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“Having fun, Prongsie?”
A puff of warm breath tickles James’ ear as his best mate wraps his arm around his shoulders, settling down next to him on a couch where James has been watching Pete’s attempts at besting Remus in arm wrestling.
“Yeah, it’s been good.” He tries to infuse his voice with more excitement than he feels. After all, his friends and parents have gone all out to throw him the perfect birthday party, so he doesn’t want to act like an ungrateful brat. It’s not their fault he’s been dreading this moment for months.
“Only good? Fuck. We need to get more firewhiskey in you, stat.” Sirius’ speech is slurred, indicating he’s had more than his fair share of liquor already. More than James’ share of liquor, too, it seems. Jittery and on edge, James decided to skip out on drinking except for one shot he shared with his father earlier. Monty’s eyes twinkled when they clinked their glasses in a toast. “Your first taste of alcohol, son,” he said, and the amusement in his words told James he knew this definitely wasn’t his first shot. Apparently, his sneaking out to the local pub hadn’t been as inconspicuous as he’d like to think.
“Nah, that’s okay. Want to keep a clear head for. You know.” James catches himself before revealing the source of his anxiety. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth until the soft skin turns red and irritated. Thankfully, half of Sirius’ attention is on Remus, like always, so he doesn’t register James’ hesitation. Even though he’s grateful for the reprieve, a prickle of shame skitters down his spine. He should be enjoying himself more. Everyone’s been trying so hard to make his coming-of-age celebration perfect. His mom baked him coconut cake with lemon curd, her secret recipe, and James’ favorite since he was five years old. He got a pile of presents from his friends and the gold watch every wizard from a traditional family receives on their seventeenth birthday, but apart from that, his parents, his wonderful, doting parents who tend to spoil him way too much, gifted him a state-of-the-art racing broom “to have something decent to practice on for the League tryouts, darling,” Effie said as she dropped a kiss to his hair. He couldn’t have wished for a more incredible evening if he tried, so yes, he owes it to everyone to be happy and not this sad heap of unrequited longing.
James’ eyes survey the room for a moment, searching for a certain someone, and when they locate a head of dark hair among the guests, his stomach lurches. Perhaps he should have skipped the cake, too. The piece he’s eaten sits in his belly like a stone when Regulus turns around and spears James with a glare. Heat rises in his cheeks, and he quickly glances away so that Regulus doesn’t think that James has been staring at him. He hasn’t been. He isn’t. He’d love to stare at Regulus all the time, actually, but that’s why he can tell with absolute certainty he only looked at him twice throughout the entire evening. When the younger Black wished him a happy birthday and shook his hand, dropping it as if James had burned him, and right now.
And immediately got caught in the act.
He grimaces to himself, which alerts Sirius to his bad mood.
“Why the long face, Jame-Jams-Jamsie? You should be happy. It’s your birthday! The trace is gone, you can drink, I mean, officially, and you’re getting the soulmate thing on top of everything, right?” Sirius bumps him with his shoulder, unaware of what a painful nerve he’s just struck.
“Well, yeah, the drinking is nice, I guess,” James hums non-committally.
“Not curious about the name?”
Ah, the heart of the matter. Or rather, the heart of James. The heart sitting across the room and pretending James doesn’t exist. Ever since he escaped Grimmauld’s Place and came to live with the Potters, Regulus has taken great pains to avoid James at every turn. Completely understandable, considering their fraught history. He doesn’t want to interact with the person who stole his brother and whose home he now shares. Understandable and reasonable and incredibly frustrating because James is irreparably in love with someone who’d prefer to jump out the window (literally, in one case) than talk to him. He lets out a sigh before shaking his head.
“Not really.”
“Why? It’s brilliant, knowing there’s someone who’s practically half your soul.”
James doesn’t have to look at Sirius to know he’s got hearts in his eyes as he spouts this poetic rubbish, no doubt thinking about Moony.
“Easy for you to say when your soulmate is the guy you’ve been in love with since you were fourteen,” he replies evenly, swallowing the poison gathering on his tongue. Sirius and Remus are his best friends, and they don’t deserve James lashing out at them because he’s jealous of their happy relationship.
“You might get someone cool.”
“Or no one.”
Sirius scoffs. “That’s unlikely.”
James screws his eyes shut. He’d rather poke needles under his nails than have this discussion with Sirius. “Yeah, but probably for the best.”
