Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regulus had always thought of himself as the worst, yet acted like he was the best.
Call it the influence of his mother, who drilled into him the importance of keeping his chin high and his back straight, or maybe it was his father, who pushed him relentlessly to do more—but never bothered to look when Regulus actually did it. Achievements, after all, don’t feel like achievements when they’re treated as the bare minimum.

Still, he survived. He lived. He endured. And what kept him going, most days, were his friends. His found family. Because when his real one failed him—his mother with her cold standards, his father with his silence, and Sirius, especially Sirius, with his unbearable existence—it was Barty and Evan who showed up. Who stayed.

If Regulus acted like he was on top of the world, then Sirius believed he owned it. And maybe that’s why the two of them never got along. Maybe that’s why what should have been a brotherhood ended up feeling like a constant, exhausting competition.

Who looked better.
Who studied harder.
Who lived louder.
Sirius was winning. That was the truth Regulus didn’t like to admit. Sirius sparkled. He had this way of being seen, even when he wasn't trying. Regulus, meanwhile, had to work for every ounce of attention, every sliver of approval.

And now, he had a whole new reason to hate him.

James Potter.

James, with his stupid hair and his dimpled grin. James, who Regulus had dated for five months—five glorious, infuriating, intense months—before Sirius ruined it. Because of course he did.

Regulus should’ve seen it coming. Sirius couldn’t stand the idea of someone choosing Regulus over him. He was possessive in the worst way, petty to the bone, and when James started spending more time with Regulus, Sirius didn’t just sulk—he sabotaged. Slowly, deliberately, until the foundation cracked and James chose Sirius. Because of course he did.

Now Regulus had to watch them—James and Sirius, all smiles and inside jokes and casual touches—and pretend it didn’t hurt. Pretend it didn’t burn.

It wasn’t just heartbreak. It was betrayal dipped in gasoline and set on fire.

They were in their final year of school now, and Regulus was counting down the days. He prayed—quietly, bitterly—for graduation. For freedom. For London. For some tiny semblance of peace. He wanted to live, really live, for the first time in his life. Preferably with Barty and Evan by his side. Preferably miles away from Sirius and his spotlight.

And if the universe could throw in a little opportunity for revenge along the way?

Well, it came on an unseasonably warm day in the middle of October. The windows in math class were cracked open, letting in a lazy breeze that barely stirred the stale classroom air. Regulus was half-asleep, cheek propped in his palm, the droning of the teacher a distant hum.

Then the door opened.

A new student walked in, late and unapologetic, with a slip in hand and a look that said get over it. And just like that, the room shifted.

The whispers started and Regulus wasn’t even surprised. He didn’t turn his head right away—he was too used to drama, too practiced in pretending not to care—but he could feel the energy in the room shift. A spark in the air, buzzing just beneath the surface.

Even Sirius sat up straight, a few rows to Regulus’s left, looking like he’d just been hit by a train.

Because Remus Lupin walked in.

Remus, who Sirius had dated for almost a year. Remus, who had dumped him about six months ago in a breakup that had left Sirius moody, reckless, and dramatically inconsolable for weeks.

Regulus knew him— vaguely. They’d crossed paths before, mostly around the Black estate during those tense summer days. Regulus never really bothered to acknowledge him back then. But Remus had always left an impression.

And today? He was making one again.

Next to Regulus, Evan let out a low, appreciative whistle, and Barty tilted his head, ever so slightly—a reaction that meant more than it seemed. Barty didn’t do facial expressions in public. If he blinked slowly, that was practically screaming.

Remus strolled up to the teacher’s desk, paper in hand, dressed in the school uniform that somehow managed to look designed just for him. The tie slightly loose, shirt sleeves rolled to the forearms, collar open just enough. He looked like he didn’t care at all, which, of course, made everyone look twice.

He was tall. Not the kind of tall where people claim to be six foot and aren't— actually tall. Broad-shouldered, lean, confident. His brown hair was a little messy in that intentional way that probably wasn’t intentional at all, his nose crooked from an old break, freckles scattered across sharp cheekbones, and a few pale scars trailing down the side of his neck that caught in the classroom light.

He handed the paper to Mr. Davies, who scanned it with a tired expression.

“You can take a seat,” the teacher muttered, already bored.

Remus nodded and turned, scanning the room. His eyes landed on Sirius—and Regulus swore he saw the moment the oxygen left his brother’s lungs.

Remus gave Sirius a look. Not hate, not disgust. Something far worse.

That ‘Surprised to see me?’ look. The one that always comes right before a storm.

Regulus, deeply entertained, had to bite back a smirk.

As Remus walked past him, he gave Regulus a nod. It was small, barely there, but Regulus blinked, a little thrown off. He nodded back before he could even think about it.

Remus slid into the empty seat behind him, his presence immediate and warm. His cologne—something soft, clean, vanilla and cedar—lingered in the air, making Evan glance back at him, mildly intrigued.

Mr. Davies looked up from the board again. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Remus didn’t miss a beat. “No, thank you.”

His voice was calm, polite, but his Welsh accent gave it a kind of musical edge—like a lullaby with a knife tucked inside. Just dismissive enough to be daring. Confident without trying.

The room chuckled. A few girls giggled. Someone near the back let out a dramatic “ooh.”

Regulus turned just enough to look at Sirius, who was clutching his pen like it might betray him. His jaw was tight. His ears were red.

This was going to be fun.

Mr. Davies raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed but too tired to argue. “Of course,” he muttered, suppressing an eye roll. “Now, let’s get back to advanced algebra.”

Regulus leaned back slightly in his chair, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Evan immediately scribbled a few words in his notebook and slid it across the desk to Regulus.

“u know him???”
The dot over the i was drawn like a tiny heart, just slightly off-center, like always. Regulus had never said anything about it out loud, but he deeply adored it. 

He gave Evan a quick nod and a “tell you later” look, already lost in his thoughts—trying to piece together exactly what the hell Remus Lupin was doing here.

Regulus knew what he knew—and most of that came secondhand, filtered through James, obviously, because Sirius would rather swallow glass than give Regulus the full story.

From what he remembered, Sirius had met Remus at some party the summer before last. Remus had been visiting his father for two months, something about sharing custody or some nonsense. Lyall Lupin was apparently a big name in the political world—not quite at the level of Barty’s father, who practically ran half the Ministry, but close enough to matter.

Remus and Sirius had clicked instantly. One of those wild, fast, chaotic connections that made other people uncomfortable. They’d fallen hard. And annoyingly, they’d stayed together—even when Remus went back to Cardiff, they still made it work. Sirius visits him nearly every weekend. Phone calls. Texts. All that tragically devoted long-distance nonsense.

Until one weekend in May, Sirius came back alone. And just like that, it was over.

No explanation. No details. Just a line drawn and the door slammed shut.

James never told Regulus what happened. Of course he didn’t. His loyalty to Sirius was carved into stone. So whatever had gone down between them—whatever had caused Remus to end things—it was locked away behind James’s irritating moral code.

And now Remus was here.

Here.

In this school, in this classroom, sitting directly behind Regulus like a carefully placed chess piece. Like fate—or karma—had personally dropped him off with a bow on top.

Regulus didn’t believe in coincidences. He believed in timing. In motives. In consequences.

And right now, he was dying to know the full story. Not because he cared about Sirius’s love life (ew), but because knowing it meant power. Leverage. The upper hand in a game Regulus had never asked to play—but was more than willing to win.

And if getting closer to Remus Lupin was the key?

Well then.

Let the games begin.

Regulus sat a little straighter in his chair, resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder. He didn’t need to look at Remus to make a decision.

If Sirius started the petty war by ruining Regulus’s relationship with James… then Regulus would happily end it.

And Remus? Remus might be the perfect weapon.

Sirius was still sitting bolt upright, clutching his pen like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. He hadn’t written much—Regulus could tell from here—but he was pretending to take notes with all the seriousness of a soldier in battle.

Beside him, James kept sneaking glances. First at Remus, then at Regulus, then back again. That, at least, wasn’t surprising. James might’ve been the one who dumped Regulus, but he was also the one who clearly regretted it. Even if he’d never admit it. Ever. Especially not out loud, and definitely not to Regulus.

Mostly because he knew better. Because admitting it would mean turning against Sirius, and James Potter was nothing if not loyal. Painfully loyal. To a fault. To Sirius.

The two little men. Both dramatic, both delusional, both exhausting.

The rest of the class was trying (and failing) not to stare at Remus too. Some probably wondered what kind of person willingly transferred into the hellscape that was their pretentious private school in the middle of October. Some were caught on that air of quiet mystery he seemed to carry like a second uniform. And then there were the ones—half the girls and Evan, obviously —who just thought he was hot.

Regulus couldn’t blame them, really. Objectively, Remus was handsome. In that rough, quietly dangerous sort of way that made people lean in without meaning to. The kind of guy who probably had secrets and poetry and knives in the same drawer.

Eventually, the bell rang. Mr. Davies dismissed the class with the same bored sigh he’d started it with, and the scraping of chairs filled the room as people rushed to gather their things.

Evan gave Regulus a pointed look, one eyebrow raised in expectation. Barty, ever the nosy bitch—though he would never admit it in public—stretched like it was just another normal day and said, as casually as ever, “Cig?”

Regulus nodded immediately, already itching to talk. If he was going to make a move on Remus—or toward Remus, or whatever this was going to become—he needed backup. He needed Barty’s cold-blooded analysis and Evan’s hype. Always.

The three of them slipped out of the classroom like shadows, backpacks slung over one shoulder, hands shoved into pockets, shoes echoing down the corridor. They didn’t speak until they were outside, heading toward their usual spot—a tucked-away corner of the courtyard where no one ever bothered them, mostly because Barty had threatened enough people to establish it as theirs.

Regulus could already feel the words bubbling up in his chest. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to say yet, but he knew one thing for sure.

This was about to get interesting.

They lit their cigarettes in perfect sync, like a well-rehearsed ritual. The flick of lighters, the soft hiss of flame, the first drag—calm and deliberate. Smoke curled into the crisp October air, and before Regulus even exhaled, Evan blurted:

“Who the fuck is that guy?”

Regulus took his time answering. He leaned back against the brick wall, one boot braced casually, cigarette perched between his fingers like he’d been waiting for someone to ask. He smirked, slow and smug.

“Sirius’s ex-boyfriend.”

Evan’s jaw dropped like he was auditioning for a drama. Barty, ever composed, simply raised one perfectly arched eyebrow—just enough to say well, well, well. Neither of them had ever asked about Remus before. Of course they hadn’t. They didn’t ask about Sirius. Not directly. Not unless Regulus brought him up first.

And Regulus usually didn’t. Not unless he was drunk, high, or three seconds away from a breakdown. His rants about Sirius came in waves—loud, emotional, unpredictable.

“Dunno what he’s doing here, though,” Regulus added, flicking ash off the end of his cig. “Guessing he moved in with his dad.”

Barty narrowed his eyes slightly. “And chose the school his ex goes to? Out of all the places?”

Regulus shrugged, taking another drag. “Bet it wasn’t his choice. His father probably forced it. You know—‘best private school’ and all that crap.”

Evan still looked half-dazed, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “But—but what? You actually, like… know him?”

“Not really,” Regulus said, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Never talked to him, right? Everything I know came from James. Which means it’s sugarcoated and annoyingly vague. And obviously no one told me why the two of them broke up.”

Barty tilted his head, narrowing in. He could always tell when Regulus was holding something back. “But?”

Regulus smiled again, sharp and mean this time. The kind of smile that usually meant trouble.

“But,” he said, eyes gleaming, “I’m about to find out.”

Barty blinked once. “You’re going to talk to him?”

“Mm-hm,” Regulus hummed. “Preferably in front of Sirius. Maybe during lunch. Maybe at the parking lot. I’ll figure it out.”

Evan let out a low, impressed whistle. “You’re evil.”

“Thank you,” Regulus replied sweetly, flicking ash with a graceful little snap. “I learned from the best.”

“Petty,” Barty said, not even trying to hide the admiration.

“Strategic,” Regulus corrected. “I just want to know why Lupin dumped him. And if it makes Sirius spiral a bit in the process…”

He smiled again, all teeth this time.

“…that’s really just a bonus.”

The rest of the day’s classes passed just like the first—Remus dodging every teacher’s attempt to make him introduce himself, people still sneaking glances like he might shapeshift mid-lesson, and Sirius looking like he was one bad word away from flinging himself out a window.

Regulus, meanwhile, spent every spare minute crafting a game plan—how to talk to Remus without looking like he wanted to talk to Remus. Which, of course, he very much did. Just not obviously.

But for once, the universe decided to show Regulus a sliver of mercy.

History class delivered an opportunity like a wrapped gift. Professor Binns, who was definitely too old to legally be teaching anyone (or safely pouring tea, judging by the stains on every test he returned), shuffled to the front of the classroom with his usual bored aura.

Once a University of London lecturer, Binns had apparently gotten fed up with the city’s noise and people and decided to retire in Luton, which somehow led to this school. No one questioned it. Mostly because, despite his tea-stained fingers and complete lack of social awareness, he was actually a phenomenal teacher. Which was rare enough to be respected.

“Right,” Binns said, his voice as dry as the overhead projector sheets he still used. “You’re doing a project. In pairs. One week. Paper on the suffragist movement. Half your grade. Don’t make it dreadful.”

That was it. No further explanation. He sat down like he’d just moved mountains and began grading something with a pen that was definitely out of ink.

Regulus glanced at Evan and Barty. The three of them usually made a point to form a trio for any group assignment, but projects in pairs always brought mild chaos. One of them getting left out was the kind of thing that caused emotional damage and passive-aggressive glares for days.

This time, though?

Regulus just nodded to them, then turned in his seat, casually facing the desk next to his—Remus’s.

“You want to do this together?” he asked, like it wasn’t a move he’d been planning since first period.

Remus looked up at him, those amber-brown eyes flickering for a moment, sharp and unreadable. He seemed almost amused, like he’d been waiting for this.

“Sure,” he said, voice cool and smooth.

Regulus nodded, calm as ever on the outside. On the inside, he was screaming.

He turned back around in his seat, pleased with himself but refusing to show it. His gaze drifted, like it had a mind of its own, to the far side of the room.

Sirius was already watching him.

Their eyes met.

Regulus raised a brow, just slightly, just enough. Then looked away like it meant nothing.

But it meant everything.

Binns’s voice droned on somewhere in the background, touching vaguely on the waves of early suffragist reform, but Regulus wasn’t listening. Not really. He had his chin propped in his palm, eyes technically on the teacher, posture casual, mind racing.

He was already planning.

Not the project— please. No, he was planning how to look like he was getting close to Remus Lupin. How to act just right so Sirius would see it, believe it, feel it. Even if Regulus and Remus never exchanged another word past today, it wouldn’t matter. The illusion was the weapon. The suggestion, the possibility. That was enough.

Enough to piss Sirius off. Enough to make him spiral. Enough to make him wonder.

Wonder the way Regulus had wondered. All through September, after James dumped him without warning or real explanation, Regulus had spent night after night retracing every step—every word, every glance, every mistake—trying to figure out what he did wrong. Why James started pulling away. Why Sirius was always there, always in the way, always hovering just enough to cast a shadow over Regulus’s happiness.

Because that was Sirius’s specialty: ruin and pretend it wasn’t. Sabotage and shrug like it just happened. Like it wasn’t calculated.

It wasn’t enough that James was Regulus’s—he had to become Sirius’s excuse. His emotional crutch. His territory. He waved the breakup like it was some tragic justification: I need him, Regulus. I’m hurting. And James—pathetic little lapdog that he was—caved. Ditched Regulus. Just like that.

So no. Regulus didn’t want closure. He wanted payback.

The class finally ended, chairs scraping, books closing, backpacks unzipping. And then, like clockwork, Remus Lupin appeared beside Regulus’s desk.

Not walking ahead.

Not rushing out.

Hovering.

Waiting.

Regulus took his time packing, only glancing up long enough to spot Sirius—three rows away, physically squirming in real time. It was exquisite.

He nodded once to Evan and Barty, who both looked like they were living for the drama, and then stepped into the hallway with Remus at his side.

He didn’t even have to look to know Sirius’s eyes were burning a hole through the back of his head.

“So,” Regulus said, glancing up with the perfect blend of innocence and implication, “surprise to see you here, I guess.”

Remus just smirked, hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers like he was on a runway and not in a hallway filled with hormone-charged teenagers. “Reaction I expected, honestly.”

“Not from me, I guess.”

“Correct.” Remus nodded, all composed charm and veiled threat. “But we’ve got a project to do, don’t we?”

There was something in his tone—so perfectly polite, so pointedly polite—it almost made Regulus laugh. He recognized venom in velvet when he heard it.

“Absolutely,” Regulus replied, matching his tone. “My place, tonight?”

Remus smirked like that was the exact answer he’d been waiting for. “Sure. Six-ish?”

“Great. See you then,” Regulus said breezily, peeling off toward the parking lot, barely resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.

“See you,” Remus echoed, already striding toward his own car, posture loose and purposeful.

Regulus stayed composed. Right up until he slid into the driver’s seat of his grey Audi, dropped his backpack onto the passenger side, and let out the smallest, sharpest little grin.

Then he turned on the engine, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, heart buzzing just a little with the thrill of it.

Remus Lupin, apparently, had the same plan.

Which made everything ten times easier.

And—let’s be honest—ten times more entertaining.

Chapter Text

The group chat he had with Evan and Barty exploded the second all three of them got home.

Regulus was sprawled out on his bed, already changed into sweats and an oversized hoodie, half-eating, half-texting. Dinner—grilled salmon with roasted veggies and some ridiculously delicate dessert the housekeeper insisted on plating like it was going on Instagram—sat half-finished on the tray beside him. His phone buzzed non-stop in his hand.

The group chat, for reasons no one even remembered anymore, was still called “sos.” It had survived through seven friend fallouts, two relationship implosions, and one legendary 3-day hangover. It wasn’t going anywhere now.

sos:
rosie:
YOU TALKED, RIGHT???

archie:
we did. he’s coming over later

crouch:
he say anything interesting??

archie:
not really
but it’s obvious he wants sirius to squirm a little

rosie:
OMG that’s literally PERFECT

crouch:
bit of a buzzkill tho

archie:
i don’t need fun. i need sirius questioning his whole fucking life.

Evan responded with a string of heart emojis. Barty followed with a GIF of someone clinking a champagne glass in dramatic, silent approval.

Regulus smirked to himself, phone resting on his chest now. The evening sky was already dark through the windows, the kind of navy blue that hinted October had fully settled in. He had music playing low from his speaker—something moody and atmospheric—and his whole room smelled faintly like amber from a candle he forgot to blow out.

This wasn’t just some plan anymore.

It was a production.

And Remus Lupin was walking straight into the first act.

He heard Sirius come home around five, crashing through the front door like he owned the place—because of course he did—and immediately starting up with their dad’s doberman, Horus. The sound of barking and Sirius’s dramatic whistles echoed through the open windows, and Regulus rolled his eyes so hard he practically saw the back of his skull.

The differences between them had always been painfully obvious—even in the stupid things, like pets. Sirius was a dog person, obviously, loud and chaotic and constantly demanding attention. Regulus preferred cats. Quiet. Selective. Unbothered.

And it was like that with everything. Even when they started out liking something similar, they’d instinctively drift to opposite ends of the spectrum.

Sirius had his messy, shoulder-length curls that looked like he hadn’t seen a comb since 2012. Regulus’s were shorter, defined, actually styled—sharp part, clean fade. Sirius blasted classic rock like he lived in a vinyl record store. Regulus leaned into indie and alternative playlists, curated with the precision of a museum exhibit.

While Sirius devoted his time to science—chem, physics, the whole miserable spreadsheet of it all—Regulus thrived in English, history, the humanities. He could write you an essay that could cut glass, annotate poetry like it was divine scripture. Sirius could mix chemicals. Great.

They were twins. Technically. But no one ever mistook them for it.

Mostly because of the vitiligo—the patchwork of pale skin across Regulus’s jaw, temple, and hands. It had started when they were kids, and Sirius had never let him forget it. The white streak in Regulus’s otherwise inky curls only made it more obvious. Sirius never had to deal with any of that. He was just… easy. Too easy.

He was taller by a couple centimeters, broader in the shoulders, always looking like he could throw a punch and write a sad punk song about it. Regulus was all clean lines and quiet elegance, the kind of slim that made you think ballet or knives. Nothing in between.

Sirius made friends like it was a sport. Loud, charming, magnetic in that annoying way that made adults say he had “natural charisma.” Regulus didn’t bother. He chose his people like he chose his clothes—intentionally and without explanation. Evan and Barty, obviously. Pandora and Dorcas too. He didn’t need a crowd when he had a crew.

Sirius thrived in quantity.
Regulus thrived in quality.

And in just under an hour, one of Sirius’s biggest regrets was going to be sitting in Regulus’s room.

Beautiful.

He managed to change into black jeans and a grey sweater just in time before Remus arrived—because there was no way he was letting him see him in comfy sweats. Appearances above all else, obviously.

The doorbell rang, and even though Regulus had actually rushed down to get it, the housekeeper—Rosa—beat him to it. Naturally.

She opened the front door with her usual soft clatter of bracelets and gentle, nosy energy, only to pause in slight surprise. “Oh, hello, darling,” she greeted, stepping aside. “You’re here to see Sirius?”

Regulus, halfway down the marble staircase, fought the very powerful urge to roll his eyes into another dimension. Rosa always made small talk, and while he usually adored her, he very much didn’t need an audience tonight.

“Good evening,” Remus replied politely, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “Actually, I’m here to see Regulus.”

Regulus did roll his eyes at that, just slightly, and Remus caught it—grinning up at him with a smile far too sweet to be sincere. He followed Regulus wordlessly up the stairs like he already knew the layout of the house—because he did, obviously—which made something unpleasant twist in Regulus’s stomach.

They passed the second floor—“Sirius’s floor,” as it was dramatically dubbed—and climbed up to the third, where Regulus’s room sat neatly tucked beneath vaulted ceilings and antique light fixtures.

Chaton, the house’s resident Persian cat (named like a bad cliché, because of course everything in this house had to be French), blinked lazily from her perch on the windowsill, tail curling like a comma.

Regulus opened his door and gestured for Remus to go in first, eyes drifting over the boy’s outfit—dark loose jeans, a soft brown sweater, tousled hair. Annoyingly effortless. Disgustingly well put together.

Still, Regulus gave a flicker of silent approval as he followed him in, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Remus, with the kind of quiet observance that made Regulus feel like he was constantly under a microscope, took in the room like it was a painting he was trying to memorize. His eyes moved deliberately over the oversized bed—made up perfectly with deep grey linen sheets and throw pillows that were absolutely for decoration only—then to the dozens of plants climbing up the walls or hanging in hand-woven pots from the ceiling. They gave the room a jungle-in-a-library vibe that Regulus liked. The warm string lights casting golden glows between the greenery didn’t hurt either.

Remus’s gaze landed on the alcove by the window: a cushioned nook with a pile of blankets and a scatter of books, half of them dog-eared and annotated to hell. From there, you could crack open the old window and climb straight onto the slanted roof. Regulus had spent more nights than he could count up there—smoking with Barty, ranting with Evan, or lying shoulder-to-shoulder with James, pointing out constellations and pretending like it meant nothing.

“Cozy,” Remus said finally, his voice soft but edged with something knowing. He shrugged off his jacket with a casual ease and tossed it over the armchair in the corner like he owned the place.

Regulus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, one brow arched. “Just clean,” he replied. “But I suppose it’s not what you were expecting, coming from the chaos zone a floor below.”

Remus’s smirk curled slow and sharp. “Correct again.”

“I’m usually right, Lupin.”

That earned a soft huff of a laugh—more air than sound—as Regulus turned to grab his laptop off the sleek, glass-topped desk. Along with it, he took a thick textbook and a slim volume on British suffragists he’d stolen from his dad’s office library. It smelled like cigar smoke and old leather, which made it feel more powerful than it probably was.

He moved back to the bed, settling into his usual spot near the headboard and curling one leg beneath him. Remus followed, mirroring the posture but keeping a precise few inches of space between them—like he sensed the invisible line Regulus had drawn and wasn’t yet ready to cross it.

That, Regulus could respect.

“So,” Remus said as Regulus powered up the laptop. “What’s your approach to this project? Should we go full academic or passive-aggressive and dramatic?”

Regulus looked at him, amused. “You asking for the grade or the spectacle?”

Remus’s amber eyes glittered, unreadable. “Why not both?”

Regulus clicked open a document and glanced sideways, trying not to let his interest show too easily. “Alright then. Drama it is.”

There was something deliciously dangerous about Remus Lupin sitting on his bed—quiet and self-contained, but still sharp around the edges. Like someone who had been soft once, then clawed his way out of it and made peace with the scars. Regulus could work with that.

He could definitely work with that.

“Tea?” he asked suddenly, standing. “Or are you the type who pretends you don’t need caffeine?”

Remus tilted his head. “I drink coffee when I need to suffer. Tea when I’m trying to charm people.”

Regulus snorted, walking toward the small cabinet across the room where he kept a kettle and a few mugs, hidden like it was a dirty secret. “So, tea, then.”

“Obviously.”

As the kettle started to hum low and warm, Regulus leaned against the windowsill, watching Remus go back to skimming through the book. He looked good in Regulus’s room—annoyingly good. Like he belonged there. And Regulus didn’t want to like that thought, but he did.

He really did.

The kettle whistled, and the night continued, stretching out in front of them like an open page.

One that Regulus was planning to write very carefully.

At first, they actually worked on the project—shockingly enough. And, damn, Remus was either annoyingly prepared or just a straight-up nerd. He didn’t just skim the surface like most people did; he dove deep into the details with the same kind of focus Regulus usually reserved for poetry analysis and architectural documentaries. It was disarming, really—how easily Remus matched Regulus’s tendency to fixate on the things that actually mattered instead of winging it for the grade.

That made Regulus… relax. Just a little. Which was dangerous.

He wasn’t the kind of person to open up easily. Unlike Sirius, who made friends like it was his full-time job, Regulus took time. Lots of time. He needed days—sometimes weeks—to even start showing someone that he tolerated their existence, let alone liked them.

But Remus Lupin was just... easy to like. Which was infuriating.

He was clever, yes, but also absurdly calm—so steady it made Regulus feel unpredictable by comparison. Remus had this maddeningly serene energy, like he couldn’t be shaken, and Regulus found himself wondering, briefly, if it was even possible to throw him off-balance.

He doubted it.

By the time they had two solid pages written and two cups of tea drained, Regulus leaned back against the headboard and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes with a quiet groan—exhausted, but in the good, brain-working kind of way.

“I need a break,” he announced dramatically. “I’ve read too much about women.”

“Fair,” Remus hummed, stretching out across the bed like he lived there, tossing one of the books off to the side. His sweater had slipped slightly, revealing a collarbone and the kind of nonchalance that was clearly cultivated but somehow still effortless.

Regulus glanced sideways at him—at the long limbs and the hair that looked maddeningly soft. He pulled his knees up slightly and asked, “So… you gonna spill why you moved to this shithole, or are you gonna keep me guessing?”

Remus turned his head lazily toward him. “You were guessing?”

“Wondering,” Regulus corrected with a shrug.

Remus nodded, slow. “I needed to move in with my dad,” he said simply. No extra words. No offered explanation. Like he was laying down the bait to see if Regulus would bite.

But he didn’t. Not because he wasn’t curious—god, of course he was—but because sometimes the best way to get someone to talk was to not ask the question they were guarding.

“And decided to bless our school while you were at it?” Regulus raised an eyebrow.

“Kinda had to,” Remus said, his voice light. “Kinda wanted to.”

Regulus gave him a skeptical look. “It’s not that bad, so far,” Remus added.

“That’s because we haven’t had chem yet,” Regulus muttered, rolling his eyes.

Remus glanced over, amused. “Should I be scared?”

“Absolutely.” Regulus sighed. “Slughorn spends ninety percent of the class talking shit about all the famous people he’s ever met instead of, you know, teaching chemistry.”

“Seriously?” Remus snorted—his version of a laugh more like a sudden puff of breath than an actual sound.

“Yep,” Regulus said, reaching for his tea. “He used to travel the world, and now he won’t shut up about it. We’re all just extras in his autobiography at this point.”

“Charming,” Remus deadpanned.

“He’s sixty, wears shirts two sizes too small, and I swear the buttons are hanging on for dear life.”

Remus chuckled—properly this time—and Regulus tried not to look too pleased about it. The night felt strangely warm, stretched out between the soft clinks of mugs and the low hum of something unspoken. It wasn’t quite comfort. Not yet. But it wasn’t awkward, either.

And for Regulus, that was already saying a lot.

“So,” Remus said, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of his mug, “anything else I should know about that school?”

“You don’t know anything?” Regulus asked, playing it polite—though he knew damn well Sirius had probably spilled all the gossip before.

Remus shrugged. “It’s all subjective, I guess.”

“Like everything that comes out of Sirius’s mouth,” Regulus muttered, rolling his eyes—his brother’s name slipping into the conversation for the first time.

Remus didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, I picked up on that pretty quick,” he said evenly, like he was holding back the real story—and Regulus was suddenly very curious what exactly he’d picked up.

Remus leaned back a little. “So? More unhinged teachers? Power-hungry cliques who think they rule the school?”

Regulus hummed thoughtfully. “English teacher’s decent. Early thirties, still has the will to teach, not just hear herself speak. Loads of essays, though, so prepare your emotional support caffeine. Biology’s fine—if you’re into dissecting frogs.”

“I’m not.”

“Then it’s a personal nightmare. Glad we’re on the same page.” Regulus took a sip from his tea, smirking. “Most science classes are just people dozing off while teachers pretend not to notice. As for PE… well, I wouldn’t know. I don’t attend.”

Remus tilted his head, amused. “Me neither.”

Regulus nodded. “Feel free to join the elite, lucky few who spend those three hours a week sneaking out of school like professionals.”

“And who’s in this lucky club?” Remus asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Me, obviously,” Regulus said with mock arrogance. “Evan and Barty—those two I always sit with—and Avery, who has a ‘chronic condition’ that suspiciously flares up only when exercise is involved. But he’s alright. And Pandra with Dorcas.”

“And what’s your excuse?”

Regulus held his gaze for a second. He wasn’t quite ready to drop the whole panic-attack-in-gym-class confession on someone he’d known for less than a day. So, he settled for the half-truth. “Sick note. You?”

“Same,” Remus replied simply. He didn’t elaborate, like he was laying another silent test—to see whether Regulus would pry.

He didn’t. Not yet.

“Right,” Regulus said, shifting the topic back. “As for the student body—there’s a handful of groups who think their parents' money means everyone should be impressed by them. Girls who film TikToks in the bathroom mirror between classes—yes, really. The football team, who think being aggressively masculine is the highest human achievement. Everyone’s sorted into cliques like it’s Mean Girls, but less iconic.”

Remus smirked. “And what group are you in?”

Regulus arched a brow. “The ‘stay away from them all’ group,” he replied coolly. “They’re all just disasters waiting to happen.”

Remus took a slow sip of his tea, eyes gleaming. “So basically, you’re Switzerland.”

“I’m armed Switzerland with a better playlist and trust issues,” Regulus corrected with a soft snort.

“And vintage sweaters,” Remus added, nodding at the one Regulus was currently wearing.

Regulus looked down at his sleeve, then back at Remus. “Touché. You’re observant.”

“Always,” Remus said, his voice warm with just a trace of something unreadable underneath.

It was the kind of pause where something could shift—but neither of them let it. Not yet.

By the time the clock on Regulus’s wall clicked past 8:00 p.m., he was mid-rant—deep in an impassioned, borderline dramatic monologue about how the math teacher, Mr. Davies, was an insufferable relic who hated his job, his students, and probably himself, too.

“…and I swear he’s one suppressed sigh away from a complete breakdown. No one who wears that many sweater vests voluntarily is emotionally stable.”

Remus snorted, leaning further back against the headboard, ankles crossed, tea mug resting on his stomach. “You think he’s closeted?”

Regulus shrugged, all faux nonchalance. “If he isn’t, then he’s just miserable, which is somehow worse. Either way, he’s taking it out on our GPAs.”

He was just about to pivot into a dramatic reenactment of last week’s “quiz meltdown” when a knock landed on his bedroom door. The sound sliced through the comfortable haze of shared mockery and soft lighting, snapping him into awareness.

It was the knock.

There was a rule in the Black household: unspoken, unbreakable. One twin always checked in on the other before dinner. If one was skipping the nightly theater that was dinner with Walburga and Orion, the other got a free pass. It was petty solidarity, forged in survival.

Tonight, apparently, it was Sirius’s turn.

Regulus didn’t even try to hide the way his lips curled. He sat up straighter, smoothed the front of his sweater, and called, “Come in,” with a syrupy kind of calm that always meant chaos was near.

The door opened, and there stood Sirius in his usual uniform—shredded jeans clinging to his thighs, a vintage tee practically falling apart, and that tangled mess of curls that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a week. Tumblr-core personified.

He walked in like he always did—loud without saying anything. But he froze when he saw who was sitting on Regulus’s bed.

Remus didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just sipped his tea and tilted his head slightly, like Sirius was part of the scenery.

“Hi,” Sirius said. Not to Regulus—his eyes hadn’t left Remus.

“Hi,” Remus replied, voice perfectly flat. Detached. Almost clinical. Like Sirius was just another acquaintance in a crowded hallway.

Regulus nearly choked on his own glee.

“You coming down?” Sirius finally asked, shifting his weight like he was suddenly aware of his limbs. His voice was a little too casual, the tightness in his jaw betraying him.

“Skipping tonight,” Regulus answered coolly, barely sparing him a glance.

A beat passed. Sirius’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Then he turned and closed the door with just enough force to say everything he didn’t.

Regulus waited a second, then let out a breathy, satisfied laugh. “Well,” he said, stretching out across the bed, “that wasn’t uncomfortable at all.”

Remus reached for his mug again. “There’s something deeply satisfying about throwing him off balance. It’s like watching a cat fall off a windowsill—unfortunate, but also kind of thrilling.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Regulus smirked. “It’s practically my hobby.”

Remus’s eyes glinted. “I see that.”

There was a pause, comfortable and charged all at once. The room still smelled like Earl Grey and old paper. The books lay between them like neutral territory, but the air? Tense. Sparkling.

Regulus cocked his head. “So. We going back to suffragists? Or are we giving in and psychoanalyzing the Great Sirius Black?”

Remus sighed dramatically. “Tempting. He’s a walking case study in unresolved issues. But I’d like to actually pass history.”

Regulus groaned and flopped back on the pillows. “Fine. But when I inevitably spiral into a monologue about how he ruined my childhood, you’re not allowed to judge.”

Remus smirked and opened their notes again. “Deal. But only if you admit your brother has weirdly nice arms for someone so emotionally stunted.”

Regulus blinked. “What?”

“I said what I said,” Remus replied, deadpan, flipping a page.

Regulus threw a pillow at him.

They worked for another hour, though by then it had slowly bled into more talk than actual progress. The books stayed open between them, laptop still on, but the project itself had been long abandoned somewhere between a debate over suffragette tactics and a heated argument about the worst towns in the UK.

Remus had casually declared that Luton was, “unquestionably the most boring place on earth,” and Regulus immediately rolled his eyes.

“You’re just a pretentious Welshman who doesn’t appreciate small-town energy,” he fired back. “You ever been gloriously high at a skatepark at midnight? Thought not.”

That made Remus laugh.

Like, actually laugh.

It stopped Regulus mid-rant.

Because damn —it was a sound.

Not like Evan’s laugh, all bright and melodic and way too honest to fake. Not like Barty’s either, rough and unfiltered, always loud and accompanied by his head thrown back like he was in a movie scene. No, Remus’s laugh was quieter, lower, almost like it wasn’t used often. Like the kind of laugh you hear when someone’s half-drunk at a house party, sitting on the sticky kitchen floor at 2 a.m., talking about the meaninglessness of everything but somehow making it poetic.

It was one of those rare, accidental sounds that told you way more than the person ever would.

Regulus blinked, caught off guard by how much he liked it.

It wasn’t something he’d say out loud—not even to Evan or Barty—but he knew, already, that he was going to write it down later. Not because it was romantic or anything—just because it meant something. A reminder that he made Remus Lupin laugh like that.

Suspiciously nice sound. Definitely notes-app worthy.

Maybe he’d even title it: weed at the skatepark & unexpected sounds from complicated boys.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

The next day, Regulus didn’t really expect Remus to actually stick around but, much to his surprise, Remus was still there. He was still sitting behind them in class, and he even joined them for a cigarette break, right under Sirius’s sharp gaze. Regulus was pretty sure Remus was doing it on purpose—acting casual, like it wasn’t some deliberate power move—and, well, Regulus couldn’t help but admire that just a little.

Evan was, as usual, the spark of the group—energetic, loud, and effortlessly pulling Remus into every conversation. Barty, on the other hand, was his usual laid-back self: more of an observer, quiet but never really silent. He’d offer a well-timed quip or eye roll when needed, but mostly he just watched.

“So, how’re you rating this hellhole so far?” Evan asked Remus, standing in the school courtyard. His cigarette burned low as he fumbled with his tie, which ended up even more crooked than before. Barty rolled his eyes and stepped in, fixing the tie with an exasperated sigh and a muttered “dumbass.”

Remus shrugged, flicking ash off his cigarette. “Slightly better than my last school, for now. Although... the accent here? Creeps me out.”

Barty raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re joking, right? Spent too much time hanging with sheep in Wales or something?”

Evan snorted. “Ignore him. He hates it when people roast his accent—especially now that he’s finally stopped sounding like some Russky extra.”

Barty scoffed. “I do not.”

Regulus grinned. “You totally do. Ever since we told you that you stopped sounding like an Eastern European, you’ve been obsessing over every word you say.”

“Hungary isn’t Eastern Europe—how many times do I have to repeat that?” Barty groaned, throwing his head back.

Evan smirked. “Only Hungarians say that, babe.”

“Fuck off,” Barty shot back, flipping him the bird, earning a loud laugh from Evan.

Remus tilted his head, curious now. “Wait, you’re from Hungary? And your dad’s in the Ministry of Defence?”

Barty nodded. “Yeah, we moved here about ten years ago. And my dad? Yeah, he’s that prick who got promoted way too fast.”

Evan elbowed Barty lightly. “Don’t let him scare you, Lupin. He’s just bitter.”

Barty snorted. “I’m not bitter. I just don’t like people talking about my family.”

Regulus laughed quietly, watching the easy banter unfold. For all the different pieces between them, moments like this felt almost normal. Like a small bubble of calm in the madness that was school, family, and Sirius.

“So,” Evan piped up, “Lupin, what about you? What’s your story? Why Luton?”

Remus shrugged again, just as nonchalant as ever. “Dad wanted me closer. Said something about needing to ‘keep an eye on me.’”

Barty snorted. “Classic Ministry dad.”

“Yeah,” Remus said dryly. “It’s not so bad. Although I’m still figuring out what exactly is bad.”

Regulus caught the way Remus’s eyes flickered—like he was weighing words he wasn’t quite ready to say yet. That was fine. For now.

Before anyone could dig deeper, Sirius appeared, storming across the courtyard with that familiar look—half annoyed, half ready to cause a scene. He shot a sharp glance at Remus, who just smirked back like he owned the place.

Regulus felt a thrill run through him. This was exactly the kind of chaos he wanted to stir up.

James was trailing behind Sirius, like the loyal puppy on a leash he’d always been—no point in pretending otherwise. He’d follow Sirius anywhere, and honestly, he did. Always did. It was almost amusing how predictable the two of them were, a pair bound together by some invisible thread of chaos.

Evan tilted his head, watching James with mild curiosity. “Heard from him lately?” he asked Regulus, flicking ash from his cigarette.

Regulus let out a soft laugh through his nose and blew out a slow stream of smoke. “Nope. Since I blocked him.” His tone was flat, but there was a flicker of something unreadable behind his eyes.

Remus frowned slightly, the unspoken question hanging between them, but he kept it to himself. Regulus wasn’t about to volunteer more than he wanted.

The conversation quickly shifted to Evan’s latest obsession—Pedro Pascal, of course—while Barty once again called him a dumbass. Honestly, he was starting to notice the subtle ways Barty looked at Evan—like the quiet way he’d hold a gaze a bit too long or the small smirk that flickered when Evan said something stupid. It was oddly sweet in its awkwardness, like two teenagers fumbling their way through whatever this was.

When the bell rang, they headed toward biology, Remus sliding in beside Regulus without hesitation. The easy rhythm of their conversation made the crowded hallway and the chaotic buzz of students fade into background noise.

Remus recounted, with just the right amount of disgust, the time he nearly threw up examining a snail under a microscope back in Cardiff. Regulus laughed—a real, unguarded laugh that felt like a secret between them.

“Seriously, how can anyone study that stuff without losing their lunch?” Regulus joked.

Remus shrugged with a small smile. “You get used to it. Or you don’t, and you find another subject.”

As the day went on, Remus kept slipping into the space beside Regulus in classes and during breaks, the easy companionship between them growing stronger. Sirius and James threw more and more pointed looks their way, but Regulus caught the subtle smirk on Remus’s face each time—and admitted to himself, maybe with a little too much satisfaction, that they were both enjoying the attention.

The group moved through the day like a small island of calm, even if just for a while. Between classes, Remus chatted about everything from the weird British slang he was still figuring out to the subtle art of surviving a school where popularity often meant power, and not in a good way.

By the evening, Regulus was curled up in his reading nook with a French edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray, mostly reading to remind himself he still remembered how to use the language. The house was quiet, the soft glow from the window casting warm light over the worn pages. Suddenly, his phone buzzed—a notification that made his heart skip: Remus Lupin followed you on Instagram.

Regulus snatched up his phone and tapped the notification with an embarrassing speed he’d never admit to anyone. Honestly, he hadn’t seen it coming. Until now, he’d been sure that whatever weird, unspoken deal he had with Remus was strictly about appearances—something to play out in front of Sirius—and not about them actually interacting when they didn’t have to.

Still, curiosity won. He scrolled through Remus’s Instagram, glancing at photos of him and his friends. Most of the pictures showed Remus with three girls—one redhead with this ethereal beauty, pale skin and eyes that looked like they could see right through you; a blonde with perfectly smudged eyeliner and an effortlessly grunge vibe; and a third girl whose gaze could probably break hearts, sporting a flawless afro in every shot. But there were also photos from bookshops, random street scenes, and a few holiday snaps. On one of them, Remus looked criminally good—standing under a sunset on the beach, wearing an unbuttoned brown linen shirt that revealed a long scar running down his sternum, contrasting sharply against his tanned skin.

Damn.

Without hesitation, Regulus hit “Follow” back, a small smile tugging at his lips. He quickly updated the group chat: lupin just followed me on insta. Evan and Barty, deeply invested in the ongoing Sirius & James Downfall project (as they so dramatically called it), demanded to be kept in the loop, and Regulus wasn’t about to let them down.

He tossed his phone onto the armrest, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

After a few more pages—barely processed, if he was honest—Regulus’s phone buzzed again. This time it wasn’t just another like or random tag; it was a DM on Instagram.

He smirked before even checking it. There was absolutely no way Remus Lupin hadn’t spent at least a few minutes silently scrolling through his feed. Probably zoomed in on every highlight like it was a government file under review.

It could’ve been a casual hi or a what’s up, or maybe a meme or a TikTok. Something easy to leave behind, something disposable. But no. Remus wasn’t really a casual guy, was he?

Instead, it was about one of Regulus’s Instagram highlights—the one titled 📢 and filled with grainy, flashing concert footage and blurry screaming selfies.

remus:
didn’t think you’d be a charli xcx fan

Regulus squinted at the message. Now, that could mean a lot of things. Was it about the genre? The pop aesthetic? The fact that Charli was basically a crowned queer icon? Or maybe—God forbid—it was about the clip Regulus had posted of Track 10, looping the chorus: “I blame it on your love every time I fuck it up”?

Or maybe Remus just knew exactly what he was doing. Because Regulus was starting to realize Remus Lupin didn’t say anything without a reason.

Still, after a few minutes of pretending not to stare at the message like a loser, he answered. No desperation—he made sure of that. Cool, detached, borderline flirty. Maybe.

regulus:
dunno if that was supposed to be offensive, lupin
so i’m taking it as a compliment

He hit send, then immediately screenshotted the conversation and dumped it in the group chat with a dramatic “ WHAT THE HELLY ” caption. Evan reacted with fifteen flame emojis. Barty just replied with a skull.

Before Regulus could properly bask in their chaos, Remus replied—faster than expected.

remus:
of course that you did
but track 10? solid

Regulus stared at the screen for a second. That little flip in his stomach again. He ignored it.

regulus:
you think so?
didn’t peg you as a charli fan 🤨

He mentally patted himself on the back. A touch of sass, but just enough curiosity to keep the door open.

The three little dots popped up almost instantly.

remus:
rude, i’ve been to two and a half concerts

Regulus raised an eyebrow at his phone.

regulus:
elaborate the ‘half’ pls

remus:
one of my friends passed out in the crowd and we had to carry her out like a corpse in a music video

regulus:
pls tell me ur joking

remus:
wish i was
but she rallied. screamed to girl is so confusing like her life depended on it

regulus:
oh, the classic. true charli warrior arc

Remus left him on read after that. But it wasn’t a cold silence. No, it felt like an ellipsis. A pause. Something unspoken still charging the air.

Regulus locked his phone and leaned back into the nook, trying very hard not to smile like an idiot.

He failed.

That evening, both Regulus and Sirius showed up for dinner with their parents—an event no one at the table actually wanted to attend. The tension was almost ceremonial. They all sat around the square marble table, sterile and gleaming, designed to make eye contact impossible to avoid. Which was unfortunate, considering no one had anything real to say.

Orion talked about his chambers, voice clipped and self-important, as if someone had asked. Walburga went on about the charity event she was attending tomorrow—only for the networking, naturally, as if her soul wouldn’t shrivel up if she did something without a social advantage. Sirius bragged about his spot on the football team, once again milking that one personality trait for all it was worth. And Regulus? Regulus mentioned, with studied nonchalance, that he’d be sleeping over at Evan’s tomorrow night. Nothing groundbreaking. Nothing new.

But something was different.

Because Sirius didn’t take the bait.

No comments. No snide remarks. No underhanded jabs about Evan or Barty or how Regulus spent too much time trying to be “edgy.” Instead, Sirius just… stared.

Across the flicker of candlelight, over the silver cutlery and crystal glasses, he was watching Regulus with something unreadable in his eyes—something just bordering on confusion. Or maybe it was suspicion. Either way, it was unlike him, and Regulus could feel the satisfaction curl in his chest.

So he smiled. Sweetly. Venomously. He carved through his roasted potatoes with slow, delicate precision, mostly ignoring the lamb chops on his plate like always—just to be difficult.

Let Sirius wonder.

Let him overthink it.

Let him try and untangle why exactly Remus Lupin was suddenly sticking to Regulus like he belonged there, slipping into their group like it was natural.

Regulus wasn’t about to explain it.

He was far too busy enjoying the view of his brother squirming in silence.

The next day, Regulus decided it was time to level up.

During PE—which was basically just code for extended lunch hour for his particular crew—he casually mentioned to Remus that they were heading off-campus to get something that didn’t resemble the school cafeteria’s mystery gloop.

Remus took the bait.

Regulus was pretty sure he did it deliberately. He could tell by the way Remus caught Sirius’s eye as they passed the gym—Sirius with James trailing behind him like a second shadow—just before turning to Regulus and asking, entirely too casually, “You wanna drive with me?”

Regulus didn’t. Not really. He liked driving his Audi too much, trusted other people behind the wheel too little. But he agreed, obviously. For the drama. For the optics. For the look on Sirius’s face when Regulus slid into the passenger seat of Remus Lupin’s very recognizable white Mercedes—the same one he’d seen parked outside the Black family estate more times than he could count.

Avery was already in the backseat, whining—as usual—that PE was a waste of time and that they should just ditch the rest of the school day entirely. Behind them, in Dorcas’s sticker-covered Mini Cooper, Barty, Evan, Pandora, and Dorcas followed close, music leaking from the windows.

The car smelled like Remus. Vanilla. Something faintly sweet and clean. A whisper of herbal tea, honey, and lemon still clinging to the air like it belonged there. The whole thing was a little too intimate, but Regulus made himself comfortable anyway, elbow leaning against the window, head tilted just slightly toward the driver’s side.

From the backseat, Avery groaned louder. “This period is such a goddamn waste of time. Let’s just skip the rest and go to Rosier’s—he still has weed, right?”

Regulus didn’t even look back. “You’d like that. If your pro-Putin father wouldn’t skin you alive for skipping class.”

“He’s not pro -Putin,” Avery snapped. “He’s just Russian.”

Remus let out a quiet laugh—just a breath, really—as he took a sharp turn one-handed, the movement smooth, practiced, and, unfortunately, way more attractive than it had any right to be.

“So,” he said eventually, once the music shifted into yet another Chase Atlantic song, “where are we going?”

“The café Panda found last month,” Regulus replied, head still tipped back, gaze half-lidded. “It’s run by a psychic. She says weird shit. We all pretend to believe her because we’re trying to keep the place in business.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “And what did she say to you?”

Regulus didn’t blink. “That I was struck by lightning in a past life. That’s why I have vitiligo.”

There was a beat of silence—and then Avery burst into laughter, loud and messy and echoing in the car. Remus followed, laughing in that way Regulus was already getting familiar with. Not loud, not showy. Just low, warm, and unbothered, like he wasn’t laughing at anyone, just… existing in the joke with them. It slid under Regulus’s skin in a way he didn’t love.

He added another mental tally mark to the growing list in his Notes app— Remus Lupin laugh log: #2.

Yeah, he was keeping track.

Sue him.

They pushed two outdoor tables together, even though it was definitely too cold to be sitting outside. But nicotine addiction was a deeply unifying force in their group, so here they were—breath clouding in the air, fingers slightly numb, still lighting up like it was a summer evening.

The boys sparked their cigarettes, Dorcas pulled out her lilac iQOS, and Pandora was already doodling something strange and vaguely cursed on her napkin—possibly a deer wearing a corset, possibly a cryptid in eyeliner.

That was when Lucia, the café’s owner, emerged from the doorway in her signature embroidered shawl and mild chaotic energy.

“Oh, I love her,” Evan whispered dramatically, like it was a religious moment.

Lucia didn’t miss a beat. She glanced over the table, then fixed her gaze on Remus, eyes narrowing with amused, slightly witchy calculation.

“You’re carrying a lot, aren’t you?” she asked, voice low and theatrical, like she was speaking through incense.

Remus didn’t blink. “I hit the gym occasionally,” he replied, flicking his ash into the tray without even glancing down.

Dorcas barked out a laugh—loud, unapologetic, startling a pigeon off the sidewalk. Evan grinned like he’d just witnessed a scene from his favorite indie coming-of-age movie.

They placed their orders—coffees, a round of teas, matcha for Evan (of course), and whatever herbal concoction Pandora claimed aligned with her chakras this week.

Lucia gave Remus one last look, eyes narrowed as if she was almost about to say something else, then just nodded, vanishing back inside with a mysterious flourish that made Avery whisper “icon” under his breath.

“Okay,” Pandora said, not looking up from her napkin masterpiece. “So when exactly are we letting Remus know that he’s now morally obligated to attend all outings forever?”

“We’ll let the psychic do it,” Regulus said, voice flat. “I’m sure she’ll sense the emotional weight of this arrangement.”

“I already do,” Remus replied dryly, and Regulus gave him a slow, satisfied smile around the rim of his coffee cup.

Yep. He was staying. At least for now. And Sirius would just have to watch it.

