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Chapter Text

The worst day of Regulus Black’s life had been the day his cat, Kreacher, died. Or at least, that’s what he thought—until his brother announced he was leaving London for some inheritance arrangements and, worse, that James bloody Potter would be moving in to look after him.

After their parents had died in a car crash—Regulus just ten, Sirius barely thirteen—their lives had shifted into something almost manageable. A housekeeper looked after them until Sirius turned eighteen, and after that, Sirius took the reins, making sure Regulus ate, got to school, and didn’t disappear into the dark corners of their enormous house. Regulus went to a normal high school, Sirius to a boarding school, where he found James Potter and immediately decided he had met his soulmate.

The last time Regulus had seen Potter, he had been thirteen—awkward, quiet, still smaller than his brother’s best friend. He remembered James vaguely as the loud one at Sirius’s birthday party, the one who spilled Coke on the carpet and laughed about it instead of apologizing.

But Sirius never shut up about him. After his first term at boarding school, James was all Sirius talked about. The way he talked, the way he cracked jokes, how he made life bearable in a place Sirius otherwise hated. Regulus, who had always been close to his brother, found himself sidelined by this new friendship, and something hot and bitter took root in him. From that day forward, he decided he hated James Potter.

So when Sirius, suitcase in hand, told him he’d be gone for a month and James Potter would be moving in, Regulus nearly lost his mind.

⸻

“Sirius, I’m seventeen. For fuck’s sake. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Regulus stood stiffly in the doorway of his bedroom, arms folded tight across his chest. His brother looked at him with maddening patience, the way only Sirius could.

“Reggie, I know,” Sirius sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “But I just… I need some assurance, alright? That you’ll be okay. Nothing happens while I’m gone. It’s only for a month, and James isn’t that bad.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Not that bad? He’s insufferable. Don’t you trust me enough to take care of myself?” His voice sharpened. “I’ve been living like this for years while you were off at school. And of all people, you chose James bloody Potter?”

The air between them grew hot, tension sparking like static. Sirius’s jaw tightened.

“First of all, you had a maid looking after you back then, so don’t rewrite history. And second—James is a great person, and I won’t stand here while you slag him off. He’s staying, and that’s final.” Sirius slammed the door on his way out, leaving Regulus seething in the silence of his room.

⸻

The next morning, Regulus ate his breakfast in sullen silence while Sirius hoisted his suitcase by the door.

“Come on, Reggie.” Sirius’s voice softened. “I know you don’t like James much, but I promise you it won’t be bad. You won’t even notice he’s here. Maybe you’ll even get along.”

“Maybe I’ll grow wings too,” Regulus muttered, stabbing his toast.

Sirius ignored him. “I know you’re seventeen and capable, but I need to know you’re alright. Humor me.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You could’ve asked literally anyone else. Even the maid. She’d have been better than him.”

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re not a kid anymore, Reggie. You don’t need a maid. You just need someone around. James will be busy with his company half the time, anyway. You’ll barely see him.”

Of course Potter had a company. CEO at twenty-one, or whatever ridiculous age he was. Regulus pitied his employees; he’d rather drown than work under James Potter.

Still, when Sirius dropped his suitcase and pulled him into a hug, Regulus gave in. They didn’t hug often anymore, but when they did, it made him feel safer, grounded. A little part of him knew he’d miss Sirius while he was gone—but he’d never admit it.

“Sirius, let go,” he muttered into his shoulder. “It’s not like you’re leaving for war.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sirius teased, releasing him. “I’ll miss you, cold-hearted bitch that you are. Don’t forget—James will be here when you get back from school. Try not to scare him away, alright?”

Regulus scowled, but his brother only laughed, ruffled his curls, and disappeared out the door.

Regulus had already decided: he would make James Potter’s life a living hell.

⸻

School did nothing to improve his mood. At his locker, his friends—Barty, Evan, Dorcas, and Pandora—were waiting.

“Oi,” Barty called, grinning. “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?”

“James fucking Potter,” Regulus snapped.

The group dissolved into laughter, the kind that made his ears burn.

“What’s he done now?” Pandora asked, her smile soft but teasing. “Isn’t he leaving with your brother? He’s practically glued to Sirius’s hip.”

“Apparently not. Sirius dumped it on me yesterday—Potter’s moving in. Looking after me like I’m some kind of pet.”

Evan wheezed, clutching his side. “Oh, this is brilliant. Tell me you’re planning something.”

Regulus’s lips curled into a sharp smile. “Don’t worry. By the time I’m finished with him, Potter will wish he was never born.”

⸻

James, for his part, hadn’t thought twice about saying yes when Sirius asked him. Babysitting a teenager for a month? Easy. He barely remembered Regulus—quiet kid, bookish, always lurking at the edges of parties. James had pictured the same thing now: a skinny schoolboy hiding in his room.

Which is why, when the front door creaked open that afternoon, James nearly dropped the spatula.

Holy shit.

Regulus wasn’t a boy anymore. He stood in the doorway, curls falling over his shoulders, a crop top clinging to his narrow frame, low-slung jeans revealing pale skin at his waist. Piercings caught the light—earrings, a nose stud, even a glint of silver at his stomach.

