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Chapter Text

The following footage is of the pop/rock band BLACK STAR at their debut performance in London’s Crystal Palace Bowl 2021 to an audience of just over 10,000 people.

The original recording has now been streamed over 20M times.

~

The screen is pitch black but for the scatter of phone screens and glow in the dark bracelets. And one light-up sign that reads: STOP THE WORLD I WANNA GET OFF WITH EVERY BLACK STAR MEMBER!!!

Then, the sound of a guitar and the stage is illuminated, focusing first on the lead guitarist DORCAS MEADOWES who strums the opening notes of *BLACK STAR* her head down and focused on the notes.

She looks down at the camera and winks.

The other members of the band fill the screen. The bassist EVAN ROSIER high fives the keyboardist PANDORA ROSIER and says something the camera doesn’t pick up which makes her laugh, then he walks over to the drummer BARTY CROUCH JR and licks from his chin to his cheek. The drummer shoves him away and mouths ‘fuck off’ with a raised middle finger before starting his drum beats, but let’s EVAN kiss him before the bassist walks back to where his guitar is propped up by a speaker and throws the strap over his head.

Finally, the lead singer – and frontman of the band – REGULUS BLACK stands at the mic. His face is drawn tight and his eyes nervously bounce between his microphone and a specific point in the crowd.

He looks out at the entire venue and smiles, tight and satisfied, they all cheer for him.

“Bonsoir London. We are BLACK STAR.”

***

London, Crystal Palace Park. 2021

James loves working, but hates his job.

He founded a record label with Sirius right after they graduated university together. It was their dream; right from their days as boarding school prats; To pool their generational wealth and use it to bring something good and meaningful into the world. To create music, even if neither of them could sing or play an instrument for shit.

It's been five years since their launch, and the company is bursting. They have over forty artists; ninety-two albums and EPs; several number 1 hits; and almost twenty major awards to their name – via their plethora of talented artists.

James is so infinitely proud of the work they’ve done, and the success that’s come from it. He just wishes he had more time to enjoy it.

He’s moving, constantly. It’s been this way for years now. Any time there’s a conference or meeting abroad – usually in LA – he’s gone. Sirius used to go with him but, unlike James, Sirius actually has a life outside of his work: He married Remus just a year after they both graduated – and only waited that long because Remus made them – and now they have a boy they adopted together two years ago.

On the other end of the spectrum; James has his job, and absolutely nothing and no one else. Not anymore, at least.

He hasn’t even attended a concert – start to finish – in years.

Tonight though, he makes an effort to reschedule his meetings and meet Sirius and Remus to attend a debut performance of the latest band their company has taken on.

Unlike most of their artists, James barely knows two things about this band Black Star. Sirius took the reigns when it came to their contract and the recording of their first album, since his little brother is the lead singer.

“Reggie is really good James. The whole band is.” Sirius said to him over the phone, mid-way through a five-hour conference in LA when James was too jet-lagged to bring up the implications of nepotism on their company.

They are good though, James will admit. He’s heard their main hit on the radio – 12 to 12. Regulus’ voice is sonorous and enchanting; almost familiar in a way James’ can’t seem to put his finger on. He gave up trying to figure it out and decided it’s probably because of Sirius.

The band are so good that, with only one released single, they were already major hits – enough that they sold out a ten thousand strong venue for the introduction of their first studio recorded album; which launched only a day ago so James hasn’t had a chance to hear it yet.

“Reggie wrote most of the album. 7 of the 12 songs are his. He’s a little lyrical genius.” Sirius rambles in his ear.

They’re stood just past the front barrier, metres from the stage with only a single metal railing between them and where the band will be in just minutes. Mary and Lily are nodding along, attentive and eager to listen. But James is distracted and Peter keeps messaging him about a last-minute delay in the next album the company is due to drop.

“-He sings lead on all but three of the tracks. I wanted him to sing the whole album but he insisted that they should all get to sing lead on their own songs. He’s such a stubborn ass.”

J: Have u sent him the contract?

James angrily types out the message. Pete replies seconds later.

P: Yes. Just keeps saying ‘Art cannot be rushes’ bloody tosser.

James snorts a little at this, and makes a mental note to not give a record deal to a man called ‘Guilderoy’ ever again.

“You know Remus, I think you’re right – Fleamont Potter is the hottes-” James slaps a hand over his best friends mouth, looking up from his phone to glare at Sirius and the rest of his friends who are stood snickering.

“I know you’re only saying it to piss me off, but please stop calling my Dad hot.” He begs, dropping his hand.

Sirius grins. “I will when you’re Dad stops being tremendously fuc-”

“Finish that sentence. I dare you.” James snaps, but is distracted again by Pete’s messages.

P: Can I get u on the phone? Hes started yelling at the sound techs

“Fuckable. Your Dad is fuckable.”

James rolls his eyes, but is too exhausted to reply. “Sorry, I have to deal with something. I’ll be back in a minute I swear.” He apologises, heading towards the back end of the stage.

“But- Reggie is just about to come on.” Sirius protests.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll be back before the end of the second song, I swear.” James says, already dialling Peter’s number as he follows the pathway made by the barriers and heads far enough away from the stage to hear himself think.

“Give me the run-down Pete.” He speaks as soon as Peter accepts the call.

His assistants voice crackles through the other end. In the background he can hear the annoying shrill sound of the latest diva giving the label a headache. “He wants to scrap ‘Memory charm’.” Peter sighs.

“What!?” James shouts, before pressing his knuckles to his temple and forcing himself to take a breath. “But that’s his single. And quite frankly, the only song on that album that stands a chance of reaching the billboard top 50.” He grits through his teeth.

“Believe me James, I’ve tried to tell him that. I’ve tried everything. He isn’t having any of it. Says we should make one of the songs he wrote the single.” Peter replies, exhausted from the edge in his voice.

“But all the ones he wrote are utter crap.” James points out. Peter replies with a short ‘mhmm’ sound.

He hears the music hum to life and the distant drawl of Regulus introducing his band. He doesn’t hear him exactly but, for whatever reason, just the sound of Regulus Black’s voice is enough to settle him and lighten the metaphorical load he’s been carrying around.

Their first song – Black Star – starts and he recognises the tune from a brief clip Sirius played him whilst giving him the extremely hurried run-down of the album a few months ago. According to him, it’s the first song they wrote all together – over seven years ago when they were all still teenagers, and now the name of their band and debut album.

Blame it on the black star

Blame it on the falling sky

Blame it on the satellite

He starts to hum along, calm for just a second before Guilderoy’s voice grows louder through the phone.  “Peter – Peter, why is this taking so long? I have a hair appointment to get to.”

Peter sighs, an involuntary sound, before addressing Guilderoy. “I understand that Mr Lockheart but we really need to come to a final decision before you leave.”

“Well hurry up then, this is highly unprofessional you know.” He replies in that snippy annoying voice, then seems to march off based on Peter’s following grunt of frustration into the phone speaker.

James bites back the urge to tell Pete outright to revoke Guilderoy’s contract, or better yet – tell him to shove it somewhere painful, when he hears the starting notes of Black Star’s hit single 12 to 12 begin – with it, the crowd losing their absolute minds.

“Okay, I’ve got to go. Tell Guilderoy if we don’t use Memory Charm as the single he won’t get his appearance on Graham Norton, since that’s the song their band has learnt. Thanks Pete.” He says, and hangs up the call before Peter can protest – switching his phone off while he’s at it.

He gives himself a minute to calm down and by the time he makes his way back towards the stage, Regulus is singing the pre-chorus.

Was it always in your plan to leave eventually

Because to me there’s no one else that can make sense to me

The last and final puzzle piece

The lyrics make James shudder. They always have, any time he’s heard them, even in passing. They remind him too much of something someone once said to him.

“Nobody else makes sense to me, James, not anymore.”

He ignores that voice – the one that’s haunted him for over three years now – and keeps winding through the venue.

He can’t see the stage, the crowd is blocking his view and getting back to the front barrier is proving harder than he thought. The entire park is screaming along to the lyrics though, and dancing their absolute hearts out.

He reaches Sirius, Remus and the girls, just as the bridge starts.

Maybe I’m delusional

And the way you act is usual

The band is electric, their presence on stage is so natural, like they were born to be performing in front of a crowd. And at the centre –

James’ eyes stop; along with the natural rhythm of his breathing and the beat of his heart. If he wasn’t still standing upright he’d think he died just from one glance at the lead singer.

Maybe in another world

I don’t feel so unlovable

He sings into the microphone, his eyes shut tight and his hands gripped to the stand as he belts.

It isn’t – it can’t be.

His eyes open, and like a compass pointing north, that hauntingly familiar grey lands right on James.

In a room full of people I look for you.

…

Paris. 2018

It’s 12 minutes to midnight when James sees him.

He’s alone in Paris for the month. Usually Sirius would be with him. But since emancipating himself at 18, Sirius has never once stepped foot back in France. So it’s just James. James attending countless meetings, James sucking up to potential clients and investors. James in a beautiful city with no one to see it with.

He finds himself in a club on the first night, just hoping for a drink and the chance to be completely surrounded by people who want absolutely nothing from him – not his time, or money. Nothing.

He spends a while just leaning against the far corner of the bar, watching scenes evolve all around him.

The group of American girls experimenting with the lower legal drinking age; the older men hoping to relive their youth by drinking their weight in cheap beer and listening to nothing but the pulsing music beating through the club and pretending they don’t have wives and children waiting for them; the friends who pour shots into each other’s mouths and the couples who writhe and swirl around each other. James likes to focus on the latter, and try to guess whether they arrived as a pair, or if they’re just planning to leave together this one night.

It’s from this spot; his back to the wall and a beer bottle at his lips; that he watches the large digital clock projected onto the dark walls turn 11:48 in bright neon green, then looks back to the floor and meets a pair of pale grey eyes amongst the fade of frantic limbs and vague heads of hair.

The eyes belong to a boy, the most beautiful boy James has perhaps ever seen. He’s difficult to make out completely in the flashing club lights, but James can disdain short dark curls, angled cheekbones, sharp liner, and a small waist between his obscenely low-cut jeans and cropped shirt that reads ‘embrasse-moi’.

James doesn’t know a lot of French but still finds himself thinking ‘oh I’m planning to’ as he drifts away from the bar and onto the dance floor, leaving his half-drunk beer behind.

The boy watches him walk closer, his gaze utterly sinful through his thick eye makeup, as he bites down on his bottom lip and toys with the silver chain and pendant around his throat.

“Bonjour.” James shouts over the music, his French clumsy.

The boy grins, letting a small laugh slip through his lips. “Hi there.” He replies; his accent French but fluent enough that James has to assume he’s spent a decent amount of time in England. Reminds him a little of Sirius’ voice, actually.

“I’m James.” He introduces himself, outstretching a hand. He might look ridiculous, holding out his arm to shake in the middle of a vibrating dance floor, but he doesn’t much care.

“Nice to meet you.” The boy takes James’ hand, shaking it once then not letting go as James moves closer.

“You gonna tell me yours?” He says, looking down. He’s short, so beside James he’s almost engulfed.

“Leo.” The boy says, after a moment of pause.

James smiles. “Like the stars.”

Leo stares at him, surprise slightly colouring his cheeks. “Yes – exactly like the stars.”

James keeps smiling. “Wanna dance? Leo.”

Leo considers, then reaches across the space between them and takes James’ hand, spinning seconds later into his chest and staying there the rest of the night.

The next day he calls Sirius and can say only one sentence, skipping right over ‘hello’ or ‘good morning.’

“I think I fell in love last night.”

Madly, hopelessly in love. The kind of rushed, consuming, love that can only end in heartbreak.

Sirius tells him he’s an idiot; James decides he doesn’t care.

…

London. 2021.

Leo stares right at him.

Three years after the last time James laid eyes on him, in the doorway of a Paris hotel room – tears blurring his vision as a black head of curls walked away without looking back.

Now here he is, centre stage at the debut of Sirius’ little brother’s band, singing right to him.

Would you avoid me? Or would you look for me to?

Leo seems to ask him, through the song. Like James would ever look anywhere else.

“Sirius.” He says, not letting his eyes part from that soft grey for even a second. “Is that your brother? The one singing?”

Sirius snorts, like he’s joking. “Yeah, of course. That’s Regulus.” He points right at the singer – at Leo.

“Right.” James forces himself to choke, his throat stuffed with cotton.

Right.

The song ends, but Regulus doesn’t look away. They stare right at each other – like a single look is enough to explain every unanswered question and loose string between them. Like a look can take them both back to that dark club at 12 to 12, and let them restart. Not that James would change a damn thing, except maybe the ending.

Music hums through the park, as the next song is set into motion.

Regulus watches as he leans against the barrier, leaning as close as he can get to the stage and it’s lead singer. Finally, he looks down and just smiles at the floor.

***

The lead singer REGULUS BLACK smiles down at the stage, then looks up to address the wide audience as the starting notes of their third track echo through the venue.

“I wrote this next song about you. You know who you are.”

“I wrote every song about you.”

Chapter Text

London, Crystal Palace Bowl. 2021

“I can’t go out there.” Regulus chokes.

Barty spins on his heel, his eyes as wide as those english saucers their tea had been served on this morning. “What? Why not?”

The rest of the band are already on stage, tuning their instruments in pitch black darkness as the audience of crystal palace park waits for their debut to begin. Barty and Regulus are the only ones left backstage.

“It’s him. Sirius’ partner. It’s him.” He’s rambling now, unable to string together a cohesive sentence. Only James has ever turned him into such a babbling mess. Good to know that even after three years he still can.

“Reggie, what the fuck are you talking about? Who?” Barty hisses.

He takes a breath, forceful enough to clear his head. “You know that album we have.”

“I might know it.”

“It’s about him.” Regulus points over to the front barrier, where James stands, casually tapping through his phone, looking just as unfairly perfect as he did three years ago.

Barty takes one glance, then looks back at Regulus with a slack jaw. “Oh shit. That’s James.”

Regulus frantically nods. “See. I can’t- I can’t do this.”

He starts to back away. It would be selfish – so infinitely selfish of him – to turn and run now. When they’ve come so far and worked so hard. Only for him to fuck it up at the go line of their careers.

But he can’t – he just can’t. Not when every word he’s about to sing was ripped right from the core of his pain and heartbreak and pathetic longing.

He hasn’t gotten over James, not even a little bit. If anything the countless words he’s written in the past three years only tore his wounds deeper, just so he could root around in the gash and find what parts of him hurt the most poetically.

Singing these songs to James would be like having his skin flayed from his bones, exposing his twisted heart for the very person it beats for. He can’t do that.

Barty reaches out and grips Regulus shoulders with a piercing determination in his eyes and forces him to still. “Yes. You can.” He starts to protest, but Barty shuts him up. “You can – Reg, you can. You have to. Not just for us, forget about us a sec. Just listen.” Regulus does, pressing his lips into a tight line.

“You have been singing about James for three years. Every word that’s come out of that genius head of yours has been about him. The countless drunken nights and boys who didn’t even scratch the surface for you – about him. It’s all been about him. So sing it to him.” He points to James through the curtain, who’s now chatting away with Sirius and Remus, grinning like the sun while Regulus drowns backstage. “You owe that, to yourself.” Barty says quieter – final. Then adds, “Plus, if you fuck this up for us now I will stab you with my drum sticks – so. C’mon Loverboy.” He nods to the stage, to the empty mic stand, and throws an arm around Regulus’ shoulder so he can’t escape.

Regulus nods, and follows him to his doom.

…

Paris. 2018.

Regulus stumbles around the inside of a posh hotel room in central Paris, searching for his discarded jeans.

Typically he’d be looking more deliberately and quickly than this, eager to escape as fast as possible. But something about this one makes him want to linger as long as possible.

He was careful with Regulus; treated him like something precious and worth taking time to worship and please. He’s pretty too. Very very pretty. Regulus has already strung together a few dozen lyrics just about his soft brown eyes.

Weirdly enough, the one that seems to stick best is: Eyes the colour of water left in mud. Like a puddle beneath the soft grey skies of Paris in autumn.

He spots his jeans, balled up half-under the bed. He must have stepped over them when he uncurled from James’ warmth.

James.

Regulus hasn’t given his real name to one of these men in years. Most of the time he can tell when they give him a fake name in return. It happens more often that you’d expect; usually from men who are married and hoping a false name will be enough keep their secret, or the men who are so deep in their closet that they have to pretend to be someone else just to stomach fucking another man. Or, in Regulus’ case, when they have a name niche and well-known enough that it could be repeated back to some less than desirable ears.

Regulus can tell James is being honest about his name.

It’s common enough that he wouldn’t need to make one up anyway to blur into the background of Paris’ myriad of English business men and tourists. Regulus can think of three other James’ he knows just from the top of his head: The owner of a bookshop near the Seine, a waiter from a restaurant near Regulus’ house – according to his gold nametag, and the friend Sirius used to prattle on about whenever he came home from boarding school; before he left and abandoned Regulus’ in Paris with their psychotic parents.

Regulus has never once felt guilty for saying his go-to fake name – Leo – when asked.

Never once, until now.

It’s too late now though. He just needs to grab his jeans, then he’s set to slip through the door of this hotel room and never see James ever again.

The thought makes him sadder than he’s willing to admit.

Regulus reaches beneath the bed, balling the soft denim into his arms. Better to change in the corridor than stay another second longer, in case he decides to forego leaving all together. He takes a step back, but stops when a hand reaches out to circle his wrist.

“Don’t.” James says, his voice thick with sleep. Regulus hesitates. “Don’t leave, please.” He repeats, more coherent. Even in the dark Regulus can feel the weight of his gaze; like a metal hook caught in his stomach, reeling him closer.

Regulus could probably shake him off and run. His grip isn’t anywhere near strong enough to hold him by force – probably by design, he knows from last night just how strong James is capable of being. Maybe that’s what has him dropping his jeans back to the hotel floor, and stripping off his shirt to climb back under the soft cotton covers. The choice to stay.

He frowns as he curls himself around James’ open arms and rests his head on the man’s robust chest, annoyed to find it just as comfortable as he remembers.

“You don’t have to. I mean, if you want to leave I won’t make you stay. I’m sorry.” James rambles.

He can’t help but smile, just a little. James is just so easy to smile at. Everything he says is sweet, or kind, or funny. Usually all three.

Regulus presses a finger to James’ lips, silencing him. “I want to. Just not used to staying this long.” He explains, before closing his eyes and drifting back into a deep, comfortable sleep in seconds.

James says something else, quiet and soft, and presses a kiss to Regulus’ curls. ‘Stay as long as you want.’ He thinks.

It occurs to Regulus later, once he’s woken up, that nobody has ever kissed him that way before.

…

London. 2021.

“I wrote this next song about you. You know who you are.” Regulus says, his voice echoing from the microphone and reaching the ears of all 10,000 people. His words are for James though, just for James.

“I wrote every song about you.”

He really did. Regulus wrote songs before James – many, in fact, some of them good. But none like the ones he wrote after James.

The track plays through the venue, and Regulus can’t help but shut his eyes, tip his head back and just feel it. He’s proud of this one. Really fucking proud of it.

I know a place

It’s somewhere I go when I need to remember your face.

He lets his eyes open, and fixes on James. He looks exactly how Regulus remembers him. There are soft mauve streaks beneath his mud brown eyes, and a slight unkept stubble to his chin, like he hasn’t been sleeping lately. But he’s still James. His James.

Regulus used to stay awake, forcing his eyes to stay open minutes and hours longer, just to trace the lines of James’ face with his eyes. Trying to carve James into his memory. He’s immensely pleased with himself that it worked.

Looking at James now. It’s like finally seeing the muse of an artist he’s spent years tracking. He could close his eyes now, and see James in a million different angles and lights.

Do you think I have forgotten – about you?

It’s a line that’s sickened him for years. A question he’s burned and begged countless gods to be answered.

He sings it now, and almost falls to his knees when James looks straight into his eyes, and shakes his head.

‘Never.’ James mouths.

It was never a question he needed to ask in reverse – has James forgotten me?

James was never as good at hiding how he felt. He told Regulus – Leo – right from the start that he mattered, that he would remember him. Because Leo stood apart from the rest of his life.

So he’s never doubted once that James remembered him. Even if that memory was scratched and tarnished by their final days together.

But it would have haunted him forever, the thought that James believed him all those years ago – when Regulus tried to pretend the time they spent together didn’t matter. That James would fade into the kaleidoscope of faces he’s kissed or bodies he’s touched. That he wouldn’t remember the shape of him or the sound of his laugh.

Regulus realised too late; he should’ve moved the heavens and swam all five oceans just to tell James how much he meant to him.

…

Paris. 2018.

They go to a café for breakfast. James’ idea.

“You didn’t have to buy me breakfast.” Regulus huffs, for the third time that morning, as James sets a black coffee and croissant in front of him.

He’s anxious to leave. Not because he particularly wants to. And he doesn’t have anywhere urgent to be – not until his gig with the band tonight. He just hates the thought of James doing all this out of moral obligation, and nothing more.

“You’ve said.” James hums, sipping the thick mound of foam on top of his ‘coffee’. Regulus wants to tell him it doesn’t count as coffee if you can’t actually taste the coffee flavour through the mass of hot milk and three packets of sugar he saw James tip into his mug. But he manages to keep his mouth shut.

“It’s not a requirement. I didn’t expect it, I mean.” He says instead.

“I know, but I wanted to.” James shrugs.

He keeps insisting, rambling now. “I’m just saying. It’s not my first casual hook up. I can handle just being told to leave.”

James sets his cup down at this. “Well it is mine, so forgive me for not knowing the etiquette.”

This surprises Regulus, enough that he shuts his mouth and keeps it firmly shut for almost a full minute as he begrudgingly takes a slow sip of the coffee James bought for him.

“Really?” He finally says, quiet enough to show his shame.

James nods, shifting slightly in his seat. “Yeah. Not really my style, casual. Can’t say I’ve ever hooked up with anyone spontaneously at a nightclub before.” He laughs. Not his normal laugh, which Regulus is embarrassed to admit he’s already committed to memory. It’s forced and meant to ease the thick awkward tension that’s settled over the table.

Regulus realises after a moment too long that he’s staring, aghast. “But you’re so- you’re just- you know.” He gestures to James, up and down, twice.

“I don’t actually, care to elaborate.” James smirks.

Regulus rolls his eyes, only to hide the sudden flush of his cheeks. “You know exactly what I mean. Men who look like you do not have to work very hard to find someone who wants to crawl in bed with them.”

It’s a valid line of questioning, at least in Regulus’ eyes. He’s had men lie to him before – claiming Regulus is the first boy they’ve stumbled between the sheets with after meeting him only hours before. He’s never been sure why they bother lying. It’s not like he has a leg to stand on if he wants to judge anyone; Barty’s nickname for him is ‘the tourist-thigh trap’.

James pretends to be affronted, and presses a hand to his chest. “I thought I put a lot of effort into those dance moves last night.”

“Oh please shut up.” Regulus laughs. It’s sudden, and he soon realises how long it’s been since he’s laughed at anyone but the other black stars – his best friends. Even they have a hard time getting him to express things like genuine joy and humour out loud half the time. And James pulled it out of him so easily.

He clears his throat, brushing the moment aside. “I just mean,” He trails off, thinking through his words before finally meeting James eyes. “Why now?”

There’s a different question in that. One he wants answering much more but doesn’t have the guts to say. Why me? He wonders if James hears it.

James bites down on his own pastry; a disgusting jam-filled thing, coated in powdered sugar. “I’ve never been to Paris before. I’m here by myself for work and I will be for the next month. I suppose I wanted company.” Then he looks Regulus up and down, twice, and with a thick smirk adds, “Plus. You’re just- you know.”

Regulus narrows his eyes, pretending to be unbothered and folds his arms across the black t-shirt James let him borrow and absolutely will not be getting back.

“You’ll be back at the club then? Searching for more company.” He puts the last word in air quotes. His irritation is far clearer than he intended. He’s never had an issue hiding his true feelings before – courtesy of the steaming pile of hell with walls he grew up in – but suddenly he’s losing his shit over the mere thought of James finding someone else to dance with, and lead away from the club and back to his hotel room, and fall into bed with.

“Not planning on it, no.” James says, too casually, and sips on his ‘coffee’.

Regulus raises a confused brow. “You want company, but only for one night?”

“Well that depends.” James shrugs, and takes a bite of his own pastry, still not meeting Regulus’ eyes directly.

“On what?”

He chews, then swallows. Regulus watches his throat bob and feels his mouth dry. “Whether you still think this is a one-time thing.”

Regulus can’t hide his shock, his eyes darting back up and meeting James’ soft brown gaze. He knows right away he’s lost.

“I don’t really do relationships.” He forces himself to say anyway.

James nods. “Neither do I. Never really in one place long enough.”

Regulus tosses that around in his head. He picks up his own pastry and takes a bite. The butter of the pastry melts in his mouth and he focuses every part of his mind on it, trying desperately to maintain the rigid line of his lips and vacant stare of his eyes.

He finishes the pastry and looks back up at James.

“You’re here a month.”

James nods. “27 days to be exact. I go back to London on November 1^st.”

He can handle 27 days. 27 days is nothing. He’s let 27 days slip past him before like the burnt orange leaves that blow through Parc des Buttes-Chaumont during the early days of autumn.

He can have James for 27 days and take whatever parts of him he wants; the rough callouses of his fingers against Regulus’ skin, the warmth of his eyes when he smiles, a few moments to inspire lyrics here and there; and then forget about it when it comes time for James to leave.

That will be okay. He can survive that.

By the end, he’s a ream of spoiled skin and a cracked glass of refracted memories. He survives but lives only as a shallow time capsule of 27 days out of the several thousand James will live; the days James will only remember as spending with Leo.

…

London. 2021.

And there was something ‘bout you

That now I can’t remember

Pandora’s voice is haunting as it fills the Crystal Palace Bowl.

Regulus is meant to position himself back at the microphone for his next lines, but he can’t move. He’s knelt at the front of the stage, his gaze locked with James. He might be crying, he really isn’t sure.

James is crying. He can see the streaks of tears wetting his tan-brown cheeks. Regulus wants to take him between his hands and kiss away every line of saltwater. Then he wants to spit them back in his face for ever leaving him in the first place. It’s a confusing mix of emotions.