Predictably, the topic shifted to the Halloween party, as it always did this time of year, which made Regulus immediately roll his eyes. Because of course it was James who was throwing it. Again. Like clockwork, like some awful cursed tradition.

Regulus had gone to James’s Halloween parties over the years—everyone did, really, since they were the kind of social event that came with an unspoken school-wide RSVP. But this year? Yeah, no. That would be beyond weird. Especially since he and James had done the whole enemies-to-lovers arc and then, true to form, ended up as enemies again. Just like the classics. Predictable, disappointing, slightly humiliating.

“You going?” Barty asked, all casual disinterest, like he was just making conversation, not actually invested in the answer.

Regulus saw through him, of course—Barty never asked questions he didn’t already know the answer to unless he wanted to hear it said aloud. But still, he was keeping his act up in front of Remus. Barty showing he cared about anything in public was rarer than a sincere apology from Walburga.

“Don’t think so,” Regulus replied, tearing apart his croissant with a little more force than necessary. “He’d either spit in my drink or serenade me. Depends on whether Sirius would be around to witness the tragedy.”

That made Remus’s eyebrows pull together again, same frown as last time James’s name was dropped, like the gears in his head were clicking into place but not quite fast enough. Regulus wondered—idly, with no particular pressure—how long it would take for Remus to actually ask what the hell went down between him and James.

“He wouldn’t spit in it,” Pandora chimed in, ever the optimist.

Regulus arched a very pointed brow at her. “You sure, Panda?”

Pandora winced slightly. “Okay, he shouldn’t.”

“He also shouldn’t be on Sirius’s every beck and call, but here we are,” Alexei muttered, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “The loyalty would be impressive if the two of them weren’t the absolute sluts they are.”

Remus let out a short, sharp laugh, quiet and surprised, right before taking a sip of his tea—something lavender and chamomile that smelled warm and expensive and unfairly good. Regulus had to physically restrain himself from reaching for a sip. He could just imagine the smug expression Remus would make if he asked. Besides, germs. Ew.

Dorcas, however, wasn’t letting the moment go. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Wait a damn minute.” She raised a hand like she was in class, her box braids swinging dramatically. “You were with Sirius, right?”

Remus didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. But he didn’t answer either.

“You were,” Dorcas said with conviction now, pointing at him. “At last New Year’s. At Potter’s. I remember.”
Of course she did. Dorcas remembered everything. Names, dates, outfits, who hooked up with whom behind the gym building during the spring formal of ‘23. Her brain was a terrifying vault of gossip, secrets, and casually wielded facts.

Remus finally shrugged, like it wasn’t that deep. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I was.”

That was it. No dramatic pause, no self-pitying sigh, no drawn-out explanation of their tragic, tangled past. Just I was. No follow-up. No elaboration. Nothing more.

“Well,” Evan hummed into his drink, eyes glinting. “We’ve all made mistakes. Dating a Black is one of them.”

“Hey!” Regulus gasped, hand on his heart, tone mock-offended as the others snorted around the table.

“The other Black,” Evan clarified with a lazy wave of his hand. “You’re alright, Archie.”

Regulus flipped him off immediately, just on principle.

Remus frowned, visibly confused. “Archie?”

“From my middle name,” Regulus muttered, already glaring at the group. “They call me that purely to piss me off.”

“He gets all twitchy about it,” Barty added helpfully.

“It’s hilarious,” Pandora said, doodling a cartoon bat in fishnets on her napkin. “Also, it’s better than ‘Regulus.’ Sounds like a demon accountant.”

“I am a demon accountant,” Regulus replied, dry as bone. “I just do it with style.”

Remus, sipping his tea again, was clearly fighting a smile.

And that? That was going on the mental list. The one where Regulus was tallying every time he made Remus Lupin smile. Not that he cared. Not really .

Just for science. Just for the notes app. Just because.

“So what’s the plan, then?” Evan asked, leaning back in his chair like this was a board meeting and not a gathering of caffeine-fueled chaos.

“Meaning?” Regulus arched an eyebrow, taking a slow drag from his cigarette, already suspecting where this was going.

“If we’re not going to Potter’s party,” Evan said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “we need an alternative.”

He wasn’t wrong. The group had a natural gravitational pull toward Regulus, and if Regulus wasn’t going, the rest of them sure as hell weren’t either. That was loyalty—real loyalty. Not the kind that made James trail behind Sirius like a loyal golden retriever in designer sneakers.

“Well,” Regulus hummed, blowing smoke upward into the brisk air. “City break? Or Crouch’s lake house?”

Barty lit up like someone had offered him free reign at a destruction derby. He lived for the drama of ruining his parents’ overpriced vacation homes. He said it was the principle of it. Regulus suspected it was the sheer thrill of watching Bartemius Crouch Sr. spiral into rage over a broken chandelier.

“Oh, I’m in. Bartemius will have a stroke,” Barty declared, already mentally planning the alcohol run.

“I’m not ending up in the lake again,” Alexei interjected, holding up one finger in warning like someone was going to drag him in against his will.

Dorcas turned to him, grinning like a wolf. “You say that now, but you’re a complete slut the second you touch tequila.”

“I’m not—!”

“Nott’s last birthday,” Dorcas cut in without missing a beat. “Middle of winter. Snow on the ground. You drank half a bottle and declared you were reborn as a ‘water god’ before skinny dipping alone.”

The table erupted into laughter—real, loud, unapologetic laughter. Even Remus’s lips twitched into a smirk, and that alone made Regulus feel a little too warm in his jacket.

“I was emotionally oppressed,” Alexei said in his defense, flicking Dorcas’s braid away as she leaned against him, still laughing.

“Nah, mate,” Evan grinned, pointing at him with his matcha stirrer, “you just can’t handle your booze. And it’s hilarious. I have an entire folder in my gallery to prove it.”

“Same one with Barty’s rage-quits when he loses anything?” Dorcas asked.

“Exactly that one,” Evan nodded. “Right next to Archie’s 3 a.m. drunk rants about why Potter’s a—what was the phrase?”

“A war crime in Adidas,” Pandora supplied helpfully, not looking up from the napkin she was doodling on.

“Exactly!” Evan beamed. “Pure poetry.”

“I’m surrounded by enemies,” Regulus muttered dryly, flicking ash into the tray. “And betrayal. This is actual betrayal.”

“Oh please,” Barty scoffed. “You live for the drama.”

Regulus smiled sweetly. “I am the drama.”

Remus let out a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head a little as he sipped his tea, and Regulus tried very hard not to notice the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

He failed. Miserably.

You didn’t need to be particularly observant to notice that Remus clearly wasn’t built for big, chaotic groups. He wasn’t uncomfortable —and even if he were, Regulus had the distinct feeling he’d rather swallow glass than let anyone see it—but still, he didn’t exactly insert himself into the conversation unless someone asked him something directly.

He just sat there, legs crossed at the ankle like he belonged in a coffee shop painting people in his journal, sipping his tea with quiet focus while his cigarette slowly burned between his fingers, forgotten. He had a gold ring on his middle finger—simple, elegant, probably vintage—and it kept catching the light in this irritatingly perfect way. Regulus zoned out watching it more than once, absently fidgeting with the rings on his own fingers just to feel grounded again.

Remus wasn’t shy, though. That wasn’t it either. He spoke when he had something to say, which was rare in a group of people who mostly talked to hear themselves think. He mostly chatted with Evan—who never shut up—or with Regulus, who was still telling himself this was all part of the bit. Still part of the game. Still about Sirius, even if Sirius wasn’t here to witness it.

There was something weirdly magnetic about the way Remus just was —not performing, not posturing. Just calm, observant, unreadable in a way that made Regulus itch to know what was going on inside that head. He looked at people like he was cataloguing them. And every time Remus’s gaze settled on him, Regulus had the terrible, annoying feeling that he was being seen right through. Like Remus could tell that most of what Regulus said was armor. Pretty, polished armor—but armor all the same.

And, well. That was mildly infuriating. And maybe a little hot.

Regulus pushed the thought away by taking a long drag from his cigarette, but it didn’t help much.

As the last of their drinks disappeared and Barty shamelessly finished off what was left of Regulus’s croissant—despite Regulus’s loud and dramatic protests—they decided to head back to school. Predictably, Regulus slid back into Remus’s car with Alexei already sprawled in the back, still mid-rant about the hellscape that was chemistry, which they had next period.

The Neighborhood was playing low through the speakers, something soft and slightly melancholic, and Regulus found himself zoning out—not at Alexei’s complaints (which he’d heard about five times before), but at the playlist. He was now thoroughly, maddeningly curious about what exactly Remus Lupin listened to.

All moody indie, obviously. Or was that too expected? Maybe he was more into classic punk and grunge, like Sirius. Or something wildly out of character—pop bangers, queer icons, and a devotion to Charli XCX.

Regulus didn’t know why it mattered so much. It just did. He needed to know. And he’d probably spiral if he didn’t.

They ended up lab partners in chemistry—thanks, fate—and it quickly turned into half-jokes about Breaking Bad, followed by Regulus discovering that, of course, Remus had seen it too.

Meanwhile, Sirius, from two rows over, looked like he was mentally setting Regulus on fire just by staring.

“Wanna finish the project tonight?” Remus asked eventually, after the conversation lulled and they were both hunched over their lab notebooks, jotting down vaguely correct data.

“Can’t,” Regulus muttered, not looking up as he scribbled his results. “I’m going over to Evan’s tonight.”

He hesitated for half a second, chewing on the thought of inviting Remus along. He could. It wouldn’t be weird. Evan would roll with it. The others might be surprised, but no one would care.

But then again… what if Remus only did this—only talked to him, only partnered up—when Sirius was around to notice?

Regulus didn’t do well with rejection. Even the hypothetical kind.

So he kept his mouth shut and agreed to meet Sunday instead, casually, like it was no big deal. Again, at Regulus’s place.
Because of course it was.

Chapter Text

Late on Friday night, everyone was sprawled out on Evan’s massive bed, tucked into the corner of his room. Legally Blonde played on the projector, casting pink light across the ceiling, and the salt lamps scattered around gave everything a warm, hazy glow.

It was their ritual—always had been. Movie nights at Evan’s in autumn and winter, stargazing on Regulus’s roof in spring once it was warm enough, and long, chaotic weekends at the Crouches’ lake house during summer.

Regulus, Evan, Barty, Pandora, and Dorcas—since they were twelve, wrapped in blankets, tangled up together like cats. Once, it was hot chocolate and crisps. Now it was wine and overpriced snacks, but the heart of it hadn’t changed.

Predictably, they were gossiping instead of actually watching the film.
And equally predictably, it was about Remus Lupin.
And of course Regulus was being grilled by Dorcas, between her occasional thirsting over him like it wasn’t driving Regulus insane.

“I mean,” she hummed, lazily tossing another Skittle into her mouth, “he has something, right?”

Regulus just shrugged, but internally? His brain was on fire.
YES. YES, HE HAS SOMETHING. ALL THE THINGS.

“Oh, he’s hot,” Evan chimed in immediately, nodding like it was a scientific fact and nearly spilling his wine in the process. “But did you notice how composed he is? Like... unsettlingly calm.”

Barty snorted. “Bet you’d be too if Lyall Lupin was your dad.”

“Meaning?” Regulus asked, brows pulling together as he paused mid-bite of his crisp.

“Met him a few times,” Barty replied, flopping back with one leg thrown across Evan like it was his job. “He’s in the Ministry of Education and a real bitch. Like, Orion-level cold, but without pretending to care about his kids.”

“Wait—Remus has siblings?” Pandora perked up, blinking.

“Older brother. John or something?” Barty said, now toying with the drawstring of Evan’s hoodie like he wasn’t even aware of it. “Goes to Cambridge. Graduating this year, I think.”

Dorcas sat up slightly, interested. “Why are his parents divorced?”

“My mum said they split, like, fifteen years ago,” Barty shrugged. “They used to live in London, but the mum moved to Cardiff with the kids. She’s from there. Apparently, she got sick of Lyall’s bullshit. He lives in Luton now, barely around—job’s still in London.”

Evan frowned. “And Remus just… showed up here one day?”

“No clue why,” Barty said, stretching. “No one really knows. Did he tell you anything?” he asked, turning to Regulus.

“He said something about it not exactly being his choice,” Regulus replied, voice light but with a small tilt of curiosity. “Very vague. Very chill. The nonchalant bastard. You can’t get anything out of him unless he wants you to.”

“It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?” Dorcas grinned.

“Fuck off,” Regulus said, laughing, half-burying his face in a pillow. “It’s just… I dunno, it’s weird talking to him. It’s like—every time he asks me something, it’s like there’s this hidden subtext. Like he’s testing me. Waiting to see if I’ll push back.”

“Do you?” Pandora asked, curious.

“I don’t.”

“But you want to,” Evan grinned.

“As fuck,” Regulus groaned, dropping dramatically against Barty’s side, making the rest of them dissolve into laughter.

Because of course he did.

“So you, what, fancy him or something?” Dorcas asked suddenly, tilting her head toward Regulus, one brow arched like she already knew the answer and was just waiting for him to catch up.

Regulus shrugged, lazily, swirling the wine left in his glass. “I mean… you can’t say he’s not hot.”

“Oh, he’s hot,” Evan sighed dramatically, collapsing further into the nest of pillows with all the weight of someone burdened by attraction. “Tall, broody, that stupid little gold ring? The curls? The cigarette thing? He’s like a walking indie film.”

“Yeah, but,” Regulus said, lips twisting in a smirk, “he’s also Sirius’s ex. And I’m not really into hooking up with people who’ve had their dick in my brother.”

That got them. The entire bed erupted with laughter, someone nearly choking on their drink, and Dorcas actually wheezed.

“Foul,” she coughed, grinning. “But fair.”

Pandora blinked at him, her voice small and genuinely curious. “So why are you hanging out with him?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Dorcas leaned over to pat her knee like a weary aunt. “You’re so pure. Archie here just wants to get under Sirius’s skin. Right?”

Regulus let his head loll back on the headboard and nodded. “As always.”

“And Remus?” Pandora frowned. “He’s fine with that?”

“He’s doing the exact same thing,” Regulus said, waving his hand like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re both playing the same game. He knows it, I know it. We just… pretend we don’t.”

Dorcas narrowed her eyes. “But you talk outside school?”

Regulus hesitated a beat, then gave a lazy nod. “He texted me last night. Just a few messages. Then went dark, as usual.”

“Maybe he does fancy you,” Pandora offered again, sipping from her wine glass, tucked into the crook of Evan’s side.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Panda.”

“No, listen,” she pressed, eyes wide. “He only really talked to you today. Right?”

“He talked to Evan too,” Regulus deflected.

Evan snorted. “Babe, he was responding to me. Giving me one-word replies, at best. With you, it was different. He was actually starting things, asking questions, making conversation.”

Regulus hummed low in his throat, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his now-empty glass. “Even if that’s true… it doesn’t mean anything.”

The bed fell quiet again for a moment, only the sound of Reese Witherspoon in the background trying to get into Harvard and the occasional crunch of someone chewing chips. The room was warm, wine-slowed, and heavy with the kind of honesty that only came late at night.

Then Dorcas, of course, broke the silence.

“Well,” she said, shrugging like it was nothing, “you could always take it to the next level. Really push Sirius’s buttons. Invite Remus to the lake house. That’ll stir the pot.”

Regulus snorted. “He won’t come if Sirius isn’t there.”

“Oh, he will,” Evan said, grinning. “He likes being seen with you.”

“Told you,” Regulus sighed. “It’s about pissing off Sirius and nothing mo—”

But he cut himself off mid-word as his phone, lying on the duvet next to him, lit up.

A soft buzz.
A flash of light.
A notification.

Remus Lupin replied to your story.

Regulus stared at the screen. His lips twitched before he could stop them.

Dorcas caught the shift in his expression immediately. “Oh, no way.” She leaned over to peek. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Evan was already reaching for the phone. “C’mon, what’d he say? Don’t be a tease.”

Regulus twisted away from them, clutching the phone to his chest like it contained state secrets. “Get off.”

“So,” Dorcas grinned. “This whole thing was definitely not just about Sirius, huh?”

Regulus tried, very hard, to scowl. But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“Fuck off,” he muttered, but it didn’t have any bite.

And from the other side of the bed, Evan cackled. “He’s gone. He’s so fucking gone.”

Regulus didn’t deny it.

He just opened the message.

Remus’s message came in with the usual precision. Not rushed. Not random. Definitely not a mindless reply. It was a direct response to the story Regulus had posted nearly an hour ago: Easy A projected against Evan’s wall, fairy lights casting warm halos around the edges, the clink of glass barely caught. Very on brand. A little curated. A little lonely if you knew how to look.

remus:
romcoms too? didn’t see that coming

Regulus stared at the screen. He narrowed his eyes just slightly, trying to decipher the tone. Was it teasing? Ironic? Or one of those Remus replies that pretended to judge only to pivot into something real —like the Charli XCX conversation, where Remus pretended to be surprised before admitting he listened to her too?

For once, Regulus didn’t feel like being cryptic. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the softness of the moment — everyone mellow, half-asleep around him, the air warm and smelling like popcorn and incense. Maybe it was just Remus. Either way, he didn’t bother to filter.

regulus:
just healing my inner child

He watched the little “seen” notification pop up almost instantly. Of course Remus had his notifications on. And of course he replied right away.

remus:
by watching young penn badgley?

That made Regulus laugh — quiet and involuntary — a breath against the rim of his wine glass. God, he was funny. In that dry, surgical kind of way that made it hard to tell if he was flirting or diagnosing your damage.

Regulus let his thumb hover for a second, then typed:

regulus:
no, that one is healing all of me

A moment passed. He could feel something shift in the air, like he’d crossed a line without meaning to. Or maybe he had meant to. Maybe it wasn’t a line at all — just a breadcrumb trail they were both pretending not to follow.

His phone buzzed again. A pause, longer than usual.

remus:
valid. honestly hard not to be in love with him

Regulus tilted his head, biting back a grin, feeling the wine go warm in his chest. That was the thing about Remus — he never offered too much. Just a sentence. Just enough. But the weight of it lingered.

He tapped out a reply slowly, thoughtfully, letting the letters form before committing.

regulus:
that a confession?
or just a shared crush from 2010?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

remus:
maybe both

And now Regulus was fully awake.

“What?” Barty perked up instantly, already sensing drama, and Regulus wordlessly turned his phone so Barty could read the screen. Evan leaned in from the other side, eyes sharp despite the wine.

The two of them whistled in unison.

“Oh, he’s definitely flirting,” Evan declared, nodding like it was a scientific fact.

“And he’s good at it,” Barty added, giving a rare and solemn nod of approval, like Remus had just passed some impossible test.

Regulus stared at the screen for a beat longer, then locked his phone and tossed it back onto the bed with a quiet thud.

“Archie!” Dorcas gasped, offended. “Flirt back, you coward!”

Regulus raised a perfectly unimpressed eyebrow in her direction. “What am I, Sirius? I’m not about to throw myself at him just because he handed me a single crumb.”

Barty cackled. “Brutal.”

“Valid,” Evan agreed immediately. “Keep him guessing. Make him work for it.”

Pandora, from where she was curled up at the foot of the bed, hummed thoughtfully. “You already have him half-obsessed and you’re not even trying. It’s honestly kind of impressive.”

Regulus just rolled his eyes and leaned back against the pillows, smirking slightly despite himself. He didn’t reply to the message — not yet. Let Remus sit with it for a while. Let him wonder.

Let the game keep playing itself.

The phone stayed untouched on the bed, screen dark and quiet, while the movie carried on — though no one was really watching. Elle Woods was being iconic in the background, but the group had returned to their favorite pastime: talking over the dialogue and tearing through snacks like it was a competitive sport.

Regulus tried not to check his phone again.

He really did.

But after twenty minutes — and two scenes of Elle emotionally recovering in a pink fuzzy robe, which should’ve been inspiring — he peeked. Just to see. Just to check if there was a typing bubble. A follow-up. A second message. Anything.

Nothing.

“God, it’s killing you, isn’t it?” Dorcas teased, catching him mid-glance. Her head was propped up on Evan’s legs, wine glass dangling from her hand.

“I’m not even thinking about it,” Regulus replied coolly, lying through his teeth as he stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Sure you aren’t,” Barty snorted. “That’s why you’re checking it every six minutes.”

“Maybe he’s just asleep,” Pandora offered, far too gently to not be annoying.

“It’s barely midnight,” Regulus pointed out, still glaring at the blank screen. “He’s never asleep at midnight. He's active on Insta at, like, 2 a.m.”

“That’s the most tragic sentence I’ve ever heard,” Alexei muttered from the corner, where he’d curled up under a blanket, stealing Dorcas’s pillow and half of her Skittles.

“He’s definitely playing,” Barty said, voice dipped in smugness. “Text. Wait. Vanish. Classic power move.”

“I do that,” Regulus muttered.

“And now you’ve met your match,” Evan grinned. “And you hate it.”

Regulus didn’t answer. He just sighed, flopped back against the mattress, and buried his face in the pillow.

“He’s probably sitting there doing the exact same thing,” Pandora said after a pause, doodling something vague and witchy in the condensation on her glass.

“That’s what makes it worse,” Regulus groaned. “Because I know he is.”

The room went quiet for a moment — rare — and the only sound was Elle Woods’ voice from the projector and the distant hum of the salt lamps.

“I swear to god,” Dorcas said eventually, “if this ends with you two doing some kind of sad enemies-to-lovers slow burn, I will vomit.”

“God, I hope it does,” Evan whispered dreamily. “I love a slow burn. Give me tension. Give me angst. Give me hot, tragic make-outs against a wall.”

“Okay, thank you for that visual,” Regulus muttered, and someone threw a Skittle at Evan, who just cackled and raised his wine glass in mock salute.

Regulus let himself sink deeper into the blankets, letting their voices swirl around him like white noise.

The message wasn’t coming. Not tonight.

And somehow, that made him want to see Remus again even more.

Eventually, after they finished Legally Blonde and The Devil Wears Prada , Dorcas and Pandora peeled themselves off the bed with matching groans, heading off to crash in Pandora’s room down the hall. That left the boys alone — limbs tangled in blankets, stomachs full of snacks, and energy winding down into something quieter.

They changed into pajamas — loose pants, ripped tees and mismatched socks — and slipped under the covers, with Barty predictably positioning himself right in the middle. Of course he did. He insisted on it every time, always under the excuse of needing the most warmth, but Regulus knew better. Knew the way Barty lingered when Evan laughed, how he stared a little too long when Evan pushed his hair back, how his mood soured when Evan flirted with anyone else — even accidentally.

Hopeless crush. Borderline tragic. Completely unnoticed by everyone except Regulus.

Unsurprisingly, Evan was out cold the moment his head hit the pillow, breathing soft and steady, curled toward Barty like it meant nothing — just best mates, casual contact. Probably didn’t even realize what he was doing to Barty by that.

Regulus, meanwhile, lay flat on his back, arm folded under his head, staring at the ceiling like it might spell out answers for him. Answers to questions like: What the hell is Remus Lupin’s deal?

The silence stretched. Warm. Safe. Heavy with things unsaid.

“You’re spiraling,” Barty whispered suddenly.

“You too,” Regulus whispered back.

“I’m not,” Barty replied quickly — too quickly.

Regulus turned his head, looking at him in the dim orange glow of the salt lamp still glowing on Evan’s desk. “Really?” he asked, voice dry.

Barty’s jaw tensed. “Why would I?”

“Because Evan is lying right there,” Regulus said, gesturing lazily, “and you’re probably praying right now not to wake up with a boner.”

“I don’t—”

“Barty.”

A beat of silence. Then a heavy sigh from Barty as he shut his eyes, his voice barely above a breath.

“Fine. Fine. I like him. You happy?”

Regulus chuckled softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Beyond.”

Barty scoffed, rolling slightly so his back was to Regulus, shoulders tense but not pulling away from the way Evan had subconsciously nudged closer in his sleep.

And Regulus turned back to the ceiling, letting the quiet settle in again, the weight of the moment curling around them like another blanket.

None of them said anything else.

They didn’t need to.

The rest of the weekend passed like it usually did — Regulus stayed at Evan’s until Saturday evening, then headed back home reluctantly. As much as he loved the noise and warmth of being surrounded by his people, he needed a moment alone. Just to breathe. To sulk a little. Maybe spiral.

Remus hadn’t texted again after Regulus left him on read, and honestly, that stung more than it should have. He told himself it didn’t mean anything — that it wasn’t a game anymore, that he wasn’t waiting on the next move like some lovesick idiot. But he was. Of course he was.

So, predictably, he spent half the night like he usually did when he was alone on a Saturday — sitting on the roof, chain-smoking, and cursing James Potter’s entire bloodline. Maybe also longing a little, though he’d die before admitting that out loud. Maybe to Barty, but only if he was wasted and having a bad night.

And as always, his thoughts looped back to how stupid the whole thing with James was. How even stupider it ended.

The truth was, Regulus had spent most of his life considering James the enemy. It was practically tradition. James was Sirius’s best friend, loud and golden and infuriatingly charismatic — which meant he was automatically on Regulus’s shit list. He was obnoxious. Too confident. Smiled like he knew something no one else did. He was, in short, the worst.

Until Regulus realized the real reason James annoyed him so much was because… he kind of liked him. In that way. The way you liked the popular boy in school who had sun-warmed skin and a perfect grin and the ability to make everyone in the room laugh without trying.

It took James, like, three days to clock the fact that Regulus had stopped insulting him just for the hell of it. And that was all it took. Lingering looks turned into casual touches, and then somehow they were snogging at one of James’s parties in February. By April, they were officially a Thing — capital T — and Regulus was in deep. Embarrassingly so.

James was actually amazing — when Sirius wasn’t around.

He used to sneak into Regulus’s room when he was staying over at the Blacks’ house. They’d talk for hours, watch dumb shows, play even dumber games. They’d cuddle, kiss, have sex, fall asleep tangled together under Regulus’s stupid too-expensive sheets. And Regulus would lie there feeling stupidly victorious, because James was choosing him — not Sirius.

Until he wasn’t.

Until James started waking up early and slipping back into Sirius’s room before anyone noticed. And Regulus pretended not to care, even when it cracked something in his chest every time.

They broke up in August.

James didn’t even give him a real reason — just one of those vague, half-hearted lines. “I don’t think we’re working anymore.” Which was complete and utter bullshit. They were great together — so good — as long as Sirius wasn’t around. But Sirius was always around. Always watching. Always getting into James’s head. Jealous and petty and possessive in a way that made Regulus feel like he was intruding on something sacred, even when James had said he wanted him.

Sirius won, in the end. Of course he did.

Regulus told himself he was over it. He even almost believed it. Until nights like this — quiet and bitter and too full of memory — when he found himself staring up at the sky, cigarette smoke curling into the dark, and wondering if James was thinking about him, too.

And sure, maybe he didn’t cry every night. But sometimes, when it was too quiet, and he was too tired, and his bed felt too big — he still did. Just a little.

Because falling asleep without James next to him hadn’t gotten any easier. Not really.

On Sunday, Remus came over to finish the history project — and, miraculously, they actually did.

They drank way too many cups of tea while working, talked a little about school, and — finally — got around to the topic Regulus had been quietly waiting for: music.

Remus admitted he liked indie rock too, and yeah, he listened to queer icons — for the same reason Regulus did. Because he was friends with girls. Because it was inevitable. Because how could you not?

They swapped stories about concerts they’d been to, favorite songs, playlists that got them through heartbreaks or finals or summer jobs they hated. Regulus ended up grinning like an idiot while recounting a Chappell Roan show he went to in July, his cheeks flushed from remembering the lights and the crowd and the glitter.

Remus smiled in that way Regulus had started to quietly, desperately adore — the private kind of smile. Eyes crinkled. Full lips. Perfect teeth. The kind of smile that felt like it wasn’t meant to be shared with just anyone.

But for all the easy chatter, they didn’t talk about anything real. Not really. Nothing sharp or deep enough to leave a mark.

At one point, Remus mentioned he was heading to Cardiff next weekend. Regulus nodded, casually, and asked if he wanted to come to the Halloween party the week after.

“Isn’t that… also kinda your birthday?” Remus frowned, like he was doing the math.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Kinda. They’re November th—”

“Third,” Remus said, cutting him off.

Regulus blinked. Something a little sour slipped down his throat. Of course Remus knew. Of course he did. It was Sirius’s birthday too, after all.

“I’ll be there, though,” Remus added, after a beat.

Regulus just gave a small nod, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and turned back to the project. His pen scratched the paper, trying to finish the summary, but his mind was spinning fast — thoughts tumbling over themselves in a way he didn’t love.

The week passed in a kind of soft blur.
Regulus and Remus still talked at school — between classes, in hallways, during that shared free period instead of PE, which had unofficially become their designated time to loiter with Regulus’s group. No one questioned it anymore. Remus was just there now, folding into the space between Evan’s constant commentary and Dorcas’s dry wit like he’d always belonged.

But it wasn’t just during school hours.
Their texting had quietly become a nightly thing — unspoken, but expected. It had started with a TikTok Regulus sent around 11 PM on a Monday: something dumb about emotionally unavailable boys and Venus signs. Remus had replied with a single deadpan “accurate,” and somehow, the conversation kept going. Past midnight. Past one. Until Regulus’s eyes burned and his phone buzzed softly in his hand while the rest of the world was asleep.

The chats were mostly nonsense. Memes. Songs. Casual book recommendations. Commentary on teachers. A screenshot of someone’s embarrassing Facebook post from years ago that Regulus had no business finding.

And yet… it wasn’t meaningless.

Because somewhere in between the jokes, Remus admitted his favorite book was Wuthering Heights.
Regulus confessed he’d read it in three different languages — English, French, and once in an overambitious attempt, Italian — because something about it wrecked him in all the right ways.

One night, Remus sent a blurry photo of his cat sprawled across his bed: a ginger fluffball with a judgey stare and one paw on a laptop.
“This is Sansa,” he wrote. “Yes, like the Stark.”

That spiraled into a conversation about Game of Thrones, which turned into a thread about which characters they’d be if their lives were a chaotic HBO drama (Barty was unanimously Cersei, Evan was tragically Jon Snow, and Regulus got called Littlefinger and threw a fit).

And then Remus mentioned, offhandedly, that his old school back in Cardiff had been hell. Just that — no elaboration.
Regulus didn’t push, but he paused. Tucked it away.

Because these weren’t just crumbs anymore. These were little pieces of Remus Lupin that he hadn’t given to anyone else at school. And Regulus — despite himself, against his better judgment — was collecting them.

Every text. Every photo. Every quiet reveal.
They stayed with him.

So he let himself fall into it — the ritual of it all. Of curling into his reading nook under the window with a blanket, book forgotten on his lap, tea cooling untouched beside him as he smiled at his phone screen, waiting for the next reply.

Chapter Text

The real kicker came over the weekend.

Regulus was at the grocer’s with Barty and Evan, buying far too much alcohol for the upcoming lake house party — mostly because Evan had taken it upon himself to invite half the school. Well, not half — just everyone firmly on “Regulus’s team” in the never-ending saga that was the Black Brothers War. Dramatic, petty, sometimes theatrical, always serious.

They had two shopping carts. Evan had climbed into one like a child and was insisting on being chauffeured around, while Barty, pretending to be tortured, was absolutely loving every second of pushing him up and down the aisles.

Regulus, meanwhile, was tossing another pack of crisps into the other cart, deep in an argument with Barty about how many bottles of tequila counted as “reasonable” when the party guest list had apparently tripled overnight.

That’s when his phone buzzed in his back pocket.

He didn’t even check the screen — figured it was Dorcas or Pandora wondering why the hell movie night hadn’t started yet.

“Yeah?” Regulus answered, half-distracted, side-eyeing Barty like he was the source of all bad decisions.

But it wasn’t Dorcas. Or Pandora.
It was Remus fucking Lupin.

“Hi, Regulus,” came Remus’s voice on the other end — calm, low, and somehow deliberate — and Regulus actually froze. Right there. In the alcohol aisle. One hand on a bottle of vodka, the other gripping the phone like it was suddenly an emotional landmine.

He blinked. “Lupin?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Sorry, did I—? I didn’t check the time, I just…”

“You’re calling me,” Regulus cut in, because what was happening.

“I know. I—” Remus hesitated, and Regulus could hear voices in the background. Music. Laughter. A party, clearly. “I just wanted to ask something.”

Regulus turned slightly, stepping away from the cart, from Evan yelling something about peach schnapps, from Barty threatening to knock him out with a baguette. He leaned against the shelves of gin and whiskey like the support of imported liquor might help him survive whatever this was.

“Okay,” he said, suddenly quieter. “Ask.”

Remus paused again, just for a second. “Are you coming to the lake house next week?”

Regulus frowned. “Obviously. It’s my party.”

“Right,” Remus said, and his voice was a little harder to read now — soft, like a smile trying not to show. “I’ll see you there, then.”

Then he hung up.

Just like that.

Regulus stared at his screen for a beat. Then another.

“Oh my god,” Barty groaned from behind him. “Was that him?”

Regulus turned around slowly, dazed. “He called me.”

“On the phone?” Evan said, scandalized, poking his head out from the cart. “Like, voice-call called?”

Regulus nodded. Still stunned. “Just to ask if I’m coming to the party.”

“He’s obsessed,” Evan declared. 

“And clearly unwell.” Barty added.

“I think I need to sit down,” Regulus muttered, tossing the vodka into the cart and pulling out his phone again. “What the fuck was that?”

“Was he alone? Where is he? What did he say?” Evan asked, eyes wide as he leaned further out of the cart like a gossip-hungry meerkat.

Regulus blinked, still trying to process the call. “I think he’s at some party? Sounded like it. He’s in Cardiff this weekend, remember?” he answered slowly, the words dragging as his brain caught up to the moment. “He didn’t… actually say anything important.”

“Was he drunk? High? Wasted?” Evan pushed, suddenly looking way too alert for someone halfway buried under a pile of crisps.

“Tipsy, maybe,” Regulus muttered, shifting his phone into his back pocket. “Hard to tell. His accent is unbearable all the time.”

Barty snorted. “God, it really is. You’d think growing up in two different countries would’ve mellowed it out.”

Regulus ignored that. “Still. He called me. To ask if I’m coming to the party that I’m throwing.”

“Well then,” Barty drawled, examining a bottle of gin like it had personally offended him. “I suppose Remus Lupin is just another person spending the night at the lake house next weekend.”

“ Fuck off ,” Regulus snapped, flipping him off with a glare, though his heart was now firmly lodged in his throat. “He’s not—I—I don’t even know what that was. Jesus.” He pressed the heels of his palms to his temples like that might physically push the chaos out of his skull.

Evan grinned like the devil himself. “He likes you, Archie.”

Regulus scoffed. “He likes making Sirius squirm.”

“Sure,” Evan said, eyes glinting. “And calling you from a party, in the middle of the night, does what—magically makes Sirius wake up in a cold sweat?”

Regulus glared. “How the hell would I know? Lupin’s been doing everything on purpose since the second he stepped into that school. He probably just called to throw me off.”

“You say that like it’s not working,” Barty muttered.

Regulus ignored him. “Whatever. I need to get out of this Tesco hell. I need Keanu Reeves and something wildly unrealistic before I lose what’s left of my mind.”

He grabbed another bottle of vodka.

And then, after a short pause, another one — just in case he needed to drink an entire bottle by himself next weekend.

Just in case Remus fucking Lupin really did show up.

They paid for the alcohol with the same casual chaos that always followed Regulus’s group—Evan flirting with the cashier (who absolutely did not care), Barty trying to stack vodka bottles like Tetris blocks in the cart, and Regulus half-lost in his own head while tapping his card with the dead-eyed precision of a boy internally spiraling.

By the time they made it back to Evan’s car, the sky had gone that soft, ink-blue shade of autumn dusk, the kind that made Regulus want to curl up under ten blankets and pretend the world didn’t exist. Instead, he was wrestling with a carton of beer and the weight of Remus Lupin’s voice still echoing in his ears.

“Still thinking about it?” Barty asked from the passenger seat, cracking open a can even though Evan hadn’t started driving yet.

“No,” Regulus lied.

“Yes,” Evan said from behind the wheel, smirking into the mirror. “Your dramatic silence is louder than Barty when he fake-laughs at my jokes.”

“I never fake laugh,” Barty said immediately, offended. “I just feel bad for you.”

Regulus ignored them both and stared out the window, watching the streetlights flicker on one by one. “I just don’t get him.”

“Remus?” Evan asked.

“No, the Queen of England. Yes, Remus.”

“Well,” Evan said, turning the key in the ignition, “you don’t need to get him. You just need to keep being hot and mysterious until he breaks.”

“I’m not mysterious,” Regulus muttered.

“You absolutely are,” Barty said. “Your entire personality screams ‘I know where the bodies are buried.’”

“You do,” Evan nodded. “That’s what makes you sexy.”

Regulus groaned and let his head thunk against the window. “I hate you both.”

“Love you too,” Barty said sweetly, and Evan made obnoxious kissing noises as he pulled the car out of the parking lot.

As soon as they climbed out of the car, Regulus nearly screamed when a bottle rolled out of the backseat and hit his foot. Barty cackled like a maniac. Evan, completely unbothered, turned to Barty and said, “So, you want to share a room at the lake house or what?”

Barty stumbled over his own shoes, but managed to recover in record time, shrugging cool as hell. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Regulus rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

A few hours later, they were all sprawled out on Evan’s enormous bed. Pandora and Dorcas had joined, the five of them forming a loose tangle of limbs and pillows and popcorn crumbs. Beers in hand, they were halfway through their second terrible horror movie, the kind with laughable special effects and zero actual plot. Pandora was absently playing with Regulus’s curls, her rings cool against his scalp.

“You need to cleanse your aura,” she declared seriously, tugging gently on a white curl. “You’re clearly spiraling, sweetie.”

Regulus groaned and tipped his head back against her thigh. “Panda, I love you, but please. Give me a break.”

Barty and Evan lost it immediately, laughing into their beers. Dorcas, ever the sharp one, narrowed her eyes. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Regulus said too quickly.

“Lupin called him randomly to ask about the party,” Evan chimed in casually, like it wasn’t a whole dramatic event. “After a week of them texting. Now Archie’s questioning all of his life choices.”

“And his taste in men,” Barty added, deadpan as always.

Regulus sat up indignantly. “I have great taste! Just… historically bad timing. And maybe a mild curse.”

Dorcas raised a brow. “So he just called you? Out of nowhere?”

“Yup,” Regulus muttered, taking a sip of his beer. “Didn’t say anything important. Just… party stuff.”

“And yet here you are,” Pandora sang, poking him in the cheek. “All moody and haunted like a sad little ghost.”

Regulus groaned again, flopping back dramatically into the mess of pillows. “I hate all of you.”

“You love us,” Evan grinned. “Now shut up, final girl’s about to die and I wanna see if the blood looks fake.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but stayed where he was, curled into the chaos of his friends, thinking maybe spiraling wasn’t the worst thing when you had a soft place to land.

“Okay, no way that’s real,” Evan said, pointing at the screen with his half-empty beer can. “That looks like ketchup from the chip shop.”

“I’ve seen better effects in children’s theatre,” Barty added, deadpan.

“That’s because you only go to children’s theatre, you pervert,” Regulus muttered, earning a soft punch to the thigh from Barty.

“Excuse you. Pandora dragged me to that puppet musical,” Barty sniffed, mock offended.

“I regret nothing,” Pandora declared from her perch at the head of the bed, throwing popcorn at them like rose petals. “Art is art.”

“Oh my god,” Dorcas muttered, laughing as she ducked a flying kernel. “How are we not banned from this house yet?”

“Our mum likes Archie,” Evan said, stretching like a cat, “thinks he’s a ‘quiet influence.’” He made finger quotes and shot Regulus a look. “I didn’t correct her.”

Regulus smirked. “Let her believe I’m your moral compass.”

“That’s hilarious considering you tried to shoplift eyeliner in year ten,” Barty said without missing a beat.

“I almost got away with it.”

“You literally didn’t.”

“Okay,” Dorcas cut in, “but let’s go back to what really matters—Lupin. Calling. You. From a party.”

“Oh my god, enough,” Regulus groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. “Do you know what he said? ‘Hi, Regulus.’ That’s it. No flirting. No confessions. No sexy voice. Just hi. I’m being gaslit by a sweater-wearing man with a book addiction.”

Pandora snorted. “Which is exactly your type.”

“Shut up,” Regulus mumbled into the pillow.

“You’re not denying it,” Barty pointed out smugly.

“And I’m sorry, but the ‘just hi’ thing? Classic emotionally repressed behavior,” Evan said, lying back and folding his arms behind his head. “That’s modern-day love poetry for someone like Lupin.”

“Seriously,” Dorcas agreed. “That boy doesn’t text anyone. I saw him full-on ignore a girl crying in front of his locker once.”

“She was crying about her dog,” Pandora added.

“Still.”

Regulus peeked out from under the pillow, eyes narrowed. “You guys are literally the worst.”

“But you love us,” they all said in unison, clearly rehearsed, clearly awful.

Regulus rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward despite himself. “Yeah, yeah.”

Another movie started, some terrible 2000s slasher reboot, and the room quieted for a while, minus the occasional sarcastic comment or someone yelling “Don’t go in there, dumbass!” at the screen.

Pandora’s hand found Regulus’s curls again, absently carding through them. Evan’s feet kicked his shin every so often when he shifted. Barty was quietly humming the theme music, already three beers in and halfway to sleepy.

Regulus let himself relax, just a little. Whatever was going on with Remus could wait until Monday.

Maybe.

Probably.

Hopefully.

...Okay, maybe he’d overanalyze it a little more before bed.

The next day, Regulus woke up in Evan’s bed with Barty half on top of him, crushing his lungs, and Evan mumbling “one more” in his sleep—whatever that was supposed to mean.

He groaned, shoving Barty off with a dramatic sigh, and grabbed his phone to check the time.

And then froze.

Lily Evans followed you on Instagram.

Regulus blinked at the screen like it was written in another language. He tapped on the notification, heart doing something weird in his chest—like skipping or glitching. Lily Evans. Remus’s Lily. The one from Cardiff. The one he stayed over with. The one he called his best friend.

Which meant... Remus had talked about him. To her. Enough that she actually went through the trouble of looking him up, checking his feed, and—holy shit— liking one of his old photos.

And not just any photo.

The one Dorcas had taken at the lake house this summer: Regulus mid-laugh, head tilted back, that white streak in his curls showing more than usual, vitiligo standing out in soft patterns across his cheeks and neck, fairy lights glowing above him like something out of a teen drama. He looked happy in that one. He almost never posted pictures like that.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” Regulus whispered, sitting up and furiously scrolling through Lily’s profile.

She was, of course, stupidly gorgeous. Like, cover of an indie folk album gorgeous. Long red hair, pale skin kissed with freckles, sea-glass green eyes. Big laugh, cozy sweaters, coffee-in-hand-on-a-balcony kind of vibe. Regulus’s very gay heart didn’t flutter, per se, but he did pause for a full three seconds. Which said enough.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Did Remus have to be friends with someone who looks like that?”

Barty stirred beside him, voice raspy and half-awake. “Who’re we stalking?”

“No one,” Regulus said way too fast, locking his phone and tucking it under his thigh like a gremlin.

Barty blinked at him, unconvinced. “It’s eight in the morning and you’re already spiraling. Classic.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

Evan snorted in his sleep, rolled over, and promptly smacked Barty in the face with his arm.

Regulus lay back down, heart still hammering in his chest, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.
Remus Lupin was talking about him.
To his best friend.
Who was pretty and cool and also following him on Instagram now.

It was fine.
He was fine.
He was absolutely not spiraling.
( He was, in fact, spiraling. )

He didn’t text Remus. He thought about it—he hovered over the message box at least six times throughout the day—but every time, he locked his phone again and stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

Instead, he followed Lily back.

Because… why not? It was polite. It was neutral. It also gave him access to more photos of Remus, buried somewhere in the chaos of house parties, concerts, and seaside selfies. Regulus scrolled like a man on a mission—or like someone trying not to think about the fact that Sirius and James were both downstairs, being obnoxiously loud and alive and fine.

He was perched on the roof again, hoodie up, knees pulled to his chest, cigarette glowing between his fingers. The wind cut sharp against his cheeks, but it didn’t matter. The cold helped. A bit.

From below, he could hear James’s laugh echo up into the night, mingled with Sirius’s usual over-the-top wheezing. And for some godawful reason, Regulus felt it in his ribs. Not because it was loud, but because it used to be his too. That laugh, that warmth, that safety. There was a time he knew what James Potter’s laugh felt like up close, under the covers, pressed to his neck at 2 a.m. while they whispered dumb shit into each other’s skin.

But now? Now he was freezing on a roof, lurking on the Instagram of a girl he’d never met, because she happened to know the boy who’d somehow become the new soundtrack of his brain.

Pathetic. He knew that.

Eventually, when his fingers were numb and the cigarette burned to the filter, he climbed back through his window. The house had quieted; no more laughter. Maybe they’d finally passed out or left or—honestly, he didn’t care. He was starving and hungover and vaguely hollow, and that onion soup in the fridge was calling his name like a lifeline.

He padded quietly down the stairs, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands. The kitchen was dark, but he didn’t bother flipping the light on. The fridge glowed when he opened it, revealing the pot exactly where he’d hoped. Rosa was truly a gift from the gods.

He set it on the stove, turned on the heat, and leaned back against the counter, arms folded across his chest. His eyes were half-closed, the weight of the day pulling heavy on his bones, when—

The door creaked.

And in walked James Potter.

Of course. Of fucking course.

He looked rumpled and sleep-flushed, curls sticking in every direction, hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it always did. He paused in the doorway when he saw Regulus, one socked foot stepping into the tiled light.

“Oh,” James said, voice low, surprised. “Didn’t think anyone was up.”

Regulus blinked slowly. “Soup,” he said flatly, as if that explained anything.

James offered a small, lopsided smile—the same one that used to make Regulus melt, and now just made his stomach knot. “Rosa’s? Lucky.”

Regulus didn’t respond. He turned back to the pot, stirred it once with a wooden spoon, and tried to act like he didn’t feel every atom in the room shifting.

James lingered. Of course he did. “You alright?”

Regulus didn’t look at him. “Peachy.”

There was a beat of silence. Then James said, a little too gently, “Still doing the whole brooding-on-the-roof thing, huh?”

Regulus’s jaw tightened. “Still pretending to care?”

James flinched—barely—but Regulus caught it. He hated that he caught it.

“Reg—”

“Don’t,” Regulus snapped, too fast, too tired. “Don’t do the whole guilt thing now. You made your choice.”

James was quiet.

The soup bubbled softly behind him, and Regulus exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.

“You want some or not?” he asked finally, without turning.

There was a pause. “Yeah,” James said, voice quieter this time. “Sure.”

So Regulus grabbed another bowl.

Because this was what it always came back to. A kitchen at midnight. A pot of soup. A thousand unsaid things hanging in the air between them.

And Regulus—still too soft for his own good—serving the boy who broke him, because he didn’t know how not to.

They perched on the stools by the kitchen island, steam curling up from their bowls. Regulus didn’t even glance sideways when James reached across and grabbed the pepper, unscrewed the cap like a barbarian, and dumped enough in to make someone cry.

Typical. James always acted like bland food was a personal attack. He had a whole monologue about how the UK didn’t season anything properly—how “if it’s not burning your taste buds, is it even food?” He liked to remind people, often and dramatically, that he grew up eating his grandmother’s cooking in Luxor and that “you lot wouldn’t know flavor if it bit you on the arse.”

Regulus stirred his soup, unimpressed, while James took one bite and promptly started coughing.

“Idiot,” Regulus said mildly.

James grinned, eyes watering. “Worth it.”

They ate in silence for a minute, the kind of quiet that wasn’t exactly comfortable but wasn’t unbearable either. The kitchen was dimly lit, the hum of the fridge the only background noise, the kind of stillness that made words feel louder when they finally came.

“So,” James said, in that too-casual way that meant he’d been working up to it. “You and Remus, huh?”

Regulus didn’t look at him. He took another bite, slow and deliberate.

“What about him?”

James was trying to look neutral, but he was failing spectacularly. He was stirring his soup too aggressively, his knuckles white around the spoon. He’d always been terrible at pretending not to care. Always wore his feelings like badly fitted clothes—obvious, wrinkled, easy to read if you bothered to look.

“You two seem... close,” James said.

Regulus hummed, leaning his elbow on the counter, resting his cheek against his palm. He didn’t answer. He liked the way James squirmed in the silence. It was satisfying, in a petty kind of way. The same way it had always been satisfying to unravel James Potter’s carefully curated calm.

“How?” James asked, glancing at him now.

Regulus raised a brow. “How what?”

“You two started talking. Out of nowhere.”

Regulus gave a slow shrug. “People do that. Talk. Interact. You’d know if you weren’t so busy following Sirius around like a loyal golden retriever.”

That landed. James’s jaw tightened, lips pressing into a thin line. Regulus could almost see the string of unspoken defenses lining up in his throat. None of them would matter.

“Regulus, I don’t—”

“You do,” Regulus cut in. “You did. You always fucking will. It’s your favorite hobby. Abandon your spine at the door and follow Sirius Black wherever he leads.”

James turned fully toward him now, eyes sharp. “You think I wanted to pick between you two?”

“You didn’t have to,” Regulus snapped. “But you did, didn’t you? And you picked him. Like you always were going to.”

“That’s not fair,” James said.

Regulus let out a short, humorless laugh. “No, what wasn’t fair was you sneaking into my bed at night, whispering all these perfect things in the dark, and then walking past me like I didn’t exist the next day because God forbid Sirius get suspicious.”

“I never ignored you.”

“You ignored us,” Regulus said, sharp and low. “And then you ended it like it was nothing. Like we weren’t real. No explanation. Just ‘I don’t think we’re working anymore.’ Like we were a group project that bored you.”

James ran a hand through his hair, clearly unraveling now. “You’re acting like none of it meant anything to you.”

Regulus turned to him, finally, full-on, eyes glinting under the kitchen light.

“Oh, it meant something,” he said quietly. “It meant a lot. That’s why it hurt. That’s why it still fucking hurts, James.”

They stared at each other, years of tension thick between them. Not just romantic tension, but the kind that came from knowing someone too well. From being known too well.

James looked away first.

“You think I’m okay?” he asked after a moment, voice tight. “You think this has been easy for me?”

Regulus tilted his head. “You’re still the golden boy. Still Sirius’s best friend. Still the boy with the perfect smile and the fucking dimples. You lost me. That’s it. And you made it clear you could live with that.”

“I thought you’d hate me less if I ended it clean,” James said quietly.

Regulus laughed again, bitter this time. “Hate you less? James, I didn’t hate you. I loved you. That was the problem. You knew that and you still walked away.”

James was quiet.

“You and Sirius are clearly made for each other. It’s like fate, really. Soulmates by codependency.” Regulus went on, not even knowing why he did. 

“That’s it?” James asked, voice rising a notch. “You’re jealous?”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Of what? You two have always been one poorly timed kiss away from a scandal. It’s nothing new.”

“And that’s why you’re getting close to Remus now?” James pushed. “To make Sirius uncomfortable?”

Regulus took another slow bite of soup. Chewed. Swallowed. “No,” he said finally. “Sirius is far too self-obsessed to care who I am or am not talking to.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Careful, James,” Regulus said coolly. “You keep talking like that and you’ll have to apologize to him later.”

James looked like he might actually scream. “Why are you like this?” he snapped.

“Like what?” Regulus shot back. “Brutally honest? Self-preserving? Refreshingly petty?”

