheets.

James wakes slowly, but then the slight pounding in his temples makes itself known. Fuck, he hates wine so much. He hasn't drank that much since his graduation over a year ago, and with good reason. Too much wine makes his head feel like it's filled with loose and rattling marbles using his skull as a sounding board.

Groaning, he stretches so his back pops and shoves his face deeper into the pillow. Last night comes back to him in a tidal wave and, face hidden still, a smile curls around his lips.

Regulus.

James rolls over, hand reaching out to the other side of the bed expecting to feel a warm body wrapped in the sheets.

His hand meets nothing but cold mattress.

Eyes snapping open, he finds the other side of the bed empty.

He pulls himself into a sitting position, body disgruntled by the sudden movement. He listens, waiting for the familiar sound of the toilet flushing or the shower being on incase Regulus is in there.

He's met with total silence.

"Reg?" He calls, climbing out of bed. He swipes a pair of boxers from the draw, stumbling out of the room on unsteady, slightly wine-drunk legs.

Regulus isn't in the lounge, or the kitchen, or by the window smoking.

The flat around James is empty.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

11

"So, just to clarify one more time—"

"Must we do this again?"

"Yes. We need to clarify your immense stupidly again. Deal with it," Pandora chides sternly, snatching the joint out of Regulus’ lax hand. "So, you guys went out on your first date—"

"Still not sure if it was a 'date', as such."

"You went iceskating and out for dinner," Pandora’s tone is flat and bored. She raises a lazy eyebrow at him, and the expression alone makes Regulus scowl at her. "You’re not that dense, Reg. It was a date, and you know it, and that is why you have landed yourself in this predicament."

Regulus rolls his eyes with a huff.

"So, as I was saying," Pandora continues after exhaling a large cloud of smoke. She uses the joint as a pointer, motioning to him from where she’s sat on the other side of the window-seat alcove. "You went on a date, had an undeniably fantastic time showing off on the ice and using it as a perfect, and seemingly innocent excuse, to hold James’ hands the entire time other than when you were letting him fall over. Then, you went out to a flashy Italian restaurant where you proceeded to purposely woo him with your flawless ability to speak multiple languages, something that you know is an easy way to get into a mans pants. You both get drunk on wine, agreed to go back to his where, in your words, you had 'the best shag and bj to memory'. Yet, despite all of this positive excitement and the fact the night went without a single hitch, you woke up in the morning while James was still sleeping, got dressed and then left without a word."

Regulus glares daggers.

"I did not—"

"You left."

"I did not—"

"You left, Regulus," Pandora interrupts coolly, eyes flashing in a way that Regulus has only seen her do a few times - and all those times have been towards Barty or Evan, never towards Regulus. Until now. Go-figure. "You ghosted that poor man, have proceeded to sulk about it for three days, and you’re now here, smoking my weed, and crying about it as if you are the victim of this story that deserves sympathy and comforting."

Regulus bristles.

Pandora is making it sound so much worse. She’s making it sound like he committed bloody arson to the queen. Regulus hates it, and he hates the twist in his gut when Pandora speaks out the sequence of events he’s told her.

He’s starting to think he would have done himself more favours going to Barty. The older guy would have been incredibly unhelpful, but at least he would have just got drunk with him instead of scolding him like a child.

"You’re making it sound worse have it is!" He hisses, frustrated.

"Impossible," Pandora laughs, but the sound is not a kind one. She shakes her head, looking like a disappointed mother who’s caught her child doing something unforgivable. "You acted like a god-damn child. You are the bad guy!"

"You. . ." Regulus gapes, blinking rapidly. What the fuck did she just say? He collects himself quickly out of pure habit, eyes hardened and jaw ticking. "You’re supposed to be my friend. Therefore, by bloody default, you are meant to be on my side in this situation!"

"I am your friend. I’m your best friend," Pandora nods, face originally placid but quickly losing all it’s softness. She glares harshly, blonde eyebrow quirking in a sharp line, "Therefore, I have the power to tell you when you’ve messed up. And let me tell you, Regulus Black, you have immensely fucked this all up."

Regulus feels like Pandora has reached out and physically slapped him.

"I should have gone to Barty about this," Regulus grumbles, finally saying it out loud. He clenches his eyes shut, physically biting his tongue from letting out a scream in frustration.

Pandora laughs harshly.

"Why? Because he would have patted you on the back for getting a shag and then taken you out to drink yourself senseless?"

Regulus glares at her. "It’s a form of therapy and it works."

"It’s a form of avoidance and it certainly does not," Pandora chides. "Going out and getting yourself absolutely blackout drunk and making out with random men in a bar is not going to get you out of this mess you’ve got yourself in."

"No," he closes his eyes, "but it will make me feel better."

Regulus must have sounded as pathetic to Pandora as he feared, because a moment later she’s nudging his shin with her foot and the joint is being pushed gently into his hand.

"Talk to me, Reg," Pandora says, and Regulus wants to snap that that is exactly what he’s fucking doing— "You’ve never explained to anyone what goes through your head. I usually have you pretty well figured out in most departments, but I’ve never understood your obliterating fear of attachment."

Regulus refuses to open his eyes. The combination of the weed and Pandora cutting him in half with her clarification of his harsh reality it making him feel split open with vulnerability.

"It’s complicated," he finally replies.

Pandora scoffs gently. "Everything about you is complicated, mon chéri (my darling). You’ve never had anything more with anyone apart from one off sex since I’ve known you. At first, I always figured you just liked sex, didn’t have time to date because you were studying and then didn’t have the time after you qualified. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be alone, or being happy with your own company. But you. . . you let James in, you even sought him out at times. You clearly enjoyed his company, so what the hell happened for you to run away from something good?"

Because I’ve learnt that running away stops you from getting hurt?

Because so many people who claim to love me have hurt me?

Because being alone is easier than being hurt?

Because letting people in scares the living shit out of me?

Because how can I love someone when I don’t feel good enough to be loved?

Because I’m afraid.

Pandora doesn’t understand how much there is to unpack from that question. How Regulus has a hundred different answers as to why he ran away from James the moment it began to feel more than another one night stand that he can enjoy and move on from without any strings, without any hurt or attachments. Regulus learnt a long time ago that it’s easier to leave first than be left and hurt.

Hurt the person before they have a chance to hurt you, feels like his life fucking moto.

Regulus doesn’t think anyone understands how long it took for him to let Pandora, Evan and Barty truly in. So much time they spent together and yet, Regulus’ walls were still standing strong between them. None of them suspected a thing, none of them realised that he was refusing to get attached to their kindness, their friendship because in the back of his mind, he couldn’t allow himself to let himself live in their welcoming warmth incase they snatched it away again.

Its the same with James.

If anything, it’s worse with James.

It took his friends years to chip and break his walls down. It took James a blinding smile and a latte and his walls shattered like thin glass.

Regulus is scrambling to rebuild them, because the things he feels for James scares the living shit out of him. He feels raw when he’s around the older boy, and he allowed himself to relax into the warmth that James radiates that night on the date. It wasn’t until he woke up, face inches from James’ sleep-slack own that he realised he was in too deep. He was going to to drown, the warmth was going to be replaced by cold water pooling in his lungs the moment James realised what a horrible, unloveable person he is.

James would inevitably leave, so it was only safest for Regulus to leave first.

"I don’t know how to explain it," Regulus whispers.

"Reg—"

"I’m afraid," the words spill from his mouth before he can stop them.

"Of?"

"Everything," he shakes his head. "It was too good with him. He was— I couldn’t—. . ."

After a moment, a warm hand clasps his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"What about James scares you so much?"

"People always leave me," Regulus replies.  He opens his eyes, trying not to physically shatter at the look of sadness in Pandora’s eyes. "They always have, and if they haven’t left, they’ve fucked me up in the process. It’s easier to get out before it gets ugly."

She frowns, eyebrows pulled tight. She shakes her head slightly, "How do you know it will get ugly?"

"It always has," Regulus shrugs. "My track record hasn't exactly been a positive one. I can't let it go any further with James. I can't add him to the skeletons in the closet of people who have made me who I am."

Pandora looks stricken.

"Who hurt you so bad that they made you believe everyone would hurt you?" She asks, voice so gentle that it makes Regulus' heart clench in his chest.

Everyone. Everyone before you and Barty and Evan, and now I’m scared everyone after you will too.

"I think you know you," he whispers, and Regulus hopes she doesn't ask more. He hopes that she can read enough between the lines that he isn't talking about past love relationships. Instead he's talking about his family, the people who were meant to love and care for him but instead chewed him up and spat him back out.

"You don't know that James will be like that," she says.

"I'm not prepared to wait and find out."

She shakes her head vigorously. "You can't live like that, Reg. You can't go through life never letting people in, never letting people love you incase there's a chance they might leave."

"It's safer that way," Regulus argues. He snatched the joint back, lighting it again as it's gone out from them talking. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

Pandora is quiet for a long time. Slumped back, Regulus can feel her watching him as he smokes and stares out the window, trying to find anything more entertaining to look at so he doesn’t have to face her.

This isn’t what he came over for. He came over because he’s tired, feels like shit and wanted to have a break from reality. He wanted to smoke with her, to listen to her babble on lightheartedly about placement and university work. He wanted to forget about the colossal shit going on in his own everlasting miserable existence.

He didn’t want to rehash the sequence of events with James. He didn’t want to be told the harsh truths that he already knew but was in the process of burying deep. He didn’t want to be reminded of how incapable he is at being normal, or have to explain his actions when he knew, he’s always known, no one would understand.

That’s because no one was there. No one saw Walburga and Orion ruining his deception of love and trust growing up. No one saw the way they’d hurt Sirius like he did, or see the way they turned on him when Sirius ran away to save himself.

No one saw the process that’s made him this way, they only see the consequences.

Consequences are easier to judge, and harder to decipher.

"You don’t need to explain," Pandora finally says. "I don’t understand, you’re right, but that’s because I don’t know whatever it is that you went through. However, I do know, that you deserve things everyone else deserves. I won’t lie and say James will never hurt you, but you can’t live life never taking the risk. That’s not living, Reg, that’s just existing, and you’re too much of a good, smart, kind person to spend the rest of your life existing."

Regulus sighs. "I’m not kind."

"You are," she smiles. "In your own, pessimistic and slightly arrogant way. If you weren’t kind, I wouldn’t be your friend."

He can’t find it in himself to smile back.

"It doesn’t matter now," Regulus states, shrugging. "I did exactly what I always do. I hurt him, so he couldn’t hurt me first. Whatever we had, or could have had, it’s gone now."

"When will you realise that people have a capability called forgiveness?"

"Don’t know. Can’t say I’m familiar with the process."

"That’s because you’re you, and your responses and coping methods are clearly askew from the general compass," she huffs, reaching out and flicking a curl off his forehead. "If you didn’t care about James, or like him even remotely, then you wouldn’t have been sulking for the last three days and sitting in my flat now looking like a kicked puppy."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I have not been sulking—"

"This is clearly making you miserable, Reg. You clearly liked him, and I know this because he is the first person I have ever seen you give the time of day to that isn’t me, Barty or Evan."

"I give Dorcas the time of day."

"She’s a friend."

"Still."

Pandora groans. "You’re killing me here, Reg."

"Die quietly, then."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"You’re making me sick."

"I love you, Regulus."

…

"Je t'aime plus (Love you more)."

Pandora grins. "Whenever you’re ready, you should talk to him. Even if you don’t want anything more, he deserves an explanation."

"I know," Regulus whispers - and he does. He’s more than aware that James deserves better.

"Now, enough of that," Pandora lights another joint, leaning back once more. "Tell me something funny. I need a good laugh after ruining your day."

Regulus rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Did you know James and his friends all refer to each other by nicknames they gave themselves when they were 11?"

Pandora laughs so hard she almost throws up and coughs until her eyes are bloodshot.

Regulus doesn't take Pandora's advice. The next day, any of the fear she tried to diminish in his potentially irrational way of thinking was wiped clean by the time Regulus got up and got ready for work. He tried not to think about James when he was making his first coffee, or when he was in the shower. He tried and failed to not think about James when he was driving through London on the way to the hospital, John Elton and Kiki Dee’s Don’t Go Breaking My Heart playing on the radio was not helping the situation at all.

He’s already tired before he even makes it up to the neuro mess room. Despite the weed he smoked with Pandora the evening before, he slept like a war veteran and woke at every sound outside his flat walls. He feels like he’s dragging his feet up to the neurology ward, regretting his decision of not taking the lift because there was too many people already in it that would have risked him having to have a conversation at 7:30 in the morning.

Begrudgingly changing into his scrubs and shoving his bag into his locker with more aggression than needed, he makes his way onto the ward. He runs a hand through his hair and tugs roughly on the strands.

He needs to stop thinking.

James is not his entire purpose of living.

He’s a doctor, he needs to start thinking like one.

The sight of Euphemia at the desk makes his heart drop like a stone into his stomach.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

So much for not thinking about James today when he has to work with the woman that birthed him and gave him his stupid pretty eyes.

He mentally scolds himself. He’s Regulus fucking Black. He needs to stop acting like this. It’s only Euphemia. He knew her long before he knew of James.

Refusing to let his mental anguish cause a fault in his step, Regulus approaches the desk with the same faux confidence as always.

Euphemia looks up as he rounds it, face breaking out in a smile as he drops down.

"Morning, love," she says. "How was it yesterday?"

"Same as always. Did the man in 404 make it through the night?"

"He did indeed. Good job on the quick diagnosis. I’m surprised emergency missed it."

"I’m not," Regulus huffs. "The crew they had down there yesterday was abysmal."

Euphemia laughs, shaking her head. "You’re the reason why other departments are scared of neurology doctors."

"Good. They should be scared when they don’t do their jobs properly."

"Oh, stop it," she chides playfully. "Right, ready for the handover? We’re short staffed today again, and they were down two nurses last night so the tasks are already stacking up for today."

"Colour me surprised," Regulus drawls. "Go on then. Lets get this shit show on the road."

Regulus shouldn’t have been worried about Euphemia saying anything. They get through the shift as if the last four days never happened and Regulus never shagged her son last Friday. Her ability to not get involved is remarkable, and Regulus is more than grateful because his sex life and crumbling resolve is not something he wants to discuss on the hospital ward floor.

Lunch comes and goes without a visit from a certain coffee and sandwich delivery, so Regulus is resigned to go down to the cafe and get one of the overpriced and bland sandwiches. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he’s not sure if it’s from the sandwich itself.

He gets home that night exhausted. He barely makes it through the door and into his room before he collapses in a boneless heap on the bed.

The next day is the same. The same struggle of not having James occupy his every thought and pretending like he doesn’t feel like he’s missing a limb.

He’s being ridiculous.

He’s only been speaking to James for a few months. They’ve been on one date, kissed a handful of times and spent one night in bed.

It’s a minuscule amount of time compared to everything else in his life.

So why the hell can’t Regulus stop thinking about him?

Why can’t Regulus stop wondering what he’s doing?

Why can’t Regulus stop wondering if he’s sleeping okay?

Why can’t Regulus stop wondering if he’s watched anymore Bake Off and cried when his favourites leave?

Why can’t Regulus stop thinking about the wide expanse of his shoulders, the way his muscles in his arms ripple under his dark skin whenever he moves them?

Why can’t Regulus stop thinking about kissing him? About how addicting his lips were and the feel of his large warm hands running up his back and holding his waist?

This is why Regulus doesn’t do anything more than just sleep with people, because since that Friday night when he left, he feels like he left the warmth in his body behind in that bedroom.

No matter the normalcy Euphemia brings on shifts with her, Regulus is struggling to uphold his obliviousness to the colossal mess going on in his personal life with her son. She seems to continue as if Regulus hasn’t completely ghosted her son and ignored his messages, which stopped after the first day after Regulus ran out, and Regulus can’t decide if he wished they’d kept coming for a little bit longer so he knew for sure that James was feeling the same thing he’s felt.

His last shift is a night shift. Regulus’ day starts at being woken up at 10:30 from a phone call from Barty asking him to go out drinking that evening. Regulus barely manages to grind out a snappy reply telling the older boy that he has a nightshift and if he wakes him up again he’s going to stomp on his windpipe next time they see each other before hanging up without hearing Barty’s reply. He gets an apology text, but he’s still pissed off when he can’t get back to sleep.

Regulus is exhausted before the shift even starts.

Dorcas is at the desk waiting to give him the days handover when he arrives, looking prim and fresh despite being on shift for over 12 hours during the day.

"You’ve got Effie coming in at nine," Dorcas says once she’s sprinted through the handover. "She’s coming in late but she’ll be here all night with you. Good thing too, because emergency have snatched all your HCA’s for the night."

"Fucking brilliant," Regulus mutters, sipping the coffee he grabbed on his way up. "This is like the third week that we’re understaffed from emergency stealing our lot. What’s going on down there?"

Dorcas shrugs, "The general public has gone mad, they need all the hands they can get. I heard all the new HCA’s they got in September have quit as well. Can’t handle the heat apparently."

"Not surprised. I hate it down there."

"You have to be a totally different breed of person to choose to work in an emergency room."

"I wouldn’t last a week. I’d definitely get struck off for misconduct by telling someone to fuck off."

Dorcas barks a laugh. "It wouldn’t be mentally challenging enough for you, Doctor Black. You’d get bored of the blood and gore far too quickly."

"Got that right," Regulus smirks.

"So," Dorcas drawls, and Regulus feels his back instantly stiffen. "How’s Ja—"

"Don’t."

The older doctor blinks in surprise. "Pardon?"

"Don’t ask, Meadows."

The surprise on Dorcas’ face quickly morphs into one of concern. Her thick eyebrows become pinched in a frown.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Grand. Great, even. Everything’s fine."

"Did something happen?"

"Nope."

"Reg—"

"Nothing happened."

"It sounds like it did. I thought. . ." her frown suddenly turns hard, jaw clenching. "What did he do?"

Regulus’ head snaps up. "Nothing."

"Regulus Black, what did he do? Do you need me and Marls to beat his ass? I don’t care that Effie is my boss, if her son—"

"He didn’t do anything, Meadows. It just didn’t work out."

She frowns again. "But why?"

"Because it fucking didn’t, okay?" Regulus spits, rubbing his forehead.

It didn’t work out because I’m too fucked up to let myself open up to the prospect of commitment because everyone in my life has either hurt me or left me and I can’t take anymore—

"What did you do, then?"

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Why would you assume—"

"Because if it wasn’t him, then it was you," Dorcas interrupts. "So what did you do?"

"I’m not talking about this."

"Does Effie know?"

"I don’t know. She hasn’t brought it up."

Dorcas whistles. "You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Black. If I was Effie, I would have grilled you to Australia and back by now."

"Well she hasn’t, and you’re not Effie, so you can drop it now too," Regulus grumbles.

He knows Dorcas is going to have the same opinion as Pandora. They both have the same opinions when it comes to relationships. Both too naive and gentle in the sense that love is apparently the best thing in the world and relationships are as important as eating a balanced diet.

Despite both of them being the strongest women Regulus knows, they are both blind when it comes to understanding the simplicity that relationships are not Regulus’ thing.

James is the perfect example of why, because since Regulus walked out on him, he’s felt like he left something important behind.

Is this how Sirius felt when he left Regulus all those years ago?

No.

He won’t allow himself to think about that.

Regulus lets out a pitiful whine, head falling on his arms on the desk top. His brain just won’t shut up. First James, now it’s dragging up stuff about Sirius.

"Looks like a lot of hard thinking is going on in that big head of yours, Black," Dorcas says, voice unfairly soft. A hand moves through his hair, and the simple action is so gentle and comforting it almost brings tears to Regulus’ eyes. "Look, I don’t know what happened between you and James— or what 'didn’t' happen. But it’s clearly affecting you. Have you talked to him?"

"Nothing to talk about," he lies into his arms.

Dorcas hums, clearly unconvinced. "Sure. Then why are you acting like me and Marls when we have silly little tiffs?"

"I’m fine."

"You’re not heartless, Regulus."

"I don’t have a heart."

"Then why do you look like it’s broken?"

Because it is, Regulus wants to shout, but not by James. Instead, by people before him and it never got repaired.

"Me and Marlene are almost two years next month."

"How lovely," Regulus bites out.

"It’s been the best two years of my life," Dorcas murmurs, voice soft as if she’s revealing something truly beautiful, as if she’s admitting something that is too precious to be shouted. "You’ve seen me and her. She’s everything to me, and I’m everything to her. It hasn’t been easy, there have been little arguments over nothing, even big ones over nothing. We work it out in the end though, and we’re stronger now than we were two years ago because of the small hiccups we’ve had along the way. They’ve allowed us to learn about each other, to adapt to each others different ways and needs. Not everything is doom, Regulus, and you look at love and commitment like it’s destined to be doomed from the start."

"It is."

"It’s not. You know it’s not, because I can see by the look on your face that you’ve been thinking about him since whatever happened went down," she says. "Seriously, you’re a hot bit of ass, Black. Why don’t you let someone have a bite of it?"

"Shouldn’t you be going home?" He asks, braving lifting his head and hoping he’s done enough to mask his face again. "Don’t you want to go home to Marlene instead of sitting here with me giving me relationship advice?"

"If it helps you get your head out of your ass, I’ll wait here all night," she smiles. "Text him. Try again. One scare isn’t enough to throw it all away. Relationships are like the degree you took to get this job. You have to work hard at them, fail and try again to eventually succeed. It’s not worth it if it isn’t scary sometimes."

Regulus swallows thickly. "What if it’s scary all the time?"

Dorcas smiles sadly, as if she’s talking to a child crying over something so heartbreaking.

"Then you’re thinking about it too much," she says. "You’ve got to let things happen. Roll with it, loosen up, let it flow and don’t think."

Regulus scoffs, straightening up. "Have you met me?"

"Yes, that’s why I’m hear talking to your pathetic ass trying to gently make you realise that not everyone in this world was brought to you to try and ruin your life," she says. "Some people come into your life to make it better. Look at me, for example—"

"Oookay," Regulus drawls, batting her hand away from his hair finally. "You’re done. I’m bored of this now. Go home, you look like shit and you’re starting to smell like it too."

"King of flattery, Doctor Black," Dorcas smirks, standing up. "Seriously, though. I meant what I said."

"About how I’m a hot piece of ass?"

"No," Dorcas deadpans. "About texting James and fixing whatever happened. Give it a go. You won’t know you don’t like it till you try it."

"It’s not like trying a sandwich filling, Meadows."

"It’s about as complicated as that, or at least it should be, if you weren’t such a worry-wort—"

"Bye, Meadows!"

"Love you, Doctor Black."

"Get out."

"See you in the morning!"

"Get out!"

He gets started on his rounds once Dorcas has left and Euphemia has yet to turn up. With them being down HCA’s, the jobs they’d normally go fall to the next in line which should be the nurses, but he’d rather they run the bloods and urines for him so he doesn’t have to wait for the results, so he subjects himself to the observation rounds and checks on the patients. It’s a good form of distraction, too. Talking bullshit to patients and fake smiling stops him from sinking into the black hole that he likes to categorise as his own head.

He misses Euphemia’s arrival. He’s stuck in one of the side rooms explaining to a wife that her husband has had a stroke that involves a brain bleed instead of a clot and therefore the recovery routine is going to be different than his last stroke episode. He ends up having to drag one of the nurses in to comfort her in the end and get her a cup of tea as she can’t seem to understand anything he says past 'brain bleed' and despite his assurances, she becomes completely convinced her husband is going to die in the night after she goes home.

When the nurse that comes in relieves him from the torture, he slips out gratefully and makes his way back to the reception desk.

Euphemia is already there, reading through the handover sheet Dorcas left. Regulus sits down heavily, feeling like his bones have been replaced with lead and his muscles have become stiffened masses.

"I’ll just write up these notes then I can give you a bit of a rundown of the floor," he says, pulling out the files off the wall and flicking through.

"You should talk to him, you know."

Regulus’ head snaps up so fast he feels the bones in his neck grind. "What?"

Euphemia looks at him, expression neutral and unfazed. She must see something on his face, because a moment later, her eyes are softening more than he’s ever seen them.

"I don’t know what happened between you two. I don’t like to get involved in my sons relationships, he’s an adult and it’s none of my business - especially when the other half involved is someone I work closely with," she says, tilting her head for a moment teasingly. "What I do know, is that my son is incredibly forgiving when he’s given explanations, and every time I’ve seen him this week he’s looked as low and miserable as you."

Regulus’ heart is beating so fast he’s waiting for it to burst through his rib cage and land on the floor between them like in the gory scenes in Alien. His hand trembles were his fingers are loosely clasped around his pen.

Has Euphemia been talking to Dorcas?

What the fuck is going on?