Beside him Regulus’ brother stares, and mouths something in his direction. ‘You okay?’. It forces him to scramble to his feet and move back to the mic just in time.

I never know what to think about –

I think about you.

About you.

He sings, taking over for Pandora. He tries to look away – anywhere other than James. But it doesn’t work, his eyes keep drawing a line back to where his familiar, warm hands clutch the railing, staring up at Regulus like an acolyte would a god descending from the heavens.

Do you think I have forgotten?

About You.

About You.

About You.

They stay like that as the track curls through the air between them. The band continue to sway and play their instruments, and the crowd seems to collectively throw their hands in the air and dance as the music guides them.

The world continues to turn – rotating around the sun as it’s orbited by the moon – but James and Regulus stop. They just stop.

***

The camera captures the whole stage; the entire band and the front few rows of the venue. Then, slowly, it zooms into REGULUS BLACK.

He’s stood at the microphone, his hands still lightly cupping the stand even though he no longer sings, and stares with his head tilted just slightly to the right as the wind brushes against him from the right and flutters the dark curls on top of his head.  

Behind him, the spotlight adjusts and he becomes a dark silhouette as steam and blinding white burst from his sides. The track comes to a close and with it the audience yell and whistle for more.

Finally, the starting notes of their next song begin, and the voice of REGULUS BLACK cracks through the speakers.

“You guys ever been fucked so good that you had to dedicate a whole song to the room where it happened?”

Chapter Text

“You guys ever been fucked so good that you had to dedicate a whole song to the room where it happened?”

The crowd go absolutely manic. Apart from Sirius, who audibly retches.

James doesn’t know what he was expecting the next song to sound like, after hearing Regulus say that. But when he opens his mouth to sing, it almost kills him.

I’m going back to 505

If it’s a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

He grips the metal railing so hard he swears his knuckles pop in protest. Though James is pretty sure he wouldn’t even notice if someone cut his hand clean off right now.

“You okay?” Lily leans in, to whisper in his ear. She always notices it when James is off – when any of their friends are off really.  

He’s about to answer, when Regulus yanks the microphone from its stand – with a little too much force – and walks to the edge of the stage, stopping right in front of James.

Stop. And wait a sec-

He holds out his palm for emphasis, then drops down to his knees. James watches the whole thing unblinking and with a slack jaw.

When you look at me like that, my darling, what did you expect?

I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck.

He holds his hand up to his own neck, meeting James’ eyes and fucking smirking as he sings:

Or I did last time I checked.

…

Paris. 2018.

They grow close, fast.

It’s not just the sex; which is frequent and obscenely good, at least in James’ humble opinion. It’s every part of it. Every second they spend together just feels so correct. Like the perfect solution to a problem James didn’t even realise he was having.

He gives Leo a key to his hotel room after the third night they spend together, less than a week after first meeting in that nightclub.

It would be a huge step, if it was his own house in his own city. But he convinces himself that because it’s a hotel room it doesn’t mean anywhere near as much.

He wants Leo to come over, so it makes sense. James likes when he gets back from an exhausting day of meetings and studio sessions to find Leo already in his bed. Sometimes he’s just buried in James’ sheets and cushions, watching French-subtitled K-dramas and consuming macarons at a startling rate for someone under 5”7.

But other times, like tonight, James will open the door to find Leo knelt at the foot of James’ bed waiting for him. Sometimes just his underwear, other times one of James’ button-down shirts. And sometimes he doesn’t bother with any clothes at all.

James presses his keycard to the door of room 505 and pushes it open.

“Honey, I’m home.” He calls out.

It started as a joke, a few nights ago, and Leo laughed so hard that he snorted the chocolate milk he’d been drinking all over the white bedsheets. Now he says it, and right away goes slack and helpless, like a pile of wet cotton, at what he finds waiting for him inside the room.

“How was work, darling?” Leo asks, playing into their whole housewife bit, whilst sitting at the foot of their bed wearing a loose black-silk robe and a thin leather collar with a loop of metal in the centre of his throat.

James throws aside his jacket and kicks off his shoes. “It doesn’t matter because I’m quitting tomorrow.” He replies, fumbling to shuck his belt off.

Leo snorts, and leans back on the heel of one hand as he uses the other to beckon James closer. James can’t help but wonder how he’d react if he knew James ‘quitting’ meant throwing away his entire multi-million-pound company. But Leo doesn’t know anything like that.

It’s part of the extensive list of rules he made for them last week, when they agreed to this.

“We should exchange phone numbers, but not social media.” Leo said first.

 James pulled out his phone and pressed on the New Contact button. “I don’t have social media anyway.” He shrugged, as Leo took his phone and typed in his number.

It’s not entirely true. The company has a social media – which he has a distant part in. But it’s maintained largely by Sirius, who stands around snapping photos at every company event and typing out his stupid music puns into the caption. James tries his best to not be included in any part of it.

“Just better that way. We don’t need to include each other in our personal lives. This way we won’t accidentally stumble across each other’s families, or friends, or work. That way it’s not as personal.” Leo shrugged, handing James’ phone back to him.

He sent a message to himself, so James’ number would be saved on his own phone. James focused on that instead of Leo’s words. “Did you send yourself a picture of your own face?” He stared down at the photo of Leo; his dark curls falling over his eyes, as he looks down at the camera. He isn’t smiling, but rather staring at the phone like it’s personally wronged him.

It shouldn’t have been an attractive angle, but somehow Leo pulled it off.

Leo hummed, sipping his coffee. “A face like mine deserves a profile picture James.”

James looked between the two Leo’s, unable to disagree. “Can’t argue with that.” He resigned. Then set Leo’s profile and names the contact with a small lion emoji. Which he thought was funny at the time, but a week later Leo will toss a pillow at his face and demand he change it.

“When this ends, we should delete each other’s numbers.” Leo said then.

James stilled. When. Which makes sense – he knows it’s when because it has to be when. But the way Leo says it, like he’s commenting on the restaurant they should eat at for dinner that night, it doesn’t sit well in James’ head.

“If that’s what you want.” He eventually grit from his teeth, forcing a tight smile.

“It is.” He replied, certain.

James drifts closer to Leo. Like the sailor drifts along the shore towards the siren.

Ready to drown? He can practically hear Leo ask, as James stands over him and he looks up through his thick black eyelashes and bites down on his bottom lip.

Fuck yes. James would answer, then dive into the deadly waters, head first.

The moment he’s near enough, Leo reaches out and takes his hand, pulling him closer until his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He lifts James’ hand, guiding him to rest delicately at the sharp bones jutting out of his collar, just below the leather cuff around Leo’s neck.

“Do you like this?” He asks James, sounding nervous.

James almost laughs. Like. What a ridiculous word. Such a petty emotion in comparison to the sheer magnitude of James’ feelings for every single thing Leo says and does and thinks and even just exists around.

“I fucking love it.” He chokes, as he hooks a finger into the metal loop, feeling the stutter of Leo’s breath beneath his knuckle.

It’s such a simple thing – the vibrations of his lungs exhaling and allowing him to breathe – but it feels precious, almost sacred to James, who’s taken to idolising Leo’s existence as some modern-day miracle.

It makes him understand how religions came to be. Because what are the chances that, in the millions of years humans have walked this earth – and the 8 billion people that currently exist, he just happened upon him.

How could he possibly answer that without including some divine intervention into his calculations.

“Why do I get to be so lucky?” He asks. It’s a sincere question. And he thinks Leo knows that, when he meets his eyes for just a moment too long, soft grey searching his own dirt brown ones.

He shrugs, turning his solemn expression smug in half a second. “You probably sucked off some saint or holy servant really good in a past life. Maybe I’m a reward – or at the very least payback.”

…

London. 2021.

The stage goes dark, but for a spotlight on Dorcas – the lead guitar player.

She starts to strum her solo, Barty softly tapping his sticks in the pitch black, letting her steal the focus of the crowd.

It’s electric and James is alongside the rest of the audience in being completely enraptured.

Her black box braids fall over her shoulders and sway like pendulums across her concentrated face. She’s biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes fluttered closed as her fingers move against the strings with careful precision, not missing a single beat and placing the perfect amount of emphasis on each chord.

She picks at the notes, and James feels drawn out on a string. Then – as Regulus is illuminated once again by the lights suddenly switching on – the chord cuts, and he’s free falling through the air.

But I crumble completely when you cry.

As the beat drops, the lights scatter in wild, uncoordinated patterns, and turn crystal palace park into a mess of stars. People start jumping with the music, and on stage the band seems to join in, jumping as enthusiastically as they can manage with their instruments and letting their hair go wild as they bang their heads in time with the intense beat.

Regulus’ feet don’t leave the floor. Instead his knees hit the stage and he screams the lyrics into the mic, slowly lowering himself forward so his back is arched and his hair grazes the floor as he presses his temple into the stage.

One moment he’s keeled over, as if in pain, then he’s flinging his head back, staring up, above their head as he sings.

I’m always just about to go and spoil a surprise

Take my hands off of your eyes – too soon.

He gasps up at the sky – at the stars – as the music keeps screaming all around him. Then he presses forward, and crawls across the stage, reaching desperate towards something only he can see as he sings.

I’m going back to 505

If it’s a seven-hour flight or a forty-five-minute drive.

He turns his head, to meet James’ eyes once again as he sings to him.

In my imagination, you’re waiting lying on your side

With your hands between your thighs and a smile.

James can’t breathe. Or think. Or even move. Not when Regulus is looking at him like that and singing this fucking song. It makes him want to climb up onto stage and rip Leo in half just so he can crawl inside of him and never emerge.

Regulus looks away, and James feels himself deflate – gasping for air. He jumps onto his feet, and stands at Dorcas’ back as she plays the guitar riffs over and over, mastering the rhythm each time.

The music fades, and Regulus falls to his knees again as the lights switch off, and leave only him in the white spotlight.

…

Paris. 2018.

James sits up on the bed, signing his name on the pile of contracts he’s resting on his knees. Leo sleeps beside him, his face pressed into the sheets and his limbs sprawled out on all sides.

He wonders how Leo would react if he told him he snores like a freight train after being fucked good enough. Probably not well. So James will keep his mouth shut. It feels like a reward anyway, even if it keeps him awake long into the night.

He signs his name on the final page of the contracts, and quietly pushes the papers under the bed so he can pack them in his briefcase tomorrow while Leo is in the shower.

He checks the time on his phone beside him, then slides across the mattress and presses his front into Leo’s back, nudging the boys neck with his nose. “Love are you awake?” he mutters.

Leo groans, and bluntly lets his elbow flail backwards, as if trying to deliberately concuss James. It happened a few nights before, so James is ready and lurches to the side, narrowly missing the elbow.

“Fous le camp !” Leo mumbles. James has heard that enough times now to know what it means, even if his French is crap.

“You told me not to let you sleep after 9 am. It’s 7:45.” James reminds him, trailing soft kisses between his shoulder blades.

Leo lifts his head, just enough to turn and glare up at him. “I meant let me sleep until 9 am you fucking psycho. Let me go back to sleep.” He whines.

James chuckles, leaning down to kiss his sleep-flushed cheek, even as Leo tries to shove him away. He reaches around, to the opposite side of the boys waist, and flips him onto his back.

“qu'est ce que tu fous ?” Leo shouts, but James muffles his tired cursing with a heated kiss. When he pulls away Leo is taut and silent.

“I just wanted to make sure we had enough time to wake up properly.” James grins down at him.

The surprise on Leo’s face turns wicked in seconds, and James is hurriedly tugged back down on top of him, the hotel sheets kicked aside.

James is in the shower, an hour later, scrubbing down his sweat-slick skin. He left the bathroom door open just a crack, in case Leo decided to roll out of bed and come join him. Leo mustn’t have noticed, because soon James hears the vague hum of someone singing echo through the small hotel apartment and into the thick steam of his shower.

I’m coming back to 505

I’d take a 7 hour flight or a 45 minute drive.

In my imagination, he’d find me lying on my side

With my hands between his thighs.

When he pushes back into the room, towel slung low on his hips, Leo has fallen back to sleep, his legs tangled in their bedsheets.

James thinks about bringing up the song he’d been singing – asking if it’s some French hit he wouldn’t know, that just coincidentally references his hotel room number; or if Leo has more secrets than just his last name and the faces of his friends.

He opens his mouth, to say something, when Leo rolls onto his back and lets one eye crack open, looking James up and down.

“I’ve already cancelled everything I had planned for today.” He drawls, letting his hand drift out and toy with the hem of James’ towel. “You should do the same.” He tugs, and James forgets every word in his vocabulary.

***

REGULUS BLACK kneels on stage, the spotlight illuminating him alone even as the sounds of the band rotating around the stage is picked up by the speakers.

He presses his microphone to his lips, and for a moment just breathes heavily into it. The crowd screams, and his breath hitches a little like he’s laughing.

“If you could point to this album on a map, the red pin would probably be in room 505.” He croaks, his voice hoarse and breathless.

The crowd cheers and wolf whistles in the moment of silence that follows.

“But this next song belongs all the way in America.”

Chapter Text

It’s as the song AMERICAN TEENAGER drawls to a close, the lead guitarist and singer on this track DORCAS MEADOWES grabs the camera – not letting her fingers smudge the lens – and guides the holder forward and onto the stage, sticking her tongue out for the camera – and crowd – to see on the large screens that bracket the stage.

She stops centre stage and the film blurs as she snatches the camera into her own hands and holds it up in a shaky hand seconds later with the videographer in frame.

She takes the woman’s face, past her chunky blonde hair, in one hand and pulls her into a messy kiss for the entire crowd to see. The woman laughs onto her lips but reciprocates by holding DORCAS behind her neck and pulling her in to deepen the kiss.

DORCAS drops the camera seconds later, forgetting she’s holding it, and it clatters to the floor – upright so the two women kissing are still captured in the frame.

***

Paris. 2019.

“We like it - it’s just…” Barty trails off.

“What?” Dorcas snaps, still clutching her guitar after finally playing the song she’s been writing and working on the past month.

It’s good, but they’re all a little stuck for words.

“Well, you’re not American babe.” Pandora finally says.

Dorcas rolls her eyes, then tuts like it’s obvious. “No. But it’s not about me, it’s about-”

She doesn’t need to say the name, they all say it for her – in perfect unison. “-Marlene.”

“Fuck all of you.” She sneers. Holding up both of her middle fingers as the guitar sags around her shoulders.

“It’s been years Dor. Didn’t you date her when you were both like sixteen, and it lasted a month.” Barty points out, sitting up slightly in Evan’s lap.

Dorcas rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I get it. I’m sad and obsessive and can’t get over one relationship I had when I was a literal child.”

She’s told them the story many times now. Her tragic love story, which is – to be completely fair – pretty tragic. Just less so after hearing it told repeatedly for five years.

Dorcas spent most of her teenage years in America. Alabama, to be exact, even though her Dad is French. When she was sixteen she started a secret relationship with her neighbour and (direct quote) ‘resident sexy bad girl’. Marlene.

They were together a month before Marlene’s Dad – the local pastor – caught them and told Dorcas’ parents. The girls were forced to break up and cut all contact with each other. Dorcas was dragged back to Paris, where she met Regulus, Barty and the Rosier twins at the snooty parties their families would host.

She tried to look for Marlene, after moving out of the Meadowes household at eighteen with the rest of them – when they all emancipated from their toxic families and bought a four-bedroom house together above the bar they now work (and occasionally perform) at. But she couldn’t find out from anyone back in Alabama what happened to Marlene after she left the states. She’s been searching ever since, but still to no avail.

 “This is what us lesbians do Barty,” she tells him, folding her arms irately over her chest. “We meet the love of our life, stay with them for a month until being torn apart by some tragic external force like different continents or evangelical parents. Then we think about it for the rest of our lives and compare every following relationship we have, knowing nobody will ever come close; only to eventually give up on dating years later and put all our pent-up sexual energy into some unrelated artsy pursuit like finger painting or lyric writing.” She points at her worn note book of poems and lyrics for emphasis. “See you wouldn’t understand any of that because you’re a bisexual man-whore who spent his late teens and early twenties shagging through the general population of Paris until finally stumbling onto the penis of the only man in all of Europe who has ever been willing to deal with your annoying ass.” She gestures to Evan, whose only reaction is to raise his left middle finger, keeping his right hand occupied in Barty’s tangle of dyed green hair.

Barty gapes at her. “Christ, could’ve just said 'I’m still whining like a little bitch over my ex.' no need to bite my pretty head off." he pouts

Dorcas pretends to consider, pursing her lips and wrinkling her pierced nostrils. “Nah, that’s Reggie’s line.”

Regulus finally looks up from his own lyric book where he had – admittedly – been writing about James. All he can write about these days is James, because all he can think about is James.

It's been months now – almost half a year, since James left Paris, and Regulus is still finding new ways to miss him.

“I didn’t even say anything.” He protests, meeting Dorcas’ narrowed brown eyes. “I was actually thinking your song is good. It should go on the album.”

She seems a little startled by that, and Regulus realises in that second just how preoccupied he’s been these past months; writing hundreds of lyrics a day but not considering anyone’s songs but his own as they try to compile their first record.

He looks back down at the pages of his book, ashamed, and writes something down.

All I do is sit and think about you.

…

London, Crystal Palace Bowl. 2021

They’re doing soundchecks, just hours before the venue will open and the ticketholders will start rushing in, when it happens.

One moment Regulus is stood at the microphone, as the band scatters around him on the X’s marked for them. Then, Sirius is approaching the stage with a young woman around their age. She has a thick blonde wolf cut, smeared black liner, and she’s holding a camera in her heavily ringed hands.

“Hey guys, I want you to meet our videographer and the person who will be filming your concert tonight. This is-”

A loud crash sounds from Regulus’ left, and he realises Dorcas has not only dropped her guitar but set into motion a catastrophic domino affect between the instrument stand, her guitar case, and various other equipment spread across the stage.

“Marlene?”

The whole band almost gets whiplash with how fast they look back towards the videographer. Marlene is similarly startled, and her camera undoubtedly would’ve been the next thing to clatter across the stage, if it weren’t for the lanyard style strap that keeps it swinging from her neck pendulum style.

“Dorcas.” She breathes, her eyes stretched wide.

The two women gape, dumbfounded at each other, and for at least a whole minute nobody says a thing or even moves. The air feels too fragile, like a single misstep will cause everything to shatter.

Finally, Marlene takes a slow cautious step, then another, and in the next second she’s rushed over to Dorcas and throws her arms around the guitarist, pulling her impossibly close.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re okay.” Regulus hears Marlene say. Then, quieter. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Dorcas’ eyes are wide with shock over Marlene’s shoulder, then something inside her cracks and she visibly tumbles into Marlene’s hold, her legs bucking and her arms wrapping tightly around the other woman’s waist to keep her upright.

A sob wrenches free from her chest, and the sound cracks like a whip over Regulus. It’s the first time he’s ever heard Dorcas cry.

“Let’s go, guys. They need privacy.” Pandora murmurs, ushering them all off the stage.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise.” Sirius mumbles, minutes later as they walk through the park, away from the stage.

“What?” Regulus looks at his brother.

Sirius seems almost shell-shocked by the entire situation, and stares helplessly at the grass beneath their feet. “I’ve known Marlene since she moved to England. Right after…” he trails off, but Regulus knows the story well enough. Right after the girls were separated.

Dorcas was brought to France, and Marlene must have been transferred to school in London so they couldn’t track each other down. God that’s fucked.

He nudges his brother, smiling with the corner of his mouth. “Idiot. How many Dorcas’ do you think there are?”

Sirius rolls his eyes and nudges Regulus back. “Shut up Reggie.” His brother sticks out his tongue, then throws his arm over Regulus’ shoulder as they keep walking.

A year ago, Regulus could barely say two kind words to his brother – quite firmly holding onto his hatred at Sirius for leaving him with their parents all those years ago. He’d never say it to the stupid idiots face, but he’s glad they’re past that.

Regulus looks back, unable to stop himself, and watches Dorcas pull back from Marlene’s shoulder just enough to press their foreheads together and bury her fingers in her blonde hair.

He looks away again, and smiles quietly to himself.

…

Regulus forces himself to stand. It’s the first time he’s played 505 to an audience. He always knew it would be intense – even without James there watching, looking at Regulus like he was something to be devoured.

He’s beyond relieved when Dorcas slaps him on the back and takes his place at the front of the stage, stealing the focus of the crowd and cameras, it allows him to trudge across the stage and hide in the shadows between Pandora’s keyboard and Barty’s drums where his own guitar is propped up waiting for him.

“Salut London! My god you all look gorgeous tonight.” Dorcas gasps into the mic. She starts picking at the strings of her guitar, finding the rhythm she needs. “This next song we’re going to play for you is about the coolest girl I have ever met. She lived her whole life at full volume, and when people told her to quieten down she just got louder.”

The camera stays steady on Dorcas, but Regulus can see Marlene looking over the screen as she films from the floor – not far from where James and Sirius are stood. She watches Dorcas with a soft smile, so much love still in her eyes – even after so many years since they first fell in love.

“I suppose when I wrote this I’d planned to get on this stage and call out to her, hoping that somewhere she was listening.” Dorcas shrugs, sounding a little embarrassed. “But- well, fate can be really fucking cool sometimes. So instead I shall point y’all to the screens where a list of local LGBTQ+ youth centres can be found.” Regulus can’t see from where he’s standing, but he knows already what the audience sees.

“As a band we’ve decided to donate a large portion of royalties from this show to these centres, which do vital work in protecting and advising queer and trans kids who’ve come from unhealthy and often homophobic environments seeking help. If you can’t donate then please share and promote these organisations on your social media, maybe ask if they need any volunteers if you have the time.” They knew it was a risk doing something like this on their first ever show; even Sirius told them to be careful. But as the crowd start to clap, then cheer and shout in support – most of them lifting their phones to capture the screens and the charities listed – Regulus knows they’ve done the right thing, even if they lose opportunities for it.

Fuck those opportunities anyway, the whole band agreed they’d rather have no success at all than success of the backs of ignorant and complicit corporations.

“Thank you so much, and thank you for coming to sing with us. This is American Teenager.” She plays the initial riff, and the crowd scream.

Grew up under yellow light on the street

Putting too much faith in the make-believe

…

Paris. 2014.

Regulus hates these events, the ones his parents and their friends organise. They’re all a boring excuse to flaunt wealth and spread gossip, usually disguised as some form of charitable event just so the upper-class families of Paris can maintain the image that they’re giving and willing to share their mass of underserved affluence.

But he hates them even more now Sirius isn’t here to suffer through it beside him.

“Tu va bien Reggie?” Pandora asks him, pulling his arm around hers as they walk through the crowded ballroom, their heads lowered to avoid the watchful eyes of their parents and other nosy members of society.

“Oui, juste fatigue” He tells her. It’s not a lie, he is tired – he’s barely slept ever since Sirius left, all the possessions he needed hauled over his shoulder so he wouldn’t have to come back.

It’s been two weeks, and he knows he should call, or at least reply to Sirius’ hundred messages, but he just can’t bring himself to forgive his brother for just giving up and leaving him in that house alone.

“C’mon, the boys are waiting for us. I think Barty managed to sneak some wine from the table.” Pandora giggles, in english, as they grow closer to the half-hidden door tucked into the ballrooms back corner.

The door leads to a small staircase the servants use to access the glassware and crockery cabinets when the supply in the ballroom needs replenishing. Most houses of this magnitude have something similar, and by now Regulus and his friends have memorised the layout of each one, always able to find somewhere to sneak off and hide.

This house – the Bulstrode’s – have a long panel of windows just eye level with the stairs, likely so the servants can covertly watch when the champagne supply is running low and intervene. But they use it to point and laugh at the ridiculous snobbery on display, while passing around a lit cigarette and bottle of lewdly expensive red wine.

“Who’s that?” Regulus asks, after a while, spotting the unfamiliar face of a young girl around sixteen, with deep brown skin and ink black braids. Her eyes flit around the ballroom, sharp with an intelligence that’s rare in these rooms, but dulled by something Regulus recognises shockingly well – resignation. Whatever fight festers within her, it’s been stamped on and smothered a few too many times.

“Dorcas Meadowes.” Pandora tells them, as they all squish their faces together to get a better look. “The family moved to America a few years ago. Her father owns a chain of restaurants there. But she was forced to move back last month. Apparently she was found with her mouth attached to the local pastor’s daughter.”

Barty snorts, stealing the fag straight from Evan’s lips and taking a drag. “A fellow repressed homosexual? Invite her in.” He nudges Pandora.

“On it.” She hums and flutters down the steps and into the main ballroom.

They watch as she exchanges a few words with Dorcas, before ushering her towards the stairwell. Then the door is opening and they see Dorcas Meadowes up close. She’s stunning, in an effortlessly cool sort of way; with deep eyes and full lips. She looks down at them like she’s come across a box of drenched, abandoned cats in the middle of the street.

“Can I help you?” She clips, her accent a sonorous blend of French and the American south.

Barty speaks for them, of course. Not like any of them could get him to shut up anyway. “We wanted to invite you into our secret club.” He gestures to them, strewn out on the stairs.

She shrivels her nose, and inspects each of them individually. Regulus is quite aware how they look. Like a group of privileged pricks who get off on wasting their wealth just to piss their parents off. It isn’t an entirely inaccurate assessment, but it’s also not the full story.

“We call ourselves the children of the damned.” Barty slurs. The idiot.

“You are the only one of us who says that.” Evan clarifies, kicking the back of his head.

Barty flips him off over his shoulder but keeps his eyes on Dorcas as she replies.

“After the film or the song?”

He snorts, “The song – are you kidding? Iron Maiden over everything else.”

She narrows her eyes, and even Regulus can’t entirely tell what she’s thinking. Then she shrugs, and takes the cig Barty has held out to her, before leaning against the wall and taking a slow drag.

And that’s that.

It’s a few useless parties later they find the courage to ask her.

“What happened that meant you moved back to Paris?” Pandora says, her voice soft and kind as they smoke something slightly more recreational on the roof of Rosier house. It’s the twins birthday, but of course their parents hardly notice when they disappeared after the initial hour of greeting guests and pretending to be grateful, obedient children.

Dorcas sits up, looking like she’s being held at gunshot. Regulus knows why she’s afraid – they all do.