“No,” James said, louder now, hands clenched. “Like we never happened! Like it was all nothing to you. You’ve been ignoring me, you fucking blocked me, and now you’re throwing a party just to compete with mine—”

“For the last time,” Regulus snapped, slamming his spoon down with a sharp metallic clink against the bowl. “You broke up with me. You made the choice. You fucked it up. And now I’m supposed to just—what? Pretend none of it happened?”

James flinched. The words landed harder than either of them expected. He stared down at his bowl like it might save him. It didn’t.

“I never wanted to—” he began, but Regulus was already shaking his head.

“Hurt me?” Regulus cut in, his laugh dry and sharp-edged. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Gold-star cliché. But congrats, really. You nailed it. Ten out of ten. I’m absolutely thriving and not at all spiraling about why you didn’t have the spine to stand up for us.”

James looked like he’d just been slapped. Again.

Regulus calmly picked up his spoon and resumed eating like they hadn’t just dragged every old wound between them out onto the counter and flayed them open under the fluorescent lights. The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with unsaid things. The kind of silence that couldn’t be fixed with small talk or soup or some too-late apology James didn’t even have the guts to offer.

And Regulus? He just kept eating. Because if there was one thing he’d learned from loving James Potter, it was that hunger—whether for food or love or someone’s goddamn loyalty—never really went away. You just got better at pretending it didn’t ache.

“I wanted to,” James said eventually, voice so low Regulus almost missed it.

Regulus didn’t look at him. “But you didn’t. So it doesn’t matter,” he replied simply. “All your ‘I wanted to’s weren’t worth shit since you never did anything.”

“I did,” James snapped, the words too defensive, too quick. “I was—I did, alright? I wanted to stay with you.”

Regulus let out another dry laugh and finally turned to look at him. “Then why didn’t you?” he asked, tone sharp but steady. “What was the exact reason, James? Because I still don’t know why I’m the one getting treated like the villain in your story when I didn’t do a damn thing wrong.”

James chewed at the inside of his cheek, just like he always did when he was thinking too hard or trying to find the version of the truth that wouldn’t hurt as much. Sugarcoating shit was practically his love language.

“I—Sirius needed me,” he said finally, like that explained everything.

Regulus blinked. Once. Slowly. “And I didn’t?” he asked, voice so calm it was terrifying.

“I never said that,” James muttered. “He just—”

“Needed you more, right?” Regulus cut in. “Needed you every time you were with me. The second we tried to have something real, suddenly Sirius had some sort of existential crisis that demanded your undivided attention. That never made you pause, James? Never made you wonder why he only ever needed you when you were happy with me?”

Something in James’s eyes flickered. Just for a second. But it was enough. Regulus felt it—felt something crack. It was almost theatrical, really, the sound of a glass heart breaking somewhere inside him.

“Oh my god,” Regulus said, staring at him in disbelief. “You didn’t. You never thought Sirius might’ve done it all on purpose. That maybe, just maybe, your precious best friend couldn’t stand the idea of you choosing me over him.”

“He didn’t—” James tried weakly.

“Wake up, James,” Regulus snapped. “He’s been doing this for years, and you’ve let him. For no reason other than he could.”

James stiffened, eyes narrowing. “So now you’re doing the same thing to him with Remus?” he threw back, tone accusing.

Regulus’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “You just can’t stop defending him, can you?”

“It’s just—” James looked like he was biting his tongue bloody. “It’s really shitty, what you’re doing, Regulus.”

“Oh yeah?” Regulus arched a brow, deadly calm. “And what exactly am I doing?”

“You’re getting close to Remus just to get back at Sirius. Just to—make a point.”

Regulus blinked. Then tilted his head slightly, his mouth curling into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “James,” he said slowly, savoring it. “If I wanted to make Sirius jealous, I’d already be making out with Remus on his bed. In front of him. Shirtless. While Wonderwall played in the background.”

James’s jaw clenched so tight Regulus thought he might genuinely crack a molar.

“But we’re not doing that,” he added casually, stirring his soup. “We’re just talking. Hanging out. Being... surprisingly civil.” He took another bite, then looked at James from under his lashes. “But hey—if Sirius wants to read more into it, that’s on him, right?”

James was practically vibrating with frustration now, his whole body tense with something that felt like guilt and jealousy and leftover longing all fighting for space.

Regulus, for his part, was maddeningly serene. Maybe it was the soup. Maybe it was the power trip. Maybe it was finally, finally saying everything he’d wanted to say since James left him behind.

Either way, he was winning this round. And they both knew it.

Regulus stood, moving to dump the rest of his soup in the sink. He didn’t feel like eating anymore.

“For what it’s worth,” James said, finally. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Regulus looked over his shoulder. “Well,” he said, cold and tired. “You did. So now we’re even.”

He left James alone in the kitchen, still staring into a bowl of soup he’d ruined with too much pepper.

Back in his room, Regulus grabbed his phone and a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the desk, yanked his blanket off the bed, and climbed out through the window like he’d done it a hundred times before—which, to be fair, he had.

The air outside was biting, sharp against his skin, but he didn’t care. He was too pissed off to feel it. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, balanced himself on the rooftop ledge, and lit up with hands that were still shaking from the conversation.

Preferably, he’d smoke the whole fucking pack tonight. One for every repressed emotion and every time James Potter chose Sirius over him like it was second nature.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the night.

Because of course James would never even consider that Sirius might have broken them up on purpose. He was too busy being the prize golden retriever of loyalty, too blind to ever see that Sirius didn’t want Regulus happy—didn’t want anyone taking James away from him. All those times Sirius acted like he was the boyfriend in the room, not Regulus? James thought it was just… what? Coincidence?

Regulus scoffed, took another drag, and pulled the blanket tighter around himself like it could shield him from the memory of James’s stupidly confused face.

He grabbed his phone to text Evan or maybe call Barty and rant until his lungs hurt more from screaming than the nicotine. He even opened the group chat, thumb hovering above the keyboard, but then paused.

There it was—a missed call notification. Twenty-three minutes ago. Remus.

Regulus blinked, stared at the name like it might disappear, like he was hallucinating out of spite. It was well past 2 a.m., and he’d just—what? Missed a potentially tipsy, late-night call from Remus fucking Lupin because he was too busy letting James wreck his mood for the hundredth time?

Brilliant. Spectacular. Incredible. He was furious all over again.

Without thinking, without hesitating, he tapped call. He brought the phone to his ear, lit cigarette still dangling between his fingers, heart hammering like he was calling the boy he had a crush on in secondary school—which, in fairness, he kind of was.

It rang once. Twice.

“C’mon, Lupin,” he muttered under his breath. “Be drunk, be awake, be—”

Click.

The line picked up.

Regulus froze.

“Hi,” Remus’s voice echoed through the speaker, and—yeah, he was definitely drunker than he had been the night before—more drawl, more hush, more something. There was bass thudding faintly in the background and the indistinct echo of people laughing. Another party. Figures.

“Hey,” Regulus replied, exhaling smoke slowly like it might buy him some time to figure out what the hell was going on. “Didn’t know you had a habit of calling people when you’re drunk.”

Remus laughed, low and raw, and Regulus made a mental note to write that sound down in his notes app later. Drunk Remus laugh: dangerously attractive, mildly illegal.

“I don’t call people,” Remus said. “Just you.”

Regulus blinked. He would’ve choked on the cigarette if he weren’t so tragically composed all the time.

“Right,” he said. “That’s… extremely specific. And why me?”

Remus made a soft noise and Regulus could hear him moving—probably stepping out of the chaos and into some empty hallway or stairwell. The music quieted.

“I was just wondering what you do on Saturday nights,” Remus said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to randomly call someone he barely knew. “Fridays are clearly movie nights. So. What’s your Saturday routine?”

Regulus took a long drag to buy himself time. “Right now? I’m sitting on my roof and smoking. Very cinematic.”

“Wait, the actual roof? Like, outside? On your house?” Remus asked, voice tipping into something close to alarm—for the first time ever, actually sounding a bit uncomposed. Regulus let himself smile a little.

“I can climb out the window in my room,” he explained. “Been doing it for years. Never jumped off, unfortunately.”

There was a short silence.

“That’s not funny,” Remus said finally, his voice suddenly a lot less floaty and a lot more grounded.

“It’s a little funny,” Regulus offered, mostly out of habit. “Just... morbid-funny.”

“You need better coping mechanisms.”

“Says the guy drunk calling me from a party.”

Touché.

“That’s still concerning.”

“Not as much as the fact that you have my phone number,” Regulus fired back without missing a beat.

Remus snorted. “Sirius called you once from my phone. I never deleted it.”

Regulus blinked. Oh. Well, that made a stupid amount of sense. Somehow it also made his stomach do something weird and twisty.

“And I’m saved as what? ‘The Worse Black?’ ‘Do Not Answer’? ‘Goth Twig No. 2’?”

Remus laughed again, and Regulus nearly dropped his cigarette. “No,” he said, a lighter clicking on his end. “It was ‘Sirius’s Mortal Enemy.’”

“Classic,” Regulus muttered, amused in spite of himself.

“Changed it to ‘Regulus,’ though.”

“I preferred ‘Sirius’s Mortal Enemy,’ actually.”

“Yeah,” Remus chuckled—fucking chuckled—and Regulus nearly lost his mind at the sound. It was the kind of laugh that should come with a warning label. Quiet, smooth, and completely disarming.

“Thought so,” Remus added. “And… any reason you’re out smoking on the roof in literal October?”

Regulus hummed, dragging on the cigarette, smoke curling lazily into the air. He figured, screw it. Nothing left to lose—and Remus's trust, however irrational, felt like something worth earning.

“Just talked to James,” he said finally. “Smoking is cheaper than therapy.”

“James?” Remus echoed, surprised.

“Mhm,” Regulus hummed, flicking ash off the end. “You might know him. Sirius’s emotionally repressed lapdog.”

Remus snorted. “Yeah, I know him. Sirius never shut up about him. Didn’t know you two are still friends, though.”

“We aren’t,” Regulus replied, a bitter edge creeping into his voice.

There was a pause on the line. “Then…?”

“We were together,” Regulus said plainly.

He waited for the reaction. The silence that followed felt louder than it should have.

“Sirius never mentioned that?” he asked, brows furrowed. The idea of Sirius keeping something to himself felt so unnatural it bordered on science fiction.

“He never really said anything about you at all, actually,” Remus admitted after a beat. “Just... the basics.”

Regulus let out a humorless laugh. “Basics?”

“Yeah,” Remus replied. “Don’t really want to recall them, if I’m honest.”

“So… it was all very flattering, I guess?”

“All lies, I think.”

That made Regulus pause. The way Remus said it—quiet, certain, like he’d already thought about this before—settled into his chest like warmth, like relief, like something good sneaking in through a crack.

“Well,” Regulus said, stubbing the cigarette out on the edge of the rooftop, “that’s more than I ever got from most people.”

Remus made a soft sound, like he was about to say something—then didn’t.

“So,” Regulus began, lighting up another cigarette with a flick of the lighter. “How’s Cardiff? Any particular reason your friend followed me on Instagram in the middle of the night?”

That made Remus pause for a moment longer than expected. Regulus let the silence stretch, just because he finally managed to knock Remus off balance. And that—God—that was almost more satisfying than watching James slowly realize what a manipulative little shit Sirius really was.

“Cardiff’s good,” Remus said eventually. “Lily just… has no boundaries.”

Regulus snorted. “She doesn’t have to. She’s gorgeous. People like that don’t need to care about what’s socially acceptable.”

Remus laughed low in his throat, and Regulus tried not to think about how warm it sounded, how close. “You think so? That she’s gorgeous?”

“Obviously. I’m not blind,” Regulus replied, tugging the blanket tighter around himself as the cold air picked up.

“Well, that’s sounding suspiciously like the start of a mutual admiration society,” Remus hummed.

“Meaning?” Regulus asked, raising a brow even though Remus couldn’t see it.

“She said pretty much the same about you,” Remus replied, voice lighter now, more teasing. “Something about your eyes, your cheekbones, and the vitiligo that ‘matches your aura,’ whatever the hell that means.”

Regulus laughed around the cigarette. “Christ. She and Panda would get along like a house on fire.”

“They would,” Remus hummed. “That’s why I never bring girls to Luton. They’d team up and make it all about themselves.”

“Well, Lily already bought me, so I have to agree,” Regulus replied.

Remus laughed, and Regulus could hear someone calling his name faintly in the background—music still thudding somewhere behind him.

“Well, gotta go,” Remus said, voice still warm. “But I’ve got one more question before I vanish.”

“Hit me.”

“If Fridays are for movie nights, and Saturdays are for rooftop therapy sessions,” Remus said, “then what are Sundays for?”

Something in his voice—light, but purposeful—made Regulus pause. He could’ve made a joke. Something snarky about dreading Mondays or performing weekly rituals of academic despair. But instead, he said, “I usually study. Read. Watch trash shows I’ll never admit to watching.”

Remus hummed thoughtfully. “Is there a chance I could get you to skip one of those and hang out instead?”

“Hang out,” Regulus echoed, heart thudding a little too hard in his chest. He almost missed Remus’s next words over the sound of it.

“Yeah,” Remus said, casually. “You can try to convince me that Luton isn’t just the woods and existential dread.”

Regulus let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. Alright. We can do that.”

“Great. I’ll text you. Bye, Regulus.”

“Bye,” Regulus replied, and he stayed on the line until Remus finally hung up.

Then he dropped the cigarette into the ashtray, leaned back against the tiles of the roof, and stared up at the sky.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

He stayed out on the roof for another five minutes. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. He wasn’t really sure. Time felt weird when your heartbeat was crawling up your throat and your brain had suddenly gone full Shakespearean-tragedy-monologue mode.

He’d said yes. To Remus Lupin. To hanging out. On a Sunday. Like it was normal.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He stubbed the cigarette out and dragged the blanket tighter around himself, sinking down until he was half-horizontal on the cold tiles, staring at the stars like they owed him answers. Or maybe a personality transplant.

It wasn’t even about Remus, really. Except it absolutely was. Remus, with his too-soft voice and too-steady gaze and hands that probably smelled like books and something herbal. Remus, who called him drunk, twice, and laughed at his jokes, and saved his number under ‘Regulus’ like that meant something.

Regulus exhaled sharply. He was overthinking again. He always did. Evan would tell him to get a grip. Barty would call him tragic. Pandora would try to align his chakras. None of that would help.

The worst part? He couldn’t even pretend he didn’t want this. Whatever this was.

He liked talking to Remus. He liked that Remus never looked at him like he was broken or feral or five seconds away from burning something down just to watch it crumble. He liked that Remus asked questions but didn’t push, offered space but didn’t vanish.

And now they had plans. Sunday plans. Real-life “hanging out” plans. As if Regulus knew how to do that without turning it into a spiral of emotional sabotage.

He groaned and covered his face with the blanket, dramatically, like that might stop the thoughts. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

He was going to mess this up. He was going to get weird or say something sharp and sarcastic that Remus would pretend didn’t hurt, or maybe he’d get quiet and disappear instead. It was what he did. It was what he was good at.

But the worst thing, the absolute worst, was that—for the first time in a long time—he didn’t want to.

Chapter Text

The next day in the Black household was a disaster waiting to happen—one of those days where the tension hummed in the walls and even the silence felt like it was holding its breath. And of course, the disaster did happen. Because how could it not?

Regulus had just grabbed a coffee from the kitchen, half-dressed and wholly uninterested in human interaction, when he walked straight into the two people he least wanted to see: James and Sirius. Standing halfway up the staircase like the ghosts of bad decisions past, both clearly mid-argument and very much in the mood to ruin his day.

He sighed under his breath, already regretting leaving his room. He made to pass by them without a word—like any sane person would—but apparently, James hadn’t gotten over the fight from last night. And Sirius? Sirius was just… Sirius. He was probably born in a bad mood and just hadn’t grown out of it.

James reached out and grabbed Regulus’s arm to stop him, and the glare Regulus sent his way could’ve iced over the surface of the coffee still steaming in his mug.

“What?” Regulus asked flatly.

“Can we talk?” James asked, clearly still stuck on whatever redemption arc he thought he deserved.

“We already talked, James,” Regulus replied, slipping his arm out of James’s grip. “You should try talking to the other Black. You’re clearly better at licking his boots.”

“What’s your problem?” Sirius snapped, clearly offended on James’s behalf, which—hilarious, really.

“You,” Regulus replied without missing a beat. “Since the literal day I was born.”

Sirius’s jaw tensed. “And that’s why you decided to set James on me?”

Regulus raised a slow, unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean telling him the truth? That you’re a manipulative, emotionally constipated, sad little man?” He shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

James opened his mouth to intervene. “Can we just—”

“Shut up,” both Black brothers said at once, not even looking at him.

James, wisely, closed his mouth.

“Anything else?” Regulus asked Sirius, tone brisk and clipped. “Because I’ve got an outfit to pick for my plans with your ex, and I’m kind of on a schedule.”

The silence that followed was immediate and sharp.

Sirius looked like he’d been slapped. “You what?”

“You know,” Regulus said sweetly, “Remus? The main character of your summer breakdown?”

“You’re joking,” Sirius said, but his voice was already cracking at the edges.

“Why would I joke?” Regulus tilted his head, faux-innocent. “He called me last night. Asked if I wanted to hang out. Thought it was cute. I said yes.”

“He asked you out?” Sirius repeated, staring like Regulus had grown a second head.

Regulus nodded solemnly. “Yep. Full-on phone call and everything. Bet you miss that, huh?”

And with that, he turned on his heel, climbing the stairs without waiting for a reply.

“Anyway,” he called over his shoulder, “nice chat. Hope you both break your necks on the way down.”

He didn’t look back. But God, he hoped the sound of Sirius’s brain short-circuiting would echo in his ears for the rest of the day.

Back in his room, Regulus flopped onto the bed and started a group call with Evan and Barty — no way in hell was he about to explain this twice. Within seconds, both were on the line, and for the next thirty minutes, Regulus ranted about James with the kind of fire that only ex-boyfriends and long-standing grudges could fuel.

Barty was eating it up like popcorn at a crime scene, and Evan kept letting out smug, delighted little cackles every time Regulus said something especially brutal.

“I mean, I should’ve known he’d be this thick,” Regulus snapped, pacing in front of his closet now. “But God, it’s actually impressive how fast he turned into Sirius’s personal emotional support golden retriever the second we broke up.”

“Oh, I love this,” Barty drawled. “This is the best soap opera I’ve ever been in.”

“And yet,” Evan cut in, smug, “you’re still about to go meet Lupin in an hour. Convenient timing, Arch.”

“I’m picking him up,” Regulus said, pausing to eye the leather jacket he’d bought last month — sleek, slightly oversized, definitely hot enough to ruin Sirius’s entire week. “We’re hanging out.”

“Wait.” Evan said, his voice sharp with interest. “Is this a date?”

“No,” Regulus replied smoothly, already grinning like the cat who’d just knocked a priceless vase off the shelf. “But the pricks downstairs think it is.”

“Oh my God, I LOVE this,” Evan practically shouted. “No, seriously, I fucking love this.”

“Tell us again,” Barty said, sounding half-dreamy, half-feral. “Describe Potter’s face when he finally realized the breakup was just one more thing Sirius orchestrated from the shadows.”

Regulus let out a low, satisfied laugh as he rummaged through the drawer for the black jeans he’d mentally paired with the jacket. “Picture this: disbelief mixed with horror. Like ‘no way Sirius would do that’ but also ‘shit, that really tracks.’ His eyes went all wide and his lips—slightly parted. Like he’d just gotten punched in the gut and kind of liked it. Honestly? Best expression I’ve seen on him in months.”

“I want that framed,” Barty said. “Put it on a T-shirt.”

“I want it tattooed,” Evan added. “Over my heart.”

Regulus just chuckled, grabbing his outfit and heading to the mirror. “Anyway, I’ve got a fake date to get ready for. Wish me luck.”

“Don’t fall in love,” Evan warned.

“Do fall in love,” Barty countered. “Just for the drama.”

Regulus smirked. “No promises.”

He didn’t spend more time getting ready than usual—mostly because he always took a ridiculous amount of time, preparing like he was about to walk a red carpet even when he was just going to school. But today? No uniform. And dear God , that was a blessing. Just black, straight-fit jeans that made his legs look criminally good, a black sweater that cost more than some people’s rent (thanks, Mum), his trusty Doc Martens, and a leather jacket Dean Winchester would sell his soul for.

His curls were styled to perfection—as always—with that one white strand peeking through at just the right angle. He wore the cologne that made people turn their heads in the hallway, subtle and expensive and sharp. (Thanks again, Mum.)

He slipped into his Audi like it was a second skin, typed Remus’s address into Maps, and didn’t even blink when it dropped a pin on some estate out in the suburbs. Of course it would. He started the engine, The Strokes spilling from the speakers, and tried to ignore the buzz of nerves flickering through his veins.

He pulled the car up under the wrought-iron gate and took a quick look at the house. Classic Lyall Lupin—definitely loaded, and exactly the kind of guy who adored ivy crawling up old brick walls and those tiny garden statues nobody ever touches. Regulus smirked a little, texting Remus: outside.

Almost immediately, Remus appeared at the gate, dressed in dark jeans, a clean white sweater, and a brown leather jacket that somehow made him look effortlessly put-together. And yes, boots—Docs, of course. Jesus.

Regulus slid into the passenger seat, the door shutting behind him, and was hit instantly by that faint but addictive vanilla cologne Remus always wore. It was like a little signature, subtle but impossible to ignore.

“Hi,” Regulus said, trying to keep it casual.

“Hey,” Remus replied, buckling his seatbelt. “So, where are we off to?”

Regulus shrugged with a mock-serious nod. “The grand tour of all my mistakes. Obviously.”

Remus laughed—that low, addictive kind of laugh that made Regulus want to ask him to do it again just so he could record it and set it as his alarm. “Oh? What, like all those playgrounds where you and your friends were underage drinking champs?”

“That’s definitely on the list,” Regulus said, leaning back, his grin stretching wide. “But also the treehouse Barty, Evan, and I built years ago. We still go there sometimes when we’re feeling overly nostalgic.”

“Wait, where exactly?” Remus asked, curiosity clear in his voice.

“In the woods by the lake,” Regulus said, glancing over. “On the other side of town.”

Remus frowned, a little confused. “You mean the lake-house lake?”

“Nope,” Regulus shook his head, smiling. “That one’s way out—like an hour’s drive. This spot’s closer, and honestly, it’s more like swampcore than cottagecore. Think less ‘charming retreat’ and more ‘budget nature depression.’”

Remus laughed, shaking his head. “Sounds exactly like your vibe.”

“Right? Perfect for a Saturday night detox,” Regulus said, turning back to the road. “Plus, it’s quiet enough to forget you’re in the middle of a town full of idiots.”

Remus glanced at him, amused. “Including yourself?”

“Mostly me,” Regulus admitted with a smirk. “But hey, everyone’s got their thing.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a moment, the faint hum of the car mingling with the soft music playing from the speakers.

Regulus drove them in slow loops around town, one hand on the wheel, the other gesturing lazily toward random spots as he pointed out where he, Evan, and Barty had either gotten drunk, high, or done something spectacularly idiotic.

“That fountain,” he said, nodding toward the roundabout in front of the old council building. “Evan decided to take a bath in it once. Fully clothed. Middle of February.”

Remus squinted at it. “That’s… bold.”

“Stupid,” Regulus corrected. “We had to bribe two security guards and steal towels from the gym. Worth it for the photos, though.”

They passed the ancient, peeling cinema—its marquee cracked and flickering even in daylight.

“That place only opens once a week,” Regulus said. “Tickets are five quid, popcorn’s older than the movies, and I think the projector is held together with duct tape and hope.”

Remus let out a soft laugh. “That’s kind of poetic.”

“Yeah, tragic poetry,” Regulus replied. “I made a TikTok there once with Dorcas. Will deny that on my deathbed, by the way.”

He turned onto a narrow street that curved past a sleepy petrol station.

“That gas station is technically cursed,” Regulus added. “Every time we stop there, someone ends up crying or making a life-altering decision.”

“Let me guess—you have cried and made at least one poor life choice there?”

“Two,” Regulus confirmed. “But we’re not unpacking that today.”

They slowed near the edge of the park—an open sprawl of grass and crooked benches, littered with the ghosts of summer hangouts.

“That’s the official place to be when it’s warm,” Regulus said. “Every summer, the entire town migrates there like it’s some sacred tradition. Which it kinda is.”

Remus looked around with interest, then glanced back at Regulus. “Alright, but what’s your favorite place?”

Regulus didn’t hesitate. “The river behind the city,” he said, flicking on his indicator to turn down a quieter road. “It’s literally—and metaphorically—split in half. Our school’s side and the other school in town. It’s where we go when we’re skipping classes and it’s warm enough not to freeze.”

Remus tilted his head. “Is there some long-standing feud with that other school or something?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “The football team does, because of course they do. I actually know a few people from over there. Pretty sure they’ll crash the lake house party next week just to piss off James.”

Remus chuckled. “We had something similar in Cardiff. I went to the non-private school, though, and the posh kids were all absolute nightmares.”

Regulus shot him a sideways grin. “Aw. And look at you now—iron-ready shirts and all. Bet you even polish your shoes.”

Remus tipped his head back with a laugh. “I do, actually. My dad’s housekeeper is terrifying. She either cleans, cooks, or irons everything. Doesn’t even matter if he’s home or not—she’s there like a ghost in pearls.”

Regulus clocked that without reacting—the first time Remus had casually brought up his dad without being asked. That was... new. Quietly significant.

“Well,” Regulus said after a beat, “mine says I don’t eat meat and that’s why I haven’t grown since I was fourteen.”

Remus raised a brow, grinning. “Wait— you haven’t?”

“I did!” Regulus huffed, tapping the steering wheel with mock offense. “Like… ten centimeters.”

“Regulus.”

“Okay, maybe seven.”

They both laughed, the car humming softly beneath them as the buildings fell away behind, giving way to trees and open sky and the faint scent of something wild on the wind. The kind of quiet that made things feel lighter, like maybe—for just tonight—everything wasn’t a complete disaster.

Regulus parked the car by the riverbank, the tires crunching softly over gravel. The sky had begun to melt into early gold, and the water mirrored it like glass. Without needing to say much, the two of them slid out of the car and leaned against the hood, lighting cigarettes—because of course they did. It was practically a requirement at this point.

“Any stories about the river?” Remus asked, tilting his head toward it, smoke curling lazily around his words.

“Plenty,” Regulus nodded. “It’s the unofficial spot for first kisses, under that old oak over there.” He pointed with his cigarette, the embers glowing faintly in the dimming light.

Remus snorted. “Wait— you did?”

Regulus grinned. “Nah. But Evan did. Claimed the guy tasted like the sausage they were roasting on the bonfire earlier. He wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. Everyone knows the story now.”

“Adorable,” Remus chuckled.

“That guy’s number one on Evan’s blacklist now,” Regulus added with a smirk. “He once seduced him again—just to leave him naked in bed and text a group to come watch.”

Remus blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Jesus. That’s diabolical.”

“Blame Barty,” Regulus shrugged. “Evan’s like sunshine, and Barty is his self-appointed bodyguard. At all costs.”

“He doesn’t look like one,” Remus mused. “First time I saw him I thought he was about to punch me.”

Regulus laughed, flicking ash off the edge of the hood. “Yeah, he has that face. Permanent threat expression. Doesn’t mean he’s not secretly a softie, though.”

He didn’t say more, didn’t go into the why of Barty’s instinct to protect, because that was a whole other conversation he didn’t want to unpack right now.

The conversation wandered back to stories about the river—sunburnt summer days, questionable dares, skipping school and lying about it later. Regulus ended up sitting cross-legged on the hood, cigarette hanging from his fingers, while Remus leaned back beside him, the breeze occasionally catching his vanilla cologne and sending it straight into Regulus’s lungs like some kind of spell.

And somehow, Regulus was actually having a good time. A genuinely good time. The kind that caught him off guard because he’d half-expected this whole evening to collapse in on itself like everything else in his life lately.

But it didn’t. The world didn’t implode. Nothing went wrong.

And for once, that was enough to feel like a minor miracle.

When the sky had darkened into a violet dusk, Regulus stretched his legs and stood.

“Alright,” he said, brushing ash from his jeans. “One last stop on the official Regulus Black Shitty Small Town Tour. Get in.”

Remus straightened with a grin, already making his way to the passenger side. “And where’s that?”

“McDonald’s drive-thru and the abandoned parking lot behind it. Obviously,” Regulus said, slipping behind the wheel. “What, you’ve never been to a boring town before?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I was here all summer, you know.”

“Yeah? Didn’t see you at the skatepark, the corner store, or any of our local crimes of fashion,” Regulus quipped, pulling out onto the road.

“I was mostly holed up with Sirius,” Remus said with a sigh. “He kinda hates this place.”

Regulus scoffed under his breath. “Of course he does. The little shit.”

One of Regulus’s mates happened to be on shift that night—which, of course, meant that picking up their food took ten minutes longer than necessary. Max leaned out of the drive-thru window, talking with his entire chest like he wasn’t working minimum wage, loudly promising that he’d absolutely show up to Regulus’s birthday next week, no matter what.

“Even if my gran dies,” Max swore, handing over the bag. “I’ll be there in mourning clothes.”

“You better,” Regulus replied, deadpan. “You still owe me a bottle.”

“Two, technically!” Max grinned, and only disappeared back inside when someone behind them honked.

Regulus finally pulled into the parking lot behind the McDonald’s and cranked the stereo just enough for some old Nirvana to hum beneath the silence. He unwrapped his burger and had a fry halfway to his mouth when Remus eyed him.

“What?” Regulus blinked, mid-bite.

“I thought you don’t eat meat?” Remus asked, amused. “Like Rosa said?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “I do. I just skip it at dinner to piss my mum off. It’s a tradition.”

“That’s… weirdly specific,” Remus said, raising a brow.

“Sirius skips vegetables, I skip meat. It’s a rule. Balance, or whatever.”

Remus squinted. “Like that dinner thing?”

Regulus nodded solemnly. “Yep. That, and texting each other to not come home because the parents are fighting. We’re thriving in our household. Real warm, cozy environment.”

Remus snorted, opening his box of nuggets. “Yeah, I heard about it. Although… your dad’s kinda fine?”

“He is,” Regulus agreed with a shrug. “Better than Mum, anyway. Plus, he likes me better.”

“Wait—really?”

Regulus nodded again. “It’s the law thing. He liked the idea of me taking over the chambers one day. All very posh and legacy.”

“And… you want that? To take over the chambers?”

“Yeah,” Regulus said, voice casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’m going to King’s College for law.”

Remus hummed thoughtfully, chewing. “You’re actually really put together, huh?”

“Try not to sound so surprised.”

“No, I mean—like, I’m still debating if I’m going back to Cardiff for uni. UoL has a better lit program, so maybe not.”

“Of course you want to study literature,” Regulus snorted, reaching for more fries.

“Hey!” Remus gasped, mock-offended.

“You’re just giving the vibe.”

“What vibe?”

Regulus gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Lupin. Bet you can quote more poetry than I can, and that’s saying something.”

Remus opened his mouth, dramatically affronted—but then just grinned instead, a little smug. “You’d be right.”

“I knew it,” Regulus muttered, shaking his head. “You’re the guy who reads Sylvia Plath in the bath with a glass of wine and thinks you’re brooding.”

“I am brooding,” Remus argued, and Regulus laughed, genuinely.

It was easy, this. A weird kind of comfortable, like they’d been doing it forever.

And Regulus tried not to overthink that. He really did.

“Alright,” Regulus said once they’d finished their food and lazily tossed the empty bags onto the backseat. “There’s one more thing left to do here, but I’m letting you decide.”

Remus raised a brow. “Which is?”

“Bonding over trauma,” Regulus replied, completely deadpan. “This car’s already heard more confessions than it legally should anyway.”

“Yeah, I believe that,” Remus snorted, popping the last nugget into his mouth.

Regulus narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. “Meaning?”

“You’ve just got that thing going on,” Remus said, waving vaguely in his direction. “Where people feel like trusting you is some sort of universal law. It’s kinda unsettling.”

Regulus hummed, flipping to a new song—something moody from The Neighbourhood. “It’s the eyes,” he said seriously. “People look at me and think I’m melancholic and nostalgic and probably a licensed therapist.”

Remus laughed, head tilted back against the seat. “Alright, fine. We can trauma bond. Pick a category.”

Regulus leaned back too, glancing sideways at him. “School. Doesn’t matter if it’s now or before.”

“Valid,” Remus nodded.

“Okay, me first,” Regulus said. “The real reason I don’t go to PE? Sirius made me hate team sports and now I have actual anxiety anytime I have to play in a group. Got a sick note from Evan’s mum—she’s a psychiatrist.”

Remus blinked. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Since I was twelve,” Regulus said with a shrug, like he was talking about a dentist appointment.

“That’s… actually fucked up.”

“Yeah, well. Sirius,” Regulus muttered, like that explained everything. And maybe it did.

He raised a brow. “Your turn.”

“Alright,” Remus said, voice going quieter. “The reason I moved to Luton? I got expelled from my school in Cardiff.”

Regulus’s jaw dropped. “What? Why?”

Remus didn’t even flinch. “I was dealing drugs. Got caught.”

“WHAT?” Regulus yelped, fully whipping around to stare at him.

Remus nodded, oddly calm. “Started off really stupid. One of my friends was already dealing, and I had easy access to… certain things, anyway. So I figured, why not? Dumbest logic ever, obviously. But yeah, I got caught. My dad lost his shit, and since I was already on thin ice, he packed me off here for my final year.”

Regulus blinked at him. “You were dealing drugs.”

Remus popped the lid off his soda like he’d just said he failed a math test. “Technically, yeah.”

Regulus stared for another second before whistling low. “Shit. I thought I was the troubled one.”

Remus grinned. “Don’t worry, you still win in the dramatics department.”

Regulus flipped him off without looking. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Remus said, sipping from his drink. “You’ve got real main character energy.”

Regulus smirked, kicking his boots up onto the dash. “Damn right I do. So you were what, dealing in dark alleys and shit?”

“Sometimes,” Remus nodded casually. “But mostly private schools and house parties. Posh kids’ll pay whatever price just to look edgy.”

“You are a posh kid.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Not really. That’s another trauma, though—and we agreed on one for tonight.”

Regulus scoffed. “Jesus, you’re complicated.”

“Heard that before.”

“And the accent’s making it all sound way more mysterious than it probably is,” Regulus hummed, reaching for the aux cord again.

“Yeah, I do that on purpose so people won’t talk to me,” Remus deadpanned. “Doesn’t work on Evan, though.”

Regulus snorted. “Evan could have a full conversation with a brick wall and walk away thinking it was emotionally fulfilling. He’s annoying like that.”

“It’s a talent,” Remus said, smirking.

“It’s his thing,” Regulus shrugged. “That and collecting emotionally unavailable men like they’re rare Pokémon.”

“Sounds familiar,” Remus muttered under his breath.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Remus said, clearly not meaning it.

Regulus narrowed his eyes but didn’t press it. Instead, he reached down and turned the music up a bit. The Neighborhood still hummed through the car speakers, and the sky outside had fully slipped into navy blue. The kind of blue that looked like the world was holding its breath for something.

“Alright,” Regulus said after a moment. “We’re done with trauma for the night. Let’s talk shit about people we mutually hate instead.”

Remus grinned. “Now that’s bonding.”

“Anyone in school?” Regulus asked, flicking ash out the window.

Remus hummed, thoughtful. “That guy who looks like a fridge with blonde curls? What is his problem?”

Regulus cackled. “Oh, that one’s personal.”

“Hit me.”

“He was hitting on me like… two years ago, maybe?” Regulus said, lazily twirling the lighter in his fingers. “But he was still deep in the closet—because, y’know, toxic masculinity and all that jazz.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I wasn’t interested, and apparently that bruised his fragile little ego. So he started talking shit about me behind my back. Barty overheard once.”

“And?”

“Broke his eye socket.”

“You’re joking.”

Regulus shook his head, grinning. “Dead serious. Barty’s both overprotective and dramatic. Add those two together and someone ends up in the nurse’s office.”

“Jesus Christ,” Remus muttered, though he didn’t exactly sound disapproving.

“Yeah, well, Barty gets real angry when he loses his cool. Feels like he failed the universe or something.” Regulus leaned back in his seat, smirking. “Now McNair won’t even talk to us, but he still glares like he’s manifesting revenge through sheer rage.”

“He ever try anything again?”

“Nah. No one really does when it comes to Barty,” Regulus said, tone casual but proud. “He’s been kicking people’s asses since he moved here. First, ‘cause they made fun of his accent. Then, ‘cause he had acne and kids are cruel. Later, when he came out and people got bold with their bullshit. Now it’s mostly if anyone talks shit about girls or Evan or me.”

Remus raised his brows. “Guy sounds like a menace.”

“He is. But he’s our menace,” Regulus said with a smirk. “Like a cursed guard dog in designer boots.”

“God, I kind of want to meet him properly now,” Remus said. “Like, the moment he actually talks to me instead of just nodding like I’m a chair.”

“You will,” Regulus replied, reaching for another cigarette. “He always lets his guard down at the lake house. It’s like… tradition.”

Remus snorted. “Can’t wait, honestly. Circling back, though—who’s the one person you hate in school?”

“Well, I could go with either James or Sirius, but I’m not in the mood for that brand of misery,” Regulus hummed, flicking his lighter open. “So… Maddie. Year below. Bleached hair, lip filler at sixteen, always recording TikToks in the hallway.”

Remus raised a brow. “And what’d Maddie ever do to you?”

“She once asked if I ever thought about dyeing my hair,” Regulus said, gesturing lazily to the white streak in his curls. “Like, no, you absolute bitch, never crossed my mind to look mid on purpose.”

Remus burst out laughing. “Okay, yeah. She is a bitch. People can’t stand it when someone dares not to look identical to them.”

“Right?” Regulus groaned. “And for a girl still out here rocking 2015 chav makeup, she yaps way too much.”

They spiraled from there, hopping from one name to another, rating everyone from worst fashion crimes to most cursed vibes. And somewhere in the middle of it, Regulus realized something: Remus was a lot sassier than he looked. Dry wit, sharp observations, and occasional flashes of real cruelty delivered with a lazy smile. It was, frankly, impressive.

By the time the first stars showed up, they decided to call it a night. The drive back passed in that perfect kind of silence—comfortably quiet, music humming low.

Regulus dropped Remus off at the gate of his house and the second the door shut behind him, he made a group call with Evan and Barty.

He didn’t even bother easing into it—just launched into a full recap of the night (minus the whole “expelled drug dealer” confession, obviously). Thirty seconds in, Evan was already planning the wedding, and Barty gave them a week, tops, before they’d cave and hook up. Regulus called them both idiots but couldn’t stop grinning through the entire call, so he wasn’t exactly fooling anyone.

Because, shit.

He just had an amazing time with a guy he was only supposed to use to get under Sirius’s skin—a guy who, objectively, was doing the exact same thing back.

It was getting out of hand a little too quickly.

And Regulus was losing his shit over it, just a little bit more with every passing second.

Chapter Text

He kind of wondered what it would be like, seeing Remus at school after spending an entire day with him outside of it. Would it feel different now? Weird? Charged?

But, honestly, it was… the same. Somehow.

Remus was still sitting behind him in class, still joining him, Evan, and Barty for their smoke breaks, still tagging along during their lunch-slash-free period. He still had that effortless cool about him, still drove Sirius up the wall just by existing.

Like that Wednesday, when Binns casually announced that Regulus and Remus’s joint project on suffragists scored a perfect 100/100. And then, in the same breath, mentioned that Sirius and James’s project came in second with a 96%.

“If that’s not a metaphor for life, I don’t know what is,” Evan sighed dramatically—loud enough for the whole class to hear—making Barty choke on a laugh and Sirius grip his pen like it had personally betrayed him.

Regulus just turned to glance at Remus. “Who would’ve thought?” he clicked his tongue.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Remus said, bowing his head in mock humility.

“Just kiss already!” Dorcas called from the front, grinning like the chaotic menace she was. Evan laughed so hard he actually wheezed, and Barty cracked up again while the rest of the class joined in.

Because apparently—even without knowing the specifics—people had clocked the Remus-and-Regulus dynamic. Probably because anything involving the Black brothers turned into some kind of public performance. A proxy war. A tug-of-war over attention, approval, whatever.

Regulus, though? He wore Sirius and James’s glares like a badge of honor for the rest of the day. They were poetry. He was in a disgustingly good mood.

Even more so when his phone rang later that night.

Because, oh yeah—they were officially talking on the phone now. Not just texting. Phone calls. Casual, late-night, half-distracted, just-hearing-your-voice kind of calls, apparently. And Regulus was living for it.

Even if he had to constantly remind himself that, for Remus, this was still just a game. Just banter. A way to get under Sirius’s skin. A laugh.

Friends.

Regulus Black had been friendzoned for the first time in his life and he did not like it. Not even a little bit.

He picked up the call sprawled out on his bed, lying on his stomach with a book he’d bought purely to roast. It was covered in aggressive annotations and petty little drawings.

“Hey,” he said, putting Remus on speaker and scribbling what the hell does that even mean and why does she think it’s romantic??? in the margin, followed by a skull.

“Hi,” Remus said. “Guess who just called me?”

“Evan, asking if you want to smoke weed at the party on Friday,” Regulus replied without missing a beat—he’d just had the exact same call.

“No,” Remus chuckled. “Which is rude, mind you.”

“You can bring your own weed, dealer.”

“I can and I will.”

“So what’s the groundbreaking call, then?” Regulus asked, lazily flipping a page and scrawling what a shit in the corner.

“Sirius,” Remus replied.

Regulus paused mid-doodle. “Huh?”

“Ie,” Remus said, and Regulus didn’t even blink at the unbearable Welsh slang that had started slipping in more and more lately. “He asked me about you, though.”

Regulus sat up, crossing his legs and twirling his pen between his fingers. “He did?” he asked, trying not to sound like it mattered. “What about?”

“If there’s something going on between us,” Remus said, voice maddeningly casual while Regulus silently screamed into the void. “I told him there was.”

“You what?” Regulus asked, managing to sound calm only through years of carefully curated emotional suppression.

“I mean,” Remus continued, still breezy, “that was the whole reason we started talking, right? Or did I misread that?”

“No,” Regulus said after a beat, closing his eyes. “You didn’t misread that.”

“Right.” Remus let that settle. “Didn’t think he’d actually ask, though.”

He moved on, explaining the rest of the conversation with that same casual cadence, like he hadn’t just dropped a live grenade in Regulus’s chest. Meanwhile, Regulus sat frozen, eyes wide, hands twitching slightly as he tried to process the mess of things he was absolutely not ready to admit.

This was fine. It was still just part of the plan. A game. Just—

Why the hell did it suddenly feel like losing?

Regulus didn’t sleep much that night.
Not because he was spiraling—he’d like to think he was above spiraling—but because his brain kept looping the same three lines of that phone call like a cursed mixtape.
“Told him there was.”
“That was the whole reason we started talking”
“You didn’t misread that.”

It was fine. He was fine. It was just weird hearing it aloud, okay?

Especially in that tone—like it was no big deal, like Remus had been talking about weather, or socks, or what flavour of vape Evan should illegally acquire next.

He woke up late, skipped breakfast, and spent the morning scowling into the mirror because—yeah, the white streak in his hair was being particularly annoying today and he wasn’t spiraling.

Not at all.

At school, things continued… alarmingly normal.

Remus still leaned over to whisper snark during biology. Still smirked when Regulus made some dry comment that went over everyone else’s heads. Still took his cigarette from Barty without asking, flicked the ash off the tip like he owned the damn sky.

But Regulus—Regulus was not normal.

He was hyperaware. Of everything.

Like the way Remus’s fingers tapped along the spines of books in the hallway, or how he’d tilt his head slightly to listen better, or how the sun was catching the golden strands in his hair.

Regulus didn’t want to be aware of those things.

Because being aware made him start imagining other things—like maybe what Remus’s lips tasted like, or whether he smelled like smoke or that warm, sweet cologne he always wore, or what would happen if Regulus just kissed him once, just to test the theory.

And that was not part of the plan.

The plan was: piss Sirius off. Maybe flirt a little. End it by Halloween.

But now it was the end of October, and Regulus was dangerously close to forgetting the entire point of the bit.

The worst part?

It wasn’t even just attraction anymore. It was liking him.

Actually liking him. In the I want to hear your opinion on every book you’ve ever read kind of way. The you can say the meanest shit and I’ll still find you funny kind of way. The you get it, and I don’t have to explain kind of way.

Disgusting.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

So he didn’t do anything.

Which, of course, made it worse.

Because every day, Remus was just there —like some constant, steady thing that had slipped into Regulus’s life so naturally it was borderline terrifying.

Of course it had to be today —the one day Regulus was already teetering on the edge of a breakdown because of god-knows-what (midweek ennui? the looming dread of mock exams? the stupid way Remus had started casually calling him Reg?) —that Remus decided to ruin him even further, and for no apparent reason.

They were all gathered in the café just off the school campus, like they usually were during PE.

Pandora, Dorcas and Evan were on their fifth round of arguing about the new series they were watching together (and no, it wasn’t that deep, but apparently Evan had theories and Pandora had morals and Dorcas was just there),
Barty and Alexei were rehashing some niche Discord fight with the passion of civil rights lawyers,
and Regulus was trying— trying —not to think too hard about the way Remus always ordered the weirdest teas.

Not even normal ones.
Today it was white mulberry something with steam curling out of the cup like witchy fog, and it smelled good. Annoyingly good. The kind of good that made Regulus almost want to ask for a sip—
if he wasn’t fundamentally opposed to sharing beverages with people whose mouths had been near them. (That was where he drew the line. He had standards. And anxiety.)

But that wasn’t even the issue.

The issue was that, while everyone else was occupied with their niche little dramas, Remus was just…
staring at him.

Not discreetly.
Not dreamily, like in some rom-com nonsense.
No, it was a clinical stare. Focused. Intense. The kind of stare someone gives when they’re observing a specimen in a lab. Like Regulus was both microscope slide and mystery.

He could feel it, too. The weight of it. The goosebumps crawling up the back of his neck even though he hadn’t even had a sip of his iced coffee yet. He shifted slightly, turned his head just enough to catch Remus in the act.

And, yeah. Confirmed. Full eye contact. No shame.

“What the hell are you doing, Lupin?” Regulus asked, arching a brow.

Remus blinked, slow and unbothered. “Countin’.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Counting on what? That I’ll spontaneously combust?”

“No,” Remus said, with the audacity to roll his eyes like Regulus was the unreasonable one. “Just your white lashes.”

There was a beat. A full moment of silence where Regulus’s brain did the mental equivalent of blue-screening.

“You—what?”

Remus didn’t even flinch. He leaned back against the old wooden chair like this was all totally normal, sipping his tea like the dramatic little bastard he was.

“Counted your lashes,” he repeated. “You’ve got seven that are white. Probably more on the other eye, but you keep blinking.”

Regulus could only stare. And not the mysterious, poetic kind. The "is this real life" kind.

“You counted… my eyelashes,” he repeated, because saying it out loud made it sound as absurd as it was.

Remus just nodded, calm as anything. “Yep.”

“Why.”

“Dunno,” Remus shrugged. “Looked cool. Like they caught the light. Thought I’d check.”

And that was it. He went back to his tea like he hadn’t just dismantled Regulus’s emotional state in under thirty seconds.

Regulus, meanwhile, had to sit there and pretend he was not short-circuiting inside.

Because here’s the thing: it wasn’t just that Remus noticed. It was the way he said it—offhand, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t just casually stared at Regulus’s face long enough to count individual eyelashes and then announced it like some kind of aesthetic observation.

And Regulus hated it. Hated the way it made his stomach swoop and his palms feel too warm.
Hated that he didn’t know what to say in response.
Hated that part of him actually wanted to ask, do they really catch the light?

But he didn’t. Obviously. Instead, he scoffed, rolled his eyes harder than necessary, and muttered something under his breath about weirdos and witch tea.

But even ten minutes later, while Evan was dramatically threatening to block Pandora for a spoiler and Barty was threatening to ban Alexei on DC, Regulus was still thinking about it.

Seven white lashes.
Like Remus had looked at him close enough to know that. Like he’d cared enough to count.

God, he was so screwed.

“So what were you reading yesterday?” Remus asked after a pause, voice casual but his eyes flicking over to Regulus like he already knew it was going to be something dramatic.

Regulus wrinkled his nose like he’d just smelled something offensive. “Bought some bestseller from that bookshop near Pizza Hut—don’t judge me,” he added quickly, already seeing the smirk forming on Remus’s face. “Only got it to roast it. It’s tragic.”

Remus leaned back, the smirk in full bloom now. “What’s it about?”

Regulus let out a theatrical sigh. “Some girl moves to live with her estranged mother who, obviously, hates her—very Wattpad-core energy—and then she meets this guy who’s supposed to be dark and brooding but just comes off like he needs therapy and maybe a nap. You know what, I’m not even going to explain it. You have to read it to understand why it’s such a disaster.”

Remus didn’t miss a beat. “Alright. I’ll pick it up tonight if you’re finished with it.”

Regulus blinked. Just once. That was all the reaction he allowed himself outwardly. Inwardly, though? Chaos. Full-on screaming into the void. Sirens. Alarms. Fireworks spelling out he wants to read the book you hate just to talk to you about it.

Still, his tone stayed perfectly composed. “Yeah, I finished it.”

A beat passed.

And then—because if Remus was going to show up at his house, Regulus was absolutely going to make the most of it. If nothing else, the idea of Sirius having to see them together was enough to make him feel a little smug.

“We can hang out,” Regulus said, tone light, like it was no big deal. “Piss Sirius off while we’re at it.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, okay.”

He said it like he was agreeing to help Regulus move a couch, not casually rearranging the entire wiring of Regulus’s brain. Like this wasn’t a thing.

But Regulus wasn’t stupid. He saw the glint in Remus’s eye, the smile playing on his lips like he knew exactly what he was doing.

And even though Regulus rolled his eyes and turned back toward his coffee like he was too cool to care, a flush was already blooming at the back of his neck.

Because Remus Lupin just agreed to come over.
To hang out.
To read a terrible book.
To play along.

And Regulus was dangerously close to forgetting that this was ever about Sirius at all.

He hadn’t told anyone about his latest and deeply unfortunate feelings toward Remus. Mostly because he’d rather chew glass than admit he fancied his brother’s ex. Let alone that he’d been thinking about him way too often—wondering why he had that scar on his sternum, or why he always kept his phone brightness so low, or why he placed it face-down every time. Why he stayed up so late watching reruns of Comedy Central, of all things.

And the worst part? Wondering why Regulus even cared about those things in the first place.

Still, the fact that Remus had said it out loud—that line, "That’s why we started talking, right?" —had stung more than it should’ve. Because, yeah, they both knew the truth. They’d started this whole thing as a joke, a tactic, a bit. That knowledge was supposed to make everything simpler.

But it didn’t. Not really.

Because ever since that conversation, Regulus had been picking apart every interaction like a lunatic, trying to figure out what was part of the show and what— if anything —was real.

Something had to be real, right?

They were getting close. Too close. Faster than he was prepared for. And it was terrifying. And awful. And—fine— kind of amazing. And he hated that it was amazing.

So when Remus showed up at the Black family house that afternoon, Regulus was standing at the top of the stairs, feeling far more smug than was morally acceptable.

Sirius opened the door.

And froze.

“Hey, Sirius,” Remus said, casual as anything, stepping inside like he’d done it a hundred times—which, to be fair, he had. Just not recently. And not with this version of intent simmering beneath the surface.

Sirius stared, mouth slightly open. “H-What—what are you doing here?”

