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“Now you’re the biggest, brightest flame

You are the fire that can’t be tamed

You’re better than ever, but I knew you when

It’s bittersweet to see you again”

-Lucy Dacus
 The five-thirty alarm wakes Sirius up, and he sits, cross-legged at the end of the bed. He was having some sort of dream, he knows. He doesn’t think it was good. There was an owl on his chest, at one point. Fuck knows what that means. Marlene would know, he thinks, from that one summer she pretended to be really into dream interpretation and astrology and crap to impress a girl at a coffee shop. He’d made fun of her at the time; they all did, but now he has to admit, he sort of does believe in that sort of thing. So maybe, the owl did mean something. It had been heavy. in the dream. He could feel the talons (do owls have talons? He should ask Remus.) digging into him, like it was trying to claw his heart out. So, that’s probably not great. He rubs the Lord Ganesha medallion he wears on a chain around his neck, once, twice, for good luck, until the feeling subsides. Sirius doesn’t actually believe in God or Gods, in a material sense, but he’s always had a bit of a soft spot for Lord Ganesha, who was beheaded by his father on accident. Poor fucker got his head replaced with an elephant ’s, for Christ’s sake, and still remains relatively jolly.  It’s the only superstitious thing he allows himself, partly because he likes the look of it, partly because in his great act of rebellion, he’s never been able to get the chain (24-karat gold, from a jeweler in the family) off his neck. He likes to think he’s grown into being the kind of guy who can get away with wearing semi-religious jewelry, but on mornings like these, he can’t help but make fun of himself for being so goddamn superstitious. He tiptoes across the hall, peeping into Remus’s adjoining room. Of course, of course he’s still asleep. Sirius is an aggressive morning person, and an aggressive night person; perhaps, just an aggressive insomniac. Remus is the exact opposite. He goes to bed early, gets up late, which seems baffling to Sirius. Who wants to spend so much time asleep? Last year, when he’d lived with James, they had been more on the same page, sleep-schedule wise. Also, everything-wise. It’s always been like that-Sirius and James-middle school, high school, college. They’re those kind of friends. Remus and Peter joined later, and they, too, created their own kind of twosome that he doesn’t truly understand. So it’s not like he and Remus don’t get along, because they do, mostly. There’s just an added carefulness to their relationship, a fragility to it, that Sirius feels more acutely than with his other friends. Remus is so brilliant, and so serious, and Sirius is whatever the opposite of those things are. He often feels as though he’s wounding the other boy, upsetting his carefully created equilibrium, just by being himself. Not that Remus would complain.; it’s not in him. But just once, he wishes they could have a nice fight or something, instead of the grin-and-bear it dance that they spin around each other, as roommates. His phone buzzes. Remus shifts, turning over. “Fuck.” Sirius hisses, and retreats to his room, to check said buzz. It’s Gideon, his (current, and first, and only) boyfriend. 
fuckk i’m so horny 4 u 
 He cringes. He likes Gideon; he really does, but oh my God, he has never met a hornier motherfucker. Not even James, who can go on for a frightening length of time about the proportions of Lily Evans’ hip-to-breast ratio. James and Lily are completely disgusting, but at least they’re disgustingly in love. Dating Gideon sometimes feels like being just a collection of holes. But Gideon’s been his longest relationship, ever, and all their friends are head-over-heels happy for him, or at least they pretend to be, so he sucks it up, stands in front of the mirror, and snaps a blurry shot of his bare chest. Then he retrieves one of the dick pics he took from the password-protected folder on his phone, and adds that too, with the peace sign next to it. Gideon responds with three nut-face emojis, at which Sirius rolls his eyes. Good. He should be off the hook for explicit content creation. At least for now. Going to the gym is next on the agenda. Despite his supposed status as a wild card, a free spirit, Sirius actually thrives on a routine. He’s not, thank God, one of those gross people who says stupid things like “the gym is my therapy” but it…grounds him, in a sense. Quiets the voices in his head and all that. Plus, the only people who come to the gym in the wee hours of the morning are the kind of fitness people who don’t have a personality outside of how much they bench, so it’s not like anyone will actually talk to him. After the gym, he will take a very long, very hot shower, the kind that almost burns his skin off, and then he will shave, and brush his teeth, and do the skincare routine Mary set up for him, a month after they started dating back in freshman year. Then, and only then, will he allow himself to walk to campus, where upon arriving, he will treat himself to a very small latte with regular milk instead of oat milk. (Gideon, who recently discovered the gospel of veganism, truly believes everything will be better for Sirius if he starts drinking plant-based milk, which Sirius attempted to do, more or less sincerely, until he learned that oat milk is vile . He still pretends, for Gideon’s sake.) He will see the sun rise, over the mountains, and he will think about how lucky he is, in this place in time, to know these people, to see this view.  _ “So then I said,” James says, “ ‘what do you mean, you spilled all of it?’ And then he says, ‘It’s literally all gone!’ So, at this point, I’m like, freaking out, because if he poured the whole thing down the sink it’s a huge environmental hazard. Not to mention, I could totally get fired for letting him do such a dumb-ass thing, so then -“ “Oh my God,”  Lily interrupts, with fond exasperation. “This is just not the story you think it is. A freshman poured reagents down the sink in the Gen Chem lab, but he got let off easy because it’s the first week. Sirius does not need the play-by-play, I swear.” James’s mouth opens in an expression of complete outrage, black eyes crinkling. “You are absolutely murdering my delivery. And Sirius does too need my play-by-play, now that he’s a rent-payer, as a real adult.” “Hey,” Sirius reminds him. “I wouldn’t have to be a rent- payer if someone didn’t want to be a glorified babysitter.” James is a freshman RA this year, something Sirius finds horrifying and amusing in equal measure. No one says it outright,  but he absolutely does it so he can spend more time with Lily, who’s been an RA since last year. “It’s not that bad,” Lily says. “I mean, they’re eighteen; they can mostly look after themselves.” “Yours can,” James grumbles. “Mine keep getting locked out.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’d leave ‘em out there. Builds character.” “You wouldn’t,” Peter chimes in, from across the table. “You’re way too soft. Cave at the first sign of tears.” Peter is actually very right, more than he knows, but Sirius isn’t one to lose an argument. “I’d go full Ayn Rand on them; I would, Pete. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” “What d’you mean, Ayn Rand?” “You know, something about how capitalism breeds competition, and the ones who don’t cut it get left out in the cold, and how it’s actually a metaphor for real life.” “Okay, you’re horrible.” James says, but he’s smiling. “How’s Gideon? You’re always so mysterious about him.” “Oh…” Sirius started dating Gideon just around the first time Lily rejected James, and when Peter declared, after a string of terrible hookups, that he was just completely unfit for relationships, so he’s always felt a little awkward talking about it, like shoving the look how happy and stable I am in my functioning relationship ! thing in their face. Plus, there’s the constant demand for…content, which he would rather die than talk about with anyone, even James. Especially James, now that the whole Lily thing seems to be paying its dividends. “Good. He’s writing a play, did I tell you that?” Lily nods, slowly. “A play . Right.” “Why are you saying it like that?” It’s one thing for him to criticize Gideon in his head,  but he’s not quite at the level where he wants his friends to do it out loud. “Like what?” Lily opens her eyes wide, the picture of innocence. He gives her the finger, which she returns, giggling. They’ve only recently gotten here; a year ago, they would grate on each other, being so fiercely possessive of James, albeit in different ways. Peter and Remus took it in stride, but Sirius is…a little more averse to change than he’d like to admit. “Is it any good?” Pete asks. “Yes,” says Sirius loyally. He’s only read some of it, and in truth, he’s not sure how good it is, but it feels wrong to make fun of Gideon when he’s not even here to defend himself. “I’m fucking starving,” Marlene announces, sitting down. “Remus ditched me to go to lab early; that’s why he’s not here.” “For Christ’s sake.” Sirius says. “It’s not like anything will happen if he’s a little bit late.” “Easy for you to say; you’re never on time.” Marlene retorts. “Hey, hey, for the last time, Marls, being on time is-“ James starts, and Sirius finishes, grinning “ literally white supremacy, because what are y’all always on time to do? OPPRESS. ” “I regret letting Mary show them that video.” Marlene says to Peter and Lily, as James and Sirius dissolve into laughter. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up; you’re both still half white. Where is Mary, anyway?” “On a Tinder date.” says Lily, with no small amount of pride. “I convinced her to. Just because Simon broke up with her doesn’t mean she has to be miserable.” Ever since the triumph of getting James, Lily has thrown herself into matchmaking with a slightly horrifying degree of glee. Sirius gets it, though. One of life’s great pleasures is forcing one’s friends to do embarrassing things to broaden their horizons. Although, knowing Mary, it’ll probably be more embarrassing for whoever she’s on a date with, given that she’s so cool. Sirius’s phone buzzes. He looks down.  
GODDD i’m scrolling thru your insta and i want to cum in your mouth so bad 
 He winces. Just…why? His Instagram doesn’t even have very good pictures of him. Also, shouldn’t Gideon be in class or something? He responds hahaha and hopes that’ll be the end of it. Of course, as soon as he types it, he can see Gideon drafting a reply. Meet me for dinner?  Can’t, Sirius responds, eager for the excuse. Got work.  Saving the world can’t wait for one evening? Pouty face. He can practically see Gideon’s face, contorting.Sirius grins. It’s not a particularly mature impulse, no doubt some vestige from his childhood, but he does like to be needed. Not a chance.  “Hello!” Marlene chimes in. “Earth to Sirius.” “Huh? Oh yes, sorry.” “We have class , my God.” James rolls his eyes. “You have to leave him alone. He’s bewitched. Gideon’s bewitched him.” “Oh fuck off, you two,” he says, embarrassed.  _ Realistically, Sirius is aware he is a smart guy. Always has been. Most everything came easy to him, back in school, in a way he knows it doesn’t for a lot of people. He’s never had to try particularly hard to do passably well, something that irritates people like Peter and Marlene because they do try, and irritates people like James and Lily because of the principle of the thing. “I just don’t get it,” James said, once in their first year, in between flicking through his bio textbook. “Wouldn’t you feel so much better if you felt like you tried your hardest?” “Think that’d make me feel worse, to be trying so hard. I could hurt myself.” he’d said, flippantly. James laughed, and they never talked about it again. James is brilliant, too, but he puts in the hours. Anyone can see he deserves to be there. On the other hand, Sirius is just a very good example of how one can be set up for success if you have enough money. He knows things, knows how to think about things, but none of that is him, really. If his parents had been any worse off, he knows, he’d struggle just as much as anyone else, maybe even more. Everything at school that he’s ever been good at has been drilled into him, often unwillingly. He’s never had any kind of innate interest, or talent, for any kind of subject, so he selected psychology as his major,  like everyone else who isn’t quite good enough at the humanities or the sciences to pick between the two. He did not expect to love it. All right, it’s a little cliche, everyone likes introductory psychology. But the logic of it is unique, the philosophy is unparalleled. Here , it seems to say, is the set of steps that put us on the path to understanding the human animal. We may argue over the steps, or the order, or how much of it is feeling and intuition and how much of it can be distilled and quantified, but the goal is the same-to know why we as people act like the people that we are. He likes that interplay, the dance between statistics and theory, wants to bridge that gap, draw it closer. It’s like religious studies or philosophy, he thinks, the leap of faith you have to take to believe. But he has taken his leap, and ever the skeptic, has hung his star on the walk of Kubler-Ross and (God forbid) Freud and Carl Rogers and all the rest. He also likes (but this makes him feel very juvenile) that it’s the sort of thing that his parents would hate, that it’s impractical and that he’ll never make any money with it. Marlene always tells him he’s exaggerating, that psychologists actually do make a decent living, but he’s looked it up and it’s definitely not what his family would consider “comfortable.” They are all massive assholes, though, so he supposes it doesn’t matter very much. This semester, he’s taking an introductory clinical class with Marlene, the only other one of their friends who’s in psych. She picked it, of course. He always lets her pick their electives, so they can have all of their classes together. “It’ll be easy for you.” she said, a little enviously. “Everything’s easy for you.” Sirius winced then, but did not correct her. “All right.” And she had signed them up, and that was that. The professor is someone new this semester, listed only on the registration website as M. McGonagall. They have online stalked her a little, as is only natural. She’s visiting this year, from some big school in Florida they’ve never heard of. “Bet she’s got an accent,” Sirius whispers to Marlene. “Twangy.” “What if she was in a sorority?” “Oh my God, can you imagine?” But Professor McGonagall is not a drawling, bleach blond Panhandle belle, much to their chagrin. She’s actually an older, petite woman, with a slight Scottish accent, who wears tweed pantsuits with uncomfortable-looking seashell-shaped buttons, and smells vaguely of Chanel No. 5. “My name is Minerva McGonagall. Obviously, from my name, you can tell I come from a lineage of deeply pretentious classicists, which is unfortunate, but there we have it. You may address me as Professor McGonagall, but I will require you to call me Minerva after you graduate and go on to do something worthwhile.” So definitely not what he predicted. Okay. “I am certain,” she says. “why many of you think you are here. Because you did well in intro psychopathology, because you were good at memorizing symptoms and matching them with the right diseases. Maybe you have even read a few papers about therapeutic techniques, learned some buzzwords. You can probably identify the flaws in any experimental study with ease, know the difference between accuracy and precision, can run an analysis of variance through any program I put in front of you. Of your mental resources, your proficiency in your field of study, I have no doubt. These are valuable skills to have, and will serve you well, but what I am looking for you to develop is a little different. I want you to learn how to care about people. When we think of the patients we study more as clinical cases, we deny them their humanity, in all of its difficulty, its complexity. Yes, complexity , for no one is simply a collection of symptoms. If you learn anything from me this year, I hope it is this, the skill of eliciting the person from beneath the density of the case notes. When you can look someone in the eye, man-to-man, that is where the foundation of the most successful therapeutic work begins.” “Man-to-man?” Marlene jokes. “My Lord, the chauvinism. She is so getting cancelled.” “You love her.” Sirius says, in wonder. Marlene is not the type to blindly fall victim to hero-worshipping any authority figure, unlike some of the other psych majors. If she can only muster old-cishet-white-man-esque jokes about cancel culture to take the professor down a peg, she must think the older woman has something worthwhile to say. Marlene blushes. “You do too! Just admit it.” “I…might be a little excited about the class now.” She shoves him. “Fucking nerd.”  _

“Hello.” Sirius says a couple hours later, trying to keep the exhaustion out of his phone voice. “You’ve reached the campus crisis center. How can we assist you?” “I’m a freshman,” says the nervous voice on the end of the phone, “and I-wait, this is anonymous, isn’t it? You’re not going to tell my parents or something, are you?” “No.” Sirius says. “I mean, shit. Yes. Sorry. Yes, this is anonymous, and no, I’m not going to tell your parents.” He swears he can feel the tension releasing on the other line. “Oh. Okay. Well, my roommate this year is really homesick, and she’s sort of in a bad place. I think she had a lot of friends in high school, more than she has here. I try to make her go out with me, but she’s always tired, or sick. She never leaves the room, like ever , and I don’t think she’s doing well in classes or anything…so, what should I do?” “Hmm.” He pauses, thinking. “Have you tried talking to her about how she’s feeling?” “A little,  but she’s pretty introverted. I don’t want to make her think that I’m bossing her around or anything.” “Well-what can I call you?” He’s careful about how he asks for information. Apparently that statement is less invasive than “What’s your name?” A pause, then. “Aaron.” “So, Aaron. This might be hard to answer, but I’m required to ask. Do you know if your roommate is considering suicide?” The question always jolts him, makes him feel like burning his skin off. “What? God, no , I don’t think so.” “Okay.” “I mean, is that something I should be worried about? Should I ask?” His voice pitches, a little desperate, and Sirius feels a pang of sympathy. “I don’t want to make her…like, start, considering it, if that makes sense.” “Um, no, it’s just-” You are fucking this up big time . “We have to ask, just to be sure. And you’re doing a great job.” he adds. “I can tell you’re a very empathetic person, and I understand why you’d worry about that. But if someone isn’t suicidal, asking them about it won’t plant the idea in their head.” The voice is silent. He doesn’t think Aaron believes him. “Right. Okay.” “Aaron?” “Yeah?” “I’m serious. I’m not saying you should ask her; you know her better than me. But if you’re calling, I’m assuming it’s a real situation, and you’re worried. Am I right?” Aaron takes a breath. “Right. You’re right.” “Okay.” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “So what I like to do, in a situation like this, is make sure that I have a plan about what I’m going to do. So we’ll come up with it, together. How does that sound?” “Okay.” “So the first thing we can do is identify her some resources. Do you know if this person has a support system at home?” “Yeah. I think she talks to her sister on weekends.” “Mmhm, that’s good. And is she in contact with your RA, do you know?” “Probably not. I don’t think she’d be super comfortable talking to him, you know? He’s so serious.” “No, I get that.” He can’t remember talking to their freshman RA, a senior named Benjy, more than twice, and both times were painfully awkward. “Even still, it might be nice, you know? For her to know she has other options, besides you and her sister.” “Other resources…” Aaron is thoughtful. “Like counseling? She used to go, in high school, she said.” “Could be. It’s not a requirement, however, and you can’t make anyone go to counseling. Even still…I could give you some information on free campus counseling, if you’d like?” “Uh, yeah, sure, sounds great.”  He looks up a few phone numbers in the database and reads them out to Aaron. This seems to relax Aaron, finally, and he asks a couple more questions, about insurance, and wait times, which Sirius is happy to provide, and even though he’s just reading off of the computer screen, Aaron thanks him profusely, which makes him feel kind of awful and imposter-y. “Okay, so another thing that I like to do, when it comes to these kind of situations,” he continues, “is think about time. Sometimes, if someone is not doing well, mentally, it can be helpful for people to have a kind of event that they’re looking forward to, to ground them.” He swallows. “So, for instance, if you can think of something that’s coming up in the future…” “Her sister’s coming up, for Labor Day.” Aaron says in a rush. “Yes, that’s a perfect example! Just finding ways to slip that into a conversation can remind someone that there are good things coming, even if it doesn’t seem very positive right now.” “Okay, so.” There’s a pause, and he realizes that Aaron is writing what he’s saying down. “I’ll mention the counseling, because I really think she would go again if I told her where it is. If she still seems down, I’ll talk about her sister coming up; maybe mention she can talk to the RA as a last resort. Does that sound good?” “That’s right. It’s not a particularly complicated plan, but that’s best, I think, for situations like this. It may get better soon, too. And Aaron…you’re know that you’re doing all the right things, you know? You called, which is a great first step. You’re providing a distraction, too, which…the importance of that can’t be understated.” He thinks about being fifteen, James lying in bed next to him, talking about nothing. How grateful he was, to not be made to talk just then, their shoulders touching. “She probably appreciates that more than you know. And, look, you don’t have to have all the answers. God knows, I certainly don’t. It’s sometimes good enough just to try. And you are trying, so…” He lets it hang in the air. “Thanks.” Aaron says cautiously. “I-I think I’ll go now.” “Of course.” “Can I call back?” the younger boy asks. “If it doesn’t work out? If it gets worse?” Sirius exhales slowly. “You can call back any time.” When Aaron hangs up, he puts his head down on the table for three seconds. Holds his breath, closes his eyes, watches the red mirages dance across his eyelids. By the time the phone rings again, he’s back at it, maybe a slight tremor in his right hand, but an even voice, a calm voice, a reassurance, a promise to be here, to be present , to watch . It’s such a fragile thing, what holds us to this life, he thinks, and he knows the comfort he offers can feel incomplete, hollow, impersonal. But it would be worse to do nothing, to languish in complacency, to throw up his hands and waste away. Better to try, and fail, he knows all too well, then let the lethargy win.  _ Once his shift ends, he walks across the road to the shopping complex where Mary works. It’s a strange bond, the one the two of them share, two people who are mirror images of each other in a peculiar way. They like their drinks strong, their conversation sharp and witty. Mary shares his restlessness, his constant need for the new and exciting; while he shares her impulsivity, her tendency to leap before looking. They both enjoy being the center of attention, the catalyst for something interesting and fun. He had thought that after they’d broken up she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. They’d been too similar in too many ways; they never should have been together in the first place. But that gave way to a friendship that, if not the same as his one with James, is similar in its closeness. It’s Mary who shows him how to use their shitty toaster in the apartment, courtesy of Peter’s parents, Mary who tells him everything about her relationship problems (he usually doesn’t have particularly good advice, but most of the time, she just wants a sympathetic ear, which he can provide.), Mary who he can count on to always say yes to any last-minute going-out plans. It’s also to Mary he first confessed that he was thinking of experimenting with his gender presentation a little bit, and she hadn’t even blinked, just did his eyeliner and painted his nails. Realistically, he knows that a lot of her romantic partners think their friendship is a bit of a threat; after all, who wants their girlfriend to be close friends with her ex from two years ago? But she always dismisses it. “We’re the kind of friends who transcend romance.” she said once, dramatically. He had raised an eyebrow. “The fuck does that mean?” “Oh, you know, now that we’re over the mystery of what dating each other would be like, we can worry about more important things.” And she had been right, he knows. He loves Mary, not in spite of them not being together, but rather, because everything that happened, every space she’s occupied in his life, was exactly where she was meant to be at the time, and he knows she feels the same way about him. There’s strength in that, and comfort, too, in knowing someone so well. She’s waiting for him, out front, her hair in bouncy curls, raspberry lip gloss a halo on her full mouth. “Black.” she says, almost serious, like they’re 1920s gangsters making a deal. “You’re talking to me like I’m a 1920s gangster making a deal, MacDonald .” he informs her. “Ha ha. Didn’t you and James go to some kind of horrible pre-frat all-boys private school where everyone called each other by their last names? I was trying to channel that.” He groans. “Oh, God. Don’t remind me.” He’d loathed high school, probably would have dropped out if it hadn’t been for James. Also, being referred to by his last name is just…No. He changes the subject. “How’s work? Any horror stories?” “You’re asking me that?” “You know I can’t tell you my work horror stories. I’m a confidential resource.” She swats at him, like an irritated cat. “You have such a big mouth; I can’t believe they hired you.” He opens his big mouth, injured. “I can keep a secret!” “ Peter can keep a secret. Remus can keep a secret. James can keep a secret, if you bribe him enough. Not you.” “ You can’t, either.” “True, but at least I get to bitch about the customers to Moranda.” Moranda is Mary’s manager at the beauty supply store where she works. They have a vague, mostly joke-y, shared Mom-crush on her, since she drives a very clean Mercedes and has three kids. “I’d be fucking losing it.” “We can debrief. With each other.” An opportunity he rarely takes, as talking about his feelings with the other student workers in the program, most of whom he doesn’t know well, feels like head-butting a wall. “Yeah? Well, that’s good.” says Mary, thoughtfully, because she’s not a pusher. They operate that way around each other-fiercely guarding the other’s privacy. If he wants to talk, she knows, he will. “I am sort of proud of you, you know. For doing it. It’s what my mom would say is doing God’s work.” “Oh…eh, thanks. How was your date?” “Don’t ignore me! I’m proud of you!” She cups her hands around her mouth, projecting her voice into his ear. “I’m PROUD of you!” “Ugh,” he sniffs, ever the touchy oldest brother. “Stop it.” “Say you’re welcome.” He grits his teeth. “You’re welcome.” “And my date was fine, by the way. We went thrifting-““Wait, on a date ? What is that, the lesbian equivalent of making out at the mall?” “Shut up, it was fun. I got this-“ she points at the slim black belt on her waist. Sirius approves. “and she gave me her number so we can like, plan the next one. If there’s a next one.” He nudges her, gently. “Of course there will be.” “I don’t know. She’s not Simon.” He sticks his bottom lip out, poutily. “I hate Simon.” “You do not. I don’t hate -“ “And you know what?” he says, interrupting. “I never thought he was very good-looking, anyway. All the curly hair, and the newsboy caps…it’s a bit much , don’t you think?” “You,” she retorts, teasing, “are the very definition of a bit much .” “Hey, I’m just saying, you can do so, so much better.” “I know, I just…I want to be sad for a bit. Maybe single and sad.” “In that case,” he says, “you’ll have company.” “Not from you, though.” She puts on a dreamy voice that Sirius gathers is supposed to be him. “Oh, Gideon , you big strong man, come tie me to the bed. Write me in one of your plays like your French girls.” He blushes, thinking about the six (unread) messages Gideon has sent him. The top one reads, I want to make you beg for it. He can’t bring himself to read the rest. “Shut up.”  _

“Oi, luv!” he slurs, about two hours later. “Fancy a shag?” “Mm-mm.” Peter tuts, disapprovingly. “That was basically Australian .” “Fuck you, it’s close enough.” Beside him, arm thrown around his shoulders, James squawks, “Calm your tits!” and they both dissolve into helpless laughter. “You aren’t even close!” Peter, who has been coaching them on the Cockney accent he had to put on in A Christmas Carol , throws up his hands in exasperation. “It’s like you’re getting worse.” “Or maybe,” says Sirius, practically inhaling another shot, “you’re just not a very good teacher.” Peter huffs. “It would be one thing, if you were actually trying -“ “Pshh,” He flaps an arm, lazily, downs shot number four (Jack, straight) without making a face, a skill he is more proud of than he would like to admit. “Trying’s overrated.” “Come on,” says James, before there can be an argument. “We have to go; we’ll be late to meet the girls.” He makes a valiant effort to stand, then goes. “Absolutely not ,” and collapses back into the couch, crushing Sirius’ arm a little. “We’ll Uber then,” he decides, quickly. “You-drink some water , you hear? Five minutes.” James nods, sleepy. A summer with his parents has actually murdered his alcohol tolerance. “Pete-watch him.” “What the fuck -why do I always have to-?” “Thanks!” he blurts, and heads to the kitchen, snagging a couple plastic water bottles. Perhaps he’s being a little abrupt, but Peter gets so irritating when he drinks; there’s really no living with him. He opens them with his teeth, because fuck it, and unceremoniously dumps the contents down the sink. Next, he rifles through the kitchen drawers until he finds the plastic funnel James lifted from the chemistry lab their freshman year, balancing it on the rightmost bottle. From under the sink, he pulls out the huge bottle of cheap, horrible red wine they keep “for cooking.” (Really, it was a gift from Marlene’s cousin, who’s twenty-one. Sirius has no fucking clue how he would cook with wine.) It smells like lighter fluid. He carefully starts pouring it into the bottles. “What are you doing?” He jumps, but it’s just Remus back from…well, whatever he does all day. “Jesus Christ .” he says. “You scared me.” “What are you doing?” Remus repeats, like he wasn’t sure he had been heard the first time. Sirius smiles, the tendrils of something evil taking root in his heart. It’s not a nice impulse, but, oh well. “What does it look like?” He poses it as a question. It’s not, not really. “You could just take the big bottle.” Remus says mildly. “We all know you’re the only one that drinks that stuff.” “Right.” He bares his teeth, “Because I’m always the drunk one.” Remus gulps, his Adam’s apple standing out in sharp relief against the pale skin of his neck. Sirius fights the sudden, childish impulse to spit wine on him. He’s so incredibly fair-skinned; he’d probably get stained. “That is not what I meant.” “Sure.” He takes a swig from one of the bottles. “You’re not being judgmental at all. Want some?” He offers the bottle, a test, a challenge. The other boy tenses. “You know I don’t-“ “I’m kidding! Oh my God, your face! It’s like I suggested we smoke crystal meth together. You know, trying it once won’t kill you.” Remus shakes his head. Sirius isn’t sure, but he thinks the other boy is smiling. “You’re like those peer pressure videos from high school.” “I’m the devil on your shoulder.” he says self-importantly, and takes another long sip of wine. It’s probably staining his teeth blue. God, it’s bad. Remus snorts. “Okay.” “This isn’t working, is it?” “Not particularly. Hey, um-?” He pauses, trying to thread the words together, but even tipsy (not drunk, admitting drunkeness is a weakness) Sirius knows exactly what he means. “We’ll be quiet when we come back in. Swear. You know, you could come, too. You’re not…not invited.” “That’s not the same thing as being invited .” Oh. He hasn’t thought about it like that. “Besides, I don’t really want to babysit.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “You act like we’re such burdens.” “You try being around a bunch of drunk and high people when you’re the only sober one. Then tell me you don’t want to rip your hair out.” “I wouldn’t rip my hair out for anything.” (Maybe he is drunk. That sounded better in his head.) Remus drums his fingers on the kitchen counter. “Will Gideon be there?” A little too casual, like he’s just curious. Sirius is totally going to make him squirm. “Probably. Why?” “Just curious.” “Of course you are. Would it kill you to not be condescending for a bit? You don’t have to like him.” “I don’t…not like him.” “Mmhm. That was very convincing.” He swigs the wine irritably, which now has a distinct taste of plastic bottle, because honestly, he really could care less about what Remus thinks. The goodness, the fucking moral high horse… God . James calls from the living room. “Will we EVER go?” and Sirius takes that as his cue, adroitly balancing the plastic wine bottles between his arms. Remus tuts, concerned, probably, about his ability to carry all of them, but Sirius isn’t in the mood for a lecture. “Bye,” he gets out, flashing a purple-teeth grin. “Enjoy homework.”  _

The party’s far away, at someone’s house they don’t know, and everyone’s dressed up in that not-dressed up casual-cool way that Sirius has learned defines West-Coast chic. Everyone is very drunk, very high, and packed into a tight living room. Remus would probably hate this, but Sirius, as a “party person,” more or less, finds there’s something comforting in the crush of limbs thrown over each other, the smell of cigarettes and vodka and terrible body spray and girls’ shampoo. There is absolutely no food, save a half-open bag of off-brand potato chips, and the fumes from the stoners’ corner on the patio are wafting into the house. Whoever has the aux is playing some sort of 2000s mix-Sasha Fierce Beyoncé, Katy Perry. It’s exactly the same as every other one of these, except at a different house. James, who is drunk, but less drunk than he was an hour ago, is draped over Lily, his face covered in glitter from her neon-green, SHEIN tube top. They’re the same height, which Sirius and Peter find amusing. Peter spots the girl who threw up on him at an orientation party freshman year, and immediately goes into hiding mode, attempting to blend into the furniture. It absolutely doesn’t work, and then she’s coming over, and pulling him onto the makeshift dance floor. Sirius laughs, making absolutely no attempt to rescue him. Marlene nudges him. “Mean.” “Am I my brother's keeper?" he says, snottily, and when she glares at him, he reminds her, "I am quite literally quoting the Bible. Where’s Mary? Still being single and sad?” She rolls her eyes, blue brought into sharp relief with messy cobalt liner. Mary’s definitely done that for her. “Fuckin’ wish. She’s chatting up some anthro guy; never seen him before in my life.” She rolls her shoulders, antsy. He hears them pop, even with all the noise. “Fuck, Marlene, you’re tense .” “Shut up.” “Why?” He scans the dance floor, follows her eyes to a tall, rail-thin Black girl, with light skin and dreads tied up loosely on top of her head, who is dancing a la Kat Stratford in 10 Things I Hate About You , all free and vibrant, like she’s the only one in the room. “Oh. I see. You should go talk to her!” “That’s a terrible idea.” “But staring at her like you’ve never seen a girl before isn’t? Who is she, anyway?” A reluctant smile crosses Marlene’s face. “Dorcas Meadowes. She’s a model .” “Wait, really?” “Well, an Instagram model, but you know, close enough.” “Talk. To. Her.” “No.” “If you don’t talk to her, I will.” “Don’t-” But Sirius, who does not feel embarrassment to the same acute level as Marlene, is already crossing the room to stand in front of Dorcas Meadowes, who is drinking water with the same ferocity with which she dances. “Hi.” Dorcas eyes him, suspiciously. “What do you want?” She’s prickly. Marlene loves prickly. “So my friend- over there -who is very single and very cute…” Marlene cuts in, mercifully, pushing him out of the way. “Your freaky ginger boyfriend is here, so leave her alone. ” she informs her. “I’m Marlene.” Dorcas waggles a cute little eyebrow in amusement. “I know.” “Gideon’s here?” He feels panic, feels bad about feeling panic, and starts looking around. Shit…he is the world’s worst boyfriend. “Yes.” Marlene gives him a little shove, but he’s already moving. He can take a hint. Where the fuck…he chugs his wine, trying to restore his buzz, until-Gideon’s hand clamps down on his shoulder. “Hi.” “You never responded to me.” Sirius is observing the arc of Gideon’s collarbone, firm under his t-shirt. Really, it’s a bit obscene. “Sorry.” He looks up. Honestly, it’s too easy sometimes. “I was…distracted.” “Mm, I can see that. Well…are you going to make it up to me?” Gideon leans over and pulls him into a bruisingly violent kiss, the kind that he knows people will be staring at. He pulls away. “Right..right now?” It had been the shamelessness, he admits, that drew him to the other boy in the first place. He was so refreshingly different from the staid placidity of most of the people Sirius is used to seeing, the kind of people who blushed when you asked them what they wanted you to do in bed. He just, once in a while, wishes Gideon had a few more hang-ups, a bit more self-awareness. Gideon laughs, blue eyes mostly black pupil. “Yeah, they have a bathroom…” And so, after he downs two more shots, enough so his vision gets blurry and he has to feel along the edge of a wall for balance, he finds himself kneeling on the tile floor, diligently sucking his boyfriend off.. He’s better at this than he used to be-when they first got together, he’d been hopeless, having only dated girls. He knows, now, to put up his hair so it doesn’t get in his face, to make the appropriate noises, to make sure he’s not using too much teeth, to look up with what he hopes is a glazed look of happiness right before Gideon finishes, with an unceremonious moan. He wipes cum off his mouth and tries not to retch as Gideon zips his pants up. Stupid fucking alcohol…“I could do you, too, if you want…” Gideon’s voice is meek, but he’s already moving to undo Sirius’s belt. “Um…” Fortunately they’re saved by a fierce banging on the door. “If y’all are going to fuck, can you do it literally anywhere else? We need to pee!” They both start cracking up, first little giggles, then hysterical laughter, until Sirius trips into the shower, knocking his head on the tile. “Fuck…” he holds his head. “You big baby.” Gideon pulls him to his feet, as the knocking reaches a fever pitch. “We’ll be out in a second, Jesus.” He opens the door, and they spill into the hall, avoiding the dirty looks of the bathroom goers, and okay, Sirius is embarrassed now, hot, sticky shame that spreads from his face to his toes. He steals an unattended beer from a table, before they head out, and polishes it off in one.  _ The verdict, when they go back to the apartment, is this: one broken nail (trapped in the Uber door; hurts like fuck), a smudge on his left boot (regrettable, but fixable), a bruise on the back of his head from falling into the shower, swollen, cracked lips and twin hickies on the right side of his neck (no comment), and a scraped elbow from not-so-gracefully rescuing himself from a face-plant into the shrubbery. All in all, it could be worse. Gideon’s holding onto him, to steady him, he says, but he’s in no better shape, his face bright red and pouring sweat. It only takes him three tries to unlock the apartment door, and then they stumble inside, trying to be quiet and failing miserably. The lights are on, which is weird. Remus should have been asleep ages ago. He moves to turn them off, but then, “Sirius, is that you?” “Fuck.” he hisses. “Yes, then.” Remus steps into the kitchen, looking put-out, his feet bare. He doesn’t even acknowledge Gideon, which Sirius thinks is rather rude. He is about to tell him this, when Remus says. “I’m not exactly sure how to say this.” He’s twisting his fingers together, anxiously. “You can’t kick me out; you need my share of the rent.”“What? No. Oh my God, are you still drunk ?” “Yes,” giggles Gideon. “Well, you need to get your shit together, because…” And it’s then that a fourth person steps into the kitchen, and Sirius’ heart stops . No, it can’t be. But it is. Brown-black hair, longer than it used to be, grazing his chin. Olive skin, light against his hair, throwing the purple-blue shadows under his grey eyes into sharp relief. A longer nose, a weaker jaw, but it’s like looking into a mirror, other than that. Regulus.  “You got tall.” his brother says.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

My fear is dead

I lost it in you

I do hear you

I do fear you

I do need you

-Tamino 
 Regulus’s first thought is that his brother looks terrible. He’s cradling an arm like he’s in pain, he smells vaguely of cheap wine, and he’s got bruises on his wrist and neck. Even still, he’s unmistakable, like seeing one’s own reflection through a trick mirror. Regulus will know that it’s him, just the same as he knows that this is Sirius. “Which one of them died?” Sirius demands. His eyes are bloodshot. God, he really is drunk. “What?” “Walburga or Orion. Which one of them is dead?” “Oh.” He’d been expecting this, or something like this. They’re not big on pleasantries, the Blacks. “None. Neither of them. Both still alive.” “Ah.” Sirius studies him, speculatively. They don’t say anything. A long time ago, they could read each other without speaking, but the man standing in front of Regulus is a stranger. “I’ll…make tea.” says the taller housemate, the one who let him in. Regulus thinks his name might be Remus. “You’re okay with milk and sugar?” He breaks eye contact with his brother, with some difficulty. “Oh yes, that’s fine. I don’t need milk and sugar, though.”Maybe-Remus shrugs. “Sure.” As soon as he’s out of earshot, Sirius hisses, “Since when did you drink black tea?” Regulus shakes his head. This is classic Sirius; expecting everyone else to stay the same even as he morphs and changes. “I don’t know. Just like it.” “You never liked it before.” “Hi.” says the redheaded guy who’s been lurking like a shadow in the corner. “I’m Gideon, Sirius’ boyfriend.” To his amusement, Sirius is staring absolute daggers at the alleged boyfriend, who seems to be utterly clueless. Regulus shakes his hand, mostly because it seems to be making his brother deeply uncomfortable. “Nice to meet you. I’m Regulus, Sirius’ brother.” “Oh!” Boyfriend seems absolutely delighted by this information. “I’ve heard so much . He talks about you all the time!” “Does he?” Regulus shoots him a sly look, which he does not return. “That’s sweet. It’s not like he ever bothers to reach out, so it’s nice to know I’m being thought of.” “Stop it.” Sirius snaps. “I’m just telling the truth .” He is. He doubts Sirius even has his phone number. “Y’all look so similar.” says Boyfriend Gideon. “Well, Regulus looks a bit more…” He pauses, but Regulus knows exactly what he’s trying to say. “You can say, ‘white’. “ He gets this a lot, but in truth, Regulus doesn’t see it. (Does that make him one of those mixed-race people who are  in complete denial about being white-passing? Can he even say white-passing anymore, if he’s white? He’s not sure.) He’s pretty sure he looks more like Sirius than he does like either of their parents-all sharp edges, deep-shadowed eyes, full mouths. Gideon turns pink. “Um…” “Leave him alone.” Sirius is trying for commanding, but there’s something in the tight set of his mouth, that Regulus knows he’s trying hard not to laugh. He doesn’t want to think about how that makes him feel, the knowledge that after all this time, his big brother still thinks he’s funny. “Ah…Reg…can I show you something?” “Can I come?” Gideon asks. Oh my God, he’s so fucking oblivious. He wouldn’t have thought Sirius would have the patience for someone like this. (But, to be fair, he hadn’t expected Sirius to be gay , either, so he supposes this is hardly the biggest surprise.) Sirius scratches his head. “Um…Remus probably needs help with the tea…” “He means no.” Regulus clarifies. Good grief . Some people. Sirius shoots him a look. “Sorry, it’s like…weird, estranged brother stuff. I’ll be out in a second, I promise. Come on.” And he pulls Regulus into the hallway with suprising force, essentially marching him into a bedroom, and slamming the door. “What the fuck is going on?” Regulus backs away. “You smell like a brewery .” “Seriously, what are you doing here ?” “Oh, that.” He’s grateful for the opportunity to explain, grateful that the explanation is simple. “I transferred schools. So…I’m here, now.” Sirius snorts. “Bet Mommy Dearest loved that. Her darling boy, with all the Ivy League-rejects turned anarchist-wannabes.” Regulus remembers the phone call, the frightening silence on the other end of the line. “She was…not pleased.” “Well. Good for you.” “She’s better now, than she used to be.” He feels compelled to say this, to explain, to justify. “She doesn’t get as angry, now. I think, if you came home…she might be happy. She’s forgiven you, I think.” He thinks about the night before he left; the plate of quartered oranges on the floor outside his room, saying what she couldn’t say. They don’t have the words for affection, in his house; they never have, so he’s learned to take what he can get. The oranges were sweeter than usual, for that time of year. “Yeah?” Sirius says, darkly. “Unfortunately for her, I’m still angry. I haven’t forgiven her.” “I’m not saying you have to.” Why does he have to make everything so difficult ? “You want me to, though.” Regulus doesn’t say anything to that; he doesn’t have to. “How the hell do you afford this place?” Regulus asks, changing the subject. He’s been wondering that, ever since he stepped foot inside the apartment. It’s old, clearly a big house that someone’s converted into smaller units, and the rooms are statlier than he expected, for a student accommodation, with high ceilings and molded baseboards. “Thought you didn’t want any of our money…”Sirius grins. “How do you think? Uncle Alphard.” “He was serious, about leaving you his estate? I thought he was drinking, when he promised you that.” “Oh no, he absolutely was, but I guess he was being genuine. I got a letter, at the Potters’, when I turned eighteen. I’m independently wealthy now, did you know? Don’t have to demonstrate ‘work ethic’ or whatever stupid thing Mom’s on now.” He’s so fucking self-satisfied. Regulus could kill him. “Lupin wanted us to live somewhere horrid, with like, one bathroom and no laundry, but this is much better, don’t you think?” Regulus shoves him, gently. “Still so fancy.” “Like you could handle living somewhere with a hot plate .” To play along, he shudders, theatrically. “I’d drop dead.” It almost feels normal, like they’re real brothers. He sits on the narrow, twin bed, and Sirius falls in beside him, lying back in a pantomime of exhaustion. It’s because they’re not really looking at each other that it’s easier for him to say, “I hated it, there.” He feels his brother tense up, beside him. “What…you mean, school?” “Ugh, yeah, it was awful. Everyone was just so self-important, and related to somebody else, and in some kind of scummy fraternity, or they were just…I don’t know, pricks.” “Would have thought you’d fit right in.” Regulus ignores the jibe, the words spilling out of him. “And there’s like, a million people in all of your classes, and nobody knows your name, and you feel so…small. Like nobody would notice if you vanished. Only, you can’t vanish, because you’ve sacrificed everything to be here, and so has everybody else. And you think about, I don’t know, Mom’s grandad crossing the border during Partition, or being homeless , and you think, what do I have to complain about, really? Anybody would kill to be where I am, and here I am, being a…” He doesn’t finish. A waste. A slow horse, a bad bet, a low return on investment.  “The fuck does this have to do with Partition ?” “It doesn’t, you idiot, not really.” He has a headache. It was a mistake, to think Sirius would understand. “It’s just like, there are bigger problems in the world than me not being happy at school. That’s all.” “And so, just to get it straight, your idea of bigger problems are a geopolitical disaster that killed thousands of people, or living on the street? These are the only two things you get to complain about in life, huh? Sounds like bullshit.” “Well, you like to complain.” “Maybe. But that’s Mom talk. You don’t need to feel guilty for deciding not to be miserable. That doesn’t even begin to make sense.” It’s always so clear for him, in a way it never has been for Regulus.  “Okay.” he says, dully. “Okay.” Sirius parrots. “You don’t believe me; I can tell, but you’ll see. You’ll like it here.” He does not say it like it’s a question. “We can get you a real mattress tomorrow, but the couch will have to do for tonight…” “Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Sirius looks at him like he’s stupid. “Of course I do. We’re family .” “No, it’s just that…uh, sophomores are sort of required to live on campus. I’ll move in tomorrow. So you don’t need to worry about me; I’ll be out of here then.” “Oh.” His voice falls a little, and Regulus gets the strange sense that maybe his brother is disappointed . Like he wants him to stay here , in this apartment. “That’s…fine. Whatever you want.” “Okay.” he says again, feeling guilt wash over him, which is absurd because it’s just the rule and it’s not even his fault. “It’s good to see you again, you know.” “Yes, well. Your tea’s probably getting cold.” Sirius  stands up, like he can’t wait for his brother to leave, and Regulus, as he is gifted at doing, makes his exit. _ The tea is cold, when Regulus drinks it, but it’s not bad. He drinks it over the sink, in a chipped mug that reads Virginia Is For Lovers , which he then washes. They’re not very clean, Sirius and his roommates; there’s a pile of dishes in the drying rack that are absolutely filthy, but he’s not going to do anything about that. It’s not like he lives here. The third roommate arrives at around three, stumbling through the door with absolutely no subtlety. He’s a short, sort of chubby little blond guy, and he’s so out of it, he doesn’t even notice Regulus at first. He’s called Peter, owns the Virginia Is For Lovers mug, and seems nice, in a bit of a scatterbrained way. Remus (that is his name) talks to him, quietly, something about convincing him not to text somebody they both know, and also going to bed, which they both do. Gideon’s in Sirius’ room, and Regulus is alone with his thoughts, which is how he likes it. He can tell Sirius is expecting him to be scandalized by the fact that he’s dating a guy, but Regulus isn’t from the fourteen hundreds, nor does he believe everything that comes out of their mother’s mouth, despite what Sirius probably thinks. It’s not like there weren’t gay people at his old university. He’s even taken an Am-I-Gay quiz online (in a public library, not with his parents. The results were ‘inconclusive.’) But Sirius has a bad habit of framing himself as a martyr, a rebel, an iconoclast, even when what he’s doing is terribly commonplace. It’s always driven Regulus up the wall. He prefers to pick his battles with the world; it’s hard enough as it is without going scorched-earth on every minor inconvenience. He checks to make sure no one is around (he still can’t write with an audience, too many prying eyes), and opens his journal. It’s a brown leather Rhodia that he got at an indie bookstore, and combined with the dark-blue Waterman ink he exclusively fills his heavy brass fountain pen with, serves to make a very impressive scribing set-up. He’s always been a compulsive graphophile. When he was young, he used to constantly keep lists of things to remember, for fear of forgetting something important. He’s got notebooks cataloging his every move lining his bookshelves for years, rows of perfect, neat script exactly on the line, the way his mother and Sirius both do it, the way he used to practice until his fingers ached. Regulus is not one for half measures. He does everything with intention, with purpose, like there’s an audience watching his every move, because most of the time, there is.  It is this, he writes, that feels like the beginning of the rest of my life , I worried at first that it would feel like giving up, that I am resigning myself to a world of mediocrity. But just because I have deviated, slightly, from my initial path, does not mean that I cannot right the ship. I’ll read this in two years’ time, when I’ve graduated, and know that I made the right choice. I can fix it. I have to fix it. There is no other option. He circles the last sentence, twice, for good measure, the ink pooling and drying in clots. There’s no one on the couch, when he leaves the kitchen, so he curls up on it, like a cat, suitcase at his feet, journal on the table beside him. When they were kids, and he had been afraid to sleep in his room alone, Sirius had made a bed for him on the floor, next to his. He’s nineteen now, though, and Sirius is twenty, and he’ll never make anyone take care of him, like that, ever again.  _ He wakes up, early-early, without an alarm, and pads to the kitchen. Sirius is there, of course, with a stupid exercise headband on, to push back his very long, very thick hair. Their mother would hate it. “How are you doing?” he asks, to be an asshole, because there is no way his brother isn’t completely hungover. Sirius looks up. “Fine.” But his ashen skin and fresh stubble tell a different story. “Sleep well?” “Fine.” Regulus has actually never slept on a couch before. All in all, it could have been worse. He pours himself a glass of water, cracks open his pill bottle, and pops his meds, daring his brother to say anything. “What are those?” Sirius asks. “My pills.” (It’s a Prozac/Ativan cocktail, with a Vitamin D supplement. Standard stuff. He really should ask better questions.) “Thought Mom didn’t believe in that kind of thing.” There’s an edge to his voice. One time, when they were teenagers, Sirius floated the idea that maybe Regulus should get on Xanax. It had not gone over well. “I told you; she’s different now.” Or she had been, after that phone call. It’s only temporary, he had told her, over and over. I won’t be taking them forever. It’s not like he wants to be dependent on drugs to be a functioning person for the rest of his life. It feels like an excuse, embarrassing and cliche, like a cry for attention. He knows that people in “his generation” are “normalizing” these things, but honestly, some problems should stay private for a reason. “Right.” “She is .”“I believe you. You don’t have to convince me.” He’s smiling now, like Regulus is telling a joke, which he’s definitely not. “So you don’t have to worry, okay?”Sirius remains motionless. “Yeah. You…uh, you have a good day.”  _

Two hours later, he’s standing outside a building that looks straight out of The Secret History , waiting to meet his “student guide” and wearing a stupid nametag that says, “Reginald Black.” Apparently, it would be too much work to actually make sure that they got his name right, in another example of phenomenal student services. He’s already regretting coming here. “Regulus?” He looks up. It’s a gawky, tall East Asian guy, with messy black hair, and those round, wire-rimmed silver glasses that make everyone who wears them look a bit like Gandhi. Fucking of course, of course it would be him. Regulus is going to go jump off a bridge. “Hi, James.” he says, hoping the lack of enthusiasm carries through his voice. “Sirius told me you were here, but…wow, you look different.” James looks him up and down, appraisingly. Regulus suppresses a snort. By this, James likely means you are not a fifteen-year old who can’t look me in the eye and will eventually blame me for stealing his older brother.  “You don’t.” Regulus tells him, because he doesn’t. James is one of those people who could be six or fifty; he has that kind of face. “I didn’t expect you would remember me, honestly. I’m kind of impressed.” James says, like this is some sort of big accomplishment, to remember him. In middle school, when he’d met Sirius, Sirius hadn’t been able to stop talking about him, like he was some kind of celebrity. At the time, Regulus wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but then he met him, and he got it. James is one of those people to whom making friends is like breathing, who you can’t help but like. Regulus has never trusted people like this, people with whom you can’t see the bottom of the pool. Friendliness like James’ feels like obligation, condescention, makes him slightly ill. He’d take overt rudeness over forced chumminess any day of the week. “Uh huh.” “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your name tag says ‘Reginald.’ ”“It does.” Very good, you can read.  “Not that it’s not funny, but do you want me to get that changed for you? Before we get started, I mean.” So helpful, so thoughtful, so sweet . He’s going to get a fucking cavity. “Mmm, no, I think it’s okay…” But James is already heading back inside the Secret History -ass building, no doubt ready to white-knight the fuck out of this name tag situation. Okay, fine. If he wants to do battle with the powers that be over a name tag, it’s his life. Regulus could care less. James emerges, not more than five minutes later, with an updated ‘Regulus Black’ nametag and a stupid grin on his face like he’s cured cancer. “ Here you go.” Regulus takes it, even though he really, really does not want to. James studies Regulus’ face, like it’s a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet. “What’s wrong?” “I’m fine. You didn’t have to do that.” “Mmm, kind of did. Otherwise people were going to go around calling you Reginald for the rest of the year. It’s not very exciting here, so it would definitely stick.” He laughs at himself, like he’s so fucking funny. “But…it’s just so…they had to go to all the trouble, and print out a whole new one… ” James furrows his brow, squinting. “You really don’t like standing out, huh?” “No.” Regulus says, annoyed at being found out. “I don’t care. I just…you’re making a big deal out of nothing.” “I think, first day’s hard enough without feeling like you have to earn people’s respect. People should actually know your name. It’s a little thing, but it’s about dignity. Which is important. To me at least. But if you want…I can take it back. You can still be Reginald, if you’d prefer.” He looks like he’s fighting a laugh. Would it be too much to ask, for him to trip over something? “No.” Then, grudgingly. “Thank you.”“Okay, then. I am on your side, you know. I’m not trying to fuck with you.” Uncanny, really. He wonders what the other boy’s angle is, because he absolutely is trying to fuck with him. Fortunately, Regulus is very hard to fuck with, partly because Sirius makes a career out of being bothersome, and partly because he holds very few people in high enough esteem that their insults can actually wound him. James doesn’t have a chance. He’s still talking, too. “So, this is the admissions building, as you already know, and over there’s the dining hall. You said on your survey you’re pre-med…”The pause is long enough that Regulus gathers he needs to say something. “That’s right.” “Funny, I always thought of you more as an English guy, in high school. You were always writing, in that notebook you used to carry around, remember?” Regulus bites the inside of his cheek. “Can’t make any money with English, and the whole family are doctors, so.” He shrugs. “Time to grow up.” “What, so you’re not writing your short stories anymore?” James actually looks put out, the idiot. “They were good. At least I thought they were.” Regulus rolls his eyes, enjoying the praise despite himself. “They were okay. You don’t have to say that.” “They were really good! Hand to God, I genuinely liked them; I’m not just saying that. They could have been published, like, in a real book.”“Okay.” He’s never been good with compliments, especially ones like this, which feel genuine. Maybe it comes from not receiving many. “And you won that award for them, that one time, in high school, and Sirius was so proud-““So you’re pre-med, too?” Regulus interrupts, not keen to revisit memory lane. “Yeah, me and Lily both.” Seeing his look, James expands. “Lily’s my girlfriend.” “Right.” “She went to the girls’ high school, when we were there.” “No, I remember.” She had been very ginger, he remembers, and something of a teacher’s pet. Sirius had hated her, didn’t know what James saw in her, which paradoxically, had made James like her more , even though she seemed like she didn’t particularly care for him very much. It was all very weird and messy. He had been glad to watch it from afar and not be part of it. It had seemed terribly complicated, at the time. “We’re co-chairing the pre-health society together this year.” James goes on, like he’s talking about winning the lottery, “so if you’re serious about this, which I’m sure you are, I’d love to see you there.” Regulus would willingly poke nails through his eyes before he joined a student club. “Sure.” “We’re going to do real events and things, not like the people who did it last year, oh my God. They had like, one meet-up event that was clearly resume-bait, and never did anything after that. I mean, we need to talk to doctors, get shadowing opportunities, talk about EMT certification-““You’re an EMT?” He imagines James, ridiculously upbeat, wheeling someone into an ambulance, probably singing like some sort of Disney doctor. He’s probably be good at it, too, the cretin. “I’m going to be certified, this summer. Lily and I are doing it together.” He has this dreamy, doe-eyed look to him, like he’s talking about going to Rome to drink coffee on the Piazza Navona instead of sweating through his scrubs in an ambulance trying to resuscitate someone who OD’ed on the sidewalk outside a Popeyes. It’s so toothachingly wholesome, Jesus fuck. Not that Regulus doesn’t think being an EMT is important, mind, he’d just rather take Italy, given the choice. “Could you just show me where the science buildings are?” Regulus says, before James can go off on another tangent about EMT certification, or joining clubs, or girlfriends. “Most of my classes are there, I think, so…” James’ face falls a little, and for the second time, Regulus feels guilty, which is just ridiculous. But he recovers, because he is who he is, even in the face of rejection, and says, “Okay, sure,” and starts walking off before Regulus can even feel the guilt all the way, which is just as well, really. The kind of help he needs is nothing that James Potter can provide.  _ After the tour (where he gives monosyllabic, one-word answers to all of James’ efforts to engage with him), he disentangles himself from James, quickly, and picks up his schedule from the registrar’s office. The credits from his old school haven’t transferred, all the way, so it still says he needs to take an art class. He’s signed up for a poetry seminar, which he’ll probably drop as soon as the credits do transfer, but for now…the lazy voice in his head is pushing one more indulgence, so he’ll stay in the back, do his other homework, listen to everyone talk about William Blake or whatever they’re supposed to be reading. He will drop it; he’ll have to. The rest of his classes are all labs, so it’s not like he’ll have time. Whatever. He’ll live in the library, sleep three hours a night, and live on ramen noodles and extra-strength coffee. He’ll go to every office hour, do every extra assignment, pepper every professor with brilliant questions about their research. And if he feels himself slipping, he’ll dig his nails in and claw his way out, smiling all the while. If he still throws up before every exam, if his wrists cramp up until he can’t type or hold a pencil, if he still paces back and forth before he turns anything in praying please, please, please let this be good enough please, please, please let me rest to a god he’s never really been able to believe in, it will still all be worth it, to look everyone in the eye, every doubtful cousin, every high school rival, every biased teacher, and show them he can win. He’s not intuitively brilliant, like Sirius, but he works a hell of a lot harder, and in the end, that has to mean something, otherwise what was it for? “People will underestimate you.” his mother told him, bluntly, when he was seven. “They know you’re not the smart one.” That had hurt, at the time, but he knew she was right. Sirius had been the first of the cousins to walk, to talk, to read. Everything he did was as natural for him as breathing. Regulus had been dead last. That had to mean something for him, something bad. “That’s fine.” She was talking to herself again, not to him. “I wasn’t the smart one, either. No one thought I would do very much with myself. But the smart ones…the problem with them is they never know what it is to struggle. Not like you or me. And that is what sets us apart, how we can outlast them.” Regulus knows this is true. As a freshman last year, he watched all the high school valedictorians cry over the scores on their first bio midterms, unused to competition, unaccustomed to hard work. In a weird way, he’s grateful to his mother, mercurial though she may be at times, for giving him that gift. He knows some parents would just give up on their dumber kid, maybe push community college or art school on them. But Regulus’s mother has ambition for him. She expects him to make something of himself, has faith that he can make something of himself, something better and brighter than even Sirius, for all that he is the brightest star in the sky, can ever hope to achieve. He will not let her down. So he eats a lukewarm salad in the dining hall by himself, rents textbooks for his classes and lugs them into his new, school-issued room. He’s set up his part of the room (forest-green sheets, absolutely no wall hangings because decorations are distracting) when his new roommate arrives, presumably. He’s a Vineyard-Vines nightmare with curly, reddish-brown hair, freckles, and bulging hazel eyes that make him appear a bit like a large, curious insect. “Evan.” he says, stretching out his hand for a real handshake. Regulus obliges. “Regulus.” “I know.” says Evan. “We went to entrepreneurship camp together, remember?” Regulus, who has gone on some interminable summer experience every year since he could walk, probably should remember, but doesn’t. “Was this the one where we designed our own corporations and had to put together an investor pitch?” Evan laughs. “Wow, okay. I did not expect that to work. Surprise! I’m lying. I don’t know who you are, like at all.” “What-why would you do that? It’s…sort of evil.” “I’m just seeing how many people went to entrepreneurship camp. Also, I kind of like the look on people’s faces when they convince themselves that they do actually know me, but they just forgot. I’ve made probably thirty friends today, just with this. You should try it. Very effective.” “Do these people know they’re your friends? Or do you just think that you’re friends?” “What’s the difference?” “One of them is sad. The other one is sort of admirable, if it it actually works.” He then does a Crest-white, brilliant smile. “Aww, you’re worried I’m too weird to make friends. That’s sweet.” “I’m not worried . I know you’re too weird to make friends.” Evan affects a pout, which reminds Regulus very much of Sirius. “You’re so mean. Please tell me you’re going to be one of those roommates I never see, except when I bring my girlfriend over, and then you’re just going to make judgmental eyes at us the whole time until I get her to leave, and then she’ll break up with me because we never have sex.” “Depends.” Regulus says, rare smile playing around his mouth. “Do you have a girlfriend? Or is that also a lie?” He exhales. “No.” “Wouldn’t say you have much to worry about then.” “Well, I could get a girlfriend. I’m very charming.” “Definitely.” Regulus agrees. “Shut up!” “I’m agreeing with you.” “But there’s that little tone of yours, the one that says, ‘I am immune to your charms, and what’s more, I’m not entirely sure you have any charms.’ And that, I can’t abide.” “You,” says Regulus, adjusting the books on his desk. “are a very strange person.” “Aww, you like me! I knew you liked me.” “I don’t.” Regulus lies. “You like me, you like me, you like me…” “I’ll ask for a room change.” Regulus threatens, rolling his eyes as far back as they will go. There’s no heat behind it, though, and Evan mercifully shuts up. He checks his phone for the time. There’s a text from a number he doesn’t know. move in went fine i assume? x  Barely a second later. its sirius x  He types out a reply stop sending kisses fuck’s sake, and gets back its a setting on my phone mary wont tell me how to change it x. Snorting, he tosses the phone on the bed, and doesn’t reply. “Who’s that?” Evan asks. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend? It’s okay if it is, I’d just rather know what I’m going to be walking in on.” He winks, disgustingly. “The walls are very thin.” Regulus does not smile. “My brother.” “Sirius Black?” “Obviously.” “Oh.” says Evan. “Heard he’s a bit of a dick.” And just like that, Evan goes up in Regulus’ estimation. It really does not take a lot. He’s easy to please. Before he goes to bed (Evan goes to bed at like 10 P.M., which seems to indicate a horrible level of well-adjustedness that Regulus can’t even begin to fathom), he writes in his journal: All in all, more tolerable than expected. He thinks about writing more, but he doesn’t want to jinx it. The last thing he needs is another situation. Get in, get degree, get out.  Nothing else matters.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I’ve been downhearted, baby

