Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

James Potter needs to party. He needs to go out, get drunk, and have fun. And what better time to do that than him and his friends’ first summer without school?

Graduating college was a feat in itself and is reason enough to celebrate, but on top of that, the Marauders want to commemorate their official entering of the “real world”. The place where you have freedom, and taxes, and… well, whatever else. They just know this is a new chapter of their lives, and that is always to be cause for a party.

The club is loud–music blasts from speakers while its beat pulses through the floor. Some people are chattering and singing while others are busy on the dance floor. It smells like alcohol and sweat and cheap perfume.

James is all but overwhelmed. There is so much stimuli assaulting his senses, but it is exactly what he wants.

“First round’s on me!” Sirius shouts over the music, practically bouncing as he ushers his friends to the bar.

Once everyone is situated with a drink of their choosing, Peter raises his glass.

“To us. And to somehow graduating!” He smiles.

His friends laugh together and clink their glasses.

As the night wears on, the four men dance and drink and sing and drink some more. They have the fun they all desperately need and then some.

The buzz of alcohol made James feel relaxed and warm and oddly giggly. He has always been a lightweight, so it wasn't long until he was pissed.

“Oi, Prongsie.” Sirius pats his shoulder, grinning loopily. He’s clearly just as hammered as James, if not more so. “Is that Crouch and Rosier over there? They're all over each other. Can't remember the last time I had a snog like that.”

James follows his gaze until he lands on the couple. “Huh. S’pose it is them.” And because James is James and also Drunk James, he adds on, “Let's go say hi!”

When he gets no immediate response, he turns around to see Sirius’ attention has been pulled somewhere else–Remus Lupin, to be specific.

He simply shrugs and goes off on his own.

He isn't friends with either Barty or Evan, so it only makes sense to the wasted mind of James Potter why he's walking over there. It makes perfect sense to him–he's friends with Marlene, Marlene is dating Dorcas, and Dorcas is friends with Evan and Barty–so, obviously, he should go say hello.

As he gets closer, James can see the scene more clearly. Barty’s pressing Evan up to the wall, hand sliding under his baggy green hoodie just the slightest. Evans fingers curl into the other man's black and green hair.

James reaches forward to tap Barty’s shoulder. “Hi!” He smiles.

The couple pulls apart.

“Potter?” Barty’s eyebrows scrunch in a judgy expression. “The fuck are you doing? Little busy here.”

Evan kicks Barty’s shin. “Be nice,” he says.

“Ow.” He draws out the word and glares at his boyfriend. “Thought you liked it when I’m mean.”

“Anyway,” Evan looks to James, “did you need something?”

James has been sort of just watching and only now remembers why he's there. He grins again. “Yes, I do. I came to say hi.”

Barty, who is about to give another snarky response, is interrupted by a now panicked looking Evan pulling him close. The blonde whispers something James can't make out, eyes wide and shoulders tense.

“Fuck. Right. Potter, let's get you back to Sirius, yeah? Do you know where he is?”

It takes James a minute to respond. “I think… staring at Remus again.”

The other man groans. “You're fucking unhelpful. Let's just go.” He grabs James’ arm and begins to lead him away when a new voice interrupts.

“God, the bar was so backed up. Finally got our drinks, though.”

James turns his head to see the newcomer. It's this guy; he has pretty grey eyes and a sharp, angular face. Dark curls frame his face, making his look a little softer.

But, oddly, the man looks… scared–panicked. The brunet really doesn't get why.

All four men stare at each other, everyone but James clearly freaked about something.

And it's only when James recognizes the face he's so infatuated with does he understand.

The funeral home was cold. It was cold and sickly sterile smelling–like someone was trying to cover the scent of death. Which they were.

James and Sirius stood together in the small room, staring at the large photo placed on a stand. There wasn't even a casket.

They were silent for a long, long time until Sirius spoke up.

“It's my fault,” he whispered.