James’s brain short-circuited.

“Uh—hey, Reggie,” he stammered, hating himself instantly. “I thought—you’d be hungry. I made some food, if you want.”

Regulus’s glare could have frozen fire. “First of all, don’t call me Reggie. That’s not my name, and we’re not friends. Second, I’m not hungry.” He swept past, heading upstairs without a backward glance.

James stared after him, dumbfounded. So much for this being easy.

⸻

Regulus, meanwhile, was fuming. Potter looked unfairly good—grey joggers, white compression shirt, glasses slipping down his nose as he stirred something on the stove. Who the hell gave him permission to look like that?

By nine, Regulus couldn’t take it anymore. He fired off a message to his group chat.

Regulus: I want to get fucking drunk.

Barty: fuck yeah
Evan: thought you’d never ask ;)
Dorcas: wohooo
Pandora: usual spot?

Jacket on, phone in hand, he slipped downstairs. James was at the kitchen table, glasses on, typing furiously on his laptop. He looked up just as Regulus reached for the door.

“And where do you think you’re going, if I may ask?”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “No, you may not ask.”He reaches towards the door again.

James stood up and his hand shot out, catching his wrist. His grip was firm, steady. “Not happening. It’s late. I’m not letting you run off and do something stupid.”

“Let me go.” Regulus yanked free, fury blazing in his eyes. “You’re not my father. You’re not my brother. You’re no one. Don’t pretend you get to decide what I do.”

He shoved James hard, watched him stumble, then bolted outside, slamming the front door behind him.

⸻

Three in the morning. James was still on the couch, half-asleep, waiting. When the front door opened, Regulus staggered in, drunk and sharp with defiance.

James rose instantly. “Where the hell have you been? You reek of alcohol.”

Regulus swayed, glaring. “None of your business.”

“The hell it isn’t,” James snapped. “You disappear for hours, come back wasted, and expect me to ignore it? Not happening.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“No.” James’s voice was steel. “While I’m here, you don’t pull reckless shit like this. You tell me where you’re going. Even if I have to put a fucking tracker on you.”

Regulus barked out a laugh, furious and wild. “Tracker? Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t get to control me. You don’t get to pretend you care. Stay out of my life, Potter.”

He shoved past him, storming upstairs, the slam of his bedroom door shaking the walls.

James sat down heavily on the couch, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Well. What a first day.

Chapter Text

Regulus was frustrated. He had tons of exams coming up, and on top of that, a writer’s block had hit him—a block that had never happened before.

He had started writing when he was eleven, as a coping mechanism. Over the years, his writing evolved into romantic novels, which eventually became… spicier. No one knew he was a writer except his closest friends; he published under the pseudonym “Little King”. He preferred it that way, especially given the nature of his books. By now, he had already published three novels, but the fourth had him completely stuck.

With a heavy sigh, he got up and went down to the kitchen to grab something before school. What he didn’t expect was James already there, cooking breakfast.

Since the little fight on the first evening, nothing major had happened between them. They mostly went out of each other’s way. Well… mostly Regulus, who always managed to escape whenever James tried to start a conversation.

“I made breakfast,” James said, looking at him with that lazy, smug smile. He wore a red-gold apron over a basic t-shirt and jeans. How could someone look that good in something so simple?

“I’m not really hungry. I’ll eat at school,” Regulus said, trying to walk past. But James was already blocking his way.

“You’re not going anywhere until you eat. Then I’m driving you to school. Now, sit.”

Regulus, too tired to argue, obeyed and started eating. When he finished and tried to get up again, of course, James was there.

“Nuh-uh. I told you I’ll drive you to school,” James said, giving him that infuriating look that made him feel like a five-year-old.

“Fine,” Regulus sighed and followed him outside, waiting for the car.

Once inside, Regulus couldn’t help noticing the car. Everything looked expensive: the high-quality leather seats, the polished interior.

“You like it?” James asked, eyes expectant.

“No,” Regulus muttered, though he knew he sounded far too blunt. James laughed, and it sent a small shiver down Regulus’ spine.

“Do you even know where my school is?” he asked, a little annoyed.

“Of course,” James replied smoothly. “Pads gave me the address in case something happened. Oh, by the way, he didn’t give me your number, so put it in my phone, please.”

Without a word, James handed him his phone—already unlocked. Regulus raised an eyebrow but complied.

“And don’t try to give a false number, or I’ll have to punish you,” James added with a teasing smile, continuing to drive.

Regulus flushed bright red. He typed his number as quickly as possible and handed the phone back, trying to remain composed.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at school, and every student’s eyes seemed glued to the car. Apparently, it was expensive. Regulus groaned, sliding out without a goodbye, but James caught him before he could walk away.

“You forgot your bag,” he said, handing it over with that infuriatingly casual smile.

“Bye, Reggie,” James said as he got back into the car and drove off.

Regulus’ friends were already waiting, their expressions ranging from amused to scandalized.

“Don’t say a word,” he warned, standing beside his locker.

Of course, Barty couldn’t keep quiet. “Oh, did dear Daddy bring you to school today? How nice of him.”

Regulus smacked his head. “Ow! You dick. What’s gotten into you this morning?”