I’ve been down-I’ve been downhearted, baby

Ever since the day we met

Ever since the day we met

-Primitive Radio Gods
 Lily is pacing again, the kind of anxious habit she was hoping she’d kick, the kind of thing she can only do when she’s alone. She’s tried everything-deep breathing (Marlene’s recommendation), a stupid meditation app Remus bought her, half a Valium that Sirius “found” in Mary’s purse. It’s been getting worse, lately, the feeling that something is just off, that there is something undeniably wrong. She never knows when it’s going to come on, but suddenly, she’ll feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, racing a mile a minute, and she’ll forget how to breathe. Mary keeps saying she should go to the doctor, but Lily doesn’t want to have to pay for it. Hospitals are ridiculously  expensive, and she doesn’t exactly think the walk-in school clinic, which once ran out of ibuprofen , will be a worthy substitute. The thing that gets her is that it’s so stupid . Realistically, she knows she has the perfect life, the kind she always dreamed about having. She’s top of all of her classes, and she loves them all, even the hard ones. Especially the hard ones, because she can feel the extra work she does paying off, insanely nerdy as it sounds. First and second-years pepper her with questions in the halls, flag her down for help, stare at her in awe. She has the best friends she’s ever had in her life, the kind of friends she’d die for and who’d die for her in return, without a second thought. Professors ask her to stick around after office hours, proffering lab assistant jobs, research internships. And she has the perfect boyfriend, in James, who’s sweet and attentive and funny and smart and secure in himself in a way she envies. She hasn’t forgotten an assignment, or done something really embarrassing when she was drunk or high, or basically done anything worth being nervous about. But she’s anxious, anyway, and she’s crackling with it, the tension like lightning under her skin. This time, the feeling started this morning, over breakfast. She was picking the honeydew out of the fruit salad and putting it on James’ plate (he likes it, for some ungodly reason) when he said, “I was thinking, about next year.” “Already?” she teased, “This year’s barely started.” “Yeah, well.” He was smiling, in that way that meant he was going to surprise her. She felt dread pool in the pit of her stomach. Calm down. Relax. It’s James. He would never, ever do anything to hurt you. “I was talking to Frank…you know the place he has, with Alice?” She nodded. “Well, their lease is up, next year, and they’re not going to be there anymore, so, he was saying he wouldn’t mind passing it on to us.” “Okay.” She kept her voice calm, even. “And what did you say?” “I told him that I had to talk to you about it. But…it sounds like a good idea, right? Our own place, and it’s big, too. Walking distance from school, and Mary and Marlene’s building. I mean, I know we have to think about it, but…it kind of sounds perfect, don’t you think?” He was brimming with anticipation, his left leg bouncing under the table. She wished he’d stop. “I guess,” she said. The knot in her stomach was clenching. She wondered if the fruit salad was bad. “How are we going to afford it, though?” Alice and Frank are nice people, but she’s been to their house. It can’t be cheap, but Frank’s dad produces movies and Alice’s dad does something at, like Amazon, so they’re not exactly from her tax bracket. It would be less expensive to live on campus for another year. With the money she’d save on housing, she’d have enough put away to…do what? Petunia’s voice then came into her head, unbidden, and Lily cringed, remembering her face beet-red, screwed up in anger. You are the most selfish person I have ever met.  “Oh, we’ll figure it out.” James waved a hand, blithely, oblivious to her internal struggle. “I’m pretty sure it’s not too bad, and if it is, I’ll pay for it.” “It is going to be bad.” One of the disadvantages of dating someone who’s always had money, she’s come to learn, is that they assume everyone else is the same way. She remembers, before they started dating, the incredulous look on his face when she told him she’d never been to Spain. But it’s Spain, Lily, you didn’t go on a school trip even, or something? She knows he feels bad about it, knows it’s something he can’t help. But she also knows it’s something that he’ll never really understand, because he’s never had to ask for a new computer next year because his sister just got one and they can’t afford a second, or ride the bus home because his parents need the car, or figure out how to take out student loans when he was eighteen because no one in his family’s ever been to college before. It’s not even like her family’s poor ; they’re definitely not by local standards, but James’ family is rich , or at the very least, richer than he realizes. “Then I’ll get my parents to help us out.” “You can’t do that.” Lily protested. This is so classic him, all big grand gestures and leaping before he looks. Normally, it would be charming, but the thought of being beholden to his parents, for where they live, made her feel slightly lightheaded. Who could possibly think this was a good idea? “Oh come on, it’s not a big deal! They’re really excited about it too…” He made  puppy-dog eyes at her, and she almost caved, because she really does love when he’s happy, but then the words hit her. “You already told them about this?” She forgot that he calls his mom and dad every single day , which seems super weird to her, but she’s not an only child. She didn’t think he would bring this up though, at least not so soon. If he is, that must mean…He at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Sorry. I just thought…I was so excited. I’ve been thinking about living with you, what it would be like, since last year.”  He has? She hasn’t. She’s never even considered living with someone she was dating, especially not in college. That would be a recipe for disaster, wouldn’t it? They’re so young , and so many things can change, and what if it goes wrong, what if they realize they actually hate each other but are then stuck in a lease that neither one of them can afford to break? Does that make her a bad person, that she hasn’t ever thought about living with him? Why hasn’t she ever thought about living with him? He was staring at her, hurt blooming across his face. He’s so transparent with his emotions, like a much younger boy. No matter how hard he tries to conceal them, they always come out. “Never mind. It was just an idea.” “James,” she said, softly. “It’s not that. I…like the idea of it. Living together.” The voice in her head, the one that sound like Petunia, is whispering liar, liar, liar. “I think…it’s so soon, to think about. Can I have some more time?” He relaxed. “Yeah, of course. I didn’t want to push it; I guess I got caught up. I love you, you know that?” She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. “I love you too.” When James and Lily first started dating, last year, their first fight was over a song. James probably wouldn’t say it was a fight, but Lily knows that it was, and it’s this she thinks about, too, as she paces. They’d been on her bed, doing some lab write-up, when he asked if he could play her a song. “It reminds me of you,” he’d said shyly, and she’d let him put it on her speakers. Before that, the last song that he’d played for her had been “And I Love Her,” the cheesy Beatles song, and he’d looked at her like she was the only thing that existed while Paul McCartney sang about how his love would never die, so she had high hopes. It was not the Beatles. It was, instead, a song by some band called Primitive Radio Gods, who had like, one album in the nineties, and it was different from the kind of things that she thought James usually listened to, which were so pop-y and upbeat. But he really liked it; he was bobbing his head and singing along. “I’ve been on holiday, I’ve been on holiday, ever since the day we met, ever since the day we met…” “I hope this song doesn’t actually remind you of me,” she said, joking. “You know they’re singing I’ve been downhearted, babe , right? Not I’ve been on holiday .” “No, I’m pretty sure it’s ‘holiday,’” He was a little defensive. She was surprised; it hadn’t actually been that big of a deal. “I’ve listened to the song like forty times today. I’m pretty sure I know what they’re saying.” She had laughed. “Okay, whatever. They are not saying ‘I’ve been on holiday,’ though. I know that.” “They absolutely are. Here, I’ll show you.” He Googled it, quickly, his thumbs flying over the phone screen, and then let out a low, despairing moan. “Oh my God, I’m such an idiot. You were right. It is I’ve been downhearted, babe .” “Told you.” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. “You don’t think-“ There had been panic in his eyes. “I haven’t been downhearted. Honestly, meeting you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m not trying to give you some, like, weird passive-aggressive message.” “I know.” she said, confused. “I didn’t think so.” And then, because she thought he needed it, she’d said, “ I’ve been on holiday ever since the day we met.” He’d kissed her so hard she had a red spot on her top lip for a week. And they’d forgotten about it, or he’d forgotten about it. But she thinks about it, more than she’d like to. What does it mean, that he can mishear a song so badly, like that? What does it mean that she can hear the truth of it? Should she have just shut up and let him play her the song, even though he was wrong about the words? But that’s not in her, for worse or for better. She’d want to know, after all, if it was her.  You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. James is such a good person. She’s pretty sure no one has ever called him selfish. But being good isn’t the same thing as being right. She keeps pacing. Lily first met James Potter when she was fifteen, at a high school dance. The girls’ school that she and Petunia went to was the sister school of his, and so that meant all the girls went to the dances his school put on. Some kind of weird Catholic thing. She thought it was really stupid, but Petunia always liked things like that, and they were still talking then. She’d been standing in the corner, uncomfortable in the dress she’d had to rent from the mother-of-the-bride section of the store, when she saw him. Tall, for an Asian guy, and confident, and self-assured. She could tell he was popular, and instinctively moved away from the corner he was in, chatting with his friend, a bored-looking shorter boy with long hair like a girl’s. At fifteen, Lily knew the battle lines were drawn, and she was on the losing side. Simply put, there are pretty girls, girls with long shiny hair and long legs and tiny waists, and girls like her, who have to wear a full face of makeup every day to pass muster, who people say have a “great personality” and “give nice hugs”in lieu of saying anything positive about their appearance. It doesn’t matter that Lily’s lead the Science Olympiad team to state victory three times, or that she has a wickedly mean sense of humor that leaves her friends in stitches, or that she reads romance novels to the residents at the retirement home just because she likes to and doesn’t even put it on her resume, because when people look at her, they see a fat girl, an ugly girl. In middle school, boys used to squeal with laughter, cringe with disgust, as they dared each other to ask her out, like spending an hour alone with her was the kiss of death, like she’s a contagion for which there is no cure. It hurt her feelings, at first, but by high school, she was able to convince herself she sort of liked it, the untouchable feeling it lent her. She grew hard and tough, a spiny thing that snaps if anyone gets too close. So when James Potter was crossing the room toward her, something like mischief in his eyes, she already knew what she was going to say. “Please go away.” “I haven’t even said anything yet.” He was looking at his stupid friend for backup, who smirked, like She’s all yours.  “I know what you’re doing.” she warned. “I don’t want to do this.” “Do what?” He looked so helpless, so incredulous. “I’m not doing anything. I just want to know what your name is.” She was pissed. He thought he was so fucking clever; they all did. “Fuck you. You know, you’re not exactly my type either.” Behind him, his friend was doubling up with laughter. “Oh, shut up!” He was looking at her like he was fighting a grin, and that just incensed her more. “How do you know you’re not my type?”  His face was so open, so earnest. Lily found herself very tongue-tied, all of a sudden. “Hmm? How do you know?” “You’re such a cunt, ” she had hissed, and stalked off. Not very eloquent, but she absolutely wasn’t going to let this little egomaniac have the last word. She regrets that, a lot, now, how unfair she had been. She supposes she didn’t know what else to think, but she knows, had the roles been reversed, she wouldn’t have tried nearly half as hard. Part of that is who she is, and who James is. She’s perceptive, but he’s tenacious. He’s the kind of person who believes he can have anything he wants if he tries hard enough, and she’s just another example of how right he is. No, that’s unfair of her. James doesn’t see her as a prize to be won, at least not anymore. He asks her for advice, about his friends, about school, about his mom. He listens to her complain about Petunia for hours, even though he doesn’t have siblings and so can’t relate in the slightest. He holds her when she cries, after her mom calls to say her grandpa died. The first time she took off her clothes in front of him, in the low flickering light of a dorm bathroom, she was nervous about the fine stubble on her legs, the soft well of her stomach, the way her breasts hang without any padding. But he just looked at her with something that made her feel warm all over and said, “Wow.” No one had ever made her feel like that, like a supermodel, like a famous actress, like Helen of Troy. The kind of girl beautiful enough to start a war. She knows it could be worse-Mary’s told her horror stories, how her last boyfriend told her she needed to lose at least twenty pounds (which doesn’t make any sense, Mary is perfect ), how she dated a guy in high school who used to look at other girls’ pictures right after they finished having sex. She can’t imagine James doing that-he doesn’t even have celebrity crushes. Her friends love him; her parents love him. The only person who doesn’t love him is Petunia, who gave them a copy of Eleanor and Park as a couple’s Christmas present last year (“You know, because it’s about a big redhead girl and a half-Asian guy.” Lily told her it was racist, because James is Chinese , not Korean, and she’d gotten very offended, in true Petunia fashion.) Time after time, people she doesn’t know come up to her, saying “You’re James Potter’s girlfriend?” in a tone of barely-concealed envy. “You must be so lucky.” She wonders if people ever think of him as her boyfriend, or if they all think that he’s doing her a favor. She wonders if that makes her selfish, and shallow, and ungrateful, if she wishes they would, once in a while.  You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. Petunia’s right, she knows. What does she have to complain about? Why would anyone in her position complain? She should just say yes to him. Say they’ll move in together, spend the summer with him. It will be fun, right? EMT training at night, matcha lattes during the day while he does DNA extraction in whatever professor’s bio lab he decides to work in. They can go out to clubs with their friends by then, too; everyone will be twenty-one. They’ll have their names on publications, get into the same top-twenty medical school, have two-point-five-kids…God, she could vomit. She sprints to the bathroom, past a couple terrified little freshmen, and throws up. Fuck the fruit salad. “Are you..okay?” comes one of the girl’s voices. “Should we call someone?” Lily wipes tears off her face with the back of her hand. “I’m good.” In the evenings, Lily tutors chemistry, in an old classroom with terrible ventilation. They’re drop-in sessions, meaning anyone can come in and bring stuff to work on, which she actually really likes. It takes a certain kind of person to be good at teaching people. James used to do it with her, but he gets too impatient, too convinced that everyone would be at his level if they just tried hard enough. Lily is more pragmatic. She knows a lot of people don’t love the subject, the way that she does, can’t intuit the visualization of tiny things that can’t be seen with the naked eye and don’t care to learn how. For a lot of people, chemistry is a hurdle to get over, not a journey of personal fulfilment and enjoyment. They could care less about the “how;” they’re really here for the “why.” She gets it; there’s plenty of things in school she suffers through rather than embraces whole-heartedly, despite how it appears. The very least she can do is offer tricks to make it more bearable, and if people learn it’s not so scary after all, and gain a little confidence? Everyone wins. Sev’s here early, because he always is. “Hi.” she says, to be nice. They were friends, once. Now they’re…she’s not sure. What she is sure about is that he got his tutoring slot moved up so they’d have the same shift; Nora, the chemistry department assistant, told her, a fact that makes her feel both bad for him and uncomfortable all at once. She hasn’t told James. He’d probably try to get Sev fired, or something similarly noble and over-dramatic. There’s no love lost between the two; they’ve been bitter rivals since high school. “Hey.” He’s trying for smooth. It’s not working. “Have you started the biochem assignment?”“No, not yet. Is it bad?” What the hell is he doing? Sev nods, eagerly. “Oh, it’s brutal. Number seventeen…” He trails off, like he needs her to ask what about number seventeen is so hard. She is not going to do it. She is better than this. “Well, we have until Friday.” “Speaking of,” he lowers his voice, even though they’re literally the only ones in the room. “do you want to work with me on it? I’ll give you the ones I’ve done, since you haven’t started.” “Actually,” she says, sweetly, brightly. “I think I was going to start it with James. You know, because he’s so good at drawing the structures.” (He actually is. He has a little stencil template he sweet-talked off of one of the organic chem professors so he can draw perfect little benzene rings and chair conformations. It’s the kind of adorable that is also infuriating.) His face falls a little. She feels guilty, then gets mad at herself for being guilty. Set a fucking boundary, Evans. “We could still compare, just to check.” he presses, then, begrudgingly. “You can bring Potter, if you want.”  Oh, I think the fuck not. She was once in a lab group with the two of them, and the arguing had her googling “how to make a double murder look accidental”. “I think we’ll be okay. Thanks, though.” A couple freshmen file through, all doing some assignment on energy levels with really weird directions. She makes them work together for a bit, piping in as needed, but they’re pretty self-directed. She corrals the nervous sophomores and one, very reluctant senior into Sev’s section. He’s a condescending taskmaster, and she knows that they’ll look over at her, wishing she could explain stuff to them, instead of him, but she can’t do everything herself. They’ll have to suffer for at least a bit. The freshmen finally leave, and then she sees him-skinny, always by himself, wary eyes dead to the world. Sirius’ little brother, who’s name she actually can’t remember right now. “Hi.” she says. “What do you need help with?” He looks terrible, eyes rimmed with red, lips chapped and peeling, the dark circles under his eyes standing out like bruises. He hasn’t been sleeping; she can practically smell the fatigue on him. “It’s just a little thing.” he says, but she gets the distinct impression it’s not.“I’ve been trying to get this to work for over an hour, and the program won’t download. It’s the-I don’t know-spectral modeling software…” “You need a code, from the school, to download that one for personal use.” “Which is…?” Honestly, some people. Why on earth would she know the code off the top of her head? “I don’t know. You could probably ask your professor tomorrow-“ “How does that help me, now ?” he snaps. “It’s due tomorrow-do you not think that I’ve tried every single possible thing I can think of-“ His voice is getting louder, every passing moment. “Don’t talk to her like that,” Sev materializes across the room, ready to do battle on her behalf. She wishes she could give a shit, but she’s never liked this kind of stupid guy posturing. It’s always about him, never about her. “I’m handling this.” she tells him. “Go back to whatever you were doing.” “But-he doesn’t get to-“ he sputters. Lily pulls out her RA voice. “ Go .” Cowed, Sev returns to boring the life out of his sophomores. “Now.” She turns back to…Regulus, that’s his name. “Do you think you can explain to me what’s going on without being an asshole?” He flushes. “I’m sorry. I’m just-“ He takes in a sharp breath, the kind that’s two degrees away from hyperventilating, and she feels a pang of sympathy. “I’m sorry. Please, can you help me?” “Of course. Sit down. You know, I have the program. You can just analyze your spectra on my computer.” “You’re okay with that?” He’s looking at her like he can’t believe she would offer. She holds out her arms. “Well, I don’t exactly need it right now, so. All yours.” “Thank you.” he says fervently. “You have no idea how much-“ “Don’t worry about it.” Lily interrupts. She opens her computer, boots up the (way-too-much memory) program, and logs out of her email, passing it to him. “Go for it. Let me know if you have questions.” The rest of the hour passes in relative silence between the two of them, Regulus only asking a question when he’s so hopelessly lost he can’t continue. She can tell he’s proud, like Sirius, willing to dig himself further into a hole before asking anyone to come get him out. He lacks Sirius’ lightness, though, his ability to spin humor out of nothing. Just as well, though, for Lily. She’s hardly in a joking mood. It’s only later, when they’re getting ready to go, both packing their things without saying much, that he asks, “Does it get any better?” She wonders if he’s asking about O-chem, at first, and then realizes, he’s asking about this, this weird, pseudo-adult limbo that they’re in, not quite ready for the real world, not exactly children. Lily’s not a liar, but she also knows the look in his eyes. It was the same look that was on her face, this morning, the hopeless resignation, the never-good-enough, always-coming-up-short desperation. So she tells him the truth, in the best way she can. “Sometimes. Sometimes it gets worse, but most of the time…most of the time, in general, things get better.” “Oh.” It’s not the answer he’s looking for, but she’s not one to sugarcoat. That’s James’ thing. “Will you, uh…” He looks away from her, shy, but she can tell what he wants to know. “I don’t work tomorrow, no.” Regulus deflates a little bit. “Does he?” He jerks his head in the direction of Sev, who is busy confusing some poor sophomore who’s trying to be polite. He’s started to draw diagrams on top of each other, never a good sign. “Yeah.” He winces. “Right.” “Would you like my phone number? In case you…want more help?” she asks, taking pity on him. Really, no one should have to ask Sev for homework help. He gets off on it too much. “Yeah, that’d be great…” She scribbles it on a purple Post-It, and he tucks it away in his bag like it’s something precious. He swallows. God, does she make him nervous ? She’s not trying to. “Thanks, Lily.” She didn’t know he knew her name. “Anytime, Regulus.” When she gets back to her room, late, James has already let himself in, and is curled up on her bed, like a satisfied house cat. “Oh my God, is that the hottest chemistry tutor this side of the Mississippi?” He fans himself, like he’s overheating. “Be still, my beating heart.” “Stop it.” She’s mock-stern, but she’s grinning, satisfied despite herself. He’s so silly, really. He couldn’t be serious if he tried. “I’m for real!” he protests, crossing the room to stand in front of her. “You look great.” Lily scoffs. She’s wearing a men’s hoodie, three sizes too big for her, and jeans she hasn’t washed for a concerning amount of weeks. “I look tired . Because I am.” “Too tired for…this?” His hands find her waist, scrunching the material of the hoodie. She giggles, because she’s supposed to, and pulls him in for a kiss, long and slow, because she’s supposed to. Hopefully he can’t hear her heart going please, please, please, no, anything but this, please . He stumbles backwards, pulling her on top of him, onto the bed, but she expertly rolls him off, letting him take the lead, because she’s supposed to, and he likes it better, she knows, even though he’d never admit it. Please, please, please, no… Here’s the secret thing, the worst thing about Lily Evans. She hates having sex. It’s such a stupid, idiotic first-world problem. James is handsome and patient, the ideal first boyfriend. The first time they ever had sex, he was so gentle, so worried he would hurt her accidentally. “I’ve never…had sex with a virgin before.” he’d told her. “Tell me if I’m fucking it up, okay? And we’ll stop.” “Shut up ,” she’d hissed, mauling his shoulder with her teeth. She was nineteen, the oldest virgin on planet Earth, Petunia said, and she was desperate to…what? “Wow, you’re like, really horny.” he’d said, sort of in awe. This confused her. Was she? She just wanted to know what it felt like, in some way. Unfortunately, ever since then, he’s always been under the impression that Lily’s sex drive is comparable to his, which…it is not. He’s always saying things like, “I’ve never met a girl who wants me as much as I want her,” or, “This is why we work so well together.” He’s fallen in love with it, the lie, and she can’t bring herself to tell him he’s wrong, not when it makes him so happy. But the sex itself…can this really be it, what everyone is so fucking happy about all the time, the thing that has Marlene and Sirius grinning like maniacs, has Mary waxing poetic about her last greatest fling, has Peter despondent that he’ll never be anyone’s first choice? It hurts, first of all, makes her feel like her body is getting ripped open, like it’s not her own. There’s so many precautions, one has to take, as the girl, shaving everything, birth control, making sure he’s wearing a condom. There’s also the aspect of performance. She can’t be quiet, because then James’ll think something’s wrong , but she can’t make too much noise, or else he’ll think she’s in pain (even though she is). And it never ends when she’s ready, which is usually five minutes in because it aches like hell; she always has to wait until he’s spent himself, sagging against her like a huge fucking weight. He tries to be a good guy, she knows. He always stops after she “has an orgasm,” (she learned how to do the moans from watching porn) and he even used to try to eat her out before she put a stop to that (the idea of his mouth on her clit makes her feel like she has bugs crawling on her skin.) Sometimes she opens her eyes, even when she’s not supposed to, and sees him…rutting on top of her, and she feels so disgusted with him she could be sick. And then she feels guilty about that, because it’s not like he’s doing anything weird , like spanking her, or handcuffing her to the bed, or making her call him “Daddy,” all things she’s heard about but knows she could never do, at least not with a straight face. It still feels gross, and wrong. Not rape, because she’s pretty sure she’s consenting, but more like a chore, a task, something she has to do, like taking out the trash or washing her dishes. In her darker moments, she wonders what would happen if she ever said no to him. Would he get angry with her; would he finally leave her like everyone probably thinks he should have done ages ago? Without sex, what does she really have to offer him? Tonight’s no different. There’s the fumbling with each other’s clothes, the grinding against each other, the kissing, everywhere, while he tells her, “You’re so hot. You’re so fucking hot.” A finger, slipped into her pussy, another, later. A foil condom packet he rips open with his teeth. Working his dick in her hand, as he chants, “Yes, yes, yes.” like a prayer. The pain, blinding, so hard she feels like something’s going to tear. Closing her eyes, tears running down her cheeks, trying to smile. He likes missionary so he can see if she’s enjoying herself, he told her once. She is enjoying herself, she tells herself. It’s fine, it’s all fine. Biting her tongue so hard she draws blood. Trying to time her “orgasm” with his, nearly succeeding. Afterwards, he holds her, in the dark. “That was incredible .” he whispers. “You’re amazing.”  You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met. She hopes he can’t tell she’s crying. “You’re amazing, too.” On Saturdays, they all go to Mary and Marlene’s apartment, for “family dinner” (Peter’s name for it). It’s basically just a bunch of people crammed into too small a space, arguing about what to eat, drinking and smoking and bitching about their classes. Lily normally loves it; it reminds her of Thanksgiving at her grandma’s house when she was little, except now they’re the adults, and no one can tell them they’re being too loud except for the downstairs neighbors. She’s too preoccupied this Saturday, clutching a bottle of sparkling wine she bought off of one of James’ residents, who has a fake ID, but she plasters on a smile as she rings the doorbell. “Lily!” Mary hugs her so hard she almost drops the wine, and she’s immediately awash in the unique Mary-Macdonald scent, a heady concoction of Miss Dior free samples and some kind of lime essential oil. She probably smells like TLC plates, or something similarly heinous; she just got out of the lab, so she tries to cut the hug short for Mary’s sake. “Brought wine.” she says, suddenly exhausted. “Is everyone here already?” “Just about. James said he’d be late; he’s helping grade intro bio papers.” She feels a sudden surge of relief. Mary, because she’s crazy perceptive, raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay? You look really tired. You’re not still getting that weird anxiety thing, are you?” “No.” Lily lies. “Just work.” “Really?” She looks skeptical, but Lily pushes past her, not wanting a lecture. “I’m fine .” “Okay.” Mary shrugs. “But if you’re ever not-““You’ll be the first to know. I swear.” Mary looks mollified. “Right. So we’re in a debate right now, about dinner. Sirius wants to order something-“ Lily rolls her eyes. “He always wants to order something.” Sirius is even less aware of how much things cost than James. If he’s not careful, he’s going to drown in credit card debt. “And Peter wants to make one of those what-do-you-call’em’s, the fancy plates with the fruit and cheese and crackers-“ “Charcuterie boards.” Lily supplies. “Right, those. And I want to reheat yesterday’s soup, of which we made too much, so what do you say?” “Actually,” Lily says, shrugging off her coat in the hall. “soup sounds good.” “Boo!” Sirius calls from the kitchen. “It’s not fair that you asked her, Mary; we all know Evans says yes to everything you propose.” Mary smirks. “Call it best friend privileges.” “Well, if James was here-“ “Which he is not.” Peter says smugly. “Soup sounds incredible, Mary.” Sirius huffs in outrage. “This is just because I got the delivery driver lost that one time -“ “You gave him a location on the other side of town,” Remus reminds him, fighting laughter. “Which, how was I supposed to know there were two Darling Streets, not at all near each other? They neglected to tell me this information.” “We also don’t want to be indebted to you forever because you decided to order something horribly expensive.” Mary adds. “This is reverse classism, ” he announces. “I need a drink.” “Lily brought wine, angel that she is…” They’re interrupting by a shriek as Marlene launches herself at Lily, which almost masks the sound of Sirius popping the champagne. They collide, and Marlene’s hair, wet from the shower, ends up in her mouth. She hacks it up, violently. “No one was going to tell me Lily was here?” she demands. “Hair…in my mouth…” Lily wheezes, while everyone else dies laughing. “I’ll start the soup.” Mary announces. “If you’re going to smoke that, do it outside.” She waves a ladle threateningly at Sirius, who’s sheepish as he returns a (frighteningly large) joint to a plastic bag. “It was a gift from Gideon!” “On second thought, fuck it, hostess tax, let’s go.” She points at the door to the balcony. “Well? Do you want to get high or not?” “Yes, ma’am.” He follows her eagerly out to the balcony, and they slide the screen door closed. Lily doesn’t follow; weed just makes her sleepy, but she looks at Marlene, questioning. “I want to get drunk tonight,” Marlene says, in lieu of an answer. “I just think, my drunk texts are a thing of beauty. My high texts are less eloquent.” “Who’re you texting?” Marlene’s smile is radiant. “Dorcas Meadowes. We met at the party. She’s gorgeous , did I tell you that? And she’s a model . Okay, an Instagram model, but still. And she’s funny, too; we talked about Taylor Tomlinson…”“Who’s that?” “A comedian, Lily, oh my God, you need to watch more TV. And she’s never had boba , and her favorite book is Frankenstein , and she’s-ahhh, so interesting.” “Is she…” Lily doesn’t know how to ask it. “You know. Do you know if she likes girls?” “I don’t want her to like girls.” Marlene says dreamily. “I want her to like me .” Lily rolls her eyes. “Okay, Casanova.” There’s a yelp, as Peter is absolutely burning the fuck out of the bread on the stove, so she springs into action. “Go get drunk.” she tells him. “I’ve got this.” “You sure?” Peter reminds her a bit of Regulus there for a bit, He’s always been a bit of an odd fit for their friend group. They all have such strong personalities; she feels he often gets ignored, but he seems to take it in good spirits. Anyway, he deserves to have a little fun. “Please.” She passes the wine to him. “You and Marlene have fun. Remus will help me, won’t you?” Remus jumps. He’s been watching the balcony, from which peals of giggling keep emanating (along with an ever-thicker cloud of smoke) so intently, it seems he’s forgotten they’re all still there. “Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” “Peeeter…” Marlene wails from the floor. “Let’s get hammered and talk about girls.” “Fine.” He ambles off, and Remus comes in, just as Lily is flipping over a few fresh, non-burned slices of bread. He looks at her, expectantly. “What do you want me to do?” “Oh, I don’t need help. I just wanted to talk to you.” He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What about?” “You know, stuff . Like what’s so interesting about the balcony.” He blushes. “Nothing!”“Then why do you keep looking over there?” “I’m just making sure the smoke doesn’t get into the house.” “That’s like, the worst lie I’ve ever heard.” “I’m not-Okay, who did you tell?” he whispers. “No one, I promise.” She keeps her voice low, so Peter and Marlene won’t hear. “You can’t tell James.” Remus begs. “I’d never hear the end of it. Please.”  There’s a lot I can’t tell him. “Okay, I won’t.” He covers his face with his hands. “It’s just so embarrassing. He does like, ten thousand stupid things a day. He wears jewelry . He thinks he’s funnier than he is, and he’s a terrible roommate.” “But…” she prompts. “I sort of, maybe, occasionally, think about him. Romantically.” He groans. “God, just shoot me. It’s awful, Lily, really. It’s complete fucking torture.” “Maybe you should tell him how you feel.” Hypocrite much?  says the voice in her head that sounds like Petunia. “How would I do that? He has a boyfriend, and…whatever’s going on over there.” He gestures to Sirius and Mary, who are now draped over each other, whispering about something. “That?” Lily scoffs. “Oh that’s nothing. They’re always like that. And Gideon? We all know he could do a lot better than that guy.” She elbows him, gently. “You know, you’re a lot better than that guy.” He looks down. “That’s nice of you to say.” “I’m right, though, aren’t I? None of us like him.” Remus huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.” “And you’re smart, and interesting, and-“ Seeing his face, she makes a show of doing a double take. “What? I can’t say nice things about you?” “It’s just, so many things, one after the other…” he tries to explain, but she cuts him off. “Boo fucking hoo. You need to learn how to take a compliment. You’re great.”He’s always been her favorite, of James’ friends. He’s quiet, and level-headed, not one to rush into things headfirst. But he’s not shy , not the way Peter is; when he wants to be heard, he makes certain he is. She feels like she understands him, too, the way he holds himself apart from everyone else, the wary reservation, the fear of breaking a delicate thing. Some people misinterpret that as coldness, but as a fellow stoic, Lily gets it. They’re not the kind of people that get their day in the sun, not James or Mary or Sirius, or even Marlene. They’re keen observers, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, scanning for danger, weighing all their options carefully. “ You think I’m great.” he says, despairingly. “I don’t think he thinks I’m great. I’m not…fun, or chill.” “I think you’re incredibly fun and chill.” Lily rejoins, expertly toasting the bread. “So who gives a shit what Sirius thinks?” “Well, as we’ve established, me , sort of, Jesus Christ.” He laughs. “Saying it out loud…God, I must have serious issues.” “No more than anyone else. And look, he’s a quick study, Sirius. If you, like, flirt with him even a little, he’ll fold.” Remus frowns. “You’re saying he’s like, slutty .” She grins. “More like… opportunistic. He kissed me once, on the mouth, with tongue, at New Years’, did I tell you that?” He looks absolutely scandalized. Poor boy. “ What ?” “Oh, yeah. He’s not a bad kisser, you know, mostly did it to piss James off. Which didn’t exactly work because he thought it was really funny. So…” she pats him on the back. “you don’t have anything to worry about. Just wear tight pants and bat your eyelashes at him, or something.” Remus makes a little, desperate noise. “I don’t even own any tight pants.” “It was just an example; don’t be so literal.” “The party has arrived !” calls a very enthusiastic voice from the entryway. James emerges, clutching a very large, horrible bottle of green apple vodka. Lord, who comes up with these kinds of ideas? “For you.” He bows, deeply, and hands it to Lily. “I am absolutely not drinking that.” He winks. “We’ll see.” “I’m not a Heather ,” Lily slurs, head in James’ lap, half an hour later. She’s decided to get properly drunk tonight; usually that’s the province of Sirius (who thinks he’s not as much of a lightweight as he actually is) or Mary (who also thinks she’s not as much of a lightweight as she actually is). “ ‘M a Martha.” “That’s not true at all .” James says, loyally. Why won't he just shut up? “Yeah, you always sing the high harmony in ‘Candy Store’. “ That’s Peter, curled up in an easy chair. She can’t see him. “If anything, you’re Heather Chandler.” “Is this some musical shit?” Marlene is on high alert. “Because y’all know, I am not one of those musical theater gays. I broke up with Emmeline because-“ “She wanted you to watch her in Les Mis, we all know, you’ve said.” Remus is tired, ever sober. She wonders how he does it. “And I-“ “You didn’t want to watch her embarrass herself, because singing and dancing on stage is for people who didn’t get enough attention from their parents. We know, you’ve said .” “I like Les Mis.” says Peter. “I did not get enough attention from my parents.” says Sirius. “Amazing how none of that was at all in reference to you, and yet you still managed to take it there.” Remus teases, side-eyeing him. “ Everything is in reference to Sirius, according to Sirius.” James continues fondly. “It’s what we love about him. It’s also what makes him a very apt Heather Duke.” Sirius raises his head from the floor.“Hey, I’m most definitely a Heather Chandler!” “Spoken like a true Duke.” “ ‘M not Heather.” Lily goes on. “Heather’s…Sirius can be Heather Chandler, if he wants.” “ Yes !” “Jesus Christ ,” grumbles Remus, but he’s smiling. Lily staggers to her feet, prompting an “Easy,” from James, and polishes off another horrible green apple shot. “Mmm,” she sighs. “Spectacular.” “Might want to slow down there.” James says.  Fuck, who are you, my mother? The angry thought recedes, but everyone is suddenly staring at her, and she realizes with a horrible shock that she’s said it out loud. “Lily…” He moves cautiously to her side. “Are you…is everything okay?” “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’m completely fine. I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m fine, I promise. I’m fine .” Everyone is still looking at her. “I’m okay, you guys, seriously, it was a joke !” Was it? She’s not sure. “I was kidding, come on, seriously!” She knows they all like him better than her; she knows, but do they have to make it so fucking obvious all the time? “Lily.” Marlene says hesitantly. “Maybe you should drink some water.” “Maybe you should mind your own business, how about that, instead of acting like you know so damn much about me, like I’m this perfect person that you can just put on a pedestal and forget about when it’s convenient, because I’ll just say yes to everything and anything. But oh, yes, make me out to be the big fucking bitch, too, because God forbid I be right and be confident that I’m right, because  I’m definitely a Heather because I’m a horrible, selfish person, right, Petunia?” They’re all still staring at her, accusing, confused, incredulous. It boils her blood. “And will you all stop looking at me ?” She starts to cry then, big embarrassing gulping sobs, the kind that she should totally be beyond, and yet, isn’t. Mary’s there, then, holding her, rubbing her back in circles like she’s a child. “It’s okay, baby. Let it out.” And Lily does, and everyone flutters around nervously, Sirius and Remus and Marlene not looking at her to spare her dignity, and Peter and James hovering around, waiting to be of use. I’m ruining this, she thinks, desperate. I’m ruining us.  “You’re really drunk, huh?” Mary says. Lily laughs, mirthlessly, head still against her chest. “Not just that. I wish it was just that.” Mary leans in, hugging her hard, her mouth inches from her ear. Very quietly, so that no one else can hear, she says, “You want me to tell them to leave?” Lily nods against her. She doesn’t want their pity, their goodwill, to manage their worry about her. She wants to be twelve again, laughing on her bed. She wants her sister to be her best friend again. “Go.” Mary whispers again. “I’ll get rid of them.” And so Lily stumbles, bleary-eyed, past James’ outstretched arms, into Mary and Marlene’s bathroom. She locks the door and sits, knees up, on the toilet, hearing her friends telling the boys to leave. She’s really drunk; wants to stay the night here…No, I wouldn’t worry, James, I don’t think she’s actually angry at you…Just having a moment. She sits, and she thinks, and she sits, and she thinks, and she sits, until Mary knocks on the door. “They’re gone.” And because she is a selfish bitch, all she feels is relief. It’s the three of them, then, cuddled up on Mary’s bed like it’s freshman year again, Lily in the middle, Marlene on the right. They used to fall asleep together; she remembers. It was cozy and forbidding and alluring all at once. She hadn’t been allowed to have sleepovers when she was a kid, so she was so excited about it, then, playing with Marlene’s hair, holding Mary’s hand until their palms got sweaty. They’d made fun of her about it at the time. Now they’re serious, arms around her, making her drink like a gallon of water. She’s still drunk, but at least she’s not crying anymore. “Okay.” Mary says. “You want to talk now? Now that it’s just us?” “Yeah, Lils. What was that about?” Marlene rubs her upper arm. It’s relaxing, and Lily zones out for a minute. “Yeah, it’s…Sorry, it’s-““Take your time.” Mary reassures.  Be brave, she thinks to herself. These are your best friends. You can tell them anything. “I’m thinking about…doing something, but I’m nervous about how…everyone is going to react. I’m worried that-“ She swallows. “after I say this, you’re going to hate me.” And I’m worried that I won’t blame you, either, for hating me.  “Lily.” Mary says. “Literally whatever it is-“ Marlene breaks in. “We don’t care.” “You can’t tell anyone that I told you this, okay?” Her heart is racing. They both nod. Good enough. “So.” She takes a deep breath. “James wants me to move in with him, next year. But I don’t think I want to.” “Oh, that’s fine , if that’s all it is-“ Marlene starts to say, but Mary holds up a hand so Lily can finish. “I think…I don’t ever want to live with James.” “Oh .” “Yeah.” Another lump is building in her throat, and her voice catches as she says. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell him now. It would devastate him, and the year’s just started, so it would be really inconvenient for both of us, and he’s so lovely to me, I just-“ “Hold on.” Marlene’s voice is shaking. “Do you mean you’re not in love with him?” “I don’t-sort of-““It’s a yes or no.” “I don’t know, alright? I thought I was, but who knows? I just…” She trails off, helplessly. “How long?” Mary asks, gentle. Lily stares at her hands. “For…a long time. Maybe the whole time.” “Oh, baby.” Mary hugs her. “You know what you have to do, then.” “I don’t want to.” Lily sobs out again. “I can’t do that to him. He’s so good, and so kind, and I-“ “Oh, fuck this !” Marlene shouts, so loud Lily flinches. Her glare could burn iron. “I’m sorry, but that is bullshit. No, Mary, it’s my turn to talk. If you don’t even know if you fucking love him , you need to break up with him, like now. Like today. He’s a nice guy, and maybe you don’t want to do that to him, but Mary and I are people, too, you know, and we’re his friends as well as yours.” “You don’t get to tell me what to-““But you get to cause a huge fucking scene in our place, that we rent, because you’re projecting your issues with your sister onto us, and him?” “Marlene!” Mary snaps. “That’s unnecessary.” “I’m sorry,” Lily retorts. “I didn’t realize that I should have timed my break-up with my boyfriend around what was convenient for you, the person who has the most to do with the situation.” “You know what? It is really inconvenient, actually. It’s actually incredibly shitty to make us have to see him, every fucking day, knowing you’re going to break up with him, while you bleed out your relationship so you don’t have to deal with any real emotions, or consequences. That’s selfish, Lily. That’s really fucked up.” “You’re supposed to be my friend.” she says, eyes watering. You are the most selfish person I’ve ever met.  “You don’t hold a monopoly on my friendship. I’m sorry, Lily, but I’m not picking a side. I’m not fucking twelve . If you don’t love him, you need to break up with him. Or I’m telling him.” Mary stands up. “Marlene .” “Fine.” She throws open the door. “I can’t be here right now. It’s making me sick.” It slams behind her. Lily lies back, head throbbing, on the pillow. “I don’t agree with how she said it…but she’s right, you know.” Mary’s voice comes from above her. “Can’t I just wait until…”“You know you can’t. I know you know you can’t. There’ll always be some reason to not do it. Better to rip the Band-Aid off now.” “I’m sorry.” she says, feeling so horribly small. “You don’t need to be sorry , Lily, honestly. I know you’re worried that you’re secretly a horrible person, but I know you. I know that you’re not. I know you’re trying your best.” “But…what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I love him?” she whispers. “I don’t know, but it’s better to know that now, than move in with him just so he doesn’t feel bad. You owe that to him, but more importantly, you owe it to yourself. You take care of all of us, you know. You give us a soft place to land.” “Not really, that’s more James-“ “It’s you, too. You’ve always been that way. It’s why you’re going to be a brilliant doctor, you know, but you can’t keep going like this. It’s going to burn you up inside.” Lily savors it, the truth of it. It’s been burning, inside her, more than Mary realizes. She wants to put it out. She wants to rest. “Are you…going to tell him?” “No. I’m going to let you do that.” “It’s going to ruin the friend group, you know.” Lily swallows. “Maybe. Maybe it won’t. Either way…you’ll always have me.” Mary squeezes her hand, and Lily feels a warmth starting in her stomach. Not an ache, something new, something inviting. “What about Sirius?” she asks, because she is a little selfish, really, and she wants to know. Mary’s quiet for a while, and then she says, “I love Sirius. I really do, but he’s not you, okay? You’re…it’s always been you for me. You’re it.” Lily feels Mary’s pulse, beneath her wrist, matching hers, beat for frenetic beat. What was she worried about, really? The anxiety suddenly feels legions away. It’s always been you for me. What a strange, wonderful world it is, where she can be Mary Macdonald’s favorite person. Really, she’s lucky. The luckiest, to be enveloped in the kind of love where she can do anything, make as many mistakes as she wants, and still come home to Mary’s heart. So many people, she thinks, don’t have friends like that, but she and James do, and they'll be okay, no matter what happens, because of it. “Thank you.” “Jesus, Lily, it’s fine. Go to sleep, baby.” “But-” “ Sleep .” And she does, and they both do, and when she wakes up in the morning, Mary beside her, her head is light, for the first time in weeks, and clear.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I’ll be your savior, steadfast and true

I’ll come to your emotional rescue

-The Rolling Stones 
 “I just don’t understand.” James says, for what has to be like the twelfth time, although no one is counting. “What does she mean when she says we’re in different places now?” “Who knows?” Straight-up sympathy seems to be encouraging his friend to wallow, so Sirius lies, loyally. “I never liked her.” James fixes him with a stare that would probably be threatening if he hadn’t just been crying. “You don’t mean that.” “No, I do! She was the worst, so boring . Could not stand her. I was only nice to her because you liked her so much- ow, stop, that fucking hurts! ” James has smacked him in the arm with Lily’s old copy of Don Quixote. Okay, it sort of doesn’t really hurt that much, but it’s better than the crying. Sirius is so shit at people crying. “You love her. Everyone loves her.” James sinks to the floor, full horizontal, nose to the tile. “ I love her.” “Stop it.” Sirius wrinkles his nose. “You’ll get tetanus or something from these floors. I know Peter doesn’t clean them every week like he says.” “She’s probably going to want Don Quixote back; I could give it to her!” He sits up, like an excited puppy, but Sirius is ready to crush his dreams. “She would have taken Don Quixote back if she wanted it, when she took the rest of her stuff. You know that.” (Privately, he feels that James, much like the titular character, is tilting at windmills, but he knows he can’t say it.) “It’s okay to miss her.” Peter gives Sirius a dirty look, no doubt over the snipe about the floors. He’s so fucking sensitive sometimes. “No one’s saying you can’t miss her.” “But just because you miss her doesn’t mean you have to stop living your life.” Sirius adds. Honestly. Although, he supposes, he’s always been the one doing the breaking up with. He doesn’t know what it would feel like to be left behind, but if it makes him act anything like James is acting right now, he doesn’t want to be anywhere near it. “I don’t know how to do that, though. We’ve been together for so long.” “Maybe,” says Sirius, kidding-not-kidding, “you should get a rebound. Make her jealous.” James looks horrified. “That’s like, borderline psychopathic.” “No, it’s not. People do it all the time.” He winks, suggestively. “I could be your rebound.” “Amazingly,” says James, “that is not helping.” “Or someone else,” he amends. “If you show her that you’re doing really well, like you’re completely over her, it’ll totally rope her back in.” “That is a little…toxic, no?” Peter floats. “That’s why it works .” Sirius is unmoved. No one likes to believe they’re forgettable, after all. It’s sort of the ultimate punishment. It’s not even like he thinks Lily should want James back; it’s more about the retribution of the whole thing. If someone cuts you, you’re supposed to want to make them bleed. An eye for an eye and all that. It’s biblical, his kind of revenge. He just hadn’t counted on James being so…sappy about the whole situation. Which is maybe on him, considering James has been obsessed with Lily forever, but one would think her dumping him rather unceremoniously would be the wake-up call he would need. Apparently not. “Might be nice to get out a little.” Peter says, which honestly drives Sirius crazy , because why is he just simply restating what Sirius already said like it was his idea first? Fucking copycat. James nods, slowly, like he’s considering it. “I mean, Frank and Alice are having that thing at theirs tonight. Maybe I’ll go.” “Yes! See, that’s what I mean.” It won’t exactly be a party party, knowing Frank and Alice, but anything’s better than wallowing in abject misery over the whole mess. It’s exactly the kind of solution Sirius would think of himself, and he’s heartened that James is still enough of James that he can put such plans together. His phone buzzes again. Gideon. I want to see you bent over the dining room table like the slut you are. Good lord, what does one even say to that? He texts back still on post-breakup watch x , secretly kind of glad for the excuse (though he’d eat rocks before he’d admit it) that James’ predicament has provided. Occasionally, it’s nice to not be on call for Gideon’s increasingly specific whims. He then turns the sound off on his phone. Whatever detailed fantasy his boyfriend is outlining can wait; James’ needs are outweighing his at this particular moment. “I miss her.” James says, absolutely miserably. “I know.” Sirius soothes. “I know. But you need this.” Regulus calls him, at one in the afternoon. They’re talking a little more now that he’s here. Not about anything really serious, nothing contentious like their parents or Regulus’s first year at college, but little things, like how they can share a Spotify account or Sirius’s undeniably difficult statistics class or the terrible comic strips that someone hand-draws for the school paper, a labor of love despite being dull and unfunny. They don’t run in the same circles; Sirius feels like he should give his brother space, room to breathe, to find himself, to fit in. Still, he’s heartened that they’re talking again, and he’s slowly getting to know this new Regulus, who’s a bit more jaded than he’d been as a kid. He’s not sensitive anymore-he doesn’t cry when he’s being teased, but bites back with a surprising amount of wit. It makes Sirius feel better, less like picking on something helpless and more like sticking your hand in a trap and getting bit by the animal within. He makes sure to deserve it, to let his brother get him back for once, hard for someone who doesn’t like to lose. Right now, they’re arguing a bit about the dining hall food. “It’s really not that bad.” Regulus keeps saying. “It was awful at my other school,” “Yeah, they knew they didn’t need to have good amenities to keep you. What’s the excuse here? The rice tastes like cardboard .” “Like you know how to cook rice.” Sirius is completely useless in the kitchen; it’s true. Regulus learned how to cook from their French grandmother and later from their mother, and is very good at it now, because of course he is. “I’ve only burned dinner really badly once.” Sirius retorts. It had been their freshman year, Thanksgiving, and he’d been trying to recreate the ratatouille Regulus made for them in high school. He thought it would impress everyone, but he had put too much oil in and left it in too long, singeing the shit out of some communal dorm pan. He remembers burning his fingers trying to get it out, the panic, apologizing to everyone profusely, waiting for someone to get really mad at him, to call him incompetent, a fuck-up. It hadn’t happened, and actually, it had been James who took him aside after it all went down. I absolutely do not give a shit, Sirius. Nobody cares about the food. We just care that you’re not injured. He’d given a shit, though, and he’d been in a bad mood for the rest of the evening, because it really was just how everyone said, he really couldn’t even do one thing right. Regulus is quiet, then he says, “Me too, remember?” Sirius knows what he’s talking about, remembers the splash of hot oil on his arm, the sizzling of burning skin. Regulus had wanted to do something really nice for their mother’s birthday, so he’d helped, poorly butchering the chicken, unevenly chopping carrots. They’d wanted to recreate the food she’d had at home, in India. For some people, it would be the thought that would count. For their mother, who’d recently found out that their father was exchanging flirty texts with his twenty-five-year-old white, blonde secretary, it had been the final straw. You should be doing your work, not wasting time on this shit. Look at it, it’s not even edible. Shouting back at her, that they were only trying to do something nice and why couldn’t she just be grateful for once, instead of being a miserable hag. Her hand on his face, so hard, he collided with Regulus, jostling the pan, oil spilling onto his wrist. You asshole. You moron. Look what you did. Regulus weeping silently, trying to rinse out the burn with water, making it worse. God damn it, you idiot, you never fucking think about anything but yourself. Lying in bed, that night, pressing his face into the pillow, screaming silently, because he knew she was right. He doesn’t fucking think about anything but himself. If he did fucking think about anything but himself, Regulus wouldn’t have a jagged mark on his wrist now, the skin bubbling under the surface like a poorly blown-up balloon. He lets Remus or Peter cook now, while he stands in the kitchen and talks. Less chance to fuck things up that way. “Burned a lot more than dinner.” He tries for humor, but it’s not exactly funny. “She did take me to get stitches, you know.” Regulus is kind of proud of this; he can tell. Lord , they are fucked up, the two of them. “No, I know, I remember.” He thinks he remembers, anyway. It’s been a while. He tries not to think about anything that happened in that house, as a general rule. “I brought her spices with me, when I moved out for school.” Regulus says, still with an undercurrent of pride running through. “She’d never notice. It’s not like she cooks anymore.” “Sneaky.” He’s a little impressed. “Like all of them?” “Well, we can’t get that super-strong Bengali mustard anymore, the, um…” “ Kasundo .” Sirius supplies. “Right. Except if you’re willing to pay a million dollars on Ebay. But the other stuff…yeah. She’s never asked about it, so I think she hasn’t noticed. Or she just doesn’t care.” Sirius thinks about that, imagining Regulus, alone, in a shitty dorm kitchen, trying to grind their mother’s cumin, carefully slicing up whole fish, nimble fingers peeling back the silvery skin. The smell of the cayenne, the poppy seeds. Black thread around his left wrist, the one that wards off the evil eye, just covering the scar, the same thread that Sirius cut off with James’ kitchen scissors the day he left home. He’s methodical about it, like he is about everything. Good things take time. Sirius lacks that self-control; he usually just wants to fucking eat. Still… “You know you could show me. If you have time. How to make rice.” Regulus takes in a sharp breath, surprised. “You mean it?” “Only if you want to. If you’re not too busy.” Silence. He can tell his brother is thinking. That’s okay. Good things take time. It’s okay if he says no, if he’s not able, if he doesn’t want to… “Okay. If you’re serious about it.” “I’m always-” “ Stop .” He can hear the smile through the words, though. Regulus likes to be consulted, likes his authority to be sought out. “I can come over this evening, if you want.” He’s trying so hard not to be too eager. It’s actually quite sweet.  “Oh, damn, I’m sort of…going out? Tonight.” He’s mentally kicking himself. “So I don’t think that would work.” “Oh.” Regulus is disappointed, but he’s not surprised. Years of Sirius letting him down, he guesses, has prepared him for this eventuality. “You could come, though!” What a good idea; he’s sort of brimming with them today.“I know you’re probably still in STEM hell, doing whatever pre-meds do, but you could use a break, I’m sure…” “I don’t know.” Guarded, so wary. “I probably won’t know anyone.” “Psssh, it’s like, all pre-meds. You could call it networking if you want. Mom’d love it.” “Why are you going, then?” “Moral support for James.” he explains. “Lily broke up with him; fuck knows why. Some weird girl thing.” “Mmm.” He can basically hear the eye-roll through the phone. “I so don’t care.” “You asked! Anyway, it’s probably not even going to be that fun.” “Wow, you’re like, really selling this event.” “You should come.” He inhales. “Please. I want you to come. It’ll be fun; we’ll make it fun, promise.” Regulus grunts, but he can feel his brother’s resolve weakening. When it comes down to it, he wants Sirius to want him. It’s not even a question. He knows Regulus is going to agree before he says, with a long-suffering sigh, “Okay.” “So, is that a yes?” Who said being annoying wasn’t a love language?He just can see Regulus’s nostrils flaring with annoyance, like their dad’s. “ Yes , of course.” “Regulus is coming!” he announces loudly, just so James will do a high-pitched squeal of over-the-top enthusiasm, and Regulus will hear it, and sigh with practiced irritation. (They have been perfecting this routine for many years now, and it is easy to fall back into it.)“I’m already regretting saying yes,” Regulus grumbles, but with an undercurrent of unmistakable pride at being included. At his core, he really is just the same as he always was, and Sirius is too. In the evening, he barricades himself in the bathroom and opens a window for ventilation. Peter whines, knocking aggressively on the door (something about needing to pee? Who cares.) It’s not like Peter actually cares about how he looks. He’s just going to wear the same weird old flannel that smells like cigars and jeans that he wears to everything. Sirius’ process is much more involved, or at least it is now. He’s aware that all of his friends make fun of him for it, even James, who does the hundred-strokes-a-night thing on his hair and has an indie cologne collection (two offenses which seem much, much worse). But you have to do things, when you’re in a relationship with someone who’s the same gender as you, he’s learning. Paradoxically, it matters more how you look, which is weird because you would think other guys would have much lower standards for other guys. Marlene rolled her eyes when he complained to her about this. In this, as in all things, men are garbage.  Realistically, Sirius knows he’s attractive, or at least, so he’s been told. He’s a little vain about it, too, but honestly, who wouldn’t be? When he was a small child, people would stop his mother on the street. Your son is so beautiful. Or alternatively, Are you his nanny? That hadn’t pleased her; it was an insult to her own vanity, a comment on the darkness of her skin. He remembers her nails pinching his shoulder, possessive, protective. He’s my son . What idiots, he’d thought. Of course, she was his mother. As he’s gotten older, he’s grown more into her features, taken on the amber of her coloring, the sharp lines of her face, the curls of her hair. Still, he’s very aware that he’s the kind of “ethnic-looking” person who’s the very upper echelon for “still attractive to white people,” unlike his mother, whose looks would be called “unusual” and “interesting” by the white women in her book club before she ever was called “beautiful.” He knows she resents him for it, a little, and for this (and only this) he does not blame her. It’s the way he looks that attracted Gideon to him in the first place, he knows. Gideon’s made no secret of this. “You know, you’re the best looking guy I’ve ever dated.” he’d informed Sirius, one afternoon, as they were llazing in his bed. “Shut up.” Sirius had said, unable to contain his self-satisfied smirk.“No, I mean it! My mom thought you were handsome too, although she was a little disappointed you’re not Latino…” Gideon’s mom was born in Mexico, a fact that he’s weirdly proud of, like having a Mexican mom is some sort of accomplishment. He’s constantly making a big deal out of it, something that Sirius thinks is funny, considering he doesn’t speak any Spanish, has never been to Mexico, and his mom, when pressed, always says she’s from Austin. Gideon himself is one of the whitest-looking people Sirius has ever met, although he knows better than to bring that up; he’s weirdly sensitive about that kind of thing. His twin brother, Fabian, has coloring like his mom, something he knows Gideon is hotly jealous of. “Looking white is so boring.” he complains, often. “You’re so lucky.”  Unless I run into anyone racist, Sirius thinks. Okay, that’s a little melodramatic, he supposes. No one’s ever, like, called him a slur, or beat him up for being brown. (Are there even slurs for what he is?) Still, it seems a little weird to want the legacy of historic oppression writ large on your face, not when his mother works every day to Americanize her accent, or in middle school, when kids used to pull their eyes to the side in imitation of James. It’s a strange wish to express out loud, he thinks, and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, though he can’t explain why, nor does he really want to, if he’s being honest with himself. Besides, he sort of likes that Gideon likes all the things about him his mother hates in herself, that he’ll ooh with delight when Sirius wears the bright, dirt-cheap costume earrings she always says are too garish, too bangal , or run his hands over his arms when they get darkened by the sun. It’s alluring, to Gideon, he knows, that he can get someone like Sirius to go out with him, brings him closer to the higher ideal of visible non-whiteness, ups his street cred, his social currency. Whatever. He doesn’t mind being a bit used; isn’t that the point of relationships, to seek out something that you can’t find in yourself and possess it, as fiercely as you can? He likes the way they look together, Gideon in his bright, look-at-me-outfits that clash fiercely with his hair, rainbow Doc Martens, WE’RE HERE WE’RE QUEER pins, him in his all-black, Pacific Northwest cliche chic, leather and gold jewelry, half a head shorter, ambiguously gendered, ambiguously ethnic. The kind of couple people stare at in public, when they make a show of it, talking too loud, arms around each other, saying fuck you to decency, and propriety, and all those other boring things. He smudges pencil eyeliner on the inside of his waterline. He’s not very good at it; Mary showed him how, way back when, but it’s the messiness he’s looking for now. It makes him look dangerous, kingly, not-quite-white, like those illustrations of rajas in the coffee-table-books at their house. The sort of look that Gideon would say is hot if he was here, in a combination of reverence and maybe a little jealousy, before doing something very bad to him in his car. Sirius winks at his reflection in the mirror before he goes out, for luck, then lets his face fall, taking in the cruelty in it. It looks mean, like a mug shot. His mother would cross the street to avoid him, a fact that is strangely not making him feel better. He needs a drink, he thinks, as he steps into the hall. “Sirius…” James slurs from the couch. “You have to tell me. I deserve to know.” They’re pre-gaming, a little, or in James’ case, a lot. He knows that Remus and Peter would have preferred for him to take a stronger stance against James being this drunk this early, but tough shit; they didn’t just get broken up with by their girlfriend of over a year. He’s entitled to be a little unstable, at the very least; Sirius only wishes the conversation hadn’t gone here.“Yeah,” echoes Peter. “I said what mine was.” “You said your biggest fear was being confined in a small space, which is actually a very rational and normal thing to be afraid of.” “Oh, but that means yours is something really embarrassing!” Peter claps his hands like a child. “Now you have to say.” “James first.” Sirius says smugly. “I’m in pain . I’m wounded, and you want me to open up first?” “You know, no one actually has to share any of this.” says Remus, rolling his eyes. “I was fine not knowing.” James gasps. “You traitor . You would deny me, a heartbroken man, the joy of getting to know his best friends in the whole world intimately ?” Sirius makes a face. “That sounds disgusting.” “Again,” Remus puts in. “Did not have to take it there.” “Biggest fear! Biggest fear!” James chants, like he’s encouraging them to fight. Sirius rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his drink. “Fine. My biggest fear is that nobody I know actually likes me, but they’re too scared of how I would react to that information, so they just grin and bear it every time I’m in the room, and as soon as I leave, everyone just starts talking shit about me. So I’m just this constant joke, this like, cold sore on the face of everybody else’s friendship.” He finishes the drink. Everyone is kind of staring at him. “What? You fucking asked.” “Sirius.” James says. “That is insane .” “I was thinking like, heights, or something.” Peter says weakly. “My bad, I didn’t know…What’s yours, James?” “Again,” Remus looks massively uncomfortable. “We absolutely do not have to do this right now.” “My biggest fear.” James rolls onto his back, long legs stretched out over the couch. “My biggest fear is being forgotten. Like I live alone, and I die alone, and I don’t make any material difference in anyone’s life. And I have no kids, and I never get married, and my parents both die before me, and you all forget I exist, so nobody comes to my funeral. And look!” He laughs, even though it’s decidedly not funny. “We’re already one step closer to being there!” “Okay, no more drinks for you.” Remus says, swiftly removing the wine from the table. “Yeah, uh…You know we’re not going to forget you exist, right?”  Peter moves closer to James, like he’s not sure if he should hug him. “Absolutely no way. And you know you’re not going to die alone, either.” Sirius adds. “ I’ll marry you if no one else will. Not carrying your babies, though. I’m too pretty for pregnancy.” “God.” James swipes a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m being really stupid.” Also, because he’s James, and is considerate even in the face of total emotional devastation, adds, “And we all like you, Sirius, if that wasn’t objectively obvious. I couldn’t get married to someone who was, eh…” “A cold sore on the face of everyone’s friendship?” Remus’s mouth is doing that trying-not-to-laugh thing. “That. So you don’t have to worry.” “It’s my biggest fear; didn’t say it was my most rational.” he grumbles, annoyed that he’s allowed himself to be emotionally manipulated by a drunk, heartbroken James, and Peter of all people.  “I love you guys.” James announces. He gets like this when he gets sloppy, reminiscent of a sorority girl in a movie.“We know.” they all chorus. He can’t hide it; he’s so obvious about everything, so shamelessly full of love in a way that none of them can even come close to. Sirius feels a pang, itching for another drink. None of them deserve him, really, and kind of fuck Lily, a little bit, for making him feel like this. He texts Regulus where are youuu x and actually gets a response patience is a virtue. With the period and everything. Regulus is so fucking weird sometimes. He’s sneaking off, to the kitchen, in order to down some of the sink wine, when Remus is there, being predictably…him. “Do you really need another one?” “What, are you counting for me?”  It’s helping his strangely dark mood,  evening him out, making everything appropriately hazy. “Just…you were supposed to watch James. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” He actually looks disapproving. The audacity. “And if I said drunk me is more than capable of keeping drunk James in line? What about Peter; make him do something useful for once, huh?” Remus crosses his arms. “Aren’t you his best friend?” “Right, well, best friend duties at the moment are kind of more in the order of drowning one’s sorrows, so.” He waves a hand. “Sorry we’re not having a quiet night in.” “That is not- God , you are so hard to talk to sometimes! Not everything I say is some kind of attack, you know.” “Really? What did you mean, then?” “Fine. I’ll go with you all then. Someone has to have their head on tonight.” He sighs, like they’re forcing his hand. “Good.” “Great.” They pass about a minute in huffy silence, before Remus breaks eye contact, laughing. “We’re being idiots.” “You’re being an idiot.” Sirius doubles down, as he always does when confronted. “I’m making a lot of sense, actually. You’d get it, if you liked…going out and all that.” “Mmm, don’t think so.” “It’s good of you to go, though.” he says grudgingly, because he knows Remus is sort of right. “I know it’s not really your scene.” “To be fair,” Remus muses. “Few things are my scene .”  “I mean, it’s pre-meds, so it’ll be Whiteclaws and lights off by 11:30. Hardly a rager.” “I’m thrilled.” the taller boy says drily. “Sounds fun.” “We are glad to have you, you know. Even if you’re going to sit in the corner and be offputting.” “That was the plan.” Sirius moves to have another swig of wine, when Remus says, “Is that really the thing that you’re the most afraid of?”  Um, what the fuck?  “Why do you care?” “No. Sorry.” Remus retreats within himself. “Forget I asked.” “Well, you were clearly going somewhere with it, so…Is this the part where you tell me that you not-so-secretly hate me and were trying to find the right time to tell me?” He’s smiling when he says it, like he thinks it’s ridiculous. “No, I just…I think that’s a stupid thing for you to be afraid of.” “Oh?” Sirius leans forward. “Well, it’s just…you’re so…” He gestures, helplessly. “Loud? Irritating? Shameless?” “No!” He’s startled by the vehemence in the other boy’s voice. “That’s not what I mean. You can’t…do that. You don’t know what I’m going to say.” “Okay.” Sirius says, backing away, slowly. “You’re right. My bad.” “I was going to say, you’re so universal . Everyone loves you. That’s what I was going to say.” “Okay.” “So it’s dumb to be afraid that there’s some grand conspiracy against you. You’re not a cold sore. That’s…really stupid .” “So I’m really stupid. Got it.” “No, my God-” Remus  sees the look on Sirius’ face. “Oh, you’re joking.” “This is the worst therapy session I’ve ever been to.” Sirius drinks deeply, wiping wine off his lips with the back of his hand. “You are terrible at this.” “I know.” Remus looks kind of miserable. “It’s just…I wanted you to know. We all kind of went past it, when you said it.”  “Oh. Well, that’s okay, you know. I know I’m not a cold sore. I don’t know why I said all that, anyway.” He laughs. “Truth juice.” Remus looks at him, like he’s some kind of math problem he hasn’t figured out yet. “Right.” Sirius knocks his shoulder with his own, the kind of teasing gesture he wouldn’t think twice about doing to James. It feels dangerous, with Remus, more of a statement. “Fuck you.” He can feel Remus tense up against him. God , he’s jumpy. “Fuck you.” “Fuck you .” He leans in, just to make him recoil. Remus’ jaw twitches; he’s trying to look like he’s maintaining steady eye contact, but he’s actually looking right above Sirius’ head. It’s driving him fucking nuts . Look at me, you coward. I don’t bite.   “What are you doing?” Remus whispers, anxiety coming off of him like waves. Their knees are touching. “Nothing.” he lies. It’s so easy; he’s so easy to fuck with. “What do you think I’m doing?” There’s a sharp intake of breath. “I…don’t know.” “Oh, well.” He backs off, trying for a return to lightness. “So suspicious. I’m not trying to corrupt you.” “Okay.” Remus manages. “I’m going to go…” Seems a bit extreme; Sirius thinks, as he truly is only fucking around. Why is everyone so fucking sensitive? “Fine.” Regulus arrives, about half an hour later, when everyone except Remus is well and truly wasted. “Hi.” he says, shy, like he used to be when he was like twelve. “You asshole.” Sirius calls. “You’re so late.” “Regulus!” Peter gives him a very enthusiastic, one-armed hug, which Regulus suffers through bravely. “It is so lovely to see you again.” “Why are you all so drunk?” he asks.“Me.” James raises his head from Sirius’ shoulder. “I’m grieving Lily.” “Pssh, don’t be dramatic. She’s not dead.” Sirius pulls him backwards with rather more force than is necessary. “You feel better now, right?” “Yeah…I’m starting to forget what color eyes she has, I think.” “They’re green.” Remus deadpans. They all give him a murderous look. “What?” “Don’t go reminding him; you insensitive troll…” “Yeah, Remus.” Regulus echoes. “How dare you remember a basic fact about her?” Remus sighs. “See what I have to deal with?” Regulus takes them in, in a judgment that is painfully reminiscent of their father’s. “Yeah. How do you stand this?” “It’s not normally this way. Today’s a special breed of crazy.” “We should probably go.” Sirius says, before they can bond too much, because that’s all he needs. “Reggie needs to meet future medical professionals, and James needs to meet the love of ‘is life.” “I love Lily .” James moans. “I’ve known she was the one ever since I saw her.” “See, if you keep saying things like that, you can’t reasonably expect to meet the love of your life.” “Don’t care. What do you think she’s doing right now? Should I text her?” “ No .” Frank and Alice’s house is one of those newer developments that’s built to look like an old house. There’s already a good stream of people inside, mostly science-y incel-ish types that Sirius always thinks aren’t going to be “party people” and yet somehow always end up trying to convince girls to take shrooms with them in the backyard. It’s not really his kind of scene, but James always knows these people, and soon he’s ingratiated himself into a group of bio majors who won’t stop talking about how polyamory is way more natural than monogamous relationships. Well, at least they might be open to James, or they would be, if he wasn’t swiveling his head around for a glimpse of Lily at every available opportunity. “I mean,” says the girl who’s talking at him currently. “It’s a complete game-changer, really. Ever since I opened up my relationship, it’s been a whole lot better.”  Why do I doubt that? Sirius thinks. Out loud he says. “Wow.” Although maybe it is an idea. He wonders what Gideon would think about “opening up.” It’d probably be a disaster. Like being friends with benefits, except with the added pressure of having to remember things like anniversaries, which sounds God-awful, really. “Guys!” It’s Frank, and James launches himself into his arms like a rocket. Frank Longbottom is one of those subtly hot, sexuality-confusing people who would be an equally attractive man or woman, all blue-green eyes and sandy hair and Roman features. When they were freshmen, Sirius nursed a painful, never-confessed, burning crush on him. Unfortunately, Frank is very straight, so this amounted to nothing except quite a lot of teasing from his friends. He still gets the “I wonder what Frank’s doing,” along with the significant look, from Remus and Peter, who seem to find it fucking hilarious. James and Frank do pre-med stuff together, because of course he’s brilliant, too. Occasionally, as Mary would say, the Lord gives with two hands. He insists on hugs (Regulus looks massively ill-at-ease; Frank is a hugger). and then introduces them to some people he knows, who are also giving a distinctly polyamorous vibe, if such things exist. Sirius smiles and drinks terrible beer, and James tells some really incomprehensible joke about molecules that has everyone in stitches, for some reason. God, they’re all such fucking nerds. Regulus shakes Frank’s hand, stiffly, and then retires to a corner, sipping a (kombucha? What the fuck?) with an expression that is meant to convey boredom, but Sirius knows is complete terror. Oh, the socially anxious. Talk to him, he mouths.  Fuck you , Regulus pantomimes back. Okay, fine. If he wants to stand in the corner like a loser, he’s entitled. Sirius doesn’t really give a shit. “Nice, right?” Frank asks, taking in his assemblage of assorted friends. “I’m surprised so many people actually showed up.”“Oh, yeah.” Sirius lies, thinking about the polyamorous people. “Very cool.” Beside him, Peter’s nodding enthusiastically, which is a little much. The company leaves a lot to be desired, and he personally thinks their place is nicer, but Peter can’t help but kiss ass. It’s who he is, unfortunately. “Have you and Lily given any thought to this?” Frank has to shout a little to be heard above the noise. “I mean, the house?” The question’s directed at James, who’s sobered up enough to look a little surprised. Sirius remembers, then, that Frank offered him and Lily the house, which he’d been so thrilled about. This is just supremely awkward now. “Um…” James starts to say. Sirius moves to explain, but Remus lays a warning hand on his arm. It’s warm, and unexpected, so he actually stays quiet for once. “Still thinking.” he manages. “Oh, Alice said she was trying to convince Lily, still.” “Lily?” James’ head whips around, on high alert. “Is she here ?” Frank looks bemused. “Yeah, I thought y’all came together…” “Where..?” and James makes a beeline through the living room area, skirting past several chatting groups and out towards the patio, which is just starting to get damp with a late evening drizzle. “Fuck, sorry, he’s gone a bit rogue,” Sirius apologizes, and the three of them head off in search of James, a very confused Frank in their wake. “Should we split up?” asks Peter. “He’s probably just outside; it’s not like he’s left the country.” Sirius says shortly. I mean, really. No common sense at all. Peter looks like he’s going to say something back, but seems to think better of it, and they slide open the screen door only to be met with…“ Mary ? What the hell are you doing here?” “Moral support for Lily; she didn’t want it to be awkward.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Well, mission not accomplished.” He cranes his neck past her, to a crop of shrubs, where he can see Lily and James fucking talking, for Christ’s sake, violating the permanence of the breakup in front of God and everyone. James is actually holding his jacket over her head so she doesn’t get wet, the chivalrous moron. “Oh, absolutely not .” He moves to the door, and she sticks out an arm, blocking their way. “What? You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.” “Oh, definitely not, but I’m staying out of it, and you should, too. Trust me, we’ll only make things worse.” It does look nice outside; someone, probably Alice, has run string lights around the scraggly trees, and a lot of people are clustered around in bunches, chatting. Remus and Peter back away, cautious as they are, but Sirius, who is becoming very fucking tired of hearing how he makes things worse all the time, pushes back. “No. Absolutely not. If you expect me to just sit back and okay her stringing my best friend along-“ “Best friend?” Mary raises an eyebrow. “What are you, seven? And nobody’s stringing anybody along , don’t be dramatic. They have to talk sometime; anyway, can’t ignore each other forever.” “James is my best friend.” Sirius retorts, stung. “That’s the truth .” She softens, a little. “Look, I get it, you guys love him, and I love him too, but…he’s not right about everything all the time. He’s not perfect. Just because you love him doesn’t mean you get to swoop in and save him from every consequence.” “Neither is she .” He meets her dead-on, seething. “Sirius.” Remus says quietly. “Stop it. It’s not our place-“ “What, I’ll make things worse?” He rolls his eyes. “Oh, whatever shall I do?” “Look.” Peter tries for authority, which suits him not at all. “You need to drop this. Mary’s right; it’s not our business…” “It’s like you two have lost your minds!  I thought we were supposed to be helping him get over Lily, not fucking him up more!” Mary points at them, laughing about something. They look like they’re still a happy couple. Jesus. “They’re fine, Sirius. Enjoy your night.” She slides the door shut, so fast he has to move to prevent his fingers from getting caught. “Mary, wait-“ He turns on Remus and Peter. “Some fucking help you are.” “Sirius,” Peter says carefully. “Aren’t you being a little…” He doesn’t say it, but Sirius can hear the implications in what he doesn’t say. Dramatic. Obsessive. Controlling. Oversensitive.  “What?” He’s itching for it, the fight, now. God, it’s a bit sick how he’s ready for it, but it’s in him, the anger, always ready to bubble over, to spill, to leave more burn scars behind. “Peter.” Remus warns. “What am I being? Please, enlighten me.” “N-nothing.” Peter says. “I’m sorry.” “Well, you were clearly going to say something, so. Spit it out.” “Stop it.” Remus demands. “Peter, you don’t have to put up with this.” “I’m not talking to you; I’m talking to him.” He knows he’s being unreasonable now, knows it’s not really Peter’s fault James is being an idiot. But Peter is the most available target; he always is. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” Peter says, more stubborn this time. “You can do what you like, but I’m staying out of it.” “Fine, then.” He moves to slide open the door again, but it’s now Remus in front of the latch, hand outstretched to block his exit. “ Really ?” “Shut up ,” Remus hisses, and then he’s dragging them into the tiny half-bathroom off the living room, and slamming the door shut, leaving Peter outside by himself, which is really what he deserves. God, what a spineless ass he is. Remus locks the door, with finality, before rounding on him. “What is wrong with you?” Sirius realizes, with a bit of trepidation, that the other boy is actually properly angry. The flash of annoyance he saw in the kitchen was actually nothing compared to this. “You can’t talk to us like that. We haven’t done anything wrong, except actually listen to what our friend wants instead of deciding we know best.” “It’s not about what he wants right now; that’s all fucked-“ “Oh, for fuck’s sake, isn’t it obvious ? He didn’t want to go to this stupid party for the company. None of us wanted to. He wanted to go because he knew Lily was going to be there! He’s not over her; he wants to talk to her. And he’s allowed to be sad, and he’s allowed to talk to her, and honestly, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it, because it’s not any of our business .” “But-“ “And clearly it’s different for you, but just because you prioritize your friends over your relationship doesn’t mean James has to as well.”“I do not,” he laughs. “ prioritize my friends over Gideon. Where did you get that idea?” “Maybe it’s because you jumped at the chance to blow him off the moment James and Lily broke up, so that you could…what, be his wingman?” Remus is leaning over the sink, backing him up against the far cabinet. “What-“ Sirius is sort of floored. “You-you don’t even like Gideon. You as good said so, and now you don’t think I’m a good enough boyfriend to him? What do you want from me?” Remus stares at him for a long time. “I want you to be honest about why you’re doing all this. Because it’s not for James; it’s for you. Because you never… think .” On another day, he’d get up the strength to argue back, to spit venom, to go for the jugular. But today all he can think about is the burn on Regulus’ arm, the splash of the oil. How Aaron’s roommate maybe wants to kill herself, and he’ll never really know and maybe she will, after all that. How his impulse to defend more often leaves scars than it builds anyone up. How even when he tries, really tries, the part of him that is his mother’s son, through and through, is the one that stands out, is the one that everyone sees. How easy he finds it to miss what is the most obvious. How he can’t even make rice. “Okay.” he says, in a small, flat voice. “Sirius-“ Remus’ face is pitying now, regretting what he had said. “That was-“ “You’re right.” He sounds a million miles away, because he is. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I’ll…I’ll go now, shall I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns on his heel and slips out the bathroom door, fumbling the lock open, staggering down the hallway, past people talking, and Regulus’ accusing eyes and Peter’s hands reaching for him, saying “Can we just talk?” He stumbles out of the front door, feeling for the stairs. He’s not angry, anymore, he doesn’t think, but he can’t be here any longer, not without wanting to peel his face off. The walk back is cold, but he doesn’t really feel it. He lets himself in, flicks on the light. The wine is back under the sink, and he presses the bottle to his mouth, the sourness of it filling the hollow spot where the good things in him should go. Gideon’s called him like seven times, but he just keeps drinking, until everything feels light and hazy, and he can’t hear the lights on in the kitchen, and he thinks it might be time for him to rest his eyes.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