“Siri–”

“It's all my fucking fault. If-if I just asked him to come with me when I left.” Tears start falling. First one, then another, then a whole waterfall. “I could've stopped this. Stopped him. James, it's my fault.”

“Hey.” James gripped Sirius’ shoulders and forced him to look at James. “Sirius, you have to listen to me when I say this. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault. It never was, it never will be. He was hurting and thought suicide was the only way out. It is not your fault.”

Sirius cried harder. Gross, ugly sobs filled the room. It made James’ heart ache like never before.

He continued, “If you want someone to blame, I really don't blame you. Fuck, I want someone to blame. But I never ever want to see you blaming yourself again. Never fucking ever.”

He could see it in Sirius’s eyes–the guilt, the grief. The kind that swallows you whole until you can't feel anything. The kind that carves out a pit in your stomach deeper than you knew was even possible. The kind that made you so fucking nauseous you could pass out.

James could see it, and he wished with everything in him he could ease his friend’s hurt. But he couldn't. And he knew it. So he stood there, holding Sirius Black. Holding him for hours while he sobbed until his body couldn't even make any more tears.

And through all of it, that photo on the stand watched them. The photo of sixteen year-old Regulus Arcturus Black.

Regulus stares at James.

James stares at Regulus.

The drinks Regulus had been holding now sit forgotten on a nearby table.

“You…” James can barely even piece together his thoughts. “You're… de–?”

“Okaaay!” Evan shouts, desperately trying to distract the brunet. “Let's just go find your friends, yeah?”

Regulus’ jaw tightens instantly. “Absolutely the fuck not. He's probably here with Sirius. We have to figure something else out.”

“Right.”

There's another long stretch of silence. James, unhelpful and pissed as ever, is too busy admiring Regulus. He already forgot that he's supposed to be dead. The other three try urgently to find a solution.

Barty sighs. “We’re gonna have to take him home with us.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Evan sneers.

“By ordering an uber and taking him with us, dumbass.”

Evan pinches his nose and shuts his eyes.

“He means what about James’ friends?” Regulus explains.

Barty appears stumped for a quick moment. Then he begins digging around in James’ pocket until he finds his phone. He holds the phone up to James’ face to unlock it, then he starts typing before holding the screen out for Regulus and Evan to see.

“Fine.” Regulus mumbles. “Let's just get him out of here.”

Regulus could not have worse luck. Seems to be a common theme in his life.

“Just eat the bread, James.” Barty tries again to give the slice to James, crouching down in front of him, who was seated comfortably on the couch.

He crossed his arms and looked away like a petulant child.

“Fine.” Barty snaps and stands up. “If you toss up and choke and die it's your fault.”

Regulus could feel a killer headache sinking in. “Why won't he eat it?”

“He wants you to give it to him.”

“Why?”

Barty responds in a mocking tone, “Because 'you're prettier’.”

Regulus pushes the heel of his palm against his eyes. “Are you shitting me?”

“Unfortunately not,” Evan sighs.

He can't do this. He's already trying with absolutely everything in him not to freak out and James is just… refusing to eat his bread unless Regulus gives it to him. Because Regulus is prettier.

He grabs the slice out of Barty’s hand and just throws it at James, hitting him right in the face with a dull thud. “Just eat your fucking bread.”

And before he storms out of the room, he catches the man grinning and finally taking a nibble.

—

Regulus locks himself in the bathroom. He can't do this. Everything he worked so hard for is all about to come crashing down. He slides down the door until his bottom hits the ground and he curls in on himself.

Five years ago, Regulus faked his death to escape his family. And now James–James fucking Potter–is going to ruin it all. He knows how stupidly close he and Sirius are, he knows that James tells him everything. Because while he hates his family with every bone in his body, he misses Sirius; so he keeps tabs. He doesn't even stray too far. Regulus hates himself for it, he thinks it utterly redundant, but he can't help it. And now the weakness that was caring and staying near was about to uproot his entire life.