“Oh, Reg invited me,” Remus replied, voice smooth and utterly composed, with that smirk that was all sin and secrets. His eyes flicked up toward the stairs, locking onto Regulus with such precise amusement that Regulus had to fight the smug little curl at the corner of his mouth.

He tilted his head slightly, resting one hand on the banister like this whole scene was a carefully directed play and he was the star of Act II.

Sirius glanced between them, the confusion obvious—somewhere tangled with something softer, almost hopeful, like he thought maybe this was some sort of olive branch, that maybe Remus was here to talk to him.

Poor bastard.

“Right,” Sirius said, stepping aside to let Remus pass, still blinking like his brain hadn’t fully caught up.

“Thanks,” Remus said, then turned to Regulus, already kicking his shoes off. “You still hate that book?”

“More than ever,” Regulus replied, already turning to head upstairs. “Come on, I made annotations.”

“You would,” Remus laughed, trailing behind him.

And Sirius—bless him—just stood there for another second, watching them disappear up the stairs, like the earth had tilted and puzzles finally clicked into their places.

Regulus didn’t look back.

But he definitely grinned the whole way to his room.

The two of them ended up sprawled across Regulus’s bed, each with a mug of tea in hand and the tragic excuse of a book that Remus insisted he had to start reading immediately.

Regulus had rolled his eyes dramatically, but still reached for another paperback he’d picked up recently—equally awful, from the looks of it—grabbed his favorite pen, and settled beside Remus with a mission: roast it to hell.

One of Cigarettes After Sex’s albums played softly from Regulus’s MacBook. His feet were tucked under a blanket, the room dim and warm, smelling faintly of Remus’s cologne—the kind of scent that made Regulus want to lean in closer and ruin his life a little. And, of course, he was still glowing with satisfaction over the dazed look Sirius had worn after opening the front door.

He was having a great time. Maybe too great.

Remus stayed silent for about four pages, flipping slowly, eyes squinting in judgment—before finally cracking.

“Oh my god,” he said, laughing, “this is absolutely unreadable.”

He reached over and snatched the pen right out of Regulus’s hand.

“What the hell are you doing, Lupin?” Regulus gasped, genuinely affronted.

“Annotating,” Remus said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He scribbled something in the margin of the page with far too much confidence.

Right beneath one of Regulus’s own notes. And, insult to injury, he added a tiny pistol doodle next to it.

Regulus blinked. “You’re annotating my annotations?”

“Yeah,” Remus snorted, unfazed. “You’re hilarious.”

He tapped the page before handing the pen back. Written beneath Regulus’s scathing critique was: that’s what I thought when I was ten years old, too.

Regulus stared at the page. Then at Remus. Then back at the page.

“You little shit.”

“Guilty,” Remus said, sipping his tea with an infuriating smile.

Regulus tried to look annoyed. He really did. But it was hard to stay mad when Remus was sitting this close, warm and smug and scribbling insults in the margins of bad literature like it was a love language.

He didn’t say anything after that. Just ducked his head and kept reading, pretending he wasn’t grinning a little behind his mug.

For the next hour, they didn’t so much read the book as wage psychological warfare over it.

It started simple: reading the worst lines out loud in their most dramatic voices, mocking every melodramatic sentence and groaning with every painfully predictable plot twist. But then Remus kept stealing Regulus’s pen. And Regulus kept demanding it back like it was a matter of national security.

Regulus was having the time of his life—and he absolutely hated how much he was enjoying it.

Remus was laughing the kind of laugh that made Regulus’s stomach twist—the real kind, the kind that came with squinted eyes and half-hidden dimples. Their shoulders bumped occasionally, and every time they leaned over to read something out of the other’s book, they got dangerously close.

Too close.

“‘I didn’t know what devotion was until you didn’t give me your helmet,’” Remus read aloud, completely monotone. “What even is that? Is this a war story or a fever dream?”

Regulus buried his face in his blanket and howled with laughter. “I told you! It’s Wattpad fanfic disguised as a paperback. Keep going. There’s a fight scene coming and she’s going to ‘see past the rage in his eyes’ or whatever.”

“I feel like I’m losing brain cells by the minute,” Remus muttered, snatching the pen again like a thief in the night. “This sounds like ‘I’d take a bullet for you’ but make it emotionally unavailable and vaguely abusive.”

He scribbled something aggressively in the margin. Regulus tilted his head to see.

Remus had written, ‘I’m devoted to the idea of bringing back lobotomy.’ And drew a tiny broken heart next to it.

Regulus nearly fell off the bed laughing. “You can’t just annotate my annotations.”

“I absolutely can. Yours are funny, but mine are weaponized,” Remus said smugly, tossing the pen at Regulus’s chest.

“Oh, we’re making this a competition now?” Regulus arched a brow, picking up the pen like a challenge.

“Weren’t we always?” Remus shot back, the side of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

From there, it devolved quickly. Every other line in the book got something scribbled beside it—sarcastic commentary, dramatic doodles, an entire rating system for cringey tropes. Their legs tangled slightly beneath the blanket without either of them pulling away. The music from Regulus’s MacBook played on softly in the background—Cigarettes After Sex, haunting and dreamy—and the lighting was dim and gold, casting soft shadows across the room.

And somewhere between “he kissed her like a storm crashing into a quiet bay” and “she smelled like vanilla and loneliness,” Regulus looked up and caught Remus already staring at him.

Not smirking. Not sarcastic. Just… watching him. Quietly. Like Regulus was something worth noticing.

Regulus blinked. His mouth went a little dry.

Remus raised a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Regulus said, a little too fast. He shoved his nose into the book again. “Just trying to read through the pain.”

“Of the bad writing?”

“Of being stuck with you.”

Remus bumped their knees again. “You love it.”

Regulus didn’t respond. Not really.

Because maybe he did. And maybe that was the whole problem.

And maybe, just maybe, the scariest part wasn’t that they were getting closer—it was how badly Regulus didn’t want to stop it.

Eventually, when the sun dipped low and Regulus’s ribs felt like they might crack from too much laughter, they climbed out of the window and onto the roof. Mugs left inside, ashtray pocketed, blanket dragged out like a flag of teenage rebellion. They settled under it, shoulders pressed together, smoking and watching the sky melt into soft purples and golds.

It was disgustingly picturesque. Cliché. Like something pulled straight out of one of those terrible books they’d just roasted for three hours.

Regulus was, unfortunately, obsessed with every second of it.

“So, the party’s on Friday,” Remus said after a beat, like he wasn’t wrecking Regulus’s peace with just his voice alone. Because that was the thing with Remus—everything he said was casual and offhand, but somehow also loaded and deliberate and quietly dangerous. Regulus felt like he was constantly playing chess with someone who refused to admit it was a game.

“Yeah,” Regulus exhaled, smoke curling out of his nose as he stared at the horizon. “Still going?”

Remus leaned back on one hand, his posture relaxed in a way that made Regulus feel anything but. “Ie.”

Regulus groaned. “The slang’s giving me a headache, Lupin.”

“Weird take, coming from someone who sounds like he’s permanently judging the commoners.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and flipped him off lazily. “You’re sleeping over at the lake house, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Remus shrugged. “Can’t be arsed to make my dad’s chauffeur pick me up from the middle of nowhere at 3 a.m.”

Regulus snorted. “Fair. You can come with me, by the way. I’ll drive.”

Remus glanced over, grinning. “Thanks. That’s very romantic of you.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I would never.”

“I’m warning you, though,” Regulus added, tone serious now. “I’m absolutely going to get too drunk and unreasonably emotional. I won’t be able to drive until, like, Sunday.”

Remus turned, mock horror on his face. “Oh god, you’re that kind of drunk?”

“What kind?”

“The kind that yaps?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “No. Worse. I get dramatic. Cry sometimes. Ramble about trauma. Ten-minute monologues about how Sirius ruined my life. I say ridiculous shit I wouldn’t dare say sober and then black out and remember absolutely none of it.”

“Tragic,” Remus said solemnly. “Can’t wait.”

“At least I don’t drunk dial people,” Regulus smirked, nudging his knee against Remus’s. “Unlike someone.”

“That was one time.”

“Two. Two nights in a row.”

Remus groaned. “Smoke your Camel, Reg.”

Regulus grinned, pleased with himself, and leaned back against the slope of the roof as he took a drag. The cigarette glowed in the fading light, soft and slow, while the sky darkened around them.

This—this quiet, easy rhythm, the banter, the blanket, the closeness that felt like something just shy of kissing—was starting to feel dangerous.

And Regulus was starting to think he didn’t really mind.

Chapter Text

That night—just like the next one—Regulus didn’t sleep.

But for the first time in two months, it wasn’t because of James.

It wasn’t the heartbreak, or the ache in his chest when he accidentally came across an old playlist, or that horrible, hollow feeling that used to hit around 2 a.m. when the house was too quiet and Regulus was too alone.

No, this time it was because of Remus fucking Lupin.

And the fact that he had ruined Regulus—absolutely obliterated him—without even realizing it.

Because ever since their hangout on Wednesday, Regulus had become painfully, horrifyingly aware of just how deep in it he was. Of how liking Remus wasn’t just some accidental detour on the path of chaos—it was the entire road now.

He liked Remus.

Like, really liked him.

Liked his stupid warm laugh, the kind that started in his chest and took a second to reach his mouth. Liked his rare, crooked smiles that looked like secrets. Liked his hair—God, his hair —those messy waves that practically begged someone to sink their hands in and twist. He liked the amber in Remus’s eyes and the way they crinkled when he laughed. He liked that his nose had clearly been broken at some point and he didn’t care. He liked how Remus never made a big deal of physical touch, how he’d casually nudge Regulus’s knee under the table or bump shoulders like it meant nothing.

Which, for Remus, maybe it did mean nothing.

And Regulus hated that.

He liked that Remus would send him random photos of his ginger cat, like it was completely normal to receive blurry close-ups of paws or the occasional unflattering mid-yawn shot at 1 a.m. He liked how Remus sometimes called him out of nowhere—not even to chat, but just to read a particularly bad line from whatever book he was reading aloud like it was the funniest thing in the world.

He liked how tall Remus was. And how tan his skin got without even trying. And how he always, always smelled faintly like some warm vanilla bakery even when he was chain-smoking at lunch.

And, for some reason, Regulus had become fully obsessed with the way Remus wrote the letter g —like he’d added a flourish just to annoy handwriting purists.

Regulus had spent a solid two hours Wednesday night going back through Remus’s annotations, literally just scanning the margins to find more g’s like a complete lunatic.

It was so bad, it had crossed the line into satire. He was so doomed it wasn't even funny.

And what made it worse—what made it cruel —was that Remus hadn’t changed at all.

He was still acting exactly the same.

Still effortlessly casual. Still infuriatingly nonchalant. Still giving zero indication that he liked Regulus back—not even a hint. Still hovering a little too close, still throwing him sly smirks across rooms, still reading aloud with that lazy voice of his like he had no idea the damage he was doing. Still draping an arm behind Regulus’s chair in a move that was clearly just for show, just to piss Sirius off.

Because, apparently, to Remus, this was still a game.

And Regulus? Regulus was two steps away from therapy. Or a nervous breakdown. Or transferring schools and changing his name and becoming a monk.

Whichever came first.

And then Friday rolled around.
The lake house party at Barty’s. The one where Regulus was driving with Remus. The one where they’d be sharing a room later. The one that, oh yeah, just so happened to double as his birthday party.

It was hell. A personal, glittery, emotionally unhinged brand of hell.

Not that anyone could tell. Not his friends, and definitely not Remus.
He spent the whole car ride pretending he was fine—laughing at the right moments, switching between trashy pop and sad indie music like some kind of playlist crisis, and letting his fingers drum against the wheel like everything inside him wasn’t a screaming mess.

Spoiler alert: he was not fine. He was about seventeen exits past fine.

So naturally, his solution was to get completely, unapologetically wasted.
Not just drunk—he wanted to forget his name kind of wasted. Maybe make out with someone, too. Something dramatic enough to override the memory of Remus smiling down at him in the hallway that week like he meant it.

Maybe Alexei. Alexei always hit on him when he was drunk. Or Max. Max was easy, didn’t ask questions.
Anyone, really. As long as they didn’t have amber eyes and didn’t stand too close like they already belonged there.

When they pulled up to the lake house, it was already packed. The air practically vibrated with bass, weed smoke, and spilled vodka. Charli XCX’s Vroom Vroom was blasting like a battle cry.

And people? People basically launched at him.

“Shine bright, bitch,”Dorcas squealed, leaving a smeared red lipstick mark on his cheek.

“Happy birthday, starboy!”  Pandora yelled, throwing glitter at his hair like he was a goddamn Christmas ornament.

Evan kissed both his cheeks like they were in a telenovela.

And Barty—of course—wrapped him in a hug that nearly cracked his ribs, muttering a quiet but sincere “Happy birthday, Arch” into his shoulder.

Then came the flood. Birthday wishes from what felt like half the school. Hands on his back, arms around his neck, someone yelling for him to do a shot before even taking off his jacket.

“Drink!” Evan roared, holding up a shady red cup filled with something that looked like it came from a pharmacy dumpster.

Regulus didn’t ask. He just downed it in one go, trusting that it was germs-free.

And then another.

And then he stopped thinking about Remus’s stupid smile—for like, maybe five whole seconds.

It was progress.

He threw himself into the party the way he always did when his own mind got too loud—loud enough that only flashing lights, loud music, and a dangerous mix of vodka and adrenaline could even begin to drown it out.

He was drinking with people, singing along to random songs he barely knew, letting Dorcas roll up his mesh top to “ show off that v-line, you slut! ” without even flinching. Classic chaos.
And for a while, it worked. It usually did.

But he only lasted an hour before the high started slipping and the noise wasn’t enough anymore.

He found himself out on the patio, half-frozen and slurring, shoulders hunched against the wind. Remus was next to him, leaning against the railing like this was just another casual moment, and Regulus suddenly realized he’d lost his cigarettes.

“I had them in my pocket!” he said, voice way too dramatic for the situation and way too slurred to be convincing.

Remus, ever unbothered, handed him his already-lit cigarette.

Regulus just stared at it. Then at him.

“I don’t share cigarettes.”

“What?”

“Or food.”

“What?”

“Or drinks.”

“What?”

“Germs, Lupin. It’s a real thing. Give me a new one.” He held out his hand with all the faux-seriousness he could manage in his current state.

Remus blinked at him—baffled but clearly entertained—and handed over his pack of yellow Camels and a lighter. A gold one. Engraved.

Of course the pretentious git had a gold lighter.

Regulus lit up a fresh cigarette, took a long drag, and slumped forward against the railing like he was about to die dramatically right there on the spot. Which, emotionally speaking, he kind of was.

“You okay?” Remus asked after a moment, his voice quieter now.

“Peachy,” Regulus muttered. “I love getting older. Love being a Scorpio. Love sharing a birthday with a brother I don’t even talk to.”

He took another drag, eyes unfocused on the trees beyond the patio, breath clouding up in the cold.

It was one of those truths he rarely let slip out loud, but alcohol had pried it loose, and now it was just there—hanging in the air like smoke.

“So you do care about him,” Remus hummed.

Regulus let out a dry laugh. “In the way you care when you’ve got a toothache but you’re scared of dentists.”

“So… the fear?”

“Fear my ass,” Regulus muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette. “I just wish I could’ve eaten him in the womb or something.”

“What?” Remus asked, now openly trying not to laugh.

“It’s a thing,” Regulus insisted, completely serious. “Absorbing or whatever. Why couldn’t I absorb him? Is that too much to ask?”

“I suppose.”

“You’re useless, Lupin,” Regulus waved his hand dismissively. “Useless and useful. What are you even doing here?”

“You invited me. Remember?” Remus raised an eyebrow, looking far too amused for Regulus’s liking.

“In this porch!”

“We’re on the patio.”

“I’m gonna slap you in a second.”

“Really?”

“No. I’ve never punched anyone.”

“Figured.”

“Chased Sirius with a knife when we were five, though. He stole my teddy bear.”

“That’s a crime.”

“I know. I named him Mr. Cuddler and everything.”

“The teddy bear or Sirius?” Remus asked.

“The teddy bear, you freak.”

“You still have it?”

“The teddy bear or Sirius?” Regulus shot back without missing a beat.

“Teddy bear.”

“I do. Stashed under my pillow and shit.”

“Good to know.”

“You're weird,” Regulus said, blowing smoke straight up like he was trying to fog out the stars. “You’ve got that whole tall, mysterious, literature guy with a tragic past and a secret playlist full of Mitski vibe going on. But then you show up to parties and... care.”

“Sorry,” Remus replied, grinning faintly. “I’ll work on being more emotionally unavailable.”

“Too late. I already saw the way you rescued that drunk girl from puking on herself in the bathroom. Twice.”

Remus shrugged. “She was drowning in tequila. I’m not a monster.”

Regulus pointed a wobbly finger at him. “That’s exactly the problem. You’re nice. You care. You’re not supposed to care. You were supposed to flirt with me, piss off Sirius, and then vanish.”

“Well,” Remus said, as calmly as if they were talking about the weather, “you were supposed to ignore me, call me names behind my back, and maybe try to set me on fire at one point.”

“Give it time,” Regulus mumbled into the collar of his jacket.

“Yeah? Should I be worried?”

“I’m unpredictable,” Regulus said, puffing out his chest, then immediately lost his balance and had to grip the railing. “I’m like a raccoon with a lighter.”

Remus burst out laughing, warm and loud, and it made something in Regulus’s chest go stupid and soft. He hated it. Deeply. Viscerally.

“I hate that laugh,” he grumbled.

“No, you don’t.”

Regulus paused. “Yeah. I don’t. I’m lying. That’s another thing I do. Constantly.”

“Noticed,” Remus said. “You also get really intense when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, I’m... unfiltered.” He blinked hard. “Also a little bit dizzy. And maybe if you kissed me right now it’d reset my brain.”

Remus froze.

Regulus stared back, cigarette halfway to his lips, breath shallow and eyes wide now, like he hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. Like his own mouth had betrayed him.

“…That was a joke,” he said quickly. “Haha. Joking. I do jokes. Hilarious. Everyone says so.”

Remus just looked at him.

Regulus lit a second cigarette with the first and took a drag like he was trying to inhale the entire night.

“Forget I said that,” he muttered.

“I won’t,” Remus said softly.

And Regulus—chaotic, drunk, vaguely glitter-covered Regulus—suddenly had no idea if he wanted to throw up or kiss Remus stupid.

So instead, he just said, “God, I hate birthdays,” and flicked ash dramatically into the wind like he was the main character in a sad French film. “I need Barty. Or the other one.”

“Evan?”

“Yes! That one. Thanks,” Regulus nodded solemnly, like Remus had just reminded him of an essential life truth. Then he turned on his heel, nearly stumbling over a lawn chair, and started marching back inside. “Also, just so you know, I’ll wake up tomorrow without remembering this conversation. Or I’ll die from alcohol poisoning. Either way, don’t bring this up.”

“I will,” Remus said, entirely too calm for someone who’d just been nearly kissed by Regulus Black.

Regulus screamed—not like, a real scream, more like a dramatized groan aimed toward the heavens—then stormed back into the crowd, his cigarette still lit, held in front of him like a torch guiding him through the chaos of drunk teens and bad decisions.

He had a mission now. Operation: Emotional Damage Control.

He needed Barty. Or Evan. Someone who’d listen to him spiral, maybe drag him into a bathroom with a stolen bottle of gin, and remind him that feelings were a scam invented by Hallmark and serotonin was a government myth.

Maybe he’d cry. That was tradition, after all. Birthday breakdowns were basically a Black family heirloom at this point.

Barty was deep in conversation with the guy from chemistry—Regulus had been paired with him a couple times, so the face was familiar enough. Regulus slid up like he owned the place, eyeing Max with a half-grin, half-challenge.

“You,” he said, poking the cigarette at him like it was a tiny sword. “Would you kiss me?”

Max didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

Barty froze mid-sentence. “Arch, you’re—?”

“Yes!” Regulus shouted, throwing his head back like he’d just declared war on sobriety. His voice cracked somewhere between triumphant and desperate. “I need therapy. No, a lobotomy. Or hell, maybe I should just turn into a straight guy already!”

Barty rolled his eyes but grabbed Regulus’s arm anyway. “Alright, we’re going.”

Regulus nearly knocked over a stack of solo cups and a precariously balanced bottle of something sticky on his way out. He snagged the nearest bottle—something cheap and neon-colored—from a table and almost face-planted on the stairs.

“God, this house is out to kill me!” Regulus yelled, clutching the railing like it was a lifeline, his breath smelling like regret and tequila.

Barty smirked, shaking his head. “Typical Arch. Always flirting with disaster.”

Regulus stumbled beside him, the bottle slipping from his fingers once, twice, but never fully escaping. “I swear, I’m gonna wake up tomorrow and forget half of tonight—if I even wake up at all. But hey, therapy by tequila sounds about right.”

“More like therapy by self-inflicted chaos,” Barty muttered, leading him to the room they were crashing in for the night.

Inside, Regulus collapsed on the bed, still clutching the bottle like a prize. “You ever feel like birthdays are just a reminder that you’re one year closer to becoming a complete mess?” He waved the bottle dramatically. “Because, honestly, I’m nailing the mess part.”

Barty laughed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “You’re a mess, but at least you’re entertaining.”

Regulus gave him a crooked smile, then reached for the bottle again. “I’m gonna need you to hold my hair tomorrow, just in case.”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Already planning the hangover?”

“Not planning. Preparing.”

“So what happened?” Barty asked, flopping dramatically on the bed beside Regulus.

“I told Lupin to kiss me.”

“And how was it?”

“IT WASN’T! HE DIDN’T!” Regulus shrieked, throwing his arms in the air. “I’m friendzoned, Barty. Friendzoned by my brother’s ex, and I’m losing my fucking mind!”

Barty blinked. “Wait—wait, what?”

“I like him,” Regulus whined, then took a massive swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand like the picture of sophistication.

“You like him, or is he just tall?” Barty asked, sipping casually from his own cup. “Because you’ve got a type, and it’s basically just ‘tall and has bones.’”

Regulus screamed into the pillow. “He is so fucking tall.”

“Yeah, the git,” Barty agreed.

“You’re just mad he’s taller than you,” Regulus muttered, pointing a finger at him—only to pause mid-gesture and stare at his empty hand. “WHERE IS MY CIG?!”

Barty sighed like a man who had done this before, and handed him a Marlboro and a lighter without a word—because of course he knew Regulus wouldn’t accept a lit cigarette from someone else. 

“Finally, god,” Regulus said, taking a drag as Barty leaned in and lit it for him like some sort of emotionally exhausted but supportive butler.

“So,” Barty said after a beat, “you like Lupin.”

“Yes!” Regulus groaned, flopping onto his back. “He’s funny. And smart. And sassy as hell. We talk about books and music and he sends me pictures of cats, Barty. Stupid TikToks. Memes. He smells like a bakery. A bakery! He had a cat named after Sansa Stark, Barty!”

“Great reason to fall in love,” Barty replied, flat as a board.

“I’m not in love with him, you dumbass,” Regulus snapped, throwing a pillow at his face. “I just wanna bounce on him.”

“Oh, well. That we can work with,” Barty nodded thoughtfully, like they were discussing weekend plans and not Regulus’s emotional breakdown.

“WE CAN’T, BECAUSE HE DIDN’T KISS ME!” Regulus shouted, wild-eyed. “Do you even hear what I’m saying?!”

Barty just shrugged. “Loud and clear, drama queen.”

Regulus stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. “I can’t believe I told him to kiss me. Who even does that?”

“You,” Barty said instantly. “You do that. Regularly.”

“Yeah, but not to people I like like! There’s a difference between ‘make out with me for power’ and ‘make out with me because I think your voice is hot and you make me feel safe and weirdly giddy, which is disgusting, by the way.’”

“Terrifying,” Barty deadpanned. “Absolutely harrowing.”

“I’m serious, Barty!” Regulus groaned, rolling onto his stomach and kicking his legs like a teenage girl in a '90s romcom. “What the hell do I even do now? What’s the next step? Get a fucking diary and write down his initials with little hearts?”

“You’ve already done that. Don’t lie to me.”

Regulus gasped. “Those are runes. Protection sigils.”

“Sure they are.”

Regulus groaned again, muffling his voice in the blanket. “I can’t believe I’m actually catching feelings. I was supposed to use him. Get revenge. Piss off Sirius. Maybe get laid. It was all so simple.”

“And now?” Barty asked, resting his chin in his hand, disturbingly invested.

Regulus peeked out from under the blanket. “Now I wanna know what his laugh sounds like when he’s really laughing. Like belly-laughing. And I wanna know what he looks like when he wakes up. And I wanna kiss him sober. And drunk. And I wanna... ugh.”

“Yeah. Gross. You’re screwed,” Barty said, not unkindly.

Regulus flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling again. “I’m in my flop era.”

“You’re in your feelings era. Way worse.”

“Do you think,” Regulus whispered dramatically, “if I kissed someone else tonight, I’d stop thinking about him?”

Barty gave him a flat look. “Do you want to kiss someone else?”

“No,” Regulus said immediately. “Everyone else is mid.”

“There’s your answer, Juliet.”

Regulus groaned again and shoved his face into a pillow. “I hate everything. I hate birthdays. I hate tall men. I hate that I don’t hate him.”

Barty gave his shoulder a pat. “Happy birthday, bestie.”

“How are you even surviving when you’ve got a hopeless crush on Evan and he has no idea?” Regulus whined, dragging a pillow onto his chest like it could smother the feelings out of him.

“Right now? By sitting here with you instead of watching him make out with Max from fucking McDonald’s,” Barty said flatly, like he was describing a war crime.

Regulus wheezed. Not just laughed—he absolutely wheezed, clutching his ribs like they might split. “Oh my god. We are so fucking pathetic.”

“We are,” Barty agreed, eyes on the ceiling like he was praying for divine intervention or spontaneous combustion.

Regulus sighed, flopping the pillow over his face before peeking out from under it dramatically. “We should date.”

Barty turned his head slowly. “What.”

“No, listen!” Regulus sat up, hair a mess, mascara probably smudged halfway to his ears. “You know I don’t share cigarettes. Or food. Or drinks. And you respect that . You light my cigs when my hands are shaking. You know how I like my coffee when I study—oat milk, half sugar, burn-my-soul hot. I know you hate mushrooms and you’re allergic to almonds and that you throw fits when you lose at Rocket League.”

“Hey— that game is bullshit and you know it,” Barty said, fully offended now. “That’s not a real physics engine, it’s chaos with wheels.”

“Exactly, and you still take it personally,” Regulus grinned, pointing at him like he’d just won something. “You’d make a perfect boyfriend. We’d be miserable together but, like, in sync.”

Barty exhaled loudly. “We’d definitely burn a house down.”

“Sexy arson,” Regulus nodded. “So romantic.”

They sat in silence for a beat. Regulus blinked at the ceiling. Barty blinked at the wall. Somewhere downstairs, someone screamed “SHOTS!” and something glass shattered. It was all very on brand.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Regulus muttered, rolling off the bed like his soul had given up. “I need to throw up and then go downstairs and pretend I’m thriving.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Barty offered.

“But I want to, darling,” Regulus said with a wobbly grin, grabbing the doorframe for support. “Be a doll and fetch my toothbrush, won’t you? I’m about to vomit all the glitter out of my system.”

He staggered into the ensuite like he owned the place, mumbling something about “dying fabulously with dignity,” which was debatable at best.

Barty just shook his head, stood, and went to dig through Regulus’s overnight bag like he had done it a hundred times before—which, honestly, he probably had. He found the electric toothbrush, the tiny tube of lavender mint toothpaste Regulus insisted was “bougie and divine,” and followed after him, muttering:

“You better not pass out on the tiles again, you little drama ghost.”

From the bathroom came the unmistakable sound of Regulus throwing up and then, somehow, still talking through it.

“Barty , if I die in here, delete my browser history!”

“You don’t even use a browser, you lunatic! You use Tumblr like it’s 2013!”

“Exactly! It's a brand!”

After fifteen solid minutes of dramatic retching and swearing at the porcelain god, Regulus brushed his teeth with the intensity of someone trying to erase their whole personality from their molars. He wiped away the streaked mascara, the smudged eyeliner, even the glittery lipstick mark Dorcas had left on his cheek, and then—because he was still a Black —he fixed his hair like nothing ever happened.

Then, with Barty in tow, he made his way back downstairs.

“I need to eat something,” he announced to absolutely no one. “Preferably Lupin, but he’s—”

“Nope,” Barty cut him off, physically shoving him toward the kitchen before that sentence could finish. He shoved a half-eaten bowl of crisps into Regulus’s hands like it was life-saving medicine, and passed him a bottle of beer. “Hydration,” he said dryly.

Regulus blinked, looked down at the beer, and nodded solemnly. “You’re a good man, Crouch.”

Then he stood up straighter, squinted into the blur of party guests, and yelled, “EVAN!”

Barty nearly dropped his own drink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m winging-maning,” Regulus said through a mouthful of crisps.

“That’s not even a word!”

“If I can’t get laid tonight, at least one of us has to!” Regulus declared with all the reckless nobility of someone offering themselves to a firing squad.

Evan appeared a few seconds later, grinning like he always did, until he took in Regulus’s state: flushed cheeks, eyeliner residue, crisp crumbs clinging to his mesh top. His expression dropped immediately.

“Arch, what the hell happened to you?”

Regulus just shook his head like it was all far too tragic to repeat. “I told Lupin to kiss me,” he said gravely. “And he didn’t.”

“HE WHAT?!” Evan nearly dropped his drink.

“I know, right?!” Regulus wailed, setting the bowl of crisps aside like it had betrayed him. “Anyway—” he clapped dramatically, stepped between them like a director about to call action, and grabbed both Barty’s and Evan’s faces. “Kiss.”

“What?” Barty blinked.

“Arch—” Evan started.

“No time!” Regulus said, all business. “This is your moment, I’m basically your fairy godmother. I’ve cried, I’ve puked, I’ve bled glitter—let me have this.”

And to everyone’s shock—including probably their own—they actually did.

Regulus, stunned for exactly half a second, mentally patted himself on the back and backed out of the kitchen slowly, arms wide like he was clearing the stage.

“Thank you!” he called to no one and everyone. “I’m going to walk dramatically into the moonlight now. Don’t follow me. Let the legend live.”

He spun out of the kitchen and into the hallway, beer in one hand, the air of someone who just played god in a Greek tragedy and kind of liked it.

Behind him, the sound of kissing had escalated into full-blown PDA.

He grinned.

“Happy fucking birthday to me.”

Dorcas yanked him into the heart of the crowd right as Charli XCX’s Track 10 started blasting, the bass pulsing through the floor like it was alive. Someone shoved a drink into Regulus’s hand—what it was, he didn’t know—but obviously, he drank it. Because of course he did. He was nothing if not the embodiment of chaos, glitter, and self-destruction in a mesh shirt.

The next hour was a glittery blur of limbs and lights. He danced like he was being exorcised, shouted lyrics into Dorcas’s hair, and took about thirty Polaroids with Pandora—half of which were just blurry streaks of him mid-dance move or aggressively kissing someone’s cheek. He regretted absolutely none of it.

Around midnight, just when Regulus was ready to melt into the floor from joy and tequila, Barty and Evan reappeared in the living room—looking disheveled in that post-hookup, no shame way—and holding a cake. Not just any cake. A neon green monstrosity with black frosting that read, “bitches don’t age” in aggressive cursive. The speakers switched to Lady Gaga’s Born This Way at full volume.

Regulus nearly burst into tears. But instead, he collapsed into laughter, practically wheezing as everyone yelled for him to blow out the candles.

“Speech!” someone shouted—Dorcas, obviously, already filming with her front camera, zoomed in like it was a documentary.

“Oh, I need to be tall-ish for that,” Regulus said, completely serious, scanning the room like this was a logistical emergency. He grabbed someone’s arm—possibly Pandora’s ex, who was too stunned to protest. “Help me get on that table.”

Somehow, he made it up, wobbly and ridiculous, but triumphant. Drink in hand. Glitter in his hair. Mesh shirt slightly askew. He did a little twirl for the crowd, then paused—his eyes scanning the room, maybe looking for someone. (Okay, definitely looking for Remus, who was in the corner, tall and glowing and smug, the bastard.)

“Alright,” Regulus said into the roaring room, his voice already slurring with drama and sugar and tequila. “I’m so drunk someone better be recording this— from my left profile only, please, so that bitch Maddie can complain about my vitiligo again!”

The crowd burst into laughter.

“I wanted to say,” he continued, holding up a single, wobbly finger, “that I threw up before. Like... multiple times. I saw my soul leave my body. It waved at me.”

More laughter.

“No regrets, though. None. Also—Sirius can go fuck himself. Potter too. Like, both of them. At once. I hope they’re miserable and in love.”

Cheers. Whistles. Someone chanted “SAY IT AGAIN.”

“Also, I’m a fucking matchmaker, alright? A hero. A wingman. Cupid with a mesh shirt and daddy issues. So who even cares that I’m emotionally constipated?”

Dorcas screamed. Evan clapped. Barty howled.

“And just so everyone knows— just so we’re clear —I’m turning into girls now. Maybe. Probably. Maybe not. Who knows?” He shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “Anyway. Happy fucking Scorpio season!”

He raised his drink, glitter catching in the lights like it was part of the show.

Someone yelled, “ICONIC!”

Regulus grinned, tipsy and proud, and almost fell off the table before Barty grabbed him by the waist and helped him down, muttering, “God, you’re a menace.”

“I know,” Regulus whispered gleefully. “Isn’t it fantastic?”

Once off the table—feet barely touching the ground, emotionally or physically—Regulus was immediately mobbed. Dorcas threw herself on him like she was about to propose. “That was the most iconic shit I’ve ever seen, and I watched you threaten a man with a stiletto in June.”

“That guy stole my lighter!” Regulus argued, trying to hand her his drink before realizing it was empty. “I was in the right.”

“You’re always in the right,” she agreed, kissing his cheek. “Like, morally? No. But narratively? Always.”

Barty appeared beside him with a party hat balanced stupidly on his head. “Evan tried to put cake on my face, so I bit him.”

Regulus blinked. “Like, sexually or rabidly?”

Barty shrugged. “That’s for him to unpack.”

Somewhere in the background, ‘Womanizer’ by Britney Spears started playing and Pandora shrieked so loud it could have cracked the windows. Regulus didn’t even flinch—just grabbed the glittery cowboy hat off someone’s head and put it on without a word like it was part of his birthright.

For the next half hour, it was pure chaos: spinning lights, spilled drinks, shirtless dancing in the living room, Barty and Dorcas doing the worm on the kitchen floor for no reason, and Regulus crowd-surfing for about three seconds before falling directly onto Evan, who caught him with a noise of pure regret.

“Arch,” Evan groaned. “You’re like two drinks away from being a medieval painting.”

“I am the painting,” Regulus replied, wrapping his arms around Evan’s neck. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

Evan looked vaguely like he was considering filing a noise complaint against Regulus personally.

At one point, Regulus found himself back in the kitchen, stealing pickles out of someone else’s sandwich. “I’m saving your life,” he told the stranger earnestly. “Pickles are cursed. They’re the Gemini of vegetables.”

“Pickles are cucumbers,” the guy blinked.

“You’re cucumbers,” Regulus said, full mouth, and walked off.

Everywhere he turned, someone was laughing, dancing, or dragging him into another ridiculous moment—he helped Pandora reapply her glitter eyeliner while she sat on a countertop, he forced Barty to do a dramatic reading of a smutty Wattpad story someone printed out and taped to the fridge, he slow-danced with a lampshade. At some point, he saw his own face on someone’s Instagram story with the caption: ‘ur fave is feral. he’s thriving.’

He was, too. At least on the surface. Beneath the tequila and glitter and dramatics, there was still that quiet ache, tucked deep and low, like a bruise he didn’t want to look at.

But he wasn’t thinking about that right now. Right now, the bass was thumping and people were singing and he had a whole-ass glow stick crown on his head.

And when he finally stumbled back into the living room, sweaty and glowing, he spotted Remus again—leaned against the wall like he was watching a documentary, arms crossed, eyes dark, mouth twitching in the kind of smile that made Regulus want to either kiss him or commit arson. Or both.

So naturally, Regulus turned on his heel and walked in the complete opposite direction.

Because obviously.

He grabbed a bottle of wine, made some guy uncork it—because of course he wasn’t about to do it himself—and asked someone else for a cigarette. He could have asked Remus and lit it with his stupid gold lighter, but Regulus had pride and dignity. Not tonight, obviously, but in general. Conceptually.

Someone put on Harry Styles, and Regulus let out a full-body yelp. “I was at his concert back when he wasn’t slacking off!” he declared to no one and everyone, before launching himself into Adore You with Pandora like their lives depended on it.

It was glorious. For exactly 60 seconds.

Then the lyrics hit.

Regulus froze mid-shoulder-shimmy, wine in hand, mouth open around the beginning of the chorus.

“Oh no. No, no, no,” he said, suddenly grave. “I’m not doing that.”

He shoved the wine into Pandora’s hands, spun on his heel, and made a dramatic exit toward the patio. On the way, he snatched another cigarette (definitely stolen), lit it with someone else's lighter, and let the door swing closed behind him like he was storming out of a soap opera.

Because feelings?

Absolutely not. Not tonight. Not while Harry Styles was trying to emotionally assassinate him with a love song.

Chapter Text

Predictably, Remus cornered him the second Regulus took his first drag. The audacity of this man.

“Oh, God, not you,” Regulus groaned, exhaling dramatically.

“I just wanted to talk,” Remus said—and he was clearly high. On something. And it definitely wasn’t just weed.

“Oh my God, you’re taking drugs?!” Regulus gasped, immediately forgetting that he was supposed to be mad at him.

“I—no?” Remus blinked.

“And you’re a liar, too?!” Regulus gasped again, louder this time. “God. God. I like my brother’s ex who’s a drug dealer, is taking drugs, is too fucking tall, and too fucking calm, and has a weird accent!”

“You like me?”

“LUPIN!” Regulus shrieked, clutching his forehead like he was about to faint. “That’s not the point!”

“It kind of sounds like the point.”

“It’s not! The point is you didn’t kiss me when you were supposed to!”

Remus blinked again. “Was there a scheduled time?”

“Emotionally, yes!” Regulus cried, arms flailing. “There was a vibe!”

“Reg,” Remus started gently, like he was trying to coax a cat off a windowsill.

“Don’t Reg me,” Regulus muttered, flicking his cigarette over the railing with a flair of drama. “You ruined Harry Styles for me tonight.”

“That’s unforgivable,” Remus nodded solemnly.

“It is.” Regulus crossed his arms, still seething. “You can’t just come out here, with your stupid gold lighter and your bakery smell and your soft voice and your, like, emotional stability, and expect me not to fall apart.”

There was a pause. Remus tilted his head. “You think I smell like a bakery?”

“Shut up.”

“No, that’s… kinda adorable,” Remus said, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“Oh my God, I can’t do this anymore,” Regulus groaned. “Give me a cig.”

“You just threw one away.”

“You didn’t kiss me, so give me a fucking cigarette,” Regulus snapped, glaring like that made perfect sense.

Remus, with the patience of a saint, handed him a cigarette and even lit it for him.

“The lighter is stupid,” Regulus announced, side-eyeing the stupid gold thing like it was responsible for every single one of his emotional issues.

“It’s—yeah. Fair.”

“You’re stupid too.”

“Yeah, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“And you’re talking stupidly.”

“You said that already.”

“And yet you keep talking!”

“I live to entertain.”

“You live to ruin my life and my sleep schedule,” Regulus accused, pointing the cigarette at him like it was a dagger. “And it’s already ruined! Thanks to your fucking ex and my fucking ex and—”

“Wait, what?” Remus blinked.

“Yes!” Regulus threw his hands up. “James broke up with me because Sirius manipulated him into it, and now I can’t even manipulate you into liking me!”

“I do like you—”

Regulus didn’t hear a single word. “Good thing I never showed you that treehouse. You don’t deserve it.”

“You think so?”

“Yes! No. Yes. Fine, maybe,” Regulus grumbled. “You’re just driving me fucking insane, Lupin, and I don’t like it. Can you, like, go back to Cardiff?”

“I can’t.”

“Then switch schools.”

“Can’t do that either.”

“Then at least kiss the next guy who tells you to kiss him!” Regulus whined, wild-eyed. “Like, pretend! Instead of making him want to turn straight!”

“Alright,” Remus said, calm as ever.

Regulus let out a soundless scream and dragged his hands down his face. “Why are you so fucking calm all the time? Is it some kind of superpower? Or, like… I don’t know, are you an alien?”

“I’m not—”

“Or a werewolf? You could be a werewolf. You’re broody and hot in that dangerous way,” Regulus muttered.

“You done?”

“No.” Regulus shook his head, cigarette waving in the air. “I need closure. Like deleting that Notes folder in my phone I have about you.”

That made Remus stop. “You—you what?”

Regulus waved his hand again, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I wrote down the days you laughed. And why.”

“You… what?”

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

He said that out loud. He said that out loud.

Regulus froze the moment the words left his mouth—like some divine force had hit the brakes on his soul while the rest of the world kept spinning. His cigarette burned quietly between his fingers, forgotten. Remus was just looking at him. Not in a bad way. Not in a mocking way. Which somehow made it worse.

Because what the fuck did he just say?

A Notes folder. About Remus. About the days he laughed. What was he, a stalker? A Victorian poet? An unhinged Pinterest board with legs?

Why would you say that?! his brain screamed at him. Why would you say that, you absolute twink in glitter of a man?

He could feel his ears heating up. His chest, too. A rising panic, hot and sharp and shameful, clawing its way up his throat. And Remus still hadn’t said anything, which was basically a social death sentence.

“I didn’t mean that,” Regulus blurted, even though he definitely had.

“Well—”

“Nope! Don’t!” Regulus interrupted, pacing now. “That came out weird. It’s not, like, a diary or anything. I don’t write poetry about your laugh, Jesus Christ.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of—”

“And it’s not that deep!” Regulus lied, throwing his hands up. “It’s, like, two bullet points, max. One was that time you laughed when Barty slipped on the iced coffee and screamed ‘capitalism is killing me.’ That’s all. I just thought it was funny!”

“You also remembered the date, Regulus,” Remus said, lips twitching like he was physically trying not to smile. “You timestamped my laugh.”

“I—okay,” Regulus snapped, holding up a finger like that was the nail in the coffin. “I’m going to jump into the lake now.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not? I’ve embarrassed myself on every molecular level. I can’t come back from this. I said the words Notes folder out loud.” He clutched his forehead. “I’m a walking red flag. This is it. This is how I die. Dignity loss. Time of death: whatever time it is now.”

Remus tilted his head, calm and observant and annoyingly tender, and Regulus hated that too. He hated how quiet the patio was, how warm Remus’s eyes looked even in the dark, how this felt less like a meltdown and more like something else entirely. Something way more dangerous.

“Do you want me to pretend you didn’t say it?” Remus asked, gently.

Regulus blinked at him, cigarette dangling from his lips now. “Yes,” he muttered. Then, “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Jesus Christ, Lupin. You’ve completely broken me.”

And Remus, the bastard, just smiled.

“Oh my god, don’t smile,” Regulus groaned, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically trying to erase the image. “Now I know why Sirius even liked you and I don’t want to see that in real time.”

“Sirius was an idiot,” Remus replied, voice steady and unbothered.

“I know! He’s my twin!” Regulus yelled, flailing like the mere mention of that genetic fact physically pained him.

But then Remus tilted his head slightly, expression shifting. “You know why we broke up?” he asked, suddenly too casual. Too soft. And Regulus blinked, thrown off-balance.

“No,” he said. Because, honestly, he didn’t.

Remus took a deep breath, as if deciding whether to keep going. “He couldn’t stand a day without babbling to James about everything. And I mean everything. Including the things I told him in confidence. Things I don’t talk about with most people. Things I said to him because I thought maybe, just maybe, I could trust him.”

Regulus froze, cigarette halfway to his mouth.

“It drove me insane,” Remus continued, voice calm but sharp-edged, like glass beneath velvet. “Of course it did. But what made it worse— worse —was how he had a brother he hated for no reason. And I couldn’t understand it. He could talk about James all day—how James was basically his brother, how he knew him better than anyone—but I didn’t even know your name until James mentioned it. Sirius never brought you up. Just that one time when he didn't had keys and had to call you from my phone. But beside that? It was like you didn’t exist.”

Regulus swallowed, throat tight.

“And I kept wondering why,” Remus said. “Because I would’ve killed to have my brother back. And Sirius had one right there. So I confronted him. Asked why he never mentioned you. Why he insisted on telling James everything, even things I specifically asked him to keep to himself. I told him it felt like I didn’t matter. That he was breaking my trust. And you know what he did?”

“What?” Regulus asked, quietly.

“He shrugged. Changed the subject. Didn’t even pretend to care,” Remus said, bitterness curling in the corner of his mouth. “But we stayed together anyway. I don’t know why. Habit? Stupidity? Maybe I thought it’d get better. But it didn’t.”

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes distant. “Then, one day, I told him something I’d never told anyone else. Something I didn’t even want to say out loud. And I asked him not to tell James. Made him promise.”

Regulus didn’t breathe.

“He told him anyway,” Remus said. “And then drove to Cardiff to see me like it was no big deal. Said ‘Don’t worry, James won’t spill anything.’ Like that made it okay.”

“Did he?” Regulus asked, voice thin.

“I don’t know. Maybe not. But I didn’t care by then. I broke up with him. Because he was a manchild who never understood what trust meant. I wasn’t planning to move to Luton,  I didn’t want to be anywhere near him after that. And when I got here, I figured, fine. Let’s see how he likes it when someone gets close to you instead. Let’s see if that rattles him.”

Regulus flinched. “So that’s why you started talking to me.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah. And I knew exactly why you talked to me too. It was so obvious. You hate each other. It was petty as hell. But I wasn’t better. I played too. At first.”

Regulus looked away, ashamed, cigarette forgotten in his fingers.

“But then I didn’t stop,” Remus said quietly. “Didn’t stop texting you. Or calling you when I was tipsy. Or sending you pictures of my cat. Or listening to your voice notes about whatever book you were reading. I started liking you, Regulus. Not just in a petty way. Not in a ‘let’s mess with Sirius’ way. In a real, actual, fuck I might be in trouble kind of way.”

Regulus let out a very tiny, very pathetic squeak.

“I didn’t plan to start talking about you to my friends. I didn’t plan to laugh at your memes in the middle of class. I didn’t plan to think about your stupid hair or your weird obsession with that one Sufjan Stevens song or how your voice sounds when you’re sleepy. But I did,” Remus continued, softer now, like it was hurting him too. “And I really wanted to kiss you when you told me to. But I didn’t. Because I knew you still thought I was playing. And I’m not anymore.”

Regulus stared at him like he’d grown a second head. His heart was trying to escape his chest and his internal monologue was basically just AAAAAAAAAAA on loop.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Absolutely no coherent words emerged.

“Did you just—” he choked out. “Are you having a feelings moment right now?!”

Remus blinked. “Yes?”

“Right here?! At my party?!”

Remus shrugged. “You kind of started it.”

“I know! But I didn’t mean to actually—ugh, this is so unfair.” Regulus turned his whole body away from him in protest. “Why are you hot and emotionally stable? That’s such a power move. It’s threatening.”

“I’m not that stable.”

“Liar,” Regulus muttered. Then, in a whisper: “I’m going to combust.”

Remus smiled again—soft and a little smug.

Regulus sighed dramatically, puffing smoke into the air. “If you’re about to kiss me, I swear to god, don’t do it while I still look emotionally unhinged.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re making me dramatic, Lupin,” Regulus snapped. “You and the way I feel like I’m in a romcom—and I know how it is ‘cause I’ve watched way too many, as you also know—and it’s unsettling because I didn’t plan to like you. Definitely not so fast. But I did. And now I’m totally ruining the moment, but that’s who I am, so you better get used to it.”

“I already did. I like it,” Remus said with a casual shrug, like he wasn’t being the most frustrating person alive.

Regulus tipped his head back and groaned. “This is not how I planned this.”

“I know. Must drive you insane.”

“Less than you, so imagine what you’re doing to me,” Regulus shot back. “And just so you know, I need to hear that whole story again tomorrow because I’m way too wasted to process half of it right now.”

“Alright,” Remus nodded, hands tucked in his pockets, still infuriatingly calm.

“And you’re definitely on drugs,” Regulus pointed at him accusingly.

Remus blinked slowly. “Yeah.”

“Don’t lie to me about it again or I’ll never ask you to kiss me again.”

“Noted.”

“Good,” Regulus said with a dramatic huff, then grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and yanked him down to finally— finally —kiss him.

And it was disgustingly perfect. Stupidly soft and a little clumsy, but warm, like the first sunny day after a long, miserable winter. Regulus made a small noise of protest—because of course he did—but his fingers stayed tangled in Remus’s shirt, pulling him closer, like he’d die if he let go.

Somewhere inside, his brain was still screaming— Oh god, this is happening, you absolute idiot, this is actually happening. But on the outside? He was kissing Remus Lupin in the middle of a party that had completely devolved into chaos. There were dim string lights flickering above, the faint haze of smoke clinging to the air, laughter echoing from every direction—and for once, everything felt good.

Terrifying. But good.

And of course, of course, Remus was good at this. Somehow he tasted sweet, like fruit and wine and the vague promise of a hangover, even in the middle of a sweaty, loud house party. His hands were steady, warm, grounding. When he pressed Regulus back against the patio railing, the latter let out a small, helpless whimper—one he’d deny until the end of time. Or longer. In hell, probably. Because let’s be honest, he was absolutely going to hell for this. Kissing his brother’s ex? Not even just kissing—full-on making out like a music video under party lights? Yeah. Straight to hell. No stops.

They kissed a little too long for a first kiss. Long enough to make it something else entirely—long enough to forget the noise behind them, the way Regulus's pulse was doing the macarena, the sharp ache of every stupid crush he’d ever had before this one. They only broke apart when the patio door flew open like a horror movie jump scare and Alexei came crashing through, mid-sprint toward the lake and already stripping off his shirt.

“What the fuck?” Regulus blinked as someone shrieked and a phone flashlight followed Alexei’s path like he was a wild cryptid. In the chaos, someone—probably Pandora—yelled “ HE’S DOING IT AGAIN! ” and someone else was already chanting, “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” even though there wasn’t a drink in sight.

Evan let out a dramatic gasp when his gaze caught the sight of Regulus and Remus clearly post-kiss, still looking like they were either about to kiss again or maybe just combust on the spot.

Regulus smoothed down his shirt—well, Remus’s shirt, actually, since he’d been holding onto it like a lifeline—and stepped back half a pace. He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair like he hadn’t just been visibly wrecked in public.

“Well,” he said, still a little breathless, “I hope I don’t kiss like my brother.”

Remus blinked, then barked out a laugh. “You really think I’d still be standing if you did?”

Regulus smirked. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Good,” Remus said, quietly smug. “That’s exactly where I want to go.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but he was already leaning back in—just slightly. Just enough to threaten another kiss. His fingers twitched with the impulse to tug Remus down by the collar again, lips parted in anticipation. And Remus, the smug bastard, was definitely leaning in too, like they were magnets pretending not to notice each other.

And then—

“ ARCH, EAT THE FUCKING BRAT CAKE! ”

Dorcas crashed through the patio door, wielding two slices of violently neon birthday cake like a weapon, her eyeliner slightly smudged and glitter in her hair like she'd just rolled in a rave.

Regulus groaned loud enough for God and maybe Satan to hear. “God, I love my friends and I hate my friends.”