“Don’t worry. You can trust us, we aren’t spies.” He tells her, and forces a small smile. It’s the first words he’s spoken since she joined them – besides the occasional oui and fuck off Barty.

She still seems hesitant, and picks at the blue thread on her short dress. Barty jumps down from the roof ledge where he was carelessly strewn out, and comes to sit beside her with his legs crossed and his feet tucked under his thighs.

“If it helps. Not a single person on this roof is straight.” He gestures to them all.

Dorcas startles, and looks between them with cautious eyes. For some reason this spirals into Barty going round one by one exposing their homosexual tendencies. “Pandora has a new secret boyfriend or girlfriend every week; and Reggie, Evan and I used to practice kissing when we first went to school together – then, yknow, practiced other things too.” Barty winks, and Regulus throws his shoe at the idiot’s head.

“You didn’t have to say that part dickhead. She probably believed you without that much detail.” He snarls, as Evan snickers and stretches out to lay his head on Barty’s thighs and his feet in Pandora’s lap.

Dorcas finally speaks then. “No, the detail actually helped. Even straight people willing to lie for gossip aren’t usually willing to go that far.” She gestures to them, vaguely, and reaches across the circle to take the blunt from Pandora.

She takes a heavy drag, her eyes glistening at the waterline as she looks up at the black sky and stars above their heads. “Her name is Marlene.”

Something changes, between the five of them that night. A monumental shift they never exactly acknowledge but all mutually understand.

It’s the same night they started writing Black Star and their band was born.

…

London. 2021.

Regulus is smiling wide enough to burst by the time Dorcas forcibly drags Marlene on stage to kiss her. It’s an electric moment, and the crowd is screaming so loud – not loud enough to drown out the cheers and applause of the band though.

Once the two women finally pull back – for air – the entire band, Regulus included, hurtle into them and become a tight knot around Dorcas and Marlene.

“You deserve this, Dor.” Regulus mumbles onto her shoulder, his forehead pressed somewhere in her thick hair as Barty’s forearm is somehow shoved between them and wrapped around her waist.

She twists slightly, enough to meet his eyes and grins. “So do you Reggie.” She winks, gesturing towards the barriers where James stands. “Go get that puppy-looking fucker.”

He snorts, because James does sort of look like a puppy; with his wide eyes and unending optimism that Regulus has begrudgingly missed despite swearing three years ago he despised it.

The band break apart, and Marlene is almost purple with embarrassment as she picks up her dropped camera and scurries back to her place off-stage – kissing Dorcas on the cheek as she leaves.

Pandora puts her hand on Regulus’ shoulder and kisses his cheek. “Love you, Reggie.” She smiles, then hurries to where a second keyboard is hidden backstage.

Evan and Barty ruffle his hair and hug him, muttering their good lucks before walking away, hand in hand. Finally Dorcas wraps him in a tight hug and kisses his hairline before following the rest of the band off stage.

Regulus takes a deep breath, alone on stage in front of 10,000 people and his fucking muse.

He prepared himself for this next song, and only begged for it to be pulled from the set list once or twice. But he’s ready now.

He turns to the front barriers, without meeting James’ eyes, and walks up to the mic.

***

REGULUS BLACK climbs up onto the stool that’s been brought onto the stage, and lifts his guitar into his lap.

Besides the ecstatic buzz of the crowd, there is no sound.

He lets his lips fall open, close to the microphone, as if to speak. But all that comes out is a shuddered breath, almost a laugh, perhaps a contained sob.

Finally – he speaks.

“Everything about this next song scares me.” He admits, then hesitates and looks up, into the crowd – one point in the crowd – and corrects himself. “Everything about him scares me.”

Chapter Text

Paris. 2018.

It’s not as difficult as James thought it would be, to not talk about their personal lives. Usually his conversations would lead naturally towards his days at Oxford, or his company, or – perhaps most of all – his loud, charismatic best friend. But not even Sirius seems relevant when he’s with Leo.

They don’t talk about other people, or their jobs, or their families and friends. They just naturally drift towards each other, and the thousand memories they’re making in Paris together.

“Which one?” Leo asks him, and holds up two hangers – one with a beautiful chalk white, long-sleeve, silk shirt and the other with a black short button-up with a pair of twin snakes winding up the front, meeting in the centre where a red rose sits between them.

James tries to think, he really does, but Leo is wearing another crop top today. This one is white and sleeveless, showing all the small tattoos dotted across his arms and up to his shoulders.

“I think you’d look sexy in both love.”

Leo frowns, letting the shirts drop to his side. “You are the least helpful person on the planet to go shopping with.”

James laughs. “Then why did you ask me to come with?”

He shrugs, turning to the nearby mirror nailed to the shop’s wall and holding the two shirts up to his chest, examining how they match with his bewitching eyes and coal-black hair as he speaks. “Well you said your meetings would run late tonight, and I wanted to spend time with you in case you’re tired and aren’t in the mood to go out for dinner.”

James watches him, speechless. For countless reasons.

He comes up behind the boy, wrapping and arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his black curls. “I’ll buy you both. Does that make me helpful?” he murmurs into his skull.

Leo flushes a pretty pink colour and looks down at his worn, green-checked vans. “You don’t have to do that James, I can buy myself a shirt.” He mumbles.

In truth, James has absolutely no idea if that’s true or not. Leo behaves like he’s grown up around money. He has the practiced social manners, and ease around luxury that signifies a life in the upper class. But, sometimes, James notices other things that would point to the opposite.

For one; he smokes like a chimney and swears unapologetically like a sailor. His eyes are always thick with makeup, and his skin is smothered in tattoos. All features which would be frowned upon, if not outright forbidden, by the vast majority of wealthy families – particularly in France, if Sirius’ record is anything to go by, which James knows it is.

Leo will also appear at the hotel, sometimes exhausted and aching from limb to limb; smelling like a liquor counter but being absolutely stone cold sober. So James thinks he’s figured out Leo’s job – bartending, or something similar – which is a respectable profession, but certainly not a job for the heir of a wealthy family.

So, James is left clueless once again. Every time he thinks he’s figured out something about Leo, he seems to immediately find some way to counter it.

“Well I can buy you both. I want to buy you both. Then I want to take them both off.” James says the last part with a wink.

Leo rolls his eyes in the mirror, but turns in James’ arms to face him, careful not to crease the shirts. “You’ll have to take me out for dinner somewhere fancy at least twice then – because I’m only looking now so I can have something nice to wear tonight.” He challenges, tilting his head slightly.

James beams at him. “Damn, maybe we should buy you every shirt in this fancy ass shop.”

Leo’s eyes roll, but he doesn’t protest when James pulls him into a soft kiss. When they separate, he meets James with a look of typical derision but his smile still fights through. “You’re ridiculous.” He tuts.

James takes the shirts – both of them – and pulls him towards the counter. “That’s the closest I’m ever going to get to you saying thank you, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” He agrees, but squeezes James’ hand tighter.

…

London, Crystal Palace Bowl. 2021

“Everything about him scares me.” Regulus tells the audience, sitting crossed legged on a wooden stool – his guitar balanced on his lap, but James knows he’s speaking to him.

Regulus is scared of him?

He can’t hide his surprise. Leo never seemed afraid of anything, and they are the same person.

Except Leo kept his whole life outside of James locked and guarded with iron bars and steel cuffs. James once thought it was so he couldn’t pry or use Leo’s private life to track him down after the relationship ended. But now, he has to wonder if Leo and Regulus really are two different people, even if they wear the same face. One of them was fearless, and the other was so afraid he had to hide behind another name to make himself brave.

Regulus keeps talking, marring James deeper with each word.

“I-uh, well I wrote this song in a hotel bathroom, at about 3 am while a person I was falling in love with was asleep in the next room.” He looks away from James at that word. Love.

The crowd screams, demanding more, and Regulus seems to remember himself and focuses on his guitar, picking at a few strings and finding his key.

“I suppose it’s about being loved and being so estranged from that feeling that you start to become afraid of it.” He explains. “I was looking at this person, who cared for me more gently than anyone ever had, and started to want them so much that the thought of losing them felt like I was dying. And that terrified me.” He strums a more sure rhythm, and lets his eyes drift nearer James. Not on him – exactly. Just lingering around the edges of him; his hands on the metal railing and his shoulders flexing around his ears.

So close, yet far enough to cleave something wide open in James’ chest.

“I couldn’t make myself tell them any of that, at least not when it mattered.” Regulus says – a helpless chuckle cutting breathlessly into the air. “But I wrote it all down that night, and hoped that one day I would be brave enough to say it.”

He sucks in a breath, holding it a few moments while the crowd cheer in encouragement. Finally, his lips rest just so on the microphone, and lets his words flow with his guitar.

You just wanna dance, feels like our final act

You’re holding my hand, my mind sees a grizzly trap

It’s a beautiful song. Soft and cautious. So different from the unapologetic, bold music the band has played so far. This song, it sounds like an apology.

Everyone trusts you, they love you out loud

You won’t hurt a fly, but we’re flying up now.

He finally meets James’ eyes, and he’s suddenly all too aware that they’re both trembling.

Your love is a threat, and I’m nauseous.

Scares me to death, how I want it.

…

Paris. 2018.

Leo takes him to the Louvre on the day that marks a week until James will have to leave. He drags him through the countless renaissance paintings (including the Mona Lisa) claiming them all ‘boring’ and instead heads towards the sculpture gallery.

“This one.” Leo sighs, as they come to a stop in front of a large, marble statue of two lovers; one with wings stretched out above their heads, and the other strewn out beneath him, her arms raised up like a ballerina’s to cup the winged angel’s head, suspended in a moment just before their lips can touch together.  

James recognises it instantly and hooks his finger over the back collar of Leo’s jumper, pulling it down just enough to see the tattoo he has between his shoulder blades of the same two lovers, their arms curled around each other in the same adoring fashion.

“You really do like this one.” He says, looking between the two sculptures.

Leo smiles, but doesn’t take his eyes off the statue. “Cupid revives psyche with a kiss.” He says, and James reads the same name off the nearby plaque.

The statue – the marble one – is beautiful. But James can’t look away from the one etched in Leo’s skin. “Tell me about it.” He mutters under his breath, pulling the boys collar lower. Leo sucks in a breath, as the pads of James’ fingers feather over the tattoo, pressing on the place where the two lovers almost kiss. “Tell me, love.” James repeats.

“It’s- um. Cupid was sent by his mother, Aphrodite, to force Psyche to fall in love with a monster. But before he could shoot her with one of his arrows he fell for her himself and married Psyche to hide her from his mother. When Aphrodite discovered them in their marriage bed, she took Cupid back to Olympus and forced Psyche to complete a series of impossible trials to prove she loved him.” James presses a soft, chaste kiss to the tattoo, lingering there as Leo continues. “One of these trials sent Psyche down to the underworld, but she died before she could reach the living world. So Cupid escaped Olympus and flew down to the underworld where he revived her with his kiss and she became immortal like him.”  He releases Leo’s collar and wraps his arms around the boy’s waist to hold him against his chest.

“They died for each other?” James says, quiet, into Leo’s curls.

He shakes his head. “Cupid can never die, and Psyche never wanted to. That way she’d be separated from her love forever. Their story isn’t about death, it’s about wanting to live – so long as you can be with the person you love. For Cupid – Psyche suffered pain worse than death, despite thinking he hated her. She climbed mountains barefoot and drove herself half mad, just to prove how much she cared for him. And in return, he defied the gods and made her a goddess.”

They’re quiet, for almost an entire minute, until Leo shudders and says, in a forcibly lighter tone. “Bit ridiculous really. All that pain, just to tell someone you love them.”

James bites his lip, knowing he should probably keep his reply within his head, but he’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut. “I think it’s worth it. If you truly love someone, you should want to risk everything for them to know how adored they are, even without the promise of return.”

They go quiet, again. But James can hear a thousand words being screamed in that silence.

Leo unwinds himself from James’ arms, and takes his hand without looking his way, pulling him deeper into the gallery. “Let’s go to where they keep the Monet’s.” He says, softly as they leave Cupid and Psyche behind.

…

London. 2021.

“That’s him isn’t it?” He hears Lily say into his ear, as Regulus continues to play.

James startles looking towards her. “That’s who?” He tries to play her off but she meets him with a glare.

“Don’t lie to me James Potter.” She frowns.

He looks over her shoulder, making sure Sirius is stood just far away enough to not hear them. The older Black brother is also clinging to the front barrier like a lifeline, Remus curled around him as they rock back and forward, mindlessly dancing to the music. There’s only a metre between them and James, but with the guitar through the speakers, and the sound of the crowd at their backs, Sirius is oblivious to their conversation.

He looks back at Lily, and carefully nods. It feels like a stone being lifted from his chest, sharing this monumental, overwhelming moment in his life with someone else.

The love of his life – who he’s been hopeless for and unable to recover from for three years – Is here and singing to him. And he’s Sirius’ little brother.

“Did you know?” Lily asks, like she can read his thoughts.

He shakes his head, half-insulted. “No, of course not. I never would have- that’s a lie. I absolutely would have got involved with Le-Regulus even if I knew he was Sirius’ little brother. But I would have told Sirius first.” James insists.

Lily nods, thoughtful. “This is a lot, him being here.” She hums.

He almost weeps at the understatement. He feels like he’s being crushed between the sun and the moon, and simultaneously lifted far beyond the sky to float amongst the stars.

“At least you know one thing.” She shrugs, and he furrows his eyebrows in question. She smiles, and nudges him back towards the stage where Reg is staring right at him now.

Maybe I’m here, waiting for someone

To get through my years of trying to trust them.

“That he is not over you either.” He distantly hears Lily say, though his attention is utterly stolen by soft grey eyes and charcoal curls.

I know that it’s in me, to really love someone.

But that’s not a thing that I learnt from my loved ones.

…

Paris. 2018.

"I'm in love with you." James says it.

They're baking a cake together, in the tiny kitchen area of his hotel room after getting home from the Louvre, and he just – says it.

Leo looks up at him, his eyes wide and startled. There's melted chocolate smeared across his cheek, ending at the part of his lips where he licked the trail up without realising most of the mess was spread further than his tongue can reach.

"You can't just say things like that James." He mutters, sounding more annoyed than anything else.

"You can if it's true." James argues.

This seems to annoy Leo more. "But it isn't true. So you can't."

Half of James wants to chuckle and tease Leo about how stubborn he is. The other half wants to curl into a tight ball and cry until he's turned to ash and bone.

“Why do you say that?” He eventually asks, quiet.

Leo scoffs, like it's obvious. “You can only be in love if you've fallen for every part of another person, and for that you have to know every part. Not just the parts you want to fuck.” James flinches and Leo quickly softens with guilt. “Sorry. I know that isn't all you want from me.”

They're silent for a few minutes, still stirring the ingredients for their cake. Just moments before they were laughing hard enough for their stomachs to hurt, flinging flour at each other and exchanging heated kisses while waiting for the chocolate and butter to melt. Now it's just – silent.

“I do know you.” He finally says, and they both stop. “I might not know your last name, or what you do when you're not here. But I know you. I know you have an insatiable sweet tooth, and you like horror movies but hate the Saw franchise because it’s crime not horror. I know your charming but despise social situations, you love animals and music and art, and you're hilarious without trying, and judgemental on purpose, and so painfully obstinate. I know all your parts, even if I don’t know your past, and I love every single one.”

Leo stares at him across the kitchen, his hand still clutching a wooden spoon slightly too tight. He doesn’t say a word, and James can’t handle the silence.

“I know I’m leaving in a week, and it’s only been twenty days we’ve had together. But I knew right from the start I’d end up falling for you, without knowing a single thing except how you dance and the way you look at me. That was enough for me to become completely obsessed with you, and now I- god I just love you so much.” He laughs, rubbing his temple against his fist. Because it’s ridiculous – he knows how ridiculous it is. But he just does. He has right from the first moment he saw this man across a club at 12 to 12. James loves him, like he’s never loved anyone before.

“You are too good to love someone like me James.” Leo finally sighs, defeated. “You’re too loving, and trusting, and kind. And I – I don’t know how to deserve you.”

James circles the counter between them and takes Leo’s face in his hands. “You don’t have to deserve me. You don’t even have to love me back. You just need to let me love you, for as long as I can.” He almost begs.

Leo starts stuttering, his lips trying and failing to form whatever words are trapped in the walls of his throat. His head falls, as if ashamed, and James hears him whisper. “I can’t – I can’t say it back. I’ve never- not to anyone.”

He lifts his chin, gently – giving Leo the option to keep looking away. But he lets James meet his eyes, not even hiding the thin line of tears that sits on his waterline. “I don’t need to hear it back. I just need you to know how I feel. I need you to know you’re loved, probably by many – but most of all me.” He teases, kissing away one of Leo’s tears – then another.

He chuckles, shoving James back lightly as his slight stubble brushes his skin, and tilts his head down again to try hide the soft flush of his cheeks. Now James does hold him in place, pressing their foreheads together so Leo can’t look away.

“I love you. All of you, every part. There isn’t a single thing you’re hiding from me that could change that.”

His lips part, slightly, as if to say something in return. But instead he forces a thin smile and nods, leaning forward to catch James’ lips and guide him over to their bed, leaving the half-made cake forgotten until morning.

James wakes up to a significant lack of warmth where Leo is meant to be curled into his side, his temple pressed into James’ neck and his limbs strewn languidly around the rest of the bed.

He shifts, enough to see where his clock reads 3:17 am.

Christ. He lurches upwards, terrified for a moment that Leo ran away – just as he tried to do that first night they met. James never should have said a thing, he should have know it was too much, that his feelings were too much – that he is too much.

He’s about to spiral, when he notices a thin line of yellow light beneath the bathroom door and settles enough to realise all of Leo’s things – including his phone, face down on his side of the bed – are still in the room.

James slides out of the sheets, letting the bare soles of his feet meet the cold marble floor, and creeps across the hotel room. He stops just a foot from the door, and cranes his neck to hear a soft scratching sound from inside. Almost like a pen moving hurriedly across paper.

“Love?” He calls, and hears a startled string of French curse words. “Are you alright?”

The bathroom door slams open, basking James in a painful burst of light, enough that he has to shield his tired eyes for a moment. “Shit sorry.” Leo curses, and closes the door behind him, coming up to James and pulling his hands from his eyes.

James looks him up and down, checking for any sign that he should be more than just concerned. His skin is unmarred, and he’s wearing James’ shirt and an odd pair of socks. “I’m okay, I was just-” he stops, and James knows – it’s one of those things they don’t talk about. Something that would give James just a little too much of the boy in front of him.

“I just wanted to check on you.” James smiles, trying not to show his instinctual sadness, and stroking a hand through Leo’s sleep-mussed curls.

He nods, leaning into James’ touch as his hand feathers along the freckled skin of his cheek. When James draws his fingers back, a few lines of saltwater are smeared along his knuckle. It makes his stomach curl again.

Leo catches his hand, squeezing it and silently assuring him. “I’ll come back to bed once I’m done, promise.” He kisses James’ knuckles.

James nods, knowing he’s been dismissed and backs away, towards the bed.

“James.” He hears, before he can fall back into the sheets.

He turns back, and sees Leo stood, stiffly. His grey eyes are fixed and steeled with determination, like he’s stood at the rock ledge of a tall cliff and building himself towards hurtling off and into the crashing waves below.

Ready to drown? James thinks, ironically, after all this time of him being the one struggling to stay afloat.

Leo shakes his head, stepping back from the ledge and keeping his feet on stable ground. “Nevermind. Go back to sleep, I promise I’ll be back before you wake up.” He smiles, without meeting James’ eyes and scurries back towards the bathroom, shutting himself inside.

James lingers, feeling deprived somehow. Like he’s just missed out on some invaluable secret that now he may never know.

A few minutes pass, maybe hours, and James falls back asleep before Leo can emerge. He’s there when James wakes up with the morning light though, tucked safely into James’ chest and holding his waist like James will somehow slip away in the night.

He smiles, and presses a kiss to the boys curls.

“I love you.” He whispers, unable to keep it in now it’s already tumbled out. “I love you. No matter who you are outside of this room.”

He drifts back to sleep, not noticing as the other boys eyes flutter open, his expression rigid with fear as he clings to James tighter.

***

REGULUS BLACK plays the final few chords of the song *NAUSEOUS* then lets go of his guitar with one hand and wipes away a stray tear, fast enough that the audience probably didn’t notice.

The band run back on stage, waving to the crowd as they return to their instruments.

PANDORA ROSIER rushes towards REGULUS BLACK at centre stage, and almost knocks over the stool he sits on over hugging him. He startles, and mutters something in French that fans later translated as ‘Christ on a fucking stick be careful Pan – I’m breakable.’

He hugs her back, then hops down from the stool and quickly returns to the darker corner of the stage with his guitar, keeping his eyes on the stage.

PANDORA takes the microphone in her hands, as the stool is dragged off stage, and grins to the audience.

“Time to get batshit crazy.”

Chapter Text

Paris. 2019.

Regulus is drying off the final few washed glasses of the night. The bar is closed and all the other servers have gone home.

The landlord and pub-owner Hagrid is meant to close up, but since letting the band rent the rooms above Beauxbatons he’s taken to letting whichever one of them is working the latest shift close and cash-up so he can go home early to his wife Olympe and their adorable Mastiff Fang.

So Regulus is alone, and has switched the radio that usually plays over the bar off, so he can quietly figure out the tune of the latest song he’s written.

“Was it always – Was it always in your plans to leave – Was it always in your plans-” He sings, changing the key, tune and emphasis slightly with each turn. “Was it always in your plans to leave eventually?” That one. He mentally notes, realising he’s been wiping the same glass for two minutes and sliding it onto the shelf.

It’s coming up to exactly a year since he first saw James at Chasseur d’étoiles the nightclub he used to frequent semi-regularly and now can’t even walk down the same street as.

He leaves the kitchen, stopping at the bar to collect the keys and receipts he left there and stops, leaning against the bar to sing the new lyrics that just materialised in his head.

“In a room full of people I look for – you. Would you look for- no. Would you avoid me or look for me too. Or. Would you avoid me or would you look for me too. Tell me- Something, something, and something else, or do our hearts still beat-” He’s cut off by a loud crashing sound from upstairs, and the unmistakable screech of Barty and Pandora finding something to be furious about.

He rolls his eyes and picks up his stuff, locking the bar door and making his way through the side door and up to their flat.

“That absolute fuckwit imbécile – Je vais le tuer !” He hears more clearly as he opens the door, and finds Pandora and Barty screaming at Evan’s laptop, the screen open on some online magazine.

“What the fuck is happening?” He asks, looking towards Evan – who’s sat cross-armed on the couch staring irately at the laptop.

Barty replies before Evan can say a word. “What’s happening, is that ass-tasting-kombucha-drinking, posh freak with fucking white-man dreads is about to make a murderer outta me.” He seethes, reaching with absolute conviction towards the baseball bat they keep by the door.

Regulus gets to it first and snatches the potentially-lethal weapon behind his back. “I think if we’re turning to violent crime we should really start with our abusive parents, not at a man called Xenophillius Lovegood.” He scolds, shoving Barty back towards the couch to sit down.

“We didn’t even tell you it was about him.” Evan snorts.

Regulus frowns at him, falling into the chair opposite him and letting his head rest in Dorcas’ lap – who’s been there the whole time quietly reading a book on medical misogyny. “There is not a single other white man with dreadlocks in the entirety of Paris, and if there is then the world is truly reaching its apocalypse.”  

Evan chuckles, nodding while Pandora and Barty continue plotting murder in angry French, vulgar English and he thicks Dutch for some reason.

“So – what happened?” Regulus asks him.

Evan kicks the laptop towards Regulus, and he lifts it onto his thighs to read the article brought up.

~

THE QUIBBLER BY XENO LOVEGOOD

‘How does a band made up of a desperate emo, a grunge skater boy, a bossy mean girl, a manic goth, and a batshit crazy crystal girl create a united sound? – well, in the case of BLACK STAR, they don’t.’ …

~

“That bastard.” Regulus sneers, as he reads the rest of the article.

In the meantime Pandora has already switched on the stereo to blast Lily Evans at full volume and thrown open the doors of their balcony to scream out at the top of her lungs for half of France to hear.

“THAT BASTARD.”

…

London, Crystal Palace Bowl. 2021.

Pandora takes the mic with both hands. Her fingers are clad in about three rings each, all different sizes and colours and patterns. She started the day with twelve and by the time they went on she’d added about twenty, claiming she didn’t want to ‘leave out any lucky charms and curse their show’. Which is probably why every inch of her is covered in jewellery and charms; from the bangles and bracelets that reach her elbows and the chain around her light brown exposed belly. She looks utterly ethereal beneath the white spotlight, illuminated with all her piercings and charms until she sparkles like the stars above their heads.

“Before I sing my song for you guys,” Regulus hears her say, her voice echoing from the speakers. Before she can say another word, the crowd explodes and she has to stop and laugh. Her giggle echoes through the park, high pitched and musical, like wind chimes.

She refinds her nerve, and restarts. “Thank you. Um – anyway. Before that, I just wanted to say a few words to two specific audience members.” She gestures down, and Marlene at the front of the stage follows her fingers and points the camera at the two women stood between James and Sirius, huddled together. The moment the audience sees their faces too, they go wild.

Regulus is confused enough that he has to crane his head to get a better look. Holy shit. He’d been so focused on the way the redhead woman was whispering in James’ ear that he hadn’t seen who ‘the redhead’ is. It feels like sacrilege referring to her such simplistic a way.

Lily goddamn Evans – one of the biggest artists in the pop genre, perhaps ever – is at their show. Sirius mentioned they were friends, but he didn’t think they’d ever actually get to meet her – let alone see her at one of their shows.

Lily and the woman beside her start blowing dramatic kisses towards the camera and drawing love hearts in the air towards Pandora, mouthing words of encouragement at her. Regulus recognises the other woman as Mary Macdonald, an actress who stars in one of the cheesy American shows Barty and Pandora always watch and get inexplicably annoyed at every time a new episode drops. He thinks she’s from the show that started as a crime-solving book club and now has a shapeshifting wolf character and weird virus that makes its victims dance themselves to death.

