Work Text:
The soft buzz of the blow dryer was a comforting hum beneath the indie playlist echoing off the exposed brick walls. The scent of sandalwood, citrus mist, and heated hair products wrapped itself around the modern, cozy studio, Curl & Howl. The name had started as a joke between James Potter and Remus Lupin during a tipsy brainstorming session over too much wine and late-night ramen. But somehow, the name stuck—just like their partnership.
James, all wild curls and oversized glasses, was the life of the front room, spinning clients in his chair with dramatic flair and commentary. Remus, the quieter half of the duo, preferred the back of the salon, where sunlight filtered in just right and the potted succulents thrived on his watch. He specialized in more intimate sessions, one-on-one transformations. Between them, their schedule had filled up three months in advance—and today had been booked solid.
Except today wasn’t a usual day.
“Okay, we’ve got the whole studio to ourselves, yeah?” Barty Crouch Jr. burst through the glass door, his energy chaotic and already too much for 6:15 in the morning. “Tell me this place is ready to become gay central for the next twelve hours. Wedding is at 6pm”
Evan Rosier followed behind him, rolling his eyes but smiling fondly. “Don’t mind him. He’s just been insufferable since he found a Pinterest board labeled ‘Goth Wedding but Make it Glamorous.’”
Remus emerged from the back, apron tied neatly over a snug, coffee-colored sweater. “Everything’s prepped. Coffee’s fresh, champagne’s chilled, playlist’s queued, and yes—James even brought the glitter hairspray.”
James grinned, striding forward with a wave of his comb. “Let it never be said we don’t support our clients’ most fabulous dreams. Happy wedding prep day, lads!”
The door chimed again. In stepped two people who couldn’t have been more different if they tried.
Sirius Black was all black jeans, motorcycle boots, and silver piercings, with a leather jacket slung over one shoulder and a smirk that dared you to look too long. His hair was a thick, wavy mess that made Remus’ fingers itch.
Next to him was Regulus Black—sleek and composed, in a tailored black turtleneck and pressed slacks, dark hair that fell in silky waves just above his jawline. He looked like he belonged in a magazine, or perhaps on the moon, unreachable and distant.
James blinked. “You didn’t tell us the groomsmen were models.”
Barty clapped Regulus on the back. “This is the little brother I didn’t know I needed until Sirius moved in. Be nice, he’s still adjusting to the concept of public displays of affection and dry shampoo. And he's also my best man.”
“I own dry shampoo,” Regulus muttered.
“Sure you do, sweetheart,” Sirius drawled, flopping into Remus’ chair without waiting. “Alright, Moony, let’s see if you can work miracles. I want my hair to scream ‘I’m the hot brother, but also chill enough to let my best friend marry his goth boyfriend in peace.’”
Remus laughed quietly, fingers already separating strands and gently brushing through the tangles. “You ever worn it in a bun before?”
Sirius shrugged. “I trust you.”
James, who had led Regulus toward his own chair, lifted a brow. “Same for you? Trust us, I mean.”
Regulus looked at him, steady and curious. “Depends. Are you going to make me look like an idiot?”
“Only if you count ‘devastatingly handsome’ as idiocy.”
A ghost of a smirk tugged at the edge of Regulus’ mouth. “Fine. You may proceed.”
As Remus worked Sirius’ thick hair into a structured but messy bun—tendrils falling artfully around his face—James took his time curling just the edges of Regulus’ hair, lifting a strand and watching it transform under his skilled hands. He didn’t need to do much. The man was already ethereal. But enhancing what was already there? That was where James thrived.
“So, you’re the quiet one,” Regulus said, meeting James’ gaze in the mirror.
James chuckled. “Hardly. That’d be Remus. I’m the chaotic curls and caffeine addiction.”
“Interesting,” Regulus said, a slow drawl. “You don’t seem chaotic.”
James paused, curling iron hovering. “That sounds dangerously like a challenge.”
Regulus held his gaze. “Maybe it is.”
Across the studio, Sirius was relaxing in Remus’ chair, unusually still as Remus secured the last pin.
“This is unfair,” Sirius said after a beat. “You’re giving me emotional intimacy with every brushstroke.”
Remus smiled. “Occupational hazard.”
“You single?”
The question was asked with a practiced, teasing tone. But Remus hesitated, brushing the last strand into place.
“Yeah,” he said softly.
“Me too.” Sirius met his eyes in the mirror. “Think that’s a coincidence?”
Remus looked up, catching the warm grey eyes that had been watching him more than necessary. He smiled, tucking a loose curl behind Sirius’ ear. “I think I like your hair better like this.”
“I think I like you better like this,” Sirius said without missing a beat.
Meanwhile, James was doing everything in his power not to look like he was enjoying this too much. Regulus hadn’t said much after their initial exchange, but he kept sneaking glances at James when he thought he wasn’t looking.
“You have paint on your fingers,” Regulus said suddenly.
James blinked. “Yeah. I paint sometimes. Abstracts, mostly. You?”
“I sketch. Only for myself.”
James grinned. “So we’re both creative loners with great hair.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but it was more fond than exasperated. “That’s one way to put it.”
They both went quiet as James finished the last curl and gently fluffed it, his fingers grazing Regulus’ cheek.
“There,” he said, voice suddenly softer. “Perfect.”
Regulus turned his head, inspecting the look from different angles. Then he turned back to face James, eyes lingering.
“I didn’t think I’d enjoy this,” he said quietly. “But I did.”
James’ smile was slow, genuine. “We do our best to make people feel good. Inside and out.”
“Then you succeeded.”
The air between them hummed, charged in a way that made James want to lean forward just a little. He didn’t.
Back by the mirrors, Barty and Evan were already clinking champagne glasses, chattering about centerpiece disasters and the absurd price of gold cutlery. Sirius and Remus stood off to the side, talking about books—Remus’ voice low and sincere, Sirius’ eyes impossibly soft.
As the afternoon faded into evening, and the hair studio slowly transformed into a pre-wedding dreamland of laughter, selfies, and spontaneous dancing, James found himself stealing more glances at Regulus.
And Regulus? He didn’t look away anymore.
As everyone gathered near the windows for a group photo—Sirius dramatically swooping his bun like it was a wedding veil—James felt a soft nudge to his side.
Regulus.
“Would you…” Regulus started, then paused. “Would you want to come to the wedding? As my plus one.”
James blinked, surprised. “You sure? We just met.”
“I know,” Regulus said. “But I’m starting to think some things are better when they happen fast.”
James grinned. “Like falling in love with your hairdresser?”
Regulus tilted his head. “Exactly like that.”