Remus bit back a laugh as Dorcas marched straight over and shoved a plate into Regulus’s hands like she was personally keeping him alive via sugar. The cake still read bitches don’t age in shaky black frosting, and Regulus was 99% sure one of the letters had been corrected with eyeliner.

“Eat it before I force-feed you,” Dorcas warned. “And then we’re dancing again. No more sulking and kissing mysterious men on patios!”

“He’s not mysterious,” Regulus muttered under his breath, already taking a bite because apparently humiliation gave him an appetite. “He’s just tall.”

“Tall is a mystery in itself,” she replied breezily, grabbing his arm and hauling him back toward the house. He let her, stumbling slightly, cake in hand, a dazed grin still on his lips.

Remus watched from the doorway, arms crossed, still smirking like he had a secret.

And maybe he did. Maybe they both did.

The music inside swelled again—something loud and chaotic, with a beat meant to be danced to badly. Lights flashed, someone screamed something about shots, and someone else was already halfway up the stairs with a disco ball.

Regulus took one last bite of cake before yelling over his shoulder, “If I vomit again, it’s your fault!”

“Noted!” Remus called back, and then added, “Worth it!”

Regulus didn't reply. He was already swallowed by the crowd, cake in one hand, chaos in the other.

By the time Regulus stopped drinking his life away and got sober-ish around 2 a.m., the party was still in full swing—people dancing on furniture, someone trying to DJ with an iPad, and at least two people doing body shots off the kitchen counter. Which was all lovely, really, but Regulus needed a teeny, tiny moment of not being surrounded by sweaty limbs and glitter.

So he snatched a box of cold pizza from the fridge— no idea that there was even pizza in this lake house to begin with—and bolted. The box had “ARCHIE’S — DON’T EAT!!!!” scribbled across it in glittery pink Sharpie, surrounded by dozens of tiny little hearts. Definitely Pandora’s work. She was terrifying like that.

Regulus made a dramatic escape to the attic—because of course he did. If he was going to emotionally spiral, it might as well be somewhere with creaky wood and vibes. He kicked open the dusty old trap door, climbed up like some gothic raccoon in carpenter jeans, and collapsed dramatically on the floor with the box in his lap.

The attic was quiet, lit only by a single bulb dangling from the ceiling and the pale glow of his phone screen. He opened Instagram and started watching people’s stories, scrolling through the trail of chaos left in their wake.

Someone had posted a blurry clip of him and Barty mid-dance to "How to Be a Heartbreaker," screaming lyrics with their entire chests. Another post had a photo of him clutching a bottle of tequila like it was a newborn. Dorcas, of course, had uploaded a slow-mo video of him blowing out the candles on the radioactive green cake. He looked unhinged. Glorious.

Naturally, Regulus reposted everything. He was, after all, nothing if not an attention whore.

Which is why, when Remus called him, he answered in the most dramatic tone he could conjure. Like he was accepting an Oscar. Or plotting a murder.

“Where are you?” Remus asked, sounding confused and amused all at once.

“In the attic,” Regulus said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“The… what?”

Regulus sighed. “The attic, Lupin.”

Then he hung up.

Just to be difficult.

Remus appeared a few minutes later, right as Regulus was halfway through another slice of cold pizza. He stepped into the attic like he was trying very hard not to laugh at the state Regulus was in—cross-legged on the dusty floor, wearing someone else’s hoodie, surrounded by glitter, crumbs, and drama.

“Have a seat,” Regulus said, patting the floor beside him. Then, like a responsible little goblin, he pulled a wet wipe from the packet he always carried and sanitized his hand. Hygiene and heartbreak, hand in hand.

Remus sat down with a soft huff, eyes flicking to the mess around them. “What are you doing up here?”

“Eating pizza,” Regulus replied simply. “You can have a slice. Just don’t touch any of mine.”

Remus gave him a look. “...You’re so weird, Reg.”

“And yet here you are,” Regulus countered, reaching into the box and protectively shifting the slices around like he was guarding buried treasure.

Remus grabbed one anyway, clearly knowing which ones were not up for grabs.

“I didn’t even know there was pizza in this house,” Regulus said, chewing thoughtfully. “Who brought it? A pizza fairy or something?”

“Barty,” Remus replied, mouth full.

“Oh,” Regulus nodded, like that made all the sense in the world. “Explains why there’s no mushrooms. He hates mushrooms.” He glanced sideways. “You hate mushrooms too?”

“They’re… alright,” Remus said with a shrug.

Regulus narrowed his eyes like that was a red flag, then nodded once. “I’ll allow it.”

They sat there in quiet for a moment, sharing stolen pizza in the attic like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“So, should we talk about the fact that you emotionally ambushed me?” Remus asked after a moment, tone mild, but his eyes curious in that way that always made Regulus feel a little too seen.

Regulus didn't even blink. “It’s not an ambush if I didn’t launch at you,” he said, deadpan. “I was just being dramatic. Very on-brand. And I did warn you, for the record.”

Remus tilted his head slightly, considering him like some new kind of puzzle he hadn’t decided whether to solve or frame for display. “I thought you were exaggerating.”

Regulus scoffed, licking pizza grease off his thumb. “Fair. I usually do. But this was a low-to-moderate-level emotional spiral, I’ll have you know. You haven’t seen me at a full ten.”

Remus raised a brow. “That wasn’t a ten?”

“No,” Regulus replied, insulted. “That was, like, a 6.5. Maybe a 7 when I started yelling about your accent. Anything above 8 and there’s crying and possibly a spontaneous nosebleed.”

Remus blinked. “Crying and a nosebleed?”

“It’s the drama,” Regulus said solemnly, like it was a chronic condition. “Gets me every time.”

Remus chuckled and leaned back on his hands. “Good to know. I’ll be prepared next time.”

Regulus side-eyed him. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

“If you stop being so entertaining, probably not.”

Regulus smirked. “Get used to it, then. If you’re planning to keep kissing me, the drama is part of the deal. No refunds.”

Remus gave him a long look. “You kissed me.”

“And you’re welcome,” Regulus said breezily. “I selected you. My official birthday kiss. Chosen One and all.”

Remus laughed. “Oh, so this was a premeditated honor?”

Regulus nodded, biting into his crust. “Yeah. You were shortlisted. Top three.”

“There were others?” Remus asked, half amused, half horrified.

Regulus leaned back dramatically, waving his hand. “Obviously. There’s Avery, but I’m not into Eastern Europeans—trauma. Well, except Barty, but we’ve trauma-bonded and that’s sacred. Max from McDonald’s was a contender for, like, two seconds, but I decided I’m not into blondes enough to make it worth the free fries.”

Remus blinked, clearly unsure if he was joking.

“Oh, and I asked Max from chem if he’d kiss me. Why is everyone’s name Max?”

Remus stared. “You what?”

“He said yes. Some people know how to react to a direct question like that. You, meanwhile, acted like I’d handed you a baby and told you it was your turn to raise it.”

“I told you why I didn’t kiss you,” Remus said, trying not to smile.

Regulus rolled his eyes so hard he practically saw stars. “Blah blah, trauma, integrity, you were being noble, whatever. You’re lucky I didn’t throw you into the lake.”

Remus gave him a look. “You threatened to throw yourself into the lake.”

“I did? Huh. Don’t remember. I was really wasted.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Remus muttered, reaching for another slice.

Regulus leaned closer, conspiratorially. “Also, I’m not saying you owe me now, but I did pass up on free McDonald’s for you. And Avery has a jawline that could cut glass.”

“Wow. Truly honored.”

“You should be. You’ve officially joined the exclusive club of men I make bad decisions over. Welcome. It’s very chaotic. There are snacks.”

“I can see that,” Remus said, biting into his pizza.

Regulus smirked at him, eyes glittering in the dim light of the attic. “So. You wanna kiss me again, or are we gonna sit here pretending this cold pizza is better than my mouth?”

Remus nearly choked.

And Regulus grinned like the little menace he was.

Remus coughed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave Regulus the most unimpressed look he could muster. “You’re actually insufferable.”

Regulus beamed. “And yet you’re still here. In an attic. With me. Eating contraband pizza.”

Remus leaned back against an old trunk and let out a sigh that sounded a lot like defeat. “I’ve made worse choices.”

Regulus tilted his head, mock-offended. “Wow. Rude. I was gonna offer you another kiss, but now? I’m reconsidering.”

“Were you? Offering it?”

“I might’ve been,” Regulus said, eyes narrow. “But now I’m feeling underappreciated.”

Remus glanced at him, and for a second, the teasing dropped. “Regulus.”

“What.”

“You kissed me like you were setting something on fire.”

Regulus blinked. “Okay. Bit dramatic.”

“You whined.”

“I did not—”

“You did,” Remus grinned. “Right when I pinned you to the railing. It was—kind of cute, actually. And terrifying.”

Regulus pulled a face and buried it into the pizza box. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I might.”

“Sure. But you’re also blushing.”

“I am not!” Regulus snapped, sitting bolt upright. “It’s the attic! It’s warm! Also dusty! Also—shut up.”

Remus just laughed, soft and low. “God, you’re unreal.”

“Say that again but sexier.”

“You’re unreal,” Remus repeated, lower, dragging the words just a little, and Regulus had to grab the pizza box again to cover his face.

“I hate this. I hate you. Go back to Cardiff.”

“Nope.”

Regulus peeked out from behind the crust like a pissed-off raccoon. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Remus tilted his head. “And?”

“And you have a stupid pretty voice.”

“Mhm.”

“And I might be vaguely obsessed with your hands but that’s a separate issue we don’t have time to unpack.”

Remus smiled. “It’s 2:30 a.m. We’ve got time.”

Regulus blinked. “Oh my god. You want me to spiral again.”

Remus leaned in just a little. “Kinda.”

And that was rude because Regulus’s brain short-circuited at close-range eye contact. Which is how he found himself stammering something that sounded like, “You-you’re a menace.”

Remus just shrugged, resting his chin on his hand. “So? You like menaces.”

“I have bad taste.”

“You have great taste.”

“In pizza. Not in people.”

Remus leaned forward until their knees bumped, eyes warm. “You sure about that?”

Regulus went still. For a beat, he just looked at him—at the boy who was too calm, too tall, too hard to get rid of. And then he huffed and looked away.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Maybe moderate taste.”

Remus laughed and stole another slice. “I’ll take it.”

They sat like that for a while, surrounded by the muffled sounds of the party still raging below. Regulus kicked Remus’s foot at one point. Remus nudged him back. It was quiet. It was stupid. It was kind of everything.

Finally, Regulus broke the silence. “So, do we tell people? Or do we just mysteriously show up one day and act like we’ve always been this obnoxiously codependent?”

Remus grinned. “Option B.”

Regulus nodded. “Good. Very on-brand.”

And then he leaned in and kissed Remus again—less like he was setting something on fire this time, and more like he was staking a claim. Or maybe making peace with the fact that he was absolutely, irreversibly fucked.

In a good way.

They kissed on the dusty attic floor, tasting like cold pizza and cheap beer, and Regulus couldn’t bring himself to care about the crumbs under his knees or the fact that someone downstairs was probably yelling his name for cake round two.

Remus’s hand slid behind his neck and tugged, just enough to make Regulus melt forward into him again, all limbs and tangled denim. The kiss turned warmer, sloppier, full of everything they hadn’t said out loud yet. Regulus’s fingers curled into the hem of Remus’s T-shirt like he was trying to memorize it.

At some point—he wasn’t even sure how—he ended up straddling Remus, both of them half-laughing and half-breathless. His knees dug into the old floorboards and the attic creaked every time they shifted, but neither of them moved to stop.

Remus broke the kiss first, panting a little, cheeks flushed and hair messy from where Regulus had shoved his hands through it. His eyes, somehow always annoyingly expressive, searched Regulus’s face like he was trying to find something.

“Alright,” Remus said, voice rough around the edges. “You’re actually unreal.”

Regulus blinked, then grinned, wide and wicked. “Happy fucking birthday to me,” he said, because what else could you say when your brother’s ex-boyfriend was lying under you, slightly dazed, looking at you like that?

He didn’t wait for a response before he leaned in again—because if Remus was going to look at him like he was made of something rare and important, then Regulus was going to make the most of it before his brain caught up and ruined everything.

They kissed like no one was going to interrupt them. Like the attic wasn’t too warm. Like this wasn’t already going to be the most chaotic, emotionally reckless decision Regulus had made in the last twelve hours—and that list included crying over Remus Lupin’s hands and threatening to dive into a lake in glittery eyeliner.

“God,” Regulus mumbled into his mouth, biting back a grin, “I’m going to spiral about this for days.”

“I’m counting on it,” Remus murmured, and pulled him back in again.

Chapter Text

The next day, Regulus woke up with the kind of hangover that made him question every life choice he’d ever made. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his head was splitting in three different places, and worst of all—he had no idea how he ended up in a bed.

Between Remus and Pandora, no less.

Which was… weird. Not bad weird, but definitely concerning weird. Especially since his last clear memory was Dorcas storming into the attic and dragging him and Remus back downstairs for what she dramatically dubbed the “MVP Party”—aka their inner circle getting aggressively drunk on cheap tequila and spilling way too many stories Regulus would’ve preferred not to have shared in front of Remus. But he’d been too tipsy to stop any of it. Or care, really.

And now he was here. In bed. Squished between Remus, who was somehow peacefully asleep like he didn’t have a single regret in his life, and Pandora, who had starfished across half the blanket and drooled on someone’s hoodie (hopefully not his).

Regulus groaned and rolled onto his back, immediately regretting the movement as the world tilted slightly. He blinked at the ceiling, trying to mentally rewind the night like a broken VHS tape.

He really hoped he didn’t have sex with Remus.

Not because he didn’t want to—God, he very much did—but because he couldn’t remember a thing, and if he was going to sleep with Remus Lupin, he wanted to remember every detail and probably write it down in a locked Notes app file.

If they still ended up in the same bed, though… it couldn’t have been that bad. Regulus just wished he hadn’t blacked out the ending of what was clearly the most important birthday party of his entire chaotic, emotionally unstable life.

He let out a long sigh and whispered to the ceiling, “Please let me have only mildly embarrassed myself.”

From beside him, Remus shifted and mumbled, “Too late for that.”

Regulus didn’t even flinch. “Fantastic.”

They finally emerged from bed about two hours later, after Regulus had spent a solid chunk of time half-napping, half-trying to shove Remus onto the floor for breathing too loudly. Honestly, if there was ever a crime punishable by exile during a hangover, it was breathing too loudly.

The living room looked like a warzone. People were still dragging themselves together, slowly gathering their things, waiting for rides or the will to live—whichever came first. It never failed to amaze Regulus how many people managed to sleep here, or what tragic surfaces they decided were acceptable beds. Someone was passed out on two kitchen chairs pushed together. Someone else had used a rolled-up hoodie as a pillow on top of the dryer. Chaos. Beautiful, greasy chaos.

Regulus curled up on an armchair, hoodie up, sunglasses on (indoors, yes), clutching a half-empty water bottle like it held the meaning of life. Evan was napping on the couch, sprawled across Barty’s chest, both of them looking half-dead and thoroughly fucked—which, honestly, tracked. Regulus had known they were a good match. He was basically a modern-day Cupid. Cupid with an attitude problem.

Pandora and Dorcas were squished together on the other armchair, scrolling through photos from the night before and laughing weakly every few minutes, like two ghosts trying to remember what joy felt like.

And Remus?

Apparently, Remus Lupin didn’t get hangovers. Because of course he didn’t. No, Remus Lupin had the audacity to look completely fine. He’d showered. He had washed his hair. He smelled like mint and soap and clean laundry and Regulus wanted to punch him in the face a little for it.

He was currently sprawled across a third armchair in some absurdly comfortable position, legs dangling over the armrest, reading his Kindle like this was a quiet morning and not the aftermath of the apocalypse. Infuriating. Disgusting. Unfair. And, frankly, hot in a deeply uncalled-for way.

Regulus took a long sip of water and muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna murder him. Slowly. With a throw pillow.”

“Don’t miss,” Dorcas mumbled.

“You were saying something?” Remus asked, glancing up from his Kindle with a raised brow.

“I’m always saying something.”

“It usually doesn’t make any sense,” Barty said, his voice muffled from where he was half-buried under Evan on the couch.

“Shut up and thank me for Evan,” Regulus snapped, eyes still closed, tone regal.

There was a pause, and then, “Thank you, your highness,” Barty deadpanned, raising a hand in mock salute.

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” Regulus cracked one eye open to glare at him. “I practically shot Cupid’s arrow with my own two hands. You’re welcome for your sexual awakening or whatever.”

Pandora laughed quietly from across the room, head resting on Dorcas’s shoulder as they scrolled through blurry, chaotic party photos on someone’s phone.

“I look like a haunted Victorian child in this one,” Dorcas said.

“You always look like that,” Regulus muttered.

“Shut your pretty mouth before I throw you back into the lake,” she shot back without missing a beat.

Regulus sighed. Dramatically. “Anyway. Do we have any food left or did the locusts strip the house clean?”

“Nope,” Dorcas said, still scrolling. “It was a massacre. The kitchen fell at approximately five-oh-two AM. Nothing survived. Not even the Pringles.”

“Oh my god,” Barty groaned. “Do you think I’ll lose my license if I drive still kind of drunk?”

“Yes,” Evan muttered sleepily from under him. “And we’ll all die in a fiery crash. So shut up and go back to sleep.”

“Love you too,” Barty said flatly, petting Evan’s hair.

“I can drive,” Remus offered from the armchair, sounding so casual it was frankly offensive.

Regulus cracked both eyes open this time to glare at him. “You’re not human.”

“Debatable,” Remus said. “What do you want to eat?”

“Something soup-y,” Regulus said immediately, like he’d been waiting for this question all morning. “Preferably radioactive. Chinese. Wonton. Egg drop. Fried rice. No meat or I’ll throw up and emotionally blame all of you for it.”

“That tracks,” Barty muttered.

“Shut up before I make you cry,” Regulus said without even looking at him.

“I’ll come with,” Pandora offered, pushing to her feet. “You can drive my car, Remus. Archie would rather gnaw off his own arm than lend his.”

“Correct,” Regulus called, eyes closed again, hand raised like a king dismissing his court. “And bring me a beer. For hydration.”

“That’s not how that works,” Remus said dryly.

“I didn’t ask for a lecture, I asked for soup and beer.”

Remus rolled his eyes so hard it was nearly audible. “Fine. Hang in there, your royal highness.”

“Tell the townspeople I demand tribute.”

And then the front door closed behind them, and for the first time that day, there was silence. Glorious, hangover-soothing silence.

Regulus sighed and sank deeper into the armchair like it was about to swallow him whole. He stared up at the ceiling for a beat, then muttered, almost to himself, “I’m gonna wife him up one day.”

Dorcas didn’t even look up. “We know.”

“Do you think I should start planning the wedding now?” Regulus asked.

“Only if it’s themed,”

“Twinks: The Petty Era’ is the theme,” Barty said. “Very on brand.”

Regulus smirked and closed his eyes again. “You’re all just jealous I got the hottest Lupin.”

“There is literally only one Lupin here,” Barty pointed out.

“Yeah,” Regulus said breezily, “but there are two Blacks, and I won this one.”

He sighed, entirely too pleased with himself. “Like, making-out-in-the-attic kind of win.”

“So you’re, like, dating-dating now?” Evan asked, still not bothering to open his eyes.

Regulus shrugged lazily. “We kiss, and I can touch his hair. That’s enough for now.”

“‘For now’? How long is ‘now,’ exactly?” Dorcas asked, already sounding amused.

“Until I’m not hungover anymore and remember that I need to overthink every single thing that happened between us,” Regulus said matter-of-factly. “So, like... tomorrow afternoon.”

And for the rest of the day, he stuck by that philosophy. He sprawled across the floor and then the couch, surrounded by scattered Chinese takeout containers, half-warm lagers, and the soft crackle of the fireplace that Evan somehow managed to light with a lighter and way too much confidence.

Reruns of Friends played on the TV. No one had the energy to change the channel or even argue about which season sucked most. Everyone was too miserable to talk much, so they didn’t. It was comfortable. Safe. Regulus didn’t hate it.

Eventually, after peeling himself off the couch and scrubbing the party off his skin with a long shower—two rounds of shampoo, one of conditioner, always—he wandered into the bedroom. This time, there was no Pandora starfished in the bed. Thank God.

Comedy Central was playing something dumb and loud on the TV. Remus was already under the covers, dressed in soft-looking brown sweats and a matching hoodie, curled up like he had no idea he was the most dateable man in the zip code. Regulus had the sudden, unshakable urge to pinch his cheeks.

He didn’t. But he thought about it. Hard.

Instead, he slipped beneath the comforter, rolled onto his stomach, and rested his cheek against his folded arms, openly watching Remus with zero shame.

“You good?” Remus asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah,” Regulus replied—because, weirdly, he was.

Fucking great, actually.

“About to ambush me again?” Remus asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Depends,” Regulus replied. “You want me to?”

“Kinda. It’s weirdly hot.”

“That’s my brand, Lupin,” Regulus said with a yawn. “Now hush. I’m plotting how to ruin Sirius’s birthday.”

“It’s your birthday too,” Remus reminded him, glancing at his watch. “Starts in, like, twenty-three minutes.”

“So wish me happy birthday. You didn’t yet.”

“Happy birthday,” Remus said, flat but amused.

“Eh, not believable,” Regulus hummed. “Say it like you mean it.”

Remus laughed, then rolled onto his side to face him properly. “Happy birthday, Reg,” he said, a little softer this time.

Regulus grinned sleepily. “Thanks,” he murmured—way too soft for his own comfort, but weirdly, for once, not caring at all.

“So,” Remus said, his voice low and lazy, “overall—did you have fun yesterday?”

Regulus, still half-buried under the covers with one arm flung dramatically over his face, gave a slow, exaggerated nod. “Hell yeah. Top-tier chaos. Wish I didn’t black out, though.”

“Oh, no, that was the best part,” Remus said with a grin.

Regulus cracked one eye open to glare at him. Then kicked him gently under the blanket. “Rude.”

“You earned it,” Remus chuckled. “Like when you yelled at Dorcas mid-storytime about your first kiss, full-on scandalized.”

“Wait—she told that story?” Regulus groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I’m going to commit a crime.”

“You tried,” Remus said, leaning on one elbow. “With a cowboy hat and borrowed eyeliner. Hers, obviously.”

“Classic me,” Regulus muttered. “What else happened?”

Remus looked far too smug for Regulus’s comfort. “You asked Barty to carry you to bed.”

“Okay, a little dramatic, but understandable.”

“You clung to his shoulders and kept saying, ‘Remember what I said about us? It’s sooooo true. We’d out-boyfriend other boyfriends.’”

Regulus burst out laughing, muffling it into the pillow. “That sounds like me.”

“There’s more.”

“Of course there is.”

“Before you passed out, you made him promise to marry you if you’re both still single at thirty.”

Regulus gasped. “Bold. But practical.”

“Then Evan called you a boyfriend thief, and you told him you’d marry him too.”

Regulus just nodded thoughtfully. “He’d be lucky. I’m husband material.”

“Oh yeah?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“I can iron shirts. And I bake cookies. Real ones. With chocolate chips and a sprinkle of sea salt.”

“Okay, that’s impressive,” Remus admitted. “I feel like you should’ve led with that.”

“I’m a mystery. You gotta unlock the cookie level.”

“Noted,” Remus smirked. “But you know, we did kiss. Several times. I feel like that means something.”

Regulus hummed. “You think that’s enough to make it official?”

“You want me to ask you to be my boyfriend like it’s a CW drama?”

“No. Wait—yes. No, wait, I don’t—”

“Regulus,” Remus said dryly.

“Kidding,” Regulus said, grinning against the pillow. “Maybe.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, just soft. Warm, even in the aftermath of chaos and hangovers and poor decisions. Regulus shifted onto his side, looking at Remus properly.

“But just so you know,” he said, “I’m definitely rubbing this in Sirius’s face.”

“That we’re together?”

“Absolutely. I’m going to make him so uncomfortable.”

“Good. That was my plan too,” Remus replied without missing a beat.

Regulus smirked, closing his eyes again. “We’re probably the pettiest couple alive.”

“Any complaints?”

“Not even one. I’m thriving,” Regulus mumbled, rolling back onto his stomach and shoving his folded arms under the pillow like a cat burrowing into warmth. His voice was muffled when he spoke again. “Wait—hold on. We kissed more and I don’t even remember it?”

Remus nodded, amused. “Seems like it.”

Regulus groaned into the pillow. “Oh my god. I’m the worst. I should be locked up in the nuthouse. Straightjacket and all.”

Remus paused for half a second. A flicker of something passed over his face—concern, maybe—but it was gone so fast Regulus could’ve imagined it. If he wasn’t already halfway back to sleep, he might’ve picked at it. But instead, Remus just said casually, “Nah. You’re alright.”

Regulus chuckled quietly. “You’re alright too, Lupin.”

And then he was out—just like that. Breathing slow, curled up like he’d been dropped into bed from a long flight, one leg thrown lazily over Remus’s without a second thought.

Remus didn’t move. Just stayed right there beside him, eyes soft as he watched the rise and fall of Regulus’s shoulders.

It wasn’t the most traditional way to kick off your actual birthday. But Regulus Black, half-hungover, half-asleep, wrapped up in a hoodie that wasn’t his and using Remus Lupin like a pillow?

Yeah. That was a pretty fucking great start.

Sunday started off strong—with Remus kissing the sense right out of Regulus the second he wished him a happy birthday. So, yeah. Already a good day.

Add in the fact that he was no longer hungover, and that the pile of birthday gifts he'd received barely fit into the trunk of his car, and the day was only getting better.

The drive back to Luton was a chaotic but delightful mess of Regulus playing both DJ and chauffeur, while also plotting Sirius’s emotional downfall with Remus. Said downfall being as simple as acting couple-y in front of him—which they were now, thank you very much. Child’s play, really. And it made Regulus grin like a madman just thinking about it.

He dropped Remus off at home with a goodbye kiss—because he had every right to do that now—and they agreed to meet up later, once Regulus survived the traditional birthday gauntlet: dinner with the family, and fighting with Sirius about literally everything, as per annual custom.

Dinner went exactly how he expected. Fancy food he barely touched. The twins (that would be him and Sirius) rehashing stories from their respective parties while their mother sipped wine in judgmental silence, and their father casually announced that he’d transferred them both “birthday money”—because at some point he’d given up on actual gifts and decided cash did the job just fine.

Honestly, Regulus didn’t mind. He’d rather have the money than another painfully expensive sweater he’d never wear.

Still, by dessert—something chocolate and unnecessarily delicate—Regulus was already mentally halfway out the door. He’d done his duty. He’d shown up. He hadn’t committed any major crimes. That counted as success.

And the best part? He had plans later with a boy who actually liked him and kissed him senseless first thing in the morning.

What Regulus didn’t expect—at least not this soon—was Sirius catching up to him on the stairs after dinner. Not to wish him a happy birthday, obviously—God forbid—but to, of course, throw a fit about Remus.

Which, frankly, made Regulus smug in a way nothing else ever had.

“You seriously invited Remus to your party?” Sirius huffed, practically stomping up behind him.

Regulus blinked at him, all faux innocence. “Why wouldn’t I invite my own boyfriend?”

Sirius snorted. “Please. Your boyfriend?”

“That’s what people call each other when they’re sleeping together and stuff, right?” Regulus said with a shrug. “Well—unless they’re sluts like you. Then I guess it gets a little more complicated.”

He was embellishing a bit, sure, but not even lying. They did sleep together. Not in the sex way—but in the shared bed, stealing body heat, and possibly whispering in the dark kind of way. Which absolutely counted in Regulus’s book.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” Sirius stared at him, incredulous. “You’re seriously—what, dating my ex?”

Regulus tilted his head, sweet smile firmly in place. “Well, you clearly had no idea how to not fuck that up, so... yeah. Why not?”

“Because that’s fucked up, Reg!” Sirius snapped, voice sharp with the kind of indignation only a brother could pull off.

“Oh, I see. So you get to do all kinds of messed-up shit to me, but the second it happens the other way around, it’s suddenly a moral crisis?” Regulus mocked. “Don’t worry about Remus, by the way.”

“I’m not worried—”

“That’s why you called him, right?” Regulus cut in, voice perfectly polite and perfectly pointed.

Sirius froze. “He told you?”

Regulus smiled wider, slow and mean. “Oh, he told me plenty of things. Honestly, I didn’t expect half of the shit. Except the part where you fucked everything up between you two. That one was obvious from the beginning. Want me to list them alphabetically or in order of how badly they make you look?”

“God, you’re a prick.”

Regulus tsked. “Language. It’s my birthday.”

“Exactly,” Sirius snapped. “And you’re spending it parading my ex around like a fucking trophy just to get under my skin.”

Regulus’s smile dropped. “Oh, you think this is about you? Hate to break it to you, Sirius, but not everything revolves around your tragic little breakups. I actually like him.”

Sirius laughed, bitter. “Right. So this is, what, real? You suddenly care about someone other than yourself?”

“I always cared. Just not about you.”

Ouch.

Sirius blinked, and for a second—just a second—he looked genuinely hurt. But Regulus didn’t feel guilty. Not even a little. Sirius never pulled punches, so why should he?

Regulus sighed and stepped in closer, his voice dropping just enough to make Sirius flinch. “Look, I know you hate not being the center of attention, but here’s the thing—you fucked it up. You had Remus, and you let him go. That’s on you. So don’t come at me for picking up the pieces you left behind.”

“You don’t know shit about what happened between us,” Sirius snapped, eyes narrowed.

Regulus tilted his head, all faux curiosity and something dangerously close to pity. “Really? I don’t know that you spilled every personal detail about him to James like he was your latest side character? Or maybe I missed how you shrugged off every attempt at a real conversation like feelings were contagious? Or maybe—maybe—I somehow imagined the part where he stayed with you anyway, even after that near break-up, and you still managed to fuck it all up in the most cinematic, dramatic, Sirius Black way possible?”

Sirius opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.

Regulus smiled sweetly. Razor sharp. “And just so you know, I also remember how you spent your entire relationship pretending you didn’t even have a brother. Like I didn’t exist. So if you think I owe you anything now, I’m perfectly fine returning the favor.”

He stepped back with a flourish, already turning toward the next flight of stairs.

“Oh—and happy birthday, by the way,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Mine’s going great.”

And then he was gone. No door slam. No storming off. Just Regulus, climbing calmly, confidently, with the kind of peace that only came from being devastatingly right.

Sirius stayed where he was, stuck somewhere between stunned and furious, and absolutely hating how much Regulus had grown teeth while he wasn’t paying attention.

Back in his room, Regulus flopped into his window nook and started a group call with Evan and Barty. Predictably, the first thirty minutes were entirely hijacked by Evan shrieking about how he and Barty had finally “figured their shit out,” and Barty sheepishly admitting he’d had a crush on Evan for months.

“I had no idea!” Evan screeched, full betrayal in his tone. “Like, none! Zilch!”

“I knew,” Regulus said, lounging dramatically against the window frame and glaring at the rain like it owed him money.

“AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?” Evan yelped.

“Evan—” Barty started.

“Hush,” Evan snapped. “Archie?!”

“I’m a vault, babe,” Regulus said smoothly. “You think I made you two kiss just for fun?”

“Yes?! Who the hell knows with you!” Evan gasped, horrified. “You do unhinged things when you’re wasted!”

“Okay, fair,” Regulus hummed. “But that wasn’t the reason this time.”

“You—”

“Alright, enough,” Barty cut in before Evan could explode again. “Better spill about Lupin, Arch. Don’t think we didn’t notice you skipping the good part.”

Regulus grinned, all teeth and mischief. “We kissed, we talked, we kissed more, and then I blacked out.”

“Aww, romance isn’t dead,” Barty said dryly.

“Fuck off,” Regulus laughed. “We talked about the Sirius stuff and everything—why they broke up, all of that. And suddenly he drops the whole ‘I only flirt to annoy Sirius’ act and tells me he actually likes me. Like, for real.”

“About damn time,” Evan muttered.

“Right? Good thing he said it, because I was practically dry-humping the air next to him at that point. Would’ve been awkward if it was one-sided.”

“Wait— he kissed you?” Evan chimed in.

“No, I kissed him,” Regulus said proudly. “Next time, I kissed him again. Took initiative. The rest… well, honestly, I was drunk off my ass, so I don’t remember much. Apparently, it was a lot of kissing.”

“It was annoyingly mutual,” Barty said, shuddering. “I walked in on it by accident. I’m emotionally scarred.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Regulus grinned.

“Anyway,” he continued, straightening up, “we’re going out in an hour.”

“Ooooh,” Evan said, instantly perking up. “Where?”

“No clue,” Regulus said, a bit too smug. “He just said, ‘I’ll pick you up at 7, dress nice.’ And honestly? That’s hot.”

“It is hot,” Evan agreed immediately.

“He’s really pulling the mysterious gentleman card,” Barty noted. “You’re eating it up.”

“I’m thriving,” Regulus replied. “But listen to this —you’re gonna love it.”

And with that, he launched into the full, dramatic retelling of his post-dinner staircase showdown with Sirius, complete with impressions, snide quotes, and smug reenactments.

By the time he finished, Evan was gasping, Barty was slow-clapping, and Regulus was still grinning like the smug little menace he was.

Chapter Text

At exactly seven p.m., Remus knocked on the door of the Blacks' house—and, embarrassingly enough, Regulus had been waiting there since 6:55, already fully dressed and standing like a very impatient cat.

He had dressed nicely, as instructed: grey slacks, a fitted white shirt, a matching grey vest, and a long black coat. Very elegant. Very on-theme. Which would’ve been great—if Remus hadn’t shown up looking like the Pinterest version of him in a brown version of the same outfit.

Brown slacks. Brown vest. White shirt. Black coat.

And, of course, to top it all off, he looked stupidly good standing there in the rain, casually holding a black umbrella like he’d just stepped out of a moody 19th-century romance novel.

Regulus narrowed his eyes at him the moment the door opened.

“You’re stealing my thunder, Lupin.”

Remus grinned. “It’s not my fault you have a theme.”

Then, without waiting, he took Regulus by the wrist and pulled him outside under the umbrella, effortlessly gentleman-like.

“If people think we coordinated this,” Remus added, “we’re leaving immediately. I won’t survive the public humiliation.”

“You say that like it’s not entirely your fault,” Regulus muttered, but let himself be led toward the car anyway, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Remus beneath the umbrella like they were in a rom-com. And unfortunately, it was… kinda hot.

Regulus tilted his chin up, squinting at him. “Where are we going?”

“Cambridge,” Remus replied simply, opening the car door for him like some kind of old-fashioned suitor.

Regulus blinked. “Wait. Really?”

“Yep,” Remus said. “Now get in before you start whining about your hair getting frizzy.”

Regulus scoffed, but got in—partly because yes, the rain was definitely threatening his blow-dry, and partly because Remus telling him what to do was weirdly attractive.

Once Remus slid into the driver’s seat, Regulus glanced over at him.

“You planned a whole birthday date in Cambridge? Are you trying to raise expectations for the rest of the year?”

“Absolutely not,” Remus said. “This is my peak. It’s all downhill from here.”

Regulus smirked, settling back against the seat as the car pulled off into the rainy night.

“Good. I hate consistency.”

“Besides,” Remus hummed, pulling away from the curb, “I planned this like… two weeks ago. The first part, at least.”

“What?” Regulus blinked at him. “Two weeks?”

“Mhm.”

“When we were…?”

“Yep.”

“Why?!”

“Because back then I was planning to fake-date you,” Remus said with a shrug. “Now it’s just been… upgraded.”

Regulus stared at him, mildly offended and absurdly flattered in equal measure. “I genuinely don’t know if I should be mad or impressed. I need a minute.”

“Take your time,” Remus said, entirely unbothered.

And then he reached across and hooked his hand around Regulus’s thigh—so casually, like it was a totally normal thing to do, like he hadn't just lit Regulus on fire with that one move.

Regulus nearly combusted on the spot.

He stared ahead, blinking rapidly. “Okay. Cool. Yep. That’s fine. I’m calm.”

“You sound calm.”

“I’m literally not,” Regulus muttered.

Remus just grinned. Didn’t move his hand.

And Regulus, for once in his life, didn’t tell him to.

The drive stretched on under a steady hum of rain and soft music playing low from the stereo—some mellow indie playlist Remus probably curated in his sleep. Regulus sat there, trying not to let the weight of Remus’s hand on his thigh make him feel like he was being tasered through the kneecap. In a good way. If that was possible.

“I feel like I’m in a rom-com,” Regulus muttered eventually, glaring out the window.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I say that like I’m the emotionally repressed lead who dies tragically.”

“You’re not dying tragically, Reg.”

Regulus scoffed. “You don’t know that. I could spontaneously combust from thigh-touching at any second.”

Remus snorted and gave his leg a little squeeze, like he was doing it on purpose now. Like this was a game, and Regulus had already lost.

“So where are we going in Cambridge?” Regulus asked, desperate to pretend like he wasn’t seconds away from flinging himself out the window.

“There’s this rooftop place. It’s kind of hidden, barely anyone knows about it. Fireplace, fairy lights. I figured you’d like it.”

Regulus paused. “You figured?”

“Yeah,” Remus said, eyes still on the road. “You like pretending you’re above it all but you’re a sucker for aesthetics.”

Regulus made a strangled noise. “You’ve known me for, like, three weeks. You’re not allowed to read me like a worn-out paperback.”

Remus just smiled again, that insufferably smug little half-grin like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Too late.”

And that was it. Regulus sank lower into his seat, crossed his arms, uncrossed them, then shifted his legs just slightly so Remus’s hand stayed exactly where it was.

When they finally pulled up in the narrow cobbled lane just off the city centre, Regulus stared at the brick building they parked next to.

“This doesn’t look like a restaurant,” he said flatly.

“Exactly,” Remus replied, hopping out and circling around with the umbrella again like they were in a Jane Austen novel. “Come on. Just trust me.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but let Remus open the door for him anyway, because he was dramatic and he deserved the moment.

They climbed two and a half flights of crooked stairs, passed what looked like a dentist’s office and some locked studio spaces, before Remus unlocked an unmarked door like he owned the place.

Inside?

Warm lighting. Low music. A fireplace in the corner and tall windows streaked with rain. A long table with two settings already laid out, the smell of something rich and garlicky wafting from the open kitchen. And—of course—fairy lights strung across the exposed beams.

Regulus blinked.

“…Okay. This is offensive.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, hanging up their coats. “Offensive?”

“That you pulled this out of nowhere like some sort of Hallmark movie warlock. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Remus stepped closer, standing in front of him with hands in his pockets, looking maddeningly casual. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You’re terrifying.”

“I know.”

And then Remus kissed him. Right there, in the middle of the rain-blurred fairy-lit room, and Regulus swore his knees gave out for a second.

Not dramatically. Just slightly.

They ended up at a small table tucked in the corner, the rain tapping gently on the windows behind them like it was part of the ambience. Regulus sat down, glancing around like he still didn’t fully trust the place not to morph into a surprise intervention.

“This is… suspiciously nice,” he said, eyeing the candle in the centre of the table. “Like, suspicious in a ‘you’re gonna confess you’re secretly married with three kids’ kind of way.”

Remus poured him a glass of wine and passed it across the table. “Relax. I just wanted to take you somewhere you wouldn’t immediately roast for having bad lighting.”

“That’s fair,” Regulus admitted, swirling the wine like he had any idea what he was doing. “This lighting’s actually making me look incredible. And you—annoyingly—look like a well-paid poet.”

Remus grinned. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. You look like you live in a brownstone and get published in niche literary magazines. Like you say ‘darling’ unironically.”

“I have said ‘darling’ before.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Don’t. You’ll give me a complex.”

Before Remus could respond, the server arrived with plates—some sort of handmade pasta situation with way too many herbs and cheese shavings for Regulus to identify but enough for him to shut up and start eating.

For a few minutes, they just ate, the silence only interrupted by clinks of forks and quiet jazz filtering in from a speaker somewhere above them.

Then Remus said, “You’re really not gonna say anything about the food?”

Regulus paused mid-bite. “Oh, no, I’m purposely being quiet. I’m trying to emotionally blackmail you into always feeding me like this.”

“That’s incredibly on-brand.”

“Thank you.”

Another sip of wine. Another glance. Remus was already watching him, chin resting on his hand, the barest trace of a smile tucked in the corner of his mouth.

Regulus tilted his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” Remus said, and then added, “You’re just kind of a menace. But in a charming way.”

Regulus blinked. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me. Do it again.”

“You’re a nightmare and I like your hair.”

“Oh my god, stop. I’m blushing.” Regulus set his fork down, dramatically. “You’re weaponising your dimples.”

“I don’t even have dimples.”

“You do. Subtle ones. Don’t play innocent with me.”

Remus laughed and leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of wine. “This is nice.”

“Gross,” Regulus said immediately. “Don’t get sentimental.”

Remus smirked. “Too late.”

There was another beat of quiet—comfortable now, soft and stretched out. The kind of silence that didn’t press down but just… settled in like it belonged.

Regulus looked at Remus over the flickering candlelight, and, well—he hated to admit it, but something in his chest did a slow, dangerous tilt. Like he was maybe halfway to falling for someone who remembered his coffee order, fought with him about song lyrics, and looked at him like he was some rare, impossible thing.

Which was rude, honestly.

Unacceptable behaviour.

So he picked up his wine, raised it halfway, and said, “To faking it so well we actually started dating.”

Remus clinked his glass against Regulus’s. “To weaponised pettiness.”

“And aesthetically pleasing revenge.”

“And dressing like we coordinated on purpose.”

Regulus grinned. “We’re gonna be insufferable.”

Remus winked. “Already are.”

The rest of the dinner passed beyond nice, which was suspicious in itself. Regulus didn’t even roast the dessert—which, frankly, said everything. He would’ve been perfectly happy ending the night there (plus maybe a bit of quality making out by the car, since the rain had stopped and his hair had survived), but apparently Remus wasn’t done.

“There’s a place nearby you’re absolutely going to love,” Remus said solemnly as they parked under the soft glow of another building’s front lights.

Regulus squinted at the sign. “What kind of place?”

“Amateur poetry night,” Remus replied, completely deadpan. “We’re going to roast people into the ground.”

Regulus lit up like a Christmas tree. “Are you serious?!”

“As the inevitable breakup poem we’re about to witness, darling,”

“Alright, now you’re doing that on purpose,” Regulus huffed, blushing anyway as he let Remus open the car door for him. Because it was his birthday, and he liked being pampered. Sue him.

Inside, the café was dim and warm, with mismatched chairs, fairy lights, and that unmistakable scent of overbrewed herbal tea and too much clove. They found a table at the back—optimal distance for judging—and ordered tea, because Remus was driving and, apparently, responsible or whatever. Regulus didn’t mind. The vibe was already immaculate.

“I love this,” Regulus whispered dramatically as the first girl took the mic, clearing her throat with the gravitas of a Shakespearean ghost.

“Wait,” Remus said, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and a pen like it was a sacred ritual.

“That’s my pen!” Regulus gasped, scandalized.

“Stole it on Wednesday,” Remus said without remorse.

“I was looking for that for two days, you absolute menace! I thought Rosa threw it away!”

“Or Mr. Cuddler?” Remus offered innocently.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Stay away from my teddy bear.”

Remus nodded solemnly. “Noted. Now hush and listen to the bad metaphors.”

So they did.

For the next two hours, they sipped lukewarm tea and scribbled furiously in the notebook. They rated metaphors, ranked the emotional damage in each performance, and suppressed laughter so often that Regulus thought he might pull something in his ribs. One guy compared heartbreak to a dishwasher. Another compared his ex to a “sunset with rabies.” A girl rhymed “soul” with “bowl” at least three times and meant every word of it.

Regulus was thriving.

“This is the best thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he whispered after a particularly dramatic piece involving a ukulele, seventeen ‘like’s, and a dramatic sigh at the end.

“I aim to please,” Remus murmured, jotting down ‘haunted by the ghost of my own Instagram feed’—honestly? Iconic in the notebook.

Regulus leaned over to read and burst out laughing, nearly choking on his tea. “Oh my god, marry me.”

“Say please,” Remus said, smirking.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Fine. Please. Marry me before I do it out of spite just to annoy Sirius.”

“I’d say yes for that reason alone,” Remus said, raising his teacup in a mock toast.

Regulus clinked his cup against it. “To poetic suffering.”

“To weaponized romance,” Remus replied.

After a beat—and another of Regulus's “who compares moonlight to sunlight and still calls it poetry” written down in their joint snark journal—he squinted suspiciously at Remus.

“Alright, be honest. You ever written a poem?”

“Unfortunately,” Remus admitted, nodding solemnly as he scribbled “please never let me be a victim of haiku” in the corner of the notebook, complete with a little doodle of a knife and a skull.

Regulus gasped. “Really? Let me read it.”

“So you can roast it in front of witnesses?”

“I would never,” Regulus replied, scandalized. “Unless you wrote about, like, sunsets and internal bleeding or whatever.”

“You like sunsets.”

“Shut up, Lupin. That’s beside the point,” Regulus sniffed, crossing one leg over the other with fake dignity.

They clapped politely as another trembling guy left the stage, having just poured his heart out in the form of a tortured metaphor comparing his breakup to overripe peaches. Regulus was already plotting in his head—something unhinged, something dramatic. Maybe he’d convince Remus to fall helplessly in love with him, become his muse, and write a tragic gay sonnet cycle in his honor. He was cliché like that.

“I’m going to start carrying this notebook everywhere,” Regulus whispered. “Like a little diary of crimes against language.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands,” Remus murmured, sipping his tea. “Or Sirius will stage an intervention.”

“He wrote a song for James once called ‘Broom Closet of My Heart.’ He has no ground to stand on.”

“You make a compelling point.”

They didn’t leave until the last poet thanked her ex “for inspiring her emotional rebirth and ongoing journey to self-illumination,” which was accompanied by interpretive hand gestures and a sigh so theatrical it deserved a standing ovation.

Regulus stood up, stretched dramatically like a cat, and declared, “I feel reborn. That was art.”

“You’re an absolute menace,” Remus said, smiling as he looped an arm around Regulus’s waist while they headed back into the now-dry night.

“And yet, you’re obsessed with me,” Regulus said, casually leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Remus kissed the side of his head without missing a beat. “Painfully.”

Regulus beamed, cheeks warm and heart full in that quiet, stupid way he never really expected anything to feel. Yeah. Best birthday yet.

And he didn’t even have to set anything on fire.

The ride back to Luton passed with Hozier songs playing low in the background—because apparently, they were melancholic like that—and Remus’s hand resting firmly on Regulus’s thigh the entire time. Not even in a flashy, cocky way. Just… there. Warm. Steady. Possessive in a way that made Regulus’s heart flutter and his brain melt like cheap chocolate.

So naturally, he pulled out his phone and added a few more bullet points to his Notes app titled: love spells he casted on me without knowing.

It started off as a joke. A harmless list where he wrote down random dates and reasons why Remus laughed. But now it had way too many entries, and Regulus had absolutely no intention of showing it to anyone.

Well. Maybe someday. If Remus kept making him this stupidly happy.

• kept his hand on my thigh while driving (it’s warm and huge and makes me want to grab it and maybe kiss it)
• took me to a poetry night and we roasted every poem together
• admitted he wrote poetry (now I want one written for me, thanks)

He pocketed his phone like nothing had happened, then leaned his head back and covered Remus’s hand with his own. Just a little touch. Something grounding. He tried—tried—not to think about the fact that Remus had probably done this before. With Sirius. With that same stupid hand.

But then Remus gently rubbed his thumb over Regulus’s knuckles, and the thought evaporated like fog on glass. Because right now, it was just them. And it felt good.

That is, until Remus turned onto Regulus’s street and parked the car in front of the house—where James’s obnoxiously shiny BMW was already sitting in the driveway like a bad omen. Regulus groaned out loud.

“Of course he’s here,” he muttered. “Because God forbid I have one peaceful, Sirius-free night.”

He rolled his eyes so hard it nearly gave him a headache, but still—still—he leaned over to kiss Remus goodbye. It was supposed to be a quick, polite kind of thing. A soft end to a lovely evening.

But then Remus made a quiet, pleased humming sound. And Regulus’s brain promptly short-circuited.

Yep. That sound was going into the Notes app, too. He was dangerously close to making an Excel spreadsheet at this point. Maybe even a PowerPoint.

When they finally pulled away, Regulus blinked at him.

“Thanks for the date,” he said, voice a little hoarse around the edges.

“You’re welcome, darling,” Remus replied with a smirk.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop blushing, and I will.”

“Now you’re ruining the moment.”

“Let me walk you to the door before Potter ruins it instead.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Of course he didn’t. Because Remus was already out of the car, opening the passenger door like some gentleman from a period drama. And he wasn’t even doing it to be smug—he just was like that.

Infuriating.

They walked up the steps together, slow and a little reluctant, like neither of them really wanted the night to end. When they kissed again, it was softer. More lingering. Remus’s hands cradled Regulus’s jaw, and Regulus pulled him closer by the front of his vest like he couldn’t quite help himself.

And honestly? He couldn’t.

Because even with James’s laughter echoing faintly through the window, and Sirius probably somewhere in the house plotting chaos, Regulus couldn’t bring himself to care.

He was too busy falling for the boy who’d made him laugh, roast poetry, and want things he’d never even considered wanting before.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

Chapter Text

Regulus was at peace, curled up in the nook by the cracked-open window, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. He should’ve been asleep by now, but instead, he was busy replaying every ridiculous, disgustingly cute detail of his date with Remus.

The entire evening had been stupidly perfect—from the moment he opened the door to find Remus standing there like a period drama dream in brown slacks and a black umbrella, to the soft “I’ll text you” murmured before Regulus had stepped inside.

He couldn’t stop grinning. Like, full-on, idiotic grinning. Because, shit—he’d had fun. Actual, genuine fun.

And for the first time ever, Regulus found himself wondering how Sirius could’ve possibly been so monumentally stupid to let a guy like Remus go. Because if it were him—if it was really up to Regulus —he’d never let Remus go. Like, ever. He’d fight the universe itself to keep him.

Or at the very least, try really hard not to fuck it all up.

The last text from Remus was still lighting up his screen—something random and sweet, an update on the book he was reading. No punctuation, no emojis. Just a sentence that somehow felt intimate.

Regulus stared at it like a lovesick idiot, flicking ash out the window.

Then, a knock on the door.

He stiffened slightly—because there was only one person who’d bother knocking at this hour. He sighed through his nose.

“Come in, James,” he said, voice low.

The door cracked open a second later. “Really? Or are you planning to cigarette-burn me?” James asked, hovering in the doorway.

Regulus didn’t even look over. “Really. But thanks for the idea.”

Dry as sandpaper, but James took that as permission and stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind him. He made his way slowly toward the nook like he half-expected Regulus to punch him on sight.

Regulus pulled his knees to his chest and exhaled smoke through the crack in the window. James perched carefully beside his feet, awkward but not unwelcome.

“Happy birthday, Reg,” he said, voice soft and rough around the edges. There was something a little sad in it. A little longing. And for a moment, it made Regulus remember all the good parts of them—the laughs, the stupid jokes, the way James always made space for him even when Sirius didn’t.

“Thanks,” Regulus replied, quietly. “You’re just in time. There’s literally ten minutes left of it.”

“I wanted to call,” James said, fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist like he always did when he was nervous. “But you still haven’t unblocked me.”

Regulus glanced sideways at him, unimpressed. “Gee, wonder why.”

James winced. “Yeah. I deserve that.”

“You do,” Regulus agreed, not cruelly. Just… truthfully.