He glances at his new watch. Only fourteen more minutes before he learns the truth. He’ll see a name bloom in dark ink on his skin, possibly above his heart, less likely on his hip or back (he won’t see it in that case), and he’ll discover the identity of the person who’ll steal him away from the boy he loves. From the boy who despises him. A sour laugh bubbles in his chest. What a happy birthday.
“What do you mean, James?” He’s got Sirius’ whole focus now. The liquor haze must’ve receded somewhat because his friend fixes him with a gaze that shows no signs of intoxication.
“Nothing. Forget it.”
How is he supposed to explain to Sirius that this dilemma has no good solution? Either he’ll receive a stranger’s name, a neat little confirmation of how foolish his childhood infatuation has been, or, Merlin forbid, Regulus’ name will materialize on his body, binding him to someone who hates him. Plus, he can’t imagine Sirius being happy about a scenario in which he’d belong with Regulus. No, the best he can hope for is no name and going through the rest of his life with unblemished skin. Alone.
“Nah. This is important. What’s eating at you? Talk to me,” Sirius commands, pulling James into a half-hug again. Gratitude for his friend’s unrelenting support rushes through him. This is his best mate, after all. Who else should he confide in if not Sirius?
“What if you get someone who hates you for a soulmate?” James finally scrounges up enough courage to ask the question that has haunted him ever since he overheard a conversation not meant for his ears. It happened about two years ago. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when he was passing a classroom on his way to Transfiguration and heard a familiar voice drifting in his direction, a voice he’d been more than enamored with by that point, he threw on his cloak and sneaked closer to where Regulus was having a discussion with his fellow Slytherins.
“Imagine having a muggle for a soulmate. Think I’d off myself,” one of them said.
“Could be worse. A squib. Or a fucking mudblood. Can’t decide what’s more awful,” his sidekick replied.
“Or a blood traitor. Imagine being stuck with someone like Potter forever,” the first one added after some consideration.
Regulus, quiet until that moment, hummed in confirmation. “I’d rather drown myself in a lake.”
They all snickered, and James, who’d heard more than enough, crept away with tears streaking down his face. He thought this encounter would stem the feelings coursing through his veins, but no. It only rendered them painful, agony scorching through him like streaks of fire whenever he met Regulus’ impassive gaze in the following years.
“Then they’d be a pretty rubbish soulmate. Never heard of that happening,” Sirius proclaims with the confidence of someone who’s in love and content with his lot. James can’t help but resent him a little.
“Besides, everybody loves you, Prongs. You’re our Sunshine. Everyone would be stoked to have you. If it was possible, people would fight to tattoo themselves on your skin.” Sirius smacks a wet kiss to his temple to emphasize his statement.
“You’re ridiculous,” James says, but his lips curve into a smile. Perhaps he’s never going to experience the same kind of love his parents or Sirius and Remus do, but he’ll have his friends. No matter what happens today, he won’t have to shoulder the fallout alone.
“No, I’m Sirius,” Sirius counters, pressing a hand into his chest in mock aggravation.
Another glance at the watch tells James the moment of truth has arrived, so he lets the stupid joke slide.
“Will you help me check in case it’s on my back?” he asks, suddenly unwilling to face the reality without Sirius’ presence.
“‘Fcourse, Prongsie. Together, forever and always, till death do us part.”
“We’re not married, you goof,” James laughs as they climb to their feet, but Sirius waves his objection away.
“We might as well be. Moony has already blessed our union. Now stop stalling. I assume you’d rather have privacy for this?”
James nods in response, so they sneak out and find their way upstairs to his room.
“All right, so what happens next?” James asks as he comes to a halt in the center of the floor, unsure of how to proceed.
“The consensus is you should strip,” Sirius replies with an obnoxious smirk.
A lump sprouts in James’ throat, turning a simple act of swallowing into a torturous nightmare. Cold sweat beads on his temples and his fingers behind to shake, but there’s no point delaying the inevitable, is there? He might as well rip off the bandage right away.
“Okay, but turn around,” he orders, but Sirius folds his arms over his chest, shooting him an amused look.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, it would defeat the purpose, no? But I will stand behind your back in case the name appears there. Get it? Literally having your back.”
James doesn’t find it in him to appreciate the joke. With his heart joining the lumps of nerves above his vocal cords, he slowly peels off his T-shirt and tosses it on the floor. He shivers when the draft licks over his skin, more from nervousness than from the cold. This is it. One look will decide his future. And, of course, some people opt out of the soulmate thing entirely—purebloods choose to prioritize lineage over love, for example, but James has always considered it a sad life. One that might be awaiting him despite his plans.
