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Chapter Text

James

It’s cold and sterile in the small room where James Potter waits. He has been avoiding his mothers eyes for the last thirty minutes, but he can feel her stare, assessing and concerned. 

“I’m not going to kill myself right here, you know,” James mumbles. 

When was the nurse going to take him? It had to be nearly nine now, and they arrived at the hospital almost four hours ago. One would think that someone bent on killing themselves would earn a little more urgency. 

“Don’t say things like that,” his mother hisses but her voice cracks with each word. 

James nearly rolls his eyes. He really couldn’t kill himself right here, he had scoped out the room as soon as the handsome technician brought him and his mother in. The chair was bolted to the floor, the picture screwed tightly to the wall, the outlets were covered and there was nothing sharp in sight. 

He wasn’t planning on killing himself in this specific room, that would be a little too meta for his taste. But, for a long time now, whenever James enters a room, the first thing that comes to his mind is a glaring question, 

If I wanted to, how could I kill myself here?

James supposes he should have seen someone, talked to someone about it. He knew it wasn't normal– not by a long shot– but there was something holding him back from opening up. That something being this place right here. James does not want to be here. 

The psychiatric ward is foreign to him. The careful, watchful eyes of the nurses and techs, the soft questions, the apologies for what he’s going through. And fuck, he hasn’t even been admitted yet. 

Everyone here can see him in this place. It makes James' skin crawl. They know he’s broken, they know he tried to kill himself. 

The second one is much more obvious, given the large white bandages covering his arms hiding (but not really because everyone knows what it is), the large, vertical cuts running from his wrist to his forearms. 

Yeah, he went vertical. 

The first hospital had taken him to kept him under observation for three whole days before telling his mother, very sternly, that she needed to take him to inpatient therapy– and soon. 

Effie had gotten straight in her car and drove James two hours to St. Mungos. 

Now they are here, in this tiny room and James is putting on a brave face (it’s what he’s best at) but tapping his fingers quickly on the right side of the bolted down, no-ridges-or-corners chair. He had signed the consent to treatment form what, an hour ago? What was taking so long? 

They needed to come back and tell him he was going home, that he wasn’t depressed and had learned his lesson. Of course, neither of these things were true, but James was holding onto a tiny bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could go home tonight. 

A man walks into the room, not the same technician as before. 

“James Potter?” 

James nods, still tapping his finger. He feels anxiety and dread crawling up his throat. His chest is empty, a cavernous pit stretched into the bowels of who he is.

The man gives him a soft smile, his green eyes crinkling in the corners. 

“Thank you for being patient, Mr. Potter. I just have a few things we need to go over before I take you back.”

“Take me back?” James responds, his voice pitched higher than usual.

The man nods, meeting his eyes, “You’re high risk, meaning to keep yourself safe, you’re going to be committed.” 

Shaking his head, James scoots back in the chair, “No, I’m okay, I swear,” He runs a hand through his unruly curls and frowns at the man.

The technician flicks his eyes quickly to James arms, the bandages nearly screaming “I tried to kill myself and failed!” 

“You’re not okay James,” Effie speaks softly from beside him. “You need help, you tried to kill yourself,” 

James squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force out her words. 

Clearing his throat, the tech says to him seriously, “You did also sign a consent to treatment,” 

James clenches his fist and grits his teeth. Beside him, he can hear his mother crying softly. Now, this is exactly what he didn’t want to happen. If he would have just been successful, he wouldn’t be having to go through this right now. James silently curses himself for ever giving his mother a key to his apartment.

He doesn’t know how, but she knew something. Possibly it had to do with the fact that James hadn’t been returning anyone's phone calls for days, he had stopped going into work. Basically, no one had heard from James Potter in a concerningly long time, given how social he is.

Or was. 

Or pretended to be. 

His mother found him bleeding out in his bathroom. 

The guilt will never, ever go away. 

Just one more thing to add to the growing list. 

James doesn’t realize the technician had been speaking to him until he registers what he was saying, 

“ – and we do online rounds, so you’ll have to put on this ankle bracelet.” 

Oh fuck no. Was he in prison?

Tears prick in the corner of James eyes as the ankle monitor is strapped around his ankle. It was a big, black, ugly thing. Bile rises in the back of James’ throat. He can’t bear to look at his mother. 

Calmly, the man who James is kind of starting to hate, says, “I’m going to take you back now. You’re in unit twelve,”

A unit number means nothing to James as he spins around and at the adult age of twenty-five, he grabs onto his mother and starts crying. Heavy, aching sobs, “Please momma….. don’t… don’t let him take me. I’m okay, see?” 

James is panicking, his voice high while his hands shake uncontrollably. As he steps back and looks at her with pleading eyes.

Effie only brings a shaking hand of her own to her mouth and chokes on a sob as she looks at him, “I love you so much,” her voice is warbling and tears track down her dark cheeks. 

The tech leads a sobbing James toward the door and the last thing he sees is his mother falling to the ground, wrapping her arms around herself as she cries.

___

“Are you serious?” James asks, bewildered. Any color in the whole world and they chose burnt orange?

The technician (a different one, he didn’t see the other man after he led him to this room) sheepishly holds out the cloth scrubs to James as he looks at them, feeling sick to his stomach. First the ankle monitor, now this. Was he in prison? Was this a humiliation ritual? Did James actually die in his bathroom and this is hell? 

James grabs the scrubs bitterly and mumbles, "Where's the bathroom?”

“Oh… Um. You’ve never been in a place like this before, have you?” 

Shaking his head, he takes a tiny step backwards. For an unknown reason, he suddenly feels self conscious. All of these emotions, spiraling around him. 

Nodding, the man looks at him gently, “That’s okay. I’m Michael. I’m going to have to ask you some questions and do some things that might feel a little uncomfortable. Is that okay?”

Well. 

What the fuck. He couldn’t just say no.

He shrugs his shoulders and from there begins the most uncomfortable process of his life. From noting down where and what his tattoos are to making him strip down and… well. 

James is definitely not hiding any contraband. 

When James is finally allowed to put on the scratchy scrubs that smell faintly of cigarette smoke, he is exhausted. He adjusts his glasses, feeling numb, sick and humiliated. He’s wearing a grey pair of grippy socks for gods sake.

It must be nearly ten by now. He hadn’t eaten today. His mother stopped by a drive through on the way and James picked at his food in the car. He just doesn’t feel hungry. 

James knows he’s lost weight in the past few months, muscle disappearing before his eyes. He used to be fit, strong. But now he’s just a shell.

The technician leads him through two double doors, scanning a key badge on the way in. They go through several of these doors, hallways that look the same, before they reach Unit 12. The hallway is long and there are initials written on a small whiteboard outside the doors. It looks like there are two people in a room. This does not make James feel any better. 

The nurses station is dark, since it's so late in the evening, and the technician tells him to sit in the small chair by the wall. There are some people milling about and James is not surprised that most of the people look to be about his age. There are some younger looking people but also some who look to be in their sixties or seventies. 

James pulls his knees to his chest in the chair and waits. As he sits, dread begins to pool in his stomach, more than was already there. 

What had he done? This was a mistake. No one knows he’s here except his mother and she promised not to tell a soul. His best friends didn’t even know where he was. James has just been ignoring them for days. 

Were they worried? Did they care? He was such a fuck up. He couldn’t even kill himself properly and now he was stuck in this place, surrounded by strangers and other people like him. How the hell is living with depressed people for some ungodly amount of time supposed to make him feel better? 

Hugging his knees, James puts his head down and starts to softly cry. The tears just kept coming, he couldn’t stop them. There’s a loud beeping that is making him flinch every time it goes off and he’s just…

Well, James is very overwhelmed. 

“Hi, you must be James,” a woman's voice says softly. James looks up to see a blonde woman in front of him, her hair in two braids. 

James only nods, wiping the tears from his cheeks. 

Mistake, mistake, mistake

The woman, Jess, takes his vitals and shows him his room. He started crying again at some point, he doesn’t know when. The room is dark when he gets in, and James goes to the empty bed, sitting on the strange mattress that felt more like a gym mat. He quickly grabs and hugs the small, flat pillow. James takes a few heaving breaths, trying to force air into his lungs. He was stuck here. For god knows how long. 

Resentment fills his chest, slick and oily. How could his mother put him here? Why had she taken him so far from his home? Why did she have to come into his apartment? 

Looking across the room, James sees the outline of another man sleeping, covers tucked up to his chest. The man is faced the opposite way, so James can’t see him. The only thing he can see is soft looking, inky curls tumbling onto the bed.

With luck, the man would be released soon and James would have the room to himself. But he’s not getting his hopes up. 

James turns away and covers himself up with his hospital-grade blanket, the rough fabric brushing across his face as he pulls it over his head. 

The dread, sorrow, and bone deep agony courses through him. His arms hurt. Burning, bitter pain that only a self-inflicted wound can have. James throat tightens painfully and hot, salty tears fall down his cheeks. He doesn’t want to wake up his roommate, so James bites onto the blanket as he sobs. 

He’s just falling asleep when the thought that’s been in the back of his mind all day comes to the surface:

How the hell was this better than being dead?

____

When James wakes up, the sun is shining in through his window. For a moment, he’s confused. First of all, he has blackout curtains for this very reason. Second, he doesn’t have a blanket like this. Much too scratchy. These two thoughts hit him quickly and it takes him no more than three seconds to realize where he is. To remember the past few days.

He sits up and sees the bed next to him empty, the covers thrown haphazardly and a small stack of books sitting next to the bolted down bed.

James is hit with bone-deep dread as he realizes where he is at and the fact that this was definitely not a horrible dream. He has landed himself in the psych ward. His heart begins to pound rapidly and in the bright light of day, he thinks about the things that he needs to do. For example, his job. 

He has unfortunately been skirting from his work responsibilities and is sure he will be fired when he returns. That doesn’t matter to James though, honestly he fucking hates his job. He shouldn’t, it pays very well, he has his own office, and it’s the job he was hoping for when he graduated university three years ago. 

James realized about a year in that he hated marketing, hated managing, and hated wearing fancy suits and going to meetings with a fake smile. He hated pretending that he cared about his coworkers' sick dog or his employees' fake excuses for calling off work nearly every Friday. 

Over the years, James has come to accept the fact that he’s grown bitter and resentful of everything in his miserable life. He really doesn’t know what happened. 

Well. 

He has an idea, but doesn’t have the mental energy to explore that right now.

So, James does what he has done best for the past several months when things get a little too hard. He falls asleep. 

He wakes up an hour later to a nurse asking to take his vitals. He sits up, lets her take what she needs, and falls back asleep. 

A few hours later, he’s woken up by a doctor who takes him into a small room to take his blood. Three fucking vials of it. What the hell did they need that much of his blood for? As James walks back to the nurses station, he realizes there’s no one around. He doesn’t want to ask anyone where the other patients are. That would mean talking, interacting. It was too much. 

Looking at the clock, he sees that it’s noon. 

So most likely it was lunch. 

James goes back to sleep. 

When he wakes up again, it’s not because someone else woke him. He really needed to go to the bathroom. As humiliating as this whole experience has turned out to be, it only gets worse when he has to ask the girl who is probably younger than him if she could please open the bathroom door so he can piss. 

When James emerges from the bathroom, he’s exhausted again. He quickly washes his hands in the sink and looks to the window where the sun is setting. Perfect, if he could just sleep this away he would be just fine. Did it make him feel any better? No. But James is too depressed to do much else. 

Laying down in the bed and cocooning himself back into his blanket, he hears another person, his roommate, go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. He drifts asleep to the sound of the running water. 

And is woken up five minutes later to the sound of a door slamming shut. 

Great, a loud ass roommate. As if I didn’t already want to kill myself as it is.

James scowls and throws back the blankets. As he does, he’s met with a man standing in front of him, freckles dotting his pale skin. He wears his baggy scrub pants rolled a few times at the waist, riding low on his hips. Dark, black curls drip with water and his grey eyes are wide, staring at James.

“No way,” James breathes at the same time as Regulus fucking Black snaps at him,

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” 

His roommate was Regulus.

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

From the notes of Dr. Joseph Miller, St. Mungos

Patient Admission Note – St. Mungos Hospital

Patient Name: Regulus A. Black
DOB: 06/22/1999
Date of Admission: 05/12/2024
Admitting Physician: Dr. Joseph Miller, MD

Chief Complaint

Patient was transferred from the emergency room following a suicide attempt

History of Present Illness

Mr. Black is a 24 year old male presenting with increasing depressive symptoms, insomnia, and passive suicidal ideation. He reports decreased appetite, loss of interest in previously enjoyable activities, difficulty concentrating, and fatigue. Patient was admitted following a suicide attempt. Patient attempted to take his own life after jumping off a bridge. Previous hospital reports Mr. Black was admitted with a BAC of 0.21

Past Psychiatric History

• Previous diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder (2016).
• Three prior inpatient psychiatric admission (2016, 2019, 2021) following a suicide attempt.
• Current outpatient psychiatrist and therapist, but reports inconsistent attendance.

Medications

• N/A

Allergies

• NKDA (No Known Drug Allergies)

Family Psychiatric History

• Father: History of depression 
• Maternal uncle: completed suicide

Plan

• Admit to inpatient psychiatric unit for stabilization.
• Begin antidepressants daily. Monitor for side effects.
• Initiate sleep hygiene strategies and consider medication adjustment if insomnia persists.
• Daily psychiatric evaluation and ongoing therapy sessions.
• Safety plan in place: 15-minute checks, suicide precautions.
• Contact outpatient psychiatrist for continuity of care.

Note (entered 05/22/2024): Patient is not making adequate progress and is resistant to treatment.

___

Regulus

“This has to be some kind of conflict of interest,” Regulus says, his lip curling at James. 

James shrugs, the idiot, “I don’t know.” His voice is weary, tired. He even looks tired, even though he’s been sleeping all day. In fact, he looks more than just a bit tired. There are deep, dark circles under his eyes, his hair is sticking up– and not in the endearing way it usually is– but simply out of control. 

He’s thinner than he used to be, and his brown skin is sallow. Regulus’ eyes catch on the two massive bandages wrapping around his arms. 

Jesus fuck.

Regulus had no idea James was… no. He couldn’t do this right now. He was here (and had been for some time now) to figure his own shit out. Not to worry about James’ suicidal ideations. Not to mention, he hated James. So this whole thing? It wasn’t going to work. 

“I’m going to tell the nurses,” Regulus says haughtily. He could not share a room with James Potter on a normal day, he definitely can’t share a room with him in the mental hospital. 

Regulus turns to leave and do just that, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees James hang his head and hears the exhaustion, the pain in his voice when he says softly, 

“Okay.” 

He knows it’s not about him. He knows that the pain James is dealing with goes so much deeper than just Regulus switching rooms. But, something in Regulus is telling him that James can’t handle someone turning away from him, pushing him out like this. 

Regulus remembers his own first day. The fear and cold, the sterility of it all. Every little thing triggered Regulus and he remembers wanting to crawl out of his own skin. Regardless of their past, if he had woken up on his first day to his roommate telling him he was switching rooms to get away from him…

Damn it. Regulus is an asshole. 

Even so. 

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t–

Turning around, he crosses his arms and looks at James, “Nevermind.” 

“Huh?” James squints.

Regulus shrugs, trying to be as nonchalant as he can, “I don’t want them to put me with someone who snores. Well, someone who snores more than you anyway,” 

Maybe Regulus just likes pain. Maybe he just can’t help himself.

James’ eyes widen, “Was I snoring last night?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “But I remember that you do.” He fixes James with a stare. 

They don’t speak for a moment. Of course Regulus remembers before. How could he not? But he wasn’t here to dwell on the past and neither was James. So he continues, 

“Anyway, you need to get up. Stop isolating yourself,” 

James interrupts, “I’m not–” 

“Yes, you are. You’ll get a free pass because it’s your first day, but the nurses and technicians? They see everything. Rounds are every fifteen minutes. Five, for you since you haven’t been here more than twenty four hours. But they can see who is trying and who isn’t. That’s going to make or break when you get out of here,”

Nodding, James looks down. Regulus knows it’s a lot to take in. But he got the same speech, at sixteen when he first ended up in a psychiatric hospital. And he has given the speech to several others through the years. 

“Do the work, go to groups, take your meds, show remorse or whatever– tell them you’ll never do it again and you just want to get better. You’ll be out of here in five days, tops.” 

James looks up at Regulus questionably, his head tilted to the side, “How long have you been here?” 

Swallowing, Regulus turns away and grabs his scrub top, pulling it over his head. He runs his hands through his tangled curls, wincing at the resistance. It had just recently gotten long enough for him to tie it back. It reminds him of…

“My situation is a bit different,” Regulus says carefully. 

James can clearly read between the lines because he nods and lays back down, closing his eyes. He’s going back to sleep. 

“Potter–” Regulus warns. James’ sharp voice cuts him off,

“Fuck off, Black.” 

James sighs and continues, softer this time, but still exasperated, “Tomorrow. I’m tired, Regulus.” 

James has changed in the years since Regulus had seen him. Or maybe, it’s just that he’s seeing James at his worst. This place is interesting like that, the way that everyone you’re surrounding yourself with is in some way, at their worst. 

It makes things easier. And harder. 

Regulus nods, even though James can’t see him, and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He is just now noticing the initials “J.F.P” scrawled next to “R.A.B” 

He hadn’t bothered looking this morning to see what his roommates' initials were. If he had, maybe he would have been able to switch rooms before James woke up– then there would be no harm done. The thought makes Regulus wince and he grits his teeth. He’s signing himself up for a world of hurt. 

There is no possible scenario where this goes well for either of them. 

___

“You seen the new guy yet?” Barty asks as Regulus plops down in the chair next to him in the dayroom. The TV is quietly playing a sitcom in the background and there's a small group of other patients playing UNO in the corner. 

Regulus groans and lays his head on the table, closing his eyes, “Please no,” 

Chuckling, Barty pokes him with a crayon, “Oh come on he can’t be that bad.” 

Letting out a sigh, Regulus cracks his eyes open and looks at the other man, “Yes, he can,” 

What a nightmare this is. Right now, Regulus is at his lowest. He’s depressed, disowned, and doesn’t even really feel like a person. Of course James Potter had to show up not only in the same facility, not only the same unit, but the same fucking room as him. 

“Want me to beat him up?” Barty grins, a glint in his eye. 

Regulus rolls his eyes, “No it’s not that. And aren’t you here to be watching me? They will send your ass straight to unit 11 if you hit someone and then you’ll be really fucked.” 

“I wouldn’t call it watching,” Barty mumbles under his breath and twirls a crayon in his hands.

One of the best and worst things about Barty is that he is one hundred percent crazy. He knows it, Regulus knows it, everyone knows it. So, when Barty found out that his best friend of fifteen years had thrown himself off a bridge and ended up in the psych ward, he did what any insane person would do. 

He got himself committed to the same hospital and somehow (Regulus doesn’t want to know how) into the same unit. Because while Barty is crazy, he is crazy about the people he cares for. Barty has been with him for ten of Regulus’ fifteen days and he has no idea how his friend is going to keep himself here much longer. 

“It’s watching.” Regulus replies. 

He sits up and starts cuffing his sleeves. They are always way too long, even though Regulus gets the smallest size every day. And okay, maybe it does make him look just a tiny bit cooler. It’s a part of his brand, sue him. 

“So, what is it about your roommate you don’t like? Is he a sleepwalker?” Barty plays with his lip ring absently, tilting his head in question at Regulus. 

Regulus snorts, “I wish,”

He pauses and looks down, picking at his black nail polish. On days they get to go to the Art room, Regulus always paints his nails. This week, he painted them black. 

Sighing, Regulus continues, looking back up at Barty, who is waiting patiently, 

“Do you remember the guy I told you about? My brother's friend?” 

He can’t say his name. Sirius. How had it gotten to this point? Where he can’t even say his brother’s name?

“Mmm, the guy you used to have a massive–”

“Kindly shut the fuck up right now,” Regulus whispers and looks around quickly, praying that James didn’t suddenly appear in the dayroom when he had his head down. 

Crush. 

Barty was about to say crush. And fuck, it was true. 

Although, crush might be putting it lightly. 

Barty’s eyes go wide, “No fucking way,” He whisper screams. “He’s here? As in… here?”  His face is an unfortunate mix of shock and amusement which is definitely not making Regulus feel any better about this situation. 

“Yes way, I’m literally going to k–” He cuts himself off. 

Kill myself. 

That’s what he’d been about to say. 

However, this is not the place. Unfortunately. It’s a shame that the people here do not appreciate Regulus’ particular brand of humor.

Barty arches a brow, “Going to do what now?” 

“Oh fuck off. Listen so–” 

Regulus is interrupted by a loud voice outside, 

“Group time! If you’re coming to group it’s in the dayroom!” 

“Are you gonna stay?” Barty asks him,

“Fuck yes, I’m not trying to go back in there with him.” Regulus says quietly and brings his knees to his chest. Barty gives him an odd stare before turning away to where people are now filing into the dayroom. 

How was he supposed to do this? At least he has Barty and Dorcas. 

Dorcas Meadows, who is now sauntering in, somehow wearing her cloth scrubs better than anyone else. She’s only been here for five days. But, in mental hospital time, that’s equivalent to two weeks. Time works differently in the psych ward. One day, you go to breakfast and don’t know a patient's name. By dinnertime, you’ve heard their life story, told them yours and are making plans for when you get out. 

It was like that for Dorcas, Barty and Regulus. Her first day was much like James’, she had been admitted after a suicide attempt and wouldn’t talk to anyone. She slept through meals, didn’t go to group– it was just kind of how it was. Everything is so overwhelming the first few days. 

The next day, Dorcas showed up to lunch and was sitting alone. Barty invited her to sit with them. 

“Come on, sit with friends. It’s better that way”

Dorcas had raised a brow, “I don’t even know you two.” 

Barty only grinned and stuck out his hand, “I’m Barty. That’s Reg.” 

“Dorcas,” she responded flatly. 

“See, now we’re friends.”

“Hey guys,” Dorcas says quietly, sitting next to Regulus. 

Regulus wishes, not for the first time, that men and women could be in the dayroom together. But, unfortunately, the women's dayroom is down the hall and Dorcas is stuck spending time with her roommate. 

Sometimes Regulus and Barty set up three chairs at the nurses station just to play cards with Dorcas– when the nurses and techs allowed it. 

Regulus nods at her and takes a sip of his coffee, “Hi,” 

Dorcas gives Regulus a look and raises her eyebrows. She leans over and looks at Barty, her braids cascading over her shoulder, 

“What’s wrong with him?” She asks Barty.

The asshole just grins and leans over to Dorcas conspiratorily, “Boy troubles,” He mock whispers. 

Regulus, who is now crossing his arms between the two, rolls his eyes, “I’m never telling you anything again.” 

“Oh, come on Reg! You’ve been saying that for years now!”

Dorcas quietly chuckles next to him. As untrusting as Barty and Regulus are, both of them were quite surprised to find that they trusted Dorcas wholeheartedly. She had been amazed to hear that Barty had gotten himself committed for Regulus. And maybe a little scared.

The group starts shortly after that, and Regulus’ mind begins to drift. It’s not that he doesn’t want to pay attention, but being here over two weeks, he’s come to realize a pattern. There are two group therapy sessions in the dayroom per day. The morning always focuses on some kind of movement or social skills and the afternoon group is always worksheets. 

Regulus despises worksheets. Especially ones that make him write about his feelings and triggers and trauma.

All things that he definitely has, but doesn’t feel comfortable writing down in front of everyone. 

Maybe that’s why he’s been here so long this time. 

This is not Regulus’ first go in the psych ward, it’s his third. He’s hoping this will be the last one. (just like he hoped after the first and second time, but doesn’t everyone?)

The first time Regulus was hospitalized, he was sixteen. His mother went snooping in his room and found his suicide letters. It was a fucking shitshow. He was committed to a private facility (where Walburga was privy to everything Regulus talked about with the doctors.). This was where he learned the three step “fake it till you make it” method. 

The method goes a little like this:

Step one: One needs to show deep remorse for what they have done (attempted suicide, overdose, etc.) even if one doesn’t feel sorry at all. 

Step Two: Respect the staff. Don’t be pushy, tell them thank you, take the meds when asked. 

Step Three: Interact with other patients, make friends, go to group and one must never isolate themselves

Remorse, Respect, Interaction.

Is this healthy? Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s gotten Regulus out of the psych ward three times now. 

The second time was shortly before his senior year of high school. His brother had left months before and Regulus felt so much shame for not going with him that it led to a massive breakdown. He had cried, screamed, and nearly destroyed his parents house.

His third hospitalization was in college, after one of the worst semesters of his life. He had checked himself in after his friends had held an intervention of sorts, scared of how much he was drinking, terrified he was going to do something bad to himself. And he probably would have.

Now, Regulus is here at twenty-four and his tried and true method is not working. 

Needless to say, this fourth time was not supposed to happen. Regulus had drank so much that he felt sick, and jumped off a bridge into the river. He had nearly drowned and would have if some “hero” hadn’t “saved” him.

If Regulus is being honest with himself, it was never that simple. None of his hospitalizations have been. But somewhere along the way, Regulus had learned to compartmentalize his life into little boxes. Because at the end of the day, all anyone cares about is the facts. 

No one cares about Regulus’ desires or his burning shame, his regret. Somewhere, there’s a file with Regulus’ name on it followed by a list of diagnoses and transgressions. Regulus has begun to think of his life that way too. 

The in between? That doesn’t matter. Not to the doctors, the technicians, his mother. The only thing that matters is Regulus is sick. 

You’re a burden, Regulus. You always have been.

Forcing himself to think of things clinically has worked in the past. But, he’s been here for too long now and yes, this time is different from the others. Because he actually did attempt. But he’s done the work, he’s faked it, he is a model patient. Yet they still won't discharge him.

Regulus closes his eyes as the sound of the presenter’s soft voice lulls him to sleep.

He wakes up several minutes later and joins his friends at dinner. Following this is their “Fresh Air” time (Smoke break) and then before Regulus knows it, the day is over and he is in bed. He can hear someone on the phone outside his room. They can’t have cellphones, so they have to wait in a line to call family, friends, partners, etc. 

He’s going through the motions, following the mundane schedule that he could most definitely recite off the top of his head.

Regulus can hear the woman on the phone arguing with someone (her baby daddy he’s pretty sure). The phone is literally right outside his door so Regulus does a lot of eavesdropping. There’s not really much else to do. 

It usually doesn’t bother him, Regulus is used to falling asleep to yelling, but now James is here. He’s still sleeping.

Regulus looks over to the bed he’s been avoiding for the entire day. 

Fuck, why is James so perfect? Even when he’s depressed and fast asleep?

His hair is messy and sticking up in every direction. He never took off his glasses, so they are askew on his face. His mouth is slightly open and he’s softly snoring. 

Regulus turns away quickly, realizing that he’s acting like a freak, staring at James like this. His heart is quickly beating and he finds himself realizing that he feels sixteen again. 

Sixteen and simultaneously crushing on and hating his brother's best friend. What a cliche. 

But he couldn’t really call this a crush. 

Regulus doesn’t know James, he hasn’t seen him in seven years. He’s clearly a different person than the bright, happy boy that Regulus knew as a teenager. And James doesn’t know him either. Regulus is not the same boy he was then.

So no, this feeling was not a crush. 

It’s just remnants of it. The last tiny shards of it seeping out of Regulus’ heart. It will be gone in a few days. 

Besides, this was not the place for meaningless, one-sided crushes. 

Regulus had to focus so he could get the hell out of here. 

Chapter Text

Two days later

“James I need to take your vitals,”

The soft voice of the nurse technician wakes James up and he sits up in the bed, feeling groggy as a massive headache quickly hits him. 

James nods and holds his arm out to the tech. As she takes his vitals she asks him how he’s doing, her voice smooth and comforting,

“I’m okay,” he says quietly.

The technician looks at him carefully, “Are you going to get up for dinner?” 

James shrugs his shoulders, “Maybe,” he mumbles. 

He’s been saying that for the last two days. The only thing that helps James keep track of time is when they come to take his vitals (twice a day, morning and evening) and the meal trays he barely eats off of. 

There’s a sick feeling that seems to be permanently coiled in his gut. A combination of regret, shame and sadness. He hates the feeling, so he sleeps it away as best he can. 

James knows this is in no way healthy. He knows Regulus was right on his first day when he told James not to isolate himself and do the work and he would be out. 

But he just… can’t. 

The tech quietly leaves and that’s one thing about this place he likes. He’s never pushed to do more. However, James does know that soon, someone is going to start making him get up. 

Even though he really wants to, James knows that he can’t just waste away here. 

Maybe tomorrow, he thinks quietly and lays back down, throwing an arm across his face. He hasn’t spoken to anyone since he got here. His mother has called the nurses station, he hasn’t called her back. He definitely hasn’t spoken to Sirius or Remus or Peter. 

What does that say about him? The fact that he can’t even bother speaking to his best friends?