"I. . . I don’t—"

"You don’t have to explain it to me, sweetheart," she smiles, shaking her head. "I’m not saying something to try and get involved. I didn’t want to mention it at all, because it’s not my place to say, but I can see you’re beating yourself up just over thinking about it."

"Just text him. I know my son, and I know enough about you to know that you both might become something beautiful." "Don’t think too hard, okay? I won’t bring it up again. I just want to make sure you’re going to be okay too."

Regulus shakes his head. "You shouldn’t. James is—"

"He’s my son, yes," she says, the smile on her face growing fond and impossibly more warm. "He’s my whole world and more, but you’re important too. He’s needed his mothers guidance more than a hundred times in his life, and I don’t care that you’re 23 and a doctor, you need a mothers guidance too sometimes."

Regulus feels like his throat has closed up.

Everyone is making it sound like getting close to someone isn’t terrifying. They all seem to believe it’s something to be cherished, cradled, enabled to grow and flourish. To Regulus, it feels like an accident waiting to happen and every moment of it brings him closer and closer to the edge of the train platform.

Can it really be that simple? It’s almost been a week, and is all he needs to do is text James?

No. He’s left it too long. James won’t forgive him, and Regulus doesn’t have the energy to try if it’s not going to work out - because it won’t. It won’t work because Regulus doesn’t know how to let people in, and James deserves more than Regulus can ever possibly give.

Regulus isn’t enough for someone like James.

"Why don’t you take a quick 10 minute break," Euphemia offers, standing up slowly. "I can discharge 407 while you’re gone."

"Oh, no, you don’t—"

"Take a break, love," she interrupts, squeezing the back of his neck gently and walking off.

Regulus feels struck. For a minute, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t feel like he can.

He does miss James. He misses his laugh and his touch and the way he can talk about literally anything like it’s the most exciting thing in the world. He misses the warmth that blooms through him when James looks at him like he’s the most impressive thing to walk the Earth.

Standing on shaky legs, Regulus all but runs to the mess room. He locks the door behind him, not caring if anyone else needs to come in because he just needs space for five minutes while he works out what he’s about to do.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, his hands trembling to the point that he looks like he’s standing in a room full of snow.

hello, sorry for running out on you last friday and

hello, sorry for ignoring your texts since I left last friday

hi, i’m sorry for leaving last week. how are you?

hi, i’m sorry for

Regulus lets out a growl, fingers aggressively smacking the backspace button. He closes his eyes, head tipping back and clunking with the door behind him. He feels like such an idiot.

Taking a deep breath, he types again, hitting send before he can erase it again and continue this anguish.

Regulus (21:47) hi. can we talk?

He pockets his phone quickly. No going back now, he tells himself. He just has to wait and see what James replies.

He unlocks the door and goes back onto the ward.

Euphemia was being honest when she said she wouldn’t bring it up again. She doesn’t even ask if he’s text James. She carries on as if their conversation never happened, and Regulus is grateful.

He’d be more grateful if James replied.

On his break at two in the morning, he’s standing outside smoking a cigarette staring down at his phone.

No notifications, no texts. Nothing.

With a stone in his stomach, his eyes travel up to the texts James sent after Regulus left that morning.

James (08:55) hi, hope you’re okay? did something happen this morning?

James (09:01 ) sorry, you don’t have to tell me if something happened. just let me know you’re okay when you can

James (12:10) I had fun yesterday, I hope we can do it again :)

James (19:23) you okay?

He even text the following day. A couple more texts asking if everything is alright and that he’s there if Regulus needs him.

The last text makes Regulus’ gut twist like the first time he read it.

He sent it two days after Regulus walked out while he was sleeping.

James (03:44) sorry for whatever i did on friday. hope you’re doing okay, don’t work too hard at the hospital and remember to eat and drink water - coffee is not a substitute. take care of yourself reg x

Regulus groans loudly, feeling more and more worse because James did not deserve to be led to believe he’d done something wrong.

Regulus should have lied. He wishes he’d text some web of a false story as to why he had to leave instead of admitting he ran away because it scared him.

Regulus (02:08) i know you’re probably asleep but i really need to talk to you and explain myself. i’m sorry for last saturday morning please text me when you can.

The rest of the shift drags. No amount of emergency patients or brain surgeries can distract Regulus from the feeling of his phone burning a hole in his scrubs pocket. He can’t even find it in himself to be excited when Slughorn asks him to assist on a spine fusion surgery at six in the morning because James hasn’t replied to him and Regulus is suddenly scared he’s messed up the first good thing in his life.

He gets off shift two hours late. Its gone 8:30 by the time he gets to his car. His nerve endings feel like they’ve been dipped in acid when he sees James still hasn’t text. His stomach feels like it’s pulsating and about to explode and he can hear the blood roaring in his ears as he looks down at his phone.

He’s scared to put this off any longer. Even if James turns him away, even if he screams and shouts and makes Regulus feel smaller than he already does, Regulus can’t shake the burning desperation to explain himself. James deserves to know the reason why he should hate Regulus.

Regulus (08:41) sorry i keep texting but i really need to see you talk to you. can i come over to yours? i promise i won’t stay long, i just need to explain.

Regulus (08:42) i’ll be at yours in half an hour. please open the door

His whole body feels like it’s vibrating on the drive there. His legs are shaking so bad they’re practically jerking against the pedals. He keeps zoning out, wondering what he’s going to say, how he’s going to make James understand and to think he’s a total mess.

Regulus doesn’t want to see the look of hatred and disgust on James’ face when he sees Regulus. He doesn’t want to see how James really feels when he opens the door to his flat and finds who’s standing there. He doesn’t want to see James laugh at him, call him pathetic and weak and ruined. He doesn’t want to hear the cruel words that might come out of James’ mouth, doesn’t want to hear what James really thinks of him.

He almost stops the car and turns around when he pulls into James’ street. He hates how nervous he's gotten, his hands so sweaty they're slipping against the steering wheel.

He parks outside, checking his phone for missed messages despite knowing there won't be any because his phone is on loud the whole way. He debates ringing James, perhaps that would be more civilised than just turning up when he's been ignored, but there isn't a good ending to that idea. James might pick up, which is a problem in itself. He could pick up to tell Regulus to leave him alone and hang up, or worse he'd want to talk on the phone which would lead to Regulus being the one to hang up. Or James won't pick up at all, declining the call altogether and making any hope of Regulus reaching out diminish in embarrassment and rejection.

Regulus has to manually slow his breathing as he climbs out of the car. His legs feel like wobbling jelly as he makes his way to the building main door. He can't tell if he's relived or disappointed that the door is on the latch and open without needing a key. If it had been locked, it would have been an easy excuse to leave and forgo this entire future sequence of horrible events that are looming.

Regulus holds onto the banisters on the way up. He feels as unsteady as a new born deer. The flat door is in front of him before he can process it.

He wraps his knuckles against the door before he can stop himself. Now he's here, he wants to erase the last week. He wants James to open the door, to forget what Regulus did and just accept him into his open arms. He wants James to pick him up like he weighs the heaviness of a pillow, arms wrapped around him and spin him so he giggles. He wants to wrap his legs around the older boys waist, to cradle James' face in his hands, to feel the soft skin and cheekbones under his fingers. He wants to kiss him, to feel the electric current run down his spine that comes with touching James. He wants James to hold him, to grips his waist like he's holding on for dear life, their bodies pressed together and mould into one.

He doesn't want to talk. He just wants to be around him, to feel what he felt last week.

He wants to feel that warmth again.

The door doesn't open. Regulus' heart pounds so loudly he can't even decipher if he can hear movement on the other side of the door.

He knocks again, feeling desperate.

Please open the door.

Please.

He wants to shout out. He wants to call James' name until he opens up and shows he's stupidly pretty face and round glasses that frame in front of his brown eyes.

No one makes brown eyes look as pretty as James does.

Regulus wishes he told James that while he had the chance.

His knuckles begin to hurt from knocking. Frustration bubbles inside him like burning water. He can feel tears beginning to sting the back of his eyes.

He's ruined it.

He ruined something good before he even had a chance to get a proper taste of it. He's done the only thing he's good at: self sabotage and destruction.

"Reg?"

Regulus spins around so fast his vision has dancing stars in the corners. A soft gasp escapes him, his back slamming against the door like a cornered animal.

James.

Standing there in crumpled clothes and messy wild hair. He looks so perfect, so delicious Regulus feels like his brain has blown a fuse and stopped working completely.

James who's standing there looking like he's caught a bewildered animal.

"Are you okay?" He asks, keys gently swaying and hooked on his fingers.

"You're here," Regulus murmurs, the words releasing before he's had a chance to catch up with what's happening.

"Well, this is my flat," James laughs slightly, still frowning and looking at Regulus like none of this is making any sense. Regulus wants to kiss the tension out of his forehead, stroke the harsh lines between his eyebrows. "I hope it's me you're looking for, or you've been knocking on the wrong door."

"N-no. No, I’m—" he shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. "I'm here to speak to you."

"Okay," James nods. He motions to the door behind Regulus. "Do you want to go in?"

"Yes please."

"Okay," James says again, flashing him a smile.

Regulus steps out of the way, for the first time in his life feeling too big for a space as he lets James get to the door. They're suddenly so close, so close that Regulus can see the small faint indents of acne scars on his cheeks and the whisks of shaven hair growing back above his top lip. Regulus is stuck between wanting to reach out and touch or slip aside and run away.

Either choice is taken away when James pops the door open and steps inside. There's another small moment where Regulus is waiting for James to come to his senses and slam the door behind him, but the older male doesn't do that. He holds the door open, expectant and waiting, a kind smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Regulus is sure his legs aren't going to work, but before his mind can make up if it's in flight or fight mode, he's stepping inside and James is closing the door behind them.

James comes round as if to move further into the flat, but he must notice Regulus still standing by the door like a statue, because he stops and looks even more concerned and confused than before.

"What's going on, Reg?" He asks.

Regulus opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He has to resist the urge to wring his hands together, something he hasn't done since he was a teenager.

"I texted," Regulus finally chokes out. "I. . . I tried to tell you."

"Oh," James says. "Sorry, Reg. I stayed round Peter’s last night and my phone died."

Regulus swallows, feeling like he's got a marble in his throat. "He didn’t have a charger?"

James chuckles easily, shaking his head. "Believe it or not, but Peter is a Samsung guy."

"Concern for friendship if they’re a Samsung user," Regulus replies. He can feel the tension in his shoulders slowly bleeding away. This is nice, easy even. This is the familiar James he remembers. "Don’t tell me he has a book phone case as well?"

"He doesn’t have a phone case at all. I’ve seen banger racing cars in better conditions than his smashed up phone," James laughs. When a moment of silence settles between them, he bites his lip and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "Let me plug my phone in and then we can talk."

Regulus feels himself nod despite not feeling like he's in control of his body anymore. "Do you want me to put the kettle on?"

"Sure," James nods, grinning. "You know where the coffee and tea is right?"

"Yeah."

"Sweet," he beams, turning on his heel and disappearing into his room.

Regulus feels like he's moving on autopilot in the kitchen. His fingers don't feel like his own when he flicks the kettle on and grabs two mugs from the cupboard. Everything feels like a fog, like he's watching the world through frosted glass as he spoons coffee and sugar into the cups and grabs the milk from the fridge.

The kettle clicks done the same time that Regulus hears padded footsteps come into the expanse of the open plan flat. He doesn't turn around, just robotically stirring the coffees. He stirs for longer than needed, but the hypnotic rhythm is hard to stop when he wants to avoid the inevitable about to happen now he's here.

When he turns around to place the cups on the table between them, he has to force himself to look up.

James has changed out of his jeans and jacket, now dressed in joggers and a old looking t-shirt. He looks so damn soft that Regulus wants to close his eyes and savour the moment, to walk into him and let himself be held again.

"So," James begins. "How've you been?"

It feels like a punch to the throat.

"Don’t do that," Regulus croaks, shaking his head.

James frowns suddenly, face dropping. "Don’t do what?"

"That. This!" Regulus stresses, pointing between them manically. "Don’t pretend you’re not mad and hate me and—"

"I’m not mad," James cuts him off. "Confused, yeah, but I’m not mad. I assumed something happened last week and—"

"Nothing happened," Regulus admits.

James just nods. "Okay."

"Nothing happened. I just left."

He nods again, slower. "Okay."

"I. . ." Regulus sighs, wiping his sweaty palms slightly against his jeans. "I left. I walked out, without a word, so why aren't you mad?"

James chuckles breathlessly. "Well, I figured you had a reason. Even if something didn't necessarily 'happen', I figured something was wrong. I just didn't know if it was you or me."

"It wasn't you," Regulus says instantly, almost desperately. He doesn't want James thinking that way.

"Okay," James nods again. "You ready to tell me what happened, then? Is that why your here?"

Regulus nods but doesn't speak. It's been all he's been thinking about for days, but now the moment is here to admit it out loud, he can't find the words to actually do it.

"I. . ." he growls in frustration. "I don't know how to do this."

James is looking at him, expression open and waiting but somehow not impatient. "Do what?"

Regulus shakes his head, feeling the familiar burn in his eyes. He blinks, refusing to cry. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Then don't explain. Just say it in the simplest way. One sentence, then we can break it down from there—"

"I don't know how to do let you in."

James blinks, then he nods, fingers twitching on his mug clasped between his hands. "Okay. Why did you leave on Saturday?"

"Because I was scared."

"Of?"

"Us. You. Myself. Take your pick," Regulus spits out.

James just nods. "So, commitment?"

Regulus groans, shaking his head violently. "No. It— you make it sound so pathetic when you put it like that and--"

"Okay, okay, sorry," James interrupts. "I didn’t— shit, I didn't mean to make you sound pathetic, Reg, I'm just trying to understand—"

"Everyone leaves," Regulus blurts. "Everyone either leaves, or they break your heart when they're not meant to. It's easier to not get attached to people, to not let them get too close so incase they do leave then it doesn't hurt as bad."

James stares at him, expression fleeting so many emotions. He settles just looking sad.

"Who hurt you so bad that you've grown to believe that everyone is going to hurt and leave you?" He asks, sounding so pained it feels like a knife is being plunged in Regulus' stomach.

"Everyone," he whispers. "Everyone in my family either left me behind or stayed around long enough to make me—"

"Make you what?"

Regulus shakes his head. He's not ready to admit what happens next.

"I can't let it happen again," he says. "I can’t— it hurts too much when people leave. It's easier to just stop anything before it becomes something important."

"Like me?"

"It was meant to be like that with you," Regulus admits, hysteria creeping into his voice. "But you. . . fuck, James! You messed it all up! You. . . you got in before I could even register you opening the fucking door, and now I don't want to let you go but I need to because I can't let myself be open to getting fucked over again and--"

"Woah, Reg—"

"I hate you because you've made me want you— need you, and we barely know each other, but this last week has been so hard being away from you and it-- it wasn't meant to be like that! It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, and then we were meant to go our separate ways, but last Friday was so good, too good and I don't deserve it and you deserve more than I can give. You deserve someone who isn't going to bail or destroy something good before it has a chance to be ruined—"

"Reg, please, stop and take a breath," James pleads, voice pained.

James is suddenly in front of him, looking down and hands cradling Regulus’ cheeks. When he blinks, his vision clears and he realises he’s crying, tears flowing down his cheeks and James wiping them away as they go. He’s panting, breath almost coming out in a wheeze. He feels like he’s run a marathon, chest tight and head spinning.

He swallows down the sob that tickles it’s way up his throat, instead gasping in a lungful of air.

"I was on a roll there," he rasps.

James shakes his head, never letting go of his face or stepping away. He stays close, so close that Regulus can practically feel the heat of his body warmth. "You were breaking my heart, Reg. I needed—. . . I had to get you to stop."

"I’m sorry," he whispers, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. He didn’t come here to hurt James. He never wanted to hurt him in the first place. He only wanted to save himself, because it’s been so long that he’s only had himself to protect from the world.

James shakes his head again, clenching his jaw. "Don’t apologise. Please, don’t you dare apologise."

"But I—"

"The only people who should apologise are the people that made you believe you aren’t worth loving and are safer alone," James says, voice hard yet shaking. "Shit, Reggie. You don’t— you do deserve good things."

"But—"

"No 'but’s!" James growls. "You deserve good things, and it’s fucking cruel and wicked that everyone used to walk away from you to believe that everyone in the future will too. It hurts, Reg, to hear that they hurt you so bad that you believe pain is only inevitable."

"It is."

Tears collect in James’ eyes rapidly. "No. No, Reggie, it’s not. Not everyone wants to hurt people. I don’t want to hurt you."

"I’m scared," Regulus whispers, sounding as fragile as he feels. "I’m so fucking scared of this. I want it, I want you but I— you might—"

James sighs, closing his eyes. A tear falls from one, rolling down his cheek and Regulus so desperately wants to wipe it away, but he’s too scared to move. When James opens his eyes, they’re slightly bloodshot, but the welling tears are gone. His hands move from Regulus’ cheeks to his neck, his thumbs stroking the line of his jaw.

"Reggie, I can’t promise that we’ll never leave each other. I can’t promise that we’ll stay together forever, because that’s not fair to make you believe that. I want to believe it, and I do believe it if we gave it a go, but I don’t want to promise you. Things change, the world moves sometimes too fast for us to keep up, but I do promise that I would never hurt you intentionally. This isn’t some huge mind game. I didn’t plan from the start to draw you in and leave you out to dry later down the line. I want to be with you, I want to spend time with you and do things. I want to spend hours just looking at you, studying every detail or listening to you talk and laugh. I look at us and I don’t see it ending badly. You can’t go through life always looking for the tragic ending because somethings last. You won’t know if we’re meant to be forever unless you let it begin."

Regulus closes his eyes, squeezing them shut.

"You’re right," James adds. "I do deserve good things, but so do you and to me, Reg, you’re good. You’re so good. You’re what I want, you’re what I think about all the time and who I get excited to hear and see. It’s meant to be scary, because sometimes scary is good, it’s new and fun and unknown."

"Scary is scary," Regulus argues weakly.

James laughs brightly, and while Regulus can’t see behind his closed eyes, he knows James’ smile would make him weak enough to melt to the floor.

Suddenly, he feels James’ forehead resting at the front of his curls, his arms coming to bracket his sides like a solid form of a safety blanket.

"I want this, Reggie. I won’t force you, but I want you to know I want to try. I’m scared too, but it means I want it badly if it’s scary."

"You make it sound so easy."

"That’s because it is," James murmurs. "They hurt you before, Reg, but they won’t hurt you again. I won’t let them."

"How are you not mad at me?" Regulus asks.

He feels James smile against his forehead.

"Because everything you said makes sense. It sucks, but it makes sense. I know some shit happened to you before you came back here when you were 18, and I hate that it’s hurt you so bad it still makes you feel undeserving and scared of good things. But, I want to change that. Please, let me change that for you."

Regulus lets out a shaky breath.

"Okay," he whispers.

He feels James jolt slightly against him. "Okay?"

Opening his eyes and looking up, Regulus nods.

"Okay."

— tbc.

Chapter Text

12

It’s been two weeks since Regulus turned up at James’ apartment and fell apart trying to explain his own incapability at pursuing happiness.

It’s been two weeks since James cradled his face like it was the most precious thing in the world and told him that he was scared too.

It’s been two weeks since Regulus said okay.

Truth be told, despite the last two weeks not being filled with dates and high end restaurants, Regulus has enjoyed it. The domestic subdue of their time together would have usually made his spine curl and hair stand on end. Instead, there’s something gentle about the way James has let himself into Regulus’ flat while the younger male is working overtime at the hospital and having dinner ready on the coffee table by the time he gets home. James always seems excited to see Regulus - never does he not smiled widely the moment Regulus walks in his front door as if the best thing has ever happened to him.

It makes Regulus feel like he’s worth something to smile at.

It took a few times to get used to. Regulus wasn’t expecting someone to be in his flat, for the whole vicinity to smell of Chinese food takeaway and old runs of Bake Off to already be playing on the TV. It took him a minute to gather his scattered thoughts at the sight of James lounging on his sofa and Slyvester draped across his legs.

The first time it happened, Regulus wanted to kick James out. He wanted to tell him to go home, to give him space to defuse after 13 hours on a busy neurology ward and let him drown his sorrows in enough wine to take the edge of the day off without ruining his next shift at work. It felt weird to him when James told him to take a shower while he does the dishes, and to come out and find James had actually cleaned up everything after them. Regulus wasn’t able to relax until the wine had kicked in and he’d somehow gone from sitting next to James to half slumped across his lap.

Then James had given him a foot rub.

Regulus didn’t complain from then on.

The first time James stayed over was actually Regulus’ idea, to both of their surprise. They’d both fallen asleep in the middle of some Master Chef reruns and when they woke up, it was well past 2am. Regulus didn’t have work the next day, and was tired enough from his run of four shifts that he told James to just sleep over instead of having to wake himself up enough to drive home. It was nice sleeping next to James, and even nicer waking up practically moulded into one another with James’ arms curled around his back and face in Regulus’ hair.

It was even better, of course, when Regulus took James into his mouth under the covers and made him see stars, and in return, James decided realigning Regulus’ spine was the best way to start the morning.

If Regulus was limping slightly till lunch time, then it’s only him and James that need to know.

Regulus has never been a fan of Christmas. It’s no surprise, growing up in the Black household that Christmas was not a time of cheer and family, presents and food, but instead it was large, prestigious balls and parties with stiff suits and his parents parading them around from a young age making them talk to business men. Christmas was always a sophisticated event, and the actual day usually consisted of their aunts, uncles and crazy cousins coming over for a formal dinner and the entire thing ending in havoc. Regulus doesn’t think he had a Christmas with his parents that didn’t end in either him or Sirius going to bed with a black eye and their bedroom doors locked shut behind them.

When Regulus first came to London for his first year at university, he spent Christmas alone in the halls while everyone else went home. They weren’t impressed when they got back to find that Regulus had spent the entire festive holiday on his own shut up in the dorm room studying as if it was any other time of the year. The following Christmas, Regulus, Evan and Barty were all living in the house and they all invited Regulus to go back with them to their individual family homes. Regulus went with Pandora, mostly because she was the most local and he knew her parents well enough by then to not feel like he was entirely intruding on the holiday.

It took Regulus a long time to adjust to what Christmas is supposedly meant to be like. With Pandora and her family, there was no screaming, no fighting, no fine dining parties with champagne flutes and business men prowling the crowd like lions hunting their pray. There wasn’t any punches or slaps when he spoke when he wasn’t meant to or when his shoulders weren't straight and spine stiff. Instead, there was a overdecorated Christmas tree in the corner of the Fontanye small and cosy living room, there was Christmas music playing the entire day on an old stereo on the window sill. Dinner was late, and it wasn’t a serving of the finest meats and perfectly diced up vegetables, but instead Mrs Fontayne’s chicken and pork roasts - because none of them like turkey - with huge helpings of veggies, roast potatoes and gravy thicker than melted chocolate. Pandora’s mum let him help in the chicken, taught him how to make her special roast potatoes and all the seasonings she put on the chicken and pork. They pulled crackers and wore the silly little paper hats, and afterwards, when they were full of food and different gins and wines, they played card games that didn’t end in a table being overthrown and someone getting sliced with a knife.

Regulus spent the whole of that Christmas waiting for the shoe to drop. He was waiting for the familiar environment to come out, for them all to suddenly turn on one another and make it feel like the Christmas he was used to.

But they didn’t. The day was amazing, peaceful. Regulus cried a lot in the spare bed that night.

When Pandora’s mum died, Regulus was surprised the invite was still extended to spend the following Christmas with them. It was certainly a more solemn Christmas, and Regulus did his best to make it as easy and nice for the Fontanye family as possible. He cooked the dinner as best he could, having practiced almost every other day for weeks leading up to the day so he could get them a nice roast on the table. Pandora and her father cried a lot, but Regulus didn’t mind. They didn’t play cards in the evening that year, but instead Pandora dragged them all onto the sofa to watch films and eat chocolates shaped like Christmas trees.

When Regulus qualified as a doctor, he worked the whole of the first Christmas. He didn’t mind, mostly because Pandora and her father weren’t going to be around anyway as they were going to Wales to spend it there. They invited Regulus to go along, but he’d already agreed to work the shifts at the hospital. Euphemia said it was kind of him to pick up so many, as it meant all the parents who were usually working it were able to be at home with their children and family.

Even after three years of having Christmas at the Fontayne’s, Regulus still can’t work up the excitement for the festive holiday like everyone else. It still feels like any other day to him, and he finds it incredibly annoying when people start saying Merry Christmas to him in the weeks leading up to it.