“Not a dot here, mate,” Sirius pipes up from behind, tearing James out of his reverie. His gaze drops to his chest on autopilot, and oh shit. Nothing will ever be the same. He is so, so screwed. Tears spring to his eyes, and he tries to wipe them away with his left hand while his right hand clutches his chest in a last-gasp attempt to both pretend this isn’t happening and to hide the awful truth from Sirius.
“Prongs?” Sirius moves to stand in front of him, staring at him with anxiety written over his features. “What is it? Who is it?”
Wordlessly, James lets his hand drop.
He doesn’t have to look down again.
One glance was all it took for him to memorize the shape of the name in the looping script forever.
Regulus.
“It might not be him?” he says after a prolonged moment of silence.
“How many Reguluses do you know?” Sirius scoffs. “Fuck. Didn’t expect that, but I guess—I love you, and he’s back with us now, so it could be worse? Well, he could be worse, you deserve better, but it’ll be all right. We’ll make it work, Prongsie. He’s an unpleasant git most of the time, but I’ll force him to be nice to you, I swear, or—”
James cuts off the stream of Sirius’ nervous babbling with a tired flick of his hand.
“Relax, Pads. You don’t have to worry. Nothing will come of this.” He can’t stop bitterness from poisoning his words.
There’s a soft creak of the door opening in the background, but consumed by his misery, James misses its significance. He’s hanging by a thread, desperately fighting the pathetic sob building in his chest. Such irony. Under better circumstances, this would be the best birthday gift he might’ve received, but given that Regulus despises everything he stands for, it’s only a reminder of the relationship James will never have.
Sirius studies him with huge eyes, probably not entirely grasping all the details, but James can fill him in later. Later, when the wound in his chest doesn’t feel so raw. Later, when he’s cut off the inked patch of skin and let a scar grow over the place that should hold the name of the love of his life.
“Just don’t tell anyone, please?” he begs quietly. “Especially Regulus.”
“Don’t tell me what?” A third voice joins the conversation. Sirius whirls around as James’ head snaps from Sirius to the entrance, where Regulus stands in front of the door, measuring both of them with distrust. “Effie sent me to look for you. What’s going on here?”
Finally, James’ self-preservation instincts kick into gear and he sends his hand flying up to cover up his chest again, but Regulus acts faster. With speed worthy of the brilliant seeker he is, he darts forward, weaves around his frozen brother, and catches James’ palm before it reaches its destination.
We’re touching. Regulus is touching me.
Warmth radiates from the place of connection, spreading outward into James’ entire body. His heart speeds up, thumping so hard under his breastbone Regulus must see each individual thud. Or he would, if his eyes weren’t trained on the swirling letters.
Gently, he releases James’ hand, then lifts his fingers and traces the shape of his name. How much humiliation has today in store for James yet? He wasn’t looking forward to this day, even feared it, but the reality surpassed all of his most awful expectations. The worst birthday he’s ever had, by a long shot.
Regulus continues to touch the word on his chest with slow, almost reverent motions that send goosebumps erupting all over James’ skin. Why can’t he leave him alone? Can’t he see James is struggling, at the end of his rope?
“Don’t worry,” he grinds out with effort when the silence hanging over them goes on forever, “it doesn’t mean anything. I’d never presume—just pretend you never saw this so we can go back to how things were.”
“What? Why?” Regulus looks up at him but doesn’t retract his hand. It rests above James’ heart, warm skin and cold rings pressed against his overheated flesh, and Merlin please kill him and end his suffering. Now, if possible.
“Were you hoping for somebody else?” Regulus barks out when James offers no explanation. “What is it, then? Am I not good enough for you? Because I’m no longer with—I no longer believe that stuff if that’s your concern,” Regulus’ voice softens.
Sirius, bless him, must’ve left the room to allow them privacy for this conversation because when James looks around, he can’t find his best friend anywhere. The mortification is bad enough, but it’s slightly better without witnesses.
More tears gush out, so James screws his eyes shut to avoid facing Regulus because really, how more pathetic can he get? Then a gentle hand brushes the wetness away from his cheeks as if unsure it’s allowed, and when James opens his eyes again, Regulus is staring at him with a gentle expression that contradicts James’ assumptions about the younger Black.