It feels like his throat is slowly constricting. He’s hot and dizzy and–fuck he’s going to throw up.

It's just a panic attack, he tells himself. Get it together.

But he can't. It's the way pure panic claws at his chest, the way he can't breathe–he just can't.

Everything he healed from, everything he escaped…

God, Regulus wants nothing but to peel off his skin and crumble away into the void.

His stomach churns. His head is being crushed in a hydraulic press. And he can't get his stupid fucking hands to stop shaking.

Regulus crawls over to the toilet before promptly upchucking his last meal into the bowl. He hates throwing up more than anything. He hates how his body squeezes and completely chokes him before vomiting. He hates the taste in his mouth. He hates feeling so fucking weak.

No more than a minute later there's a knock on the door.

“Reg?” It’s Evan.

“What?” he rasps. He doesn't mean to sound so pissed off, but he can't help it.

The door handle jiggles. “Can you let me in? I know you're having a panic attack. Let me help.”

Regulus hates that he needs help, but over the past few years he's grown so close to Evan that he's willing to let him in–metaphorically and literally.

He forces himself up and flushes the toilet before opening the door for Evan, trying to ignore that all of him is achy and that he's tearing up.

Something unspoken passes between them. Regulus just bursts out sobbing and Evan holds him close.

Evan gently guides them down to sit on the floor, holding his friend close.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “It's alright.”

Regulus can be a pretty crier, but not now. Now, he hiccups and coughs. Snot drips from his nose and he wails like a dying goat.

Evan holds him anyway.

He’ll hold him no matter what.

That night, Regulus sleeps on Barty and Evan’s bed with Evan curled up next to him. It isn't the slightest bit romantic; Regulus just needs to be held and needs to sleep. Barty takes one for the team and stays out in the living room to monitor James. He had probably been planning on pulling another all-nighter anyways.

Regulus and Evan wake up at the same time to dings on their respective phones.

Barty is waiting in the kitchen with three bowls of cereal as a groggy Regulus and Evan walk in.

“I made breakfast,” Barty says, looking pleased with himself.

Evan smirks. “You made cereal. Hardly counts.”

The other man throws his hands up in defeat and lets out a loud sigh. “God forbid I try to do something nice. God forbid!”

Evan laughs quietly before walking around the kitchen island. “I’m just kidding. Thank you, Bee.” He presses a soft kiss to Barty’s cheek.

“God, get a room.” Regulus teases. “Anways, we have to focus. What are we going to do about James?”

The kitchen falls into a thinking silence. Barty chews his cereal while Evan’s fingers drum on the table.

Barty comes up with the first suggestion. “I say we just kill him.”

“Let's pass on that one,” Evan says.

“Why?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. He's going to need more advil. “Three guesses.”

“Buzzkill,” Barty mumbles.

The conversation gets cut off by a rustling in the living room. The three instantly look over.

James’ rough, groggy voice pipes up as he makes eye contact. “What the fuck…?”

Chapter Text

James does not remember anything. He knows he went out with the rest of the Marauders, and he knows he drank a fuck ton (even if he didn't, he could've guessed by his killer hangover).

However, James does not know how he ended up in Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier’s flat. The most confusing bit of it all is that standing with the two is Sirius’ dead brother, very much alive.

They are standing in the kitchen, talking about whatever, and James has to rub the sleep out of his eyes to make sure that that is actually Regulus.

Without even meaning to, he grumbles out, “What the fuck…?”

All three heads snap to stare at him. There's a mild horror on their faces–like they're just now realizing the situation (whatever it is) just got real.

He's trying to focus on what in fuck is going on, but his choice of drinks last night is making that very difficult. It feels as though someone is hitting his forehead with a rock repeatedly as well as reaching their hand into his stomach to squeeze and churn whatever’s in there.

And–what the fuck is Regulus Arcturus Black doing alive?

James puts his glasses on, which had been placed on the coffee table, and–yep, still there. Breathing. Alive.