The Christmas rota at the hospital is arranged in August, so Regulus knew in the months leading up to the festive holiday that he wouldn’t be spending it with the Fontayne’s regardless of it they're local this time or not. Thankfully, Pandora said she was flying out to see her dad, who’s working at a wildlife sanctuary in South Africa, this year so she isn’t going to be around and more importantly, won't be on her own. She asked Regulus to go with her, but he said he’d already offered his time to the hospital. She called him sweet for doing it for the parents that worked there, but in reality, Regulus just didn’t want to risk spending the holiday on his own after having a few years of knowing what the time of year is meant to be like.

James comes round on the 20th - the day before Regulus starts a rough eight day stretch of shifts to get him round to the start of the New Years weekend. Evan has already been home for a few days, managing to wangle a whole two weeks off for the holidays which is like being given the ultimate golden ticket when working in health care in London. Barty left for home in the morning, and Regulus has had a running commentary over text of everything that’s happened so far on his train journey to Bath. James turns up around lunchtime, out of the blue and surprising because Regulus was sure he’d said something about going out with 'Wormtail' to get some last minute presents.

It takes Regulus a moment to notice the bags and boxes standing beside James when he opens the front door.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, eyeing the boxes. Is James planning on moving in? "What are all the boxes?"

"I’ve been waiting patiently for days for you to finally whip out the Christmas tree and decorations for your flat," James starts. "But we are now only five days away from the big day and while I adore your little flat with all its blankets and books and little plants that you somehow manage to keep alive despite working most of your life at the hospital, I am now scared that you aren’t even planning on putting up any decorations."

"I don’t have any," Regulus shrugs. "I don’t see the point."

James’ eyes widen. "Don’t see the—? Please, Regulus, my love, my star, stop right there! Speak no more, otherwise you’re going to properly break my heart in two."

Regulus doesn’t bother refraining from rolling his eyes.

"You can not have an undecorated house at Christmas!" James cries as he starts moving the boxes and bags into the flat, shaking his head. "You simply can not! It is tradition, and it is lovely."

"So," Regulus exhales, closing the door and looking at the pile now sitting in the centre of his living room, "that’s what’s in the boxes?"

"I went down to the Christmas market this morning with Wormtail and got you everything you need!" James beams, motioning to the boxes. "I figured you wouldn’t be a real tree kind-of-guy, mostly because I don’t think you’ll be able to deal with all the needles falling off and making a mess on the floor so I got you a fake one. Plus, it means you can put it up again next year. I didn’t know what colour you’d like for decorations so I went with the traditional colours, mum says they’re sophisticated and for some reason when I think of you and Christmas decoration, I think of my grandparents house - which is also why I didn’t get you any tinsel. I can imagine you’d think it’s quite tacky."

"You clearly don’t know me at all. I actually love tinsel."

James’ face drops. "What?"

Regulus hums, idly peaking into one of the bags. "I actually enjoy wrapping myself up like a glorified Santa and walking around my flat on Christmas morning in my birthday suit with tinsel being the only thing covering my modesty."

"Are-are you joking?"

Regulus looks at him. "What do you think?"

"I’m kind of hoping you’re not."

"We’ll never know now," Regulus smirks. "As you didn’t bring tinsel."

James’ cheeks are tinted rosey and red, eyes wide and jaw slack. "I-I can go and get some now. I can—"

"Let’s leave it up to the imagination, yeah," Regulus interrupts. "Consider it an early Christmas present."

"You’re evil."

"Not my fault you have a dirty mind."

James grins, eyes sparkling. Regulus feels like he could melt beneath them.

"So," Regulus motions around. "Where do we start, Buddy the Elf?"

Regulus genuinely had no idea how to decorate a flat with Christmas decorations. He mostly follows James’ lead, or lets James go on a flow by himself and instead just supplies him with coffee or gins and tonics along the way. James puts Christmas music on his phone, blaring out the same songs that Regulus has been forced to listen to the last few years with the Fontayne’s and that have been playing on repeat in all supermarkets and radio stations for the past two weeks. James singings along too, and despite it being incredibly bad and sore on the ears, Regulus can’t help but smile behind James’ back when he tries to imitate their voices.

It takes a lot longer than expected, especially as they take a spontaneous break on the living room floor when James seemed to find it an immense turn on when Regulus had to crawl under the tree to plug the lights into the wall. Regulus blames the gin, but he certainly isn’t complaining when they find themselves undressed on the floor and hungrily exploring every inch of each other in the mess of decorations and boxes.

Thankfully, James didn’t go as mad as Regulus feared he had: he only bought a small tree, barely standing three foot and able to be stood on the trunk in the corner. The decorations are all either red, green or gold, and replaced the blankets and throws on the sofa for Christmas themed ones. He bought enough fairy lights and covered every possible surface that even a blind man would have been able to see them all if he walked in.

When it’s finished, it looks like Santa and his elves threw up in Regulus’ flat. The entire place looks like a Christmas grotto.

"Do you like it?" James grins.

No. Regulus thinks. I think it looks horrendous and this is all a waste of time because I’m only going to be here for minimal time over Christmas to simply sleep before going back to the hospital.

"Yes," Regulus smiles. "I guess it’s alright."

James’ grin widens, arms wrapping around Regulus’ shoulders and back, pulling him close so their flush together. Regulus’ head automatically tilts up, and like magnets their lips connect.

Regulus doesn’t understand how every kiss they share feels like the first one. Heat sings down his spine, and he becomes hungry for more like an addict getting their first hit. James is a solid, warm wall against him, arms holding him like he’s something gentle, something James doesn’t want to let go and lose.

Kissing James, having him enclose around his shoulders or hold him at the small of his back makes Regulus feel more alive than he has in years. It sparks a light in his stomach, like someone has set off a firework, a feeling Regulus has never felt before but is slowly feeling himself crave. He yearns for James’ warmth, his touch and the sound of his laugh like someone would yearn for oxygen when sinking in a pool of water.

When they pull apart, they’re both panting slightly. James rests his forehead against him, and Regulus only then notices that the older boys arms have fallen from round his shoulders and now resting at the small of his back, one hand practically cupping his ass.

"Should we order food, or do you want me to go?" James asks.

"I think you deserve to enjoy and observe your hard work with the decorations for a little bit longer," Regulus murmurs. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. "Order what you like, though."

James decides on burgers, so an hour later and a takeaway eaten, they find themselves laying on the sofa with the Christmas lights twinkling around them and James telling him all about his plans for the next few days.

"Me, mum, dad and Pads are flying up to Scotland tomorrow to see my grandparents. We used to see them over the whole of Christmas but mum struggles to get the whole time off now, and Pads won’t go that long without seeing Moony anymore since we got back from university, so we’ll be flying back here about midday Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve has always been Marauders night. We’ve done it ever since we were old enough to be away from our parents for an evening. It started out as just hanging round mine, playing card games and drinking as much fizzy as my parents would allow us. Of course, ever since we were able we’ve been going to the pub. I think we’re going to the Leaky this year. We’re meeting a couple of girls that Wormtail knows and has recently bumped into, which will be nice. Christmas Day will be at mum and dads, of course. Padfoot will be there, as he always is. He’s basically as much of family as if he’d actually been born by my mum. I love Christmas Day, it’s always been the best anyway but it seemed to get ten-times better after Pads came to live with us. I think my mum and dad started putting in extra effort for him, because he apparently never did Christmas at home. Then Boxing Day, all the Marauders and family meet up for lunch. It’s so fun, there’s so many of us too because of all of Wormtails siblings. Mum’s got a night shift boxing night though, so she won’t be drinking this year which will be interesting. Then on the 27th all us Marauders are taking Wormtails little siblings iceskating because his mum has to open the shop again so we’re going to entertain them for the day. Then in the evening, we’re going to see my dads side of the family in Surrey, but it’ll be just me and dad because mums working and Pads is probably going to be spending some alone time with Moony and his mum. I’ll be back on the 29th, right in time for us to go out for dinner!"

Regulus blinks.

"That sounds exhausting," he says eventually. "You do realise Christmas is one day?"

"Well, yeah," James laughs, "But there’s too many people to see and fun festive things to do to cram it all into one day. Plus, Christmas is basically a seven day holiday anyways. Everyone knows this; it starts on the 21st and finishes on the 28th. Then everyone has two days to recuperate in preparation for New Years. It’s perfect!"

When James asks what Regulus is doing, he simply answers that he’s working. James pulls a bit of a face, clearly thinking Regulus is just working on Christmas Day, but he quickly hugs him and says he’s an angel for going to work on such a festive day in the year.

Regulus decides to not expand on the fact that he’s working the next eight days. James doesn’t need to know, because he’ll only worry and then it might spoil all the things he has planned.

James leaves late that evening, needing to get back to get a decent night sleep before travelling up to Scotland tomorrow. Regulus has to spend an extra few minutes turning off all the Christmas lights when he goes to bed, and he has to practically drag Sylvester and his sharp claws off one of the blankets draped over the back of the sofa.

Barty (08:22) first morning in the Crouch household and my mum woke me up at 7 for no reason other than it’s apparently 'unacceptable for people above the age of 20 to sleep in past dawn'

Barty (08:22) remind me why I subject myself to this torture every year?

Regulus (08:38) because if you don’t you won’t get your fabulous presents christmas morning

Barty (08:40) oh yes. how can I not be excited for another ugly cashmere sweater that I’m going to give straight to you or the shaving kit that will go straight in the fucking bin as soon as I leave this hell hole

Regulus (08:41) careful, bartemius. you’re starting to sound ungrateful

Barty (08:43) I’d rather be emptying bed pans right now than dealing with this bullshit

Regulus (08:44) I’m sure your parents aren’t far off that age. maybe next christmas you’ll get shitty bedpans instead of m&s finest christmas crackers

Barty (08:45) I don’t appreciate your sarcasm so early in the morning

Regulus (08:46) I don’t appreciate your whining. message someone else or suck it up

Barty (08:46) YOURE SO MEAN OVER CHRISTMAS

Barty (08:46) what happened to the spirit of Christmas?

Regulus (08:49) it died with my soul back in 1999

Regulus pockets his phone, turning back to the paperwork he should have finished 10 minutes ago.

"Doctor Black?" Alex says, walking up to the desk. "I discharged 404 and 405, but the lady in room 408 says she’s still waiting for her blood results and she wants to go home too. She keeps going on about a train she’s got this afternoon and—"

"No worries, Alex," Regulus interrupts, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone. "I’ll chase up the bloods now and go speak to her. Can’t have her missing her precious train, can we?"

"I have a strong feeling you don’t care about her train."

"You are correct," he murmurs. "I couldn’t give a flying fuck, but if she’s going to keep going on about it I’d rather she pissed off so I didn’t have to be the one she whines about it to."

Alex stifles a laugh. "At least she’s not flying. Though, I think you’d find some joy in telling her she wouldn’t be able to go."

"Be the final nail in the coffin for her Christmas, wouldn’t it?" Regulus smirks, closing the finished file. "Suffers a mini-stroke three days before Christmas and can’t get on a plane for 10."

"You’re cruel, Mr Scrooge."

Regulus flips her off as he grabs the phone on the desk. 20 minutes later, the bloods have been found, read and the lady in 408 is being handed her discharge papers. He barely has time after book an MRI scan and take a swig of his cooling coffee before the phone rings again.

"Neurology ward, Dr Black speaking," he answers.

"Hi! It’s Angie, RN down in emergency. We’ve got a non-epileptic down here who’s had a total of two tonic-clonic seizures today. One at home and one with us when they first arrived. We’ve got them stabilised but was wondering if we could get them up onto the neuro ward to make some more space down here."

"Have you done any tests already?"

"Just bloods. We’re quite swamped down here, so there hasn’t been time to organise anything else—"

"No worries. Send them up. We’ve got some beds," Regulus rubs his forehead. He’s only three hours into his shift and he can already feel a headache building. "If you wouldn’t mind sending up any paperwork you have ASAP. I’ll give it a read before we book anything."

"Thank you. You’re a life saver!"

"That’s unfortunately part of the job description," Regulus heaves a breath, putting the phone down and chugging the last of his coffee.

Regulus takes the file from the HCA that brings the seizure patient up and listens to their stuttering and horrifically shit handover before shooing them away and asking Alex to do another set of observations. After reading the paperwork and running a few scans, he admits to the slightly unimpressed patient that they’ll be staying for the rest of the day for observations to check for changes.

"Do I really have to stay all day?"

"If your numbers are still inadequate or you have another seizure, you’ll be staying all night as well," Regulus explains.

"But. . . it’s Christmas in a few days time," they argue. "I need to buy presents for people, and—"

"Yes, well, if all goes well you’ll be able to do your Christmas shopping tomorrow," Regulus huffs. He wants to ask what is it with people leaving Christmas present shopping until the last few days before Christmas. "You can, of course, DACA yourself, which incase you’re unaware, means to discharge against clinical advice, but I’ll require you to sign a large amount of forms to ensure if you drop dead outside the hospital it won’t backlash on me."

The patient stares at him in shock.

"I’ll be back in a few hours to carry out another round of assessments," Regulus says as he swiftly strips off his gloves. "If you need anything before that, ring the buzzer next to the bed."

Leaving the cubicle, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

James (12:02) we’ve landed safely in Scotland! Forgot how much colder it is up here in December, already regretting not bringing my thickest gloves :( hope the shift is going well! <3

Regulus (12:03) i am one more cheery christmas patient away from getting struck off for misconduct. glad you landed safely and I’m sure you won’t need gloves in your grandparents house

He spots Dorcas and Mary by the reception desk, and suspiciously three cups of coffee beside them. Deciding whether one is for him or not, he's going to have one to help him combat the rest of the idiots on the ward.

"Reggie Black!" Dorcas cheers when he drops down in the chair.

"Don't call me that."

"Be nice to me or you're not having this double shot americano I so kindly picked up for you."

Regulus sighs, looking up at her and batting his eyelids.

"So beautiful," she croons, punching his cheek. She hands over the cup. "Enjoy, Scrooge."

"I saw the rota, Black," Mary adds. "You poor bastard."

"Don't give him sympathy," Dorcas argues. "The twat volunteered for those shifts. It's the French in him. He thrives to ruin people's days and what better time to do it than the Christmas holidays?"

"Fuck off," Regulus grumbles.

"No plans for Christmas then?" Mary asks. "I'm guessing Evan and Barty have been dragged home by their ears and are hopefully having a horrible time. Where's Panda?"

"Africa," Regulus answers.

Mary blinks in surprise. "Not the typical holiday destination for this time of year, but when does Pandora do anything remotely typical."

Dorcas chuckles. "Nothing like sharing your Christmas dinner with meerkats and lions."

"Sounds a lot more riveting than eating it here," Mary grumbles. "You and me Christmas Day, Reg. Though I will warn you, I'm likely to be hungover."

"Always reassuring considering you're likely to be the only anaesthesiologist that day. Can't wait to see you try to cannulate with shaky hands."

"At least I'll be happy, you miserable, soul-sucking urchin."

"I'll remind you of that when you're vomiting in the mess room toilets between patients," Regulus smiles.

"Dorcas, I hate him."

"He probably hates you too, Mars."

Regulus nods. "Correct."

"I don't know why I put up with you," Mary grumbles, but then before Regulus can even give her a reasonable list why, she's giving him a loud and sloppy kiss on his hair and starts rubbing his shoulders. "Fucking hell, Black. Your shoulders are more tense than my mums when she's trying to cook Christmas lunch!"

The phone rings, and Dorcas snatches it up faster than Regulus can blink. He sips his coffee and tries to focus enough on the computer so he doesn't literally melt underneath Mary's surprisingly pleasant kneeling against the back of his shoulders.

Dorcas puts the phone down and meets Regulus' eyes with a familiar look.

"We've got nerve pain coming up," she explains. "Apparently they've been down in emergency all morning but the neuro consultant down there can't figure out what's wrong."

"Who have they got down there?"

"Agency. So fuck knows what's actually wrong with them. Apparently he's 55 years, was at work this morning when he suddenly collapsed and woke up with a headache."

"Let me guess. When I ask, he's going to say it feels like a thunderclap at the back of his head?" Regulus sighs.

"Don't be all doom and gloom!" Mary laughs. "If we're looking at a nice little IC bleed then you might get in on the surgery. Plus, I'll be at the head end making sure the fucker stays asleep. A Christmas miracle!"

"I'll be sure to tell the guy that while we're wheeling him into surgery," Dorcas grins.

"What guy wouldn’t be thrilled to be going on the surgery table and enabling two best friends to finally share some quality time together?" Mary smirks, ruffling Regulus’ hair as she wanders off.

"When is our new patient coming up?"

"Any minute now," Dorcas replies. "Want me to take this one?"

"Do you mind starting it and then if needed, booking him in for an MRI? I can take it from there."

"Ay, captain."

After Dorcas has wandered off, Regulus quickly finishes the paperwork he’s was meant to write for the non-epileptic that is not impressed about staying.

Barty (08:51) please explain to my why my mother thinks it is essential for me to wear a suit and tie every day leading up to christmas despite all us doing is going to a fucking m&s to get 'fresher vegetables' ????

Barty (10:38) it’s official. they’ve managed to already ruin christmas despite it still being 3 days away

Barty (12:35) the cousins are here. forgot how much I loath my family. wish I could disown myself and move to a different county

Regulus has to read the text twice to make sure he read it correctly that Barty didn’t add a little like you did.

Regulus (12:38) i’m going to take a lot of judgement as to what country it will be you choose to runaway too

He swipes onto James’ onslaught of texts, struggling to hide his smile.

James (12:35) I forgot how amazing my grandmas cinnamon cookies are

James (12:35) honestly just ate about 10 and I’m not even sure if I chewed them

James (12:35) purely just inhaled them like a Henry hoover

James (12:36) I’m going to bring some back for you because honestly, they’re the best thing since sex

Regulus (12:40) it’s going to ruin my christmas if you say these biscuits are better than sex with me

He’s also got texts from Evan and Pandora.

Pandora (11:31) pre warning now, my favourite french ray of sunshine, I think this holiday might end with me permanently moving out here. there is something much more euphoric about waking up to the sight of warthog’s in the front garden than the usual rats eating out of a knocked over bin

Evan (10:59) just found out from my dad that we both bought mum the same scarf and hat set… apparently I’m the one who has to now run out and grab her something else. want a free hat and scarf set? I’m sure you can pull off grey and lilac check ;)

He replies to Pandora saying if she doesn’t come back he’s chasing her out there, and said to Evan to get his mum a Molton Brown wash set and to give the scarf and hat to Lily for her birthday next month.

The patient they brought up, after Dorcas’ assessment, is sent into the MRI scan and is confirmed to have a subarachnoid haemorrhage. Regulus isn’t surprised when Slughorn asks him to assist, and much to Mary’s dismay, it isn’t the party in the operating room she’d dreamed of.

They do sneak outside for a cigarette afterwards though as a reward for not killing the guy.

The next few days pass in the same shit and unorganised fashion. Before Regulus knows it, he’s done three of his eight shifts and is waking up Christmas morning before the sun has risen to go in again. Having spent the whole of Christmas Eve shift down in A&E dealing with drunks, broken bones and split foreheads, he’s relieved to find when he gets back in at just gone 6am that he’s gifted to stay in his own ward for the merry, joyous day.

Regulus isn’t surprised to turn up and be told that he’s the only doctor on shift for the day. In reality, he finds it incredibly typical that all the agency staff they had booked decided that they didn’t want to spend the day looking after sick neurology patients and risk getting dragged down to emergency to deal with the burns from cooking lunch or the numerous stitches for the drunken people having too much gin, and instead wanted to spend the days with their families like they should have originally said they would.

Regulus isn’t surprised at all.

The beginning of the shift passes in the same blur that the last few days have. Fleeting hours of MRI scans, neurological exams and given the over-practised speech about the recovery of TIA’s and the difference between those and strokes.

Just after he’s managed to snag a coffee from the cafe that unfairly is only open half the hours it normally is because it’s Christmas Day, his pager goes off down in emergency. Resisting the urge to launch his coffee at the wall (or more appealingly, himself), he sets it down behind the reception desk and makes the familiar and annoying route down to the A&E ward.

"Someone paged for neuro?" He says.

"That was me!" A bloke in red replies. "Are you Doctor Black?"

"Unfortunately. You wanted me specifically?"

That’s never a good sign, Regulus mentally reminds himself.

"Yes. You speak French, right?"

Frowning, and becoming more confused than annoyed, he nods, "Yes. Why?"

"We’ve got a French patient who doesn’t seem to speak a word of English. All we can get out of him is him motioning to his abdomen."

"Do the NHS suddenly not employ translators for any specific reason?"

"They do, but not on Christmas Day," the other doctor shrugs.

Regulus sighs. "Of course. What bay?"

"Two. Thank you so much!"

Regulus walks away before the doctor has even finished thanking him, marching as fast as he can to bay 2 so he can get this translating done as soon as possible and get out of emergency before they can try and keep him down here.

He at least has the excuse of being the only doctor up in neuro today, but that won’t stop them from asking him for a few favours that never stays a few favours.

Whipping back the curtain, Regulus musters the best believable smile he can when feeling like he hasn’t slept or sat down in a week.

"Bonjour monsieur (Hello, sir)," he greets the gaunt, practically skeletal, gentleman sitting on the bed.

The man smiles. "Bonjour. Etes-vous un docteur? (Hello. Are you a doctor?)"

"Oui. Quel semble être le problème aujourd’hui? (Yes. What seems to be the problem today?)"

"J'ai un cancer de l'estomac. Mon médecin m'a dit de venir si j'avais des ecchymoses. Mon petit-fils m'a sauté dessus ce matin et maintenant j'ai un bleu au ventre. (I have stomach cancer. My doctor said to come in if I get bruising. My grandson jumped on me this morning and now my stomach is bruised)."

Regulus nods. Of course, what’s Christmas Day at hospital if you don’t bump into some unlucky fucker who’s battling cancer. "Je vois. Vous avez un port? Dans ta poitrine? (I see. You have a port? In your chest?)"

The man nods, pulling down his shirt to show the catheter port beneath the skin.

"Je ferai savoir aux médecins d'appeler votre oncologue. Avez-vous mal? (I will let the doctors know to call your oncologist. Are you in any pain?)," Regulus asks.

The man shakes his head. "Non (No)."

"Bien. Vous êtes entre de bonnes mains aujourd'hui, monsieur (Good. You're in good hands today, sir)."

"Merci docteur. Joyeux noël! (Thank you, doctor. Merry Christmas!)."

Regulus refrains from rolling his eyes. The man is smiling so wide it’s practically splitting his face in half. Despite the lack of hair and healthy glow and instead gaunt cheeks, he still manages to look like a grinning child.

"Je t'en prie. Joyeux noël (You're welcome. Merry Christmas)."

Heading back to the nurses station, he flags down the doctor who originally spoke to him.

"He’s got stomach cancer. Grandson kicked him in the stomach this morning and now he has excessive bruising. Might be easier to just call the oncologist and move him up there," he half turns to leave, and then remembers: "Oh, and maybe ask their ward manager to call in for an emergency language translator. I’m the only doctor in neuro today and I can’t spend the whole shift being a parrot."

In the elevator, Regulus sighs, head dropping back against the mirror. His phone has been going off relentlessly in his pocket. He’d text everyone before his shift started, just so no one could complain to him later that he didn’t send them Merry Christmas wishes on the day. Regulus doesn’t have a chance to even check his phone, because the elevator dings the neuro floor already and he’s being forced to step out.

He’s four sips into his luke warm coffee when one of the nurses come wandering up to the reception desk.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor Black—"

"The 'Merry Christmas' you wished me first thing this morning was enough," he interrupts. "And I’m guessing I’m correct in assuming that you haven’t come over here to wish me another Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, but to instead ask me to see a patient?"

"Yes. We have a new patient in room 402."

"I wish I could be wrong sometimes," Regulus mutters. Heaving a sigh, he stands up, "Fine. I’ll see to him now. What do we already know?"

"His name is Adam O’Connell. He’s 31, and has had a few appointments with his GP about various symptoms including numbness and tingling, loss of balance, spasms, pain everywhere, bladder and bowel problems and visual disturbances," the nurse explains from the file as she follows him across the ward. "His GP referred him to come here to have a more thorough examination."

"Lovely. Can you book me an MRI scan and I’ll get some bloods after I’ve examined him."

The nurse nods, trailing behind him and watching him snatch some gloves out of the box on the wall. "What are you thinking?"

"I’m thinking he’s having a shit Christmas if the GP arranged for him to have his appointment today of all days," Regulus replies, taking the file and stepping into the cubicle.

Regulus spends 45 minutes with Adam. He sends the bloods down with the nurse, asking her to personally put in a word about their urgency. The MRI scan shows exactly the scan Regulus was hoping he wasn’t going to see, and with dread already pooling in his stomach he has to explain to the patient that they’re going to perform a procedure called a spinal tap to confirm the rest of the findings.