And sometimes when you’re on

You’re really fucking on

And your friends all sing along and they love you

But the lows are so extreme

That the good seems fucking cheap

And it teases you for weeks in its absence

-Rilo Kiley  
 Regulus would like it to be known that he is trying . He is taking his meds. He is talking in class. He is going to the library for hours and listening to something called “Lo-Fi Chill Beats to Study To,” and if he hears the track “Sunset over Jeju Island” one more time he is going to flip a chair, but he’s doing it. Sure, he might not have the world’s most exciting social life (although this is not due on any part to a lack of effort by Sirius, who has become terribly clingy ever since he’s come to school, or Evan, who’s always trying to get him to do terrifying “fun” things like kayaking or going to three art museums in one day), but a lot of great people, he reasons, weren’t particularly popular in their day. When you think of it like that, it all starts to come into perspective. In truth, he’s always been something of a loner. People aren’t exactly outwardly rude to him; he’s never been bullied or anything like that. It’s just he can sense this distance between him and most other people, and they can too, and most of the time neither him nor the other people care enough to try to bridge that gap. It was the same way at the university; he doesn’t see why he needs to change his whole strategy now. After all, he is trying, really trying this time. He’s not going to fuck this up like he fucks up everything else. He simply can’t afford to. So when Sirius calls him, on a random weekend, and sort of pity-invites him to go to some party with James and his other mouth-breathing friends, he really should say no. But he didn’t, because he’s a complete idiot, and now here he is, standing in some guy’s house he doesn’t know, drinking a fucking kombucha becaause it sort of looks like beer and he doesn’t want anyone to accuse him of killing the vibe even though he’s sort of terrified of drugs and alcohol. And he knows Sirius probably expects him to go full Black-heir-best-behavior and start networking the shit out of these people, but all he can think of is how he’s really overdressed and he doesn’t really know anyone and sucking up to strangers makes him feel like he’s selling himself. He’s feeling very sorry for himself, when a petite girl walks over. “Sorry, you wouldn’t happen to be Regulus Black , would you? Oh, shit.” She blinks her eyes twice, very rapidly. “It is you!” Regulus takes her in, the full everything of her. She’s got a halo of white-blond hair in some sort of messy updo, sort of like his cousin Narcissa’s if she stopped brushing it for like two years, and she’s got so much glitter on her face she looks like she’s lost a fight in an arts and crafts store. What Sirius would call a weirdo and his mother would say is the problem with people encouraging their children too much . “Who are you?” She raises one of her eyebrows, which is dyed blue, of course. “Pandora. Fortescue. Alice’s sister. Holy shit, you really don’t remember me, huh? We lived next door to you, until you moved.” “Ah.” He thinks he remembers them now. There had been a hole in the fence they’d used to pass notes through. Stupid stuff, kid stuff. His mother thought the girls next door were a bad influence, however, and she’d forbidden them from replying. When Sirius had run away from home for the second time, he’d written them back asking if he could stay in their attic, which seemed like poor planning to Regulus, even then. The Blacks  had moved soon afterwards, anyway. “Right.” “I remember your brother, of course.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “Everyone remembers my brother.” “Alice thought he was so cute , but I never understood that, myself.” “Me neither.” he deadpans. She barrels right past the sarcasm. “My mom always said she felt bad for you guys, always locked up in that house.”  And my mother always said your mother was a useless twit. “It wasn’t that bad. Do you still live there?” “Yeah. There’s a new family that moved in, but…we’re not kids anymore, obviously. So it’s not really as exciting.” She shuffled her feet. “I remember you told us about those Arabian Nights stories. We loved those.” “That wasn’t me.” It had been Sirius, probably; he would have been far too shy to talk to strange girls then, even if they were neighbors. She shakes her head. “It was definitely you. I remember because you never talked, but one day I asked you what you were reading, and that’s how I found out about Scheherazade. We had like, white people stories at home, so it was really different.” “Us too.” Regulus says. His mother hadn’t been one for One Thousand and One Nights. Too Muslim, too fanciful, he supposed. “I mean, I also had white people stories. I know about the Little Mermaid, and whatever.” “Ugh, the Little Mermaid.” Pandora groans. “Alice was obsessed with the Little Mermaid. She even tried to dye her hair red. Of course in the original, she gets her feet lopped off, but they had to Disney-fy it for the movie. I don’t even think she’s a ginger.” Regulus, who has an appetite for magical realism and fictional gore, does know this, but he’s not going to burst her bubble. He nods. “Yeah.” “Anyway, you really inspired us, about Scheherazade. I told my sister, and,” she giggles self-consciously. “Promise you’re not going to think it’s stupid.” “Okay.” “We got matching Scheherazade tattoos. Here-“ She rolls up her sleeve, and he sees an black line drawing of a woman with long dark hair, who he gathers is supposed to be Scheherazade, with some Arabic word written next to it. “To remind us that there’s nothing you can’t magic your way out of.” “Wow.” Who gets a tattoo based on something the weird kid next door said when you were like, eight? Who gets a tattoo, period?  She sees his face. “Oh my god, is that not the right word in Arabic? It’s supposed to be ‘magic.’ Is it a curse word or something? Or wait, did we do cultural appropriation and you’re just trying to be polite? Is this a white woman moment? I swear, I just thought it was cool; I didn’t know if it was really disrespectful…” Regulus lets her flounder for a minute, because he’s sort of enjoying it, before he says, “I don’t know. I don’t read Arabic.” “Oh. But I thought you were…” “Persian? I’m not Persian.” “Then why do you know about…” “The same reason you do. I just read.” Really . “It’s not, like, forbidden knowledge or anything. I don’t think it’s cultural appropriation. But then again-” he smiles, noting how red she’s getting. “I wouldn’t really know, because I’m not Persian. Or Muslim.” “Jesus Christ .” she moans. “I’m really fucking this up, aren’t I?” “Pretty much on every level.” “And you think I’m an idiot.” “Not really; most people don’t know where my family’s from.” Seeing her questioning look, he amends. “My mother’s from India, and my father’s French.” “Oh, that’s cool.” “And I like the tattoo,” he adds. “If you were wondering. No one’s ever gotten a tattoo for me, before.” “I didn’t get it for you ; I just liked the story.” “Oh, what, so now I’m not a real Persian I’m not worth a tattoo?” “Basically.” “Ew, you’re such a racist.” She looks a little shocked, and he’s immediately regretting it. Too much time with Sirius. “Sorry. That came out wrong.” “No, it’s okay. I fully recognize how weird this is, to have someone come up to you at a party and be like, I got a tattoo based on something you said when we were children, even though we haven’t talked since, and it’s also wrapped up in some incorrect assumptions about what your ethnic background is. I deserve it, a little.” Pandora laughs, self-consciously. “No, I’m kind of flattered. People don’t usually talk to me at parties, and I also didn’t know anyone remembered me from back then.” “Are you kidding? Alice and I talk about you guys all the time. Are you still in touch with your weird-ass cousins?” “A little.” He hasn’t thought about them in a while. It had been Bellatrix he’d called at first, to drive him home from school freshman year, not that he’d tell Sirius. She’s married now, to some guy who looks like a Middle Eastern arms dealer. Fuck knows how she made that one happen, considering she’s certifiably insane, but she had taken him home, no questions asked. She’s good like that. Next is Antares, their dirty little secret, the black sheep, who their uncle kicked out at like fifteen. He has no idea what happened to him; nobody talks about it. And Narcissa, the youngest, who, like Regulus, never said much, content to rest in the long shadows cast by her older siblings. Pandora shudders. “Oh my god . They were so weird. Did the oldest one put salt on snails just to watch them die or am I making that up?” “You are not making that up.” Honestly, that would be tame , for Bella. He remembers her pushing Sirius down the stairs, when they were kids. He’d sliced his forehead open on the floor, and she’d laughed . At twelve. Unhinged, she is. “I always felt bad for the other two. That couldn’t have been easy; she was a menace.” He thinks of Narcissa, ill at ease, bright, fake smile, and Antares, dark eyes set in a permanently sad face. “No.” he says. “I don’t think it was.” She checks her phone. “Shit, sorry, it’s almost midnight. Supposed to get back. You have a ride?” “Yes.” he lies. He bet she drives a Bug, or something appropriately crunchy. Maybe a Prius.  “See you around then, Regulus. Sorry for being an ass.” He gives her a stupid half-wave, which he regrets, instantly. Who are you, the fucking Queen? “Bye.” He hasn’t thought about his cousins in such a long time, he thinks, while he’s walking home. He likes walking now, likes the rhythm of it, the quiet. He knows it’s probably not very safe and his mother is constantly on him to not let homeless people drag him back to their drug den, but she’s not here. He hasn’t talked to them in ages, really. Even Bella; they hadn’t really talked . He wonders about them; how they’re doing. If they’d tell him the truth, or just lie and say they were doing great. Strange, that a chance meeting with Pandora would leave him thinking about them. He’d like to stop, like to relegate his memories back to the box that he doesn’t think about. He doesn’t think your family is supposed to make you feel this sad. Sirius’ idiot friends haven’t seemed to notice that he’s gone. Just as well. Regulus doesn’t want to be a pity invite, an afterthought. Then why did you come? says the mean voice in his head. He knows the answer is born out of his desperate, aching need to be loved by Sirius, to know that in spite of all of the many things that are very, very wrong with him, in spite of his silence and coldness and bitter, biting tongue, Sirius’ love is still attainable. This neediness, the desire to worm one’s way into the heart and never let go, is unseemly, he knows, maybe even frightening. He knows no one else is this analytical about social relationships, about love. But, twisted, misshapen thing that he is, he can still dream, can’t he? Dream of a world in which he is not merely tolerated, but is instead a favorite , something  necessary ? Wouldn’t that be lovely?  You’re a good boy. My favorite. Reddish full lips, a low hum of a baritone, a hand on his thigh. You’ll keep being good for me, won’t you? He sucks in a breath. Suddenly, the trees on the sidewalk feel like monsters, reaching for him. and the wind is too cold. He has a fleeting, childish impulse to sit down on the sidewalk, to curl up into a ball, to be found the next morning. Because he’s Regulus Black, damnit, he does not do that. Instead he walks fast, faster, and then breaks into a run. The wind beats his face, stinging, but he keeps up the pace, and he’s out of breath by the time he reaches his building, sinking to his knees and taking in shallow quick breaths. His chest burns . He can’t remember the last time he ran. He gets up and staggers to the door, swiping his keycard with shaking fingers. It doesn’t work the first two times he does it, and he thinks, sort of hysterically, he’ll be okay with sleeping outside if he can just get to fucking sleep , but then it does work and he’s inside and he’s got dirt on his knees, and there’s a bunch of people playing pool on the table on the common room, and they’re all laughing because they’re all normal, and weren’t all planning what bench they were going to sleep on in case they got fucking locked out because they have no friends and no one cares about them. He gives them all the most unstable glare he can, enough to make one of the guys look like he’s about to ask if he’s okay, and then he turns on his heel, takes the stairs two at a time and noiselessly lets himself in. He takes off his shoes and curls up at the foot of his bed. You’re a good boy. You’ll keep being good for me, won’t you?  Later, You’re pathetic. Look at you, how desperate you are, on your knees, begging for me. Lying about the carpet burn on his face, washing the blood out of his hair and off of his legs. He excels at piecing himself back together, in a way Sirius does not. He can assemble the bits, the things that make him him , in a way that makes him look untouchable, icy, strong. Rebuilding a version of himself that holds up to even extreme scrutiny. A hard version, a tough version. Not pathetic, not desperate, but still a good boy . He can’t escape that desire, the clean pull of unattainable perfection, of goodness , even when he closes his eyes. He’s watching Evan split a bagel into quarters, the next morning, and lathering each segment with a shocking amount of cream cheese. Regulus, who is not the world’s biggest “spreadable dairy” guy, is feeling slightly ill being a bystander to the whole thing, but he’s not going to tell Evan, just in case it gets used against him. Evan seems to take pleasure in Regulus’ discomfort. “I think I’m going to become a smoker.” Evan says. “I need an erudite drug habit, something that says, look at me, I’ve taken a semiotics class, I can use the word ‘Kafkaesque’ appropriately .” “You can buy cigarettes at the gas station.” Regulus dismisses the notion. “Hardly erudite.” He is not going to live with a smoker. “Too true,” Evan nods, in that triple-head bob combo he has. “But it’s too much of a cliche to get hooked on Adderall.” “You already read books for class in public places; I think that seems intellectual enough.” Evan is a “coffee shop” person; he’s always trying to get Regulus to go watch him thumb through his American lit readings and drink ten-dollar turmeric lattes. “Yes, but imagine me, reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez, sitting underneath a tree where the leaves are just starting to turn, and there’s a cloud of smoke around my head.” He sighs. “What a life.” “Who cares about lung cancer if people from Lit 180 think you’re hot, right?” “I wouldn’t get lung cancer; I’ll quit before I have to become employable.” Regulus shakes his head. “If you say so. Just don’t do it in here.” “God forbid I disturb the sanatorium.” He gestures to Regulus’ comically bare side of the room. “You know, this much empty space can’t be good for you.” “What? I like it. It looks clean.” “At least let me get you some posters, or something. What do you like?” He actually can’t think of a single thing right now. “Getting straight A’s. Sleeping.” Evan looks disappointed. “You’re hopeless. But we’ll work on it. At least you’re funny. Couldn’t live with someone boring; I’d off myself.” “I’m funny?” No one has ever said this to him before. Between his apparent prowess as an inspiring One Thousand and One Nights reteller and this, it’s kind of throwing off his perception of himself, to be honest. Evan just rolls his eyes. “Oh, you’re hilarious . Don’t let it go to your head.”

When he went to on-campus therapy for the first time, last year, the therapist (a tall, blond guy who insisted on being called “Mitch” even though his nametag read “Dr. Carrey”) had encouraged him to try grounding exercises-i.e. “Five things you can see, four things you can hear” kind of crap. It was dumb, but Mitch was so positive, Regulus kind of didn’t want to let him down. So he tried. Sometimes, like right now, he still tries. Five things he can see: First, the frighteningly long line of people in front of the salad bar at the dining hall (Wait, does this count as multiple things? He’s already fucking this up. Also, he’s just staring into space, and a girl wearing earbuds is looking at him like she’s worried he’s a stalker, and honestly, he can’t even blame her, because he knows he looks crazy right now. He really needs to wash his hair, and everyone can probably tell that he spent last night scared of his own shadow, and that he’s too much of a pussy to even have a beer , Jesus God.) He’s so far off track now. So basically, Mitch is full of shit, as per usual. But it’s fine, so fine. He’s doing fine. He makes himself move and grab an energy drink called “The Gingerverse” which has six types of probiotics in it. Food is out of the question today. Even the smell of it is making him feel nauseated. Get in, get out, move, move, move. Don’t look shy, don’t look like you’re worried you won’t have anyone to sit with , he commands himself. Be fucking normal. Mitch is a moron, and if Regulus ever sees him again, he’ll tell him so much, to his face, he really will- Someone taps on his shoulder and he chokes back an honest-to-God scream . (The end result is a very undignified coughing sound, but that is definitely better than said scream.) He spins. “Oh. Hi, Dorcas.” Smoothness incarnate. “Regulus!” She gives him a full hug, and her rose perfume dulls the metallic aroma of cafeteria food for a moment. “You never called, or anything, like you said you would. We thought you were dead.”  Fuck. Dorcas is probably the closest thing he had to a friend at the university. They had been in an interminable math seminar together, and she’d sort of latched onto him, which was a little disturbing. He knows girls tend to like him, because he’s so quiet, normally, and he never hits on them, but he’s also aware that being “friends” with girls is different. They’re nosy, imbuing the strangest things with high degrees of personal significance, and they tend to see him as a kind of caricature of himself, enjoying a fantasy of him as a complicated puzzle only their feminine wisdom can penetrate. Regulus, who doesn’t fancy himself to be a particularly complicated person, finds this very frustrating. Dorcas was no exception to this rule, waiting around for him after class, peppering him with questions about his personal life; however, unlike the other female acquaintances he has a tendency to acquire, she’s a lesbian, so she almost never talks about her dating life, which he can respect. At first she annoyed him, but gradually, he grew to if not enjoy her presence, at least accept it. He definitely promised to call her, he thinks, with absolutely no intention of doing so. “I didn’t know you go to school here,” he says cautiously. “I don’t.” Dorcas says. “My roommate does, though, so I’m just visiting her.” “So you still..?” “Oh yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Have to get my money’s worth or whatever. It’s still awful. A lot worse without you, weirdly enough.” “Thanks.” “You were supposed to call, you know. I wasn’t kidding about that. I’m quite angry at you, actually.” “Sorry, well.” He shrugs. “I had a lot going on.” “Even a text, a little hey, hello, not dead would have been great.” She’s milking it a bit, he thinks. What’s he going to do, go back in time and text her? “Sorry.” he says again. “ Sorry. Sorry .” she mimics. “You sound like a robot. If you’re done ghosting me, you can sit with us if you want.” “You and…?” “My roommate, keep up. She’s over there.” She waves to a table where the blond girl from yesterday (Pandora) is sitting with (oh my God) Evan. Just great. “Okay.” he says, because he’s not going to be rude. They walk over together, him clutching his energy drink, Dorcas with a Diet Coke (she mainlines them at a freakish rate; he remembers. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her eat.) “Scheherazade!” Pandora greets him. “Bless you.” says Evan. She swats at him. “Regulus inspired me to get a tattoo, you troglodyte. It’s from Arabian Nights.”“Already? Dear God.” Evan looks alarmed. “No…it’s a long story.” “Wait.” Dorcas interrupts. “How do we all know Regulus? Is he our uniting factor?” “I’m his current roommate.” says Evan. “He was my neighbor.” “And he was my friend from school before he abandoned me to major in Gender and Marxism, or whatever social justice warrior thingy you have here.” “I’m majoring in biology.” Regulus says stiffly. “Gender and Marxism does sound dope.” Evan muses. “I’d major the shit out of that.” “Don’t say ‘dope’; it betrays your staggering whiteness.” “Gender and Marxism sounds marijuana ; happy?” He pronounces “marijuana” like “marriage.” Regulus rolls his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink. It is, as he predicted, bitter and “healthy” tasting. “I am staggeringly white, you know.” “Cunt.” “Bitch.” Dorcas squawks, “Misogyny!” and everyone starts laughing, for some reason, even Regulus. He hasn’t laughed in a long time, and he thinks about that guy who does laughter therapy he saw on YouTube, how he said it makes you feel better, scientifically. Maybe he was onto something. “Oh my God,” Pandora points out. “You made Regulus laugh.” “A rare honor,” Evan raises his glass dramatically. “Every time I make him smile I feel like I’ve won the lottery.” “I laugh,” he objects. “I laugh all the time.” “Never seen it.” Pandora says, and everyone mhmms. Traitors. But he’s sort of…enjoying himself, a little. It’s nice to be someone people want to see laugh. It’s the good kind of attention, he thinks. It doesn’t feel creepy or forced. Maybe he should have tried more with Dorcas, even though she kind of annoyed the shit out of him at the time. The teasing, the joking, the ease with each other…it’s almost like they like him. Which is not a comforting thought, because Regulus is not a likable person. He is loveable ; he knows his parents love him, and Sirius does too, in his own way. But he is not likable, too standoffish, too prickly, too quick to lash out. He’s an okay partner on a group project, a wave-in-the-hall-and-then-never-see-again acquaintance. If these people expect more from him…he truly doesn’t think he has anything to give them. Get a fucking grip. These people only like you because they still think you’re the cute degree of fucked-up. Once they figure you out, they’ll run like everyone else. Or they might already know, in which case maybe there’s something wrong with them. Do not get sucked in.  It would be nice, though, if it was real, he thinks, as Evan impersonates his professor’s German accent with startling accuracy, and Pandora explains the story behind some weird band she’s into, and Dorcas drinks three Diet Cokes and jumps in whenever one of them is being too long-winded. It would be really nice. But these kind of things aren’t for him; he knows. They never really have been. At his core, he’s not Scheherazade. The fiction of himself that he’s built up can’t keep anyone riveted, doesn’t make them want to tip the scales in his favor.  The strange charisma he apparently possesses seems to, as predicted, have run its course half an hour later, as he’s sweating it out in yet another endless fucking chemistry lab. Who could have predicted that being able to trick people you just met into believing that you are a sociable, if somewhat curmudgeonly, individual has absolutely no bearing on the real world? Probably absolutely everyone. His mother would kill him right now, and honestly he can’t blame her. He is possibly the dumbest person alive. See, the thing is, Regulus is not a performance person. In fact, he’s an “almost-guaranteed-to-choke” person. He has an unfortunate memory of being called on to answer a question in fourth grade and blanking out so severely he’s pretty sure the poor teacher thought he was about to have a stroke. Before now, the only time he ever fully defied his mother was when he quit violin in order to not give an end-of-year concert at music school. (Sirius was thrilled .) It’s partly, as James would probably say, a dignity thing; he resents being made to do things just to do things , like a well-trained dog or horse. It’s also partly the knowledge that everything he does will be picked apart by anyone who watches. Everyone does it. Like going to an art museum and seeing a Rothko, and saying, “I could have painted that,” even though you didn’t, and you probably couldn’t have, because you’ve never painted a day in your life. But it’s different when it’s not you, and it’s someone else’s work. It turns everyone into a little fucking expert. Well, he’s not going to be the mistake everyone learns from, he vowed, as soon as he set foot in the room. He remembered staring down his seat partner, a girl with pink hair called Emily, and thinking, This will be so easy.  But of course, because he is stupid, like probably in a medically significant way, it has been the exact opposite of easy. For one thing, it sort of seems as though everyone already knows everything about labs , and being in labs, and proper lab procedure . At the university, they’d mostly watched videos of other people performing experiments, always in groups, which was definitely boring, but at least it was predictable. This is different. Everyone does everything by themselves, and it sort of feels like being on stage, except instead of playing the violin, there’s like, a beaker of hydrochloric acid, and instead of his mother sitting stiffly in the car on the drive home, telling him that his performance was “wooden” and “ beyond disappointing,” there’s Emily rolling her eyes every time he asks her if she has a stir bar (she’s usually six steps ahead of him; so it’s not exactly like she needs it) or that greasy, inbred-looking chemistry tutor having a very pointed conversation in his earshot about how some people “maybe should get disability accommodations if they’re going to move this slowly.” The professor is this absolutely useless asshole, Slughorn, who plays ridiculous favorites and basically won’t even look at you if you’re not one of the students he thinks are “going places.” Which he is not. It makes him want to dive out of a fucking window, every week. But he sucks it up, because he’s Regulus Black, damnit, and he’s not a weak link in a strong chain, regardless of what everyone thinks. He’s currently whispering, “Settle, motherfucker, fucking settle.” to the solids in today’s hell concoction. Emily is glaring daggers at him. She finished her lab early, of-fucking-course, so she’s volunteered to help clean up. Which is just great . She is such a gem. “You have to wipe down your side of the hood.” “I know. I will; I’m not done.” “I’m not going to do it for you again like last time. I have a class after this.”  I didn’t ask you to do that, he thinks. Emily is one of those people who has to make everything an act of self-sacrifice. If there’s a sword she hasn’t fallen on yet, Regulus has yet to see it. “Okay. Settle, you useless mothefucker. ” “Shut up! What if someone hears you?” “Oh no.” Regulus says. “Swearing. In organic chemistry lab. I hope they can handle it.” She huffs. Clearly an only child. Evan would say something back; he has an older sister, and Sirius would never let him live anything down. He concentrates on trying to make the stupid thing separate with his mind (an ill-advised process), only to have his concentration broken a second time by obnoxiously cheerful whistling. Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5,” if he’s not mistaken. Just kill him now. “Hiya,” says James, because of course he does. “Still settling-“ “Yes. You asked me five minutes ago. Still the same.” “Hmm, that’s not-Do you mind?” He moves to take Regulus’ place hunched over the beaker, which Regulus does mind, actually, quite a bit, but he hasn’t really given him adequate time to refuse, which is not fair. But James is the TA and Regulus is a student, a dichotomy that he hotly resents with every fiber of his being. It’s really sick, that the universe would conspire this way to fuck him over so enormously. “Yeah, this shouldn’t be doing this.” he decides, after like five minutes of just staring. “I’ve never seen this before.” “Oh, God .” Regulus says, with feeling. “What, are you going to make me start over?” That’s all he needs; he was planning on sleeping for like twelve hours, not redoing some almighty bullshit to please the chemistry gods. “No.” James is thinking, somewhere else. “There has to be something else we can do…” He clearly doesn’t want to be here either, monitoring Regulus and… Oh, just great. It’s just Regulus, because everyone else is actually decently competent and knows what they’re doing. And Emily, who is scrubbing the lab benches down like she gets paid Elon-Musk wages to do it. He could scream. “I’ve got it!” James looks at him, triumphant. “We could speed up the process using a sep funnel…” “A what ?” “A separatory funnel; here, I’ll show you.” James retrieves a horrible bit of glassware that looks vaguely like a sideways tit. “You know, these.” “I don’t…” Rage-fear is making it hard to talk. “I’ve never done that before.” “Oh. It’s easy enough.” He can tell this is not going to be easy. Just pour it in, make sure the stopcock is locked, of course, shake, and drain the liquid out. We’ll add a little diethyl ether, too, to help elute…” Regulus’ brain is fucking melting . “What?” James side-eyes him. “Are you alright?” “He’s trying to get you to do it for him.” Emily pipes up, and he could fucking strangle her. “No, I’m not ,” he hisses, pride bruised. “It’s fine; I’m fine, just say what you said before, but slower.” “Yeah, uh…” James runs a hand through his hair, which is matted through his goggles. “Is it…Emily? You can go now, if you’d like. I can do the rest.” “Oh, I really don’t mind-“ “She does mind; she has class .” Regulus makes sure to infuse this with as much malice as possible. “Oh, in that case, wouldn’t want to keep you,” says James hastily. “Please, it’s fine.” “Are you sure..?” She’s so desperate ; it’s not like James is the professor. Of course, it could also be that “making-you-feel-like-the-only-person-in-the-room” thing that James does that’s making her so desperate to stay. She would be the type to be exclusively attracted to authority figures, and James does make himself conspicuously popular, so he gets it, he supposes. “No, it’s okay! See you next week.” he says, and she kind of has to leave after that, which she does, leaving Regulus with a grudging respect for his ability to word a polite dismissal. “Sorry,” James whispers, as the door slams shut behind her. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes; I just figured you wouldn’t want an audience.” Regulus doesn’t know what to say to that. Is his weakness that obvious? “So,” James steps behind him, and twists the stopcock on the contraption shut. “ You can pour this in.” Regulus does, his right hand wobbling with an anxious tremor. “I thought maybe with a funnel-“ James starts as some of the liquid splashed out onto the surface. “But no, uh, this is fine too.”  Idiot. He fucking knew the thing about the funnel; he would have done it, he knows, if James wasn’t there, talking to him like he’s five , with his stupid calm voice and stupid steady hands. “Right.” James is right over his shoulder; too close, he can smell him. “So you’re going to want to put your hands here .” He actually moves Regulus’ hands, one at the base, gripping the loose stopper, one towards the stem. “And point up… ” He maneuvers Regulus’ wrists at an angle, until the funnel is nearly vertical, and… You’re pathetic. Look at you, how desperate you are, on your knees, begging for me. James bites his nails; his cuticles are ragged and peeling, and the curve of his chest is pushed up against Regulus’ back. Five things you can see. He closes his eyes. Too close. You’ll be a good boy, won’t you? Prozac and Gingerverse and Evan spreading the cream cheese too thick on the bagel and Scheherazade talking for her life. “Ready, and-“ Regulus’ hands shake, once, twice, and the funnel’s slipped from his grasp, shattering in the hood, glass flying everywhere.  “Shit-“ James gasps, recoiling. His fingers are bleeding, and so are Regulus’, a million cuts through his gloves, not like he feels it. “Are you okay?” Regulus puts his head in his glass-covered fingers, rending tiny scrapes down the sides of his cheeks. “Fuck.” Unforgivably, he feels the familiar press of tears starting in the back of his throat. “So, no, I’m guessing.” Regulus takes in a ragged breath. The tears are burning the cuts on his face. He wants the ground to swallow him. “To be fair, it is my fault. Should have explained what I was thinking better; I get in my head sometimes, um?” This is directed at him. “It’s really okay, you know? It’s not the end of the world, I promise. I’ll tell Sluggy; you can use sample data.” “I know .” Regulus says, muffled. What, it’s not like he actually cares about doing it right, at least not as much as passing. He is such a loser. “We should probably clean this up…oh.” Regulus can feel James watching him, and he quickly wipes his eyes. “It’s okay, I got it!” James says, too bright, overly cheery. “I can handle it.” Regulus flatly shovels glass to the side of the hood using an instructional printout. “Are you sure..?” “ Yes ,” he snaps. “I know you think I’m incompetent, but I should be able to manage this without fucking it up. I’ve cleaned up glass before.” “That’s not-“ James sighs. “I didn’t mean that. I just want to help.” “Can you help…” He waves his hands. “Over there, please? I can’t think when you’re in my space.” James raises his eyebrows and takes a step back, sitting on one of the lab benches. He watches Regulus scrub down the surfaces with a little more force than is necessary, watches him empty the broken glass into the bin, not saying anything. Then: “You’re having a shit day, aren’t you?” “It was fine, before.” he says shortly, not in the mood for conversation. “If it makes you feel better-“ which nothing will, he’s sure, “I am too. That’s why I was kind of rushing you, so I could leave early, and that’s why I was touching your, uh…moving your hands around instead of explaining. And I know you don’t like that, and I’m sorry for freaking you out. Probably would have actual data if I hadn’t done that.” He laughs, ruefully. “It’s not your fault.” he mutters. “Hmm?” God, just kill him now. “It’s not your fault.” he says, louder. “I’ve been distracted lately. I should have been better.” “You were fine, really!” Regulus shoots him a skeptical look. “I am awful at this. You don’t have to spare my feelings.” “All right, there may be some room for improvement,” James allows. “but I’m trying to be better too. I keep…assuming I know what people need, instead of asking them, and then I make things worse.” “Who told you that?” “Lily, who else?” He rolls his eyes. “I wanted her to give me a straight answer on why she broke up with me, and that was…one of the things she said. Sorry, this is really inappropriate; I’ll stop talking.” He flushes. “You don’t have to stop.” Regulus says, hating himself. “I do, though, don’t I?” James crosses his arms. “Everyone wants me to stop. Sirius and Peter keep looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, but they don’t get it, because they’ve never been heartbroken before, and Remus just doesn’t have a frame of reference for it because he’s basically a monk, and Mary and Marlene won’t even look at me…and you’re like one of my students, God.” He groans. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m so sorry. I fucked up your lab, and the last thing you want to hear about is me.” “No, I…” He searches for the words, and they come out, easy. He has a little of her in him, Scheherazade, after all. “It’s good to know I’m not the only one who feels fucked-up.” “Really?” James gives him a wan smile. “Well.” He shrugs. “Yeah.” “Are you hungry?” James asks, suddenly. He nods. He hasn’t eaten anything all day, too unsettled. “I’ve got fruit in my room; you can have some. Well?” He pauses, at the door. “Are you coming?” It’s a short walk to James’ building, which is newer than Regulus’ dorm, although “newer” in this case is like, from the ‘80s. His room is a lot bigger than Regulus’, and he’s got a TV haphazardly mounted on the dresser, as well as one of those minifridges that actually has a freezer built-in, God knows why. “You can sit on the chair.” James says, when Regulus moves to sit on the floor. “And…Band-Aids.” He has one of those giant boxes with every shape of bandage possible, of course, and they both quickly wrap up their fingers, which have stopped bleeding by now, but hurt like a motherfucker. Regulus thinks about putting one on his face, but it really is just a scratch, and it looks stupid, besides. Bad enough that they both look like they’ve just got out of intensive hand surgery. James opens the fridge and draws out a plastic shopping bag, with the “THANK YOU” pattern emblazoned on the front. “Can you pass me the…” Regulus is one step ahead of him, and is handing him the knife, which is balanced next to a cup of pencils. James expertly cuts up what appears to be a small dragonfruit. Regulus is not a big dragonfruit fan; it often reminds him of mealy apples, but he really is hungry, and so he kind of inhales the fruit. It’s really not so bad. “My mom sends them to me,” James explains. “She thinks I’m going to starve, which is ridiculous; the dining hall is like five minutes away. Good, right?” “Mhmm.” “Fucking love dragonfruit.” he says happily. “There’s an Asian grocery store by my house that gets really good ones every summer. Lily used to get them for me, when we did physics together, last summer.” His face falls. “I don’t even know what I’m going to do, this summer.” “You could take a summer off.” Regulus suggests. James turns around. “Are you going to take a summer off?” “No.” He’s still behind on his requirements; not to mention he needs to volunteer at a hospital, for med school. Taking a summer off would be academic suicide. “There.” James says, as if it’s decided. “You get it. I just…I was so sure , about everything, before. Like, I knew what we were going to do. I had it all planned out, and now…I don’t know. Maybe that was all my idea, and she didn’t really care that much about it. Maybe I don’t even care about it that much. You know what I mean? Like, you know what you want, and then something happens, and you don’t know what you should do anymore.” “Believe it or not,” Regulus says, drily. “I do.” “Is that why you transferred?” James raises his head from the floor. “Sort of.” He kicks at a dust bunny. “I don’t know.” “I think it was brave of you.” What?  “Just…I know what your parents are like. That couldn’t have been easy.” Regulus fidgets, uncomfortable. “It wasn’t that bad.” “No, I mean, like, you always used to do whatever they wanted.” “It was what I wanted, too.” It was, wasn’t it? “Until now.” “Yeah. Oh, I see.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not brave , though, you know. It’s just…academically expedient. A smart decision. Liberal arts graduates are more interesting to the top med schools, I’ve heard.” “Okay, whatever you say. I still think it’s brave. And it’s going to get easier, you know. I used to be a total basket case about labs, too.” “What happened?” “I got a girlfriend.” Seeing Regulus shake his head, he says, “No, really! Genuinely, when Lily said yes to me, last year, I stopped worrying if people thought I was a bad lab partner, because if she finally thought I was up to her standards enough to date, then I really couldn’t be too bad, broken test tubes aside. She wouldn’t go out with someone who was a complete moron. One of the upsides of dating someone who is a lot smarter than you.” “Good to know.” Regulus says, sarcastically. “I’ll just get Lily to go out with me; that’ll fix it.” “No, ugh,” James laughs. “Sometimes, I forget you’re Sirius’ brother, and then you say things like that.”  Sometimes I forget too. “You’re not going to tell him about…this, are you?” “Well, I was, but should I not?” “No?” It comes out as a question. “No, I mean. you shouldn’t tell him.” “Okay.” James shrugs. “I guess explaining why you were in my room would be weird, for him.” “You could always say we were talking about him. He’d hate that.” “Or it was a booty call.” Regulus snorts. “Oh, good for you, I love that you have a sense of humor now! That was like, an actual laugh.” “I know. I’m a real, live boy.” He side-eyes James, lazily. “And I always had a sense of humor. Don’t know why that’s such a revelation.”“I guess I’ve just always thought you were really uptight.” “I am really uptight.” Regulus agrees. “I just also have a sense of humor. The duality of man.” James cuts into his second dragonfruit, blissed-out, like it’s drugs. He’s so weird. “You thought I was a prick, till today, right?”  Yes . “No.” Regulus says, out loud. “Well, don’t lie.” “Maybe a little bit.” he allows. “You were always so… intense , in high school. You kind of sucked everyone into your orbit.” “Not you.” “Not me, but like, other people.” Stupid people, he wants to say, but doesn’t. “I mean, you’re kind of right, I was a prick in high school.” “Everyone was.” Regulus says. He doesn’t know why he’s defending high school James to current James, but this has all in all been a very strange day, and it feels like the right thing to do. “No, but I was worse, I know. You know, the other TA, Snape? He went to school with us, too.” “Oh, did he? He looked familiar.” “And he hates me now, because I used to pick on him in high school, like constantly. It was pretty much a reflex. He was always so weird, and sensitive, you know? And some of it was funny, and I thought it might make Lily think that I was funny too, and clever, because I was dumb. Turns out, apparently they were good friends, so she did not think it was funny. And then, she started dating me, and that basically broke up their friendship, which I always used to feel so satisfied about. Like good on me for saving her from a lifetime of being best friends with the guy who got voted ‘Most Likely to Shoot Up the School’ and who clearly just wanted to get in her pants. But now I think about it, and that was really stupid, too. Maybe he didn’t even want to be with her. Maybe he just wanted a friend, and because I was so sure what I was doing was right, and he was a creep, maybe I fucked that up for her too.” “Maybe you were a dick to him in high school.” Regulus says, before James can keep going down this path. “But he’s a dick now.” “Is he?” James looks heartened.“Oh yeah, none of us want to ask him for help because he’s so condescending and long-winded, and he’s an awful lab TA, so full of himself.” “So, I’m a better lab TA than him, is what you mean?” He puffs up, with pride. Arrogant ass, Regulus thinks, with affection. “Well, you’re also full of yourself. But when you’re not breaking things, and touching people without consent, definitely.” “Oh, Regulus .” James bats his eyes at him, faux-flirty, and he looks away, suddenly embarrassed. “You always know just what to say.” James wants him to stay, and “hang out,” he claims, but as Regulus is pretty sure this hangout involves a) Sirius, and b) weed gummies, he begs off. Regulus has only gotten high once, with Bellatrix and Narcissa, and he’s not eager to repeat the experience. Truly, the stuff of nightmares. (Although the company being Bellatrix and Narcissa, and the venue being Narcissa’s wedding, could have been the issue with the whole thing.) Anyway, he’s not going to do it. He wants to eat dinner, preferably something without dragonfruit, and download the sample lab data for all the poor fuckers who couldn’t get the lab to work, of whose ranks he is now unfortunately a member, and also sleep. It’s the sleep he’s working on, when his phone rings. “Hello?” he says, not bothering to look at the number. “Regulus.” says his mother. Time freezes a little. He’s not sleeping now, sitting wide awake on his bed, thinking shitshitshit what did she hear? What did I do? Who am I disappointing now?  “Mummy.” It’s a peculiar affection that she demands, some silly British-ism, a remnant of colonialism. He didn’t even know it was weird until he went to the university last year and his roommate overheard him talking to his mother. The guy’s eyebrows had shot up into his hair; Regulus is pretty sure he was under the impression that he was in a cult. But she likes it, likes the idea that she’s a “Mummy,” since “Mom” is too gauche, too American, and “Ma” is animalistic. She has actually said both of these things. In her penchant for drama, she rivals Sirius. “How are you?” “I’m well. Your father sends his regards.” Orion’s chief parenting strategy is ignoring both of his sons. He sends a lot of regards. “Is everything…alright?” She doesn’t call, normally, not unless something’s wrong. “Of course, everything is fine. Does something need to be wrong for us to talk?” “No.” he says, the wariness in her tone leaving him edgy. “Of course not. It’s just unexpected. In a good way.” “I was talking to my mother,” she says. Never a good sign; her mother makes her seem rather doting, as she’s fond of reminding Regulus. “And she thinks I should be making more of an effort with you.” He clears his throat. “You do make an effort with me, Mummy. More than an effort. You’ve sacrificed everything for me.” “She doesn’t seem to think so.” There’s a petulant note in her voice; she’s clearly a couple of glasses of wine in. She’s always unsettled after talking to her mother. “Do you know what she said to me? She said that my sister talks to her son every week, and he’s in graduate school.” Regulus thinks about his other cousin, asthmatic Amit, the perfect son. Spineless, studious, and completely devoid of a personality. He wonders what his aunt can even talk to him about. “Okay.” “She said that I must have driven you away, if you’re not calling me every week.” “Oh, that’s not true!” he says, too quickly. “Auntie Bintu’s a liar, too; she probably didn’t even tell Dida the truth.” “My sister is a liar, isn’t she?” His mother chuckles. “Even so, you will call me every week. I won’t listen to this from my mother.” “Yes, Mummy.” he says, inwardly screaming. “You are studying hard, aren’t you?” He ramps down the irritation. Why wouldn’t he be studying, after the fiasco of last year? “Yes.” “And do you ever see…?” Sirius , he knows she means. She never says his name. “Sometimes. He’s alright.” “Oh. Well.” He can’t tell if she’s pleased to hear that. “And are you still taking all that… medicine ?” She pronounces it like it’s something disgusting, which Regulus supposes it is, to her. “Just until the prescriptions run out. Then I can stop.” “Some people get a dependency on those kinds of things, you know. Then they become drug addicts.” “Not the drugs I’m taking.” “It was on the news, Regulus.” “That‘s OxyContin. I’m not taking OxyContin.” He rolls his eyes. She’d slap him if she saw him. “ Do not argue with me.” she hisses. Too far. He’s usually much better at gauging how long he can argue with her before it becomes serious. “How do you think it feels, being looked down on by your father , and my mother , and my goddamn sister , all because they think I’m some kind of imbecile? Because I don’t work, because I gave it up to raise you two ingrates? I could have been head of surgery at St. Luke’s by now.” “I know.” “Do you? Because it doesn’t seem like you fucking know , talking to me like I don’t know anything. Instead of hiding behind excuses, claiming that you have some sort of mental problem, why don’t you actually put your head down and work ?” “Yes, Mummy. I’m sorry.” he repeats, robotically. “I’ll work, I promise.” “And now, you’re trying to get me to shut up. After everything I’ve done for you. I can’t believe it.” “Alright,” he says. “I’ll stop taking the pills, if that’s what you think is best.” “Good boy.” Just like that, she softens. “You always were so good, so handsome . Not like Amit, with his greasy hair, terrible skin. How my sister produced a child like that, I’ll never know.” Beauty is next to goodness for his mother. He knows it’s not the politically correct thing to say, but he’s shamefully glad he has fair, clear skin, and light-colored eyes. It keeps him closer to perfection in his mother’s world. “You will throw the medicine away.” she instructs. “This is for the best. dear. It’s been more than enough time. I don’t want you to get a reputation .”  What on Earth does that mean? he thinks. “Yes, Mummy.” Scheherazade would spin a long thread, to get him out of this predicament, but his mother is too single-minded. Cleverness enrages her. After she hangs up, he takes the pills out of his dresser, the orange bottles rattling, and empties them into the trash can by his desk, because he’s not brave, like James thinks. There’s no negotiation with her, he knows, and she does mean well. He’s done perfectly well without the medicine before; she probably is right. He just wished it didn’t feel so much like a bad decision, that his gut isn’t screaming, Something bad is going to happen. Something bad always happens. But she’s his mother. It’s never really been a choice, right? It’s too much thinking, for now. He opens up his journal, and begins to write.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I was frightened of

Every little thing I thought was out to get me down,

To trip me up and laugh at me, but

I learned not to want

The quiet of the room with no-one around to find me out

-Lorde 
 When Remus was a little kid, his parents took him to see the ocean for the first time. They were worried that he would hate it-the way his dad always tells it, they were really sure he was going to have a complete meltdown at any moment, back then. But apparently, when he saw the blue water for the first time, let it lap gently over his feet and felt the sand beneath his toes, he had been completely quiet. “I’m taking in my surroundings,” he had said, apparently, when asked. It’s this point in the telling of the story where all the adults in the room laugh because apparently this is such a funny thing for a five-year-old to say, and Remus laughs too, even though it’s not really very funny to him because it’s just how he talks, how he’s always talked. But for his parents, he knows, that trip held a sort of mythic significance to it, a promise that there was hope to him, that if he could appreciate the ocean, maybe he could learn to appreciate all the things that terrified him, that made being human such a strange and frightening ordeal. Of course, he’s still afraid of everything he was when he was a kid; he just doesn’t show it anymore. In fact, he’s learned to basically ignore the fear thing in his gut because it’s just so overactive. His friends now think it’s cool, and also slightly terrifying, how he’ll jaywalk in front of a semi with absolutely no worry that it’ll hit him (James had to pull him out of the way once) or go literally anywhere in the city on foot without directions or his wallet. It’s not impulsivity , exactly; that’s Sirius’ domain. It’s more a rejection of his worst instincts. When your brain registers train whistles as an immediate threat, it’s hard to take too much of what it outputs seriously, and easy to gaslight yourself out of feeling too afraid at any given moment. Later, he’ll realize, That was actually quite scary , when he’s lying in bed,  but by then, it will be too late to worry too much about it. So when he clicks the link in his inbox, he’s thinking, This isn’t really that scary. The stakes are low. Of course, after he accepts the invitation to join the server, then he starts panicking, because his school email is probably connected to the Discord, or like, a stone’s throw away from it, algorithmically speaking, and what if it gets leaked and he’s not able to get a job or something because they find out he was a part of this group? Sirius would tell him he was being stupid, but he also knows for sure that Sirius has tweeted that a particularly nasty Oregon state senator looked like “a ballsack with a face”, so he’s pretty sure being employable is not high up on his list of priorities. Fortunately, he doesn’t get a chance to overthink his decision too much, because injurious.basterd, who is apparently some kind of group moderator, sends an “everyone welcome m00ny to the server!” command and several people do, because they are on Discord at 3 in the morning too, apparently. That’s not what he’s looking for, though. He scrolls through his messages, refreshing, eagerly. Remus doesn’t really use Discord; he’s not a gamer (despite how he looks). But James insisted that they all make one the one Christmas he was in Denmark with his family because he apparently needed to send them live updates about what “real, live, Danish people do-it’s anthropologically significant.” He hasn’t really used it since.He refreshes for probably the third time, and then, there it is.runningwaterwind: you did it finally runningwaterwind: proud of you <3 runningwaterwind: hopefully that’s not weird i just really wanted to see you Remus smiles, shaking his head, and types out his reply, seeing it appear on the screen as soon as he hits return. m00ny: can’t get rid of me now runningwaterwind: i’m glad runningwaterwind: a lot of people on here are kind of a lot but they mean well runningwaterwind: at least i think, that one guy who’s really into ww2 gives me bad vibes m00ny: never trust a ww2 guy runningwaterwind: why can’t his special interest be anime or something normal smh m00ny: like true crimerunningwaterwind: not like true crime why is that your example m00ny: i’m pretty sure it’s ableist to make fun of other people’s special interests runningwaterwind: do YOU like true crime then??? m00ny: no runningwaterwind: thank god runningwaterwind: i’m not sure i could deal with a monologue on jeffrey dahmer rn m00ny: or ever m00ny: i don’t really monologue about anything i like so you don’t have to worry runningwaterwind: :( that’s soo sad m00ny: nobody actually cares and i don’t want to make people uncomfortable runningwaterwind: i’d listen to you m00ny: you say that but i haven’t even told you what my special interests are runningwaterwind: really i swear! (as long it’s not ww2 or true crime)m00ny: well i’m jewish and gay so i’ll have to pass on those, ethically  He pauses. Fuck, is that too much information? He thought it was witty at first, in that kind of dark way. Sirius would laugh.  runningwaterwind: oh cool. i’m not jewish but i AM gay ;) runningwaterwind: FUCK FUCK FUCK sorry that was so cringe runningwaterwind: can we pretend i didn’t send that? m00ny: already forgottenm00ny: cringe is dead too dw you’re good :)  He stares at the ceiling. Fuck. He should be asleep. Should he say goodnight?  m00ny: i’m rlly tired so i’m going to go to bed so goodnight! sorry if this is abruptrunningwaterwind: don’t even worry about it dude sleep well or whatever runningwaterwind: ur part of team neurospicy now m00ny: shut UPPP runningwaterwind: :)  He closes his laptop, before he can see their response. He’s funny, which Remus  likes, and he likes that tomorrow, he’ll be able to wake up to whatever Wind said to him. He wiggles his fingers, stretching out the tension, something he never does in front of other people. (In high school, he caught the guys behind him in history mimicking his hand gestures, and now he’s very conscious that quote-unquote normal people do not feel the need to move their fingers as much as he does.) Tonight, he’ll allow himself to be all the things he’s not really supposed to do anymore. After all, if Wind wants to listen to him, it’s possible, just maybe, that he’s been going about this living thing, this grand human experiment, all wrong. His encounter with runningwaterwind started when someone put up a post on the Confessional, which is one of those Instagram accounts that collects “confessions” from students. It’s mostly people confessing their undying love for people in their classes, venting about theft on campus, or long political diatribes that nobody actually reads all the way through. Sirius and James think it’s hilarious , and when the four of them get together, the night usually devolves into them trying to outdo each other in dramatically reading out each “confession”. Before runningwaterwind, Remus thought the whole thing was mystifying. He would never , in a million years, use a school forum to confess a crush he had on someone, although he has edited and re-edited several sappy confessions courtesy of Peter. (Sirius says he’s never posted one, but absolutely no one believes him.) Anyway this one in particular read: 
does anyone feel super isolated on this campus as a person with autism? i’m literally nervous to post this because i have this fear that if people in my real life find out i’m autistic that i’ll be treated differently. i’ve spent my entire life trying to blend in w neurotypical people and it’s actually so f-ing exhausting jfc. i have good friends here, i think, and i date, and i go out to parties like every other twenty-something, but sometimes i’ll catch a glance of myself in a bathroom mirror, or see a picture of myself and i don’t know who that is. like everything that people like about me so much is actually a front for how weird and maladjusted i am. sorry if that was depressing, i just wanted to put it out there…it’s not that i wish i was dead or something, but i wish i was less me. 
Sirius, who had been doing the reading, stopped about halfway through. “Oh, this one is actually a real problem. Come on, it’s not even fun.” “Pretty sure there’s the Mental Health Alliance if they want help,” James says thoughtfully. “That’s just…so sad .” “Think that’s just for depression and anxiety, though.” Peter says. “They sound pretty depressed.” Sirius looks skeptical. “Wonder if they’ll call me.” Remus, who was trying to read ( The Stand , Lily’s copy), closed the book. “Does it say who posted it?” He tried to make it sound really casual, like he was just curious. Sirius gave him a very strange look, the kind of searching gaze that always leaves Remus worried that he’s said something wrong. He can be surprisingly observant, but this is really not the time.“It’s anonymous.” “Can’t you find out?” He knew there was some kind of way you could track down who posted what; he’s heard them laughing about it before. “You’d need Instagram, I think, because you have to DM the person who runs Confessions. What,” Sirius bites his lip. “do you know them?” “No,” he says a little too quickly. “Just wondering.” That night he’d made an Instagram for the first time. His parents are the kind of elder hippies who think that social media sits on the right hand of the Devil, so he’d never had one, growing up, or much of a desire for one, if he’s being honest. Per Sirius’ direction, he’d DM’ed the Confessions account, and apparently it wasn’t so anonymous; the poster actually wanted people to respond. That night, he’d received his first message from runningwaterwind (he/him pronouns//20// if you’re thinking about taking the high road, i’ll be telling you that you’re doing it wrong). The bio endeared him to Remus, first of all because he’s the same age and is also (presumably) a guy, and second of all because he’s pretty sure none of his other friends listen to Sir Woman. (Well, Sirius might know, but his music taste is impossible to pin down.) Anyway, no one’s ever mentioned it, so he assumes they don’t know. Also, it’s such a dramatic Instagram bio, which he thinks is funny. Remus had asked Wind about the song choice. He’d said it was because he was angry. you know how when you’re a kid that’s the mark of maturity, being able to turn the other cheek and all that shit? got a little too good at that, i realized. i think it killed my spine. i’m really bad at standing up for myself now.  i get angry later, Remus had written back. someone will do something insensitive or rude or cruel, and i don’t realize what it is in the moment, and then i get mad. but by then, the time to express it has passed. He remembered being ten, having to have his mother explain to him that the boys he thought were his friends were using him, how real friends wouldn’t make him say uncomfortable things to girls, or make him do their homework, or throw basketballs at him, or decide there was an entire day where no one could speak to him, no matter how much he begged. He remembered the humiliation of it; feeling like the stupidest person in the world. How it still makes him angry, to this day, that he was so innocent, so naive. How once he saw one of those boys in a pizza place with his parents. How the boy had waved, like they were good friends, and he had thought, You might have forgotten, but I never can. Clenching his fists, knuckles white. Yes, Remus knew about anger. 
so you’re just left with all this anger, and the only thing you know how to do is take the high road. but that’s not fair! why is it always on us to forgive and forget and not on them to leave us alone? 
Remus wrote back fucking love that song. He hoped Wind understood that he really meant i’ve never met anyone who understands this part of me and doesn’t think it’s shameful, or a joke, or scary. He thinks that came across. They’ve talked every day since then, about all the therapies they went to when they were kids, and all the terrible teachers they’ve had, and IEP meetings and the fear of having an embarrassing meltdown or shutdown in public. Things Remus has never talked about with anyone, in his life, other than his doctors and his parents. No one’s explicitly ever told Remus he can’t , to be fair, but he’s just always worried about people’s reaction. The problem is that even nice people, even people you love and who love you, have limits to the level of weird they can tolerate. Limits that Remus doesn’t really want to find out, if he’s being honest. Meanwhile runningwaterwind’s post basically started a revolution. Confessional’s basically blown up with people talking about their autism and ADHD diagnoses. Eventually, someone suggested the opening of a “neurodivergent” Discord server, which Remus didn’t want to join, really, because he really just likes talking to Wind, but did when Wind basically begged. There are some things Wind won’t share-his major, any classes he’s taking. Most frustratingly, he won’t tell Remus his real name (they exclusively refer to each other as Wind and Moony). i get anxious about it, he keeps saying whenever Remus presses, and honestly? He gets it. There’s a simplicity to their digital world that the real world would only complicate. It does make him feel weird though, sometimes, kind of like he’s living his own plot in that Love, Simon movie, which his mom decided they were all going to see in a somewhat overbearing display of allyship the day after he came out to her. (It wasn’t a good movie, exactly, but anything would be better than watching Timothee Chalamet fuck the peach in Call Me By Your Name with your parents. He shudders at the thought.) On bad days, he worries that it’s an elaborate prank and he’s getting catfished. But he doesn’t think he has a crush on Wind; their interactions are strictly platonic. Plus, Wind has shared way more of his embarrassing autism moments with Remus than he would have if it was a catfishing plot. They have enough shared between them to ensure a bit of mutually assured destruction. Or maybe that’s naive; he’s not sure. But he has a good feeling about this, about Wind. He’s used to relying on his other friends to make friends, as they are all much more outgoing than he is. Most of the time, it works out. James’ long-standing crush on Lily drew her into the fold, and Sirius’ ill-fated “relationship” with Mary cemented that friendship, and Peter taking an intro English class with Marlene and Frank meant that they all suddenly became fixtures in the group. Which is okay with him, completely. He likes all of them, but they’re all nice, and normal, and more everyone else’s friends than they are his. It’s a bit selfish of him, but he likes the conceit that Wind is his friend, not someone that has to put up with him because they like James, or Sirius, or Peter more. That Wind likes him because of who he is, not because of an act he’s putting on or because he’s been drawn into someone else’s orbit and has to spend time with him by association. If they met in real life…well, Remus can’t guarantee that he wouldn’t like his friends more than he’d like him. Or that he’d really blame him, for doing so. So it’s nice, how it is. He knows everyone else would probably freak out; they’re all so un-self-conscious about sharing things. He can’t imagine James, for example, not sharing that he’s made a new friend, instantly , not dragging said new friend to all of their meetups and hangouts. For James, making friends is about integrating them into every aspect of his personal life. It’s different for Remus, who feels sometimes lost in a sea of big identities and personalities. He’d find that kind of attention overwhelming, and he thinks Wind probably would too. Better to separate things out, live a life in pieces. It doesn’t feel like a lie to him; he’s been doing it so long. He is good at picking and choosing which parts of himself to put on display at any given moment. And if he wonders what would happen if he was as open with everyone as he is with Wind, sometimes? Well, that’s just speculation. One of the things Remus prides himself on is that he knows what he's good at. If asked, he would probably say his biggest strength is his wealth of knowledge. He knows the capitals of every country in the world. Obviously, as a math major, he’s excellent at math, both practical (he can calculate the tip, to the change, in his head when they all go out to eat, which everyone thinks is cool) and complex (he does proofs for fun, sometimes, which nobody thinks is cool). He can look at a rock and tell you what minerals it’s made up of, hazard a guess at where it was from, and he’ll probably be right. He knows that if you see a bird of prey in the city it’s probably a red-tailed hawk, Buteo jamaicensis . He knows that Aristotle wrote Nichomachean Ethics , and he can talk for hours about “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” even though T.S. Eliot was a raging anti-Semite, and wrote the poems that they based Cats on (which is further evidence of the diabolical man’s kind of hatred, and general contempt for the world).  His parents call him “the little professor,” and when the psychologists evaluated him for the first time when he was five, his IQ score had them taking in an audible breath. “Your son is a genius .” they’d said, as if that put him in another category, entirely, from the rest of the autistic kids they had to see. It had made his parents proud, he knew, but also very uncomfortable. None of them are good with a lot of praise, or attention. Remus doesn’t think he’s a genius, though. After all, there are a lot of things he can’t do, that supposedly people who are much dumber than him can. Pretty much everything else, he’d say, is a weakness for him.  It took him six tries to get his drivers’ license because he can’t focus on more than one thing at a time, and he still can’t parallel park for shit. Freshman year, he locked himself out of his dorm so many times Peter illegally copied his key at a hardware store and kept slipping the copies into his backpack. He can only cook like four things, and if they don’t turn out right he just doesn’t eat, because the texture of noodles that haven’t been cooked enough makes him want to hurl. He can’t go to amusement parks, or clubs, or bars, or concerts, or parties, or basically anywhere crowded, because lots of people/noise/loud music/flashing lights make him feel both nauseous and like he’s going to cry. The only time he went to the gym, freshman year, he was so overwhelmed by the bodies of everyone on the rugby team (who were all there, of course) and the smell , and the throbbing bass of the music they played for ambience, and the fact that none of the machines had directions that he feigned illness and hyperventilated in the bathroom. He doesn’t even have any practical skills-this kid he went to high school with has his own welding business now, while Remus has struggled to put IKEA furniture together, even with everyone else helping him. He knows now that intelligence , in the classical sense, is mostly defined by what skills people have that are valuable in, like capitalism, and so, in many ways, he’s not really that bright at all. Or he is, but he’s also not smart enough to be able to recognize how to fix all the ways in which he doesn’t quite measure up to normal people. When people tell him he’s so brilliant, now, he always thinks, You wouldn’t say the same thing if you saw me around an electric kettle that’s just started to steam.  Despite these (fairly severe) limitations, he’s always been quite a good student, partly because school generally comes easy to him (is that conceited to say? It usually does), partly because he feels like he needs to be at least a little exceptional to make up for all the ways he continually lets people down. This year, the math department asked him to be a tutor, which he originally would have said no to, because he thought that you might need some degree of people skills for the whole thing, which he doesn’t feel like he has. But James and Lily (both born leaders) said he should do it, kind of aggressively, and they are quite intimidating together, so he said yes. He hasn’t minded it, to his surprise. Well, he’s probably not quite as comforting or as at ease as they are, but he’s more patient by a lot. Math’s a lot  like IKEA furniture is for him, for a lot of people, so he reasons, and talks things out slowly, and answers the same questions twenty times. The weird thing is that the tutoring has built him up a bit of a following. People will say hi to him now, between classes, or point at him and wave enthusiastically, like they’re best friends. He has fans , as Sirius says rather derisively, in a tone that implied possibly that these people weren’t really fans of him. James had to explain that Sirius was teasing. “He’s proud of you; it just comes out like that .” Which made no sense to Remus, because he would have just told Sirius that he was proud of him if the roles had been reversed, but Sirius does something that doesn’t make any sense about once every half an hour, so he tried not to let it bother him too much. So it’s Wednesday, and it’s starting to get cold, a bit, and he’s drinking tea and explaining Gabriel’s Horn on a really dirty whiteboard in the basement. Normally that would bother him, the whiteboard being so filthy, but Remus fucking loves Gabriel’s Horn. It’s the kind of paradoxical perfection that makes you believe in God, or something. A Platonic form, a devilish geometry. “It’s a really weird shape,” he explains, drawing the horn roughly. “not only in that it looks like an angel’s horn, but that it has a finite volume, but an infinite surface area. It’s made by taking the graph of 1/x and rotating it around the x-axis.” “…Right.” says one of the guys closest to the board. “So how does it work?” “So, pre-calculus, the volume of  Gabriel’s horn was calculated by  bisecting the shape into all these right cylinders and taking the surface area of each, while operating under the assumption that it worked like a solid whose volume was already known-a cylinder with a radius that is the square root of two, and the height 1/b. I could show you that, but the calculus proof is much more elegant, and I think, more convincing.” He writes it out. “And more relevant to what you’re going to see in intro calculus, as well.” That gets a nervous laugh; they’re with him now. “We’ll just use the formulas for volume and surface area that we have already. The calculus ones,” he says, before one of the smart-alecky kids can whip out something from high school geometry. And he draws, and talks, and slows down, and speeds up, as he shows that yes, indeed, the volume of the horn is pi, yet the surface area is infinite. His enthusiasm, for once, seems to be drawing more of them in, rather than pushing him away, which is heartening, even though he knows some of them are only paying attention because they’re trying to get the answer. “But…” says one of the girls in the back, when he finally finishes integrating. “Isn’t that impossible? I mean, it’s not something that can actually exist , right?” It’s not a challenge; he thinks. She actually wants to know. He smiles. “It should be, right? But the mathematician who discovered it did so before the invention of what we would call calculus, and the whole point of this exercise is to show that the existence of Gabriel’s Horn is consistent with our understanding of calculus. It’s kind of a smug proof, and at the time, it caused a lot of controversy, over the nature of mathematics itself. Some philosophers thought the very existence of the infinite in math went against the point of defining numbers, for what are they for if not to quantify an often unpredictable world? But then we have calculus, which takes our numerical understanding further, by saying, right, we agree that there is such a thing as an infinite . Which is trippy, but it also makes sense. I mean,” he shrugs. “we’re on a floating rock, in space, which is constantly expanding and moving closer and closer to a state of disorder. The concept of an infinite could not be more relevant to that. So, yes, and no, I suppose. It depends on how you define reality.” “Ooh,” says one of the other kids. “You’re so meta , Lupin.” He laughs, even though he’s being quite earnest, but laughing at yourself puts people at ease when you’re introducing them to things that make them uncomfortable. It’s true, he knows, that everyone here thinks he’s a weirdo who spends all of his time thinking about numbers. And they’re sort of right, but this is one of the only spaces, he thinks, that being himself actually plays to his favor. What Wind would call his “splinter skills.” So he talks himself hoarse, until people have no more homework questions, and they filter out of the basement, up into the light. This is, he thinks, the thing that makes him "useful," in a capitalism sense, and "inspirational," in an autistic sense. But it's possible Wind's right; that maybe, just maybe, this can be one part of all of the things that make Remus...himself. That he's got his own infinities of possibility inside him. Remus is walking back to the apartment, afterwards, when he sees Lily, headed sort of in the same direction. The sun is starting to set over the library, and they fall in step, him slowing down to let her catch up. “Thanks,” she says, shortly. “I wasn’t sure if you were also ignoring me.” “I’m not.” he says, genuinely mystified. “Did James say something or…?” He thinks the whole thing is just stupid , to be honest, and he’s pretty sure James doesn’t want them to ignore Lily, no matter how sad he is. “No, but Peter almost got run down by a bicyclist just so he didn’t have to walk next to me on the sidewalk, and Black the Elder keeps giving me those pre-homicide eyes, which like? You’re a psych major ; what are you going to do?” “God.” Remus shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That’s awful. James isn’t telling us to do that, by the way.” He likes Lily too much for that, as well. She’s like him, a little; she’s measured, calculated, thinking before she speaks, weighing options. “No, I figured as much.” She laughs. “We talked about it; had a really proper discussion, the other night, and it was…really good, actually? Who would have known our friends would be way more broken up about us ending then we were?” “I mean,” Remus says. “I think James is still quite sad about it.” “No, I know, ugh.” She sighs. “It sucks. He was waiting outside Mary’s pottery class the other day wanting to talk to her about it ,  can you believe that?” “Yes, actually.” “And she told him to fuck off, which did not help, and then he yelled at her, and then Marlene yelled at him for yelling at her, and then a professor kicked them all out of the arts building.” “Wow.” James doesn’t get angry much. Remus doesn’t really know what to say. “That’s…” No one told him about this. “And so now, they’re not speaking to him, even though he apologized, but I am, because he’s still my friend even though he’s my ex and also an idiot, which is just fucking great . And they keep telling me that I shouldn’t be talking to him anymore, because they’re pissed, and he’s heartbroken , and I’m leading him on or some shit, but I don’t know. It’s just such a mess. I just wish everything would go back to normal.” “Well,” Remus says, “there’s always Halloween.” “You hate Halloween.” “I’ll wear a costume this year if it makes our friends stop acting like prima donnas.” “You should be Lurch, from the Addams Family ! Or ooh,” she claps her hands. “Maybe an Avenger. Or LMFAO.” “It’s like you want me to suffer.” “Yeah, feel a tenth of what I’m feeling. The sick thing is, Marlene and Mary basically told me to break up with him.” “They did?” Girl friendships are impenetrable. “Yeah, especially Marlene. I didn’t want to do it, at first. And they were right.” She laughs, guiltily. “It wouldn’t have been fair to him, to keep going if I wasn’t…in it. But now, that I’m not handling it the way they think that I should, it’s this whole thing. I’ll shut up about this now; it’s just giving me a headache. How are you?” He thinks about Wind. “Good. Taught Gabriel’s Horn.” “The solid with the finite volume and infinite surface area?” “Yes, how did you know?” “Give me a little credit; I took Baby Calculus. How’d it go?” “Well, mostly. I like Gabriel’s Horn. Did you know some people are calling it Gabriel’s Wedding Cake now?” “What? Why?” “Something about infinite frosting. Seems silly.” “Oh.” She nudges him. “How’s the other thing? You know,” She raises her eyebrows suggestively. “the other thing.” Up until now, Remus has been doing a good job not thinking about the other thing, namely, the whole Sirius situation. Wind helps with this. So does teaching. “Not so good.” “What does that mean?” “I keep pissing him off. You know, the party at Frank and Alice’s…” He explains it, Sirius’ dark mood, his rage at James even talking to Lily. Their argument in the bathroom. Snapping, telling him the truth. Sirius folding, cowed, for like the first time ever, and vanishing into the night. They’ve been scrupulously polite to each other since then, but Sirius does seem to take pains to not be alone with him. Lily listens, rapt. “You said that ?” “Yeah…uh, he needed to hear it.” She throws an arm around his shoulders. “I love you.” “This isn’t worth celebrating; he hates me now.” “He absolutely does not.” And when Remus looks at her, unbelieving, she says, “Just talk to him, alright?” And really, there’s no argument good enough against that.He gets dinner with Peter, when he gets home. Sirius is out, probably annoying James, which is for the best. Peter’s alright, though. He does have a tendency to ramble about himself at length and not give his listeners any room to breathe, which everyone else finds to be majorly irritating. Remus, who prefers to not be the conversational fulcrum, finds it to be quite relaxing. Plus, it’s not like Peter’s unaware he’s doing it; he usually apologizes once he’s realized he’s gone off on some tangent. Remus, who recognizes this monologuing habit as overdue excitement from never being allowed to participate in a group conversation as much as one wants, is okay with it. It’s heartening, to be considered a confidant, and if Peter asks for advice, he gives it, after which Peter’s always so grateful it kind of makes him a little uncomfortable. “…and then I said, that’s just not a reasonable thing to ask, for me to understudy and have to build sets on my off day. And so, he said , that that’s the way things work in college theater, and if I wanted to have free time, to go be an English major. Can you believe that? What a dick.” “Oh, yeah.” Remus says, filling his bowl with a heap of pasta (tomato sauce, absolutely no Parmesan ). The thing about Peter when he gets like this is that he doesn’t want help solving the problem. He just wants someone to listen, and agree, and Remus, who thinks his friends are the best in the world at whatever they do, doesn’t mind hearing it, unlike James (who’ll nicely nudge him to wrap it up by looking not-so-subtly at the clock) or Sirius (who’ll provide a list of the most impractical fixes for Peter’s predicament, most of them which will end in jail time). He knows his other friends are baffled by how long he can stand to deal with Peter’s conversational style one-on-one. After all, Peter’s the afterthought; the member of their group that they probably wouldn’t still talk to if he hadn’t been Remus’ roommate freshman year. He’s the butt of the joke, too clingy, too eager, both not assertive enough in social situations and painfully overbearing. He’s sensitive, has a tendency to whine or sulk when teased. He never has a girlfriend, doesn’t get particularly good grades, and is the only person majoring in the arts in a group of friends where almost everyone is in STEM, all things which would give anyone a bit of a complex. So Remus feels like Peter deserves a bit of respect, recognition, attention. It’s not really like he tends to get it regularly from anyone else, a dynamic that always makes him feel terribly guilty. One time, when they were freshmen, and Sirius was drunk after a party, he asked Remus why he put up with him. They'd been sitting outside, on the stoop outside their dorm building. “He’s so fucking weird.” “Maybe I’m fucking weird, too.” he had said. “He’s our friend .” “ Your friend. James’ friend, maybe. Not my friend.” “If it wasn’t him,” Remus had said, softly. “it would be me.” “What?” “It’s like in nature documentaries, how the weakest animals exist on the outside of the herd, so they get picked off first. I’m not stupid, Sirius. It should be me, but it’s not.” Sirius had shaken his head. “What are you on?” “It’s always me.” he’d explained. Sometimes, it was easier to talk to Sirius, when he was drunk. “Every time I’ve had a group of friends, I’m the one on the outside. So I know how it feels. You’d notice more, if you weren’t so horrible to him all the time. If you decided you wanted to be horrible to me, instead.” “Okay…” He’d drawn out the word. “I’m not going to be horrible to you.” “Right.” “I like you.” He’d never forget how almost sober Sirius looked then. “And you may be weird, but at least you’re not fucking sensitive. That’s why we go after Pete. He rises to everything ; it’s so easy. And Peter’s not a weakling, either. He can give as good as he gets. It’s important to get shit sometimes; means you’re part of the team.” “You never give me shit.” “Well, that’s different, isn’t it? Look…” Sirius had said, before he could ask what he had meant. “I could stand to be nicer to him. I know he’s your friend, even though he’s not my favorite person on Earth. So I’ll try. But…I don’t know what kinds of friends you had before, but I’m not like that. And neither is James. Or Peter, for that matter. We’re not going to use you as a punching bag just because you’re a bit introverted. That’s psychotic.” “Okay.” “So fuck that.” He’d crossed his arms. “Let’s go in; I’m fucking freezing.” They’d never talked about it again, but Sirius never once shit-talked Peter to him after that. Peter’s still going. “And he’s making all these terrible casting choices; like the guy who was Mercutio last year is fucking Rosencrantz. Which doesn’t make any sense because he read for Polonius, which nobody else wants to do, let’s face it. It’s goddamn Polonius .” “Yeah, he sounds like a moron.” “God, you have no idea . Sirius is still being the worst, too. I was telling him about it, and he was just like, I’m busy. Talk about it to someone who cares. Like, what the fuck? It’s not my fault you’re having separation anxiety from James and you’re having boyfriend problems. He still hasn’t apologized about the other night-“ “He’s having boyfriend problems?” Another thing nobody seems to think is important enough to tell him. A spike of irritation rises in him. Why is he always the last to know these things? Not that he cares too much, it's just important to feel included in the bad as well as the good. “Yeah, or something. I don’t know; he was talking to James about it. I don’t know why he gets the fucking monopoly on being a shithead to everyone because he’s having an off day.” “He doesn’t.” Remus says. “Yeah, he’s literally the only one who does. The rest of us never do shit like that.” Remus has to reluctantly admit that Peter’s right. “I mean, you know, he’s…” “He’s what?” Peter demands. “There’s not anything you can say that makes him pulling this crap okay. I didn’t buy tickets to the Sirius Black show. And if I did-“ he grins, sourly. “I want a refund, because it’s the same fucking shit every day.” “The house party thing was uncalled for.” Remus agrees. “But that’s sort of par for the course with Sirius. He runs hot.” “Well, so do I.” Peter says, stubbornly. “But you know what? I suck it up and don’t take it out on other people. And James is just as fucking bad lately, Jesus.” “Oh, yeah…” Remus doesn’t really know what to think, about what Lily told him. It’s so incongruous with his mental picture of James. “He’s going through it, I guess.” “He’s being a dick, though. I swear,” Peter throws up his hands, dramatically. “When do we get our turn to be the crazy ones?” Remus thinks about Wind, and about what Lily told him. About taking the high road. Sirius took it for him, that time, freshman year. Peter probably would think it was a terrible idea, say to meet coldness with coldness, but at his core, Remus doesn’t feel good about fighting. Besides, it’s Sirius, who makes him feel… something. That night in the kitchen, leaning into him, all defiance, all challenge. Fuck you. Bloodshot eyes, smudged eyeliner, full lips purple with wine. He shakes his head, to clear the thoughts. This desire is independent of that , he tells himself. It’s for the survival of their friendship, and everyone else’s too. Like Lily, he just wants everything to go back to normal,  Do you? says the voice in the back of his head. Normal means watching him drink himself insensible to go fuck his boyfriend. Normal means standing behind everyone else on the sidewalk, laughing at the joke two seconds too late, listening to Peter bitch and moan because no one else will.  But normal is the goal, he knows. Normal are the bars clustered together in the middle of the curve. Outliers are fun, but they fuck with your data. And they’re lonely. He’s so, so tired of being lonely. “You don’t want to be crazy, Peter. Neither do I.” “Maybe I do, Jesus Christ, with everything lately, I swear…Like, we have problems, too, you know? Just because we’re not relationship people, or whatever-” “I’m a relationship person,” Remus is defensive, suddenly. “That’s not what I meant.” Peter edits himself. “I mean, because we’re not currently in relationships right now.” Once in a while, though, Peter will say things like this, grouping the two of them together, self-deprecatingly. Like their bad is the same kind of bad. It always makes Remus really uncomfortable, like the only reason Peter’s around him is because he can’t find anyone better. Like Peter only talks to him out of obligation, or pity, or self-loathing. James would say Peter’s projecting , but Remus, who’s watched his fair share of friendships fizzle out as soon as people decide he’s outlived his use, sometimes worries it’s indicative of something worse. However, he doesn’t want to start another fight. Better to finish the first one. So he asks a follow-up question about the stupid director and Peter goes off on him again, and equilibrium is restored, for now. Just as he knows himself, he knows a lot of things about Sirius. Generally speaking, you know a lot about everyone you get to live with, but as Remus feels this new pull towards him, he finds himself picking up details about Sirius and holding them in his reserve, like they’re factoids to impress a professor with or citations for a long paper. He knows Sirius never sleeps, knows he eats Kalamata olives straight out of the jar. He knows his favorite color is Harvard crimson (said with an ironic twist of the mouth) and what brand of coconut oil he uses on his hair. He knows Sirius comes from money, which is also true of James and Peter, but he seems more ashamed of it than either of them, which Remus doesn’t really understand. That he has impeccable handwriting, like copperplate, and that he’s by nature a terribly messy roommate, but goes through spurts of obsessive cleaning where nothing in the house is up to his suddenly sky-high standards. That he constantly plays music but has no discernible taste or genre preference (“I Lost Something in the Hills”, but also “I Walk On Guilded Splinters,” and songs in Spanish and Ethel Cain and Al Green). That sometimes, if no one’s around, he’ll sing along, but he’ll stop if someone walks in. That he tells everyone he’s 5”9 even though nobody believes him (“It’s basically true; three-quarters counts!”). That he doesn’t get along with his family, and he basically lives with James, but he has a soft spot for his brother. He also knows that Sirius understands him, in a peculiar way, in a way James and Peter do not. This isn’t a new development. He hadn’t liked Sirius at first; eyes too suspicious, waiting for him to make a mistake, to betray his weakness. And Sirius lacked any inherent signifiers of kindness; in fact, he had seemed far more judgmental than either James or Peter, always the quickest to say something salty or snide. Honestly, if James hadn’t liked him so much, he probably would have given him a wide berth, knowing that people like him are always collateral damage for people with an instinct for nastiness. And he was so entitled , always sure to let people know when he was less than pleased, something that Remus could never imagine sharing with his friends. (So few things that other people want to do are interesting to him; he’s usually just happy to be included.) And occasionally, he would fall into dark, impenetrable moods that Remus and Peter knew better than to try and coax him out of. Remus, who is rarely incredibly happy, found this to be irritating as well, but James always bore it with a perverse good humor, instead of just telling him to grow up, which Remus desperately wanted to do. It was an early morning thunderstorm that endeared Sirius, finally, to him, the beginning of their sophomore year. Remus did not answer the “what are you most afraid of” question, because it was dumb, but if he’s being honest, “freak weather events” are shamefully high up on his list of irrational fears. He blames this partly on watching too many storm chaser documentaries when he was a kid (the clouds are purple inside a tornado, which is just not right at all), and partly on, as Wind would say, with his classic wry wit, the curse of the dreaded ‘tism. It’s the combination of bone-shattering claps of thunder and sparse flashes of lightning that make him painfully aware of how small he really is, in the grand scheme of things. Easy to feel removed, from personhood, at the mercy of the elements. He’d woken up, because how was he supposed to sleep through that, really, and crept to the kitchen, flinching every time the lightning arced across the wall, all the while berating himself for being so cowardly, so childish. He did not expect Sirius, awake, hair pulled up in an off-kilter bun, boiling water in the flickering kitchen light. He had earbuds in, the cords loose around his neck, and he hadn’t seen Remus come in. He jumped, when he turned around. “ Jesus Christ . What are you doing up?” “Couldn’t sleep.” Remus explained. It was half true, so he felt convincing saying it. “Do you want coffee?” Sirius had already opened a packet of some fancy blend with an expensive name. Despite never cooking, he could be a terrible snob about ingredients, but occasionally, it’d work in their favor. Like letting him buy all the coffee. Remus liked tea more, then, but he nodded. He’d watched Sirius, then, the acute angle of his elbow, holding the pour-over steady, one earbud in, blue nail polish (Mary’s doing) slowly chipping away. Concentric rings of hot water, soaking the grounds, in a rare moment of unbroken concentration for Sirius, usually such a restless torrent of energy. But he was gentle and focused, and he didn’t seem to notice the way Remus’ shoulders twitched with every thunderclap. He was beautiful, too, then, Remus thought, noticing the smile lines starting to form around his eyes, and mouth. He would be untouchable as he aged, it seemed. He looked up, as the coffee continue to drip into the cup. “There.” There was another crack of thunder, and Remus flinched before he could dig his fingernails into his arm, to stop himself from moving. Sirius had looked at him, taking him in, speculative. “Not a fan of storms, huh?” “No.” He cleared his throat. “It’s, uh…” “The noise?” “How’d you know?” Sirius shrugged. “It’s kind of obvious. I know you’re the one who took the batteries out of that really shitty Bluetooth speaker I got for Christmas, because it used to make that feedback noise when it ran out of charge.” Remus smiled weakly. “Yeah.” “I liked that, too, is the worst thing. I’m still kind of mad at you about that.” There was another crack, this time closer, and it rattles the windows. This time, they both jumped. “Fuck.” said Sirius. “Here.” And he put the earbuds in Remus’ ears, reaching up, the cords tangling around their hands. Remus was frozen, their elbows knocking against each other. There was no song playing; he must have paused it, at some point. “Go on.” said Sirius, slipping his phone into Remus’ pocket. “I’ll bring the coffee.” The earbuds dulled the sounds around them, not noise-canceling, but definitely blunting the impact of some of the sharper peals of thunder. Instead, he was made more aware of the quickness of his breathing, the beat of his heart. He was alive; he knew, and when Sirius came in, he tried to give them back, but he shook his head. “Take them.” “But-“ He had struggled to put it to words, that he was grateful and humiliated all at once, that he craved it, that he didn’t deserve any of it. “Just shut up and drink your coffee.” And he did (no sugar, a splash of milk, just how he would make it himself.), and Sirius hummed to himself, and flipped through a magazine that Peter and Marlene had been cutting letters out of (to make “ransom-note themed invitations” though to what, or why ransom notes were a “theme” no one had any answers.) They hadn’t said anything then, just drank coffee and stared into space. It was nice. Sirius’ presence was relaxing , which was something he never would have said before. Twenty minutes later, after the final lightning bolt struck and the rain was no longer lashing the windows like it was trying to come inside, he got Sirius to take back the earbuds, dropping them into his hand. “You can’t tell anyone about this.” “Don’t worry.” said Sirius lightly. “I won’t. Besides-“ a smile spreading across his face. “It’s nice to not be the only one who’s a basket case. Feel like an alien, sometimes with our two mentally stable, well-adjusted best friends.” There was the tiniest hint of bitterness in that; Remus couldn’t help but notice. “I’m not a basket case.” he’d retorted. “Hmm.” Sirius had tossed his head. “Takes one to know one.” It’s this he thinks about, after knocking on Sirius’ door; Sirius’ maddening capacity for acceptance without real understanding. He imagines what it would be like, for Sirius to understand him without words, like that, all the time. The problem is, as it is, always, the words. Regular people always need words, no matter how much they like to think that they don’t. Sirius answers on the third knock. “You can come in.”  He pushes open the door, unwilling to cross the threshold. Remus doesn’t really like other people being in his room; it seems unnecessarily over-polite to him to be so generous with your territory. “You’re looming.” Sirius says. “Can you come all the way in ?” He does, obediently, sitting on a corner of the matted rainbow throw rug (acquired at a yard sale, Remus thinks it's really ugly and he's one hundred percent gay). Sirius is in a messy phase; there’s a large pile of black clothes on the floor, and books, haphazardly strewn on the bed. Sirius himself  is cross-legged in a desk chair, drinking out of a mug that reads “i make POUR decisions.” (Good God.) He looks up, expectant. “What is it?” “Um…I…” Apologizing is hard. Apologizing for something you absolutely did mean to say, and believe you’re still right about, is harder. “I was…rude, the other day. So…sorry.” Sirius shakes his head. “That was almost convincing.” “I am sorry. Really. I shouldn’t have said that.” “No.” Sirius says, tone cool. “You shouldn’t have.” There’s an uncomfortably pregnant pause, in which Remus wishes he were elsewhere. “But I don’t care.” Remus relaxes. “You mean…” “Yeah. You can stop looking at me like you ran over my dog.” He takes a long sip of his drink. “Gideon agrees with you, anyway. Apparently I don’t ‘initiate enough physical affection’. We had to have a ‘conversation’ about it. “ He makes air quotes with his fingers, rolling his eyes like he couldn’t care less, but it doesn’t feel that way, exactly. “Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asks. “Shockingly, no. I’d rather get drunk.” “It’s a Wednesday ; you’re not actually drinking, are you?” He eyes the mug suspiciously. Of course, he’d assumed it was tea. He should have remembered who he was dealing with.Sirius grins. “See, this is why no one tells you anything. You’re so judgy.” He huffs, annoyed at being reduced to this. “I’m not judgy .” Sirius leans back in his chair and turns up the volume on his laptop. The background music, which before, was too faint to make out, is now clearly audible. Sufjan Stevens, “To Be Alone With You.” “I love this song.” Remus says, quietly. “Shh.” Sirius sits next to him, on the floor, clutching the mug. There’s a faint smell of licorice on him, black eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. “This is the best part.” Remus closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at him, head-on. To be alone with me, you went up on a tree… Sometimes, Sirius is so present , so human , that it is painful. Later, that night, he messages Wind. do people ever know that you’re…you know?  Wind’s response comes fifteen minutes later. you can say “autistic,” moony. 
you know what i mean.