A hot wave of anxiety courses through his body as he imagines telling them that he tried to kill himself five days ago. Would they feel angry? Betrayed? Would they even want to be his friends anymore? 

James has known Sirius and Peter since high school, when they were paired for an English project in ninth grade. They became quick friends, all playing on the same soccer team and were the only three freshmen to make varsity. 

They all ended up at the same college where Sirius and James shared a dorm room. Peter’s roommate was a quiet boy named Remus, who read a lot and was by far the smartest out of the whole lot of them.

Remus was quickly adopted into the group and the four of them began renting a house when they were three years into college. 

However, James moved out and into his own place last year.

After…

“Wake up, Potter,” Regulus’ voice startles James from his thoughts and his eyes fly open. 

Regulus is standing over him, arms crossed, brows pulled together into a frown. His curls are loose today, dark and soft. His grey eyes are curious, but assess him seriously.

“I wasn’t sleeping.” James replies, glaring up at Regulus. 

The other man waves a dismissive hand and rolls his eyes, “Whatever it is you were doing, I don’t care. Get up.” 

“No?” James says, quickly annoyed. 

Regulus frowns at him, “You’ve been sleeping for nearly three days straight,”

James glares right back at him, “How is that any of your business?” 

This seems to cause Regulus to pause, eyes widening imperceptibly. 

But James only continues, angrier now, “That’s right, you can’t just be a bitch to me like you were in high school anymore. I’m not in the fucking mood to deal with you.” 

Regulus takes a step back and hurt flashes across his face so quickly that James nearly misses it. 

James watches with amazement as the openness that Regulus was showing him quickly wipes clean, replaced by stony defiance. Regulus squares his shoulders, clenches his jaw, and schools his face into an expression of boredom and contempt. 

He stares at James for a beat of silence, as though deciding what to say. 

Regulus finally responds in a clipped voice, “Got it,” he says and turns away from James, stalking out of the room. 

Did James upset Regulus? 

Damn it. 

When did James become so bitter? So hateful?

Regulus was kind of a bitch to him in high school. Even though they would hang out all the time with Peter and Sirius. When Regulus was younger, James remembers him tagging along. Always wanting to be right next to Sirius, following whatever his brother told him to do. He was neutral to Peter, but never seemed to like James. 

James took the punches, rolled his eyes when Regulus would ignore him or say something mean. But he never knew why. All in all, they all spent a significant amount of time together.  Regulus had been like an unofficial member of their friend group. Until that night. 

Sirius showed up at his doorstep, clutching his arm. Blood was dripping down his skin in thin rivulets. He had tears in his eyes. 

He was alone. 

But, that didn’t matter. What mattered was right now, and now… it almost seemed like he was trying to help. 

James had forgotten for a moment that Regulus was in here for something too. And James had just said probably the worst thing he could have to him. 

Rolling his eyes, James gets out of bed and is immediately hit with a burst of exhaustion. Sleeping for three days will do that to a person, he supposes. James hasn’t even been out of his room since he got here, unless it was to ask someone to unlock the bathroom. 

He wanders out into the hallway, where he sees a line of orange clad adults walking out two double doors into another hallway. 

They must be going to dinner. 

Now that he’s up, James realizes for the first time that he… Well, he kind of stinks. 

He gets his shower supplies from the nurses station and steps into the hot water, letting it wash over him. Oh, he needed this for sure. 

In the shower, James stands with his head down, a hand pressed against the wall. He can’t cry anymore, he’s simply numb and empty at this point. 

The only soap is from a small pump by the shower. 

Wonderful. A three in one. How could things get any better?

James can admit to himself he does feel better after showering and changing into fresh scrubs and socks. He brushes his teeth and combs through his hair the best he can with the shitty plastic brush they gave him. 

Looking at the clock, James realizes it’s only been ten minutes since dinner started. He could go apologize to Regulus and possibly eat a meal. 

James walks up to the nurses station where there is a group of nurses, technicians and other people he doesn’t recognize. 

“You wanna go to dinner, babe?” one of the technicians turns to him and asks kindly, a hand on her hip. 

James nods quietly and follows her down the hallway. 

The cafeteria is large and looks similar to a high school cafe. No one really pays James any mind as he finds Regulus sitting at a table with two other people. One of them is a woman who is talking animatedly with her hands while the man next to her looks… familiar. 

I have to know him from somewhere. He looks too familiar. 

James sheepishly walks toward the table where the three are sitting. It’s close to the wall and far away from where the rest of the patients sit. The table is also tiny, only able to accommodate the people who are currently occupying it. 

Regulus has a small, soft smile on his face. It’s odd to see, especially here. Regulus never smiled back in high school, he was such a serious child. But somehow, here in the psych ward, he had found a reason to smile. 

The woman’s back is to James, so he can’t see her face. But Regulus notices him right away, his face freezing quickly before sharpening into a cold mask.

“What do you want,” Regulus says in a bitter voice. His eyes were rimmed with red and his long lashes were wet. As though he had been crying.

That couldn’t have been because of James, right? No way would Regulus Black cry over James being an asshole to him. 

Right?

James suddenly feels nervous. Right when Regulus had spoken, two other pairs of eyes had flown right to him, their expressions full of disdain. He maybe shouldn’t have done this with an audience. 

“Well… I uh.” James clears his throat. Why was this so hard? The three continue to stare at him, waiting. 

“I guess I’m here because I’m sorry.” 

Regulus says nothing.

James continues, his voice a bit stronger; “I was a dick and I shouldn’t have snapped. I know you said not to isolate yourself and I did and you clearly just wanted to help get me up and hey it did because I’m up now and… yeah. I’m sorry.”

Silence. 

Both the man and woman turn to look at Regulus, their faces now devoid of emotion. Regulus looks at James and cocks his head to the side. 

“Okay.” He says finally.

“Okay?” James repeats slowly. That was it? Regulus wasn’t going to fight him back? Call him names? 

Regulus nods and turns back to his food. It was a clear, but not unkind dismissal. 

“Okay,” James whispers and walks toward the line to get his food. He never did get the other two’s names. He probably wouldn’t, honestly. This seemed to be the end of Regulus and James interactions. 

They would probably speak here and there, but they wouldn’t be friends. 

James finds a table alone and sits down. The food is meatloaf. There isn’t much flavor in the meat and it’s served with a side of peas and carrots. Not bad but certainly not what he would choose for himself. 

It doesn’t help that James’ appetite has been shit the last week or so. Attempting suicide would do that to a person. 

“Hey, new guy,” a voice calls out from the lunch line. 

James looks up to see a woman walking toward him with a tray of food. She looks about his age. Her blonde hair is streaked with pink and her full lips are parted into a grin. 

Sitting down quickly in front of him, the woman begins adding an exorbitant amount of sugar to her tea.

“Hey,” James responds and gives the woman a strange look. Why is she sitting with him? 

The patient throws her sugar packets on the table and reaches out a hand. Her nails are flecked with chipped blue nail polish. 

“I’m Marlene, Marlene McKinnon” She says and gives James a smirk. 

“James Potter” He responds and shakes her hand. 

She has a firm grip, and something about her reminds him of Sirius. James can’t put his finger on exactly what it is though. 

“This your first day?” Marlene asks as she starts eating her food. 

“No, third.” James starts picking at his meal, feeling self conscious all of sudden. He hasn’t had any conversations with people in the last few days. Well, not if you count Regulus, but James decides to exclude that whole interaction. 

She raises her brows and nods, “Ahh, you’re a sleeper.” 

“I guess so.” 

When had James gotten so bad at talking to people? He was always so social. So outgoing. At least, that’s what everyone around him thought. 

Marlene doesn’t seem to notice James' lack of social skills and continues talking. She tells him about rules in the unit, where the schedule is, which technicians are nice and a whole bunch of information that honestly was pretty helpful.

“Why are you sitting with me?” James asks stupidly, when there’s a lapse of silence. 

She shrugs and looks down at her tray, fiddling with her now empty styrofoam cup, 

“It’s better to sit with friends, I think.” 

“We’re friends? We just met fifteen minutes ago.” James looks at her with shock. 

Friends? After James spent the entire dinner providing the most boring input to this conversation? 

Marlene frowns and looks up at him, “I mean, I’d like to be. I don’t care that we just met. You’re cool.”

James blinks at Marlene, “Okay,” 

The awkwardness soon fades and James finds himself in more comfortable conversation with Marlene. Before they know it, dinner is over and it’s time to go back to the unit. At least, that’s what James thinks. 

As it turns out, St. Mungos has places on their schedule for, “Fresh air.” However, this is just code for, “smoke break.” 

James ends up sitting with Marlene out in the courtyard. The courtyard is a large, grassy area with benches (bolted down), trees (the branches clipped so no one can climb it), and a small picnic table (also bolted down). 

Even though it’s past dinner, the sun is only just now setting, casting the sky in hues of red, orange and purple. The moon is out tonight and there are some stars already visible in the sky. 

James avoids looking at the stars. He doesn’t want to see one of them, and the other he is too scared to even call. He would have to tomorrow though, Sirius, Remus and Peter deserved to know what was going on. He had been such a shit friend lately. 

The technicians come around and pass out community cigarettes, James is the only one (in his entire unit apparently) that doesn’t take one.

Marlene has her own pack that she got someone to bring her, and the tech asks her how many she wants. She turns to James, 

“You want a community or one of mine?” 

James shakes his head, “Nah, I don’t smoke.” 

Marlene throws her head back and starts laughing. She’s laughing loud enough that she gets the attention of many other patients in the courtyard. James does NOT look over to a certain table where a certain man is smoking with his two friends. 

Even the technician holding on to the cigarettes lets out a chuckle. 

“What’s so funny?” James asks, his brows knitting together.

Marlene wipes tears, honest to god tears, from her eyes and looks at James, “You don’t smoke?” She says

James nods, “Yeah, that's what I said.” 

“Well, neither did half the people out here. Notice how I said DID,” 

Shaking his head, James looks out to where the other thirty or so patients are smoking. He notices that some of them cough a bit more than the others, or don’t quite seem to be comfortable holding the cigarette. 

“Huh,” James murmurs. 

“Yep,” Marlene throws an arm around Jamea and he freezes for just a moment before relaxing into her touch. 

“Don’t you worry, Potter, I’ll get you over to the dark side. Just wait,” 

For the first time since James arrived in the psych ward, he finds himself cracking a small smile. Yeah, she reminded him a lot of Sirius.

James allows himself one look over at where Regulus is sitting. He’s lounging on top of the small picnic table, leaning back onto his hands. His head is titled toward the sky and there are stray curls falling into his eyes. The dying light of the sun casts a glow around him.

Regulus takes the last hit of his cigarette before blowing the smoke up toward the sky and flicking the butt off to the side.

For some reason, James is entranced by the sight. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t seen Regulus in what, six years?

Suddenly, Regulus turns around and meets James’ stare. They lock eyes for a moment, and James has no idea why he can’t look away.

Regulus is maybe twenty feet from him, but James can still make out the steely grey of his eyes, his face expressionless. 

James turns away first, distracted by something Marlene is saying to him.

When he turns back to look at Regulus a moment later, the other man is already looking away. 

Chapter Text

2017- eight years ago

Regulus is laying at the foot of the large bed, his headphones softly playing in his ears. He listens to lofi as he pours over the text in his hands, deeply immersed in his book.

He loves music, more than a lot of things in this world. However, Regulus also loves to read. And he cannot read and listen to music with lyrics at the same time. 

So, Lofi it is when Regulus reads. The book he’s reading right now is making him a bit sleepy, but Regulus has a goal this year, and it’s to read a hundred books by December 31st. 

It’s April 19, and he’s already at 58. 

The door flings open and before Regulus can even register it, a voice calls out, 

“Ohhhh Reggie!” 

Regulus takes off his headphones and sets his book down, frowning at James, who has just appeared in the doorway.

His glasses are crooked on his face and he has changed out of his school uniform and into a hoodie and shorts. James’ converse are untied on his feet and he looks like he ran all the way up here. 

“Get out of my room.” He says to the other boy.

James arches a brow, “This is the guest room in my house?” 

Regulus simply waves a dismissive hand, “Well, it’s mine when I’m here.”

Walking further into the large room, James cocks a hip on the wall in front of Regulus. 

Ugh. 

James did not need to be coming any closer to Regulus than what was absolutely necessary. At seventeen, Regulus is dealing with a lot of emotions. Two of those emotions being hate and love. And he feels both of them very strongly towards one James Potter. 

It’s confusing for Regulus, and James being right in front of him is making Regulus’ heart beat quickly.

“Its yours and Sirius’ when you’re here.” 

“Fine,” Regulus mutters, “What do you want?” 

Sirius and Regulus have been coming to the Potters house after school for the past few years, ever since Sirius and James became friends. Since James stole his brother away from him. Regulus thinks the Potters feel bad for the brothers, for what they grew up with and still have to endure at home. 

So most days after school, Regulus sits on the bleachers and reads a book or does homework while Sirius and his friends go to soccer practice. Then, they usually end up here. 

Today is Friday, which means Sirius is probably staying the night. By proxy, Regulus is staying the night as well. 

“We’re going to a movie, wanna come?” James’ eyes are bright and there’s a crooked grin on his face. 

Regulus weighs his options. He could either stay here, have a quiet meal with James’ parents and read his book for the rest of the evening with no interruptions. 

Or, he could go to a movie with Sirius’ friends, probably end up at a party afterwards where he will pine after James and end up crying in the bathroom when he inevitably sees James making out with a girl. 

Only an idiot would choose the second option. 

“I’ll come to a movie,” Regulus nods. 

Regulus is smart about many things, but when it comes to James Potter, he is a true and honest idiot. 

Hopefully the movie would be interesting enough to ignore James, but still be in his presence. 

An hour later Regulus has realized the movie is not interesting enough (at least not to him) and he spends the rest of the evening doing exactly as he knew he would, pining after James. 

He pretends not to feel the heat of James’ gaze every time he looks over the worn seats in the theater. He acts like he doesn’t care when James’ laugh carries across the row, warm and bright. 

Much later, hours later, at a party Regulus knew he would find himself at, he is in the bathroom crying because of course he is. Of course James had gone off with a beautiful girl with thick, long blonde hair and a pretty, perfect face. 

Regulus can feel the thumping of the music in his bones, hears laughter and shouting. He hates parties. 

He stands up and looks in the mirror. Regulus is a bit tipsy and the world sways as he squints in the dark light of the bathroom. The eyeliner he had smudged under his eyes was now more than just a little messy and his eyes were red rimmed. 

Damn it. He definitely looks like he’s been crying. 

Regulus tries to smooth out his dark curls the best he can. He wishes he could grow his hair longer, like Sirius. But his mother would never allow it. 

Regulus doesn’t understand how Sirius thinks getting hit is worth having long hair. 

The only positive thing about nights like this is that Regulus is allowed to be himself for a while. He can smudge eyeliner around his eyes and wear his headphones around his neck. He can curse and smoke and paint his nails. 

At home, Regulus’ only option is to be prim, proper and obedient. 

Rubbing his eyes one last time to no avail, Regulus leaves the bathroom and comes face to face with James. 

His lips are swollen and his hair is messy, as though someone had run their hands through it multiple times. Regulus’ stomach clenches and he wonders again why he decided this would be the best option. 

The lights are too bright, the music too loud, and James Potter is standing there and smiling. Acting like he isn’t destroying Regulus. 

Regulus pushes past James and heads toward the front door.

“Hey, wait!” he hears James say from behind him. 

He could be at home right now, reading a book. Not pining over this boy.

Regulus quickly weaves through the throng of people dancing and laughing, beer getting spilled on him enough to the point where Regulus considers stopping his escape to punch someone in the face. 

Alas, getting out of this house is priority number one. 

When he’s finally outside, Regulus leans against the side of the house and lights a cigarette. He’s breathing heavily and his panic slowly begins to subside. There were too many people too close to him, everything was too much, the liquor was making him spin and James and then the people and…

He blows out a breath and looks up toward the sky, leaning his head back. 

“Are you okay?” 

Regulus nearly jumps out of his skin as he looks to see fucking James standing in front of him. 

If he weren’t so overstimulated and he didn’t just cry over the guy in front of him, Regulus would find this a bit funny. How did James even find him?

Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, Regulus looks at James' concerned face, “What are you doing out here?” 

“You seemed upset,” James' brows furrowed, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

Regulus lets out a sharp laugh, “Why do you even care?”

“Because you’re…” he trails off, looking away from Regulus. 

“I’m what?” Regulus says bitterly, “I’m Sirius’ brother? The kid who tags along with you guys? Don’t even think about saying we’re friends because you and I both know we aren’t.” 

James takes a step back and his eyes glint angrily, “Oh yeah? And whose fault is that?” 

Regulus scoffs and waves a hand, “Whatever. Go back to fucking that girl you just met.” He releases an exasperated breath before muttering under his breath,  “God, you’re such a whore.” 

Ah, shit. He shouldn’t have said that. The alcohol is making his tongue loose and he clearly is having a harder time controlling his emotions.

Eyes widening, James steps forward, “What the fuck did you just say to me?” His voice is low, dangerous. 

Regulus has a lot of strengths, but knowing when to back down is not one of them, 

“You heard me,” he bites back, facing James now, looking up at him with steely eyes. He juts his chin in defiance, daring James. Regulus isn’t sure what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, but his mind is fuzzy and he’s angry. 

Regulus is angry at James, for being who he is. He’s angry at his brother for choosing James as his best friend and leaving Regulus behind. He’s angry at his parents for hurting him and Sirius, time and time again.

James is silent, staring at him. Regulus thinks James might hit him. He knows he would deserve it. He and James would never happen, so it didn’t matter what he did. Nothing about them mattered. 

James is straight and Regulus is not. James is happy and bright and all things sunshine, Regulus is all sharp edges and broken inside. He is quiet but talks too much. He is assertive but also too meek. He cries too much, yet never shows enough emotion. 

Regulus is a tapestry of contradictions.

Eventually, James shakes his head and looks away from Regulus, his posture loosening. 

“Why do you even care?” James echoes the words Regulus had just spoken to him moments before, his voice quiet.

Regulus swallows, his throat tight. “I don’t,” he whispers. 

Both of them knew that wasn’t true at all. 

_____

Today, St. Mungo’s Hospital

Regulus doesn’t know why, but this memory plays on loop in his head from time to time. Even now, almost a decade later. 

Well, he knows why. This was the last time he ever spoke to James. Until now. 

Regulus and James began to ignore each other after the party. Regulus stopped going to James house and if they saw each other at school, they would simply act like the other didn’t exist. 

They would make up, Regulus had thought at the time. And it would go back to normal, Regulus pining, James being himself and all would be right in the world.

However, two weeks after the party, Sirius and moved out of their parents house. He had begged Regulus to come with him. But Regulus wouldn’t go. He pushed Sirius away. So, he left, Regulus stayed. 

Sirius hated Regulus for staying, and Regulus hated Sirius for leaving.

Three weeks after that, Sirius, James and Peter graduated high school and left for college. Regulus never saw them again. 

Of course they had all chosen Sirius. Had cut Regulus off like he was gum scraped off the bottom of their shoes. He couldn’t blame them, he was the little brother. The one who was always just… there. Unwanted. 

But it still hurts.

Even today. 

It wasn’t surprising that James hated him, even now. 

Regulus hates him too. He hates that he took Sirius from him, hates that James never spoke to him again, (even though Regulus never spoke to him either), and hates that James is back here now and Regulus is still pining after him. 

“Hey,” James says quietly as he walks into their room, closing the door behind him,

Regulus doesn’t look at James, his arms behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling from his bed, 

“You know they're going to open that door in about thirty seconds, right?” 

James chuckles softly and lays down in his bed. Regulus can see from the corner of his eye that James is turned toward him, an arm propping his head up. 

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t fucking look.

Regulus turns on his side to look at James and wishes he wouldn’t have. Even now, even after all these years, James is breathtaking. 

Regulus feels sixteen again when he looks at him, his heart clenching in his chest. 

“Are you okay?” Regulus asks. A stupid question. Of course he wasn’t okay, they were in the fucking mental hospital. 

James shakes his head, “No, but I’m glad you woke me up today.” he sighs as he looks away and continues, “Even though I was an asshole to you,” 

The memory from years ago flashes through his mind, 

God, you’re such a whore

“I’ve said much worse to you over the years,” Regulus murmurs quietly, turning onto his back so he can’t see James’ face.

His words are met with silence, stretching across the two of them, aching and painful. 

“Yeah,” James says finally, his voice soft. Regulus knows he’s thinking of that night, the last time they spoke. 

The two are silent for a moment before Regulus turns back to the other man, who, Regulus realizes with a pang, is still looking at him. 

“Does Sirius know you’re here?” James asks. 

Regulus arches a brow, “Does he know you’re here?” 

James winces and looks away, pain etched across his face. 

“I’m going to call him tomorrow,” He says, his voice wobbling. 

“Are you nervous? Do you not want to?” Regulus asks. His words are measured, careful. He isn’t sure how to talk to James without breaking. He doesn’t know how to be around him without either wanting to hurt him or wanting to kiss him. 

James sits up, turning toward Regulus. He dangles one leg off the bed and props the other up, resting his arm on it. 

Regulus sits up too, crossing his legs as he faces James. 

“I’m not nervous and I want to. I’m just…” James trails off and looks away.

“Ashamed?” Regulus supplies for him.

James nods and runs a hand through his hair. Regulus’ eyes catch on the tattoos scattered along James’ bicep. He can’t make them out, but it still makes his heart beat a bit faster. 

“It’s not like he or Peter or Remus will judge me or make me feel bad I just… I’m embarrassed. And scared that they will see me differently. I’ve been such a bad friend” James’ voice sounds desperate, sadness seeping through his words. 

Ah, so the three of them were still friends. Regulus has never heard of Remus before though. He doesn’t know why he would have, he hasn’t had any sort of contact with any of them for years. But there’s no way that James was a bad friend, he was one of the best friends anyone could have. 

Even though Regulus never got the pleasure of being close with James, he could see it in the way he treated the others. It’s an honor to be loved by James Potter. 

“They won’t,” Regulus says with conviction, his voice steady. “But remember, this is your business, if you don’t want them to know, don’t tell them. If it’s what’s best for you, then it's not being mean or a bad friend.” he shrugs, “At least, that’s what my opinion is anyway.” 

James looks at Regulus, “So no one knows in your life?” 

Regulus huffs a laugh, “Oh no, all of my friends know. This isn’t… a new thing for me. They are used to me pulling shit like this by now,” 

Though his voice is light, there’s a deep ache in his chest when he says those words. It’s a painful thought, knowing that he’s the fuckup. James seems to see the pain behind Regulus’ words and doesn’t say anything for a moment.

After a beat of silence, he asks softly, “How many times have you been here?” 

“Four.” Regulus says.

James’ brows fly upward, he fumbles with his words, eyes wide, “I didn’t… I never…” 

“Relax Potter, only one of them was while we knew each other and I never told anyone. Not even my brother.” Regulus again tries to keep his voice light, but this conversation is making him feel things he does not want to. 

It makes him think of Sirius, who he misses hates. It also is making him think about his past hospitalizations, his feelings and all things he tries to actively avoid here. Regulus cannot go down the rabbit hole of trauma or he would be stuck here forever. 

“What about the others?” James asks curiously. 

Regulus shakes his head, “I don’t want to talk about those.” His throat becomes tight.

James nods, “What about your friends? Your job?” 

Regulus tilts his head to the side, “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re trying to get to know me.” 

“Well I–”

James is cut off as the door opens and one of the technicians, Molly, comes in with her tablet in hand. The bright light of the hallway illuminates the room, and Regulus sees James’ expression  falter a bit.

“Just doing rounds, dears,” She says kindly, giving the two a warm smile. Regulus lifts his foot with the monitor closer to the tablet, 

“Got it, Regulus!” she smiles. 

James does the same thing and Molly smiles again at them before walking toward the door, “It’s almost lights out, gentleman.” 

“Thank you,” Regulus calls, his voice sweet and he flashes a grin at the technician. She blushes and shakes her head as she leaves. Regulus’ grin fades as soon as she leaves, the door staying cracked open.

“What was that?” James asks Regulus after Molly leaves, his expression confused,

With a similar expression on his face, Regulus asks, “What do you mean?” 

James gestures to the doorway, “You were so… nice to her.” 

Regulus frowns and begins fiddling with the blanket laying across his lap. 

“I’m nice all the time,” he mutters. 

James pins him with a stare and Regulus rolls his eyes,

“Well, I’m trying to get out of here. I can’t very well be a bitch now can I?” He asks James, smirking at the other man. 

James laughs before laying down in his bed bidding Regulus goodnight as he turns over and pulls the covers close to his chest. 

Regulus stays in place for a moment, watching as James’ breathing quickly evens out, and he begins snoring softly. 

No, this was nothing like being sixteen again. Because when Regulus was sixteen, he had hope. When he was sixteen, his future looked much brighter than it does now. When he was sixteen he had his brother. If Regulus could see himself now, what would his younger self say? How disappointed would he be in Regulus?

Years of pain and heartbreak threaten to consume him at the thought. A familiar pain tightens his throat and Regulus lays down flat on his back, looking up toward the ceiling once again. 

God, he wishes he had music. 

Just to drown out the noise. 

Chapter Text

“Hey Sirius,” James can hear how small his voice sounds, the wobbling of his words. 

A gasp on the other end of the line and James hears the phone pulled away from Sirius’ ear as he shouts at someone, “Shut the fuck up for a second,” A moment of rustling around, a door slamming shut, and then, 

“James? Is that you?” Sirius’ voice sounds breathless and panicked. 

“Yeah,” James whispers. 

He begins to pick at his thumbs, tears welling in his eyes. The oily, cold fear is back. It had gone away a few times last night. Well, it wasn’t so unbearable at least. The first was when he was talking to Marlene and the second… The second was with Regulus. 

James still doesn’t know how to feel about that. The pain he had been feeling was dulled to a quiet ache when he talked to him, his shame, his fear. Not gone, but he felt… not so alone. 

“What the fuck happened? Why does the caller ID say St. Mungos? Where have you been?” 

James knows that Sirius is an anxious man, he has been since James has known him. So shame builds tightly in his gut as he begins to explain to Sirius where he was. What had happened. What he had done to himself. 

He didn’t give Sirius all the details, some of it was too hard to say out loud. But he told him enough.

By the end, Sirius is crying on the other end of the line and James wants to throw up. 

You did this, you did this. This is all because of you.

“I’m sorry,” James rasps, tears falling down his face. 

A patient walks by the small chair where James is sitting. How interesting it was, that James was having one of the most difficult conversations of his life in front of so many people. He knew everyone could hear if they tried hard enough. He had heard many phone conversations since he arrived at St. Mungos. 

“What the hell do you have to be sorry for?” Sirius says, his voice thick. 

James closes his eyes and holds the phone away from his ear, biting back a sob. When he’s sure he won’t melt into a puddle in the chair, he replies, 

“I’m hurting you.” 

There’s silence at the other end of the line. 

After a moment, Sirius says in a wavering voice, “I’m sorry, James. I should have seen, should have asked. Should have tried harder. When you moved out. After everything. I should have–”

James shakes his head, bile in his throat now, he interrupts Sirius, “This isn’t on you. I didn’t tell anyone what I was going through. I’m an adult. My actions are my own. I’m just sorry that you’re hurting now because of me”

“I love you, James. You’re my best friend. I will be here for you no matter what. Stop being sorry, I’m just so happy you’re alive,” 

James doesn’t say “me too”. He can’t. He tries, but the words catch in his throat. Is he happy he’s alive? 

Sirius continues talking, “Can I come see you?” 

James grimaces, “I don’t think you want to see me like this.” 

On the other end of the line, he can hear Sirius scoff, “I have known you for over ten years, I don’t care how you look.” 

Okay. This was fine. He could do this. He misses Sirius terribly and wants to see him. Even though he is all wrong now, even though he’s not the person he used to be, it feels a bit better that Sirius knows. 

“Yeah, I would like that.” 

Sirius pauses, “What about…” 

“Please tell them.” James blurts out, more shame and guilt coursing through him. 

It was easier. He couldn’t have this conversation again. Not with Peter or Remus. It was much too difficult. He feels like a coward, but he can’t do it. 

“Okay,” Sirius says in a steady voice, “What about work? Any bills you need to pay?” 

Sirius loved having a job, James had learned over the years. When he was anxious or scared or overwhelmed, Sirius began to make a plan. What could he do, how he can help. It was one of the things James loves most about his best friend. 

“You’ll have to talk to my mom, I don't know if she has done that,” James replies sheepishly. He hasn’t even called his mom yet. 

He was such a piece of shit. 

The conversation ends shortly after and James finds himself exhausted. Sirius had told him not to worry, he would take care of everything. 

James should feel grateful– and he is. But he mostly feels guilt. Sirius shouldn’t have to do this. 