Evan is the first to break the silence. He holds his hands out and treads lightly, as if James is a wild animal that he doesn't want to startle. “James…”

“What the fuck?” He repeats, shooting to his feet, and immediately regretting it as his vision fuzzes out and he nearly vomits. He sits back down hard and blinks slowly until he can see right again.

He can't do this right now.

First, James is confused.

Sirius’ brother… is alive. Obviously has been this whole time unless he miraculously rose from the dead.

Did his attempt fail? Has this been the plan all along? What happened?

Then, James is angry. Does Regulus even know how bad his death affected Sirius? Does he even fucking know?

I’m sorry. Only to you. Sirius, I’m so fucking sorry.

That's what his note to his brother had said. So he knew. He knew and he did it anyway.

James had been more understanding when he thought it was all real. If he lived in that house, he probably would have done the exact same thing.

Why couldn't Regulus have just run away like Sirius did?

“James.” Evan tries again.

What does he even say?

His eyes stay stuck on Regulus. “You're alive?”

“James, let me explain.” He looks like he's seen a ghost. Does it even pertain to him that he is the ghost?

Does he know that he hurt him? Not just Sirius, but James too?

Did Regulus know he was killing James’ first love? Did he even fucking care?

As terribly furious as he is, he can't ignore the fact that he's also relieved.

Regulus is alive.

All that hurt, it was for nothing, but in the end–he’s fucking alive.

“You… You're…” James doesn't even know what to say.

Regulus swallows like he's got a whole apple in his throat. “So… I, um. I'm not dead.”

“I gathered that.”

“You can't tell Sirius,” he says quickly. He's desperate, James can tell; he's rocking on his feet (a self soothing gesture he's always done, even before he was “dead”), his eyes are wide, and there is very little color in his face.

James stands up again, slowly this time so as not to hurt himself. “You know I can't not. You saw how close we were, and we’ve only gotten closer.”

“I know. You still can't tell him.”

“Speaking of Sirius,” Barty says, looking at James’ phone. When had he taken that? He begins reading out texts. “Who are you with? James, where are you? James, are you okay? James, James, James. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Give me my phone,” James demands.

Barty looks at him like he just asked if the sky was green. “Uh, no.”

“What? It's my phone. Give it to me.”

“No,” he repeats.

Now James is standing on the opposite side of the kitchen counter to Barty. He orders him again, “Give me my phone.”

“Just because you ask again doesn't mean the answer will change.” Barty growls.

Regulus groans loudly, pulling both James’ and Barty’s focus. He runs his hand over his face. “Can you guys just fucking not? This is stressful as it is and you two bollocks are making it so much worse. James, you aren't getting your phone back because you could text Sirius. And Barty,” he reaches over and snatches the phone, “you don't get it either.”

He slips the phone into his joggers, ending the conversation instantly.

“What?” Barty exclaims whinily. “What did I do?”

“You're being a dimwit, that's what.”

The only reason the other man doesn't make some scathing remark is because Evan lays his hand on his shoulder, silently telling him it's time to shut up and leave it.

Evan joins in the conversation now. “We still don't know what to do. We need to figure it out a-s-a-p.”

“We can just tell Sirius,” James insists. “He’ll understand, if you just–”

“No,” Regulus says firmly. “Next.” He's clearly not budging on this one.

Barty leans over the kitchen island, already replastering his wicked grin on his face. “Personally, I still think killing him is the best option.”

“What the fuck?” James says for the upteenth time this morning. “That was an option?!”

It's very clear that Regulus is now regretting the fake part of his fake death. “Barty, that's enough. You're being banished to the bedroom.”

“I didn't even do anything!”

Evan sighs and grabs his boyfriend by the arm and starts dragging him out of the kitchen.

Both James and Regulus are silent. The kitchen is silent. The whole flat is silent.

What is one supposed to say in this situation?

Regulus has gone still, no longer swaying, and his eyes have gone blank. James has seen him like this before, he knows what it means, and it still kills him.