Pandora is clearly out of her wits flustered (Lily being her absolute top celebrity crush since her debut when they were all nineteen) but manages to shout into the microphone. “Everyone give it up for my favourite actress Mary Macdonald and absolute Pop legend Lily motherfucking Evans. Holy shit.” She covers her mouth and turns dramatically towards Barty, who’s sat at his drum kit screaming ‘ohmyfuckingholytits’.

They exchange a look as though they’re about to burst into rainbow-coloured confetti from excitement before Pandora turns back to the two women.

 “You guys are both such huge inspirations for everyone on this stage. Me and Barty especially are fangirling hard.” Marlene turns to show Barty, who’s now waving like a maniac at the two girls; who in turn start blowing kisses at him until he dramatically swoons.

He leans up to the mic and speaks. “Once this is done I have about fifty things for you each to sign – including my tits. Actually can we wrap this up early, I have several thousand questions about the season finale of Mary’s show.”

Pandora turns to him, insulted, and – close enough for the mic to pick up – scoffs “No fuck off, I’m just about to sing my song.” The crowd starts cheering again, wolf whistling and chanting B-S-C over and over.

It catches them all off guard, and suddenly the jokes and games are over. They look out at the audience – all 10,000 fucking people chanting for their songs.

Regulus realises that, up until this point, he’d almost been imagining those half a million streams of their album, and the SOLD OUT notification when the tickets released for their first show, and all the thousands of new followers he’s received daily on social media, were just numbers – not people.

They weren’t real. Their success wasn’t real.

But it is. All their work, and pain, and hoping. It was fucking worth it.

Their parents were wrong about them.

They all exchange a look, and Regulus knows they’re all thinking the exact same thing.

Pandora clears her throat, the tears obvious in her voice, and speaks. “I wrote this song for the writer of a music blog in Paris, who dated me for six months then wrote an article saying our band wouldn’t amount to anything, and calling me ‘bat-shit-crazy’” Pandora puts those words in air quotes and the crowd boos.

“Well, Xeno,” She lifts her two middle fingers up, towards the camera. “This ones for you asshole.”

I cut my nose to save some face

You cut your hair and ‘take some space’

We don’t speak cos its too tricky

But if I’m tricky why’d you kiss me?

…

Paris. 2019.

“Look, I’m a journalist - I have a responsibility to be honest with my readers. If you didn’t like what I had to say then you shouldn’t have invited me to listen to your band.” Xeno’s annoying english accent scrapes through their flat, even with Pandora’s door shut.

It makes Regulus think about James, and his sexy British accent that made him sound sophisticated rather than like he was putting his fingernails to a chalkboard every time he opened his mouth.

They could have all gone out when Xeno arrived half an hour ago; or turned on some music to drown him out. But they all agreed to eavesdrop – for moral support. To help Pandora with her breakup.

No other reason.  

“It’s not the fucking review I’m annoyed about. Say and think whatever you want about our music it’s subjective. What I care about is the extremely fucked up things you said about all of us - including me. Your girlfriend.” Pandora shouts back at him.

“Woah – no one said anything about girlfriend. I don’t do labels remember babe?”

Dorcas coughs. “Jesus this guy does not quit being an asshole.”

“It’s a full-time job.” Evan grumbles, sat the closest to his sisters door, ready to jump up and intervene if necessary. He even let Barty sit at his immediate side, rather than dragging the green-haired boy into his lap the moment he tried to sit anywhere else like he usually would.

“Whatever, just some of the shit you said was really personal.” Pandora snaps, from inside her room.

“Like what?”

Pandora snorts. “You’re kidding right - you literally started the article by individually forcing all of us into some fucked up stereotype just so you could make a negative point about our unconventionality.”

Xeno seems to pause, but eventually sniffs, “That wasn’t about you. I don’t actually think you’re crazy babe, I think you’re quirky.”

“You called me unhinged Xeno.” She snaps, and they hear the sound of something thudding against the wall, probably the bouquet of shitty half-dead roses he brought her to apologise. “Fucking unhinged.”

“Well, you are kind of-”

“DO NOT finish that fucking sentence Lovegood, I swear to god.”

“Look.” Xeno says then, his voice softer. Soft enough that they all crane their heads closer to the sound, Barty half diving off the couch to hear. It’s almost comical. “Are we fucking or not, cos I’ve got places to be.”

Dead silence follows. Evan looks like he’s about to burst a vein in his forehead, Dorcas narrows her eyes into look that could kill dragons and queens, and Barty starts reaching towards the baseball bat again. Regulus lets him.

The bedroom door bangs open, colliding with the wall and probably shaking the whole building, including the bar downstairs which probably only has a few highly entertained patrons based on the time of day. Pandora comes hurtling out, followed closely by Xeno who is being dragged towards their front door by the roots of his bleached white dreads.

She throws open the front door next and shoves him, not hard enough to send him flying down the staircase, but hard enough that he stumbles down a few steps and has to cling to the wall.

They all jump up from their places around the coffee table and rush to Pandoras side so they can crowd around the door frame and watch Xeno try not to fall down the stairs.

“You fucking bitch.” He spits up at her.

Evan straightens at his sisters side; all six foot two of Evan Rosier glowering down at the piece of twig Pandora has been wasting her time with.

“You wanna say that again Xeno?”

Xeno’s eyes widen, and he quickly backs down a few more steps, his mouth buttoned firmly closed.

“Au Revoir Xeno.” Barty waves, a shit-eating grin on his face as he hangs off Evan’s arm.

“Bye Xeno.” Dorcas and Regulus grunt in unison, as the door to the street opens and Xenophillius Lovegood stumbles out.

They all immediately run to the balcony, as Pandora goes into her room and comes out with the wilting roses he appeared with. She throws them down at Xeno, hitting him square on the back of his head as he flees down the street.

“I’LL SHOW YOU BLOODY MOTHERFUCKING BAT SHIT CRAZY – ASSHOLE.”

…

London. 2021.

Oh, you think I’m alright

But I’m actually bloody motherfucking batshit crazy

Pandora shouts into the mic: “I’m what?”

The audience – knowing the next line already – shout it back to her with all their combined frustration and need for catharsis. “UNHINGED.”

I am scaling all these walls I’ve gone within

Dorcas moves across the stage to where Regulus is stood by Barty’s drum set with his guitar. “Holy shit we’re rockstars.” She lets out a gasped laugh.

He grins at her. Smug. Because he always knew they would be, even if he’s equally as surprised by this reception as she is – as they all are.

There wasn’t a single moment of doubt in his mind, from that first time they played Black Star together. He’s known all along they would one day change the fucking world. This is only the start of that.

Still, it’s a surprise even to him how much conviction is in his response. “Of course we are.”

Dorcas cackles at him, full teeth and tongues sort of laugh, and keeps playing.

You broke me big time.

The wind chimes he remembers them recording months ago when they stated recording play through the speakers, as Pandora’s voice turns softer and the music goes silent but for Evan on the piano.

It’s funny, and I’m laughing baby

That you think I’m alright-

They all sing the next lines, letting the beat drop crash through the venue.

But I’m actually bloody motherfucking batshit crazy.

***

REGULUS BLACK returns to the microphone. Behind him the rest of the band exchange instruments. DORCAS MEADOWES takes the drum sticks and BARTY CROUCH JR briefly disappears back stage, coming back with a bright red fender Strat.

He and EVAN ROSIER stand either side of the stage, bracketing REGULUS by a few feet and wink at each other over the singers heads.

“Front rows ‘bout to get one hell of a show.” BARTY CROUCH grins into his own microphone, looking down at the front barrier with his tongue to his teeth.

DORCAS taps the drumsticks above her head, and starts the opening beats of their seventh track.

As she plays, REGULUS BLACK lets his hands trail up the microphone stand, then drifts to his collar and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

Chapter Text

London, Crystal Palace Bowl. 2021.

“Front rows ‘bout to get one hell of a show.” Barty smirks down at James, who looks between him and Regulus confused for a second, until Regulus’ hands come up to the top button of his cropped black shirt and picks it apart.

He watches James’ jaw literally drop and his cheeks turn stark red.

Regulus can’t help but chuckle into the microphone, though he doubts the crowd hears it over their screaming.

This number might kill James. He’s accepted that as a side effect. But in Regulus’ defence, he wasn’t expecting James to be here when they originally choreographed the song – or at least agreed upon what they would do whilst half-drunk on the plane between Paris and London.

Open Sesame

(We’ve places to go)

He unbuttons the shirt all the way to the bottom, then tosses it aside to reveal the skin tight white vest he has on underneath. James seems to suck in a breath, obviously flustered but still standing.

Not for long.

We’ve people to see

(Let’s put ‘em on hold)

He runs his hands down his chest, and stops at the hem of his low-waist jeans. He pulls open the top button but leaves his fly closed – obviously – before folding the belt of his trousers down and turning so his back is to the audience.

And everyone can see what he has inked there.

There’s all sorts of shapes that I bet you can make

When you want to escape, say the word

He turns his head, so his chin hits his shoulder and he can see James’ reaction. As predicted, James is holding onto the barrier like it can act as a life support as well as a temporary crutch. His mud brown eyes fixed like a marksman’s on the tattoo Regulus is showing the whole crowd on his lower back.

A pair of stag antlers, resting on his hip bones like trophies.

And a ‘J’ etched between them at the base of his spine.

…

Paris. 2018.

“This is a bad idea.” Evan grunts, for about the third time since they started a half hour ago.

Regulus turns his head as much as he can, as it’s pressed into his mattress and he’s pinned between his shoulder blades by Barty, to glare at Evan by his ass. “No it’s not. Barty back me up.”

“Oh it’s a horrible idea, but I support your craziness Reggie.” He grins down at him.

Regulus groans, half in pain and half because this really is crazy. “I just wanted to do something for him.” He whines hopelessly, as Evan wipes a tissue over the excess ink leaking from his half-finished tattoo.

“Most people make dinner reservations, or buy fucking flowers.” Evan huffs, but continues to follow Regulus’ requested stencil with a steady hand and his tattoo gun. “Not get a fucking tramp stamp.”

Regulus tuts, like Evan is the one being unreasonable. “Well I wanted to get laid too, and this seems like a pretty good two-birds-one-stone type of solution.”

Barty chuckles at this, holding him tighter and Regulus starts to squirm against the needle. “We might not have met James, but we’ve heard enough in your extremely vivid voice notes to know that, no matter what, you’re probably getting laid tonight.”

He’s not wrong there. James is insatiable and Regulus is utterly spoiled. All he has to do is stretch and let his shirt ride up slightly and James is flustered and falling to his knees, begging. It’s fucking great.

He’s starting to think he’s going to miss that quite a lot. That he’s going to miss James a lot.

It was never meant to be this way. He agreed to this relationship with James because it’s only a month, which is enough time to get all the shagging out of his system, but not long enough to want to keep James longer than necessary.

Now it’s days until James will leave France, and Regulus is starting to realise that returning to his life before James is not an option. But the thought of an after is so inconceivable that he has to shut his eyes every time and scream some random lyrics in his head to take his mind off it.

BLAME IT ON THE BLACK STAR. BLAME IT ON THE FALLING SKY. BLAME IT ON THE SATELLITE.

There’s a chance he might not survive this.

“I just wanted something I could keep, but didn’t have to look at all the time. Yknow?” He says then, quietly. Almost without meaning to.

Neither Evan or Barty reply, and for almost half a minute the tattoo gun hovers just above Regulus’ skin, humming mid-air. He knows they’re looking at each other, over him, exchanging some concerned glance that he isn’t meant to see.

He can almost hear them wanting to say to each other. ‘He’s so fucked.’

Regulus is so fucked.

Barty’s hand finally shifts, stroking through his black curls as Evan continues tattooing. “What time are you meeting him?”

Regulus sighs, still not looking up at either of them. Hiding the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Six.”

“We’ll be done by then.” Evan mutters. “I would tell you to refrain from strenuous activities until it’s healed, but I don’t fancy telling the fish not to swim.” He teases, and Regulus lifts his forearm to flip Evan off.

“Just finish the damn tatt- OW. God this placement sucks.” He protests, as Evan hits a dent in his spine.

Barty snickers, “I think James will be doing all the sucking tonight- NO, BAD REGGIE.” He shouts as Regulus lurches to strike an extremely well targeted punch between Barty’s ribs.

“Shut the fuck up then.” He snaps, retracting his fist. “Asshole.”

The moment Regulus walks into room 505, at exactly 6pm, he’s pressed into the wall and James’ finds his lips.

“Someone’s missed me.” He laughs into the kiss, but lets his hands tangle in soft dark-brown curls. He’s already memorised the silk drag of it against his knuckles, but he wonders if there’s anything he can find that will replicate it once James- BLAME IT ON THE BLACK STAR.

He walks James backwards, trying to get him towards the bed, but James already has hands on Regulus’ thighs and lifts him onto the nearest surface – the kitchen counter.

“Damn right I missed you.” James snorts and kisses him again.

His hands push up from Regulus’ thighs, over his ass up to his hips. Regulus winces and James immediately draws his hands back.

“Love? Is everything alright?” He asks, pulling back just enough to take Regulus’ face in his hands.

God he’s so fucking sweet, and gentle, and adoring. Regulus wants to keep him forever, but he only has a few more days- BLAME IT ON THE FALLING SKY.

He takes a deep breath and hops down from the counter. “I need to show you something.” He says, suddenly nervous. Oh god – fucking Evan was right. This was a huge mistake.

“Okay…” James forces a laugh.

Regulus breaths again, forcing himself to find the nerve. He pulls off his baggy T-shirt (one of James’ of course) Then spins on his heel and yanks down the waist of his joggers, letting them pool at his ankles as he lowers his underwear just enough for James to see his new tattoo.

James is silent, and Regulus swears he stopped breathing behind him. “I- uh, got it done today.” He explains. No reply. “The antlers match the one you have on your thigh, and the J – well, you can probably spell your own name.” He rambles, growing more self-conscious with each second James remains quiet. James is never quiet.

“I- well I thought you’d,” he stammers, trailing off and suddenly feeling the biggest knot form in his stomach. “I’m sorry, I should have talked to you first. I shouldn’t have-” He yelps, his words cut off as James suddenly pushes his front down onto the counter, followed by the distinct sound of knees hitting the marble floor.

James’ hands come to rest delicately at his hips, thumbs just grazing the fresh ink. His forehead presses to Regulus’ spine next, and his shallow breaths feather the fresh scar and has Regulus writing against the counter.

“You have no fucking idea what you’ve just done to me Leo.” James croaks, and not even the sound of that name can ruin this moment for Regulus.

“I can guess.” He gasps against the cool marble surface.

He feels the last piece of fabric covering him fall to the floor, and James kneads his fingers into his supple flesh. He whines, bucking slightly against the counter. Every time James touches him it sets him on fire, like he’s the fuse and James is a flame.

“We should really get you a pillow love.” James croons. Regulus can practically see the smirk on his face. “I have a feeling you’re going to be spending most of tonight face down.”

…

London. 2021.

Regulus finishes the first chorus, and almost finishes off James with it by how his eyes are almost bugged out his skull.

He crosses the stage, stopping at Barty and his bright red electric guitar.

Eyes the colour of?

Barty sings the opposite lines, like a reply.

(Water left in mud)

As he sings, Regulus takes the black-tie Barty has slung loose over his white shirt – an outfit identical to Evans for the show – and wraps it around his wrist, reeling Barty closer until the movement of his neck is in Regulus’ control.

It’s a funny thing that I cannot explain.

He beckons Evan over from the other side of the stage, crooking his finger in a come-hither motion while Barty’s tie stays tangled around his fist. Evan walks over to them, picking at the base notes on his guitar. The moment he’s close enough Regulus takes his tie in the other hand and pulls him the rest of the way, until their breath is shared and Regulus’ lips brush his as he sings.

 Stop the world cause I wanna, get off with you

He cranes his neck, singing to Barty over his shoulder.

Stop the world cause I wanna, get off with you

He lets go in time for Barty to start his solo, and as practiced he lowers himself to his knees for the duration, playing upwards to the two of them. What wasn’t rehearsed is how Evan grips Regulus’ waist, pulling his back against his chest and twisting his hips so they’re writhing against each other, Barty knelt at their feet, biting his lip as he plays to them.

It’s no different to what the three of them will do when going to a club together – if anything it’s more tame – but this is on a stage, under a spotlight, in front of 10,000 people, including his brother and James.

Regulus should really put a stop to this. But one look over his shoulder, and seeing James glaring at the point where Evan’s hand holds Regulus’ hip, and he’s twisting harder, pushing Evan’s hands up to explore the plane of his stomach.

He slips out of Evan’s arms in time to sing, but keeps them both close, even as he looks down at James.

Well I know that getting you alone isn’t easy to do

And I don’t wanna lie, and I don’t wanna tell you the truth

And I know we got places to go, we got people to see

Think we both oughta put ‘em on hold and I know you agree

…

Paris. 2018.

James traces the lines of the tattoo, without directly touching the sensitive scar, he’s laid out by Regulus’ side and Regulus is 90% sure James thinks he’s asleep. He delicately strokes along the detailed antlers and curves his finger along the J, then stops.

“I want to get one for you.” He says, softly.

Regulus lifts his head from the grey silk pillow, and adjusts to meet James’ eyes. “Really?” He breathes, his heart stuttering.

James grins at him, resting his chin on his hands. “Yeah of course.”

Reg just gapes at him, not knowing what to say or how to express all the thousands of feelings throttling him. “Why would you do that?” He finally manages.

Why would James want any part of him forever? Regulus isn’t worth keeping. He’s good for fucking and forgetting, why doesn’t James see that?

James told him he loves him – or loves Leo. Regulus still doesn’t quite believe it. That James, with all his light and joy, loves him and all his darkness. And now wants to scar his beautiful flesh just to imprint Regulus in it forever.

James’ smile falters slightly, “Why did you?” he shrugs.

Because I want you forever and I can’t have you for more than a handful of days.

He doesn’t say that, but James nods – like he knows.

Regulus has to press his face into the pillow again, hoping he can stifle the sudden urge to cry and scream and beg James to stay. Just stay. Because Regulus can’t leave Paris. He’d be leaving behind the band – his best friends. His family. He just can’t.

“What would you even get?” He says instead, his voice a little strangled. He sends a private prayer that James won’t bring it up.

He hears James shift slightly, then his lips are between Regulus’ shoulder blades, on the cupid and psyche tattoo. “I could get this, like how you’ve got my antlers.”

Regulus considers, but shakes his head. “It wouldn’t match any of your others.” He murmurs.

James chuckles, kissing his left shoulder. “What about an L then, you can choose where.” He suggests.

Regulus stomach twists. The thought of James with Leo’s initial, not his, on his skin forever guts something inside of him. He feels flayed apart, the mere thought of it punching through him like some particularly sick twisted sense of karma for keeping himself so hidden from this man who’s always been so honest and open with him, and only kept parts of himself private at Regulus’ request.

“No.” He replies, harsher than intended. Then spins a lie to cover himself. “That’s boring.” Regulus would probably die if James got ‘R’ or better ‘R.A.B’ tattooed. But he can’t exactly wrangle his way to convincing James to put three ‘random’ initials on his skin without admitting they’re his own.

James thinks, pecking random kisses to Regulus’ back and shoulders as he does. Regulus wants to scald each point where James’ lip touch his skin and let them scar over in the shape of his cupids bow.

“I could get your constellation.” James says then.

That catches Regulus’ attention. It’s still not his name, exactly. But his own star would still be part of James’ skin. It would be like his own secret. They’d both know James carried his name, they’d just think of that name slightly differently.

“I like that. Do that.” He decides.

 James chuckles and kisses his cheek before rolling onto his back and lifting his phone from the bedside table. “I’ll find somewhere that can do it tomorrow, between my meetings.”

It has to be tomorrow – James doesn’t say. Because the day after will be his last day, and then James will be…Blame it on the black star. Blame it on the falling sky.

“Booked. I might have to pull a sketch from the internet instead of waiting for them to draw it.” James hums, not knowing the apocalyptic level storm occurring right beside him in Regulus’ head.

He jumps up, too fast, and almost falls flat onto his face reaching for his notebook and pen. “Let me do it.” He blurts, flipping to a page that isn’t covered in scrawled lyrics or harsh gashes where Regulus decided his writing is crap and his songs are all utter trash.

“Are you okay love?” James asks him, furrowing his brows in concern.

Regulus doesn’t look at him over the pages, just forces a smile and replies. “Yeah fine, just wanna make sure you get a proper design. You can ask me to adjust it to what you want and stuff so its perfect.” He rambles, pulling up the constellation on his phone.

James chuckles, and falls across the mattress to rest his head in Regulus’ lap as he draws. He starts using James’ back as a table, and even though his face is pressed at an awkward angle, lodged between Regulus’ ribs and armpit, James doesn’t say a word of protest, only wraps his arms around Regulus’ back and holds him tight as he draws.

He finishes, and hands James the book to show him his sketch of the Leo constellation. He’s joined all the stars with faint lines, making the lion shape obvious, and added smaller details to each of the stars.

Then, at the heart of the lion, he’s drawn with thicker lines and created a more detailed shape, ensuring it’s the centre of the tattoo and that Leo fades around it.

James traces it’s outline. Then, like a bolt of lightning cracking from the sky, says. “Regulus.”

Regulus almost chokes. Almost fucking dies right on the spot. He has to dig his nails into his palm hard enough to cut skin so he doesn’t beg James to say it again.

“Yeah it is. How- how do you know that?” He breathes.

James stiffens, not looking away from the drawing. “Just have a friend who knows a lot of star names.” He coughs, vaguely. Then looks up, smiling. “I love it. No notes.”

He sits up, and kisses Regulus on the tip of his nose. “Thank you baby.” Regulus blushes, and tries to look down but James holds onto his cheeks.

“I love you.” He smiles, saying those three words so easily that each one stabs a hole in Regulus’ chest.

He thought after not saying it back the first time James would keep such a thing to himself, but apparently he’s the only man in the world unperturbed by rejection. He keeps just saying it and being completely fine when Regulus doesn’t say it back.

I don’t need to hear it back. I just need you to know you’re loved.

That’s what James told him. And goddammit the perfect asshole meant it.

Once again, Regulus keeps his mouth shut and just leaves James’ confession out in the open air, exposed and abandoned. He waits for James to crumple or withdraw, but he only smiles wider and presses another kiss, this time to Regulus’ mouth and climbs out of bed to go in the shower.

Regulus watches him disappear into the bathroom, and waits for the shower to start running before exhaling. “I love you too.”

He says it to himself, hoping James will know, even if he can never say it back to him.

…

London. 2021.

Regulus drops to his knees, and crawls towards James at the foot of the stage. Behind him Barty and Evan go back-to-back as they play.

Stop the world cause I wanna, get off with you

He remembers writing that line, about halfway into his month with James on the inside of a napkin in the locked bathroom of some fancy restaurant they went to.

It had been the first time he admitted to himself that he wanted whatever he had with James to last, just a little bit longer. He phrased it as something innately sexual so he could bear such a confession, but looking back it was probably the beginning of his end.

Stop the world cause I wanna, get off with you

James glowers at him, but holds his eyes as Regulus does until the track comes to an end and the lights go dark. Right before they can, James taps his chest, where Regulus knows a constellation is tattooed, with his star emboldened directly over James’ own heart.

Regulus lets a smile slip across his cheeks, though he knows James can’t see it. He probably knows though. James has always had a way of seeing what Regulus would prefer to keep in the dark.

But he can’t keep pouring his heart out to an empty room and hoping James will hear.

It’s too late for that anyway. He’s torn himself open abdomen to throat and let all his most selfish, and darkest thoughts fall out for the whole world to see. Might as well be completely honest while he’s ahead.

James has never tried to hide from Regulus; and he’s searched without complaint for three years, for every shadow of vulnerability and candid word Regulus had to offer, piecing him together with mere clues and hoping it will one day give away his hiding place.

Now, Regulus is ready finally to be found.

***

A spotlight breaks through the thick darkness, illuminating a grand piano in the centre of the stage.

PANDORA ROSIER sits in front of it, her hand hovering over the keys. Atop the surface of the piano REGULUS BLACK lets his legs hang down, the microphone clutched tightly in his hand.

He speaks, his voice raw with emotion.

“I wasn’t fair to you. I wasn’t honest when I should have been.”

The crowd is almost silent, everyone seeming to simultaneously hold their breath, feeling the weight of the singers' words, like a final reel of sins being confessed on a death bed.

“If you promise to never let me go again then I swear I’ll spend forever telling you everything.”

***

Paris. 2018.

Regulus watches James try to control the natural frizz of his dark hair and feels like the world is on a countdown to its imminent apocalypse.

The clock next to James’ side of the bed is ticking, as it’s always done, but now those delicate ticks may well be the deafening nell of church bell, marking the start of Regulus’ own funeral procession.

Not many people can pin point the collapse of their life to a specific time. But Regulus can.

Currently it stands at 12hrs and 8mins.

Soon it will be exactly half a day until James boards a plane at Paris airport, set for London Heathrow. Half a day until Regulus will delete James’ number from his phone and James will do the same. Half a day until everything comes hurtling to a sudden end, years if not decades before Regulus is ready.

James reaches for the two shirts he laid out for dinner tonight. They’re going to a nice restaurant Regulus mentioned a few weeks ago he wanted to try, James of course immediately got the nearest reservations, and they decided it would be a nice way to celebrate their last night together. Back when last night was just a distant pair of words. He holds up the two shirts, asking Regulus which one he should wear.

His fresh tattoo is on display, the outline still marred by red and the ink fresh and jet black. After the artist finished, James looked up at Regulus and patted the cellophane covering his heart.

Now you’re with me forever. He said to him.

Regulus has felt on the verge of breaking down ever since, just in constant state of being seconds away from all his bones snapping and his heart beating so hard it falls right out his chest.

Forever. With me.

When, by this exact time tomorrow, Regulus won't be with him and they certainly won’t be forever.

Regulus tells James he should wear the shirt in his right hand, without really looking. His mouth feels stuffed full of cotton and his focus is designated solely to the clock.

12hrs and 2mins.

He chokes, a reflexive sound breaking from his lips which he quickly covers with a cough.