When fluid is found in the antibodies extracted from the spinal tap, Regulus braces himself for the unfortunate conversation he’s going to have.

"Mr O’Connell," he greets. "We have all the results back from the tests today. Thank you for your patience, I appreciate it’s all been a lot and we’ve asked much of your cooperation today."

"It’s not a bother," the man smiles. "I just want to get to the bottom of whatever this is. It wasn’t all too reassuring being referred to neurologists in a hospital."

"I can imagine," Regulus muses feigning amusement. "So, I’m afraid I’m going to have to be blunt with you, in that your results have not given us good news."

The mans smile drops from his face as if Regulus has physically slapped it off.

"What is it?"

"You have something known as Multiple Sclerosis," Regulus says. "Do you know what that is?"

Adam shakes his head.

"It’s a neurological condition where your immune system attacks your nerves by mistake. In short and simple terms, your own body is damaging the nerves in your spine and brain, essentially slowly destroying them to the point that your body cannot sufficiently perform anymore due the scars it leaves behind on your spine and brain," Regulus explains. When the man doesn’t say anything, Regulus takes a moment to let it sink in before he adds, "The tests today unfortunately showed that your MS is specifically aggressive, and due to the severity of your symptoms it’s already considerably advanced. The physical tests I did with you today have unfortunately shown that despite your young age, your symptoms are advanced enough and already having done enough damage to your body that even with treatment, you have very little chances of relapses or treatment providing long-lasting effect."

"Am. . . am I going to die?" The man asks, tears steadily streaming down his face. "Please, I have a little girl. She— she’s only one. I can’t— I c-can’t die."

Regulus ignores the tightness in his chest.

"We will do more tests, and we’ll unfortunately be keeping you here for observations to deem the best possible treatment to give you as much time as possible before the disease—"

"What are the treatments?" The man interrupts. "Please, I’ll do anything. I need— oh shit, I need to see my little girl grow up!"

Regulus sits down in the chair beside the bed. He doesn’t know how long he spends talking to Adam, going through the upcoming tests, the stages of worsening symptoms, the treatments available and their processes and success rates.

When Regulus leaves, Adam is phoning his wife, the mans eyes red and swollen and voice choked.

There’s a stone sitting heavy in Regulus’ stomach that’s never been there before. As he’s walking back to the reception desk, he feels like he’s got a rope tied around his stomach and he’s trying to pull a car with no wheels.

The nurse is by the desk, writing observations in charts. She looks up when Regulus drops in the desk chair.

"Gutting isn’t it," she says, nodding to Adam’s cubicle. "On Christmas Day too. I hope his family can come in and see him."

"Yeah," Regulus swallows around a dry lump in his throat. "I’m going to take a quick five, if you don’t mind. I’ll have my pager on me, so just buzz if anything happens."

"Of course."

Regulus walks on shaky legs to the mess room. Finding it empty, he locks the door behind him and barely makes it to the lockers before he feels himself go boneless. Sliding down, the grooves of the metal doors and padlocks scraping harshly against his spine. He pulls his knees up to his chest and scrambles for his phone.

James picks up after the fifth ring.

"Hey!" James answers, voice cheery and so happy. "Merry Christmas, baby!"

Regulus hums flatly. "Merry Christmas, James."

"Oh no," James replies. "That doesn’t sound like a bummed out 'Merry Christmas and I’m grumpy because I’m at work instead of at home with a glass of wine and stomach full of roast turkey'."

"That’s because it’s not," Regulus sighs. "I actually couldn’t give a fuck if I was at home right now with a glass of wine and some stupid turkey."

"What’s happened?"

"Oh, you know. The usual, average Christmas Day on neuro ward," Regulus shrugs, head thunking back against the lockers. "Strokes. Brain haemorrhages from people falling ass over tit after they’ve had too much sherry. Epileptics that forgot they had to take their medication because their disease doesn’t stop over the holidays. Oh! And I just got to diagnose a lovely 31 year old with aggressive MS and tell him that he probably only has about six months before he’s wheelchair bound and shitting in a nappy. Merry fucking Christmas to all, because I definitely ruined that guys bloody day."

"Oh, Reg," James whispers. "I. . . I don’t—"

"You don’t need to say anything," Regulus snaps, voice coming out more shaky that sharp. "Please, just— fucking hell. Tell me something funny. Please, someone in that house must have done something stupid over the last few days that is going to make me laugh enough to cry so I can pretend the tears burning my eyes right now are from that and not from the look on the guys face when I said he probably wouldn’t be here for his daughters 5th birthday."

James is silent on the other end of the phone, and all it does it bring tears to Regulus’ eyes. He swipes them roughly. He won’t cry over this. He’s hasn’t cried at work since Pandora told him over the phone that they were stopping her mums chemo treatment because the cancer wasn’t responding to even the most aggressive medicines.

"I don’t know why this has got me so messed up," Regulus chokes. "I’ve literally had teenagers flatline on me and not be able to get them back, tell children their parents have had such an irreversible brain bleed that their parent is going to be wheelchair bound and about as useful as a broken broom. I’ve seen so many people die and it hasn’t bothered me, but this guy— fuck. . ."

James makes a broken sound over the phone. "It’s because it’s Christmas Day."

"No it’s not," Regulus grumbles.

"It is," James insists. "No matter how much you pretend you don’t feel it, it’s the magic of Christmas making this more heartbreaking."

"James—"

"Tell me you haven’t thought at least once today about how what you have to do is going to be harder because you’ll be letting people down on Christmas Day."

Regulus closes his eyes. He won’t admit James is right.

"I’m taking your silence as confirmation."

"I’m struggling because I’m tired."

"I’m sure you are," James says softly. "I wish I was there. I’d come in with a coffee and give you a huge hug."

Regulus thinks a hug sounds really nice right now, but the nurses on shift don’t seem like the decent-hug types.

"I’m sorry you’re having a shit Christmas," James says. "Do you want to talk to mum? At least she’ll understand all the neuro stuff you’re stressed about."

"Never offer me to talk to your mum again," Regulus whines. "That’s so weird and only reminds me that I’m dating my bosses son."

James laughs, loud and bold and so so lovely. "Sorry! Won’t happen again, I promise."

"She shouldn’t have to put up with it anyways. She’s on holiday, enjoying the stupid Christmas cheer and all that bollocks, not putting up with my little crisis at work."

"You know she’d love to talk to you, especially if you needed it," James muses. "The only time she’s talked about you to me has been when she talks about you being able to run the whole ward on your own like a champ."

"Are you going to call me pathetic if I admit I don’t feel like a champ today?"

"No, love," James whispers.

Regulus clenches his eyes closed. Fuck, he feels pathetic even if James won’t tell him he is. He rests his head forward, cradled in one hand while the other holds the phone against his ear.

"Are you alright?" James asks gently.

Regulus barely contains the urge to shout out and ask for James to come to the hospital and give him the hug he teased about. Though Regulus isn’t sure he’d be strong enough to not then leave with him.

"Tell me about your day," Regulus says. "What did you get for Christmas?"

"Pads got me these wicked new lights to go on my car that I’ve been wanting for ages but haven’t been able to justify the price. My grandparents got me this super fancy shower stuff, like apparently it costs a ridiculous amount and should last me all year. So I’m going to be smelling like black pepper for the next 10 months. Oh! And my mum and dad got me this really soft black and grey sweater!"

Regulus hums, smiling despite himself. "Sounds lovely."

"No."

"What?"

"You can’t have it."

"Have what?"

"The sweater, Regulus."

The laugh that punches itself out of Regulus’ chest is a surprise but a relief. "I never said I was having it?"

"You’re a jumper thief, Reg."

"I am not!"

James chuckles, "I’m pretty sure my green, black and blue striped sweatshirt isn’t in my own wardrobe anymore but in yours?"

Oh, that sweater.

"It matches my scarf."

"Your black scarf?" James teases.

"Yes, and my favourite green scarf," Regulus argues. "Plus, you look ridiculous in it. Your shoulders are too wide for it and it stretches the fabric."

"It’s literally my size," James laughs. "You look like you’re drowning in it!"

"You can’t admit it doesn’t suit me."

"Wouldn’t care if it didn’t," James sounds fond, and Regulus can picture his sweet little smile. "I think it’s cute when you wear my clothes."

"Well, your jumpers aren’t safe but your shoes certainly are."

"What’s wrong with me shoes?"

"What isn’t wrong with bright red converse?" Regulus scoffs. "You look like a clown whenever you wear them."

James gasps. "They’re lovely and vibrant!"

"Of course they are, darling."

"You’re so mean," James cries. A moment of silence passes between them. It’s nice, Regulus decides. Phoning James was the right decision. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Much," Regulus murmurs. "Thank you."

After Christmas Day, Regulus’ three night shifts pass in a blur. It’s nice to have Euphemia and Dorcas back on the ward. The pressure isn’t taken off despite the more doctors being in, and Regulus gets dragged into more surgeries with Slughorn at least to make the days more exciting.

James seems to catch on during Regulus’ last night shift that he’s been at work almost every time they’ve texted and phoned, but Regulus blows it off by saying he’s been called in.

The morning of the 29th, Regulus gets off three hours late due to the day doctors being instantly dragged down to emergency for a trauma call coming in which lands Regulus in the unfortunate hands of keeping the neuro ward afloat for a few hours.

When he finally makes it home, he feels so dead on his feet he doesn’t even make it to the bedroom. Instead, he collapses on the sofa and wraps himself in one of the ugly Christmas throws that James brought over and is enwrapped by the sandman within minutes.

Somehow, by a miracle of sorts, he doesn’t sleep the entire day and night away and mangoes to rouse himself still with four hours before his meal with James.

He phones Pandora while he’s getting ready, even leaving her on speaker while he showers because she has so much to catch him up on about the animals and the African way of Christmas that he only manages to change the subject when he’s getting ready and needs her to confirm his outfit choice for the evening.

James offers to pick him up, but when he then admits that he’s only just got home and has been driving all day back from Surrey, Regulus declines and says he’ll pick him up instead. When James asks if he’s safe to be driving, Regulus has to spend over five minutes assuring the older guy that he slept for easily five hours today and yes, that’s enough.

Regulus parks outside James’ building, dropping him a text to let him know he’s here.

When James comes bounding out a few minutes later, his cheeks are flushed and he’s walking to the car with a bounce in his step that makes Regulus’ chest clench.

"You might want to drive away," James says as he buckles in. "Pads has been oggling out the window at your car for the last five minutes trying to see you and has threatened to come down. He likes your car though!"

"Fantastic," Regulus grumbles, putting the car in drive and pulling from the curb straight away. "If this Pads is anything like you then he’s bound to be incredibly insufferable and I don’t want to meet him."

"Hey!" James cries. "You love me! I’m not insufferable."

"You were at the beginning," Regulus teases. "I suppose I’ve got used to you now."

"I missed you this week," James says. "I can’t believe you worked the whole of Christmas. You’re like a walking Christmas miracle in that place."

"Some would say it would fall apart without me," Regulus muses. "Where are we going again?"

"You like Indian right?"

"I do. Would it have ruined your plans if I said no?"

"It would have ruined plan A," James winks. "You know the Masala Zone place by Piccadilly Circus?"

Regulus nods.

It’s only when they get out of the car that Regulus gets to have a proper look at James, and he drinks the sight of him like he’s been deprived of it for months. Curls as wild and untameable as always, his shoulders are hidden beneath a white buttoned up shirt and a blue denim jacket thrown over the top. His legs are clad in black jeans and tucked into the lips of a pair of black boots.

"You aren’t wearing your red converse," Regulus blurts, aware he’s staring like an idiot at James’ feet.

James looks down and laughs, shaking his head as he grabs Regulus’ hand to bring them both flush together.

"Sorry, I thought you said they make me look like a clown?"

"Well, yes, but— I didn’t—"

James cuts him off with a kiss. Sweet, slow, gentle and tender.

"Pads told me to wear these. He said they went better with the jeans and jacket," James whispers against his lips.

"They do look lovely," Regulus murmurs.

"Only lovely?" James grins, biting gently at his bottom lip. "I was aiming for sexy."

"Maybe save the sexy for after we’ve eaten," Regulus rasps. "Kiss me again."

"Yes, doctor."

When they get to the restaurant, they’re both flushed and slightly out of breath, and there’s a shine of sweat on both of the backs of their necks.

The first half of dinner is spent with James telling Regulus again, but this time in person with more detail, the events of his Christmas. Regulus listens, and mostly watches the pure joy and excitement on James’ face as he talks about the things he did with his family, about the drunken games that were played and his mothers amazing cooking. James’ body seems to come alive when he talks about his friends on Christmas Eve and about how they got so shit-faced he had to half carry home Pads and make sure he drank his weight in water back home to make sure he wasn’t hanging out of his ass the next day.

"Did any of your plans get ruined by work?" James asks after he’s swallowed a mouthful of rice and sauce.

"Oh, no," Regulus shakes his head, stalling by delicately cutting up his chicken. "I didn’t have any plans anyways."

James freezes. "No plans?"

"Of course not," Regulus shrugs. "No one was here, and I already knew I was working the whole of it."

"I thought you got called in the last few nights?"

Regulus sighs, finally meeting brown eyes across the table. "That may have been a twist on the truth."

"Reg. . ." James starts, but Regulus doesn’t want to hear the pity of it. It’s not like this is anything new to him.

"It’s fine," Regulus shrugs. "What better way to avoid spending the whole of Christmas on your own than spending it slaving away in an underfunded and understaffed hospital wing."

James looks at him with an expression Regulus can’t decipher.

"It’s fine, honestly. Evan and Barty are home with their families and Pandora is in Africa with her dad. It happens, it’s the holidays and people spend it with their parents."

"But not you."

"No," Regulus murmurs. "Well, it’s hard to spend Christmas with family when you don’t have any."

That clearly wasn’t the right thing to say, as James’ face falls like he’s been diagnosed with a terminal illness and less than 24 hours to live.

"I had a few nice Christmas’ with Pandora’s family since I met her," he explains, trying to see if it will make James look less like a kicked puppy to hear he’s got at least some nice Christmas experiences. "I’ve only spent one Christmas on my own and that was in first year of university. Safe to say the guys weren’t impressed when they came back so Pandora dragged me to hers the following years after."

"Why did you spend Christmas alone?"

"Christmas wasn’t all fairy lights and fun in my house like it was for everyone else," Regulus sighs. "Christmas was hardly anything to look forward to growing up. Didn’t see the need to start loving it now."

James doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He’s staring at Regulus with the intensity as if he’s trying to figure out if he’s being lied to.

Slowly, James reaches across the table and takes Regulus’ hand in his own. The warmth seems to spread up Regulus’ arm, and he almost shivers in surprise.

"Next year, you spend Christmas with me," James decides. "I’ll teach you the reasons to start loving Christmas."

Regulus smiles, genuine and grateful. "Okay."

Later, when they’ve finished dinner, James invites Regulus back to his flat, claiming he’s finally got some free space as Pads has gone over to Moony’s. Regulus follows him up like a puppy, holding his hand so tight like he’s afraid to let go.

James barely lets him take five steps inside before he’s kissing him again. This time its hungry, desperate, and pretty messy but Regulus is fine with that. He shares the same desperation as James, the same need and crave to feel him again.

They barely make it to the bedroom before clothes are dropping on the floor like his Christmas tree shedding it’s needles. Regulus drinks up the sight of his broad shoulders, the smooth feeling of James’ skin beneath his exploring hands.

For a long moment, Regulus isn’t sure what’s woken him up. He’s warm, face smushed against something solid and rhythmically moving up and down against him. His eyes feel so heavy he’s convinced someone has tied weights to his eyelashes in his sleep.

A shrilling sound fills the room. Disoriented and angry at whatever it is, he grumbles and pushes his face further into the soft warmth, curling like a cat.

Something laughs above him. A hand suddenly cards through his hair, twirling the small curls at the line of his neck.

"What the fuck is that sound?" Regulus grumbles, becoming aware enough that the warmth he’s squashed his face into is likely the space between James’ neck and shoulder.

"Your phone," James replies.

Regulus groans, high pitched and whiny. "I didn’t set any alarms."

"I’d move and have a look, but you’re kind of pining me down," James murmurs.

"Fucking, fuck fuckwit, fuck!" Regulus curses, rolling off James and mourning the way the arms around his shoulders fall as he moves to sit up. He snatches the phone off the side, glaring at the lit up screen.

"What do you want?" Regulus answers. "It’s eight in the morning."

"Good morning, my angel!" Barty cheers. "I’m so sorry to ruin your beauty sleep, but guess who’s trains have been cancelled until tomorrow morning."

"Are you seriously asking me for a lift right now?"

"It’s either I beg and grovel you or I put up with my dad in the car for three hours and after putting up with that prick for the last eight days, I think another three hours will end with me either in a psychiatric unit or a jail cell for murder."

Regulus groans, rubbing his eyes.

"I’m so sorry, mate," Barty sighs. "I’d ask Evan but he’s still at home apparently."

"Of course he is," Regulus mutters angrily. "You fucking owe me for this."

"I’ll buy all your drinks on New Years," Barty offers. "Please, Reg, I will give you anything—"

"Yes, yes, shut up," Regulus snaps. "It’s too early for grovelling. I’ll see you in a few hours."

"I love you!" Barty cheers.

"And I hate you," Regulus mutters, hanging up before Barty can say anymore.

Throwing the phone on the table, Regulus collapses backwards, head landing on James’ stomach. He closes his eyes, but can feel James looking at him. A hand skims a stroke across his cheek.

"Everything okay?" James asks.

"Trains are useless and Barty needs picking up from Bath," Regulus grumbles.

"Good thing you drove over here last night then," James muses. "When are you going?"

"Could you hit me with my car first?" Regulus whines, rolling over and pressing his face into James’ stomach. "Break my legs so I can’t and can instead spend a few days in a hospital bed attached to a morphine drip?"

"Cute idea, but not really on my list of to-do’s today I’m afraid," James laughs. "Plus, I don’t want to have a Reg-shaped dent in my car and yours is too nice to ruin too."

"Fuck off with your logic," Regulus snaps.

"Come on. I’ll make you breakfast before you go and you can use Pads’ flask to take coffee in."

Regulus looks up at James and puts on his best puppy dog eyes.

"Can I borrow a jumper?"

James laughs, shaking his head. "Why didn't I see that one coming?"

Forty minutes later, Regulus is wearing James' second favourite blue sweater and on the road, no more happy about it than when he got the call.

Traffic, unsurprisingly, is horrific and takes him closer to four hours to get to Bath.

Barty is waiting outside for him when he arrives. Practically opening the back doors to chuck his bags in before the car has even stopped.

When he climbs in, he’s telling Regulus to drive before he’s even closed the door behind him.

"Drive, Reg. Drive now, before they come out and try and talk to you!"

Regulus finds it ironic that that’s the second time something like that has been said to him in the last 24 hours.

"Fuck me sideways, Reggie," Barty gasps as they’re pulling away. "You look awful!"

"Merry belated Christmas to you too, Bartemius," Regulus grumbles,

"No, seriously, you’ve taken the whole 'i’ve not slept in a hundred years' look to a whole new level," Barty says. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night, like everyone else."

"I’ll rephrase, when was the last time you had eight hours of sleep and a day off work?"

Regulus pretends to think about it. "About four years ago before I shipped myself to university."

"Regulus."

"Barty."

He can feel Barty’s eyes on him, but he keeps his eyes on the road. He’s more than  aware that he looks like shit. Eight days at hospital and four hours of driving would do that to a normal person.

"Did you really work all of Christmas?"

"Yes," Regulus sighs. "You know that, we were texting each other the entire time."

"But you have New Years off, right?"

"Yes, you also know this," Regulus reminds. "I go back on the 2nd."

"You’ve given yourself four days off?"

"Is that not a substantial amount of time to celebrate the New Year? It’s one night?"

Barty huffs in agreement.

They get through two tracks on the radio before Barty is breaking the blessed silence again.

"So, how’s James?"

"Why did you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you’re teasing me."

"That’s because I am, my little star struck bouton nez chérie (button nosed sweetheart)."

"Don’t speak French to me," Regulus chides. "And James is fine. He’s has a lovely Christmas galavanting around the country seeing family and opening presents."

Even Regulus can spot the fake cheer in his tone.

"Did you miss him?" Barty croons.

"Certainly more than I missed you," Regulus mutters, but clearly it was loud enough for Barty to hear judged by the exaggerated and pained gasp from the passenger seat.

The next day, it’s New Years Eve and the university band are all back together. Pandora has somehow managed to spend over a week in South Africa and come back as pale and crystal as she went, much to Evan and Barty’s amusement.

Pandora brought them all back presents: matching crocodile tooth necklaces and wooden handcrafted ash trays that Barty claims is an excuse for them all to start properly smoking.

The night of New Years, everyone is planning on piling round Regulus’ flat for pres like normal to then go to the Leaky and meeting everyone else there. The only thing separating it amongst all the other night outs they have is that Pandora picked up a bottle of Absinthe from the airport and Barty claims it needs to be completely drank before they leave.

Regulus has only just got out of the shower when James phones. It’s a FaceTime call, much to Regulus’ chagrin so he has to prop his phone against the side while he’s in the bathroom drying his hair.

"By the way," James says suddenly. Regulus has a feeling he’d tuned out of whatever James was saying before. "I’ve had a change of plans tonight."

"Oh, yeah," Regulus mutters, focused more on getting his curls to fall the right way. "What’s happened?"

"Nothing bad. Peter just said about going to the Leaky tonight."

Regulus startles so hard he drops his comb.

"What?"

"The Leaky," James repeats. "Apparently Mary is going so—"

Regulus snatches the phone off the side, staring down at James’ slightly startled expression. "You’re going to the Leaky? Tonight? As in the Leaky Couldron? Tonight?"

"Yes," James replies slowly. "Why?"

Fucking shit.

"That may or may not be where I’m going."

James stares at him for a long moment. He blinks once, twice, and then it seems to sink in.

"Oh my god!" He cheers, grinning. "Yay! New Years together!"

"Not yay new years together!" Regulus hisses. "You’re going to be in the same building as all of my friends and I’m going to be near all of your motley crew!"

"Is that bad?"

"Well, it’s not going to end well, is it?"

"Oh, don’t be such a pessimist!" James whines. "It could be fun! You’ll love my friends! Plus, you’ve already met Remus."

"In a hospital setting," Regulus says flatly. "Where I am his doctor and he is my sick patient. Not in a pub in London playing pally because I’m shagging his friend!"

"Is this really freaking you out?" James asks. "I can try and convince them to go somewhere else. . ."

"No," Regulus grounds out, sighing heavily. "No. Sorry. It’s fine. It. . . you shouldn’t make your friends go somewhere else because of me."

"It’ll be okay, Reg," James says, smiling softly. "I promise."

Regulus puts the phone down, finishing his curls and putting the comb away.

"Do you know what you’re wearing tonight?" James asks and Regulus walks them to the bedroom.

"I have an idea. I’d tell you, but considering you’re going to be there now, I think I’ll leave it as a surprise."

"What a tease," James chuckles.

The door goes, and Barty’s voice rings out.

"Got to go. They’re here," Regulus says.

"I heard," James smiles. "See you late, love."

"Au revoir, soleil (Goodbye, sunshine)."

James’ face is beaming when he ends the call.

"REGGIE!" Barty suddenly screams.

Tossing the phone down on his bed, Regulus pops his head out his bedroom door.

"What?"

"Oh, you are here," Barty grumbles. "What are you doing?"

"Sitting on my bed," Regulus steps into the kitchen. "Is that such a crime?"

"He was on the phone with James," Pandora says from the cupboard where she’s getting out the shot glasses.

"What?" Regulus startles. "How. . ."

"I didn’t," Pandora smiles. "But the look on your face just confirmed it."

Regulus grumbles under his breath in French but Pandora just beams at him, placing the shot glasses on the table and pulling out a bottle of bright green drink.

"Ready to party, boys?"

"What percentage is that?" Evan frowns, while Barty is beside him practically vibrating with excitement.

"75%," Pandora says, pouring them all a glass. "Bottoms up!"

It is safely the most vial thing Regulus has ever consumed, and judging by the looks of everyone else, they agree with him too.

"Right!" Evan says, smacking the countertop and still shivering from the shot. "You two, go and get ready. I’ll keep Bartemius on a leash and make sure he doesn’t down that bottle while you’re gone."

Pandora nods, grabbing Regulus by the hand and practically dragging him back into his room.

She gasps, looking at the clothes on the bed. "Is that the fuck-me green shirt?"

Regulus smirks. "It is."