Maybe James is the one being held against his will, maybe he's the one who might have to hide his best friend's brother's existence from said best friend, and maybe he's so, so angry at Regulus but–fuck. He just wants to hold him and tell him he'll be okay. And he hates himself for it. This man tore out Sirius’ heart, nearly snuffed out his beautiful light entirely, and all James wants to do is give him a fucking hug.

He's so angry.

He's so weak.

He's weak for Regulus Black who has been dead for five years. He's weak for Regulus Black who made him feel things he hadn't before. He's weak for Regulus Black who destroyed Sirius’ life.

James is conflicted; it's his absolute least favorite feeling. Does he scream at Regulus or hug him? Should he tell him they'll figure it out together or throw a punch?

Instead he walks away. He knows he can't leave, so he goes to the bathroom instead. James’ body is going to reject all the alcohol from yesterday at some point anyways.

Regulus sat at his desk. Tonight was the night–he couldn't start hesitating. He stared down at what he'd written so far:

Fuck you.

That's all he had. What else is he supposed to say? His parents knew how bad they fucked up their kids, so Regulus felt he need not elaborate. He’d always been a man of few words.

But he couldn't shake that it needed something else. He picked up his pencil and… nothing. What was it missing? He got his point across, but there's a clear lack of something important.

After thinking and staring so hard his eyes were drier than the Sahara, it struck him. He pulled out a second note.

I’m sorry. Only to you. Sirius, I’m so fucking sorry.

And then–

I love you.

Yeah. Yeah, that was it.

Regulus did not give one single toss about how his “death” would affect his family except for Sirius. He knew what it was going to do to him, but he just fucking couldn't anymore. Sirius always said to put himself first, keep himself safe, and that's just what he was doing.

Oh, Sirius.

He doesn't want to talk to James, so he simply shuts down until he leaves. And as predicted, it works.

Regulus always knew it wasn't going to last forever, he just hoped that he'd prove himself wrong.

He didn't.

In the worst–and most likely case–his brother is going to find out he's alive and he needs to prepare.

Too much is running through his head; what will Sirius say? What will Sirius think? Is there any chance his parents will find out?

Breathe, he tells himself. He listens. His eyes sink closed and he lets air fill his lungs all the way until they're full, then he slowly lets it all out.

Okay. He needs to be logical about this. One step at a time. Break it down. He can't afford to have another panic attack.

He fumbles through Barty and Evan’s kitchen drawers until he finds the junk drawer and pulls out a note pad and pen. He sits himself down at the small dining table.

The pen moves just about as fast as Regulus’ thoughts, wanting to be sure he doesn't miss anything.

Now he has a list that fills the note page.

The chair next to him scrapes against the floor as Evan sits down next to him. “Sorry. Barty was being an arse and wouldn't stay put.”

“S’fine,” Regulus mumbles, not even looking up.

“Where's James?”

“Bathroom.”

Evan sighs. His fingers come up to Regulus’ chin to gently encourage him to meet his eyes. “Reg.”

“What?” He growls.

“No need to be snotty. I'm just trying to help you out,” Evan says. “I know you're freaked out, but it's not fair to take it out on me.”

Pathetically, Regulus does need that reminder. He looks away. It's just–he feels so much and can't sort it out, he doesn't even know what he's feeling, he just feels. It's too easy to lash out. It's low hanging fruit that Regulus isn't above reaching for.

Resigning, he mumbles again, “Sorry. Didn't mean to.”

“I know,” Evan whispers. “What are you working on?”

Regulus breaks eye contact and tries not to be as embarrassed as he is while explaining. “It's, ah… I’m breaking things down. Didn't wanna panic again.”

“Hey, that's good!” Evan beams, bumping his shoulder into Regulus’. “I won’t be overly celebratory so to spare you the embarrassment, but I’m proud of you.”

He hates it. He hates it so fucking much what those words mean to him. Regulus absolutely refuses to dwell on it.