They sat in silence for a beat. The smoke curled out the window. Somewhere downstairs, something creaked—probably the boiler kicking in. James didn’t look at him, still messing with the bracelet like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I saw Remus’s car,” James said eventually.

“Yeah?” Regulus asked, as casually as he could manage.

“He took you out?”

“He did.”

Another pause. Then James smiled faintly, like he couldn’t help it. “Bet he made it stupidly romantic.”

Regulus smirked despite himself. “He did. Poetry night and everything.”

James snorted. “Of course he did.”

Regulus didn’t say anything. He just flicked the ash again, stared out into the dark street. His cigarette was almost gone.

“You happy?” James asked, voice suddenly quieter. Not intrusive—just honest.

Regulus blinked at that. He wasn’t used to being asked that question and actually meaning it.

And weirdly, unexpectedly, he was.

“Yeah,” he said after a second. “I think I am.”

James nodded, and for once, didn’t try to joke. Didn’t try to fix anything or dig deeper. He just… nodded. Like he was relieved.

They stayed like that until Regulus’s cigarette burned down to the filter. He stubbed it out on the windowsill with practiced ease, flicking the last bit of ash into the night air.

James was the one to break the silence.

“So… you think we’d ever go back to being friends?” he asked, head tipped back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling like he didn’t want to look directly at Regulus when he said it.

Regulus let out an amused huff. “James. We were never friends.”

James blinked, then looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Regulus said, voice dry but not unkind, “we were either not speaking at all or we were together. There was never anything in between. No neutral zone. Just zero or a hundred.”

James winced. “Harsh but fair.”

Regulus shrugged, pulling his knees back up and resting his chin on them. “You were terrible at being casual.”

James grinned, a little sheepish. “Doesn’t mean we can’t be friends now, though. Right?”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “You wanna be friends now?”

“At the very least, civil.”

“I am civil.”

James shot him a look. “You literally said ‘Potter can go fuck himself’ in your birthday speech.”

“That was civil,” Regulus replied innocently.

“Dorcas sent me the video.”

Regulus snorted. “Okay, well—first I said it about Sirius. Then you. Not my fault you two are surgically attached at the hip.”

James gave a resigned sigh. “We kinda are, huh?”

He frowned slightly, and Regulus sat up straighter—just a little.

“Yeah,” he said, cautiously. “You are.”

James fiddled with his bracelet again, like it was helping him think.

“I just…” he started, hesitating. “Sometimes I wonder if you and I would’ve still been together. Y’know. If not for Sirius.”

Regulus went quiet. Bit the inside of his cheek.

“I think we would’ve,” he admitted, voice softer than before.

James nodded slowly. “Me too.”

Another stretch of silence settled between them. But this time it felt less loaded. More like… something acknowledged. Something named and put back down.

“You were good to me,” James said eventually.

Regulus huffed a laugh. “Not always.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly a saint either.”

“No. You were a Potter. That’s worse.”

James grinned. “Rude.”

Regulus looked at him sideways. “But fair.”

James tapped his foot gently against Regulus’s ankle. “Alright, truce?”

“Fine,” Regulus said, pretending to be very put-upon. “Friends.”

“Civil friends,” James corrected, offering his hand.

Regulus rolled his eyes but shook it anyway.

“I still hate your bracelet,” he muttered.

“And I still think you peaked at sixteen,” James replied.

But when the door clicked shut behind him, he opened his phone again. The last text from Remus was still there, glowing softly on the screen.

And yeah, maybe he’d unblock James tomorrow and maybe they will be friends someday. Or maybe not.

But tonight, he had another note to add to his list.

• didn’t say “goodbye.” just “I’ll text you.” like it was obvious we’d keep talking.

The next morning, Regulus wasn't sure what to expect.
Would it be awkward? Stiff? Would Remus smile too wide, or not at all? Would Regulus feel that familiar panic rising in his throat the second things became too real?

Or would he get butterflies at the sight of Remus in his stupidly well-fitting school uniform?

(Spoiler: yes. He did. Full-on, stomach-flipping, chest-thudding chaos. The butterflies were fluttering so violently they may have been pigeons.)

And it wasn’t just the uniform. It was the way Remus was leaning on the lockers like he hadn’t been up all night reading a book and texting Regulus half-asleep emojis. It was the way he pushed his hair back when he saw him—offhand and casual, but the smile he gave Regulus? That one wasn’t casual at all.

“Hey,” Remus said, low and warm.

Regulus had barely opened his mouth to respond before Remus kissed him. Right there, in the middle of the hallway, between half-awake students and the shrill sound of lockers slamming shut. Just a short kiss—quick, soft, like a secret—but it knocked the air out of him anyway.

He blinked once. Twice. “That was—”

“Yeah?” Remus asked, already holding the door to the maths corridor open for him.

Regulus cleared his throat and walked through like his heart wasn’t doing Olympic gymnastics. “That was fine,” he said coolly.

Remus just smirked. “Sure it was.”

Behind them, Sirius watched the whole thing with the kind of expression someone might have if they’d just swallowed a lemon. James, a step behind him, wrinkled his nose like he'd smelled something faintly unpleasant—which, knowing him, was his way of showing disapproval. That particular face had been consistent since they were all thirteen.

Regulus caught it.

So naturally, he turned right around, made eye contact with James, and said, with the politest smile he could muster, “Hi.”

James blinked like Regulus had just offered him a dead squirrel. “Hi?”

It was cautious. Wary. He looked between Regulus and Remus like he was waiting for a punchline. Or a bomb.

Regulus just tilted his head and gave a tiny, pleasant nod before turning back. If James wanted to be weird about it, that was on him. They’d shared a very weird almost-heartfelt moment the night before, and Regulus had decided—generously—that they were at least on vaguely civil terms now.

Which meant, in Regulus-speak, he could afford to be petty.

Remus was already watching him, amused. He raised an eyebrow and mouthed, Really?

Regulus rolled his eyes and gave him the all-purpose “I’ll explain later” look—the kind you only mastered after years of family dinners, chaotic friend groups, and trying to lie to teachers with a straight face.

They headed into maths like nothing was new. Like this was normal. Like Remus hadn’t just held his hand at a poetry slam the night before or kissed him breathless by his front door.

It should’ve felt strange, maybe. But it didn’t. It just felt easy. Like something had clicked into place.

Regulus took his seat by the window and dropped his bag to the floor with a soft thud. Remus passed him a pencil— his pencil, which he'd definitely stolen days ago—and nudged his ankle under the table.

And Regulus, despite himself, smiled.

So maybe it wasn’t butterflies. Maybe it was something quieter. Something steadier. Something that had nothing to do with pissing off Sirius or getting the upper hand.

Maybe he just liked him.

Still, watching Sirius twitch every time Remus leaned closer?

Yeah. That was a very nice bonus.

Remus wasn’t the only one who cornered Regulus about James.

Because of course not.

Evan—who always noticed everything, especially when people were pretending to be subtle—and Barty—who loudly didn’t care but very much did—decided they needed a full debrief. And the second the four of them stepped out into the courtyard for their usual smoke break, it was over.

Remus had just flicked open his obnoxiously gold lighter (yes, the one Regulus secretly loved, shut up) and leaned in to light Regulus’s cigarette when Evan snapped.

“Potter?!” he shrieked, like Regulus had confessed to kissing a minister or something.

Regulus shrugged, taking a drag like nothing was out of the ordinary. “He came over to my room last night.”

Evan blinked. 

“He did?” Barty and Remus said at the exact same time.

Regulus exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl lazily in the air like he hadn’t been expecting this exact interrogation. “Yeah. We talked. We’re... good-ish.”

“Define good-ish ,” Evan said immediately, pointing his ridiculous pink vape at Regulus like it was a gavel. Regulus was pretty sure he’d stolen it from Dorcas. Again.

Regulus leaned against the courtyard wall. “We decided to be friends. And he kind of admitted he’s toxically glued to Sirius.”

Evan’s mouth dropped open. “Friends?”

“He did?” Remus and Barty echoed, again at the same time, again sounding mildly betrayed.

Regulus shrugged again. “I’m not a monster. He asked.”

“You are a monster,” Barty said without missing a beat.

“I gave him soup like two weeks ago. I’m not,” Regulus shot back, indignant.

“You what?” Remus and Barty chorused, again.

“Oh my god,” Regulus groaned. “Can we stop with the group mind thing?”

He waved smoke away from his face like he wasn’t slowly losing patience.

“Anyway,” he said, like he was reading the weather, “he came into the kitchen when I was there. I was heating up soup—”

“ Wait, what soup?” Evan cut in, genuinely curious.

“Onion. Rosa’s,” Regulus said, annoyed but fond.

“Oh. That’s good soup,” Evan nodded thoughtfully.

Barty elbowed him in the ribs.

“Anyway,” Regulus said louder, “we talked. Until we started arguing, obviously. I literally told you all of this right after, remember?” he glared at Barty and Evan. 

“About what?” they asked in near-unison.

Regulus glared at the sky for strength. “About how he’s permanently leashed to Sirius and how he refuses to see that Sirius manipulates the hell out of him? He accused me of using Remus to get under Sirius’s skin? Which was true, but still. The audacity. And then he tried to act like Sirius is the wounded party in all this?” He rolled his eyes. “But I guess he thought it over, because last night he wasn’t a complete idiot. Which was a nice change.”

“Maybe puberty finally hit him,” Evan offered with a casual shrug.

Barty snorted. “Bit late, but sure.”

Remus stayed quiet, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, but Regulus could feel his eyes on him.

“What?” he said eventually, not quite meeting Remus’s gaze.

Remus shrugged. “I’m just surprised you told him yes.”

“I didn’t say yes. I said good-ish.”

Remus hummed, unconvinced. “You didn’t not say yes.”

Regulus made a face. “You’re annoying.”

“You like me,” Remus replied easily, smiling against his cigarette.

“Unfortunately.”

Evan groaned. “I hate when you two flirt. It’s so domestic. I feel like I’m third-wheeling my own smoke break.”

“You are,” Barty said dryly.

“You’re fourth-wheeling, B,” Evan shot back.

Barty narrowed his eyes. “Not if I make one of you disappear.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Evan huffed.

Regulus just exhaled another stream of smoke, feeling the corner of his mouth tug up despite himself. The courtyard was chilly, the air smelled like rain and cigarette filters, and Remus’s fingers brushed his just lightly enough to make his pulse spike.

Remus was so fucking composed most of the time that Regulus didn’t even clock it at first—how he was maybe, just slightly, kind of annoyed by the whole James thing.

It took him three days to notice.

Three days of Remus going quiet every time Regulus said a casual hi to James in the hallway. Or when he stopped for a chat by the lockers. God forbid he actually laughed at something James said—Remus would suddenly find something fascinating in the texture of the floor tiles.

At first, Regulus thought he was imagining it. But then Thursday night happened.

Remus called him around eleven. Which wasn’t even rare. But his voice had that low, slightly warm quality Regulus was beginning to recognize. A little tipsy. Or high. Hard to tell. Either way, it was the only time Remus let the mask slip. Regulus was starting to live for those moments.

It started normal. Sweet, even.

“Barty invited me to the Discord,” Remus said, like it was a religious rite.

Regulus blinked. “Wait— Barty’s Discord? The sacred one?”

“Mhm,” Remus hummed, clearly lying on his bed. Regulus could hear fabric shifting, soft in the background.

“Barty doesn’t even let Evan into that server unless it’s a full moon or something,” Regulus muttered, impressed.

“Apparently I’ve been blessed,” Remus said solemnly. “He messaged me out of nowhere and said, quote, ‘Get in, nerd, we’re shitposting.’”

Regulus snorted. “So what’d you play?”

“Rocket League,” Remus groaned. “Why is that game so aggressive?”

“Because Barty thinks it’s a personality trait,” Regulus said. “He gets twitchy if you remind him he lost a match.”

“I noticed,” Remus laughed. “He yelled at Avery for five full minutes when he messed up a goal. Honestly? Iconic.”

“He likes you,” Regulus said, slightly amazed. “That’s… rare. You two probably bonded over both having scary dads in government.”

“There was a vibe,” Remus admitted.

A pause.

“He also said you’re a sore loser and never play with them.”

Regulus scoffed, eyes narrowing even though Remus couldn’t see. “I am not a sore loser.”

“You rage-quit Uno in real life, Reg.”

“It was one time.”

“It was last week.”

Regulus ignored that. “I used to play with them. Like… a few times. Back when James was on the server too.”

That made Remus go quiet. Not in a passive, casual way. In that I’m thinking too much and now I’m annoyed about it way.

Regulus sat up in bed, adjusting his grip on the phone. “Lupin?”

“Hm?”

“You got weirdly silent there.”

“No, just—” A breath. A pause. “Didn’t know you and James used to game together. That’s all.”

Regulus blinked. “Yeah. Ages ago. When we were still… you know. Together.”

Another pause.

“I’m not mad,” Remus said, too quickly, too casually.

“I didn’t say you were,” Regulus replied, quiet but even.

“I know,” Remus muttered, voice a little muffled like he’d tucked his face into a pillow. “Just. I didn’t know that. Makes sense, though. You probably had all the same… inside jokes. Shared servers. Servers with soup emojis or whatever the hell.”

Regulus smiled, even though he hated himself for it. “Are you jealous, Lupin?”

“I don’t get jealous,” Remus said flatly. “I get… mildly bitter.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re literally pouting through the phone.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Regulus said, soft, smug, and somehow also stupidly fond.

And then, because Remus didn’t argue—just let out a long sigh into the phone, like he was too tired to pretend anymore—Regulus added, carefully, “We’re just talking.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But?”

“How’d you know there’s a ‘but’?” Remus asked, his voice lazy but a little tense underneath.

“Because you’re easy to read when you’re tipsy. Spill it, Lupin.”

Remus sighed, and it was the kind of sigh that meant he didn’t really want to say it but also kind of did. “Fine. At first, I didn’t even know you and James were… together. Like, together together. I stopped keeping track around the time you were just flirting or something.”

“...Alright?” Regulus blinked, amused and confused all at once.

“And back then—what was it, beginning of the year?—James told me that you’re not exactly a ‘forgive and forget’ kind of person.”

Regulus’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “That’s not entirely true,” he said, slow and cautious.

“I know,” Remus snorted, but it was dry and a little biting. “You clearly forgave him.”

“I didn’t,” Regulus replied sharply, sitting up straighter in bed.

“You did. You talk and shit. The soup thing. The birthday thing. That sounds like forgiveness to me.”

Regulus groaned and rubbed at his temple. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“I’m not.”

“Lupin, I swear to God—”

“Why did you even talk to him?” Remus cut in, and there it was—that edge of something real behind the calm.

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Why do you even care?”

“Because,” Remus said, voice tighter now, “I know part of the reason you started talking to me was to get under James’s skin too—not just Sirius’s. And now I’m wondering if you’re trying to get back with him.”

Regulus blinked, stunned. “Are you serious right now?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t want to get back with him,” Regulus said firmly. “And if I did? I wouldn’t have to use you to do it.”

That shut Remus up for a second. “…What?”

“You heard me.”

Silence.

Then, finally, Remus spoke again. Quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to—”

Regulus cut in, softer now, but still steady. “I don’t want James. I want you. So you can calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“You’re ranting.”

“And you’re difficult.”

“I was born difficult,” Regulus shot back with a smirk he knew Remus could hear through the phone.

Remus groaned. “God, how am I into you.”

Regulus smiled, flopping back onto his bed with a satisfied hum. “No clue. But I like that you are.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Remus muttered, almost to himself, “I hate that I like you so much.”

“Too late, Lupin,” Regulus said, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re in deep now.”

“You’re such a smug little shit.”

“And yet you’re still on the phone with me,” Regulus pointed out, grinning into the ceiling.

Remus didn’t reply for a second, but when he did, his voice had softened again. “Yeah. I am.”

There was a beat of silence before Remus spoke again, and Regulus mentally braced himself—though he hated that he did. He was with Remus now, wasn’t he? They should be able to talk about things like this. Sirius sure always was. But then again, Regulus wasn’t Sirius. He didn’t just spill things.

“I just don’t get it, though,” Remus said quietly. “The whole lore between you two.”

“Sirius never told you?” Regulus asked, trying to keep his voice neutral as he twisted the ring on his finger. A nervous habit. Useless, really—didn’t stop the spiral. 

“He didn’t,” Remus said. “He never… talked about you. James was the one who even told me you existed.”

Regulus felt that familiar, unwelcome sting in his chest—the Sirius-shaped one. The kind that never stopped hurting, just throbbed quietly in the background. Of course Sirius didn’t mention him. Not even to the person he was dating.

“He made it a point,” Regulus said, voice dry, “to pretend I didn’t exist. Guess that extended to his love life too.”

Remus didn’t say anything, so Regulus kept going, slower now. “Well… I realized I didn’t hate James. And turned out he didn’t really hate me either. So we started… you know.”

Remus hummed, and Regulus could picture him nodding on the other end.

“But then he broke up with me. Because of Sirius,” Regulus added. “The git was always jealous, but he completely lost it when he realized James wasn’t glued to his side anymore. He couldn’t stand that he was alone and not getting all of James’s time.”

“So he… really manipulated him?” Remus asked carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it.

“Yeah,” Regulus said simply. “Played the whole ‘I’m heartbroken, I need you’ card. Constant guilt-tripping. It was exhausting—fighting for space with Sirius of all people. And eventually, James made his choice.”

There was another pause. Then, softly, “He said that to you? That he was choosing Sirius?”

“No,” Regulus murmured, swallowing thickly. “He didn’t have to. I’m not stupid.”

Silence again. But this one was heavier.

Regulus kicked his blanket off and sat up straighter, even though Remus couldn’t see him. “I’m not holding onto it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added quickly. “It’s just part of the story. Part of why I am the way I am.”

“I’m not worried,” Remus said, voice softer now. “I just… hate that it happened to you.”

Regulus blinked. That wasn't what he expected to hear. “Oh.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” Remus continued, and it was sincere in that way he only got when he was a little bit tired or a little bit high—or both. “You deserve someone who shows up. And stays.”

Regulus blinked again. Then he whispered, almost involuntarily, “That sounds dangerously like boyfriend talk, Lupin.”

“Good,” Remus replied, not missing a beat. “Because I am.”

And just like that, Regulus felt that ache in his chest shift—less Sirius-shaped now. More warm. More real.

He smiled down at his phone. “Okay then. Noted.”

“But you’re trying now to…?” Remus prompted, his voice casual, but not really.

“Why do you think I’m trying to do anything?” Regulus asked, feigning the kind of innocence he absolutely did not possess.

“Because you always have a plan, Reg,” Remus replied, a little amused, a little fond. “So what is it?”

Regulus rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Just… dunno. Making James realize who Sirius really is. On his own terms.”

Remus was quiet for a second. Then: “...That’s not bad.”

“I also want Sirius to wonder what the hell happened and why his best friend is suddenly pulling away,” Regulus added, tone smug now.

“That,” Remus said, “sounds more like you.”

“Good. I was born to be petty,” Regulus said, grinning. “But… you know.”

“I know what?”

“I’m over him,” Regulus added, the words sticking slightly in his throat even though he meant them. Mostly. Or at least enough to say them out loud.

God, it was awful, saying things that actually mattered. Who did that voluntarily? Definitely not Regulus. Not until it was late and quiet and he was too tired to care or absolutely wasted.

“I know,” Remus said after a beat. His voice was soft. “Just needed to hear it, I guess.”

Regulus blinked. “Don’t tell me you’re insecure.”

Remus laughed—low and warm and a little embarrassed. “Don’t push it.”

“Oh, I will,” Regulus teased. “I won’t let you live this down.”

“Reg.”

“Kidding,” he chuckled. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Remus repeated, and Regulus didn’t need to see his face to know he was smirking.

They stayed on the line after that, letting the conversation drift. From Sirius and James to Barty’s Discord chaos, from half-assed school plans to which of their teachers probably had secret Twitter burners. Regulus rolled onto his stomach and put Remus on speaker, chin in his pillow, eyes getting heavier with every passing word.

Remus was telling him about Barty’s meltdown during a Rocket League match—something about him threatening to delete the server if someone didn’t forfeit a goal—and Regulus found himself just listening. Not talking, just letting Remus’s voice wash over him, slow and familiar and safe.

“You still there?” Remus asked eventually.

“Yeah,” Regulus mumbled, voice soft, half-asleep now. “Just sleepy.”

Remus chuckled. “Alright. Go to sleep, you baby.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, even though Remus couldn’t see him. “Night, Lupin.”

“Night, darling,” Remus replied easily.

Regulus waited for the line to go dead before drifting off.

It didn’t.

Because in the morning, the first thing he heard—before the alarm, before the noise of the house—was the sound of Remus’s soft, even breathing through the speaker. Still there. Still connected.

Regulus stared at the phone, face half-buried in his pillow.

“Goddammit,” he muttered, lips twitching.

He didn’t hang up.

Chapter Text

At school, they didn’t bring up the whole James thing again—or the fact that neither of them had hung up the phone the night before and instead fell asleep breathing in each other’s silence like absolute idiots.

Still, Remus wasn’t getting all broody anymore when Regulus and James exchanged their usual “school is a nightmare” complaints by the lockers. In fact, Remus even said hi on his own. Calmly. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Probably because Sirius was standing just a few feet away, glaring at both of them like the ghost of Christmas rage. Or maybe because Remus was playing his own long game. Honestly, it was hard to tell with him. The guy could smile sweetly while plotting your emotional downfall.

What wasn’t hard to tell, however, was that the passive-aggressive-not-at-all-because-Remus-was-jealous makeout session in the ivy-covered courtyard corner happened exactly because Remus was jealous.

And Regulus tried not to be too smug about it.

He failed. Spectacularly.

“You’re so easy,” Regulus said with a shit-eating grin once they pulled apart, lips a little red, breath slightly foggy in the cold.

Remus just gave him a sharp look, lips kiss-swollen, hair even messier than usual, cheeks flushed—and not from the November air.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered, still catching his breath.

“At least I’m pretty,” Regulus smirked, tugging him back by his tie like he was born to cause problems.

“That’s the problem,” Remus grumbled against his mouth. “You’re too fucking pretty.”

Regulus smiled into the kiss—wide and unrestrained—so much so that their teeth bumped, and they both broke into quiet laughter against each other’s mouths.

It was reckless. Messy. Warm.

And god, Regulus was so screwed.

For the rest of the school day, Regulus was forced to endure the shocking development that Remus and Barty actually got along. Which was… weird. Not totally unexpected, but definitely weird. Barty wasn’t exactly known for letting new people into their circle without a year-long vetting process and at least one blood oath.

And yet—there they were. Sitting across from each other at lunch, chatting like old friends about conspiracy theories, Area 51, and the Twenty-Seven Club, leaving both Regulus and Evan blinking like they'd fallen into some kind of alternate reality.

They were at the café near school, squeezed into their usual too-small table with Dorcas, Pandora, and Alexei. The table was a cluttered battlefield of mugs—coffee for most, tea for Remus (sage with honey and lemon, which, apparently, was his favorite. Regulus made a mental note to buy some and keep it in his stash. Like a completely lovesick idiot).

There were too many half-eaten croissants, three different sets of earbuds tangled in a pile, and—for reasons unknown—Alexei eating soup.

“Why are you eating soup?” Dorcas asked, eyeing him like he’d committed a federal crime.

“Not feeling well,” Alexei muttered, looking suspiciously pale.

Which probably meant he’d gotten absolutely wasted last night while screaming at Rocket League on Barty’s Discord. Classic.

As Barty and Remus spiraled deeper into their joint theory about how Avril Lavigne had actually been replaced by a clone in 2003, Evan leaned closer to Regulus and said, voice low and vaguely horrified:

“You think…” he started, squinting across the table, “that our boyfriends are… boyfriending?”

Regulus blinked at him. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Evan grinned, wicked. “Too late. You’re picturing it.”

Regulus sighed dramatically and took a sip of his coffee. “I hate everything.”

“Liar,” Evan said, glancing at the way Regulus looked at Remus when he wasn’t paying attention. “You’re disgustingly soft.”

Regulus didn’t argue. Mostly because it was true.

“Hey, Remus,” Pandora said eventually, barely looking up from the napkin she was decorating with little butterflies. “You coming to movie night tonight?”

Alexei immediately choked on his soup. Violently.

“Excuse me?” he sputtered, setting the bowl down with dramatic betrayal written all over his face. “I’ve been around for literal years and not once— not once —have I been invited.”

“That’s because we’re just barely tolerating you,” Dorcas said sweetly, not even looking up from her phone.

“You—” Alexei pointed his spoon at her, affronted. “You chaotic little—”

And just like that, the two of them descended into another one of their public bickering sessions that, at this point, everyone treated as background noise. Regulus didn’t even blink. Pandora kept doodling. Evan casually took a sip from his iced latte like it was all part of the ambiance.

The rest of them were all still very much focused on Remus, who was busy pretending he hadn’t heard the question. Regulus, for his part, tried to keep a neutral face, but failed. His thumb tapped anxiously against his mug. Movie night was their thing. Has been for years. The one constant in their chaotic mess of a friend group. No plus ones. The only exception had ever been James—and look how that turned out.

“I was supposed to drive down to Cardiff tonight,” Remus said after a pause, voice casual. “But… I guess I could go tomorrow instead.”

“Perfect!” Pandora beamed, clapping her hands together. “It’s Heath Ledger night.”

Remus raised a brow. “Like The Dark Knight and The Patriot?”

“Nope,” Regulus deadpanned, already bracing himself for what was coming. “Like 10 Things I Hate About You.”

There was a long pause as Remus just looked at him.

Then: “You know, actually, I think I really can’t make it—”

“Nope,” Evan interrupted, shaking his head and wagging a perfectly manicured finger. “You’re coming. This is non-negotiable.”

Remus looked like he had been personally sentenced to public humiliation. His head tipped back, eyes falling shut halfway in this long-suffering kind of way, lips pursed like he was silently reevaluating all his life decisions. He looked, Regulus thought unfairly, obnoxiously good like that. All tortured and poetic and aesthetically inconvenienced.

Regulus squinted at him. “Do not give me that dramatic sigh. It’s a classic. A cultural reset.”

“It’s barely even a movie,” Remus muttered. “It’s a… chaotic teen spiral set to the soundtrack of letters and eyeliner.”

“Exactly,” Regulus grinned. “It’s cinema.”

“Do I have to actually pay attention?”

“Yes,” Pandora said.

“No,” Regulus said at the same time.

“See?” Remus gestured between them like it was proof of something. “Conflicting messages. This is already a disaster.”

But he didn’t say no again. In fact, he reached for Regulus’s leftover croissant and took a bite like he’d already accepted his fate. Which, as far as Regulus was concerned, meant he was in. Regulus didn’t even make a comment about germs.

He tried not to look too pleased with himself. He absolutely failed.

Later that night, as they crammed themselves onto Evan’s bed, Remus slouched dramatically between Regulus and Pandora, and groaned every time a new pop song from the 2000s came on.

Regulus just smiled wider with every sigh.

“It’s the stupidest thing alive,” Remus muttered for the fifth time in the first ten minutes, clutching his Guinness like it was a lifeline.

Of course he was drinking Guinness. Of course he had to be extra.

Regulus made a mental note that Remus was drinking it—not because he planned to start keeping a stash for movie nights or whatever. Just… an observation. Nothing more. Obviously.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen this before,” Regulus clicked his tongue, nudging Remus’s knee under the blanket. They were sitting maybe a little too close. Or maybe not close enough. Who’s to say. Either way, Regulus casually threw his leg across Remus’s without a word, and leaned into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I have,” Remus replied, deadpan. “More times than I ever wanted to. Mary’s obsessed with it.”

“Girl has taste,” Evan chimed in from his spot, popping a marshmallow—one that Barty had roasted using the flame from his lighter, because of course he did—into his mouth.

Evan was currently sprawled between Barty’s legs like a very expensive, very judgmental cat. Probably Persian. Definitely white. He even blinked like one.

“She has a problem,” Remus muttered, taking another long sip of his beer like it offended him personally.

Regulus briefly considered asking if he could try it too, but—germs. Gross. And beer was probably disgusting anyway. Instead, he reached for his own wine glass—red, deep, and classy. Germ-free and aggressively not-manly. Just how he liked it.

“Don’t lie,” Regulus said, tilting his head toward Remus. “You think he’s hot.”

Remus glanced down at him, unimpressed. “Do I?”

“Everyone does.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It’s exactly how it works,” Regulus replied with a smirk. “Now, hush. You’re ruining the cultural experience.”

“But—”

“Hush, Lupin,” Regulus said again, firmer this time, though his eyes were still on the screen.

He reached over and grabbed Remus’s free hand beneath the blanket, thumb brushing lazily over his knuckles like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was just something he did.

And Remus, despite all his grumbling and eye-rolling and dramatic sighs, didn’t pull away.

He just muttered, “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” and took another sip of his beer.

Regulus smiled into his wineglass. Victory tasted like tannins and teenage romantic comedy.

And during the “I hate the way” poem scene, Regulus decided—perhaps foolishly—to be a little more difficult than usual. Or maybe he was just tipsy. Hard to say.

“Will I get a poem?” he whispered, dead serious, like they weren’t in the middle of a group movie night with their friends around.

Remus raised an eyebrow at him. “You want a poem?”

“I do,” Regulus nodded solemnly. “Rhyme pretty with petty. Be clever.”

“That doesn’t really rhyme.”

“Make an effort, Lupin,” Regulus sighed dramatically, sinking further into the blanket. “I expect full princess treatment.”

“You’re literally already a princess.”

“Aww, thanks.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Remus said, deadpan—but his lips twitched, betraying him.

“Liar,” Regulus shot back, grinning like he’d just won something. Which, arguably, he had.

“Shut up, twinks, I’m watching,” Dorcas hissed at them, hurling a cookie in their direction like a true pacifist-turned-sniper.

Remus, naturally unbothered, picked up the cookie from where it had landed on the blanket, broke it in half, and handed one piece to Regulus.

And Regulus—whose entire personality was built around pretending he was above things like casual affection and shared food—took it without hesitation.

Germs and all.

He didn’t even grimace. Just bit into it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Which it kind of was now.

He leaned into Remus’s shoulder a little, half-watching the screen, half-waiting to be teased for it.

But Remus didn’t say anything. He just gave him that small, sideways smile—the one that was barely there and probably illegal in several countries for how it made Regulus feel.

God. He was doomed.

And worse? He didn’t even mind.

By the time The Dark Knight started playing—because of course Barty hijacked the playlist despite loud protests from the girls—Regulus was shamelessly tipsy and had fully turned Remus into his personal pillow. Head tucked into the crook of Remus’s arm, legs tangled together under the blanket, total violation of personal space. Not that Remus seemed to mind. He just looped an arm around Regulus’s waist and tapped absent patterns against his ribs, casual and warm and infuriatingly gentle.

Regulus tried—not very successfully—not to spiral about it. Because, of course, Remus had probably done this with Sirius too. Same arms, same patterns, same everything.

And while Regulus’s ribs were a little too sharp—he was all edges and collarbones—Sirius had abs and easy confidence and a way of owning space like he deserved it. After a week of dating, Sirius had probably already slept with Remus. Meanwhile, Regulus hadn’t even made a proper move. Too nervous. Too insecure. Too terrified of doing something wrong and ruining whatever… this was.

Remus stayed blissfully oblivious beside him, eyes on the screen, fingers steady against his side. Which somehow made everything worse.

Did he notice when Sirius was off, back when they were dating? Did he care? Did it bother him at all when Regulus pulled away—or did he just let it happen, because it didn’t matter that much?

Or maybe—and this was the worst possibility of all—maybe he was still playing some kind of game. Even if he said he wasn’t.

God. It was so confusing sometimes.

And Regulus hated how soft Remus felt against him. Hated how much he wanted to believe it meant something.

“You sleepy?” Remus asked eventually, frowning a little at him. Dorcas had already dozed off against Evan’s side, and Pandora was playing with her braids instead of watching the movie. The room had fallen into that sleepy, post-wine haze that always followed movie nights.

Regulus swallowed around the lie. “Yeah. A little.”

“You wanna head back? I’ll walk you.”

“Nah. I’ll stay ‘til the end,” Regulus replied, eyes fixed on the screen, pretending to follow the plot.

Remus just nodded, but pulled him a little closer anyway. Maybe out of habit. Or maybe not—since he did end up walking Regulus home two hours later, in the middle of snow and wind and all the other winter nonsense that shouldn’t have been happening in November, but of course was.

Their hands were crammed into the same pocket of Remus’s coat, fingers tangled, and Regulus was rambling about how the girls always passed out halfway through movies they didn’t want to watch on principle, which made Remus laugh—quiet and breathy, like he didn’t want to wake the whole street.

“You liked it, though?” Regulus asked when they turned onto his street, snow crunching under their boots.

“I did,” Remus said, squeezing his hand inside the pocket. “Wouldn’t have as much if you weren’t there, though.”

Regulus smiled before he could stop himself. “Careful, Lupin. You’ll make me blush.”

“That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Remus replied, voice a little slurred from one too many of his manly Guinnesses. “To have a pretty boyfriend you can make blush.”

Regulus huffed a laugh. “God, you’re the worst.”

“Am I?”

“No,” Regulus sighed like he was the most wronged person in the world. “You’re just a little too good at this.”

Remus laughed again and leaned in to kiss the side of his head—right where the white strand of hair was, like the vitiligo didn’t even register, like it didn’t make Regulus want to fold into himself most days. Like Remus didn’t just knock the air right out of him.

“You sure you wanna go all the way back to your house?” Regulus asked after a beat, trying to sound casual. “It’s literally snowing and you live, like, miles away.”

“I’ll order an Uber,” Remus said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

“Or…” Regulus looked up at him. “You could just sleep over.”

Remus squinted, clearly weighing the offer. “Can I?”

Regulus smirked. “Boyfriend perks.”

Then he tugged him toward the house without waiting for a reply. Remus followed without hesitation.

Regulus’s house was dark when they reached it, bathed in the soft, sleepy kind of darkness that made everything feel more tender, more fragile in a good way. Like the night itself was trying to cradle them.

Regulus fumbled with the lock, fingers numb from the cold, Remus pressed close behind him, his breath warm against the back of Regulus’s neck.

Once inside, they kicked off their shoes and peeled off their coats, moving slowly and aimlessly, like people too full of alcohol and sugar and a night that had somehow been better than expected. They wandered upstairs with lazy steps and tangled shoulders. Regulus yawned dramatically as he opened his bedroom door.

“I’m showering first,” he declared, already striding toward the ensuite like he was royalty returning to his throne.

Remus raised an eyebrow, amused. “Aren’t you just the most gracious host?”

“Be grateful I’m even letting you use my shower,” Regulus called over his shoulder, pausing in the doorway like a diva.

“I’m deeply touched,” Remus deadpanned, already poking through the walk-in closet. “Now go. I need to find something in here that wasn’t made for someone under five-foot-two.”

Regulus gasped, genuinely scandalized. “You absolute bastard .”

Remus waved a sock at him. “Go. Reg.”

With a dramatic huff and a muttered, “The audacity of that man,” Regulus disappeared into the bathroom.

About half an hour later, they were curled under the thick duvet, limbs tangled. Regulus wore his usual sleepwear: soft pajama pants and that too-worn hoodie he only ever pulled out when it was freezing. Remus, hilariously, had ended up in one of Regulus’s oversized hoodies—which still managed to hang off his frame—and a pair of James’s old sweats that had somehow migrated here during the breakup.

The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.

Remus shifted with a soft groan, pressing his cold feet to Regulus’s calves. “That’s it. I’m bringing a drawer’s worth of my clothes here. This is unsustainable.”

“Or,” Regulus said, smugly, “you could just sleep naked.”

Remus cracked one eye open. “Have I ever told you that you flirt in the weirdest possible way?”

“Multiple times,” Regulus said, already burrowing deeper under the covers. “Yet here you are. In my bed. In my clothes.”

Remus let out a tired laugh and nudged Regulus’s foot under the blanket. “Dangerous combination, clearly.”

“Tragic, really,” Regulus murmured, already halfway to sleep. “How will you ever survive?”

Remus didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him—hair still damp from the shower, cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering shut—and smiled.

“Maybe I won’t,” Remus whispered.

“Good,” Regulus replied sleepily. “Now share your body heat. You’re basically a human radiator.”

Remus hissed as Regulus shoved his freezing hands up his hoodie. “Regulus!”

“Ahh,” Regulus sighed, content. “This is the life.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And you’re still—”

Remus shut him up with a kiss. It had honestly become his most effective strategy.

Regulus chuckled against his mouth but didn’t fight it, just curled his fingers in the fabric of Remus’s hoodie and pulled him closer, letting himself be rolled onto his back, Remus leaning over him like he belonged there.

“You know,” Regulus hummed, lips brushing against Remus’s, “I’m either wine-drunk or you’re hotter than usual.”

“You’re drunk,” Remus said, amused.

“Eh. Doesn’t change anything. You’re still hot,” Regulus grinned, tugging him back in like gravity.

Remus half-collapsed on top of him with a tired laugh, burying his face in the crook of Regulus’s neck. “I swear, you’re the worst drunk flirt.”

“And yet,” Regulus whispered smugly, “you’re still making out with me.”

“Tragic mistake,” Remus mumbled into his skin.

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately,” Remus sighed, pressing a kiss just below Regulus’s ear, “I really do.”

Regulus smiled like a complete idiot in the dark.

Remus’s lips wandered lazily from Regulus’s neck to his jaw, leaving little trails of warmth in their wake. Regulus’s toes curled under the duvet.

“This feels suspiciously like sharing body heat,” Remus murmured, kissing just beneath his chin.

Regulus tilted his head obligingly. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it.”

Remus huffed a soft laugh. “You’ve got your ice-cold gremlin hands up my hoodie, Reg. I’m enduring this.”

“Enduring, my ass,” Regulus scoffed—and gasped when Remus kissed him properly, slow and deep, all heat and intent.

Regulus clutched at the hoodie like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. The kiss wasn’t desperate, just fond—easy and warm and a little sleepy. The kind of kiss you give someone when you’re full and happy and really, really into them. It made Regulus feel ridiculous in the chest in the best way.

They eventually pulled apart, just barely.

“I think I forgot how to spell my own name,” Regulus whispered, slightly breathless, blinking up at the ceiling like it owed him an apology.

“It’s only seven letters, darling,” Remus murmured.

“Exactly. And I lost one. Might’ve been the ‘e.’” He blinked again, dramatically. “God, I hope it wasn’t the ‘u.’ That one’s important.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Remus whispered fondly, brushing a kiss across his cheek.

“You like it.”

“I’m obsessed with it,” Remus replied, and he said it so casually, so truthfully, that Regulus froze. Just for a second. Just long enough to believe him. Then he smiled—quiet, wide, real.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Good.”

They kissed again. Just because they could.

Eventually, they settled under the duvet again, breath still uneven and limbs tangled. Regulus, without hesitation, made Remus his personal pillow—because honestly, he’d earned it.

Remus was warm and solid beneath him, one arm around his waist, the other dragging fingers lazily through his hair. Regulus didn’t even swat him away for it. A miracle, honestly.

“Just so you know,” Regulus hummed, voice muffled against Remus’s chest, “I expect a drunk call tomorrow.”

“How do you know I’ll be drunk?”

“You’re going to Cardiff. It’s a given.”

“You think my drunk calls are a given too?”

“Yep. It’s like the only time you don’t weigh every word you say.”

“I don’t weigh every word I say,” Remus huffed.

“Lupin.”

“...anymore.”

“There it is,” Regulus sighed, dramatic. “Anymore. So you did.”

“I did. Don’t feel like I need to now, though.”

Regulus tilted his head to look up at him. “Yeah?” he asked.

“You’re dangerous like that.”

“Like?”

“Like ‘you can tell me anything and I won’t judge.’”

“I won’t judge,” Regulus said quietly.

Remus smiled. The real one. The one with the crinkled eyes and hidden dimples.

“So tell me something,” Regulus added.

“Alright,” Remus said, fingers tapping a soft rhythm against Regulus’s hip. “You’re the best thing in this fucked-up town.”

Regulus laughed quietly. “You really hate it here, don’t you?”

“Not so much since I met you,” Remus replied. “You’re making it better. Not perfect. But... pretty great.”

Regulus smiled too wide and too fond. “Stop before I ask you to marry me.”

Remus chuckled. “I’d say yes. Maybe.”

“Lupin.”

“I’d have to wait a bit. You know, not look desperate.”

“Oh, and I’m the one who looks desperate here?”

“No. You look unreal. Like... stupidly beautiful. Definitely the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

Regulus didn't say anything for a second. He just tucked his face against Remus’s neck and whispered, “Okay. You can stay forever, then.”

Remus smiled into his hair. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

Regulus woke up stupidly happy.

Still warm, still tangled in bedsheets that smelled like sleep and skin and his fancy shampoo Remus used. His legs were wrapped up with Remus’s, their knees bumping lazily under the duvet, and his mind was looping “Definitely the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen” on repeat like a song he never wanted to end.

With great effort—and a stealthiness born of experience—he reached for his phone without waking Remus. He opened the Notes app and scrolled to a very specific entry. Underneath  “he kiss me the way that makes my knees give up”, he typed:

he told me i’m unreal and gorgeous and maybe i love him a little.

He stared at the words for a moment, thumb hovering like a secret was being carved into stone. Then he hit save and tucked the phone back under his pillow, just in time for Remus to stir.

A soft groan, the rustle of sheets, and then that voice.

“Hey, baby,” Remus mumbled, rough and low and sleep-warm, pulling Regulus in without even opening his eyes.

Regulus needed a minute.

A full minute. To process. To breathe. To recover from the nickname that made his stomach flip like an Olympic gymnast. His inner cheerleader did at least three cartwheels and a backflip. Possibly with glitter.

God, he was so screwed.

He melted into Remus’s chest anyway, trying to play it cool while his brain was screaming he called me baby, he called me baby, he called me baby.

Eventually, Remus had to leave—something about Cardiff, two days, Lily, obligations, blah blah blah—Regulus didn’t hear most of it. He was too busy pretending not to care that his favorite human was leaving.

Because saying I don’t want you to go would make him look needy. Which, okay, he was, but still. He had a reputation to maintain.

So instead, when the time came, Regulus walked him to the door, kissed him slow and lazy like they had all the time in the world, and murmured, “Text me when you get there, yeah?”

“I’ll call you,” Remus said with a soft smile, already stepping toward the Uber.

Regulus tried not to sigh dramatically as he shut the door behind him. Tried being the key word. He kind of wished he had let the sigh out—at least then he would’ve heard Sirius coming.

As it turned out, Sirius chose that exact moment to walk out of the kitchen, coffee in hand and judgement in his eyes.

“You’re serious?” he snapped, arms already crossed.

Regulus didn’t even flinch. He just rolled his eyes and walked right past him. “I don’t have the energy for your morning rage.”

But Sirius grabbed his arm, spinning him around like this was very dramatic theater. “You really made him sleep over just so I’d have to see it?!”

Regulus smiled sweetly. The kind of smile that usually came right before chaos. “I didn’t. But I do wish I had.”

“You’re a fucking prick,” Sirius growled.

Regulus raised an eyebrow, still not even pretending to be sorry. “Good. Now you know how that feels.”

Sirius blinked.

Regulus turned and kept walking, disappearing into the kitchen like he was on his own catwalk. He poured himself a coffee like nothing had happened, like his heart wasn’t still a little dumb over a nickname and a pair of sleepy amber eyes.

Sirius stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him like he couldn’t decide whether to argue or throw a punch.

Regulus didn’t so much as glance at him. He sipped his coffee slowly, smirking into the rim of the mug like he had all the time in the world and nothing to lose.

“You know he’s not serious about it, right?” Sirius finally said, voice tight as he leaned against the doorframe.

Regulus glanced at him, all mock innocence. “Dunno,” he drawled. “Seemed pretty serious last night. But maybe it was the voice. You know the one, yeah? All rough and a little breathless with that Welsh accent? Can really mess with a boy’s head.”

Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“He’s just using you to get to me,” he spat.

Regulus tilted his head, solemn. “Oh? And how’s that going for him, then? He text you lately? Called? Maybe you two have daily locker chats and I’ve just been too lovesick to notice?”

Sirius took a step forward, jaw clenched. Regulus didn’t move. Just leaned back against the counter, all lazy posture and calm eyes—though inside, he was screaming. Fuck. Fuck, he’s doing it again. Crawling under his skin, twisting the knife with that same bitter edge he always had.

“I could have him back if I wanted to,” Sirius said, low and sharp.

Regulus gave a half-shrug. “Go ahead. I’m not exactly stopping you, am I?”

He didn’t give Sirius time to speak.

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have you back. The way you talked over him all the time? The total lack of respect? The absolute silence about anything real while you monologued about James? Bet he wakes up missing that every damn day.”

Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “He’s only with you because he’s playing the long game. You’re a copy of me,” he sneered. “Faulty,” he added, flicking his gaze to the white streak in Regulus’s hair and the pattern of vitiligo across his face.

That one hit.

Hard.

But Regulus didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t let it show—he was good at that.

“Faulty,” he repeated, smiling like it didn’t sting. “And yet your ex is still at my every beck and call. Damn, you really must’ve screwed up bad if someone like me is an upgrade.”

He tipped back the last of his coffee and set the mug in the sink with a soft clink.

“You had to be a real piece of shit for him to prefer me. Faults and all.”

Regulus pushed off the counter and walked past him, brushing Sirius’s shoulder just enough to be disrespectful.

“Oh, and by the way?” he added over his shoulder, voice sweet as sugar. “Go for him, if you really think you’ve still got a shot. Can’t wait to see how that ends.”

“Fuck you,” Sirius snapped.

Regulus just smiled.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

He paused in the doorway and glanced back, cool as ever. “Yeah,” he said. “You too, sunshine.”

And then he was gone, leaving Sirius in the kitchen with two mugs, one bitter temper, and nothing to show for it but regrets.

Back in his room, Regulus barely made it to the bed before the pressure in his chest cracked open. He shoved his face into the pillow and screamed—loud, raw, messy—until the sound broke apart into silence and his throat felt scraped raw from the inside.

God, it was always like this.

Always Sirius. Always knowing exactly where to hit, like it was a game he had memorized the cheat codes for.

One glance. One sentence. And everything cracked open like glass under a hammer.

He passed the mirror on the way in and had to look away. Not because of vanity. No—because he already knew exactly what Sirius saw when he looked at him. He’d listed the flaws often enough over the years that Regulus had them memorized like scripture.

The vitiligo, for starters. The pale streak along his jaw and cheeks and temples, the white strand in his hair, the mismatched lashes. The bump on his nose he used to press at in the mirror when he was thirteen, thinking maybe if he angled it a certain way, it wouldn’t show. The dimple in his chin that people called cute, but Sirius once called “babyish.” His limbs that never quite felt like they fit. Too long, too thin. His voice, soft and quiet and just slightly high—“feminine,” Sirius used to say. “Like you’re halfway to puberty.”

He’d been doing it since they were kids. Since the moment he realized he was taller, louder, stronger. That people paid more attention when he walked into a room. That teachers gave him second chances, that friends listened when he told a joke. It was always a comparison. And somehow Regulus always came in second.

And Sirius knew it. Thrived on it.

It got worse every time Regulus dated someone. Like Sirius couldn’t stand the idea of Regulus being chosen first for anything.

Nate was the first real one.

“You really think he likes you?” Sirius had said, offhandedly, casually cruel. “Bet he’s just wondering if the white skin goes all the way down.”

It was meant to be a joke. A dig. One of a hundred.

“Don’t you think he minds how scrawny you are?”

“You think he ever looks into your eyes, or just gets freaked out by the eyelashes?”

At first, Regulus had rolled his eyes, ignored it. Nate didn’t think those things. He was sweet. He was warm. He held Regulus like he was a person, not a secret. But Sirius’s voice was insidious. It got into the cracks. Slowly, quietly. And Regulus, already self-conscious, already trained to look for things to hate about himself, started hearing Sirius’s voice louder than Nate’s. And eventually, things just… fell apart. Not because Nate stopped trying—but because Regulus stopped believing.

Then came James. Different kind of disaster.

Sirius didn’t go for the physical that time. He went for the part Regulus guarded most.

“James doesn’t like people like you. Not really. You’re too much.”

“He wishes you weren’t so serious all the time. You know that, right? Like, lighten the fuck up.”

“He’s sick of how moody you get. Jesus, it’s like dating a storm cloud.”

And James—James who kissed him like he was a miracle, who called him “baby” in that sunshine voice, who bought him flowers for no reason—he never acted like he thought those things.

But Sirius had already planted the seeds.

And now… now it was Remus.

And Sirius had so much ammunition.

So he aimed, and fired.

“You’re just a copy of me,” he’d said. “Faulty.”

A glance at his face. His skin. The white. The pieces of him he used to wish he could scrub off. The parts that made him different. Wrong.

And then: “You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Like it was so easy to say. Like it wasn’t devastating.

Regulus curled in tighter on the bed, the pillow under his head damp now from the tears he didn’t want to admit were happening. His whole chest hurt with it—rage and sadness and the brutal unfairness of it all. That Sirius could still get to him like this. That no matter how much space or time or distance passed between them, one sentence could send him right back to being a kid in hand-me-down clothes, wondering why he always felt like a second draft.

He hated how much it still mattered.

He hated that it worked.

He hated that, even now, some part of him still wanted Sirius to like him. To approve.

But more than that, he hated that this could ruin what he had with Remus.

Because this— Remus —was good. Good in a way Regulus didn’t think he’d ever get to have. Kind and funny and slow-burning and real.

And Sirius?

Sirius didn’t get to take that, too.

He took a shaky breath, wiped his eyes with the sleeve of the hoodie Remus had left behind on his chair.

When he finally managed to calm down—after the pillow screaming, the spiral, the emotional whiplash—Regulus dragged himself into the shower. He stood under the hot water for longer than necessary, hands braced against the tiled wall, forehead pressed to cool porcelain as steam clung to his skin. He didn’t cry again, but his eyes still felt swollen, his chest still tight.

After that, he dressed quickly—oversized hoodie, black jeans, his most scuffed-up trainers. There was absolutely no way in hell he was spending another minute in this fucking house with Sirius lurking around like a curse in human form. Their parents were, as usual, nowhere to be found—off at some gala or function or maybe just pretending they didn’t have children at all. And James hadn’t shown up yet, which was a small mercy, but also a ticking time bomb. Regulus didn’t have the energy to play polite or fake normal today. Especially not with Sirius and his smug little smirks.

So, he grabbed his keys and bolted.

The drive to Barty’s was mostly a blur—familiar streets, sharp turns taken a little too fast, music blaring through the speakers like it could drown out the noise in his head. He just hoped Barty was home. He needed someone who didn’t ask too many questions but also wouldn't let him spiral alone.

When he pulled up and rang the bell, he couldn’t keep still—foot tapping, thumb running over the ridges of his key. Please be home, please be home, please don’t be at Evan’s again.

The door opened, and Regulus almost sagged in relief when Barty’s mum appeared, all warm smile and effortless grace, her dark hair tied back in its usual perfect bun. She was too good for this world. Too soft to be married to a man like Bartemius Crouch Sr.

“Come in, sweetheart! It’s freezing out there,” she said, already stepping aside to let him in.

“Hi,” Regulus smiled tightly, brushing past the threshold. “Sorry for just showing up.”

“Nonsense. You’re always welcome,” she waved off, already reaching for his coat. “Barty’s in his room—he just got back from Evan’s.”

“Perfect,” Regulus nodded, toeing off his boots. “Thanks, Mrs. Crouch.”

She took his coat from him despite his half-hearted protest, fussing like she always did.

“You alright, Reggie? You look pale,” she said, her brow creasing in concern. “Do you want some ginger tea? Or maybe lemon and honey?”