"Are you meeting James tonight?" She asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling out her clothes and makeup bag. "Probably not a good idea after a night of drinking at the Leaky. I can’t imagine you’ll be doing much together apart from drinking water and him holding your hair back while you vomit up your life choices."

"Actually," Regulus starts, hanging his towels up, keeping his back to her. "He just phoned to say they’re going to be at the Leaky tonight."

Pandora doesn’t say anything for a moment.

When she does, her voice is gentle and cautious, like she’s speaking to a wild, scared child.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Regulus shrugs, letting out a heavy breath. He turns, dropping down on the bed beside her.

"Just feels weird."

"Daunting, I imagine," she agrees. "Two worlds colliding. What are you more scared of, him meeting us or you meeting his lot?"

"Both?"

"You shouldn’t be scared of us," she smiles. "We’re an acquired taste, but we’re very pleasant and for all their teasing, Barty and Evan won’t do anything to chase him off."

"I know," Regulus nods. "Maybe it’s just meeting his friends then."

"What’s so scary about that?"

"Come on," he scoffs, glaring at her. "I’m hardly the easiest person to get along with. I don’t care if they don’t like me, but I care about. . . I want James too, and if his friends—"

"You’re more likeable than you think, mon ange," she murmurs. "Plus, James won’t stop seeing you just because you don’t gel straight away with his friends. He knows you, hell, when he first met you I’d bet my top set of teeth that you were horrible to him. He knows you warm up eventually."

Regulus gives her a flat look. "How flattering."

"Are you disagreeing with me?" She smiles. "Because I rather like my top teeth."

Regulus moans, dropping his head in his hands.

Pandora clicks her tongue above him, hand rubbing the tense line between his shoulders.

"Come on, my favourite drama queen. It’ll be fine, and if its not, then you’re in the best place on the best night of the year to drown your sorrows away."

"Fine," he sits up, "But if Evan and Barty start grilling him, I need your help getting them away."

"Of course, mon ange," she says, kissing his cheek. "Now, my eyeliner?"

The Leaky is packed out more than normal. Crowds of people are hanging out the front, loud and excitable as they smoke and exaggerate the alcohol in their systems. Inside is hot and stuffy, and Regulus wants to say more so than normal.

He’s unfairly sober, which feels like it can’t be true due to the 75% alcohol he was forced to drink at his flat, but it seems his body is burning through the alcohol faster than ever and leaving him tense and stone cold sober.

Barty is dragging them to the bar where Dorcas, Marlene and Mary already are. The moment Mary spots Regulus, she grabs him by the shoulders.

"James is here!" She shouts.

Fucking brilliant, he inwardly sighs.

"I know!" He shouts.

"I invited them because I saw them on Christmas Eve and it’s been so long since I got to spend time with my gall-pal Peter," she grins. "I can’t believe I got to meet him. He’s very yummy, Reg. You’ve done well for yourself."

"Please stop sounding like someones mum," Regulus groans. "Did you tell him you know me?"

"Of course I did!" She laughs. "He went all mushy and soppy asking shit about you. Don’t worry, I only told him the bad stuff."

"Why would I expect any less from you," Regulus grumbles.

"Right, break it up!" Barty suddenly shouts, shoving them apart and thrusting a glass into Regulus’ hand. "You, my friend, are far too sober so get that down you’re hatch and then I’ve got another one for you."

"What is it?"

"A pint of gin."

Regulus blinks. "A pint of gin? What the fuck, Barty—"

"Drink it, for fuck sake! You’re boring when we’re out and you’re sober!"

Regulus grumbles but does as asked. As soon as he’s finished, Barty is snatching the empty glass and replacing it with an espresso martini.

By some miracle, they manage to find a booth that isn’t already taken. Dorcas asks all about their Christmas’ while Marlene catches Regulus up on the disaster of the Meadow’s household Christmas morning when Dorcas supposedly ruined Christmas by being horrifically hungover and vomited in her little cousins breakfast.

"Stop it!" Dorcas howls when she realises what Marlene is saying. "You promised to not tell everyone!"

"I’m not!" Marlene laughs. "I’m only telling Regulus."

"But he might tell everyone else!" Dorcas cries.

"Hey, I’m not Barty!" Regulus defends. "I can keep things to myself."

When Dorcas smiles in relief, Regulus winks.

"I won’t with this, of course, because everyone deserves to know how you vomited in your cousins breakfast on Christmas morning."

"You what?" Barty shouts.

Dorcas glares at Regulus as sharp as knives.

"I’m going to kill you, Black."

"Do it after I get the next round, yeah?" He smirks.

"Did someone say next round?" Evan asks.

Regulus rolls his eyes, downing the half left martini he has before climbing out.

He’s standing at the back of the crowd for the bar, idly looking around when he spots James walking up. It seems for a moment, that James hasn’t notice him yet. When he does, the older boy seems to stumble to a stop, eyes widening before he’s practically breaking out in a short sprint.

"Reggie!" James cheers, sweeping him up in a hug and lifting him off his feet before Regulus can even mutter a reply. "Happy New Years, baby!"

Feet hanging in the air, James snatches Regulus’ breath away with a kiss, hot and tasting strongly of vodka.

When they break away, James is grinning at him.

"Hi," Regulus breathes, lips twitching. "Happy New Years to you too."

The tension seems to have seeped out of him within an instant. He sags in James’ hold, relaxing just by feeling James’ impossible warmth and seeing his sparking eyes behind his glasses.

James steps back, holding him at arms length and Regulus wants to whine at the new distance between them.

"Wow," he says. "I can see why you wanted to keep your outfit a surprise."

"It’s literally a shirt and jeans," Regulus laughs.

"Yeah, but you look amazing in it," James’ eyes travel up and down, drinking in every inch. Regulus shivers unconsciously. "You look—"

"Better than sex?"

James throws his head back and laughs. "Fuck yeah," he says, yanking Regulus close again and kissing him. "Better than sex. Although. . ."

"Keep it in your pants, Potter," Regulus warns. "I am not shagging you in pub toilets on New Years Eve."

"I was thinking more the back of a taxi," James grumbles.

"Oh," Regulus smirks, "in that case—"

"Potter?"

At the sound of James’ name called, Regulus internally sighs. They both turn in time to see none other than Frank Longbottom come stumbling up to them.

"Frank?" James laughs. "What the— what are you doing here?"

"Celebrating New Years, you twat! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Yorkshire?"

"Moved back a few months ago," James says. "Couldn’t stay away for long, could I?"

"No one can, it seems," Frank laughs. Only then does he seem to notice Regulus practically plastered to James’ side. "Oh. Uh, hi, Regulus."

"Frank," Regulus nods. He stares at the man, hoping the idiot will catch on quick enough to not mention how they know each other to James.

"Do you. . ." Frank frowns, looking between the two of them. "How do you guys know each other?"

"He stalked me at work," Regulus answers.

James gasps, pinching his side playfully. "I did not! He’s lying, Frank. I did not stalk him, I just brought him coffee a few times and he didn’t last too long before he cracked to the James Potter charm."

"I was bribed, more like."

"Shh," James grins, kissing his forehead.

Regulus cheeks burn red, and he’s grateful for the flashing lights to hide the flush on his skin.

Frank is still looking between them, looking both uncomfortable and bewildered.

"Well, I’m gonna—" he jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "I’m gonna go, but come find me later, yeah, mate? All the rest of your lot here too?"

"Yeah, the gang is back together," James smiles. "I’ll come find you later. They’ll all want to see you too."

Frank smiles and they both sling an arm around each other in a loose hug. Regulus feels like he’s stepped int he twilight zone watching. He barely contains the knee-jerk reaction to snatch James away from him. Jealous tasting bitter in his mouth like a venom.

James pulls away after a moment, and they both watch Frank walk off.

"You know Frank?" Regulus asks.

"Yeah!" James says. "We went to school together. How do you know him?"

Regulus stammers for a moment. "We. . . he did a, uh. . . shift at the hospital."

"No way! I knew he was studying his doctor degree but didn’t realise he worked at your place!"

Regulus hums, jaw clenched.

"Come on, I want you to meet everyone else," James says, grabbing his hand. "Man, what a small world! We both know Mary and Frank! And you know Remus, of course."

"Brilliant," Regulus mutters, words lost beneath the sounds of the music blasting from the speakers.

"Guys!" James cheers, bringing Regulus to a booth in the corner. "Marauders! This is Regulus! Regulus, I would like to introduce you to Peter, also known as Wormtail, Remus, also known as Moony, who you already know, and lastly, Sirius, also known as Padfoot!"

Regulus was in the middle of waving to the round bloke with messy blonde hair and Remus who looks more healthy than Regulus has ever seen him when James says that last name.

Regulus can’t even wonder if he heard James incorrectly, because one glance at the last guy at the table confirms it straight away.

There’s no mistaking it.

For a moment, it’s as if the world has simply stopped. He can’t hear the music anymore, can’t feel James’ hand on his shoulder, because all he can focus on is his heart stopping in his chest as he stares at the familiar face staring back at him.

Sirius.

His Sirius.

Right there.

Sirius is staring right back.

The flashing of the lights above them making it no harder to make out the familiar features of his long lost brother. The same cheek bones he remembers, the same piercing eyes, the same lip pulled down in a frown.

It’s him.

"Ras?" Sirius says, eyes not leaving Regulus’ once. "Is. . . what the fuck? Ras—"

Regulus steps back, shaking his head. His chest is impossibly tight, lungs refusing to work and entire body numb.

He looks at James, betrayal pooling in his stomach like a hot lava.

"You. . ." he croaks. "You’re him."

James is frowning, looking between Regulus and Sirius like he’s just connected the dots.

You’re the person who took him away.

You’re the person who took my brother.

You’re the person who took everything from me.

"You. . . all along—" Regulus chokes, vision blurring as tears cloud in his eyes.

"Ras. . ." Sirius says, standing up, but Regulus can’t.

He turns, barely maintaining his balance. He throws James’ hand off his shoulder when he tries to grab him, darting back into the crowd.

He needs to get out.

He needs out.

Out.

Out.

Out—

He can’t hear a thing above the blood roaring in his ears. He does the only thing he can think to do.

He runs.

— tbc.

Chapter Text

13

Sirius first taught Regulus the star constellations when he was six.

Regulus remembers many nights they spent, tucked up together in Sirius’ bed long after their parents had gone to sleep, curled around each other while Sirius explained the origins of their names and the star constellations. Once Regulus had learnt them, Sirius would draw them on his back to help him sleep. It started out as a game, trying to learn what constellation the other one was drawing, but once Sirius caught on that it calmed Regulus down, he began to do it when Regulus crawled into his bed after a nightmare.

It’s why Sirius used to call Regulus 'little lion'.

Regulus used to love that.

For the first 15 years of his life, Sirius was Regulus' best friend. Sirius was always more than a brother. They were carbon copies by looks, both with the same high cheekbones and dark hair. Their cousin Andy once said they could have been mistaken for twins, despite being completely different by traits and personality. Sirius was always bold, lively and loud. He took up the space he stood in. There was never a time when you didn’t know that Sirius Black was in the room.

Regulus was different. Regulus was small, could slip into any shadow and corner of the room. Regulus seemed to be able to make himself invisible as a child, to disappear from the rooms presence.

That was the biggest difference though: Sirius thrived off the attention, good or bad.

Regulus has always loathed it.

Regulus never minded being in Sirius’ shadow growing up. At least being in his shadow meant that Regulus could stay close to him. He could protect Sirius when he could, and if he couldn't, he'd patch up his big brothers wounds and hold his hand through the pain.

Regulus can’t pinpoint the exact time that him and Sirius began to drift. Regulus blames his friends from school, who preoccupied him in the afternoons and evenings and stopped him from coming home to Regulus. Or maybe it was when Regulus started protecting Sirius from their parents. He couldn’t help Sirius’ hits when the older boy lied to their parents and took the blame for things. The only thing Regulus could think to do was not get in trouble anymore. If he moulded himself to the point that their parents wouldn’t want to punish him anymore, then Sirius wouldn’t have to protect him.

Sirius seemed to take that as Regulus was becoming their parents.

He called Regulus weak, said he didn’t recognise him anymore.

Spineless. A puppet. A coward.

In retaliation, Sirius acted out more. He took more hits because he talked back, shouted, screamed, said things to purposely rile them up.

Sirius did everything that Regulus changed himself to avoid.

Sirius took everything when he left. Regulus doesn’t know how he managed it. They didn’t have a lot of stuff growing up anyway, so in hindsight, Regulus can’t imagine it would have taken many bags to fit all of Sirius’ clothes and photos. The only thing he left behind was his music books, but Regulus knows Sirius never enjoyed playing anyway - it was something forced upon them as children.

His big brothers bedroom was stripped bare, as if Sirius never existed. His posters and drawings, the photos stuck on the walls and in frames around his desk and window, all gone.

Perhaps that’s why it became easy, after a while to pretend he was dead. Sirius only existed in that house in London and later in France in Regulus’ memory. Their parents never mentioned him, and if anyone ever asked about Sirius, they just introduced Regulus as their Heir son. Kreacher didn’t speak to Regulus about Sirius unless Regulus brought him up first, so eventually, Regulus stopped bringing him up altogether.

Sirius always hated Kreacher anyway. Their relationship was nonexistence compared to Regulus and Kreacher. Sirius hated the butler for allowing their parents to be so cruel to them, accusing him of enabling them to push them down the stairs as boys and use Orion’s belt as a whip.

Regulus always forgave him. Perhaps he shouldn’t of, or maybe it was because Kreacher always looked so helpless whenever the punishments happened. Regulus knows his parents hurt Kreacher too. He wasn’t a person in that house, merely a bit of property. Kreacher was as much a prisoner as Regulus.

Sirius got out when he was 16, and Regulus broke away when he was 18 three years later.

They haven’t seen each other for seven years, yet they managed to find themselves in London, sharing the same person.

James.

Sirius’ best friend. His safe space, his saviour that stole him from Regulus the day they met at school when they were 11. The boy who tore Regulus’ life permanently. 

His James. Regulus’ own safe space. The man who introduced him to caramel lattes, and spent days and days coming to hospital to bring him lunch and make sure he ate. Who persisted even after Regulus was rude and sharp with him. Who never faltered in his determination to make Regulus feel special. James, who gave Regulus warmth, who held him tight and called him beautiful. The man who made Regulus feel like he was something worth looking at. Who made Regulus brave, who took him out of his comfort zone and held his hand the whole day.

His James, is the same James that shattered his life seven years ago like thin glass.

Regulus has hated Sirius’ James for so long, and he allowed that same James to hold him at night.

Regulus hasn’t left his flat in six days. He’s assuming it’s been six days, as he’s watched the light come and go from outside his windows six times since he climbed into his bed the morning of January 1st, but he can’t be sure. He also doesn’t really care. He phoned in sick on the 2nd, telling them he’d be off all week. He didn’t bother with an excuse, he can’t even remember who he spoke to, he just remembers hanging up on them as soon as he told them his name and that he wasn’t going to be in.

The idea of work makes him shiver.

Euphemia would be there, the same mother who took Sirius in as if he didn’t have a family of his own. The woman who later took Regulus under her wing when he walked into the neuro ward years ago. The kind eyed woman who replaced the cold woman in France that left scars on Regulus’ back, is the same woman that helped steal Regulus’ brother from him all those years before.

Regulus hasn’t moved from his bed since he crashed into his apartment a few minutes past midnight on New Years Day apart from a couple of times. He’s got up every few days to feed Sylvester, putting down extra food to excuse him to stay in bed the next day. He got up to pee once, but found it to be too much effort to do again, so he stopped bothering with drinking water from then on.

The headache and stomach pains from not eating or drinking have surpassed, and now as he lays cocooned in the duvet, he feels numb. So tired, so empty that he’s sure he couldn’t even move his hand to pet Sylvester if he tried. He hasn’t moved in days, yet he feels exhausted. He’s so tired, yet he can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s watched the light come and go a few times, so he knows it’s been days since his body allowed itself to properly rest.

Regulus is staring at the wall when he hears the faint sound of his front door opening. If he had the energy and the will, he would be worried that someone has finally broke into his lifeless flat, but he doesn’t. He’s not bothered if it’s a burglar or a murderer, they can take what they want and leave a knife in his chest on their way out.

He probably wouldn’t feel it anyway.

He doesn’t hear any footsteps, but a minute later, his bedroom door is inching open. He closes his eyes, slowly but firmly as if a stage curtain coming down. Whoever it is, he doesn’t want to see them. His chest clenches with the sudden worry that it’s James. Before he turned his phone off after calling in sick to work, he’d seen James’ name in some of the many texts and missed calls and voicemails filling up his notification bar.

Regulus wouldn’t put it past James to break into his flat.

The bed dips suddenly. A weight sinks beside him, and then goes still.

Right. Not a murderer then.

Unless they’re laying down for a cuddle first.

Peeling his eyes open, the action as hard as running up a mountain, he stares at the face staring back at him.

"Hey, buddy," Barty whispers.

Regulus grunts softly. It’s all he feels he has the energy for. 

"I won’t lie, I’m really pleased to see you’re still alive and breathing right now," Barty says, flashing him a sad smile. "Pandora insisted we gave you space, but five days ago your phone died and we’ve all been worrying since."

Regulus doesn’t reply. He’s not sure he can.

"Sorry for breaking in here, but I—we just had to know that you hadn’t died in your sleep or. . . or something worse."

"Sorry," Regulus croaks. It’s the first time he’s spoken in five days and his voice sounds like he’s swallowed glass. "Sorry for worrying you."

"Don’t apologise, Reg," Barty murmurs. "Please. We just. . . let us be here for you. We gave you space, but let us look after you now."

Regulus wants to tell him to go away. He wants to tell him to leave him alone, to let him stay in bed where it’s safe and he doesn’t have to move. He wants to tell Barty to leave him to rot, to let him decompose physically like he feels mentally.

"How are you doing?"

"I’m okay."

"And the truth?"

"I don’t know."

"That’s okay," Barty whispers, nodding. "I. . . I didn’t know you had a brother."

Regulus doesn't even know if he wants to ask how Barty knows about Sirius. He supposes it was inevitable; as he ran out of the pub he saw Sirius in, James watched it happen and then his friends were at a table not too far. 

"I didn’t know I had one anymore either," Regulus admits quietly. "He ran away when I was 15. Left in the middle of the night, took everything and didn’t tell us where he was going."

"Reg. . . we had no idea."

"I never told you. I haven’t told anyone," Why would I? Regulus thinks. "I didn’t even know if he was still alive. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even say goodbye to me. He wasn’t physically dead, he was dead to me at least."

"He’s not dead though."

"No," Regulus whispers, voice quiet like it’s a dirty confession. "He’s not."

"How do you feel about that?"

Ruined.

Scared.

Like I’m drowning.

Like I’m rotting.

"I don’t know."

"I’m guessing by the obvious fact that you haven’t left your bed in days and the fact that the bags under your eyes have their own bags too, you’re not feeling good," Barty smiles sadly. "You’re breaking my heart, Reg. I’ve never seen you like this."

"I’m sorry."

"Please, don’t apologise, otherwise I think I’m going to start crying."

"Don’t cry."

"I’m trying not to, you twat," Barty laughs, but it sounds wobbly and wet. Regulus closes his eyes and buries his face in his pillow.

"Reg, I have to ask because we don’t want to say something that might upset you," Barty starts, and Regulus’ heart begins pounding with anxiety. "Sirius called you Ras. We heard him saying to James your name is Rasalas. Are you. . . are you trans?"

What?

Regulus moves his face enough that he can look at Barty, who’s face is nervous. Regulus feels incredibly confused, mostly because as far as he's concerned, Rasalas is a blokes name and Barty has seen Regulus naked hundreds of times.

"Because if you are, you know we’re totally fine with it!" He barrels on desperately. "It won’t change a thing, you know it won’t. We don’t care, in fact, if it’s true, you’ve done a cracking job because I’ve seen you naked tons of times and whatever work you got done is immaculate—"

"I’m not trans, Barty," Regulus interrupts. "My birth name was Rasalas. I changed it to Regulus when I moved to London for university so my parents couldn’t find me."

"Oh," Barty says. "Well, that’s. . . nice. Cool. Good to know, glad we’ve got that sorted—"

"Barty?" Regulus sighs, eyes closing again. "Shut up."

"Got it."

Silence passes between them. He can feel Barty fiddling with the hem of the duvet wrapped up to Regulus’ chin.

"Evan and Pandora are outside," Barty admits.

"Why?"

"Because we all love you, so we came over together."

"I meant why are they outside?"

"I asked them to wait. I figured if we bombarded you, you might tell us all to go away," Barty says.

"Thank you."

"Pandora brought over stuff to make margaritas, and Evan said he’s got your favourite pizza place ready to order us some food," Barty says. "Why don’t you go shower while I let them in. We can get the drinks ready and food ordered while you have a wash?"

Regulus sighs, eyes fluttering closed. "I don’t want to move."

"I know, mate, but you need to get up otherwise we’re gonna have to start rolling you over every four hours to stop you from getting bedsores," Barty smiles when Regulus opens his eyes into slits to glare at him. "Come on. We’ve let you wallow for six whole days, but we can’t let you do it anymore. You’re Regulus Black, the most arrogant, unnaturally smart, best dressed, sexy motherfucker I know, and I won’t let you waste away laying in bed anymore over a stupid guy and your dumbass brother who chose the worst possible time to return from the metaphorical dead. Now, surprisingly, you somehow don’t smell like a homeless person after clearly not washing in six days, however, you don’t look great. So, go shower, use your best, though slightly pretentious, 12-step shower routine, then Pandora will make you en extra strong margarita and Evan will hand feed you pizza."

"And what will you do?"

"Sit back and contain the urge to drive across town and kill James Potter and Sirius mother-fucking Black."

That's exactly what Regulus was worried his friend would say.

"Barty. . ."

"Shower, now! Come on. Up! You smell like misery and self-pity and if you do it for any longer, I’m going to have to start calling you Evan."

"I’m sure Evan will be honoured to hear that."

"Stop deflecting," Barty smiles.

The older male bounces off the bed, throwing back the covers and extending a hand. Cold air swarms around him and Regulus doesn’t want to move. He’s not sure he even has the energy to do so. Instinctively, he curls up tighter, limbs feeling like jelly beneath his hoodie and sweatpants. He see's Barty standing above him, watching and waiting, and Regulus doesn't trust him to not grab Regulus' legs and drag him out of bed screaming and kicking. Against his better judgement, he sits up and swings his legs over the bed. He feels shaky and boneless, but finally admits defeat and stands up.

Then the world spins and goes dark. He snaps back just as he feels himself sway.

"Woah!" Barty cries, grabbing him by the shoulders and steadying him. He squints at Regulus, eyes darting over his face. "You good?"

Regulus nods, the dots in his vision receding as fast as they came. He doesn’t want to think about how mortifying it would have been if he’d collapsed and face planted in front of Barty. They've passed out in front of each other plenty of times before, but that's always been alcohol induced and therefore funny. Regulus knows Barty, despite the blokes ability to find everything funny, would not be a amused in the slightest and become a bigger motherhen than Pandora.

"Maybe we’ll get some food in you before Pandora makes you a margarita," Barty frowns. "Fuck, you didn’t look that peaky laying down. You going to be alright in the shower?"

"I’m alright," Regulus grunts. There is no way in hell he’s having Barty mother hen him in the shower too. They're not in university anymore, there's no way in hell he's letting Barty see him naked now.

"You look half dead, but sure, you’re fine," Barty quips, sounding unimpressed. He sighs, shaking his head. "Go on. Go shower, I'll let them in."

Regulus nods, slipping away silently and going into the bathroom.

He knew he was going to look rough, he's not that stupid or naive to think that he'd look the definition of health right now. Six days of laying down in the dark, not eating or drinking, and swapping between sleeping, crying and staring at the wall was going to have some form of physical affect on him. He knew that, but the certainly wasn't quite expecting it to be so detrimental, and he can't really blame Barty for looking at him like he was about to drop dead.

He wishes he could blame the lighting for making him look like a corpse, but he knows it'll only be an excuse. He really does look like shit: bags dark and deep enough they make his eyes look like they've sunken into his skull. His already pale skin is practically translucent, his lips cracked and white enough they're barely distinguishable from his pasty skin. His hair is a greasy, wild mess, eyes puffy and bloodshot. The headache that appeared when he stood up becomes a pounding, making his eyes hurt and feel like someone is trying to sledgehammer their way through his temples.

Looking away, Regulus refuses to look at his reflection anymore. He feels dead inside, he doesn't need to see it staring back at him too.

The shower is nice, albeit tiring. The hot water and steam adds a subtle pink flush to his cheeks, making him look a bit more human. He didn't realise how grimy he felt before until he steps out, fresh and clean and warm. He towel dries his hair, arms too heavy to rise for long enough to blow dry it.