“You hate me,” he blurts out, unable to hold back any longer.
Regulus’ brows knit together before he resumes drying James’ cheeks with his hand. “Hate you? What gave you that idea?”
“You.” James laughs bitterly. “You were talking to your mates and said you’d rather drown in a lake than have me for a soulmate. Please, don’t, by the way. I never meant for you to find out. You don’t owe me anything. I’ll get rid of this,” he gestures downward to his chest, “and we can forget this whole fiasco. Sorry you didn’t get somebody better, but plenty of people manage without a soulmate, so you’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” he adds, unsure of who he wants to convince. In the end, it doesn’t matter because Regulus only frowns and shakes his head.
“No.”
“No? I’m offering you an out, Regulus! I don’t know what more you want from me. What should I do to make this better? Tell me, and I’ll do it, except for letting you drown. I refuse to have that on my conscience. Sirius would murder me, and you don’t deserve to die or suffer because of some stupid cosmic plan nobody really understands—”
“Fucking shut up for once, Potter,” Regulus huffs out before drawing himself up on his tiptoes, looping his arms behind James’ neck and slanting their mouths together.
The kiss catches James by surprise, different from his expectations. Hesitant and surprisingly tender and he immediately needs more. He parts his lips on a soft groan, an invitation Regulus uses to slip his tongue into James’ mouth. The satiny heat scorches through James and rearranges the landscape of his body. His legs almost give out under him, and only Regulus’ steadying hold saves him from crumpling to the ground, but despite being frantic to taste the younger Black more thoroughly, he finds the strength to pull back. Answers. He needs answers first and foremost before his brain knots itself into a twist nobody will be able to unravel.
“What’s going on here? I don’t get you, Reggie. One minute you hate me, another you’re sticking your tongue down my throat? Is this,” he gestures at the ink on his pec, “enough to completely change your mind? Because if that’s the case, then I’m sorry, but we can’t be together.”
“Ever the martyr,” Regulus taunts but relents when he notices the resignation on James’ face. “I’ve never hated you, James. We’ll be coming back to how in Merlin’s name you managed to overhear us when I never saw you anywhere, but if you recall, I was talking to Mulciber and Avery. They’re the worst of the worst, and both more than willing to throw me under the Hogwarts Express to get ahead. That includes tattling on me to my parents. I couldn’t tell them the truth. It would be like signing my own death warrant.”
“Oh.” A tentative hope flutters in James’ chest. “And what truth is that?”
“Haven’t pieced it together yet?” Regulus smirks. “Guess it’s true about Gryffindors having muscles for brains. I’m in love with you and have been for a long time, you oblivious oaf. So stop talking nonsense and kiss me. You’re my soulmate. It’s basically your duty.”
Regulus strives to sound imperious and haughty, but James doesn’t miss the slight quiver hiding behind the arrogance. They’re both on uncertain ground, exploring unknown territory. It will probably take them a while to get used to the whole situation, but James can’t wait to start learning the details of this new future with Regulus.
“You mean that?” he asks, still too raw and shaken to blindly accept Regulus’ words. Still desperate to hear the confirmation spoken out loud. Regulus, of course, refuses to play along. Instead of another love confession, he offers a shrug.
“Hard to argue with that,” he says, grazing the name inked on James’ skin with his finger. It is irrefutable proof that the universe has bound them together forever. That their souls are intertwined for eternity.
“I disagree. It’d be pretty easy if that’s not something you want. I’d never force you to stay with me because of some twist of fate. Screw fate. Your wish is the only thing that matters to me.” More confident than a mere five minutes ago, James reaches out and tucks a stray lock of Regulus’ hair behind his ear, and he doesn’t miss how the younger boy’s breath catches and how he leans into his touch.
“See? And that’s why I love you,” Regulus says with a watery smile, gazing at him with so much love James can’t hold back anymore. He seizes Regulus’ mouth in a ruthless kiss, pouring all those years of desperate longing into it as they stumble toward his bed together, never breaking the contact, their hands desperate to roam each other’s bodies.
“Love you too,” James replies when they sink onto the soft mattress.
“Finally. Took you long enough to say it,” his soulmate teases, but before James voices a protest, he fuses their lips together again, and then he doesn’t have the strength to protest at all. Overwhelmed by happiness, he loses the ability to talk, but it hardly matters. The only word he needs is written on his chest—the shape of a name he’ll carry in his heart for the rest of his life.