“No, I’m good, really,” Regulus said, forcing a small smile. “Just gonna head up.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where the kitchen is,” she called as he made his way toward the stairs.

He nodded his thanks and jogged up, two steps at a time. He didn’t knock on Barty’s door—he never did. They weren’t that kind of friends.

“Mama, I told you I already—” Barty’s voice trailed off as he spun around in his gaming chair, ready to growl at his mother. “Arch?” he blinked.

Regulus gave him a flat look. “You should be nicer to your mum, you git.”

“She’s trying to feed me for the fifth time and I’ve been home for twenty minutes,” Barty said, pulling off his headset and tossing it onto the keyboard. He leaned forward. “You good, Arch?”

Regulus bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darting to the floor for half a second before he looked up again. “No. Not really.”

Barty didn’t say anything at first. He just got up from the chair, crossed the room, and flopped down dramatically on the bed, patting the space beside him.

“Well, come sulk in comfort then.”

Regulus snorted and walked over, letting himself drop beside him with a tired sigh. The kind that felt like it came from his soul.

“Do I need to threaten someone?” Barty asked, turning his head to look at him. “Because I will. I’ll do it with enthusiasm and zero legal caution.”

Regulus let out a weak laugh and rubbed his eyes. “No threats today. Just… let me lie here for a minute.”

Barty nodded, folding his arms behind his head. “Minute granted. Full silence package included. But just so you know, I’m not above bullying you into talking eventually.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

They laid there in the quiet, the soft hum of the computer fans and the faint thump of Barty’s playlist filling the room. It didn’t fix anything. But it helped.

Eventually, Regulus started talking.
Really talking—like he hadn’t since getting together with Remus. Not because he didn’t want to before, but because saying it out loud would make it all too real. Words had weight. And once they were out there, he couldn’t take them back or pretend they didn’t exist.

So he spilled. Slowly at first, then faster—everything. The tangled mess of it all. The way it started off as a game, something petty and pointed. How Remus had only started talking to him to piss Sirius off. How Regulus had leaned into it for exactly the same reason. But now it wasn’t a game anymore. Now it was… everything.

Now, he couldn’t stop comparing himself to Sirius in every little thing Remus did or said. Couldn’t stop wondering if Remus was comparing them too. If he missed Sirius’s laugh. His confidence. His charm. If Regulus was just a pale imitation in comparison—literally.

“It’s so fucked up, B,” Regulus groaned, pressing his palms hard into his eyes. “I’m dating my fucking brother’s ex. And it started fake, and how the hell am I supposed to know it’s not still fake for him?”

Barty was quiet for a beat. Then, slowly, he said, “Arch… you’re overthinking.”

Regulus flopped back onto the bed with a groan. “Of course I am! That’s my goddamn specialty.”

“No, I mean—” Barty paused, sitting up slightly, his voice more thoughtful now. “Yeah, he dated Sirius. But they broke up, didn’t they? A while ago, too. Like… what, six months? That’s practically ancient history when you’re our age.”

“...Sort of.”

“He ever tell you why they broke up?”

Regulus nodded, slow and reluctant. “Yeah. He did.”

Barty didn’t ask for details—he never did. He just nodded once like that was enough. “So you really think he’d open up about that if he didn’t like you? He survived your birthday meltdown, took you to Cambridge for some weird poetry night, and now he acts like the sun shines out of your posh little ass.”

“Not always,” Regulus muttered.

“Well no, not always,” Barty scoffed. “Lupin isn’t a Disney prince. But he’s not exactly the type to fake niceties either, right? And he texts you, calls you, listens to your rants about books and your panic spirals over Christmas plans. He actually puts up with you. Willingly.”

“Hey,” Regulus said, feigning offense. “I’m delightful.”

“You’re a gremlin,” Barty shot back. “A dramatic, unpredictable, emotionally constipated gremlin. And he thinks it’s cute.”

Regulus blinked. “He told you that?”

“DC two days ago,” Barty said, already halfway grinning. “You missed game night— again —and we were joking with Avery and Nott about how you refuse to play because you’re a sore loser—”

“Barty!”

“—and Lupin said, and I quote, ‘He’s cute when he gets all worked up, though.’ He was high, yeah, but that just makes it better. No filter. No bullshit.”

Regulus stared at the ceiling, stunned into silence.

“He also said he wishes you’d play with us sometime,” Barty added. “Which, frankly, is psychotic, because you ruin Monopoly.”

Regulus swallowed. “He really said that?”

“Yep,” Barty nodded. “So. He likes you, Arch. Full package. Drama, panic attacks, unhinged midnight texting, and all.”

Regulus sighed, long and shaky. And then, voice barely above a whisper: “Sirius said he’s only doing it to get him back.”

Barty groaned. “Arch—”

“I know he isn’t,” Regulus cut in, voice tight. “I know. But Sirius said he could get Remus back if he wanted to.”

“He couldn’t,” Barty said immediately.

“I told him to go for it,” Regulus admitted, quietly.

“Arch.” Barty sat up fully now, exasperated.

“I know,” Regulus echoed, dragging a hand through his hair. “But… I had to. Because then I’d know, right? If Remus really wants me. If he’d stay. If he’d choose me.”

Barty didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at him, really looked at him. At the way Regulus’s shoulders curled inward, like he was trying to fold into himself. At the flicker of something raw in his expression, like he was trying not to fall apart again.

Finally, softly, he said, “Sirius really fucked you up, huh?”

Regulus laughed, but it cracked halfway through and died on his tongue. He swallowed, blinking back the sting in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, he did.”

And for once, Barty didn’t tease him or make a joke to deflect. He just leaned back again and said, “Well, good thing you’ve got me. Come on, I’ll put something on. You want to watch something where everyone dies or everyone makes out?”

Regulus sniffled. “Both.”

Barty grinned. “Perfect. I’ve got the exact kind of messed-up movie for that.”

And just like that, the tension softened—still there, still real—but held gently. Safe, for now.

They ended up talking shit instead of watching the movie—obviously. Mostly about the absolute chaos that was Barty and Evan finally dating after eight years of being friends. Regulus, knowing that Barty had caught feelings first, mocked him for it. Loudly. Multiple times. Barty, in turn, denied everything with the kind of dramatic flair that only made him look guiltier.

Barty’s mum brought them cookies and hot chocolate like they were twelve again, smiling like she’d been waiting for this moment all week. Barty rolled his eyes hard enough to sprain something but still let her kiss the top of his head before she left the room.

“She’s a literal angel,” Regulus muttered, already two cookies deep.

“Yeah, well, don’t let her adopt you. I need the inheritance,” Barty replied, but he shoved the plate closer to Regulus anyway.

They were mid-discussion about whether Evan’s obsession with mugs was romantic or alarming when Regulus’s phone buzzed on the bed beside him.

Barty raised a brow. “See? He’s, like, obsessed with you. That’s, what, the fiftieth time he’s called this week?”

“Shut up,” Regulus mumbled, though he was already reaching for the phone. He cleared his throat, trying to sound a little less like he’d just inhaled a mouthful of powdered sugar.

“Hi,” Remus said, his voice warm through the line. “I’m at Lily’s already.”

Regulus tried not to pout, but it happened anyway—just a little. He didn’t say anything about how Remus actually called like he’d said he would. Or how it was kind of weird that he was staying over at Lily’s instead of his mum’s place. Not bad weird. Just… a thought. One he might bring up eventually. Maybe. If he ever grew a spine.

“Alright,” Regulus said, curling slightly on Barty’s bed. “Planning another party?”

“God, I hope not,” Remus replied with a dry laugh. “But knowing these girls? Anything’s possible. What about you?”

Regulus swallowed, then decided not to mention the whole fight with Sirius. That could wait. Forever, ideally.

“Fine. I’m at Barty’s.”

“Oh, that’s cool. What are you two doing?”

“Eating his mum’s cookies and watching some shitty movie we’ve both seen a hundred times.”

“That sounds suspiciously like therapy.”

“It is. Therapy, but with Hungarian cookies.”

“What’s the difference between Hungarian cookies and regular ones?”

“Dunno,” Regulus said thoughtfully. “But I’m convinced she cursed them with some Eastern European spell. That’s why they taste like actual heaven.”

Remus laughed, low and fond. “God, Reg.”

Regulus grinned into the phone. “She made hot chocolate too. I think she likes me more than my own mother.”

“Reg,” Remus laughed again. It made Regulus’s stomach do that annoying thing again. That stupid flutter.

“I know,” Regulus said dramatically. “I’m delightful.”

“Absolutely,” Remus said without missing a beat. “I gotta go now, though. I’ll text you later, yeah?”

Regulus hesitated, then said, “I expect a drunk call.”

“I was actually planning not to let that happen.”

“Rude.”

“Catch you later, baby. Have fun.”

Regulus’s heart stuttered a little. “You too. Bye.”

He stayed on the line until Remus hung up—thirty full seconds later.

Barty watched him like he was a science experiment. “You two are disgusting.”

Regulus tossed a cookie at his face. “Says the guy who took Evan to a rom-com just because he wanted to cry with him.”

Barty caught the cookie and took a bite, smirking. “And I would do it again.”

“Pathetic.”

“Says the guy who just melted over a ‘catch you later, baby.’”

Regulus didn’t even argue. He just rolled onto his back with a sigh, a smile creeping across his face like he couldn’t stop it if he tried.

Yeah, maybe he was in deep.

And maybe—for once—that wasn’t the worst thing.

Evan showed up about twenty minutes after he found out Regulus and Barty were hanging out without him—because of course he did. He’d called Barty with a chirpy, “Hi, baby bat!” loud enough that Regulus snorted into his sleeve, both at the nickname and the sheer enthusiasm.

They ended up spending the next few hours watching Trailer Park Boys and working their way through every snack in the Crouch household like it was some kind of mission.

Evan, naturally, clocked that something was off with Regulus within seconds—like the emotional support cat he was. A very expensive, high-maintenance emotional support cat, but one with killer instincts.

“You’re actually ridiculous,” Evan said at one point, halfway through a bag of pretzels. “Thinking you’re worse than anyone, let alone Sirius? Please.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but Evan was already crawling across the bed to ruffle his hair like he was five.

“You’re our little grumpy princess,” Evan declared. “A hot one.”

“Evan,” Barty squinted at him from where he was lounging across the floor.

“You said that too!” Evan accused, pointing a pretzel at him.

“Platonically,” Barty huffed, shoving popcorn in his mouth.

“Oh, shut up,” Evan said, flipping him off without looking. “You two are the ones with a ‘married by thirty if we’re still single’ pact.”

Regulus groaned. “I’m officially taking that back. You two can get married. I’ll just end up an old man in a flat full of cats. Maybe open a cursed tea shop.”

“Arch,” Evan groaned right back, flopping on top of him like a judgmental weighted blanket.

Regulus just grinned. “Kidding. I’ll be fine as soon as I graduate from this hellhole and move to London for uni.”

“Preferably with Lupin,” Barty added with a smirk, not looking up from his phone.

Regulus chucked a throw pillow at him. “Shut it.”

Because—yes. Preferably with Lupin. Preferably with Remus’s stupid sweaters everywhere and his voice in the morning and his hands always finding Regulus’s waist like they belonged there.

But they didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

He got back home just in time for another one of Remus’s drunk calls.
Which, frankly, had become one of his favorite parts of them. Remus was always a little looser during these—unfiltered, soft around the edges, and full of absurdly nice things to say. Plus, he was genuinely funny when he was tipsy, even when he didn’t mean to be.

Turned out, he was at a party after all.

“I mean, we bumped into Chuck, and he kinda forced us, so... yeah,” Remus said, his voice slightly muffled, then clearer—he’d definitely stepped into another room because the music dulled in the background.

Regulus frowned. “Wait—Chuck? Like the guy you used to deal for?”

“Ie,” Remus said casually, the Welsh slang slipping back in like it lived there rent-free.

Regulus sat up straighter. “Mhm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Regulus muttered, flipping through channels from the warmth of his bed.

“Reg.”

Regulus sighed. “Are you high?”

There was a pause.

“God, you are,” Regulus groaned, finally settling on Friends on Comedy Central, because of course it was always on.

“A little,” Remus admitted.

“On what?” Regulus asked, already bracing himself.

“Coke.”

“Coke—Jesus, Remus,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you just smoke weed like every other emotionally unstable teenager?”

There was a longer pause this time.

“You die over there?” Regulus asked, voice flat.

“No,” Remus finally said. “Just processing the fact that you actually used my name instead of ‘Lupin.’”

Regulus blinked at the ceiling. “Shit.”

“You like me, Reg.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the stupid smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I like you, you junkie.”

Remus laughed, that quiet, warm sound that always made Regulus’s stomach flip. “Good. I like you too.”

“Oh yeah?” Regulus asked, mock-innocent.

“Mhm. So much that earlier I said, ‘Regulus Black yelling at me for trying to steal a sip of his coffee’ while we were playing in Hear Me Out.”

Regulus actually laughed. “Germs are a real thing, Lupin.”

“Oh, we’re back to ‘Lupin’ again?”

“Shut up,” Regulus grinned, cheeks a little too warm for comfort. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah, but I miss you.”

That made Regulus pause.

“You do?”

“I do,” Remus said, without hesitation. “Stupidly. Unreasonably. Undeniably.”

Regulus pouted into the phone, heart twisting, and then—because no matter how hard Sirius tried to ruin this—he wasn’t going to let him win. Not this time. Even if it meant saying things that made his stomach flip inside out.

“Miss you too,” he said softly. “What time will you be back tomorrow?”

“Late. I’m visiting my mum.”

Visiting. Not hanging out at his mum’s. Visiting. It sounded... official. Like there was something more going on. But Regulus didn’t press.

“Alright,” he said instead. “You wanna hang out after? We can watch something really stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Twilight.”

“No way in hell.”

“Come on, it'll be fun,” Regulus said, grin growing.

“That’s absolutely not fun, babe,” Remus groaned.

“It is. Everyone’s hot and dramatic. You’ll love it.”

“If I wanted to watch something hot, I’d just watch you.”

Regulus blinked. “Wow. Smooth, Lupin.”

“Thank you.”

“So... Twilight?” he pushed again, fighting a laugh.

“Please no. I beg you. Anything else.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” Remus deadpanned. “God, you’re evil.”

“Delightfully,” Regulus said with a smirk.

“Talk tomorrow, baby.”

“Don’t die there, babe.”

He waited until Remus hung up, the line going quiet in his ear, before letting out a soft sigh.

Yeah. He really liked him.
Stupidly. Unreasonably. Undeniably.

Chapter Text

Time started kind of flying since he got together with Remus. There was always something to talk about, a book to read (and annotate together—which quickly became one of Regulus’s favorite things in the world), a movie to watch, a new café in town to check out, or just wandering around Cambridge.

Remus suspiciously liked the city, and eventually, Regulus found out why when they went there one afternoon.

It was, without a doubt, not a nice story—definitely part of a bigger one. Remus’s, “I’d kill to have my brother back” finally made sense.

Remus told Regulus about him while they were at some art gallery—where they honestly only went to roast the pretentiousness of the whole place. The paintings were mostly hideous, and the place smelled faintly of old paint and expensive dust.

His brother’s name was John, six years older than both of them, in his last year of qualifying as a barrister. But apparently, Remus hadn’t heard from him in three years.

“It’s not like we hate each other,” Remus said, his eyes fixed on a particularly atrocious abstract painting that looked like someone had sneezed on a canvas. “He just doesn’t give a damn about anything but himself.”

Regulus frowned. “What do you mean?”

Remus shrugged, shoulders tense. “He bolted the second things got heavier. Didn’t even look back.”

“Oh.” Regulus’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, reaching out to squeeze Remus’s hand.

Remus squeezed back, but didn’t say more. “Apparently, it’s just a given when you have a shit older brother.”

And that was that.

He didn’t push, didn’t ask. That left Regulus wondering for days. What really happened? What things got heavier? Was it about their divorced parents? Something between the brothers? He had no idea.

But he had no intention to push Remus—not when things were finally, stupidly good, and he allowed himself to believe it might stay that way.

Because, as it turned out, Sirius had actually been trying to get Remus back.
It wasn’t even subtle — not in the way Sirius usually was, blunt and careless. No, this was the kind of calculated pressure that crawled under Regulus’s skin and refused to leave. It started with those random texts Sirius sent to Remus. Regulus was beyond grateful that Remus showed him every single one of those borderline-flirty messages—and that he never replied. Not once.

But Sirius wasn’t satisfied with just texts. Of course not. He stepped it up, as if daring Regulus to crack. He tried to talk to Remus at school, always making sure Regulus was nearby to see it. Volunteered to be Remus’s partner in chemistry, even when it wasn’t necessary. Pulling all the little stunts that pushed Regulus further and further toward the edge, though he never let Sirius see the storm building inside him.

Behind closed doors — mostly in Barty’s room, away from prying eyes — Regulus had more than one meltdown. He’d pace the floor or scream into throw pillow, and then there were the late-night calls to Evan, trying to piece himself back together.

Because it was messing with his head, more than he wanted to admit. Messing with it in the worst way. Every small thing Remus said or did suddenly felt like a test, a trap. Regulus started questioning everything — every word Remus spoke, every glance he shot Sirius, every laugh.

He started to pull away. Not because he wanted to, but because it felt like the only way to keep from falling apart.

Remus didn’t let him.

“He’s just messing with you,” Remus said one night, voice quiet but steady.

“Read our messages if you want,” he said, almost like an invitation.

“I like you, baby,” Remus had written, and Regulus remembered the warmth that sentence brought—how it felt like a lifeline tossed into the chaos.

Remus was good like that. Kind like that. And somehow, he knew. He knew how it felt to have Sirius Black twisting everything, trying to pull them apart.

Still, even with all that, it made Regulus pause. Made him overthink. Made him doubt himself like never before. He wondered if Remus was missing Sirius the way Regulus was afraid of. If, when he couldn’t sleep, Remus was thinking about Sirius—the way Sirius looked, how he moved, the way his laugh sounded in the quiet. Was Sirius more handsome? Did he have a better body? Nicer hair? Prettier laugh?

Those thoughts clawed at Regulus’s mind, but they hit hardest when they were making out. With Remus’s lips warm against his skin, hands roaming his body—he should have been able to forget everything else. But instead, his insecurities screamed louder than ever.

He knew he was being reasonable. Knew Remus was into him, that those late-night texts, the touches, the way Remus held him—none of it was fake. But it didn’t stop the doubt from eating away at him, piece by piece. It didn’t stop Regulus from feeling like he was never enough.

He started pulling back more. Sometimes he stopped Remus from going further, scared of what it might look like if they slept together. Scared Remus’s mind might wander back to Sirius during those moments.

But Remus never pushed. He never rushed or pressured him. That was kind, too, but it left Regulus wondering if maybe Remus didn’t want to be that close to him at all. If maybe he was just settling, waiting for Sirius to come back, or wishing he was still there.

It was a fucking hell—one Regulus built for himself, brick by brick, fear by fear.

And the worst part? He didn’t know how to stop it.

Still, Regulus didn’t let himself spiral too far. He wasn’t about to ruin what he had with Remus—he couldn’t. He just wished it didn’t always feel like some kind of silent tug-of-war with Sirius in the background. That it wasn’t always this low-grade, constant pressure buzzing under his skin, like he had to prove himself all the time.

He wanted to just enjoy it. Enjoy the fact that he was dating someone who, honestly, felt way out of his league.

He loved the little things. Like making joint playlists with completely unhinged names— songs that feel like detention with you, music for kissing you until I forget my last name —just so he could see the way Remus would laugh when the notification popped up. That stupid grin, wide and warm and almost bashful.

He loved how he was still learning new things about Remus all the time. Like the fact that he was weirdly obsessed with Mars bars—so now Regulus always kept two or three stashed in his backpack, like emergency rations for sugar crashes and bad days. He loved having a Spotify Blend with Remus, checking in weekly just to see what his taste was leaning toward—sometimes it was moody indie shit, other times it was Chappel Roan and angry punk remixes.

He liked asking Remus for new photos of his cat, and teasing him for naming her Sansa Stark—“You're such a cliché, babe”—and loved how it made Remus laugh, nose scrunching, eyes glowing in a way that made Regulus feel like maybe the whole world wasn’t as bleak as it used to be.

He liked all those things. But he liked the things Remus did for him even more.

At school, they were basically glued at the hip. Partly just to annoy Sirius—because that was always a delicious perk—but mostly because Regulus loved being close to him. He wanted to be close. He loved how Remus would light his cigarette, slow and casual like they were characters in some black-and-white French film. Loved the way Remus’s hand would slide onto his thigh under the table during class, warm fingers drawing lazy circles that made Regulus forget whatever boring subject they were sitting through.

He loved how Remus would reach up without thinking to tuck the white strand of hair behind his ear, like it was instinct by now. How sometimes he’d trace the pale patches on Regulus’s temple and cheek, soft fingers following their shape, then lean in to kiss him slow and warm like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

It was soft. It was infuriating. It was addictive.

But it didn’t erase the shadow of Sirius, always hovering somewhere just behind them. Like a ghost. Like a threat. Like a version of the past trying to rewrite itself.

And Regulus hated how much space that took up in his mind—how even with everything that was right, part of him was still bracing for everything to go wrong.

By the end of November, Regulus was sick of it.

Sick of spiraling. Sick of second-guessing every word, every glance, every smile Remus gave him like it might secretly belong to someone else. He’d spent most of the month with Remus—sometimes hanging out with their chaotic little group, but mostly just the two of them holed up at Regulus’s house, existing in their own quiet little world.

And he was getting in deeper. Deep and deeper and deeper still, until it didn’t make sense to keep worrying so much. It felt pointless, even. Exhausting.

He was so caught up in his own head, he barely noticed anything else anymore.

Until the day he did.

And then he couldn’t believe he’d missed it.

How could he have missed it?

There was no more James Potter’s obnoxiously shiny BMW parked crooked on the Blacks’ driveway. No more James-and-Sirius glued to the hip at school, laughing too loud and taking up all the oxygen in every hallway. In fact, they were barely looking at each other now. No talking. No eye contact. Just a weird, cold sort of silence between them.

It turned out James had apparently drifted back to Peter Pettigrew, of all people—same year, different class, kind of a social piranha since Sirius had made it his personal mission to break that friendship when they were thirteen because he was “jealous” or whatever.

It was Remus who figured it out—of course—though in the weirdest and most uncomfortable way possible: through a voicemail Sirius left him at 3 a.m. on some random Saturday.

Regulus and Remus were locked away in Regulus’s bedroom, the house quiet except for Stranger Things playing on the TV—because Regulus insisted they had to watch it, and Remus was weak. The room smelled faintly like incense and Dorcas’s terrible tequila from earlier that night. Remus, who now had an entire drawer of clothes here (because yes, he was sleeping over at least three times a week), was lying beside him in a ridiculously soft brown hoodie and matching sweats, his hand lazily hooked around Regulus’s upper thigh like he didn’t realize it was actively setting him on fire.

They were tipsy and warm and in the middle of arguing about something incredibly stupid.

“I don’t look like Mike Wheeler,” Regulus said, offended .“He has brown eyes,”

“Yeah, but they’re always kinda half-lidded and sad. Like yours,”  Remus countered, lips twitching into a smirk.

“I do not have sad eyes,” Regulus said, deadpan.

“You do. It’s hot. Makes me want to write a tragic poem about it.”

Regulus rolled his eyes dramatically. “If you’re going to insult me, at least rhyme.”

But before he could push further (or demand a haiku), Remus’s phone buzzed against the blankets, lighting up the dark room.

Regulus glanced down—and froze.

Sirius’s name was flashing across the screen.

Remus didn’t even blink. He declined the call with a lazy swipe of his thumb like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t his ex-boyfriend-and-his-new-boyfriend’s-brother-at-the-same-time leaving voicemails at 3 a.m.

Regulus stared at him. “You’re not gonna—?”

“Nope,” Remus said simply, eyes still on the screen.

Regulus waited. “...Wanna know what it was about?”

“I already do.” Remus exhaled, leaning back against the headboard like this wasn’t weird at all. “He left a voicemail yesterday too. Drunk. Rambling about James. Apparently, they’re not speaking anymore. Something about betrayal and lies and, I quote, ‘I never should do that.’”

Regulus blinked. “That’s... cryptic.”

“Yeah, well. So is everything with Sirius.”

He said it so casually that it almost felt okay.

But Regulus’s chest felt weirdly tight. Not from jealousy—though, sure, maybe a bit—but more from the unshakable feeling that Sirius was a ticking time bomb and Remus was just waiting for the next detonation.

Remus leaned over and kissed the side of Regulus’s jaw. “Don’t spiral,” he murmured, reading him like an open book. “I’m here. Not with him. Not checking his messages. I’m watching Stranger Things with you and arguing about sad-eyed boys. I’m good.”

Regulus wanted to believe it.

So he kissed him back and pressed closer, hoping it would be enough to drown the echo of Sirius’s name still lingering in the air.

“You’re weirdly calm about everything. It’s unsettling,” Regulus sighed, dramatically flopping back onto the bed like a Regency-era wife in distress.

Remus snorted without looking up from where he was lazily tracing his finger along Regulus’s thigh. “I’m not calm. I’m just good at pretending I’m not actively spiraling.”

“Bullshit,” Regulus said, sitting up slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“No, really,” Remus grinned. “I was nervous about you all the time.”

Regulus squinted at him. “When, exactly?”

“Since we started talking.”

“Until when?”

Remus smirked, tilting his head just slightly. “Until you admitted you have a Notes app where you literally track the things that make me laugh.”

Regulus groaned and faceplanted into a pillow. “Oh my god, can we not bring that up again?”

“Nope,” Remus said cheerfully, shifting closer. “I want to see it.”

“There is no version of this universe in which I’m letting you read it,” Regulus said firmly, muffled by cotton and shame.

“And why not?” Remus asked, leaning his chin on Regulus’s shoulder now, all warm and annoyingly charming.

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” Regulus said, turning just enough to glare at him. “It’s mine.”

Remus grinned. “Come on, just show me.”

“Lupin,” Regulus groaned again, equal parts exasperated, amused, and already pre-cringing. “You’ll laugh at me. You’ll say I’m psychotic or something.”

Remus’s eyes flickered with something—something unreadable—but before Regulus could figure it out, he was grinning again. “I won’t, baby, I swear.”

Regulus sighed deeply, like the most tortured soul in history, and reached for his phone anyway. Mostly because he had a hard time saying no whenever Remus called him baby like that.

“Fine. But I’m reading it. And you don’t get to look.”

“Agreed.”

He unlocked his phone and opened the Notes app like it was some sort of cursed spellbook. “Okay, so the first one’s from when you were whining about Luton being boring and I made a joke about stoners at the skatepark.”

“I remember that,” Remus said. “I thought you were judging me the entire time.”

“I wasn’t,” Regulus replied, pretending to be offended. “I wrote—‘Lupin can laugh. Joke about weed and skatepark.’ The note title at the time was: Weed at the Skatepark & Unexpected Sounds from Complicated Boys.”

Remus cackled. “You are so extra.”

Regulus didn’t even argue. “It’s accurate. And I updated the title later, but I’m not telling you what it is now.”

Remus tilted his head. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll get all weird and sappy.”

“I already am weird and sappy.”

Regulus gave him a look and finally muttered, “It’s called Love spells he casted on me without knowing .”

Remus blinked.

Regulus immediately tilted the screen away. “See? This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”

But Remus just smiled, not mocking, not even teasing. Just soft, a little quiet. “I love that.”

Regulus pretended to roll his eyes. “You love everything I do.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately for me,” Remus murmured, brushing his knuckles against Regulus’s wrist.

Regulus cleared his throat, pretending he wasn’t melting. “Okay, next one I can read aloud without needing to physically bury myself—November 3rd. The birthday date. I wrote: ‘Admitted he wrote poetry.’ And in brackets—‘Now I want one written for me, thanks.’ I use brackets.” he added matter-of-factly. 

“You’re getting one,” Remus promised, like it was obvious.

“I deserve one after this,” Regulus muttered. “Anyway. A few days later, I wrote: ‘He called me only to read a paragraph from a book. It was dumb. He was belly-laughing. Cute.’ And then I added—‘Kinda my favorite sound right now’ in brackets.”

Remus leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on one elbow, just looking at him with that annoyingly fond expression. “You’re gonna kill me with this one day.”

“You’ll deserve it.”

“I probably will,” Remus said, then reached over and took Regulus’s hand, his thumb brushing circles into the back of it. “I wish I’d kept something like that about you.”

Regulus tilted his head. “You still can.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to stop once I started,” Remus replied, and Regulus had to look away for a second, because—God, sometimes Remus said things like that without even realizing the way they hit. Like tiny bombs wrapped in tenderness.

“I track the good things,” Regulus said, voice quieter now. “Because I’ve had so many shit ones before. So when I notice something good, I write it down. Because I want to remember.”

Remus didn’t say anything for a second. Then he leaned in and kissed his temple, slow and soft.

“Good,” he whispered. “Then I guess I’ll just have to give you more things to write down.”

Regulus smiled, the real kind, the soft and reluctant and hopeless kind. “Yeah,” he said. “You better.”

True to form, Regulus cornered James the second he saw him on Monday morning.

Honestly, it wasn’t even that difficult anymore. They were... something now. Not friends, exactly, but not enemies either. That weird in-between space where they exchanged the occasional sarcastic text, sent each other TikToks they wouldn’t admit made them laugh, and bantered like they’d always known how. James would moan about upcoming football matches, and Regulus would roast him for being a walking teenage cliché.

So when he spotted James and Peter loitering outside Peter’s classroom between periods, he didn’t even hesitate. He just slid up next to them with all the quiet menace of someone who knew exactly what kind of chaos they wanted to cause.

“Hi,” Regulus said, voice easy, leaning just slightly into James’s space.

“Hey, Reggie,” James grinned, all obnoxiously tall and golden, like someone who thought calling you a nickname you hated was a charming personality trait. “What’s up?”

Peter gave him a suspicious look over his glasses, like Regulus might bite if provoked. Which, fair.

“I was just wondering,” Regulus said casually, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers, “what exactly happened that made you stop haunting my house?”

James blinked, taken aback for half a second. “Oh. That.”

“Mhm.”

“I stopped coming by like… two weeks ago?” James said, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I didn’t,” Regulus said honestly, with a grimace. “I was… busy.”

Peter opened his mouth, looking far too ready to comment on that, but James elbowed him in the ribs before he could get a word out. Peter hissed and glared, rubbing his side.

“Sure,” James said, like he wasn’t clearly hiding something.

“So,” Regulus dragged out the word, tilting his head. “What happened?”

James shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting at the hem of his sweatshirt. “I don’t… really wanna tell you.”

Regulus’s eyebrows rose. That was new. Since the two of them had hashed things out—well, mostly—James had been weirdly cooperative. He did what Regulus asked (often dramatically), answered questions when prompted, and generally tried not to be his usual aggravating self. So the fact that he suddenly didn’t want to share something? That had to mean one of three things:

1. It was really bad.
2. It was really messy.
3. It had to do with Sirius being, once again, a little shit.

Possibly all of the above.

Regulus narrowed his eyes slightly but didn’t push. There was no point. James was basically a vault when it came to other people’s secrets—especially Sirius’s. He’d take them to the grave, probably while being annoyingly noble about it.

“Alright,” Regulus said after a beat, his voice light. “Well… catch you later, then.”

“See ya, Reggie,” James said, offering him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Regulus turned and started walking back toward his own classroom, feeling something twist in his chest. It was probably fine. Probably nothing. But the look on James’s face didn’t feel like nothing.

And Regulus was getting very, very tired of Sirius-shaped shadows showing up everywhere—even in conversations where his name didn’t get mentioned at all.

Remus, naturally, wanted a full update.
He wasn’t jealous anymore—not really, not in the way he had been before—but he still carried a healthy dose of suspicion where James Potter was involved. It wasn’t even personal at this point; it was just instinct. So the second the four of them—Remus, Regulus, Barty, and Evan—stepped out into the courtyard for a cigarette break, he turned to Regulus like he’d been waiting all day to ask.

He lit Regulus’s cigarette first, like always, using that ridiculous gold lighter that Regulus would never admit he was unreasonably fond of. It flicked open with its usual smooth little snap, the flame flaring between them like something ceremonial. It had become such a stupidly comforting habit, like muscle memory—like Remus had been doing it for years instead of weeks.

Regulus took a drag, slow and lazy, and Remus raised a brow at him, casual as anything.

“So?” he asked, voice light. “What did our dear golden boy say?”

Regulus exhaled a puff of smoke and shrugged. “Didn’t want to tell me.”

Evan groaned immediately. “Oh my God. He’s the worst. I’m so serious. I don’t care how good his jawline is—”

“He’s loyal,” Regulus cut in, rolling his eyes like he hadn’t heard this speech before. “That’s different.”

“Well, that’s a contradiction to Sirius in every possible universe,” Remus muttered, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite get there.

“You think that’s why the bromance ended?” Barty piped up, squinting like he was running stats in his head. “Potter finally woke up and realized his soulmate is an actual nightmare?”

“Could be,” Regulus hummed, tapping ash onto the stone ledge behind them. “But I don’t know. He looked... guilty.”

Remus glanced over. “Guilty like ‘I forgot your birthday’ guilty, or guilty like ‘I buried a body in your garden and didn’t tell you’?”

“No,” Regulus said slowly. “Like ‘this is about you and I feel bad but can’t say why’ guilty.”

Evan and Barty exchanged a glance.

“He does have that face,” Evan admitted.

“Big sad Labrador energy,” Barty added, nodding solemnly.

“Like if a golden retriever ran into traffic and then apologized to the car,” Evan said.

Remus snorted but didn’t say anything else. He just leaned back against the wall, eyes flicking over the courtyard like he was chewing on something he didn’t want to swallow. Regulus watched him for a moment, debating whether to poke him or let it go. He ended up saying nothing—mostly because he hated how easily his brain twisted silence into worry.

But then Remus bumped their shoulders as they headed back inside and laced their fingers together without hesitation, his thumb running in lazy, grounding circles against Regulus’s knuckles.

So no, he wasn’t mad. Regulus was just projecting again. Obviously.

“You wanna hang out later?” Regulus asked, voice soft, like he was trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Yeah,” Remus said immediately. “You wanna grab food or something?”

“Takeout?” Regulus offered. “I wanna watch Stranger Things. The Halloween episode. With the Ghostbusters suits. You know, peak childhood trauma and nerd bonding.”

Remus grinned. “Alright. I’ll pick something up after school. Thai or Mexican?”

“Surprise me,” Regulus said, because he liked when Remus made decisions for both of them.

They slipped into the classroom together, hand in hand, but Regulus didn’t miss the way Remus’s eyes went straight to the desk James and Sirius used to share—now awkwardly spaced, barely speaking. Like Remus was still trying to piece together a puzzle no one had given him the edges of.

Regulus squeezed his hand. Remus didn’t say anything, but he squeezed back.

Chapter Text

Regulus, in a rare moment of clarity (and possibly delusion), decided he was officially done with his “I’m not good enough” phase.

Temporarily, at least.

It would absolutely come back in two days, tops—probably around 1:30 a.m. when he was lying in bed overthinking a perfectly normal text from Remus. But for now? He was letting himself breathe. Letting himself sit back, relax, and actually enjoy dating Remus bloody Lupin.

Because he deserved it, didn’t he? After all the chaos, all the spiraling, all the weird mental gymnastics he put himself through for weeks on end, he deserved this. He deserved soft things and warm hands and someone who made him laugh so hard he had to cover his face. And it was almost disturbingly easy to let himself fall into it once he stopped gripping so tightly to the fear.

He was done questioning. Done doubting. Done pretending to pull away when he didn’t even want to in the first place. When all he really wanted was to be closer. Closer and closer until he could fold himself into Remus’s sweater and live there forever.

Besides, it was practically impossible to think straight when Remus Lupin was involved in your life, Regulus had noticed.

Remus, who held the door for him like they were in a Jane Austen novel. Who always lit his cigarette for him like it was some romantic ritual with that stupid gold lighter Regulus absolutely wasn’t obsessed with. Who let Regulus choose the movie every time —even when it was Twilight, and even though Remus insisted that the Cullens had the emotional range of stale toast (which, rude, but also not entirely incorrect).

And the second Regulus started to feel at ease—like really, genuinely, stupidly okay—Remus, of course, noticed.

Because he was the kind of person who got alarmed if Regulus so much as sneezed wrong.

They were walking down the hallway after lunch when it happened. Regulus was actually smiling about something dumb Evan had said earlier, hands tucked in the pockets of his uniform trousers, and Remus just looked at him.

Really looked.

“You’re being suspiciously calm,” Remus said, his tone light but his eyes narrowed slightly.

Regulus blinked at him. “Am I not allowed to be calm now?”

“Not you calm,” Remus said, poking his side. “You calm is usually fake calm. This looks dangerously close to inner peace.”

Regulus snorted. “Maybe I’m just... letting myself be happy.”

Remus tilted his head, watching him for a moment longer. Then he smiled, slow and crooked. “Good. Took you long enough.”

“You’re insufferable,” Regulus muttered, bumping their shoulders.

“You love it.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

But the thing was, it was getting easier. The thoughts didn’t go away completely—this was still Regulus, after all—but they got quieter. Softer. Easier to ignore when Remus kissed his temple or let him ramble about whatever book he was rereading or texted him thinking about you instead of Dickens, you ruined me  in the middle of class.

Yep. He definitely was falling.

They were definitely getting a little too into each other—if that was even possible. Like skipping-whole-episodes-of-whatever-they-were-watching kind of into each other.

Which, honestly, was happening constantly now.

It had started innocently enough—kisses that stretched a little too long during movie nights, hands slipping under sweatshirts when no one was paying attention—but now? Now they were missing entire plotlines of shows because they couldn’t keep their mouths off each other. Regulus liked to claim it was Remus’s fault—and to be fair, it kind of was. The boy had zero self-control, especially when Regulus wore soft jumpers or lip balm. (Remus swore he didn’t notice the lip balm, but his behavior said otherwise.)

Regulus was also smug about it. Stupidly smug. Because it was Remus —stoic, poetry-reciting, slow-blink Lupin—who was the one practically crawling into his lap half the time. Who couldn’t go ten minutes without touching him. Not that Regulus was any better, especially when tipsy and armed with false confidence. But still. The ego boost? Immaculate.

And God— God —Remus was hot when he took charge.

Like, drag-Regulus-onto-his-lap-without-warning hot. Pin-him-to-the-bed hot. Wall-kiss him like they were in some angsty indie drama hot. Or the kind of hot where they ended up in an empty classroom during a break, trying to be quiet, failing miserably, and laughing between kisses because they were very much not being subtle.

It was chaotic and impulsive and stupid and fun. And addictive in the worst-best way.

Once, Remus had pulled him up by the collar of his shirt, pushed him up against a desk, and kissed him like he was starved for it. Regulus had been halfway through whispering a sarcastic comment when Remus cut him off with his mouth, hands slipping beneath his blazer like they had every right to be there. (Which, they sort of did.)

“I thought you said we were keeping this casual,” Regulus had breathed out, dazed and grinning.

Remus had just smirked and replied, “I lied.”

Regulus hadn’t stopped thinking about it for days.

On Friday night, right after movie night at Evan’s—where they binged all the Toy Story movies and Regulus absolutely didn’t cry (he totally did, and Barty’s knowing smirk didn’t help)—they ended up back in Regulus’s room, as was tradition. Remus staying over after group hangouts felt as natural as breathing at this point. Partly because his house was on the other side of the city, and partly because… well, why the hell wouldn’t he? Regulus’s room, with its soft string lights, jungle of plants, and the faint scent of amber from that candle he kept forgetting to blow out, was practically their sanctuary now.

The December wind had left them both frozen to the bone, noses still pink from the trek home through Luton’s unforgiving chill. They’d showered—separately, because Regulus insisted on “maintaining some dignity” (a lie)—and slipped into oversized hoodies and sweats before diving under Regulus’s duvet like it was a sacred ritual. Stranger Things flickered on the TV—because of course it was, again—and Regulus, with the conviction of a slightly tipsy drama student, jabbed a finger at Remus.

“We’re actually watching this time, Lupin. I mean it.”

Which, naturally, was the exact opposite of what happened the second Remus slid a hand under Regulus’s t-shirt, fingers warm and teasing, like it was pure muscle memory. Regulus’s breath hitched, but he kept his eyes glued to the screen, pretending he wasn’t already losing the plot.

“Remus,” he warned, voice deceptively casual, “watch the kids play D&D. It’s iconic.”

“Mhm. Nope,” Remus murmured, lazy and unapologetic, and then, with zero effort and absolutely no shame, he pulled Regulus onto his lap like he weighed nothing. 

(Hot. So hot. Criminally hot.) 

Regulus’s knees settled on either side of Remus’s thighs, and he braced his hands on Remus’s arms, feeling the steady strength beneath his palms. His heart did a stupid little flip, and he shot Remus a crooked smirk.

“You’re so easy,” Regulus teased, arching a brow, though his voice was already betraying him, a little too breathy.

Remus’s smirk was all half-lidded confidence, eyes glinting with something dangerous and delighted. “Have you seen yourself, darling?” he shot back, voice low and warm, like he was savoring every syllable.

Before Regulus could muster a properly sarcastic comeback, Remus’s hand found the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss that started soft—tentative, sweet—before it deepened into something heavier, hungrier. It tasted like the lingering red wine from Evan’s, the brown ale Remus loved, and the lavender toothpaste they’d both used in Regulus’s bathroom. It was Friday night, safety, and something so addictive Regulus was half-convinced he’d need to check himself into rehab by morning.

Regulus hummed into the kiss, one hand sliding up to cup Remus’s jaw, fingers brushing the faint stubble there. It escalated fast, like it always did—one spark, and they were a wildfire. Hands roamed, slipping under fabric with practiced ease, and Regulus honestly couldn’t tell who started undressing who. Probably him, because Remus was always too damn polite to make the first move, but it didn’t matter. Within minutes, shirts were gone, tossed somewhere on the floor, and they were skin-to-skin, breathless and flushed.

Remus moved like he’d been planning it all night, flipping them over with an ease that made Regulus’s bones feel like honey. He hovered above him, propped on his elbows, wearing nothing but those low-slung sweatpants that should’ve been illegal. The scar on his sternum caught the low glow of the string lights, a pale line beneath Regulus’s wandering hands, and Regulus? He was gone. Fully blue-screened. Brain offline, system rebooting, because what the hell.  

Remus Lupin was a problem, and Regulus was not equipped to handle it.

Remus’s lips found Regulus’s neck, kissing slow and deliberate, like he was mapping every inch of skin with purpose. His hand slid down Regulus’s chest, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his collarbone, then lower, teasing at the waistband of his sweats. Regulus’s breath caught, a soft sound that he’d deny making later, and he arched up instinctively, chasing the warmth of Remus’s touch. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, voice wrecked, hands gripping Remus’s shoulders like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

“Good,” Remus whispered against his skin, lips curving into a smirk as he pressed a kiss just below Regulus’s jaw. “That’s the plan.” 

His hand dipped lower, confident but not rushed, fingers splaying across Regulus’s hip, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. The room felt too warm, too small, the hum of Stranger Things fading into a distant buzz as Regulus’s world narrowed to the weight of Remus above him, the heat of his breath, the deliberate press of his hands.

Regulus tilted his head back, giving Remus better access, and let out a quiet, “Fuck,” when Remus’s teeth grazed the sensitive spot just under his ear. It was unfair, really, how easily Remus could unravel him—like he’d studied a manual on every button to push. Regulus’s hands slid down Remus’s back, nails dragging lightly, earning a low groan that vibrated through both of them. 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Regulus managed, aiming for snarky but landing somewhere closer to desperate.

“Says the guy who’s practically melting,” Remus teased, voice rough and warm as he pulled back just enough to meet Regulus’s eyes. 

His gaze was molten, all amber and intent, and Regulus felt his stomach flip in a way that was entirely uncool. Remus’s hand moved again, slipping beneath the waistband of Regulus’s sweats, slow and deliberate, and Regulus’s brain short-circuited entirely. He arched into the touch, a soft gasp escaping before he could stop it, and Remus’s smirk widened, smug and just a little too pleased with himself.

“You’re the worst ,” Regulus breathed, but his hands were already tugging at Remus’s sweatpants, impatient and not remotely subtle. 

Remus laughed, low and husky, and helped him, kicking the fabric off with a carelessness that made Regulus’s heart race. They were a tangle of limbs now, all heat and friction, the duvet half-falling off the bed as they moved together, instinctive and unhurried, like they had nowhere else to be.

Remus’s hands were everywhere—steady, warm, commanding in a way that made Regulus feel both safe and utterly undone. He pressed Regulus into the mattress, kissing him deeply, tongue teasing just enough to draw a whimper from Regulus—a sound he’d take to his grave. 

“You okay?” Remus murmured, pulling back slightly, his voice soft but laced with that quiet intensity that always made Regulus’s chest ache, like he was being seen too clearly.

“Don’t be a fucking gentleman now,” Regulus replied, half-laughing, half-pleading, as he tugged Remus back down, fingers threading through his hair. 

Remus obliged, his kisses slowing, turning deliberate, as his hands mapped every curve and angle of Regulus’s body, like he was committing it to memory. 

Remus’s hands slid to Regulus’s hips, pinning him to the mattress with just enough force to make his breath hitch. His lips wandered from Regulus’s mouth, trailing down his neck, across his chest, leaving a scattering of soft bites that had Regulus squirming. When Remus paused at his thigh, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin there, Regulus swallowed hard, his voice barely steady. 

“Oh. So we’re doing that. Great.”

Remus chuckled against his skin, the vibration sending a shiver up Regulus’s spine. “You okay there?” he teased, his voice low and smug, eyes flicking up to meet Regulus’s with a glint of mischief.

“Yep. Mhm. Totally. So okay,” Regulus managed, throwing his arms over his face to hide the flush creeping up his cheeks, his breath way too uneven to fool anyone. He was a mess, and Remus knew it—judging by the way his lips curved into that infuriatingly confident smirk.

“Good,” Remus murmured, and then he moved to Regulus’s cock, licking the length with a slow, deliberate drag of his tongue, like he had all the time in the world. Regulus’s hips bucked, a broken “ Shit ” escaping as his head tipped back against the pillow, one hand flying to Remus’s hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands.

“Can you—fuck— move?” Regulus panted, trying and failing to sound cool, his voice wrecked as Remus took him into his mouth, slow at first, tongue swirling around the tip with maddening precision. The heat of it, the slick pressure, dragged a moan from Regulus’s throat, loud and unfiltered, and he was too far gone to care.

Remus’s hand slid lower, teasing at Regulus’s hole, his touch light at first, just enough to coax another needy moan from Regulus—exactly what Remus wanted, if the smug hum vibrating around Regulus’s cock was any indication. He slid one finger in, curling it just right, and Regulus’s back arched off the bed, a gasped “Fuck” spilling out as pleasure sparked through him.

“You’re so—shit—fucking smug,” Regulus breathed, his voice a mix of accusation and desperation, fingers tightening in Remus’s hair as he tried to keep some semblance of control.

Remus pulled back just enough to flash that infuriating smirk, his lips glistening as he added another finger, stretching Regulus with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Can’t blame me,” he said, voice rough and teasing. “It’s you.”  

He leaned in, kissing Regulus deeply, all tongue and heat, as his other hand stroked Regulus’s cock, slicking his fingers with precum before sliding them back to Regulus’s hole, working him open with a care that was both tender and maddening.

Regulus’s brain was static, his body a live wire under Remus’s hands. “You’re—fuck—gonna pay for this,” he gasped, but the threat was empty, dissolved by the way Remus’s fingers moved, curling and pressing in a way that made stars burst behind Regulus’s eyes. He was trembling now, hips rocking instinctively, chasing every touch.

“Hold that thought,” Remus murmured, pulling back to reach for the bedside table. 

Regulus’s eyes followed, catching the glint of the small bottle of lube tucked in the drawer and he didn’t even bat an eyelash on the fact that Remus knew it was here. He’ll throw a fit about privacy later.

Remus grabbed the tube with a practiced ease, like he’d mapped out Regulus’s room as thoroughly as his body. He poured a generous amount into his palm, warming it between his fingers, and Regulus’s breath hitched at the sight—Remus’s focus, the way his hands moved with such quiet confidence.

“Prepared, huh?” Regulus managed, aiming for snarky but landing somewhere closer to wrecked, his voice barely holding together as Remus’s slick fingers returned, sliding in deeper, stretching him with a slow, purposeful rhythm that had Regulus’s thighs trembling.

“Always,” Remus replied, his tone teasing but his eyes soft, checking in even as he pushed Regulus further into the mattress. He leaned down, kissing Regulus’s jaw, his neck, the sensitive spot just below his ear, as his fingers worked with devastating precision. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he added, voice low and serious, even as his thumb brushed Regulus’s cock, coaxing another broken moan.

“Too much is you stopping,” Regulus shot back, half-laughing, half-gasping, as he pulled Remus closer, nails digging into his shoulders. 

Remus chuckled, the sound vibrating through Regulus’s chest, and then he shifted, aligning their bodies, the heat of him pressing against Regulus in a way that made his head spin. He poured more lube, slicking himself with a slow, deliberate stroke that Regulus couldn’t tear his eyes away from, and then he was there, nudging against Regulus, slow and careful but so intense it stole the air from the room.

Regulus’s hands scrambled for purchase, one gripping Remus’s bicep, the other fisting the sheets as Remus pushed in, inch by inch, the stretch burning in the best way possible. 

“Fuck,” Regulus gasped, his head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut as he adjusted to the fullness, the heat, the way Remus filled him so completely it was almost overwhelming. 

Remus paused, giving him time, his lips brushing soft kisses along Regulus’s collarbone, his hands steady on Regulus’s hips.

“Breathe, baby,” Remus murmured, voice a low rumble, and Regulus let out a shaky laugh, forcing his eyes open to meet Remus’s gaze—amber and intense, but so warm it made Regulus’s chest ache.

“I’m breathing,” Regulus managed, though it sounded more like a wheeze, his body trembling as he wrapped his legs around Remus’s waist, urging him closer. “Move, Lupin. I’m not fragile.”

Remus’s smirk returned, all confidence and heat, and he started to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, hitting just the right spot to make Regulus’s toes curl. 

“Not fragile,” Remus echoed, voice rough as he leaned down to kiss Regulus, deep and messy, tongues tangling as his pace quickened. “But fucking unreal.”

Regulus was gone, lost in the rhythm of Remus’s hips, the slick slide of their bodies, the way Remus’s hands held him like he was something precious. Every thrust sent pleasure spiking through him, building fast, and Regulus’s moans turned incoherent, a string of curses and Remus’s name as he clung to him, nails dragging down Remus’s back. Remus groaned, low and guttural, his own control fraying as he drove deeper, harder, the bed creaking faintly under them.

“Remus—fuck, please,” Regulus gasped, his voice breaking as he arched up, meeting each thrust, his body trembling on the edge.

Remus’s hand slid between them, stroking Regulus in time with his movements, and that was it—Regulus shattered, a choked moan spilling out as pleasure crashed over him, his vision whiting out for a moment as he came, hot and messy across Remus’s hand.

Remus wasn’t far behind, his thrusts growing erratic, his breath ragged as he buried his face in Regulus’s neck, a low groan vibrating against his skin as he followed, his body tensing before he collapsed, breathless and spent. They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, sweat-slick and trembling, the air heavy with the scent of lube and sex and them.

Eventually, Remus rolled to the side, pulling Regulus with him, their legs still entwined under the mess of the duvet. Regulus sprawled across Remus’s chest, his cheek pressed against the scar on his sternum, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. 