James looks up at him in the reflection of the bathroom mirror and smiles. His eyes linger on Regulus, adoring every part of him, committing him to memory – because tomorrow…

James looks away, and Regulus looks back at the clock.

11hrs and 59mins

His heart stops. Regulus isn’t even sure that’s figurative, he’s almost certain his heart actually stops working to keep him alive for a few seconds, before involuntarily restarting.

No. No. No. Let me keep him. Don’t take him away. Let him keep loving me. Let me love him back.

The word. The one that’s kept him from sleeping, and haunted his shadow, and been lodged in his throat, choking him for weeks. It slips through the cracks in his worn and weathered walls faster than he can rebuild a barrier.

“Stay.”

Chapter Text

Paris. 2020.

Pandora Rosier is the only resident of their small Parisian flat still awake. They all tried to stay up, as they usually do when Reggie gets this way, and wait for him to get home.

But this time Barty nodded off after 2 am and Evan carried him to their room, when neither of them came back Pandora assumed Evan must have passed out too, by accident, and didn’t want to wake either of them. Dorcas lasted until almost half 4, but she’d been the one to close Beauxbatons last night, and she was scheduled to open tomorrow (today now) so Pandora told her to go sleep and swore she’d wake her up if he still wasn’t home by 7 am so they could go out searching before her shift.

It's 6:32 and Regulus still hasn’t been home after leaving the flat yesterday at 3pm, swearing he just wanted ‘one drink without being fucking babied’. So she waits, biting down on her nails and making a mental list of all the places they looked the last time Reggie disappeared overnight.

There’s a sound from the street outside, and Pandora hears the unmistakable slur of Regulus Black swearing up a storm. She rushes down the stairs, and is equal parts relieved and furious when she flings open the door and finds Reggie stumbling towards the door, tripping over the rubbish he clearly just kicked over outside the bar, and stinking of a vodka distillery.

He falls through the doorframe, literally falls, and she just about manages to catch him in her arms. “For fucks sake Reggie.” She mutters, and drags him upstairs.

“Mmm- tired.” He mumbles, as they climb the stairs. She doesn’t reply.

When they reach the living room he instinctually starts swaying towards where their bedrooms are down the corridor, but she steers him towards the couch and drops him there.

He starts to shout his protests, but before he can she perches on the edge of their coffee table and forces him to meet her eyes. “What happened with James?”

He gapes at her, caught off guard in the way you’d expect someone to be after being bitch slapped.

Nobody dares bring up James around Regulus anymore.

That’s how incidents like this occur. Last time it was someone walking past him with a pair of stag antlers tattooed on their forearm; the time before that it was when they tried to convince him to perform one of his songs about James during their gig at the bar.

This time is exactly two years after James left, or more accurately – the day before James left. When Regulus came home unexpectedly on the evening he was meant to be spending with James and wouldn’t tell any of them why.

None of them pushed him at the time. He seemed so fragile for months afterwards, like one misplaced word would cause him to shatter. He was barely sleeping or eating, just drifted through the motions he needed to survive like a ghost clinging to the living world. For almost four months he barely said a single word. Then he seemed to get better, and started writing at a pace none of them could fully keep up with. It concerned them, but they agreed to keep an eye on him and allow the madness to continue.

They should have intervened sooner; or noticed the moment it all started crashing to the floor.

It started with him going back to Chasseur d’étoiles almost a year and a half after the last time he went – when he met James. Barty and Evan had been trying to convince him to go back for months, thinking it would help, and they were so happy when he finally agreed.

Then he started going back too often, most of the time without inviting any of them to go with him. He used to go alone, but that was before James, and before he would hardly drink on those nights; he’d just dance and maybe find someone to fall into bed with for a few hours. But he’d always be back before morning, or at least message when he wouldn’t. He never used to give them any reason to worry.

It's different now. Everything is different now.

“You know what happened.” He whispers to answer her question.

She shakes her head, keeping her determination steeled. She might regret this, pushing him, but she already regrets not saying something sooner and letting him get this bad. They all regret it. It’s already too late, best not to make it later.

“I know what you told us Reggie. But I know you’re hiding the parts that matter – the parts that have you like this.” She gestures to him, all of him.

His knotted curls that used to be so beautifully kept; his fine clothes that were clearly thrown back into place in a hurry, likely after hooking up with the first man who put their hands on him; the deep purple gashes beneath his eyes and the burnt ink coloured aura to go with it. He’s worn down and ruined, like an old handkerchief that’s been used to wipe away and fix too many spills and tears. He’s falling apart, if not already fallen.

“This isn’t normal Reg. After a breakup you’re meant to cry, and eat copious amounts of ice cream, and maybe get drunk a few times. But then you get over it.” She’d been broken after Xeno wrote that fucking article, but she spent that time wanting to feel better, wanting so badly to not hurt anymore. And eventually, after a few dark months, she got better.

Regulus has always seemed, right from the start, like he wanted the pain. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to miss James like he’d miss a vital organ and rip himself further and further apart every time he started to heal, forcing the scars to stay raw and bleeding.

She slides onto the sofa beside him, taking his face in her hands. So he has to look at her. She can tell he hates this; her sympathy; but he also doesn’t push her away. “It’s almost been two years and you keep getting worse. You haven’t written anything in months, you won’t play with us, you sleep most days and drink all night, you’re probably fucking anyone who’s willing to buy you booze and doing god knows what else.” He looks down, ashamed.

She holds her breath, then says what she’s been most worried about, for years now. “I don’t think you’re upset anymore Reggie. I think you’re guilty. I just don’t know what you’re guilty about.”

He breaks a second after she says that, and starts shuddering through his words. “He loved me – He loved me.” Regulus sobs, like he still can’t believe anyone – least of all James – could ever love him. It breaks something in Pandora’s heart just hearing it. “He loved me, and I- I made him think I hated him.”

It all falls out of him then, those final days that she knows have been tearing him apart for almost two whole years. He tells Pandora everything, and she holds him the whole way through it.

Hours after; once Reggie’s slept and showered, and Pandora’s had time to fill in the rest of the band; she hears a knock on her bedroom door and opens it to find Regulus stood there, still looking exhausted and ashamed, but clean and rested. In his hands is the worn, maroon notebook he uses to write, that none of them have seen in months

“There’s this song.” He says, then pauses. Holding back. “I haven’t been able to write it. But I want to.” Pandora keeps watching him, as he tries to find the words. She knows not to help him here, he needs to be the one to say it.  

“Will you help me?” he finally asks. Four words she’s almost certain he’s never once said in his life, certainly not to anyone in the band.

She beams, her smile splitting across her cheeks with absolute relief. She opens the door wider to invite him in. “Of course, we all will.” She isn’t talking about the song, and he knows.

He nods, a forced smile on his face that slowly stretches into a real one as he walks into her room.

“It’s about this thing James said, when we got our tattoos.”

…

London, crystal palace bowl. 2021.

“I wasn’t fair to you. I wasn’t honest when I should have been.” Regulus says, in front of ten thousand people but only for James. “If you promise to never let me go again then I swear I’ll spend forever telling you everything.”

James almost jumps over the barrier right then. He’d rush up onto stage and take Regulus’ face in his hands, one he knows so well but hasn’t touched in so long, and never ever let go. Never again. Just as Regulus asked him.

The only thing that keeps him behind the barrier is Regulus slipping down onto the piano stool, beside Pandora, and the song starting.

Well, in this lifetime we did it wrong

But I guess that you could argue we survived

Pandora plays the piano, a deep, dramatic rhythm as Regulus sings, his head rested on her shoulder.

And after all this time I wonder, why you’re still with me

Well, at least in all my memories.

…

Paris. 2018.

“Stay.” He hears, and almost doesn’t believe it until he’s looked up at the other boy in the mirror’s reflection and sees just how sad he looks.

It's the first time either of them have said anything like that out loud.

It's been present, for weeks – perhaps even the whole month – been a part of every conversation and long glance. It's hung between them, like a single rope tied into a noose, waiting for either of them to step up and hang themselves for the other. James has been aware of it the whole time, he just assumed it would be him to cross the gallows first.

Stay.

I can't. Is his answer. It has to be. There is no other answer but that. I can't.

He is the CEO of a company that is at a crucial point in it’s progression. He can’t work from Paris, and he can’t lighten his load of the labour without pushing the burden onto his best friend.

Sirius has just started looking into adoption with Remus, something they’re only able to do because James was willing to put aside his own free time and take on Sirius’ share of the company. Even when their applications go through, Sirius will have a baby which has to take priority.

James can’t just drop everything for a man he’s known less than a month. Leo is more than that, so much more – more than James can comprehend in words. But Sirius and Remus are his best friends, and they deserve a family.

It would be the most selfish thing James has ever done staying.

He can’t.

But god he wants to.

"Come with me." He says instead, snapping his own neck alongside him.

Leo sucks in a breath through his nose and looks away. "I can't."

"And I can't stay love." James finally turns to him. "I wish I could. For you. I've got so close, but - I can't." He paces across the room, and drops to his knees in front of the bed where Leo sits blank-faced and looking deliberately away.

He can see the reflective shine of tears wetting Leo's cheeks in the soft lamplight. He tries to hide it, but James can tell. He can always tell.

Sometimes he thinks that it’s okay how closed off Leo can be, because James can be open enough for the both of them. If he needs to hide behind a wall of steel spikes, it’s okay – because James will tear himself to pieces climbing that wall, just to catch a glimpse of him at the other side.

Fuck this. Fuck keeping secrets and leaving aside personal details. He has to explain. He has to tell Leo everything waiting for him back home; his company, his family, his friends.

He needs Leo to understand, and he needs to find a way to fit him alongside it all.

They can make it work. James will fly to Paris whenever he can, and fly Leo to London or wherever else James is. He can travel with James on business trips, or they can video call every day, and eventually they’ll find a way to be together. James will never have to lose him, not for anything.

He reaches out, to brush away his tears and finally tell him everything but before he can, Leo catches his wrist and shoves it away – hard.

His eyes snap to meet James’, anger seething beneath the soft grey “Don’t fucking touch me.”

…

London. 2021.

Regulus and Pandora sing the song as a duet, her on the piano and taking the higher harmony, and him singing the main key at her side.

You are the reason I learned to love

Also the reason that I cry

The rest of the band stay in the dark of the stage, but James can hear they instruments thrumming through the park. They’re stood aside, letting the pair have their moment with this song.

James is truck by the emotion of it all, not just from the song but from them too. He can see how much the song means to them both, just with how they perform it.

But I ain’t sorry

I wouldn’t change a thing

But it’ll take a lifetime to get better

…

Paris. 2018.

"Don't fucking touch me." Leo snarls.

James is caught for a moment by his sudden anger, until he takes a second and sees something much worse beneath. Fear.

“Love it’s okay just-” He starts but Leo stands, almost stumbling back away from him.

“Don’t call me that. I hate that.” He snaps.

James is lost for a second, still knelt by the bed. He stands slowly, careful to keep his hands by his side. “Okay I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry?” Leo scoffs. When James doesn’t answer he pushes further. “Why are you being so- so fucking nice?”

James raises an eyebrow, he can’t help it. “You’re angry that I’m being nice?” It’s the wrong thing to say. Leo steps back from him, face rigid and annoyed. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know why you’re so freaked out by someone being kind to you, but you shouldn’t be. You deserve nice people Leo-” Somehow, that’s the wrong thing to say too.

Leo shoves past him. “Don’t fucking call me that either.” He snarls.

“Your name?” James gasps, confused. He follows Leo around the hotel room until they reach the bathroom and he starts throwing his various serums and balms into his pockets.

“What are you doing?” He asks, though it’s pretty obvious. Suddenly he feels like the world is turning to ash beneath his feet, and he’s plummeting into a darkness he can’t see the bottom off.

“Would’ve had to do this anyway. Why drag it out?” Leo clips, scrambling to reach any and everything that belongs to him. “Got enough free dinners out of you I suppose, no need to waste my Saturday night on one more.” He croaks.

James tries to find something to say, but he’s too busy falling and trying to keep his stomach inside his skin.

“You’re in my way.” Leo snaps, not looking at him. Just sensing James in the doorway.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He finally manages to say.

Leo scoffs, throwing a small white bottle labelled niacinamide into his pockets. The last of his inexplicable skincare routine, that just last night James was rubbing onto his own hands and massaging into Leo’s skin, while the other boy giggled and tried to protest, but barely lifted a finger when James started kissing the product off his face.

“So you get to do all the leaving? And I just have to sit in this fucking room and go where I’m told?” He snarls.

James lurches forward at that, but stops just an inch from Leo’s back, careful not to touch him still. “That’s not what I meant. I’ve never tried to tell you where to go or what to do.”

Leo doesn’t answer, just quietly nods once acknowledging that James is telling the truth.

“I just don’t want you to go.” He whispers, shuffling slightly closer, until he knows Leo can feel his breath on the back of his neck. When he doesn’t flinch away, James slowly lifts his hand, and sets it down on Leo’s shoulder.

Leo relaxes into the touch, exhaling and letting his shoulders sag. James didn’t even realise he’d been holding his breath. He almost weeps, as Leo’s feet seeming to plant firmly on the hotel bathroom floor. He moves, so his lips are pressed into the crown of Leo’s charcoal curls, and as soon as he’d settled, Leo is shoving him back.

“No – no, too much.” He starts muttering, nonsensically, and rushes into the main room, gathering as much of his stuff he can reach into his arms. “I can’t be here, not another second. It’s – it’s too fucking much.” He looks up then, meeting James eyes as he chokes. “You’re too fucking much.”

Those words punch a hole right through his chest.

It’s what he’s always feared, with everyone. That he feels too much and cares too much. Loves too much.

The wind is kicked from his lungs, and he almost keels over right there. He hardly notices when Leo rushes into the walk-in wardrobe and starts flinging all his clothes into a bag. He’s just stuck, frozen.

He only snaps back into place when Leo steps out of the wardrobe and stops in front of him, not looking up from the floor as he starts to ramble. “You don’t need me, James. You don’t want me and you certainly don’t love me. I’m- I’m not good for any of that. So I’ll be leaving now.”

He turns, not caring anymore, and grabbing Leo by his shoulders. “I do. I need you and I want you and I love you. I love you so fucking much. Whatever has happened to make you think you don’t deserve any of that- whoever told you that you aren’t good enough to be loved was wrong – do you understand me? They were wrong.”

Leo shuts his eyes, as James talks. Clamps then tight and shakes his head. Like if he can will it hard enough James will simply cease to exist. Finally he shoves James backwards and shouts up at him.

“No – they weren’t.” He shoves James again. “I’m a fucking mess James. That night we met, I was there to find someone who would take me to their hotel room and fuck me hard enough that I’d forget how my mother hates me, and my father never wanted me, and my cousins have forgotten me, and my- my brother fucking left me and gave up trying to rescue me – because I’m not worth rescuing.” He shouts, tears now breaking from his beautiful eyes and leaving angry streaks of red down his cheeks.

“I was looking for someone to use me, and it wasn’t the first time - more like the fucking twentieth. I got what I wanted, and so did you.” He steps back from James, crooking his head and looking how the lion would the gazelle. “Company.” He spits, putting the word in air quotes. “Someone to briefly fill that empty hole inside of you that works so much he doesn’t have time for relationships.” He mocks.

James shudders, feeling sicker than ever. He knows what Leo is doing. Sirius used to lash out every time him and Remus showed any sign of caring about him. It’s a coping mechanism. He’s trying to make James hate him, so he can prove to himself he’s not worth loving. So he can reaffirm the fucked-up way someone else – probably his parents – made him feel.

He's dealt with this before. But he doesn’t remember Sirius being so cutting.

“You’re not being fair.” He croaks.

Leo sneers at him. “I’m honest. I finally can be, since you’re fucking off back to England tomorrow.” James wants to tell him to stop. To wrap his arms around him and beg. Tell Leo that there’s no point trying to make James hate him because he never will – he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Then kiss him and whisper that it will all be okay now, because James will love him so much that he’ll be forced to love himself. But he can’t move, or speak, or protest when Leo continues.

“You don’t love me. You love who I made myself for you.” He grips his own chest, like he’s trying to rip himself open and show James the real him; all the maggots and claw marks he seems to think exist within him. “I’m not real. Leo isn’t fucking real. You don’t love me.” He sobs, becoming so nonsensical that James can barely understand a word he’s saying.

He steps back, pressing a hand over his mouth and letting a shaky breath escape his lips, forcing himself to calm down. “I can’t keep pretending any different.”

His eyes meet James. They search him, cataloguing every part of him they can find. He tries to keep up, but can’t. Leo’s moving too fast, and he just has to wait and hope he’ll be dragged along.

He stops at James’ own eyes, memorises them, and then speaks. “I have to go.”

…

London. 2021.

By the bridge, Regulus has left the bench and is back on top of the piano, knelt with the light’s haloing him, like some saintly portrait hung in a cathedral. One James would absolutely pray to every night.

Lonely nights

Anger does replace the pain

He belts into the microphone, his forehead pressed to Pandoras as she continues to play and sing with him. Then he twists slightly, meeting James’ eyes across the stage.

I broke your heart the same

James can see everything then. Every word he’d wanted to say on that last night but couldn’t, and all the regrets that have weighted him down ever since.

They’ve both been carrying that heartbreak around like a steel anchor, for three years. James wants to tell him, that despite its weight, he’s never once wished he could be released. He was prepared to want Regulus forever and miss him for even longer.

The pain was better than nothing at all, but neither of them have to be in pain anymore.

…

Paris. 2018.

“I have to go.”

Leo reaches for the door, to leave. Before James can think he’s on his knees, his arms wrapped around Leo’s waist, holding him in this room where everything is perfect and nothing has to end.

“No – not yet. I’m not ready yet.” He chokes, Leo freezes in his hold. “Just give me one more night. Just one more night, please. One more night where I can pretend to have you forever. Please.” He babbles, turning desperate and feral. Something indescribable he’s never been before. “One more.” He repeats, pressing his temple into Leo’s back, to where he knows his initial sits beneath the emerald crewneck he’s wearing for the dinner they’ll never go to.

Leo breathes above him, almost hyperventilating, his hand still grasping the door handle. But he’s still here. He’s not gone yet.

“What would be the point.” He finally says, his voice completely void of feeling. James hates it. “It’s just one night. One pointless night that only delays the inevitable, why would you want to torture yourself with that?”

James looks up at him. Leo is still turned away, but James feels like he’s being watched. Like every slight movement and breath he takes is being registered and logged away in excruciating detail.

“Why did I do any of this? Why did I have you for any amount of time, knowing right from the start it would kill me to let you go?” James asks, then lets out a small laugh. Because it’s pathetic, and humiliating, and he should be ashamed but he’s just not.

He found something precious and he grasped it with both hands, knowing its edges were razor sharp. He held on, keeping it as close to his heart as he could survive, even as it sliced through his skin and left him wrecked and bleeding. He did all of that, and he would do it again; for him.

“I love you, no matter what you say. I do. I love you, I’ve never loved anyone except you. I wanted to love you for as long as possible.”

Leo doesn’t say a word, for almost a minute. He lets James hold him, and James takes what he’s given without complaint; even if it feels like a final gift to the dying.

Then it’s over, as sudden as it begun. Leo breaks from his hold and in the same motion lets the door of room 505 fly open. “Go and love me in London then, and let me forget you here.” He hisses, and slips away.

He doesn't close the door. He lets James watch him leave, either as a final kindness or a parting curse. James would like to think it was meant as the former, even if it felt like the latter.

Leo leaves his hotel, and the next day James leaves Paris.

When he lands in Heathrow he tries to send him a message. Just to check. He isn't surprised when the message doesn't go through, just so morbidly sad that he almost breaks down in the middle of baggage claim.

When he reaches the gate, Peter is waiting for him with the car outside.

"Have a good trip mate?" he asks him, with a smile. James can't answer and the tattoo beneath his shirt, over his heart, is burning through his skin. Peter narrows his eyes but doesn't push, just takes his suitcase and starts rolling it towards the exit. "I'll take you home, get some rest and we can look over your conference notes with Sirius in a few days."

James almost keels over at the thought of returning to his lonely flat and spending the next few days doing nothing except thinking, and remembering, and dying all over again and again.

"No. Take me to the office." He chokes, before he can think twice, and walks forward with a forced purpose.

He gave up everything for his company. It's all he has now. He has to make it worth it.

"Let's get to work Pete."

…

London. 2021

I think I'm gonna love you

You're forever with me

The song draws to a close, Regulus now stood at microphone stand. He holds James’ eyes for a moment, then smiles – sheepish and vulnerable.

Before James can do anything in return he’s walking towards Pandora, and wraps her in his arms. He leaves the mic behind so the crowd can’t hear what they say to each other, but James can just about make his words out.

“You know you saved my life.” She nods at him, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Then Regulus adds. “I never said thank you, but I am – thankful.” She throws her arms around him again and they hug until the lights go off and the stage descends into thick darkness.

Through the dark James can barely see, but his eyes quickly adjust in time to see Regulus walk offstage, as the rest of the band stay. Then he’s gone, and James can’t see him anymore.

He looks at his watch, and sees there’s only half an hour of the show left. But it’s still too much time. He needs to speak to Regulus now.

James has had enough waiting. He’s waited three years and was prepared to wait many more – perhaps the rest of his life if they never found their way back to each other. But now he’s seen him. Now he’s this close. He can’t anymore.

He let Leo fall through his grasp, he won’t make the same mistake with Regulus.

The band start rearranging the instruments, pushing the stand elevating the drum kit towards the middle of the stage as Regulus’ mic is dragged away. Whatever song is coming next, it’s looking to James like Regulus won’t be part of it.

He slips away from the barriers, flashing his company card at the security by the stage and ignoring the odd stares he can see from Marlene – the only other person lingering between the barriers and the stage with her camera.

Then it’s a silent prayer to the stars above his head, and James Potter walks backstage.

Chapter Text

The following is a clip from An Interview with the Black Stars conducted in 2024 by the musical reporter EMMELINE VANCE. Three years after their debut in London Crystal Palace Park.

~

Shown on screen is REGULUS BLACK the lead singer of the band *BLACK STAR* sat crossed legged in a chair with the cover of their second studio album printed on the wall behind him.

EV: So, Regulus. It’s been three years since the footage of your debut concert with the band was released, and today it has been streamed over fifteen million times. Do you have any idea why the film has become so prevalent amongst fans?

RAB: Thanks Emmeline. I can’t speak for the fans, obviously, but I think its sort of a twine of many reasons that all happened to align in one performance and really formulated what the band is and what we stand for.

Dorcas’ speech about caring for queer and trans kids was incredibly impactful I think. I know it inspired a lot of people and set into motion our following projects, donating to queer youth centres and charities in every city we perform in.

Pandora’s performance  during BSC was amazing, and of course the feature of Lily and Mary was very well received and definitely pulled a full people to watch our show that otherwise perhaps wouldn’t have.

But I think at the forefront: That night we were all performing at our most pure – our absolute rawest forms. We weren’t yet accommodated to that kind of reception, having only played to small venues and audiences at that point. So our captured reactions were ones of complete disbelief and wonder.

The singles we’d released at that point were doing well – startlingly well for a debut – but they were still just numbers on a screen. I don’t think any of us truly believed we had that kind of support until we were seeing it with our eyes, and being deafened by its applause.

It was an energy created entirely by the fans, we were simply receptors of it.

~

The screen cuts to the bassist EVAN ROSIER and drummer BARTY CROUCH JR being asked the same question.

BC: It’s because of what Reggie did at the final song.

***

London. 2021.

Regulus walks backstage, where he’ll stay for the entirety of Brianstorm – Barty’s song that he decided to exclude himself from for the sake of taking a fucking breath after gutting himself open and reliving all the worst memories of the last three years during Forever with me.

He stops once he’s far enough from the mainstage to hear himself think, and presses his forehead against the cool glass of a full-length mirror attached to the backstage wall.

It’s the first time since the performance began that he lets himself process it all.

James is here.

James is right here, within the same general vicinity as him for the first time in three years. And Regulus has spent the past two hours pouring his heart out in the form of his songs.

He wrote an album for James. He’s just now realising how absolutely batshit crazy that is. What if James is freaked out? He didn’t look it but maybe he was just trying to stay encouraging during Regulus’ very important performance. What if he’s seeing someone else? God that would destroy Regulus all over again, just as he’s managed to pick the pieces of himself back up and cram them into the shape of a person – still torn at the seams but somehow upright and standing.

He’s still coming up with a thousand different ways to be worried when he hears the sound of footsteps behind him, and looks up. His heart stops.

Regulus sees James in the reflection and half thinks he’s hallucinating. Until he turns around, and there James is – stood backstage, in the flesh, staring straight at him.

“James.” He breathes.

“Leo.” He gasps back.

Regulus cringes. “I’m sorry I lied about that-” he starts, but James is already backing him into the cold glass of the mirror.

“I’ll care about it later.” James murmurs, then presses into Regulus like it’s been three minutes not three years.

He distantly registers James hesitating, as if to ask for permission, but Regulus is already pushing back, finding his lips with his own and kissing him hard.

James kisses exactly as he remembers. Like the sun is falling and he no longer cares about living, only letting his last breath be swallowed by Regulus, so he can be the one to survive just a second longer. He almost sobs from the relief of it.

The intense beat of Brianstorm beginning in the background only spirals them on, as their kiss devolves in mere seconds to grabbing hands and frantic gasps.

They don’t strip each other down, not because of the public setting or the time crunch they’re under – they don’t have enough brains between them in this moment to even consider that. It’s simply because Regulus fears too much contact will set him alight and he’ll burn to ash before James can properly touch him. So they kiss like desperate teenagers and fumble over the layers of cotton and denim between them.

One of James’ hands slip slightly under the tight belt of Regulus’ tight jeans and he gasps, loud enough to slip through the deafening screech of Dorcas’ guitar.

“This song is fucking awesome.” He hears James babble in his ear, as Regulus runs his tongue along the sharp of his jawline.

He can’t help but giggle and finds James’ mouth again, letting his laugh rumble down James’ throat, before pulling back enough to reply. “This is the only one I had nothing to do with.” Just as Barty starts to sing.

Brian. Top marks for not trying

James huffs, and lunges forward again to mumble against his lips. “Oh it’s utter crap then.” Regulus laughs, throwing his head back because he’s just so fucking happy. James steals the opportunity and moves down to his collarbones, flattening his tongue there and sucking the pale skin between his lips, undoubtedly leaving a dark purple stain there.