“Yes, love. You look exhausted. Are you okay?” Pandora asked, concern clear in her eyes.

“I’m fine. Just stressed about exams… and writer’s block,” Regulus admitted, letting out a frustrated sigh.

His friends tried not to laugh. Dorcas shook her head. “You won’t like what I’m about to say, but… that man outside? Straight out of one of your… novels.”

Evan nodded. “Yeah, Cas is right. I mean, look at him. Just write what you’re thinking. You can’t deny he’s… well, he’s perfect for a story.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. Let’s go before we miss classes,” Regulus said, sighing.

The day seemed to stretch longer than usual for Regulus. Even in classes, his thoughts kept drifting back to James. He couldn’t help but think about how effortlessly confident he seemed, and that teasing smile that lingered in his mind.

During a free period, Regulus and his friends gathered at their usual spot near the lockers. Barty, still grinning from the morning, elbowed him lightly.

“So, tell me,” he whispered loudly enough for their small circle to hear, “did James drop you off in his own car because he wanted to show off, or was it… just for you?”

Regulus groaned, pressing his forehead against the locker. “Barty, if you say one more word, I’ll—”

“Say one more word about what?” Dorcas interrupted innocently, though the smirk on her face betrayed her amusement.

Pandora rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Ignore them. Just focus on surviving your exams.”

But Regulus couldn’t ignore Barty’s constant teasing. “Oh, come on, Reggie,” Barty continued. “You were practically glowing when he gave you your backpack. Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Shut up!” Regulus hissed, tugging his sleeve over his hand to hide his reddening cheeks.

Evan snorted. “You’re so obvious,Reg. I think even the teachers can tell something’s going on just by the way you keep staring into space.”

Regulus huffed, looking down at his notebook. “I’m thinking about exams, alright?”

The moment he got home, he went straight upstairs, barely noticing if James was around. Ideas flooded his mind, and he wrote non-stop.

When Regulus finally stopped typing, it was almost three in the morning. His eyes burned, his fingers ached, but his heart was pounding with something close to relief — or maybe exhilaration. He hadn’t felt that kind of creative rush in months.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the blinking cursor, a stupid grin spreading across his face. “Finally,” he whispered to himself.

The next morning, he woke up late — very late. His alarm had gone off about five times before James knocked on the door.

“Regulus?” James’ voice was muffled but unmistakably amused. “Are you planning on sleeping through the apocalypse?”

Regulus groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. “Go away, Potter.”

The door creaked open anyway. James’ footsteps crossed the room, and a second later, Regulus felt a soft tug at the blanket.

“Come on. You’ll be late for school again.”

Regulus peeked out just enough to glare at him. “You’re not my babysitter.”

James grinned. “No, but apparently I’m responsible for you. So get up.”

That earned a quiet snort from Regulus. He sat up slowly, his messy hair sticking up in every direction. James’ grin faltered just a little when he saw him — there was something endearing about the bleary-eyed version of Regulus, all soft and unguarded.

“You look like you fought a hurricane,” James said, reaching over to grab one of Regulus’ notebooks. “What were you doing up all night? Studying?”

Regulus froze. “Writing.”

That caught James’ attention immediately. “Writing? Like… essays? Or—”

“Just… stuff,” Regulus cut him off quickly, snatching the notebook from his hands. “Private stuff.”

James raised an eyebrow, obviously curious now, but didn’t push it. “Fair enough. Breakfast’s ready downstairs. And don’t even think about skipping it again.”

Regulus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re relentless.”

“That’s what they tell me,” James said with a wink before heading out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, Regulus exhaled in relief — and panic. He had written an entire chapter where the male lead, clearly inspired by James, cornered the protagonist in a kitchen. It wasn’t explicit yet, but it was very suggestive. The idea of James somehow finding out made Regulus want to bury himself six feet underground.

By the end of the week, the book was done.

His friends were thrilled when he told them.
“See?” Barty said smugly, slinging an arm around Regulus. “Told you a bit of real-life inspiration works wonders.”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t even start.”

Pandora smiled knowingly. “So, when are you publishing it, Little King?”

Regulus almost choked. “Don’t call me that in public!”

“Relax,” Evan laughed. “No one’s listening.”

But Regulus wasn’t relaxed. He’d written too much of James into the book — his laugh, his stubbornness, the way he looked when he smiled. And don’t start on the explicit scenes, that he weote with too much of his own fantasies and wet dreams. If anyone ever connected the dots between Little King’s new novel and James Potter, he’d never survive the embarrassment.

Still, the story was good. Too good to keep hidden.

So that night, with trembling hands, Regulus uploaded the manuscript to his publisher’s site and hit send.

The title read: “Golden Fire” by Little King.

He closed the laptop, exhaled, and whispered, “It’s done.”

Chapter Text

Since James was a little kid, he had always wanted to know everything. Curiosity wasn’t just a part of him—it was him. When he was five, his parents took him to the zoo, and while most children ran around staring at the animals, James spent the entire day asking questions.

“What do cows eat?”
“Why do giraffes have such long necks?”
“How many eggs do chickens lay every year?”

He wanted to understand everything, especially things that felt mysterious or secretive.