probably. i mean, my parents know, and some of my friends probably suspect something is up with me. 
i think one of my friends has clocked me. He pauses for a second, and then types, i’m a little bit into him. maybe because of it. does that make me weird and pathetic?  i am hardly the expert on what makes someone NOT weird and pathetic. but no, i don’t think so. my last boyfriend used to call me a “space cadet,” so like, anything would be an upgrade from that. is he cute? 
yeah. but he’s also kind of a jerk. he doesn’t treat me differently from how he treats anyone else, though. i like that.

look at you, you’re in love!

no i’m not

YOU ARE

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Oh please, oh please, settle down,”

She said to me as I spun out

Off the handle again

I never was a good friend

In all of my attempts

To kick myself out of this

I fell, I fell right on it

Tripped on that silver lining

-The Greeting Committee

“I’ve been playing chess since I was ten,” says the voice on the other end of the phone, which Sirius has curled around his arm while he types out demographic information into the database. “And I hate it now. It takes up literally all my time that I’m not in class, and I keep having to miss school for tournaments.”

“Have you tried taking a break?”

The voice, a girl, scoffs. “Have you met my parents? They’re

soo

proud, and they’ve sacrificed so much for me to compete.”

“It sounds like you don’t think that’s actually the case.”

“Oh yeah, we’re totally in it because my dad wanted to play when he was young. I know that. I just don’t know how to stop without it becoming a whole

thing

.”

“What kind of thing?”

“One of those where-did-i-go-wrong-as-a-parent, woe-is-me guilt trips.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m familiar.” His mother has written the book on guilt trips, so much so they never work on him now. “So, I don’t know anything at all about chess, but I actually do know a little bit about…this. Obviously, you’re an adult, so no one can actually make you go to a chess tournament, even if you don’t want to. You basically have two choices.”

“Oh, a

dilemma

!” He likes it when they’re silly; it puts him more at ease. “Fun.”

“So, you can say,

screw it

, not pay the entry fee or whatever you have to do for the competition. It’ll be hard, and your parents might be mad at you, but you’ll be able to focus more on school, and figure out what you want to do with your adult life. So you’ll probably be happier.”

“Or…?”

“You can keep doing what you’re doing, tough it out until you’re finally completely independent. You won’t have to make any tough decisions right now, and no one will be angry with you, but also nothing changes.”

“It sounds like you want me to do the first one.”

“I’m not

supposed

to tell you what to do. But if you ask me, a difficult conversation is better than letting all of it…” He waves his hands, before he realizes she can’t see it. “build.”

“What if I don’t want to deal with them being disappointed right now?”

“Then you don’t have to, and that’s okay too. But remember, you’re not a

thing

. You’re not just the sum total of the time and money your parents have invested in you. And it’s entirely possible…” Sirius doesn’t believe this, but he says it anyway, trying to keep irony out of his voice. “It’s entirely possible that they don’t care as much as you think. People sometimes surprise you.”

“You think?”

He remembers James’ parents, then, how they always whisper and giggle to each other like they’re ten years old, their well of ineffable kindness. “I

know

.”

“Mom!” He’s sitting in the corner of James’ room, trying to re-read some interminable Levi-Strauss PDF that the rapidly aging professor could not figure out how to rotate, listening to James FaceTime his parents. James had said it might be annoying, but Sirius

loves

Effie and Monty, so he can’t fathom anything about them being annoying. “You can’t do that; it’s unnecessary. I don’t even think you can mail pork.”

“

I

don’t think it’s unnecessary.” Sirius makes sure to pipe up from his corner. “I’d love it, if you sent them.”

“You see?” Effie rejoins. “

Someone

still likes my cooking. Maybe I’ll just send them to Sirius, hmm?”

“Traitor.” James calls out in pseudo-rage. “I mean, if you’re

sending

them…”

“But we can’t mail pork, in

America

,” his mother teases. “Since someone is a little expert.”

“Fine, you know I’ll eat the buns if you send them.” James makes a show of acquiescing to Effie’s whims, but it’s a bit of a stretch. They all know he’d do anything for his mother.

“How’s it been, Sirius?” Monty calls from somewhere behind him.

Sirius takes the excuse to abandon Levi-Strauss, nudging James over so they both can see his phone screen. “Me? I’m good. I’m fine. James is the one having problems.” Even though he would probably run directly into traffic for Effie and Monty and he’s lived in their house since he was sixteen, he’s still a little awkward around them. They’ve always been the archetypal Parents, in his head, worlds away from his own family. He

loves

them, but he’s constantly worried that one day they’ll see whatever it is about him that made his parents despise the very air he breathes. So he’s scrupulously polite, and doesn’t talk to them about anything too serious. It’s only the past summer that got him comfortable enough to

request things

, and he was eighteen the first time he was able to joke around them. James likes to joke that Effie and Monty love Sirius more than him, which is mostly due to the flurry of helpful activity that he feels compelled to carry out whenever they’re around-doing all of the dishes, scrubbing the floors, ironing Monty’s work shirts. In reality, it’s a desperate ploy (which he’s cognizant is very neurotic) to be

of use

, to be

invaluable

, so they’ll think twice about kicking him out before they inevitably do.

“I’m not having

problems

.” James corrects. “I miss Lily.”

“Sweetie, it’s a break-up. It would be bad if you

weren’t

at least a little bit sad.”

“Will it always feel like this?”

“No.” Effie says. “But you need to feel it for a while. Sit with the hurt.” Effie is a therapist, and she is

very

good at it. Sirius would never tell her, but she’s the reason he’s a psych major, the reason he takes calls at the crisis center. If he could bottle up a tenth of what Effie gives to other people, and distribute it, the world would be a better place.

James makes noises of agreement, and Monty says, “Or stand with the hurt, move around a little. Show the hurt who’s boss.” They all laugh. Monty is Effie’s rock, the yin to her yang. He juggles being an emergency pediatric surgeon, a competent amateur baker, and a terrible singer, in addition to his main role as being possibly the nicest man alive.

“You’re doing well in your classes, though?” Effie’s voice pitches with concern. “She’s a very lovely girl, but not worth failing the year for, surely?”

“Ugh, Mom, I’m not failing anything.” James rolls his eyes.

“And you’re keeping an eye on Sirius, of course?”

“I’m right here!” Sirius protests.

“We

know

, but, well, we worry. We haven’t heard from you in a while.” Effie says patiently.

“You’re our responsibility too.” Monty’s warm, as always, but it feels like being dunked in ice water, the shock.

A responsibility. A burden.

Not that Monty means it like that, he knows, but it’s hard, to re-adjust, to be someone else’s. He can usually forget that he still is. He’s been trying, too, to stop needing them so much. They’ve done so much for him; they can rest now. He thought if he called them less, maybe, they wouldn’t feel that way.

“I’ll call.” he says, ashamed. “Promise.”

“You make sure he does.” Monty points a threatening finger at James, who nods, like it’s the mandate of fucking heaven or something. James is the only person he’s ever met who’s probably never not done something his parents want him to. (But when your parents are

Effie

and

Monty

, you would too.) They’re so

concerned

, so

loving

, so

generous.

And he doesn’t deserve a single fucking bit of it.

He laughs, resisting the urge to get emotional. “I’ll call you.”

“Of course he will. He’s family now.” James throws an arm around him, pulling him in, and he laughs nervously, and smiles, trying to belay the feeling in his gut that

something is wrong, someone is lying.

That it’s time to

get out

.

“I’m going to break up with my boyfriend.” says the guy on the other end of the phone. “I love him, but it’s just time, you know? We’ve been together for three years, and nothing ever gets better.”

To Sirius, this doesn’t sound like much of a crisis, but he presses. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you okay?”

The guy sniffles. “No, actually. I just had a huge fight with my best friend about it. She told me I was being impulsive, but she

doesn’t know

him like I do.” His voice gets a little bit higher on the phone, like he’s crying. In person, this would send Sirius sprinting for the exit, but he’s found he’s a lot better with crying on the phone, thank God.

“It can be confusing,” he starts, gentle, “when you’re in a relationship for a while and it starts to feel stuck. You want to hang on, out of a sense of obligation to the other person-“

“But you also know that if you do, you’ll be making yourself miserable.” He’s talking faster now. “I know; you’re right.”

“So the question then becomes, at what point does the bad outweigh the good? And ultimately,” He leans back in his seat, forcing back a tension headache, and dry-swallows an Advil (they keep them in the desk, him and the other workers). “you’re the only one who can figure that out. But the thing is, it’s

your

decision. Not your friend’s, not anyone else’s. You can’t-“ He clears his throat. “You can’t make everyone happy all the time. And a big decision like that…I can’t tell you that it will make everything better. It might make some things worse, for a time. But if there’s even a chance,

a chance

, that you’ll feel freer, and lighter, and

better

-“

“I should take it.” breathes out the guy. “Thanks. You’re really good at this, you know.”

“Oh.” His face feels hot; he’s uncomfortable with the praise, but it does make him feel better, a little. “Thanks.”

After his shift, Sirius ambushes Lily outside the library, ducking under her umbrella, armed with a king-size KitKat bar and a homemade card. “Um.”

She looks him up and down, like she’s unsure whether this is a prank. “What are you doing?”

“These are for you.” he says in a rush, feeling ten years old, not looking at her. He crouches underneath her umbrella, trying not to let the spokes hit him in the head.  “I know I’ve been awful to you, and I’m sorry, and I think I get it now.” She moves to open the card, and he quickly says. “Uh…maybe not here.”

“Why not?” There’s a slyness in her eyes; she wants him to admit it.

“Because it’s, ugh, kind of nice and it has feelings in it and I don’t want you to read it in front of me.”

She punches him in the arm, which he takes, stoically. “You’re so cheesy sometimes, Black.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugs. “It’s well-intentioned cheese. I mean it. You’re great, and I shouldn’t have just dropped you because you’re not with James anymore. You deserve better than that.”

She sets her mouth in a line. “Yeah, I do. Why

were

you being such an asshole, anyway? Mary told me you were trying to stop James from talking to me, said I was trying to mess with him.”

He looks at his feet. “Right. Mary.”

“

Sirius

. I deserve to know.”

“It’s like…” He takes in a breath, cold in the early October air. “James is my

best friend

, but he’s also my

brother

. Maybe…more in some ways than Regulus, but uh, don’t tell him that. And he’s not like other people. He’s…really open, and earnest, in a way that gets him hurt. So he’s just not…equipped to deal with bad stuff, because bad stuff doesn’t happen to him. And he’s always so used to dealing with

me

being a mess, so I wanted to be the one who talked sense into

him

, and not the other way around, for once. I wanted to protect him.”

“But from what? I’m not a thing you need protection from; I’m your friend.”

“Of course you are!” He hurries to explain. “Look, it doesn’t make any sense,

I know

, but I’m kind of having a weird time right now. With Regulus.”

“What does Regulus have to do with…”

“I was a good older brother to him, until I wasn’t. And now he’s here, and…well, he’s not going to say it, but it’s written on his face. And I suppose I wanted to right that wrong, in a way, with my other brother…”

“With James.” Understanding dawns on her.

“Right. Like I want to be someone that he can rely on, because…I’m not that for Regulus. Which is a very shitty explanation for my behavior, but it’s not a justification, I’m aware. So, I really am sorry.”

“Hey.” Lily’s eyes are wide, understanding. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve basically written the book on dysfunctional sibling relationships, so I get it.”

“Oh, yeah…” He feels kind of stupid now; he knows Lily has an older sister she doesn’t really get along with for some reason, though she never really talks about why.

“But in the future, it might be nice if you, you know, assess whether or not it’s an actual threat to the person you’re trying to help or just something that’s none of your business.”

He grins. “Right. Why did you break up with James, again?”

“

Unbelievable

.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking to you about that,

ever

.”

“Fair enough.” he says, knowing when enough is enough, even though he’s morbidly curious. “We’re okay, then? I

have

missed you.”

“Obviously.” She unwraps the KitKat, crunching in bliss. “It’s like Remus said; you’re hard to stay mad at.”

News

to him. “He said that? But he’s always mad at me.”

She shrugs, nonchalance incarnate. “Who knows?”

"You have to tell me..." he wheedles, but she just keeps eating the KitKat, shaking her head.

“I worry that I’m not an interesting person.” says the person, whose name is Rain and uses they/them pronouns. Usually, people don’t volunteer this kind of information, but Rain has been talking to Sirius for over an hour. Technically, this is against the rules, but all the student workers tend to bend the “half-an-hour-or-less unless it’s a real emergency” rule. Some people just want friends. Case in point, Rain, who’s feeling depressed as the seasons start to change, and recently stopped going to their online Dungeons-and-Dragons group, which seems to be their entire social life. It’s been a slow day, and Sirius doesn’t mind talking to Rain, even though the conversation is a little bit cyclical.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true.” Sirius replies. “You’ve kept

me

talking to you.”

“But you have to be. It’s your job.” The whine is

very

reminiscent of Peter.

“Come on,” he encourages. “You have to know by now I don’t. I talk to people all the time, but not usually this long.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” It is definitely true. Rain

loves

to talk.

“Even my

therapist

wants to get rid of me, I think.” Rain says, morose. “Because I’m so boring. All my issues are totally first-world problems. I’m in college, for fuck’s sake. should have it fucking

made

. Instead, I’m here, talking your ear off.”

“Hey,” Sirius supplies. “You know, even first-world problems are still

problems

. Just because you have food and shelter and are not actively facing threats to your life right now doesn’t mean your life is perfect. And I know it’s supposed to be the best four years of your life, but it’s about ebb and flow, right? Like, if you go through your life expecting everything to be amazing and interesting and perfect all the time, you’re going to be setting yourself up for a bit of disappointment. Same thing if you assume everything’s going to be terrible all the time. It’s…” He thinks about Effie, standing over his hospital bed. “more about riding it out, thinking that after the lows there will be a high. Seeing the promise of the high, even when, like now, things don’t look so good.”

“You want me to assume things will get better. But nobody likes me.”

“Has anyone actually

said

that to you, though?” Sirius rubs at his temples, frustrated.

“No, but…”

“That’s the other thing. You

don’t

know, until they say it. You can’t read other people’s minds, and I’m willing to bet that if you could, they’d like you a little more than you think that they do. I mean, I like you.”

“You do?” Rain is shy, and Sirius feels a twinge of embarrassment for his early annoyance with them.

“Of course I do.” he says, and it’s not hard to mean it.

Gideon rolls over on his back, an expression of bliss on his face. “That was the best yet.”

Sirius pushes sweat-soaked hair from out of his eyes. “Right.” In his view, it was nothing really groundbreaking. They’ve always been good at the sex part of their relationship; it’s the other stuff where he feels like they’re never really on the same page. But he’s trying, because he wants to be better. He apologized for being distant, for not being physical; which Gideon apparently found very sexy, hence…this. They’re lying on his bed in the middle of the afternoon, after skipping both of their midmorning classes, which leaves Sirius wondering why they always have to do something like this, instead of just going on a date like normal people. To add insult to injury, they can never hook up at Gideon’s place either, because his roommate is around. (To which Sirius wanted to reply

I have two roommates, and they both would prefer to not walk in on us fucking

, but fortunately, he had the self-preservation not to say it.)

Gideon nestles into his outstretched arm. “You smell like

sex

.”

“D’you want me to shower?” Sirius murmurs. He had two shots of tequila an hour before Gideon arrived, and chased it with Listerine because tequila breath is not sexy, and he’s feeling

very

relaxed.

“No.” Gideon plants a kiss right above his ear, and he resists an urge to elbow him in the gut, because he’s depraved. “I like it. It’s

hot

.”

“Mm. You’re hot.”

“You think so?” Gideon is cheesing, itching for a compliment.

“Obviously.” He watches as Gideon procures blue raspberry edibles from his bag. He really is a fucking child sometimes. “Can I have one?”

“If you don’t fall asleep.”

“Not fair.” He sticks out his bottom lip. “I’m relaxed; I might.”

“Okay, fine.” Gideon relents. “But you have to let me feed it to you.”

“Fine.” Sirius lets Gideon deliver the horrid blue square. on the tip of his tongue. He tastes warm, and like weed, and the pastille is starting to melt in his mouth, but Sirius kisses him anyway, because he wants to get out-of-his-body high.

Half an hour later, when the sun is beating down on them from their windows, his arm around Gideon’s shoulders, the edibles just beginning to kick in, he watches Gideon trace the patterns the light, dappled by the blinds, makes on his skin, large, ruddy hands running over the dark hair on his arms, the remnants of a farmers’ tan.

“Look.” says Gideon, pushing their hands together. “We’re the same color.”

No, we’re not

, Sirius wants to say, because they’re not even close, really, but he’s so comfortable, playing with Gideon’s thick, red curls, pretending the outside doesn’t exist, that he doesn’t say anything. Later, he’ll wish he did.

It’s four in the morning when he wakes up, Gideon snoring softly on his right. It was a strange dream, he knows. Uncomfortable. He had been on trial, and his mother was the judge, while everyone he’d ever known took the stand, listing out all the reasons why he should be put away. The only person who’d been on his side had been Gideon, and his mother had made him look like an absolute fool, and so had James, who was the prosecutor, for some reason. He’d woken up right before Regulus took the stand, so he’ll never know what Dream!Regulus would have said. Based on everybody else, he doubts it would have been good.

He gently shoves Gideon over, covering him with the blanket, and creeps out of the bed. His head is

pounding

, the after-effects of too much tequila combined with an edible of disarming strength. He walks down the hall, quietly closing the door behind him, and then steps into the kitchen. Remus has left one of his pilling, probably thrifted sweaters on a chair, and he pulls it on, breathing in the light, woody smell of old wool. He feels a little bit bad about it, but if he didn’t consider it to be a communal property, Sirius reasons, he probably would have taken it back to his room. He cracks open one of Peter’s too-sweet energy drinks, and unlocks the front door, stepping outside into the surprisingly chilly night air. After closing the door behind him, soundlessly, he unlocks his phone, and calls James.

James answers on the first ring. “Yeah?”

“You’re awake?” He’d expected James to sound bleary with sleep, but he’s surprisingly alert. They always answer each other on the phone. James is the only person he’s set to have notifications on for, something which has baffled (and angered) everyone he’s ever dated.

“Of course. Have to prep for tomorrow; this problem set is doing me in. What’s up? Nothing’s wrong, right?”

All you do is make people worry.

Sirius pushes away the train of thought. “No, I just…I had a weird dream.”

“About…”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Okay.” He can tell James wants to push, but knows he shouldn’t. “Could use a break, anyway. I’ll finish it tomorrow morning.”

“I made up with Lily, did I tell you?” Sirius says, quickly, desperate to give him some good news.

“No, but she did.” James sounds amused.  “She said you wrote her a love letter. Should I be jealous?”

He squirms. “Shut up. No. I was trying to be

better

. To be

nice

.”

“Why on Earth would you want to better? You’re fine.” James’ concern is palpable. “You’re not…you know, again?”

“Why is that always what you go to?” he snaps. “Can’t I just, want to improve myself like a normal person?”

“Right, you can, I just…I worry.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m taller than you.”

“I’m older than you,” Sirius retorts, but he’s smiling now, the feeling of the shame residing. James has that effect. “So I definitely can.”

James snorts. “I doubt that works on Regulus.”

“Oh, nothing works on Regulus. He’s completely immune to me. It’s the worst.” He sighs. “Do you think I’m fucking it up, again? With him? I’m trying to give him his space, let him be a person independent of me, but he hasn’t talked to me, all week.”

“How would I know?”

“You’re good with you know, empathy. And feelings.”

“So are you. And he’s your brother.”

“I’m all right.” Sirius is mollified by the compliment. “But you’re better. It comes more naturally to you. So…what do you think?”

“What do I think?” James muses. “I mean, obviously, you have things to work through, the two of you. But, you know, you do have a habit of writing things off before you know for sure. So, sure, maybe something is wrong, but there’s also a very good chance that nothing is. That he’s just making friends, and getting accustomed to stuff here.”

“Right. Yeah, that’s probably what it is.”

“And you know, I’m not the person to ask, about that kind of stuff, exactly. I’m-” James pauses, a bit, gathering his words. “Well, you know. I’m kind of a disaster, right now. I flipped on Mary and Marlene, the other day. For absolutely no reason.”

“So apologize.”

“I

will

; I just…it’s so

embarrassing.

I just keep doing crazy thing after crazy thing, and I can’t stop myself. I feel so out of control.”

“You’re not out of control.” Sirius says softly. “You’re, uh…You’re in pain. And I didn’t help, because I just expected you to get over it, which wasn’t fair.”

“You can’t blame this on yourself. I won’t let you.”

“Watch me. The Blacks love their self-loathing.” He clears his throat. “I think the issue is, none of the rest of us have ever really been in love. Not like you, anyway. So it’s hard to understand, even though we want to.”

“Oh, come on, really.” He can practically see James shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve never been in love? What about Mary? Or Gideon? You can’t keep your hands off each other.”

“I

love

Mary, but that’s not…I don’t

love

Mary. And Gideon…I tell him I love him, and he tells me he loves me, but I’m lying.”

James sucks in a breath. “Okay. Wow.”

“You think I’m an asshole.”

“No, I just…I’m glad you’re not

my

rebound boyfriend. To think, I would be totally heartbroken after you left me, and you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“I would never leave you.” It’s a big thing, to admit. “Anyway, I think I

could

love Gideon. I’m close to it; I feel like. So I tell him I love him, because at some point, I’m pretty sure I’ll start to mean it.”

“Okay. So it’s like a pre-emptive thing, for you. I get that.” James sighs. “I really should apologize.”

“Yeah. We need to fix this before Halloween.”

“Oh, your

priorities

. Whatever will you do if Marlene won’t fireman-carry you down the stairs after you pass out on someone’s couch covered in glitter?”

“I know! You’re being very inconsiderate!”

James laughs. “Go to

sleep

, Sirius.”

“You first. Hey, James?”

“Mmhm?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Just…I don’t know. Thanks.”

“Well, I love you. See, it’s not so hard.”

“Love you too.” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“I’m not saying it again.”

He can hear James chuckling on the other end of the phone, warm, familiar. “You’re such a wuss.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I would go out tonight

But I haven’t got a stitch to wear

This man said “It’s gruesome that someone so handsome should care”

-The Smiths 
 It’s the time of year, for Regulus, that is just absolutely miserable. He knows some people love the way the seasons turn in fall, pumpkin spice whatever and frolicking in the forest, but for him, it’s just cold that precludes more cold. Sheets of sleety rain that numbs his hands, wind that makes the skin on his nose peel off in sheets, piles of brown leaves on the sidewalk. He hated it last year, and he hates it this year even more, because he’s expecting it to come, so he’s had ample time to shore up his stores of hatred. Every day is a struggle to wake up, and every night, he falls asleep praying that a freak natural disaster would raze the buildings in which he has class to the ground. If there was a God, he thinks, he would get a week off. Surely, he could receive a little deus ex machina , a grand piano crushing an elderly professor, the happy groups of freshman taking Instagram pictures getting their eyes put out by hail, whoever lives upstairs from him who keeps playing Taylor Swift at top volume getting slowly consumed by those African flesh-eating ants he saw on a nature documentary. “Almost makes you feel for Jake Gyllenhaal, doesn’t it?” Evan spins around in his swivel chair (stolen from the psych building and now a permanent fixture in their room). The bridge on “All Too Well” can clearly be heard through the wall. “If I was Jake Gyllenhaal,” says Regulus darkly. “I’d sue her for defamation.” “Come now, you don’t mean that.” “This is cruel and unusual punishment. It violates my human rights.” He bangs their broom on the wall. “ Shut the FUCK up!”  Evan winces. “Do you have to be so loud ?” “What? I’m trying to study .” For being the kind of college where people supposedly go to more protests then lectures, there’s a surprising amount of homework. “You need a break.” Evan says, for the third time. “I can’t take a break; the midterm is tomorrow .” “Look.” Evan throws his wallet across the room with surprisingly decent aim, where it lands with a sharp smack across Regulus’ desk. “Go down to the coffee shop and buy something. My treat.” “I literally do not have the time.” “Five minutes. Then you can come back.” When Regulus eyes him flatly, he says, “It’s not a request. I’m trying to read, and as much as I love your one-sided beef with Ms. Swift, it’s somewhat distracting.” “You can’t tell me you’re enjoying this. It’s torture.” Regulus points upward, from where Taylor is still warbling about how Jake’s lost “the one good thing he’ll ever know,” which is really quite presumptuous, if you think about it. “No, but I like getting along with our neighbors.” He points to the door. “Out. Now.” And so, swearing, Regulus grabs Evan’s wallet, and slams the door behind him, leaving Evan to enjoy his reading and Taylor Swift. Evan has a point. Almost everything annoys him now; he reflects, since he kicked the pills, Every day, he’s got to pinch the inside of his wrist to stop himself from calling one of his profs or classmates “a cocksucker,” which as homophobic insults go is actually pretty funny, but definitely not appropriate. The thing is, he’s not one for random outbursts of rage, at least not normally. That’s always been his mother’s thing, or Sirius’ thing. Regulus and Orion have that icy anger, the just-simmering-under-the-surface, ready-to- cut-to-the-bone kind of fury. He prefers it that way; this kind of anger makes him feel childish. The kind of anger that would make his mother call him a brat; his father laugh at him. The kind of anger nobody takes seriously. He pulls his stupid raincoat tight around him and makes the awful walk to the coffee shop. The rain soaks through the cheap plastic, and he’s dripping when he arrives, water droplets rolling off his nose, bouncing off his shoes. “Hi, welcome in. What can I get for you?” says an incredibly bored voice. To his surprise, it’s Sirius’ roommate, the really tall one…Remus? Remus, that’s right. This school is too damn small. He decides to do the brave thing, and pretend he doesn’t know him. Drawing himself up, he says. “Yes, hi, can I do a large latte, double-shot, no milk?” “Em…a latte has milk.” Remus is clearly trying to work out whether or not it’s appropriate to laugh. (It’s not. He doesn’t know what the fuck a latte is: He just read the first thing on the menu.) “Okay, then, whatever no milk would be.” “You want a large black coffee?” Is he stupid ? “…Yes.” Remus blinks. “Okay. You can pay here.” Regulus taps Evan’s card (why is this five dollars?) and then moves to sit, bouncing his leg impatiently. There’s nobody else really in the coffee shop, so it’s just Remus, pouring the coffee into a tall paper cup, and not really looking at him. “Are you alright?” Remus asks him. sliding one of those weird paper sheath things around the cup. “You seem…” “I’m fine.” Regulus tells him shortly. “Right.” He clears his throat. “Doing anything this weekend?” “…No.” Remus looks massively uncomfortable, shoulders hunched, not quite looking at him. “I think, um, Sirius would like to see you, then. He mentioned.” “Well, he didn’t want to see me for four years, so it’s hardly the time to start now.” Regulus snaps a lid on his coffee with finality. “He is trying.” Remus protests. “If he just wants to take me to another stupid party and get blackout drunk, I think I’ll pass. Why’s he got you doing this, anyway? Scared I’ll say no?” “No, actually.” The reply comes out stronger than he expected, measured, even. So he’s not a pushover. Interesting. “It was my idea. Since you enjoyed the last one so much you disappeared without telling us.” He’s a little embarrassed at the mention of that, but he’s not going to be guilted by this guy. “So it is another stupid party.” “That we’re hosting.” Remus corrects. “It’s a Halloween party. Costumes are encouraged.” “I hate Halloween.” “So do I. But it’s important to the people I care about, for some reason, so I go along with it.” He looks at Regulus, pointedly. “People generally appreciate it when you’re a good sport about being included, even if you really couldn’t care less.” Regulus, who hates being lectured,  is about to give him a piece of his mind, when the bell on the door chimes. They both turn around to see Lily, wearing a hat and looking frazzled. “Can you do a regular matcha for me? Thank you, please, you’re the best, love you…Hi, Regulus.” “Hi,” Regulus says, cautious. He thinks he likes Lily; she shares James’ almost oppressive niceness , helping him out with homework every time he asks, even when she’s not working, making a point of saying hello to him between classes. However, she’s more patient than James, by a long shot, and she’s a bit saltier too, devoid of his boundless optimism and energy, which he appreciates. He gets why James is so obsessed with her now, he thinks, but he’s not really sure what the social protocol is when she’s not explaining phosphodiesters to him in the library. “Regulus,” Remus informs Lily. “is coming to Halloween.” She perks up at this news. “Oh, you are? Good for you; you’re always working.” “I haven’t decided yet.” Regulus puts on his loftiest voice. “I don’t know if I will.” “Do you not have a costume yet, then?” Lily leans over the counter. “And you can’t go as a ‘college student;’ we won’t let you in for that this year.” “Um…” “It doesn’t have to be high effort!” she reassures him. “Let’s see, you could be an emo boy; you already have the clothes. All you’d need is some nail polish and a little makeup, and you’d be good to go.” Regulus, who does not wear nail polish or a little makeup , glares at Remus. “I probably won’t go.” “Costumes aren’t that bad,” Remus is calm as he stirs the matcha in Lily’s mug. “I’ll wear one.” Lily claps her hands. “Oh my God, what are you going to be?” “It’s a secret.” He’s a strange person; Regulus decides. He comes across so mild-mannered, almost unsure, but there’s something there. Remus Lupin is not insecure at all. In a curious way, he thinks, he can see why someone like Sirius would be drawn to him. Attempting to strong-arm him into hanging out with Sirius is, well…a very Sirius move. “Well?” He looks at Regulus, expectantly, and he squirms a little. “If I’m sacrificing my comfort and dignity for everyone else, you can too.” “This is a big deal ,” Lily explains. “Remus is the staunch holdout Halloween hater. You could be the turning point for him. Help him embrace his inner child.” “I don’t think I have an inner child.” Remus says. “I may have an inner eighty-year-old man.” Which Regulus gets, because he’s a strange person too, when you think about it. “Okay, fine.” he says, even though he definitely can hear his mother telling him he’s wasting his entire life trying to be popular in the back of his mind. He’s a pushover, though, when it comes to Sirius. He’ll pay for it later, he thinks. Or he’ll just decide not to go at the last minute. Lily cheers, and Regulus grimaces, and Remus gives him a tiny little self-satisfied smile. “Your roommate is making me come to your stupid Halloween party.” he tells Sirius on the phone that evening. “Oh, Remus is making you, sure. People would kill for an invitation. It is quite literally the social event of the semester.” As ever, he’s quick to defend himself. “It’s true! He very strongly implied that I was being an asshole if I didn’t go.” “And you care so much about what he thinks about you, right? It’s okay to say you want to go. I won’t tell Mom her perfect little angel wants to do body shots off of girls with septum rings.” “Ew, God -“ Sirius laughs, and he continues, barreling past the interruption. “I’m not going to do body shots! I’m not even going to do any shots. I think your-Remus-wants some sober company, for once.” “ My Remus, hmm?” Sirius is speculative. “Anyway, it’s obvious why he asked. That’s clearly a ploy. He wants us to see each other more.” “ He wants that. Right.” “Right, so we’d better at least look like we’re trying for him. So he doesn’t get worried.” “Oh, yeah.” Regulus echoes. “I’d hate to worry Remus.” “You know only children; they’re so distressed by the concept of complicated sibling relationships.” “I wasn’t aware our relationship was complicated .” Regulus says, haughtily. “I thought of it more as fraught. Perhaps abstruse .” “Little Reggie and his ten-dollar words. Look at you.” It’s pride, which Regulus likes. At least, it takes the sting out of being “Little Reggie.” “She hasn’t tried to talk to you at all, has she?” There’s no need to specify which she he’s talking about. “Oh, God, no.” Sirius replies. “Doubt she even has my email address. Why? Is she asking about me?” Oh, Sirius. For all his pretensions of not-caring, he still wants their mother’s pride, her approval. It unlocks something half-formed, twisted, inside of Regulus, the knowledge. “I haven’t heard from her.” he ends up lying. It comes out too easy, but that’s the thing. He wants them to be a normal family, he really does; it’s just that…if Sirius ever were to decide to step back into the Black family fold, he’s not sure if he could get used to playing second fiddle again. If their parents had a choice of son to disown, it would not have been Sirius they selected. And they both know it. He’s already gone and fucked it all up; it’s not wrong, is it, to want to hold onto the one thing he’s still got over Sirius, his mother’s attention, sharp-edged and inconsistent though it may be? “Just as well.” Sirius tells him. “You’re better off. She’s a psycho bitch.” “You really shouldn’t say that.” he admonishes. “It’s sexist .” “It’s true, though. She is. She never could pass up an opportunity to take a good thing and make it awful. And you were always so susceptible to her shit; she could work you so easily.” “Like you weren’t.” Sirius used to rise to the bait; he remembers. Every single time. Screaming and throwing things, making a scene, all while Regulus would hunch in his chair and pray for him to just shut up, take it, don’t let them see it get you.  “Not like you. I can’t cry.” “What do you mean?” He definitely could, when they were little kids. Not as much as Regulus; he’d been the family crybaby, back then. But he has memories, of Sirius, emerging from their parents’ rooms, white-faced and tearstained. Hearing him sobbing through a wall, knowing better than to try and comfort him. They were infrequent allies, then. “Yeah, I never told you this? Dear, sweet Dad took me aside once and told me that apparently , I wasn’t allowed to cry anymore. Because it’s not appropriate, and it irritated Mom, and it was setting a bad example for you, making you soft. So I told him that didn’t make any sense, that it was a natural reaction to being treated like she treated us every single day, and he said that he’d give me something to cry about, since I thought living with Mom was such torture.” He takes in a deep breath. “Didn’t really have the energy for tears, after all that.” “I didn’t know that.” Regulus says, feeling suddenly, very small. “She used to yell at me, for crying, say I should be more like you. I resented you for it…I really didn’t know.” “ ‘Course you didn’t. I didn’t tell you.” Sirius is back to his usual brusqueness. “I mean, I can cry, physically. Just not in front of other people. I went to Uncle Alphard’s memorial thingy, and I kept trying to get something going, but it just…didn’t work. Only member of the family at the damn thing, and everybody else probably thought I was a heartless bastard. My nose’ll run, sometimes, but that’s pretty much it.” “Wish I could do that, sometimes.” Regulus says, gloomily. “They always tell me I’m too sensitive.” “Oh, yeah, it’s a really neat party trick. Hey, look, everybody, see how my parents broke my brain!” “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t like being compared to you.” And never measuring up.  “How do you think I like being compared to you ? You know,” He puts on a snooty voice that is a clear imitation of their mother. “ Regulus makes an effort. Regulus is so selfless, so thoughtful, so perfect. Jesus Christ, you never could make it easy.” Regulus thinks about it, the layers of armor they grew to protect themselves from that house. It’s true; he never did make it easy for Sirius. But Sirius had pulled away from him, by then. He had an entire life outside of their four walls, while Regulus lacks his faith in the kindness of strangers. The love his family provides…he understands that.“Is that why you left? Because of me?” “Regulus…” “You can tell me the truth. It doesn’t matter now.” “What? No, no . Fuck, did they actually tell you that? I’ll fucking-“ “Dad said it once.” Regulus works the emotion out of the words. “He said maybe if I hadn’t been such a loser, you would have stayed.” What will you do when there’s no one left to blame it on? When everyone else can see what a disappointment you are?  “I mean, he was drinking. So I don’t think he meant it.” “Oh, so if I shot someone because I was drinking, it doesn’t count?” “What? No, that’s not even close to the same scenario.” “Listen to me.” He can hear Sirius breathe through the phone, and he presses it to his ear, hard, as if to absorb the weight of the sound. “I left, and…you’re entitled to feel the way you feel about it. That’s fair. I didn’t do it in the best way, or the most considerate way. But not for one second did my leaving have anything to do with you, and he’s evil for saying it did. You…you were the only reason I had to stay.”  I guess I wasn’t a good enough reason. Regulus doesn’t say it, though. “Okay.” “Say you believe me. Please.” It’s in this way, Regulus knows, that Sirius is weaker than him, that he needs this kind of verbal validation so desperately. But he gives it to him, because it’s the one thing he still can give him, even if it’s a flat-out lie. “I believe you.” Later, that night, he gets a text from Dorcas. get in loser i’m taking you shopping tomorrow  He sends back what do you mean?? Someone told me you need a halloween costume. Lily, he thinks. But how does Lily know Dorcas? Take the 10 to the university. We’ll go scavenging, then. 
tf is scavenging?

wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy 
He groans. “I can’t take this anymore.” “Take what?” Evan’s voice is muffled by his pillow. “My stupid brother wants me to go to his stupid Halloween party, which I need a stupid costume for, which Dorcas has apparently decided is her job to stupid get me.” “Oh, no. Your weirdly-popular-kind-of-gay-older-brother invited you to his party because he wants you to have fun, and your friend wants to spend time with you on the weekend. You have such a rough life.” “He didn’t invite me; his roommate did, but-“ “Oh my God.” Evan sits up, something akin to anger coloring his words. “You have to stop this. Do you know how many people wanted me at their Halloween party? Literally nobody. You hole up in here and do homework all day; you never try with anyone, and you got an invitation. I smile at people, and I wave, and I make small talk with people in my classes, and I still can’t get anyone to like me enough to want to see me on the weekend. So who fucking cares if your brother’s friend invited you because he felt bad? At least you have a party to go to, with people who actually want you to be there.” “But…” Regulus feels a little betrayed, like he’s been tripped, or sat down on a chair that someone’s pulled away from him. “I thought you were…I thought you had lots of friends.” After all, Evan’s always going to student society meetings and dances and group outings to someplace. “I have lots of acquaintances. I just…” He clicks his tongue. “I can’t quite get them to the next step. So you can see why I’m having a hard time, feeling adequately sorry for you, since all you do is bitch and moan and you have nice, normal people falling all over themselves to be your friends.” Regulus clears his throat. “Sorry.” “Yeah, you are.” He can hear Evan roll over, on his side of the room, and he sits motionless in the dark. His father’s always been right about him; he realizes. At his core, he’s just very selfish and stupid, unable to read other people at all. First Sirius, then Evan. It seems that there’s a lot he doesn’t know about other people; that even the ones who seem shiny and untouchable on the outside hide a core just as misshapen and bruised as his own. Which should make him feel better, but mostly just makes him feel like an asshole, for not realizing in the first place. When he wakes up, two hours before Evan, he resolves to be better. The first step is responding to Dorcas, telling her when he’ll be there, gulps down a black tea and a grainy vegan muffin from the dining hall, and waits at the bus stop for the number ten. He’s surprised to see Lily there, with a blond girl, both of whom wave him over. “So this is Baby Black.” The blond looks him up and down. Even though she’s at least half a head shorter than him, she’s got a firmness to her presence that implies she’s not one to be trifled with. “I’m Marlene McKinnon.” “Nice to meet you.” he says automatically. “Hi, Lily.” “He’s great .” Lily says to Marlene. “You’ll love him.” “If you say so. Dorcas says he’s hilarious .” The tone seems to imply that Marlene is less than impressed. “Um,” He’s thankful for the opportunity to start a conversation and not look so fucking awkward. “How do you know Dorcas?” Marlene starts to say something, and Lily interrupts, “Marlene has a huge crush on her.” “I do not -“ Marlene starts to say, but Lily keeps going. “They met at a party at the start of the semester, but she’s too much of a pussy to make the first move, so now she’s doing that weird gay girl thing where she just invites herself to do domestic tasks with Dorcas. Which seems to include getting you a costume, today.” “Ignore her, please, Regulus.” “Don’t ignore me, Regulus. What, like you had to help her do her laundry last weekend?” “She has a lot of laundry! She’s a model!” “Uh huh.” “And I still don’t even know if she likes girls.” “Oh,” Regulus says, without thinking, because he finally has some useful information to contribute to a conversation for once. “You don’t have to worry about that. She’s a lesbian.” Lily crows. “ See? What’d I tell you?” Marlene throws her hands up. “But you see, then that’s worse .” “How can it possibly be worse than the alternative?” “Because then, if she doesn’t like me, then I can be like, it’s fine; she just isn’t into women. But now, if she doesn’t like me, it’s like, she’s gay; she just specifically finds me to be sexually repulsive. ” She turns to Regulus, curious. “Do you think she finds me to be sexually repulsive?” “Um…” He has no clue how to respond to that. “Leave him alone.” Lily scolds. “How on earth would he know?” “I don’t know; maybe she talks about me, or something. Does she talk about me?” Regulus is saved the mortification of having to answer that question by the arrival of the number ten bus. He’s not exactly a veteran of public transit, considering he’s usually been dropped off and picked up by various chartered and chauffeured cars, but when in Rome, he supposes. The bus smells like piss, and there’s definitely some people aboard that his mother would refer to as trailer trash, although to be fair, she talks like this about most people, so her assessment of people’s financial status is generally not to be trusted. Lily and Marlene seem completely unfazed by the whole thing, though, so he follows them to the back of the bus, trying not to make eye contact with any of the passengers in case one of them has a shiv or something. (He’s seen a lot of stories on the evening news about people getting stabbed on buses.) Of course, because life’s a bitch, the dirty-seeming guy sitting ahead of them sparks up a conversation with him. “You kids going to the movies?” He nods, slightly, anything to get the guy to stop talking. Marlene says, “We’re seeing a friend.” “I have a friend I could introduce you to. His name’s Jesus Christ.” “Oh, fuck -“ Regulus starts to say, but Lily steps on his foot, and they spend the rest of the forty minute bus ride getting preached to. Regulus has never been so glad to get out of a vehicle in his life, and that includes the time he puked on the flight to Prague when he was seven. Lily and Marlene seem to find the whole thing hilarious. They actually have tears in their eyes, as they imitate him on the walk to Dorcas’ campus. “And in the book of Revelations -“ “ Why did he say it like that?” Lily wheezes. “Rev-EL-ayyytions.” “He’s got three new converts for sure,” Marlene says. “No Jesus.” Lily cuts in. “I did enough Catholic school to last a lifetime. Absolutely not.” “God, I forgot you and Regulus went to Nun Academy.” “We only had one nun.” Regulus is enjoying it, despite himself, the camaraderie. Marlene is the kind of easy conversationalist Sirius is; he can see why they’re friends. “Dear Sister Novak.” Lily says fondly. “She sent me to in-school-suspension once for wearing Crocs.” “And she should have done way more; Crocs are a fashion faux pas .” “Okay, Little-Miss-I’m-Dating-A-Model-So-I-Know-About-Clothes-Even-Though-I-Still-Wear-Litas.” “Oh come on, Litas are comfortable .” “So’re Crocs!” Lily outside of class, he realizes, is a lot sharper, more silly. He had wondered, at first, how she could possibly hold her own with James and his friends, but he sees it now. They meet Dorcas by her car, an old-model Volvo, which is parked outside of a rickety apartment with treacherous wrought-iron stairs. As per usual, she’s dressed up, in a short purple skirt and cardigan set, with matching sunglasses. Marlene is staring , completely shamelessly. “You came!” “Yeah, well…” He flexes his fingers, awkwardly.“Aww, look at you, being all social and popular and shit.” He cringes, thinking about Evan, but hopes he’s covered it up with a smile. “Em…this is Lily.” Marlene tells Dorcas.Lily grins. “The famous Dorcas.” Dorcas’ lips split into a slow, predatory smile. “Does she talk about me?” “Only incessantly.” and Marlene makes a little protesting noise, and normally Regulus hates people flirting with each other in front of him, but there’s something about the light in Dorcas’ eyes when she appraises Marlene that’s hard to be annoyed with. So maybe he wants Dorcas to be happy. Maybe he likes her. Maybe Evan’s right; maybe they are friends. It’s all so strange.  They all pile into the car, which is scrupulously clean and aggressively air freshened, and Lily and Regulus make sure to take the back seat, Lily grinning like Christmas has come early, while they listen to Marlene try out all her best lines on Dorcas (“What kind of eyeliner do you use?” and “I just love Father John Misty, don’t you?”, the latter of which actually makes Dorcas blush a little.) “ Adorable.” Lily whispers to him, making him jump. “Marlene is so toxic with most girls. They’ll say how high when she says jump; I can’t tell you how satisfying it is to watch her doing the running around for once.” “Mmm.” Is it wise, to talk about other people when they’re right in front of you? He doesn’t think so. “I mean, at this rate, they’re going to be together by the end of the night.” Lily says again, as Dorcas and Marlene dissolve into giggles when they realize they’ve inadvertently planned a couples’ costume independently of each other (Marlene is Velma and Dorcas is, predictably, Daphne). “Maybe we need to find you a girl to hit on.” He must look alarmed at this, because she adds, “Unless you have a girlfriend already?” “No,” he says, once he figures out what she’s getting at. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” Regulus has a hard enough time making friends; he truly has never once entertained the prospect of dating. Also, the idea of anyone in his family, especially his mother, meeting this theoretical girlfriend, is enough to make him break out in hives. That’s always been more of Sirius’ arena; he’s always thought. Save dating for people who “light up a room” or whatever. “Oh.” She sits with the information, then says, “So are you gay, then?” “What ? No. Not that-“ he makes sure to put in, quickly. “not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. I just do not happen to be gay.” “Me neither. I am also not gay.” she says, cheeks pink. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed…”“Because of Sirius?” He smiles. “You know, I don’t think that’s how it works. I’m just not a big…dating person.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You never know. Tonight could be your night, too.”  Easy for you to say, James Potter’s ex-girlfriend. He does not return her smile. “Yeah. Maybe.” Several hours later, after combing the back aisles of no less than three different thrift stores (“Dorcas knows all the cool places to find stuff; the ones the tourists don’t know about.” Marlene had informed them.), buying two bottles of vanilla-flavored vodka with Dorcas’ ID (she just turned 21), and everyone being made to model at least two full ensembles (Marlene aggressively encouraging Dorcas to buy literally everything she tried on), they’re back at Dorcas’ place. Lily and Marlene are downing the vanilla vodka like it’s water, while Dorcas hovers over Regulus, doing his eyeliner. “Stay still, stay still-ah, there! Perfect.” He examines his reflection in the mirror. Face powdered ghostly white, the eyeliner makes the grey in his eyes stand out, and contrasted against the long pleather coat from the thrift store that reeks of cigarettes, he looks…dangerous. Like someone you shouldn’t cross. (He also looks a lot like Sirius, but he’s trying to ignore that.) “A moment of silence for my handiwork.” Dorcas announces. “Wow.” says Marlene. “What is he supposed to be?” Dorcas winks. “I don’t know. Cool.” “He’s really pretty .” Lily announces. She’s dressed as a cheerleader, and the red lipstick Dorcas applied has already mostly rubbed off on her shot glass. “Doesn’t he look like Sirius, a bit, Marlene?” She rubs her nose. “Kinda looks like he’s from The Matrix .” “Oh yeah, I can see it…” “I’ve never seen The Matrix ,” Regulus whispers to Dorcas, who is touching up her Daphne wig. “Don’t say it in front of Marlene.” she tells him, quietly. “Apparently she’s big on action movies. Little idiot.” She’s fond, when she says it, watching Lily and Marlene sing along to whatever Clairo song is emanating from her speakers, and argue, back and forth, about someone they don’t know. “And so I told him, that if he ever, ever, talked to me like that again, I’d kick him in the balls-“ Marlene’s gesticulating with her drink. Vanilla vodka splashes on the carpet, and Dorcas winces. “Oh, yeah, that’ll help! It was a mistake; honestly, Marlene…” Lily reaches out to pat her on the back, almost dropping her drink. “Who’re you talking about?” Dorcas swiftly returns both of the shot glasses to the nightstand, before there can be any more accidents. “James.” Lily says, at the same time as Marlene says, “Her ex who she has a codependent relationship with.” Why they’re talking about James is beyond Regulus, but he listens all the same. Not that he cares, exactly, but it’s just right there. “He totally flipped on us because he wanted us to keep tabs on her after they broke up, but he’s over it now, so she says. I mean he did apologize, and he said he would try to be a better friend, but you know. Men are trash.” “Yeah, that’s extremely suspect,” Dorcas says darkly. “Guys never just want to ‘just be friends’. Uh, no offense, Regulus.” “Exactly!” Marlene says. “See, she gets it!” “I think,” Regulus’ voice is quiet, but he’s aware, suddenly, of everyone listening. “I think he does feel bad about it. I don’t think he’d try anything like that again.” He remembers James, the frustration in his voice, knowing he was fucking up. It humanizes him a little; Regulus can actually relate. You know what you want, and then something happens, and you don’t know what you should do anymore.  Marlene narrows her eyes with suspicion. “What do you know about it?”  Fuck. “Nothing.” He’s a little too quick with his response. “I’m just…guessing.” “See, Regulus agrees with me!” Lily says. “Uh-uh, your judgment about guys is extremely questionable after freshman year.” Lily cringes. “Low blow, Marls.” “I mean, I’m a lesbian, and I have better instincts than you.” Back and forth it continues, and Regulus wonders about why he felt compelled to defend James, of all people. The thing is, he’s sure James had done something bad. He knows that he did; he basically admitted it. But James is a guy who can own his mistakes, which makes him ninety-nine percent better than most people Regulus knows. And being able to unbend your pride enough to apologize, really apologize, takes self-reflection. So he may be infuriatingly cheery and be made out of pep and sunshine and ego, but…James also has integrity, Regulus has seen it. It’s James, and his propensity for sincerity, even in the face of his mistakes, that leads Regulus to say, “Do you mind?” and excuse himself into the hallway. It’s time for the second step in his plan. He shoots Sirius a text, gets a response back almost instantly, and then makes a call, the sound of the girls partying still carrying. Evan answers. “What’s up? Look, about yesterday, that was…too much. And I’m sorry.” “No.” Regulus rests his head against the wall. “You were right. I’ve been taking people for granted. I’m sorry.” Evan chuckles. “Never thought you would apologize to me. Holy shit.” “Well, don’t get too used to it. I’m not usually wrong.” “Undoubtedly.” He can hear Evan’s smile. “So, uh. I texted my brother, and there’s another invitation to that Halloween party available. If you’re not busy.” “My God, is Regulus Black encouraging me to have fun? Is it opposite day?” “So…yes?” “Duh.” “Great, okay, I’ll text you the address. And you need a costume; I guess they’re serious about it.” “Live to serve, Captain.” He imagines Evan’s got his hand outstretched in a military salute, and he smiles. When he arrives, with the girls in tow,  it’s already starting. Someone’s playing Panic!At the Disco, and there’s a mass of beer cans assembled on a coffee table. Everyone who has arrived is in various states of costume-on the low effort end, he sees some black cats with paper tails, on the higher effort end is…Oh my God, Sirius , who is wearing some sort of Hot-Topic corset-ish getup, has blue extensions woven into his hair, and is carrying a baseball bat (?). “You came!” He has the cadence of an excited dog, and he enfolds Regulus in a very one-sided hug (which Regulus does his best to escape because of the alcohol smell coming off his skin). “Uh…what are you supposed to be?” “Do you like it?” James, bangs in his eyes and sporting an orange beanie, pops up from where he’s been embracing Marlene in a manner which can best be described as “competitive.” “What is ‘it’?” “I told you,” Peter says sullenly from behind Lily, who is talking to a brunette girl he doesn’t know. “No one would be able to figure out what we were.” He’s wearing a really bad black wig, and has squeezed himself into some too-tight red and black plaid pants. “It’s an absolute Internet classic; Regulus lives under a rock.” Sirius dismisses him. “We’re Unicorns Killed My Girlfriend!” James announces triumphantly. Regulus shakes his head. “Does not help me.” “You know, from the ‘Problem’ music video? The emo kids from 2013?” “Told you.” Peter rolls his eyes. “This did not have the cultural impact y’all thought it did.” “You’re a Philistine. What are you even supposed to be anyway?” Sirius asks Regulus. Regulus racks his brain, then remembers what Dorcas said. “Cool.” James and Peter snicker at this, while Sirius looks disapproving. “That’s not a costume .” “It is for me.” Regulus scans the partygoers. “Where’s Remus?” This question sets off another fit of laughter, and Sirius drags him away into the kitchen, where Remus is obligingly cutting up lime wedges wearing what can best be described as a hair suit, complete with monstrous paws. Regulus laughs. He can’t help himself. “Nice costume.” “I’m a werewolf .” Remus says, unamused. “Rawr.” This sends Sirius into hysterics, and he’s actually holding onto the corner of the counter for support. “The limes aren’t very juicy.” Regulus remarks, once Remus has given Sirius a glare that has finally silenced his hilarity.“What do you want me to do about it?” Regulus retrieves the limes from Remus’ paw (Good God, this is beyond stupid), wraps them in a paper towel, and sticks them in the microwave. “Does that actually work?” “It does.” Sirius and Regulus say in unison. “Big batch G & Ts?” He gestures at the liter of tonic water on the counter. Memories, of lazy summers, shut in their house, squeezing limes into a jug for “company,” watching the adults get drunker and drunker, stealing sips from all the half-drunk glasses. Falling into each other, giggling, while Narcissa begged them to stop it, before someone notices. It had been funny until she finally snapped and told their mother. “Yeah. Bombay Sapphire?” “Do you even have to ask?” He’s bringing out the distinctive blue bottle, and Remus looks on as they ration it off into a bowl, pour the tonic water on top and listen to it fizz. Like they’ve been doing it all their life, which they kind of have. “Do I want to know why you’re so good at this?” Remus asks. They exchange a look, and Sirius says. “Our entire family are functional alcoholics.” “He’s joking.” Regulus amends quickly. “We learned how to make drinks when I was four, Regulus. Pretty sure if you’re training a toddler to be a bartender, it’s indicative of you having a bit of a problem.” “He’s exaggerating.” At least, Regulus thinks he is. He has been making drinks for his mother since he was pretty young, which he’s only recently learned is not normal. But then, Americans are very strange about alcohol consumption. One time, when he was nine, he mentioned off-handedly at a neighbor’s birthday party he had the misfortune of being invited to that he’d had wine with dinner the previous night. He did not get invited back to that neighbor’s house. “Whatever you say. I still think it’s weird.” Sirius says, squeezing the now-warm lime juice into the bowl. “Does Mom still make you do it? She had me stop when I was twelve because I kept saying I was going to put Drain-O in her old-fashioned.” “A little.” he says, wary now. It’s like he wants Remus to think they’re weird. “James’ parents don’t really drink, except on their anniversary.” Sirius informs him, like he fucking cares. “I thought it was so weird, when I first learned about it. Do yours, Remus?”  Fucking good for them. “Sort of.” Remus fidgets, awkwardly, maybe sensing the tension. “My dad makes his own beer, so they drink that, I guess…” “Mm.” He carries the bowl into the living room, leaving the two of them alone. “My parents aren’t alcoholics.” Regulus explains, when Sirius leaves. “You know what he’s like; he’s dramatic.” “Okay,” Remus says. “I believe you.” He doesn’t sound like he does. “He’s just trying to piss me off.” “Uh huh.” He does sound like he believes that. There’s a sudden crash, and shouts are emanating from the living room. “Evan Rosier?!” “We love you!” “You guys are the best,” Evan, who is clearly tipsy, slurs. He clearly is at the point of inebriation where he has absolutely no knowledge of how loud he’s being. “My roommate.” Regulus explains. “Told him to come.” “He sounds…fun.” Remus says. Regulus tosses his head. “He is.” It’s hours later, and he’s not sure how he’s gotten here, really. It’s all been a bit intoxicating, clapping along to Sirius and James absolutely murdering an ABBA song on makeshift karaeoke, being engaged in a hefty bit of beer can Jenga with Evan, watching Dorcas finally give up and make out with Marlene in front of absolutely everyone, to cheers from the crowd. The stragglers are leaving now-Evan’s caught a ride with Frank and Dorcas and Marlene, who he’s apparently best friends with now, and Peter’s asleep on James’ lap on the couch. Sirius and Gideon and Mary and Lily have disappeared outside “to smoke cigs and eat cheese,” Remus is watching them “so they don’t get hit by a car”, his werewolf paws mercifully discarded, and oh, God…it really is just the two of them, alone. Which is awkward. Fuck. He slowly starts gathering his coat, about to slide his shoes back on when, “You didn’t think you could leave without saying goodbye, did you?” James, glasses pushed on top of his head, calls.  Fuck. “No.” he lies. “I was going to…it’s just late, and I thought you were asleep.” “Peter is. I’m awake.” He sits up, alert. “And he could sleep through anything. So, come back? I hate cigarettes; it’d be nice for one person to not smell like them.” He obliges, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Why don’t you smoke?” James looks at him like he’s grown a third head. “Are you kidding? Have you heard of lung cancer ? And the smell, of course. Fucking nasty.” He shifts Peter’s head to his shoulder. “I’ll never get why Sirius does it.” “Our father smoked, when we were little. Mummy made him quit.” It comes out before he can edit “Mummy” from his vocabulary. James raises an eyebrow, but thankfully doesn’t comment. “And Sirius never met a method of self-destruction he didn’t fall in love with. It’s a good thing he’s cheap, or he would have gotten a cocaine habit.” James laughs. “ Wow , you’re a dick.” It feels like a complement, so he shrugs. James continues. “Lily never used to smoke, either. Said it gave her migraines. Wonder if her new boyfriend likes cigarettes.” “Or maybe,” Regulus suggests. “There’s no new boyfriend, and she just didn’t smoke because you didn’t like it.” “Yeah. Maybe.” he says unhappily. “I’m trying really hard, Regulus. I said hi to her at the party, and gave her a hug. I talked to other people. I tried not to keep track of who she was talking to, to give her space, to not be a jerk ex-boyfriend. But it still…I feel like I got my ribs broken, and she’s absolutely fine.” He really doesn’t know what to say to that. “That…sucks?” James snorts. “ Thanks .” “You’ll be fine.” he adds. “You always are.” “That’s not true.” “Isn’t it? When has it not worked out for you? You’re…” Not a fuck-up like me. “Lucky.” “That’s Sirius talking. What do you think?” He swallows. “I don’t believe in luck. But…You try.” Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up. “And you think about other people. So you make your own luck, that way. You’ll make sure it works out, because of who you are. And I…I never thanked you, for the other day.” “What other day?” Seeing Regulus’ expression, he laughs. “Sorry, your face! I just thought you’d want to bottle it up and pretend it didn’t happen, in true Regulus style.” “That’s not my style.” he says, his face warm. “Sure it isn’t.” James is cheeky, face flushed. “You’re only talking to me because you have to, or you’d feel bad, plus you don’t want to hang out with the smokers. You’d ignore me if you could.” “What makes you think I can’t ignore you?” James lowers his eyes, delicately. “Intuition.” “I don’t believe in that either.” “What do you believe in, then?” His eyes are dilated, glassy. He’s going to be so hungover tomorrow. Regulus breathes out. “That it’s way past your bedtime, if you want to talk about beliefs with me.” James holds his gaze, steady, suddenly asking. “Do you still like poetry?”  What the fuck? But he says, “Um. Yes.” “Lily leant me a book, when we were together. She said she didn’t want it back…Do you want it?” He opens his eyes, huge and eager, and Regulus looks away, suddenly disconcerted. “I can’t take your book.” “Please.” James begs. “I don’t want it anymore. It makes me…anyway, you like poetry more than me, I bet. And it’s-” He slides over to Regulus’ side of the couch, Peter’s body falling into his lap. “It’s a gift. I think I owe you one.” “You really, really don’t.” He pushes his glasses back down, assuming the expression of someone who’s been dealt a mortal wound. “Please, please, please-”“Okay. Fine. Jesus Christ, you’re annoying. I probably won’t even have time to read it.” “Then you read it when you do. It’s okay.” James smiles, mouth open. “There’s not a test. Here-” He shoves Peter off of him, who grumbles and curls up at the opposite end of the couch, and sprints in the direction of Sirius’ room, returning a few seconds later with a brown paper bag. “For you.” “Thanks.” he says. “No, thank you . I really don’t want it.” They stare at each other, awkwardly, in the dim hallway light, and Regulus decides to attempt to make his exit, again, before James can give him another book. “Do you have to go?” James asks, with no small degree of petulance.“I do.” He’s amused, that James wants him to stay, and doubly amused to withhold this from him. He can’t get everything he wants, after all. Someone should teach him that. “Well...goodnight.” James opens the door for him, and almost moves to put a hand on his shoulder, but thankfully does not. He represses a smile. Fucking weirdo. “ ‘Night, James.”While he waits for his Uber, in the light of his phone flashlight, he reads the first line of the book. In the body, where everything has a price, I was a beggar… He’ll keep reading it, using the city lights as a guide, when he gets home.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I’m in love, I’m alive