“I have to go back on stage after this.” Regulus reminds him, pulling James back up to his lips, kissing him again. Holy shit – he’s kissing James again. “Everyone will see.” He adds, he thinks – his brain isn’t really working.

And I wonder

Are you putting us under?

“Let them see.” James replies, gruff and determined, reattaching his lips to Regulus’ neck just long enough to leave another smaller mark before pulling back again. “They already know you’re mine, let me see it too.”

The sound that breaks from Regulus’ throat has to go down in history; a brand-new letter in the phonetic alphabet, dedicated solely to the realisation that it’s speaker (Regulus Black) belongs to James Potter.

“I’m yours James.” He chokes, taking his soft tan cheeks between his hands, feeling the scratch of stubble there and almost keeling over from it. “I’m so fucking yours.” He kisses him. “I’ve been yours – probably since I was born.” He kisses him again. “Just yours, all yours. Yours.” James kisses him, searing that word between their lips.

James lifts him by his thighs and wraps Regulus’ legs around his waist, keeping his back again the mirror but pressing closer into him, like if he pushes hard enough he can fuse them into one body. Regulus tangles his fingers in James’ hair, more than willing to let him try.

“Tell me you’re here. That we’re both in one place.” James gasps, once they’re forced to pull back for air.

Regulus replies without thinking. “I’m wherever you are.” He pulls him into another kiss, as the band plays over them.

Well, see you later, innovator

…

Paris. 2021.

Barty throws down a sheet of paper down on the coffee table, and stares down at the page proudly. Regulus looks down at it and can barely make out more than a few words, and even they seem almost nonsensical.

“What the fuck is this?” He sneers up at him.

“My song.” Barty shrugs.

Regulus picks it up, like the page is a dead worm he found on a playground floor. “That’s not a song. That’s a piece of paper and a horrifying reflection on our obscenely expensive private education.”

“Yeah – song.” Barty shrugs, reaching into his jean pocket and taking out a pre-rolled blunt. He lights it and takes a drag.

“I didn’t think you wrote any songs.” Regulus says then, reading over the scrawl of lyrics he can understand. “You hate writing lyrics.”

Barty nods, falling down onto the couch opposite him. “Yeah I do. But I came up with this sick rhythm the other day and you all were on shift or out so I just wrote down the first things I thought of that fit and – ta da. Song.” He explains, gesturing to the sheet.

Regulus keeps reading what he can, surprised to find some genuinely good lyrics. Random as fuck but good.

“What’s the rhythm?” He asks, without looking up.

Barty roots around in his pockets and pulls out his phone, laying it down on the table between them. “Hang on that’s just the drums, I’ll grab my strat.” He says, jumping up and running into his room, coming out with the blinding red thing Evan bought him last Christmas.

He throws it over his shoulder then clicks play on his recording. Through the phone he hears the crackle of the speaker being set down, then a short count in. When the count reaches 1, but the phone and Barty burst into a fast paced, intense beat, working in tandem to create the best sensory overload Regulus has ever experienced.

Once he finishes a few bars he stops, and pauses the music. “So?”

Regulus gapes at him.

He finally admitted to his brother last week that he’s in a band, after Sirius mentioned he was CEO of a recording studio. It’s been slow with both of them, opening up, since they got back in contact a month ago. Sirius immediately begged to hear some of Reggie’s songs and after playing him a few choruses here and there Sirius asked if he had enough songs for an album. Regulus said yes, because they do, and Sirius told him to record twelve on his phone and send it to him. They’ve recorded 11 but are trying to decide from a few options for the 12th.

Regulus jumps up from the couch. “We need to learn that right fucking now.” He grins.

Barty stares at him through his thick cloud of weed. “Why?”

He takes the blunt from Barty’s mouth, ignoring the other boys protests, and takes a heavy drag before ashing it out on the coffee table. “Because that’s going on the fucking album.”

…

London. 2021.

Regulus jerks back, sudden enough that James starts to lower him to his feet but he grips him by the roots of his hair as a motion to stay. “I’m wherever you and the band are.” He amends his earlier statement.

James stares bewildered at him, then grins and presses a softer kiss to Regulus’ lips before saying. “I suppose it’s a good thing that the band will – for the foreseeable future – be where I am.”

Regulus beams, and kisses James again, until they run out of breath and have to pull back. “Were you surprised to see me?” He asks, quieter.

“Did I look surprised?” James coughs, and sets him down on a nearby bench that’s high enough for Regulus to be eye level.

He nods, smirking at the memory. “When I first saw you I though maybe you’d known it was me and that’s why you came. But then you almost fell over during 12 to 12 and I realised you were just as clueless as I was.”

James snorts. “I really was, clueless. I knew Sirius had a brother in Paris but I can’t believe I never connected the two of you.” He stops then, and chokes slightly, his hand coming to cover the tattoo over his heart. “Regulus.” He breathes, obviously in reference to the star at the centre of the Leo constellation, but Regulus is too distracted by his own name to wait for him to connect the astrological dots.

He groans, an obscene sound, and threads his fingers in James’ hair. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying that.” He gasps, and pulls James into a searing kiss. It’s messy and ravenous, and James starts to trail his hands up Regulus’ thigh when he pulls back and demands. “Say it again.”

James smirks. “Regulus.”

“Fuck. Again.”

“Regulus.” He croons, pushing his head to nuzzle in Regulus’ neck as he continues without being asked. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you Regulus, how many times I’ve dreamt of you and longed for you, and thought about how pretty you looked in my bed.”

Regulus gasps at James’ words, arching into his touch as his lips feather the crook of his collarbone and the dip behind his ear and the line of his jaw. His breath hitches, a small whimper escaping his lips as James presses a hand to his back, where the J rests.

“You make that sound in my dreams you know.” He mutters into the skin of Regulus’ neck. “You make a lot of sounds in my dreams, but that one the most.”

Regulus forces a chuckle. “Have you been having sex dreams about me?”

James draws back slightly, enough to look him in the eyes. “Baby, every dream I have is about you. And when you are this pretty, things are bound to happen.”

He laughs, biting down on his bottom lip to supress it slightly. Then James kisses him, and he melts like butter, forgetting every moment of pain and reason to be cautious.

They break apart and he gasps. “I meant everything I said out there. Every song that I write is about you, and I really do want you to keep me forever.”

James’ hands move into his hair, cupping the back of his head as he moves impossibly close. “Regulus I am never letting you go again. I might not have written you any songs in the last three years, but I swear every slight movement I’ve made and thought that’s crossed my mind has been dedicated to you. There are a hundred streets, in countless cities across the world, that have your face drawn in my footprints and the sound of your voice in the wind.”

He presses their temples together, so their breathing is entwined. God how he’s missed breathing the same air as James, it hardly seemed worth inhaling without him.

“This thing between us,” James says, stopping to kiss the corner of Regulus’ mouth. “It’s a work of art. It should be treasured, kept in a museum and enshrined in gold.” Regulus giggles at him, but tears are leaking from his eyes.

He wants to tell James that the letter J carved into his back is more priceless than the statue it meets at the opposite end of Regulus’ spine. They should both be set in the Louvre.

James is already stepping back though, away from him. Regulus goes to protest and pull him back, deny James the right to ever walk away from him again, then he sees his expression, bright and adoring, and forgets everything but the shape of James’ smile.

“Forever?” His lips spell out, his voice lost in the music behind them.

Out to acquire, the eyes are on fire

You are the unforecasted storm.

“Forever.” Regulus confirms, determined.

James nods at him, then drops down to one knee.

“Marry me then.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Fallingforyou

On stage, after the song BRIANSTORM has finished and the instruments have been moved back into place, the band (minus REGULUS BLACK) look around searching for someone in the curtains that lead backstage.

Then PANDORA ROSIER looks towards the front barriers and bursts out laughing. They follow her eyes and when they notice whatever she’s laughing at they roll their eyes but smile. DORCAS MEADOWES shrugs and says, close enough to be heard by the microphone, “Well, looks like I’m playing bass for this one.” And walks to her spot on the stage.

EVAN ROSIER walks up to the front microphone, still laughing, and speaks.

“Salut nearly done guys then you can all get off to the pub. First round is on our missing singer.” A laugh echoes through the venue. “This song was actually the first one written for this album, besides Black Star, I haven’t sung it for a while so don’t heckle me, but it is mine.”

“I wrote it for the first, last and only boy I will ever love.” He looks back at the drummer, who’s grinning and pointing both thumbs at himself as he mouths ‘mine bitches’ into the camera. “Bart, babe, I don’t care when our anniversary is, I’ve been falling for you since before we were both born.”

He turns back to the crowd, and the track begins.

***

Paris. 2012.

Evan Rosier started to realise he loved Barty Crouch jr the first time he saw him play drums.

At school they would skip classes together and go smoke in some abandoned classroom or behind the gymnasium. Sometimes they’d do other stuff too, but mostly they smoked.

This time, Barty leads him into the music room and locks the door behind him. Evan pulls out the stray cigarettes he’d stolen from his father's desk that week. He takes one from every pack his father goes through, so the amount they smoked really relied on the amount his father smoked. His father had gone through three packs before the end of the week, and they already smoked one each a few days ago.

“Partager?” He offers, the single cig resting between them.

Barty purses his lips, frowning down at sad, lonely cig, then looks up at Evan. “Or we could just make out?” He suggests, as an alternative to tobacco and nicotine.

Evan shrugs, dropping the last cigarette back into his pocket and resting back against the wall, letting Barty kiss him hard and fast, like usual. He slides down the wall and Barty climbs into his lap, holding Evan by the back of his neck as his own hands flatten on Barty’s lower back. These movements are practiced now. Familiar. They’ve kissed so many times now that, to Evan, it's like breathing.

He likes kissing Barty. He likes it a lot. The thought of kissing anyone else, barring Reggie – although stringing Regulus Black into make out sessions often meant going through his extremely overprotective older brother – made Evan feel close to nothing. But Barty makes him feel everything. All the possible feelings you could have for another person that, until recently, Evan didn’t think he’d ever experience.

He’s always been different in that way. He just doesn’t like talking about it. Doesn’t want Barty to know that these kisses for him are quite different than what they are to Barty, who has close to six other people just in their school lined up to kiss him during free periods.

They kiss until they have to catch their breaths, then they kiss again – until their lungs are close to giving out and Evan is seeing little spots in his vision.

“Better than cigs?” He asks, once they catch their breath enough.

Barty snorts, still in his lap. “Better than all the drugs, sex and rock&roll in the world Rosie.”

Evan rolls his eyes. “And you’d know about any of them how?”

“Okay the former two not so much, though Eloise did tell me I could touch her butt the next time we make out, but I know rock&roll Ev.” He insists, pouting a little.

Evan narrows his eyes, then sees the drum kit shoved into the corner of the music room and points to it. “Go on then playboy.” He challenges, and without hesitating Barty jumps to his feet. “And for the record, grabbing ass does not count as sex. I would know, I literally had both your butt cheeks in my hands thirty seconds ago.”

Barty chuckles as he straddles the stool set before the drum kit. “Oh but Evan, I thought you were my first time.” He croons, batting his eyelids like a posh lady in those old romance films that Pandora cries to once a month, usually with Barty.

Evan sneers, then looks down at the floor to hide his slight blush. He doesn’t think they’re quite ready for that yet. But he does quite like the thought of being Barty’s first, and Barty being his. He doesn’t really think there’s anyone else he’d want to have sex with anyway so Barty probably will be his first. He probably won’t be Barty’s.

“Just play the damn drums.” He mumbles, kicking at a broken guitar string that’s been discarded on the floor.

Barty grins at him, lifting the drumsticks from the floor and spinning them in his hands with surprising skill. Then, he starts beating the drums in time to the Cure Boys don’t cry. Evan’s favourite song.

He does it perfectly, without a fault, and hums the tune along with it – muffled by the drums but sweet and melodic enough to shudder along Evan’s skin.

His face is focused and serious for once, and his hair – unkept and dyed pitch black, by them a few weeks before in Evan’s bathtub, which is now ruined and earnt him a day without food – bounces around his face. Barty bites down on his lips as he does a final scatter of the drums and ends with the cymbals for effect. It almost strikes down Evan on the spot.

“What was that about rock&r-” before he can finish his sentence, Evan has walked the length of the music room and kisses him.

…

London. 2021.

“Marry me then.”

Regulus stares at him, long enough that distantly he registers Brianstorm coming to an end and Evan’s song whistling through the speakers.

What time you coming out?

“Love? Oh god I broke you.” James winces, and starts to get to his feet.

“Wait – wait. Just wait.” Regulus sputters, holding his hand out to signal James to stay down. “You…want to marry me?”

James breathes a single laugh “Very much so.”

“You didn’t even know my real name this morning.” Regulus points out.

He shrugs. “Don’t see why that’s relevant. You let me suck you off in the bathroom of a Michelin star restaurant before I knew your real name.”

Regulus chokes, sitting forward and gaping at him. “That is an insane thing to say in the middle of a proposal.”

James grins, that wicked smirk that he’s missed so fucking much. “I mean both do involve being on my knees.” Regulus rolls his eyes, as James snickers.

“I’m still afraid.” He admits then. “I’m still afraid of how much I love you.”

Because he is. It terrified him so much the first-time round that he ran away cursing James out, almost ruining things for good. Now he’s still afraid, he’s just weighted in one place by how fucking much he missed James all that time, and how he knows it would kill him to run again.

James’ lips part, just enough to let a small shaken breath slip through before reaching out and taking Regulus’ hands, kissing them.

“Don’t be afraid. Just love me.” Then he smiles, and Regulus swears the whole sun pours out. “Just love me and marry me and you’ll never have to be afraid again, I swear it.”

He still hesitates, so many concerns rupturing through his head and choking him with their force. “What if you get tired of me?”

James actually laughs. “Love, I fell in love with you the very first second I saw you, then I loved Leo for three years after having known him less than a month. I promise I will love you until I’m six feet under the floor, and even then I will search for you in my fucking grave. Got it?”

Don’t you see me? I-

I think I’m falling – I’m falling for you

Regulus nods, unable to contain his smile. “Got it.”

…

Paris. 2015.

Evan did turn out to be Barty’s first time, like he always wanted.

It didn’t start how he thought it would. In his dreams Barty would appear in his bedroom and tell Evan he was ready to faire l'amour then it would become all hand holding and candlelit dinners on the weekends, rather than the clumsy make outs and occasional hand or blow job they’ve been exchanging in secret since they were fifteen. He isn’t sure why he thought it would mark a change for them, but in the end it didn’t really.

It was fast, and unexpected. One minute they were making out and he was tugging at Barty’s trousers. The next a condom was slipping out of the other boys pocket between them and Barty was asking if he wanted to- yknow? He said yes, of course, because he really wanted to. So they did it, on the floor of a fucking empty science classroom of all places. Evan used to hate science. He hates it a little less now.

It wasn’t exactly what he hoped for, but things with Barty rarely were. He wanted the other boy to wake up one day and realise he liked Evan more than a friend and occasional hook up. But Barty never did. Always kept him at arm’s length when their clothes were on and lips unattached – which, in all fairness, became less and less as they got older and hornier.

The point is. It wasn’t their joint first time that Evan looked back on and thought, yeah – that was when things changed. That moment came a few months after.  

At some point when they turned sixteen, Barty started walking from his house to Evan’s in the dead of the night, and climbing through his window to fool around, or sometimes just sit up and gossip, but never stay the night.  

Tonight Barty crawls through the window in his ensuite and walks into Evan’s bedroom like he owns the place, which in many ways he does – since all Evan does in there is sit around and think about him. Evan stops reading his book when Barty walks in, and throws it onto the floor in time for Barty to crawl into his lap.

“Missed you.” He mumbles onto Evan’s lips, and holds him tight for a second, just letting their mouths rest on each other’s without moving.

Evan doesn’t let himself think about it too much in the moment. “It’s been two days.” He chuckles. Two days since Evan’s father found the weed stashed in Pandoras room and Evan took the fall, claiming he’d hidden it in her bookcase when he heard a servant coming up the stairs, and was grounded. Shoved around a little too, but he doesn’t need to tell Barty that.

“Too long.” Barty huffs, like a petulant child, then pulls back enough to rest their foreheads together. “I- I was worried about you Ev. Really worried.”

He feels like he’s floating above the bed, watching them both. Watching how Barty’s green eyes are pinned open, almost frightened. How they hold each other like the whole world will slip away if they loosen their grip even slightly. How Evan would give every drop of blood and money in his possession just to keep Barty this close to him forever. It pulls at that feeling inside him again, the one he doesn’t quite understand but knows is important.

Somehow, he manages to croak a reply. “I worry about you too.”

Barty flinches, looking down, between them. “You worry about everyone Ev.” He mutters. And he’s not wrong.

Evan’s the oldest of the group – their ‘band’ as Regulus says, so petulant in his grand ideas for them. He only ages out Pandora by minutes – but she’s so petite and sensitive that sometimes he feels eons older than her too. He knows they’re all capable of taking care of themselves, but he can’t shake the feeling that they shouldn’t have to. So he cares for them.

He’ll be 18 in six months, and he’s already gathered all the necessary documents and filled out the forms that will emancipate himself from his parents. He’s going to talk to Pandora about it soon, make sure she does the same. Then he’s going to get a job, and a place for them all to live. And he’s going to make sure Dorcas, Reggie and Barty all get out too. He’s going to save them from this shit hole. It’s him or no one.

He leans forward, pressing his temple to the corner of Barty’s brow and kissing his jaw soft and slow as he whispers. “I worry about you the most. Besides my sister. You matter the most.”

The confession rattles the air between them. Barty sucks in a breath, then shifts enough to catch his lips. They don’t kiss fast or hard. When Barty reaches for the hem of his t-shirt it isn’t rushed. They strip each other naked piece by piece, keeping their eyes on each other and waiting until their completely bear, rather than fucking the moment they have the right parts exposed.

Nothing about it is hurried. They fuck slow and steady, Barty’s head thrown back in a pile of pillows and Evan’s face buried in his shoulder. They listen to each gasp of pleasure in the otherwise quiet room and coax one another to their finish slowly and deliberately. And after, Barty curls into his neck and lets Evan draw up the duvet around them.

He has to stay awake all night, to make sure Barty doesn’t oversleep and get caught by both of their parents. But he isn’t sure he’d be able to sleep anyway, not when the other option is to commit this night to his memory.

Faire l’amour. He thinks to himself, as Barty softly snores on his shoulder. Faire l’amour.

…

Paris. 2018.

By the time they’re twenty, Evan knows he’s in love. It’s no longer something he’s capable of denying.

At 15 it was; I like kissing him and no one else. I wish he liked kissing me and no one else.

Then at 17 it was; He lets me do things he doesn’t do with other people, but I wish he’d hold my hand and kiss me in front of our friends.

By 18 he admitted it was more than an experiment for both of them. But for Barty it was fun and for him it was, everything.

Now they’ve been going for over half a decade. They share a fucking room for fucks sake. The flat above Hagrid’s pub, the one he rented cheap for them when Evan stumbled into Beauxbatons on his 18th begging for a job, has only four bedrooms.

He offered to sleep on the couch, then Pandora offered to share with Reggie, then Dorcas offered to find somewhere else nearby. And finally, Barty stood from the couch, half-smoked cig hanging from his lips, and said “Me and Ev will share. Since we’re the only ones fucking.” and everyone agreed it was the best option. Everyone but Evan who wasn’t exactly sure he’d survive such an ordeal but agreed for the sake of keeping everyone together and in a place with cheap enough rent to afford switching the heating on in winter.

So now they share a bed, a wardrobe and a sock drawer. The small table beside their bed is littered with both their things; Barty’s playing cards, Evan’s tattoo gun, Barty’s eyeliner and various bottles of vibrant hair dye, Evan’s chain necklaces and the several dozen silver rings they share. Barty curls into his arms every night, and Evan kisses his forehead and mumbles bonne nuit, then the next day they wake up and continue on like they’re friends and nothing more.

One day Evan couldn’t take it anymore, and did what Reggie does when he starts thinking too hard. He writes a song.

He plays it during the open mic night at the bar, towards the end of his shift. Usually they play as a group but Reggie met this english bloke a week ago and has been pretty much absent ever since, clearly halfway in love already. So Evan decides to give it a spin, and sings for the band and the other dozen patrons in the bar.

Afterwards Pandora and Dorcas rush over to babble how good the song is and how the whole band should learn it so they can play it together their next gig. He tries to pay attention to them but his eyes keep catching Barty, still stood behind the bar stoically mixing cocktails for a group of young women, who usually he’d be flirting with for extra tips and god knows what else.

“I’m clocked out.” Evan tells him, ten minutes later as Barty finishes off the final martini on his bill.

“Cool. Me too in a sec.” He replies, his voice stiff and monotone.

Evan purses his lips, trying to ignore the nagging feeling of loss in his chest. This is rejection – he realises – this is Barty saying that despite everything he doesn’t feel the same way, and Evan is a complete fool.

“I’ll see you upstairs.” He mutters, and rushes away before he can make a fool of himself in the middle of a crowded bar.

He’s alone in the flat for almost twenty minutes. The girls are closing so won’t be up for a few hours, and Regulus is forty minutes across Paris not catching feelings for his ‘casual’ hook up. So it will just be him and Barty.

It’s time. He thinks to himself, choking back how sick that sentiment makes him feel. It’s time to end it and accept that the way I feel, he never will.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, after loving Barty this way since he was fifteen, and not having anyone else who’s ever managed to make him feel this way. But if Barty doesn’t want him anymore, there’s not much he can do about that. So he just has to wait.

The door downstairs opens, followed by the stairs creaking and the front door slamming shut.

“Great song.” Barty huffs, the moment he walks in.

“Yeah thanks.” He mumbles, and walks into the kitchen. He was hoping they could have a civilised conversation, but silly him thinking Barty Crouch would want to do anything in an adult fashion. He’d rather not say anything at all than fight about it.

Barty follows him into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, just lingers in the corner of his vision seething as Evan makes himself a cup of tea. Finally he’s had enough, and drops the teaspoon on the counter harder than necessary. “What?” He snaps.

“Who was that song about?” He shouts a second after.

Evan almost laughs. “Who the fuck do you think dumbass?”

Barty glares at him. “How am I meant to know? I don’t know anything about you these days.”

A strangled sound breaks from Evan’s throat. “We literally sleep in the same bed. If there’s something to know about me – you know it.”

“Sure but that’s during the night Evan and apparently you’ve found someone else to fucking fall in love with during the day. So who is it?”

Evan stops and just stares at him, mouth gaped open. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Barty shifts, looking at him annoyed. Then sinks into something more hurt. “I just – I thought we had something steady goin’ Ev. I- I stopped fucking around when we moved in together and I dunno – I kinda assumed you’d do the same.”

His mouth drops further, he probably looks like a fucking cartoon now. “We moved here two years ago.” He finally says, breathless.

Barty nods. “Yeah, despite what Reggie thinks, I actually can count.”

Evan shakes his head, taking a step closer. “Bart. You stopped sleeping with anyone but me two years ago?”

He nods a second time, looking confused now. “I know I joke about my man whore days and I flirt around a bit, but yeah. Just assumed we were committing cos of the flat and stuff. Domestic old married couple style.”

Evan almost chokes up a lung at that. “We’re a couple?”

Barty balks back, affronted. “Well apparently fucking not but thanks for the clarification asshole.” Then turns away with tears on the edge of his eyes. “I would’ve been fine if you wanted someone else but you could’ve at least told me.”

“No- I. Barty I- what is happening right now?” He stutters, almost on the verge of a full out panic attack.

“What’s happening is I thought we had something good going and you clearly disagree.” Barty snaps at him, his arms folded across his chest now.

Evan laughs, actually laughs. Barty is about to shout at him again when Evan’s hands come to cup his face. “Bart you fucking idiot. The songs about you.”

Barty stares at him, dumbfounded. “But the lyrics-…we’re already together.”

Evan kisses him, just to taste those words on his lips even if it is completely ridiculous. He pulls back with an amazed grin. “Well until about thirty seconds ago I did not know that.”

He sneers at him. “How did you not know?”

“Because you never told me.”

“I thought it was pretty fuckin obvious Ev.” He gasps, exasperated, flinging his arms out. “I got you that anniversary present last month.”

“We have an anniversary?!” Evan barks.

“Yeah, the day we got the flat.”

“You mean my birthday?”

Barty frantically nods. “Yeah I got you the red tattoo ink for our anniversary and blowjob for your birthday. I’m not made of money Ev.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Bart.” Evan groans, scraping a hand through his hair. “I thought- all this time. I really didn’t think you...” He trails off.

Barty hesitates, but slowly pushes his temple into the crook between Evan’s shoulder and neck and resting there as he speaks. “I don’t always know how to say what I’m feeling and I try to show it but sometimes it’s not enough. But I promise, I’ve always been yours Ev.”

Evan exhales, his breath coming out shaky and slow.

Yours. All this time. Barty has been – his.

He lifts his arms, and wraps them tight around Barty’s back, pressing a kiss to his dyed green curls. “I know now.” He whispers.

They hold each other for a few minutes, it’s quiet and peaceful. Evan thinks he could have stayed like that hours but his boyfriend has the restlessness of a five-year-old on Halloween and pulls harshly back, taking Evan’s hands to keep some part of them joined together.

“I can’t believe I’ve been in this relationship two years longer than you have.”

Evan snorts. “We should definitely stage fake fights about that in front of straight people.”

Barty cackles, throwing his head back and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “YES holy shit. What do you mean we’ve been exclusive a month?? It’s been TWO YEARS.” He pretends to shout.

“No babe I swear it’s only been a month.”

“Wow and now you’re gaslighting me.” Barty pouts, turning slightly away. Evan pulls him hard into his arms and kisses his temper tantrum away.

…

London. 2021.

“Got it.” Regulus says with a smile.

“Please love, I need to know your last name, and I need to know it’s the same as mine.” James grits, still down on one knee.

Regulus is about to answer, then pauses. “I just realised I don’t actually know you’re last name.”

James stares at him for a second, then gasps out a laugh. “Is that really important right now?”