The small conversation has worn James out enough to where he goes to his room and lays on his bed. Regulus is gone, James had seen him leaving their room a few minutes before, while he was still on the phone with Sirius. 

Regulus had waved at James, but didn’t say anything. 

It’s mid morning now, and group is about to start. James doesn’t know if he has the energy for it. He supposes that’s where everyone is right now.  

But… 

He remembers what Regulus had told him the day before about isolating himself. He had felt a little better after going to dinner and talking with Marlene. 

So James drags himself out of bed and shuffles into the dayroom. There are about twenty people in the room. No one pays James any mind as he sits down in one of the empty chairs closest to the door. 

Looking around, James sees Marlene across the room, she gestures to an empty chair next to her. Nervously, James gets up and sits down next to Marlene. 

Regulus is a few chairs down, laying the side of his head on the table, arm splayed out next to him. He’s scribbling things down in a small composition book. He doesn’t look up or seem to notice James. 

Regulus’ friends however, notice him right away. They don’t sneer at him, per say, but their gaze isn’t very friendly either. Right. He had made Regulus cry just yesterday. James quickly turns away, trying to focus on what the presenter is talking about. 

Coming in late had cost James the beginning of the session, but he quickly caught up to the conversation. 

“So, what are some signs that you don’t feel comfortable in a situation?” The social worker asks. He has on a loose t-shirt and jeans and his thin hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. 

The man steeples his fingers together, waiting for a response. 

“I start shaking,” Someone calls out, a woman who looks to be in her thirties. 

The social worker nods demurely. His name is Tim– James finds out from Marlene, who is working on a coloring page in front of her. James notices most people are either writing, sleeping, coloring, or curled up in their chair. It wasn’t as though they weren’t paying attention though, after the first woman spoke, more started answering. 

“I feel like I can’t breathe”

“I get super hot and my heart starts racing,” 

Not everyone participated. Regulus didn’t and neither did Marlene. But it was interesting to see people feeling some of the same things that he did. 

Tim goes on to talk about triggers and what they mean, how one can work on identifying them and finding ways to manage them. 

Before James knows it, the hour is up and people are starting to leave. Marlene gets up and walks toward the door, 

“Hey,” James says to her, “Are you leaving?” 

Marlene nods, “Women and men can’t be in the same dayroom outside of group. Our room is down the hall,” 

“Oh,” James says, feeling disappointed. 

“Oh come on now, Potter, we’ll see each other in a few for smoke break.” 

James gives Marlene a tentative smile as she leaves. He’s alone again. Well, except for Regulus of course. 

Regulus, who was now cross legged in his chair, still writing in that little book. James watches as Regulus turns to the man next to him – the man from dinner last night– and shows him the book. 

The man nods and takes a crayon, scratching something out and adding something to the bottom of the page. 

James watches Regulus’ slender fingers take the crayon back from the man and continue writing. For some reason, James can’t look away. 

Regulus’ nails are painted black and chipping in some places, but his fingers are elegant and deft. He twirls the crayon in his fingers and it does something funny to James’ stomach. 

“Are you planning to sit there and stare all day or are you coming over?” Regulus doesn’t look up from where he is seated as he speaks to James, his dark curls falling into his face. 

James feels his face flush and he moves to sit on the other side of Regulus. 

The man on the other side of Regulus gives him a hard stare.

James meets it and sticks out a hand, leaning over Regulus, who huffs in annoyance.

“I’m James,” 

The other man levels James with a stare before hesitantly shaking his hand back,

“Barty,” his voice is smooth like honey and he has a wicked glint in his eyes. 

James looks to Regulus, whose face has paled as though he had realized something, his writing forgotten in front of him. 

“Huh, James…” Barty trails off and tilts his head, looking at James inquisitively. 

Oh, great. Of course. Of fucking course. James feels his muscles tense and he schools his expression into bland neutrality. 

Suddenly, as it always did, 

“No way,” Barty whispers, his face morphing from confusion into awe. He continues, “Did you go to St. Mary’s for high school?” 

James nods, forcing a small smile onto his face. Regulus is still staring straight in front of him. 

“Wait– so that means you’re him, right? Reg! You never told me that th–” 

Barty is cut off as Regulus elbows him sharply in his ribs, “I never told you shit Barty,” Regulus hisses, turning away from James as though that would stop him from hearing. 

What had Regulus said about James? 

“Yeah, I’m him.” James says weakly, not meeting Regulus’ eyes. 

Please don’t ask any more questions, please just move on and we can forget this conversation ever happened.

No such luck. As though Barty had sliced open his mind and dug out quite possibly the last thing James wants to talk about, he asks the question.

“Do you still play?” 

Silence. 

“No.” James grits out. His hands are balled into fists on his lap.

James Potter had once been one of the best high school soccer players in the country. He wasn’t just good– he was great. It wasn’t a question of if he would go pro– it was just a matter of who’s team he would play for.

The college he ended up at was one of the best, and Sirius and Peter ended up there as well. Everything was wonderful James’ freshman year. He was in soccer, pursuing a business degree that he wouldn’t need, surrounded by his friends and happy. Mostly.

When James was nineteen, at the beginning of his sophomore season, he tore his ACL. He had surgery, recovered, and went back to playing. But something had changed. He wasn’t as fast as he used to be, his knee pained him when he walked most of the time. 

It wasn’t common to not fully recover from knee surgery, especially after rehabilitation. But not in James’ case. 

He had to quit soccer. 

James supposes that was when his depression went from bad to worse. He began to spend most of his time focusing on school, or going to parties with his friends. James shoved his depression so far down that, for a time, he forgot to be sad. 

It didn’t last.

He is brought back to the present as Barty replies quietly, 

“Oh.” 

There wasn’t much else to say, was there? James had his future in his grasp and then it all went away. 

“Excuse me, I need a moment,” James chokes out, swiftly returning to his room. The door was locked, of course it was. 

After a humiliating moment of getting the door unlocked by one of the techs, who pretended not to notice James’ teary eyes, he immediately curled up into his bed. 

It made him sick to think about soccer. He had been playing since he was small– only four or five years old. James knew from early on in high school that he wanted to be a pro soccer player. And he was good enough for it too.

James knew his academics wouldn’t get him very far. He had struggled with school for as long as he could remember. He had struggled enough that other kids began to notice. Teachers began to notice. 

He quickly became used to the names he would get called. The looks his classmates would give him. For years, the shame continued, even as James worked to move past that sick feeling he had when he didn’t catch on to a concept as quickly as the other kids. He still feels shame even now, after he’s graduated with two degrees. 

Through it all, James had soccer. 

No one could question James’ intelligence on the soccer field, he was quick and strong and good. 

Once he tore his ACL, he was back to feeling like that kid with a learning disability. College was hard, and not like it was for Sirius or Peter or Remus. 

James needed to work five times as hard to complete half the work they did, but he had done it. 

He had graduated, and landed a nice job– a good job. 

And now he’s here.

What a fucking joke.

James stares at the ceiling, wishing it would fall down and bury him alive. 

Chapter Text

Regulus steels himself as he lifts his hand to knock on James’ door. Well, their door. 

James had left with a look of pain so intense on his face that Regulus had turned to Barty and swatted him on the back of the head as soon as James had left. 

“Ow!” Barty had grabbed his head, “What was that for?” 

Regulus pinned Barty with a stare, “You can’t tell me you didn’t see the news when he tore his ACL. It was all over.” 

“You forget that I left my posh ways behind me as soon as we got to college. I didn’t keep up with that shit.” Barty leaned back and crossed his arms, looking at Regulus pointedly. 

Regulus only rolled his eyes, “Well, you upset him.” 

His face immediately began to burn. He had just shown his hand to Barty, who was now grinning and raising his brows. 

“Oh?” 

Regulus only swatted Barty again on the head and moved toward the door, 

“I’m going to check on him” Regulus tossed over his shoulder,

Barty chuckled, “Go for it, lover boy.” 

Giving him the middle finger, Regulus walks out of the room and ends up here, at their door. 

He softly knocks and walks in to see James curled up in his bed, facing the wall. James doesn’t turn around as Regulus pads in and sits on his bed, facing James. 

“Hey,” Regulus whispers.

James turns around and Regulus’ heart pangs as he sees the hollow look in his eyes. His eyes are red rimmed and glassy. 

“I should be over it by now,” James whispers. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

James sits up and runs a hand through his hair, “Without it I…” he trails off and swallows. 

After a moment of silence, Regulus responds softly, “You don’t have to tell me.” 

Looking up at him, James nods, “I know.” 

They don’t speak again after that, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. It’s quiet and soft and filled with an aching, tender pain. 

Regulus doesn’t know everything that James has gone through. He doesn’t even really know the man in front of him anymore. It’s like looking at a familiar stranger. 

Some things are the same, like his wire rimmed glasses, always crooked on his face. His soft brown eyes and dark, messy hair. His voice. 

But many things are different.

Like the facial hair he now has, which he didn’t in school. His smiles are more careful now, guarded in a way they didn’t used to be. His eyes, still that same warm brown, were now tired and sad. 

They were so young when they had last seen one another. 

Their thoughts are interrupted as a voice yells out that it’s time for fresh air. 

Ah, yes. Smoke break. 

“Come on,” Regulus nods to James, who looks up at him with an unguarded, open expression. 

The other man only nods silently and follows Regulus outside. 

Regulus goes to their picnic table and sits next to Dorcas and Barty, who are already smoking. James looks around, as though trying to find someone. When he does, he waves a hand at them. 

Marlene starts walking toward the table, a cigarette pressed between her lips. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dorcas says, looking toward Marlene with a grimace.

“Dorcas,” Regulus gives her a warning glare but Dorcas only shakes her head at him. 

James’ eyes go wide, “I’m sorry I didn’t–” 

Dorcas only waves a hand, “Not your fault.” 

Marlene approaches the table and sits next to James, who is across from Dorcas and Regulus. Barty is right next to James and looking at him like he’s some kind of rockstar. 

Jesus fuck, Barty was going to be the death of him. 

“Hey roomie,” Marlene smirks at Dorcas, who rolls her eyes. 

She flips her braids over her shoulder and lifts her cigarette to her lips, scowling at Marlene, “Don’t I get enough of you as it is? Now you’re interrupting my smoke too?” 

The ballad of Dorcas and Marlene is endlessly entertaining to Barty and Regulus. 

Marlene flirts with Dorcas while Dorcas pretends like she doesn’t love it. She’s cold and aloof to Marlene, which only makes Marlene want her more. And the cycle continues. 

Ah, the trials and tribulations of falling in love in the mental hospital. 

“Come on, babe. You love me.” Marlene leans forward and raises her brows at Dorcas. 

Barty looks to James, who seems to be entranced and a little confused by Marlene and Dorcas’ banter. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t know.”

Regulus’ brows raise, he never sees Barty this genuine. 

James shrugs, “It’s all good.” 

He pauses for a moment and cocks his head, looking to Regulus and then back to Barty.

“Did you go to St. Mary’s too?”

Barty nods, “I moved from Westview my senior year, after you had already graduated. But I heard all about you.”

Fuck. 

James doesn’t seem to register what Barty has said. There’s a crease in his brows and Regulus can almost see his thoughts, the wheels turning in his head. 

“Wait, you went to St. Mary’s a year after me?” 

Regulus grimaces. 

James continues, still looking back and forth between the two, “So you would have been in Reg’s year…” 

A beat of silence, 

“Do you two fucking know each other?” James says, eyes wide. 

Barty only grins at James, “He’s my best friend, I’m here all for him, baby.” 

An odd look crosses James’ face before it’s gone, replaced by shock. 

Regulus puts his head in his hands and groans. What did he do to deserve this? Because Barty is now setting Regulus up. He’s done it a thousand times before, and will probably do it a thousand times again. 

Dorcas pats his arm and whispers, “Just let it happen.” 

“It’s like a car crash,” Regulus mumbles, still not looking up.

He hears James respond to Barty, “Really?”

No no no no. Fuck Barty. Honestly fuck him. 

“Yep,” Barty says cheerfully, “I mean, what are bandmates for?” 

There’s a beat of silence before Regulus lifts his head up to flip off Barty, who is grinning maniacally. 

Marlene is watching this all play out with a small smirk on her face. Regulus is distantly unsure how Marlene already knows this information. Though he doesn’t have time to really think too much about it as James speaks again,

“You’re in a band?” James turns to Regulus, curiosity filling his gaze. 

Regulus nods, his face flushing as he mumbles, “We’re not super popular though so you probably wouldn’t–” 

“Have you ever heard of Invisible Scarlett?” Barty interrupts.

James’ jaw drops, “What?” 

Of course James has heard of them. Because. Of course. 

They weren’t extremely popular, Regulus wasn’t lying. However, they were popular enough to have a significant fan base and the ability to go on tour and make money from it.

Regulus liked it this way. He didn’t want sold out stadiums and fans screaming his name. He wanted to be able to play a show on Saturday night, then walk down the street the next day and no one would recognize him. 

People never really recognized him in public. The drummer usually isn’t the one who people seek out in a crowd. 

Regulus is silently cursing Barty, shooting him angry looks as Barty grins. He was such a shit starter. 

This is one of Barty’s many tactics to get Regulus laid. He had been doing it since they had formed the band back in college. 

Before Regulus had been disowned. 

Barty, Regulus and the twins- Pandora and Evan- had created Invisible Scarlet their sophomore year of college. It was supposed to be just for fun, a way to blow off steam and escape from their parents. Well, Regulus and Barty anyway. Pandora and Evan’s family were very supportive. 

Regulus isn’t quite sure when it happened, but they started doing shows. The crowds got bigger and before they knew it, there were people who knew their name. Who wanted them to open for other popular bands. 

They weren’t famous, not even close. But they were well known enough. And of course James has listened to them before. A jolt of anxiety courses through Regulus and he finds himself thinking about every song Invisible Scarlett has ever released. 

What songs did he like? Did he even like their music? Has he listened to any of the songs Regulus himself has written?

The conversation continues, but Regulus is zoned out. He can tell that James’ focus stays on him though. His head is tilted to the side and he looks at Regulus with curiosity. 

What was he thinking? 

Regulus ruminates on this, hours later when he is sitting in the therapist's office, right down the hall. 

“So, Regulus, do you plan on going back to touring once you leave?” Clare– his therapist– asks him. 

Shrugging, he picks at a loose thread in the worn couch next to him, “Of course, as soon as I get out of here we are going back on tour.” 

“And what of your brother?” 

Regulus tenses. Why the fuck is she asking about Sirius? 

Okay, he needed to stay calm. Clare wasn’t going to recommend he get discharged if he freaks out over the mere mention of Sirius.

“What about him?” Regulus tries to ask lightly. 

Clare cocks her head and she looks at Regulus, “Does he know about your band? Does he know you’re here?” 

“No.” Regulus bites out. 

“Hm.” Clare says and writes something down on a little notepad in front of her. 

Gritting his teeth, Regulus asks in the kindest way he possibly can, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 “Do you want him to know?” 

The breath blows out from Regulus’ lungs as though he had been punched square in the stomach. 

Memories pelt him like stones. 

Sirius grabbing his things, begging Regulus to come with him. Regulus saying no over and over again. He had been scared, so scared. He had to make his family proud. 

Sirius had called him a coward. Regulus shoved him away, hard enough that Sirius had slammed into the wall behind him. Framed photos fell to the ground. The sound of shattering glass. Sirius looking at him with pain, then disgust. 

A shard of glass had cut him when the pictures fell. There was blood running down Sirius’ forearm. Regulus had done that.

I don’t ever want to see you again. Sirius had said to him with tears in his eyes. 

And then he left. And Regulus was alone. He had grabbed one of the shards of glass and squeezed it until his hand bled. 

“No, I don’t want him to know.” Regulus finally says to Clare, his voice unwavering. 

Clare stares at him for a moment and Regulus knows she can see right through him. 

Fuck. 

But eventually, she nods and continues, 

“We can come back to that. For now, let’s focus on how you can use calming strategies to keep your anxiety at bay…” 

___

Regulus skipped group in the evening.

In fact, he didn’t go to dinner that night either. 

Therapy was supposed to help. But today, it brought back memories Regulus has spent the last several years trying not to think about. 

He knows that to heal one has to confront their trauma and work through it, but Regulus just doesn’t want to. Maybe that was why he was still here and not home. 

Regulus misses his apartment, he misses his friends and he misses music. 

Invisible Scarlett had to postpone the remainder of their tour after Regulus had jumped off the bridge. They only had three shows left, and Regulus felt like shit for them having to cancel. His friends understood, though. 

Hell, Barty followed him in here. And Pandora and Evan just wanted him to be better. They had offered for Regulus to move in with them after he gets out, but he doesn’t want that. Touring with them, working with them, hanging out with them– that was all great. 

But Regulus could not handle living with them. It was a lot and he knows that he and his friends would grow to resent each other if Regulus moved in. 

They would grow to resent you, a small voice says in Regulus’  head, which he ignores 

He would have to find a new place though when he gets out. As much as he loves his place, he can’t keep up with it anymore. 

A quick knock at the door causes Regulus to jump, ripping him from his thoughts. 

“I brought you something,” James’ deep voice fills the room and he tosses a bag of chips toward Regulus. He catches it and looks at James curiously, 

“You stole this from the cafeteria?” 

James grimaces and grabs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Yeah, well I had to stuff it in my pants so they wouldn’t see it.” 

Regulus only barely conceals his shock.

Hoy. Fucking. Shit. 

He can be cool about this. Of course he can. He’s Regulus Black, cool, calm, collected.

“Oh really?” His voice comes out high and strained. 

Ah fuck. 

James doesn’t notice, or at least he pretends he doesn’t as he shrugs and sits on the edge of his bed. 

“Yeah, well. I didn’t see you at dinner.” 

Regulus nods and starts twisting his hair with one of his fingers. He pulls tight, tight, tighter until his pointer finger is numb. 

“Today was rough,” Regulus admits honestly. 

James hums in response and studies Regulus for a moment, “Want to talk about it?” 

It would be easy to talk to James, Regulus realizes. 

James knew him before, knew him when he was living in a home with two abusive parents. He knew that Regulus and Sirius spent their childhoods hiding bruises from people at school, that they never had many friends because of the secrets. 

So many secrets. 

No one would ever expect two highly respected doctors to beat their sons senseless. To drill family values into them until they knew nothing else. 

But James knew. He was one of the only people Sirius had told about their home situation. His family had always been there to help. They would cook dinner for Sirius and Regulus when their parents were at work late, and allow them to stay in their house when things were especially rough. 

So yes, James would be easy to talk to. 

But James doesn’t know him now. 

He doesn’t know that Regulus has struggled with his drinking since he was disowned. He doesn’t know Regulus spends most nights in bed with a stranger because he can’t handle the loneliness. He doesn’t know how much pain consumes him when he thinks of his brother. 

Regulus doesn’t think James would want to know that side of him at all. 

“It’s just family stuff,” Regulus says vaguely. 

His parents' abuse is easier to talk about, Regulus has found over the years. It's cut and dry, simple.

Walburga and Orion beat Sirius and Regulus, they were bad people. The end. 

What is difficult is talking about Sirius. Or talking about being basically burned off the family tree, along with his brother. Or his mental state. Or his feelings for the man sitting in front of him.

So it was easier to keep things like this. He talks about the easy stuff in therapy– Clare had thrown Regulus for a loop today. 

“You’re doing that thing again.” James says, and it startles Regulus from his thoughts. 

He shakes his head and frowns, “Doing what?” 

Casually, James replies, “Downplaying your feelings.” 

“Am not.” Regulus mutters and lays down flat onto his bed, ignoring the way his heart pounds violently in his chest. 

James doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know Regulus now and if he did, he wouldn’t want to. 

He feels the bed sink as James quietly sits next to where Regulus is lying on his back. He’s close. Closer than he’s ever been, and Regulus relishes in it for the few moments it will last. 

He doesn’t turn to look at James. He doesn’t move a muscle. `

“I know you better than you think.” the other man replies quietly. 

Regulus quickly sits up and turns to James, who is looking at him earnestly, his expression open and unguarded. 

He longs to reach his hand over and cup James’ cheek. To lean forward and feel, just once, what it would be like to be cherished by James Potter.

If he wasn’t so broken, if he wasn’t such a disaster, he might entertain the idea. 

Instead, he gives James a sad smile, 

“No, you really don’t.” 

And you don’t want to.

Chapter Text

No, you really don’t. 

The words swim around in James’ head for the next several hours, small fish stuck in a tank it never asked to be in. Long after Regulus has fallen asleep, curled softly into his bed, James replays their conversation on a loop.

His grey eyes had been dull, lifeless. 

Did James know Regulus at all? 

Maybe, when they were sixteen– stupid and reckless. When Regulus would follow Sirius wherever he went with stars in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

But that was before. It had been nearly a decade since James had seen the other man. 

What did James even know about him? 

Well for one, Regulus is in a band, as he found out today. He’s depressed (given their circumstances, James shouldn’t really be giving himself credit for this one, but he will anyway). Regulus has a friend– Barty. 

There’s another thought tugging at the strings in James’ mind. He tried to cut those strings, but the thought continued pulling, long into the night. 

Why does James care? 

Why does it matter that James doesn’t know his best friend's little brother– whom he hasn’t spoken to since he was seventeen?

It doesn’t. 

It’s simply… curiosity. 

Sirius is James’ best friend, it’s only natural that James would worry and want to know what's going on with his estranged brother. 

For Sirius. 

That’s what James tells himself the next morning at breakfast, when he asks Marlene if she wanted to sit with Regulus, Dorcas and Barty. 

The three look surprised for a moment before cautiously making room for Marlene and James, who sit down awkwardly and begin silently eating. 

Whatever conversation they had been discussing prior to their arrival was tampered quietly and effectively. 

James finds his eyes drawn to Regulus across from him, who is picking at his food with a small scowl on his face. The image of a pouting, sixteen year old Regulus flashes through James’ mind, the memory searing and hot, as though it had happened yesterday. 

“You still don’t like pancakes?” James blurts out quickly without thinking. 

Huh. 

It’s funny how memory works. 

Regulus looks up at James and tilts his head, curls brushing his shoulders.

“No,” He replies softly, his pouting scowl now transformed into a curious frown.

James’ face feels hot. Why had he said that? How did he remember that?

“You don’t like pancakes?” Dorcas turns to look at the other man, her expression bewildered. 

Barty snorts and pokes his fork into the soft hotcake, snagging it off the plate in front of Regulus. 

“Your loss,” He says with his mouth full. 

Regulus’ lips curl into a small smile, “Too sweet,” he murmurs, not looking at James anymore. 

Marlene leans her elbows forward on the table and speaks in a low voice, “What kind of freak doesn’t like pancakes?” 

Raising a brow at the other woman, Regulus responds, “Notice how we’re all in here?” 

James huffs a quiet laugh and begins to eat in silence. He had already mortified himself enough for today, thank you very much. 

Besides, he has other things to focus on. 

(Not Regulus)

Today is visitation day. 

Which means Sirius, his mom, Remus, Peter…

James would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. Hell, he’s terrified. He doesn't want them to see him like this. The scrubs, the bandages still covering his arms, the fucking ankle monitor. 

He was vulnerable, and they all knew it. 

Going through the motions, but not really paying attention, James finishes his half eaten breakfast and follows the small group outside and under a shady tree in the courtyard. 

His anxiety is a beast scratching at his throat, his chest, making his heart race and his head pound. 

It’s not until five minutes later when he notices that everyone is staring at him that James snaps out of his stupor. 

“Huh?” he asks dumbly.

Barty reaches his hand out, a lit cigarette between his fingers, “Wanna share?” 

“Oh,” James responds, staring at the spliff. 

He is very, very stressed. 

That’s what James tells himself as he quietly nods and grabs it from Barty, willing his hands not to shake. 

Everyone notices anyway. 

“You okay?” Dorcas asks carefully from where she’s leaning against the large tree, her brown skin shining with sweat. 

James himself is hot, despite the shade. In the middle of the summer, there’s no escape from the heat, even in the morning. 

He takes a deep hit of the cigarette, feeling the nicotine rush through his brain, his blood. James nods, blowing the smoke out. 

Don’t cough. Don’t fucking cough. 

“My family is visiting today.” He says in a small voice. (Without even coughing)

Passing the cigarette back to Barty, James’ eyes flick to Regulus, who is staring at the concrete, face unreadable. 

The three others nod sympathetically. 

“The first time is always hard.” Regulus says quietly, still not looking up. 

Marlene nods at Regulus and tucks a blonde strand of hair behind her ear, “After the first visit, it gets easier.” 

James doesn’t respond, resorting to Regulus’ method of staring at the ground in front of him. He takes several more hits from the cigarette, finding that it unfortunately helps with the nerves. James can definitely see how people get addicted to these things.

He tunes out the rest of the conversation, again getting lost in his own head. 

Was this who he was now? 

Someone who can barely string two sentences together? Zoning out at every chance he gets? 

It never used to be like this. 

James was the person who would talk to anyone and everyone. He smiled and laughed and loved. 

Now there’s a deep hole in his chest, caved in and rotting from the inside. Of course, the hole is much deeper than it used to be. His shovel was smaller once, made of cheap, flimsy plastic before morphing into the large, cold metal it is now. 

James has been doing this for awhile now, scooping out pieces of himself. 

He had effectively killed the James Potter who danced freely and lit up every room he entered. 

Now, there’s this disgusting mess left behind. 

Until, of course, he kills that too and buries it wherever the other pieces of himself are. 

It’s been a long time since James has been good at anything else. 

___

Later, James is lying in his bed, staring at a book he has no intention of reading. It was a kids book, anyway. He had found it discarded next to Regulus’ (growing) pile by his bed. 

He had skipped group today. He knows that he shouldn’t have. But his anxiety was too much for him to do much else other than spiral, spiral, spiral. 

The social worker he had been forced to meet with earlier told James that he was doing this to himself. 

She hadn’t quite said it like that, exactly, but James caught the meaning she had carefully weaved between her honeyed words.

Of course he knew he was doing it to himself. 

If James was smart, he would have gone to the groups or even spoke to someone else today instead of letting his self loathing and anxiety fester and bubble to the surface. But, as previously established, James does not consider himself an intelligent man. 

He had slipped out of the dark confines of his room several times to check the clock. Most recently, however, he had just begun to keep track of the time based on the tech’s completing their rounds. 

Every fifteen minutes. 

Last time he checked, it was three-thirty. A technician had come by seven times since then, which means it was roughly five. 

Dinner would be soon. 

James isn’t going. 

After the ninth round since three-thirty, James hears the door open. He’s still staring at the book, some stupid prose about a kid and his dog, but he hears the soft padding of socked feet on the ground. 

“Are you coming to dinner?” Regulus’ voice fills the room, seeps through James’ ears, soaking into his bones. 

“No,” James doesn’t look up from his book. 

Regulus pauses for a long moment. The sound of beeping and whirring machines come from outside the door, but in here, silence coats the walls and stains the tiled floor. 

If Regulus started begging James to eat, he was going to lose it. 

“You know you’re supposed to open the book to read it,” is what Regulus says instead. 

James snorts humorlessly, “Obviously,” 

“I wouldn’t recommend that one if you are planning on reading. Shitty ending.” 

Sighing, James sits up and places the book next to him, the pages fluttering softly as it hits the bed. 

Regulus is standing in front of James, his arms slack at his sides. 

James absently notes it’s not often that he sees Regulus doing something other than crossing his arms or twiddling with something in his hands. 

Of course, James only notices this out of curiosity. For Sirius. 

“What are you doing here?” James wills his voice to sound kinder, but it comes out as a sharpened blade. 

Regulus barely seems to notice the cut. 

He shrugs and smirks at James, “This is my room, too.” 

A memory of a similar conversation begins tapping from behind a door in James’ mind. It’s gone quickly, however, as though snatched away.

“I’m not coming to dinner.” James says flatly. 

Now, Regulus does cross his arms, and as he does, James pretends not to notice the patchwork of small tattoos dotting his skin.

A heart on his left bicep, two stars on his right hand, a small cat on the inside of his forearm and about a dozen others scattered along the pale expanse of his arms and hands. 

He wants to see every single one. 

Curiosity’s sake, and all.

“I’m not asking you to come to dinner,” Regulus sighs, exasperated. 

“So….?” 

“They love you.” Regulus states plainly. “Your family. They want to see you because they love you. And it will help. All of you.” 

James tilts his head back and looks toward the ceiling, running a hand through his hair and tugging. 

He blows out a breath before responding, “I know. That’s why it’s hard. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

When Regulus doesn’t respond, James looks to see the other man looking at him with pursed lips. 

“They already have seen you like this.” His voice is soft, words cautious and presented to James like fragile glass.

A shock of anger pulses through James’ bloodstream, making his words sharp and clipped, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Regulus sits on his bed across from James, “I don’t know what happened and I’m not trying to say I do know. But if you’re here, it means that things got bad enough to where someone noticed. A hospital bracelet and scrubs are only insignificant pieces. They don’t care about that. They care about you.” 