I belong to the stars and sky

-Father John Misty 
 A moment, a flash, and Marlene gets the distinct pleasure of pushing another girl into the dirt. She’s more subtle about it now than she was when she was in the junior leagues, where once she brought her elbow up around a tall redhead’s neck, and the referee had said, with stern amusement, if you do that again, 24, you’re going to get a red card. He had been serious, and her dad, that night, in the car, had been all concerned, “Why’d you do that?” “What?” she’d said. “She was going to score.” He’d laughed, but that’s the same way she conceives of defense now. It’s not personal (except when it is); it’s just about making sure you end up on top. People on other teams tend to underestimate her, because she’s short, but her muscle gives her bulk and she’s a lot stronger than she looks. And she likes to win. It’s what’s kept her hanging on, kept her playing. She’s never been the most talented player on any team she’s been on, but everybody knows about the fierceness of her determination: McKinnon doesn’t back down. She’ll fuck you up, if you get too close.  Aida, her first girlfriend ever, said it better. “You’re relentless .” She said that after they’d watched The Crucible together, in bed, after they’d lost the league championships, and Marlene had spent most of the time arguing with her about the relative hotness of Winona Ryder as Abigail Williams. “Everything’s about winning and losing for you.” “That’s because everything is ,” Marlene had been saying, and then Aida kissed her, and that was the first time she ever lost an argument and didn’t lose her temper. In six months, she’d be breaking up with Aida outside her bedroom window, while Aida sobbed while trying to not look like she was sobbing, which was made her sadder than it would have if Aida had just regular-cried. They still text sometimes, when Marlene is drunk or high. Lily and Mary always tell her to stop, but Lily and Mary don’t do messy, while Marlene…messy is all she knows. Like now. The girl bites out a “ Fuck,” and crawls to her feet, but by now, the ball is already being spirited away by Eleanor, the freshman midfielder, and Marlene is holding back, ready if anyone tries to get past her, to make a move on the goal. “ Bitch ,” the girl calls, sprinting back to the relative safety of her own team, and Marlene gives her a brilliant smile. On the other side, she catches hazel eyes, a mass of locs tied up in a tall bun on a slim, long neck. She came . Even though she doesn’t know anything about soccer. So even if they lose today, Marlene herself? She’s already won. Before Marlene officially met Dorcas, she’d been mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, at the part of the masturbation session where she was running out of fuel. And then she saw her. It was an ad for some local body-positive swimsuit company, which was super weird, because Dorcas is really skinny. It wasn’t her size that attracted Marlene, to be clear; she doesn’t care about stupid stuff like that. But it was the expression on her face, not quite a model pout. All the honey-gold skin and dainty freckles could not hide the disdain in that sneer. Marlene liked that. A lot. Like Fuck you for telling me that I have to be innocent, and wide-eyed, a pliant open mouth ready for fucking. I know what this is. I know I’m supposed to look like I’m like you, so you want to buy these clothes, with the promise that you’ll look like me. But you never will, because I’m the only person who looks like me, and fuck you for trying. Yep, she was gone on that. So she clicked on the “tagged people,” went to the account @dmeadowess, and scrolled, vibrator in hand, imagining what it would be like to take that sneer apart, reduce her to begging. She finally got the appeal of Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy (Lily and Mary love Pride and Prejudice , while she…could take it or leave it), the pleasure of deconstructing an arrogant thing. That first night, after they hit some guy’s pen a couple of times, she got up the courage to tell her. “I’ve seen all your pictures on Instagram.” “Oh yeah?” Dorcas’ mouth is a dangerous thing, with smoke coming out of it. If it hadn’t been for the sneer in the photographs, she would have kissed her by now. “Do you like them?” Marlene feigned nonchalance. “Obviously.” “My mom thought I’d be the next Bella Hadid. She’s still pissed I wanted to go to college, and like, better myself.”  That’s stupid, Marlene thought, but she said, “Who’s Bella Hadid?” “A supermodel. What, are you too busy being not like other girls to do pop culture?” So they were doing banter, then. Marlene could do banter. “I’m exactly like other girls. I just wasn’t a cheerleader.” Dorcas narrowed her pretty eyes, flecked with bits of gold in the low light. “So you scrolled back really far.” “Is that weird?” “No.” She had flashed her white teeth, more of a baring of fangs than a smile. “I kind of like it. I mean, I hated being a cheerleader. But I like that you went through all my pictures. Although it feels kind of wrong, that I haven’t seen yours.” “Okay.” Marlene had unlocked her phone, and opened Instagram. “Have at it.” Dorcas raised an eyebrow, at that. “You’re very trusting. I could be looking at your nudes, right now.” “Oh, I don’t keep my nudes on my phone.” Marlene said. Was that a weird thing to say? Sirius would probably tease her for it, if he had heard. She hasn’t even taken any nudes since the regrettable summer she spent on lesbian Tinder. Did Dorcas want to see her nudes, or was she majorly misreading the situation? Instead, she stayed quiet while Dorcas scrolled through the pictures, until she found one that made her squeal. Marlene looked over her shoulder, seeing an unapologetically awful bug-eyed selfie from when she was twelve, with the caption #YOLO. “Oh, God, not that one-“ Dorcas was too busy snickering, so Marlene easily stole the phone back. “I was twelve, in my defense! It’s hardly a fair fight. You don’t have any embarrassing photos up.” “Routine social media purge, baby. You should try it.” The baby . It couldn’t have been anything other than deliberate. “Maybe I will.” She’d taken a beat, and then asked it. How could she not, with the baby percolating in the air? “Can I have your number? In case I need help deciding what pictures to delete?” Dorcas gave her another crooked grin. “Already put it in.” They texted all the time, after that. First, about normal things ( ate a sandwich that looks kind of like you at 3:30 on a Sunday, Marlene texted, and got back a reply i’m going to hack into your linkedin and put that picture of you in a snorkel from insta as the profile ), then about weirder things ( do you think i should get a pet snake?  Dorcas asked, and Marlene answered in kind how much does a snake cost? ), then about even weirder things ( how much money would you get a face tattoo for? because i’d take like 50 bucks , to which Dorcas responded you are easily bought. ) Which then became them talking about their days, their friends, their classes. Dorcas is a communications major, which Marlene teased her doesn’t sound like a real degree, to which she shot back at least i’m not taking classes from the guys who did the stanford prison experiment. She’s friends with her roommate, Pandora, and some people from the BSU, and weirdly, an entire frat of beefcake-y looking white dudes ( i cut their hair for cheap . Marlene asked her then do you cut mullets?? which led Dorcas to send her a paragraph rant with a lot of expletives about how mullets are the worst and they NEVER should have made a comeback. Dorcas is really funny when she’s angry). Marlene told her all about her friends; Lily’s patience and steady calm, Mary’s freakish memory for every single conversation she’s ever had, Sirius’ being a surprisingly good listener, Peter’s insistence on walking all the girls home when it gets dark, even if it’s far away, James showing up at three in the morning with a box of bandages after she got stung by a wasp that got into her room, Remus secretly organizing surprise parties for each of them freshman year despite no one telling him their birthdays. Dorcas talked about Regulus, how he was the first person who talked to her like she wasn’t some kind of fucking diversity mascot and how she misses him but never tell him that-it’ll make him uncomfortable . (She couldn’t really imagine painfully shy Regulus approaching someone of his own volition and starting a conversation, but she doesn’t know him very well.) So, when Dorcas told her that the laundry machine in her building broke, Marlene offered to help her do laundry in their apartment, which of course, Mary teased her mercilessly about. (She still left vanilla body spray free samples from her job in the bathroom, before she left “to give them privacy”. She also left flavored lube, which Marlene made sure to hide before Dorcas came over. Mary’s too much sometimes.) When Dorcas arrived, in a giant hoodie and tiny shorts, with an overflowing laundry basket, she had a radiant grin. “You’re an angel. Thank you so much, for real.” “No one’s ever called me an angel before.” Marlene led her down to the (frankly, terrifying) rickety staircase to the laundry facilities. “It’s not super clean in here. Sorry.” She kicked some kind of beetle corpse off to the side so it didn’t get in Dorcas’ way. Dorcas shuddered, and Marlene had giggled. “Are you scared of bugs?” She drew herself up, proudly. “I have a healthy suspicion of insects. Not a fear.” “Oh, I’m sure. Oh my God, is that a roach ?” Dorcas let out a scream that was very indicative of fear, dropped her laundry basket, and cowered behind Marlene, who fell to the ground absolutely dying with laughter. “You dick, you almost gave me a heart attack- oof !” She tackled Marlene, who was already knees to the concrete, into the pile of discarded sheets. Dorcas is a lot taller than Marlene, which she likes, so she let Dorcas pin her onto a pillowcase, before she shoved her off, using her advantage of superior strength. “Not…fair.” she wheezed, knees pinning Dorcas to the ground, while she looked up at Marlene with the same languidly judgmental expression from her modeling photos, and fuck, she was a little obsessed. “You know,” Dorcas said, not struggling in the least. “I’m the aggrieved party here. You’re the one who felt like triggering my roach paranoia.” “Ah, so you admit it’s a fear.” Marlene panted. Fuck, that had hurt, getting slammed into the floor. Not that she wouldn’t mind it happening again. “Are you going to let me do my laundry now?” “Yes. Okay.” “Okay.” Neither one of them moved. She felt Dorcas’ gaze raking over her boobs in what did not seem like a particularly heterosexual interest. Could it be…? Dorcas cleared her throat. “Now?” “Yep.” Embarrassed, Marlene sat up, and pulled her to her feet. “Sorry.” Dorcas had laughed. Marlene got the sense that for the first time, the other girl was a bit unsure of herself, which put her more at ease. “It was the first thing I could think of doing, to get you back for the roach thing.” “You’re vicious , Meadowes.” Marlene’s brothers, who are all, unfortunately, taller than her, are the only people who’s first instinct is to attack her anymore. She had sort of missed it. Dorcas sniffed a little, with what was definitely a bit of pride. “I don’t fuck with bugs.” “I can see that.” They worked silently, loading Dorcas’ sheets into the washer, using detergent, and… “Please tell me y’all have fabric softener.” “Who are we?” Marlene laughed. “A five-star hotel?” “You live like a straight guy.” There it was, the word straight . Was it too much to hope Dorcas was saying it in the I am not straight way and not the Straight guys are awful and I’m so cool and progressive for pointing it out way? “True, I only do my sheets once a month.” Dorcas shivered, “Ugh, an incel straight guy.” “Hey,” said Marlene. “We have multiple plates.”“Oh, yeah?” “You want me to prove it? Come on.” Once the laundry machine was rattling its way through the spin cycle, she whisked Dorcas back up to their kitchen, where she showed her that, true to her word, they did own multiple plates. “These are Great-Grandma McKinnon’s, from Ireland, and those are Mary’s mom’s.” “They let you take the family plates to college?” “They’re horribly ugly-” she gestured at the peeling blue paint. “So yeah.” “My mom bought me one plastic plate at the Target by school. So you beat me at this.” Marlene preened. “Of course I did.” “Don’t look so happy. I’ll convince you to wash your sheets every week.” “No one is going to convince me of that.” She tried to dull the feeling in her heart, the kernel of hope. So she’s going to stick around , long enough to convince me to do sheets every week.  “Can I see your room?” It was a bold question, and it would have been a no, if she hadn’t just scrupulously cleaned her room before Dorcas came over. (Normally, Sirius refuses to sit on her floor, because it’s a health hazard, seriously, you can’t live like this, McKinnon. ) But it’s clean, for once, and she obliges, letting Dorcas take it in, the faded purple walls, the generically printed bedspread, the trophy she got for being part of the winning state soccer team, back in high school. “Is that you?” Dorcas pointed to a photograph of her, grinning, braces still on, her parents behind her, Bobby and Daniel to her left. “Yeah. I’m in the middle. Bobby’s two years younger than me; he’s a freshman this year at community college. And Daniel’s five years older than me; he’s fucking married now, like a real adult. Crazy.” “Do you get along with your brothers?” “Yeah.” Marlene said softly. People always expect her to say no; she knows, expect that petite blond girls like Marlene would despise their rough-and-tumble brothers. But that’s not her.“They’re probably my best friends.” It’s true; she loves her friends here, but no one has any illusion that she’s the greatest at anything, which her brothers both still do. “Aww. I fucking hate my sister.” This is still weird to Marlene; she hadn’t been introduced to true sibling animosity until she met Lily for the first time, and to a lesser extent, Sirius. She definitely hadn’t expected it from Dorcas. “Why d’you hate her?” “Trust me. If you’d met her, you’d hate her too.” She’s quiet for a bit, and then she says, “No way , you have a CD player?” “Yeah, but I don’t think there’s anything in-” Dorcas has already turned it on, and oh, Marlene was wrong. It’s the Father John Misty hits her dad illegally burned for her as a gift. Our hearts are free, so tell me what’s wrong with feeling?/I’m a flower, you’re a bee/It’s much older than you and me… She gulped. “Good thing it’s not K-pop. Lily collects the CDs; she’s the one who got me the player with a BTS CD already in it.” “Hey, I can get down to some BTS.” Dorcas had stood up, swaying to the music, just one beat off. It was kind of mesmerizing. “This song is awesome .” Marlene took a deep breath. “Yeah?”  Let’s forget who we are, for one night/ We’re not animals, baby, it’s the people who lie… Dorcas pulled her to her feet, and she let her. They were both awkward dancers, but it was a slow song, and it was easy to let Dorcas lead her around the room, spinning her until their hands tangled, and they were breathless. At the end, they were both lying back on the bed, noses nearly touching, dizzy. Dorcas smelled like detergent and patchouli, and Father John Misty was crooning, wait until you taste me.  “Really good song.” Dorcas whispered. “Yeah. I like him.” “I should probably check on my laundry.” She paused. “I don’t want to.” “My mom says,” Marlene felt her throat grow raspy, with wanting , “you should give it an extra five minutes, and then do the thing you don’t want to do.” “Extra five minutes it is.” Dorcas was still holding Marlene’s hand, and even though it was a little sweaty, she still let her. Marlene’s chance of winning, today, is slipping away from her. This game, against some tiny Christian college, is harder than normal. There’s a girl that’s really aggressive, a striker with sweaty blond hair, who plays dirty, tripping up Grace, the defender to Marlene’s right. But Marlene can go toe-to-toe with her, and she’s faster, thrusting the ball out of the melee of feet, sending it spinning back down the field. They’re not a great team by any means, but they work hard, and they manage a hard-fought tie, by the end of the game. Unlike normal, she kind of doesn’t care, because she has the hottest girl in the crowd waiting on her tonight. Dorcas runs up to her, as she’s drinking her weight in water, throwing her long arms around Marlene’s neck. “You were amazing.” “Get off, I’m sweaty.” “You were! I didn’t know you were good.” “What, you thought I would invite you to something I sucked at?” “No, but you’re like…all scrappy and tough, I like it. I like watching you play.” She smiles, and it’s big and real and sincere. Most of the girls she’s dated before have found Marlene’s on-field presence to be overbearing. Too crazy. Too aggressive. It’s rare for someone to think that it’s something to be proud of. To root for. “I brought Gatorade.” Marlene gratefully accepts a sip. “Mmm, Lemon-lime. You’re the ideal trophy wife.” She kisses Dorcas on the cheek. Dorcas snorts, “In your dreams , sweetheart,” “Are you kidding? Pro athlete. Hot model. We’d be such a good stereotypical famous couple.” “I think you’re pretty hot too. Maybe I’d be the supermodel and you’d be my arm candy at the Met Gala.” “You chauvinist pig,” Marlene teases. “I’m not just a piece of ass.” “Oh, that’s so profound. I’m going to get that on your tombstone. Marlene McKinnon, not just a piece of ass .” “Shut it.” Dorcas sticks out her tongue. “Make me.” They stare into each other’s eyes for a bit, before Marlene decides to ruin it by threatening to bite Dorcas’ fingers, and Dorcas struggles a bit, but not very hard, and they make out a little bit, and stop when they get weird looks from passerby, giggling until they can’t breathe. The kissing is a new development, and it’s one of Marlene’s favorites. Of course, it had started that night, at the Halloween party. It was the longest Marlene had ever waited to kiss someone. She’s not good at delayed gratification, at taking her time. But if she could hold out, over Father John Misty, she definitely wasn’t going to fuck this up over Little Mix. But Dorcas, as it turned out, was good at ruining her plans, all bright evil smiles, and you look so good , and let me get you a refill and kissing literally everyone on the cheek French style, even Evan Rosier, who actually kissed her back like he did this all the time. And she made a point of wrapping herself around Marlene like the snake she was considering buying on the Internet, steering her away from two failed pick-up attempts from overeager baby-gay sophomores. And Marlene, who normally wouldn’t have been a fan of possessiveness from someone she wasn’t dating, was all too happy to nestle her head right underneath Dorcas’ chin, like they’re actually a couple, and ignore all her friends. But, with Dorcas’ hand on the small of her back, close to the polyester waistband of her Velma skirt, and some idiot playing “Despacito,” she finally lost her self-control. Time to see if Regulus knows what he’s talking about. “God, this song .” “It’s actually really dirty, did you know?” Dorcas said, conversationally, like she wasn't playing with Marlene’s hair. She so fucking knew what she was doing. Marlene could have screamed. “You speak Spanish?” “Well, I’m minoring in it, so…kind of? I thought everyone knew this song was nasty.” “I think it’s romantic.” Marlene had argued, tucking a strand of Daphne-wig behind Dorcas’ ear. Very casual, very cool. “How do you know what they’re saying?”“I have…reggaeton-level Spanish comprehension skills. Um.” She went in for the kill. “I had a huge crush on Enrique Iglesias when I was in middle school. So embarrassing.” As she predicted, this sent Dorcas into wide-eyed alarm. “ Oh .” “I mean, it was definitely compulsory heterosexuality at its finest.” she finished, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I’m a lesbian.” Dorcas’ eyes got wider, if possible. “ Oh .” “So you know, not much was going to come of that. You have to know about that; don’t you? Let me guess, your comp-het crush was some femme-type guy in a boyband?” “You’re good .” Dorcas breathed, like she was seeing Marlene for the first time. It was like there’s no one else in the room, to be held in that gaze. “Chanyeol. From Exo.” “I have no idea who that is.” “Thank God. Now you can’t be jealous.” “I’m not jealous ; I’m just-” And they were kissing then, ignorant of the rest of the room. Lipstick and tequila and teeth and tongues. Marlene leaned over, pushing Dorcas further into the sofa; doing her best to win , but Dorcas was not like her other opponents. She did not know the meaning of surrender. All she knew was pulling Marlene further and further into a whirlpool. Like realizing the nadir of the skyline was still, quite, unfathomly, out of reach. When they broke away, finally, at the same time, unwilling to admit they were going without air, there was cheering, and whistling, and clapping. “Well done,” said Mary. “That was the longest first kiss in history.” Dorcas met her eye, and she knew the other girl was thinking the same thing she was, namely, how do we top the record with our second one?  Unfortunately, she can’t win them all. The week after the party proceeds per usual, and she has to return back to Earth, where she’s hearing faster, 24 in her dreams, and dying over a mountain of coursework, and losing her laptop in the dining hall. Lily keeps telling her to get a planner, Marlene , but she always forgets to write in it, so it ends up being a waste of paper. And she’s forgetting everything, still. Like this meeting with Professor McGonagall, who is her new academic advisor because the usual professor is on an extended sabbatical. Professor McGonagall, who probably hates her because she’s fifteen minutes late. Right now, she’s twisting her bracelet around her arm while the professor reviews her class schedule for the next semester. “Political Thought in Western Europe, good. Introduction to Comparative Cognition, okay. Stats 312…should be hard, but doable. And Neuropsychology II. No.” “ No? ” Marlene asks. “What, like there are too many people in the class?” Neuropsych is hard, so a lot of psych students don’t want to take it. She can’t imagine it filling up. “No, Ms. McKinnon. It means that I am saying you can’t take it.” Professor McGonagall is stern, brown eyes scanning her above the reading glasses balanced on a chain around her neck. “But-why?” “There’s a GPA requirement, and a grade requirement from Neuropsych I. You do not fulfill either of those, so…No. I’m sorry.” “That’s not fair.” She’s aware that her voice is rising, and she tries to keep it level. “You let Sirius sign up for it; what, I can’t do it, because I’m a girl and you have some weird double standard for me?” Irritation flickers over McGonagall’s face. “ Mr. Black exceeded both of the necessary requirements to take the second half of the neuropsychology sequence. Believe me, Ms. McKinnon, I would register you if I could.” It’s not a big deal; she knows that, but she still wants to scream. This is the kind of thing that would happen to her, and only her. Almost all her other friends are exceptional students, the kind of kids who were teachers’ favorites, who’d be asked to tutor the stragglers (Lily and James), the ones who could do no homework and take no notes and still come first in every exam (Mary and Sirius), or just…brilliant (Remus). It’s her and Peter that are average-to-below-average at school stuff, something that nobody seems to get, even when they try to understand. And it’s okay for Marlene; it really is. She knows , she’s always known she’s not a genius. That she has to work twice as hard to get half as far. And she’s able to make her peace with it, even, competitive as she is, sometimes. But it’s moments like this that make her feel useless. Small. Impotent. “Then I’ll appeal. Go over your head.” You can do that, if you can’t get into a class you need. She knows Lily did it freshman year, to skip a semester of intro bio. The professor’s face softens. “Why don’t you take it next year? Dr. Paulsen usually makes an exception for seniors. I think Emotion and Reason has spots left. You could sign up for that.” “I don’t want to take Emotion and Reason.” Look, Marlene can hear the entitlement, the whininess, in her voice. She is completely aware she’s being very childish, and yet is unable to stop it, which is infuriating . “I want to take Neuropsych . Look, I can just appeal.” “Of course you can. Other than it being the hardest class the department offers next semester, what, specifically, interests you about the field of neuropsychology?” She’s looking over at Marlene, all calm, cool, analytical, as if to offset Marlene’s crazy. “It would be helpful to understand so we can craft your appeal.” “Um…” She really hasn’t thought about that. All she knows is that the class is hard, and almost everyone in her year who’s a psych major will have taken it, because they want to be well-rounded majors or something. And everyone she knows who’s already made their schedule has signed up for it, with absolutely no trouble. It would be humiliating , to be the person who wasn’t allowed in. “I’m going to give you some advice. No-” The professor catches Marlene’s gaze, sternly. “Don’t roll your eyes. Just listen . We often find ourselves being told of the rewards of risk, no? That there is value in doing something because it is difficult, and the reward will make the struggle worth it. Which is very valuable, when the reward is something we care about, something that will better us. But in all cases…the thing that is the most challenging is not always the right choice, in every circumstance. It is a miserable thing to make your life an exercise of throwing yourself into the fire just because other people are burning. You are a bright girl; I hear the things you say in class, read what you write. I have no doubt that if you were in that class, and you had the motivation to do so, you could do very well indeed. It is not a matter of belief , so much as it is a matter of value. Is that effort of value to you?” “So…you won’t help me with my appeal?” She really has no idea where this is going. “If you really want to, yes, I’ll help you. I just want you to think about it. Just for a minute. Tell me what, if you can come back tomorrow with five good reasons why you’d like to be in the class, I’ll write the appeal for you.” “You will?” Marlene can’t believe it. “Thank you, Professor.” “ Five good reasons.” “I can do it. I will.” Five reasons should be easy enough; she thinks. She could probably shit out five reasons. “All right. And Ms. McKinnon?” “Yes?” “You may want to consider investing in a timetable.” “I mean,” Peter continues, for like the thousandth time, when they’re sitting outside the library. “ Nobody wants to play Polonius. It’s…it’s goddamn Polonius . But that makes it such a weird casting choice, you know? I wish I knew what they were thinking.” “Probably want to spread the talent around, not have the same people play the leads every year, like in high school.” Marlene doesn’t really have a taste for theater, but she imagines the politics are similar to those of a soccer team. “That would make sense if they didn’t play ridiculous favorites. The director’s having a cast party for the leads at his house , which is just,” he sniffs. “ beyond inappropriate.” It is a little weird, Marlene thinks, but Peter has always been on the prudish side, about, well, everything. He once apologized to a very confused freshman girl for asking for her number for about half an hour, after finding out she was seventeen, which probably would have been more painful than actually being flirted with by Peter. Knowing him, he probably just wanted a study buddy, but his concern about acting like a decent guy is kind of sweet when it’s not annoying. She’s personally watched Sirius and James entrap him into apologizing for the existence of racism, which made them die with laughter and made him flush with embarrassment when he realized what he’d been doing. (Although, she supposes, she is white, so maybe she doesn’t get a say. It felt mean, though.) “Yeah, uh…Sounds fucked up, don’t you think, Sirius?” Sirius, who is reading ( Neverwhere ), looks up. “Hmm? Oh, yeah…definitely.” “You’re not listening, are you?” She moves to snatch the book from him, and he quickly shuts it, holding it out of reach. “I was!” He assumes a wounded expression. “I’m disappointed in you. I excel at multitasking.” “Okay then.” Peter challenges. “What did I just say?” “Something about Hamlet, I’m guessing?” Peter shakes his head, and Marlene and Sirius exchange a pointed look, the we’re-so-tired-of-hearing-him-talk-about-this-but-we-still-love-him kind of look. “Anyway.” Sirius says, briskly changing the subject before Peter can get further into his story. “James wants to talk to you, Marlene.”“Well, he can talk to me himself. I’m right here.” Really. Whoever said being friends with boys was less drama has clearly never met her friends. “You don’t have to go running for him, you know.” “I don’t do that.” he huffs, which is so classic Sirius. For being such a shit-starter, he absolutely can’t take it. “Yes, you do.” Peter and Marlene chorus at the same time. “I don’t .” God, he’s close to being actually upset. Again. So dramatic. “Fine, you don’t. What does he want?” “Your forgiveness.” Peter informs her. “He can tell you didn’t forgive him all the way.” And that’s James. He probably wakes up in a cold sweat at the thought that someone, somewhere, is possibly mad at him. “Would you?” “Mary did.” Sirius says, like that means anything. “Good for Mary .” She makes sure to deliver it as insincerely as she can. “I’m not Mary.” “Please, you have to.” Peter’s quite desperate; she can tell, and she almost folds. “He won’t stop talking about it.” “Oh, God .” Sirius rolls his eyes. “ Do you think she hates me now? Why did I do that; I’m the worst person ever…. It’s been hell. Please. You know he didn’t mean it.” Which she already knows. The actual apology was bad enough; the hand-wringing, the fighting back tears. And she misses James, too; he’s the only person she can talk to about soccer, and he’s generous, and funny, and considerate most of the time. But…“It’s like I’m always the best person to transfer someone’s anger on, to you guys, sometimes. That’s how it feels. Like…Lily’s freaking out about how shitty her sister is, so she flips on me. Or James wants Lily to talk to him again, so he flips on me: And I think Mary sees it differently. Like she can hold all of that, and not take it too personally. But I can’t. Not as well. I’m not that kind of nice.” Peter rubs her arm. “You don’t have to be.” Sirius frowns. “So you don’t forgive him, but you forgive Lily. Right .” “That’s not it, Jesus fuck. It’s more like I can love them, both of them, and still care about them, and still not let them off the hook for being the worst. Because they were. You know I’m right. And so what they want to do or not do to each other doesn’t have anything to do with me.” It feels good to say it all. Therapeutic. “If he doesn’t understand, you don’t have to keep explaining it to him,” Peter gets in, rolling his eyes. “I understand it now! I just asked a clarifying question!” “Mmhmm. How you get to tell people not to kill themselves with the emotional intelligence of my foot , I’ll never understand-“ “But you have the actual intelligence of my foot, so what do you know?” Sirius retorts. “Not a good comeback.” “Yes it is.” “No it’s not.” She texts Dorcas again on her walk home do you like absinthe? and Dorcas responds pretty sure that’s illegal and then they get into a whole thing about wormwood. Mary’s baking something when she lets herself in. It smells lemony. “Honey, I’m home!” Marlene calls, just so Mary will laugh. They get each other, the two of them. Freshman year, back when Sirius was dating Mary, he used to complain that she liked Marlene more than him, and it is true that they do probably see each other more than anyone else, especially now that they live together. Mary’s cheerful, and fun , and always has good ideas when Marlene’s bored, and once got in some guy’s face at a dance because he grabbed her ass, upon which Marlene kissed her on the mouth with tongue and then they walked home together and didn’t talk about it, except a month later, they were getting ready to go out and she walked in on Mary changing, and Mary said I like your new haircut , because Marlene had got a pixie cut for the first time and it made her look really butch, and then they sort of had sex. except then Lily and James showed up and they had to stop, and they still never talked about it, except they still sometimes hook up when they’re both single, which is not very often, but also often enough to make mention of, and one time, when Marlene was getting her off with her mouth on her left nipple, Mary said, I love you . Not very loud, like it was a secret. Like she didn’t mean to say it. They also don’t talk about that. For one thing, Marlene doesn’t know where to start, really, if they did, and for another, she thinks she has something now, with Dorcas. Something good, something real, with clearly defined lines and boundaries, that she is not going to screw up by fucking her recently-heartbroken-roommate. Flirting doesn’t count; she reasons. Anyway, it’s all in good fun. “Made lemon bars.” Mary says. She’s also done something very weird with her eye makeup-it sort of looks like she has a bad cold, with her eyes rimmed in some sort of reddish-pinkish thing. “Oh, and Lily’s coming over. For girl time.” “Great.” She dumps her bag unceremoniously on the ground, and goes into the kitchen, scraping leftover mac’n’cheese into one of the clean bowls and putting it in the microwave. Marlene loves what Mary deems “girl time.” As someone who usually was friends with girls who made a big deal about how they liked action movies and hated the color pink, she’s grown to appreciate Mary and Lily, who are smart and tough while also not being too proud to admit they like watching rom-coms and drinking wine coolers and wearing dresses. (Well, Marlene never wears dresses, and she hates the color pink. But she likes rom-coms and binge-eating sweets; that’s more the point.) “ Legally Blonde ? Clueless? ” “ Jerry Maguire .” Mary says. “Ugh, you had me at Tom-Cruise-looks-like-a-Madame-Tussauds-nightmare.” “But Renee Zellweger is hot; you must admit.” “ Still too much Tom Cruise.” Mary flicks her shoulder with an acrylic nail, making Marlene yelp. “Be nice. Lily likes him.” Lily’s type in men is “generically attractive”- she has a well-loved Chris Evans poster in her room that probably used to stare at her and James while they were having sex, perish the thought. “I will not. With his Scientology ass.” Their bickering is interrupted by a knock at the door, which they both get up to answer. Mary makes it there first, and she pulls open the door to reveal a very sheepish Lily accompanied by an (elated-but-doing-his-best-to-play-it-cool) James, holding what appears to be six shopping bags filled with vegetables. Marlene’s about to round on Mary, ask her what in the fresh hell is going on and is this some kind of ambush, but judging by the look on Mary’s face, she has no idea what’s going on, either. “Uh…hi?” “James and I were talking,” Lily says in a rush, like they’re going to interrupt her if she doesn’t speed through her words. “And we want to bring Family Dinner back.” “Oh. Okay.” Mary says, raising an eyebrow. It hadn’t been over -over; but the group chat has been very silent since the last disastrous Dinner, and also since Lily and James ended things, two events whose relatedness seems to have sapped enthusiasm for the ritual. “I wanted to, um.” James fidgets, not quite looking at them. “I also wanted to uh. Cook something for the three of you. This time. If you’ll let me, of course, I don’t want to commandeer the kitchen, and I’ll be really clean, I swear; I just…let me make it up to you. Please.” Lily is looking at them expectantly. Marlene resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, I’ve never said no to a free meal,” Marlene laughs, diffusing the tension. Apparently everyone’s completely forgotten about Jerry Maguire , about girl time, so James just tromps into the apartment, and Lily files in afterward, shooting Mary and Marlene a “what-can-I-do-about-it” look. (Marlene can think of several things she could do, but she’s not about to say it here.) Mary does her best to try to keep the conversation going, while James cuts bok choy at an angle while smoothing out a crumpled recipe, but it’s pretty clear Lily wants to talk to James alone, so Marlene says something about needing the bathroom, which nobody notices, and heads back to her room, shutting the door. Mary knocks about five minutes later.“What the fuck ?” she whispers, as Mary comes in. “Did you know about this?” “Obviously not.” Mary steps inside, noislessly closing the door again. “I thought it was just going to be us. I wouldn’t have said yes if I’d known.” “Well, if he wants me to tell him that I forgive him completely for being a dumbass, this is sooo not the way to do it.” Mary sits on the floor, twirling one of her curls idly. “I hate to break it to you, but I do think this one may not be about you.” “Sirius probably told him I like Chinese food; the traitor.” “Will you just listen? God . I’m pretty sure this isn’t about either of us.” It hits Marlene like a truck then; it’s so obvious. “ Oh .” “Yeah, right. Oh. ” “But she said she didn’t love him, what the hell-” “I know what she said ,” Mary says, a little more sharply than is called for, Marlene thinks. “I’m just saying what’s actually happening.” “Oh, no, no, no…” Ignoring Mary’s whispered directives, she opens the door and creeps out in her sock feet. From the end of the hallway, she has an unobstructed view of the kitchen, where she can see it. Lily, giggling about something James said, lost in his eyes. James, hand on the small of her back, like it belongs there. A small, red mark on the side of her neck. His mouth, pressed to her ear. Mary’s right behind her, and they both take in a shocked breath when Lily takes James’ head in her hands and kisses him, in a couple way, decidedly not in an exes-who-are-still-friends-way. “Fuck me.” Marlene whispers, trying not to giggle, because it really is funny in an-end-of-the-world gallows humor kind of way, but Mary, for once, doesn’t seem to think so. Instead, she whirls around, and disappears into her room without a word. “Oh, come on, Mary…” She knocks on the door, but it doesn’t budge, and because she’s not going to wait around for Mary to stop sulking, she goes back into her own room, and before she can think too much, she’s calling Dorcas. For the first time ever. Dorcas actually answers the phone, which sends Marlene into kind of a thing , actually. Like, she was waiting for a call. “What’s up?” “Oh, sorry. You don’t have to-You’re not doing anything important right now, are you?” “Marlene,” She just loves the way Dorcas says her name, especially because she uses it so infrequently. It feels intimate. “Did you miss me?” “Yeah.” She releases a breath. “I missed you.” “Good.” There’s a pause, and then Dorcas said, “But you want to talk to me about something else.” “Kind of. How did you know?” “You asked me if I was busy. That’s textbook-I-want-to-whine.”  “I do not whine.” Marlene pouts, but then remembers Dorcas can’t see her. “Okay, I am going to whine a little bit now, which is irrelevant.” “Oh, of course. So.” There’s a bit of thud, like Dorcas is making herself comfortable. “What are we whining about today?” “God, this is really dumb, so you can’t judge me too hard, okay?” “I will try.” “Okay, so, remember that friend of mine, Lily, who broke up with her boyfriend?” “The codependent one?” “Yes, that one. Well, the boyfriend and me and my roommate Mary are all friends, but when they broke up, he came up to Mary and started bothering us about if Lily was okay and all this shit-” “No, I remember this story.” Dorcas’ voice radiates amusement. “Then he apologized to you all, and said he was over Lily. Let me guess-he’s not over Lily? Like I said, despite having no knowledge of the situation.” “More than you know. James-that’s his name-and Lily are currently making out in our apartment under the pretense of making it up to us with dinner.” “Gross.”“And dumb , right?  I…I honestly didn’t want them to break up in the first place, so I don’t care so much. I thought they were good together. But when Lily said she didn’t love him, I said to break up with him. I basically made her.” “Right.” “But now, that it looks like they’re getting back together, I just feel like a dumbass. Like maybe I got in the way of her being happy. Like maybe, if I hadn’t said anything, she wouldn’t have broken up with him, and our whole group of friends wouldn’t be such a mess.” “Hey,” Dorcas cuts in. “You absolutely cannot blame yourself for that. That’s ridiculous. She’s an adult. She can make her own choices.” “Yeah, but like, I wasn’t very nice about it. I called her selfish, said it wasn’t fair to us if she bled it out.” “And do you still think that’s true?” “Well…” She thinks. “Yeah, if she really doesn’t love him, it would have been crazy to stay with him. But I was wrong about it. She clearly does love him. As evidenced by the kitchen makeout that I am avoiding, right now.” “But you didn’t know that then. And it sounds like even she didn’t know that then. So why worry about it? You can only give advice, like, based on the information that you have, which you did.” Marlene sits with that. It makes a lot more sense, when Dorcas says it. “Thanks. That’s…insightful, actually.” “Why actually ? Just because I’m a model I have to be an airhead? I’m teasing,” she says, when Marlene makes protesting noises. “What else?” “You don’t want to hear about it.” “Marlene. Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I do or don’t want to hear?” God, she’s tough. Marlene can respect that. “Fine. Uh, do you ever worry sometimes that you’re not anyone’s favorite?” “Favorite what?” “Person, friend, whatever. Like all of my other friends have a favorite in the group. Which I don’t even care about so much, except…I’m nobody’s favorite. And most of the time, I don’t really care, but lately…I’ve been thinking about it more. Like comparatively to everyone else, no one thinks I’m the coolest, or funniest, or the most interesting, or the smartest. I don’t have a thing .”“Jack of all trades, master of none.” Dorcas is thoughtful. “But you know the rest of that expression, right?” “There’s a rest of it?” “Yeah. It’s ‘better a master of none than a master of one.’ ”“Didn’t know that. Huh. I like it.” “People are better for it, I think, sometimes, if they’re not one thing. More interesting, less predictable.” “What if I’m not great at anything, though? Isn’t that worse?” She can hear a clicking noise through the phone that means Dorcas is smiling. “Well, you’re already a great kisser, so I’d say it’s all up from there.” And really, that’s the most difficult prize won. Who needs neuropsych? She doesn’t write her appeal, in the end. Instead, she talks to Dorcas until they're both hoarse from laughing. It's warm and cozy and familiar. Like finding a sweater you thought you had lost, remembering a song you thought you had forgotten, a reassurance, that despite the instability around her, she can maybe learn to depend on another steadfast heart. That she can be the best, after all, even if it's just to one other person.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

A character of somebody’s invention

A martyr in another passion play

I guess I don’t mind losing my conviction

If it’s all relative fiction anyway

‘Cause I don’t need a savior, I need you to take me home

I don’t need your help, I need you to leave me alone

-Julien Baker

The stupid thing is that Sirius normally loves his birthday. When he was a kid he had birthdays go uncelebrated, of course; it was a common punishment, for him especially. But they have been truly wonderful, as well. He has memories of Regulus, back when he was a sweet kid, making him elaborate birthday cards, and one time weeping passionately that he didn’t have any

money

and so couldn’t get him a gift, an anecdote that all the cousins find hilarious,

still

, all those years later. From later, he has memories of James, and later Remus and Peter, leading impromptu choruses of “Happy Birthday” in the hallways, that he always half-heartedly pretended to find embarrassing but not-so-secretly-enjoyed. Of Effie ruffling his hair, making cake out of a box mix as a surprise, and being genuinely touched when he thanked her, both of them trying to keep their composure. He even has a few good memories of his mother and father, telling stories about his birth. “You were a difficult baby,” his father would say, eyes glassy with bourbon.

“But

so beautiful

,” his mother would interject, and he’d try not to let them see how much it meant to them on his face. How much he just wanted someone to look at him and say there was something about him that was

pure

and valuable and good. Later it was his uncle Alphard, before he died, before his drinking got too bad and his mother stopped letting them go to his house, who he could count on to remember his birthday. (He’d missed those birthdays, selfishly, after his uncle had died.)

But if any of his family were here, he thinks, dully, as he white-knuckles a grip onto the bathroom sink, to celebrate his twenty-first birthday, which is supposed to be the biggest event in a man’s life, after all, they would be disgusted with how he has unraveled. How this is all he has to show for what is supposed to be the prime of his life. He can see the veins shot through the whites of his eyes, and he tilts his head back, repressing the urge to vomit.

You spend all this time desperately falling all over yourself to make other people love you, and you make yourself into a caricature in the process. It’s pathetic.

The words echo in his head as he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. He grins, crazily, too wide, his face morphing into a deranged mask, and as he gets closer to the mirror, he  flips himself off, nose lining up with the creature on the other side, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

It all starts that  morning, as he is attempting to cut a sharp line across a three-day-old beard, razor arcing bright and silver in the grey light. He had thought it looked very rakish, but Mary informed him that he “looked like a pedophile,” so off it had to go. He’s concentrating on holding the razor steady, trying to tame the anxious tremor that pops up when he does detail work, channelling James, who has freakishly steady hands, like a neurosurgeon’s, when his phone

buzzes

, the repeat over-and-over that means that someone is calling him. He curses, the razor skidding, and nicks his chin. Blood pools on the white bathroom counter, and he presses his fingers to the cut to staunch the flow, as he reads the name on the screen.

He knows what he’s supposed to do, namely, what

James

would do. James would say to decline the call, to hang up, but everything is so simple for him. Nobody in his life tangles him up in knots, makes him burn when he’s censured and crave, shamefully, to be praised, and if they did, he’d just probably cut them out of his life with some firm, and reasonable, and strongly-worded-but-not-rude email that would make them think about their behavior, and be ashamed. James calls Sirius’ family

abusive

and

toxic

and lots of other, worse things; he’s quite adamant about it. Most of the time, Sirius sees where he’s coming from, but sometimes, he’d like to convince himself into thinking they’re different, that they’ve

changed

, like Regulus insists. Like maybe his mother has picked up the phone, and she’s remembered it’s his

birthday

, and she’s going to tell him that it was all a mistake, that she didn’t mean any of it. That she’s sorry. That he can come home. How could someone like James

ever

understand that?

So he picks up the phone, because he’s curious. Or because he knows it won’t end well, and he wants to head off into the breach. Because he wants to self-destruct. Because he wants to be wrong, wants to be able to say,

see, look, there were things I didn’t understand. There was a reason.

“Hello,” he says.

“Sirius.” It doesn’t sound particularly malicious, the way she pronounces his name, but he knows she means it to be. “Good of you to keep the same number.” The Potters told him to change it, and he wouldn’t, just in case Regulus called him, one day. He has never envisioned it being used for this purpose.

“Right, well.” He presses a tissue to his now-profusely bleeding chin. “What do you want?”

“You see the way he talks to me?” She must be talking to someone, her sister, maybe, perhaps Orion. “My son.

Always

so polite.”

He grinds his teeth. “Do you have a point, Ma? Surely, you didn’t call me for the company.”

“I did not,” she says, ever-blunt, with the clipped edges on her consonants which mean that he is getting to her. He gives himself an ugly smile in the bathroom mirror. “I was

hoping

you could dredge yourself from your perpetual well of self-obsession and try being an older brother for once. But if I’m

inconveniencing

you, I’ll go, of course. You needn’t worry.”

“What?” He hates himself, that he can’t keep the alarm out of his voice. “What is it? What’s the matter with Regulus?”

“I would think you would know. Since he’s thrown away his prospects to be with you; it would be

natural

for you to keep an eye on his well-being. But of course not. I forgot. It has to be all about you.”

“Look,” Sirius can feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on, and he rubs it out of his temples, furiously. “I don’t want to fight with you. Can you just tell me what’s wrong with him?”

“Imagine my surprise, after he promised up and down that the…

school

,” She pronounces it with disgust. “would be the place where he could truly excel, that I am receiving notices from the school that his academic standing is in jeopardy. That he is close to failing several classes. That perhaps,

they think

, he would benefit from doing something else. Perhaps a degree in something he has more

aptitude

for.” 
Jesus fuck. Regulus. It makes sense, that this would be the thing she would be the most worried about. She wouldn’t care if he got hit by a bus if it meant he could still get straight A’s. Even still, he can’t help but get a dig in. “Why are you tracking his grades? He’s nineteen, Ma, not a child.” 
“He is my child until he leaves my house.”

And you are not

, is what she doesn’t say, but they both know that she means.

“Fine,” he says, ready to be done with this conversation. “I’ll talk to him, yeah? Make sure he’s doing all right, um, mentally.”

“You young people and your

mental problems

.” She snorts. “Do you know what my parents would call that? Laziness. Failure. That’s not the problem. Besides, I had him throw out all those ridiculous pills.”

“You

what

?” He’s aware he’s shouting now, and for Remus and Peter’s sake, makes an effort to lower his voice. “That is fucking

insane.

You’re not a doctor. You know, people can have side effects-“

“

Do not raise your voice at me

.”

“Well, I will, if you keep on-“

“And I

am

a doctor, you idiot. If I hadn’t had you ingrates-“

“You would have been head of surgery at St. Luke’s, by now! I

know

, I

fucking know

! But Dad got you pregnant, and cursed you with us, and now he gets to have his name on all the cancer papers while you get to be a stay at home mommy martyr. Right?”

“You think you’re so smart,” she seethes. “Always so arrogant, like you know the answer to every fucking thing. That because you went to school, and took a few classes, that you know more than me, don’t you? That I’m just your little maidservant that you can talk down to and order around?”

This catches him off guard. “

What?

I don’t-Ma, what does this have to do with Regulus?”

“And I have no doubt your Potters feed your delusions, don’t they? That you’re

special,

and I’m some conniving, evil witch. And yet everything you have, you owe to us, and like a spoiled child, you’ve thrown it all away because you can’t bear the thought that someone in the world doesn’t find everything you do

remarkable

and

wonderful

. What a waste.”

He tries not to scream back at her, to keep her voice level. “Leave the Potters out of this.”

“It must make you feel so important, running around with your little friends, complaining about how you have such a

difficult life.

Your little rebellions. So entitled, so

American.

” She pronounces it with disgust.

If she starts complaining about Americans, she’ll never stop. He rolls his eyes.“I don’t want to do this. What’s your point?”

“Do you think

I

want to do this? You never can make it easy, Sirius.” This time, when she said his name, it was awful. “It’s my own fault. I thought with time, you’d grow out of this, your incurable selfishness.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll talk to him, all right?”

I’m not selfish,

he wants to scream, but he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction. Besides, it would be in vain. At this point, Sirius knows better than to try and justify the way he is to Walburga. No matter what he does, he’s learned, she’s predisposed to assume the worst of him, and to be honest, he is of her. They’re the same magnetic poles. The parts of themselves they see in each other repulse them.

She sniffs, pleased, feeling like she’s won, though what, exactly, is unclear. “See to it that you do.” And there’s a click as she hangs up. Which is fine. It’s been four years; he hadn’t really expected her to remember. He hadn’t really expected anything at all.

He screams into his hands, silently, noiselessly, for three whole minutes, and then plasters a smile on his face before he goes back outside.

“My mom called,” he explains to Peter, who is blearily eating rice cakes out of the pantry. “Sorry about the yelling.”

“What’d she want?”

“Nothing. Just being stupid.”

“Oh, well…Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” He’s a little touched Peter remembered. They’ve been arguing, off and on; and Peter’s awful with dates even when he puts in the effort. “Should be fun.”

“

Don’t

get blackout drunk and kiss me.”

He winks, keeping it extra disgusting, so Peter will roll his eyes. “No promises.”

The second bad thing was Regulus, of course. He has absolutely no idea where he lives, first of all, and is thinking about knocking on every dorm building and going full-embarrassing-parental-figure, but then he spots Evan slipping through a side door, and follows him

right

before it closes. Honestly, the security here is a disgrace.

Evan whips around, sensing he’s being followed. “I’m a student,” Sirius explains. “Not being weird. Just want to see my brother.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Evan’s snark belies real relief. Someone else’s mother warned him about being grabbed by strangers in the dark, he thinks, wry. “Sirius Black?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Come on.” Evan proceeds to lead him up three flights of stairs, and opens a door with a whiteboard mounted outside (THANK THE FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER TODAY, it reads, in wobbly capitals), where Regulus, wearing a huge sweatshirt that swallows his skinny frame, is throwing clothes into a suitcase.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

“Seeing you.

Where

are you going?”

“Home.” Regulus throws his whole weight into elbowing shut the suitcase. It won’t close, and so he starts throwing things out, haphazardly. Sirius and Evan exchange a look.

“Um, what the fuck?” Sirius demands. “What do you mean, you’re

going home

?”

Regulus looks at him like he’s an idiot. “I am. Going. Home.”

“We have what, four weeks till the end of the semester?”

“Six weeks,” Regulus corrects. “And I’ll be back before then. Just going for the weekend. You don’t have to be so concerned.”

“I think I do. Mom called me.” Regulus doesn’t say anything, but Sirius watches his grip tighten on the suitcase straps, which he takes as a hint. “Um, Evan, do you mind…?”

Evan, who is an angel among men, is already moving for the door. “Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus I have homework.”

“Thanks.” The door shuts in response, leaving the two of them alone. As soon as he can’t hear Evan’s footsteps anymore, he rounds on Regulus. “Okay, you need to start telling me what the fuck is going on,

right fucking now

. Because she’s going on some bullshit about you failing out of your classes, and not taking your medication, which you and I both know you’ve needed to be on for

several

years now. That is bullshit, right? She just wants me to feel guilty about you.”

Regulus very pointedly does not look at him. “So you feel guilty about me. Good to know.”

“

Regulus

.”

“

Sirius.

It’s not bullshit.” Regulus looks up from the mountain of clothes, eyes blazing. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Are you fucking with me?”

Regulus blinks, slowly, as if to say,

would you know if I was?

He hates it. “No. She did really get a letter.”

He’s fucking smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world, teeth fucking sparkling in his devious little face, and it all starts making sense. “That

you

sent. Oh.” He thinks about it, then, slots the pieces into place. “Why’d you do that? You know she’s going to rip you a new one.” Regulus has never

failed

anything; he’s pretty sure. Plus, he’s pathetically obsessed with getting their mother’s validation. Unless…”

Oh.

You want her to get you a prescription, again.”

“She only said it was okay when I had so many absences I almost failed my political science class, last year. Couldn’t get out of bed. If she thinks I’m really struggling…she loves me.” He shrugs, and Sirius represses a sudden flash of real hatred. This is so…them, the kind of dramatic shit he could never get away with in a million years. The kind of stunt that would be

manipulative

and

attention-seeking

if he did it, but for some reason, always works on their mother when it’s Regulus.

“But, Regulus…” He searches for the best way to say what he means, something better than

Was this really the best idea that you had?

“You know, you don’t have to

do

this. You didn’t even have to stop taking your meds in the first place. She’s not even here! She wouldn’t have known. You

know

that.”

“It’s not like that,” Even when explaining something

this

batshit insane, Regulus is calm. “She doesn’t care about the drugs, not really. It’s about an authority thing for her. That another doctor prescribed them. So if I make it seem like I’m taking

her

advice, it’ll all be okay, I think. I can feel normal again. I…really want to feel normal again.” He says this looking at his feet, and Sirius can’t be angry, really. He’s always been more of a kid, always felt things more acutely, in a way Sirius doesn’t. It must be hell for him, right now.

“I don’t understand.” Sirius sits on the floor, next to the suitcase. “You didn’t have to let it get to this point. We could have, I don’t know, worked something out. Effie…James’ mom has really good health insurance.”

“You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?” There’s more venom in his voice than Sirius is used to. “Can’t talk to me, for four years, but then all of a sudden you get to swoop in and be the big hero, and tell everyone how you

saved

me.”

“Yeah, yeah, fucking whatever, I’m selfish because I don’t want you to suffer. God, you’re as bad as her.”

“And I’m not

suffering

, you dramatic idiot! I

wanted

to stop taking them; I

agreed

with her! I’m not like you; I don’t want to woe-is-me for the rest of my life, make excuses for everything. I want to be somebody that

matters.

”

Sirius snorts. It’s just so self-righteous. He sounds like such a moron.“Oh yeah, you’re really pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, Reggie, with all the shit Daddy’s money buys for you. How fucking noble.” He kicks at the suitcase. “What is that, Valentino?”

“You know

perfectly well

it’s Delsey,” Regulus snarls in response. “And it’s my decision. You weren’t there. You’ve barely been

here

. So you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“That’s not fair,” Sirius is stung, by the accusation. “You know I’ve tried with you. It’s just…

hard

. I can’t exactly pick up where we left off.”

“You don’t

try!

” He has tears in his eyes now, fists clenched. For a moment, he’s ten again, and Sirius is eleven, and he wants to whisper in his ear to

hold his chin up, don’t let them see it get you.

But then he keeps going. “You ignore me. You only talk to me because you feel like you have to. To make up for leaving.”

This revisionist interpretation of events is his last straw.“Jesus Christ, Regulus! It’s been

four

years! You can’t hold that over my head anymore! I offered, remember? And

you

didn’t want to leave.”

“I didn’t want to leave,” Regulus spits, vicious. “because I didn’t want to be a-“ His mouth works around the words.

“

Say it

. Don’t be a pussy.” If he’s going to be wounded today, he wants Regulus to stick the knife in  himself. Not hide behind their parents and their expectations. He can’t have it both ways all the time.

“I didn’t want to be a fuck-up. Like you. There, I said it.” He pauses to take a deep breath, and Sirius is too stunned to say anything, because he didn’t think he’d ever hear that. Not from Regulus, not even on their worst days. But he’s still talking. “I have goals. Things I want to achieve in life. I don’t want to just

fall into

stupid choice after stupid choice and have to rely on other people to work it out. You…you spend all this time desperately falling all over yourself to make other people love you, and you make yourself into a caricature in the process. It’s

pathetic

. You act like it’s not, but it is. And everyone knows it, and they’ll all outgrow you eventually, because that’s who you are. You’re a good memory. I want to be something

real

. She’s right about that. Sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear.” The tears are gone now, and Sirius

sees

Regulus, really sees him, for the first time. The seams of him are all their father through and through. Strange, and stupid of him, to have missed it, missed all of it. He needs to be more careful of what he wishes for.

“Right.” Sirius says, trying to recover his composure. “Right. I‘ll leave you alone, then.”

Regulus nods. “I left you something. For your birthday.” There’s a small package on the counter, and Sirius flinches, involuntarily. After that, does he think a present makes up the difference?

He doesn’t take it on the way out, and Regulus keeps stuffing things into his suitcase, not even watching the door as it closes behind him.

“Still,” Gideon breathes, as Sirius bites the space in which his collarbone joins, just below his Adam’s apple. “He’s your

brother

.”

“He’s a piece of shit, is what he is.” Sirius examines his handiwork, blue-green turning into yellow. He wants it to be purple, black, to sharpen his teeth on Gideon like a whetstone. He leans in, teasing the thin skin with his tongue before biting down.

“He’s probably just upset. I’m sure he’ll get over it; there’s no reason to-AH, stop, stop, that hurts!” Sirius withdraws, tasting blood in his mouth. It’s true; there’s a small cut on Gideon’s skin where his mouth just was.

“Sorry.” He hadn’t meant to, not really. It was just something that he could

control

. Which is, probably, insane. “You want a Band-Aid?”

“It’s fine, just a scratch.” Gideon presses a finger to the cut. “I’ve had worse. Anyway, back to your brother. I’m sure if you just tell him how it makes you feel, he’ll apologize. He adores you.”

“Mm. That’s not really how my family works.”

I don’t want to be a fuck-up. Like you.

He can’t imagine talking to Regulus about his

feelings

, even if he hadn’t decided to go full bootlicker. “I can keep going, or…?”

“

Sirius

. I’m trying to talk to you.” Gideon rolls on his side, voice uncharacteristically stern. He’s not used to disapproval from Gideon, who usually thinks everything he does is just so wonderful.

“I know.” Sirius tries to explain. “I’m just not good at the whole…talking thing.”

“I think you are. Well, you could be.” Gideon amends. “Look, I’ve been reading about different cultures, while I’m researching. For my play.” Research, from Gideon, is not a good sign. He remembers when Gideon found out that corn was indigenous to Mexico; he had to read through a whole monologue about the “Ancestor Maize.” But he’s excited now, so Sirius fakes a smile, not wanting to burst his bubble. “Have you heard about the theories of different types of societies? Individualism versus collectivism?”

“Geert Hofstede? Social dimensions? Yeah, I know.”

Everyone

knows about that, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. It’s like elementary psychology/sociology stuff. The things they learn about freshman year, that increasingly become more complicated by more sophisticated theories.

“Would you say your family’s core values are more individualist or collectivist?”

“Um.” He thinks. “Individualist, I guess. Task takes priority over relationships, and all that.” You can say a lot of things about his parents, and he does, but they’ve never not wanted their sons to be successes, individually. It’s a stupid question, he thinks, though. No one’s family is just one thing. But Gideon has infinite faith in black-and-white categories.

“You see?” Gideon says, like he’s figured it all out. “

That’s

the problem with Western conceptions of family. There’s no care for the maintenance of relationships. People are so quick to just cut people out because they say one or two things they don’t like. That’s why Americans are so unhappy. Because they can’t build communities. Because they don’t have a good concept of family support. Not like brown people do.”

You’re American, too.

“Yeah, but that’s not my family. That’s not Regulus. You didn’t…you didn’t hear what he said to me.” After all, it’s clear there

is

some kind of Black family collective, one that Regulus and his mother belong to. He’s just not a part of it.

“People say things they don’t mean, all the time, when they’re angry.” Why is he talking to Sirius like he’s twelve, like he doesn’t know? He’s spent a lifetime dealing with the things his family supposedly doesn’t mean. At a certain point, one has to admit that they do, in fact, mean at least a little of it. It would be naive to assume otherwise.

“Doesn’t mean I have to put up with it.”

“He’s your

brother.

You have to want to try a little bit.” He’s so transparent, Gideon is. Anyone who isn’t white is innocent in his eyes. It’s some weird insecurity manifesting about not being brown enough. That’s why he feels compelled to defend Regulus, despite not knowing him at all. Something about generational trauma and brotherly bonds. It’s a gulf between them, something he knows he can never quite explain in a way Gideon can understand.

“You know what?” He puts on his shirt, quickly, deciding the safest course of action is to get himself out of the situation before he explodes.“I have to go.”

“Come on,” Gideon wheedles. “No, you don’t.”

If I stay, I’ll say something I’ll regret.

“No, I really should.” His obtuseness, his naivete, is stifling. It’s hard to breathe.

“You’re

obviously

annoyed about something, so come on. What did I do?” Gideon’s eyes are huge, and guileless. He really doesn’t know; Sirius can tell, but it doesn’t stop the words from coming out, everything he never planned on saying.

“Look, I said no. And I mean no. You don’t…God, you don’t get everything you want just because you

ask.

The no should be good enough. I already…I do

everything

you want me to do. And you don’t know everything there is to know about family just because your family’s so perfect. Maybe I don’t want to be the best of friends with people who resent me for being alive, and maybe that makes me shitty at being brown. Fucking sue me. You’re not exactly the expert yourself.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, come on.” It’s all of the genetic nastiness he’s inherited from his mother, so easy to slip back into. “

Look

at you. How many people, honestly, think you’re Hispanic?”

“That’s-that’s not-“

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I don’t even

fucking care.

I’m just saying, of the two of us, maybe I have a little bit more understanding of the material reality of being a person of color.” It’s unforgivable, a horrible thing to say to someone. He doesn’t even believe it, he thinks, not really. But he doesn’t feel the least bit sorry about saying it.

“But, you said…You agreed, we’re the same skin color! The other day.” He’s angry. Good. Sirius can work with that.

“No, I

didn’t

! You don’t

listen.

I just didn’t disagree, which is not the same thing as saying yes.” It’s unfair of him, he knows. He should have said something much earlier. But someone has to alert Gideon to the fact that his delusions are…that.

“What the fuck? You don’t get to lecture me on how

I

identify, especially when you’re so ashamed of who you are.”

Now,

that

is just ridiculous. “I’m not ashamed of being Indian. I’m

absolutely

ashamed of who I’m related to. Those two things can be true at the same time. When you’re not obsessed with being

special

and having like,

mystic ancestor knowledge,

you can’t afford to be ignorant. Grow up.” The condescention in his voice is all Walburga.

He slams the door behind him, on his way out, hoping the rattling on the hinges will echo down into his bones, leaving a shocked Gideon behind him.

“We’ll sing about it,” Mary helps herself to a second shot of vodka from James a few hours later. “Once it hits midnight. I’ll do the high harmony.”

“Ugh, not too much. You sound like a cat dying.” Sirius laughs at that, and Mary leans over to hit him. He’s shaking ice and sweet vermouth and Stoli over Peter’s VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS mug. Real martinis, adult martinis. When he had just turned twelve, and Regulus was eleven, before he got weird about things like drinking for fun, they learned how to make good martinis from Alphard.

Vodka in, just a hint of the vermouth. Tastes like juice, if you put too much. Don’t use gin; it’s for animals. Olives if you like them dirty, and who doesn’t like them dirty?

And they would chorus, dutifully,

Fucking animals!

He thought that was really funny, Alphard did. Their father would have skinned them alive if he knew, but he passed a very leisurely twelfth birthday in a warm cocoon of Grey Goose. It seemed fitting to replicate the experience, for his friends. He’s the oldest, after all, the one they’ll now have to rely on to provide illicit substances. Before it had been mostly Frank, or Gideon. Gideon, who’s come, but is sitting pointedly off by himself, rebuffing Alice’s attempts to engage him in conversation. He feels bad about it, but he can’t exactly apologize

now,

he reasons, not in front of all these people. Besides, someone needed to tell him, right? He can’t go through his whole life believing he’s some expert on Brown People or whatever.

Lily takes a sip of the drink he provides her, after it’s been generously topped off with olive juice. “Oh my god, Sirius, that’s

foul.

”

“No,” James agrees, quickly, even though he’s drinking it. “It is really horrible. You

like

this?”

“It’s martinis!They’re meant to be this way.” Honestly. Pussies, all. Also he has personally watched James drink Four Lokos mixed with Gatorade, so he’s hardly one to talk about

disgusting.

The whole show is definitely for Lily’s benefit, and based on the look on her face, she knows it too. “ If you want to have a vodka cran or something…”

“This is not a safe space!” Mary finishes for him. “Don’t listen to them;

I

think they’re very…bracing. Put hair on your chest or whatever.”

“They’re meant to be sipped-“ he starts to explain, but it’s hard to hear over the music and everyone talking. He’s fixing Gideon’s, with the leftover ice, and his hands are vibrating with the anxious tremor again, a spasm running through his middle finger, splashing vodka on the counter.

“Aww,” Peter, who is already wasted, for some reason, slurs at him. “He’s

nervous.

To make his

boyfriend

a little drink.”

“No, I’m not.” He laughs, and Sirius gives him the finger before walking over to Gideon, martini in hand. “For you.” He lowers his voice. “Look, about before…I was angry. It wasn’t about you. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Gideon says stiffly, and takes a sip. “Oh my…

god

. Do you always make them this strong?”

“Yes,” Sirius fights the urge to smile, as Gideon’s mouth puckers. “That’s how they’re meant to be.”

“I think these are horrible, but for you, love, I’ll do it.” Gideon says, and gives him a peck on the mouth, which Sirius takes as an indication that he’s forgiven. It feels deceptively easy, but he needs a little grace, he feels today. Gideon is kind, kinder than he deserves. If only it didn’t feel so much like he had a sword hanging over his head.

Half an hour later, they’re all sitting in the living room, drinks in hand. “A toast!” James proposes. “To the man of the hour, my platonic soulmate, and the absolute worst bartender on Earth. Ladies and gentlemen, the inimitable

Sirius Black

.” The cracks on the drinks are getting to be a

little

much, he’s decided. He bought everything for them himself, and everyone’s drinking them, after all. Why would anyone complain about free alcohol?

“

Platonic

soulmate, huh? Wasn’t he your first kiss?” Lily teases, but she’s got a light in her eyes that seems to indicate that she plans on being James’ most recent kiss, at the very least. He keeps insisting that they aren’t together, but the evidence is all against them.

“I was very good,” Sirius adds. “He told me afterwards he wished I was a girl.”

James squawks displeasure at the exaggeration, and Gideon, who seems to find the idea of Sirius being kissed by anyone else to be a threat, mashes his mouth on Sirius’ in a distinctly un-sexy way. Peter and Marlene wolf-whistle when they come back up for air.

“Sirius,” Gideon takes over, not wanting to be outdone, it seems. “Love of my life. My muse.” (He is

really

drunk. Gideon never talks like this.) “Sirius is an absolute

expert

on people, for a career alcoholic. I had no idea that I was going to be second place to his one true love.” Gideon raises his glass. “But at least I can always count on his

honesty.

” Sirius squirms, knowing what Gideon is getting at, what he means, but everyone else is just way too drunk to notice anything is awry. This is it, he thinks, the falling of the sword.

“Oh, we

love

Drunk Sirius!” James adds, completely missing the malice in Gideon’s tone. “Remember his ‘Philosophy of the World’?” He puts on a posh voice that Sirius gathers is supposed to be him. “

No good book is more than five hundred pages. The Bible? Balderdash.

” Everyone laughs.

“Or, I know,” says Mary. “Do you remember when I told him the tree near the performing arts building was actually that girl he hooked up with at that party and he gave the trunk a kiss?” There is again, a huge peal of laughter.

“That wasn’t-” He starts to explain, how

he kissed the girl once, and only hugged the tree,

but again, there’s too much crosstalk, and he’s deeply aware of the trajectory of conversation getting pulled away from him and

onto

him, as a spotlight, a focus.

“Or when he ordered all that imported brie online and maxed out his credit card?” Peter adds. “

No sleep till Brie!

” The French accent is horrible. Does he say anything? No. Again, everyone seems to think this is really funny. Even though he hadn’t

maxed

out his card; he just got a small warning on it. But aloft as everyone is on the hilarity of drunk Sirius, they seem to have abandoned the truth in pursuit of whatever story will get the most laughs.

Stop it

, he wants to say.

Let someone else have a turn.

But he doesn’t, because they’re all talking over each other, eager to attach themselves to him as the character, the buffoon. It’s not about

him

anymore, more whatever this person, this version of him is that they’ve created.

He meets Gideon’s eyes.

You see?

they seem to say,

You make me small; I’ll show you how small you really are. How tenuous your own identity is.

He knows exactly what he said, what he did. Probably planned this out all along, just in order to get this reaction. It’s just like Regulus said, he’s a caricature of himself. A

thing

, a

good memory

. Loveable from a distance, laughable up close.

As Alice launches into a story about him teaching her how to

propose marriage

, which he doesn’t even

remember

doing, he decides to make his exit, walking into the kitchen, carrying the vodka to the bathroom. No one, he’s sure, will even notice. And if he slips and falls, if he runs into a street and gets hit by a car, well, that’s just the kind of end people envision for someone like him. Maybe that will be funny, too.

He doesn’t know how, but he finds the strength to leave the bathroom. He ends up outside. It’s raining, and it’s cold, and he doesn’t have shoes on, but he has vodka, and he takes little half-shots out of the cap to warm himself up. He can see the lights from the apartment upstairs, hear the laughter. They’re all having a good time, he thinks, miserably. What is wrong with him? He puts his head in his hands, the headache that means he’s close to tears starting behind his eyes. Regulus’ words echo in his mind.

They’ll all outgrow you eventually, because that’s who you are.

“Are you going to come back in?” It’s Remus’ voice behind him. He sits up, fast, freezing in place. Remus is by the door to the complex…Maybe if he stays

really

still, he won’t see him.

“

Sirius.

Please. I can see you.” So no chance of that, then.

Fuck.

He clears his throat. “It’s fine, yeah. Just need a minute. You can…I don’t know, go back in.”

Remus, who is wearing a coat and shoes, he is displeased to see, comes over and sits on the step next to him. “You know, James told me to look for you. Not a good look, Irish-exiting your own party.”

“He did?” This is news to him. “Good to know he still cares, when he’s not making fun of me.”

“Hey, that’s not fair, and you know it. You

do

make really terrible decisions when you’re drunk. And you say the exact same stuff about him, whenever he does something dumb. Besides, he didn’t start it.” So someone else noticed, how Gideon set up the expectation that it was suddenly okay to make fun of him. He is very glad that Remus is not coming out and

saying

it. It’s humiliating.

“No, but…he’s going along with it! Why am I the punching bag of the day? It’s my

fucking

birthday.” He rips out a few blades of brown grass growing out of the sidewalk, petulantly.

“You’re right. Look, everyone’s a little punchy, and you know how he gets when he’s trying to impress Lily, but you know he loves you. From him…it’s good teasing.”

“How do you know?”

“Trust me. I know. Come on, let’s go back in, okay? You must be freezing.”

“No, I’m not,” he lies, taking another sip straight out of the bottle. “I’ve got my one true love to keep me warm. Since Gideon hates me now.”

“You’re not wearing any shoes.”

“And I’m still not going back inside. They can pick on somebody else. Let me be a drunk in peace.”

“You’re being a child.”