“Well it kind of is if I’m going to be sharing it.”

James stops, “Is that a yes?”

“Again, I still don’t-”

“It’s Potter. Yes or no love?”

Regulus considers, slipping the name between his teeth. Regulus Potter. Oh yes, he could get used to that. Regulus Potter.

“Oh for fucks sake.” James mutters, as Regulus starts muttering it again and again, pretending to weigh up the pros and cons. “Is it too late to take it back?”

Regulus stops, looking down at James insulted. “Yes it’s too late. As my fiancé you should really be more fucking patient.”

James chokes on a laugh, then rushes to his feet and sweeps Regulus into his arms in one motion, wrapping his thighs around his waist. “You mean it? You really want to marry me?” He almost yelps.

Regulus laughs with him, taking his stupid adorable face in his hands. “Of course I do. I don’t want anyone else ever and I certainly don’t want anyone else fucking having you.”

James kisses him, deep and like he’s meaning to kiss him a while, but then abruptly withdraws only a second later. “And you don’t think it’s too soon?”

Regulus sneers at him. “You’re kidding right? It’s been three fucking years. We might not have actually seen each other or spoken in those three years but I thought about you and loved you every single day, I think that’s more than enough.”

For effect he takes a pair of his rings off, ones with obvious enough centre pieces and slides one onto his ring finger and the other onto James’ corresponding finger. It doesn’t fit all the way but he thinks it gets the message across, in case anyone else decides to give it a go between here and the nearest jewellery shop once the concert it done.

James grins down at him, and their makeshift rings, then presses his temple into Regulus’ own and whispers “I love you. All of you, every part.”

He smiles. It’s been so long since he heard that, and he still remembers the exact moment James first said it in excruciating clarity. “I love you too.” He is finally able to reply.

I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you

Maybe you’ll change your mind

They kiss, slow and sweet, then James jerks back. “Oh fuck I just proposed to my best friends brother and he doesn’t even know about us.”

Regulus laughs. “If it helps, he knows about you. He just doesn’t know it’s you.”

“Same with you. Wait – how did he not figure it out?”

“Because he’s an idiot.” Regulus snorts. Because he is. Only Sirius could have missed the overlapping stories and thousand of clues that linked the two of them together.

James nods, disbelieving. “I bet Remus knew.” He then adds.

“Oh without a doubt.” Regulus agrees, because there is no way his brothers husband wouldn’t have figured it out – probably months ago. Remus was probably holding onto the information for when the reveal could be the most dramatic. Like tonight.

“Still. We should figure out a way to tell Sirius together.” James says, already distracted by kissing Regulus’ neck.

“Don’t worry.” Regulus gasps, threading his fingers back into James’ curls. “I’ve got an idea for that.”

Before James can comment, Evan’s voice cracks through the speakers – the volume somehow turned up to a deafening level backstage.

“Sorry for the wait guys we’re just waiting for our lead singer to stop whatever he’s doing and remember he’s midway through a fucking show.”

Regulus’ jaw drops. He jumps to his feet in a second, swearing up a storm as he rushes towards the stage. He backs up a few steps to throw his arms around James one more time and kiss him.

“See you out there.” James laughs, as they break apart, and smacks his ass as he runs away. “I LOVE YOU!” he shouts.

Regulus turns back, in time to wink and shout back. “LOVE YOU TOO, FIANCE.”

***

~ The following minute of Black Star’s debut performance has individually been clipped and made so famous that its gone down in music industry history as one of the most watched and discussed videos of a pop/rock band ever ~

REGULUS BLACK runs onto the stage, his hair noticeably ruffled and his neck painted with a number of bruises and bite marks that were not there when he was last seen less than ten minutes before.

He steps up to the microphone, the rest of the band laughing and rolling their eyes at him as the crowd cheers and claps at his return.

“Sorry guys, got – um, distracted.” He mumbles.

Somewhere beyond the camera – a voice later confirmed to be the popstar LILY EVANS – says, “I’ll say.”

“We’ve got one more song for you tonight. Thank you being the most incredible first crowd we ever could have asked for, we love you all and we’ll never forget this night for the rest of our lives.”

The band all nod at REGULUS’ words and PANDORA blows out a kiss out with her arms outstretched dramatically.

REGULUS looks behind him, waiting for BARTY to tap the sticks above his head to signal a new song. To the left of the frame DORCAS MEADOWES has her fingers poised over the strings of her guitar, ready to play seconds after the first tap.

Then, just as the drumsticks raise into a X above the drummers head, REGULUS turns back to the front barriers of the audience – almost directly where the camera is tilted up to him.

“Sirius I’m engaged to your best friend.”

“WHA–”

Chapter Text

Paris. 2021.

Two months before Black Star’s debut at Crystal Palace Park.

“Holy fucking shit.” Barty swears, as the others gasp out their thanks to Sirius over the phone.

Regulus stays silent.

“Reggie?” Sirius asks through his phone speaker. “What do you say?”

No. Fuck no. Absolutely not. Please god no.

“I’ll have to think about it.” He manages to croak, then stumbles to his feet and walks away.

“WHAT?!” The rest of the band shout at him, except Pandora. Barty jumps up from the couch, speaking for the group first. “Reggie your brother just offered us a fucking album you don’t respond to that with ‘I’ll have to think about it’ you respond with ‘I’ll take first class and a fucking martini on the plane please’”

Regulus stays quiet, suddenly unable to form words. His throat feels dry and horrible, like he’s swallowed a bucket of sand. His fingers itch to write but his head can’t clear itself up enough to string together a sensical thought except no, no, no, no, no.

“It’s okay. I know it’s a big decision but you’re music is genuinely really good. And it’s not just me saying that, I played the songs you guys sent us to our board and they all loved it. My partner is yet to hear the album but James isn’t really involved in that side of the company anymore anyway so I’m sure he’ll be fine with it. We really want to help you guys record, then we can look at singles, videos and live performances.” His brother keeps going, trying to reassure him but only making him spiral further – and that name isn’t doing him any favours. God he wished his James had a less common name, every time he hears it belonging to someone else he wants to keel over and rid himself of his breakfast.

Despite what he knows the band and his brother are thinking – besides ‘this asshole?’ – his reaction has nothing to do with the opportunity to record and release their music, all paid for and promoted by a real recording studio. He’s fucking thrilled about that and wants to dive headfirst into the opportunity to make all their dreams possible. It’s the where that’s causing him to have this particularly deranged reaction.

“Look guys – Reg – I have to go. Teddy just woke up and Remus is at work. So just let me know when you decide and I’ll sort your travel and stuff for coming to London and recording. Sound good?”

“I’ll text you later. Give Teddy a kiss from me.” Regulus manages to mumble, rubbing at his temple as Sirius hangs up the call.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, then. “What the fuck Reggie.” It’s Dorcas.

He turns to face them, his face stiff with shame. “Just- maybe we should wait. I don’t want people to think we only got our success because of my brother.”

She scoffs, ignoring when Pandora tries to stop her. “We all know that’s bullshit. You’re just scared to leave this fucking city for any reason after James left.”

His stomach lurches.

“Dor that’s not fair-” Pandora starts but Dorcas cuts her off.

“-No. No you can’t let him get away with this. It’s bullshit. He can’t ruin this for us now.” She looks back at him, her dark eyes blazing. “What are you afraid of? That amongst the millions of people in London you’ll stumble upon him and he’ll have moved on? Or maybe you’re scared that we’ll land in Heathrow and he won’t be stood on the fucking runway waiting for you.”

She stops, and the whole flat falls silent again. Nobody speaks for him, they all just stand and wait for him to explain himself. Because, yeah, he probably owes them all an explanation on this one.

“I couldn’t leave for him.” He croaks.

The band stares at him. It’s clear they weren’t expecting him to answer, after all it took Pandora two years and practically binding Regulus to their couch whilst out of his wits drunk to get him to admit why him and James ended.

“He asked me to go with him, to London. But I- I wanted to be where you guys are. And now…the thought of going anywhere without him makes me want to nail myself to the fucking floor.” He half-sobs, somehow managing to hold back his tears.

Dorcas softens then, and slowly wraps her arms around him. “It’s okay. I get that.” She mutters.

“Really?” He chokes, tears now free falling onto her jacket.

She nods, and squeezes him tighter. “Yeah, I do. When Evan tried to get me to do the same as he and Pan did when I turned 18 and disown my shitty parents, I told him to get fucked.” She admits, and one look at Evan over her shoulder and Regulus knows she’s telling the truth.

“I didn’t want to leave and Marlene to show up at their door one day and I wouldn’t be there.” She cups his cheeks, smiling sadly as she says, “You can’t bring someone back into your life by making it stop. You have to keep moving and hope you find them somewhere along the way.”

He nods, “Okay.”

“Okay?” She asks, her voice hopeful.

“Yeah okay. I’ll call Sirius back.” He sighs, and kisses her once on the cheek before reaching for his phone and jumping back onto the couch.

As he dials the band all gather around him. Dorcas rests her head on his right shoulder and wraps an arm around his back, Barty does the same on his left and circles his waist, Pandora rests her head in his lap and grips his free hand, and Evan stands behind the couch and circles them all in his embrace, his chin rested in Regulus’ curls.

Sirius picks up after the third ring. “Yeah? – Ow Teddy don’t pull Daddys hair. You okay Reggie?”

“Pull harder Teddy rip all his precious hair out.” He shouts into the phone.

“Fuc- I mean, FORK off. What do you want?”

Regulus hesitates, but the band hold him steady and eventually he sighs. “When can you get us to London?”

…

London. 2021.

James reaches the barrier just in time for Regulus to look down at his brother and shout into the mic.

“Sirius I’m engaged to your best friend.”

“WHAT?” Sirius shouts back at him, but is cut off halfway through by the guitar screeching to life and the song starting.

The band seem equally startled in fairness but manage to keep playing. James would not have been able to do the same, he’s too busy laughing hard enough to make his stomach hurt. He did not expect that when Reg said he had a plan, but he knows well enough now to expect the unexpected with his fiancé. FIANCE.

“REGGIE WHAT THE FUCK?” Sirius keeps shouting, even as the music completely masks his words.

Regulus looks down at him, faking confusion and pointing at his ears as he shouts back “Sorry what was that? I can’t hear you the guitars are too loud.”

Sirius holds up two middle fingers at him and Regulus snorts, before turning around on stage to show the band where his ring now rests on his wedding finger, they all cackle at him and continue playing. James will definitely be buying them different rings after this but the sentiment is nice for now, he likes that Regulus wants to show off their engagement right away.

Regulus turns to Marlene and her camera next and shows the crowd the ring too. They cheer and whistle as the intro keeps playing, then Marlene turns around and James finds the lens pointed at him and his face blown into huge proportion on the two screens either side of the stage.

James laughs at the screaming reaction his face gets, and lifts his hand to show the matching ring on his own finger. He presses his hand to his mouth then, and blows a kiss up to Reg on stage, Marlene turns like she’s following it, just in time to catch Regulus wink and blow a kiss back to him before lurching into the song.

And Danny ran into some complications

He falls asleep during conversations

“What THE FUCK.” James hears yelled into his ear, and turns to find his best friend glaring up at him like he’s just brutally murdered a puppy in front of his child.

He grimaces and sheepishly points up to the stage. “Regulus is Leo – I swear I didn’t know.”

“Yeah James, I guessed that somewhere between finding out he has a J and your antler tattoo above his ass and you eye fucking him while he sings about shacking up with you in France.” Sirius shouts back at him.

“Wait really?” James asks, disbelieving.

“Of course not – I figured it out and told him.” Remus intervenes.

James nods. “Oh that makes more sense.”

“Wha- Fuck you both.” Sirius splutters.

And all I do is sit and think about you

If I knew what you’d do

Regulus sings on stage, and James is immediately distracted by him. He’s just so ethereal looking. James realises for the first time how well he suits the spotlight. Most people find having a bright white light directed at all their insecurities whilst in front of a sizeable crowd of people discerning, but Regulus moves in the light like he was born to be illuminated for all the world to see. James is completely blown away by him.

“Uh earth to James.” Sirius snaps his fingers in front of James’ face and he clocks back into the conversation.

“Oh- yeah sorry. What were we talking about?”

“You know, just that you’re engaged to my BROTHER.” He shouts.

“Right yeah. Um- you’re invited to the wedding?” He shrugs, mainly to take the piss.

Sirius stares at him like he’s about burst into flames and use it to set James alight with him. James is almost certain that the only thing that prevents him being punched in the face right there is Remus slowly curling his arms around his husbands shoulders and leaning over to kiss his temple.

“Sweetheart, we’ve seen both of them desperately pining for each other. Don’t you think they deserve to be together whether or not you completely approve?”

Sirius stays pouting but visibly softens, nodding weakly at Remus’ words. “Still. He broke my baby brothers heart.” Then he points to the stage and Regulus, who’s still singing and twisting his hips in a way that almost sends James into cardiac arrest. “And he broke my best friends heart.”

James chuckles, and throws an arm around his best friend as Remus steps back. “We only broke each other’s hearts by leaving. That’s why we wanna get married Pads, so we can always be together even if we can’t always be in the exact same place.”

“Okay fine you can marry my brother. But I want to be both of your best mans.” He demands.

James furrows his eyebrows. “For both of us?”

“Both.” Sirius repeats, firmer. Behind him Remus rolls his eyes but nods to signal James should just agree so they can talk him down later.

“Sure Pads. You can be both our best men.”

His best friend stretches out a hand. “Welcome to the family James do not invite your new in laws to the wedding.”

James shakes it. “I was not planning on it.”

He turns back to the stage, to watch Regulus restart the chorus and with it move his hips and feet in a choregraphed step that the rest of the band copies as best as they can with their instruments. It takes James a moment but he soon realises the crowd is copying too, all moving in perfect time and with the same hand motions that match up to the lyrics.

All I do is sit and drink without you

If I choose then I’ll lose.

It’s unbelievable. James has been in the industry his whole adult life and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a fanbase so dedicated from this early in an artists career. Whether or not the band have realised it yet, James knows. They’re going to be huge.

It’s not living if it’s not with you.

Regulus sings, and is already making his way towards the stairs at the side of the stage, leading to the ground and barriers, when the instrumental sections starts. James watches him, confused for a moment until Reg brings the mic to his lips and speaks.

“Everyone say Je t'aime James.”

In less than a second the crowd shouts back. “Je t’aime James.”

Marlene follows him with the camera, as Regulus hops down from the stage and starts walking along the grass in front of the front barriers. “How dare you say that to my fiancé.” He tuts, shaking his head at the crowd who laugh and cheer in response.

Regulus reaches James and climbs up onto the metal railing so he can wrap his arms around James’ neck and pull him into a kiss. James is distantly aware that they’re being filmed for over ten thousand people right now, but the moment Regulus’ lips touch his own he can’t think anything but; finally, I found you again.

He circles Regulus’ waist through the gaps in the barrier and pulls him as close as they can manage with the metal obstacle between them. Regulus laughs onto his lips and threads one hand through James’ curls kissing him harder. The other hand still holds the microphone, which Regulus barely manages to get to his lips in time to sing.

I can’t stop sweating or control my feet

Got a twenty-stone monkey that I just can’t beat

He hops down from the barrier, and immediately reaches over to flick Sirius’ nose and flip off Remus, glaring at his brother-in-law in a way that screams ‘I know you knew and I will get you back.’ Sirius responds by shoving him away with an eyeroll and Regulus drifts over to where Mary and Lily are dancing a few feet away.

They pull him into a hug as he keeps singing, and kiss both sides of his cheek before he floats away again, blowing kisses to both of them.

He briefly makes his way along the front of the crowd, reaching out to touch as many outstretched hands as possible, as he races back to the stage in time for the final chorus.

It’s true that

All I do is sit and think about you

Once Regulus is back on stage the band have already gathered at the centre, minus Barty who’s bound to the drums, and greet him with hugs and smiles. There’s so much love and joy that James is practically vibrating with all of it. He feels so happy that he’s certain could just exist in this one moment forever and never be tired of the rush of it.

Everything is just so perfect. For the first time in three years, he feels like he’s breathing without having to voluntarily push his lungs in and out; and he’s smiling without it hurting the reluctant muscles in his cheeks.

His missing piece is back, and he’s never leaving James again.

It’s both of them, forever in one place no matter how many miles stretch between them.

Oh and Johnny got a job in a bank, I think

Danny spent the time trying to pack in the drinks for me

Regulus dances, the rest of the band and the whole damn crowd joining in. It’s clumsy as they nudge and collide with each other, drunk off the energy they’ve created, but uniform enough to show the unbreakable bond between them all.

James is suddenly struck by how much he wants to meet the rest of the band and learn every inch of Regulus’ life outside of Leo. It won’t change a thing for him, no matter what he learns, but he can’t wait to learn more about the man he loves, so he can adore even more things about him.

As the final lyrics echo through the venue, bright coloured confetti bursts from the stage and litters down on crowd, reflecting through the dazzling lights in glittering rainbow hues.

It’s not living, if it’s not with you

Regulus sings, smiling wider than James thinks he’s ever seen; no longer weighted by the knowledge that they don’t entirely belong to each other. Because they do now. All of him is Regulus’ and all of Regulus is his.

It’s not living, if it’s not with you

He points at James on the you, through the confetti and lights and metres of space between them. James winks and Regulus grins, laughing a little into the microphone as he keeps singing, repeating the line again and again.

It’s not living, if it’s not with you

It’s not living, if it’s not with you

It’s not living, if it’s not with you

The final notes blast through the venue, and then the concert is over.

The whole band gather at the front, their hands clasped in a line with Regulus crammed in the centre, Pandora and Barty on his left, then Evan and Dorcas on the right.

They take their bow, and the whole world erupts.

***

The camera focuses backstage as REGULUS BLACK runs across the frame and jumps just in time for JAMES POTTER – the co-director of the recording studio ‘Marauder Records’ – to catch him in his arms.

“You did so good baby!” JAMES beams, but barely gets his words out before REGULUS BLACK is kissing him.

JAMES turns just slightly, Regulus still in his arms and their lips still attached, so the back of his head and Regulus’ side profile are in the frame.

Just as they separate, the voice of lead guitarist DORCAS MEADOWES echoes from somewhere beyond the camera.

“And where’s my kiss?”

The videographer snorts, “Right here if you-”

_

~ THE FOOTAGE CUTS. ENDING ON A FREEZE FRAME OF REGULUS BLACK MID-LAUGH AS HIS FIANCE JAMES POTTER WHISPERS SOMETHING THE CAMERA DOESN’T PICK UP INTO HIS EAR ~

Chapter Text

Los Angeles. 2025.

Regulus shifts, adjusting the mic attached to his long black coat and wishing he’d have insisted on a less sweltering outfit whilst being styled that morning.

Emmeline wanted them all to dress uniform to their usual performance style for the interview; monochrome and scruffy-smart as Pandora nicknamed it – like they’d started the night at one of their parents stuffy charity galas and ended half-pissed and no longer caring if their top buttons are done up or jackets straight. When they agreed it sounded like a great idea, but they’d all forgotten what the general temperature is in California daytime compared to London where their appearances usually are, or the nighttime performances they were used to.

Regulus looks hot though, he knows that just from the dozen stuttered words James managed over their facetime that morning. His husband had to stay in London, due to some last-minute issues with the latest run of financial contracts. They both wanted him to join Regulus and the band in LA for their group interview that will be added to the documentary Emmeline is making about their band.

It's ridiculous even saying that in his head. That his band, who spent almost half a decade only performing in the cramped bar they also lived above and worked at, now have a whole documentary being made about their music and success.

He knows it’s partly because of Emmeline and her connections to the band, what with being Pandora’s girlfriend of a few years now. But it’s also their genuine success that even Regulus and all his typical pessimism can’t find a way to negate.

After the footage of the bands first performance was released, everything changed overnight. They already had over almost a million monthly listeners because of 12 to 12, but after the concert was clipped so many times and went beyond viral on social media it quickly grew to well over ten million; by which point they were being invited to perform on talk shows and being nominated for awards.

Now, four years later, they have over 85 million monthly listeners; performed for stadiums and on main stages at festivals; and have three Grammys, a VMA, and a Brit award that Regulus keeps in his ridiculously oversized mansion that he shares with James in Hampstead Heath. It’s been a wild few years, but he still feels slightly like they’re out of their depth with this documentary the Black Stars.

Emmeline walks onto the set – a Spanish style balcony of a villa they rented, that overlooks the city of LA – her heels clicking methodically against the cobble floor. She’s a beautiful woman, in a sort of sleek and almost intimidating way; but he knows from Pandora that she’s really soft as butter beneath her professional persona, which he can respect. She’s never tried to ask them any uncomfortable questions, and always stuck rigidly to the conditions they set as a group for interviews (which you’d think would be self-explanatory but he’s learnt now that some reporters genuinely do not care about their boundaries).

“You guys ready to start?” She smiles at them.

They’re all sat together; Regulus, Pandora and Barty on a comfortable white garden bench with pretty floral cushions that he thinks James would like (he’s already sent him a picture); and above them on slightly higher pale blue cushion chairs are Dorcas and Evan.

They all nod, confirming, and Emmeline signals for the cameras to start before turning back to them.

“Okay guys, I know we’ve already been over this for your individual interviews, but it’s super important to me that I reiterate; this is your interview for your documentary. If there are any questions you don’t feel comfortable answering or would like adjusted slightly when editing, just let me or someone on the team know and we’ll sort it. You’ll also all be sent the footage before it’s added to the doc so you have all the way until the premier to decide you’d like the change something for your own comfort. Does that all sound okay?” They all nod.

“It’s so sexy when you get into the ethics of journalism babe.” Pandora purrs, resting her chin on her hand.

Emmeline narrows her fox-like eyes. “Careful I’ll start reading out legal contracts to you.”

“Do it.” The keyboardist winks.

Emmeline giggles, then quickly right herself and fixes her face into a more serious, professional expression. “Okay, so. To start the interview; can you tell us a bit about your life in France and how you all met.” She says, starting with the harder questions. Emmeline already knows how they met, and offered to forego talking about their childhoods altogether, but they all agreed it was important to their story so asked for it to be kept in.

As rehearsed, Pandora is the one to answer. “Well I have known Evan my whole life, we met in our mothers womb. Our family lived in Paris and socialised pretty exclusively with the other French nobility, which is how we met Reggie when we were all kids.” She gestures to Regulus, and he forces a tight smile at the memory. He was never allowed any friends accept the children of his parents ‘friends’. He’s just eternally grateful that the Rosier twins fell under that purview. “The three of us met Barty before starting secondary school when his father moved from Madrid, then Dorcas arrived at sixteen after spending most her teenage life in the US.”

“We wrote our first song together just a month after I arrived in Paris.” Dorcas says, leaning forward slightly. “It was the night I opened up and told them how my girlfriend – now fiancé – and I were separated.” She explains, taking the opportunity to show off her glittering sapphire ring. “We were on the roof of Evan and Dora’s family home and finally opened up to each other about all the abuse we all experienced at the hands of our parents. At some point that turned into looking up to the night sky and coming up with random lyrics about the stars. After that we just couldn’t stop and music became our way of escape.”

Evan takes over then, explaining the story of their controlling and abusive parents without going into the kind of detail that would make any of them feel too exposed, and ending with how he researched emancipation at only seventeen years old and left home on his eighteenth birthday to find a job and a place for them all to live, thankfully stumbling upon Hagrid that very day.

Barty follows, and explains how they worked at Beauxbatons and lived above it, writing and practicing their songs. He also adds unnecessary details about all the French girls who came into the bar and begged for him to sign their chests – a blatant lie, based on one incident where an extremely drunk lady who was at least fifty asked Barty to sign her tits and they all dragged him off before he could so much as ask for a pen. The drummer keeps going until finally Evan kicks the back of the bench where Barty is sitting and he shuts up, flipping his boyfriend off over his shoulder as he does.

Emmeline chuckles, and moves onto the next question. One Regulus already knows will be for him. The later questions will be more spontaneous, but they all agreed it would be better to come to the interview with an idea of what questions will focus on their more tumultuous past.

“Obviously your debut album is a group effort and all of you have individual songs and roles to play on the album, but I also know you – Regulus – take up the brunt of the lyric writing on Black Star, with seven of the twelve songs being attributed to you.”

He nods, “Yes I often came to the band with prewritten lyrics and asked for their help creating a track for it, so without them most of these songs wouldn’t be more than a few scribbled lines in a notebook. But, yes, many of the lyrics are mine.”

“It’s common knowledge now that the album is in many ways an ode to your now-husband James. Before we get into all that may I just say congratulations on the wedding it feels a bit like the whole world celebrated with you once that knot was tied. How did that feel for you?”

Regulus sighs, feeling the duo of rings on his finger with a comforting press of his thumb. One a thinner silver band with an emerald pressed into it’s centre, and the other a thicker gold band with a small pair of stag antlers engraved on the outside. James has a matching gold band with a red ruby, and silver band with a pair of wings engraved for Cupid revives Psyche.

“Being married feels correct.” He smiles, with a small shrug. “That’s the only way I can describe it. James and I have always felt right for each other, we fell in love the first night we spent together and spent three years apart, only to find ourselves just as in love – if not infinitely more – by the time we reunited. Marrying him felt like putting down the first book of a series and picking up the sequel. Simple as that.”

…

Florence, Italy. 2023.

Regulus is stood in front of a floor length mosaic mirror placed in the room of their wedding venue that just an hour ago was crammed to the point of almost bursting with stylists, wedding planners and his wedding party (aka. The band.) He runs his palms down the front of his black velvet wedding suit, smoothing out the lapels that were already smooth and feeling the stuttering beat of his heart underneath.

He's starting to panic. Actually he’s been panicking since he woke up, but it’s hard to find the time to process an impending nervous breakdown when you’re surrounded by caterers, and event organisers and random well-wishers, whilst in the middle of a beautiful Italian villa and surrounded by you’re extremely chaotic family who have all been drinking champagne since waking up at 7 am that morning.

It's hitting him now. As he’s alone – less than five minutes before he’s due to walk down the aisle to the love of his life. He’s waiting for Pandora to come back with both of their bouquets, but he wishes he sent someone else. If Pandora was here she’d know what to say and how to calm him down.

Better yet, he wishes James was here.