“You’re carrying me to class on Monday,” he mumbled, voice muffled and drowsy, “because I’m dead after that.”

Remus laughed, soft and warm, pressing a kiss to the top of Regulus’s head. “Alright, darling,” he murmured, his voice still rough, fingers tracing lazy patterns along Regulus’s spine. 

Stranger Things was still playing, some monster roaring in the background, but Regulus didn’t care. He wasn’t watching it tonight—or probably ever again, at this rate. And he was perfectly, stupidly, gloriously okay with that. 

They kissed for a while—slow, warm, and a little lazy—until Regulus decided he could probably walk again without limping.

(Little did he know: false confidence. He was very wrong.)

Eventually, he peeled himself off the bed, limbs heavy and wobbly, hair a disaster, skin flushed and warm all over. He definitely needed another shower. Remus, predictably, didn’t stop watching him for even a second, gaze trailing down his back like he had every right.

Regulus rolled his eyes on his way to the ensuite, but his smirk betrayed him.

He stood under the hot spray longer than necessary, hands braced on the tile while his brain chanted YOU HAD SEX like some kind of internal siren. Not his first time, not even close, and yet—something about this felt louder. Realer. Like it mattered more.

He called himself an idiot for waiting so long at least twenty times before rinsing his hair, and somewhere between the conditioner and the towel, made a quiet, tired promise to stop being so fucking insecure when it came to Remus. Because the sex had been good. Really good. The kind of good that made him want to do it again and again and again, which he was already planning… as soon as his legs stopped shaking.

When he padded back into the bedroom, skin still pink from the heat, Remus was already dressed again—hoodie, sweats, annoyingly casual—and leaning against the wall with a newly opened pack of Yellow Camels in one hand. The lube was nowhere in sight, tucked away with an unspoken sort of grace.

“Cig?” Remus asked, offering him the pack like it was muscle memory.

Regulus nodded, slipping one between his lips as he crossed the room and settled in the window nook. He sat a little too cautiously, trying not to wince as he popped the window open wide and let the winter air cool him down. Remus joined him, knees brushing, and leaned in to light Regulus’s cigarette with that stupid gold lighter Regulus had absolutely developed an attachment to.

“You good?” Remus asked, lighting his own cigarette with a lazy flick.

“Mhm.” Regulus exhaled smoke, feigning nonchalance. “Just need to update my notes app.”

Remus laughed under his breath and tugged Regulus’s legs onto his lap, one hand resting naturally on his thigh. He leaned back against the window frame like they’d done this a thousand times. “What’s the update say?”

Regulus didn’t miss a beat. “‘He absolutely ruined me and now I walk like I lost a bar fight. Five stars,’” he said, completely deadpan. “Might add ‘didn’t know Welsh boys had big dicks’ in brackets.”

Remus burst into laughter, head tipping back fully, one hand clutching his stomach. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“And you’re way too smug,” Regulus muttered, lips twitching.

But the truth was, Remus’s laugh felt like something pressing warm and steady against his ribs, and Regulus found himself smiling despite everything. Despite the aching muscles, despite the fact he was absolutely going to cry to his therapist (that would be Barty) about this later. Maybe.

They fell into easy silence after that, the kind that didn’t need filling. The soft hum of Stranger Things played from the TV, mostly forgotten. Smoke curled between them, lazy and gold in the light. Remus’s hand stayed on his knee, firm and grounding, and Regulus leaned into it like it was second nature.

For the first time in a while, everything felt quiet—in a good way. In a safe way.

And Regulus, tucked under the stars with a cigarette in hand and Remus Lupin beside him, figured he could get used to this.

When they got back to bed, Remus pulled Regulus into his lap before he even had a chance to sit properly on the mattress. It was seamless—like a muscle memory—Regulus going easily, hands slipping onto Remus’s shoulders as if they belonged there.

Remus’s hands settled on Regulus’s ass as they kissed, slow and a little sloppy, the kind of kissing that said we could do this forever, even if they were both a bit wrecked already. Apparently, being “spent” meant nothing when it came to them.

“So,” Regulus hummed as they pulled apart, lips just barely brushing. “Am I getting a poem now? Like—worshipping and all?”

“Mhm,” Remus nodded solemnly. “Whole poetry book. Dedicated to your greatness.”

Regulus grinned. “What’s the title?”

“I’m working on it,” Remus said, brows furrowed like he was actually considering it. “Somewhere between ‘He Has an Angel Face’ and ‘Pretty Sure He Moaned in French.’ ”

“Shut up,” Regulus laughed, smacking his arm.

“I’m just saying,” Remus chuckled. “The moan had an accent.”

“I hate you,” Regulus muttered fondly, biting back a smile.

“I’m pretty sure your cat woke up,” Remus added after a pause, tilting his head toward the closed door.

“Chaton’s dramatic like that,” Regulus rolled his eyes. “She’s probably tattling to my mum right now.”

“Oh my god, don’t say that,” Remus groaned, falling back dramatically on the bed, arms still firmly around Regulus. “Now I’m gonna have to escape through the window in the morning. Probably break my neck in the process.”

“Not breaking necks until you explain how the hell you found the lube in the drawer,” Regulus said, squinting at him.

Remus blinked, clearly caught. “I… noticed it once?”

Regulus raised a brow. “Did you rummage through my underwear drawer too?”

“I didn’t! I was just—looking for AirPods once. You fell asleep and I was bored.”

“You sound like Joe Goldberg.”

“…Baby, you really need to stop watching so much Netflix,” Remus replied.

“If I didn’t, how would I know you’re a creep?” Regulus asked, eyes wide with faux innocence.

Remus tipped his head back and sighed, though his hands stayed exactly where they were. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Do I?”

“No. Just… a lot of happiness that feels suspiciously like I’m about to fall off a cliff.”

Regulus blushed—just a little, just enough to feel it in his ears—because god, Remus was good at saying stuff like that. Soft things. Big things. Things that made Regulus feel like maybe he really was loveable, not just bearable.

“Well,” Regulus said, tapping his fingers against Remus’s chest where his heart beat hard and fast. “You’re making me happy too. Suspiciously happy.”

Remus smiled so wide his hidden dimples showed, soft and unguarded. “Good. Anything for a boy who keeps track of the days I’m laughing.”

“Stop bringing that up,” Regulus groaned, laughing through it, and leaned down to kiss him again.

And again.

And again.

Until Netflix hit them with a passive-aggressive Are you still watching? and neither of them cared enough to answer.

Chapter Text

Regulus, true to his dramatic and overthinking nature, woke up with the exact questions he’d promised himself he wouldn’t have. But honestly, how the hell do you stop your own subconscious? You can’t. It’s like trying to hold water with your hands.

So even with Remus’s arm slung loosely around his waist, warm and grounding, Regulus stared at the ceiling and spiraled silently. Wondering. Obsessing.

Was Remus comparing him to Sirius last night?

Was he worse in bed than Sirius had been?

Was he too needy? Too stiff? Too much? Not enough?

What if Remus had only thought he wanted to sleep with him but now, having actually done it, realized it was a mistake? That Regulus wasn’t what he expected? That he regretted it?

What if that big pale patch on the inside of Regulus’s thigh had been disgusting to him? What if he thought Regulus was awkward, or bad at it, or—

God, what if they never did it again? Or worse—what if this somehow ruined everything?

Before he could spiral completely into a hole of existential dread and self-loathing, Remus stirred behind him, sleepy and warm. He tightened his grip around Regulus’s waist and pulled him a little closer, pressing a lazy kiss to the back of his neck.

“Hi, baby,” Remus murmured, voice thick with sleep—low and rough and stupidly endearing.

Regulus blinked hard, swallowing the knot in his throat. “Hi,” he whispered back, rolling over to face him.

“You good?” Remus asked, one hand sliding gently along Regulus’s side, fingertips grazing the curve of his ribs.

Too sharp, Regulus thought immediately. Too visible. Too much of nothing and not enough of anything.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he lied easily, even though his chest felt tight.

Remus narrowed his eyes, already catching it. Of course he did—he always did. His brows knit together, sleepy but concerned, gaze flicking across Regulus’s face like it was a puzzle he knew by heart.

“Don’t spiral, baby, please,” Remus murmured, brushing a kiss against his forehead.

“I’m not spiraling,” Regulus huffed. “I’m totally, perfectly fine. Obviously.”

“Right,” Remus said dryly, smirking now. “And I’m a rockstar.”

Regulus let out a quiet laugh despite himself. “You’d be terrible at it. Too honorable.”

“Flattered,” Remus smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind Regulus’s ear. “But also—cut the crap.”

Regulus didn’t respond right away. He just pressed his face into Remus’s chest, inhaling the lingering scent of soap and sleep and that earthy-warm thing that was just him. Remus’s arms wrapped tighter around him without being asked.

After a long pause, Regulus mumbled against his skin, “You’re not… disappointed, right?”

Remus blinked. “In…?”

“In last night. In me,” Regulus said, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

There was a heartbeat of silence before Remus pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

“Reg,” he said, gently but seriously. “Last night was… amazing. And you were amazing. I’m not disappointed. I’m obsessed.”

Regulus squinted at him, suspicious. “Like… obsessed in a ‘he’s hot’ way or a ‘I’m gonna boil his rabbit’ way?”

Remus laughed, really laughed, his head dropping to Regulus’s shoulder. “Jesus Christ. Definitely the first one. Though if I ever did boil a rabbit, it’d be for you.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it,” Regulus said, smiling now despite himself.

Remus kissed his shoulder and muttered, “We’re having sex again the moment you can walk properly. Just saying.”

Regulus flushed bright red. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious. Don’t even try to act like you’re not already planning it.”

“…Maybe I am.”

Remus grinned like he’d won something. “That’s my boy.”

And Regulus—awkward, anxious, still a little tangled in his own self-doubt—let himself melt into it. Into the warmth and the jokes and the quiet understanding. Into Remus.

Just for a bit longer. Maybe forever.

It was, apparently, the weekend of firsts, because Remus—casual as anything—asked Regulus if he wanted to hang out at his house.

Regulus had never been there before. Not once. Frankly, no one had. Not even Sirius.

“I mean, I need to feed Sansa,” Remus said through a yawn, like it was no big deal. “But honestly, I wouldn’t mind not having Sirius in the same house for a change.”

Regulus grimaced. Fair enough. Sirius was still deep in his ridiculous obsession with the idea of stealing Remus back, like they were in some terrible soap opera —which they were, actually. And yeah, it was getting more absurd by the day. Honestly, Regulus kind of hoped Sirius had heard them last night. Possibly the pettiest thought he’d ever had—but he could live with that.

“Alright,” he said with a shrug. Then, narrowing his eyes, he added, “But Helen isn’t there, right?”

He meant Helen, Remus’s father’s housekeeper. She was apparently around seventy, terrifying, and had opinions about everything, including—Regulus suspected—boys with black nail polish and lipgloss. 

“She’s not,” Remus said, smirking. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You would, though,” Regulus replied flatly.

“Okay, I might. But not today.”

So Regulus packed an overnight bag (shoved into his school backpack like a 12-year-old going to a sleepover), and they drove to Remus’s in his car, stopping at McDonald’s because it was still breakfast hours and Regulus had an unhealthy attachment to the cheese-only toasts.

“You’re the pickiest eater I’ve ever met,” Remus said, shaking his head as Regulus ordered through the drive-thru window.

Regulus gave him a side-eye. “Don’t push me.”

And Remus didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He never did.

When they finally pulled up to the Lupin estate, Regulus got the same uneasy shiver he always did. The place was beautiful—stupidly beautiful—but in the kind of way that made you feel like you shouldn’t touch anything. Even the snow looked expensive here. Ivy crawled up the old stone walls, the garden was full of sculpted hedges that looked like they were straight out of a royal park, and the whole thing had a slightly haunting, fairytale look.

“It’s giving Gilmore Girls,” Regulus muttered as they stepped inside. “The grandparents’ house.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Remus said, shutting the door behind them.

Regulus looked around the grand, quiet hallway. Everything echoed slightly.

“You will,” he said. “It’s a vibe.”

When they shrugged off their coats and kicked off their boots, Sansa appeared in the hallway, meowing like she hadn’t been fed in a week. She was ridiculously huge, all fur and fluff, with a dramatic ginger coat that gave off real Main Character energy.

Regulus crouched down the second he laid eyes on her.

He extended a hand, offering it for her to sniff— like a gentleman —and she gave it a very dramatic inspection before, apparently satisfied, letting him scratch behind her ears. She even started purring.

Remus blinked in confusion. “Okay… that’s weird. She hates people.”

“Then we’re soulmates,” Regulus replied, deadpan, still petting.

After Remus fed the cat—who then proceeded to ignore them like she’d never met them in her life—they headed upstairs, their steps echoing softly on the polished wooden floors. The whole place looked more like a museum than a house, honestly. And not the cool kind of museum—more like the kind full of weirdly old furniture and that one room no one’s allowed to sit in.

“And your dad really isn’t here all the time?” Regulus asked, glancing around.

“Mhm,” Remus hummed as he crossed the hallway. “This is like… the second weekend in a row he stayed in London instead of coming back.”

“Really?” Regulus frowned. “I thought it was a Monday to Friday thing?”

“It was.”

“Didn’t he drag you back here to keep an eye on you?” Regulus asked, head tilted. “After the whole expelled-for-dealing thing?”

“Yep,” Remus said, pushing his bedroom door open and gesturing for Regulus to go first.

The room was so Remus it almost hurt. Books were everywhere—on the bookshelf, the windowsill, the bedside table, even a few stacked under the monitor on his desk. The walls were a soft beige, and the bed looked stupidly soft, dressed in deep brown sheets. A TV took up half of one wall, clearly the centerpiece of many quiet evenings.

There were photos on the wall too, which immediately caught Regulus’s eye.

“Oh my god— is that baby you?” he gasped, already making his way over.

“Mhm,” Remus replied, pointing at one of the pictures.

It was a photo of him, an older boy who had to be his brother, and a blonde woman standing behind them with a gentle smile. Remus was maybe five or six, freckles everywhere, grinning so wide it looked like it hurt. His nose hadn’t been broken yet. John stood beside him, matching grin in place, basketball tucked under one arm. His hair was the same brown and wavy mess Remus had now, only a bit neater. The woman—definitely their mum—had soft eyes and that warm, kind look that made Regulus think of Evan’s mum. Instantly comforting.

“Oh,” Regulus murmured. “She looks great. And you’re… really cute.”

Remus chuckled, but it came out a little distant. “Yeah. She was having a good time back then.”

Regulus frowned slightly at the way Remus said it—like he was talking about a movie he only half remembered. Remus never really talked about his mum. And Regulus had never figured out why.

“You too,” Regulus said softly.

Remus nodded. “Yep. That was the day I left the hospital after heart surgery.”

Regulus had pieced it together from the scar running down Remus’s sternum, sure—but hearing him say it out loud? That was different. Real in a way that settled somewhere behind his ribs and twisted a little.

Even after over a month of dating, and nearly two of knowing each other, there was still so much Regulus didn’t know. Remus didn’t offer details unless he wanted to. And Regulus never asked. Not because he wasn’t dying to know—he absolutely was—but because he knew better. He knew how tight Remus kept those cards to his chest, knew that it had everything to do with Sirius and the months of betrayal and bullshit that came with being too open.

Still. Regulus wanted to know. Everything. About Remus’s mum and what happened to her. About his brother, who he only ever mentioned once. About the way his nose had clearly been broken at least once, and why he always stayed at Lily’s when he went to Cardiff for weekends instead of with his mum. About what it had been like before.

But now wasn’t the time.

So Regulus did what he was surprisingly good at when it came to Remus: he let it go. Just let the words sit there between them, soft and unbothered, and turned his gaze to the bed instead.

“You’ve got a thing for the color brown, huh?” he said, dryly, taking in the earthy palette—the deep sheets, the wooden shelves, the warm-toned art on the walls.

Remus gave a small, amused snort. “And you’ve got a thing for making me feel like I’m not being studied under a microscope.”

“Mm. I try,” Regulus said, letting a crooked smile twitch at his lips.

Without another word, Remus pulled him toward the bed, and Regulus followed easily, allowing himself to be guided onto his lap. His knees settled on either side of Remus’s thighs, his hands already finding their way into Remus’s hair, brushing it back from his face like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“You’re not under a microscope,” he said softly, fingers trailing over Remus’s jaw. “You’re just... fascinating.”

Remus hummed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, like he wanted to live in that sentence a little longer.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he murmured, “when you’ll finally snap and start asking questions.”

“I won’t,” Regulus replied simply, his voice low but firm. “You’ll tell me what you want to, when you want to. That’s how it works with you, right?”

Remus opened his eyes then, and the way he looked at Regulus made his chest ache a little. Like he was something rare and unexpected. Like he’d done something good without even realizing it.

“You make it feel easy,” Remus said, so quietly it almost didn’t make it past the space between them.

Regulus swallowed, heart suddenly doing too much. “You make it feel terrifying,” he admitted, not quite a whisper, not quite brave enough to meet Remus’s gaze when he said it.

And Remus just smiled, all soft edges and crinkled eyes. “Good,” he said. “That means we’re doing something right.”

Regulus was dangerously close to saying something stupid. Like I think I’m in love with you or I want to learn everything about you or please don’t disappear. But instead, he kissed him.

Because kissing was easier than explaining the avalanche of emotion behind his ribcage. Kissing was safe. Safe and warm and familiar, and, more importantly, it shut him up.

So he kissed Remus. Slow and soft and unhurried. He kissed him until the air between them melted and the silence became comfortable again. Until there was nothing left but their mouths and the weight of shared breath and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was what it meant to be known without having to be asked.

They spent most of the day doing absolutely nothing—just the kind of nothing that made Regulus feel full in a way that didn’t always make sense. Curled up together in Remus’s bed, limbs tangled like it was second nature, they read side by side in an easy silence only broken by a comment here and there or the scratch of pens as they scribbled in the margins.

Regulus was half-leaning on Remus, one socked foot tucked under his thigh, the other resting lazily across the mattress. A familiar playlist—one he’d made weeks ago, titled “this would be a mixtape if we were in the ‘70s” —played softly from the TV across the room. Bowie melted into Fleetwood Mac, then something sad and acoustic followed, and it all just… fit. The room was warm, the sheets rumpled, and Remus’s scent was in everything.

Remus’s phone buzzed again, Sirius’s name lighting up the screen for the fourth time that hour. Remus sighed dramatically and tossed it face-down onto his nightstand. “He’s going to show up here with a shovel if I keep ignoring him.”

Regulus didn’t even look up from his book. “He can dig a hole and bury the attitude.”

Remus snorted, but let the silence settle again.

A few minutes passed like that—quiet, comfortable—until Regulus, without warning, stole the pen from Remus’s hand and wrote in the margin of the book they were both reading. Right next to a cringey monologue from the protagonist to his on-again, off-again girlfriend, he scrawled:
“could say that to you if you were a girl”

Remus tilted his head to read it, then laughed softly. “You’d tell me my collarbones are a crime?”

Regulus, still writing, barely glanced up. “You are a crime.”

“Is that your poetic way of saying you think I’m hot?”

“My poetic way of saying you’re my favorite… drug dealer,” Regulus replied, adding a very dramatic sketch of a kitten holding a tiny knife in the corner of the page.

Remus blinked at the drawing, then raised an eyebrow. “I’m not dealing anymore.”

“Right,” Regulus deadpanned. “You’re just doing drugs now.”

“Okay, wow,” Remus said, clearly offended and amused in equal measure. “That felt unprovoked.”

Regulus shrugged. “You’ll live.”

“I’m starting to think I’m being emotionally abused.”

“Starting?” Regulus smirked.

They dissolved into laughter, Remus tipping his head back against the headboard and Regulus smiling behind the cover of his book, pretending to keep reading. But Remus’s hand found his ankle and stayed there, thumb stroking soft circles over the bone like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Eventually, Remus sighed like a man who had just accepted his fate. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You’re lucky I don’t charge for the privilege of my company.”

“I think I’d pay you in annotated books and smuggled weed gummies.”

Regulus hummed, turning a page. “Add in cat-shaped pastries and you’ve got a deal.”

“Noted.” Remus leaned over and kissed the top of his head, then went back to reading like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it kind of was. Being with Remus was becoming a rhythm Regulus didn’t have to think about—soft touches, shared silences, inside jokes scrawled in the margins of tragic books. He could pretend he wasn’t half in love with him already, just for a little longer.

He kept reading. But he was smiling.

Eventually, when they got tired of laughing too hard at the absurdity of the book—after a particularly dramatic passage involving a man swearing vengeance over herbal tea—Regulus huffed and tossed it aside, grabbing the remote with the kind of determination usually reserved for major life decisions.

“I’m watching Stranger Things now,” he declared, pointing the remote at Remus like it was a sword. “Do not feel me up. I’m actually going to pay attention this time.”

Remus blinked at him, looking genuinely offended. “And how exactly is my hand on your ass an interruption?”

Regulus turned his head slowly to side-eye him. “Because it never stays just your hand on my ass. It ends with us making out like we’re in some Netflix original.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So maybe we should stop pretending we’re ever going to finish an episode?”

“You’re the worst,” Regulus said, even as he tucked himself deeper into the pillows.

“And you’re so hot,” Remus sighed dramatically, already rolling halfway on top of him. “I might never let you leave this bed again. That feels fair.”

Regulus snorted, though his cheeks were already tinged pink. “Remus.”

“No, really,” Remus nodded solemnly, like he was delivering a TED Talk. “I think you owe it to the universe.”

“Owe what, exactly?”

“Sex.”

Regulus gaped at him. “You did not just say that.”

“I absolutely did,” Remus said, grinning like he’d just won something.

“You’re shameless.”

“And yet, somehow, still incredibly charming,” Remus replied, leaning in and nuzzling against his jaw. “It’s a burden I bear.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t push him away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thank you, darling,” Remus whispered, just before kissing him.

Within seconds, Regulus was flat on his back, half-laughing, half-melting into the mattress. Remus’s weight was warm, comforting, familiar, making it too easy to forget the world outside. Regulus’s fingers slipped under Remus’s sweater, trailing along soft skin, his other hand winding into his hair. He kissed the side of Remus’s neck, slow and deliberate, feeling the shift in Remus’s breath. 

So much for watching anything.

But honestly? Stranger things had happened.

Turned out, since they’d done it once, it was impossible not to do it again. Regulus, ever the don’t-try-anything-Lupin, yanked Remus’s sweater off in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor with a smirk.

 “Oh,” Remus grinned, eyes darkening with delight.

“Shut up,” Regulus huffed, kissing him again, hard and hungry, all teeth and tongue, like he was staking a claim. 

Remus groaned into his mouth, hands already tugging at Regulus’s shirt, pulling it off with a roughness that sent a thrill through Regulus’s veins. The air was electric, the room too warm, the sheets already a mess as they pressed closer, skin against skin, no patience for pretense.

Remus’s hands were rougher this time, less gentle, more demanding, pinning Regulus’s wrists above his head with one hand while the other slid down his chest, nails grazing just enough to make Regulus gasp. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Regulus muttered, voice wrecked, head tipping back as Remus’s lips found his throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark. Remus’s laugh was low, almost a growl, as he released Regulus’s wrists, only to flip him onto his stomach with a swift, confident move that had Regulus’s breath catching.

“Fuck,” Regulus gasped, hands fisting the sheets as Remus’s weight settled over him, one hand gripping his hip, the other reaching for the bedside table. 

Regulus heard the faint clink of the lube bottle—tucked next to Remus’s stack of books and a stray pen, obviously —and the sound alone sent heat pooling in his stomach. Remus poured a generous amount, slicking his fingers, and Regulus shivered as those fingers found him, teasing at first, then sliding in, rough and purposeful, stretching him with a rhythm that had his hips rocking back instinctively.

“You’re impatient today,” Remus teased, voice rough as he leaned down, lips brushing Regulus’s ear, his fingers curling just right to drag a moan from Regulus’s throat. “Thought you wanted to watch your show.”

“Fuck the show,” Regulus panted, pushing back against Remus’s hand, desperate and unashamed. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, you will,” Remus said, and the promise in his voice made Regulus’s toes curl. 

He withdrew his fingers, slicking himself with more lube, and then he was there, pressing into Regulus, hard and fast, no hesitation this time. Regulus’s moan was loud, broken, as Remus filled him, the stretch intense and perfect, his body trembling under the weight of it.

Remus didn’t pause, setting a relentless pace, each thrust deep and unyielding, hitting that spot that made Regulus see stars. Regulus’s hands scrabbled at the sheets, his back arching, and Remus’s hand slid around to grip his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, rough and unapologetic. 

“Shit, Remus,” Regulus gasped, voice barely coherent, lost in the overwhelming heat and friction.

“God, you’re perfect,” Remus growled, his other hand digging into Regulus’s hip, pulling him back to meet each thrust. 

He shifted them suddenly, pulling Regulus up onto his knees, chest pressed to Regulus’s back, one arm wrapped around his waist to hold him steady. The new angle was devastating, and Regulus’s moans turned desperate, his head falling back against Remus’s shoulder as he surrendered to the rhythm.

“Too much?” Remus asked, voice rough but with a hint of concern, even as his hips snapped forward, relentless.

“Fuck—no,” Regulus panted, turning his head to catch Remus’s lips in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. 

His nails dug into Remus’s arm, urging him on, and Remus obliged, picking up the pace until the bed creaked, the room filled with the sounds of their breaths, their bodies, the slick slide of skin on skin.

Remus’s hand tightened on Regulus’s cock, stroking faster, and Regulus was gone, pleasure building too fast to hold back. “Remus—fuck, I’m—” He didn’t finish, a choked moan spilling out as he came, hard and messy, trembling under Remus’s hands. Remus followed moments later, his thrusts erratic, a low groan against Regulus’s neck as he came, his grip tightening before he collapsed, pulling Regulus down with him into the tangled sheets.

They lay there, breathless and sweaty, Regulus sprawled across Remus’s chest, the lube bottle rolling somewhere under the bed. Remus’s fingers traced lazy patterns along Regulus’s spine, and Regulus felt like he could melt into the mattress forever. “You’re carrying me everywhere for the next week,” he mumbled, voice muffled against Remus’s skin. “I’m done.”

Remus laughed, soft and warm, pressing a kiss to Regulus’s temple. “Deal,” 

Regulus, ever the first to fall asleep, did exactly that before midnight—curled up on Remus’s bed, still smelling faintly of Remus’s shampoo and conditioner. He felt stupidly happy. That kind of sleepy, aching, just-had-a-perfect-day kind of happy. His limbs were a little sore, his lips slightly chapped from all the kissing, and there was still the ghost of Remus’s laugh echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

He would’ve stayed blissfully out cold, if it weren’t for the soft buzzing of Remus’s phone somewhere behind him on the bed. The TV was still on, casting flickering blue light around the room from The Sopranos —Remus’s current hyperfixation (Regulus didn’t get it, but also kind of loved how intense Remus got about mob dramas, the freak).

Still half-asleep and warm under the duvet, Regulus almost ignored it. Almost.

Instead, he kept his eyes closed, body still, pretending he hadn’t stirred at all when he felt Remus shift beside him and answer.

He wasn’t proud of it. It wasn’t exactly noble to eavesdrop on your boyfriend. But come on—what was he supposed to do? He was curious. And okay, fine, a tiny bit paranoid. What if it was Sirius, calling to whine about Regulus stealing his ex again?

But then—

“Hey, Lils,” Remus murmured, his voice quiet, careful not to wake him.

Lily. Not Sirius. Huh.

Regulus relaxed only slightly, still pretending to sleep but listening now with sharp attention. Not because he didn’t trust Remus. He did. God, he did more than he probably should. But still—he wanted to know what Remus said about him when he thought Regulus wasn’t listening. He wanted to know if he sounded proud. Like this— them —was something real.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sleeping,” Remus said, soft. “With Reg.”

Okay. Cool. Cool cool cool.

“No, he came over,” Remus went on, and Regulus could hear the faint smile in his voice. “Sansa likes him. I mean—ie, it’s unexpected.”

There was a soft chuckle, barely audible over the low hum of the TV.

A pause. Then Remus’s voice changed—tighter, quieter. Worn around the edges in a way that made Regulus’s stomach twist.

“No, I’m not,” Remus said. “She doesn’t wanna see anyone right now. It’s not like—no, Lils. Maybe in two weeks or something.”

Regulus frowned slightly into the pillow, heart picking up speed. Who were they talking about? Was this… was this about Remus’s mum?

Another beat passed.

“Maybe,” Remus said again, even softer. “I’ll see. Ie, I’ll tell him… That too. Go to sleep, Lils.”

Then silence.

The line must’ve gone dead, because Remus shifted a little beside him, setting the phone face-down, like always,  on the nightstand. Regulus stayed still, breathing slow, mind anything but.

He knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. But his brain was already sprinting.

Remus had never talked about his mom. Always changed the subject or brushed it off with a joke. And Lily always seemed to come up in the context of weekends away, nights out, and all the things Remus never told him the full story about.

Now this. The tightness in Remus’s voice. The “maybe in two weeks.” The “she doesn’t wanna see anyone.”

Regulus’s chest ached.

He didn’t move, just curled in a little tighter under the blanket, staring at the TV screen with blurry eyes, the opening credits rolling again. He felt Remus’s arm come to rest around his waist a few seconds later, warm and familiar, pulling him close again.

But still, the question hung heavy in his chest:

Was that about your mum?

And the one that scared him more:

Why haven’t you told me?

He pretended to wake up right as the episode ended—blinking slowly, stretching just a little, like someone who had been drifting in and out rather than eavesdropping with expert-level commitment.

Remus was still awake beside him, propped slightly on one elbow, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles on Regulus’s hipbone. That was his tell. The quiet fidgeting, the gentle touching, like his thoughts needed grounding.

Regulus didn’t say anything right away. He wondered if Remus would. Would he mention that Lily called? Or would he keep it quiet, tucked away in whatever vault he used for things he didn’t want to unpack yet?

Regulus rolled onto his back, facing the ceiling, then turned to glance at him. “You still watching?”

“Can’t sleep,” Remus murmured.

Then, after a short pause—

“Lily called me. Said to congratulate you for ‘coaxing a demon.’” His lips twitched into a smirk.

Regulus couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. Soft. Relieved. Okay, so he was going to talk about it. Good. That was good. That was… really good.

“And the demon would be you or Sansa?” Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Rude,” Remus gasped, mock offended, but grinning as he tugged him closer by the waist.

Regulus let himself be pulled, settling comfortably into the space between Remus’s arms like it was custom-built for him.

“How’d you even get her?” he asked after a minute, meaning Sansa. His voice was casual, but there was a thread of curiosity carefully woven in. “The cat, not Lily. I assume you didn’t steal either, but just checking.”

Remus snorted. But then his smile faded just slightly, eyes drifting up to the ceiling. There was a pause—one of those quiet, weighted ones where Regulus could practically hear the thoughts moving behind his boyfriend’s eyes.

“She’s my mom’s,” Remus said eventually, voice even and soft. “Well. Was.”

Regulus didn’t push. He just nodded once, slow and calm, like Remus had said something far less personal. Like he wasn’t suddenly filled with about twenty-five questions he wouldn’t ask.

“Alright,” he said simply. And then, without another word, he shifted closer. Just… because.

Remus’s hand stilled on his hip for a second, then resumed the slow, quiet movements. This time more like gratitude than distraction.

They didn’t talk more after that. Didn’t need to. The room buzzed faintly with the white noise of the TV, the low rustle of the wind outside, the soft purring of a ginger demon-cat probably asleep downstairs. It all settled around them like a blanket—quiet, warm, and understood.

Chapter Text

The days leading up to Christmas break started flying by the way they always did in the hellhole they were legally required to call school. One minute it was Halloween, the next it was mid-December and Regulus was drowning in coursework, churning out essay after essay, cramming for another exam, and doing an ungodly amount of homework at a time when people should be drinking hot chocolate and decorating their houses with fairy lights—not dying slowly under a pile of flashcards.

Well… homework and Remus. That was what consumed most of Regulus’s time.

Remus, who somehow managed to study even more than Regulus, which was saying something. Probably because his dad was some big-shot in the Ministry of Education and Remus was still technically on probation for that whole expelled-for-dealing thing—among other minor crimes. Add to that Sirius’s persistent (and increasingly absurd) efforts to get Remus’s attention, the still-unresolved fight between James and Sirius, the chaos of planning New Year’s Eve at Barty’s parents’ lake house, and the general emotional apocalypse of the holidays approaching… Regulus was running on fumes. Absolute last drops of energy. Like a car sputtering into a ditch with the fuel light on for the last three days.

And on top of all that? Remus still hadn’t decided if he was staying in Luton for New Year’s or heading back to Cardiff to see his old friends. Which was fine. Totally fine. Regulus wasn’t obsessively overthinking it or anything. He wasn’t constantly biting back the urge to say “Stay with me.” Because that would be clingy. And needy. And borderline unhinged. They were allowed to have their own friends. Their own lives. It was called being mature or whatever.

Still, they did study together sometimes. Study being a loose term that often meant “reading the same sentence four times before making out like hormonal teenagers until one of them knocked a textbook off the bed.” Which they always did. The thud of textbooks hitting the floor had become the unofficial soundtrack of their academic life.

It usually happened at Regulus’s house. And usually with a pillow shoved strategically behind the headboard because… well, plausible deniability. They were at least pretending to be subtle. Regulus did not need his parents overhearing anything remotely educational in that sense.

He padded out of the ensuite after a shower, hair damp and sticking up at odd angles, legs still a little shaky in the aftermath. He flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh and stared at the ceiling like it personally wronged him.

“You know,” he said, voice dry and exhausted, “we really shouldn’t study together.”

“Bullshit,” Remus replied instantly, not even looking up from where he was lounging, already halfway to sliding his hand back onto Regulus’s thigh.

“Oh? And why exactly is that?”

“It’s required,” Remus said solemnly, as though it were medical advice. “Good for your serotonin levels.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. He reached out to smooth Remus’s hair, damp from sweat, tousled and unfairly cute. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m your menace,” Remus grinned, stretching lazily like a smug cat, hand now definitely not where it belonged.

“And you’re ruining my GPA.”

“And you’re ruining my self-control,” Remus shot back.

Regulus let out a tired laugh and leaned into him. “We’re terrible at this.”

“Terrible,” Remus agreed. “But very, very happy.”

Still, eventually, they went back to studying—mostly because Regulus was deeply paranoid that if he ever slowed down, even a little, he'd ruin his entire life and never get into King’s College. Dramatic? Maybe. But also, probably true.

It wasn’t easy, though. Not with Remus lounging on his bed like temptation itself, wearing sweatpants that were unfairly low on his hips and a shirt that looked like it had lost a battle with gravity. His hair was tousled in that telltale post-makeout, post-something-else way, and every time Regulus glanced over, he forgot what mitochondria even were.

But he was managing. Barely.

At least until someone knocked on his door.

Both of them blinked toward the sound like startled cats. For a second, Regulus didn’t even move. It had been weeks—months, maybe—since either of them had acknowledged that old unspoken rule, the one where Sirius and Regulus would knock on each other’s doors just to check if the other was heading down for dinner. That era was long gone.

Now, they just… didn’t. Neither of them went.

Which made Sirius standing outside his door suddenly feel like a red flag flapping in a hurricane.

“…Come in?” Regulus said finally, straightening up a little. His biology textbook slipped from his lap and flopped onto the bed with a soft thud.

The door creaked open, and Sirius stepped in, looking like someone had physically dragged him there. He scanned the room, and Regulus saw the exact moment his eyes landed on the evidence: the crumpled towel on the floor, the pillow shoved behind the headboard like a guilty secret, the very obvious bottle of lube still sitting on the nightstand like a middle finger.

Regulus actually winced.

Sirius didn’t comment. He didn’t need to.

“Dad wants to talk to us,” Sirius said, voice tight like a stretched wire. “Now.”

Then he turned on his heel, stepped back into the hallway, and slammed the door behind him.

Remus whistled lowly. “Subtle.”

“Shut up,” Regulus muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Remus just shrugged. “If you leave the towel there, it’s on you.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“…Shut up.”

But Regulus still leaned over and kissed him before groaning and crawling out of bed, already mentally preparing for whatever fresh hell ‘Dad wants to talk to us’ meant. Probably nothing good. Definitely not dinner.

Maybe prison.

He grabbed a clean hoodie from the chair, ignored how his legs still ached in ways he’d rather not think about in the presence of his father, and followed after his brother, dread blooming in his stomach like something wild and thorny.

Because if Orion Black wanted to talk?
It was never good.

When Regulus stepped into the living room, his father and Sirius were already seated. That wasn’t a surprise. What was a surprise—or at least a small relief—was that Walburga wasn’t there. No shrill lectures, no threats of exile from the Black family tree for loving the wrong people or listening to the wrong music or breathing the wrong way.

Regulus took it as a good omen. Or, at the very least, the absence of a bad one.

“Hi,” he said, voice neutral as he settled onto the couch, deliberately picking the end furthest from Sirius. If it had been any more obvious, he would’ve needed a name tag reading emotionally distant twin brother, do not engage .

“Hey, kid,” Orion said without looking up from the glass of scotch in his hand. The familiarity of the nickname— kid —wasn’t warm, exactly, but it was familiar. Regulus’s shoulders loosened by a fraction. Still the favorite, apparently. Not that it was a prize worth anything.

He crossed his legs, leaned back, and waited, trying to remember the last time he even had a proper conversation with his dad. September, probably. Right after the James disaster, when Regulus had cried into a pillow for two days and Orion, weirdly, had tried to say something vaguely comforting. It was one of those rare moments of effort. Almost sweet. In a “my dad has the emotional range of a teaspoon” kind of way.

He crossed his legs and leaned back slightly, glancing toward Sirius but not meeting his eyes. God, he was getting even more dramatic lately. For sure Remus-related. The number of times Remus had ignored his calls was reaching Shakespearean levels of tragedy.

Orion finally set his glass down and looked between them, calm and clinical like a surgeon about to cut. “I’m not going to pretend you two get along.”

“Understatement of the year,” Sirius muttered, arms folded like he was physically holding himself back.

Regulus rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Here we go.

Orion continued without missing a beat. “But you’re still brothers. And you’re still Blacks.”

That line again. Regulus bit back a sigh. It was the family’s favorite mantra: You’re a Black. As if the name alone could excuse a lifetime of silence, pressure, and dysfunction. As if being a Black made you bulletproof.

“Your mother’s throwing a Christmas party,” Orion said, tone clipped and businesslike. “The usual sort. Important people. More important connections. You’ll be there. You’ll act civil.”

Regulus tilted his head back with a groan, quiet but unmistakable.

“Reg,” his father said sharply.

He straightened automatically. “Sorry. When is it?”

“The twenty-first,” Orion replied. And then, casually, like it meant nothing: “I assume your boyfriend will be attending. Lyall will be there.”

Regulus blinked, his heart giving a quick, traitorous stutter.

Sirius choked. Actually choked. It was like watching someone short-circuit in real time.

“Lupins coming?” Sirius hissed, eyes wide.

“They are,” Orion said evenly. “And so are the rest of the people who matter. So behave yourselves.”

“I behave,” Sirius snapped. “I’m not the one who’s fuc—”

“Sirius,” Orion cut him off, not even raising his voice. “I’m not interested in your dramatics.”

Regulus dragged a hand down his face. The tension in the room was so thick it might as well have been a fifth guest on the couch.

“Is that all?” he asked, tired and done and already mentally cataloguing which suit he could wear to the party that wouldn’t make him look like he was trying too hard to be impressive.

Orion looked at him for a second, unreadable as always. “I need your help at the chambers tomorrow. Drive over after school.”

Regulus gave a small nod. “Okay.”

He stood up, not waiting to be dismissed. That was the game they all played—pretend like it was all fine, like these family meetings were normal, like things hadn’t been breaking and cracking for years now.

He didn’t glance back at Sirius. He didn’t ask for more information about Remus being invited. He just left the room, heart thudding, mind already spiraling.

Remus was coming to the Black Christmas party.

The Blacks and the Lupins in one place.

And he was supposed to survive it.

Civilly.

Regulus practically bolted up the stairs, half to get it over with, half to avoid Sirius trying to “accidentally” shove him into a wall or down the bannister. Again.

He pushed into his room and found Remus still lounging on the bed, now texting someone, his legs stretched out like he owned the place. Which, to be fair, he kind of did by now.

Remus looked up with a smirk. “And? Am I banned for desecrating the favorite child or what?”

Regulus shot him a look as he closed the door behind him. “There’s going to be a Christmas party. Formal. Annoying. Dad said it like it was obvious you’d be there.”

Remus blinked. “Wait, what?”

Regulus dropped onto the bed beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Quote: ‘I assume your boyfriend will be attending.’ Apparently your dad’s invited too.”

Remus’s eyebrows shot up. “My dad?”

Regulus nodded. “Yep.”

“Orion said that?”

“He said, ‘they’re coming.’ Plural. So, I think he meant both of you. Like, you two, not some mysterious extra Lupin hiding in the cupboard.”

Remus frowned, staring at a spot on the duvet like it might offer answers. “Or… he didn’t mean me at all.”

Regulus tilted his head. “Then who would he mean? Not John, right?”

At the name, Remus twitched—barely—but Regulus caught it instantly. Internally, he winced. Great job. Poke the brother wound. Genius.

Remus cleared his throat. “Yeah, no. Definitely not John.”

“Sorry,” Regulus murmured, his hand brushing against Remus’s knee in a silent apology.

Remus shook his head like it didn’t matter and leaned back against the headboard. “I’ve been thinking though… or guessing, really. That Lyall might be seeing someone.”

Regulus sat up a little straighter. “What?”

“He hasn’t been home on a weekend in, like, a month,” Remus said casually, eyes still on his phone. “And whenever he calls to check on me, I swear I hear someone in the background. Like a woman’s voice. I dunno. It sounds... not work-related.”

Regulus blinked. “You think your dad’s bringing a date to the Black Christmas party?”

“I mean. If he is, that’s big, right?” Remus shrugged. “Bigger than me being dragged there, anyway.”

Regulus let out a low whistle and flopped back onto the bed beside him. “Christ. What kind of soap opera are we even living in?”

Remus chuckled and nudged him with his knee. “One where our dads hang out at holiday parties like they’re besties, apparently.”

“Truly cursed,” Regulus muttered. “But at least if you’re coming, I won’t have to suffer through it alone.”

“Oh, I’m not committing yet,” Remus said, grinning. “I might let you flounder in your velvet tux and champagne despair.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Coward.”

“Codependent,” Remus corrected sweetly, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “But a charming one.”

And yeah, okay. Maybe the idea of Remus in his house— that house—at that party was terrifying. But also… maybe a little exciting. Like inviting a piece of the real world into the one he usually had to fake his way through.

Maybe this year, Christmas wouldn’t be all bad.

“And Sirius… said anything?” Remus asked after a beat, fingers still tapping absentmindedly against Regulus’s leg.

Regulus shrugged, casually tugging on the waistband of Remus’s sweats in response—purely innocent, obviously. Except it ended exactly how it always did: with Remus rolling forward to straddle him like it was the most natural position in the world. Because, for them, it kind of was.

“The usual,” Regulus muttered, sliding his hands up Remus’s thighs like it wasn’t distracting at all. “He’s apparently not thrilled about the fact that I’m fucking his ex.”

“Shocking,” Remus deadpanned, fingers lazily playing with the hem of Regulus’s shirt.

Regulus tilted his head, thoughtful. “I think… he wasn’t totally sure before, though. About us. Like, I honestly believe he thought we were fake dating.”

Remus blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. That’s probably why he’s been so aggressively trying to win you back,” Regulus said, eyes flicking up to meet Remus’s. “He thought it was still a game. That I was… I dunno, a prop. Background noise.”

Remus stared at him for a moment before snorting. “You did tell him to try to get me back.”

Regulus didn’t even blink. “Testing your loyalty.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So? Did I pass?”

Regulus gave him a solemn look, hands settling on Remus’s waist. “Well. You did get into my pants, so… yes. You passed with flying colors.”

Remus laughed and bent down to kiss him, slow and smug. “Good to know.”

“You should get a certificate or something,” Regulus said between kisses. “Like— Top Marks in Not Dumping Me for My Brother: A+.”

“I’d frame it,” Remus grinned, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Hang it above the bed.”

“I’d laminate it.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re sitting on me,” Regulus deadpanned. “So what does that make you?”

Remus laughed again, loud and unguarded. “Hopeless,” he said, brushing Regulus’s hair back gently. “But, like… in a good way.”

And yeah, Regulus didn’t say anything to that. He just kissed him again instead. Because maybe he was a little hopeless too.

Regulus didn’t rush the kiss this time. He let it linger, lazy and warm, his fingers brushing the hem of Remus’s shirt, thumb sneaking under to trace soft circles into his skin.

“I mean,” Remus murmured against his mouth, “technically, I’m also your tutor. So maybe I deserve two certificates.”

Regulus pulled back just enough to raise an unimpressed eyebrow. “One—what exactly have you taught me? Two—if anything, I should get extra credit for maintaining a GPA while being constantly distracted by your face.”

Remus grinned. “My face is very educational.”

“It’s a menace.”

“And yet, here you are,” Remus whispered, tilting his head, “looking like you’d happily be menaced all night.”

Regulus exhaled a soft laugh, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “God, you’re such a flirt.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Remus shifted just a little in his lap, arms draped lazily over Regulus’s shoulders. “I love this,” he said, quieter now, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. “Us. Being… like this.”

Regulus blinked. The thing about Remus was that sometimes he said things like that—soft, honest, quiet—and it made Regulus’s whole brain short-circuit for a second.

“Yeah,” Regulus said, after swallowing around something warm in his throat. “Me too.”

They stayed like that for a moment, foreheads nearly touching, Remus’s hand now resting lightly at the back of Regulus’s neck.

And then—

“Also,” Remus added casually, “your dad totally knows we’ve had sex in this bed. Like. He knows.”

Regulus groaned, dropping his head back dramatically. “Why would you bring that up?”

“I just think it’s funny that you’re still the favorite child even after committing that crime under his roof.”

“Please shut up.”

“You’re right. We should commemorate the crime. Maybe with a plaque above the bed. Or, like, a mural.”

“Remus.”

“A sex mural. Tasteful, obviously.”

Regulus snorted and shoved him lightly. “Get off.”

“Make me.”

Regulus didn’t. Obviously.

Because Remus leaned back in and kissed him again, and this time, Regulus kissed him back like he didn’t mind being teased, or distracted, or completely ruined by a boy who talked too much and looked at him like he meant something.

Because maybe he really, really didn’t.

When they finally pulled away from each other, Regulus sat still for a moment, letting his fingers trace absentminded patterns across Remus’s thigh. The warmth between them hadn’t faded, but something in Regulus’s chest tightened. There was something he’d been meaning to ask—something heavy and maybe a little risky—but the moment felt… possible.

So he took a breath.

“So,” he started, cautious like he was approaching a wounded animal. Which, honestly, it sort of felt like. “Your… dad?”

Immediately, Regulus noticed the change. A tiny twitch in Remus’s eye. His nostrils flaring just slightly. The way he bit the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit that looked like he was trying not to speak. Most telling of all: the way his fingers moved to the gold ring on his middle finger, twisting it slowly like he wasn’t nervous—even though he absolutely was.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Regulus added gently. “Just… you can. If you want to.”

Remus tipped his head back with a sigh. “No, it’s not like I don’t want to. It’s just… I don’t want you to…”

“If you mean you want this to stay between us,” Regulus cut in softly, “I know. I’m not exactly out here giving press briefings on your emotional trauma.”

Remus let out a small, breathy laugh. “I know you’re not. You’re a fucking vault.”

Regulus gave him a short nod. “Exactly. So… what is it? Because if you think I’m gonna judge you, I won’t. At all.”

There was a pause. Then Remus blew out a long breath, like he’d been holding it for years.

“Alright. Okay. So… um, Lyall was the one who left my mum. For another woman. John and I met her. She was fine, I guess, but eventually they broke up. And my mum was… furious. Partly jealous, obviously, but mostly because she didn’t want us to be dragged through that kind of instability. She wanted… consistency. Which, like, fair. We were in the middle of a custody mess.”

Regulus nodded silently. He could already feel his chest tightening with secondhand discomfort.

“But Lyall,” Remus continued, “is just… he’s a piece of shit. He used to introduce us to every girlfriend like it was a game. Like—‘this one might be your new mum.’ And he did it over and over. Let us get attached, and then poof. Gone.”

“Shit,” Regulus muttered, because what else could you say to that?

“Yeah. Over time it just got really fucked. And eventually I stopped… talking to him. I must’ve been, I don’t know, thirteen? Fourteen? But then last year, I had to stay with him for the summer. I made him promise not to introduce me to whoever he was seeing at the time.”

“Let me guess—he broke the promise?”

Remus shook his head. “No. Weirdly, he didn’t. He kept that one. I was barely home anyway—out with Sirius most of the time—but still. Lyall… tried. In his own way. He was there. He asked questions. He didn’t push. And I pushed him away. Every time. Until eventually, he just… stopped trying.”

Regulus nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“And when I moved in here in October,” Remus went on, “I made it pretty clear I wasn’t thrilled about it. I didn’t want to be in this house. I didn’t want to be around him. And he respected that—mostly because he’s always in London for work, so it was easy. I liked the distance.”

He paused, his thumb pressing harder into the spin of his ring.

“But if he’s going to that Christmas party… and if he’s bringing someone… that means it’s serious. He doesn’t take people to events unless he’s trying to show them off. He’s not about to risk professional embarrassment with some fling. So that means he’s seeing someone. And he didn’t tell me. Not even a mention of the party, even when he called me two days ago.”

There was a long beat of silence.

Remus didn’t say it, but Regulus heard it anyway. The way it stung. The disappointment sitting under his tone like bruises.

Regulus grabbed his hand and gave him a small squeeze. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, quiet and real. “That’s messed up.”

Remus gave him a faint smile. “Yeah. It is.”

“Do you want to go to the party?”

“Not really.”

Regulus nodded. “Well, I’ll be there anyway. If you change your mind. Barty and Evan and the girls too. It’s really just a big party full of old people, and we usually escape the second they get tipsy enough on whiskey. Hide upstairs. It’s actually kind of fun.”

Remus snorted, shifting a little in Regulus’s lap. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Regulus hummed, his hands absently tracing slow circles on Remus’s thighs. “It’s, like, a yearly tradition now. Last year it was at the Crouches’, and Barty got absolutely wasted just to piss his dad off.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Did it work?”

“Please,” Regulus scoffed. “Barty pisses his dad off just by breathing. Old Crouch is basically my mum but with even more money and an even bigger stick up his ass.”

“God, Reg,” Remus said with a laugh, dropping his head against Regulus’s shoulder.

“Really!” Regulus grinned. “It’s like his sport at this point. Passive-aggressive sabotage.”

“You’re the worst,” Remus muttered, but he was smiling.

“Yep,” Regulus agreed easily. “But my dad still likes me better.”

He gave Remus a smug look. “Wants me to help him at chambers tomorrow. He doesn’t usually ask unless he wants some kind of bonding moment.”

“Maybe he just wants to beg you to be quieter when we have sex,” Remus said casually.

Regulus’s eyes widened, scandalized. “Shut up,” he groaned, swatting Remus’s arm. “I’m actively trying to repress the fact that I had to sit across from him after that.”

Remus grinned wickedly. “You think he knows that his little boy got—”

“Remus!” Regulus cut in sharply, face going bright red.

Remus burst out laughing, folding over with it, and Regulus tried to look annoyed but couldn’t stop the tiny smile tugging at his mouth.

“You’re awful,” Regulus muttered.