“And you don’t fucking know what you’re talking about! You can’t tell me how to feel about…how I feel. I don’t care about what their

intentions

are right now, all right? I’m so…so

sick

of having to consider everyone else’s fucking feelings all the time when nobody gives a

shit

about mine, because my head is so fucking far up my own ass, right? That’s what you think.”

“That is not what I think.”

“Really?” He glares at Remus. “Because it seems like it. Isn’t that what you’re here to do? To tell me to just get over it and stop being so dramatic?”

Remus sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? You’re right. I just…don’t think this is worth getting frostbite over.”

“Dramatic.” Okay, his teeth are chattering a little. “I’m fine.”

“Will you take my coat, at least?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re cold, and I know you wear the sweater I leave downstairs because it smells like you now.” His cheeks are a little pink.

“Why do you know what I smell like? Are you smelling me?”

Remus exhales. “Can you

please

take the coat?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They sit in silence for a bit, Sirius wrapped in the coat, sipping the vodka, meditatively. “You know, Regulus thinks I’m a fuck-up too. So it’s apparently a popular opinion.”

“He said that?” Remus is aghast.

Such

an only child.

“Mmhm. Now you can agree on something.”

“I would

never

say that about you.” Sirius is startled, by the intensity of his voice, the sudden rigidity of his posture. “That is an awful thing to say about someone.”

“You might think it, though. Everyone thinks things like that.”

“I don’t.”

Sirius shoves him, lightly. “Aren’t you such a fucking Boy Scout?”

“Well, I

don’t

think things like that about people.” Remus is adamant, hands folded in his lap. “That’s…cruel.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you don’t think horrible things about me, all the time. Everyone does, as we’re learning. You probably more than most.”

“Not really.” Remus shakes his head. “I don’t.”

“Yeah?” He pauses. “What do you like about me?” It’s a vulnerable question, and he can tell that it surprises Remus. “And it can’t be about how I’m funny when I’m drunk, or something about my physical appearance. It has to be something…real.”

“Uh…Pass. I don’t know what you mean.” He’s uncomfortable now, moving away from Sirius, like he’s contagious.

“Please? Because sometimes it feels like there's nothing real to like about me.” He knows it sounds pathetic, because he is pathetic. (And he’s

so

not going to cry right now, but he’s

very

close.)

“Oh, okay. Um, that’s not true. I like…I like lots of things about you.” Remus is panicking. He can practically

hear

him thinking.

“Like what?” he presses.

“Okay, so do you remember freshman year when James got us into that house party and you got

so

drunk-”

“That’s not funny.” He crosses his arms. “

Not

that kind of story.”

“It’s not, I promise, if you

let me finish.

And that guy put rum in my Sprite even though I said I didn’t drink. And I was freaking out about it, because I don’t drink, and you said,

I’ll take care of it for you,

and you finished it for me and told me to just carry it around and pretend I was drinking out of it so nobody asked me if I wanted a refill?”

“I don’t remember this.”

“Well, I do.” says Remus smugly. “And do you remember sitting outside with me, at that party, because James and Peter were trying to impress those horrible girls that Lily was friends with for five minutes freshman year by talking about Dostoevsky?”

“I do remember that, a little.” Mostly, he remembers how white Remus’ knuckles were on the plastic cup, crunching the sides. The dull look in his eyes that said he was all done, with people, ready to return to wherever he lived in his head. He just had looked so miserable. “You told me about configuration spaces. For like ten minutes, actually.”

“I did?” Remus shakes his head. “God, that’s embarrassing.”

“Not for me.” Sirius laughs. “I like it when you talk about things you like. You forget how to look down on other people, for a bit, there, when you’re excited. Makes you a little less intimidating.”

“I am not intimidating!”

“Mmhm. Anyway, you were saying…”

“You asked what I like about you. That’s it.”

“Which is…?”

“You’re better at caring for other people than I think you give yourself credit for. It’s in a quiet way. It’s hard to notice. But…” He shrugs. “I notice.”

“Yeah?” Sirius breathes. “What else?”

“Well…you’re smart. You don’t really work for it, but you are. And you’re

relaxed

about everything, which makes you more deliberate, when you try to be. I don’t think you feel stress about things the same way other people do.”

“That’s not true at all. I feel stress.” Who is this person, he wonders, that Remus describes? Does this person live near the fuck-up that Regulus knows?

“Doesn’t seem like it. And you’re brave, and you always know what to say, and…God, so many things, okay? I like lots of things about you.”

“Keep going.”

“Your eyes. Even though you’ve been crying, they’re still really bright and…you have really long eyelashes.”

“That is…” Sirius clears his throat. “That is about my physical appearance. So it doesn’t count.”

“I know.” With uncharacteristic boldness, Remus moves closer, their feet touching. “Thought I’d tell you anyway.” He is so close, and his eyes are so green, and his hands are cold and freckled with a line of dirt underneath the nails on his right hand, and he smells like salt and wood.

“Um…” They are looking at each other’s mouths, and Sirius thinks about what it would be like to run his tongue over the other boy’s teeth.

The door swings open behind them. Frank. “

There

you are. Come back in; it’s freezing! What are you doing out here?”

They break away from each other, suddenly embarrassed. “We’re uh…”

“We’re going in.” says Remus, firmly. “Someone needed some help finding his phone. But we’ve found it now, so…”

“Right,” He laughs, the ghost of whatever that just was, fading from him. “Back to the party.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

So I swallowed all of it

As I realized there was no one who could kiss away my shit

-Big Thief

It’s more or less how Regulus expected, going home. He gets the train back this time, and he sleeps curled up in a corner and blasts Yo-yo Ma’s greatest hits to put him out. The lady in front of him has some really awful perfume going, and every time she flips her hair he opens his eyes, but he’s not going to do his homework while the train is moving. He’ll allow himself that indulgence, at least.

When he gets to the station, his mother’s waiting, with some guy who works for the hospital who Orion’s roped into driving them around. (She

never

drives anywhere.) She gives him a stiff, Coco-Chanel kiss, the waxiness of her lipstick staining the collar of his shirt, but that’s the most affectionate she’ll get in front of whoever the fuck this driver is. There’s more grey in the roots of her hair than there was when he left, and it’s more brittle, now, the split ends, frayed with constant straightening, fanning out across the back of her long dark coat. He’s over a head taller than her, now.

They don’t talk until they get to the house, and the guy helps Regulus with his suitcase and leaves the keys to the car. “Nice day.” he says feebly. It really is nice. It’s not raining for once. From the look on her face, he quickly gathers that was

not

the right thing to say.

“It would be a

nicer

day,” she replies, mouth tight, lines she hasn’t yet Botoxed out sitting in sharp relief on her face. “if I wasn’t picking you up from yet another disappointing attempt at furthering your education.”

“You

asked

me to come back.” It’s true; she did. He hadn’t really wanted to go; it was Sirius’ birthday, and it was definitely going to hurt his feelings, but he had overplayed his hand a little on that one, with the timing of the “letter” from the school. But that is also not the right thing to say, because she is looking at him with a steadily mounting fury.

“You are an idiot.

Not one

of your cousins is as hopelessly incapable as you are. Do you know how

embarrassing

it is, to sit with your uncle and aunt and answer how my son occupies his time?”

“I’m going back to school.” He looks past her, at the clock over her head. “I’m not dropping out.”

“After all the time, and money, we spent on you. I can’t

believe

it.” She shakes her head.

“I’m not going to

fail out

.” he repeats. “I just need some time to plan. It’s been hard,” Here, he lets his voice crack, a little, the way it did when he was a younger teenager. “Without you close. To help me. I’ve been so…

alone

. You know I’m not…I still need you.”

He can see her resolve weakening. She’s like Sirius that way; she likes to feel that she’s needed, that her expertise will be sought out. “Just like I told you it would be.”

“You were right, Mummy. I should have listened.”

She melts a little. “It’s not too late, you know, to transfer back.”

“No.” He chooses his next words very carefully. “You’ve done so much for me already. It’s my turn to make you proud, to solve my own problems.”

She beams, the anger melting off her just like that. “You’re a good boy. I don’t say it enough.”

He leans down, kissing her on the cheek, French-style, before dragging his suitcase up the stairs, back to his childhood bedroom. It’s more a shrine to the boy he was, before he became the

thing

that he is, still littered with trophies from school and several framed, uncomfortable-looking family photos where nobody is really smiling except for their father, and even that is forced. He’s got an assortment of books in almost-alphabetical order on his desk-Neil Gaiman,

Neuromancer,

Sula, Sophie’s World.

The boy who used to live here was so sure of himself, so calculated, so able to part and parcel the parts of himself to build the most resilient version. Now he’s a total head case who struggles every day not to jump off the tallest building on campus, who can’t get through the day without his precious psychopharmaceuticals. Now he’s the kind of person who has to concoct lies to get drugs.

And it

had

been a very convincing lie. He’d stolen school stationery from the admissions office, to make the letter as official as possible. He mailed it to their house, so his mother would definitely read it, and when she called him, he made sure to sound panicked and a little teary and a little reluctant, too, to go home. To let her convince him into coming. He hadn’t counted on her calling Sirius, though; he hadn’t thought it was that kind of worry. That had been the wrench in the plan, the unintended consequence, Sirius showing up with his

concern

and

condescension

, and his oh-so-helpful-suggestions which mostly just amounted to

why didn’t you do it this way, you fucking idiot?

Of course he’d snapped. How

dare

anyone judge him for how

he

chose to deal with

his

own life? And yeah, it had felt twisted, to parrot his mother’s words back to Sirius, the

fuck-up.

But it had also felt vindicating, for once, to have the upper hand. One time, when they were kids, and fighting about something stupid, Sirius’d kicked him in the stomach, knocked the wind out of him. He’d gasped for air, choking on his every attempt to breathe, while Sirius pleaded with him to

please don’t tell Mummy,

which of course he fucking did, as soon as he could breathe again. But that’s how Sirius had looked, when he said that. Like someone had stolen his air.

Well. He refuses to feel bad about it. He had to have known, right? It’s not anything that isn’t true, not anything he doesn’t bring on himself. Like cutting yourself on purpose and getting mad you’re bleeding. So he doesn’t feel bad. Not at all.

He looks down at his phone. Evan’s sent him a meme about Camus, and worryingly, he’s got a message from an unknown number.

hey

He’s about to block/report/whatever, when another one from the same number comes in

Hey Regulus it’s James bt dubs.

Which has him rolling his eyes, because “btw” is such an easy abbreviation, and making it longer to be cute is just obnoxious.

He responds (

how did you get my number

) because that’s just the reasonable next thing to ask, and James just replies

Lily :)

Which tells him two things: 1) that James is talking to Lily again, and 2) James still hasn’t told Sirius that they’re…what is the word? Acquaintances. That sounds right. Acquaintances. All very interesting.

So ok,

James types, which, why the hell won’t he finish a complete thought? Who texts like they talk?

I don’t want to bother you

because I’m sure you’re really busy

(Get to the point, he thinks.)

BUT if it’s not TOO too much trouble would you mind terribly if i borrowed that book back from you??

And now he’s back to being annoyed, because he’d said the damn book was a gift, and yes he did finish reading it already, but it’s the principle of the thing. Regulus sends back a

why,

which he hopes conveys both a refusal to return the book and an appalling level of apathy.

Um, so this is kinda embarrassing but Lily wants it back, and I haven’t told her yet that I gave it away, and she already was mad at me because I Goodwilled one of her sweaters she left in my room which was overkill I admit so I really can’t afford to fuck this up again.

Correction. Maybe a paragraph makes the whole thing worse. Who even gets themselves into these situations?

no 💕

is what Regulus sends.

PLEASE 🥺 I’ll do whatever you want I promise she just really likes that book

i think you’re severely overestimating how much i care about this.

I mean, I’m assuming you care at least a little bit, considering you’re still holding onto the book.

you said it was a gift you can’t just take it back because you’re back together with your girlfriend!

He deletes the “because you’re back together with your girlfriend!” part, before he sends it.

so you liked it?

of course i liked it.

He had, really. It was short. He’d finished it in two hours, the words still swirling in his head.

see I told you it’s a good book if you like poetry!!

Why is he so smug about this?

can I please have it back tho i’ll buy you your own copy?

Now, that is intriguing, but…

i’m visiting my family. so you’ll have to wait.

he sends back.

nbd!!! I’ll drive up to see you, with a FRESH new night sky full of exit wounds, unsullied by time

Wait. Shit. Shit. No. Regulus groans, burrowing his face into the pillow.

And we can trade. I still remember where you live :)

Which…what?

I don’t think you’re allowed in our house, to be honest.

He’s not. Sirius made sure of that.

I’ve been over loads of times. You just didn’t know.

I’m not Sirius. You can’t climb in through my bedroom window or whatever.

He used to deactivate the alarm and let me in through the laundry room, actually.

Regulus smiles, relenting, a little.

Fine. I’ll meet you in town. Just don’t come to my house.

B-but I’ve always wanted to see your bedroom…Forbidden fruit Regulus

Regulus?

REGULUS??

never say that to me again.

He types out, grinning.

and you do have to buy me my own copy.

of course, sire. anything for you, my liege.

preferably hardback.

Now you’re just pushing it.

“I’m going into town,” he tells his mother, the next morning. “To talk to my career counselor.”

She

beams

at him, completely oblivious to the lie. It’s not technically a

lie

, he presumes. He does really have a career counselor, some guy who worked for Bella’s husband and now supposedly helps him find internships or whatever. But he  hasn’t talked to him since the summer. “You see? This will be good for you.

That’s

how you show initiative.”

He smiles. “Mmhmm.”

“You can take the car.” she offers, pleased with her own magnanimity.

“Oh that’s okay, Mummy.” he says quickly. “I can walk. It’ll be short.”

“Ridiculous. It’s four miles.”

“I need the exercise.” he pushes. “I think I’m getting fat.” No one in their family has ever been fat a day in their lives, but it works on her. She likes it when they’re preoccupied with their physical appearance; it keeps her close to them.

“Naturally,” She shivers. “Have you

seen

my sister’s son? Practically

obese.

She’s jealous of you and your…brother. That you’re so good-looking. Of course,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “She doesn’t really know what you’re like. If she did…”

“I love you, Mummy.” he cuts in, before the critique.

“Well, you

try,

at least.” she says, more to herself than him. “It’s a shame you’re not…”

Smarter.

He kisses her on the cheek, again, the way she likes, before he leaves.

It really is a short walk into town, contrary to what his mother thinks. But it’s cold, and wet, and miserable. He has to keep the book in his inside front pocket, to prevent it from getting wet, and his hair is plastered to his face by the time he decides to wait in the little indie bookstore. He doesn’t know

why,

but he doesn’t think he wants James to see him like this. Even though he hadn’t really said anything other than,

I’ll tell you when I get in,

which isn’t really a time. Anyway, he likes the bookstore. When he was a kid, they’d been allowed to go in a little, if they were good. Sirius was seldom good, so they rarely went, but it had been heaven, for Regulus. All the pages, begging to be turned. He could have spent hours, there.

The bell above the door chimes, and he sees it’s mostly empty, just a couple older people who look like out-of-towners picking up souvenirs, and the sales clerk, who’s a taller, towheaded twentysomething with spotty skin and a silvery nose ring that’s most definitely getting infected. Regulus can’t stop staring at it. It’s

very

distracting. The guy has his feet up on the checkout counter, which seems somewhat unprofessional, and is dead to the world reading a thick book. It looks serious. He can’t quite make out the cover.

Regulus is looking through the store’s journals, all of which have disappointingly thin paper, and then running his hands over an assortment of laptop stickers in the “this machine kills fascists” variety, when he notices the guy has put down the book, and is staring at him. Because he’s not a little bitch, and he’s not going to be intimidated by some pierced freak, he stares back.

“You’re looking for the poetry section,” says the guy, eventually. “For…Ocean Vuong? Front of the store to your right.”

“Actually,” says Regulus. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“How did I do?” Bookstore Guy grins. “I try to guess. You look like the type.”

“What kind of type?”

“Poetry readers who think they’re different.”

How the hell did he know what I was in here for?

“I don’t really read much poetry. And I don’t think I’m different.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Bookstore Guy really has an insufferable smile, Regulus decides. His canines are too pointy. “If I just read poetry, I’d vomit.”

“What

are

you reading, anyway? Colleen Hoover?” He says this just to be a dick. The book is hardback, and has to be from the ‘80s, earliest. He can see the glue peeling away from the binding.

Bookstore Guy rolls his eyes, amused. “Poetry. Catullus.”

“Oh, fancy.”

“You have no idea who that is, do you?”

“Like I said,” Regulus continues. “I don’t really read poetry.”

“He’s a Roman poet. You know, ‘Let us live, my Lesbia, and love’?”

“No idea. Sounds like he’s barking up the wrong tree, though, if she’s a lesbian.”

“She’s not a

lesbian;

it’s a reference to Sappho, who lived on the island of Lesbos, you know-“ He catches Regulus nodding mockingly, and stops. “Oh. You were making a joke.”

“I

was

.” Pretentious people bother him immensely, put him in mind of Sirius as a teenager.

You wouldn’t get it. You can’t understand.

Still, he keeps talking, because it’s not like it’s not interesting. “Are they any good? The poems.”

Bookstore guy sighs, with his whole body. It’s dramatic, the sort of thing Evan would do. “Nah, not really. He can be funny; I was just expecting Napoleon-

War-and-Peace

levels of funny from him, you know?”

Regulus stares at him blankly.

“You haven’t read

War and Peace

?” He’s looking at him like he’s sprouted a third head.

“I’m a bio major. When would I have the time?”

“I’d say, in between reading generic, Twitter-famous poetry.”

“What’s your thing against Ocean Vuong?”

“Nothing.” When Regulus makes a show of turning to go. “My ex was a big fan.” No gender on the ex. So

interesting.

“What’s your thing about

War and Peace

? Hate the classics or something?”

“I might read it. Someday.”

“You should! It’s a true classic. At the very least, definitely better than sitting in your room and listening to the Smiths all day. ”

“I

don’t

do that.”

Bookstore Guy gives him a very slow once-over. If Regulus actually cared what this guy thought, he might squirm, a little.

The awkward moment is saved, by James of all people, who comes tromping into the store like he owns it. “Brought the book, uh…”

“Hi.” He gives Bookstore Guy a nod, before he leaves, but he’s tucked back into his Catullus, and doesn’t see him. “We can go.”

Even though James is rich, he drives an absolute piece of shit car, a ‘99 Pontiac something in a horrible shade of maroon, with peeling paint, a window that won’t close all the way, and a passenger’s side door that needs to be opened from the inside, lest he lock Regulus out. “Ta-da!” He produces a crisp paper bag, with a copy of

Night Sky with Exit Wounds

and another, hardback book, also by Ocean Vuong, called

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous.

“The guy told me that if you like that one, the other book is even better.” He’s looking at Regulus, intently, like he’s trying to gauge his reaction.

Regulus, who is starting to feel a little guilty, hands James Lily’s copy of the book. “Oh, you didn’t have to-“

“I know. I

wanted

to.” He looks at James’ nails, which are bitten down to the skin.

“You should probably give it to Lily. Since she likes Ocean Vuong so much she’s making you drive all the way over here to get the stupid book.” He gives it a beat. “I think I’m going to read

War and Peace

next, anyway. So I won’t have the time.”

James whistles through his teeth. “

War and Peace

, huh? What, was

Twilight

checked out already?”

“I have

never

read Twilight.”

“That’s a shame, ‘cause I always thought you had that young Robert Pattinson thing going on.” James teases.

“If I wanted vampires I’d read Anne Rice.” Regulus is not going to get suckered in by a compliment.

Young Robert Pattinson…

Really, it’s a little much.

“You know,” James says, fiddling with the radio as he pulls out of the parking space. “

I’ve

read

War and Peace

.”

“No, you haven’t.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “

Haven’t

I? Okay, fine, I haven’t. But I suffered through

Crime and Punishment,

and Charles Dickens, so you know, I think I’ve already experienced enough literary torture.”

“I

like

Charles Dickens.” Regulus protests.

“Sydney Carton, right?”

Regulus blushes. “...Yes.”

James doesn’t notice. “You and Sirius

love

the tragic ones.”

“I don’t think Sirius reads.” It’s true. Sirius has always lacked the attention span for reading anything longer than a couple hundred pages. He’s personally watched his brother pace with the fury of a caged leopard over

Wuthering Heights.

“You’d be surprised. He and my dad have, like, a book club. They’re working through Shakespeare’s comedies right now. My mom and I think it’s crazy.”

“Huh.” He really can’t imagine it.

“Why d’you want to read

War and Peace

, anyway?” James turns into a side street, taking a shortcut.

Because I’m not predictable. Because I’m not stupid. Because of Bookstore Guy and his stupid probably-going-to-be-infected nosering.

He just says what Bookstore Guy said. “It’s a classic.”

When he gets home, he looks up an English translation of the Catullus poem that Bookstore Guy was talking about. It’s not Ocean Vuong, but he likes that “Give me a thousand kisses” bit. It’s sappy, which he can’t imagine Bookstore Guy liking, but apparently Catullus’ “Lesbia” was married to another man, so it was all tragic or whatever. Bookstore Guy probably likes the tragedy of it, he decides, because he can also make assumptions about someone who’s doing their Greek and Roman Studies readings in public. Also, does Bookstore Guy have a name?

Okay, this is not on his list of priorities, he freely admits. He’s happy enough where he is in life.  He doesn’t need more friends. Although, he doesn’t think he wants Bookstore Guy to be his

friend

, per se. He just wants to wipe the smug look off his face, the “look at me, I’m going to make annoyingly correct assumptions about you” thing he has going. So he doesn’t really care at all, about Bookstore Guy himself, he thinks. It’s just…Regulus likes the concept of

interesting

people, from an authorial standpoint. People who act more like characters in a novel than the mundane. In his ideal world, he’d be surrounded by people who made him feel that way, like he’s wading into deep water and the sharks are closing in. People who

challenge

him. Nobody does that, really. Except for now, apparently, Bookstore Guy.

So he spends about half an hour in his father’s study, looking for

War and Peace.

(Fuck knows where Orion is, anyway. Probably avoiding him.) Once he finds it, he smuggles it into his room, suffers through it for half an hour (It is not very good, so far. Bookstore Guy was wrong.) and then goes into his mother’s bedroom to execute phase two of the plan. She’s straightening her hair; he can smell the heat protectant mixing with her perfume, and he perches on the armchair in the corner, which makes her smile. He used to love doing that, when he was a little kid, and she was in one of her good moods.

“How was the counselor?”

“Good.” he says. Sirius had always been a much better liar, when they were young, but he can probably give him a run for his money now; he’s had way more practice. “He says it’s early days. That it’s just a matter of motivating myself.”

“Motivation is an excuse, you know. Americans love to use ‘lack of motivation’ to explain why they are such abject failures.” She purses her lips at herself in the mirror. “I look

frightful.

”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, because that is what she wants to hear. It’s not a lie. She is beautiful, his mother, angles and lines, sharp edges, forbidding and cold even though she’s small. He just wished she didn’t need to hear it so much.

She huffs at that, like Sirius would, but she’s pleased, he can tell. “Your father used to tell me I was beautiful, all the time. Now he

never

says it. Do you think-“ And she turns around here, to look him in the eyes. “Do you think he still thinks I’m beautiful?”

There’s a glass of white wine on her dressing table, reddish-brown lipstick imprinted on the rim. He swallows. “Of course he does, Mummy.”

“You know, he only married me because he never saw something

exotic

he didn’t want.” She laughs. It’s not funny at all. “Because I bring some color to the table, some

spice.

That’s what his bitch sister-in-law said about me, when she saw me for the first time.”

“Auntie Druella is horrible, Mummy.”

“She was

right

about that, darling.” She takes a sip of her wine, and he cringes. He

really

did not want to deal with this. “Your father is a collector. He likes the idea of having a family more than the reality of us. At some point, he’ll get bored with us, you know.”

She is probably right. She’s surprisingly perceptive when she gets drunk. “You’ll have me.” he says, and when she doesn’t say anything, he puts his arms around her shoulders, breathing in the wine-hairspray scent of her. “No matter what Dad does.”

She’s trembling. He thinks, maybe, that she is trying not to cry.  “You’re a good boy, you know. The best. I only want the best for you, you know that, right? You don’t think…I’m not too hard on you, am I?”

“No, of course not. But I’m…” He seizes his moment. “I’m having a hard time, Mummy. And I’m trying to get better. But I don’t think I can do this part…alone. I just wish…there was something I could do.”

“Sweet boy. Of course there is. Do you think you’d do better in school if you had a little help?”

“Yes…Like, like last time.”

“Hmm. Of course. It will be,” she winks conspiratorily. “Our little secret. No need to tell your father. Get me my phone; I’ll call the pharmacy. And you’ll…do me a little favor, won’t you?” Her eyes are liquid, beseeching. “Make us drinks. Something strong.”

“Oh, I’m fine…”

“No, you’re not.” There’s a sudden sharpness to her tone. “Drink with me. Otherwise, I’ll think you’re just coming home so I can write you prescriptions. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? You wouldn’t be so selfish, so thoughtless.”

Regulus  swallows. “No, Mummy.”

“You know, your…

college

operates on a code of ‘personal responsibility.’ Meaning that they don’t notify parents about failing grades. Ridiculous.” She laughs. “So I’ll get you what you want, and you get me what I want. We can be a family, as long as we give each other what I want. That’s the way it works now.”

“Mummy,” he whispers. “I’m…”

“Don’t be insincere. It doesn’t suit you. Well?” She’s expectant. “I’d like a Manhattan.”

Walburga Black is true to her word, for all her faults. He hears her talking to the pharmacist, clipped vowels, dispassionate, like she’s ordering dinner. The prescription’s under her name, of course.

That’s

her twist; now he’ll have to go home every month to pick it up. It’s not that bad, he thinks, as he shakes whiskey from their father’s study into a martini glass, amber color cloudy. He’s already made one for himself, too, topping it with a maraschino cherry. And it’s what he deserves, for attempting to manipulate a lonely woman whose only crime is loving her son. He takes their drinks up on one of the silver trays, and they sip them in complete silence. Her nails are chipping, and he can see the alcohol taking over. She won’t turn on the lights in her room, in case he sees her without her makeup.

She’s flipping through a photo album, pointing at the black-and-white people in the images, from India, forever ago, talking mostly to herself. “They told us…my sister and I, that everything would be better here. Maybe it’s better for her.

She’s

the one they put their hopes on. Like your brother, if he bothered to make something of himself.”

“

You

made something of yourself.” he tells her, gently closing the album and putting it back on the shelf. “I’m going to make something of myself, too.”

“Oh, darling.” She rubs his head, like he’s a dog. “

No one

thinks that about me. I’m fortunate, though. God, I’m

fortunate

, as your father reminds me. Where would we be, without him? In all his brilliance?”

“Um…” He shifts away. “D’you want another drink, Mummy?”

“We’re all

things

to him, just pieces…”

He slips out of the room, noislessly, before he has to hear the rest.

Half an hour later, he’s floating, head on the living room carpet. He’s had he-doesn’t-know-how-many drinks, with his mother urging him to

drink

,

please, love, enjoy yourself.

At some point, he’d stopped mixing and measuring, just started knocking back vermouth and whiskey, chasing it with cherries that are staining his teeth bright red. He’s been smart, gulping water out of the bathroom sink, so he won’t be hungover on the train home tomorrow. His mother’s nodding off in her chair next to him, when the door opens. He props himself up on an elbow, watching his father rake an eye over them.

“You’re home.” Orion says, by way of a greeting.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” he replies, as soberly as he can.

Orion and Walburga share a chilly stare, grey eyes on brown. “He should be at

school

, Walburga. He’s not a child.”

“Forgive me,” she says, sarcastically. “for wanting to see my son.”

“You’re drunk.” Nobody denies this. “We’re having guests.”

“Guests?” Regulus sits up. “What guests?”

“It’s none of your concern.” He sighs. “One hour. Don’t be late.” He sweeps out of the room, and a chill settles over them. His mother flinches, as though she’s been slapped, and starts straightening the (already pristine) cushions.

“Well?” she challenges. “Don’t just

stand

there. Do something.”

He obediently removes their glasses, carrying the vermouth bottle from the room.

He hadn’t lied about the guests, Orion. There are a lot of them; most of them administrators from the hospital, his sycophants. Everyone’s dressed up, milling around their dining room, and later some sort of catering service takes up residence in their kitchen, since none of them cook anymore. In the corner, Regulus and his mother try to feign sobriety. His fingers are too clumsy to tie his own tie; it’s hanging around his neck, which he’ll definitely get a dressing down for at some time later, but for now, Orion is being

charming,

laughing and joking like he didn’t just spring this dinner on them. From the tight set of his mother’s jaw and the aggressive way she’s swigging champagne, she’s thinking of some choice words for him, words that will probably come out at Regulus later instead if he’s not careful.

Because he doesn’t want to take the chance, he steals one of the open champagne bottles from the caterers in the kitchen, and opens the front door, smuggling it awkwardly under a coat. He’s pretty much resigned himself to drinking outside in the front garden, when he sees a familiar car pull up, a gold Mercedes from back when cars were still elegant. His stomach constricts, and he dips behind a bush, mouth on the champagne bottle for courage.

Nononononono…..

He hears the voice, the same low burr. “Such a

nightmare

, you won’t believe…” and he squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the door to open and let them in. He can feel the hands on his thigh, the heat of whispered words in his ear.  He doesn’t dare breathe until he’s sure they’re inside, and then he’s sprinting off down the street, until he can’t see his own house anymore. He knows you can definitely get arrested for drinking wine in an open container, so he chugs it until he can taste bile in his throat, and then lobs the bottle in a recycling bin.

His vision is blurry, and he doesn’t even know where he’s going, but he sees the lights of the shops in the distance. The

bookstore

. Of course, what a brilliant idea. He’s crossing the road, letting the bell ring on the door before letting himself inside. For a minute, he’s worried Bookstore Guy won’t be there. Don’t people work in shifts or something, and what if he’s not here? But he sees the straw-blond tip of his head, the worn Catullus copy, feet up on the counter. There’s absolutely nobody here, so he goes up to the counter.

“Hi.” he says, breathing a little hard.

Bookstore Guy puts a thumb in his book, expertly dog-earing the page. “Hi,” His eyes rake over the

everything

of Regulus, the grass on the knees of his dress pants and the heels of shoes, the tie flapping around his neck, the flush on his face, the maraschino-red of his tongue.

“Your

War and Peace

,” Regulus starts, elbow on the counter. “Just a fucking soap opera. I mean, the stuff with Pierre and his ‘wife’,” Here he uses the awfully degrading air quotes. “What

was

that? Classics my ass. And Sonya wants to marry her fucking cousin. I mean,” he laughs. “I know they’re white people, but oh my fucking Christ.”

“Oh, but you haven’t gotten to Napoleon yet. That’s where it gets good.”

“Wait.

Napoleon

Napoleon is a character in this? Talk about fanfiction.”

“Read a lot of fanfiction, do you?”

“No.” Regulus shakes his head. “Fine. I

dabble

. I read widely. But oh my God, this can’t be the book you said was better than Ocean Vuong.

Really?

”

“Did you…” Bookstore Guy looks like he’s fighting a laugh. “Did you run all the way here to tell me this?”

“I was in the area.”

“Jeez, you’re really drunk, aren’t you?”

“Mmm-mm. I’m

completely

sober. What are you drinking?” He snatches the mug Bookstore Guy is drinking out of, and sniffs it. “Ugh, smells awful.”

“Black tea steeped in Five-Hour-Energy. Got an exam tomorrow.”

“Can I have some?”

Bookstore Guy shrugs. “Fine.” Regulus has a little sip, and winces. Bookstore Guy laughs. “Why did you want some, if it’s so bad?”

“I don’t know. Guess I’m thirsty. Your nosering looks stupid, by the way. And it’s

totally

going to get infected.”

“Are you…” Bookstore Guy fiddles with the nosering. “Regulus Black, right?”

“How did you know?” He’s never seen this guy before, he thinks.

“My dad works at the hospital. Barty.” He holds out his hand, and it take Regulus a full ten seconds to register that he’s supposed to shake it, which makes Bookstore Guy-no,

Barty

-laugh. “You wanna sit down?”

“There’s no chair.”

Barty looks at him like he’s dumb. “You can come behind the counter, if you want.”

“Oooh, behind the

scenes

, love it.” Barty gestures, and Regulus obediently steps over the barrier, squatting on the second stool. “Y’know, I always wanted to work here, when I was a kid.”

“Have you ever had a job?” Barty deadpans.

“No. My mum-my mother said it would interfere with my ‘education’.  Why, do I seem like someone who’s worked a day in my life?”

“I think you know that you don’t.”

“I’m not

snotty

, though. I’d sweep the floor if you asked me to. I know how to do that. I’m actually pretty good at chores.”

“Uh huh.”

“So what do you do? When you’re not making snap judgments about people at the bookstore?” He rests his chin on his hand, in an exaggerated pantomime of listening.

“Well,” Barty shuts his book, turning to face him. “I do classics, at the big university.” He means the state school, half a mile outside of town.

“Didn’t think that program was any good.”

“It’s not. But-” Barty does an ugly, ironic smile, all teeth. “Dad wouldn’t pay for anyplace good. He still thinks I’m going to change my mind and do something ‘practical.’ So…” He shrugs. “Here I am.”

“I’m sorry.” Regulus says, mock-earnestly. “That is horrible. So you mean, you’re reading Catullus for a nothing degree? Talk about torture.”

“Fuck you, rich boy.”

“Fuck

you

.” They make eye contact, which feels awfully competitive. But it seems like Barty doesn’t mind losing, because he looks away first. “Do you read Ancient Greek?”

“Yes, I read Ancient Greek for my nothing degree.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Barty flares his nostrils a little. “And Latin, and a little bit of Old English.”

“Everyone can read Old English.”

“You haven’t read

Beowulf

, have you? Get back to me after that.”

“See,

you’re

snotty.” Regulus puts on a haughty voice. “You haven’t read

Beowulf

, have you?”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes, you do. You’re

very

pretentious.”

“Not like you, I’m sure.”

“Hey,” Regulus peeps at Barty, sly, underneath his lashes, noting the slight golden fuzz on his chin. “I

own

it. You pretend like you’re not, which is worse.”

“How do I,” Barty swivels in his chair. “

pretend

?”

“Well, look at you. The hiking boots, the flannel. Who are you supposed to be, Paul Bunyan? You’re a nerd at a state school.”

“Oh, the fact that you call it a

state school

is so insufferable.” Barty doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s insufferable, though. He leans in, and Regulus can see a flush spreading up his neck. “If this is negging, it’s not working.”

Regulus pulls away from him, which is hard. Even though he’s so scruffy, there’s something in his eyes that’s kind of…magnetizing. “I’m not negging you.”

“Oh, no?” Barty raises an eyebrow.

“I’d have to be looking for something from you, for it to be negging. And you don’t have anything I want.”

Barty hums. “And yet, you’re in the bookstore, after hours, talking to me.”

“You’re talking to me.”

He looks at his watch, “Actually, it

is

after hours. I should close.”

“But…”

“No, I am going to close. Stand over there.”

“Bossy,” Regulus grumbles, but he does move to the door, where Barty points, as he watches Barty close the register, flip switches to turn the lights off, lock the back door.

“Out.” Barty says, and Regulus turns up his collar and walks off into the cold. After Barty closes the last door, he comes to meet him, outside the arch of the door, where they stand, looking at each other. “So…” they say at the same time.

“D’you want to come back to my house?” Regulus blurts. “I’ll…I’ll make you a drink.”

Barty laughs. “I think you’re drunk enough already.”

Regulus sways, slightly, because of course he does. “Not true.”

“You’re fucking

tiny

, too. I think any more would kill you, and I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

“I’m not

tiny

. Five-five is the average height for men in a lot of Asian countries.” Regulus splutters.

“Ah, but we’re not in a lot of Asian countries, are we?”

“We can’t all be fucking…

freaks of nature

. At least I’m proportional. You look like a Sasquatch.” He doesn’t, really, but he

is

tall.

This doesn’t seem to bother Barty. “And here I thought you were starting to like me.”

“So…you don’t want to come back to mine?”

Barty’s face softens. “It’s not that I don’t…I just have an exam tomorrow.”

“You’re such a good student.” Regulus is careful to make it sound like an insult.

“No, I am.” Barty agrees. “Well, uh…take care of yourself, yeah? See you around.”

“Bye.” He waves, and Barty ambles off, probably toward a car or something. He’s already turning in the other direction, weirdly…exhilirated. He wants to run; he wants to scream, he wants to have Barty push him up against a wall, have him lean in and….

Oh, fuck.

The revelation shakes him to his core, and he falls to his knees, and is horribly, violently sick.

Afterwards, he wipes his mouth inelegantly on the back of his hand, and checks his phone. Three missed calls from his mother. She’s probably passed out in her bed now; he’ll just tell her…What can he tell her? What can he tell

anyone

? He’s panicking, spiraling, because he’s not really

gay

, not really, but now he just…wants to follow this guy around forever, this brilliant, weird, infuriating guy who he’s known for exactly two days but feels like he’s known his whole life. Which is stupid, but…Regulus is stupid. And apparently now, stupid and gay.

It’s Sirius he thinks of, then. Sirius, who has never once not acted on his impulses, Sirius, who is sort of gay and would know a little about this, he thinks. Sirius who loves him, who hates him, who whispers to him,

Chin up. Don’t let them see it gets you.

So he lifts up his head, sets his mouth in a firm line, and starts walking home, and he does not think about Barty, not even once.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

And I can feel it in my bones

I’m gonna spend another year alone

It’s fuck and run, fuck and run

Even when I was seventeen

-Liz Phair 
 Mac knows the exact moment she realized she wasn’t like the rest of her friends. It was seventh grade, a sleepover. They were sitting on Claire’s bed, all six of them.  None of them talked about it then, but they all knew Claire’s family had the most money. She was the only one of their friends who lived in a house with an upstairs and a downstairs, and the only one who had her own room. This made her the leader, and she knew it, too. That’s when the conversation turned to it. “Which one of us do you think is going to get married first?” “Lilah.” Claire said, and they all agreed, while Lilah tried not to look too smug. “And Mac’s gonna get married last. If she even gets married.” Mac grinned. “Who wants to even get married? Ew.” “Exactly!” Claire said. “I just can’t imagine you married.” This seemed weird, and kind of backhanded, to Mac, at the time, because she definitely could see herself married, in some version of her future. But she also did not want to get married, and part of her was a little grateful to Claire to remembering that about her, for thinking she would stick with her plan to stay unwed into adulthood. She’s Mary now, and nobody’s called her Mac in ages, but she still thinks about that sleepover more than she’d like to admit. She knows it’s stupid. They were all dumb kids then, really dumb kids. What did they know about anything? But sometimes she wonders, what is it about me they saw that makes everyone run for the hills? She still doesn’t want to get married; she thinks, but she wouldn’t mind somebody finding her to be marriage material. Knowing she could, if she ever wanted to. On her right, now,  Lily, who is like the dictionary definition of “marriage material,” is squinting at a computer screen. “ What ? God, these kids…” Most people, if they were saying something like that, would be doing that because they wanted some kind of attention, but she’s known Lily long enough now to be aware that Lily just…works out loud when she’s struggling with a problem. It drives James crazy , and in a rare moment of genuine petty frustration from him, he has completely refused to do homework with her when she’s stuck on something like this. Because Lily doesn’t work well alone when she gets in one of these loops, and also because Mary secretly finds this kind of adorable, she’s volunteered to take James’ place. She doesn’t really get very much work done, but like, there’s always more time later.  Lily sighs and runs her fingers through her hair, closing her laptop with a final snap. “This is awful.” She turns to Mary expectantly. “What are you doing?” “Paper on Stadia. ” She rotates her screen so Lily can see Julie Mehretu’s abstract representation of the Olympic stadium, the chaos of colors and lines. “Talking about abstraction and globalization/urbanization.” ‘Ooh,” Lily bats her eyes at her. “Sounds complicated. Tell me more.” Flecks of brown mascara are making the freckles under her eyes darker, and the tip of her nose is red and peeling where she keeps rubbing it. “Now you just want me to distract you. Don’t you have to finish grading?” “Nah.” Lily scoots her chair closer. “I’ll just do it tomorrow. It’s those chem guys-they’ll give me a pass if I smile at them.” “Nobody fucks with us.” Mary jokes, nudging her. “Alright, fine.” They both know Mary’s going to explain it to her. She never says no to anything Lily asks; it’s not in her. She’ll grumble about it, for show, but she’ll never outwardly say no. “So you see here, like, the layers? How it’s handwritten in some parts, and some parts look like a blueprint, and the closer you get, the less obvious each of the component parts become? That’s my paper. How living in a more global world changes like, the form of human life.” “Deep.” She looks away, not wanting to seem like she’s trying to be impressive. “I mean, it’s not that great. Everyone’s doing something like that.” “Oh my God, just take the fricking compliment. I’m sure it’s going to be great.” The ends of Lily’s hair, perfumed with cucumber from her shampoo, dance across Mary’s shoulder, as she looks at the painting. “Are those flags ?” “Abstractly, yeah. That’s the Expressionist symbol, so she’s drawing inspiration from Kandinsky and those guys, too.” She likes watching Lily look at art, even if it’s on a computer screen. For such an analytical person, she gets it, more than the rest of their friends. she thinks. Lily thinks about art, and sometimes she notices details in the paintings Mary studies for class that Mary herself doesn’t notice, even though she’s the art history major. When she was still Mac to her friends, that kind of thing would have made her jealous and territorial, because art was her thing. Now she thinks it’s really fucking cool, a thought that she immediately banishes because she is not a queer cliche. She has gone through her entire life skipping the “having a crush on your best friend” stage. She’s not going to be that kind of messy now. Although Lily…makes it really difficult.  James, she reminds herself. Best friend. Common sense. Straight. James. James. James. Nobody really knows exactly what the deal is with James re: Lily, only that Lily broke up with him, seemingly for good, but they hang out way more than exes should hang out, in Mary’s opinion. They’re always talking, and laughing, and now, apparently, kissing. But Mary, the designated “down-for-anything-no-judgment-friend,” knows this is just a matter she has to be violently supportive of, no matter what Lily decides. After that stupid mess with Severus freshman year, she knows better than to pass too much judgment too quickly, to make her opinion a known fact. So if James and Lily want to get back together? She’ll be happy for them, because that’s what they need from her. If it makes her want to scream into a pillow until she passes out, it’s fine. So very fucking fine. “Wow.” Lily’s still looking at the painting. “Says it’s huge , look…” Mary’s flicking through Tinder, responding to a Are we still on for tonight? with a yes! very excited. Okay, “very” is a stretch. But Mary’s a problem solver. She’s not a wallower. When she sees a solution, she takes it. Even if it makes her feel disgusting inside. “Yeah, she makes all of them massive.” “So cool…” She can see the blue light reflecting off the blue veins in Lily’s face. She’d be an amazing photograph. “Yeah. It is.” At this point, Mary’s no stranger to dates. She had her first “boyfriend” when she was nine, and even though she’s never dreamed of marriage , she’s always liked being someone’s girlfriend. She likes the attention, the gifts (Simon, her last boyfriend, bought her a Chanel wallet which she still uses, even though he definitely tried to take it back when they broke up), teasing and flirting, and that sweet spot just in between knowing if a person likes you or if they just think you’re a weirdo. She likes getting to know a person, letting them live inside her, likes having sex with them and talking about their feelings and playing with their hair and teaching them how to do things that their moms definitely should have shown them how to do (Sirius genuinely did not know how to do laundry when they got together.) College is the only time she’s ever had a hard time finding people who want her , the only time she’s ever been given compliments like “I love your energy,” or “You’re so funny,” in lieu of “You’re so pretty.” And Mary is pretty. She stopped relaxing her hair almost as soon as she got to college, and now that it’s grown out healthier, it haloes around her head in a way that makes her face even more round and symmetrical. Her skin’s perfect; she never leaves the house without lip gloss and perfume, and she spends hours picking out the perfect outfits and doing her nails. But it’s not a matter of pretty , she learned, quickly. It’s just…the Black thing. She remembers sitting around with her hallmates freshman year, watching them download dating apps for the first time, watching them swipe past anyone who looked remotely ethnic. Always with some bullshit excuse, because the guy was too short or his bio wasn’t funny, but she knew why. The way they’d look nervously around at her, for validation, which made her uncomfortable because it wasn’t exactly fair of her, because they weren’t doing anything wrong. It’s not like dating a Black guy makes you any less racist; she knows that, or that she thinks people can’t have preferences. It’s just…the sort of thing white people do, without thinking about it, so ignorant that you can’t even bring it up without them getting offended. All those girls would have tons of messages from really hot people, while Mary would have the occasional drunk text from weird men who really just wanted a picture of her feet. She had given up on them completely soon after. It’s Lily who pushed her to try them again, even though she had been apprehensive. “You need to get over Simon,” They’d been waiting for a frozen pizza to finish defrosting in Mary’s kitchen. “You should try Tinder!” “I’ve already tried Tinder,” Mary had said wearily. Lily wasn’t listening. “We could do a photoshoot , a really good one, and you could wear that little black dress, maybe outside, with like, some string lights… ” And suddenly, instead of pizza, they’d been setting up a Tinder profile. Lily’s commitment to an idea, once started, is kind of terrifying. She usually just lets herself get taken for the ride. Fast-forward to now, and she’s going on a date with an anime fan named Logan, 23. She looks at herself, powdered and coiffed and powerful. All the things she does only to be judged presentable by some guy who’ll probably wear just a T-shirt. “Babe, I’m leaving!” she calls to Marlene on her way out, giving herself a once-over in the hall mirror. “Text me your location!” Marlene is under the apprehension that Tinder is rife with serial killers who haven’t been caught yet. She’s pretty sure that if she didn’t text from her location, Marlene would show up with a Taser. Still it’s the cute kind of protective, and Mary likes being protected. When the world decides that you’re too strong and resilient to need protection, it’s nice when someone says that’s bullshit , and hangs on anyway. “I’ll be fine,” she shouts back with a smile, before stepping into the night. The date is blisteringly, mind-numbingly fine . They make awkward small talk, they don’t get too deep about their lives. He invites her back to his place, and so, of course, they have sex, which is about as good as she could expect. It’s missionary, and he doesn’t have a condom, which she knows she should expect from him, but she hates this part of Tinder dates, the waiting, the pretending they care about anything other than this part. He doesn’t get her off, but he also doesn’t choke her like that one guy tried to do, or call her Mommy (which she’s not judging, it’s just not her thing.) so she’ll take it. Afterwards, she fixes her makeup and pisses in his tiny, filthy bathroom. “We should do this again,” she says, not intending to ever do this again. “Yeah.” he agrees. In the car, she’ll unadd him on the app, delete and block his number, and look out the window, feeling guilty, and used, and like she’s cheating on someone, while knowing that she’s not that kind of girl, not the kind of girl who her friends expect to get weird about a random hookup. She’s supposed to be adventurous , the kind of girl who tells you crazy stories about her life, who you envy but know in your heart you never, ever wish to be. A footnote in other people’s cookie-cutter life. She’s not supposed to be a girl who says the truth, that the more strangers she sleeps with, the more detached from her body she feels, the less human she becomes. “What, no stories?” Marlene (and now, Dorcas, who’s become a permanent fixture at their place) are all eager when she lets herself in, hanging her keys on a hook in the hall. “Not really.” Mary kicks off her shoes. “He was kind of ugly.” “ Mary !” Marlene gasps. “Didn’t you once say everyone was attractive if you tried hard enough?” “Trust me, I was trying! He was ugly and boring.” She feels bad about saying it, too. He wasn’t really that bad. But she thinks about Lily, the Renaissance-nude Greek Goddess of her, staring intently at a painting, and…there’s no way this guy could compete with that. Not a fucking chance. “Did you have sex with him, though?”  Dorcas asks, shrewd. Mary winks. “I don’t kiss and tell.” “You literally always kiss and tell. That’s why we send you on all these dates- for the telling.” “And here I thought you wanted me to find my future husband or wife.” When they squawk with displeasure, she relents. “Fine. We had sex. It was…eh.” “Good eh?” “Eh eh.” “You know,” Marlene says, “You don’t always have to sleep with them on the first date.” “Hypocritical, coming from you.” Mary shoots back. Marlene was an absolute menace their freshman year; it’s rare to meet a girl she hasn’t at least tried to fuck. “Hey,” Dorcas leans in, her head directly underneath Marlene’s chin. “Ladykiller didn’t sleep with me on the first date.” “To be fair, you guys have never had a first date. You were just talking and then Dorcas moved in.” They giggle at that, disgustingly in love. She’s pretty sure she’s seen Marlene looking for promise rings online. It’s been two weeks . Fucking lesbians. “Ooh, would you sleep with me on the first date?” Dorcas teases. “No.” Marlene looks away, staunchly. “Because…”“Because I like to build anticipation.” And she leans in and bites Dorcas’ finger, hard, and Dorcas squeals . Again. Fucking lesbians. “Sometimes you know what you’re in for, though, so you might as well get it over with.” Mary says, once they stop being disgusting. She’s heating olive oil in a pan on the stove, watching until it sizzles. “No,” Dorcas agrees. “There’s something to be said for using hookups for their intended purpose.” “What do you know about hookups?” Marlene’s eyes are narrowed in fake jealousy. “What don’t I know, you mean…” Mary leaves them to bicker, and concentrates on the task at hand, namely, blistering the skin off of pre-cut green beans. It’s not hard, or particularly good , just something to eat. She’d practically only had bread on the “date” because she didn’t want to make him pay for too much, which makes no sense because apparently, chivalry is dead, and then she ended up fucking him anyway, so she might as well have had the pasta bowl. Better than the sex, anyway. She takes her “meal” back to her room, and eats at her desk under the the big photo of her family. Her mom had insisted she take it into the new apartment, and she’d never admit it, but she kind of likes having it up. It’s nice to feel the presence of her parents, and sisters, and her Grandma Mary, who she’s named after, watching her. They’d been absolutely terrified about her moving off-campus, when she and Marlene had signed the lease. It had been kind of funny.“Are you sure you want to live with a white girl?” her dad had asked, furrowing his brow. “They don’t wash their feet, you know…” “Marlene washes her feet, Dad.” “Hmm. I’ll believe it when I see it. What happened to that nice boy, the one who came to visit us that one Christmas? Why can’t you live with him?” “I’m not dating Sirius anymore. I told you.” Her parents love Sirius. She thinks her mom was more sad about them breaking up than either she or Sirius was, to be honest. “Right.” her mother had said, deep in thought. “You’re a lesbian, now.” “ Marlene ’s a lesbian. I’m bisexual.” She’s had to explain this to them, so many times. Not that they’re at all homophobic; her mom’s only reaction when she’d told them she liked girls in high school had been, “Well, at least they won’t get you pregnant,” and her sister Sarah went to Pride with her last year. Gay people they understand just fine. Mary’s degree of queerness is still very much a mystery, but they try. “Yes, she’s bisexual now, Adrienne. I have to ask,” her dad had said, his Nigerian accent coming out a tiny bit in the way that tipped her off that he was going to ask a completely ridiculous question, “Doesn’t that make it difficult, living with another girl? Aren’t you worried you’ll…” He trailed off. “Not really,” she said, rolling her eyes. (Of course, she has hooked up with Marlene, and she loves her dad, but keeping her parents out of her sex life is one of her great missions.) “Can I be bisexual, too?” Rachel, her youngest sister, had piped up, and then they had to go on a whole thing about sexuality, and how it’s not something anyone needs to worry about at eight years old, and love is love. They’re all so silly, all the Macdonalds. She misses them, a lot. She hunches over her laptop. Another day until the deadline for her paper. She stretches, rolls her shoulders, and begins to write. Even mediocre sex, as it turns out, takes a lot out of her, because she wakes up super late, with her head on her desk. She’s already missed her ten A.M., and she’s got about half an hour to get to her next one. Just great. So she showers the stain of Logan, 23, off of her, puts on makeup, squeezes herself into a skirt that’s definitely too small but cute enough she won’t get rid of it, grabs a bagel from the fridge, and is off to class. Unfortunately, she’s met by an all-too-familiar greasy mop of hair. “Fuck off,” she says under her breath, but puts on a smile that’s really just a repurposed grimace. “Hi, Severus.” “Is it true?” he starts. He’s never been one for social niceties, has Severus. It’s one of the many, many things she finds off-putting about him. “You’re going to have to give me more than that.” If she walks faster, will he not be able to keep up? “That she and Potter are back together.”  Right. She should have seen this one coming, really. Severus is freaky-obsessed with Lily. As the story goes, he’s also a graduate of the same overpriced all-boys prep school that James and Sirius attended. Lily, who went to the corresponding overpriced all-girls prep school, was like his sole friend, to hear her tell it, but of course, because God forbid boys be normal about anything, he developed a huge crush on her. This led to him asking her out, over and over again, until she finally stopped talking to him. But then, as fate would have it, they all ended up at the same school, and then they tried to be friends again, even though Mary (and everyone else, mind you) had been dead set against him, because a) he was awful and b) it was clear he just wanted to fuck Lily. And then she started dating James, who Severus absolutely hates because of something he did in high school (she’s still not quite sure what), and that was about it on their relationship, which Mary was relieved about. Severus still tries really hard to get something going though, which…she can respect that level of commitment to a delusion, if nothing else. “I don’t know.” she lies. “Why don’t you ask her?” “I’m asking you.” “And I’m not answering. Go away.” He grabs one of her books, forcing her to come to a halt. “Please. You can’t seriously think they’re good for each other.” Mary glares at him. “First of all, don’t touch me. Second of all, they’re my friends. I’m not going to talk shit about them to anyone, least of all, you .” “Aren’t you? I’m not stupid, Macdonald. I see how you look at them. How you ran to comfort her after they broke up the first time. It’s awful, isn’t it, knowing that no matter how nice you are, she’s never going to pick you? Because of him?” “You’re right.” Mary says, pulling her book out of his hands. “She’s never going to pick me. But she’s not going to pick you either.” She texts Peter back as soon as she gets out of her class. free if you wanna read it for me :) and gets back a response instantly. meet in fab lobby?  “ FAB Lobby” is the lower level of the fine arts building, a glass-and-metal Frank-Gehry knock-off that is at determined odds with the rest of the campus architecture. Mary, who finds modern architecture calming, likes studying there more than the library, which Lily vehemently disagrees with her on (“It’s so ugly, Mary, and the chairs aren’t made for sitting.”). Peter’s there, absorbed in a thick highlighted script that is no doubt the Hamlet thing he’s always talking about. “Proofread?” “Do you even have to ask?” It’s their little ritual. Mary knows she’s a reasonably smart person, a decent writer. However, she is a truly awful speller, and since she refuses to cough up the money to buy the Microsoft Office package that has professional-grade spell check, it’s Peter she relies on, who has an almost savant-like affinity for spelling. If the acting thing doesn’t work out, he should be a copy editor. More importantly, he doesn’t make fun of her about it, which both Lily and Sirius would do, if given the opportunity. They find an empty classroom, and she zooms around in circles on the rolling chairs while he squints over her paper. “How’s Hamlet ?” she asks, flicking through the script. “Okay. Jesus, Mary, this is like borderline incomprehensible. What the hell is a ‘fyorm’?” “F-O-R-M. I fell asleep on the keyboard. Love you.” She scoots over to him, planting a lipstick-y kiss on his cheek. “You’re lucky I’m here,” he grumbles, wiping the stain off his face, but his ears are turning pink. Peter is one of those guys who is embarrassed by literally everything. It’s kind of sweet. The first time he saw her topless (a dare, from the girl Marlene was dating last year) she’s pretty sure he short-circuited. It’s kind of fun, she thinks, to be able to throw someone off that easily. And he is a genuinely nice person, which makes her feel bad, about doing it, but she can’t stop herself. He just is so…easily shocked; he activates something that is not altogether good in her. He finally finishes reading over the paper. “There. I fixed it. Are you ever going to get real spell check?” “But then we won’t get to hang out.” she pouts.Peter rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Whatever.” “Don’t ‘whatever’ me; I’ll kick your ass.” She pretends to punch him, and he ducks out of the way like it’s real. “Thank you…” She slides her laptop back in her bag, ready to go. “Hey…um…” His voice, nervous, stops her before she opens the door of the classroom. “What, do I have gum on my shoe or something?” “No, it’s just…there’s a junior monologue symposium, this weekend. And we can bring a guest, so I was wondering if you wanted to…” “ This weekend?” Some student society is throwing some kind of dance in the lower floors of the campus life center. Marlene sent a plaintive begging text to the group chat, and Mary responded with an i’ll go of course , and now they’re  planning on getting drunk on coconut rum and Kahlua in their kitchen, courtesy of Sirius, who is taking his bartending responsibilities extremely seriously. And, not to be mean to Peter, but she would much rather go dancing than suffer through two hours of undergraduate theater. “I’m really sorry, Peter, I think I’m going out. You could ask Re-” “He won’t be interested, I know . You will.” Peter infers a lot, based on the fact that they’re both in the humanities. He’s always suggesting they go to openings at art museums together, or plays. Mary is both flattered and mildly annoyed by this assumption, as he only asks her, like she’s the only one of them who’s capable of understanding art more complex than the latest HBO show. “Look, I would like to,” she lies. “I just already promised Marlene.” He lets out a little sigh. “ Okay .” “Sorry.” she says, feeling really bad now. “I’ll go to the next one.” He perks up a little, like a dog promised a treat. “Really?” She tries to crush the feeling of dishonesty.  “Cross my heart.” “Not a monologue symposium ,” Marlene laughs, from where she’s losing a battle with pink eyeshadow on the floor. They’re getting ready in Mary’s room, Lily sitting on the bed, Mary on the desk. Another time-honored tradition, accompanied by a boyband mix playlist. “I would have laughed in his face.” “They’re always so self-important.” Mary concentrates on snaking her wing out, and rimming her waterline with kohl. “Always about coming out, or like, some girl not liking you back. Whiny shit.” “Talk about some girl not liking you back. If he thinks that’s going to get you to fuck him, I have news for him.” “Marlene!” Mary gasps. “He does not want to fuck me.” “Yes, he most certainly does. Lily?” Marlene looks at her for backup. “This is like, the Peter Pettigrew version of sending you a dick pic. Oh, babygirl, do you wanna go to a monologue symposium with me? ” Mary flings a mascara wand at her, giggling. “Stop it.” “He probably is the kind of guy who has to ask you about if you’re consenting every five minutes and then has to breathe into a paper bag if you don’t sound enthusiastic enough about ass play.” They both collapse, laughing hysterically. Lily crosses her arms, unblended blush on her cheeks making her appear even rosier than normal. “You guys, that’s seriously mean. I think he’s cute. You could do a lot worse, Mary.” “Ooh, are you matchmaking again?” Marlene raises her eyebrows suggestively. “No!” Lily blushes. “I’m just saying…” “I would never fuck Peter.” Mary shivers, horrified at the thought. “It’d be like…what, incest?” “You’re not related to him, though.” “Still incest, though.” “Oh, but Sirius -” “Different,” Mary puts in. “A momentary lapse in judgment.” “Right, because Peter’s so much worse than all of the randos you meet online.” Lily rolls her eyes. “He’s a nice guy, and he actually likes you for you , instead of because of all…” She waves her hands at Mary’s glittery tube top. “That.” Mary shuts her palette with a snap. “Which is what, exactly?” “Lily,” Marlene warns. “Stop.” “The whole free-spirit, manic-pixie thing.” “I don’t have a manic-pixie thing. I’m just not like you.” Mary says as pleasantly as she can, face heating up with anger. “I want different things. Not everyone wants a boyfriend and a white picket fence.” “I don’t want a white picket fence.” “Don’t you? Isn’t that the whole thing with James?” She's not supposed to say that, but it comes out. Low-hanging fruit. Too easy, too fast. “James and I are not together.” Lily’s face is the same color as her hair. “And I’m not saying that you have to date the guy. I’m just saying it’s kind of mean to make fun of him because he likes you.” “No, you’re not. You’re saying that I pretend to be something I’m not to get people to fuck me.” “Fuck, Mary-” Lily laughs, coldly. “I could care less who you sleep with.” “Really? Then why are you being so weird about it? He’s just a guy, who I don’t like, by the way. And you set this whole thing up. You practically made me get a Tinder, and now you’re mad that I’m using it for its intended purpose.” “My bad, for trying -” “Both of you! Shut up.” Marlene explodes. “This is stupid . Lily, Mary can do whatever she wants. Mary, stop taking everything so personally. Jesus Christ.” They both start to argue, but Marlene assumes an expression of stoic disapproval. “I don’t care. Oh my God.” She shoots them both a glare, before she leaves the room. “I should go, too…” Mary stands. “Whatever you want.” Lily responds, archly, not looking at her. Lily’s inexplicable bad mood lasts throughout Family Dinner (questionable frozen gyoza from the Asian supermarket) and continues into Family Drinks. She’s barely looking at Mary or Marlene, not that the boys would ever notice, clueless as they are, and she’s attached herself to James like a leech in a way that Mary can tell he finds surprising, but definitely not unwelcome. They’re laughing hysterically on the couch over a bad joke Peter made about French people, while Sirius and Marlene take (third? fourth?) coconut rum shots. She’s surprised Peter even came, but he’s been vague when she asked him, saying he “got the date for the symposium wrong,” which smacks of an excuse to her, but she’s not about to call him on it, in case Marlene and Lily are right. “Mmm, can we please put on some music?” Lily calls. “I’ll do it.” Peter says, with surprising clarity for someone who’s pretty drunk. “Mary, can you help me find the speaker?” “I think Marls knows-” she starts to say, but Marlene is having an intense debate with Sirius about whether or not it’s okay to armchair diagnose someone they both know with borderline personality disorder. “Alright, fuck it, c’mon.” Peter follows her out. “I love drunk James,” Peter confesses. “He’s totally going to start telling everyone how much he loves us in like five minutes.” They’re sorting through Marlene’s room (which is, to put it nicely, a horror show.) “Oh yeah, it’s super funny…” Where the fuck is it , she thinks. Also how long do I have to be alone with him?  “Hey,” Peter’s blue eyes are surprisingly perceptive. “Did you and Lily have a fight?” “How’d you know?” She hadn’t thought anyone would pick up on it, especially not Peter, who had to have the ending of Inception explained to him like forty times. “She’s not sitting next to you. She always sits next to you.” “Yeah.” She felt the absence keenly, like a missing reminder of disquiet. “She, uh, doesn’t agree with my, dating choices..” “You’re dating people?” Something like alarm passes over his face. “I didn’t know that.” “Not seriously . Just like, meeting people on Tinder.” Peter makes a face. “See, like that. She’s being weird about it.” “Tinder is weird.” Peter sits next to her on Marlene’s bed, all pretense of looking for the speaker gone. “I told you I met this girl who wanted me to wear a pacifier on Tinder, right?” Mary snickers. “Didn’t she call you ‘Baby PeePee’ ?” “ That’s the part of the story you remember. Anyway, it’s hard to like, make authentic connections or whatever online. I think dating apps make you feel…kind of icky, after a while.” “I know that. I’m just fucking around. I don’t think my soulmate’s on there. But like…why is it such a bad thing, to like sex? Just casual sex?” “I’m not…uh, I’m not saying it’s bad.” Peter scratches his head. “It just…it gets lonely after a while. That’s probably what she means, I think.” “You think?” Peter nods. “Anyway, you’ll meet someone.” he says with conviction. “You’re funny, and smart, and…not ugly, so…” “You can just say I’m pretty, my God.” “Fine. You’re pretty.” He says it like admitting it takes a lot out of him, and she suddenly feels extremely guilty. “ Thank you.” “You’ll…you’ll figure it out.” He pats her shoulder, and walks out, abruptly, leaving Mary on Marlene’s bed. 
Fuck. 
As it turns out, James is letting everyone go through his music library, which is keeping them so occupied they don’t even notice her come back in, sans speaker. Peter’s not among them, thank God, and so she can just sit on the outskirts and watch them all hover around his phone screen. “How much Imagine Dragons can be on one playlist?” Marlene giggles. “Such a Mormon.” “Some of them have curse words in them!” James pipes up, indignant. “Oh yeah, in between ‘Hey There, Delilah,’ and Coldplay. Very gangster.” “Psst.” It’s Sirius, extricating himself from the cluster on the couch. “One for the road?” He’s brandishing a packet of extra-long cigarettes. “Outside, but yeah.” Mary follows him, glad to escape the potential of running into Peter again, and secretly craving a cigarette. Yes, they’re horrible cancer sticks, but she reasons if she’s a little tipsy it can’t ruin her lungs, right? She slides the door shut, as a host of laughter emanates from the room behind them, and enjoys watching him struggle to light one of the cigarettes on the balcony. “Oh… fuck .” The lighter won’t ignite the end, and he’s definitely getting a little frustrated. “You big baby. Let me.” He obliges, and she coaxes the sputtering Bic to life, passing it to him, and then proceeds to light one for herself. It’s nice, the burning tobacco smell, the heat warming their cold fingers. (Okay, maybe she really likes cigarettes. Don’t people smoke all the time in France? It’s fine, right?) “Mmm.” He purrs, catlike. “You’re an angel. What would we do without you?” “Starve and die?” Sirius laughs. She’s missed that. Out of respect for James, he’s kept his distance for the past couple of weeks, which is weird. They’re not the kind of friends who don’t talk every day; they never have been. But then again, they’ve usually been thrown together out of necessity, as James and Lily’s respective best friends, and the break-up has put a wrench in that, too. She takes a couple of longer drags on the cigarette. “You’re being quiet.” “How unlike me.” “I know . What’s wrong?” Sirius is never quiet; he constantly has to fill a silence. “It’s…” He folds his arms around himself. “I think I’m angry.” “How d’you not know if you’re angry?” she teases. “At James.” Oh. Sirius loves James, and he worships James, in a peculiar way that she’s never really understood, even way back when they were dating. For a long time, she’d wondered if he was into James, as in into into him, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. It’s just the bromance to end all bromances. Which means Sirius probably hasn’t had a lot of practice being angry at him, at least not about anything meaningful. “About what?” “I shouldn’t say. I don’t want to…Can I think about it? And decide if I’m angry, and then…?” He’s looking at her, pleading, for permission, and her heart twists a little. He’s always been like this, sensitive underneath all the over-the-top bravado. It’s what had attracted her to him in the first place; the way he treated the Sirius-persona like a suit he could step in and out of. And she’s always liked this side of him better, the side that wore a suit jacket to dinner to impress her dad when he stayed with them for two days Christmas break freshman year, the side that did an entire presentation for Marlene when she got sick and lost her voice, the side that eats everyone’s wasabi when they get sushi. He’s not perfect, at this, but neither is she, and she always liked how hard he would try, to be kind, even if it doesn’t always come naturally to him. “Of course you can.” She rests her head on his shoulder. “I’m mad at him too, you know.” “Not about the Lily thing still, surely…” She can feel him tense up, probably wondering about fraternizing with the enemy or something juvenile. Guy friendship is so weird. “Kind of? It’s…I’m being a bit stupid.” “Oh, no, go on! It’s nice when someone else is being stupid.” “It’s not about James , really, it’s more like…how long is it supposed to take for someone to realize you’re right there ?” He takes it in. “ Oh. ” “Yeah. Oh. ” “That’s…” “Please don’t tell James.” she begs. “I’m only telling you because nothing’s going to come of it, and I had to tell someone.” “Oh, Mary.” He pulls her in, tighter. “Can I give you a hug?” She nods, and they’re hugging. Sirius once told her his mother never touched him and his brother, and so he’s always been touchy, because of it. She’s a hugger too, so it’s always worked out fine. This is no different, except, they’re both holding on extra tight, as if to squeeze the anger they feel at James away. It takes forever for them all to leave, wrapped around each other, smuggling bottles under Mary’s Almost-Famous coat, laughing and talking over each other. James and Lily running ahead, giggling like maniacs, Marlene convincing Sirius that he’ll look good with blue hair, and she and Peter doing the awkward, not-quite-a-couple shuffle. That’s kind of horrid, but she figures it’ll abate by the time they make it to the dance. Mary likes dancing, likes the crush of people and bodies, the sweat dripping down her back, and she’s good at it. She likes being looked at, being surveyed. She likes looking at people covered in glitter, and thinking, I could take you home tonight . Unfortunately, the dance is not really doing anything for her. They’re playing some song she doesn’t know, some mashup of something very Bauhaus-meets-Lana-del-Rey (both pretty undanceable, both mostly for white people.) and every time she tries to move, there’s Peter at her elbow, grinning at her like she’s won the lottery, or James being nauseatingly-sweet with Lily. (He’s, like, fixing her shoe for her right now, which is just impossibly…him.) How is one meant to shake ass in this environment, she wonders? Sirius, too, appears uncharacteristically somber. She’s not exactly sure, but there’s something off with the whole Gideon thing (which honestly, is no great loss; he seems like a bit of a himbo.) Still, it’s the opening notes of “Gasolina,” which it is scientifically impossible to at least tap a foot along to. And she definitely spots Gideon (ew), and  Simon, the ex she is supposed to be getting over, across the room…and oh, she has a truly cruel yet brilliant idea. She grabs the corner of his jacket. “Dance with me.” “But-“ He looks around, clocking their neighbors. “Oh, dancing . I see.” Back when they were together, they used to be known for their over-the-top PDA…everywhere, and they sometimes still use it to their advantage. Like now, she makes sure to grind on Sirius, putting his hands on her waist, letting him bury his face in her hair. It’s obscene, disgusting, a shameless display. And of course it makes Simon look up, and Gideon turn red with rage, and they’re both laughing hysterically, heads on each other’s shoulders, because it’s so fucking stupid, it’s clearly them being them.  But then she sees them, clearly, observing from the sidelines, Peter, looking betrayed, miserable, and Lily, looking…furious. She sees Lily pull away from James, toward her, no doubt ready to give her a drunken lecture on Peter’s feelings. Suddenly sick with disgust, she pulls away from Sirius, not heeding his exclamation of surprise. She swigs Bacardi from her coat pocket, feeling like she’s hurtling toward disaster. She’s a slutty fucking ticking time bomb. She’s a user. She’s a succubus and a disaster and she’s not the kind of girl you introduce to your parents, the kind of girl you marry, she’s something so much worse. She chews up people, she thinks, knocking shoulders against people she doesn’t know, people who don’t deserve it, just because she can. She’s so drunk, and out of breath, and then she’s at the elbow of some guy who’s kind of cute, in a Penn-Badgley way. “Dance with me.” she breathes, and he does. The song is bad and he is too close to her, but she wants it, and she grips his flat little ass with her manicured talons, and looks into his eyes like she’s going to eat him. “What’s your name?” “Mary,” she whispers. Why lie? Everything else she’s going to do will be, isn’t that what everyone thinks. “ ‘M Garrett. You’re a…?” “Junior. I’m a junior.” “I’m a senior.” “Cool.” And they’re kissing now, hard and fast and with tongue, the kind of blistering make-out session that she hasn’t had since she was sixteen. He’s not a good kisser. It’s very YA-novel, tongues-battling-for-dominance kind of action, but he is enthusiastic at least, so the least she can do is respond in kind. “Is this okay?” he keeps asking. Shut the fuck up, she thinks. She’s a black hole, a vessel, a thing to put your problems in. She doesn’t want to talk. She pulls his head in closer to hers, until they both can’t breathe. “Do you want to get out of here?” he says, afterwards, and she nods. He takes her hand, and she’s leaving with him, and they go outside, and he’s feeding her vodka out of a plastic bottle, and she’s gulping it down like water, and…She blinks. The room’s spinning, and her arm’s resting on a tile floor. There’s a toilet by her head, and fuck, it hurts . She’s trying to move, to shout, willing her lungs to do it, but she can’t make a sound, move a muscle.  Blink. Dollar-store Penn Badgley. Wormy lips, sitting her up. Voices around her. “Is she asleep?” It sounds foggy, like she’s hearing distorted audio. “No, she’s awake. You’re awake, right, gorgeous?” “Mmm…” Mary groans. Awake feels like a bit of a generous descriptor for what she is at the moment. Have lights always been this bright? Also, where is she? Blink. He’s hauling her to her feet, arms wrapped around her waist, throwing an arm around the back of her neck. And okay, no, no, she did not consent to be brought to a secondary location. Like that dumb-ass John Mulaney bit, “Nothing good ever happens at a secondary location,” right? She sags, limply, hoping that this would show Dollar-store Penn Badgley- Garrett -that she is perfectly happy where she is. She’s just a little too drunk to have forgettable sex with him, it’s not that she doesn’t want to, she thinks she’s saying, but evidently, it’s not fucking working, because he’s going. “Come on, come on, we have to go , babe,” and she’s not his babe ,  stupid voice, why aren’t you voicing , come on, come the fuck on… Blink. James, she thinks. “Thanks,” he’s saying, overly bright and cheery, “But I’ve got this. I can take her from here.” Garrett’s saying, “She’s fine, man, seriously. I think she just had a little too much to drink. We’re going to go sleep it off, aren’t we, babe?” “Doubtful,”  says a voice that is unmistakably Sirius and is not in the slightest bit cheery , “As she’s my girlfriend, so that’d be difficult.” What…why ? Dollar-store Penn Badgley’s voice raises an octave, and he loosens his grip on her waist. “ Oh .” “Yeah, too fucking right. Oh. ” Right, her friends think this guy is like, a rapist, or something. What’s what the fucking white-knighting? Sirius only pretends to be her boyfriend in more dire situations, like when they got followed by a guy who wouldn’t stop muttering racial slurs under his breath getting off the train. That was an actual problem, not the…okay, she’s really fucking nauseous. She swallows through the spinning of the room, willing her stomach to settle. “My bad, dude, I swear, I didn’t-” “Didn’t know ?” Sirius laughs, a sure sign of steadily mounting rage. “That’s the best you’ve got?” “Sirius-” “No, James, I want to know, what exactly he thinks is going on here.” “ Sirius -” “I’m waiting. Come on.” “I’m sorry, okay!” Garrett’s voice rises. “I was going to bring her back in-” “Oh yeah, good save, I really believe you, you incel motherfucker-” “Can you both shut the fuck up for a minute?” James never talks to people like that. “I think something’s wrong with her. Did you give her something?” Mary starts to say something, but then there’s shouting, and overlapping voices, and… Blink. Knees digging into dirty carpet. A second wave of nausea hits her, and she’s puking, violently, in a metal trash can with no liner. “Sorry…” she rasps. “Don’t worry about it.” It’s James, again. “Thank God, you’re talking. I was going to take you to the emergency room.”“Where…” she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. “Where are we?” “My room. It was closer than Lily’s.” “Lily’s here?” Great, that’s all she fucking needs, a fucking I-told-you-so from Little Miss Perfect. “Yeah, we’ve all been in and out. We were worried about you; you disappeared. And then you were with that guy, and…do you remember what happened?” “Maybe let’s not interrogate her right now.” That’s Lily’s voice, coming from the other side of the room. “Let her rest.” “No, I’m good.” She stumbles to her feet, and immediately feels her knees give out underneath her. Fuck. James eases her back to the floor, slowly. “Okay, I’ll sit.” Lily and James exchange a look. “I do remember.” she tells them. Honestly, she wasn’t completely blacked out or anything. “I was with him, Dollar-store Penn Badgley-” “Garrett Mulciber. He has a reputation .” From the firm set of Lily’s mouth. it’s not a good reputation. “My freshmen girls made a list of ‘Guys to Stay Away From’ and he was number two.” “Why, was Snape number one?” “James.” Lily rolls her eyes. “He’s not that bad. Okay, he’s a little bit bad, but he’s the one who told me to come get you. Tonight. We can give him a little bit of a pass, right?” “ Snape was there? I thought he thought dancing made you a dumbass or something?” “Oh, yeah, he was really helpful.” James is dripping sarcasm. “Such a gentleman.” “Stop it. That was actually a decent thing for him to do, and you know it.” “Oh, yeah, for a complete and utter ass-” “Guys,” Mary says. They both focus on her, utterly concerned, and she feels like a jerk, for thinking such awful things about them, earlier. “Can we talk about something else, for a bit?” “Okay.” Lily says. “James, why do you have War and Peace on your desk?” James winces, like he was hoping she wouldn’t ask. “It’s stupid-” Mary decides to take a line from Sirius' book. “Considering I almost got killed by being stupid, tonight-” Here, she looks up at him, doe-eyed, ignoring how James and Lily both flinch. “I could use a reminder that it’s not just me.” “Okay, fine, you know Regulus? Sirius’ little-” “We know,” they both chorus. “Well, he was being all self-righteous, about reading it. Like saying it was a ‘classic,’ like I couldn’t possibly read a classic-” Mary and Lily exchange looks. James just does not have the stamina for long books. “And so I thought, you know, since he’s reading it, I can read it too. I’m not just like, one thing. I can read fucking Tolstoy. Well, translated into English, Tolstoy, but-” “So,” Mary fights back laughter. “You’re reading Russian lit just to prove a point?” “Well, yes, but, you guys, you guys! It’s actually kind of good. The main character is this guy, Pierre, and he’s like, just a Guy, you know, trying to figure his life out, and…” They giggle, and he keeps talking, and for a brief moment, it feels normal, she can’t feel the guy’s hands on her hips. “Why’d you guys come back for me, anyway? I would have been fine.” Mary whispers to Lily. They’re lying on the floor, on James’ floor, together, trying to be quiet, in case they wake him up. He fell asleep about half an hour ago. “No, you wouldn’t have been, but-” “Yeah, I know, but aren’t you mad at me, about the whole Peter thing? About playing with his feelings.” “Dude,” Lily rests her head against Mary's arm. “I’m not a psycho. And I’d burn the world for you.” “You would?” “Duh. So would Sirius, too, if tonight was any indication. Are we going to have a repeat of freshman year? Me with James, you with Sirius?” “No.” “I’m not so sure-” Lily starts to say. “Lily. It’s not going to happen.” “But we all hate his dumb boyfriend.” This is more sour, more petulant than the Lily she knows. “Doesn’t mean I have to be his new dumb boyfriend. God, you’re really pushy sometimes, you know?” “I know. Sorry.” “I don’t need you to make decisions for me.” “I just..I want to help you. I want to take care of you. And I really want to fucking help Sirius kill that guy.” She’s shocked by the ferocity in Lily’s voice. “Will you report it, like do a Title IX?” “I don’t know, Lils. I haven’t even told my family yet, you know?” “He deserves to get kicked out. What a piece of shit.” “Tax of being a woman, I guess.” “Not us.” Lily wraps her arms around Mary, and it’s just…right. “Nobody fucks with us.” “Damn right.” But they’re fragile now, and they’re breakable, and it feels a bit, just now, like maybe, somebody could fuck with them. But it’s good, it’s comforting, to laugh about it, to lick their wounds, and pretend to be brave, and pretend that it’s just another day, and what just happened didn’t happen, and James isn’t there, snoring on the bed above them, and everything is as it should be.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

‘Cause you can never tell what it is I am thinking

You say I’m mysterious ‘cause I won’t let you get in

And you can never tell where it is this is going

You say you’re a genius, I say you must be joking

-Wet Leg

Sirius sometimes worries he may have Munchausen’s syndrome. Of course, he knows the truth is he just has a bad case of medical student syndrome (which is worrying that you or other people have undiagnosed fill-in-the-blank syndromes). But there is something slightly concerning about how much he enjoys being sick. He’ll never, ever, admit this to anyone, because it’s so embarrassing, but he hopes he’ll catch the flu every single year. (When he was nine, he licked a doorknob at the children’s hospital in an attempt to catch something, and his germaphobic mother had made him quarantine for three days, which was less of a punishment than she had perhaps imagined.)

