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The museum was quiet in that reverent way all big, echoing buildings full of history seemed to be. Soft-footed visitors wandered between statues and oil paintings, and the security guards stood like forgotten relics themselves—silent, unmoving, mildly bored.
James Potter, on the other hand, had never looked more alive.
“Do you think he’d mind if I asked for a selfie?” James whispered, nodding toward a marble bust of some long-dead Roman emperor.
Regulus Black didn’t look up from the placard he was reading. “You’re about to get kicked out of your third museum this month.”
James grinned. “You keep count.”
“You’re a menace.”
“And yet,” James said, stepping a little closer, his voice dipping lower, “you keep inviting me places.”
That earned him a sideways glance, which, from Regulus, was the equivalent of blushing furiously. James took it as a victory.
They meandered into the next gallery—Impressionist paintings and tall windows flooding the room with spring sunlight. James looked at a Monet and pretended to care for about four seconds before looking at Regulus again.
He looked good. He always looked good, but something about the lighting—soft and golden, like the art itself—made his cheekbones unfair and his eyes molten.
James leaned in. “Do you know how stunning you look right now?”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, still facing the painting. “Are you flirting with me or attempting to distract me from the art?”
“Both,” James said easily. “But mostly flirting. Not that I need to try very hard.”
Regulus huffed a laugh—small, quiet, but real. It made James’ stomach twist in the best way.
“You’re incorrigible.”
James leaned closer, their arms nearly brushing. “You’ve been using that word a lot lately.”
“Well, you keep earning it.”
There was a long beat of silence between them, the kind where the air grows thick with something neither of them wanted to name yet.
James broke it, of course. “Tell me your favorite piece in this room.”
Regulus turned then, his expression unreadable. “Why?”
“Because I want to see what you love. I want to see what makes your eyes light up.”
That stopped Regulus completely. For a second, he looked like he might say something cutting, something safe. But instead, he gestured toward a painting—a hazy landscape of a city under fog, soft pinks and blues bleeding into one another.
James followed his gaze. “That’s your favorite?”
“It’s quiet. Like memory.”
James looked at him again, at the curve of his jaw, the faint smile playing at his lips. “You’re kind of poetic when you’re not insulting me.”
Regulus turned his head slightly, close enough now that James could see the way the light hit the little flecks of gray in his irises. “You bring it out in me.”
And then he looked away, as if he hadn’t just said something that made James’ heart thud loud enough to echo in the gallery.
They walked slowly after that, through ancient sculptures and tapestries and through a room filled with French Rococo paintings that made James dramatically recoil at the sight of powdered wigs. Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his smile.
Eventually, they ended up in a small alcove near a stained-glass installation. Colored light danced across the walls, painting James’ skin in blues and greens and golds.
He leaned against the railing, looking at Regulus again. “You know,” he murmured, “you’ve been incredibly well-behaved. I was expecting more scathing remarks.”
Regulus stepped close—closer than he had all day. “You’re mistaken if you think I haven’t insulted you at least ten times today. You’re just too lovestruck to notice.”
James didn’t even deny it. “Lovestruck? That’s a strong word for what we are.”
Regulus tilted his head, eyes searching James’. “And what are we?”
There it was. The question.
James inhaled slowly. “I think we’re… teetering. Somewhere between friendship and something else.”
Regulus didn’t move away. “I like the teetering.”
“Yeah?” James asked, softer now. “Why?”
“Because,” Regulus said, and then he leaned in, just slightly, voice brushing James’ ear, “it makes everything feel electric.”
James shivered. “You’re not playing fair.”
Regulus looked smug. “You started it.”
James chuckled under his breath, but he was looking at Regulus like he was memorizing him. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”
Regulus blinked. “You say that like it’s surprising.”
“It’s not. It’s just… hard to look at you and not say it.”
Something flickered behind Regulus’ eyes. Vulnerability, maybe. Or something warmer. “I don’t always believe it,” he admitted. “But when you say it, it feels like it might be true.”
James’ smile softened. “It is. God, Reg, you could be carved into marble and you’d still be softer than half the people I know.”
“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“A glowing one.”
They stood in silence again, not awkward, just full. James reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against Regulus’ hand resting on the railing. He didn’t grab it. Just touched.