James responds quickly, without thinking through his words fully, “You don’t know anything about them. N–”

Not anymore.

Those three syllables are the unspoken words that James barely restrained himself from speaking.

Regulus hears them anyway. Slipping out– not in James’ voice, but in his wide eyes and sharp inhale as he catches himself. 

The other man clenches his jaw and swallows, his pale throat bobbing. 

Why was he like this now? 

When had James gotten so, so bad? 

His sadness and despair had taken hold of his mind and wouldn’t let go. 

He knew that Regulus was only trying to be kind. 

Once, James would have laughed at the notion. Regulus? Kind? To him? 

But now, they are here. Twenty-somethings and in the psych ward. And for some reason, James is either taking his fear and anger out on the man in front of him or studying him with an intensity that he doesn’t understand. 

The hole in his chest is a little deeper now. 

“I know I don’t.” Regulus responds, not rising to the anger James has thrown his way. 

James closes his eyes, regret coating his tongue, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You weren’t the one that stayed behind.” The words are resigned, with no emotion behind them. As though Regulus had gone over this a thousand times in his head, turning over the thought for years. 

You followed Sirius everywhere. Why did you choose that moment to stay? Why did you hurt him?

He doesn’t voice this, however. As selfish as James has been, he knows that Regulus is going through his own struggles here. 

“I think Sirius would want to see you,” is what James hears himself saying instead. 

The statement isn’t much better than the alternatives racing through his mind. 

Regulus’ face closes off and becomes blank, cold. 

“No.” The softness and patience he had been showing to James was gone, replaced with icy calm. 

Regulus continues, his voice filled with barely restrained fury, “And you aren’t going to tell him I’m here either.” 

What James wants to do is jump up and scream at Regulus that he had no right to ask that of him. What he says instead is, 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” 

James could try. 

He was broken and sick but he could try. 

Besides, it wasn’t his place to tell Sirius either. 

Is that true though? You’re here just as much as Regulus is. Whose place is it to tell him? 

James pushes the thoughts from his head, that would have to be a problem for another day. 

The words don’t do much to quell the anger in Regulus’ eyes. Sirius was clearly still a touchy subject for him. He stands up stiffly and turns toward the door. He calls back before leaving, voice tight,

“Do whatever you want, Potter. Let them visit, don’t, I don’t care.” 

Potter. 

Something twists uncomfortably in James’ gut. 

Potter. 

It was just his name. 

Has Regulus ever called him by his first name before? James can’t remember. He tries, but there’s no memory that emerges of Regulus ever speaking the two syllables of his first name. 

Why did it bother him so much that Regulus doesn’t call him James?

James wonders what his name would sound like coming from Regulus' mouth. Would his voice snap with anger like it did now?

The most vital, important question pushes its way to the forefront of James mind. 

Why does he even care?

Curiosity. 

Probably.

Chapter Text

“He’s fucking infuriating!” 

Regulus stabs his fork into the wilted, sad looking salad in front of him. He frowns as he inspects the drooping, brown leaf and sneers. 

Disgusting. 

One would think that for a place hell bent on fixing broken people, they would serve some decent food. 

Pushing away the excuse for dinner, Regulus looks up at Barty, who is sitting across from him at their table. Dorcas and Marlene decided to sit separately today, they had been in the middle of a very heated discussion in line. The two were now across the cafeteria, whispering in hushed voices and giggling every so often. 

Finally— finally they weren’t arguing. 

Regulus continues when Barty doesn’t respond, “I mean, I know he’s depressed– we all are. But God he’s such a dick about it.” 

Barty winces and looks at Regulus carefully, “Listen Reg, I’m not trying to play devil's advocate here, but you don’t know what he’s going through.” 

“We’re all going through something.” Regulus replies flatly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“Oh come on, don’t pull that. You know how hard the first few days are– you of all people should know.” 

Regulus only rolls his eyes. 

Of course he knows how hard they are. The despair, the pain, the churning realization that there is no more pretending to be okay. 

“Yeah well,” He mumbles under his breath dumbly.

Barty is quiet for a moment, the silence digging into Regulus’ bones.

Then softly, “Don’t tell me that you still…” 

“Don’t.” Regulus snaps, looking down at his hands, twisting his rings around his fingers. Why they let him keep his jewelry, he doesn’t know. 

“Even after all this time? All these years?” 

Barty's voice is careful, tender. 

“Who else could it be?” Regulus says sadly before huffing a bitter laugh, “Pathetic though, isn’t it?” 

James had always been… everything. An unattainable goal, the one who stole his brother, a man who shone like the sun, even now, after the heaviness of grief and pain had driven him into the ground. 

He was the sun. 

Regulus had written songs about the sun.

And oh, how lucky he was to have once been in James’ orbit. 

“Reg, why didn’t you change rooms? You can’t torture youself like this.” 

He tries to ignore the fact that Barty did not rebuke his claim about being pathetic. That’s fine. Regulus knows he is. 

Groaning, Regulus puts his head on the table, “I don’t know,” he mumbles. 

The nurses call for the end of dinner, walking around to the tables to complete rounds. Regulus keeps his head down. 

Pathetic. 

Barty sighs before his chair squeaks on the linoleum floor. Regulus feels his hand grip his shoulder lightly. 

“You might want to rethink that. For your own sake.” 

I know.

Regulus doesn’t say this out loud. 

___

When Regulus returns from dinner, James is gone. 

His family must be here. 

Family. 

Including Sirius. 

The thought itches in the back of Regulus’ mind, making his stomach clench and his hands shake. He trusted that James wouldn’t tell him, but still…

His brother was in the building. With a few words, Regulus could see him again. Could talk to him. But of course, Sirius would never want that– not after what Regulus had done to him. 

The memory of Regulus pushing Sirius, making him bleed, is a thorny noose tight around his throat. It haunts his dreams– the fear, the pain, the disgust. 

The thorns press deeply into his skin as he sits in front of Clare once again, willing his face into a neutral expression. The therapist is looking at him with a knowing expression, waiting for him to speak. He had forgotten what she had asked though, too wrapped up in his own despair. 

Clare had been pushing him lately, bringing up things that made Regulus' stomach turn. She had to know what it was doing to him. He leaves every session feeling as though his skin has been peeled from his body, leaving him raw and exposed. 

He hates it. He hates her. Fuck her for forcing him into this. Why couldn’t she be like all the others he had dealt with? The questions have always been the same, and he could fake his way through those. Until now. 

Clare speaks again, looking at him with an expression he can only describe as pity,

“Are you ready to talk about your brother?” 

Tighter the noose pulls, drawing blood. It drips onto his hands, staining them red. He had made his brother bleed. 

“I don’t need to.” Regulus says flippantly, twisting, twisting his rings. 

Clare hums and writes something down on her notepad, “Your body language tells me otherwise,” 

Could she see the blood on his hands? The noose around his neck? 

He lays his palms flat on his thighs.

Stillness. 

Sirius is here. 

Regulus is dying. 

“There’s nothing to tell.” 

That was the truth. 

Sirius had left, Regulus had stayed. Sirius was brave, Regulus was a coward. 

The end. 

“Do you believe that?” Clare’s voice is firm, her words grabbing that thorny rope and yanking. It hurts.

Regulus looks at the woman in front of him and scoffs, “Why do you want to know about him so badly?” 

“I think if you want a shot at healing, if you really want this to be your last time here, you need to confront your past with him.” 

There’s a clock on the wall behind Clare. He has five minutes left in their session. 

Regulus watches it tick, tick, tick. 

Last time was supposed to be his last time here. This time, he should have been successful. When he jumped off that bridge into the unknown, that was supposed to be it. He had failed. This is what came after. 

Four minutes. 

A shot at healing.

What a joke. There was no healing from this. Regulus had faced death, had tasted its sweetness as it ran thickly down his throat, settling comfortably in his stomach.

“Do you want to live?” 

I don’t know. 

“Yes.” 

Did James feel like this too? Did he taste death and feel its warmth wrap around him? Was that warmth ripped from him the way it was ripped from Regulus, leaving him cold and empty?

He never thought that James of all people would understand. That the sun would understand what it was like to feel the glacial cold that freezes his bones. 

But, Regulus supposes he does understand. James just might feel this biting pain too. 

Was there a noose around his neck? Did James have blood on his hands?

Three minutes. 

“I can’t confidently discharge you if I feel as though you aren’t safe. I need to know that you are working to heal. Talking about him is the first step. I know there’s trauma from your childhood, and I think that your inability to confront it is part of why you’re here. Again.” 

Every word is calm as it punches into Regulus’ chest. He twists his rings again, looking back down. 

“You’re wrong.” 

“So tell me his name.” 

Tell me his name.

Regulus doesn’t even know how his brother's name would sound coming from his mouth. It had been years since he had spoken it. Did Sirius talk about him? Or did he avoid the subject of Regulus altogether? 

“No.” 

Two minutes. 

Clare sighs and scribbles something else down on her paper. 

“Don’t you have computers for that?” Regulus’ own voice sounds hollow, empty.

Clare is not amused. 

“You’ve been here almost three weeks, Regulus.” 

A lifetime, it feels like.

“Getting sick of me?” 

“Three weeks is a long time to be here.” 

Regulus knows this. He wants to leave. He wants to return home so badly that it hurts. Pandora and Evan are taking care of his cat, Midnight. He misses her. He misses the band. He misses music and writing songs with a pencil. 

And yet, he can’t even speak Sirius’ name. He isn’t quite sure if he wants to live or not. 

Less than a minute now. 

“Then let me go home.” 

It’s such an interesting game that he and Clare have been playing for the last few sessions. She begs to hear about Sirius, Regulus deflects and runs out the clock.

Regulus always wins. 

Why was he like this? 

“I’m considering transferring you to the residential unit.” 

Regulus pauses. This isn’t in the script.

He can’t swallow. Can’t breathe. 

Could she do that? 

Clare continues, her voice softer, though her words slice through Regulus’ heart,

“You’re not making progress, Regulus.” 

Silence. 

Progress. 

The woman sighs and closes her notepad with a snap. It echoes through the quiet room, the sound sharp and final. 

Time was up. 

Regulus stands on shaky legs, his hands fisted at his sides. 

Residential. Permanent. 

Do you want to live?

Gritting his teeth, Regulus looks at Clare, who is waiting patiently. 

“Sirius.” he whispers, the words tangled and awkward in his mouth, “My brother's name is Sirius.”

A small smile on Clare's face. 

She had won this round. 

And he fucking hates her for it. 

Chapter Text

January, 2020

James walks into his house to the sound of screaming. 

He was stopping by for breakfast with his parents, like he does every weekend. James is happy that he and his friends moved into a house so close to Effie and Monty. Sometimes, they will join the Potters for family breakfasts, but everyone else was busy with their own things today. Which was just as well, James enjoys the company of his parents.

Today though, screaming reaches his ears as he opens the door to his childhood home. He drops his things, ignoring the shattering of his mothers favorite casserole dish as he takes the stairs two at a time. He skids down the hallway and nearly runs into the wall as he flings open the door to his parents bedroom.

At first, James isn’t sure what he’s looking at. There’s his mother, crouched on the bed, wailing. She’s shaking James’ dad. 

Monty is in bed, still. He’s unmoving. 

Which isn’t right, at all. Because his mom is in distress, and James knows his dad. If Effie is upset, Monty is there to comfort her. He always has. It used to make James think that maybe love really is possible. Every time he catches a glimpse of his parents hugging, or telling each other “I love you”, it makes something warm stir in his chest. 

He is luckier than most, to have parents who unconditionally love each other. Ones who unconditionally love him. 

But his dad isn’t comforting Effie now. 

In fact, he’s not doing anything. 

James has a sick feeling in his chest as he steps forward slowly. This has to be a dream, right? Because there’s no fucking way this can be real. 

“Wake up, Monty wake UP,” His mom is screaming, over and over again. James isn’t here right now, he’s in hell. He’s numb as he lays a gentle hand on his mom’s shoulder. He can’t breathe as he looks down at his dad. 

He could be sleeping. 

But he’s not. 

James isn’t here, James is in hell. He’s in hell as his mom falls into him, breaking into tiny pieces. She shatters under his touch. Her sobs wrack her body and James can’t see his dad anymore through the tears. He’s in hell as the police come and take his dad’s body away. He watches the stretcher crunch over the broken glass in the front room, remnants of the casserole dish sticking to the wheels. 

A coldness leaks through his bones and James fears he’ll never be warm again as he’s told it was a heart attack. He died peacefully in his sleep, they tell him gently. 

Monty was forty-eight. There’s nothing peaceful about that. He hears himself recite the words to his mother, who is still in the bed. Her arms hang loosely at her sides as she looks to the spot where her husband should have woken up this morning. She doesn’t respond.

James isn’t ready to live without his dad. He’s only nineteen, he shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t be the one planning the funeral. He shouldn’t be the one begging his mom to get out of bed in the following weeks. But there’s no one else now, is there?

He stays at home for the entire semester, only going back to his house to grab small things he needs. His mother won’t allow him to touch anything that was his fathers. The house is a museum, untouched through the passing of time. 

James’ own house is a prison. His friends look at him with grief and pity. He can’t bear to meet their eyes. There’s nowhere for James. 

The depression he had felt after his injury had come back, stronger now than it had ever been before. James supposes losing a parent would do that to someone. He should have known he couldn’t push it down forever. 

Something is happening to him, James can feel. He thinks grief must last forever because since the moment he saw his father’s body in bed, something left him, right in his chest. A small hole. 

It’s not large, not yet. But James can feel the hollowness in his body. It rots him from the inside. James becomes used to it, over time. 

A hole in his chest. 

A hole 

In 

____

Today

James is expecting the tears when he sees Sirius, Remus and Peter.

He prepares for the worst as he is led down the hallway into the gym, set up with plastic tables and chairs. 

The ankle monitor was heavy on his leg, weighing him down as he took step after fateful step toward his friends. He had gotten used to its awkward weight. James had become accustomed to his scrubs smelling like smoke, the sticky socks that he wore on his feet. He no longer pulled at the hospital bracelet on his left wrist or scratched at the bandages on his arms. 

All of these familiarities that had somehow become common to James feels foreign and embarrassing once again as he enters the large room. 

He notices that he is one of only three others that have visitors. 

Sirius, Remus and Peter immediately stand when they see James walk in. 

The hole in James’ chest feels prominent, as though it could completely cave in at any moment. 

Sirius nearly runs to him and envelops him in a tight hug. 

James is hesitant at first, his hands shaking as he hugs him back. 

The same. Sirius was the same. His dark hair presses into James nose, his hands fisted in his shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” James chokes out as he buries his face into his best friend's shoulder, throat tight.

He would not cry. 

“Stop apologizing,” Remus says, and pushes Sirius away, tightly grabbing onto James.

“I wasn’t done!” Sirius cries, wrapping one back around James and the other around Remus. 

Peter snorts from behind the three of them, “Well, now I feel left out.” 

James feels Peter's warm weight press against his other side and then they are all hugging, sobbing and grasping onto one another like a lifeline.

When they are all sure that they can let go without falling to pieces, the men settle themselves in the hard plastic chairs. 

James waits for the pity. He waits for Sirius’ gaze to drop with discomfort, for Peter to begin rambling like he does when he’s nervous, and waits for Remus to become silent and disconnected. 

It never comes. 

It takes James an embarrassingly long time to realize this. After all, they are his closest friends– his family. 

“Where’s your mom?” Sirius frowns, looking around as though Effie might pop up at any moment. 

“I told her not to come,” James says quietly. 

She had been distraught already on the phone when he spoke with her a few hours ago. She was crying so much James could barely get a word in. It made his chest hurt and his lungs constricted. He told her not to come. 

Effie had almost sounded relieved, which James isn’t quite sure how he feels about yet. Probably the same way he feels about his own relief that she hadn’t come. Things had been strained between them, distant. It had been like that since his father died. Since his mother had turned his childhood home into a permanent reminder of his father, frozen forever in time. 

James feels tears in his eyes as he thinks of Monty, as he thinks of the person his mother became after he had died, and the person James himself has become. 

Shame licks through his body and he tries to focus on the people who are here. 

Peter is the first to speak after a moment, his voice hesitant, “So, uh. What happened?” 

Oh, Peter. He never was one for social cues. 

Sirius smacks Peter upside the head and the other man winces, frowning slightly. James lets out a light laugh, which makes all three of his friends look up at him in shock. 

“Well Pete, this is going to shock you, but I think I’m depressed.” 

Remus is the only one who smirks. Sirius and Peter look as though they aren’t sure if they should laugh or not. James realizes that things might be different now. Of course his friends are the same, and they love him as much as they did before. This much is clear by the fact that they are here. However, James has gotten used to other people like him. People who are also as broken as he is. 

James sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t miss the way Sirius’ eyes linger on his bandages, the devastation written on his features. 

“I’m sorry I never asked for help,” James says quietly. He continues before any of them can interject, “After… my dad died,” The words had been hard to get out, but James pushes through, “I just kind of… I don’t really know what happened. But I know I pushed you all away. Especially after moving out.” 

The words are clunky in his mouth, and James feels small. He knows it’s not even close to any sort of explanation. But it’s all he can give them right now. 

He can’t tell them about the hole in his chest, he can’t tell them about the day his father died. He especially can’t tell them about the day he tried to kill himself. James still isn’t sure who told his mom he hadn’t been picking up the phone. He’s not sure he wants to know. 

“We should have done something,” Remus says, his voice hard. James looks between them all and can see that they have clearly talked about this. Talked about him.

Stop looking at me. Stop seeing me. 

“I wouldn’t have accepted your help.” James says bluntly. He knows it's the truth, as much as it hurts. James had been lost in his own grief and depression for so long he’s not sure if he will ever even make it out. 

“I’m trying though.” He continues, “I’m trying to let you guys help me,” 

As much as it makes him sick. 

Sirius reaches across the table and grabs his hand tightly. His grey eyes meet James’ and his voice is steady, despite the tears in his eyes, “Whatever you need, Prongs.” 

James smiles at the old nickname and squeezes Sirius’ hand, “Thank you guys,” 

The conversation turns to lighter things. Remus speaks of school, which he’s so close to being done with. He wants to be a professor, which James still can’t work out why, but he knows his friend will be amazing at it. Sirius talks about his recent cases as a lawyer, and Peter gushes about his girlfriend, Emmaline. 

James feels warm inside, listening to them. He doesn’t join in much, and his friends thankfully don’t force him to. Maybe they are all the same and he’s the one who’s different. James wonders if despite the love they have for him, despite the care, if they miss the person he used to be. 

He’s sure they do, hell, James even misses who he used to be. 

If they could all go back, would they still choose this? Choose him? 

James isn’t sure he wants to know the answer,

“So, James, you meet anyone cool?” Sirius says, resting his head on his hand. 

Trying not to let his shock and anxiety show, James says casually, “Yeah, a few people.” 

Your brother, actually. By the way, he tried to kill himself too. And he’s my roommate.  

Yeah, James can’t see that going over well. 

Remus hums in response, “Are they here right now?” 

James looks around the cafeteria. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Regulus could have visitors today too. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he sees a few other patients, but no one he knows well enough. 

“Nope, sorry.” James says, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

Peter cocks his head and narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. James nearly winces. Out of all his friends, he has known Peter the longest. They grew up right next door to each other, and spent most of their childhood together. Sirius knows James better than anyone, but Peter? Peter can read him like a book. 

James shakes his head imperceptibly at the other man, who raises his brows, but still doesn’t speak up. James is eternally grateful for this. He knows Sirius will find out, and when he does, it will be a shitshow. 

But that day would not be today. Because James is here, with his friends. Sure, he’s still broken into tiny pieces and doesn’t know how to put himself back together. 

But right now? 

Right now, Remus is laughing at something Sirius has said, and Peter is now looking at the two of them with an expression that can only be described as fond exasperation. 

The ankle monitor is heavy, his bandages itch. He can smell the smoke on his clothes and he twists the hospital bracelet on his wrist.

But James is not dying, bleeding out in his apartment.

He's here.

For the first time in a very, very long time, James is thankful for that. 

Even if it’s just a little bit. 

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry.” 

James’ voice is soft and hesitant. The words sink into Regulus’ skin and warm his blood. 

The sky is bright with stars and the small chattering of conversations clinks in Regulus’ ears from around the courtyard. A soft sob, a hearty laugh, hushed voices and calm words. 

He wanted to be alone. 

That was what he had told Barty, Marlene and Dorcas when they asked him to join them outside. 

Regulus sits on a lone bench, legs curled in his lap as he stares at the burning cigarette in his hand. 

He sighs softly, not looking up at James, “I can’t do this with you tonight.” It’s too much right now. Between his argument with James, his brother, and his therapy session; Regulus is too tired to deal with this. 

“You were right, Reg. It helped. Talking to them, I mean.” 

It has been a long time since James has called him that.

Regulus doesn’t respond. He can’t. The familiar, oily tang of jealousy sinks in his gut, heavy and acidic.

While Regulus was struggling to speak his own brother’s name, James had been down the hall seeing him, being comforted by him. 

He knows it’s his own fault, but the jealousy writhes angrily as he takes a deep hit of his cigarette. 

“That's great.” Regulus doesn’t mean for his voice to come out so bitter, so tainted with hate and dripping with disdain.

James (for whatever reason) takes this as an opening to sit next to Regulus on the bench. 

He’s too close. 

He has an unlit cigarette in his hand. 

Regulus still hasn’t looked up at him. 

“You don’t deserve the way I’ve treated you.” James' voice is soft again. 

Regulus does look up this time, wishing immediately he hadn’t. 

The pale glow of the courtyard lights washes over James’ face, casting him in an orange hue. He looks softer, younger in this light. His face isn’t pulled tight with tension, his eyes are soft lidded and he looks renewed. It seems his conversation with his family really had helped. 

Nudging to James, Regulus holds up his cigarette to his lips to help him light his unlit spliff. James takes little hits as the burning ends touch, small puffs of smoke escaping through his lips. His eyes meet Regulus’ and through the haze of his glasses, Regulus swears he sees something in James’ eyes. 

It's gone before he can put his finger on it and suddenly James is leaning back, away from Regulus. He immediately misses James’ warmth, his closeness. 

Fuck. 

He had to get a hold of himself. 

James seems unaware, content to smoke in silence, allowing Regulus time to respond. 

You don’t deserve the way I’ve treated you. 

Hasn’t he though?

Regulus has long since abandoned the idea of being treated right by anyone. It has never happened before and probably would never happen. 

He has been with several men throughout the years, some he thought he could love, but there was always a catch. 

They were hung up on someone else, married, not looking for anything serious or just simply treated him like shit. Regulus isn’t built for love that lasts, he’s realized. It’s just not in the cards for him, and even if it was, Regulus doesn’t think he deserves it. 

Regulus’ relationships are screaming matches and slammed doors, hate sex and drunken phone calls, tear streaked mascara and fumbling regret in the morning. 

“Okay,” Regulus says finally, tiredly. Because how could he explain to James that this wasn’t new for him? That he expects nothing more? That this is all he deserves?

“It’s not okay.” James insists, running a hand through his hair. 

He continues, looking at Regulus, “I mean, it’s really not. You’re Sirius’ brother and–”

“No,” A jolt of anger wakes Regulus from his tiredness, “I’m Regulus. I’m not… I’m… If you want to apologize, apologize to me. Not Sirius’ brother.” 

The name falls from his lips a bit easier now. It surprises him. 

James’ eyes are wide, “Oh.” 

Regulus’ face heats with embarrassment. 

“I just mean… I’m a lot of things. I’m not… just his brother.” 

“I know that,” James says softly. 

“Do you?”

A heavy pause. 

That was part of the problem, Regulus realizes. Of course, James only sees him as Sirius’ brother. Even after years have separated them, he was always– always simply Sirius’ brother. 

It hurts, that even now he’s seen as nothing more. 

You’re a burden, Regulus. You always have been,

“Maybe I don’t,” James replies finally. Regulus’ heart cracks a little. James continues, “But… I think... I think I’d like to.”

Oh. 

James’ eyes are wide, careful as he looks at Regulus. His scrub top is rumpled and his hair is dishelved. The white bandages covering his arms stand out against his dark skin and he fiddles restlessly with the worn hospital bracelet on his wrist. Regulus realizes that he’s never seen anyone look more beautiful. 

He was still the sun. 

Always the sun. 

Regulus clears his throat, looking away. He had been staring. 

“Yeah, okay.” His voice sounds foreign in his ears, hesitant and light. 

James cracks a small smile and turns fully to face Regulus, “I’m sorry, Regulus.” 

Regulus’ lips twist and he gives James a shy smile of his own, “Thanks James.” 

There’s a strange look that crosses James' face. He stares at Regulus like he’s… worth something. A feeling that he hasn’t had in a long time blooms in Regulus’ chest. Loosening the thorny rope around his throat, making his heart beat a bit faster. It settles deeply in his gut, warm and content.

A word dances through his mind, cutting through some of the pain that has been present for so, so long. 

Hope. 

And god, if that wasn’t the most dangerous thing of all. 

____

Barty is discharged the next day. 

Regulus knew it was only a matter of time before they realized Barty didn’t necessarily need to be hospitalized and would release him. (Now, Barty did need a lot of therapy– this is widely known, so maybe this whole experience wasn’t the worst thing for him.)

Knowing this, Regulus isn’t surprised when his friend and bandmate comes to him and dejectedly states that he has to leave. 

By the look on his face, one would never be able to guess that Barty has been told that he is being discharged from the psych ward. 

“There’s something about this place…” Barty says with a sad, wistful smile, as though he is already looking back on the memories that they had in St. Mungos. 

“Yeah, it’s the hospital. You’re the only asshole who actively wants to be here.” Regulus frowns at him from where he’s writing in his little notebook the staff had given him on his first day. He thinks it’s meant to be for therapy notes or something, but Regulus has just been writing song lyrics. 

Barty huffs and sits next to him, his own notebook in hand, along with a small stack of papers where he had decided to collect the phone numbers of some of the other patients. Including but not limited to Dorcas, Marlene and, much to Regulus’ chagrin, James. 

“I know. I just like the structure.” 

Rolling his eyes, Regulus picks up a new crayon. His keeps snapping them in his hands. What he wouldn’t give for a pencil right now. 

“Thats the point. Besides, you have structure at home. And you have to get back to Pandora and Evan. They can’t be without a drummer and a lead singer for much longer.” 

Regulus finishes the lyric he was working on before continuing, “Plus, we are going back on tour when I get out so there’s a fuck ton of work to do.” 

Barty is silent. An odd feeling washes over Regulus, like he’s missing something. 

“What?” 

Another beat of silence before Barty leans back and crosses his arms, forcing out a light laugh, “Nothing, I’m just thinking of all the shit we have to do.” 

Regulus frowns at Barty for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, so like I said, you gotta get out of here.” 

He had spoken to Pandora and Evan several times while he’s been here. Though they had to postpone the tour they were on, the plan was to go back on tour as soon as Regulus was released. There was too much at stake not to. This was only Invisible Scarlet's second tour, and to cancel half their shows in the middle of a tour doesn’t look good. Not to mention the money they had to refund a ton of people and venues. 

It was a shitshow. Regulus feels like the worst person in the world for doing this to his friends. 

Barty and Regulus eventually move on from talk of the band, Regulus giving Barty very strict instructions for taking over the care of his cat. 

When they say goodbye, Regulus still can’t get the feeling that there’s something Barty isn’t telling him, but he chalks it up to nerves and leaves it at that. 

___

Dorcas and Marlene are released the following day.

Things start to move very quickly after that, almost like the world is telling Regulus he needs to move on. 

He spends most of his time with, surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, depending on how you look at it), James. 

Regulus still for the life of him cannot tell Clare any more about Sirius. 

She pushes and prods and lets him sit in lingering silence before ending their session with a look of disappointment on her face. 

The threat of residential looms in the back of his mind, screaming at him to talk or that was where he would end up. 

James doesn’t know, of course, that Regulus struggles to even speak Sirius’ name. That it’s still a challenge for Regulus to listen to James tell stories about his brother or lightly bring him up in conversation. 

It’s a bittersweet kind of pain, Regulus has realized. He had built Sirius up in his head, created a perfect version of his brother– the way that he saw him as a child. Regulus sees now that Sirius is just a man. 

He’s a lawyer, Regulus has learned. The perfect job for him, though Regulus would never say that out loud of course. Sirius has always loved an argument. He has learned that Sirius lives with a man named Remus– but it is not romantic as the two keep saying. Apparently everyone else feels differently. 

Sirius has a motorcycle and loves to cook. He doesn’t play soccer anymore, but watches it religiously. 

All these little snippets of his brother have given Regulus a heartaching insight into who Sirius is now, versus who he was before leaving all those years ago. Regulus wonders how he would fit into Sirius’ life now. He knows the answer, though it pains him to think about it. 

“Would you ever consider seeing him again?” James asks Regulus two days after Marlene and Dorcas are released.