This illness, too, is the gift that keeps on giving. He was sure, at first, it was a really bad hangover, something he’s had his fair share of, and therefore, has exhausted all his friends’ sympathy for. It had all of the same cues as a bad hangover-a terrible headache, sensitivity to light, wicked nausea-but it’s proved to be something much, much better. “Acute viral infection,” said the nurse practitioner at the campus clinic. “You’re also

severely

dehydrated; no idea why…”

Sirius had done his best innocent face. “No idea.” and left with a prescription for some antibiotics and a lifetime supply of Liquid IV. This would ensure he got an adequate amount of compassion, especially from James, who also

really

enjoys Sirius being sick because it means he gets to practice doing doctor shit on him, like setting up some kind of freakish kettle assembly line so he can have tea every hour of the day and night, or reading symptom lists off the Internet (“Might be bronchitis, you know, if you have a sore throat; I don’t think that nurse practitioner knew what she was talking about.”), or texting him every day at 9 AM in all caps to “TAKE UR MEDICINE!!!” Okay, it’s a little overbearing, to be fair, but it’s also that winning mix of sweet and infuriating that James has mastered. Peter’s much the same, jumping at the chance to reheat leftovers for him or one memorable day, explain the plots of all the Tarantino movies Sirius has never seen, after which Sirius was left with considerably less desire to see said movies, but his throat hurt too much to talk, so he had been at Peter’s mercy.

Being sick has also done wonders for his relationship with Gideon, who’s now completely forgiven him. All it took was a pouty-faced selfie with red eyes and a week-old beard to ignite the flames of his boyfriend’s passion again. Of course, not being able to have sex with him means he’s still on the hook for…content, so every morning, he limps to the bathroom and thinks about A$AP Rocky (or Amal Clooney, who is

very

hot for an older woman) to prepare. He could always say no, he thinks, but he’s just got Gideon back, and he doesn’t want this to become a thing.

The illness also keeps him out of trouble. He’s not allowed to drink or smoke, so he spends a lot of time

reading

and

doing homework

, which makes him feel like Regulus (ugh). And he can’t even hunt down that fucking asshole guy from the dance, Garrett what’s-his-name. (Well, he

really

wanted to, but Mary’s gone to her parents’ for a few days to rest, and it would be rather unfair to carry out revenge on her behalf without her, so Lily and James say.) Really, everyone should get sick more often; it’s like putting a pause on your life in which everyone around you feels the need to show you exactly how much they care.

There’s one person who seems immune to the charms of Sirius’ viral infection, and that’s Remus. Which honestly, makes no fucking sense. Sirius is a

delightful

sick person. He only complains in a charming, gallows-humor kind of way, and he thanks everyone profusely for checking in on him in order to keep them coming back, and he doesn’t mind being ordered around or fussed over when he’s in this state, so he’s uncharacteristically pliant. At first, he’d been worried that perhaps he’d not appeared grateful enough for the attention while he’s been sick, but no one else is avoiding him like this, so it’s definitely a Remus-specific problem. Come to think about it, the weirdness with Remus seemed to have started after his birthday, when he was having that embarrassing, needy little meltdown. He wouldn’t blame him if it sent him running for the hills; he’s written people off for much, much less. But it hadn’t seemed like it had put him off, at the time. In fact, it almost felt like Remus was…flirting with him? And he was one hundred percent sober.

You have really long eyelashes.

He’s been staring at his eyelashes in the mirror more often. He’s not given them much thought, before.

It’s likely, he thinks, that Remus was just being nice, to make him feel better, and didn’t know how it came across. Remus is capable of that; for being so smart, he sometimes can be genuinely clueless about social interactions, which is probably par for the course when you spend more time with books than with people, but it’s not like he doesn’t feel things like embarrassment. On second thought, that’s definitely what it is. He probably talked the whole thing over with Lily, or something, and she let him in on the fact that there is no real heterosexual way to compliment your male friend’s eyes, and now he’s spiraling about it. Which…God, he wouldn’t have even found himself in this situation if Sirius could just keep his shit together for five minutes, if he didn’t constantly need so much validation. It is, like his mother would say, sneeringly, so

American

. What is actually wrong with him, manipulating someone like Remus into like, providing him free therapy? Who does that?  So, Monday, after Remus has some class with the word “differential” in it, he positions himself winningly by the door, resolving to apologize, as it swings open, revealing Remus juggling reusable grocery bags, hand over hand. (At this point, he’s not at all symptomatic, just riding out the final waves of sick-person-brownie points.)

“Hi.” he says, popping up from where he’s been lying on the couch. “Good class?”

“

Jesus

. Christ.” Remus staggers backward, the combined weight of the surprise and the grocery bags almost sending him into the wall. For such a lengthy person, he has absolutely no physical strength. It makes everything he does inherently much funnier. “I didn’t see you.”

“I haven’t seen you.” Sirius makes no attempt to help him with the bags, watching him struggle to shut the door. “For several days.”

“I’ve been..out.”

“You never go out.”

“That’s not true.” He’s scratching the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “I go out. Sometimes. I just don’t tell you about it, all the time. It doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Well, you couldn’t have picked a worse time. I’ve been

sick

, you know. With only Peter for company.” Sirius makes a face.

“You seem sick. You’re talking.”

“It’s

viral

.”

“Sounds severe.” Remus is moving his bottom lip in the way that’s his trying-not-to-smile face. “Will they have to operate, do you think?”

“I really am sick,” he says, a little defensively, and Remus doesn’t say anything, just carries the bags to the kitchen. Sirius follows him, standing behind him, watching him put vegetables away, which is making his skin crawl with regret.“So…sorry.”

Remus freezes, hand on a bag of onions. “What?”

“I’m-” he crosses the room to stand in front of him, so they can make eye contact. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. You haven’t done anything wrong. I made it weird.”

Now, he’s looking at him like he’s grown a third head. “Sirius…I really don’t know what you mean.”

“My birthday,” he says in a rush. “You shouldn’t have had to um, deal with me like that. That’s like…you’re not a therapist, and I don’t want you to feel like one, and I feel like…I think I overstepped a boundary there, a bit. I can be…oversensitive, sometimes, and

I know that

, it’s just…I’m so sorry, and-“

“Right.” Remus is turning very red. “It’s fine. You’re good. Uh, don’t worry about it. Drunk people cry to me all the time. You’re not my first.”

“I wasn’t really

crying

crying.” Sirius corrects, looking at his feet. God, he wants to fucking kill himself. This is just…so embarrassing.

“No, I know, that’s not what I meant, I meant…you don’t need to be

sorry

. Um. My

boundaries

…” He’s twisting his hands in a obvious display of distress, and Sirius feels the sudden urge to cover them with his own, to stop the motion. “My boundaries are fine. You’re weren’t making me…uncomfortable. I mean, like, now you are,” he says, completely earnestly. “I am very uncomfortable now. But before, I was fine.”

This was supposed to make it

better

, he thinks. “Right…ah, fuck. I’m…I’ll shut up now. I’m doing it again. I’m being a…” He waves his hands, banishing the words he really wants to say. “Problem.” he finishes, lamely.

Remus has alarm spreading over his face. “You’re not a

problem

.”

He doesn’t believe it at all, but it would be nice if it was true. “Yeah…”

“Look, can you help me, please?

Over there

,” he warns, when Sirius makes a move to reach into the bag he’s unloading. “I don’t want to get your…thing.”

“Viral infection.”

“That.”

“It’s not mono. Or syphilis.” he grumbles, but he does as he’s told. He’s balancing the cans of chopped tomatoes on top of each other, when Remus makes a strangled noise. “Ahh..em..”

“What?”

“It’s just…the labels are supposed to be facing out. So we can see what they are.”

“They’re all the same thing,” he says, very confused. “So won’t we know?”

Remus rolls his shoulders. “I…suppose you’re right.” But Sirius catches his eyes flickering to the shelf, pained, so he rolls his eyes and starts turning them all around, so the labels are facing out. Which is worth it, because he sees Remus smile, a full one, with teeth. Remus is self-conscious about his smile, he has deduced, opting normally for a tight-lipped grimace that makes him appear much more stern than he actually is, or covering his mouth with his hand. Sirius has no idea why; it’s really quite a normal, nice smile. But he’s already caused Remus enough distress today, so he just pretends he doesn’t see it.

“Do you think you’ll be better by Thursday? My dad got us tickets to The Greatest Hits of the Seventies: Live at the Planetarium.” James is flushed, like he ran all the way here.

“Do you have to say the whole title?” Sirius says, amused.

“That is what it is called. It sounds

awful

.”

“Well, I can’t let Monty down, so I’ll do my best.” James has the kind of parents who are always on him about having “cultural experiences,” which would probably be annoying if they weren’t such a wholesome family. Sirius, who at the behest of Regulus has been subjected to many a cultural experience, doesn’t hate them quite as much as James does, but he plays it up, so James has company in his loathing. What else are friends for?

“The Greatest Hits of the Seventies: Live at the Planetarium waits for no man.” James sits on his bed. “I’ll tell Dad it’s a preliminary yes.”

“Careful. I might give you the thing.” He moves away, dramatically, hand over his mouth so as not to spread the nonexistent pathogens.

“Oh, there’s no way you’re still contagious.” James flops back on one of the pillows. “I’d know. Hey, are you and my dad still doing that book club?” He asks this

very

casually, but there’s something in the tone that suggests there’s more to it.

“I think so.” It had been a fun way to spend a summer; he remembers. Monty had been gifted a set of expensive decorative classic books as  a wedding present, although he and Effie never touched them. Effie’s taste in literature tends to be more hard-boiled detective paperback books with titles like

The Girl With No Head

than Shakespeare, as well, which hadn’t helped. Monty had seen Sirius looking at them (well,

touching

them), and instead of getting mad, which he would have been entitled to do, had suggested they read a few. It had become a project, and now, they were moving onto the rest of the books in the house. Also, it stops Monty from making

that face

when he looks at Sirius too long, the poor-little-orphan boy face, which makes him want to hide under the table.

“Did you guys ever read any Russian books?”

“I don’t think so, why?”

“Just…curious. I know they’re classics. You know,

Crime and Punishment. Anna Karenina. War and Peace

.” The last book has James swiveling around, boring into Sirius with his eyes.

“You’re being weird.”

“And what even makes classics

classics

? Are books good because famous people from a hundred years ago think they’re good, or are they good because we can understand them?”

Sirius narrows his eyes. “Now you’re being

really

weird. Is someone making you read?  Because I told you not to take that poli sci class for a reason, you know.”

James scowls. “You’re doing it too! What is it about me that makes people think

I

can’t appreciate literature?”

“Did someone say you can’t appreciate literature?” Sirius raises his eyebrows.

Really.

Only James would be wounded by this kind of insult.

“No,” James admits, shoulders slumped. “Um…they said the book was a

classic

, like I couldn’t possibly understand it, like it was

so

beyond me. So now, I

have

to read it. To show them.”

“What a dick. What book?”

“Um…

War and Peace

?” Sirius laughs. “Shut up!”

“I can’t believe-“ he chokes out. “you’re reading

War and Peace

to stick it to some pretentious loser you don’t even know.”

“It’s not a pretentious loser; it’s your

brother

.”

This leaves Sirius with two new thoughts, 1) James has conversations with Regulus that he’s not present for, which is just goddamn horrifying, and 2) James has

so

many conversations with Regulus, he’s even beginning to ape some of his interests, which is classic James-likes-someone behavior. Sirius isn’t the kind of person who has proper

interests

anymore, other than drinking until he passes out, but back when he’d been a more well-rounded person, he remembers James asking him very specific questions about whatever caught his fancy at the time-

Drag Race

, Japanese street fashion, David Bowie. The idea that James would do this for someone else, namely, for

Regulus

, is a little disturbing. “When was this?”

“When he was at home. I gave him a book, remember? I’m sure I told you about this.”

“You didn’t,” Sirius states flatly. “I

definitely

would have remembered if you’d told me that you were the best of friends with

Regulus

.”

James’ eyes are wide behind his glasses. “What…?”

“Oh, I’m sure it was

lovely

, reading

War and Peace

, sharing war stories about what an egotistical fuck-up I am.”

“We weren’t talking about you, I swear! Why are you being so weird?”

“I’m not

being weird

.” He closes his eyes, a tension headache creeping up on him. “I just don’t see what you have to talk to him about.”

“Aww, don’t be jealous.”

“No, I’m sure he’s a real upgrade from me. He can just thousand-yard-stare you down instead of being a lost cause.

So

much better.”

James is genuinely at a loss; he can tell, which makes him feel a little bad. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Is that what you really think of me?” He props himself up on an elbow. “The things you said about me, at my birthday. Is that why you’ve kept me around, all these years? As, like, a fucked-up point of comparison?”

“Oh, Sirius.” Comprehension dawns on him, and he throws his arms around Sirius. “I’m so sorry.” he whispers. “I was just...Gideon said-”

“I can say it about me, because if I say it about me, it makes it not true. And Regulus…I don’t care what he thinks about me. He’s an idiot. But…it matters to me what you think.

You

have to think there’s more to me than that-”

“I do. Honestly.”

“Because if you think I’m just a moderately entertaining way to make you feel better…Well, you don’t, right?”

“Well, you

do

make me feel better. But I’d like to think I’m not quite that selfish.” James’ voice is muffled by the hug. “I really am sorry. I was being a dickhead. You know when you can feel something not landing the way it’s supposed to, but it just keeps coming out?”

“You weren’t the only one.” He thinks about Gideon’s faint air of triumph, the uncharacteristic delight he’d seemed to take in skewering him back.

“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a bit. “What did Gideon say, when you told him? I hope he apologized.”

“Mmm.” Sirius says, so he doesn’t have to lie.

“Do you want me to ghost your brother?”

“You

text

my brother?”

“Sometimes. If you want me to hate him now, I can do that. Just say the word.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” Sirius says airily. “He probably doesn’t even like you that much, anyway..”

“He likes me.” The injury on James’ face is reward enough. “Doesn’t he?”

“Regulus doesn’t really

like

people.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Well, he doesn’t like me, which is, like, impossible.”

“Well, that’s you, isn’t it? I’m me.” James puffs up, with pride. “Everyone loves me.”

“I think he might be an exception to that rule.”

James rolls his eyes. “You’ll see.”

“Stop it.” Marlene’s telling him, in between giggles, as they walk to class. “You can’t say that about him.”

“Yes, I

can

. If I want to. Oh my God, he’s so annoying. Just ask the question after class. We don’t have to be subjected to your philosophical tangents. If he does it again, I’m going to see how many things I can stick in his hair without him noticing. Not that he would notice,” Marlene wheezes. “with the whole wicked-witch, lost-a-fight-with-a-flock-of-birds thing he has going, you know…”

“He’s not

that

bad-“

“And every time he talks, it’s so goddamn

slow

I want to kill myself just to make it stop. Just…” He draws a finger across his neck, waiting for her to tell him not to say things like that, but then catches sight of a familiar head of black-brown hair, hood of a black raincoat dripping.

Marlene’s noticed him too. “Isn’t that your brother? Hey…” She starts to wave in his direction, and he quickly pushes her hand down. “Do you

mind

? You’re the one who wanted us all to be his new besties.”

“Not now,” He lowers his voice. “Uh, maybe just this time could we go the other way?”

“We’ll be

late

, Sirius.”

He blinks slowly, letting his eyes do the pleading, and she relents. “Fine. You’re lucky I like you.

And

you’re writing my reflections on the readings next week.”

“Thanks, you’re the best…” And they turn around, looping around the back of the building, which puts at least an extra six minutes into their walk.

“So,” Marlene says, as they pick their way through some unpaved path to the psych building. “What was that about?”

“I’m avoiding my brother.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Why?”

“Because he’s the worst.”

“Seems fine to me. Maybe a little shy, but that’s not a crime.”

Sirius kicks a rock off the dirt. “He’s not

your

brother.”

“That’s true.” Marlene says seriously. “It would be weird if he was.”

“Can you not try to be funny, for five minutes?” he demands. “Please? Thank you.”

“Fine, whatever. Fucking baby.”

They pass about a minute in stony silence, before he explains. “We had a fight.”

“What about?”

“That’s the thing.” He takes on a deep breath. “I don’t really know. We were doing

fine

, for us, anyway, and then, all of a sudden, you know, wild attacks on my character, I-wish-you-were-dead,  et cetera.”

“There had to be

something

, before that.” she presses. Marlene is a cause-and-effect person. Action equals reaction. In that way, she is very much like James.

“Nope, not really, I mean…” Now that they seem committed to the not going to class thing, he tells her the whole story, after which she says nothing but, “Mm. I

see

.”

“What on Earth does that mean?”

“Nothing, it’s just very interesting, that you complain that your mom tries to control him, and then you go and try to do the exact same thing.”

He scoffs. “I wasn’t trying to

control

-“

“You know, as a fellow younger sibling,  I’d be pissed at you too. Like, I fuck up all the time, but I don’t need some asshole breathing down my neck basically saying I’m an idiot for not doing it his way.”

“Okay, but you admit his ‘plan’-“ He uses air quotes here; how could he not? “is

terrible

. Like it’s a temporary solution, but it just puts him more under their thumb. Makes him more reliant on them.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Marlene says, thoughtful. “I mean, he’s done quite a big thing by coming here instead of sticking it out at the university. And if the meds are good for him, isn’t it good that he’s trying to get better, even if the way he goes about it is…a little crazy?”

“No, that’s true. My mom made him stop taking them in the first place. I’ll never understand that relationship.” He thinks about the two of them, together, big, liquid judgmental eyes, vermouth mouths, ready, always with a reproach, to remind him that he’s too loud, too emotional, too defiant for their world. He remembers his mother, on the phone.

It would be natural for you to keep an eye on his well-being.

It had started when they were kids, of course, the implication that Regulus’ brand of fragility was more forgivable, even, occasionally, understandable.

What about the parts of me that are still soft?

he wanted to scream, back then. To her, he’s always been a changeling, a manipulative bastard, a challenge to be borne and an impossibility to love. He couldn’t finish watching

We Need To Talk About Kevin

when Peter put it on because he has seen the same menace between mother and son when his own mother looks at him. She’s the only person alive, he thinks, who knows the truth in him, how bad he is, to the bone. Of course he hates her.

“The funny thing is,” he continues. “I used to be a

really

good older brother. Like, I was his favorite, you know, by far? And then I left, and, I don’t know, it’s like none of what I did back then counts anymore. Like he just…fucking hates me.”

“So, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” Marlene fiddles with one of her silver rings. “But have you perhaps considered that you sometimes…over-compensate with people, a bit?”

“

What

? I do not-“

“Yeah, you do, and most of the time, I love that about you, but it can be a little overwhelming, when you’re trying to get to know you. Like, making him be around all your friends, including the guy that in his mind, you left him for? Come on, you’d hate that, if you were on the opposite side-“

“No, I wouldn’t. I like meeting people.”

“But maybe he doesn’t. And even though it might be demonstrably good for him to go out and meet other people, you can’t

make

him. Just like you can’t make him stop talking to the rest of your fucked-up family, or save Mary from that fucking asshole guy-“

“But, Marlene, that’s selfish. Trying to help other people, that’s…why we’re alive, isn’t it, to save each other?” He’s aware it sounds a little self-righteous, but it’s burning through him, the need to

do something

.

She softens. “Yeah. You’re right. That’s why we’re alive. To save

each other

. That means that all of the weight of the bad isn’t just yours to carry. Some of that can be his, too.”

“God…

Mary

.” He looks up. “I feel

so shitty

about that, Marlene, you have no idea…”

“Don’t I?” Her face darkens. “Do you want to know where I was, when that was happening? I was texting Dorcas, being like

Mary’s met the new guy of the week.

Like, I genuinely thought it was a joke. Just, you know, Mary being Mary, sexual liberation of women and all that. Isn’t that just

disgusting

? It wasn’t until you all were like,

I think something’s really wrong

, that I actually thought you know, that she was maybe in…danger.” Her voice catches on the last word.

“She was okay. James told me after. Just drank too much and got sick. It wasn’t like, Rohypnol.” He squeezes her hand.

“I mean, what kind of shitty fucking feminist does that, is my point?”

“You’re not evil.” he tells her. “You made a mistake. It’s like you said, we share the bad, right? Like I could have told her not to go with that guy, too. We didn’t know. We can’t be punished for not knowing.”

“Does the ‘we’ include you, there?” She shoots him a sly smile.

“Yes, should it not?”

She hums. “Never thought I’d see you not taking responsibility for the problems of the world.”

“I really want to,” he confesses. “I’m trying to not.”

“You’ll figure it out, with Regulus.” she tells him. “Just…stop trying to save him and treat him like a real person. Goes a long way, with little siblings.”

“You think?”

“Well, my family’s not insane like yours, but it works for us.”

“Hey, we haven’t had a suicide in the family in at least two years…”

She shoves him, equilibrium restored. “Not funny.”

He gets a message from Gideon, when he gets home.

Read a draft for me?

With a smiley face. Sirius, who has a little bit of a thing about tortured artists, has always liked this degree of intimacy with Gideon. It takes a degree of courage, he thinks, to declare your intention to Make Art, to Be An Artist. When they’d first met, he’d asked Gideon if he’d planned to post his stuff online.

“No,” Gideon had said, quite bemusedly. “I want to get it published, for real. Like, get an agent and stuff.” That had been attractive to Sirius, despite not actually having read any of his stuff, the kind of confidence it takes to know you want to make it on a dream. Now, he knows better, knows that being

good

at something is far superior in his mind than just doing something for love of the deed. When he read the first couple of pages of Gideon’s play, he had thought,

This is not too bad

, and then had promptly wondered,

Why isn’t it better?

That’s the kind of thing his mother would observe, and then, likely, say out loud, but it’s true. The first things he had been reminded of after reading that draft, was Regulus’ fever-dream short stories, and how much better any one of them had been, even when he was fifteen and sullen and they didn’t really talk.

But these are unkindnesses, thoughts he would not have if he was a better person, things no one should share with someone that they are supposed to support unconditionally. And he likes being sought after, for advice, even though he doesn’t really know what makes a play good, other than knowing all the ones he’s seen Peter in have been shit, really. He also likes how a story can lay bare Gideon’s soul, say the things he doesn’t really say in words, likes figuring out what characters and what dialogue map onto real-life counterparts. He likes seeing himself, as Gideon sees him, on a page, as the daring Victor Espoir, the Japanese-French emigre who the Gideon-character (Rodrigo) falls hopelessly in love with. All right, he is a narcissist, a little bit, and he’s never like,

confirmed,

this with Gideon, but Victor Espoir is

him,

to a tee.

He opens the draft. Apparently, Rodrigo and Victor are having it out again. They fight a

lot

more than Sirius and Gideon ever do, which maybe means something, but definitely not what Sirius wants to think about right now. 
 
VICTOR: But you don’t understand. Because of all of

this

. 
 
RODRIGO: There is no

this

. We’ve solved it, haven’t we?

Say what you mean, Sirius thinks. He would never string someone along like this. 
 
VICTOR: You can’t help being the way that you are, any more than I can help being the way that I am. But that doesn’t mean that you get to speak for me. With all of your

(gestures contemptuously)

Anglo-Saxon everything. 
 
RODRIGO: So you want me to apologize? Would you like me better if I dyed my hair black, if I got a spray tan? That makes me entitled to have my experience, if I look enough like you?

Such a strawman, of course. It’s not like Victor-Sirius-ever said that. 
 
VICTOR: You shouldn’t ask me. We’re not really together.

Wait, what? 
 
RODRIGO: Right. I forgot. I’m just something you like to stick your dick in, when you’re not dirty dancing with Maureen.
 
VICTOR: Fuck you, Rodrigo.

(Sirius agrees. Also…Maureen? He must have said her name was Mary about fifteen times, but Gideon is hopelessly name-blind, which is more than a little infuriating, so he still thinks Mary and Marlene are the same person.) 
 
RODRIGO: I won’t be just an experiment to you.

Now, this is just…how dare he? Sirius has known he liked men for a very long time. Gideon’s never been an

experiment

to him, But he’s forgotten, the weird way some gay guys get about the existence of bisexual men, like being bisexual makes you Less Queer, instead of Different Queer. He thinks about guys all the time, to be honest-his econ professor, Frank, Remus freshman year when he used to wear shirts with collars. It doesn’t mean he wants to

experiment

, and Gideon should know that, he thinks. It’s so

obvious

. It shouldn’t have to be spelled out.

He wants to rage now, he thinks, wants to start a fight, wants to bring the full force of Victor Espoir’s inconsistency, his avoidance, his cruel dismissal, to Gideon’s doorstep. To lay it at his feet and say,

Is this what you think I am? Is this what everyone thinks I am?

And also,

You don’t know me at all.

But he wants to…he wants to walk about it first. Maybe talk about it. He’s about to call James, make him stop bothering Lily or whatever stupid thing he’s doing now, when he sees a light from under Remus’ door. It’s

way

past his normal bedtime, so curiosity gets the better of him, and he creeps carefully to the hallway, and knocks. “What are you doing?”

He hears a laptop slam shut, abruptly, followed by a muffled

Fuck.

He grins, and a harried Remus emerges in the doorway, looking a little worse for wear. “Did you need something or…Christ, are you still

sick

?”

“No.” Sirius says, head down in a show of exaggerated penitence. “I didn‘t think you were awake.”

“Well, I am, so…”

“Can I come in?”

Remus is immediately guarded. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m bored.”

“I’m not doing anything interesting.”

“Really? What are you hiding from me, then?”

“I’m not hiding-“ Sirius makes a half-hearted attempt to look past him into the room, and this, weirdly enough, makes Remus relent. “Fine. You can’t…please don’t touch anything.”

“It’s like you don’t trust me.” He steps inside, looking around. Remus is less of a decorator than he is; he’s just got the poster James lifted from a yard sale last year up: WARNING: MAY INDUCE GIDDINESS AND FLIGHTS OF FANCY.

“It’s funny,” James had explained, unnecessarily. “because he’s not really prone to flights of fancy.”

“Pretty sure explaining the joke makes it less funny.” Sirius had said, and then they’d argued about it for a while. Of course they gave him the poster, though, and Remus smiled, but in the tight-lipped way that was so

obviously

fake. He doesn’t get him at all, sometimes. The poster is

hilarious

.

The main objects of attraction, in the room, are the rocks, each one on its own plastic stand. Of course, Sirius traces a finger over a black, shiny-like-glass chunk in the corner, until Remus gives him a truly vile look and he quickly drops his hands to his sides. He can’t

help

it, though. It’s not in him.

“So.” Remus is now typing, furiously, on his laptop. Sirius is really trying to get a good look. From where he’s standing, it looks like that website for gamers…what’s it called, James had them make one, when they had been in Denmark? Ah,

Discord.

Who is he

Discording

? Is Remus on some sort of League of Legends forum or something? (He would be the type.) “What did you want?”

“Who are you writing the Russian novel to?” Alright, he’s a little salty about stupid James and stupid Regulus and stupid

War and Peace.

It’s not a

thing

. It is mostly fine.

Remus closes the laptop, abruptly, rolling his eyes.“You don’t know them.”

“You’ve been talking for them

forever

, though; aren’t you usually asleep by this time? Can you even get girlfriends on Discord?” Because that’s definitely what it is; he thinks he’s so fucking subtle, but he’s so easy to read when it comes down to it.

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “I would imagine.”

“So? You weren’t going to tell us? I wouldn’t have been awful; I can be

nice

. Girls like me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, we’ve been over this.” He runs a hand across his eyes. “

Never

going to have a girlfriend.”

This seems a bit extreme to Sirius. “I mean, she seems to like you enough, if she’s willing to message you on the thingy-“

“Not a girl-“

“So, I’m sure if you

asked

her, the worst she could do is say no-“

“I’m gay.”

“What?” Sirius reels back, in alarm. “No, you’re not.”

“I think I’d know.” Remus is fighting laughter; which makes him genuinely a bit angry. He should know better, for fuck’s sake.

“That’s a real asshole move, you know, and it stopped being funny in like, 2012-“

“

Sirius

. We’ve been over this.”

“

What

?” His brain is fucking melting. “I definitely would have remembered-“

“Yeah, you had a ‘coming out party’ for me, you and James and Peter. Last year? James made a cake? It said ‘congratulations’ on it?”

“I thought it was, like, your half-birthday or something!”

Remus throws his hands up. “Who celebrates their

fucking

half-birthday?”

“I do! It’s a very important holiday!” He realizes they’ve been raising their voices, and brings it down a notch, out of respect for Peter, if he’s asleep. “Wait, so does that mean that…”

“James and Peter know I’m gay, yes.”

“Well, I didn’t

know

, did I, since you apparently forgot to come out to me.” He crosses his arms, huffily.

Remus is completely nonplussed. “Well, you know now, so…”

“Wait, but you see, this is

great

, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted more gay friends. It’s so hard,” he sighs theatrically. “to be surrounded by all this alpha-male heterosexual energy.”

“That’s a joke, right?”

“

Yes

. Don’t tell me-you’re one of those gays who doesn’t want to make being gay into their

whole personality

. So boring.”

“I’m not a baby, you know. I bet I’ve known longer than you.”

“Well, it’s not a competition, is it? But for real, why didn’t you tell me?” It’s not like he doesn’t

remember

the coming-out party, even though he didn’t know that’s what it was at the time. He was there, it was just…nobody had told him. And he hadn’t bothered to ask. God, he is such a fucking prick. How do they stand him, all of them?

“I don’t know. I thought you knew, really.”

“Yeah, but you actually told

them

. You didn’t just have a vague celebratory cake and hoped they would catch on.”

“Look, it was different, then, okay?” Remus sighs, pushing air through his nose like it pains him. “Peter’s stuck with me, and James is…himself. I knew how they’d react. I didn’t know how you’d react. I don’t always…I don’t always know what you want from me.”

“Yeah, but you thought I was, what, homophobic? Even though, might I remind you, that I am the

only

one of our friends who is in a very public relationship with another man?”

“This was

before

Gideon,” Remus hastens to explain. “And I didn’t really think

you

were homophobic; it’s just that…James said your parents were kind of nightmares about…uh, gay stuff. I didn’t know if-“

“My uncle was gay.” he interrupts. “I know about, like, the existence of gay people. Jesus Christ. You could have given me a little more credit, before writing me off as some conservative wet-dream nightmare.”

“I thought you might be. Queer. Not a conservative wet-dream nightmare. But I thought I was probably wrong.”

“Well. Not wrong. So?”

“What?”

“Tell me about the boyfriend, the Discord boyfriend.”

“Boy period friend. It’s not like that.”

“Really?” He’s relieved, honestly, not that he’d ever say that; it’s just…Remus deserves to be with someone who isn’t just a faceless stranger online. Or, he supposes, maybe they have met in person, but people who communicate best through large blocks of text, he feels, are not to be trusted. Not that he would ever say that. It might come across as patronizing, or something, and he doesn’t want a repeat of whatever the hell is going on with Regulus. “Can I ask you a question?”

“I hate it when people say that,” Remus complains. “Just ask the question.”

“Do I look like a Victor to you?”

“No.” Remus says. “Why?”

“What do I look like?”

“I don’t know, a Sirius? What kind of question is that?”

“Like if you were going to write about me, in a play, or a novel, what would my name be?”

“Well, first,” Remus is thoughtful, like he’s giving it real consideration. “I think if I was going to write a play or a novel, I wouldn’t use you as a muse.”

“What? Why not? I’m muse material, surely.”

“I’m not arrogant enough to think I have anyone all the way figured out. Especially not you.”

“Pssh. I’m easy.”

“And I’m not a writer.” He’s giving Sirius a plaintive look, a-please-leave-me-alone-look. “Well…”

Sirius takes the hint. “Mm. Good night.” Before he leaves, he pets the shiny black rock, one more time, for posterity, like it’s a dog, just to make Remus curl his fingers in annoyance.

“It’s from Peru.” Remus says mildly, like he knows what Sirius is doing. “My dad got it at a conference.”

“Oh?”

“It’s volcanic glass, you know, so it’s metastable above ground…”

Sirius exhales. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Oh.” Remus looks genuinely surprised, which is so stupid, and so

him

, Sirius feels a sharp spike of…something. “It’s sort of in between…um, energy states. So, at some point, this larger piece won’t exist anymore; it’ll just go back to being finely milled smaller crystals. That’s why there aren’t any really, really old obsidian slabs. Although, in this case,” he laughs. “Really old means like before millions of years ago…Sorry.” He blinks. “I thought you were asking…”

Sirius feels strangely guilty. “No, right. I was.” He closes the door, absolutely silently, on his way out, and listens for the clicking of laptop keys that means Remus has resumed communication with his mysterious friend. He won’t get any sleep, later tonight, even though he tries.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I’ve acquired quite a taste

For a well-made mistake

-Fiona Apple
 It’s just simple curiosity, Regulus thinks, that leads him to Google-stalk Bookstore Boy Barty. a project which is  deceptively difficult. He has no discernible social media presence (a point in his favor), but this means the Internet is wiped clean of anything that could potentially be used to spark up a spontaneous, too-perfect-to-be-entirely-accidental conversation. Not that he would do that. He’s resolved to stay away from the bookstore as much as possible. Still, he finds himself searching, when he’s not careful, like the one day he combs the entire hospital directory to find Barty’s severe-looking father, who is named Bartemius P. Crouch, Sr. This opens more doors, because Bookstore Boy Barty is now, presumably Bartemius P. Crouch, Jr. Regulus thought the name Barty sounded really fucking stupid, but it has nothing on “Bartemius.” (And coming from someone called “Regulus,” he knows, that is bad.) The good news about having an awful name is that truly awful names are very rare, and so there’s actually more online intel on Bartemius P. Crouch, Jr. than there was on Barty who worked at the bookstore. Apparently, Barty was kind of a world-beater in high school, the kind of kid who was president of everything and won like a million awards, the kind of student Regulus always wanted to be himself, although he never really could. It’s a wonder he’s ended up at such a God-awful university; there’s a bunch of unsmiling photos of him holding various plaques and accolades in the local paper, which Regulus definitely looks through a normal amount of times, and then definitely does not close his laptop and scream silently into his hands in the middle of the library, because Jesus Christ, he needs to stop doing this. He’s not used to this; he just…doesn’t really think about other people in that way. How do people function, he wonders, when they have crushes? No matter, he tells himself. It’ll be over soon. Barty’s 21 (he’s calculated based on the high school graduation dates), and not at all interested in him. Also, he’s not really interested in Barty, right? He can’t be. But if he was interested in you… But he’s not, and he’s not, and he can’t be, so he just reads War and Peace and tries to dodge his mother’s phone calls and avoid Sirius at all costs and goes to classes, and makes one product in lab that TA Severus grudgingly admits is “acceptable.” He stops talking to people, but he takes his meds every day, and he’s the last to leave the library at night. Sometimes he doesn’t even think about Barty at all. Other times, he thinks it’s like War and Peace , the first time Prince Andrei saw Natasha. Everyone says they’re the great tragic love story, but he doesn’t think that’s love. It’s just seeing someone who makes you hope just when you thought you couldn’t do things like that. (In this case, he’s Prince Andrei, and Barty’s Natasha, even though he’s older.) But that feels too extreme, so he writes it down and doesn’t think about it again. He talks to Evan, when he absolutely has to, but Evan’s attached at the hip now to Pandora, and Dorcas, by extension, and so they don’t get much time where it’s just the two of them. Which suits him fine. He wants to scrub that diffident little weird part of him, the part that craves sunlight and friendship and love, off of his skin in the shower. He wants to build his walls even higher, put barbed wire on the gates. It’s Sirius’ fault; he knows it. The wanting, the longing, everything with Barty. He can hear his mother’s voice. You’re so easily influenced, love. It’s not a good way to be. He still leaves the gift outside his room door every morning, in case Sirius ever comes back through, but he never does. Gone, again. He doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s getting colder, approaching finals season and the holidays, and his mother asks him wouldn’t you study so much better at home? Which means “come home, right now” to her, so he buys another train ticket for the weekend, because it really will be quieter there. And if he just winds up at the bookstore, because it’s got a cafe inside that’s nice and quiet and perfect for studying, well, that would be fine, because he’s not going to see Barty. He doesn’t even know if Barty will be working. He kind of hopes he isn’t, almost as much as he hopes he is. “You’re back.” Barty’s reading a new book; he must have finished Catullus. “Finished War and Peace yet?” “No.” Regulus says. He’s told his mother he’s seeing his career counselor, again. He’s not sure how much mileage he can get out of this lie, but goddamn it if he isn’t going to at least try. “You read slow.” “I’m very busy.” “And very boring.” Barty rests his chin on his hand. “So, let me guess, you like the love story, Prince Andrei and Natasha?”  He is so good. Regulus thinks bitterly. “No.” he lies. “I like the history chapters the best.” “Liar. You totally like the love story.” “It’s not a love story.” “What?” “It’s not a love story. It’s about infatuation. About being attracted more to the idea of having someone than actually having them. He just likes her because she’s young, and he doesn’t know her well. And she’s…kind of stupid.” Regulus takes in a deep breath. “So no. I don’t like the love story.” “Wow.” Barty looks like he’s fighting laughter, which is so annoying. “I had no idea it was this easy to piss you off.” “Not angry. Just being honest. It’s weird.” “I thought you would like that. The way she makes him happy again. Wakes him up. Very Ocean Vuong.” “I didn’t know you were looking for a manic pixie dreamgirl.” “I’m not.” Barty has blue eyes. They make him look much younger, and more innocent, than he actually is, like a little boy from a commercial for Christmas trees, or something. “But you are.” Regulus scoffs. “No.”  “Isn’t that what this is?” “You’re not a girl.” “ That hardly matters.” They’re looking at each other, then, and Regulus is admiring the steady way Barty can fold over a page with one finger, and Barty is looking at him like he wants to eat him. “So…” “What, you’re not going to invite me over for that drink?” He looks away. “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon.” “Boring.” Barty shuts the book with a snap, and walks out from behind the register, until he’s looming over Regulus’ table like a distinctly un-threatening scarecrow. “What…are you doing?” “Being your manic pixie dreamgirl.” “Are you…” he swallows. “Are you fucking with me?” “That depends.” He sits down, eyes absolutely boring into Regulus. “What do you want me to do, Regulus?” “I want…” Regulus closes his computer. “I want to leave.” “No.” Barty says. “What do you really want?” Unbidden, the thought comes to him. I want you to kiss me. He pushes it away, but it’s all there, wrapped up in the everything of Barty. There’s no one else in the bookstore, and there’s an old song playing, quietly, in the background, some vaguely-Fleet Foxes thing. “You have nice eyes.” Regulus says, a little breathless. “Very eloquent.” “Like waterfalls , right before they hit the bottom of the pool, you know-“ Barty leans over the table, and oh, oh , they’re kissing, and it’s so much better than he’s imagined. It’s strangely gentle. and not as hungry as he’d imagined Barty to be. “Good?” Barty breaks away, the bastard. “Like you hoped and dreamed?” Regulus, who is not used to people asking if it’s good , is a little tongue-tied. He settles for a nod. “Mmhm.” Barty takes this as an opportunity to flounce back behind the counter, in an altogether too self-satisfied way. “You know, I can’t do this again.” “Do what?” Barty blinks, innocently. “Don’t be an ass.” “It’s no big deal.” Barty opens his book back up, feet on the counter again. “I have a girlfriend.” He must have heard that wrong. “ What ?” “I. Have. A. Girlfriend.” “Well, uh…” Regulus is at a loss for words. “Why did you um…Just, why ?” Barty shrugs, like it’s just nothing to him. “Because you looked like you needed it. Because otherwise, you would have just made up all kinds of excuses to come back. Maybe I don’t like being pined after by little rich boys who’re having a sexuality crisis while I’m at work. Now you and I both know what it’d be like; the mystery’s over, and you can go away.” Regulus is absolutely seething. “You want me to just… go away ?” “I didn’t want to say it, but…” Barty’s eyebrows raise. “Yes? I’m trying to read, and you have horrible vibes when you’re lusting after me.” “I’ll tell your girlfriend,” Regulus threatens. “I don’t think she’d mind. She’d probably think it’s funny…hey, come on. Come on, it was funny ! I’m joking.” he says quickly, as Regulus starts throwing things into his bag. Regulus wants to say something witty, and biting, as his hand is on the handle of the door, something about how he didn’t even really want to kiss Barty anyway, how he’s not just some annoying little kid who needs to be placated with false displays of affection, but all that comes out is, “You are a massive fucking cunt .” He can hear Barty laughing his ass off as he stalks away. He tries not to let it get to him, that evening, in tutoring, when he’s watching Severus draw the same three hexagons over and over again on the board. He’s explaining something about “proper flow” to his rapt audience, and everyone else is nodding and writing things down. Regulus copies the board too, even though it makes no sense, because he’s a good little worker bee. “Can you believe him?” Elena, a tall, brunette sophomore with a pixie cut and a mushroom tattoo on the back of her neck, is rolling her eyes. Regulus starts, thinking she’s talking to him, but she’s really just talking to Ariel, the vaguely goth, recently-out trans girl who’s sitting in their corner. “I know,” Ariel mutters. “ So condescending. He literally asked me if I knew how many electrons were in a neutral carbon atom, and when i said four, he said ‘Good job.’ Like I was a dog and that isn’t the most insulting thing to ask someone who’s taking a second year of chemistry.” “Don’t even get me started on when he says, ‘You’ll learn this next semester.’ Does it look like we’re in second semester, genius?” “If I have to take another semester of this shit, I swear to God I’m going to jump out that window.” Regulus snorts, which makes both girls look at him. He quickly refocuses his eyes on his paper. Of course, Severus takes the opportunity to materialize over his shoulder. “You’re doing it all wrong. You have to draw each of the projections alternating… ”Regulus has absolutely no idea what in the good goddamn fuck all that is supposed to mean, but he erases the extra lines and begins to copy Ariel’s diagram, upside down, from across the table, which is harder than it looks. He really should get some credit for that. Severus pushes the air out through his nose. “ No . May I?” Regulus hands him the pencil. “You’re the expert.” He’s not sure, but it looks like perpetually dour Severus is about to crack a smile. It might do him in; his face is just not ready for it. “Hardly. It’s not as complicated as you think it is. Here.” He traces out the extra lines. Apparently “alternating,” to Severus, meant that some of the lines were inside the chair comformations, and some were outside. Who knew? “Thanks,” Regulus says, and finds, to his surprise, he really means it. Then (taking a gamble; praise of one’s abilities combined with subtle shit-talking of people in similar roles works wonders on his mom), he says, “That makes so much more sense now, my God. When the other guy was explaining it…it was just way too technical and confusing.” Severus gives him another horrible, vulpine grimace that he gathers is meant to pass as a friendly smile. “Well, some people don’t have foresight as to the overarching goal of the course. Next semester, you’ll see-“ “I was hoping,” Regulus interrupts, before he has to hear about the all-important next semester, “you could give me a clue about number five? I’m just so lost.” “Certainly.” And with that, the trap is sprung. It turns out people aren’t so complicated, especially when they’re quite lonely. And Severus is lonely. He does have friends, Regulus has seen him with them, but they’re the more pat-on-the-back-and-don’t-talk-about-anything-real kind of friends, definitely not the blood-brotherhood, till-death-do-us-part kind of friends that Sirius has, or even the kind of tenuous forced-proximity kind of thing he has going with Evan. It’s their table that gets all of the answers first, with the rest of the room giving up, and shooting terribly resentful looks in their direction, as they eventually realize Severus is not going to be pulled away so easily. “You’re a fucking God among men.” Elena whispers under her breath, as Severus waves his hands around and draws six completely unnecessary resonance forms, while Regulus nods thoughtfully in perfect simulation of understanding. “I could kiss you right now.” Ariel says, scribbling down two of the answers. “I really could.” Regulus has had enough of humiliating pity kisses for one day, but he decides to just take the fucking complement. “Thanks…? He’s the only TA dumb enough to fall for this, so…” “Doesn’t matter.” Elena’s tone is fervent. “Otherwise I was just going to stare at the problems until I passed out. At least now I get some credit.” “Wait, you don’t know what’s going on in this class either?” Ariel asks. Regulus can tell she’s surprised, and he is too. to be fair. “You talk so much.” “Eh. It’s mostly bullshit.” They cut their conversation short as Severus drops the marker and approaches them. “Makes sense now, doesn’t it?” The three of them nod now, bright smiles plastered on their faces. “ So much.” “So.” Severus says, as Regulus is leaving, heading back down the tall, echoing staircase that leads to the back exit of the chem building. “You’re Sirius Black’s brother.”“Mm.” Why on Earth is this the conversation starter he goes with? Also, why does he have a leather messenger bag ? Is he trying to look douchey? He tries for another fake smile. “Is it always this busy on Tuesdays?” “Oh, mostly. You know, you’re not as hopeless as you think you are.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Regulus laughs, discomfited at being perceived so accurately by this…dork. “I am pretty bad at all of this.” “No, but you’re trying; I can tell.” Severus says, in that really patronizing way that makes Regulus want to strangle him with his headphones. “It’ll make a difference; you’ll see.” “Just moronic. Like we’ll use any of this in med school.” Regulus hitches his backpack strap higher on his shoulder. This makes Severus laugh, for some reason. “ You’re going to med school?” “That is the plan.” Regulus sets his mouth, grim. “Oh, but I didn’t know that! God, that must kill your brother; doesn’t it? I bet it does.” “What kills him?” “That you’re going to make more money than him someday.” “Well, we’re hardly starving, but I…see your point.” “No, I know…” Severus gets a very strange expression on his face. Just downright creepy. “Does he talk about me, ever? Him or Potter?” “I don’t really talk to either of them, if I can help it.” Regulus says, which is more or less the truth. “So I wouldn’t know.” “We went to high school together.” He folds his arms around himself. “You probably don’t remember me.” Regulus is not going to disabuse him of this notion. “I kept to myself. I don’t remember a lot of people.” “I never got what was so great about them.” “Yeah. They were assholes.” He feels a little guilty about saying that, especially knowing he’s got James’ stupid book in his hand but it is the truth, and James, if he was here, would probably say as much, wouldn’t he? “Do you really think so? That’s interesting. ” “Well, yeah.” He flattens his palms across his thighs. “It’s true. I’d come home from school to have to hear Sirius fucking dying laughing about setting up some monthly delivery of plastic roaches to some guy’s house. Stupid stuff. Who takes time out of their day to do that?” Severus does not smile. “That was my house.” “Ah. Sorry.” Regulus tries to make it sound sincere, but as diabolical plots go, the whole thing seems more irritating than life-threatening. And he hadn’t been anywhere near that particular prank when it happened, so if this guy wants to drag him off to some organic chemistry dungeon as revenge, it would be pretty stupid, he thinks. Of course, Severus does not strike him as someone with a whole lot to lose, so who knows? “It’s fine.” Severus’ tone implies it is not fine. “Where are you going?”  “Um.” It’s dark; he hasn’t really thought that far ahead. “Home, I guess.” “It’s not even nine.” Severus leans on the door, swinging it open.“Oh. Thanks.”  It makes him feel a bit like he’s being waited on. “I wanted a walk. You could come-” He lets it hang. “If you want.” “Sure.” Regulus says, because it’s easier than saying no, and maybe, maybe, he’s starting to feel a little bad for him. Just a little. “I’ll walk with you.” Severus brightens, visibly, which…this is just so weird. “You like that book?” “What?” He looks down at On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. “Oh…yeah, it’s okay. I just started.” “My friend likes him.” Severus continues. “The author. He had this poetry collection-” “ Night Sky with Exit Wounds .” “That. She used to carry it around all the time, like some people do with the Bible. She liked all of that stuff.”“Oh, I’m familiar. Richard Siken?” “ ‘If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.’ ” Severus quotes, in that faux-earnest way that suggests he’s been to an amateur poetry slam with said friend. It’s actually pretty funny. Regulus laughs. “So you don’t like poetry.”“I don’t like Richard Siken.” Severus corrects. “I don’t mind your guy. That was okay. The Richard Siken phase was too much for me.” “I don’t like Richard Siken either. Too sappy.” “I didn’t really get the Richard Siken thing, either, because she’s a girl, and he’s just very gay. But she thought it was really romantic.” He sighs, somber. “She doesn’t like things halfway, either. You kind of have to go along with it.” “Oh, so not be a dick about things she likes? Sounds hard.” “What if the other thing she liked was Taylor Swift?” “That,” Regulus admits. “would be a little difficult.” “You see? Hard. Of course, we don’t really get to argue about which one of us has better taste, anymore.” He sounds sad. “We don’t talk about anything real, now.”  Lily Evans . He’s a bit jealous, he realizes, of whatever magnetism she has that makes people fight over her, want to follow her. He bets Barty’s girlfriend is just like that. “Sounds rough.” “You don’t care at all, do you?” “No. But I’m not great at,” here he thinks about Sirius. “keeping friends.” “We have that in common.” “But making friends won’t keep the lights on.” That’s one of his mother’s. He’s sort of saying it ironically; it’s not like she has any idea what it would be like to not keep the lights on, so all in all, it’s quite a dumb comment, but Severus nods like he’s said something very profound. “If you’re serious about the med school thing, there’s a pre-health society meeting in the career center on Wednesday nights. Open invitation. Most of them are pricks, but-“ He shrugs. “Could be useful.” “I’ll think about it.” “That sounds like a no.” “Fine. I’ll come.” It’s the sort of thing he should be getting involved with , right? It would be the right thing to do. Even if it’s stupid and… James will be there , he remembers. Maybe it won’t be so bad, after all, just about half an hour of listening to him talk about nothing, and smile like a TV politician and…He cuts off the train of thought, aggressively. He is not getting wrapped up in this. The Barty thing was a temporary moment of weakness. A mistake. This is different. This is a career move . Severus does one of his skeevy-looking smiles, which makes Regulus wonder what he’s getting out of this. “Good.” Regulus gets a text from Severus next morning, with perfect grammar and punctuation, telling him exactly where the meeting is down to the room number. He makes a mental note to find out where in the student directory his phone number is listed, and to see if they can get it taken out. Still, he supposes, he said he would, so at seven P.M. (“on the dot” the text said), he puts on two sweatshirts under a winter coat, covers his mouth with a scarf, and hauls ass to the career services center, which is in this shitty little house on the complete other end of campus. The room, when he finds it, looks just like a regular living room, and there are about ten people there already, some overly-eager looking freshmen and Severus, who is being rather frosty to a freshman girl who’s asking him about classes. He gives Regulus, what, to him, seems like an over-familiar hello, and Regulus wonders what on Earth about him has made him suddenly a person worth talking to. About fifteen minutes later, the door slams open, and James and Lily come in, both slightly red from exertion, the exertion in question being a cart laden with pizza. Severus, in true teacher’s pet fashion, jumps up to help, but Lily shoots him down with a “We’ve got it.” He still kind of lurks there awkwardly, which makes him appear even weirder and more batlike than normal. It turns out, most people seem to be here for the pizza, because right on time, a whole host of people show up, until the room gets pretty crowded. “Luring people in with free food,” Severus hisses in his ear. “So flashy. He’s going to talk about it like he invented it, just wait.” Which seems a bit unfair to Regulus, but he doesn’t really feel like eating pizza that’s been marinating on a cart in the elements, so he stays seated. Once everyone has more or less gorged themselves, James stands on a chair and claps his hands, like he’s a youth soccer coach. “Okay, guys! GUYS!” That shuts everyone up. Lily passes him a microphone, into which he says, “Thank you,” which makes everyone laugh. James’ voice is a lot deeper when it’s amplified; he can feel it in his chest. “So now that I’ve got you here with free food, which was, of course, the diabolical plan-“ Everyone laughs, and Severus rolls his eyes. “We can start talking about business. I’m James, he/him pronouns, and I’m a junior biochemistry major, and for some reason-okay, actually a lot of reasons-I’m one of the people in charge of pre-health this year. The lovely Lily Evans-“ Lily winks. “is the other one, of course.” “She/her pronouns. Junior biochem.” Lily deadpans into her mic. “Thank you, my bad, Lily. Anyway, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve known I wanted to work in the emergency room since I was seven years old. I’d be willing to bet some of you are the same way. Maybe some of you just came into it. But when we get to college, which is this huge step that brings us that much closer to being the kind of adults we want to be, it sometimes feels like everyone else has some cheat code, some plan they they’re not telling us, and that you’ll fall behind in the dog-eat-dog world of big bad grad school admissions if you don’t do everything a certain way. And at some schools, they have counselors, who get paid to help you figure it out. We’re too small; we don’t have the money. Which sucks, but…that’s where we want to come in. To help you figure it out. To show you how you can do it. Achieve your dreams. That’s what this club is about…figuring out how to get you to where you need to go next. So we’ve made a pledge that by the end of the year, we’re going to help land every single person who’s interested some kind of career-furthering opportunity for this summer. I know that sounds slightly insane-“ He laughs. “because we’re also students, and what do we know, but fuck it, you know? There’s always a shortage of medical professionals, pretty much everywhere, because it’s so demanding. Double that if we’re talking racial and gender minorities, or people who don’t come from much family money. I know, I know,” he laughs. “I’m the wrong kind of minority to make this argument, but it’s something that I really believe in, and I hope you do, too, if you’re here. The most important thing is to be in it to care. The rest is just incidental. You can figure it out, if you want it enough, I have no doubt.” Unforgivably, Regulus feels tears threatening, and looks down at his phone, in order to not look like he’s having a breakdown over such a cheesy speech. He has a text. “We’re passing a sign-up sheet around, if you’re interested. And please, give us ideas. We welcome feedback. Lily’s enlisted Snivellus Snape to help us with the technical stuff, social media and whatnot-“ “Severus-“ Lily cuts in. “My bad, what did I say?” James mugs, wide-eyed, in a way that’s so Sirius it makes Regulus’ chest hurt. Snape looks ready to kill him. “Yes, so good job to him too, or whatever. And now I’ll shut up, and let you meet each other-after all,” he winks. “Another big part of being in the medical field is working on your people skills. So mingle, talk to each other…I know it’s cheesy, but try to talk to someone you didn’t know when you came in here, okay? It helps a lot. Thanks for coming. Let’s make this the best year of pre-health ever.” There’s wild applause, cheers, and some girl even wolf-whistles, which makes James give a little bow when he bounces off his chair. Regulus opens his text. 
i thought about it, and i may have been a bit unfair, all things considered, so dinner? i’ll give you the address
Okay, how the hell are people just getting his phone number? But it’s working, he thinks. Maybe he and Lily Evans have this ineffable charisma in common. Smiling, he puts the name in his contact as Barty Bad Vibes. 
ok like tonight

yes

i’ll think about it

don’t think too long.

i never do.

i can see that
He’s about to type out an appropriately sassy response, when James bounds over like an over-excited golden retriever. “I thought you’d never come! Please tell me Snivelly was lying about him being the reason.” “Severus? Well, he is the one who asked.” “Bastard. Well, actually it’s Lily’s fault you’re here then, because she basically begged him to get you, after I said you wouldn’t do it.” “So that’s why he was so insistent that I come. Jealous?” “I think it’s kind of funny how hard he tries. But now that you mention it, I am a little jealous you wouldn’t do it for me. Wasn’t that speech I gave great ?” “Did you mean what you said? About getting everyone a summer position?” James looks mystified. “Well, yes, that’s why I said it. What kind of sick person would lie about something like that?” Regulus can think of several. “Oh. Good for you.” “It’ll be so much work, but-“ he sighs happily. “Soo good. Also…” He pauses. “How’s War and Peace going?” “Good. Why?” “I just think-“ James runs his tongue over his teeth. “that Tolstoy’s theory of historical determinism is really anchored in place by the narratives surrounding the struggles of the individual characters over time, don’t you?” “Aww, you read the Wikipedia summary. Good job.” “Clif Notes! And I actually-tah dah!” He whips out a copy of War and Peace . “It’s slow, but Pierre’s going to get into a duel with that other guy. That’s good, but I still don’t think any book needs to be this long. Which doesn’t make me dumb, just someone with common sense.” Regulus’ brain is not working. “You’re reading War and Peace ?” “You don’t have to be so surprised about it. Despite what you may have heard, I can read.” “Well, I am. You’re reading War and Peace for me?” “No,” James corrects. “I’m reading War and Peace because you were so snotty about reading it earlier. Like you thought reading it made you better than me. But it turns out it’s just a book, and I can read it too, so-“ Regulus snorts. “Oh my God, that is so not what I meant by that!” James’ face falls. “So you don’t think I’m too stupid to read War and Peace ? Why on Earth am I doing this then?” “Well, you shouldn’t stop reading it, just because of me.” Regulus fights a smile. He’s such an idiot. “Besides, you’ll need someone to talk about it with. To make sure you really get all the themes.” Understanding dawns on James. “Like a book club.” “I’ve never been part of a book club.” “Me neither.” They shuffle their feet awkwardly, and Regulus checks his phone again. “Hot date?” James asks, trying to get a look at the message. He is not great with personal space. Regulus backs up. “Yes.” Regulus tries to keep it light, keep from sounding too enthusiastic. He thinks it took. “Oh, good for you. Is he cute?” “Mhmm-wait, why did you think it’s a he?” “You’re not gay?” James looks even more dejected. “Oh my God, I’m a moron. I’m sorry. I thought you were-“ “Why, though?” Regulus demands. “I don’t know. Vibes?” He throws his hands up, in a gesture of surrender. Regulus is sick of vibes . “Well, she’s going to be thrilled, when i tell her.” “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t assume. I guess we don’t know each other that well. Forgive me?” It would be fun, he thinks, to say no, but he can’t bring himself to crush James, like that. “It’s forgiven.” It’s later, then, when he sends Barty a reply. fuck you i’ll be there at 9. There’s no response, but he books an Uber anyway and then tries to fix the way he looks. In the end, there’s nothing that can be done about that , other than a complete and utter fucking facelift, so he wears a hat and pulls a scarf over his face, and keeps one hand on the car door handle in case he needs to jump out and avoid being kidnapped. It ends up being a really nice apartment building, the kind of one with a “penthouse.” Barty really should stop making fun of him for being rich, since he lives here. “You look like a home invader.” Barty says, when he opens the door, after Regulus white-knuckles a jostling elevator ride. He’s barefoot, and he’s wearing loose pajama pants that skim his bony ankles. He looks like a prisoner, but Regulus is not going to say that. “I’m cold .” Regulus explains. “You look like a prisoner.” Okay, he said it, but it just slipped out. He hadn’t planned on it. Barty doesn’t react.“I have wine.” Regulus follows him inside, removing his shoes in the entryway. He’s not a stranger to nice houses, but he is low-key impressed. It’s all very modern, lots of weird-looking uncomfortable furniture, a surprisingly high ceiling, and the kitchen has marble floors, which are cold under his sock feet. Barty hasn’t turned on any of the lights, but he has lit a large designer candle that smells like patchouli. There is, worryingly, no food in sight and “wine” turns out to be a Barefoot screw-top rose that tastes like apple juice that’s gone bad, but he downs it. It warms him up, and he immediately pours himself another glass, while Barty carries the bottle over to one of the strange Swedish-looking lounge chairs in what looks like the living room area. “Nice place.” Barty’s expression is absolutely unreadable. “You know, you’re rich too. So you can’t really say anything to me.” “Mm-mm. I don’t live here.” Something like mischief flickers over his features. “Yeah, ha ha. Very funny.” “This isn’t my house.” “I so believe you.” “No, I mean, no one in my family owns this apartment .” “So, you got me an Airbnb? That’s sweet.” “No,” Barty runs his fingers over the glass coffee table, casually. “This is my ex’s house.”“ What? ” “Oh, don’t freak out. He left his keys in my room, and I made copies.” “Why are we in your ex’s house?” Barty leans in, whispering in his ear. “ I don’t have a girlfriend .” “So you lied about that too.” Barty shrugs, a small smile spreading across his face. “Maybe.” “But this is really your ex’s house? Oh my God -” Regulus puts his face in his hands. “This was such a mistake. We could get arrested.” “He’s not here, is he? Although,” Barty laughs. “It would be funny if he was. Maybe I should call him.” “ No. Please do not call your ex.” Barty draws out his phone, and begins to tap away on the screen, and Regulus reaches over to grab it from him, pulling him off the couch and onto the living room floor. Before he knows it, they’re wrestling, in the least dignified way possible. “Ugh, you are insane- ” “I just want to tell him how much fun we’re having without him-” “I’m not going to have a threesome with some guy whose house you broke into -” “Who says I want to have a threesome? Maybe I just want him to watch-” “Eww, let go! There !” Barty has the advantage of reach, but he’s not particularly coordinated, and Regulus snatches the phone from him, triumphantly, and runs to the balcony outside, panting. There’s a hot tub? pool? situation there, of indeterminate depth, and Regulus dangles Barty’s phone over the water, teasing. “Give it back, you psychopath!” “I am not spending the night in jail because you want to get back at your ex.” “Please,” Barty begs like Sirius, all doe-eyes and pouty lips. Regulus quirks up the corner of his mouth…and drops the phone into the pool. “Oh, you bitch -” And Barty shoves him, with all his weight, backwards into the water. Regulus sputters, helplessly, the waterlogged layers freezing against his skin. “Fucking dick !” It’s cold, but it’s not that deep; his toes scrape the bottom. “You asked for it.” Barty shrugs, not in the least bit sorry.Regulus clings to the side of the pool. “Asshole.” “You owe me a new phone.” “I hate you.” “Oh, can you not swim?” Barty looks like he’s having the absolute time of his life. “You can’t, can you? How old are you again?” Regulus grits his teeth. “ Nineteen . And I can swim. I just am not choosing to, now.” “Really?” Barty shrugs off his sweater, a ghostly white ribcage visible with every one of his breaths. “I’m going to test it.” “No, no, please don’t -” But Barty doesn’t hear him, just drops his pants and sort of dives into the pool, gracefully, like it’s nothing to him. He swims over to Regulus with what can only be described as a deadly, sharklike purpose, and Regulus shrinks back. “Come here.” Barty croons. “I won’t bite. It’s just time for your swim test.” Regulus shakes his head. “No fucking way.” “Fine, you leave me no choice.” Barty bares his teeth and swims over to him, and before he knows it, he’s in a vicious headlock, the kind he hasn’t been in since he was seven, and he’d antagonized Sirius to his breaking point. Regulus, who is not going to die in some stranger’s pool, thank you very much, does the only thing he can think of to do and bites Barty, hard, on the arm, sharp enough to draw blood. Barty swears, but he lets him go. “Sorry.” says Regulus, not meaning it. Barty examines his arm, dripping in the light, blood in the pool and on Regulus’ teeth, like he’s thinking about something. He leans in, and Regulus inches back, banging his spine against the edge of the shallow end, but in the end, Barty’s just pulling him into a bruising kiss. This isn’t their kiss in the bookstore; it’s competitive, fierce. A little hungry, a little possessive. He gets the appeal of this as a fuck-you to Barty’s mysterious ex, suddenly. If this is what he wants from Regulus…Regulus doesn’t mind helping him get it. “You’re fucking nuts,” Regulus mutters, once he can breathe again. “But you like it, right?” There’s a strange vulnerability to him, when he says it, and Regulus is very aware of him, shirtless, in his underwear, bleeding from his teeth in the pool. “Yeah,” Regulus says, tracing his tongue over the ridge of Barty’s jawline, just to feel a muscle twitch, “Yeah, I like it.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I lied, I am

Just lowering your expectations

-boygenius
Peter reads the words under his breath, committing the sounds and feelings of the script to his memory. He’s got a good memory for rhythms, and he usually learns everyone’s lines in every show. It soothes him, and it helps ground him in his role, small as it usually is. It’s not the kind of thing he can really explain to any of his friends; they’re all the kind of people who are disappointingly literal. He remembers trying to explain this process of memorization to James, freshman year, when he still used to try to talk about theater with him. “Like in case you have to fill in for someone?” James had blinked, clueless.“No,” Peter had repeated. “It helps me remember that it’s supposed to be a conversation between real people, instead of just a script.” “But you’re not the main guy, so why’re you learning his lines?” Sirius, who had been lying on James’ bed, reading something, had looked down, with that half-eyebrow cocked that always made Peter feel so stupid . “What, are you going to poison him, or something?” “It’s about getting into character,” he’d mumbled, flustered. Sometimes, it felt like (well, it still feels like) Sirius derives some degree of pleasure from antagonizing him. “Those lines are cooler , though; don’t be dumb.” James had said, coming to his rescue. “Peter’s being spiritual .” Sirius had rolled his eyes, letting everyone know what he thought about that , but he’d shut up. “I think it’s cool, how much you care about this,” James had said. “I would just be pissed I wasn’t the lead.” “There are no small parts,” Peter had repeated, dutifully, like he had heard since he was a kid and always got cast as “Dwarf Number Two,” or “Chorus Boy 7.” “Only small actors.” “I’m sure it’ll be great.” James had said, encouragingly, but with a tone that definitely meant stop talking to me about this. Peter had taken the hint, and went back to struggling through his homework, or whatever he was doing. He still learns everyone’s lines, whether he wants to or not; he often gets told off for mouthing the lines to the other actors in the wings, even if it’s quite unconscious. But actors are a superstitious group, especially good ones. He doesn’t want to fuck with the process, if it seems to be working out for him. And for once, just once, his overkill memorization strategy seems to be working in his favor. Smiling, he reads the email again.  
Dear Mr. Pettigrew,

Unfortunately, Hal has had a prior conflict that has led to him excusing himself from this production of Hamlet. Given that the principal understudy is in the process of transferring, we would like to offer you the role of HAMLET. We know this will be a rapid transition, as our opening weekday is next Wednesday. Given the time constraints, would you still be interested in accepting the role?