Thankfully, Regulus is saved from having to respond by James exiting the bathroom. And, God–he looks like shit. It’s very clear he just got done shoving up all his insides into the toilet, and with how drunk he was last night, there's no doubt his hangover is killer.

“I’m gonna get him some Advil and food,” Evan says before leaving the table.

They're talking quietly–probably because being too loud would make James’ head explode–so Regulus can't really eavesdrop. Though, he can see what looks like a grateful nod from James before the two head to the kitchen together. Walking past, James shoots Regulus the smallest, weak little smile.

A smile? Is he fucking for real? Either he's seriously the most stupid person ever, smiling at his captor, or he’s trying to manipulate Regulus somehow. And Regulus hates it–he really wants to believe that there is no one in the world with that much kindness exuding from them–but he can't force himself to think James is being manipulative. After all, he knows him. He hasn't seen him in five years, but he's kept tabs on his brother and thus James too.

God, he's just–he's so…

Regulus can't seem to finish the train of thought.

A ding on his phone distracts him.

Regulus can see down the hallway and watches as Barty pops his head out and makes that devilish grin of his. Regulus just rolls his eyes.

Barty invites himself into the chair right next to him. “Reggie, guess what I found while I was banished.”

“Not my name.”

“Okay, whatever, guess.”

Regulus sighs. “What? Weed? Fluffy handcuffs?”

Barty hums. “Mm. No. That actually might have been more fun. Anyway, I found hair dye. It's been forever since I changed it up a bit.”

“Is this really the time? We're in the middle of a crisis.”

“Duh. This is the best time.” Barty scrunches his nose like Regulus is being an idiot. “A crisis is always the best time for a change.”

Regulus pushes his hair back. He loves Barty, but he's really bad at reading a room. “You're insane, but do what you want.”

He opens his mouth but is cut off by a harsh knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Evan calls from the kitchen.

He dutifully goes to answer the door while everyone else is sort of just focused on whatever they were doing before. All their attention is abruptly snapped to Evan again when the door slams shut and Evan looks at them all pale-faced.

“It's Sirius.”

Chapter Text

“No…” Regulus whispers, pale as a fucking ghost. “No,” he says more firmly, “You can't– He can't–”

“Reg, you gotta go.” This is the first time James has seen Barty serious ever.

Regulus opens his mouth and closes it again. His expression exudes fuckfuckshitfuckfuckingfuckshit. “I’m hiding in the bedroom. Do not let him in there.”

With that, he sprints down the hall and slams the door shut.

“James,” Evan calls his attention, “you need to stay out of view. We don't know he knows you're here.”

James swallows. “He has my location on. It's why he's here. He knows.”

“Are you shitting me?” Barty snarls. “You codependent dweeblings.”

“Hey! That's–”

Harsh knocking on the door interrupts them. “I can hear James! Let me in!”

Evan curses under his breath. He opens the door again to a very pissed off Sirius with his arms crossed. “What do you want?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Three fucking guesses. I want James. Where is he? I want to see him.”

He pushes the door open further and looks around until his eyes land on James. His whole demeanor relaxes, while James’ tenses.

Sirius swoops James into a hug, clearly relieved, and James is doing his best to pretend like he isn't hiding his dead brother.

“What are you doing here?” he murmurs into James’ shoulder before pulling back.

James just blinks. He looks over his friend's shoulder to Evan and Barty, praying for literally any sort of guidance.

“We had a threesome!” Barty blurts.

Never fucking mind.

Sirius instantly whips his head to stare at the other two.

“No the fuck we did not!” James exclaims, genuinely appalled.

He watches the shock wash off Sirius. “No, you didn't.”

“No, we didn't.” Evan sighs. His head is in his hands.

God, they are so unprepared. James really doesn't know what to do. Obviously, he wants more than nothing to spill every bit to Sirius–but he understands there is a lot of nuance as well.