He dips back into his bedroom quickly, and almost drops his towel in surprise to see Barty sitting on the bed.

He frowns, noticing the bed has been made and the sheets changed, a fresh glass of water on the bedside and his phone now plugged in. The clothes he changed out on New Years and tossed on the floor are gone.

"I got you some fresh clothes out and Panda changed your bed for you," Barty says. "I was just sitting here so I could make sure I could hear if you passed out in the shower or something."

"Oh," Regulus breathes. "Thanks."

"I'll leave you to get changed. Panda has the drinks ready, but she wants you to drink that water first, and Evan has ordered the food. I think he said it should be here in about 10 minutes."

"Okay."

He dressed as quick as he can, already feeling a chill. His flat is freezing, he realises, with having not moved to put the heating on for the last week. He drinks the glass of water as Pandora's request, and it doesn't make him feel great, but it does help.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Regulus stares at the fresh sheets. Such a little, simple favour makes his chest feel tight with emotion, and if he wasn't so dehydrated, he's pretty sure he'd be crying at it. It's just so Pandora of her, to change his bed and make it look nice and tidy for him.

The idea of seeing them all makes Regulus feel vulnerable. He has to battle with himself to not crawl beneath the sheets again and continue to hide. Hiding is easier than seeing them, because he knows they want, and truly deserve, an explanation as to what happened on Saturday. They deserve to know why he ran away, why he's locked himself up and ignored them for almost a week. They deserved to know before this all happened, and for that he's suddenly scared to see them.

Regulus doesn’t know how long he sits on the bed, but when he hears the doorbell ring, he assumes it’s been long enough that he needs to make it obvious to them he hasn’t keeled over since his shower.

His breath picks up like he’s run a marathon as he opens the bedroom door. Hands shaking and heart going so fast and loud he’s convinced he’d be able to see it pulsating against his rib cage if he looked.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but something about how the three of them have turned on the lamps, closed the curtains, and set out plates and glasses by the coffee table make him feel carved open and scooped empty. The radiator in the hallway is blasting out heat for the first time in a week, warming his legs and making his breath catch in his throat.

They all spot him at the same time. Heads snapping up, three pairs of wide eyes fall to him.

For a moment, none of them move or say anything. Silence settles over the flat as if none of them are there.

Regulus opens his mouth to speak, but finds the words aren’t there when he spots the tears pooling in Pandora’s eyes.

His stomach fills with dread quickly. He made her cry. He hates making Pandora cry, because her emotions play on her face clear as day. Her face is always like an open book, and it looks heartbroken right now. 

"Oh, Reg," she croaks, lurching forward.

He barely has a second to process before she’s barrelling into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He catches his balance at the last minute as she tucks herself into his chest, blonde hair tickling his nose and arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

"Hey, Dora," he whispers, voice cracking. He can feel her trembling, and then realises he’s trembling too. Tears fall from his stinging eyes, dripping into her hair but she doesn’t move, just continues to hold him tightly. "I. . ."

"Don’t you dare apologise, Regulus Black," she mutters, voice stern but wobbling at the same time. She pulls away, holding his face gently and eyes fleeting across his face, drinking him in as if she hasn’t seen him for years. Her eyes finally settle on his, the blue of her iris’ blurred and smeared through her tears. "Oh, mon étoile. We had no idea. We didn’t even know you’d left until. . ."

She trails off, face twisting.

Regulus looks to Evan and Barty, who are standing by the island bar watching them.

"James found us," Evan explains. "Said you’d ran off. He was quite hysterical, kept going on about how he didn’t know. Then this other guy came up, saying someone called Sirius was freaking out. So we dragged James outside and made him explain everything."

"What did he say?" Regulus asks.

"Not a lot," Barty replies gruffly. "He didn’t seem to know what was going on other than this Sirius guy freaked you out and you'd run off."

"So then, naturally, Barty went up to this Sirius guy and started blowing up at him," Evan starts.

"I thought he was like a stalker or something," Barty adds, shrugging. "So, obviously I wanted answers and to intimidate the fuck out of him."

"Then this Remus dude said that apparently Sirius was your brother," Evan says. "We didn’t really need to know anymore. It was quite easy to put the pieces together ourselves."

"I’m sorry," Regulus whispers, because that’s all he can think to say.

Evan approaches slowly, shaking his head. Pandora steps back at the same time that Evan drags him into a hug. Evan is easily a head taller than him, and has the subtle muscle beneath his clothes to make Regulus feel like he’s being completely enveloped in a steady, grounding warmth.

"The only thing you need to apologise for is not punching the guy the moment you saw him," Evan says. "We don’t know what happened, but for something to freak the great, unreachable Regulus Black enough that he had to literally run, which I don’t think I’ve seen you do since the time Barty started that bar fight in second year, then the guy deserved to have his jaw swung into the next decade."

Regulus smiles, despite himself. He can feel the sob crawling up his throat, and it feels like he’s swallowing around a golf ball to keep it down.

"We’re here for you, mate," Evan says, patting his back. "Sorry it took us so long, but we didn’t want you to feel bombarded."

"It’s okay," Regulus whispers.

"It’s not," Pandora argues. "You look wrecked, mon étoile."

"Yeah, what’s your secret?" Barty asks. "I’ve never seen anyone drop that much weight in a week. You could make a mint telling supermodels your method."

"Barty!" Pandora chides, looking horrified.

"What? Look, he’s grinning!"

It’s true; the insensitive quip managed to bring the first genuine smile to Regulus’ face. He didn’t expect any different from Barty, despite how controversial it was.

"Well, considering we’re addressing your ungodly state right now, shall we have some food?" Evan asks. "The pizza is getting cold and I won’t lie, Reggie, you’re not as nice to hug when you feel like a bag of bones."

"Fuck off."

"I’m not surprised you managed to feed the cat but not yourself," Evan laughs. "Though the poor thing looked relieved to see actual life in this flat when we came in instead of the lump in the bed you’ve been for days."

"A very lovely lump, none the less," Pandora adds, stroking his hair gently despite him still basically being cradled against Evan’s chest.

He feels like a child, coddled and wounded and cherished. He can’t tell if it’s making him feel loved or more vulnerable.

"Come on, sluts!" Barty says, clapping his hands together with a sharp slap. "Lets eat. We need to get food in this doctors stomach so he can drown his sorrows in Pandora’s fabulous martinis."

The food is good. Regulus didn’t realise how hungry he was and manages to stomach enough to stop them all from looking at him in worry. He feels unpleasantly sick afterwards, but the nausea settles quickly. They lay, lounged in his tiny sitting room, spread out on the sofa and cushions on the flood. Regulus won't admit it too eagerly, but he does feel better being out of his room and out of his 'gloomy pit of misery' (as Barty so kindly called his bed now). The flat warms quickly, with the heating on combined with hot pizza and margaritas leaves Regulus feeling warmer than he has in days. 

Having them over is nice, and his friends make sure to talk about mundane things to pass the time. It makes the atmosphere feel lighter, enables Regulus for small moments, to forget about the cluster of things gone wrong in his short life so far. He listens to Barty bitch about Severus’ attitude at work, or when Evan talks about the difficult and clueless parents who have brought their parents into the paediatric emergency floor the last week. Pandora talks about her girls lunch with Dorcas, Mary, Marlene and Lily and that Mary and Lily kissed on New Years as a drunken whim but have apparently not left each others sides since.

"Mary and Lily?" Barty gawks. "No way? Is everyone in this group gay apart from me and Evan?"

Regulus see’s Pandora’s gaze flick to Evan in the corner, and Regulus barely manages to contain his frown at the sight of Evan’s bowed head.

"You’re just bitter because you’re outnumbered, Crouch," Pandora remarks, and Regulus watches the grateful expression flick across Evan’s face as he seems to gather himself.

Interesting, Regulus muses.

They’re two martinis deep when the inevitable silence falls over the room. They’ve run out of enough things to chat about to avoid the elephant in the room, and Regulus knows the time has come to finally talk.

None of them are looking at him. Pandora is making more martini’s, Evan is fiddling with the cardboard of the pizza box and Barty, who’s lap Regulus’ head is laying on, is seemingly content with just twirling a clump of Regulus’ hair between his fingers.

Regulus knows, if he stays quiet for long enough, one of them will think of something else to talk about. None of them seem in any rush to force him to explain himself. In fact, ever since they’ve arrived, they haven’t mentioned once about him explaining himself. Instead, they’ve fed him and gave him drinks and talked about anything and everything to distract him from what’s happened.

Regulus doesn’t want to do that though. He reminds himself they deserve the truth, they deserve an explanation.

Pandora brings them all drinks, dropping down on the cushions next to Evan. Regulus meets her eyes for a moment, and he knows she’s about to talk about something else.

No, he thinks.

He needs to do this now.

"Before I moved to France, I lived in London until I was 15," he starts, looking down at his hands because the idea of looking at them feels too hard. He knows he's about to vomit his words, and he'd thankful if everything just comes out without him being able to stop it. If he gets it all out and in the open now, then he won't have to try and find the words to explain it again. "Sirius is my older brother, and he lived with us until he ran away eight years ago. I don’t know where he went, he didn’t say anything and he left in the middle of the night. We went to different schools, so I never met his friends and he wouldn’t talk about them much in the house incase my parents heard. He left without telling us where he was going, which I can’t blame him for because our parents were shit. My parents moved us out to France to stop me from doing what he did. They didn’t even look for him when he left, just asked me if I knew and then moved on."

No one talks when he trails off. They’re watching him, faces pained and sad but also reassuring. Barty’s hand has frozen in his hair, hand splayed in the strands and palm resting on his head, but no longer moving and playing with his now dried curls. None of them try to interject, instead they wait for him to be ready to continue.

Regulus appreciates it.

"I hate him," Regulus says, voice soft as if he's confessing a secret. He supposes it is, really. Everything he's telling them has been a secret he's kept from them for five years. "At first I hated him for leaving, for running away, being a coward and not being able to face them anymore. I realised quite quickly that was unfair of me. He managed to get out, get away from them. He wasn’t the coward. He found an escape route and he took it, and I can’t blame him for that. I’d like to think if I had one back then I would have taken it too. I realised I’d begun to resent him long before he left because he had everything I wanted. He had good friends, he had the freedom of school and going out that I never got. Our parents never gave me the freedom they mistakenly gave Sirius because it allowed him to break from the mould they’d been carving us into since we were born. By the time we’d moved to France, I realised it wasn’t all that surprisingly Sirius had left. He was always the stronger out of the two of us. If anyone was going to get out and be themselves, it was going to be him."

"You got out too," Pandora argues softly. "You’re here. You’re free. You were strong enough to get away from them too, Reg."

"It wasn’t the same," Regulus shakes his head weakly. "I tricked them. I wasn’t bold enough to leave in the middle of the night and never look back."

"You were smarter then," Barty grumbles above him. "Doesn’t matter how you did it. You got out, just like him. You did it better too, because you didn’t leave anyone behind."

"He had every right to leave. I shouldn’t have hated him for saving himself."

"Why do you hate him then?" Evan asks.

"Because he didn’t say goodbye," Regulus says. "He didn’t trust me enough to tell me what he was going to do. He didn’t warn me, he didn’t even give me a chance to say I’d go with him. No contact, no word. He could have been dead for all I knew, and he just let me live with that."

"He left you there," Barty says, hand stroking his hair again.

"He left me with them," Regulus agrees, "and he clearly didn’t care what they might do. All he cared about was himself."

They all seem to allow a minute of silence to let the news sink in. Barty continues to scratch  his scalp softly, but it's so rhythmic and mindless that Regulus doesn't know if he's doing it for his own comfort or for Regulus. Evan is looking at Regulus, eyes sharp as if he's waiting for the outburst to follow the confession.

Pandora looks simply wrecked.

"Your parents. . ." Evan starts, and when he doesn't finish, Regulus sighs.

"Exactly what you’re likely to be imagining is true," Regulus murmurs.

"Abuse?" Pandora whispers.

Regulus flinches at the word. He hates it.

"In more ways than one," Regulus shrugs.

"Don’t shrug!" Pandora cries suddenly, shattering the gentle quiet they’ve created since Regulus started talking. "This— you shouldn’t shrug about that!"

"It was a long time ago," Regulus tries to ease, but Pandora does’t have it.

"Five years, Regulus!" Pandora shouts. "Five years ago is not a long time when you lived with it for 18!"

"Pandora—"

He cuts himself off when she breaks down, tears rolling down her cheeks and sobs being punched from her throat. Regulus climbs out of Barty’s lap and moves to the floor, pulling her into a hug. She collapses against him, sobbing hard and harsh. It reminds him of the day they laid her mother in the ground.

"I’m sorry," he whispers. "It’s. . . shrugging it off is easier than letting it eat me alive anymore. It’s in the past, Dora. I can’t change it."

"We could fight them. We could go to the police, take them to court, get them arrested—"

"What good would that do?" Regulus laughs harshly. "My fathers family took their first steps in a court room. He’s part of the largest law firm in France. I wouldn’t stand a chance. All it would do is bring it to light and the papers would gobble it up and spit it back out like a pile of shit."

"Reg. . ."

"Please," he begs.

Pandora backs down. She’s looking at him like a heartbroken puppy, eyes huge and watery, but she doesn’t keep trying. Regulus assumes that’s because he actually pleaded her to do so.

"Okay, so we’ve clarified your brother is a walking waste of space for leaving you in an abusive home," Barty says, causing everyone to look at him. "Why do we hate James?"

James.

Oh, James.

Regulus swallows thickly. The sunshine that made Regulus feel warm for the first time in years. The mans who’s laugh and smile made Regulus forget about the world around him. The man who held Regulus’ heart in his own hands and cradled it so gentle and delicately. James, who made Regulus feel alive.

His James.

"He took Sirius from me."

Three confused faces stare at him.

"James told me that a person he considers a brother moved in with him when they were teenagers. This friend ran away from home, and has lived with him and his parents ever since. I. . ." Regulus shakes his head, pulling away from Pandora but not taking back his hand that she seems to be squeezing in silent reassurance. "I never connected the dots before. I didn’t even think of it, but James is the person who let Sirius leave me."

"I don’t think he knew—" Pandora starts.

"Doesn’t matter," Regulus growls. "He’s the person I’ve hated since Sirius went to that school. He’s the person Sirius started to pull away from me for. Who encouraged Sirius to stand up against our parents, to test them and aggravate him. Sirius said it a ton of times - that his best friend thinks he shouldn’t let them walk all over us. James’ advice only caused Sirius more hurt, and eventually pushed him to runaway."

None of them argue with him. Evan asks for James and Sirius’ address so he can report them to the police for hoarding drugs or something to get them arrested. Barty promises if he sees either of them in the streets he’s going to drop kick them. Pandora says nothing, just runs her hands through his hair and promises it’s all going to be okay.

He’s not sure if they all agree with him. He’s not sure if they all understand, but they do exactly what he’d expected them to do - they promise to stand by him.

For the first time since when him and Sirius were kids defending themselves against their parents, Regulus feels like he’s got people on his side.

When it becomes clear that Regulus doesn't want to talk anymore and none of them are brave enough to make him, Pandora suggests they put a movie on, and Barty instantly demands they play Wolf of Wall Street.

"I have to ask," Evan says as the movie is starting. They’ve moved the coffee table to the side and made a spread on cushions on the floor big enough for then to lay side by side like sardines. "Barty said he was going to ask but never told us if he found out, who is Rasalas?"

"My birth name," Regulus answers as he snuggles down between Evan and Pandora. "I was born Rasalas Arcturus Black. I changed it when I moved to London for university to make it harder for my parents to track me down."

"Wait—what?" Evan snaps to a sitting position, looking down at Regulus with wide eyes. "You’re telling me you had the opportunity to change your name and you chose Regulus?"

Regulus frowns. "What’s wrong with Regulus?"

Barty barks a laugh beside him, and Pandora giggles into her hand.

He looks at them sharply.

"Regulus is a star," he explains. "I wanted to stick with the tradition!"

"Fuck me, Reg! You chose such an old man name!" Evan cries. "You could have chosen something cool like Blaze or Malakai but noooo! You chose a proper fucking grandad name like Regulus!"

Barty is howling like a hyena, and when Regulus looks at Pandora with a pout, she strokes his eyebrows with pity.

"It is an usual name to choose, mon étoile," she says. "However, I think its very fitting."

"Oh, absolutely," Barty wheezes. "You don’t suit anything other than a pretentious grandad name."

"Va te faire foutre!" Regulus snarls.

"Don’t tell us to fuck off in French, Reggie-kins."

"Tuez-vous, connards."

"I don’t know that one, does anyone else?" Barty asks.

"It’s kinder if you don’t," Regulus mutters.

Pandora and Evan are asleep by the end of the movie. When the credits roll, Regulus looks to Barty, who still seems as wide awake as himself.

"Smoke?" Barty asks.

Regulus nods. "Let me grab them from my room."

He grabs a coat and his scarf too, slipping his shoes on before the two of them slide out of the flat and make their way downstairs.

It’s cold outside, winter officially claiming London in the spirit of the New Year. Regulus doesn’t know what the time is, but it’s late enough that most of the lights are off behind other peoples curtains.

They sit on the front steps, coats wrapped tightly around them and the January chill biting at their fingers exposed and wrapped around the cigarettes.

"Are you feeling better?" Barty asks.

"Getting there."

"Good enough," Barty nods. "Isn’t it mad how this entire time, your long lost brother was best friends with the guy you were finally opening yourself up to."

"Yeah," Regulus says flatly. "Mad."

"Sorry, mate," Barty apologises. "I didn’t. . . you just can’t make this shit up."

"I know. My life is a fucking BBC show."

Barty chuckles, shaking his head. "More like ITV."

"I don’t know. I reckon my storyline would be a hit on Eastenders."

"People would only watch for your sex scenes."

"Fuck off."

Regulus looks out at the street. The cold bites at his skin, making his shoulders tense and his torso shiver. He feels so cold, so empty, inside and out. It’s as if someone has locked the sun away for months.

He hasn’t felt like this since Sirius left. The morning they noticed his brothers absence, it was like he’d been plunged into a pool of ice-cold water. Everything in and out was numb, like he was in the irreversible stages of shock. He waited for someone to jump out and tell him it was all a joke. He was waiting for Sirius to appear at the end of the hall and tell him he was just hiding for a while.

Then the anger came.

Instead of feeling numb, Regulus felt like he was burning alive. He couldn’t focus. He felt like he was walking through a fog, the only thing he could see was Sirius’ face and he wanted to reach out and yank it back.

Regulus is waiting for the numbness to fade to anger now.

Barty is silent beside him, letting him think and recede back into his own head. He’s a solid weight against his shoulder, a grounding pillar to stop Regulus from floating away.

Regulus kind of wishes he could float away tonight.

"They hit us for as long as I can remember," Regulus says suddenly, and he can see Barty look at him out of the corner of his eye, but Regulus can’t stop - he’s scared if he stops now then he’ll never find the courage to start again. This strange need to suddenly say it all out loud catches him by surprise. "Slaps, kicks, punches, all of it. My mother used to throw things at us, and my father would often use his cane or his belt. I broke my leg in three places when I was eight after my mother pushed me down the stairs for breaking her vase when me and Sirius were playing. She just appeared out of no where, like a ghost. She was suddenly there, glaring at us both. She pushed me before either of us could apologise, and I went down the entire flight of stairs. I just remember pain. I couldn’t tell the difference between mine and Sirius’ screams.

"They had this cupboard right at the top of the stairs on the guest room floor. It was clearly intended for brooms and cleaning stuff, barely big enough to move around in. It had this little vent in the door, not even big enough to let light in, so when they locked us in there, it was completely dark. They’d lock us in there when we misbehaved, or when we talked back, or whenever they felt like it, really. They’d leave us in there for days on end, no food or water. The longest I spent in there was five days. Well, Sirius told me it had been five days when I got out, as I didn't have a fucking clue how long it had really been. It’s hard to keep track of time in there, y’know. They locked Sirius in there for ten days once. I picked the lock on day six, mother kept the key in her purse so we couldn’t just open it for each other when she was out. So, I picked the lock and gave Sirius some water and food while they were downstairs having lunch with my uncle. I couldn’t give him much, and I didn’t want to give him so much he’d then need the bathroom, so I gave him just enough to tide him over until they let him out.

"They were always worse with Sirius when he lived with us. He’d take the blame for things. He protected me from so much when he was around. Sometimes we didn’t need to do anything, sometimes they were just angry. Mother would take him, father would take me. We’d crawl into each others rooms in the middle of the night, patch each other up. When we got older, I started to hide it from him. I got Kreacher to patch me up in secret, because seeing the marks and bruises only made Sirius angry, only made him act out so they’d be horrible to him instead of me. I did my best to behave, acted how they wanted me so they wouldn’t get angry. I didn’t want Sirius to take my punches for me. I hated that he was always getting hurt because of me.

"I think it had the opposite effect after a while. Sirius started looking at me like he didn’t know me anymore. Started acting out on his own, provoking them and starting fights for no reason.

"When he left, there was no one to take some of the hits. They got worse, more angry, more strict. We moved to France, in the middle of nowhere so I couldn’t make friends with anyone who would influence me to do the same as him. They isolated me, homeschooled me. My only company was Kreacher.

"When I came to London, I’d come from Edinburgh. I went there first, to do a law degree like they wanted. I spent two days in the dorms, then took out all my money, changed my name and got on a train down to London. I thought I was free. I thought I’d done it, made my escape and started fresh. For five years, I’ve felt like Regulus Black instead of Rasalas. Then I saw him on Saturday, and now I don’t know how to keep being Regulus anymore."

"You’re Regulus to the people who matter," Barty says. "We only see you as Regulus."

"I know," Regulus whispers. "But seeing him again brought it all back. I feel like Rasalas again. I feel weak and small, like they’re going to jump out at any moment and take me back."

Regulus unconsciously runs his fingers along the fabric protecting his scars from view. The scars that almost caused Regulus to become as dead as he believed his brother to always be.

That was Rasalas.

The scars are the only piece of Rasalas he has to carry with him every day. The only piece he can’t hide from, or pretend. They stand red and permanent no matter how much he continues to wear the mask of Regulus Black.

Regulus has told enough today. He’s stripped himself raw, openly bled in front of his friends more than he’s allowed himself to do in front of anyone. They know more than anyone else, but they don’t need to know this. They don’t need to know that the story about the car crash was all a lie.

"That’s super fucked up," Barty finally says. "I mean. . . I always knew something wasn’t right. You like a traumatised fucking bird when I first met you. Me and Evan almost went to the police for you because we were convinced you were being stalked or hunted down. Something was always sketchy, I mean we nicknamed you 'Postman' for the first year of university."

"What?"

"Postman," Barty repeats. "Evan once described you as a postman. You know, you see them everyday but don’t know fuck all about them. That’s what you were like. You managed to reveal so little it was almost scary. Me and Evan spilled every fragment of ourselves whenever we had the chance but you. . . you never did."

"Sorry about that."

"It’s alright. I figured after a while you didn’t talk because whatever happened before we met was stuff you weren’t ready to share," Barty says. "I’m glad you have though. Even if it’s made me want to kill anyone and everyone who has ever treated you any less than perfect."

"Thanks, Barty."

"I’m serious. Next time I see Sirius or James or those fucked things you call parents, I’m committing the most disgusting crime that it will be in the news for years."

"You don’t need to do that."

"That’s the thing, after everything I’ve heard tonight, I want to," Barty pauses, looking at him. "Plus, I think it’s about time someone stood in your corner for once."

Regulus smiles. Trust Barty to be able to make mass murder feel like something special.

Not knowing what to say, Regulus just tilts his head forward and rests it on Barty’s shoulder. Wordlessly, Barty’s arm wraps around his back and pulls him closer.

"We’ve got your back, Reg."

— tbc.

Chapter Text

14

James

James doesn’t understand what’s happening.

One minute, he has his boyfriend tucked tightly into his side, moulding against him like he was made to fit there. He was finally introducing Regulus to his friends, something he’s been wanting to do for ages but has been too worried that arranging a event specifically aimed to introduce them all was going to scare Regulus off. New Years was the perfect occasion. There would be drink, so everyone would feel loose and exaggeratedly friendly as most people are when they’re tipsy or drunk. It would be a coincidence that James’ friends would be there, and therefore it would be rude for Regulus to say no. Regulus also had his own friends there, and people to go back to if he felt awkward or needed some space from the new attention.

It was the perfect way to bring the most important people in James’ life together.

And James doesn’t know how it’s all gone so wrong.

Regulus looked so scared before he ran off. James tried to catch him, to make him stop and explain what the hell happened, but Regulus slipped between his fingers like a slippery block of ice and was gone in the crowd before James could stop him again.