The two are playing chess in the day room, the tv quietly playing in the background. There are a few new patients that Regulus hasn’t seen before roaming around. It’s always the same, the first few days. 

He remembers James’ first few days, how he wouldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t talk to anyone. James seems better, Regulus notes. He usually comes out of therapy with his notebook clutched tightly in his hands, a small smile on his face when he finds Regulus. 

Regulus moves his pawn forward, baiting the other man. 

“No,” Regulus says, and smirks when James takes the bait, moving his rook forward to take Regulus’ pawn. 

James looks up, ignoring Regulus’ turn as he takes James’ rook with his bishop. There’s a frown creasing his beautiful face. 

“Why not?” 

Regulus shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. He’s not sure if it works or not, “We are different people now. Besides, he wouldn’t want to see me anyway.” 

The game forgotten, James sits back in his chair. He crosses his arms and looks at Regulus with an expression that Regulus has coined as his ‘disappointed face’. 

“That’s not true and you know it.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes and begins to pick at his nail polish. Today is finally art, they were actually about to get called to line up soon and he would get to repaint this monstrosity. “Listen, you don’t understand how we left things.” 

This was starting to hurt. Regulus is always careful to steer conversations away from Sirius and Regulus’ rocky relationship. Hearing about who his brother is– that’s one thing. But adding Regulus to the picture? Forcing him to think about what he had done? That’s another. That’s when the rope begins to tighten around his neck once again, and not even James’ soft brown eyes or honey sweet words can loosen that knot. 

James sighs, “Maybe I don’t, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to see you. I’m sure he would want–” 

“If you’re coming to Art, you better line up now,” The voice of one of the technicians blessedly interrupts James, and Regulus quickly stands. 

“Perfect timing,” Regulus smirks at James, who gives him a flat stare, still crossing his arms from where he’s seated. “You coming?” 

James sighs, as though this is the last thing in the world he would rather be doing, but dutifully stands and follows Regulus to the small line of people lining up to go to the art room. 

“Art therapy” at St. Mungos is simply an art room, such as one might see in a high school, and the “therapy” part was… well. Regulus isn’t sure. It seems as though the art therapist gives everyone free reign to just do whatever they want. 

This is fine by Regulus, he is usually content to sit in the corner and draw or make a shitty looking bracelet. Today, however, he would have to redo the mess that was his nails. 

He examines the colors sitting across the therapists desk. Grabbing the black polish, he walks toward the corner of the room where James is attempting to make a bracelet (?) of his own. His large fingers try and fail to thread a string through the small hole in the bead. His face is twisted into an expression of frustrated concentration– furrowed brows, pursed lips, scrunched nose. 

Cute.

James throws the string down, hitting the container filled with tiny beads with his hand, not enough to knock it over, but it jostles the table and the container precariously wobbles. A few beads go flying, and he receives more than a few concerned looks from some of the other patients as well as the therapist. 

“I thought this was supposed to be therapeutic,” James grumbles and puts his head in his hand as Regulus sits down. 

Regulus chuckles lightly and twists open the paint, carefully wiping the bristles on the rim of the bottle to remove the excess paint. 

“It is therapeutic, you’re just doing it wrong.” 

He looks up from painting his thumb to see James gritting his teeth at him, “How the hell can you thread a bead wrong?”

Shrugging, Regulus turns back to his task, “I didn’t know it was possible either. You just don’t have steady hands, I guess.” 

James scoffs, “My hands are plenty steady.” 

Oh and that’s just.

A thick warmth curls deep in Regulus’ gut and he begins to imagine just how steady James’ hands might be before catching himself, his face heating. 

“Doubtful.” This is all Regulus can manage to say right now, forcing the traitorous thoughts from his mind. 

Leaning forward, James plucks the brush from Regulus fingers, “Oh yeah? Let me do this then.” He holds up the brush to Regulus, a brow raised. 

Regulus stares at James for a moment.

“You want to paint my nails,” Regulus replies flatly. His brain isn’t quite working correctly right now so he could be imagining things. 

James shrugs and dips the brush into the black paint, “Give me your hand,”

Holy fucking shit. 

Willing his hand not to shake, Regulus gives James his hand. 

James’ large hand carefully –almost reverently– takes Regulus’. He sweeps over Regulus’ nails with the brush, making quick work as he covers the nail completely. 

His hands are steady. Brown fingers holding the brush with care, lightly tilting Regulus’ pale fingers toward his face. Regulus can feel his soft breath on his hands as he inspects his work, a small crease between his brows. 

This is… strangely intimate. 

Regulus can feel how red his face is, and silently begs James not to look up. Regulus looks around. No one else seems to notice that the world is ending in the corner of the art room as James finishes Regulus’ first hand. 

The fluorescent lights reflect in James glasses as he holds Regulus’ hand up for him to see, a triumphant smirk on his face, 

“See? Steady hands.” 

Regulus' gaze flits away from James’ face to look at his hand cradled in James’ own. James’ fingers are loosely wrapped around his palm, lightly holding Regulus’ fingers up for him to see. 

Regulus' eyes lock with James and the other man’s smile falls, an unreadable expression crossing his face. 

James clears his throat and places Regulus’ hand back on the table gently, looking away from him. 

“Do you want me to do the other one?” James’ voice is thick, uncomfortable. He’s purposefully not looking at Regulus, instead picking up the forgotten string from his abandoned bracelet and inspecting it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

Regulus blinks quickly, schooling his face into neutrality, “I think I can manage on my own.” His own voice is stilted, too rough. 

“Besides, I think you’ve proven your point,” He tries, faking nonchalance. 

It doesn’t work. 

James only nods, picking up a bead and again attempting to thread it. 

He does end up making a bracelet; a pretty thing with round black and dark red beads alternating between the colors. 

Regulus finishes his nails. 

One hand looks significantly better than the other. 

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

“Okay, okay.” James says softly to himself in the bathroom, trying to slow his racing heart, to calm his ragged breathing. 

He has been at St. Mungos for over a week now, he still has a very hard time showering. 

It’s not the showering part that makes him anxious. It’s his arms. 

James has gotten used to the bandages by now, he is familiar with the feeling of them wrapping around him, protecting him. Does he necessarily need them anymore? 

No. 

But what he also doesn’t need is to have a panic attack every time he sees his own arms. The slices were deep and angry and he had needed stitches. A lot of them. There would be thick scars there forever, he was told. These weren’t light cuts, bound to scab over and fade within weeks. No, James had mutilated himself. And as penance, he would have to live with them always. See them every day. 

His failure. 

So, the bandages stay. It’s also more for comfort for everyone else too. No one wants to see that. The ugliness of his body now. How he had taken a knife and stabbed it into his forearm before dragging deeply down, screaming as he did so. The second one was harder. Much harder. His hand had been slick from the blood already pouring out of him, his vision was blurry with tears. But he had persisted, just in case the first arm wasn't enough. 

What a waste that had been. 

The only time he doesn’t have the comfort of the bandages is when he showers. Like now. That third day, when he had been pushed out of bed by his guilt for hurting Regulus, James did not remove the wrappings. 

When he spoke with the doctor later that day, she had told him that was not an option because he had to keep his wound clean, it wasn’t sanitary, etc. He gets it. He really does. 

But that doesn’t help him now. 

“This is fine,” He whispers to himself as he grabs the end of the tape on his left arm, the gauze lifting slightly. His hands shake as he slowly removes it, heart in his throat. 

Upon seeing his arm, his throat fills with bile and tears prick his eyes. 

James falls to his knees in front of the toilet and throws up, sobbing as his dinner leaves his stomach. 

His throat burns when he’s finished and he sits back, panting. Wiping a hand across his mouth, James leans his head back against the cool tile wall, closing his eyes. 

The skin around his forearm feels cold, exposed. The cut hurts, biting in the cold air.

It needs to breathe.

That's also what the doctor had said to him. The thought had made him panic. 

James’ second arm isn’t as bad as the first. With the first one, he had been fueled by cruel determination and adrenaline. His second arm had been a dying man's attempt to ensure that it stuck. Again, a waste. 

It was still a deep cut, however, and the sight makes him gag. 

But then, it’s done, and the discarded wrappings are on the floor and James is standing under the hot water as it cascades down his body. He hisses when the water hits his arms, pain radiating through him. 

The panic has barely subsided. Not looking helps. 

But would he have to do this forever? Avoid eye contact with his own fucking arms? 

The thought makes him nauseous as he finishes his shower and grabs the clean scrubs he had been given. Though clean, they still smelled faintly of smoke and there was a hole in the left leg of the pants. He hates the ones with holes. 

With a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, he leaves the bathroom and heads towards his bed, planning to dress quickly and go to sleep early.

James stops, chest caving slightly. 

Regulus is reading quietly on his side, his cheek resting on his hand. He looks up when James walks in. 

No. No, this isn’t right. Regulus was supposed to be in therapy. 

This was when he went. Every day at the same time. James knows this because he precariously schedules his showers around when Regulus is gone. 

Dropping his clothes on the ground, James does his best to hide his arms from Regulus. No one has seen but his mother. And even after, she never saw it cleaned, never saw the angry stitches. No one but the doctors have seen the two, clear lines where James had tried to end his life. 

“Why aren’t you in therapy?” James says weakly, his arms burning with the motion of him trying to twist them away from the man in front of him. 

Regulus sits up, face unreadable, “It was a short session.” 

They had done their best to ignore whatever had happened in the art room just yesterday. They still went to meals together, still talked, still spent nearly every moment together. But something was different. 

James isn’t sure what it is. Maybe he had upset Regulus, or he had pushed too hard. He tells himself that it was just a weird moment, nothing to dwell on. He had just wanted to prove a point to Regulus… by painting his nails. Then holding his hand. Gently. 

Right. 

Regulus is his friend. 

Who he is definitely still curious about, even more so now that they are talking all the time and spending nearly every waking second together. 

So, when James went to bed that night and the only thought on his mind was Regulus’ soft hand in his own, he told himself it was just out of curiosity. That’s why he had done it. 

And when he woke up this morning, thinking about what Regulus' hand would feel like laced through his own fingers, the answer, as always, pointed toward innocent curiosity. 

James is still angling his arms away from Regulus, who continues to look at him with an inscrutable expression painting his angelic features. 

Soft, dark curls, milky white skin, striking grey eyes. These things he could focus on right now. Not his arms. Not the fact that he was essentially naked– in every sense of the word– in front of Regulus. 

“Do you want me to look away?” Regulus asks. 

“You already saw though, didn’t you?” The words tumble from his mouth and into that hole in James’ chest, falling, falling down. He had been working to fill that hole recently. James knows it will never be full. 

Maybe he was always meant to have this hole in his chest, an ugly, rotting pit determined to take everyone he loves with it when it caves in. But if there was a way to make it less so… 

“I saw.” Regulus’ chin is lifted, his eyes never straying from James. 

He feels sick. 

But Regulus doesn’t seem scared, or disgusted with him. He doesn’t balk from James, doesn't turn away. 

“Oh.” James says, arms going slack at his sides. Partly because it hurt keeping them twisted away and partly because Regulus had seen him now. He had viewed his ugliness and wasn’t running yet. 

Yet. 

James continues, his voice quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

Regulus’ face twists into an expression of confusion, “For what?” His voice is bewildered, eyes wide. 

Looking down at his arms and grimacing, stomach churning, James replies, “It’s…” 

Disgusting. Horrible. Sickening. Pathetic. 

“Unsightly.” 

Regulus shakes his head, “It’s not.” 

He sounds so… sure. His words are clear and determined. Regulus pins James with an intense stare and he can see no cracks in his composure, in his assuredness. 

It’s interesting how two words can change everything. They are small, and maybe Regulus didn’t mean much by them. But, James doesn’t think Regulus understands how much he needed to hear those two words, spoken with such conviction. 

It heals something in James that he didn’t know was broken. He sinks to the ground in front of Regulus’ bed, hands open in his lap, scars exposed. He’s falling into himself, unable to speak, unable to do anything but come apart at Regulus’ feet. At this moment, James doesn’t care that he’s basically naked, wrapped only in a small towel. 

He can only stare at his arms as he sits on his knees, his vision blurring with tears. Regulus should be running as fast as he can before James pulls him into the hole in his chest, and the man before him is lost forever. 

Run, James silently begs him. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run from my corroding body as quickly as possible. 

“Hey,” Regulus says softly, crawling off the bed and kneeling in front of James, positioning himself slightly above him. James looks up, Regulus' face is tilted down toward him and an expression of absolute devastation is painted across his features. His full lips are downturned, and he frowns slightly. There’s grief etched in every line on his face. 

But not pity. No, never pity from Regulus Black.

Regulus hesitantly reaches down and takes one of James’ hands, lifting his arm onto his lap. James is still crouched on the floor, one arm laid bare across Regulus’ legs, the other still limp at his side. He should be flinching, he should be turning away. He should be–

“This is not… ‘unsightly’, as you put it.” Regulus lightly traces a finger down his arm, right next to the raised cut. The feeling of his cool, slender fingers on his arm stirs something in his chest. James finds he can’t pull away, and doesn’t want to. 

He still feels nauseous, sick to his stomach looking at the scars. But Regulus…

Regulus doesn’t look at his mutilation with disgust. His features are calm, his hands steady as they carefully hold his arm, pale against the golden brown of James’ own skin.

There are still tears falling down James’ face, hot droplets splashing onto his arms. James doesn’t look at them seeping into his marred skin, he only sees Regulus’ hands, holding him reverently. The tears don’t stop, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed right now. 

Regulus looks up at him now, clear grey eyes meeting his own watery ones, 

“You’re still the sun,” he whispers softly. 

The sun. 

James doesn’t know what this means. He doesn’t feel like the sun. The sun is bright, it gives warmth and light to people. The sun is life. James is not life. He is an aching, rotting pit. There’s something wrong with James, deep inside him.

He wants to think that Regulus is just being kind. But Regulus is staring down at the product of James’ despair and he is not running. He’s not turning away or looking at him with abhorrence, only concern. His fingers are still cool and light against his broken, shredded skin.

Regulus said that James is the sun. 

He looks at him like he means it. Like he honestly believes James is the sun.

It can’t be true, not really. 

But, for a moment, a quiet, aching moment, James chooses to believe it too. 

And the hole in his chest

Doesn't 

Feel 

So

Chapter Text

“I’ve listened to your music before,” 

The words startle Regulus from his thoughts. He drops the crayon he had been using and looks up at James, who is staring at him with a strange expression.

“Oh,” Regulus’ face heats and he looks back down at his notebook. “And you’re telling me this because…?” 

The dayroom is quiet today. Group therapy had ended several minutes before, and most people had filed out quietly. It had been a boring session, focusing on grief and loss. Regulus had been here so long that the sessions were all starting to sound the same. 

James shrugs and continues his game of solitaire, “It’s a good band,” his voice is light, casual. 

To be clear, Regulus loves his band. He loves music and he loves sharing his music with the world. Being in a band was never something Regulus imagined doing, but now, it has never made more sense to him. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Regulus says awkwardly, tearing the paper off of his crayon and watching it fall onto the table. 

Regulus is not good with compliments, especially if they have to do with Invisible Scarlett. Releasing music is one thing, performing live is one thing, but finding out that people listen to his music? And like it? 

Sometimes it feels like Regulus is tearing his heart out and presenting it for the world to see. 

“Okay I have one question though,” James says after a few minutes, laying his cards flat on the table. Regulus knows what the question will be, but he hopes he’s wrong. 

“Why are your songs in French? Like… the titles.” James asks.

Regulus had not been wrong. Unfortunately, Regulus has gotten this question a lot. 

James is titling his head curiously and he has an adorable frown etched on his face. Like he had really been considering this for a while now. 

Regulus pauses and sets his crayon down. Fuck, what was he supposed to say to that? 

The truth was that Regulus had wanted a piece of Sirius with him, even after all these years. They’d had French lessons growing up, and it was regularly spoken in his household. When Sirius left, Regulus stopped speaking it. Walburga had been pissed, but Regulus couldn’t bear to have that reminder of his brother. It all hurt too much. 

That was until the band. When Regulus began writing songs, he titled them all in French. Just to have a little bit of his brother back. If only a tiny piece. So, there’s one album in particular that has every song written in French. 

Saying that though was too much. Even though James had shown Regulus every part of himself, Regulus still can’t give that to him. He can’t give much of anything to James, he supposes. One of his many downfalls. 

 “More mysterious that way,” he says quietly instead. 

James laughs, “You’re already mysterious enough.” 

Regulus draws his knees up to his chest. He knows he is, and not in an endearing way. In a way that makes people uncomfortable, a way that doesn’t allow others to get too close. He only shrugs, ignoring the aching in his chest.

James eyes him curiously, “When we get out of here, I’m going to look up every single one of the titles.” 

Heart jolting, Regulus turns to James, who looks deadly serious about doing this. James could not under any circumstances look up those titles.

“No you won’t,” he says breathlessly. 

James’ smile is so bright as he nudges Regulus with his shoulder, “You scared of what I’ll find?” 

Regulus scoffs, turning away from James “I’m not scared of anything.” 

He can feel the lie for what it is, snaking through his veins and ripping away at Regulus’ defenses.

James’ eyes are on him, Regulus can feel the other man studying him intently, “I don’t think that’s true at all.” James’ voice is quiet. 

Regulus doesn’t respond. He can’t. 

After a few moments of silence, Regulus clears his throat and stands, heading for the bookshelf. 

“What are you doing?” James asks. 

Sighing, Regulus grabs a box from the top shelf, balancing on his toes to do so. When he spins around, box in hand, he doesn’t miss the way James’ eyes linger on his hips, his hands. Regulus pushes the thought aside, raising a brow at James, 

“I’m teaching you chess.” 

___

“Chess is stupid,” James says as the two of them walk side by side to the courtyard after dinner.

Regulus rolls his eyes and plops down on the bench– their bench, if he is being bold. “Chess isn’t stupid, you’re just bad at it,” 

Sighing, James sits down next to him and takes a pull of his cigarette, leaning his head back as he blows the smoke out. Regulus would be lying if he said he didn’t find this immensely hot. The air is warm, and the stars are bright tonight. The middle of the summer is coming to an end. Regulus realizes this with a pang– he had missed so much. His life really is passing him by here. 

He should feel scared, horrified even. But what scares him more than the thought of rotting away in St. Mungos is the thought of what comes after this. Where does he go from here? 

Regulus needs therapy, needs to keep taking his medicine as the psychiatrist keeps telling him. He also probably needs to never drink again, though that’s a much harder truth to contend with. 

“What are you thinking about?” James asks quietly, turning to Regulus. A warm breeze ruffles his hair, and the lights cast an orange glow on his face. 

I’m thinking that I hate being me sometimes. Most of the time. All the time. I wish I could give you more. 

“I’m thinking about how fucking bad you are at chess,” Regulus says instead, smirking at James. 

The other man laughs, and Regulus wonders if James knows that his laugh could light up the world. Even now. Especially now. 

Does he know? 

“Maybe you’re just not a good teacher,” James says, taking a deep hit of his smoke. He grimaces as he pulls it away from his lips, inspecting the spliff. 

Regulus doesn’t deign to give his jab a response. Instead, he eyes James carefully as the man looks at his cigarette with distaste. 

“You didn’t smoke before this,” Regulus says. It's not a question. 

Shaking his head, James turns back to Regulus, “Marlene said I would get addicted here. I didn’t believe her at first but…” he gestures to the half burnt smoke resting between his fingertips. 

Regulus hums in response. 

James continues, “It just feels like I’m failing, somehow.” 

Frowning, Regulus takes a hit of his own smoke, savoring the nicotine rush that hits him quickly. “Because you smoke now?” 

He nods, “I don’t know. I guess I always thought I was…” James trails off and Regulus raises a brow, pinning him with a stare, 

“Better than it?” 

Wincing, James looks away, “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Regulus doesn’t respond. His mind keeps going back to two nights before, when James had fallen apart in front of him so completely. Regulus had meant what he said to James, he was still the sun. He always has been in Regulus’ eyes. 

Something had shifted between them, something huge. Something that scares Regulus. It scares him more than the threats of residential, more than talking about Sirius, more than anything, really. 

It scares him for several reasons, the most important one being the fact that he can’t give James anything. There are so many pieces of himself that are shattered, broken beyond repair. Regulus has done what he can to shield James from that, but the closer they become, the harder it is to do that. 

Not when James looks at him like he matters, not when he has opened himself up so thoroughly to Regulus. If James knew him, really knew him, he would regret showing him his scars. 

James has started talking about after they get out.

Regulus is too scared to say anything. Too scared to admit that he’s terrified to leave and James will see him. 

So, when James begins to push, Regulus pulls away. Further and further he drifts into himself until James drops it. 

It won’t last. 

They are bound to break at some point. 

“You’re not failing,” Regulus says quietly. 

James startles, as though he too had been lost in his own thoughts. He only nods and looks up, staring at the stars above his head. 

“Where are you?” He asks Regulus, motioning toward the sky. 

Regulus looks up, seeing his own namesake immediately. He swallows and points up, 

“Do you see the Big Dipper?” 

James nods. 

“Right below it is the constellation Leo. Well. Not right below it. A little to the left. Do you know what that one looks like?” 

He looks over to James, who is squinting up at the stars, his head tilted to the side. Regulus huffs a laugh and grabs James’ arm gently, moving closer to him. He lifts James’ hand and points to the Big Dipper, “See the Big Dipper?” 

James audibly swallows, “Yeah,” he whispers softly. 

Regulus guides James’ hand down to a group of stars, “This is the Sickle. It looks a bit like a backwards question mark.” 

He continues, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart, or the heat of James so close to him. Had they ever been so close? Certainly not since they arrived here, Regulus would have remembered. 

“Do you see it?” 

Regulus feels James nod next to him, his hair brushing gently against Regulus’ cheek. 

“Now look at the bottom, the end of the question mark. That last star? That’s Regulus.” He finishes quietly. 

James inhales a breath, “It’s the brightest star,” he says softly. 

For some reason, Regulus’ throat is tight. He releases James’ arm, heart aching at the loss of contact. “Yeah,” he replies weakly, his voice betraying him as he wrestles with his emotions. 

Clearing his throat, Regulus scoots back to his side of the bench, leaving a space between himself and James. 

He’s getting too caught up in this, too caught up in them. Whatever is happening between James and Regulus is a trainwreck waiting to happen. It feels like a bomb about to go off, and Regulus knows he will be the one to press the button. 

He always is. 

“I think it’s time to go in,” Regulus murmurs, and looks over at James. 

The other man still has his head tilted up, looking at the stars. 

Regulus feels a pang in his chest. 

He looks up again, finding his own star in the sky. 

The brightest star. 

God, how he wishes he could have lived up to it. 

Chapter Text

There is a thought that begins to race through James’ mind at all times during the day. It comes to him when he wakes up, when he sits in group, when he eats his meals or smokes with Regulus. 

What comes after?

The thought itches in his brain, an incessant bug that crawls into his mind and it’s all he can think about. Even when he’s trying to focus. 

Like now, as Regulus is trying again to explain chess to James and he still doesn’t understand. Well, that’s not quite true. 

He could understand, if he tried. But, James is not trying. Because he wants to hear Regulus explain it for the fifth time, wants to watch his slender fingers touching the pieces as he speaks, voice animated. 

Out of curiosity of course, James likes to hear Regulus explain things. When Regulus explains something he is interested in, his eyes get a faraway look, he begins to talk a lot with his hands, speaking quicker. 

The point is, James could listen to Regulus explain chess forever.

However, listening to Regulus explain chess has been interrupted by the thought that had been tumbling in his mind for the past day or so now. 

What comes after?

Therapy had been going… surprisingly well. Group was easier to attend, meals were more appetizing than they had been in months. There was still the pit in his chest, but it hadn’t grown. James knows he’s to be released soon. The social worker met with him and told him to prepare to be discharged in the coming days.

He had told her he wasn’t ready, that she was wrong. The words had spilled out before he could think about it, quickly dismissing the idea. The social worker explained to him that he didn’t need to be healed to leave, just in a safe place. 

He feels safe. James knows he won’t go home and kill himself. He has spoken to Sirius and Remus already, he is to move back with them when he gets out. The idea of living with them was one that once plagued his mind, made him sick to his stomach.

Because then they would see. 

But, they had already seen him. And they didn’t run. 

James has a plan for when he gets released, he has a healthy support system, he is returning to a safe environment, he will go to therapy. 

Check, check, check. 

All the boxes that solidified his discharge had been checked. He was ready to return to the real world, whatever that entailed. 

The question of what comes after? is reserved for one specific person. A man with silk spun hair like ink and eyes grey like a coming storm. A man who had seen him. Not in the way his friends saw him, but a man who had truly looked at all of James’ ugliest parts and didn’t turn away. 

“James, are you even listening? I swear I’m not repeating this for a sixth time,” Regulus’ voice is sharp, haughty as he glares at James.

He sighs, looking down at the sad chessboard in front of them, “Yeah I get it, the pawns go up and down, the other ones make different shapes.” 

Okay, James does know more than this. He had been listening a little bit. But he just likes to see the look of pure exasperation on Regulus’ face as he leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

“You’re impossible,” he groans, “I give up.” 

James grins and leans forward a bit, “Maybe you’ll just have to show me when we get out,” 

Regulus’ eyes snap open and his light irritation morphs into something deeper, heavier. He straightens stiffly and begins to gather the chess pieces, placing them back into the box in front of them, 

“Maybe,” his voice is quiet, clipped. 

This has been happening for some time now. Any time James brings up life outside the psych ward, Regulus becomes distant and closed off. The first time, James brushed it off as Regulus being nervous. The second, he started to feel confused. 

By now, James is beginning to have a sinking feeling that Regulus doesn’t want to extend their friendship past these walls. 

The chess pieces and board are now neatly laid in the box and Regulus closes it tightly, his hands gripping the sides. 

“I’m going to the room,” Regulus says, voice flat. 

James rolls his eyes, following Regulus down the hall, “Come on, Reg. You can’t just avoid this every time I bring it up.”

Regulus walks quickly into their room and sits on his bed, grabbing a book and opening it, ignoring James. This sends a flash of irritation down James’ spine. 

He stalks over to the bed and takes the book out of Regulus’ hands, ignoring the shout of protest from the other man. Regulus scrambles up onto his knees as he looks up at James, face red. 

Oh, Regulus is pissed. 

“We’re talking about it.” James says harshly, closing the book. He pulls it out of Regulus’ reach when he grabs for it, arm out to the side.

Regulus sits back on his heels and crosses his arms petulantly, “No we’re not. There’s nothing to talk about.” 

James scoffs, “That’s bullshit and you know it!” 

The door opens and a tech comes in to do rounds. Neither man says anything, glaring at each other as the tablet beeps and the technician leaves. 

“It’s bullshit,” James says again when he realizes that Regulus was content to sit in angry silence, coating the room in a thick blanket of wrath. 

“What is there to talk about?” Regulus snaps.

James crosses his arms and laughs sharply, without any humor, “Oh, I don’t know, Reg, maybe the fact that I’m being released soon and you won’t even acknowledge it. Or how every time I even mention you being a part of my life outside of this place, you get like this!” 

Regulus quickly gets off the bed and looks up at James, his face contorted with rage, “Maybe because we won’t be a part of each other's lives after this place. Did you ever think about that?” 

The breath punches from James’ lungs and he staggers back, as though he had been hit square in the chest.

“What?” James’ voice sounds so, so small in his own ears. 

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. This had been coming for days. It still hurt. 

Regulus is still angry, he pokes a finger at James, his breath coming out in short bursts, “You don’t know me, James. You don’t want to know me. Not outside of here.” 

James throws his hands up, “I do know you!” 

“Then why am I here?” Regulus nearly screams, his eyes bright. 

Why was he…

No, James knew why Regulus was here. He had… 

Oh god. Regulus had never told him. James had never asked, not really. 

Regulus continues, “What did I do to my brother?” 

James’ voice cracks, “I– I don’t…” 

“What do you know about me, James?” His voice is brittle, bitter as he speaks. 

He knows that Regulus sleeps curled on his side most nights. That he has a total of fifteen tattoos on his arms, eight on his left arm, seven on his right. He knows that Regulus doesn’t like coffee, he only drinks tea with four sugars and two creamers (unless the nurses station is out, but James has made it a point to try and keep it stocked). When Regulus laughs, one side of his lips curls up before the other, and in the brief moment before his full smile breaks, James thinks that it’s the prettiest thing in the world. Regulus enjoys movies, but only if they have a happy ending. He twirls things in his hands when he’s nervous or stressed, he has a cat who he adopted when he left home and his favorite color is orange. 

He knows that Regulus thinks James is the sun. 

But James doesn’t say any of this, of course. These were all simple things he noticed out of curiosity, damn him. 

“Would you have told me if I asked?” James bites out instead, his voice sounding chaffed and broken as the words escape his lips. 

Regulus doesn’t respond, swallowing hard. His cheeks are still tinged pink with anger. 