He looks up at the clock, where it reads only two minutes before the ceremony will start. Everyone will be in place now. Dorcas, Barty and Evan will be stood at his side of the alter in their emerald green gowns and suits, and Remus, Peter, Lily and Mary will be on James’ wearing crimson. Marlene will be anywhere she’s needed, taking photos. Then Sirius – the idiot – will be in the middle, looking like some kind of Christmas obsessed nightmare in a red jacket, with red shoes and a green tie and trousers, waiting to officiate – since that’s the best they could whittle him down to after James for some reason agreed to make him both of their best men. Idiots – the pair of them.

Their whole congregation will be waiting. Hagrid and Olympe; More of James’ school friends like Frank, Alice, Molly and her husband Arthur; and the celebrity friends they’ve made in the past few years, singers, actors, musicians, all gathered amongst them. Then, scattered throughout the venue, various reporters and cameramen, photographing and filming parts of their ceremony for the public.

It’s the latter that has him choking.

James and Regulus picked the reporters themselves, amongst them being the woman Pandora has been dating the past few months. Each one has been given extensive contracts demanding that the couple will receive every piece of footage to hand select what parts will be released and what will be kept for them and their loved ones. The whole thing is completely within their control.

It was a decision they struggled with, letting anyone but their own friends and family, seeing their wedding. But eventually they decided that since their relationship was already so engrained in the public image of the band – courtesy of Regulus ‘eye-fucking’ James for two hours straight in front of a live audience, as Sirius so eloquently said – they owe fans at least a glimpse of the pinnacle of their relationship.

It seemed like a great idea at the time, and Regulus has never once in his entire career struggled with the thought of cameras on him. But today the thought of a million eyes on him makes him feel like his chest is caving in.

Oh god. He needs to get out of this room. Just anywhere but here.

Without thinking, he takes off towards the balcony of his room and hops down onto the veranda, running towards the small private garden sheltered by a tall bush of orange jasmine. The scent grounds him a little, and he collapses onto the stone bench overlooking a small fountain placed in the centre of the garden.

He grips his knees and forces himself to breath, in and out. In and out.

“Love?” He hears spoken softly, through the flowers.

“In here.” He chokes, already smiling sheepishly before James comes round the corner, guitar in hand, wearing his tailored black wedding suit. “Hey.”

“Hi baby, you okay?”

He can’t help but laugh softly, as James comes to sit beside him, letting their knees touch but keeping his hands pressed on Regulus’ guitar; the one he brings everywhere with him, just in case. He forgot it while trying to run away from his own wedding.

“Oh I’m fine just- having a panic attack at my own wedding.” Regulus gasps.

James nods, “I thought you might be. Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, tentatively.

He half jumps then, reaching to place his hand over James’ and look into his eyes. “It’s not you, I swear. Marrying you is the best thing I will ever do, I cannot wait to marry you.”

James smiles, and brings his hand up to his lips, kissing just below the engagement ring on his knuckle. “I know that’s not why love, don’t worry. It’s just a lot, all the cameras.”

He smiles. Of course James knows what is worrying him; he always jokes it’s like his superpower, reading Regulus like his favourite novel when everyone else swears he’s written in a foreign language.

“We can ask them not to film anything, just keep the pictures Marlene takes for ourselves and keep the whole wedding private. If we have to we can do a post-wedding shoot in a few months to announce, but nothing needs to be seen today. Nothing matters except you and me.” James continues; forever the man with a plan (even if said plan is occasionally ‘wing-it and pray’)

Regulus smiles, then his eyes snag on the guitar and he stops. James catches it immediately and practically launches the guitar into his lap, knowing without a word what he needs.

He plucks at the strings for a while, finding the melody he needs, and eventually lands on one that flickers in his gut. He repeats the riff, until the scatter of words in his head formulate into a complete thought and he sings.

My heart is yours

It’s you that I hold on to

Yeah that’s what I do

He waits, keeping the rhythm going until he finds the rest of his lyrics.

And I know I was wrong

But I won’t let you down

Oh, yeah I will. Yeah I will. Yes I will.

He looks up at James, meeting his eyes almost guilty. Because he will let James down, sometimes. It’s inevitable. But he’ll never stop trying to make James proud, and he’ll always do his best to make up for any mistakes or messes he makes. And he knows James will love him through it, no matter what.

James stares back at him, unperturbed by the lyrics, with more love than Regulus knows what to do with. Sometimes James looks at him and he swears all the love in the whole world must grow whenever they’re together. He doesn’t feel able to comprehend all that devotion alone. It must effervesce from him somehow and extend to other things in the universe: the sweetness of the flowers, the melody of the songbird, the strength at which two stars orbit each other in the sky.

The way James loves, it bursts from him like sparks.

Yeah, I saw sparks.

He pauses, realising that the racing of his heart has slowed, and now it only beats for the man at his immediate side. He lays the guitar down and shuffles closer to James, folding himself in his lap.

“That was beautiful Reg.” He tells him, his voice cracked with tears as he wraps both arms around him. “Do you want to write it down?”

Regulus sits back, looking into his soft brown eyes and shaking his head. “I’ll remember it.” He takes his hand, and hauls them both to their feet.

“Let’s go get married.”

…

Los Angeles. 2025

Emmeline grins and congratulates him, like she wasn’t literally in attendance, before moving on. “Obviously the way you announced your engagement has become a moment many agree is embedded in modern day pop culture. Can you tell us how that’s developed within your performance.”

Regulus nods, knowing right away what she’s referring to. “Well obviously it started as a one-time thing to tell my brother we were engaged without actually having to listen to him whining about it.” He explains, earning a soft laugh through the band, Emmeline and camera crew. “But it turned out to be really a great way to tell people secrets I’d been keeping for a while. So it sort of spiralled from there.”

Emmeline nods, then gestures towards the small screen placed at their left. “I’ve actually compiled a few of my favourite ones to watch. In the documentary the screen will cut to these so the viewers can see what we’re talking about.”

They all turn to the screen as it cracks to life, and a series of short clips from the past four years begins.

~ On screen is a series of clips from various Black Star concerts after their debut in 2021 taken right before the song It’s not living (If it’s not with you) starts ~

Manchester. 2021.

RAB: Dorcas I’m the one who broke your espresso machine.

///

Edinbrugh. 2022.

RAB: Barty I hated your purple hair phase, it was horrible.

///

Barcelona. 2024.

RAB: Marlene I know it was you who took my eyeliner, it looks much better than your old brand by the way.

///

Glastonbury festival: 2023.

RAB: James I know you’re watching. They’re might be a cat called Hades living in our house when you get home this weekend.

///

~ The screen cuts back to Regulus and the rest of the band ~

Regulus nods, holding back his laugh. “Hades is doing great, by the way, he now has a sister called Cupid.” He tells the camera.

Beside him Pandora leans forward, addressing the viewers. “He didn’t tell James about that one either. Poor man got home and had two cats.”

Regulus sneers at her. “He has his health and the love of his life, he’s doing just fine.”

…

London, Hampstead Heath. 2024.

“Um- Love?” Regulus hears echo from somewhere nearby in their house.

“I’m in the studio.” He shouts back, one earbud still in as he listens to the melody Pandora came up with and sent him that morning. It’s really good, he’s just struggling to write lyrics that do it justice.

James walks in a second later, Hades close on his heels – the little black cat immediately jumping onto Regulus’ lap and settling there. Regulus looks up, and finds his husband stood in the doorway, arms outstretched in front of him as a small grey tabby cat hangs from his hands, seeming overall unbothered by being carried through the house like a wet dish towel.

“What is this?” He asks.

Regulus purses his lips to not burst out laughing, and instead tilts his head slightly, crooning. “I’ll give you three guesses and a clue: it starts with a ‘C’.”

James scowls, and brings the cat to his chest, cradling her in his arms and scratching her chin until she starts delicately purring. Regulus narrows his eyes.

“Yes I can see what it is, why is it here?”

“It is actually a she, and she is called Cupid. I saw her at the shelter.”

“Why were you at the shelter?” James asks then, now rocking Cupid back and forth like a baby.

Reg shrugs, scratching Hades soft little forehead. “You left me alone for a week.” James shakes his head, still scowling a little, so Regulus adds, “You can return her if you like, shelter is still open.”

James gasps, tightening his grip on the cat and twisting slightly like he’s trying to shelter Cupid from an impending thunderstorm. “How dare you say that about our daughter!”

Regulus throws his head back and cackles, loud enough to disturb Hades who jumps off Regulus’ lap and runs out the room in protest. Cupid, disturbed by the whole ordeal, starts fussing in James’ arms – demanding to be put down. James complies and she runs off after her brother.

“One day I’m going to come home and you’ll have been smothered and half-eaten by a pile of hungry stray cats.” James sighs, walking over to the couch and flopping down onto his back, his head resting in Regulus’ lap.

He smiles down at his husband, and leans down into a soft kiss. Once he pulls back he grins and pokes James lightly on the tip of his nose. “You should stop leaving me alone then.”

…

Los Angeles. 2025.

“If I’m not mistaken, there’s another thing you said during the first performance of that song that’s become a running feature of performances.” Emmeline says then.

Regulus jaw instinctually tightens. “Yup.”

Ever since Crystal Palace Park fans have started shouting out at the start of the instrumental of It’s not Living: “Je t’aime James.” Every. Single. Time.

The rest of the band start snickering between themselves as Emmeline carries on, pursing her lips to not laugh with them. Pandora without a doubt put her up to this. “How do you feel about several thousand people telling your husband they love him every time you perform that song?”

Regulus swears he can feel the blood vessels in his upper temple bursting from how tight he’s clenching his jaw. “I think it’s great. Really great.” He grits.

Barty snorts. “Great enough that he asks for the song to be removed from the set list every time.”

“But it’s one of your most popular songs. It’s your finale song!” Emmeline objects, with a laugh.

Yes, that would be the problem. He thinks.

Regulus looks directly at the camera - a warning in his eye. “Oh I’ll write one someday that replaces it, just watch me.” They all burst out laughing. Regulus doesn’t laugh with them – he is not joking.

“How does James feel about it?” She asks next.

Reg rolls his eyes. “He loves it. The bastard. Every time it gives him a damn ego boost and I have to subtly knock it back down again.” He’s taken to ‘misplacing’ James’ anti-frizz cream or letting his shirts dry in a heap overnight whenever the crowd shout to him a little too enthusiastically. James is still unfairly beautiful no matter what Regulus does, but it gives him some peace of mind letting his god-like husband walk around with bad hair or creased shirts occasionally.

Everyone is still laughing, Emmeline eventually manages to right herself enough to ask, “Both you and James have been asked separately to talk about your time apart for those three years, and in your interview as a couple you spoke about that month you spent together in Paris that inspired your debut album.” She lists, as he nods along with a soft smile.

Recounting those days with James was incredible, and hearing how his husband fell in love with him, while he was simultaneously falling, made him embarrassingly emotional about the whole thing. He started crying the moment James described first seeing him.

“There must have been at least a hundred faces in that club; a hundred different lives and stories and expressions. It shouldn’t have been possible to find a single distinct person in that whole crowd, and yet – the moment I saw him.” James takes his hand, smiling at him across their sofa as Emmeline sits opposite to them, Hades perched on her lap and Cupid curled between Regulus and James. “He just shone. Like a single star that somehow breaks through the dark sky and grey clouds. I haven’t been able to look at anything else since.”

“Could you tell us now what happened when the band met James for the first time?” Emmeline asks, sitting forward slightly.

They all go stiff, and slowly turn towards Barty, who’s quite pointedly looking at his shoes, like the battered black converse is equivalent to a priceless Van Gogh.

“Barty.” Regulus clips, still annoyed – four years later. “Fancy sharing with the public what happened the first time you came face to face with the man I love?”

The drummer looks up, his face slightly pink and eyes comically wide. “Not particularly no.”

…

London. 2021.

After the concert, Regulus does his absolute best to drag James away before the band can reach him. But James has such an annoyingly kissable face that he gets quickly distracted, and finds them both surrounded before they can even leave Crystal Palace Park.

What occurs next are several quick introductions, that are only slightly awkward because on one side, James knows absolutely nothing about the four idiots Regulus calls family and members of his band; and on the other side Dorcas, Pandora, Barty and Evan have spent three years performing songs about the absolute most intimate parts of James’ life.

“Good to meet you James.” Pandora smiles at him first, outstretching her hand. “We’ve heard – and sung – a lot about you.”

James laughs at that, shaking her offered palm with his brightest smile that Regulus has missed so damn much. “Sorry I don’t know all that much about any of you except how unbelievably talented you all are at your jobs.” He replies, with that effortless charm.

They all smile at him, except Barty who immediately launches into a series of words that should not ever come out of anyone’s mouth. “Well thanks to Reggie we know that when you finish you make a groaning noise that- oh wait no was that your other ex? Matthew? Or maybe Gerard?” then starts listing all the men Regulus has dated in the past five years, as the rest of them stare, lost for words. He can even see the moment Barty realises he should shut up and just doesn’t – seemingly unable to stop himself.

Barty finally looks over at Evan, with a panicked glint in his eyes. His boyfriend lunges over, smacking a hand over his mouth. “I- uh sorry he rambles when he’s high on adrenaline – or just high. Are you fucking high?” He hisses the last part at Barty, who meets him with an equally confused ‘I really don’t know anymore.’, Evan’s hand still covering his lips.

Regulus stares at him, still gripping James’ hand – though James seems more amused than anything else - then he finally breathes. “Fucking run Crouch. Run back to France, before I murder you.” He lunges then, just in time for James to catch him by the waist and drag him back, and Pandora to step in between them while Dorcas laughs with Marlene and Evan stands like a human shield in front of an already screeching Barty.

…

Los Angeles. 2025.

“And that is how I ended up with a black eye the night of our first concert and the night of Reggie’s engagement.” Barty finishes the story, still seeming appropriately embarrassed by the whole thing.

“You deserved it, and I would do it again.” Regulus shrugs, sitting back and crossing his legs over with smug satisfaction at the memory.

Emmeline takes this opportunity to move the interview along, turning her attention to Dorcas. “Speaking of engagements, do you think we could get the story of how Marlene popped the question?”

Dorcas’ attention is immediately captured, and she sits forward, making sure to show of the sparkly ring as she does. “Of course, it’s my favourite story to tell.”

…

Barcelona. 2024.

Unlike James and Regulus; Marlene and Dorcas were perfectly happy to take their time relearning each other before making any major steps. After all, they dated when they were sixteen and reunited at almost twenty-four. So much time had passed that they were both tentative and cautious when rekindling their relationship.

The things that mattered were still the same with them; the way they clicked. But they were also adults, and had lived whole lives without each other.

After leaving America, Marlene was sent to a boarding school in England where her parents expected her to come back behaviourally reformed, and maybe slightly less lesbian than before. Of course her oblivious parents had no idea that english boarding schools are the hive for repressed homosexuals. So after an appropriate amount of time missing Dorcas, Marlene found herself getting one hell of an education in the beds of other girls.

She didn’t just discover the full scope of her sexuality though, she also discovered how art – specifically photography – could be a channel for the rage she felt so fervently back in Alabama. She didn’t have to fight anyone to be heard at Hogwarts, she could simply speak and half a dozen people would be ready to hear her.

That’s how she met the group; the drama teacher, McGonagall, asked her to film and photograph the rehearsals for the upcoming school musical, which is how she came across Mary and Lily. Admittedly, it started off as a thing between the three of them (a casual thing – at least for Marlene) but soon she realised how much Lily and Mary adored each other, and how much she adored them both as a friend. So that’s what they became; Lily and Mary (couple) with their best friend Marlene (emotionally tethered to her high school girlfriend).

Through the two of them she met Remus, who wrote songs with Lily that she performed at talent shows and posted on social media. Of course, attached to Remus was his boyfriend Sirius, who’s utter passion for music unfortunately did not extend to talent, but Marlene had to admit he had a really good ear and he was an incredible ballet dancer. With Sirius came James, who had similar passion to his best friend, but genuine ideas with what to do with it. Finally Peter, who seemed pretty happy to go along with it all and managed to keep a level head when the rest of them got over excited.

When Sirius and James graduated university and started Marauder Records; they offered them all jobs on the spot.

Mary and Lily politely turned their offers down, after already being scouted by labels and agents. But Peter, Remus and Marlene right away agreed. Peter immediately became James’ assistant, being so effortlessly likeable that he immediately began networking through the industry and promoting the recording studio. Remus put his writing to good use and became a composer and lyricist within the company, producing several award-winning records for them. And Marlene started recording performances and working as the studios photographer and videographer.

It was epic, being that close to artists of every genre and getting to capture it all through her own lens. And, of course, it lead her back to the love of her life.

By the time Marlene arrives at the restaurant, Mary and Lily have already rearranged the entire setting to revolve around their vision for Marlene and Dorcas’ engagement.

“Christ on a bike did you replace the chairs and everything?” She groans, gesturing to the white chairs that were definitely burgundy when Marlene came the previous night to scout the restaurant.

Lily flinches. “Maybe, but they just didn’t fit the vibe of the place and we told Luca he could keep them.” She gestures wildly over to the restaurant manager, a very stressed looking Spanish man who seems to be regretting all his earlier decisions – even with the extremely sizeable cheque Marlene gave him to hire out the whole place for the night.

“lo siento” Marlene says to him, after googling how to say ‘sorry’ in Spanish on her phone. He waves her off and beckons her over to try the seafood paella he made for them.

An hour and only one panic attack (from Mary) later, and Dorcas arrives.

“Hey sweetie.” She smiles as she approaches Marlene at the door. She looks so pretty, in a tight blue dress and clad head to toe in glittering silver jewellery. Marlene almost drops to her knees and proposes on the spot.

“Hey, how you feeling after today?” She asks, hooking an arm around her shoulder and leading her towards the restaurant.

Marlene paid for Dorcas to have a full spa day with Pandora, Regulus and Barty after their concert the day before. James usually offers a spa day for the whole band after shows, and they always turn him down – except Regulus who is spoilt absolutely rotten by his husband – but this time Marlene encouraged Dorcas to go with him, with Barty and Pandora (Barty’s trip being paid for by Evan, and Pandora’s by Emmeline). While she was getting herself pampered and relaxed, Marlene was preparing in excruciating detail the whole proposal from start to finish.

The start being dinner, of course, which was delicious and so intimate with just the two of them; followed closely by a walk along the beach – interrupted halfway through by the band performing on a veranda they hired for the occasion.

Baby, I’m yours (baby, I’m yours)

And I’ll be yours until the stars fall from the sky

Reg sings, as the couple approaches, the rest of the band singing backup with their instruments.

“What- guys?” Dorcas gasps, once they’re close enough. She’s laughing but Marlene can tell she’s somewhat confused.

She turns to her girlfriend, and takes her hand. “Dor. I love you, more than anything and I know I’m going to keep loving you forever.” She sinks down to one knee in the sand and pulls a ring box out of her jacket pocket.

Baby, I’m yours (baby I’m yours)

And I’ll be yours, until the sun no longer shines

Dorcas gapes at her, tears filling her eyes. But doesn’t interrupt as Marlene keeps speaking.

“We’ve been through everything together baby, lets do this together too. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, fuck yes. Absolutely yes. YES.” Dorcas shouts, turning uncharacteristically animated.

Marlene grins and slides the ring onto her finger, before pressing a kiss to her knuckle and shooting to her feet, taking her by the back of her knee and lower back and tipping her into a dramatic kiss.

Dorcas squeals as she’s tipped, but grips Marlene’s hair and kisses her back with equal ferocity.

I’m gonna stay right here by your side

And do my best to keep you satisfied

The band keeps singing, as they kiss, stopping only briefly to cheer before going back into the song. Mary, Lily and Emmeline pop out from where they were secretly watching behind a large signpost warning off tourists from jellyfish, and Remus, Sirius and James jump out from behind the veranda.

They all collide together, hugging and screeching at the top of their lungs, until Barty shouts over the top of them.

“Oi! We getting shitfaced or what?”

Everyone cheers, and they proceed to indeed get absolutely shitfaced on the beach – In the middle of Barcelona. Only a few photos were leaked.

…

Los Angeles. 2025.

The band stare at Emmeline’s tv screen, scrutinising the photo that briefly possessed the internet for a few weeks last year. It shows the band (plus spouses and their whole friend group) piled onto a too-small wooden veranda, crushed around various instruments and holding an uncountable number of drinks bottles.

The main feature of the photo is Regulus, crushed in between James on one side and both Barty and Evan on the other side, as they all tangle their limbs together in a way that Regulus really wishes he could explain but honestly can’t remember. Everyone else is there too, spread out doing equally stupid shit, but Regulus, James, Evan and Barty are the main feature.

Honestly he doesn’t mind, it meant that everyone was so distracted by their rumoured foursome (that never happened…probably) that they didn’t even notice the shiny new engagement ring on Dorcas’ finger, as she grinds on her fiancés lap.

“Pretty bold of you to include that in the interview considering your right there Em.” Barty points out, gesturing to where Emmeline is passed out on the beach in Pandoras arms.

Emmeline clears her throat, shifting slightly. “For the record,” she says, looking at the camera. “It was a really great night.” They all nod, agreeing.

They talk a little more about various things, from how they enjoyed touring and playing in different countries, to the story of how Evan and Barty spent over half a decade miscommunicating and somehow came out of it with a functioning relationship. And eventually Emmeline focuses back on the band and their upcoming projects.

“So, obviously by the time this documentary is released you guys will have announced the date and cover of your second studio album. But as we’ve discussed, this part of the interview will be when you announce to the fans the name of the album and track list. Are you ready?”

They all nod, then Regulus takes over, looking into the camera as they rehearsed.

“Our follow up album will have 12 tracks, once again, and will be called.” They all drum roll comically, then in unison shout:

“SPARKS”

Named after the song Regulus wrote whilst hiding in a flower garden with James from their own wedding.

“We are so fucking excited for everyone to hear it, and to eventually perform these new songs. Thank you for being so patient with us after our first album, unfortunately my husband is unbearably perfect and therefore I’ve had absolutely nothing substantial to complain about in song form.” He explains, as Dorcas and Barty pull out confetti guns from somewhere and release them all over the LA veranda, letting golden confetti rain down on them.

“The lead single I’m in love with you will be coming out the same day this documentary drops. So if you’re watching this right now then surprise you have a new song. Go stream.” Pandora exclaims, waving her hands in an exaggerated motion.

Barty cuts in then, leaning dramatically across Regulus to make himself central, even though the camera is already directed at all of them. “And if you’re wondering: yes, the song is four minutes of Reggie going full heart eyes for his husband. Just in case anyone in the entire fucking world doesn’t already know that he’s married to the love of his life.”

Regulus shoves him back but shrugs into the camera, holding up his duo of wedding rings. “He’s right, I am.” He smirks, eternally proud of it.

They discuss the tracks on their second album, then once they’re done and all the cameras have been switched off, Emmeline cracks open a champagne bottle and shares it between them. “Thanks so much guys, we’ll get the edited footage to you as soon as possible.” She smiles, as Pandora curls into her side.

“No, thank you Em. I can’t believe we’re getting a fucking documentary.” Dorcas gasps, taking a sizeable sip of her wine.

Emmeline shrugs, pouring Evan and Barty’s glasses next. Regulus refuses and sips on a peppermint tea instead. He’s taken to only drinking alcohol on the most particular of occasions, and always with James – when he feels safest.

“Don’t thank me, I pitched it but the network practically leapt at the chance to have a program focused on y’all. They’ve been hinting at something similar pretty much since I started seeing Pan publicly.” She snorts.

They all pause at that, simultaneously realising that there wasn’t any strings pulled to get them this other opportunity. People want to hear what they have to say, as well as sing. It’s funny how many times they seem to forget the support they’ve garnered in the past four years.

Regulus’ phone ringing is the only thing that breaks their surprise. He checks his screen and sees James’ profile: a photo he took last month, of James asleep on the couch, his arm rested behind his head with Cupid stretched out and asleep on his chest.

He smiles and hops up from the sofa, headed for his own room in the rented LA house.

“How many times Mr Potter, it’s inappropriate to call your client after work hours.” He gasps into the phone speaker as he answers.

James chuckles over the line. “What if that client has a slutty tattoo of my initial above his ass?”

He snorts, leaning back against the wall and biting down on his thumbnail as he smiles. “You make a good point, perhaps we should leave HR out of this one.”

“Agreed. How was the interview baby?”

Regulus nods, even though James can’t see it. “It went well I think, guess we’ll see when the recording gets sent to us. But it felt like it went well.”

“Good, that’s good. I trust Em, and I know you all do to. She’ll do a crackin’ job of making this film for you guys.”

He listens to his husband, but his mind keeps wandering to darker places.

 The things his parents told him as a child, trying to convince him he’d never be anything without their help; how alone and lost he felt without James, and the worst most disgusting things he did to try and cope with that; and even now, all the shitty reviews of their album and the negative comments that he never usually pays mind to but always finds drifting in the back of his mind ready to haunt him whenever he feels even the slightest bit vulnerable.

“Love?” James asks through the phone, sensing even across a whole ocean that Regulus has drifted into himself. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, then slowly. “Do you think we- do you think I deserve it?”

James is quiet for a moment, then he hears the sound of sheets rustling and realises he must be sitting up in bed. “Reg. There is not a single person on this earth who deserves all this more than you and the band. Right from that very first performance I knew you guys would end up here, and I wanted nothing more than to be at your side through it, watching you succeed.”

Regulus smiles, and presses his rings to his lips before taking his phone from his ear and clicking on the request video call button. It takes only a single ring before James accepts, and he’s greeted by the glorious sight of his husband sat up in bed, hair half-mussed by sleep and shirt removed for the night.

He bites down on his lip at the sight, committing it to memory. He’s done the same every single day he’s spent with James, and shouldn’t still be finding new angles of him to adore. But Regulus just can’t stop himself being amazed that this man loves him enough to let Regulus see him every day, for the rest of their lives.

“Hey baby, you look so cute. Why did you want to video call, you okay?” James asks, tilting the phone slightly so Regulus can see Hades and Cupid asleep together on his side of their bed.

“I’m okay.” Regulus beams, unable to hold all of his happiness inside his chest. It bursts out of him so easily now, he’s helpless to stop it.

“I just missed you.”