Regulus didn’t move away.
“You make it very hard to focus on art,” James murmured.
“I should be flattered.”
“You should be kissed,” James said before he could stop himself.
Regulus turned fully toward him. “Should I?”
James licked his lips. “Only if you want to.”
Regulus’ eyes dropped to James’ mouth, then back up. “Not yet.”
It wasn’t a rejection. It was a promise.
James exhaled slowly, nodded. “Okay. I can wait.”
“You won’t be waiting long.”
Their hands were still barely touching. James turned his palm upward, offering it without pressure. After a pause, Regulus placed his hand in his.
It was such a small thing, but James felt it everywhere.
They stayed like that until a security guard passed by and gave them a look that said, This is not a date spot, gentlemen.
James grinned and led Regulus away by the hand.
---
They sat on the museum café’s outdoor terrace with overpriced coffee and small pastries. Regulus stirred his drink slowly, watching James sketch something on a napkin.
“You’re drawing again,” Regulus said.
James shrugged. “You inspire me.”
Regulus didn’t know what to do with that, so he focused on his coffee instead.
After a moment, James slid the napkin toward him. A quick, slightly messy pencil sketch of Regulus—just his profile, eyes downcast, lips quirked like he was trying not to smile.
It was beautiful.
Regulus didn’t say anything at first. Then: “I don’t look like that.”
James met his gaze. “You do. To me.”
Regulus held the drawing tighter than necessary. “You’re a terrible flirt.”
“Wrong,” James said, eyes crinkling. “I’m a very effective one.”
Regulus looked at him then, really looked. “You are. And the worst part is—I don’t even mind.”
James leaned forward, voice low and teasing. “That’s because you like me.”
“I tolerate you,” Regulus said smoothly.
James smirked. “With your whole heart.”
Regulus didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
---
They left the museum just as the sun began to dip behind the city skyline, throwing orange-gold streaks across the pavement.
James bumped his shoulder lightly against Regulus’. “Dinner?”
“Depends,” Regulus said, arching a brow. “Are you going to keep flirting through the entire meal?”
“I was planning on it.”
Regulus pretended to sigh. “Then I suppose I’ll have to endure it.”
James grinned, entirely unrepentant, and they walked down the steps side by side, fingers brushing, hearts teetering.
The sidewalk outside the museum was mostly empty, the sky bleeding soft oranges and lavender. Regulus was saying something—probably something biting and clever—but James wasn’t listening. He was watching the way the light caught in Regulus’ hair, how the edge of his mouth curled when he thought he was winning an argument.
So James grabbed his hand.
Regulus froze mid-step, startled, and James grinned before tugging him forward, spinning him around in wide, silly circles. Regulus let out a rare, startled laugh—surprised, delighted—and James could’ve sworn the sound could power the whole damn city.
One final spin, and then James caught him, one arm steady around Regulus’ waist, the other still holding his hand.
Regulus was breathless, slightly dizzy, eyes wide and bright. “You’re unbelievable.”
James smiled, close enough to feel the words more than hear them. “And you’re stunning.”
Neither of them moved for a second. The world spun around them, but they stood still—James' hand on his waist, Regulus' heart in freefall.
Regulus blinked up at him, cheeks flushed from the spin, breath catching slightly at the closeness. James didn’t let go.
“You always this dramatic?” Regulus asked, voice light, but there was something playful in it now, something dangerous.
“Only when I’m trying to impress someone,” James replied, his voice dropping to that low, familiar murmur.
Regulus tilted his head, amused. “Trying? You think you haven’t already?”
James grinned, eyes flicking to Regulus’ mouth and back. “So I have impressed you.”
“Maybe.” Regulus stepped in closer, until their noses nearly brushed. “But don’t let it go to your head.”
James leaned in slightly, just enough for Regulus to feel his breath. “Too late.”
For a second, it felt like the moment was about to break open—James so close, looking at him like he was the only beautiful thing in the world.
Then, just as James started to close the distance, Regulus leaned up… and kissed his nose.
James blinked. “Did you just—?”
Regulus stepped back, looking smug. “Nope.”
James stared at him, stunned into laughter. “You’re cruel.”
“You love it,” Regulus said, already walking away with a toss of his hair.
And the worst part was—James did.