James shakes his head, “So how was I supposed to know? How am I supposed to know anything about you if you don’t tell me?” He takes both hands and runs them through his hair roughly, “God, you’re impossible.” 

He hadn’t quite meant for the words to slip out, but they did. Part of him regretted it, the other part of him was frustrated because how could Regulus expect him to know these things if he wouldn’t have told him even if James would have asked?

His mind is spinning, confusion and frustration in every breath. 

“That's exactly it. I am impossible. You don’t want to know me.” Regulus takes a step forward, so close now that their chests are almost touching. Regulus looks up at James, his voice pained as he continues, 

“This is me. I am the person that will make you mad and frustrated and confused and I probably always will. I am impossible that's why I’m fucking in here. I’m not the kind of person you or Sirius or anyone else would want.” Regulus looks like he’s about to cry, his eyes are glassy and his fists are tightly clenched at his sides. 

James reaches out to grab his hands but Regulus pulls away, stepping back, “I probably wouldn’t have told you. Even if you asked.” 

Gritting his teeth, James steps forward into Regulus’ space, “I bared my soul to you, I don’t expect you to give the same in return. I don’t care if you tell me everything or nothing at all but I need you to know that–”

“I never asked you to do that.” 

It’s funny how seven words can completely wreck a person. 

James knows that Regulus can see it, the break. The crack that Regulus created when he took an axe and swung, creating a chasm between the two of them with those seven, simple words. 

James also knows that Regulus regrets the words the moment they fall from those pretty, cruel lips. His eyes widen, his face drops. Regulus looks like he wants to take it back, like he wants to go back in time and stop himself from swinging that axe, from creating the abyss that now looms between them. 

The anger dissipates from Regulus’ face so quickly, regret and fear in its place. James doesn’t care. 

Stepping back, James looks away, letting out a shaky breath. 

I never asked you to do that. 

Suddenly, it all seems stupid. He had foolishly, blindly believed that Regulus would want something to do with him outside of this place. 

“You know what, Regulus.” James begins, his voice cold and detached, “I did want to know you.” 

“I–” Regulus begins, but James doesn’t let him finish. 

His heart is pounding in his chest, bile rising in his throat. 

“I was fucking wrong.” 

A chasm for a chasm. 

James had taken his own axe and cleaved a deep crack of his very own, right next to Regulus’. He can see when Regulus’ face relaxes, when the expression of pain melts into blank disinterest. His eyes, which had held so much emotion only minutes ago, are now hard and unyielding. 

James doesn’t wait, doesn’t look any longer. He shoves past Regulus, who is still staring blankly, his fists uncurled and loose at his sides. 

One of the many problems of the psych ward is the fact that there is no privacy. 

Stalking up and down the hall, James looks for somewhere, some place to break before everyone sees and then he would be stuck here for longer. With Regulus. 

He looks up to see a door with no initials on it and blessedly, it’s empty. 

When he enters the room, James immediately collapses onto the floor and begins to cry, heavy, aching sobs. 

I never asked you to do that. 

After several minutes, James wipes his tears and straightens his shirt. His throat is tight, like he hasn’t quite cried out everything he needed to. 

He knows he hasn’t. However, James worries that if he continues to cry, he won’t be able to stop for a long, long time. 

Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep breaths, anchoring himself in the moment. 

He would not cry any more tears for Regulus Black. 

James was getting out of St. Mungos. This could not derail him. In fact, it only made him want to leave more. 

What comes after?

Well, he had his answer now. 

James would smile, and fake it and get the hell out of here as fast as he could. 

Fuck his curiosity. 

It had only earned him this. 

Chapter Text

Two Months Ago

The lights are so bright in his eyes. Regulus can’t see the crowd, he can only hear them cheering as Invisible Scarlett finishes their last song of the night. 

Drumsticks held loosely in his hands, Regulus leans back and looks up at the ceiling, sweat dripping down his face. He was hot, exhausted and exhilarated. Barty is grinning at him, the mic gripped in his hand. Pandora and Evan are laughing, waving at the people who came to see them play. 

There were about two hundred people here tonight. It wasn’t their biggest show, but it was a fun one. This is only their second tour and god it’s been a rush. The first tour that they were the main act, not just opening for a larger band. 

Regulus doesn’t care if they are playing for two hundred people or ten, he just wants to play music. 

When the show is over and they are back in the small sitting room, Regulus holds a beer in his hands and listens to his friends talk. He is still so hot, his arms are sore. They had decided to play some of their more upbeat songs with quick tempos tonight. It all depended on the crowd and what they wanted to hear. 

“Are we hitting up the bar after this? I think there’s a club down the street.” Barty has a wild grin on his face, his own beer grasped tightly in his hands. 

Regulus rolls his eyes. As Invisible Scarlet's lead singer, Barty did get noticed, and Regulus didn’t blame anyone for it. Barty is… well he's hot. His black hair is messy in an intentional way, he's covered in tattoos and piercings. A long, straight nose, dark, assessing eyes, and a sly smirk permanently painted across his face. 

He was hot, in a dangerous sort of way. The worst part is that Barty knows it. 

“Or we could go back to the hotel and just hangout?” Evan tries, looking at Barty carefully.

Barty lets out a sharp laugh, “Come on, Ev, don’t tell me you don’t want to get laid tonight.” 

Evan clenches his teeth and looks to Regulus, who gives him a warning glare. Evans' feelings for Barty are obvious to anyone. Well, anyone who isn't Barty, that is. 

Pandora steps in, “We have an early morning tomorrow too, it’s a five hour drive to the next venue.” 

Barty waves a hand dismissively and takes a swig of his beer. 

Ultimately, they decide to go out. 

Evan will always cave to what Barty wants, even if it hurts him. Pandora and Regulus are usually just along for the ride. 

Regulus can also admit that he really does want to go out tonight. When the music has faded and the shows are over, Regulus is back to himself. Who he hates. 

In the silence, Regulus can feel himself slipping again. He knows he’s getting bad again, like he was a few years ago. It's harder to get out of bed in the mornings, he drinks more than usual, he’s more daring with drugs and strangers. 

Regulus should tell someone, he knows. But he can’t. 

The idea of killing himself had been flitting around in his brain for some time now. He hadn’t actually tried to kill himself before. The first time he had been committed to the mental hospital was the summer when he was sixteen. His mother had found his suicide notes and sent him to an inpatient facility. 

When Regulus’ guilt and pain had consumed him at seventeen, he had a mental breakdown and was again committed to the psych ward. He was a coward for not going with Sirius.

At twenty two, Regulus felt himself drowning in his depression and his friends took him, scared of what he would do to himself. 

There’s no reason to tell anyone this time. What was he supposed to do? Go through a fourth hospitalization? 

Absolutely not. 

It would be better, Regulus supposes, if he just wasn’t here. Who was he outside of the band? No one. He wasn’t a son, he wasn’t a brother, was barely a friend. 

His life had only caused people pain. 

These are the thoughts that churn through his mind like the alcohol warming his stomach as Regulus stands at the bar in the club Barty had chosen to go to. He's drunk now, more than just a little tipsy. 

Disappointment. Burden. 

Regulus finishes his beer and gestures for another from the pretty bartender. She hands him the bottle with a smirk and a wink. He barely returns the gesture. 

A man walks up to him and offers to buy him another drink. He has deep brown eyes and soft skin. Later, when Regulus is pressed up between him and the bathroom wall, he faintly thinks about another man with brown eyes. A man who once shone like the sun. 

Regulus feels sick. He pushes the other man away, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Regulus slurs, not looking at the stranger. 

The stranger only shrugs and ambles off, not bothered in the least. 

You’re nothing.

Regulus digs into his pocket and pulls out a bottle of pills. He takes several. The lights are flashing too much, the music is too loud. He needs air. 

Outside, it’s warm, sticky with the promise of a sweltering summer. 

What would Sirius think if he could see him now? 

He’s stumbling as he walks, fishing a cigarette out of the pocket of his black jeans. His rings clink together as he lights the smoke, looking up at the sky. The stars are spinning and the streetlamps flicker gently. 

He feels his phone buzzing. He ignores it. 

Regulus finds himself on a bridge. 

You’re no one.

The hot wind blows lightly, not doing much to cool Regulus’ body. He drops his cigarette off the side of the bridge, watching it disappear into the abyss. 

Would they find his body soon? Tomorrow? In a week? Or would he sink to the bottom, the weight of his failures anchoring him to the river floor?

A cold calm washes over Regulus as he realizes what he is about to do. There’s no room for regret, no more space in his mind left to debate or examine the reality of his current situation. 

Regulus steps over the railing, his body spinning with the drugs and alcohol. It won’t be so bad, he thinks. Everyone will be better off without him fucking everything up. 

He’s leaning over the side of the bridge now, his hands grasping behind him on the railing. The darkness looms below him, welcoming. 

When Regulus had thoughts of killing himself, he always imagined being anxious before taking that first step. He imagined his heart beating quickly, his mind racing, tears in his eyes. What he didn’t expect was the icy acceptance flowing through his body. The relief as he lets his hands slip from the cool metal. 

Regulus plummets down, into the river below. 

The water is cold, filling his lungs. He doesn’t struggle against it. Everything hurts, but it will be over soon. 

Death is a friend that greets him with a smile, warm and pleasant. 

___

Today

James didn’t return to their room that night. Regulus had laid in his bed and waited, throat tight, for him to return. 

I did want to know you

I was fucking wrong

Regulus isn’t mad at James, not even a little bit. How could he be? He had watched as he so thoroughly destroyed James with a few simple words. He had watched the anger and frustration leave James’ beautiful eyes. Had seen his expression morph into one of hatred and pain. 

Not unlike the expression on Sirius’ face when Regulus had pushed him away, had hurt him. 

This is what Regulus was best at; fucking everything up. He’d held the sun in his hands and then effectively snuffed it out, destroying any chance at redemption. 

Regulus tugs at his hair in frustration, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. James had given him every piece of himself. He had laid his scars bare in front of Regulus’ eyes, and had been a friend to him. He had wanted to know everything. 

And still, Regulus couldn’t tell him. 

Because of this. 

Regulus is in a prison of his own making, and he hates it. 

In the early hours of the morning, with anxiety pressing into him from all sides, Regulus pads out into the hallway. It’s still dark, the overnight nurses are still here. No one else is awake, from what Regulus can see. 

One of the technicians eyes flick to his and she scans his ankle bracelet, making a note on her tablet. After a few more laps around the unit, Regulus gives up. He isn’t sure what he was expecting to find, anyway. It wasn’t like James would be sitting in the hallway. 

It’s not until several hours later that James returns to their room. His hair is a mess, like he had been running his hands through it all night. He has dark circles under his eyes and his fists are clenched at his sides as he stalks into the room, not looking at Regulus. 

He had done this. 

James immediately crawls into the bed and covers himself up, turning away from Regulus. 

Regulus sits up, looking at his back. James is breathing heavily, and Regulus tries to speak, but the words are stuck in his throat. 

I’m sorry. 

It seems stupid. Childish. An inadequate phrase to remedy what Regulus had done. What he had said. 

I never asked you to do that. 

Regulus takes a breath, “James,” he starts, his voice sounding small in his own ears. 

“No.” James’ voice is cold, detached. He doesn’t look at Regulus, doesn’t turn around. 

The sun is streaming in through their window, casting beams of light on the floor. Dust particles swirl in the brightness, dancing in the heavy silence. 

Tension coats every corner of the room, thick and suffocating. 

“I–” Regulus tries again, but is sharply cut off. 

James’ voice cracks, pain laced with every word, “Don’t fucking talk to me anymore, Regulus. I’m done.” 

The words are final. A leaden door slamming shut. 

This had been a mistake, Regulus realizes. Barty’s words from days ago ring in his ears

You might want to rethink that. For your own sake. 

Regulus should have switched rooms the moment James Potter had shown up at St. Mungos. He should have switched rooms after their first argument, when Regulus was hurt by his sharp words, spoken in exhaustion and pain. He should have switched rooms when Regulus looked into James’ eyes and knew that he loved him. Differently than he did when he was sixteen, yearning for the idea of a boy he could never have, but love all the same. 

This love was scarier than a teenage crush, more dangerous and volatile. It was built on pain and scars, laced with healing words and broken with a single sentence. 

Regulus knows James doesn’t feel the same. Especially not now. 

He had to get out. 

His throat is constricting, breath coming out in short, quick bursts. He squeezes his eyes shut, begging his heart to stop beating the way it is now, like it might fly out of his chest. 

Fuck. 

He presses his hands over his ears as tears fall down his cheeks. The room is loud, his heart is too loud, his breathing is too fucking loud and James is right there. He tries to stifle his cry but cannot. 

James doesn’t turn around. 

Regulus wills his body to move. 

There’s no safe space anymore. 

It was once his room, here with James. But that’s gone now. 

A prison of his own making. 

Regulus nearly sprints out of the room and finds himself in front of his least favorite door. He can’t help it, there’s nowhere else to turn right now. 

Clare is sitting at her desk, jotting notes down in her notepad. She looks up with concern when she sees Regulus. 

He has to get out. 

“My brother is Sirius. I hurt him badly. I love him so much. I miss him and hate him and I don’t know what to do with it,” 

Regulus is sobbing, hugging himself tightly. 

Clare stands quickly, her face dropping as she takes in Regulus’ state. 

Regulus looks up at her, tears streaming down his face, feeling both heavier and lighter than he has in years, 

“I need to get the fuck out of here.” 

Chapter Text

Two Weeks Later

The sun shines brightly on James’ face as he looks up at the large house in front of him, his worn duffel bag slung across one arm, a light box cradled in his other. 

He hears the thud of a trunk shutting loudly and Sirius walks by him, holding a heavy box. He turns to James, sunglasses obstructing his eyes. Grey like…

“Welcome home,” Sirius grins, voice light. Remus is already inside, presumably bringing the last of James’ things up to his room. 

Home.

James takes a steadying breath, willing his nerves to calm as he walks across the lawn, grass turning brown as the end of summer approaches. The house is old and large, with faded black shutters and white wood siding, the paint chipping in some places. It had been the first major purchase that James and his friends had made once graduating college. 

The house had needed lots of work, but it was theirs. James thought that he would feel sadness at being back here. Or even fear. However, the only emotion stirring in his chest is the warm feeling of coming home. 

Maybe if he never would have left, this wouldn’t have happened. James would never have ended up trying to kill himself in his lonely, impersonal apartment. He never would have ended up at St. Mungos, scared and alone. He never would have reconnected with…

James shakes his head and walks up the creaking front steps and back into the place he would once again be able to call home. 

Remus is sitting on the floor in James’ old bedroom, carefully unpacking one of James’ boxes filled with shoes. 

Old, beat up Converse, a pair of worn black Vans. Shoes that he hadn’t worn in a long time. 

Before “The Incident” as James has taken to calling it, he was forced to wear dress shoes, every day. Stifling, hurting his feet. Other than that, James didn’t really go out enough to wear anything else. 

The thought of his job makes his stomach hurt, and he places his duffel bag on his bed, made up neatly like it had been when he had moved out to be on his own. 

Sirius had hugged him tightly back then, tears in his eyes as James pushed himself away from his friends to move across the city, claiming he needed to grow up, “You’ll always have a home here.” he’d whispered to James. 

“Hey, Remus,” James sighs and sits on the bed, looking around his room. 

Remus looks up from his task, sandy curls falling into his eyes, “I figured you’d want some of your old clothes and things out,” 

James nods at his friend, a swell of emotion building in his chest, “Yeah, I do. Thanks.” 

He could say more. He could be the James Potter he used to be, before the pain and depression had swallowed him whole. Before St. Mungos had changed who he fundamentally was as a person. 

But at the same time, he can’t. James knows that maybe one day it will come back to him, the light he used to have. And he was making steps– albeit small ones. But steps all the same. 

You’re still the sun.

Remus seems to understand that words are harder for James now and he stands up, brushing his hands on his pants. He was tall, even taller than James, and as Remus looked down at where James is sitting on his bed, concern shines in his gaze, 

“Do you want to be alone?” 

Such an odd feeling, to be alone. He hadn’t been alone– not truly– since the night he tried to end his life. The thought scares him, yet fills him with a sort of thrill that he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

James nods and looks down, “For a little bit, yeah.” 

Remus smiles softly, “Okay, take your time. We’re ordering food soon so just let me know what you want.” 

He softly thanks his friend, though he doesn’t feel hungry at all, and Remus takes his leave. James falls back onto his bed, watching the blades of his fan spin lazily. 

Everything is different now. 

The world around him feels cluttered and large. Even after two weeks of being out of the psych ward, there are still things that James finds himself clinging to and looking for. Things he doesn’t have anymore. 

He will find himself touching his ankle, feeling for the strap of the monitor that’s no longer there. Waiting patiently for someone to let him go to the bathroom or shower before realizing he doesn’t need permission anymore, doesn’t need to be let in. Eating on his own schedule again is strange, waking up and not hearing the beeping of machines or the chatter of nurses is odd. There’s so many things around him, when he had gotten used to sterile emptiness. 

It was stupid, James thinks. He hadn’t spent that long in St. Mungos. It shouldn’t have altered him so completely, shouldn’t have rewired his brain. But it had. 

The small changes of being back in society aren’t unwelcome. He’s missed so many things about just being a person. 

But it’s still strange. 

He wonders absently if Regulus is still there, or if he had been released too. Regulus would understand what this was like, in a way that no one else could. 

James could send a message to Dorcas or Marlene or Barty. But he isn’t ready. 

So, James lays on his bed and watches the fan spin above him. 

Slowly, he falls asleep. 

__

When James wakes up hours later, it's dark in his room. His head is pounding and he’s thirsty– the precious post-nap feeling. There’s soft laughter coming from downstairs, and James realizes he’s also very hungry. 

He changes out of his jeans and into a pair of light joggers, but keeps his hoodie on. His friends still haven’t seen. 

The cuts look better now, the skin had fused completely back together and he was left with two angry red scars on both his arms. It wasn’t as hard to look at either. It still hurts, still sends waves of anxiety coursing through him. But then, he remembers Regulus’ pale fingers trailing down his tender skin, a look of reverence in his eyes. 

I never asked you to do that.

Those words had sliced him open again, yes, but James hasn’t forgotten the look in Regulus’ eyes as James was falling apart before him. 

It was a look that James is scared to put a name to, a look that flashes through his mind as he falls asleep at night. 

Downstairs, Sirius and Remus are on the couch, a movie playing in the background as the two sit close. Sirius is laughing at something Remus has said, head titled back, hair falling down his back. Remus watches him with an expression that no one could mistake for anything but longing. 

Peter walks in from the kitchen, and his eyes light up as he sees James, 

“Hiya James!” he crushes James into a tight hug, and James cracks a smile, grasping onto his friend tightly. 

Peter had moved out of the house too, shortly before James did. But while James’ moving was built out of pain and depression after the loss of his father, Peter had moved across the city to live with his girlfriend. He looked happy, James noted. He hadn’t seen Peter as much since he got out, but was glad that he was here tonight, 

“Where’s Emmaline?” James asks as they separate, Peter stepping back and giving him a grin, 

“She has class, she’ll come by sometime next week though,” 

James nods, “Good,” he looks over to the couch where Sirius and Remus are still engulfed in their conversation, unaware of the other two men standing at the foot of the stairs. 

“So,” he angles a head toward his friends and raises a brow at Peter. 

The other man rolls his eyes, rubbing his forehead with his hand, “Oh, god. You have no idea how happy I am you’re back. Those two have been insufferable.” 

James snorts and looks to where Sirius is now staring up at Remus as he explains something, wonder in his eyes. 

Sirius and Remus are so deeply in love, everyone can see it. Just not the two of them. 

Peter and James have tried to drop subtle hints to them, but it never seemed to work. They had been doing this dance since college. Now, they are twenty five and still pretending like they aren’t domestic as hell. 

The two eventually join their friends, sitting on the couch and digging into their food. Remus had ordered James Pad Thai– one of his favorites, and he’s forever grateful for the man as he eats silently.

Though much had changed, the friendship between the four men had remained a steady constant in their lives. 

James quietly watches as Peter and Sirius bicker over what movie to watch. Peter wants to watch an action movie while Sirius wants to turn on a horror film. Remus watches Sirius with a heavy lidded gaze, one arm slung across the couch, fingers lightly tangling in Sirius’ hair. Peter laughs at something Remus says and throws the remote to him, the other man catching it easily. 

If this was it, if this was to be his life now, back with his family, then maybe things would be okay. 

It happens slowly, and so softly that James almost misses it. The hole in his chest, empty and aching for so long, starts to fill. 

Just a little bit. 

But it’s enough. 

___

As the days turn to weeks, James feels himself beginning to heal. 

He wakes up one morning and his first thought is the fact that he needs to go to the store. The second thought that goes through his mind with aching clarity is that his first thought was not of wanting to kill himself. 

James throws an arm over his face as tears begin to leak out of his eyes, hot and salty. 

It was hard a lot of days. To get out of bed, to face himself and who he is now. To look at his arms and see the scars marring his skin, still tender to the touch. 

Today didn’t seem to be one of those days. 

He finds himself rolling out of bed with purpose, throwing on jeans and a sweatshirt, lacing up his converse. The good news is that fall is approaching, so a sweatshirt is acceptable, appropriate even. 

James still hasn’t shown anyone his scars. That part is still too hard, too raw. 

When he gets downstairs, he sees that everyone is gone. It’s the middle of the week so of course his friends are at work. Sirius has a case he’s been working on for weeks now, and Remus has a big test today. 

Being unemployed is one of the things that sometimes makes things hard. He has savings, of course, but they are dwindling– and quickly. James hasn’t heard from anyone at his old office, not since he was checked into St. Mungos. He had deleted his work email from his phone and his work bag, filled with notes and his laptop, is collecting dust in his room. 

James is going to have to face this reality sooner than later– he has no idea what he is going to do with his life. 

He has a marketing degree, but if he has to go back into another stuffy office and sit in on meetings and manage other people, he really will kill himself. 

There’s only one thing that James can see himself doing, and it’s absolutely stupid. 

James has always loved art. Drawing was one of the few things he was good at in school, and he never quite let it go. So, at eighteen with a brand new ACL, when James bought his first tattoo gun, he had fallen in love.

It hadn’t started as a passion– only a hobby. He had worked with so many mediums– paint, charcoal, pencil, watercolors. So of course, it was only natural that he would want to try something new, something different. 

Something to distract him from the fact that he could no longer play soccer, he told himself. 

The day that Sirius found the tattoo gun hidden in a drawer in James’ room, his eyes had lit up.

“Will you give me a tattoo?” Sirius had asked, his voice full of wonder and excitement. 

James’ face had heated, embarrassment flooding through him, but Sirius had insisted. Sirius had been the first person James had tattooed. His friend hadn’t cared that his lines weren’t completely straight, or that he had pressed too hard in some places. He had to practice somehow, and Sirius was more than happy to oblige. Next came Remus, who had a few of his own now thanks to James, and finally Peter. 

As James’ talent increased, so did his love for the art of tattooing. He began tattooing himself, small patchwork tattoos littered his thighs and knees, a few on his biceps, one on his ribs (that one had hurt). He didn’t consider himself “good”, but he did enjoy it. 

But, tattooing couldn’t be a career. At least, that was what he told himself. 

Today, however, James sits at his desk, one leg propped on the table, his tattoo gun in hand. It had been over a year since he had last picked it up, yet its weight in his hand felt familiar and comfortable. 

He dips the tip of the gun in the small tin of ink and leans down toward his left thigh and begins tattooing himself. The bird he tattoos is a little crude, nothing like some of his other pieces on his legs, and the shaky lines stand out against his skin. 

But, he doesn’t regret it, not when he cleans it carefully, inspects his linework and realizes that maybe it's not so bad. Not his best work, no. But it’s his, and his alone. A small feeling of accomplishment makes way for a grin to spread across his lips as he lightly traces the piece with his fingers. 

His mind turns to Regulus, as it often does these days. 

The thoughts bring forth a barrage of emotions, some happy– like playing chess with Regulus or watching him drink his tea, frowning when he realizes that James didn’t add enough sugar. But some of them make his chest hurt, the memory of their last fight being one in particular. 

James hadn’t seen Regulus since that last day, the morning after their argument. He had heard Regulus having a panic attack in the bed next to his, and he had ignored it. James wonders what might have happened if he would have turned around, given him a chance. 

Hate, sadness, and something else –something deeper– fills James’ heart when he thinks of the other man. 

He thinks of where his curiosity had gotten him, and stamps those feelings out, focusing only on his healing. It was likely he would never see Regulus again. 

James deleted all of Invisible Scarlets songs off his phone. He only had a few, but they had been some of his favorites. Little did he know at the time that the pounding drum beats were courtesy of one Regulus Black. 

The day has gone quickly, and James finds himself settling in on the couch after a shower, his hair dripping water onto sweatshirt. Sirius and Remus are on the other side of the sofa, arguing (as they do most days) about what movie to watch. 

It’s late, much too late for dinner, but Sirius and Remus have already ordered food for them. James is surprised that there are any pizza places nearby that are still open at this hour, but if anyone could find a way– it was Sirius.

When there’s a sharp knock at the door, James looks to his friends, who are still arguing. It's not angry or condescending like their spats sometimes are, as James has found. They are laughing, giggling at each other really, and don’t seem to have heard the knocking. 

James rolls his eyes, “Sure, guys, I’ll get it,” 

The other two don’t even look his way. 

The pizza is early, surprising, since it’s pouring outside.

When James opens the door, his heart drops into his stomach, all thoughts eddying from his mind. 

Regulus stands on the porch, soaking wet from the rain. His dark curls are plastered to his face, and he looks up at James with shock. There’s a very wet, very angry black cat in one arm, and a small duffel bag in the other. 

“James?” 

Regulus’ voice is small and cracked, and James can do nothing but stare. 

Chapter Text

Three Weeks Ago

Regulus’ apartment is dark when he enters it, a quiet meow and light footsteps hurry toward the door as he clicks on the light.

Dropping his things and falling to his knees, Regulus cradles Midnight in his arms and buries his face in her fur. She purrs into his neck, rubbing her soft face into his skin. 

“Oh hi, baby, I’ve missed you,” Regulus whispers to his cat and pets her softly. She was warm, and Regulus regrets ever leaving her in the first place. 

He had found Midnight when she was a tiny kitten, barely a month old. She had been outside a bar in the city, lost and crying. Regulus had felt a little lost too, and so he took her home. That had been three years ago, and now, she was one of the most important things in his life. 

His small studio apartment looks the same as it always has, a plush bed in the corner, large bay windows looking over the city, books stacked in various nooks and crannies, worn oak paneling across the walls. He sets Midnight gently on the ground and wanders to the window, lighting a cigarette as he looks out to the city below. 

Regulus is lucky to be here, he knows. Lucky to be alive, lucky to be out of St. Mungos. 

It had been hard, those final days in the psych ward. Especially without James, but Regulus tries not to think about this fact. 

This time had been different, and not simply because he had actually tried to kill himself. He had opened up, for once, about Sirius. About his trauma. 

It had felt unimaginable at first, an insurmountable abyss, but he had done it. 

Regulus thumbs at the note folded in his pocket, a reminder that he feels himself slightly lamenting, though he had promised Clare. 

Pulling it out, Regulus presses his cigarette between his teeth and uses both hands to carefully unfold the paper. 

In his own, scrawled writing, he reads it again, 

You will call Sirius.

He regrets the promise already, gritting his teeth as he stares at the note. When he finishes his smoke, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. 

A month ago, Regulus would have scoffed at the idea. 

But now…

Do you want to live?

Regulus never deleted his brother's phone number, and even if he had, he knows it by heart. He could give himself a day to settle, to get ahold of his thoughts and feelings and his whirlwind of emotions. 

But, if he does that, he might just go back on his own promise. 

With shaking hands, he holds the phone up to his ear and listens to it ring. 

The lights of the city are bright, twinkling in the darkness of the evening. The light pollution obstructs the stars from view, but he finds where Sirius would be in the sky if he could see him. He grits his teeth and swallows tightly as the line rings and rings.  

Regulus is about to give up, about to turn his phone off and throw it against a wall when he hears a voice on the other end. 

“Hello?” Sirius’ voice is hesitant, careful, as though he isn’t quite sure if this is real, or who might be on the other end. 

Regulus swallows, his heart beating quickly, “Hey, Sirius.” 

A sharp exhale on the other end of the line, followed by a quiet, choking sob, “Reggie,” 

“I… Sirius, I–” Regulus feels his throat tighten up as he tries to speak, tries to say something. But, luckily, his brother knows that Regulus has never been good with words. 

Sirius sighs, “It’s okay, Reg.” 

Regulus isn’t sure he believes that. He also doesn’t know what Sirius means by these words. 

Is it okay that he can’t speak? Okay that they haven’t spoken in years until now? Okay that Regulus hurt him so deeply? Okay that Sirius left him?  

There are so many possibilities running through Regulus’ mind, and none of them are okay. Not to Regulus, and surely not to Sirius. 