He thinks, personally, it would all be for the best. Sirius misses Regulus so fucking bad you can physically see it hurts, and according to Regulus’ suicide note, he never even wanted to leave Sirius, just the rest of the family.

But, in the end, he also–selfishly–doesn't want Regulus to hate him.

Sirius throws his hands up. “Well, can somebody tell me what in the ever loving motherfuck is going on, then?”

“Sirius.” James shuts his eyes and swallows. Oh, he's going to hate himself so much for this. “I’m just going to stay here for a bit. Okay? I’ll explain to you next time I see you.”

“What? Why? Tell me now.”

Owowowowow. James forces his next words out like he's upchucking sandpaper. “I can't. You just–you gotta go for now.”

Oh, he looks so hurt. He can't stand it. It makes his chest ache so fucking bad. God, that look on his face–

“Prongs.”

James looks away. “Sorry. Sirius, I’m sorry. I’ll–I’ll explain it soon, I promise. Just not now. Sorry. Sorry, I’m sorry.”

With his eyes glistening with the pain of what feels like utter betrayal–Sirius leaves, slamming the door behind him.

James hates himself. God, why would he do that? He could've just been truthful. He could've not been the most awful best friend the world has ever seen.

But he knew it was the right thing to do. Fuck his stupid moral compass.

Evan is behind him. “James,” he whispers.

“Fuck you.” James whips around. He glares at Barty too now. “Fuck both of you.”

They don't follow when he storms away towards their bedroom. He swings open the door, very clearly startling Regulus, who had been sat against the wall zoning out and chewing his fingernails.

“Get out,” James says.

Regulus slowly gets up even though he seems to have not heard James. “Is Sirius gone? Does he–”

“I said, get out.”

His eyes instantly harden. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem, Regulus,” James all but hissed, “is that I just had to tell my best fucking friend that I’m keeping something from him and I had to watch his whole body fill with hurt because I don't keep shit from him. Ever! And now I’m keeping secrets for someone I don't even know.”

Regulus shakes his head, mouth slightly agape. “Don't say that. You know me,” he whispers.

“No, Black, I don't. Now get the fuck out.”

“He called me Black.” Regulus slumps into the couch.

“So?” Barty asks as he stretches out his legs to rest over Regulus’ lap. “You call people by their last name all the time.”

“No, but like, he was mean about it.”

“You usually are too,” Barty says, like the unhelpful git he is.

Regulus glares. “I have this crazy idea, might be a little too insane, but what if you just comforted me instead of being a prick?”

The other man pretends to mull it over. “Yeah. Think that one's a bit ambitious.”

“Piss off.”

Evan returns from the hallway, a plate reheated leftovers in his hand. “He's still not accepting food. It's been hours, he has to be hungry.”

Regulus doesn't like this one bit. James Potter is mad at him for being an utter coward, and Regulus hates it. He also hates that he cares. He only cares when it's someone close–which James is not. Regulus shouldn't care. He shouldn't. And he doesn't know at all why he does.

“Is he saying anything at all?” Regulus asks. “Are we sure he didn't climb out the window and leave?”

Evan shrugs and sets down the plate on the coffee table. “I mean, it wouldn't make any sense. He already essentially lied to Sirius.”

“Maybe he was, like, overcome with guilt and left. It’d be really easy to get out since we're on the first floor.” Barty offers.

Lord help him, what was he going to do?

The worst part–he knows what he needs to do. But how in fuck is he supposed to do it?

He's brought back to attention by fingers snapping in his face. “Earth to Regulus,” Barty says.

“What? Sorry.”

“We were trying to figure out if James is still in the bedroom or not.”

Regulus lulls his head to the side. He supposes it doesn't really matter if he's in there or not–he's made up his mind. It really doesn't even matter if he likes it or not because when his mind settles on something, it's stuck. Glued in place on the walls of his brain.

Barty moved his foot to nudge his chest. “Okay, knock it off. When you look sad, Barty feels sad. Barty does not want to be sad.”