So when Regulus started acting strangely—hiding his notebook, flinching whenever James came too close—James’s curiosity didn’t just spark; it roared to life. Regulus himself was already a mystery: quiet, reserved, and hard to read. But now, with that hidden notebook? He was practically a locked treasure chest—and James had never been good at ignoring locked things.

 

The afternoon Regulus went to school, James finally gave in. He told himself he wasn’t snooping, just… looking around. Maybe he’d find a clue, something small, something that would explain what Regulus had been hiding so carefully.

Regulus’s room was quiet when James stepped in. The walls were painted a dull gray, and posters of Nirvana and Guns N’ Roses hung crookedly, corners curling from the heat. The faint scent of coffee and vanilla candles lingered in the air.

James smiled softly to himself.

The first time he’d been in Regulus’s room, Regulus hadn’t wanted to get out of bed. James had practically had to drag him out, muttering curses while Regulus grumbled sleepily, his curls a dark mess against his pillow. James had been stunned back then.

That version of Regulus—sleepy, unguarded, so human—was imprinted in his mind. There was something quietly beautiful about him. He wasn’t polished or perfect, but rather… peaceful. James had never believed anyone could look good just after waking up, yet Regulus had completely destroyed that belief. He looked like some modern fairytale prince who didn’t even need beauty sleep to look that way.

James shook his head quickly, forcing himself back to the present. He was not here to daydream—he was here for answers.

 

He scanned the room methodically. The bed was neatly made—of course—and the nightstand held only a lamp and a half-empty glass of water. Nothing suspicious there.

Moving toward the desk, James noticed how organized it was. The surface was spotless, the pens lined up perfectly. Too perfectly.

He opened the first drawer—just pencils and spare paper. The second—some notebooks, an old lighter, and a few scattered coins.

When he reached the last drawer, he almost didn’t bother opening it. But when he did, he froze.

Inside, neatly tucked away, was a small envelope.

It was addressed to “Little King.”

James frowned. There was no one by that name in the house. Carefully, he lifted the envelope, feeling the slight weight of the letter inside. The flap was already opened.

His moral compass wavered for a second—he knew this was wrong—but curiosity tipped the scale, as it always did.

He slipped the letter out.

 

“Little King,

We were truly astonished by the new novel you sent us. We’re thrilled to inform you that we’ve agreed to publish it tomorrow. The story carries something raw and real—something that feels honest. We’re confident it’s going to be a success.

Thank you for trusting us with your work.

P.S.: We’ll send you further details via email.”

James blinked.

Little King.

Regulus was Little King.

He stared at the letter, realization sinking in like cold water. Regulus wasn’t just writing—he was publishing novels. And apparently, he was successful at it.

James’s heart raced. He hurriedly slipped the letter back into its envelope, carefully returning everything to the exact position it had been in. Then, without another glance, he practically ran out of Regulus’s room.

 

In the living room, he collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his temples.

He was the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the country. He dealt with multimillion-dollar contracts and handled crises daily. He shouldn’t be this flustered over a secret hobby.

But this wasn’t just any secret. It was Regulus.

After a few deep breaths, James decided distraction was the only cure. He picked up his phone and dialed his assistant’s number.

“Hey, Lils,” he said as casually as he could manage. “Do you maybe know an author called ‘Little King’?”

“Do I know him?” Lily’s voice immediately lit up. “James, he’s literally one of my favorite authors! His writing’s incredible—so raw and emotional. I’ve cried, like, three times reading his stuff.”

James smiled faintly, though his mind was spinning.

When he’d first hired Lily, she’d been nothing like the other candidates. She didn’t tolerate his nonsense, challenged him constantly, and—most importantly—kept him grounded. Over the years, she’d become not just his assistant but his closest friend. They had even tried dating once, briefly, before realizing they worked far better as partners in chaos rather than romance.

“Why?” Lily asked, suspicion creeping into her voice. “Why are you asking about him?”

James hesitated. “Just thought I’d… try reading something new. Everyone says his books are good, and, well—you have great taste.”

“Mhm,” Lily hummed skeptically. “You’re hiding something, Potter. But fine, I’ll let it go for now.”

James exhaled in relief.

“If you want a recommendation,” she continued, “read his newest book. It’s all over BookTok right now—people are obsessed. Want me to have it sent to your place?”

“That’d be great, Lils. Thanks—you’re a lifesaver.”

She laughed. “I always am. Try not to get too distracted, yeah?”

James hung up, shaking his head with a grin. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much, but now that he knew—he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

 

The next morning, a package arrived at his door. Inside was a sleek hardcover novel with a note stuck to it in Lily’s messy handwriting:

“I hope you enjoy it ;)”

James sat on the couch, turning the book over in his hands. The cover was simple—a crown drawn in fine gold ink. His thumb brushed over the author’s name: Little King.

He hesitated. He could just put it back. Pretend he never found that letter. Pretend he didn’t know Regulus was secretly an author.

But curiosity had always been his downfall.

James stared at the open book, the smell of fresh ink and paper filling the quiet living room. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of his apartment, lighting the gold-embossed title: “Golden Fire”

He traced the words with his finger, half nervous, half intrigued. “Little King,” he murmured under his breath, the name tasting different now that he knew who it belonged to.