But Regulus responds, and when he does, he can hear how small his voice sounds, “Okay.” 

The conversation isn’t long. It’s hard, and a bit awkward. Regulus supposes Sirius must be confused, getting a call from his brother whom he hasn’t spoken to in years. Sirius eventually gives Regulus his address, telling him to come see him whenever he wants. Regulus thanks him, and informs his brother that it might take some time first. 

They promise to stay in touch. 

The call ends and Regulus sobs. 

It’s a bittersweet kind of pain, Regulus thinks as he holds Midnight in his bed and thinks of Sirius. 

They would never be able to get those years back, even if they had so many ahead of them now. But, maybe something new was brewing. Maybe for once, he could try. 

The next days move slowly for Regulus, as he finds his footing back in the real world. Things are different in a way they weren’t before. He wakes up, sometimes expecting to see James in the bed across from his, snoring lightly, glasses askew on his face. It aches deeply, thinking about him. 

He and James hadn’t seen each other following their argument. Not since Regulus had run to Clare, begging her to get him out. He hadn’t told her everything, but he had told her enough. 

Regulus was transferred to a different unit the same day, and he didn’t see James again. 

Opening up to Clare had been difficult, more difficult than anything he had ever done. Once he did though, once that initial bridge had been crossed (no pun intended), Regulus found himself talking about things he never thought he would speak aloud. 

He wasn’t healed, not by a long shot. But, he was trying. He was trying more than he had in a very, very long time. 

___

“You think I’m fucking crazy, don’t you?”

After a few weeks of settling back into life and figuring out how to be a person again, Regulus realizes it's time to, for all intents and purposes, get the band back together. Literally. 

He should have known before he arrived at Pandora and Evans that this was a terrible idea. There has been this gnawing feeling in his chest for days now that something wasn’t right with the band. They all avoided talking too much about Invisible Scarlett, and it was only brought up if Regulus mentioned it first. 

Regulus did his best to ignore the fear that had settled comfortably between his ribs, a searing, angry thing. 

They don’t want you. 

But he couldn’t shake it from his mind, his chest. The fear only kept growing. 

A sick satisfaction is swirling in his gut now. Knowing he was right all along. 

Barty sighs. 

They are in Pandora and Evans' living room. Band posters are framed on the walls, a guitar lies haphazardly across the couch. It's twilight, so a beam of orange sun flickers through the windows, painting the dark wood in shades of gold. 

“We don’t think you're crazy, Reg.” 

Regulus laughs, a brittle, sharp thing. It’s glass scraping down his throat as he looks up at the people he believed for so long were his friends. His family. 

“Oh yeah? Why do this then?” 

Pandora steps in, her hand outstretched cautiously, as though Regulus is a wild animal needing to be tamed. Maybe he is. There's teeth and claws and thorns that he can’t get rid of.

They don’t want you. 

“We need a break –you– need a break. This isn’t a forever thing, Regulus. It’s just… a break.” 

Regulus scoffs and stands from where he had been sitting on the armchair. His friends are all gathered on the couch across the coffee table. Like this is some sort of intervention. 

“I don’t need a fucking break!” He throws his hands up, “I’m out of the psych ward, I’m good.”

Can’t they see? This is all he has. This is everything. 

They give him a sad look, bordering on pity. Evan brings a hand to the back of his neck, pointedly not looking at Regulus, “You’re not… good. Reg. You can’t keep using the band as a crutch.” 

Regulus takes a staggering breath, his heart clenching. 

A crutch. 

He struggles for words, “I’m not… I’m…” 

Taking a breath and closing his eyes, Regulus wills himself to get it together. Control. They have to see he’s okay now. 

“Invisible Scarlett is everything to me.” He meets his friends' eyes– his bandmates. 

“I know,” Barty whispers. “Thats sort of the problem.” 

What? 

Barty can’t be serious right now. He looks at his friend closely, not seeing any cracks or fissures in his composure. 

Evan, sensing his confusion, steps in, “Listen, we all love the band okay? Every single one of us.” Barty and Pandora nod earnestly, as though that's supposed to make him feel better. Like the world isn’t cracking open and swallowing him whole. 

“But, it's different for you. And that's okay, Reg. We know that it means everything to you. Hell, you’re one of the best drummers I’ve seen, and I’m not fucking around here.” 

Regulus doesn’t respond. He continues staring at his friends. 

“When things get bad, you focus more on the band. Too much. To an almost… obsessive point,” Evan finishes gently.

Obsessive 

Too much

A crutch 

Regulus can’t even deny it, not when it's staring him in the face. He knows he’s a bit of a control freak about the band. He knows that his friends don’t want to practice every single day for hours on end and listen to him bitch about the tempo or beat over and over again. He knows that they probably don’t think about lyrics every single moment of the day. He knows they don’t feel the same way he does about music. 

He knows it's not the same. Because they love the band, but Regulus can’t let the noose tighten any further so he works to be better and better and better and better and better and–

Because this is the only thing he has. 

Had. 

He’s too much.

Obsessive. 

“Please don’t take this from me.” His voice cracks. It's pathetic. 

Pandora has tears in her eyes, and Regulus thinks that Evan is wiping a hand across his face but he can’t focus on that because Pandora is crying and it's over and he knows it. 

They probably had planned this for weeks. Maybe even before the hospital. 

“You have to get help, Regulus. It doesn’t just end after the hospital, you know that.” 

Crazy Regulus. Obsessive Regulus. Regulus who cares too much about the wrong things and not enough about the right things. He thought this was one of the right things though. Didn’t he? 

Regulus doesn’t remember exactly when the band became more than just his passion. When it became his life. Has it always been this bad? 

He wills his face into an icy mask, one that his mother trained into him very well. He knows Sirius has a similar one. Does he ever have to use it? 

“I don’t need help.” His voice is stony, cold as he gives Pandora a cruel look. A look he’s never given her before. 

His friends feel his rage, he can tell by the way they stiffen. Tense up. 

Crazy, obsessive Regulus. 

“Reg,” Barty starts but Regulus stops him, eyes flicking to him and narrowing, 

“If anyone here is obsessive, it’s you Barty,” his voice is a blade. “You think following your friend to the psych ward makes you a hero? Makes you sane?” Barty flinches. 

Evan stands quickly, a frown tugging his brows together, “Knock it off, Reg,” he says seriously, voice low. 

Regulus knows he’s digging himself into a hole he won’t be able to crawl out of. He knows that what he’s doing is a mistake. But he can’t stop himself. It’s who he is, all Regulus knows how to do is fuck up. 

“Oh, you wanna stand up for your boyfriend now?” Regulus regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. It’s too far. He watches as Barty's face scrunches up, confused. The way that Evan stiffens, going completely still. 

He’s never seen Evan angry before, not like this. He’s usually the calm one, the one who keeps Barty from getting into fights at the bar, and keeps Regulus from joining in. 

The look on his face now is one that Regulus knows he’ll never forget. 

Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. Pain.

And then. 

Regulus rocks back as he’s punched straight in the face. He really hadn’t even seen Evans fist coming. For a man who can’t have more than a few inches and maybe ten pounds on Regulus, he can punch. 

Falling back onto the couch, Regulus sees stars for a moment before standing back up and letting his fist fly at Evan, knocking the other man back himself. He hits him again. And again.

He thinks Pandora screams. 

Barty curses and grabs Regulus, holding him back. 

He’s never hit one of his friends before. Never wanted to. Never would have. Shame builds in his chest and he’s left feeling hollow and breathless. Evan is on the floor, looking up at Regulus with pain, bruises beginning to bloom on his cheek. Regulus knows there's a similar one forming on his own face. He also thinks his nose might be broken, he can feel blood dripping onto the carpet at his feet. 

Pandora is holding onto her brother, looking up at Regulus with–

Oh. 

That's fear.

A memory of a different, but similar night comes to him. Shoving Sirius. Him hitting the wall. Blood. 

Sirius didn’t want him after that either. 

That's exactly it. I am impossible. You don’t want to know me.

They see you now. A voice, much like his mothers in his head, And they are scared. 

He shrugs out of Barty’s grip and grabs his jacket from where it had been laying on the side of the couch. No one else moves. 

Regulus turns to see Barty, who’s staring at him like he’s never seen him before. 

Evan is still on the ground, Pandora at his side. 

Sometimes, friendships end naturally. They fade out into nothing, or they crack and splinter until there are too many fractures to even think about sifting through and fixing. Not this one though. This ending is abrupt, harsh. It slams into the four of them so quickly that none of them saw it coming. Regulus can tell his former bandmates are thinking the same thing. The end is sudden and final, tearing away at years of love and laughter. 

Regulus supposes he was always meant for something like this. He knew it was too good to be true, even all those years ago when he had first met Pandora and Evan. When he and Barty became four, and then a band. A family. 

Jealousy was something that didn’t come to Regulus as much now, not after meeting his band. He had always envied Sirius, until he got to hold it in his hands himself. A fragile, perfect piece of family. 

Shattered in moments. 

Crazy, obsessive Regulus. 

Regulus breaks first, as always. He turns away, leaving Pandora, Evan and Barty with the mess. As he always has. 

They don’t follow.

___

One Week Later

Regulus has been on a bender enough times now to know that he’s soon to hit a breaking point. However, this time, Barty won’t be there to pick up the pieces. Evan won’t sit by his bed and try to make him smile. Pandora won’t cook for him when he can’t be bothered to eat anything. 

Yeah, this time is much worse. 

He’d had some precious, few moments after getting out of the hospital when he felt like he was going to be okay. Like maybe things would get better. But then, of course his friends had to pull this shit on him. 

They’re right though

Regulus ignores the voice in his head, the annoying one that sounds frighteningly like Sirius, and opts for another beer. 

The bar is large, and crowded tonight. It must be a weekend. 

Regulus wouldn’t know, he has no reason to know the day. Or the time. 

There’s only

This. 

“We could go back to yours?” The man in front of Regulus is tall. Broad shouldered. Dark hair. Warm brown eyes. But the wrong color. 

His smile is crooked, and he has a small slit in his eyebrow. Regulus is trying to figure out if it’s intentional or a scar. He’s leaning toward intentional. Swirling his drink, Regulus shrugs nonchalantly. As if he hasn’t been doing this every night. As if he’s not choking on his own breath. As if his self hatred wasn’t boiling in his gut, threatening to spill over at any second.

Do you want to live?

He doesn’t know. Has never known, really. 

“Sure,” Regulus replies blandly. 

He’s good at this. Pretending. 

The man smiles, and it’s cute, shy even. He has one dimple, on the side where his smile curls up the most. It's wrong. 

When he fucks Regulus, he’s careful. Gentle. Regulus doesn’t want gentle. He wants scraping teeth and bruised skin. He wants to feel it. 

He doesn’t feel it with this man. He never does, with any of them. He comes anyway. 

The man– stranger, really– falls asleep quickly, and Regulus groans when he tries to wake him up and realizes it’s a lost cause. It's not as though he wasn’t expecting this of course, but it still frustrates him. Regulus wants to wake up alone. In his bed, with his own space. Without the warm, suffocating body next to him. 

Sleeping has always been an issue for Regulus, and tonight is no different. He lays in his bed, stiff as a board. Tries not to think, to breathe. Wishing he could disappear. 

And it could be a lot of things. Maybe it’s the stranger whose body is too hot, too close to him, making his skin itch. Maybe it’s the alcohol, thick and heavy in his stomach. Maybe it's Midnight, who stares at him from her perch on the counter, looking at him with large, sad eyes. Or maybe, Regulus really is breaking. Because suddenly, there are hot, salty tears running down his cheeks. And he can’t cry, not really, so he silently lets them fall. 

They stick to his skin and trail down his neck, in between the cracks of skin where the stranger's body is against him, his large arm thrown heavily around Regulus’ middle. He can feel it, seeping between their press of skin and its–

It's. 

Too. 

Much.

“Get out,” Regulus says loudly. Not loudly enough. The man doesn’t even stir. 

“Get out.” He begs, louder this time. The man rustles, hugging Regulus closer. 

Regulus is panicking now, trapped between this man and the bed. His breath comes out in short, heavy bursts. 

The stranger finally does startle at this, waking up slowly. Not quickly enough. 

“Hey, whats–” 

“I need you to leave,” Regulus’ voice comes out in a cracked whisper. It's a broken, anguished sound.

The man frowns, but sits up. He’s confused. “What?” 

Regulus scrambles out of bed quickly, immediately relishing the cool air hitting the spots where he felt the most touched. The most seen. 

“Get out, please.” Regulus adds this please as a courtesy. He knows this is unreasonable. It's late. Maybe. He still doesn’t know what time it is. The man is drunk. Regulus is drunk. 

He needs him out. 

The man is nice about it. Thankfully. 

When he’s gone, Regulus gets in the shower. He scrubs at his skin until it's raw and red, steam coming off him in waves. 

Regulus looks in the mirror and grimaces. The bruises he got after the fight with Evan had healed almost completely, but there are still yellowish marks painted under his eyes. Hickies are scattered on his neck, still healing from two nights before. Fuck. He’s a mess. He looks hollow, pale and gaunt. A shell. 

Nothing ever changes, does it?

Regulus dresses quickly, throwing on a heavy sweatshirt to conceal some of the marks, and grabs a bag. 

I was fucking wrong

Are you ready to talk about your brother?

It doesn’t just end after the hospital, you know that.

When things get bad, you focus more on the band. Too much. To an almost… obsessive point

You don’t deserve the way I’ve treated you. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, only that he has to get out of this apartment as fast as possible. Midnight is angry, presumably, and meows loudly as Regulus speeds down the highway. 

Regulus shouldn’t be driving. He knows this. Knows it. Not this drunk. Not this panicked. 

He’s lucky when he arrives at the house unscathed. Lucky he found the house, given his state. 

It's raining, and cold wet drops fall onto his face as he stands outside the door, rain soaking into his clothes. 

Nowhere else to go. 

Without overthinking it any more than he already has, Regulus brings a fist up to the door and sharply knocks. He can hear voices from inside, laughing, talking.

Fuck. Of course Sirius has friends over because he’s Sirius and why wouldn’t he? This was a mistake. He never should have come here. Never should have–

The door swings open and

Oh. 

Regulus’ heart leaps into his throat, as he stares up at James with shock. 

“James?” His voice sounds pathetic, weak in his own ears. The smile that James had been wearing when he opened the door has fallen, replaced with surprise. The surprise quickly turns to resentment, anger. His brows draw together, lips pursing. 

Regulus notices that his hair is wet, and he’s wearing plaid pajama bottoms. Almost like…

“Reggie?” Sirius gasps, having just turned the corner. Regulus feels many things at once then. Relief, love, grief, and an overwhelming sense of fear. Sirius looks as he always has, his hair still tumbling in loose waves over his shoulder, eyes sharp and assessing. He still holds himself the same too, the way that the brothers were trained to. Like they were better than everyone else. 

Sirius was always better at it than Regulus, but then again, his brother always was superior than everyone else.

Before Regulus knows it, he’s wrapped into a tight hug. Midnight yowls sharply and sprints through the open doorway. 

Regulus finds himself hugging back, burying his face into his brother's shoulder like he always used to when he was younger. 

Years have passed, yet no time at all. 

When Regulus opens his eyes, James has disappeared, giving them space. Regulus tries to push the sick feeling in his stomach away. 

Sirius pulls back and grabs Regulus’ face between his hands, looking at him seriously, “Are you okay? In trouble? What…” 

What are you doing here?

The question in Sirius’ eyes doesn’t need to be spoken aloud. 

“I…” Regulus can’t speak. Can’t get the words out. 

I have nowhere else to go, and you’re home to me, even after all this time. Even after everything I’ve done to you. Please forgive me.

Please. 

Please. 

There’s glass in his throat, and words won’t come. He chokes on their sharp edges, trying to force himself to work around it. To speak. 

There’s blood in his throat and blood on his hands and there’s nowhere to go but here.

Sirius seems to understand. 

He nods, as though Regulus had said something that made sense. 

As though Regulus isn’t standing here, reeking of alcohol, bruises under his eyes, tears streaming down his face with a bag slung over his shoulder. As though Regulus didn’t just show up at his house. 

“You can stay here, Reg.” His brother's voice is so careful, like any misstep could shatter this moment. Could scare Regulus away. 

Regulus looks down and nods quickly, more tears blurring his vision. 

Disappointment

Burden 

Obsessive

I was fucking wrong

“Okay,” he whispers. 

He’s drowning. Slowly. 

Sirius is leading him upstairs, and Regulus tries to pay attention to what he’s saying, he really does. But he’s cracking, grief and despair banging in his chest, a raging storm in the sea. 

After all this time, Sirius didn’t blink. Didn’t falter or hesitate. He should have. Regulus wants to shake his brother and scream at him until he gets it. Until Sirius understands. 

Why are you doing this? I don’t deserve any of it. 

“ – And James’ room is across from yours, you remember James, right?” 

Regulus stops in his tracks and looks up at Sirius, who is looking at him with a confused expression on his face. 

“James?” Regulus repeats. Because... 

His hair. His pajamas. 

Sirius sighs, “Yeah, well, it’s not my story to tell, but he was going through something similar to you pretty recently. Right around the same time too. Anyway, we decided it was best for him to move in with Remus and I. He actually used to…” 

Regulus doesn’t hear the rest of what Sirius says because there’s a strange buzzing in his ears and his already constricted chest is getting tighter. 

And tighter. 

And

“Hey, Reg, you okay?” Sirius puts a hand on his shoulder and grimaces, “Well, obviously you’re not okay or you wouldn’t…” he sighs. “I’m not good at this.” 

Regulus lets out a broken laugh, despite feeling like he’s gasping for air. 

“You’re doing fine, Sirius.” 

The most he’s said since he got here. 

There’s a strange look that takes over his brother's face, but it's gone before Regulus can put a name to it. 

“Do you want pizza?” Sirius says suddenly, after a tense silence has passed. 

Regulus shakes his head, “No, I…” he swallows. “I think I need to sleep.” 

It doesn’t just end after the hospital, you know that

If Sirius is disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He just gives Regulus a tight smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a sadness there, one that Regulus thinks– knows– is because of him. 

“Okay, yeah. Well. If you need anything…” Sirius trails off. 

Regulus is silent. 

Sirius turns away, beginning to head back down the stairs. 

“Thank you,” Regulus’ voice is quiet, soft. For a moment, Regulus isn’t sure Sirius heard him. Or if he had, he had ignored him. But Sirius stops, back to him. 

He turns around and his face is open, unguarded. 

“Yeah, Reg. Always.” 

Always

He sits with that for a moment, long after Sirius has gone downstairs, the sound of hushed whispers floating up to where he stands in the dark hallway. 

Regulus goes into the room and shuts the door. 

And then

He

Breaks.

Chapter Text

“Its been three days, Sirius, he hasn’t even left the room,” Remus is staring at Sirius with a frown, his voice low. 

Sirius’ shoulders are tense. He is very sensitive about Regulus, James has realized. More sensitive than he used to be. 

Which makes it very hard for James to openly hate Regulus, which he very much does. It's not only the fact that Sirius won’t stand for an unkind word about his brother right now, it's also the fact that James can’t talk about the guy he hates to his best friend. Because, well, that guy just so happens to be his brother. Who is living with them. 

Who James may or may not have chosen not to tell Sirius about when he spoke of the mental hospital. 

“He needs time,” Sirius says tightly, gripping his coffee mug in his hands. 

Remus huffs, looking down at the crossword puzzle in front of him, “He needs to eat. To shower.” 

Sirius’ frown deepens, “You don’t even know him, you can’t tell me what he needs and what he doesn’t need.” Sirius turns to James, who was simply trying to enjoy his breakfast, “Right, James?” 

“Oh… um, well… I’m not really…” James trails off and Sirius’ eyes narrow. 

Sirius has been doing that lately, too. Trying to get James to back him on all things Regulus related. Maybe before, James could have done it. Or he could have argued back with Sirius. He could have had an opinion. 

But he can’t. He can’t think about Regulus across the room from him, not eating, not speaking to anyone. He hasn’t even seen him since that first night, not since he showed up at the door, looking scared and so, so sad. Like he had given up. 

Nothing like the last time James had seen him in St. Mungos. Full of rage and pain and a fire that burned. James would know, he has the scars to prove it. 

I never asked you to do that. 

What had even happened since then? 

James forces himself not to care. Missing him was different when it was clear they would be strangers again, clear that they weren’t a part of each other's lives anymore. And not across the fucking hall. It was like the first few days in St. Mungos, but worse. Because now James hates him. 

I never asked you to do that. 

Does Regulus know that those words play on a loop in his head? Does he know that he destroyed James? That James has cried about it in therapy? 

James realizes both Remus and Sirius are still staring at him, waiting for an answer he can’t give. 

He forces a smile, “Listen guys, I don’t know Regulus anymore,” Regulus had made sure of that. “I can’t really give an input.” 

Sirius takes this as answer enough, and turns back to Remus, “See? James isn’t putting his nose in business that he can’t speak on. Unlike someone…” 

James tunes the rest of their conversation out. He thinks eventually Remus relents, but if James did have an opinion, (which he doesn’t, by the way) he would agree with him wholeheartedly. 

Sirius is scared of Regulus, that much is clear. He’s scared to touch, to look, to break whatever fragile thing had brought his brother to his door. But he can’t tell Sirius that. Because…

I never asked you to do that. 

No, James can’t have an opinion on Regulus at all

___

The first time James sees Regulus is the following day. It’s around noon, and James is eating lunch at their small kitchen table.

He’s been on his laptop all day, searching up the dreaded three letter word that has been occupying his mind along with thoughts of Regulus. 

There aren’t many jobs that James wants to do. It's sad, really. He has a masters degree in management, has great experience–but no references to back him up. Because oh yeah, that’s right, he tried to kill himself and never looked at his emails again. Never showed back up to the job that was a major factor in his depression. 

Now, he’s left to pick from part time gigs that honestly make his stomach hurt to think about. College students have now gone back to school, so there’s lots of openings for:

Bartending

Serving

Store associate

In all honesty, James feels like a failure. He’s debating applying for a job at the diner down the street when he hears light footsteps on the stairs. 

It's not the cat, whose name no one knows because Regulus hasn’t bothered to tell anyone. Regulus must be leaving his room at some point because the cat is always fed and sleeps in his room every night. 

“Oh,” 

Regulus’ eyes are wide when he sees James, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes flick back and forth, looking for a way out. 

James doesn’t say anything. Regulus’ hair is a mess, curls frizzy. His face is pale and gaunt, and there are heavy bags under his eyes. The rumpled t-shirt he’s wearing falls off one shoulder, and he’s wearing dark blue boxers. James doesn’t know why, but his mind snags on that last fact. 

Regulus clears his throat, “I thought… it’s Monday, so I figured…” 

“I don’t have a job.” James’ voice is cold, not his own. 

Nodding, Regulus backs up, starting to head back up the stairs,

“You’ve lost weight,” James says before he can fully think through the words. Regulus pauses, pursing his lips. 

“Yeah, well.” 

“You look sick.” 

Hurt flashes through Regulus’ eyes, but it's gone quickly. 

“Oh yes, what every man wants to hear,” 

James hisses through his teeth, not really sure why he’s doing this. 

“You need to eat something. If not for yourself, for Sirius.” James pauses before adding, “He’s worried.” 

Regulus gives a sharp nod, turning away from James completely. “I’ll think on that one.” 

When he’s gone, James buries his head in his hands. 

You don’t care. You don’t care. You don’t care. 

James tells himself this, several times. He nearly chants it to himself, even though the only thing on his mind are the three small, healing hickies on Regulus’ neck and the haunted, empty look in his eyes. 

____

Later, James decides to give himself another tattoo. The job search was going absolutely nowhere, and his mind was too occupied with thoughts of the man across the hall. When he sits down with his tattoo gun, James realizes that there’s not much space left on his thighs to work with. The bird he had given himself the day that Regulus showed up was nearly healed. The lines were a bit uneven and the shading wasn’t his best work. Not by a long shot. 

He would have to tattoo somewhere else soon. 

His mind immediately goes to the deep scars on his arms. The ones that were beginning to feel a bit easier to look at. That is, until Regulus arrived. 

I never asked you to do that. 

Oh, how James wishes he could scrub those words from his memory. The scars feel ugly, heavy on his arms. A stark reminder that he is broken. Not whole. 

Not the sun. 

The scars would be a bitch to cover up. It wouldn’t be done in one session, and he would have to wait longer. Wait until they are no longer pink and puckered. Wait until he could touch them without feeling sick. Until he could bear to wear anything other than a sweatshirt. 

James decides on a small skull, right above the antlers on his left knee he had done several years back with Sirius, Remus and Peter. He had given Sirius a small dog, Remus a wolf, and Peter a rat. He isn’t sure why those were the animals that they had come up with for each other, he’s pretty sure they were all trashed. But it stuck. 

The skull is better than the bird for sure. He had put a bit more care into this one, more effort. The bird couldn’t be seen if he was wearing shorts, the skull, however, was in plain sight. When he’s finished, James sits back with a sense of accomplishment. 

This was what he had been born to do. 

Tattoo apprentice?

The words flash in his mind quickly, and something clenches in his chest. 

I wouldn’t want that for you. The voice sounds hauntingly like his father. James squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think about all the things that he has been doing lately that his father would not want for him. 

Monty had so many expectations of James. Marry a nice girl, settle down, work a 9-5, well paying job. James can’t think about any of those things without feeling sick. He also can’t imagine doing any of those things. Any of them. He had tried that last one, and look how that turned out?

But, James won’t think about that right now. Or think about why he won’t think about it. One specific part in particular. Because whenever he attempts to imagine his future, it is not with a nice girl by his side. 

James does his best not to think about that at all. 

When he goes downstairs next, James notices a small plate sitting in the sink, right next to his own. So, Regulus had decided to eat after all. James can’t help the small burst of relief that courses through him. 

He goes outside to the back deck and pulls a cigarette out of the pack he keeps hidden in a broken flower pot. It's not like Sirius and Remus don’t smoke– of course they do. James doesn’t know why, but he can’t bring himself to tell his friends. It feels like just another way he’s failed them somehow. 

James really did try to keep the habit in St. Mungos, where it belonged. 

It just never stayed there. 

Even though the smell of smoke reminds him of Regulus, which makes his chest clench, he can’t seem to stop.

This is the last one

He tells himself. Every day. 

James nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the door open, and throws the half burnt cigarette into the grass. Not his best idea, no. His surprise gives quickly to anxiety when he sees Regulus step outside, his own pack of cigarettes clenched tightly in his hand. 

Ah. 

The psych ward schedule. 

Of course both of them were still on it. 

James stands quickly, trying and failing not to note that Regulus has showered, droplets of water falling from his curls onto the oversized shirt he’s wearing. He’s wearing pants now, at least. They are shorts, however, and hit right at his thighs. James can see the tattoos on his legs, and has the sudden urge to touch them. 

He shakes his head. 

Stupid. That was a stupid fucking thought. 

“I’ll go,” James says roughly, shoving the lighter into his pocket. 

“You don’t have to,” Regulus replies quietly, looking away from him. 

James lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, “I’m not staying out here with you.” 

That hurt, the same from before, paints his face. Good. James thinks meanly, though a hurt of his own buries itself in his chest. He hates that he’s the reason for that hurt. That pain. He hates that he cares. 

He 

Hates 

So 

Deeply 

Regulus’ shoulders slump, and he sits down heavily in the chair next to the one James had previously occupied. He doesn’t respond to James’ jab. Regulus only lights his cigarette and looks across the yard, watching some of the leaves fall from the trees. 

Fight with me. 

Another shameful thought. A crazy, stupid one. But there’s something about Regulus not sinking to his level that just doesn’t sit right with James. Regulus had always fought back. Always had something to say. 

And now? Nothing. 

“You ate,” James says stupidly. 

Regulus only nods, not looking at him. 

Anger courses through James’ body, boiling his skin, blinding him. There’s no reason for this anger, he knows. But how can Regulus sit there and act like he’s better than this? Like he’s above this? He’s not. James knows it, Regulus knows it. And James wants to push. He wants to see Regulus get mad, get angry. He doesn’t know why. 

“You really fucked me up, you know that?” 

Regulus turns to him, shock filling his gaze.

“I know,” He replies quietly after a moment. 

James scoffs, “Do you even care?” 

Regulus’ brows shoot up, more shock filling his expression. And then, oh, there it is. Finally, 

There you are.

“Of course I fucking care!” The fire burns in Regulus’ eyes and he cards a hand through his hair hurriedly, “How can you even say that?” 

James wants to believe it. He wants to so badly it hurts. But every time he looks at Regulus, the only thing he can hear is the door he slammed shut. The words that broke him. Regulus must see this in James’ expression, because he falls back onto the chair and tilts his head toward the sky. 

Regulus doesn’t look at James when he speaks again. His voice is soft and broken. 

“Do you think I want to be like this?”

He can’t answer that. There's a weight on his chest pushing down so hard he feels like he might crack under the pressure. 