His voice when shouting for Regulus was lost below the blasting music, and he couldn’t help but look into the crowd for Regulus’ running form despite the attempt being futile: the place was packed, and Regulus was no where to be seen.

He turns back to his friends, hoping one of them might be able to explain. Maybe Regulus knew one of them? But what could any of his friends have done to upset the younger boy so badly? His friends are great, and none of them—

James looks at Sirius. His best friend is staring at the space Regulus was standing in moments ago like he’s seen a ghost. Even without being able to hear, James can see his chest moving quickly, short and fast as he’s panting. His best friend doesn’t seem to be reacting to Moony trying to talk to him.

James looks at Sirius then. Really looks at him.

At his high cheekbones and the cupid bow of his top lip. He looks at his dark hair, at the sharp jut of his jaw line and slop of his chin.

It can’t be.

James would have spotted it before.

The same surname is a coincidence.

Most importantly, Sirius doesn’t have a brother.

He would have said. They’ve brothers for years, best friends for even longer.

There’s no way—

"What the fuck just happened?" Peter asks.

James shakes his head. "I don’t— I don’t know. I— Pads, what—"

"It’s him," Sirius chokes. His voice is drowned out by the noise, but James knows exactly what he said. Face blanched, eyes wide and shining in the strobe lights, Sirius looks directly at him. "That’s Ras."

James feels like he’s been punched. His head is spinning, his chest tight as if someone has smashed a concrete block into his rib cage.

"Who the fuck is 'Ras'?" James asks. He’s starting to feel hysterical.

Sirius has got it wrong. He must have. Maybe he’s been drugged, maybe someone slipped something into his drink and he’s hallucinating.

But then why did Regulus run away?

"He’s my brother," Sirius says, and that’s exactly what James didn’t to hear.

"You have a brother?" Peter asks. "What the fuck? Since fucking when?"

"Pads, what’s going on?" Moony asks.

Sirius shakes his head, tears spilling over. "I didn’t— I don’t— I had no idea he was even here! I haven’t spoken to him since I ran away!"

"You didn’t tell us you have a brother," James snaps.

He’s so angry, so confused. Sirius lied to him this whole time, but Regulus has also kept so private that James doesn’t know fuck all about his family either. Despite how long they’ve been talking now, Regulus hasn’t revealed a single private moment of his past.

James feels so stupid. He’s so confused, so angry, hurt but also stupid because he’s starting to feel like he’s hurt two of the most important people in his life.

How the fuck did this happen?

He needs to find Barty. Or Evan. Or Pandora. He needs to speak to Regulus, to find out what’s going on, but he’s sure if Regulus hasn’t already left, he’s going to be with his friends.

Turning away, James ignores Peters shouts and pushes his way through the pub. He feels claustrophobic. The room feels so small yet so big, everyone is crammed in. There isn't enough room. He can’t even hear his own thoughts with how loud the music is, the lights are making the ground beneath his feet sway and spin. He can feel the bass of the music in his chest.

By some miracle, James spots them at a table, just the three of them. He manages to stumble over on shaky legs. Pandora smiles at him when she sees him coming over, but the smile quickly drops. Perhaps he’s looking more panicked than he intended. He can’t imagine he looks like the happy drunk right now that he’s supposed to on New Years Eve in a pub.

"Barty!" James shouts. "Where is Regulus?"

"Reg?" Barty frowns, a hand clasped around a half empty glass. "He was with you?"

James shakes his head frantically. "No, he ran off. I—"

"What the fuck do you mean he ran off?" Barty cuts him off with a shout, bolting up from the table. He looks manic, switching from friendly to angry so fast that if James wasn’t so consumed by his own panic, he’d be worried that the guy was going to punch him. "What did you do?"

"I didn’t do anything! I don’t— I don’t think I did anything. I don’t know what happened, I just—"

Suddenly, Pandora is standing up too.

"Outside. Now," she says, grabbing James gently but firmly around the arm.

"Wait a fucking minute!" Barty screams, pointing at James. "This cunt hurt—"

"Barty, stop it!" Pandora shouts. "Outside all of you! Now!"

Pandora doesn’t seem to think she needs to tell them again. She doesn’t wait for anymore arguing. She tugs James with her, hand never leaving his arm, either to stop him from running off or getting lost in the crowd, James doesn’t know. He appreciates it though, as he feels so unsteady on his feet he’s sure if he didn’t have her holding him up, he would be knocked on his ass the moment someone bumped into him.

Outside, the air rushes into James’ lungs like a hundred tiny sharp pin pricks. He feels dizzy, the world spinning as if he’s had one too many tequila shots. His hands are tingling, his stomach feeling like a heavy pit in his abdomen.

"James, what happened?" Pandora asks, once she’s lead them far enough from the club entrance that they can hear each other without shouting.

"I didn’t know!" James cries. He knows he’s not making much sense, but he does’t know how to order the chaos in his head right now. "Please, you have to believe me, you have to tell him I didn’t know—"

"Potter, calm the fuck down!" Evan interrupts. "Just tell us what happened so we can find Regulus."

"We—" he takes as deep a breath as he can, nodding rapidly like a struck bobble-head doll. "I was introducing him to my friends. I thought it was fine, I didn’t know he— he just freaked out when he saw Sirius, and then he said— he said it was me, or something? I couldn’t stop him from running off. He— I tried but he was gone before I could stop him and Sirius— he said— fuck! He never said anything, and neither did Regulus. I had no idea. I mean, I know they look alike but fucking hell, how the hell was I meant to know?"

Barty’s eyes are narrowed into slits, making him look like a snake ready to strike. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"I don’t know what I did wrong!" James practically wails. "I don’t know what Regulus was thinking, or why he ran away from me. He looked— he looked like he hated me and—"

"James!"

He turns around to see Peter running towards them, coming to a stop beside James.

"Who the fuck are you?" Evan asks, but Peter doesn’t even look at him. He’s just looking at James, panting.

"James, Sirius is freaking out," Peter says. "We tried to calm him down, but he just kept rambling and now he’s at the bar. Moony is trying to get him cut off, he doesn’t think Sirius should be drinking right now but—"

"Right," Barty suddenly says, jaw clenched. He abruptly pushes past Peter, stalking quickly back towards the pub.

"Barty?" Evan starts, "What are you—"

"I’m going to talk to this Sirius bloke," Barty says, turning around but not slowing in his walking. "Maybe he can explain what’s going instead of this blubbering shithead over here."

"Should we. . .?" Evan begins to ask, but Pandora is already wordlessly following Barty, and Evan trailing her quickly after.

After a moment, Peter’s hand gently squeezes his shoulder. "Prongs, mate, are you okay?"

James shakes his head, clenching his eyes closed. He feels like he’s about to cry. "I don’t know. I didn’t know, Pete. I had no idea, they never told me anything. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone."

"This isn’t your fault," Peter says instantly. "We’ll get to the bottom of this, but whatever happens, none of it is your fault. You had no idea. You couldn’t have known, and you didn’t do any of this to hurt anyone."

James presses the balls of his palms into his closed eyes, pushing hard enough that he can see white spots dancing on the back of his eyelids.

He feels overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what to do first. He wants to cry, scream, chase after Regulus, chase after Sirius. He wants to hug and punch them both. He wants to hug and punch himself.

This all feels like a twisted nightmare. Perhaps if he pinches himself, he’ll wake up and it will be the early morning of New Years Eve. Maybe he’ll wake up and none of this would have happened, and he’d still have hours before he’d have to get ready and introduce Regulus to his friends.

"You tried phoning Regulus?"

"No," James whispers.

"Give it a try. He might answer," Peter says. "Then we can go in and try and sort Sirius out."

James almost drops his phone when he fishes it out of his back pocket. He’s trembling, hands quivering uncontrollably.

It’s no surprise when Regulus doesn’t answer. It’s even less of a surprise when the second attempt is cut off after two rings. James isn’t surprised, but it doesn’t hurt any less. He’s tempted to ask Peter to phone Regulus off his phone, hoping perhaps maybe seeing a number he hasn’t got saved prompting him to answer, but he knows Regulus isn’t that stupid. He’d never fall for something like that, not when he’s this upset.

James just wants to make sure he’s okay, and to also beg at him to explain what’s going on. Then he wants to shout at Regulus for being so secretive, that if he hadn’t been so private for so long then this disaster may never have happened. If James had known, from both Regulus and Sirius’ denied truthfulness, then he would have never imagined bombarding them both at a pub on New Years Eve.

James didn’t mean to upset them both. He just didn’t know.

A sob is working it’s way up James’ throat when suddenly, shouts are suddenly coming out of the pub. Moments later, Remus is dragging Sirius by the arm, and then Barty, Evan and Pandora are stumbling out after them, profanities and screams filling the street.

"What the. . ." Peter starts, hurrying his way over.

James forces himself to follow, and then his heart sinks when he see’s Sirius’ bloody face, his red-covered hand cradling his nose. Blood seems to be streaming out like a fountain, staining his chin and the front of his shirt.

"Did you punch him?" Peter asks Regulus’ three friends. James tenses, because Peter’s voice is harsh and cold, eyes wide at the three of them but also glaring at them with a look that could kill. James has seen this before, a while ago when they were all early teens. Peter is the golden friend of the group, the peacekeeper amongst them, until one of them is hurt and then they see a new side of him.

James doesn’t want to see Peter fighting against Regulus’ friends too tonight.

"No I didn’t," Barty snarls, roughly shrugging off Evan’s hand on his arm. He’s glaring at all of them. "Wish I fucking did, but some girls elbow got there first."

"Are you alright?" James asks. Sirius looks awful.

"Who gives a flying fuck?" Barty screams. "You hurt Regulus!"

"I didn’t hurt him!" Sirius shouts back, voice quivering and James doesn’t know if it’s from his bashed up nose or the emotions from the events unveiling.

Evan scoffs, shaking his head. "Then why did he run off?"

"I don’t know!" Sirius cries. "We haven’t seen each other since we were 16! I didn’t even know he was here!"

"How the fuck do you know him then?" Barty asks.

Sirius lets out a feral growl, dropping his hand from his nose.

"He’s my fucking brother, alright!"

Everyone seems to freeze. Barty’s, Evan’s and Pandora’s eyes all widen. They blink at them all, and James is struck with the realisation that even they, who’ve known Regulus for years, who have been his closest friends, didn’t know either.

"Brother?" Pandora echoes.

"Yes," Sirius snarls. "And his name is fucking Rasalas!"

Pandora looks at James. "Did you know about this?"

"No," he admits, shaking his head. "Of course I didn’t."

"He’s your best friend!" Barty shouts, pointing at Sirius. "How the fuck did you not know you were shagging his brother?"

James opens his mouth to answer, to explain that despite their friendship, Sirius managed to miss out the slightly large part of his life for years, but Sirius beats him to it.

"I didn’t tell them," he admits.

"You didn’t tell your best friends you have a brother?" Evan asks suspiciously. "What twisted fucking reason was behind that?"

Sirius shakes his head, eyes casting down to his shoes. "You wouldn’t understand."

The laugh Barty lets out sends a shiver down James’ spine.

"Enlighten us then!" He demands. He looks wild, like an animal that’s broken out of the zoo.

"It’s none of your business!" Sirius seethes.

"You hurt Regulus!" Barty argues again. He’s not shouting now, none of them are. Instead their voices are low, hushed, dripping cold like ice. James thinks it’s worse than the shouting, because it’s giving him a sense that they’re now very pissed off. It reminds him of his mum and dad. They’re more angry when they’re quiet. "It’s entirely our fucking business!"

James doesn’t know what to do. His brain is telling him to defend Sirius. His best friend, currently being eaten alive by Regulus’ friends, accused of things none of them understand. But James’ heart is crying out for an explanation.

"Alright," Pandora says, voice soft, tired even. "That’s enough. This isn’t helping. Barty, calm the fuck down. We’re leaving."

"But—"

"No!" She snaps. "I don’t want to here it from them. This is about Reg, so we hear it from Reg and Reg only. I don’t trust him not to tell us the truth."

When the three of them turn to leave, James wants to stop them. He wants to beg to go with them, to let them take him to Regulus. He stops himself. Regulus needs them right now, and they clearly want to see Regulus and Regulus only. James knows they’re seeing him as the bad guy here too.

It’s a few minutes after they’ve all gone that anyone speaks. Remus is leaning against the wall now, smoking his way through a cigarette. He looks as exhausted as James feels. Peter is looking between them all, as if waiting for the penny to drop.

Sirius is looking anywhere but James.

"Your nose okay, mate?" Peter asks.

"Yeah," Sirius nods. He at least sounds less congested now, and the fountain of red seems to have stopped. He looks pretty pitiful with the blood crusted on his face, but at least he’s still not actively bleeding anymore. "That twats elbow got me fucking good, but at least it wasn’t that Barty kid. I honestly thought he was gonna knock my fucking lights out."

"You would have had him in a fight," Peter smirks. "We’ve seen you scrap."

"Thanks, mate," Sirius smiles.

"Pads. . ." James sighs, and he can’t find it in himself to feel bad when they all tense. He’s not in the mood to play naive now. He wants answers. "Why didn’t you tell us?"

Sirius sighs heavily, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t understand, Prongs."

"Then fucking explain it!" James shouts, feeling his patience run thin. He’s getting whip lash from his own emotions right now, but he can’t help it. This is all just so fucked. "You owe us that much! You— you lied to us for years! Why would you think—"

"He’s like them, James! He’s their little fucking spawn! He was exactly like them, like their clone! I didn’t tell anyone because he was just as bad as them!"

"That’s not fair," James interrupts, shaking his head in disbelief. "He’s not like them. He’s—"

"You don’t know him, James!" Sirius shouts.

"Yes I do!"

Sirius laughs, running a hand through his hair in clear frustration. "He’s treated you like shit! And now it makes fucking sense, because he’s the little shit I had to run away from!"

Remus steps away from the wall, reaching out to Sirius’ shoulder to calm him. "Pads—"

"No!" Sirius screams, shoving off Remus’ hand and stepping away at the same time. He looks at all of them, but then his eyes settle on James. "I know I lied. I— I know I kept him from you, but I d-did that because he’s horrible. He was as bad as them, and I ran away from them all. He’s not a good person, James. I don’t know who he’s made you believe he is, but he’s not that person. You need to stay away from him."

Stay away from Regulus?

No, James has already had to do that once when Regulus scared himself at the idea of commitment and abandonment. Sure, it hurt James in the process, but he managed to convince Regulus that life isn’t living without the risk, and that the enjoyment of company doesn’t come with sometimes being alone. Regulus believed him, and now James knows that the work he did to convince Regulus that not everyone in his life is out to hurt him is probably ruined.

Regulus said the fear of abandonment came from his upbringing.

Now it’s starting to make sense.

"No."

Sirius blinks. "What?"

"Why should I?" James shrugs. "Why should I believe a thing you say about him when you failed to mention he even existed in the first place? You said it yourself! You haven’t seen or spoken to him since you were 16! It’s been eight years, Sirius!"

"He’s one of them."

"You don’t know that."

"Fine," Sirius huffs. "Fine, you fucking have him then! But while you do, stay the fuck away from me! I don’t want to be anywhere near him! And when he does what he does best and fucks you over in the end, don’t come fucking crying to me!"

Sirius’ words are like a physical slap. James’ eyes widen as his chest feels like it’s bottomed out.

James doesn’t have a chance to respond before Sirius is storming away from them. Remus looks to the two of them.

"Go with him, Moony," Peter murmurs. "I’ll stay with James."

Remus looks like he wants to argue, but James knows he won’t. Sirius needs someone too, and Remus is the best bet right now to keep him calm and not to do anything rash.

"Both of you get home safe, okay?"

Peter nods. "We will, mate."

Then Remus is leaving too. It’s just Peter left with him now.

Everyone else has left.

"I need to phone Regulus," James says, blinking rapidly. His cheeks are wet, but he’s not sure when he started crying. He gets his phone out again, barely able to see the words on the screen between his tears. "I need— I need to speak to him—"

"Nope," Peter quips, and then the phone is being snatched from his hand.

James looks up, "Peter!"

"No, James," Peter says, holding James’ phone behind his back. "This sucks for all you. Sirius has Remus making sure he’s okay. Regulus has his friends for him. I am here for you. You are my priority now, and you’re not okay. We’re going to your flat, we’re going to drink some water and get some sleep, and if you can’t sleep, we’re going to watch some films and smoke some weed. Tomorrow, when you’re calm and you’ve processed what the fuck has just happened, then you can phone Regulus."

"But—"

"Not happening, Prongs," Peter interrupts, voice softening. "You need to take care of yourself tonight too."

"I. . ."

"Please."

James lets out a shaky breath. "Okay."

"Good. Let’s go home. I’m fucking cold, and you look like you need to sit down somewhere that isn’t this pavement."

Peter stays with him for three days.

Sirius doesn’t come back, but Moony texts them to let them know he’s okay. Regulus doesn’t answer James’ calls, or reply to his texts. The day after New Years, it stops ringing. Peter assures him it’s just because his phone is off or out of charge, but it doesn’t bring James any comfort to know that it continues to stay off.

The afternoon of New Years Day, after James had calmed down and processed all that was said the night before, he texts Sirius that he’s sorry. He truly is: he didn’t mean to put it all on Sirius, to blame him for everything. James is angry, of course, but after talking it out with Peter, he realises that he took Regulus’ side after only giving Sirius a chance to explain immediately after the fallout happened.

It’s not all forgiven, not by a long shot. James is still confused, still hurt that Sirius kept such a large part of his life a secret, and he still wonders if there’s a connection between Sirius’ departure when he was 16 and Regulus’ clear abandonment issues, but that’s not something for James to get involved in. He doesn’t want to lose Sirius anymore than he wants to lose Regulus, and he doesn’t want to lose either of them for the other. Sirius has been his best friend for too long to not hear him out again.

Sirius doesn’t reply to the text directly, but Remus messages him soon after saying Sirius read the text, cried, and that Remus is going to make him reply when he’s sure Sirius has calmed down enough.

James appreciates it at least.

If Peter wasn’t staying over, James knows he would have struggled more than he did over the last few days. Peter was the one to drag him out of bed in the morning, to cook him food and make him hot chocolates. It’s been Peter who’s been forcing James to sit on the sofa with him instead of wallowing in bed, who’s put movies and TV shows on when James doesn’t feel like talking to keep the silence of the flat at bay, but also listened whenever James has felt like talking too. He’s listened to James’ crying, his angry outbursts, his irrational accusations at both Black brothers. He’s nodded along even when James is sure the other boy didn’t agree with the stuff James was saying, because he probably knew it was just something James needed to get off his chest.

Really, James can’t thank Peter enough for being there.

Peter has to go home by Thursday morning though. He’d managed to get off the last few shifts at his mother cafe and get out of babysitting the kids, but by Thursday morning, his mum phones begging him to come and help and James feels too bad to say he needs him to stay. Peter seems reluctant, but promises James that if he needs anything, he’ll come straight back over. James ushers him out quickly, feeling guilty when he realises the strain he’s put the Pettigrew family under just so Peter could keep him company.

Without Peter, there the flat quickly becomes too quick, too big. It feels ridiculously empty without Peter there to fill Sirius’ shadow, which is ridiculous because James has spent plenty of time in the flat alone. It just feels worse now, knowing Sirius is avoiding the place instead of just working at the studio or sleeping round Remus’.

By lunch time, James is close to climbing the walls. He tried to distract himself with a shower, but ended up thinking too hard and spent the last 15 minutes of it curled in a ball with the spray lashing down over him and crying into his knees. He feels pathetic, exhausted and wrung out. He’s itching to do something, but at the same time every task feels exhausting, even the thought of doing anything zapping his energy.

In the end, he collapses on the sofa, snatching his phone off the coffee table. Peter has tried to keep him off it as much as possible over the last few days, saying it was only driving James more mad. He’s only heard from Remus since New Years, and the realisation was eating him alive, so Peter kept him off it.

He looks at Regulus’ number. The lack of response makes his heart speed up.

Is Reg doing okay? Has anyone managed to get hold of him? Has anyone seen him? He doubts Barty, Evan and Pandora haven’t been round. They’re probably looking after him, James knows this. He just wishes he could be told, wishes he could hear Regulus’ voice.

Remus has promised that Sirius is okay too. That he’s just focusing on processing the fact that his brother is in London and also dating (or more likely, was dating) his best friend. James understands its a lot for Sirius to take in, and he wants to be there to support him too.

James just doesn’t know if he’d be good company for Sirius right now.

Swiping away, James pulls up his mums number and presses 'call'. He hasn’t spoken to her since before New Years. Peter replied to her New Years text at midnight for James, as James was sitting on the sofa have an internal melt down at the time. Peter didn’t want to worry her, so replied on James’ behalf. She has no idea any of this has happened, and James feels guilty for phoning her. She’s probably been working, she doesn’t need to deal with his problems as well when so many people rely on her 12 hours of the day.

James doesn’t get a chance to hang up, because his mothers voice comes through after three rings.

"Darling!" She greets. "How are you, my love?"

"I-I’m okay," James says, but the words fall weak despite his effort for them to come out solid.

"What’s happened?" His mother asks. James can hear the concern in her voice, and it makes his chest clench.

"I. . ."

"Talk to me, sweetheart," she says.

James tells her everything. It comes out as a stammering, stuttering, blubbering mess. The events spill from James’ mouth like choked word-vomit. He tells her about introducing Regulus to his friends, about him freaking out and running off, about Sirius admitting they’re long-lost brothers. He tells her about his fight with Sirius, about Peter staying over and Sirius avoiding their flat like the plague now. He’s crying by the end of it, sobbing harshly. His mother stays silent throughout the confession, but James knows she’s listening on the other end.

"Well," his mother sighs, after he’s finished explaining and calmed down enough that he’s not opening sobbing down the phone at her. "That’s. . . I guess that’s one way to spend New Years."

James chuckles wetly. He rubs his eyes, they’re sore and feel puffy. He’s more tired now, limbs feeling like lead.

"It’s such a mess, mum."

"It sounds it. Oh, James," she whispers sadly. "I’m so sorry, my darling."

"Have you seen him?" James asks hesitantly. He knows his mum knows exactly who 'he' is. "Has he. . . has he been in? Does he seem okay? B-Because he’s not replying to my texts, and when I try to call it seems like his phone is off, and I just need to know if he’s alright, mama. I’m so— I’m so worried about him."

"He hasn’t been in, baby," his mother replies. "He’s been off all week."

James slumps into the sofa. "What?"

His mother sighs sadly down the phone. "He phoned in sick Monday morning, said he was going to be off all week."

James feels like his breath has got trapped in his throat. "He— but, then—"

"I’m sure he’s okay, darling," his mother soothes. "He probably needed some time off. I imagine it was a lot to deal with, seeing his older brother after so long."

"I know," James whispers, voice thick. He does know this, but he also knows that his mother was the only person who could have told him Regulus was okay. Regulus phoning into work is a pretty clear sign that he is not.

"Love, it’s going to be okay," his mother says.

"I don’t think it is, mama," James chokes, tears spilling over. He takes a shuddering breath, shaking his head. "I don’t— I don’t know how this has happened. I don’t know why Sirius lied for so long—"

"He didn’t lie, my love," Effie interrupts gently. "He never denied having a brother, remember that. He just didn’t tell us, but I trust he had his reasons."

"He hates him, mum," James argues. "He says Reg is just like them. I-I don’t understand. How can he think that?"

"Sirius knew Regulus long before you did, darling. Remember how Sirius was back then when he first came to us?"

James does.

Of course he does.

He doesn’t think he could ever forget the time when Sirius was a mess, face bruised and sobbing into James’ chest. James has never seen his friend so hysterical, so desperate for somewhere safe to stay. James always knew Sirius didn’t like it at home, but his friend never gave the impression it was that bad. James just thought his parents were strict, not abusive. James remembers how angry he was. He was ready to go the Black household, to give Sirius’ parents a piece of his mind. His mum and dad were ready to go to the police, but Sirius begged them not to. He just kept saying all he wanted was to stay somewhere safe.

It took a while for Sirius to explain everything to them. When he finally did, it broke James into pieces.

"His parents were horrible to him," his mother goes on, "and I don’t know what Regulus was like, but growing up in a home like they did. . . you can’t blame Sirius for hating them all."

James closes his eyes tightly.

"Regulus isn’t like them," he whispers. He feels so sure about it, but thinking about Sirius all those years ago, he can’t help but wonder what really happened.

Why did Sirius leave Regulus behind?

Why did Sirius not tell them about Regulus?

His mother sighs sadly though the phone.