Then, with a small exhale, he turned the first page.

 

“There was a boy who wanted to know everything.

He wanted to touch the stars, understand why they burned, why they fell, and why some people never looked up at them at all.

He wanted to know the world—but what he didn’t realize was that sometimes, the world didn’t want to be known.”

 

James blinked.
He frowned slightly, rereading the paragraph. It was… oddly familiar. The tone, the phrasing—it felt like Regulus had somehow written him onto the page.

He chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head. “Coincidence,” he muttered. But still, his pulse had quickened.

He kept reading.

 

“And then there was another boy—quiet, sharp, and made of shadows. The kind of boy who carried entire storms in his chest and called it calm.

He wrote to survive. He hid his words like secrets under his tongue, afraid that if someone found them, they’d see too much of him.”

 

James’s breath hitched.

He sank deeper into the couch, thumb frozen mid-turn on the next page. The description—quiet, sharp, made of shadows—it was Regulus.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

The story continued, each line drawing him in further. The writing was lyrical and raw—hauntingly honest in a way that left James feeling strangely exposed.

The two boys met halfway through the second chapter. Their first conversation, written in delicate but deliberate prose, mirrored the first day James and Regulus had met in real life—the same sharp banter, the same hesitations.

He flipped back to check again, his eyes scanning over the dialogue.

‘You ask too many questions,’ the shadow-boy said.

‘Someone has to,’ the sun-boy replied.

James’s fingers tightened around the edge of the page. He remembered that conversation vividly—it had happened during their first week living together. He had said that exact line.

No. It couldn’t be.

He closed the book and stared at the cover again. The gold crown seemed to glimmer in the sunlight, mocking him.

Was this real?

Was Regulus really writing about him?

 

He stood up, pacing the length of the room. “You’re imagining things,” he told himself, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just a story. People write about things they know. That’s all.”

But the more he tried to dismiss it, the more it gnawed at him.

He sat back down, heart racing, and turned the page again.

 

“The sun-boy didn’t know what to make of the other. He was beautiful in the way that night skies are—quiet, full of things you’ll never fully understand.

He wanted to know him. Every part. Every secret. And that was the problem.”

 

James swallowed hard. His throat felt tight.

It wasn’t just the resemblance now. It was the feeling. The way Regulus had written it—curious and soft, almost reverent—it was exactly how James felt whenever he looked at him.

He leaned back into the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. His thoughts spiraled: had Regulus… written this about him? About them?

A strange warmth crept up his chest, mixing confusion and something he didn’t want to name.

 

Hours slipped by unnoticed as James read on. He was lost in the story. Each word pulled him deeper into Regulus’s world—his fears, his loneliness, his quiet yearning and the tension. Wanting something he thinks he can’t have.

By the time he reached the middle of the book, the room had gone dark except for the faint glow from the lamp beside him.

He turned turned to the next page. James was flustered reading the first sentences. The book had deeper thoughts and feelings in it but it was in the background to the main story. James hadn’t realised which type it was before he read the next page.

 

“Jay hovered over Rayn now, too near for Rayns liking. “You need to behave or I would have to punish you for this””

James stared at this passage.

He sat in silence for a long while, the weight of the words hanging heavy around him. The only sound was the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

He finally exhaled, voice quiet, almost strained. “ Regulus…”

The realization hit him like a tide. The story wasn’t just about curiosity. It wasn’t just about mystery.

It was about Regulus. Wanting James.

And now that he’d seen it—he couldn’t unsee it. How Regulus acted weird when he came too near to him. How he blushed when he came into his room.

Regulus wants him.

And James would be lying, if he said he wasn’t half hard from reading the page alone. So he read further. All the things Regulus described are detailed. Very detailed. What they would do, how James would tell him he’s a good boy and what he should call him. Everywhere. In every postion.

James smirked, “Didn’t think you would have it in you Regulus. Your wish is my command”

Chapter Text

Regulus had always been good at pretending nothing bothered him. He’d built a lifetime out of quiet composure, of keeping his emotions tucked neatly away where no one could reach them.

But lately, James Potter was making that impossible.

At first, it was little things. James hovering closer when they talked. James’s hand brushing his shoulder when he passed behind him. James’s grin—too bright, too knowing.

Regulus told himself he was imagining it. That James was simply being James—loud, confident, annoyingly charming. Except it wasn’t quite the same as before. There was something deliberate in the way he looked at Regulus now, something that made Regulus’s pulse skip before he could stop it.

 

One Friday afternoon, Regulus was at his desk, notebook open, half-finished sentences scattered across the page. He’d been trying to write for days, but every time his mind started to wander into the story, it drifted somewhere else entirely—to the sound of James’s laugh, the warmth of his touch, the memory of his smile.

The knock on his door made him jump.

“Hey,” James said, leaning against the frame, hands shoved in his pockets. “Busy?”

Regulus hesitated, closing the notebook halfway. “A little.”

James’s eyes flicked to the desk, lingering on the notebook, then back to Regulus’s face. “Still writing, huh?”

“Maybe,” Regulus said carefully.

James walked in without waiting for permission and sat on the edge of the desk, dangerously close to the notebook.