“Why did you come here, Regulus?” 

Why are you doing this to me? Why do I feel like I’m dying every time I look at you? Why can’t I walk away?

Regulus sighs, seeming to realize James’ non-answer to his question was enough, “I had nowhere else to go.” he says simply, finally looking at James. The words are significant, heavy. James wants to know what happened. He wants to never speak to Regulus again. 

James goes inside after that, not deigning to give Regulus a response. He 

Just

Can’t 

It would get easier. It had to. 

It fucking had to. 

___

2:47 

James: regulus ate. 

2:48 

Sirius: oh my fucking god. thankyouthankyouthankyou I was getting worried I was gonna have to tell moony he was right…

2:51 

James: lol 

James: can you hurry up and get off work 

3:00

Sirius: two more hours then i’m all yours bby;)

James throws his phone down on the bed and groans. He wonders if Sirius would be feeling this happy with James if he knew about him and Regulus. 

Well

There was no him and Regulus. 

But, Sirius would still not be happy. At all. He was going to have to tell him. Right? 

He had to.

Eventually. 

Chapter Text

April, 2017- eight years ago

“Sirius is leaving and I’m going with him.” Regulus wills his voice not to shake as he looks up at his mother towering over him. His cheek burns from the slap she had given him earlier. Regulus had failed a math test. It wasn’t as though Regulus didn’t know the material– of course he did. But he just didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Because Sirius had told him he was leaving the second he turned eighteen and Regulus was panicking. Nothing else mattered.

Only Sirius. Always Sirius. 

His mother scoffs, looking him up and down with a sneer on her face. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Yes I am, I want to be with him. I don’t care what you do to me, I'm leaving with him.” 

Tonight

The word he didn’t say. Because Sirius is leaving tonight. He had packed up his room and was planning on going to stay with James until they graduated. Regulus would figure something out after graduation. But this house… 

He couldn’t stay here any longer. Not without his brother, his best friend. 

Walburga crosses her arms and tilts her head at Regulus, analyzing him. 

“And then what?” 

Regulus grits his teeth, “I’ll figure something out.” 

After a moment, Regulus’ mother softens. She cups Regulus’ cheek with her hand, and Regulus wills himself not to lean into the touch. 

I can still make her proud

“Why would you do this to him?” 

Regulus freezes. Her hand on his cheek feels cold. There’s something snaking its way through his chest. A thought he hadn’t let himself touch begins tapping in his mind. 

“I… I don’t know what you–” 

“Do you think Sirius wants to take care of you? To look after you?” 

“He won’t be–” 

“Oh, but he will. How will he be able to handle your… outbursts? Your depression?” The knife twists, and Regulus feels his heart cracking. But his mother only continues, “You’re a burden, Regulus. You always have been. You can’t put that on your brother. How do you expect him to live his life if he’s busy taking care of you?” 

A burden

Regulus is silent. Her words seep in, like hot oil, burning his veins. Sirius was better than him, in every way. Regulus was a burden. Of course he was. Sirius might not realize it now, but in a few months? A year? 

Stepping back, Regulus wipes at his eyes furiously. 

Walburga seems satisfied. 

You’re a burden, Regulus.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracks and he flinches. Walburga hates it when Regulus doesn’t speak clearly. She shakes her head, disappointed. 

It’s written on her face, shining in her eyes. 

I’m sorry I’m not Sirius. I’m sorry I’m a burden. I’m sorry I thought I deserved to leave. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m–

“Just get out of my sight,” 

Regulus goes to his room. He mechanically unpacks his bag, hangs his clothes back up. Then, he sits on the bed and waits. 

Several hours later, there's a light knocking on his door. 

“Come in,” Regulus’ voice is small. His heart is beating so quickly in his chest he thinks it might burst. 

“Are you ready?” there's determination in Sirius’ eyes. This is different for him. He’s always been more outspoken about his anger, his hatred of their home. He never cared about impressing their parents or making them proud. 

Nothing like Regulus. 

He doesn’t respond. Regulus looks at the floor, hands clasped together. 

“Reggie come on,” Sirius says, walking toward Regulus. 

“I’m not going,” 

Sirius pauses. His eyes narrow. 

“Did she say something to you?” 

“Why does it matter?” 

“You know why,” 

Regulus stands and looks at his brother. 

“Please stay,” 

Selfish. A burden. 

Sirius’ eyes are wide and he takes a step back, putting distance between them. He shakes his head slowly. 

“Please don’t make me do this, Reg.” 

“Then stay. I can’t— I’m not– I–” 

Words fail him as he looks at Sirius. He knows what Sirius will do. He supposes he always has. But it doesn’t hurt any less. Not as his brother looks at him with grief and regret painting his face. 

Love me more than you hate them. 

“I’m hurting, Regulus. They are hurting us.” 

I’m too scared to leave. Too scared of what they will do to me. Too scared that you’ll see me and hate what you find. Drown here with me so I don’t have to do it alone. 

He can’t make his mouth form the words racing through his mind. 

“Stay.” 

A flash of something akin to disappointment flutters in Sirius’ gaze. He tightens his hands on the strap of his duffle bag and shakes his head, “I won’t” 

“Fuck you,” 

Why is he doing this? Why is he like this? Why? Why? Why? 

Sirius scoffs, “You’re a coward.” 

Disappointment. Burden. Coward. 

Regulus doesn’t know what he’s doing. His body isn’t his own, his mind isn’t his own. He shoves Sirius as hard as he can, tears in his eyes. 

“So fucking leave then!” 

Sirius hits the wall and glass shatters. 

Regulus had pushed him right into a picture frame and there is a cut running down his arm. Blood is pouring from the wound and Regulus can only see red. He runs up to Sirius and grabs his arm. What had he done? There’s blood on his hands. Sirius shrugs off Regulus’ touch and pushes him back, fury in his gaze. 

Just like them. You’re just like them now. You hurt him, just like them. 

Regulus stares at his hands, tears blurring his vision. 

“I don’t ever want to see you again,” Sirius says, his voice cracked and shaky. There’s pain there, lacing his words with heavy grief. 

Sirius leaves. 

Regulus stays. 

__

Today 

Regulus has received a total of seventeen calls from Barty. He has ignored every single one of them. The calls stopped when Regulus texted him two days ago. 

I’m safe. At Sirus’

Barty never responded. It was just as well, he didn’t want to talk to him either. Regulus can’t even look at himself in the mirror right now. Not after what he had done. Now that he’s not drunk or getting laid, he has time to think. A little too much time. 

The walls of the house are closing in. Regret, grief and shame are shadows in the corners of his room, growing every day. Closer and closer they snake towards Regulus, threatening to swallow him whole. He just might let it. 

There’s a light knock on the door and Regulus frowns. No one had been to bother him, and Regulus appreciated that. He’s still barely spoken to his brother, and hasn't even met Remus. In fact, the only significant conversation he’s had in the last week has been with James.

The universe was so cruel. 

“Come in?” 

Oh. 

So, so cruel. 

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asks as James cautiously opens the door. He doesn’t come in. 

“We’re going out,” James states plainly. He’s also not looking at Regulus. James looks at his shoes, his stupid red converse that Regulus is surprised he still owns. 

They don’t usually tell Regulus when they leave. Sometimes, the house is silent. Sometimes he can hear people laughing from downstairs, or a movie playing in the background. Their happiness scares him. It chokes him as he rots in his own despair.

“Oh, um. Congratulations?” Regulus isn’t sure why everything he’s saying right now is coming out as a question. Is he being weird? What the fuck is James even doing here? 

James brings a hand to the back of his neck and looks up at Regulus. He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts. Regulus has to look away. “Yeah well. You’re coming with us.” 

Shock courses through Regulus and he lets out a sharp laugh, “The fuck I am.” 

There’s a beat of silence and Regulus looks up to see James quietly assessing him. 

“Stop isolating yourself.” 

Oh come on. James had to be kidding. He was not going to pull this shit on Regulus. No way. 

“This isn’t St. Mungos, Potter, I can do what I like.” James flinches and Regulus frowns. 

“It’s been a week.” James crosses his arms and leans on the doorframe. The light filtering through the blinds casts his body in a golden glow. 

Always the sun. 

“I’m well aware of how much time it's been.” 

And oh, how true that statement is. Every second is a death knoll, every minute suffocates him. Trapping Regulus in this house. In his grief. His failures and disappointments. The noose around his neck feels tighter than ever and the blood on his hands never washes away. Every time he looks down, the crimson red of Sirius’ blood, and now Evans, coats his skin, slick and warm. 

How is James okay? How is he standing here, looking more alive than ever while Regulus is choking to death? 

James takes a hesitant step into the room, unsure and careful. When his beat up shoes cross the threshold, Regulus’ breath hitches in his throat. 

“You hate me,” Regulus doesn’t intend for the words to scrape out of his throat so raw and honest. 

James hesitates for a moment before nodding, “I do.” 

Has it hurt this much before? Looking at James? Surely not since the mental hospital. Not since the night Regulus took the fragile thing they had created and shattered it in front of James, slicing them both with the broken shards. Regulus can feel the aching pit between them, the chasm that never quite existed before. 

Not even their fight from seven years ago held a candle to this. 

You really fucked me up, you know that?

“Sirius doesn’t, though,” James continues quietly. He doesn’t look at Regulus. His voice is hard. 

Regulus nearly laughs. Did James even know Sirius? “Of course he does,” 

The other man does look up then, frowning at Regulus. He wishes he could take James’ face in his hands and smooth out those sharp edges. Make him look at Regulus with something other than contempt and regret. 

“If you really believe that, then maybe you don’t know your brother at all.” 

James leaves. 

Regulus stays. 

For a moment. 

Because at a certain point, something was going to have to give. 

____

“I’m Remus,” 

He holds out a hand and Regulus pauses for a moment before taking it. Talking to people, being a person, existing. It was exhausting. And Regulus has only just walked down the stairs. He wishes the world could swallow him whole and he would just be gone. No more Regulus. No more hurt. 

No more. 

“Regulus.” 

Is his voice always this weak? This scratchy? 

Remus is tall, with sandy curls that fall a bit into his eyes. His eyes are assessing and intent, warm hazel canvasing Regulus. 

Don’t say I look like him. Please don’t compare me to the better version of myself. 

“I’m glad to finally meet the man who's been living in my house for a week,” Remus’ voice is deep, and he grips Regulus’ hand tightly, warmly. Regulus can nearly feel James buzzing next to him with anticipation and anxiety. He probably had been expecting Regulus to refuse. To stay in his room. He probably wishes Regulus would have. 

Regulus raises a brow, “Well here I am,” 

There’s an awkward beat of silence. Regulus has never been good at this. Not like Sirius, who made friends everywhere he went. Not like James, who was well liked by everyone who even glanced his way. Regulus had sharper edges. He was odd. Said weird things. Made jokes that never quite landed right. 

Too much yet never enough. 

Remus grins, “Yes, you are.” 

Sirius is bouncing on the balls of his feet. This excites him, for some reason. Regulus hasn’t had many interactions with his brother. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it's just that…

I never want to see you again

Blood on his hands, slick and warm. 

Right. That. 

James had said that Sirius didn’t hate him, but clearly James doesn’t know what transpired between the brothers the last time they had seen one another. He’s sure James can guess though. Now that James has seen the real Regulus. He had seen him and now he hates him. Regulus can’t blame him for it, he can’t blame any of them. Not James, or Sirius. Not Barty or Evan or Pandora. Not even his mother, who he hates just as much as he hates himself. 

“Come on, let's go.” Sirius is pulling on Remus’ arm and Remus rolls his eyes fondly. There’s something between the two of them, and it’s clear to everyone but them. 

Regulus wonders if he was less broken, if there wasn’t a noose tied tightly around his neck, would people think the same of him? Would they be able to look at Regulus and know that he pours love from every inch of his being? That he loves so deeply it kills him? 

No. Probably not. 

The bar isn’t crowded, which eases some of the anxiety in Regulus’ chest. He doesn’t know if he could handle that much right now. Or ever again. 

For the safety of himself and everyone else around him, Regulus doesn’t drink. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t. Scratch that– he knows he definitely shouldn’t. With all of this time to think– walls closing in on him and all– Regulus has realized that maybe his drinking is a problem. 

The thought makes him itch and half of him wants to grab a bottle and get trashed, just to show that it's not a problem. Even though something inside him is screaming that it is. That his drinking isn’t normal. 

Crazy Regulus. Obsessive Regulus. Too much. 

He shouldn’t have come out tonight. 

Everyone else is drinking, even James. His smiles are coming more freely now, his laughs are unguarded. That is, until he looks at Regulus. His eyes dim, his hand clenches tightly on his beer. The feeling makes Regulus want to dig a hole and bury himself alive. 

After the fourth look that James gives him, Regulus excuses himself. Sirius is slightly drunk and clings onto his arm, begging him to stay, 

“I’m just getting a smoke, Sirius,” Regulus mutters, wrenching his brother's grip off of his arm. 

“Let him go,” Remus murmurs, pulling Sirius away. Sirius slumps into Remus’ shoulder and sighs. Regulus gives the other man a grateful look. He can feel James’ eyes on him like a brand. 

“Please come back, Reggie.” Sirius says, eyes unfocused. Something tight unclenches in Regulus’ chest. He feels a familiar sort of warmth soak through him. 

Regulus gives Sirius what he hopes is a reassuring smile, “I’m coming back, don’t worry.” 

Sirius’ face relaxes and he smiles broadly, “Good,” 

Regulus tries not to let the shame overtake him. He tries, and fails as he leans against the brick wall outside the bar. It’s cold, and Regulus’ hoodie isn’t doing him any favors as the nighttime chill cuts through the fabric. The smoke warms his chest, however, and it helps. Just a little. 

When Regulus hears footsteps, he’s expecting it to be James. 

What he’s not expecting is Sirius, who leans against the wall next to him and holds out his hand, 

“I told you I was coming back,” 

“I know.” 

Regulus swallows. He hadn’t spent any time with Sirius. Not really. Fear is a vice that grips Regulus tightly and chokes him with every breath. Regulus tries to claw his way out, to wash the fear away, but it stays. It always has. 

“You’re not going to bitch at me about still smoking?” 

Sirius rolls his eyes. He’s still drunk though, and the action looks funny, as if he’s putting all his focus into it yet still falling short. 

“Reg, I still smoke,”

Regulus doesn’t have an answer to this, and silently hands Sirius a cigarette and a lighter. When Sirius blows out the smoke, it clouds up in front of them, curling in the cool night air. 

“You’re not drinking.” It's a statement, a fact. 

Regulus shakes his head, then remembers that Sirius can’t see his face, “Nope,” 

“Hm.” 

Regulus finishes his cigarette and lights another. He’s content with the silence, he always has been. He never had to worry about being too much or not enough with Sirius. 

“How long ago did you get out?” 

“Get out” not “leave”. Regulus knows what he means. God, he wishes that he didn’t though. There was no “leaving” their home, their family. It was escaping, it was getting out. Though, in Regulus’ case, he was discarded, thrown away. 

He still got out. Still survived, no matter the circumstances of his leaving. 

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, “I was twenty”

“Oh.” Pain laces the word. Five years. Regulus had left only three years after Sirius. He’d had five years to fix it. Five years to atone. Five years to try and be a brother again. 

And he hadn’t. 

“I’m sorry.” Regulus’ voice is small and it cracks with the weight of a thousand actions that have led him to this very moment. 

Sirius sighs, “Me too.” He leans his head against the wall and looks up toward the stars.

Regulus wonders if he’s looking at his own star. Or if he’s looking at Regulus. Does Sirius look at the stars and curse his name? Does Sirius feel the weight of being named after something so bright? Probably not. Sirius has lived up to the brightness of a star. Regulus has allowed himself to dim.

“What are you sorry for?” Regulus is confused. 

Sirius looks at him, grey eyes so much like his own, yet so different, “I left you.” 

Regulus shakes his head, "I refused to go with you,”

“I should have tried harder.”

“I hurt you.”

“I told you I never wanted to see you again.” 

Regulus hitches a breath, swallowing tightly, “Did you mean it?” 

Sirius pauses, “Yes,” 

Regulus’ heart breaks. But his brother continues, “At the time. But less than a week later I wanted to call you,” 

Oh. 

He never. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

Sirius smiles. It’s bitter and broken. It’s a smile of painful memories and regret, “I don’t know.” 

Maybe Sirius wasn’t unbroken. Maybe his star had dimmed a little too. 

“It’s okay.” 

Sirius doesn’t respond. They stand quietly for another moment, lost in their own memories and regrets. 

Regulus’ voice is small when he speaks, fear coating his tongue, “Do you still… feel that way?” 

Please please please please please

His brother turns to him, grief etched across every line of his face, “Never, Regulus. When you called me I… I couldn’t stop crying. And then when you showed up at the house…” Sirius clears his throat, “I just can’t help but think that maybe we’re getting a second chance.” 

A second chance. 

Do you want to live, Regulus?

“Oh,” Regulus says dumbly. He’s never been good at words. Not like Sirius. But he finds himself even more inept at conversation as his brother looks at him with an expression so unguarded that it snaps something in Regulus. 

Without thinking about it, he throws his arms around Sirius’ neck, tears forming in his eyes. Sirius hugs him back tightly and Regulus can hear him sniffing softly. 

“I love you, Reggie.” 

Regulus has always been bad with words. But somehow, these come easier than ever before, 

“I love you too.” 

They weren’t fixed. This hadn’t erased the years of pain they had both endured. They would fight more, call each other names, get under each other's skin and disagree on everything. There is still blood on Regulus’ hands. It was possibly forever stained there, a reminder of what he had done. There was a chasm of their own they had to cross. Regulus and Sirius had to learn how to be brothers again. 

No, it wasn’t fixed. 

But it was a start. 

The noose around Regulus’ neck loosens. Not completely, maybe never completely. But it doesn’t hurt as much as it did.

Do you want to live? 

Regulus takes in a deep breath and for once, his chest doesn’t crack. 

He still doesn’t know if he wants to live or not. 

But maybe one day he might. 

And for now, that would be enough. 

Chapter Text

“So, tell me more about Regulus.” 

“There’s not really much more to say,” James looks up, staring at the bright fluorescent lights hanging above his head. They burn his eyes the longer he looks, and when he finally does close them, there are white spots dotting his vision. 

Lucy, his therapist, is silent. The only thing James can hear is the quiet tapping of her nails on the keyboard. 

The pit in his chest is more prominent in therapy. It begs to be filled, yet the hollow emptiness has a quiet sort of familiarity to it. 

I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. 

“Do you believe that?” 

James finally looks at her. Her brown hair is swept into a clip, strands falling into her face, framing her bright eyes. She’s pretty. And can always see right through him. James hates therapists. 

He shrugs, casting his eyes down to his shoes, “I mean, what else is there?” 

I never asked you to do that. 

Lucy knew, of course. She had sat there while James had raged about his hatred for Regulus. Then she sat there while he cried about Regulus’ return. The aching he feels every time he looks at him. The fear that snakes through his bones and rots his insides. 

“Your feelings for him, for one.” 

James replies slowly, “I hate him.”

Why is his voice wobbling? Why does that feel wrong now?

Lucy pins him with a gaze that James can’t quite identify. Like she knows something, and he’s too stupid to realize it himself. 

“Your other feelings,” 

There’s ice in his veins and his skin starts to itch. “There's no other feelings.” James snaps. 

Lucy hums in response and types something on her computer. 

Click, click, click. 

“Why?” She asks casually.

James sputters, heart in his throat, “What– wh– I– you–” What the fuck does she mean why? 

Calm down. 

Calm 

Do-

“Why? Well, for one, I’m not…” He can’t finish the thought. Can’t voice it. James is sick. James is disgusting. James is–

“Gay?” Lucy supplies, hand in her chin. As though this is a totally normal conversation. As though she’s not taking a pair of sharp tweezers and picking him apart, bit by bit.

James flinches, “No, I’m not gay.” 

He wasn’t. He wasn’t. James had always had girlfriends. Always made sure to have girlfriends. He loved women. He always has. 

“Would that be a bad thing? If you were?” 

Yes.

“No.” James replies quickly. “I’m pretty sure my two best friends are gay.” 

‘Pretty sure’ is being kind. If James were being honest, he would say that Sirius and Remus are definitely gay. And deeply, deeply in love. Even if they won’t admit it to themselves. 

“Hm.” Lucy taps a finger to her cheek, “But that’s them. We’re talking about you,” 

Well stop. Stop looking at me. Stop seeing me. 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Lucy must keep the temperature set high because her office is sweltering. James can’t take off his sweatshirt though. She can’t see any more of him. 

“If you were gay– and I’m saying if. Why would it be a bad thing?” 

“It’s not what my dad would have wanted.” James didn’t mean to say it out loud. He really hadn’t. But his skin is hot and itching and Lucy can see him and he hates her. He hates this. He wants the pit in his chest to open up completely and swallow him whole. He wants to tear the bones from his body and set them on fire until only ash is left. 

“Your father– he passed away several years ago, right?” 

It had been sudden. A heart attack. It was such a joke, Monty had been the healthiest man James knew. One day he was breathing. The next day he was dead. James was nineteen. Maybe that was when the hole in him had first been dug. Maybe he had always been broken. 

James nods numbly. 

“So, since your father was homophobic–” 

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that!” James yells and Lucy doesn’t react. She only turns to her computer and begins typing quickly. Probably something along the lines of, 

Significant daddy issues

She turns back to him, “I’m sorry.” 

James doesn’t respond. He clenches the sides of the plush armchair tightly. His father wasn’t homophobic. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. He 

“If your father was still here, would he accept you for being gay?” 

James grits his teeth, “I’m not gay.” 

Lucy quirks her head to the side. Staring at him quizzically, like he’s some kind of specimen. 

Stop looking at me. 

“Can I be honest with you?” 

James rolls his eyes. Like she hasn’t already torn him apart. Like he isn’t staring down at his cracked chest cavity. He can see the rot inside him. Lucy can too, he’s sure of it. 

“Sure.” He replies blandly. 

She nods quickly and fixes him with a serious stare, “You spent twenty minutes talking about Regulus’ eyes.” 

Oh. 

Well. 

Fuck her. 

“I hate him,” James says weakly, and the words hold no bite. 

Lucy smiles, as though she had won something. She had picked and poked and prodded until she had found the little shards of James that cut him the deepest. She had shown them to him and put them back in his body, forcing him to pay attention, to feel their bite as they drew blood over and over again. 

__

James leaves therapy scrubbed raw and aching. It always tends to do that to him. Therapy is getting punched in the face then coming back the next week and saying, “Again please.” 

Over and over again until the punches hurt less. James is still waiting for it to hurt less. 

And in some ways, it does. Some things are easier to talk about. Sometimes he feels lighter when he wakes up in the morning. Sometimes he feels heavier. 

Sirius had told him once that healing is not a linear process. If it was, everyone in the world would be okay. 

James gets it, he does. But he just wishes that for once it could be easy. Just this once. 

When James pulls into the driveway, he rests his head on the steering wheel for a few minutes before going inside. 

You spent twenty minutes talking about Regulus’ eyes. 

“Fuck.” he breathes out as he slams the car door shut. It’s getting colder, the cool chill of autumn bites into his skin when James makes his way inside. James is relieved for the end of summer. There’s an excuse now to never take off his sweatshirt. To always wear long sleeves. He’s safe for the rest of the year, and will be for a few months into next year as well. 

Maybe James could pack his things and move north, where it’s cold all the time. He could disappear where no one knows him and no one could see him. 

Because nothing is easy and the world hates him, Regulus is standing at the kitchen table when James walks in. Regulus is on his phone, frowning at the screen as he chews on a piece of toast. He looks up when James walks in and sets his phone down, eyes looking him over. 

Regulus sees him too. James knows this. He wants to take it away. He wants to gather up the pieces of himself that he gave to Regulus and lock them in a box. 

“Hey,” Regulus says quietly. Maybe he sees the exhaustion written in James’ body. 

Things had been tense for… well, they had always been tense with Regulus. There was no casual with him. It was all or nothing. It makes James want to burn. It makes him want to give Regulus the match and beg him to light it. 

He hates Regulus. 

Right?

“Hey,” James replies roughly. He opens the fridge and pretends to look in it for something to eat. He’s not hungry. Not when the pit in his chest has made it hard to breathe. 

I’m not gay. 

Monty wouldn’t want that for him. His dad had always made it clear that he wanted James' life to be easier than his own had been. He’d drilled values into James until he could recite them in his sleep. Until they painted his skin and were carved so deeply into his being. 

His dad wasn’t a bad father. Monty had to fight, tooth and nail for everything he had. It wasn’t easy, and he made it clear that he wanted James to have a better life than he did. His dad just had a plan for James, expectations. And if those expectations just so happened to include a wife, kids and a white picket fence life then… 

“I got a job,” Regulus’ voice is quiet. 

This shakes James’ from his thoughts. He realizes the fridge had been open for a moment too long, the light is now off and there’s a soft dinging, reminding James to close it. He does, and turns to Regulus. 

He hadn’t wanted (allowed himself) to notice before. But Regulus is standing awkwardly by the table, dressed in a plain white shirt and jeans. Not his usual shorts and an oversized shirt. Or sweatpants. Or black jeans with a cutoff shirt. There’s one shirt in particular that sits right above his hips, exposing a pale expanse of skin. 

Curiosity? The voice in his head whispers and James wants to choke it to death. 

“That’s great.” His voice is tight. It makes him feel like a piece of shit. Of course Regulus already got a job, while James is still unemployed, bumming around in his best friend's house. 

Regulus shrugs, “I’m about out of money, anyway.” 

Me too. James doesn’t say. Because that would be something they have in common. It would be a door that James would be pushing open, just an inch. And that door would lead to something else. 

“Where at?” 

“Diner down the street,” he mumbles. A blush blooms on Regulus’ face and he looks away. He’s embarrassed, James realizes with a start. Embarrassed of what? Working at a diner? 

At least he had a fucking job. 

James nods, “That’ll be good money,”

Regulus frowns, “Don’t patronize me.” His voice is raw and unguarded. 

James could push, he realizes. He could make Regulus feel just a pinch of what he had made James feel. He could tug on that embarrassment and pull, unraveling Regulus with a few short words. Like he had done to James. It would feel good. 

For a moment. 

“I’m not.” James replies honestly, looking at Regulus seriously. Whatever he sees in James’ gaze makes him look away, 

He answers softly, “Oh.” 

His dark curls fall into his face and for a split second, James wants to brush them away. He wants to card his hands through his hair then grab his face and–

The door bangs open and Regulus and James both jump. 

“Help me with groceries!” Sirius yells out, and Regulus nearly flies out of the room, not looking at James again. James is glad for Sirius’ interruption. He’s not sure where his mind had been going and the thoughts he had been having… 

Lucy had fucked him up today.

That was all it could be

That was all it had to be.

___

Later, James is sitting on the worn armchair, laptop resting on his legs. He had been staring at the screen for the last half hour, listening to Sirius and Remus bicker about dinner. 

“I want pizza.” Sirius crosses his arms and looks at Remus petulantly. 

Remus rolls his eyes, “We just had pizza two days ago.” 

James looks up at the two of them sitting close on the couch, facing one another. Remus’ arm is rested across the back of the couch and he casually twirls a piece of Sirius’ hair between his fingers. Neither of them even seem to realize it. It makes James’ heart pang. 

How could they be so cavalier? They had this huge thing, this massive, world ending thing between them. Their love was written in the stars, their names were carved into each other's hearts. Neither of them had their fathers ghost breathing down their necks, yet they still couldn’t just… 

“If we get pizza, can you promise that tomorrow we’ll get subs?” Remus pleads.

James rolls his eyes, “Pushover,” he mutters. 

Remus turns to him, eyes bright, “Fuck off!” His voice is light and there’s a happiness radiating from him. Maybe it's the feeling of Sirius’ hair between his fingers. Maybe it’s the knowledge that maybe not today, but one day. Because it would happen one day. 

The door opens and Regulus walks in, assessing the three of them in the living room. His eyes catch on Remus’ hands and he raises a brow, looking at James. James just shakes his head and rolls his eyes at Regulus. For a moment, they are sixteen again, and Regulus and James share a small, knowing smile. 

Regulus can see it too. The world ending, life altering thing between Remus and Sirius.

Then, Regulus looks away, and they aren’t sixteen. They are twenty five and broken. Broken by the world, broken by each other. 

The chasm looms between them, hollow and wide, threatening to cave in. 

“So, Reggie. First day? How did it go?” Sirius’ eyes are bright as he looks at his brother, eager. 

Regulus lets out a heavy breath, “Shit. It was shit.” Sirius’ face drops and Regulus sees it, quickly continuing, “But it was fine. It’s a job, Sirius. I think I would have taken anything.” 

There’s a severs apron wrapped around his narrow waist, and he pulls out a small book, handing a wad of bills over to Sirius. 

Sirius doesn’t take it. He only raises a brow, “What’s this?”