"I’m not saying he is, or ever was, for that matter. I just need you to remember what Sirius was like when he came to us, what he told us they did to him for so long. Only Sirius and Regulus really know what happened, and there must have been a reason for Sirius to leave in the middle of the night, for him not to tell anyone. Regulus might not be at fault, but you need to hear Sirius out too, when you’re both ready."

"What if he makes me choose?" James asks quietly.

"Don’t worry about that now," Effie replies, and James can’t see her, but he knows she’s shaking her head. "All you need to worry about now, is making sure you are okay, and then Sirius and Regulus individually. You have time to figure the rest out later."

"I don’t know what to do, mama," James confesses. "I don’t. . . I don’t know how to fix this."

"It’s not entirely on you to fix it," she says. "This isn’t on you, James. I need you to understand that. What’s happened is hard, but it’s not your fault. You didn’t cause this. If anything, you’re the least guilty out of everyone."

"But I said—"

"You fought with Sirius out of anger and confusion. You’d both gone through something overwhelming, you’d both been drinking. You both said things you didn’t mean, it happens. That’s what most arguments consist of, and that’s why people apologise afterwards. Sirius is staying with Remus because he probably doesn’t want to say anything else he’ll regret, not because he’s avoiding you. Whatever happens in the end, this is not your fault. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he says, but he doesn’t believe it.

His mother hums, "I don’t believe you, but I’m sure it’ll sink in soon. Regulus and Sirius are just trying to process what’s happened. They both love you, and they both don’t want to lose you, and they probably both know that means that by having you, they will have to get used to being in each others lives again. That’s a lot for them both to accept, and you need to give them time. However, in the mean time, that doesn’t mean that you get to allow yourself to work yourself short. Take care of yourself too, James. They need you, but you also need someone to think of you too."

"I know."

"I hope you do," she whispers. "You always put others first, my love. It’s a great asset, but I worry sometimes."

"I know, mama."

"This is not your fault," Effie says again. "Don’t blame yourself, and don’t cut yourself in half for the both of them, or anyone for that matter. Don’t let them turn you into the villain. You did nothing wrong. You’ve been a fantastic friend to Sirius, and you’ve been a wonderful man for Regulus. Don’t let them make you forget that."

"Okay."

His mother sighs. James hates that he’s making her worry. It makes his skin itch and his heart race. She has more important things to worry about than him.

"I’ll let you know when Regulus comes back to work," she says.

James can’t hold back the soft gasp. "You will?"

Of course. You’re going to let it eat you alive wondering," she chuckles softly. "As soon as I see him, I’ll let you know."

James feels like he could start crying again. "Thank you."

"Always, my boy," she says. "Now, I have something that will cheer you up. Guess who attempted to make homemade pasta last night?"

"Please don’t say it was dad."

"The state of my kitchen says different," his mother laughs. "You will never believe how much flour was on the floor. . ."

The next day, James is flicking through TV channels to find something decent to watch when he hears the front door open. He looks over his shoulder, by this point, expecting it to be Wormtail again.

It’s not.

Sirius meets his eyes when James turns and looks at him. He looks as exhausted as James feels. Bags under his eyes like someone has wiped charcoal there. He’s holding himself like he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Hi," James whispers.

Sirius nods, letting the door fall shut behind him. "Hi."

Suddenly, James is nervous. He doesn’t move. His whole body feels frozen stiff. Sirius is staring at him, and James can’t help but stare back. He’s never felt this kind of trepidation with Sirius before.

Is Sirius here to stay? Is he here to fight? To tell James to stay away from him? Is he here to get his things and go back to Moony’s again?

They’ve never fought like this. James doesn’t think there has ever been a time they’ve gone days not speaking. He feels like he’s lost a limb, and no someone has dumped it on his doorstep for him to mourn over but not get back.

James sucks in a sharp breath, seeming to come back to himself with a jolt. He sits straighter on the sofa.

"Are—are you staying?" He asks shakily. "Or. . . or are you just picking up some stuff—"

"I’m staying," Sirius interrupts, nodding. He shifts from foot to foot, blinking rapidly around the room. "I need to— we should—. . ."

"Okay," James nods.

They fall silent again. It feels so wrong. They’re not like this. They’re James and Sirius. Prongs and Padfoot. They’re the two who started it all, who met when they were 11 and went onto conquer the world.

James wants to run and hug him, tackle Sirius too the floor and wrap himself around him and never let go. He wants Sirius to mess his hair up, to straighten his glasses and hug him back so so tight.

"Do you want coffee?" James asks. His mouth is dry, tongue sticking to the roof of it. "Or hot chocolate?"

Sirius nods. "Hot chocolate, thanks."

"Okay."

James gets up, needing something to do. They don’t speak when James is pottering around the kitchen making their drinks. At some point, Sirius moves to the sofa. James doesn’t hear him, but when he turns back, he sees Sirius slumped down in the corner. James takes the opposite.

He puts Sirius’ hot chocolates down, keeping his own in his hands. It’s burning his palms, but he needs the solid mug to ground him. Plus, he’s felt so cold the last few days. The uncomfortable heat is refreshing.

"Thanks," Sirius says quietly, despite making no move to pick it up.

"So," James starts, but he realises he doesn’t know where to start.

Where does he start?

Where do they even begin?

How does he fix this?

How can he make Sirius feel better when all of his secrets have been thrown out into the world?

James caused this, so he needs to fix this, but he doesn’t know how.

He does’t even know where to start.

"I’m sorry," James whispers suddenly. The words fall from his mouth, so small and so pathetic.

Sirius frowns at him. "For what?"

Everything.

"For what I said that night," James shrugs, looking down at his drink. "For hurting you, for making you try and explain when it had just happened—"

"No, James, no," Sirius shakes his head quickly. "You have every right to be mad. You. . . you all do. I should have told you all years ago."

"Why didn’t you?"

"I meant it when I said he was like them," Sirius croaks. "He. . . growing up he wasn’t. He was soft, kind. He was my little brother, y’know. It was us against them, against the world. I was always protecting him against them, always defending him. I had to, he was my little brother. He was too good to live in that house. Then he started to act like them, started to do as they told him, turned against me."

James frowns. "What do you mean?"

"He became their little clone," Sirius whispers, shaking his head. He looks at James, and suddenly he’s transported back to that night that they found out Sirius’ parents have been hurting him for years. "Suddenly he was doing what they said, doing as they told. He believed them, soaked it up like a fucking sponge. He shouted at me when I got into trouble, calling me stupid and rash, saying I was winding them up and it was all my fault."

"Did you wind them up?"

"Of course I did," Sirius laughs wetly. "You know I did. I wasn’t going to let them know they could break me, no matter how hard they tried. I wasn’t going to let them think they could make me do what they wanted, to become like them."

"What can I do, Sirius?" James asks. "What can I do to help you? What can— how can I make this better?"

"I don’t know," Sirius admits. "I haven’t thought about them for years. But— but seeing him on Saturday. . . it’s like they’re back. I feel like if I close my eyes for too long they’ll find me."

"They’ll never be able do that," James argues. "We’ll never let that happen, Pads."

"He’s here, Prongs," Sirius shudders, curling into himself. "If he’s here, what if they are too?"

"They’re not here with him," James says. "He’s here on his own."

"How do you know he’s telling the truth?" Sirius laughs coldly, bitter. "He forgot to mention he’d changed his name, or that he’s got an older brother with the exact same name as your best friend—"

"Clearly keeping secrets is a family trait, then," James interrupts harshly. "I’m not defending anyone. But you both kept things secret, Sirius."

"He’s not my family," Sirius snarls.

James feels deflated. "Pads. . ."

"No! The person I left behind wasn’t my little brother anymore!" Sirius snaps. "He was a clone of them. He was too far for me to get back by that point. I knew he’d be safe there, he was their favourite. They’d never hurt him. They hadn’t for years, because they’d moulded him into exactly what they wanted."

"He’s not like that anymore," James pleads for Sirius to believe him.

The person Sirius is describing is not the Regulus James knows.

Though, he’s been starting to wonder, how well does he really know Regulus?

"I don’t trust him, James," Sirius says. "You don’t know what he could be like—"

"Pads, they’re not here with him," James shakes his head, interrupting softly but firmly. "He’s here alone, he’s changed his name, he’s not working in law or business. Would your parents have allowed him to come here with a new identity and study medicine if he meant to be their clone?"

"I don’t know," Sirius clenches his eyes closed. "It doesn’t make sense, but I’m not prepared to find out. He’s too close to them. Him being here is a way for them to get to me again."

"Pads. . ."

"Please don’t make me," Sirius begs, and when his eyes open to reveal the swimming tears, James’ heart cracks. "Please, James. I can’t— I can’t—"

"Okay," James nods. "Okay."

James can’t make him. He can’t even fathom it. Sirius looks so small right now, so beaten down and weary. James can’t push him, he can’t bring himself to even suggest the idea of the Black brothers reconnecting yet. Seeing Regulus has brought up a lot of memories Sirius has worked so hard to push down, to get over and to deal with.

James is still mad, but he doesn’t think he’s mad at Sirius anymore.

He’s mad at Walburga and Orion Black. He’s mad at the two people who were meant to protect Sirius. They’re his parents, they chose to bring him into the world and they only did that to create a puppet.

They broke Sirius once, and James put the pieces back together again.

He won’t allow them to break Sirius again.

"You’re my brother," Sirius whispers. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," James smiles. "You’re my brother too."

"Good."

"That’s never going to change, Pads," James promises. "You’ll always be my brother."

Finally, Sirius cracks a smile. "I know."

"Do you want another hot chocolate?"

"Yeah. I’ll make them though. Yours are shit."

"Hey!"

Sirius’ chuckle echoes through the flat, and James relaxes against the sofa.

It’s all going to be okay, he tells himself.

It has to be.

Regulus

Stepping back into the hospital after having his first ever week off sick is harder than Regulus anticipated. Sure, the reasons why he flunked off his shifts is enough to make him want to run back home again, but he has to keep reminding himself that no one in the hospital knows. Barty assured him that Dorcas and Mary completely missed the showdown between them all with James and Sirius, and Pandora subtly asked the girls when she saw them the night before if they’d spoken to Peter and they all apparently haven’t.

Therefore, the neurology ward was a safe space.

Apart from a large single factor, but according to Regulus' rota, he's not on shift with that person until his fourth shift out of five.

He's safe for three days.

When he walks out of the locker, dressed in the familiar green scrubs and white long sleeve underneath, he spots Dorcas at the main desk. She looks up from her phone when he sits down, and her face breaks out in the familiar, beaming grin.

"Little star!" She cries. "Welcome back! We missed you last week."

"Morning," he replies, sitting down in the chair beside her. "I see the place is still standing."

Dorcas chuckles, shaking her head. "Unfortunately. Seems the hospital doesn't collapse as soon as our best doctor goes sick. How you doing? Never seen you take sick leave before, had us all a bit worried."

"I'm fine," he nods. "Better now. Sorry for leaving you all in the shit."

"Don't worry about it," she smiles. "If it wasn't you, someone else would have phoned in sick. I missed you on New Years, did you even stay till midnight?"

Regulus swallows around a dry lump in his throat, idly flicking through the closest file on the desk to avoid looking at Dorcas. "No. I was home by then. Didn't feel well."

"Ah, that sucks," she nods. "You're all good now though, yeah? Because we've got a busy day today. They may have staffed two doctors but we've got no nurses and only two HCA's with us."

Regulus sighs. Home sweet home.

The shift goes surprisingly fast. Regulus gets back into the swing of it as if he never left, which he supposes isn't that great of a feat as he only had a week off, but the week off still left him exhausted and numb. People greet him back with happiness that he's well again and 'over his sickness'. A few people ask what's wrong, and he tells them the flu. It must be a believable lie as they all look him and up and down and nod sadly. He didn't realise he looks crap enough to actually be considered getting over being physically sick.

Friday night comes round faster than he anticipated. Anxiety burns through his veins like acid. He wants to phone in again, to not go and hide at home. Euphemia will know. She must do. James is her son, and now he knows that Sirius is her surrogate son. There's no way neither of them have told her.

Regulus doesn't know what her reaction is going to be. She's been tame about the whole 'I'm dating your son despite you being my boss' fiasco. She hasn't got involved at all, barely registering it at work and never bringing it up to Regulus. She hasn't made him feel awkward in anyway, hasn't treated him any less kind or different. She's treated it as if it hasn't happened all this time, even when Regulus ran out on James and put him through days of turmoil all because Regulus was scared of letting people in.

This is different though. This time it involves Sirius. Euphemia has two people she's defending for, she has two people that she is standing with against Regulus.

Regulus doesn't want to see Euphemia. He doesn't want to see her or her sons. Sirius abandoned him, James allowed it and then trailed Regulus along, always knowing that Sirius was hiding behind a closed door watching his little brother get roped in. Euphemia took Sirius away from him, and then had the audacity to treat Regulus like one of her own when he came to London despite knowing the whole time that she played a large part in the shit that went down when Sirius ran away.

There's no way they didn't know. As much as Regulus hates to admit it, him and Sirius have always looked like carbon copies of one another. They share the same famous Black family traits. There is no way that James and Euphemia didn't take one look at him and put the dots together.

They must have known he was Sirius' little brother.

Yet neither of them said anything.

Regulus hates them for it.

The day of the night shift that they're sharing the ward comes with a daunting ominous feeling sitting heavy in Regulus' stomach. He slept badly during the day, so he's got the lack of sleep piled onto the already bone-deep exhaustion weighing him down.

He doesn't know what he was expecting to feel when he first saw Euphemia.

Anger?

Fear?

Sadness?

Betrayal?

Regulus half expected to feel all of them. He's surprised to realise, when he sits down beside her the evening of their shared night shift, to feel absolutely nothing.

She looks the same. Regulus doesn't know why he expected her to look different.

Did he want her to look ragged? Stressed? Guilty? As crappy as Regulus feels? Exhausted with bags under her eyes, clear signs of disturbed sleep from the grief that's happened?

Did he want her to look at him with resentment? Anger? Did he want her to hate him so he felt like he had an even playing field to hate her too?

She looks none of that.

She looks the same as she always does.

She smiles when he sits down, that same friendly, motherly smile that normally makes his stomach swoop with gratitude and a dash of smugness as she never looks at anyone else like that.

"Good evening, Regulus," she says. "Glad to see you're well and back at work."

Regulus doesn't know what to say to that. He stares, jaw slack with surprise. The day doctor sits down then, beginning the handover so Regulus' time-slot to reply is gone.

He doesn't hear a single word the doctor says, because his mind is too busy being overcome with hot, fiery anger. He can feel himself glaring at the side of Euphemia's face, but he can't stop. She's not looking at him, instead listening to the doctor with her shoulders relaxed as if the world around her isn't currently burning into oblivion.

Regulus realises the day doctor has finished the handover when the male stands up, and he's laughing at something with Euphemia that Regulus has clearly missed. Suddenly, the doctor is waving at them both, walking away from the desk and leaving them alone.

"So," she starts, and her voice sounds as sickly kind and professional as always. She sounds as if nothing has happened. As if nothing has changed. "Do you—"

"I'll start on the rounds," Regulus interrupts, standing abruptly. He swipes the handover sheet the doctor left, half crumpling it in his hand in his blind haste to get away as soon as he can.

He doesn't look at Euphemia as he walks away from the desk. He can't bring himself too, because he's scared if he does he'll blow up at her in front of the whole ward.

He scans the sheet quickly, deciding his first point is going to be completing another neuro assessment on a stroke patient. They're due another one soon anyways, and the patient is in a side room, which will give Regulus a few minutes peace to find his footing again.

This is his ward too, he reminds himself. Euphemia may be the boss, but that's all she has to be.

His boss.

And his boss or not, he's a damn good fucking doctor - nothing is going to change that.

Not even Euphemia's presence is going to let him look like a fool in front of the staff or patients.

Regulus decides that the best thing to do is avoid her. That way, she can't blindside him by avoiding the elephant in the room, or take the opportunity to try and defend herself, James or Sirius.

It will also help with the temptation to throw steaming hot coffee in her face.

The plan works for approximately six out of the 12 hours.

By a stroke of luck, Regulus gets called down to emergency a little past midnight for a patient coming into resus. Euphemia offers to go, but Regulus practically bites her head off when he tells her he's going, once again not giving her a chance to argue and making straight for the elevators.

By the time he comes back up, his trousers are covered in blood from a trauma job he assisted on that came through when he was done with the exam. He makes a direct line for the locker room to get some fresh scrubs.

His heart practically stops in his chest when he sees Euphemia sitting on the sofa.

She looks up from her book when the door closes behind him. She doesn't even try to hide the surprise on her face at the sight of him at the door. The only times they've spoken this whole shift have been brief and work-related. Regulus isn't going to be surprised to find out that people have noticed the tension between the usually pally pair of doctors.

"Regulus—" she starts, but Regulus doesn't want to hear it.

"I'm just changing my scrubs," he says, tearing his eyes away from her and heading to the store cupboard.

With his back to her, he feels defensive. He can't help the square of his shoulders, the painful tension of his spine. He's so angry at her, so angry at her son. They ruined his life, left him to rot in Grimmauld place like unwanted scraps and years later, have tried to break down the defences he built up to survive living alone with his parents.

"We need to talk about this," she says, and as soon as the words reach his ears a fire ignites in his stomach like someone brought a flame to a fuse.

"There's nothing to talk about," he replies. His voice sounds dead to his own ears. The anger inside of him does nothing to bring the energy back to him. He's so tired. "This is a work place. A hospital. We're doctors, we're staying professional—"

"Regulus. . ."

"We're hardly in the place for discussing our personal lives, which by the way, I am not doing with you," Regulus ploughes on. "I have nothing to say to, and I recommend that whatever you want to say to me you keep to your fucking self."

Euphemia clears her throat behind him. Regulus can imagine she's itching to berate him for swearing at her. It's highly rude, and unprofessional. He dares her to say something.

"It's going to start affecting our patient care if we can't work together," the older woman replies, and Regulus scoffs.

"I don't know about you, but I can assure you my professionalism is going to be affected by being forced to work with you," he replies. "Unless it's you that is unable to work with me due to the consequences of yours and your family's actions."

"That's not fair, Regulus."

Regulus whips around to stare at her.

Not fair?

Him? Not fair?

How is Regulus the one making this 'not fair'? He's the one who's been screwed over, lied to, left to being beaten and bruised and forgotten.

"How dare you," he snarls lowly. She stares at him in shock, eyes wide and sad and Regulus just doesn't fucking care anymore! "How dare you stand there and try to act like you didn't play a part in this! You took him in, you gave him a home all the while knowing he'd left me there with them! You didn't bat a fucking eyelid at the prospect that he'd left his little brother with the monsters who fucking drove him to the point of running away in the middle of the night!"

In his rant, she took a step back, the hostility of his tone making her eyes water. "Regulus. . ."

"No! I don't want to hear it, Potter!" He shouts. He doesn't care if people hear now, if his voice carries far enough that he can be heard outside the mess room. He's too angry now, too hurt, too tired to keep playing happy colleagues. If she wants to talk about it, then Regulus will happily rip into her for it. "For years, you and your fucking family continued to protect him and let me rot in that fucking house! And when I came here, you pretended like you didn't fucking know! You acted like nothing had happened, like you didn't steal him away from me! You pretended you gave a shit, and to what? To make up for the guilt of knowing you'd left a 15 year old with them?" His face is burning, his eyes are watering against his will and he chokes down a sob. He feels torn open, split and vulnerable. Euphemia is watching him, looking heartbroken and tearful. Regulus shakes his head, "Sirius told you, I know he told you what they were like. Did seeing me here make you feel guilty? Is that why you suddenly cared so much? Then James waltz's in, and the lie fucking continues! You— you let him lie to me this whole time. You watched us get closer and all the while, you all knew what you'd done!"

"That's not true, Regulus," she whispers, shaking her head.

"Oh, please," Regulus snaps. He wants to scream, throw something at the wall. His entire body is buzzing but at the same time, he feels like he's ran the length of London with no breaks. His legs are jelly, his breathing is fast but he can't get it to slow down. "Get off your fucking high horse, Euphemia!"

She flinches at the shout. She looks horrified, and Regulus decides that's good. She kept asking, so he's delivered. As if she had the decency to pretend to act like she didn't understand where his hostility towards her was coming from.

For a moment, the room is silent. All that can be heard is Regulus' heavy breathing. 

Suddenly, she lets out a sigh.

"Regulus, we didn't know."

"Don't bullshit me," he glares. "Don't pretend you missed it. Naive stupidity doesn't suit you, Doctor Potter."

"He never told us, Regulus," she says, shaking her head. Her voice is soft and cautious, as if she's speaking to a wild animal. "Sirius never said he had a brother."

It feels worse than when he saw Sirius that night.

It feels worse than seeing James and realising who he was.

It feels worse than anything.

Sirius kept him a secret?

"He. . ." his voice cracks painfully. "What?"

"None of us knew," Euphemia says, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looks nothing like the strong, determined doctor he's worked with for so long. She looks like a heartbroken mother now, she looks distraught and shaken. "We knew what your parents were like, but Sirius never mentioned having a younger brother at home."

Regulus can't believe it. He can't believe her words.

There's no way Sirius never said anything. They were best friends growing up, and he must have mentioned Regulus to his friends.

It feels like the final knock against the walls around him. He feels his resolve come crumbling down like the defence around him has merely been a stack of cards.

There's a pain in his chest, a tightness that's pressing and pressing and pressing.

Is this what it feels like when your heart finally breaks?

"You didn't know?" He whispers brokenly.

"No," she replies, shaking her head sternly. "Regulus, I promise we weren't told a thing. I. . . I admit, when I first met you, I had my suspicions."

Regulus eyes widen. "What?"

"I mean, you both look so similar, and I saw Sirius so much in you when you first came here," she smiles sadly, as if she's remembering. Or maybe it's because Regulus looks exactly like that boy now: lost, alone, scared. "You were so much like him when he ran to us when he was 16. It was hard to miss the similarities."

"So. . ." He takes a shaky breath. It rattles down into his lungs. "You did know?"

"No," she says quickly, shaking her head vehemently. "I suspected there was a relation, and I wanted to say something as soon as I knew I had your trust. But then, without saying much, you made it obvious that you weren't living with them anymore. You admitted you were safe, living with friends and studying for a career. I didn't want you to lose this place, the people and the life you'd finally created for yourself here in London. I didn't want to take that away from you. Not saying anything meant you'd stay, and I could keep an eye, make sure you were okay."

"Why would you do that?"

She smiles sadly at him. "Because you're right: when I started to realise you and Sirius were related, I felt guilty. I didn't know you were brothers, but seeing Sirius in you, guessing what you'd been through by the way you acted. . . I felt like I owed you. I had this feeling you'd been lost in the cracks, and been hurt in the process."

Regulus feels like the ground has been ripped from beneath his feet. He collapses heavily onto the hard wooden bench. He can feel his body shaking, trembling and rattling like a broken window caught in a gust of wind.

"I didn't know what to do when you started seeing James," Euphemia says, sighing. "I didn't know if it was my place to get involved. I knew it would come out eventually, there was only so long that you and James could go on seeing each other before Sirius walked into the same room. Truthfully, I'm surprised it took this long."

Regulus snorts, surprisingly himself. Thinking back on it, he's surprised it managed to go on this long. A trick of cruel fate, that not once did Regulus manage to be at the flat at the same time as Sirius. He was in Sirius' home, and yet, he didn't have any idea.

Euphemia doesn't move closer to him. He appreciates it. He doesn't think he can stand anyone touching him at the moment.

"I'm not going to pretend I understand how you feel Regulus. I'm not even going to try and pretend to you that I can sympathise or give you any kind of solid advice. The only thing I want you to know, is that James didn't know. Everything between you and James was true, and it was completely separated from Sirius."

"I don't know if I can believe that," he murmurs. He looks up from the spot on the floor he'd been staring at, and meets her eyes across the room. "How am I meant to believe that he really didn't tell any of you?"

"Because he didn't," she repeats, voice still soft. "I truly don't know why. I trust Sirius had his reasons, and while they may not seem valid to us, they were to him. He deserves time to explain himself."

"What about me?" Regulus asks harshly. "Am I supposed to let this go? Forgive him for leaving me with them?"

Euphemia takes a sharp, short breath. She shakes her head, suddenly looking as tired as Regulus feels.

"I won't tell you to do anything," she admits. "You're all adults, it's not up to me to dictate anything for you boys. I just think you all deserve a chance to say your sides of the story. I know James feels very much in the dark at the moment. He's caught in the middle of something he didn't even know existed."

James.

Oh, James.

Regulus feels the sharp pain again. The knife in the middle of this circle of chaos, the person who's connected everyone.

Regulus looks back down at his shoes when he feels the tears sting his eyes again.

"I trusted him," Regulus whispers.