Regulus glared. “You’re in the way.”

James grinned. “I make an excellent paperweight.”

“More like a nuisance.”

James leaned in slightly. “You like having me around, though.”

Regulus blinked, thrown off balance. “What makes you think that?”

“That you haven’t kicked me out yet,” James said softly, voice low.

There it was again—that teasing warmth, the way James’s voice dipped just enough to make Regulus’s stomach twist.

The silence stretched between them. James’s gaze flicked to Regulus’s lips for half a second before returning to his eyes.

Regulus felt it—an almost magnetic pull. He looked away quickly, muttering, “You’re impossible.”

James laughed softly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He slid off the desk and started toward the door, but before leaving, he added lightly, “You know, Reg… you should write about someone charming for a change. Might be good for you.”

Regulus frowned after him, uncertain whether that was teasing or something else entirely.

Later that evening, Regulus sat curled on the couch with a book, trying to read, when James dropped down beside him. Their legs brushed. James didn’t move away.

“Comfortable?” Regulus asked dryly.

“Perfectly,” James said, stretching an arm along the back of the couch—behind Regulus’s shoulders, not quite touching, but close enough that Regulus could feel the warmth of him.

Regulus swallowed hard and tried to focus on the page.

James leaned in slightly, voice soft. “What are you reading?”

“Nothing interesting.”

“Then why do you look so serious?”

Regulus sighed. “You’re very observant tonight.”

“Always am,” James said, smirking. “Especially when it comes to you.”

Regulus’s heart stuttered. He looked up at James, who was watching him with that same easy confidence that used to be harmless—but now felt dangerous.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air was thick, like a held breath.

James’s thumb brushed a loose curl away from Regulus’s temple, a simple gesture that sent a shock down his spine. Regulus froze, but he didn’t pull away.

James’s voice was low, almost teasing. “You really should write more often, you know. People might fall in love with your words.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

James smiled, slow and unreadable. “Just curious.”

Regulus studied him, suspicion flickering in his gaze. “You’re acting strange lately.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Regulus said, quiet but firm. “It’s like you know something I don’t.”

James’s grin softened, almost fond. “Maybe I do.”

Regulus stared at him for a long time, trying to figure out what that meant. Trying not to think too hard about the way his pulse sped up whenever James looked at him like that.

Finally, he said, “Whatever it is, you should stop playing games.”

James stood, his shadow stretching across the room. “Who said I was playing?”

He gave Regulus a last, lingering glance before walking toward his room, leaving Regulus sitting on the couch, heart hammering, face burning, and utterly confused.

 

The next morning, Regulus was still half-asleep when a knock came at his door.

“Regulus? Are you awake?”

He groaned, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. “Well, now I am, thanks to you,” he muttered, voice still rough from sleep.

James grinned, holding his phone. “Good morning. Hey… I was wondering—would it be okay if Lily, Mary, Marlene, Remus, and Peter came over later?”

Regulus blinked, sitting up fully. “I… don’t really care,” he said, stretching lazily. “I’m going out with friends anyway. Do as you please.”

James hesitated, sensing something unspoken in Regulus’s tone, then nodded with a small smile. “Thank you. And have a fun day with your friends later,” he added warmly.

⸻

By mid-afternoon, the apartment was full of laughter and chatter. James’s friends sprawled across the living room in comfortable chaos, some sitting on the floor, some lounging on the couch.

Peter and Remus were already deep into a board game, arguing about rules, while Mary and Marlene teased them relentlessly. Lily perched next to James on the couch, leaning into his shoulder and laughing at one of his sarcastic jokes.

Regulus came down the stairs quietly, trying not to draw attention, but he found himself frozen in place. James, oblivious to Regulus’s intense gaze, was in his element: witty, charming, effortlessly pulling everyone into his orbit.

“James, you’re cheating!” Peter shouted, shaking a fist.

“I am not!” James protested, grinning. “I am strategically winning.”

Lily laughed, head falling back against his shoulder. “Strategic, my foot. You’re lucky you’re cute, Potter.”

Regulus’s jaw tightened, a faint flicker of jealousy passing over his features. It’s just friendly teasing… right?

He swallowed hard, turned, and quietly left the house to give himself some space.

 

Hours later, Regulus returned home, expecting the apartment to be quieter. Instead, he found the living room buzzing with noise and laughter.

And then he saw it: Lily laughing loudly, laying on James’s lap, completely relaxed as he teased her mercilessly. James’s hand brushed her hair casually as he delivered another punchline. Regulus’s chest twisted sharply with irritation, jealousy burning hot.

He ignored James’s cheerful greeting entirely, moving straight for the kitchen. His fingers closed around a bottle of alcohol, gripping it tightly as he tried to calm the sudden frustration and sharp pang of possessiveness in his chest.

He headed toward the staircase, only to feel someone step in front of him.

“Regulus… what are you doing with that?” James asked, voice low but commanding. “Are you drinking again?”

Regulus leaned against the wall, looking him dead in the eye, anger written across his face. “And if I am?”

“You know you can’t just… do whatever you want while under my care,” James said, stepping closer, tone firm but protective.

Regulus’s jaw clenched. “And who are you to tell me that? I am not your girlfriend!”