“Can you not talk about yourself in the third person like a fucking weirdo?” Regulus says, pushing both feet off his lap.

“Mm, yeah, but then I’d be being vulnerable. Can't have that now can we?”

He rolls his eyes. “You emotionally stunted doorknob. Really don't know why Evan loves you.”

Regulus gets up–he really needs any sort of mild distraction.

“Hey! You love me!” Barty calls.

Regulus begins filling up a kettle with water, really just to do something with his hands. He's starting to feel that itch. “Debatable.”

Easily, he begins going through the motions. First grab two mugs (one for Evan, one for himself. None for Barty because he doesn't like tea.), then pick a tea flavor, grab two teabags (one earl grey, one blackberry), put them in their respective mugs, and… wait. Wait for the water to boil. Shit, he was stuck with nothing to do again.

His fingers were twitchy. He’s not going to do it, no matter how much he–no, his brain wants him to.

Evan comes up behind him and rests his hand on Regulus’ shoulder. “Hey, Reg, I feel like we should talk. You haven't really dealt with your emotions yet.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbles. He immediately regrets it.

“Just be honest. Better out than in.”

Regulus can think of one way to let it out. Fuck–stop, no. He's not doing this. All he needs is to be alone, but if he's alone…

“I can–I’m not… Just…” Why can't he just talk? It's not hard.

SKREEEEEEK!

The kettle whistles, saving him from having to be vulnerable. Emotions–gross.

Again, go through the motions.

Take kettle off stove, pour into mugs, hand blackberry tea to Evan, dunk his own teabag repeatedly.

His eyes stay glued to his mug. He watches the way the color slowly seeps out of the little bag, curling and twisting through the hot water, almost like it's dancing. It's pretty. Anything to ignore the way his thighs prickle.

“Regulus,” Evan tries again.

He turns around but his head stays down, making it so his gaze falls onto Evan’s mug, and the way the teabag in it is swirling out red. It almost looks like blood.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, but it only serves to make the mental image stronger–thighs, blood, stained paper towels.

Fuck.

Then Evan’s hand is on his shoulder again, squeezing and shaking lightly.

“Regulus.”

He slams his mug down onto the counter, causing it to spill out a bit. “Stop. Stop. I–I can't– I’m… Fuck. Just stop.”

With that, Regulus storms off and locks himself in the only unoccupied room with a door–the bathroom.

It was a bad idea. What happens next is completely and utterly his fault. Because he can't just fucking accept help. He hates it; hates himself.

Regulus is sitting on the floor, lightly banging his head back against the cabinets. The heels of his palms are pressed against his forehead before they slide down to press into his eyes until he sees colorful dots behind his eyelids.

He's going to do it.

He just– He can't.

It's not very clear what it is Regulus can't do, but that doesn't stop his mind from chanting I can't do it I can't do it IcantdoitIcantdoitIcantdoit.

And suddenly, he's standing up and rifling through Barty and Evan’s bathroom drawers. There's just about everything except what he needs. But then–an eyeliner pencil sharpener.

Already, he's back on the floor, trying to use his fingernail to unscrew the blade. His fingers are shaking. He's so fucking desperate. Because the universe hates him and wants nothing but the worst for him–it works. And now he's got a blade in his hand.

Regulus grabs a square of toilet paper and wipes it clean of eyeliner and minuscule pencil shavings.

Before he can even contemplate this at all, his pants are rolled down to his knees and he's pressing the tip into his skin.

The familiar sting throbs in his thigh as he watches little beads of blood pool. With the physical sting, the mental one dulls.

Then there's another cut, and another, and another. They're barely cat scratches, but they do their job.

Regulus is numb.

His brain stopped screaming, finally, and he's just… apathetic. He doesn't even cry. Though there is this small, vague guilt in the back of his mind, but he doesn't fucking care right now. He's been relieved of all the feelings he just can't handle, and it feels so good.

He's numb and he's freed.

Temporarily.