James’s eyes narrowed slightly, expression hardening. “I don’t care what you are—I care that you’re not being responsible. That’s all that matters.”

Regulus’s hands tightened around the bottle. “And you care because… what? You’re mad I’m not paying attention to you? Because I—”

“Stop!” James snapped, stepping right into him. “This isn’t about jealousy. This is about you being reckless. And if I have to make sure you behave, I will. Do you understand me?”

The tension snapped.

James lunged forward, hands reaching for the bottle. Regulus pulled back, gripping it tighter. Their bodies collided, James shoving him against the wall. Neither was yielding.

“Regulus,” James whispered, pressing close so that their faces were almost touching. His warm breath brushed against Regulus’s ear. “While you’re under my care, you will behave. Do you understand me?”

Regulus’s chest heaved. He could feel James’s presence, smell the faint scent of him—clean, yet unmistakably James. Flustered and angry all at once, he hesitated.

Then, with a flushed glint in his eye, he did something unexpected: he handed James the bottle.

James leaned even closer, smirking, whispering into his ear with a tone that made Regulus’s knees weak: “Good boy.”

Regulus froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard by the tone and closeness. He stepped back, trying to regain composure, cheeks burning. James straightened, still smirking, and walked away, leaving Regulus standing there, heart hammering, and ridiculously aware of just how flustered he felt.

And damn was Regulus fucked.

Chapter Text

After the very heated incident at the staircase, Regulus was utterly embarrassed. He avoided James at every chance he got.

At first, it was going well. James had been busy for two days after the “fight,” and Regulus was grateful for the peace. No smug looks, no teasing remarks, no accidental brushes of fingers that left his skin burning.

But his peace didn’t last.

His friends at school wouldn’t let it go. When he told them what happened, they burst into laughter.

Evan laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink.
“You just stood there?” he managed between laughs.
Dorcas smirked. “Merlin, Reg, I didn’t think you were that easy to fluster.”
And of course, Barty, ever the instigator, added, “That man definitely wants to get into your pants. If not—then I’m straight.”

The group erupted again, but Regulus couldn’t even fake a smile.

That night, their laughter kept echoing in his head long after he came home. He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he didn’t care. But his thoughts had other plans.

Why did James do that?
Did he actually care, or was it just out of pity?
Maybe Sirius asked him to look after me. Maybe it’s all just a favour.
And Lily—wasn’t she supposed to be his girlfriend? So what the hell is this? Am I just a joke to him?

The questions circled him like smoke, suffocating.

Frustrated, he reached into his drawer, fingers brushing the familiar shape of his lighter and cigarettes. He opened his window, letting the cold night air bite at his cheeks.

He placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it, watching the flame flicker in the dark. He inhaled deeply.

Regulus had started smoking when he was fifteen. Everyone had tried to stop him—his brother, the professors—but it had been too much. Too loud. Too heavy. And when Barty first handed him one, grinning, saying, “I am sure this will help,” it had felt like freedom after what he had experienced.

He had tried to quit once or twice, but truthfully, he didn’t want to. The smoke filled him with a strange kind of warmth, curling in his chest like something alive. It burned a little, stung if he held it too long, but that was part of the comfort—the pain was his to control.

He leaned on the windowsill, watching the streetlights blur into soft yellow pools against the wet pavement. The night was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the cigarette’s end.

He was nearly finished when his door suddenly creaked open.

“What the fuck?!”

Regulus froze.

He turned his head sharply, and there stood James—framed by the doorway, still in his work suit and long coat, hair slightly damp from the rain. The cold had kissed his cheeks pink, and his glasses were slightly fogged. He looked unfairly good. Divine, even.

But his expression was anything but pleasant.

“Regulus, what the fuck?” James repeated, his tone sharp with disbelief.

Regulus blinked, momentarily forgetting what was even happening—until he noticed James’s eyes fixed on his hand.

The cigarette.

Right.

He looked at it stupidly for a second, then back at James. “What do you care again? I’m old enough to decide what to do on my own. You always telling me what I can and can’t do is getting on my nerves.”

He took one last drag, exhaling slowly, deliberately, before continuing, “Let me remind you—you’re not my father, not my brother, and definitely not my boyfriend. So you have no right to tell me what to do.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and hot like the end of his cigarette.

James’s jaw tightened. For a moment, Regulus thought he’d yell back, maybe storm out—but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him. The quiet click of the latch made Regulus’ heart jump.

James shrugged off his coat, eyes never leaving him. “You done?”

Regulus arched a brow. “With the cigarette or with you?”

“Both,” James said coolly, crossing the room in a few long strides. Before Regulus could react, James plucked the cigarette right from his fingers, crushed it in the ashtray, and pushed the window wider open. The rush of cold air sent a shiver down Regulus’s spine.

“Hey! You can’t just—”

“You’re going to kill yourself with that shit,” James said, voice low but tight. “You think it makes you look cool? Older? Because all I see is someone trying to set himself on fire just to feel something.”

Regulus felt his throat close. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe not,” James admitted, taking a step closer. “But I know I hate seeing you like this.”

The sincerity in his tone hit harder than Regulus expected. For a second, he didn’t know where to look. His heart was beating far too fast, and the room suddenly felt too small, too full of him—of them.

James ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “Look, I’m not trying to control you, Reg. I just—bloody hell, I care, alright? More than I probably should.”

That made Regulus look up. “Why?” he asked quietly.

James’s lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came. Then, softly: “Because it’s you.”

Silence fell. The only sound was the wind through the open window, carrying away the lingering smoke.

Regulus wanted to scoff, to say something sharp and clever—but his voice betrayed him. “You’re ridiculous,” he whispered.

“Maybe,” James said with a small, crooked smile. “But I meant it.”

And then, without another word, he turned and left the room, leaving Regulus standing there, heart racing, the cold night air curling around him like smoke he couldn’t quite breathe out.

———-

“And then he just took my cigarette from me!” Regulus said, pacing back and forth across Pandora’s dorm room like a caged animal. “Right out of my hand! And then he goes on and on about how smoking won’t make me look cooler or older, it’ll just kill me. Like—who the fuck does he even think he is?!”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly fuming. “Then—then—he had the audacity to tell me he cares about me. Right. As if I’ll believe that.”

His friends just stared at him. Pandora lay sprawled on her bed, Dorcas sat cross-legged on the rug, Barty leaned against the wall twirling a lighter between his fingers, and Evan sipped from his mug with the air of a man who’d heard this exact rant one too many times.

It was, in fact, the fifth time that day.

Pandora finally sighed, setting down the book she hadn’t been able to read for the last twenty minutes. “Honestly, sweetheart, I think he really does care about you. Why else would he say something like that?”

Regulus scoffed. “No, Pan. He doesn’t care—that’s the whole problem. He’s just doing it because of Sirius. Sirius probably made him promise to look out for me or something, and James is too damn noble to say no.”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “And what about the way he looks at you like you hung the bloody stars? Is that part of his ‘Sirius-assigned duty’ too?”

Regulus shot him a glare. “He’s confusing, Barty. He’s probably dating his assistant anyway! Everyone at the office thinks so. I can’t—” He stopped abruptly, voice cracking just enough to betray how tightly he was holding himself together. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

There was a beat of silence before Dorcas got up. She crossed the room and crouched in front of him, taking his face gently in her hands. Her touch was grounding, steady. “Regulus,” she said softly, “he’s not him. He won’t hurt you like that.”

Regulus froze, the words hitting something raw inside him.

“I know you don’t trust people easily,” Dorcas continued, eyes never leaving his, “not after what happened. But trust me on this—James Potter is not Avery. He never will be.”

For a moment, the room went quiet except for the hum of the old heater. Regulus looked away, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Avery.

The name still made his stomach twist. He didn’t like remembering, but it was always there—lurking under his skin like a scar that wouldn’t fade. Avery had been charming at first. Clever. The kind of boy who could make you feel like you were the only one in the world. Until Regulus realized that being “the only one” meant being isolated.

Avery had told him who he could see, who he could talk to, what he could wear. A hand on his wrist could turn into a bruise in seconds. And when Regulus had caught him making out with Mulciber—his so-called friend—everything shattered.

He’d tried to end it, but Avery hadn’t let him. The memory still flashed too vividly: the grip around his wrist, the sneer, the threat. The moment Sirius had stormed in and punched Avery so hard the other boy had bled. The glass Avery had thrown after, shattering against Regulus’ back. The scars that still lingered there, pale and thin, ghostly reminders.

No. Avery hadn’t been a “bad experience.” Avery had been a warning.

And now James—loud, infuriating, warm-hearted James—was breaking through every wall he’d built since then.

After leaving Pandora’s room, Regulus walked home in silence. The evening was cold, the kind that seeped through his coat and made his hands shake. The city lights blurred against the wet pavement, and for once, he didn’t light a cigarette.

When he got home, he dropped his keys on the counter, kicked off his shoes, and stood in the middle of his room, staring out the window.

James’s words echoed in his head: “Because it’s you.”

He hated that his chest ached at the memory. Hated that a part of him wanted to believe it.

He sat on the edge of his bed, running a thumb over the faint scar on his wrist—the one Avery had left there. His reflection in the window looked tired. Vulnerable. Too much like the boy he used to be.

And then, as if summoned by the thought, his phone buzzed.

James Potter.

Regulus stared at the screen. His pulse jumped.

He hesitated for a long moment before unlocking it.

James: You left your scarf in my car.
James: It’s cold tonight. Don’t make me come bring it to you myself.

Regulus almost laughed. Almost. He could see him typing that—half-annoyed, half-worried, completely sincere.

He tossed the phone aside, fell back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

But after a moment, he reached for the phone again. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, unsure.

Finally, he typed:

Regulus: Don’t. I’m fine. Keep it.

He stared at the message for a few seconds, then added—almost against his better judgment:

Regulus: And don’t act like you care.

He hit send before he could change his mind, then shut his eyes.

The reply came almost immediately.

James: Too late for that, Reg.

Regulus’s breath caught in his throat.

He threw the phone onto the nightstand, turned off the light, and tried—unsuccessfully—to sleep. Because now, the only thing louder than his thoughts was James’s voice in his head.

“Too late for that.”