Warm regards,

Filius Flitwick
 Of course, Peter’s not delusional, or an egomaniac. He might be an actor, but he’s sensible about what he brings to the table. He’s never been under any illusion that he has “star potential.” He’s a bit part, comic relief, a character actor through and through. He’s not conventionally attractive enough, he knows, to be a lead, with the amount of talent he has. Realistically, he knows the only reason Flitwick cast him instead of someone else in the ensemble cast is because he’s good at memorizing and isn’t going to try to get too cute with any of the stage directions. And of course, it’ll be a huge commitment, and he probably’ll miss some assignments for a couple of his classes, but of course, he’ll say yes, he thinks. He’d be insane not to. He’s been in shows since he started as a freshman, even though he’s never been in a starring role. And Hamlet , being Hamlet, is every actor’s dream. And even though Peter’s not a romantic, he’s allowed to dream. He can practically see it now, everyone standing around him, Flitwick saying, “ Inspired . I’ve never seen this kind of twist on Hamlet, young man,” see the techies moved to tears by his final death rattle, have James and Sirius and Remus tell him it was so, so, so, much better than the Kenneth Branagh movie, while trying to swallow their jealousy for once. And maybe Mary will come, maybe she’ll bring him flowers, maybe she’ll realize while he questions whether to be or not to be, that she should finally release the strings and arrows of outrageous fortune and give this thing a try, and she’ll give him a hug that lasts a little too long, and she’ll tell him he’s brilliant, and fearless, and talented, and he’ll say to her what he never has the courage to voice, and everything will go his way, one time. Of course, real life, for Peter, never quite goes his way. Instead of one-on-one monologue workshop time with Flitwick (which the original Hamlet star, Hal, got every Wednesday) he’s got the decidedly less glamorous “boot camp” with Emmeline Vance, a terrifying, goth-y theater major in the year below who’s wrangled the position of stage manager, which is usually reserved for juniors and seniors. “Emmeline is my eyes and ears.” Flitwick had said ominously. “So consider notes from her notes from me. Your job,” He had then turned to Emmeline, “is to get him into fighting shape for the dress rehearsal on Friday. Off-book.” “Oh, I already know-” Peter had started to explain, but a vile look from Flitwick shut him up, quickly. Emmeline had looked like she’d rather put her eyes out with nails, but she had just nodded, and now they’ve been at it for an hour in one of the practice room; Flitwick has set up a laptop to record each of his soliloquies (for “practice,”) and Emmeline makes him watch each one back while she rips them all apart, for lack of a better word. His posture is too wooden, then he’s making too much eye contact (which he didn’t even know was possible), then he’s being too quiet. It’s overkill, he thinks. Also, he looks like a troll on video camera. No wonder Mary won’t go out with him. “Can you do it again?” she says wearily, after a particularly lackluster diatribe directed at Ophelia. “But like, better.”  “I’m trying .” he snaps. “It’s hard.” Emmeline raises an eyebrow, and Peter is uncomfortably reminded that she was one of the many victims of Marlene’s “hoe phase,” a fact which is not endearing Peter to her, he’s sure. “You’re just saying the lines. It’s like you’re learning how to read for the first time.” She crosses her arms, tapping one silver Doc-Martened foot. “So. Again. If that’s how you’re going to tell me to get to a nunnery, then I’d fuck your mom.” “What a lovely image.” “Oh no, are you not getting enough praise for sounding like an audiobook narrator?” “Maybe if you let me pause , and think about the motivation-”“My motivation is that I want to get this fucking done.” She turns the camera back on. “Let’s do To Be Or Not To Be. Since you’ll definitely put some energy into that, right?” Peter sighs. “To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether ‘tis nobler-“ “To suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Blah blah blah, we know . There’s just no life in it.” “Maybe my Hamlet isn’t overdramatic. Maybe he’s mild-mannered. You don’t know.” He glares at her. “It’s not like you’re an expert. You’re just babysitting me because Flitwick thinks I suck.” “No.” Emmeline agrees, in the tone that definitely indicates a trap. “It’s definitely because of you , not because I win at the California SoliloquyFest every year. Since I was thirteen. There’s no reason I would know anything about performance. I’m just a gopher.” “Oh.” He feels very foolish, suddenly. “Sorry.” “Look, he’s not stupid. Everyone knows it shouldn’t be you. But it is, so we have to make do with what we have. We have to-”“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” “That’s not what I mean. God, you’re so sensitive. ”“You know what?” he says, temper flaring. “Fuck this, I’m going home.” “Not very Hamlet of you!” she calls, as the door behind him slams. “Yeah, well, Hamlet wasn’t getting verbally abused by a psychopathic wannabe director,” he mutters, and stalks off. Peter’s mom is fond of telling him how easy he was as a baby. “You were so cheerful, so good-natured.” That’s what everyone always says about him, what teachers used to write on his report cards. “Peter’s kindness is infectious.” He’s always been a good kid, a nice kid, the kind of kid that never caused any problems, who got along (at least on a surface level) with everybody. Sure, he’s not the guy whose name you remember when you run into him at your high school reunion, but there’s something to be said about being a Good Guy, especially in contrast to Charlie, his genius older sister, who used to win awards like it was breathing water, but also was constantly having a meltdown about something or the other. If he’s being really honest, he doesn’t love when his mom gets off on this particular track, because it always makes it seem 1) like Charlie was a hellion, which she wasn’t, and 2) that he’s not as interesting or intelligent, which may be true, but is the kind of truth that is so evident it doesn’t need to be voiced out loud. She’s doing it now, at the reminiscing stage of their weekly FaceTime call. “He used to eat everything we put in front of him, remember, Richard? So many kids are picky at that age. Not Petey. Not my sweet boy.” His dad rolls his eyes, and Charlie, seated next to him on the couch, is crossing her arms uncomfortably. (At the age of seven, she went on a hunger strike until the family started eating dolphin-safe tuna.) “Mom.” Peter, sensing a rising tension in the room, even through his laptop screen, interrupts. “I wanted to tell you the good news, remember.” “You’ve decided to major in economics and stop throwing your life away?” His dad laughs, a little too loud. It’s a “joke” with him, that he doesn’t think Peter’s cut out to be an actor, but the kind of “joke” that isn’t really a joke. It’s not like Peter can say anything either; both his parents are lawyers, so he and Charlie both learned early on to pick their battles. “Got a C plus in econ,” Peter reminds him, keeping a big smile on his face so he doesn’t say what he’s really thinking. “So I don’t think that’s in the cards for me. No, I…um, I’m Hamlet. In Hamlet .” He waits, studying their faces. “Surprise!” “Oh.” Peter’s mom is deep in thought. “Is that good, sweetie?” “ Mom ,” Charlie admonishes. “It’s the lead role. That’s awesome, Peter, so cool.” Is this the best they can offer, he thinks, irritated. That playing Hamlet is cool ? “It’s also, kind of like, every actor’s dream, so…” “Wow.” His dad laughs again. “Who’d you have to bump off to get that?” “The guy who was Hamlet originally can’t do it anymore.” he says, through gritted teeth. Understanding dawns on his family’s faces, and he clenches his fists. Of course , their smiles seem to say to him. Of course, it makes sense now, the only reason anyone would ever let you get this far is because of dumb luck, an accident. Have fun playing second fiddle.  “When’s opening night?” Charlie asks, leaning forward. They look alike, the two of them-round faces, cornflower-blue eyes, wispy dirty-blond hair. Sometimes, when people see them together, they get mistaken for twins. “Next weekend.” He shrugs, trying not to seem too excited. He doesn’t want them to ruin it. “I could get you some tickets, if you like?” “Oh, honey.” His mom’s smile is sickly sweet and sympathetic. “I’d love to, but you know we have work, and Charlie has LSAT prep…” “It’s only an hour away,” Charlie argues. “Come on, Mom. It’s Pete’s debut.” He knows what she’s thinking. When she was in high school, and went to the national finals with her debate team, their mom pulled Peter out of school and convinced their dad to take a week off so they could watch her live, even though it was all the way in Idaho. “Yes, but-”“You don’t have to,” Peter puts in, weary. “Just thought I’d offer.” Charlie looks stricken. “You don’t mind?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” His dad’s voice breaks the silence. “Peter doesn’t mind. He knows better, knows we can’t take off work just because he’s in some amateur Shakespeare production.”  Ouch. But Peter didn’t expect anything less, from them. He fakes a laugh. “Yeah, it’s okay. Might not even be good anyway.” “Yes, like that Our Town your senior year. I fell asleep.” his dad informs them, gleefully. “And I-” “Missed your part!” His mom cackles. “He was out .” Peter’s had just about enough. “Well, I think I have to go now, so…” “So soon?” Their faces look up, pleading through the screen, and he feels a little remorse. They love him, he knows, all of them, even though they’re bad at showing it. “Okay, maybe five more minutes.” His mother sighs, happily, which makes Charlie pretend to throw up on the computer, and their dad laughs. “Are you done throwing a tantrum?” Emmeline says, after he catches up to her in one of the practice studios in the fine arts building. “Are you done telling me how I can’t do anything right?” She shrugs. “Fair enough. You know, before you ran off, what I meant was that-” “You meant that I have no talent, but that I’m good at picking up the slack. I know . It’s fine.” “No. God . I meant that just because you have to practice, to get better, maybe more than someone else would have to practice, doesn’t mean you should just quit. You know, you’re not completely hopeless. At least you know the lines.” “Well…” He’s torn between dismay and irritation. “Why didn’t you just say that, instead of telling me no one thinks I’m talented?” “Okay, one, I didn’t say that, and two, I assumed your ego wasn’t so fragile you couldn’t handle a bit of criticism. You know, I’m easy compared to Flitwick. He’s actually being nice to you; you’d be eaten alive if we were in a full run-through.” “Oh. Sorry.” “But if you don’t want my help anymore-” “I want your help. Please. But uh. No cameras. I don’t want to watch myself back.” “Your loss.”“And I want to think about the character before we start. It’s hard to do this without motivation ,” he explains to Emmeline, while she paces back and forth a la Remus, when he’s confused about something. “I have to think about the lines, and why he’s saying them. That’s the disconnect, why they sound so awkward coming out of my mouth.” “So glad you figured it out.” Emmeline says, sarcastically. “Now, can you start fucking acting?” “You know,” he tries. “I don’t know if I did something, or if this whole thing you’re doing is just because I’m Marlene’s friend-“ She crosses her arms. “I don’t care who you’re friends with.” “It’s not like I told her to break up with you.” “And now you’re being a dick.” “Well, I don’t know , okay? It’s not like I’m not trying.” he says, frustrated. “I know you don’t want to be doing this, but believe me, I don’t either.” “Now you sound like Marlene.” She does not sound angry. She sounds like she thinks it’s kind of funny. “Okay. Let’s do it your way. What does your Hamlet want?” “Easy. Revenge.” “Okay, but for what?” “For his father’s honor.” “And…?” She’s annoying. “And for, I don’t know, being put in this situation in the first place? For his mother? He wants…” Peter’s struck by a little inspiration. “He wants Claudius to admit what he did. He wants him to feel how bad it was, how immoral.” “There.” says Emmeline, sounding satisfied. “ Now you’re talking.” “Mmm.” Mary sighs, happy, as Peter balances their drinks, precariously, between his hands, walking in a straight line so as not to sacrifice any coffee to the December-cold pavement. “You’re the best, Peter.” “Chai latte, extra sweetener,” Peter deposits the drink in front of her with a flourish. “How do you always know ?” She sounds absolutely delighted. One of the many wonderful qualities Mary possesses is the ability to make you feel like a hero for every little thing you do for her. Peter, of course, takes every opportunity to do so. “It’s my secret skill.” Really, it’s Remus, who saves free drinks for them all when he’s working, and it takes a lot of foresight and pre-planning. But when Mary wears her green sweater dress, he knows, she always wants a chai latte. He wonders if anyone else knows this, about her. “Mmm. You absolute angel .” Peter shuffles his feet, not knowing what to do with such hyperbolic praise. “So, um…there’s a Diego Rivera retrospective at the art museum next weekend, if you want to go? That is,” he laughs awkwardly. “if there’s not another dance thing you want to go to.” That had been hell, loitering around while Mary radiated her intense brand of sunshine on everyone but him. He’d slipped out, sometime after watching her dance with Sirius, looking up at him like he was the only person on Earth. It had been horrible, really, one hand on the door to the bathroom, watching the flying hair, the swirling couples and groups, and thinking with sudden clarity, No one here will notice if I leave. He’d ended up back at their apartment, finished the red wine under their sink that usually only Sirius drank, threw it all up, and was violently hungover the next day. No one texted him, called him, wondered where he was. He’s not that kind of guy; he supposes. His presence is not an essential. Peculiarly, something  shutters behind Mary’s eyes. “I don’t ever want to go to one of those dances again.” “You looked like you were having fun.” He regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth; he sounds like such a little bitch. “Well,” Mary’s mouth twists, indelicately. “I was acting. Like you.” “I’m sorry.” he says, sincerely. Dumbass. “I didn’t really want to be there either. Um, speaking of acting-“ And of course, of fucking course, he doesn’t get his moment, because it’s interrupted by Sirius and Marlene, who are attempting to wear the same scarf. “Room for two more?” Peter and Mary scoot down, balancing on a ledge to give the scarf-wearers the chair. “Alright, Peter?” “Why are you wearing…is that chevron ?” They do look ridiculous, the zigzag pattern standing out in sharp relief against their all-black outfits. “We’re bringing it back.” Sirius explains, and Peter rolls his eyes. It’s so them , a trait he’s always been horribly envious of, their ability to make goofy look glamorous. Now that he thinks about it, that’s the model with  all of their friends, who all are able to pull off a particular level of silly and still make it cool. If he was wearing a giant scarf, he knows, people would just stare at him. “Cute.” Mary comments, and flicks a slightly wet brown leaf across the metal cafe table at Sirius. He recoils, like he’s been shot, leaning into the bushes behind them. “That’s been on the ground .” Marlene and Peter exchange a knowing smirk. Sirius is quite prissy, despite his best attempts to seem otherwise. (Peter has personally seen him start hyperventilating over a beetle in the sink, which…Honestly.) “Don’t look at me like that, you assholes-“ “You’ve got a twig, Mountain Man,” Mary tells him, once he sits back up. Peter wouldn’t have said anything, but it is very noticeable and is decidedly stuck in his hair. “There-no, there -“ “Can you do it?” Sirius leans forward, shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to dislodge the twig. Marlene rolls her eyes, but Mary laughs, pulling the detritus free with a manicured hand. Peter feels suddenly rather ill. Marlene gives him a piercing look. “You okay?” He forces a smile. “Just tired.” But he can’t focus on the conversation anymore; all he can see is the tips of Mary’s nails, stark against Sirius’ hair, hear her little laugh, see the light glinting off the tops of her slightly crooked canines.  It’s hard to breathe, suddenly, like he’s been climbing uphill, and he just needs to take a rest. Later, when they get up to leave and Mary finishes her tea, he swipes the empty cup, light-fingered, before the rest of them can notice, running a finger over the imprint of her lips on the rim. It’s the closest someone like him can hope to get to her. “What are you doing?” Peter looks up from where he’s scrounging around on the library floor, having dropped his script down the narrow crack between the metal staircase and the wall. “Looking for my script. You know, you could help me, a little.” “Nah.” Emmeline leans back on the stairs, watching him. She’s dyed the ends of her hair bright green, and she’s playing with her split ends as she watches him dither, helplessly, sifting through a pile of boxes and paper on the floor, clearly recycling someone’s forgotten to take out. “Fuck, where is it ?” He feels like he’s going fucking crazy; having thrown around the same poorly printed articles six or seven times. “Have you tried over there?” She points to a corner of the room that he’s definitely gone over before. It’s like she’s trying to annoy him.“ Yes . Jesus.” He sits back on the floor. “I think it’s just…gone.” “They’re on loan from Flitwick. You better not have lost it.” “I lose everything.” “Oh, fuck me …” Emmeline stomps down the stairs, and kicks through some of the paper. “ There . Are you always like this?” “No.” Peter says haughtily, snatching the script back from her. (He is, but she doesn’t need to know this.) “Aren’t you going to thank me?” “Thank you.” He makes sure it comes out lifeless. “You know, you don’t have to be here. I was just going to read over it again.” “Don’t you want to practice, y’know, reading it out loud ?” “Not like there’s much of a point. You think it sucks. Everyone thinks this sucks.” He sighs. “You do suck. That’s the point of practice.” she says, like it’s the most intuitive thing in the world. “Not like it matters. I haven’t told any of my friends I’m in it, yet.” “ Yet ? Don’t you want them to come see you?” “Um…” It’s complicated, is what he wants to say. He wants them to see it, but he doesn’t want them to start…reviewing it, like they do with all of the things he does. He wants the adoration, but he doesn’t want the criticism. He remembers, freshman year, coming up to them after the stage production of A Christmas Carol , expecting praise, only to be met with Sirius and James laughing hysterically about the way one of the other chorus girls had made her exit. “Yeah, you were great , Pete, but what the hell was she doing…?” “And the ghost guy…whoo!” “That’s not…” Peter wanted to explain that the reason the ghost had that accent was because he was a British ghost, and Miranda, the chorus girl, was just a little nervous, which was why she moved like that, but he knew what would happen next. They’d make a big deal about him being too sensitive (mostly Sirius), and then James would swoop in just before Peter got actually mad, and play peacemaker, even though he kind of started it, and Remus would get that deer-in-the-headlights look he got whenever anyone started arguing. They were kind of right too, was the worst part. When he looked at the performance through their eyes, all he saw was its flaws; the anachronistic music choices, the overdone Cockneyisms, the uninspired blocking. Amateur. Sloppy. He couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to think anyone actually would want to see the show. “Marlene used to hate all my stuff.” Emmeline says, snapping him out of it. “I asked her to come to one of my improv things, last year. I don’t think she laughed once.” “Oh…” Marlene likes to go on and on about how horrible Emmeline’s shows were. I’m never dating an artist again , she likes to say, with air quotes around “artist.” Peter always thinks it’s rather cruel. “You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know.” Emmeline taps a finger on her knees, steadily. “It’s fine. I don’t really care that much anymore. All I’m saying is…I know it’s not easy, when no one’s really in your corner.” “It’s not like that,” Peter explains. “They’re just a lot , my friends. They like me okay; they’re just not into art and stuff.” “It’s not about being into art, though, is it? It’s more about the principle of the thing. Honesty’s great; I mean…I’ll be the first to tell you that. But you don’t have to be into all the same things to be friends. You don’t have to lie about liking everything, but sometimes it’s more important to be there than to have a great time.” “But I suck. I’m horrible. No one’s going to have a great time watching me.” “Listen to me, okay? You’re awful, right now. Your performance has all the personality of a piece of plywood.” “Gee, thanks.” “But you should still give a shit. You should still try. Obviously, there’s a reason you were the understudy. And if your friends want to take the air out of you, don’t fucking let them. This is a big deal. You’re allowed to be proud about something, even if they don’t understand why. It took me way too long to figure that out.” “Is that why you’re not with Marlene anymore?” Emmeline stands up, but he swears he sees her crack a smile. (For like two seconds, but progress is progress.) “And we’re done. Time to practice.” “So,” Peter ventures cautiously, after a rehearsal that Emmeline deemed “making progress,” which was the closest to a compliment he could secure. “I have some good news.” Lily, Remus, and Sirius are all in one place, for once, clustered together on the couch, which means he’ll be able to tell them all at once. Of course, though, they’re all whispering about something. They stop as soon as they look up at the sound of his voice. It’s so ridiculous. “Big secret?” “Um…” Remus looks around, like he’s been caught doing something extremely suspect.“No.” says Sirius. “What were you saying?” “Well, now I want to know what this is, so…” He situated himself on the couch. Really. He lives here too. Lily looks like she’s going to say something, but Sirius gives her a look . “It’s not a big deal,” “It kind of is.” Remus mumbles. “Not really. So…?”“I mean, I can leave, and come back, since you’re all being so weird and shady.” he says, irritated. For once, could someone just listen to him? “That would actually be great,” Lily cuts in, smooth. “Can you give us like, fifteen minutes?” There’s a visible drain in the tension of the room, and okay, fine, whatever, this is just stupid. Like they’re fucking twelve , and like he doesn’t fucking live here, only he can’t get mad, because it was technically his idea. “Sorry.” Remus tries to be understanding. “It’s just, we didn’t know you were going to be home, so early.” Which makes it worse. He gives them a tight-lipped smile, bites his tongue and does not say what he was thinking, stalks out, with no real understanding of where he’s going, only he knows he’s definitely not coming back in fifteen minutes. Like he needs permission to go in his own apartment. He’s not coming back, period. As he starts pacing right down the straight, he sees the familiar shape of James’ car, parallel-parked precariously on the hill outside the apartment complex. “Peter?” “Oh, are you invited to the secret meeting too?” he gets out sourly. James looks at a loss. “What secret meeting?” “ I don’t fucking know, do I? They told me I had to leave.” “ Oh. That. Fucking hell, I don’t know why they’re making such a big deal about all this. I don’t get Lily, sometimes.” He grins. “And I never get Remus.” “What are you talking about?” “D’you want to take a drive?” James looks at him, expectantly. “Not really.” What he wants is an end to all this fucking secrecy, and also, to be able to tell someone his news without getting interrupted. “That’s okay. I’ll turn the heat on.” Because James is pushy when he wants something, and Peter usually does whatever he wants, they end up sitting in James’ car while the heat sputters to life. “So,” James is rubbing his hands together, warming them up. “Sirius is going to end things with Gideon.” “Oh.” He’s never really felt one way or the other about Gideon; he’d seemed nice enough, but it’s not like he’d really gotten to know the guy. “So that’s all it is? Why are they all freaking out?” “Sirius wants to end things in a text, drop all of his stuff off at his house in the middle of the night, and never talk to him again. And I…told Lily, and she told me, in very graphic fashion, why that’s apparently not okay, and she’s roped Remus into this mission.” “Wow.” Peter laughs. “That’s so astronomically dumb. ” “Thank you! I mean, that’s not how I would do it, but I kind of think Gideon’s the worst, so…Fair’s fair.” “It could be worse,” Peter jokes. “He could be making you break up with the guy for him.” James rolls his eyes. “I’ve actually done that before, in high school. Sirius is kind of terrible at break-ups.” “No way.” “Oh, yeah.” A little sad smile crosses James’ face. “Well, a cool side effect of getting rejected all the time is that you really master the art of letting someone down easy. I got all the lines-“ “It’s not you, it’s me-“ “You know, I’m not really looking for anything serious right now-“ “I mean, I think Gideon thinks he’s gotten something Sirius,” Peter finishes, and they both start cracking up. “That was really bad, even for you!”  James, the only person who genuinely finds Peter really funny, is still wiping his eyes, something that still kind of makes his chest get all tight. Freshman year, he’d told a joke about Shrek , a bad one, probably gotten secondhand from some Instagram account that reposts old Tumblr humor, but it made James just die , and because Drunk James has even more energy than Sober James, he’d promptly launched himself across a table at Peter and pulled him down into a rib-crushing embrace. He’d seen James get like this with other people, but he doubted that other people had a whole full body-shudder run through them when James was hugging them. “Kiss him!” Mary had called, ever the meddler. “Ugh, no ,” Peter had protested, but James was so close, and his glasses were slightly askew. “Please?” James had pouted. “For the audience? Since you’re, y’know, an entertainer?” “Fine.” Peter had thought James was going to do a little peck, because he was going to do a little peck, but James clearly had…alternative plans, because all of a sudden, they were full-on making out. And it was…nice. He could forget that it was supposed to be a joke, and even though James tasted like tequila, his hands were at the small of his back (how could he know, that Peter would like that?) and his cheeks were flushed.“Wow.” Sirius had laughed. “You are so drunk.” James had smiled, blissfully. “Peter is an excellent kisser.” And everyone had laughed, which made Peter feel defensive and proud, in unison. They’d make jokes about it after that, talked about planning their wedding, which was funny but also confusing, because he was also very interested in Lily Evans. After a particularly sleepless night, he’d confessed to Remus a) that he was pretty sure he was bisexual? pansexual?, and b) he had a crush on James. “ No ,” Remus had said, and “Are you sure ?” Peter had nodded. “You know you can’t tell him. Ever. He’ll be all guilty about it, and it’ll be weird .” Which seemed unfair to Peter, then, and now, too. He wonders, often, what it would have been like, to be let down gently by James. He’d probably have been kind about it. But there’s no point; the crush dissipated, and James got with Lily, and everyone just thinks Peter’s straight, because he doesn’t have fifteen stick-and-poke tattoos or badly bleached hair. Still, it’s only human nature to wonder. “I have really good news, actually.” Peter breaks out of his reverie. “Oh, yeah?” “Yeah. I’m Hamlet. In Hamlet .” “What? Oh, wow, that’s amazing! What happened to regular Hamlet?” “Can’t do it anymore. So…” He allows himself a smile. “I’m a Danish prince.” “You know, I’ve always thought of you that way. But seriously, that’s amazing. You’ll have to get us tickets…” He’s saying all the right things, so why does something in Peter feel hardened, cold? “Of course I will.” “I told my friends about Hamlet.” Peter tells Emmeline, as she’s coming into the practice room that morning. They’d talked about meeting up again, right before Peter’s first full rehearsal as Hamlet. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Looks like you had the right idea, for once.” She looks dejected; not wearing any of her clunky homemade jewelry or aggressive eye makeup. “Well, what are you gonna do with all your free time?” “What do you mean?” “Oh come on, don’t you check your email?”  Now he’s really confused. “What is going on?” “No more Hamlet . School decided they don’t have the budget for it, anymore.” She gives him a flat look. “Apparently there aren’t enough theater majors to justify the existence of the department. Seven in the last six years is apparently not enough.” “ What ? But that’s insane; what are we even getting our degrees in?” “Not sure. There’s a push to get us all to be re-enrolled as Media Studies majors. Which…” “Is not what I signed up for.” Peter sits down, heavily. “Fuck.” “Fuck.” Emmeline agrees. “Well, we had a good run. I don’t know; maybe I’ll transfer.” “The hell you will. This is bullshit. They can’t spring this on us in the middle of the year. Not to mention, that’s really shitty to do to the faculty.” “Oh yeah?” she scoffs. “What are you going to do? Unless you’re related to trustees or something, I doubt there’s anything you can do about it.” “Weren’t you the one who told me we have to be proud of our work?” “Yeah, like as an actor . I know when to quit.” “Well, I don’t want to quit.” They’re silent for a bit. “Did you know, this is the first starring role I would have ever had in anything?”  “Really?” “Yeah. Kind of like in my whole life. Most of the time I’m just…watching everyone else from the wings. Like…everyone I know is great, but they know what it feels like to get their time in the spotlight. And there’s not enough spotlight for me, and most of the time, I really don’t mind. Like, I would have been fine being an understudy. But-” “You want your shot. I get it.” She’s pensive. “It’s the best feeling in the world. When it goes right.” “I want to experience it for myself, though. Not just hear everyone else talk about it.” “This won’t be your last chance, ever.” “Yeah.” He laughs, but it’s not funny. “But it might be.” He’s sensible , after all. He knows everyone’s right about him, knows he’s more likely to end up a high school drama teacher than starring on Broadway. “And that’s fine, but I want to at least know I took my shot.” “So I said, if they want to cut the whole department, they can do it over my dead body. Well, not physically, obviously. But I sent a very strongly worded email.” he finishes explaining to James and Sirius and Remus over dinner (very questionable dining hall pasta.) “Ooh, an email . I bet they’re terrified .” Sirius says sarcastically. “You can laugh. But protesting is the only way anything gets done. And I got the entire cast to sign on. We’re going to occupy the president’s office until we get the department re-instated.” He’s expecting nods of approval, maybe a little “We know you can do it,” or even a “That sucks.” Instead James, the traitor, frowns and shakes his head. “What about going to class?” “This is way more important than class! I might not have classes to go to at all if this goes through.” “I mean, that’s not really true, is it?” To his horror, Sirius shoots a sly look at James. “You could always switch to something else.” “Well, I don’t want to.” Peter’s aware of his voice coming out sharper than he means it to, but he does not love where this is going. “I mean,” James says, in answer to Sirius, not even looking at Peter. “It’s really just a budgetary issue, isn’t it? They’re not going to want to keep a department around with no majors.” “We don’t have no majors! We’ve had six-” “In the last seven years, according to the website.” Sirius announces, after a Google search, again, looking at James. If this is a joke, it’s decidedly on Peter, and he has no idea why. “Which is kind of like having no majors, really.” “No, but you guys, this is kind of a big deal. If they cut theater, I mean, Mary could be next-” “Art history has lots of money, though, I thought?” Remus says, like it’s just an academic discussion and not his fucking life. “So I doubt they’d scrap that one altogether.” “Still, the arts-” “They could always combine it with something, like music, and call it something vague like ‘Performance Studies.’ “ “That wouldn’t even make any sense-” “I think they have done it, though, at other schools.” Remus says, and James nods, and mmhms, like what he’s saying is the most logical thing in the world. “You know, I heard about-” “I don’t want to do it like they do it at other schools ,” Peter snaps at him, and Remus bristles, biting his lip. “I’d like to just get my regular degree, thank you.” “Don’t talk to him like that.” Sirius retorts. “He’s just making a suggestion; you don’t need to be defensive-”“CAN YOU SHUT UP FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE?” Silence. Peter can feel the blood rush to his head. The table is rattling, from where he’s hit it, and they’re all looking at him like they’ve never seen him before, which he supposes, they haven’t. Not like this, anyway, because Peter doesn’t get like this. Anger is not his province. They descend into a stony, awkward, silence, everyone picking at their food and trying not to look at each other. There’s a nervous giggle, and Peter looks up. To his utter confusion and annoyance, Remus is staring at the ceiling, shoulders shaking with inexplicable laughter. He’s trying to hide it, but it’s not quite working, and James and Sirius are looking at him with concern, like he’s concussed. Of course, he gets concern, when he’s being rather gleeful about Peter’s predicament. “What?” Peter gets out. “What is so funny?” “It’s just,” Remus says very quickly, eyes unfocused somewhere over his head. “They’re serving the round things as pasta again; aren’t these disgusting?” “Yeah,” says James, a little nervous, looking imploringly at Sirius. “You do know the round things are orecchietti, right…” Remus convulses, helplessly, and Peter stands up, sick of this situation. “I’ll see you all at home.” “ Asshole .” he hears Sirius mutter behind him, but he’s already walking away. Two hours later, and Peter’s alone at home, lying on their couch, and he’s drinking a beer, when he hears a knock at the door. He’s not sure what it could be. Definitely not them ; they’re probably still needing comfort because he was a little mean to them. For people who accuse him of oversensitivity constantly, they’re really quite a sensitive bunch. Or maybe it’s Lily, maybe James has sent her out to be the voice of reason. Well, fuck that. He squares his shoulders. It’s not like he did anything wrong. Everyone else gets pissed all the time, and sometimes, that comes out harsher than he means it to. And they were being utter asses; how much disrespect is he expected to fucking take? Shouldn’t they be apologizing to him? So he opens the door, prepared to tell whoever it is that he’s not going to apologize. But it’s not James, or Remus, or Sirius, or Lily. It’s Regulus, who’s wheeling an expensive-looking suitcase. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t think anyone was home.” Peter looks at him, the fringe of shaggy black hair, the greyish circles around his eyes, the coat pulled up around his shoulders, walling him off, making him forbidding. He’s Sirius, but cut sharper, harsher, more awkward. Peter bites back a sudden surge of dislike. “Moving in now, are we?” To his credit, Regulus does look chagrined, a degree of real alarm coming over his face. “Sorry. Sirius told me…” “Told you what?” “That I could stay here for a bit, while I get everything sorted out. Paul, right?” He stretches out his hand, as if to shake Peter’s. Peter doesn’t take it. “My name is Peter .” “Yes. Sorry. Peter.” “ Sorry. Sorry .” Peter mimics, aware he’s being kind of awful. “Is that all you can say?” Regulus colors. “No, s-”“Sorry? Well, I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry your brother didn’t let me know you were coming. That would have helped, a lot. Why are you living in my house, exactly?” “It’s not your house; it’s a rental,” Regulus snaps, tone Sirius all over. “And I don’t have to tell you anything. It’s private. Family stuff.” “Yes, but, that’s the thing, isn’t it, Regulus, it’s not private or family. It ceases to be private or family when it involves me.” He leans on the door, hoping he seems menacing. “How exactly are you planning on contributing to the rent?” “Rent?” Regulus laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous . I’m a student.” “So am I, and I pay rent. Every month. It’s how you live here, in the real world. So? Sirius must have told you about rent.” He smiles, enjoying this, despite himself. “Do you have a job?” “This is stupid ,” Regulus bursts out. “It’s only temporary. Sirius said…” “Well, Sirius lives with two other people, neither of which he informed he was inviting another person to stay here. It’s not just his apartment. So?” He taps his fingers on the door frame, blocking Regulus’ entrance. “What are you going to do about that?” “You have to let me in.” Good, he’s worried. About fucking time. “Sirius said-” “Sirius said what ? Jesus Christ, how stupid can you be? Fuck me,” Peter sighs. “Let me tell you about your brother, okay? Your brother doesn’t give a shit about you. You want to know how I know? Because he doesn’t give a shit about anyone, until he needs something from them. He likes the idea of being a nice person, of making all these grand promises, but he’s never going to fucking follow through on any of them, because you don’t matter to him .” Regulus’ face falls. “That’s not true.”“Yes, it is. You want to know why he never fucking talked to you after he moved out? He could have. He had a phone. But he and his friends…they’re not reliable people. If you’re not useful to them, you don’t fucking matter. If they don’t think you’re smart enough, or interesting enough, you can only get so far.” “He said no matter what happened, I could stay with him. No questions.” “Well, he fucking lied to you, then. Because you can’t stay here. This isn’t a shelter or whatever.” “I don’t have anywhere else to go ,” Regulus gets out. “Not my problem.” “Is this a joke?” Even still, suitcase in his hand, nose chapped from the cold, he’s so arrogant, so assured that he can talk his way in. “No.” Peter says, as pleasantly as possible. “It’s not. Good night, Regulus.” “Wait, wait, but you can’t-” Peter shuts the door on him, just as Regulus kicks it, hard. He hears a muffled curse, and then the banging of the suitcase down the back steps. Serves him fucking right, he thinks. Maybe he’ll sleep outside. He’ll be better off for it, making his own luck, and he’ll thank Peter, one day, for teaching him this lesson; for sparing him the curse of being indebted to this viper’s nest, of expecting common courtesy from people who don’t think of him as a real enough person. He has an inkling he won’t be able to sleep, but it comes easier than it has in a while, Hamlet in his hand as he drifts off.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I. James

And if I could give you the moon

I would give you the moon

-Phoebe Bridgers 
 
Dearest Jamesie,

I’ve never sent anyone an actual letter before, so I thought, why not? Dearest Mother is doing this passive-aggressive little number where she starts talking about how “some people” (me) “take the people around them for granted”. Don’t worry, I made sure to point out that we’re not actually doing anything a real family would do over Christmas so there’s not much to be taken for granted. What’s she going to do, child abuse again? I guess that would be called assault now since we’re both adults, which is kind of funny if you think about it. Regulus has figured out that if we “look busy” she has less to criticize, hence, this project, since I’m not about to do chemistry with him or whatever science nerd shit. You’d probably want to do chemistry with him, right? HAHA just kidding. He probably wishes. How’re your parents? Did your dad finish building that table thing? Not to be dramatic, but I could really use some good news, or like, a reminder that people like you guys exist. I hate it here, still, if you can’t tell.

Yours from hell,

S.O.B. 
 
Mr. Son Of a Bitch, 
First of all, I’m not answering to “Jamesie.” That is a terrible nickname because it’s just my name but with a cutesy ending. I expect better from someone of your caliber. Sorry that your mom’s still a bitch you’re stuck at home. I hate it when you make jokes about it, like what happened to you is supposed to be funny. Dad keeps asking if you’ll come home, because he wants help reading the instructions en Français. (Did I do the accent thingy right?) Mom misses you too. She thinks we should just go and take you home, and I think she’s right. I bought her these slippers lined with like, young alpaca hair or something, which I think she’ll like. I know you’re doing it for Regulus, and maybe it’s selfish of me, but I don’t get it. Lily’s coming for Christmas morning. I know you said it was just for this year, but I kind of don’t believe you. I think she’s using me to get away from her family, but I don’t mind. Do you know she never told them we broke up? That means something, for girls, right? They’re playing some game with you two; I know it. Oh, you’d love this! My mom and I are taking Dark Triad personality quizzes online. I can see you rolling your eyes, but actually we scored quite well on everything except narcissism. My dad, on the other hand, has the makings of a genuine criminal element. I’m not someone who hates people, not really, but I think I hate your parents. Tell Regulus I said hello. Take care of yourself, please. Don’t be stupid. 
Best,

James 
 James scratches through the crossed-out words until he’s sure no letters are visible, before folding the paper shut and sticking it in an envelope. He’s trying to be relaxed about it, but it’s hard, so hard. Sirius hasn’t spent a holiday with his family since he was seventeen, and he remembers how that ended, Sirius on his front porch. rapping on the door with desperation in his eyes, snow in his hair. He’d walked the four miles to James’ house, in the snow, without a coat or gloves. And to be clear, it’s not like James has any kind of resentment about that scenario, because it was one hundred percent the fault of Sirius’ family, who sit on the right hand of the Devil as far as he is concerned. But he doesn’t understand, after all these years of silence, what sticking his head back into the lion’s mouth is supposed to do, how it’s supposed to help. He doesn’t understand why Sirius is mailing him fucking letters when they live in the same fucking town, instead of just texting. (He won’t respond to messages; James guesses he left his phone behind.) Most of all, he doesn’t understand how Regulus was able to convince Sirius to spend a voluntary two weeks in that house. Lily has counseled him not to worry, but that’s not James’ MO. The image he projects hides quite a lot of neuroses, which his parents, who are probably his second and third best friends, have a unique (and predictable) way of handling.  His mom likes to start it off by telling him that a lot of successful people have anxiety. “You know, I used to throw up before my prelims, in graduate school.” “Yes, Effie.” his dad will say, rolling his eyes conspiratorily at James. “And then, I told you to look into anxiolytics.” Fleamont Potter is a man with boundless faith in modern medicine, which is both endearing and irritating. He keeps a survivalist-bunker-level of first aid supplies in their upstairs closet. “I’m trying to teach our son that the head that wears the crown-“ “Is uneasy.” James and his dad then both finish. It’s one of Effie’s favorite English sayings. Well, that and saying any task is like “herding cats,” which she uses in many inappropriate instances. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just stressed.” “Hmm,” his dad will answer. “You should go for a run.” And because his parents are right, about most things, he will do it, and he sort of feels better after, or at least he’s too tired and sweaty to feel as bad as he did before. This is different, though, because normally when he’ll talk to his parents about stress, it’s smaller things, things like worrying about his midterm papers  or what to get Lily for her birthday. It’s different when it’s an oppressive kind of thing, something that’s worrying all of them, when there’s a space empty in the house. It’s quieter, without Sirius. When his parents go into work, he sits on Sirius’ bed, like that might make him reappear. But Sirius has cleaned out his room at the Potters; there’s no vestiges of his personality on the walls or in the desk drawers; it’s eerily sterile, like he’d not planned on coming back at all. Which maybe he hadn’t, James reflects. Maybe he’d planned on going back to his family the whole time; James had just been too wrapped up in stupid stuff to notice. The thing is, it had all happened so fast . They’d been in James’ room, and Sirius and James were complaining about Peter, and Remus was reading something. “Don’t know why he’s being such a bitch .” “True.” James had agreed. “He used to be fun .” When they’d met Peter for the first time, he’d been struck by Peter’s good humor, his willingness to perform ridiculousness just for the general amusement, his easy way of laughing at his foibles, his inconsistencies. And while James can admit that he may have taken advantage of this trait of Peter’s, he’s also noticed a brittleness to him, an absence of his levity and lightness. He wonders, a little guiltily, if it’s his fault; if he’s made Peter feel the need to wall himself off from them. “Peter’s not really fun.” Sirius had argued, his foot hooked around the leg of James’ desk chair. “I would never say that about him.” “You can’t say that.” James had said, stern. “I just don’t really like him that much. We’re allowed to have favorites-“ He’d narrowed his eyes, slightly. “I also happen to have least favorites. Peter is my least favorite.” “Still,” James had said. “You didn’t have to say that.” “Hypocrite. You agree with me. His degree is a joke. If he wanted to be a brilliant Shakespearean actor, he wouldn’t go here. All the shit he’s in is terrible . Thank God they’re free to students or I wouldn’t-“ “Sirius,” He’d rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Shut up.” The thing is, Sirius is right. He knows Peter isn’t much of an actor, and it’s true, he doesn’t really think there’s much value in their theater department. It’s true, and it’s right, but it’s not the kind of truth you say out loud. But Sirius doesn’t have the patience to pretend for most people, the way James does, and Peter’s not exactly an exception. “I’m just telling the truth ,” Sirius had muttered, before lapsing into injured silence. “I think we should apologize.” Remus had said. James and Sirius had then exchanged a long look. “You know, Remus-“ “No.” Sirius had finished for him. “Why not?” Sirius had jutted out his chin, peculiar challenge in his eyes. “I don’t want to.” Strangely enough, Remus was meeting his gaze, head-on, instead of looking over his head, to fake eye contact, like he normally did with people. So weird, he’d thought. “Well, we didn’t really do anything wrong ,” James had agreed, to break the tension. (Again. So weird.) “If anything, he should apologize, for making a scene like that.” “Yes. Exactly. You can’t just, y’know, start screaming at people.” Remus had shaken his head, skeptical, but James had nodded. His mom’s big on that. Once you have to raise your voice, you’ve already lost the argument. But the more he thinks about it now, the less he agrees with Sirius. It’s different for him; because of how he grew up, he’s more sensitive about shouting. But James thinks there may be a time and a place, and just right now, at this moment, he thinks this might have been Peter’s time. Just a little. At that time, though he hadn’t said anything. None of them had. In fact, they’d all been quiet until Sirius had looked down at his phone. “Shit.”  “What?” James had demanded. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, nothing, I just-I forgot-I have to do something.” And he’d been out of James’ door, still putting on his shoes, before they had time to get a straight answer out of him. He hadn’t responded to anyone’s messages, but the next day, James had gotten one: sorry for disappearing reg is not doing well and he wants me to spend christmas with the parents…don’t worry i’m fine not being held hostage just don’t use the phone for me ok? i’ll see you next year. Which was not really much of an answer, and James would have told him as much. If he would just respond to his damn phone. Not like anyone else knew either. According to Remus, he’d just cleared out that night, with no explanation. So James is worried, and he has good reason to be. Sirius has never had patience for this trait of James’, always electing for an irritating level of calm that James knew would vanish as soon as he came into contact with his family. They’re idiots. I don’t need them to like me. And later, when James would push him on it: It’s not like you don’t have family members who push your buttons. To which James wanted to respond, Yes, but by teasing me about how tall I am, not giving me the silent treatment for a week or cutting off all my hair. But Sirius would not have been moved by that argument, so he’d dropped it. He kind of wishes he’d tried a little harder. He flips through War and Peace in a futile attempt to not think about how wrong this whole situation feels, but Tolstoy’s droning on and on about philosophy, and he really does not have the patience for it right now. (He’s been asking Lily to summarize the philosophy chapters for him; she reads more than he does, and he knows she likes explaining things to him, so it all works out.) As he closes the book with a dramatic sigh, he thinks of an idea, suddenly, and it’s so simple, he can’t believe he hasn’t done it already. Smiling, he rolls onto his stomach and types “reginald black” into the search bar for his messages.  
PSST

psst

Are you in a war or a peace part now? 
(His mom always says that before you ask someone something difficult, you should ease them into it.)  He’s not expecting to get a response-Regulus is an inconsistent texter at the best of times, so he’s a little surprised when he sees the three dots that means Regulus is typing. 
unclear

pierre has joined the freemasons

where are you at? 
  This will not stand. James responds. 
NO SPOILERS REGULUS

you are the worst book buddy of all time 
 He can practically see Regulus, mouth set in disapproval. 
you asked, you utter lunatic

and we are not “buddies”
 That settles it, James reasons. Regulus might be a lot of things, but he thinks that if Sirius was dead in a ditch he’d know to lead with that, despite being somewhat socially challenged. Smiling, he types out a message that will definitely make him cringe. 
True, you’re more like my brother-in-law :) 
 He imagines Regulus shuddering in horror, throwing his phone across the room. 
TAKE IT BACK

the two of you are disgusting 
 Undeterred, James moves to phase two. So, how’s it going?   Regulus answers. peachy!! :)   
Are you being sarcastic? I literally can’t tell. 
 
yes. but to be fair, if you’re going to ask me a stupid question, you get a sarcastic answer. 
  It’s not a stupid question. I really want to know. Sirius said… He deletes the last part. I got a letter from Sirius.    you know James watches him type, over and over. i’m fine. sirius is fine, too, even though i’m sure he told you he was being tortured or something. so you don’t have to talk to me.    Oh. James is ashamed, suddenly. Was it this obvious, even over text? I mean, I want to talk to you, though.    the letter was my idea. He can see Regulus, puffed up with a little pride. it’s a lost art, because you have to think about what you write more.   James rolls his eyes. Oh yeah, you’re such an old soul. Next you’re going to “show me” The Cure for the first time.   
why does everyone think i only listen to sad music? 
 
DO you listen to happy music? 
 
i’m a MASSIVE jason mraz fan. 
 
Really? 
 
no! you’re very gullible. 
  How are you getting away with this? I thought you weren’t allowed to use your phone. He assumes, anyway. Sirius is frustratingly vague about it, but he always goes radio silent when he’s with his family. Shouldn’t it be the same, for Regulus?  
you have to be smart about it. sirius isn’t smart about stuff like that. i am. 
  sneaky, then. He’s impressed. It takes a lot to get things past Walburga and Orion. What, did you stash a burner phone or something? Peter always used to say Sirius should do that. “It would never work,” Sirius had dismissed. “They expect me to do things like that. This isn’t The Wire. ” James had tried to bring it up again, because it actually hadn’t been a half-bad idea, but Sirius had given him the same look he gave Peter when he was being particularly dense and he’d not mentioned it since. He really does have to make things right with Peter; their foursome has felt rather out of alignment without him.  Regulus takes a while to respond, this time. well, peter seems like a real authority on the subject  James defends him. I thought it was kind of a good idea.    
you would

sirius said peter is a moron 
  Sirius exaggerates. Peter is… How to put it, he wonders? Peter is a good person to have in your corner. It’s true; he’s got a loyalty to him that’s quite admirable, even when James hasn’t always been the most loyal to him in return.  
yes. he seems quite overburdened with emotional intelligence 
 
Are you upset about something? Did I do something?

If so, I didn’t really mean to, honestly

Regulus?

Regulus? 
 The response comes half an hour later. 
I’m fine. We’re fine. Don’t use this number again.

II. Dorcas

Oh, and you in all your vibrant youth

How could anything bad ever happen to you?

-Florence + the Machine 
 As Dorcas stares at the potatoes in front of her, piled high, she seriously starts considering sticking a fork in her eye. Squinting, she starts assembling them into a tower, a precarious thing, barely supported by the spongy weight underneath. “Mom,” eight-year-old Evie, her half-sister, is careful to alert their mother. “Cassie’s playing with her food. You said we weren’t allowed to do that, remember?” Dorcas drops her fork, guiltily. “Shut up, Evie.” “ Dorcas ,” says her mother. “Not in front of Evie!”  Right. Dorcas’ mom read in some parenting book or the other that apparently it’s damaging to children’s self-esteem to tell them to “shut up.” She’s very proud of this, which doesn’t really make any sense to Dorcas, considering she definitely got told to shut up . Not to mention, Evie’s definitely going to get told to shut up at school or something. It’s kind of cute, her efforts to not fuck up another kid. “Sorry. Be quiet, Evie.” “ Mo -om!” Her mother ignores Evie’s wail, and fixes Dorcas with a stern look . “You need to eat something.” “I already did, remember?” This has a fifty/fifty chance of working. She was out dragging Evie to gymnastics practice; it’s not like she normally notices. “ Dorcas .” Hands on her hips, narrowed eyes. This is the closest her mother ever gets to looking angry. “ Mom .” As soon as she dropped her suitcase off in the bedroom she shares with Evie, her mother had dragged her out to stand on the scale she keeps in her bedroom closet like a dirty little secret. Dorcas had closed her eyes, imagining her mother bent over the scale, reading the number with that same pursed-lip, displeased look. You know, going on a run once in a while wouldn’t kill you. And then, when Dorcas opened her mouth to explain exactly what was wrong with that statement, her mother had continued, I just want you to stay healthy. Just because you’re at school doesn’t mean you have to let yourself go. Later, that night, she’d pinched the skin that folded over her top rib, pulling it taut until it was almost translucent, until her nails dug in and left a bruise. She’d thought she’d looked good for once, before she came home. She’d spent the last of her birthday money getting her hair done, painted her nails red and green for Christmas, gone on a juice fast, ran two miles every day for a week . But her mom thinks blond braids and painted nails make you look like a cheap hooker, and she still deplores the way Dorcas’ body refuses to yield to her ministrations, how even though she’s been on every diet known to man and she’s unable to look at a plate of food without calculating the hours it will take to work it off, she’ll never have a thigh gap, and she’ll always have hips that sway when she walks. Her mom wants her to lose weight “the natural way,” by going to the gym, eating vegetables. She wants Dorcas to be “healthy.” This means a size double zero, straight up and down, a spine that protrudes through her shirts, arms like toothpicks. She doesn’t seem to understand that to look unnatural, you have to go to unnatural limits. “I refuse to let you starve yourself.” Dorcas doesn’t blink. “I’m not starving, Mom. Can I have a Diet Coke?” “Me too?” Evie begs. “Shut up, Evie.” To which Evie wails, and her mother growls, and Dorcas is able to escape, unnoticed, into her room. Technically, Dorcas wasn’t supposed to be here for Christmas. She usually spends the holidays with her dad, but this year, he’s on a “business trip” in London, which means he’s going on a trip with Nessa-Lynn, his long-term girlfriend, who her mother still calls his “child bride,” even though Nessa-Lynn is in her early thirties and she got remarried first after the divorce. Secretly, Dorcas knows her mom is terribly jealous of Nessa-Lynn, who went to Howard and has a curated Instagram and manages to pull off a nosering even though she’s way too old to make it look normal, so she makes sure to nod her head when her mom disparages her, even when it teeters into vaguely racist territory. She likes Nessa-Lynn, too, who is the only person who’s ever bothered to show her how to take care of her natural hair. But her dad told her she “wouldn’t want to go” on the trip, which means that it would be too expensive for him to pay for three tickets instead of two, so now she’s stuck with her mom and Richard and their three kids in a tiny apartment. Happy fucking holidays. To make matters worse, Marlene won’t stop texting her, a problem that kind of makes Dorcas feel like the worst girlfriend on Earth. Despite her tough exterior, Dorcas has learned, Marlene is made out of sunshine and pixie dust. She loves her family; she loves her friends. She is not constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the fighting to start, for the birthdays to be forgotten, for the family vacations to be uninvited from. She is texting Dorcas pictures of her and her mom putting a hat on a fucking snowman , for Christ’s sake, which is really adorable, but is also making her heart twist with what is unmistakably, jealousy . It’s different, for her friends. Pandora’s parents are also divorced, so she gets the holiday malaise, and Regulus’ family…she doesn’t know a lot about, to be honest, but they seem just awful . So they would get it. Marlene does not get it . Marlene eats what she wants, and drinks what she wants, and says whatever she wants, because no one has ever told her she can’t . Marlene goes to class without makeup and lounges in Dorcas’ bed instead of getting up for 5 o’clock runs with her soccer team. Marlene’s mom tells her her freckles make her look fresh-faced, and gives her a freckle pen to emphasize them with when they go to parties. Dorcas’ mom spent hours looking up skin-bleaching creams on Amazon when Dorcas mysteriously started getting the hated spots on her nose. To make matters worse, she’s pretty sure Marlene, who could have any girl she wanted because she really is that confident in herself, only wants Dorcas because of how she looks. She sees the way Marlene’s eyes follow her around the room when she wears tight pants, when her shirts ride up and a little bit of her stomach shows. You don’t see , she thinks, the meals I skip, the hours I spend in front of the mirror to be this way. It’s not that she wants Marlene to see the process of becoming Dorcas, either-a magician never reveals her secrets. But she feels a boundary between them, a line they’ll never cross. She always refuses to go out for dinner, when Marlene suggests they go on a regular date. She doesn’t want Marlene to see her slurping pasta, crunching greedily on garlic bread, to smell tortilla chips on her breath instead of Diet Coke and mint gum. To most people, the idea of Dorcas is much better than the reality. Marlene is persistent, though. heyyyy hey dorky 
Dooorcas

DORCAS 
Dorcas finally does respond. yes? 
sorry don’t want to bother you if you’re with your family, but can i get a second opinion on this outfit? too casual for dinner? 
This, Dorcas thinks, she can just about manage. of course! she sends, hoping it conveys an adequate level of enthusiasm. She waits for the whoosh of the image sending, waiting to say what she needs to say. When it comes, she’s not ready for it. The image is Marlene, feet up on a table like she owns it, wearing a very faded denim jacket and loose black jeans. She looks solid and tough and strong and beautiful, so beautiful. Dorcas can see the places where Marlene’s body yields from hard muscle to soft curves. She thinks about watching Marlene yawn in the morning, sitting up, seeing the fine blond down on her arms, the gentle rolls on her stomach, the dip of her hips. One of those things would spell a death sentence to someone who grew up in pageants and modeling. But Marlene made it look so tempting, so easy, so normal, she’d eaten breakfast that morning, for the first time in three years. What can she say to this picture that would mean more than that? You make me believe in beauty without pain. I think you might be a drug. My family would hate you and I don’t think I care.  In the end, she types out. it’s perfect :)  Marlene sends one of those little bouncing heart things. She doesn’t need to keep asking, which Dorcas thinks is so unbelievably hot, like only her validation matters. Who else is like that? oh! very important mary needs back-up for a new years eve party with people from high school so i volunteered us you’ll come right?  Any excuse to get out of the house, Dorcas thinks. Richard will probably be pleased; she’s already heard him bitching at her mom. Wasn’t Chris supposed to take her this year? The walls are too thin, sometimes. They probably won’t even notice she’s gone. sure. 
great! i’ll pick you up at seven and we can get dinner? i know olive garden has an old people special 
Nope, she is not ready for this. oh damn i don’t think i can, my family’s having a dinner thing but you could get me closer to the party? 
but the breadsticks are neverending :( 
i’m sorry, she types, feeling guilty. i’ll make it up to you 
you better. if you don’t kiss me at midnight i’ll combust 
i love you (It really does just slip out, then. Is it too soon, too scary? Marlene is still typing.) 
i wasn’t aware we were doing THAT yet.

oh, god. don’t be weird. you don’t have to say it back.

no i want to. i just was SUPPOSED to be the first one to say it. 
She is impossible, and ridiculous, and Dorcas still loves her. you can say it now. 
maybe i’ll wait now, until i see you irl. so i can be the first one to say it out loud. 
but now i’m preparing to beat you, since you told me your plan, Dorcas types out, grinning. you’ve made a fatal error, mckinnon
not yet! the night is young :) 
She can imagine, she thinks, the self-assurance on Marlene’s face, the knowledge that she will win this round, because Dorcas will let her, because she likes to be chased, still, a little. Marlene, coming out of a car, red-cheeked, tinsel in her hair. I love you. It will be easier, for her to say it out loud first. Dorcas would never be that brave, not on her own. It is easier to type them out, much less chance of getting them wrong. But she has a feeling, as she lies back on the bed, smiling, that she might not have screwed this one up. Not yet, at least.   
III. Peter 
 
Call me a safe bet; I’m betting I’m not

I’m glad that you can forgive

Only hoping as time goes on, you can forget

-Brand New 
“You can’t spend the entire break hiding.” Charlie’s voice is persistent from outside the door, which she’s been knocking on for what feels like forever. “Come on, Pete.” “Nuh-uh.” Peter groans, pulling a pillow over his head. “Go away.” As soon as he’s gotten home, he’s spent most of the time sleeping; not waking up until noon at the earliest, barely making time to eat. His parents are at work, still. It hasn’t really registered that he’s back, for them, but at least they’re not doing this.  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” “No.” “Fine. Then I guess I’ll just have to stay here,” She sighs ; it’s very dramatic. “ All day.” “Please don’t.” In answer, Charlie starts whistling a spirited (but off-key) rendition of “Up on the Housetop.” It is horrible, if nothing else. “Fine, fine! Come in.” Satisfied, she opens the door and tiptoes around the piles of coursework and dirty laundry. “Ugh, are you trying to grow mushrooms in here?” she demands. Peter crosses his arms. “I’m exhausted .” “When was the last time you showered? Oh my God.” She flops at the foot of his bed. “I hope you don’t live like this normally. Your roommates must hate you.” “They do.” Peter says, with more lightness than he feels. “They really do.” It’s all kind of a blur for him, the rest of that night. He’s read that sometimes the mind makes traumatic events like that, a haze that slips out of focus if you try to grab them. He remembers looking up at Sirius, as he came in. I think Regulus came by. I don’t know; it’s probably nothing. Seemed a bit dramatic. Oh, he’s not responding to his phone? Maybe he’s busy. I don’t know. He did seem a little upset, now that I think about it. Wait, where are you going? Remus had come in, a while later, with a little bit of an iciness that Peter gathered was the result of how the whole thing earlier had played out, but he kept his eyes downcast, feigning a kind of “I’m-too-proud-to-apologize-but-I -know-I-was-in-the-wrong” attitude that he knew would make Remus thaw. The next morning, Regulus was still missing, and Sirius never came back to the apartment, just sent James to report (not looking at Peter, but in the same room so he would hear, of course) that the brothers were going to their family’s house for Christmas, and to not expect Sirius back. Meanwhile, Remus and James continued their irritating habit of talking around him, instead of to him. At first, Peter had worried that Sirius had told them about what he had said to Regulus, but then he realized that wasn’t what it was. For the first time, it seemed, his friends were a little scared of his temper, and he was ashamed to say it felt good. But it also felt lonely, and his last few days had passed unnoticed, unheard, un-spoken to. No one saw Hamlet, not even James, even though he’d gotten tickets left in their mailboxes special. “What did you do?” He fixes his sister with a flat look. “Why is nothing I do ever good enough? Why couldn’t they have done something to me; did you ever think of that?” “Okay, drama queen. Did they do something to you?” “No. Yes. I don’t know; it’s more what they didn’t do.” “Helpful.” He glares at her. “You don’t get it. I spend my entire life being a sidekick to those guys. I listen to all their stupid whiny bullshit problems. I let them talk down to me, and treat me like crap, and all of a sudden I take one stand, I say one thing that everybody else is thinking, and I’m the bad guy. How is that fair?” Charlie’s thoughtful. “I had a friend once.” “Oh, congratulations on the one friend.” She gives him the finger. “I thought we were the best friends in the whole world. We used to study together for this math class we were in, and she was always a lot better at it than me, truthfully. But she let me copy her homework, so…Anyway, then, we had the SATs. So we studied for that together, too-“ “And let me guess, you won some award for how good you were at the SATs.” “Yeah. I did a lot better than her on the SATs. Even in math. Some people aren’t great at standardized tests. It’s not like I thought I was smarter than her, or was rubbing it in her face, but all of a sudden, she stopped talking to me. And I realized…it was because she had to confront the fact that our relationship had changed. That she couldn’t just see me as this person who needed her help anymore. That maybe I might be able to help her too. Some people can be your friends up to a point, but when you start to succeed, they can’t handle it. Maybe your friends aren’t ready to see you come into your own.” “I can’t just ditch them. They’re my friends.” “ Freshman friends. Freshman friends don’t last forever.” “But…” “ Think about it, okay? Freshman friends are the friends you have because of circumstance.” “So? It was a good circumstance.” It had been, anyway. Him and Remus in one room, James and Sirius across the hall. Simple. He misses how easy it had been, the complete surety they had in each other, knowing that no matter what, someone cared what happened to him; everyone desperately trying to be older and more mature than they were, while clinging to each other like a family. “But if the circumstances were different, if you met now, would you like each other? How many people do you know that are still friends with the same people they were freshman year?” “Well…” He can’t think of anyone, actually. Charlie’s friends were completely different, he knows, her senior year. Those are the ones she still talks to; he hears her giggling with them on video calls in her room. “It’s just…Think about it, okay?” “Whatever.” “And don’t be depressed about it all break. No matter what it is, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do.” “Right.”  It had been the truth , what he’d said to Regulus. It is the truth; it shouldn’t make him feel so guilty. He had basically said the same thing to Gideon, when he’d caught up with Peter after class. (He had known this might happen. James had warned them all that “Gideon was hunting” which meant he was very heartbroken and was seeking out all of their friends for intel, which had made Sirius roll his eyes in a long-suffering why-me kind of way. For all his affectations of nonchalance, Peter thinks Sirius secretly likes being a heartbreaker. Gideon just “getting over it” probably would have sent him into a tailspin.) “Peter, right?” Gideon is very tall, and good-looking in an unusual way. Leading-man potential, the kind of guy who makes Peter feel kind of fat and short and dumpy. At least he knew his name. “Mmhm.” Peter had given him a weak nod. “I haven’t seen you in such a long time. How are you?” Peter suppressed a snort. Previously, they had not had any interactions where Gideon was not “Sirius’ boyfriend.” Also, he was pretty sure this guy has never given a shit about what he’s doing. “Good.” “How’s Sirius?” Gideon had asked, too casually, hand in a hip pocket, like he was just curious. “Oh, good, I think.” Not that I give a shit. “Doing…uh, classes and all. You have a lot of exams this semester?” Gideon ignored the question (Peter’s brave attempt to change the subject) and narrowed his eyes. “No, I meant, about the breakup .” “Ah.” Peter had cringed. Who does this, he’d thought. When his only serious girlfriend in high school, Dahlia Pointer-Wexler, broke up with him, he’d been quite sad about it, but it had been more the writing-sad-poetry, crying-in-the-shower kind of sad, not the “hunt-down-all-her-friends-for-updates-on-her-movements” kind of sad. “To be honest, we don’t really talk about stuff like that.” “Really?” Gideon’s eyes, deep blue, were getting a little wet in a way that worried Peter. “I thought…Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I’m just-“ it came out as a whisper. “ really sad .” “Look, uh, Gideon? You seem like a nice guy, but uh, to be honest? He’s not…worth all this waiting. Look, um, Sirius is kind of emotionally unavailable. If he was going to try with you, he would have done it already. And I don’t think he’s going to. Hell, he doesn’t even like me very much, and I live with him.” “He doesn’t like you? But he told me you were one of his closest friends.” Peter had laughed. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. Just uh…this isn’t going to help. Trust me.” “I just wanted to know.” “And now you do.” Peter turned to go, but then Gideon stopped him, with a hand. “Thank you.” “For what?” He looked down at his hand on Peter’s arm. “For telling me the truth.” Peter’d thought it had been weird, at the time, because he’s not that guy, the uncomfortable-truth teller. He’s actually much better at spinning a bad thing, making it good. There’s some things, he thinks, it’s kinder to not be honest about, a point of philosophy on which he’s always differed from his friends. But maybe he doesn’t have to always be the nice guy. Maybe he can be honest, and insightful, say the things that nobody’s ready to hear. Maybe he can make his mark that way. Maybe he has already started. Because fuck it, it had honestly felt good, to tell Regulus, a person who he can just tell hasn’t heard “no,” a lot, “no.” It had been rewarding, to watch his friends do the double take, to realize that Peter was capable of an anger that was not completely shallow, an anger that had teeth and claws. The kind of person who could teach someone a hard lesson, one they wouldn’t quite forget. “Charlie?” “Yeah?” “Would you ever be friends with that girl again?” She smiles. “I don’t know, Peter. That’s the thing. I don’t want to have to keep teaching someone that I’m a real person because they’re too far up their own ass to notice. Sometimes you just have to…let go.”  
IV. Regulus 
 
It’s a secret I keep tucked inside my chest

With this heart of mine that’s guilty, not remorseful

There is love that doesn’t have a place to rest

But it would have buried you if it had settled on your shoulders

-The Crane Wives 
 Regulus sighs, very quietly, just in case anyone can hear him. He’s on the part where Prince Andrei’s gotten captured by Napoleon, and it’s just so… Tolstoy being Tolstoy that he’s dying to dissect it with someone. He almost messages James back, but then he remembers he’d have to explain himself, and also James doesn’t want “spoilers,” the height of a juvenile appreciation for literature, he thinks. He himself reads the Wikipedia summary constantly just to make sure he hasn’t missed some nuance of characterization. “There’ll be a quiz,” Barty had said when he’d brought it up, off the cuff, and with Barty you never know. Besides, Regulus isn’t going to be made to look stupid, not by some classics major at a second-rate public school. (Even if he kisses like he’s trying to steal all of Regulus’ oxygen.) He runs his fingers over the indentations in the plaster behind them, barely perceptible claw marks. They’ve never had a dog; his mother’s deathly afraid of them, but he remembers a ten-year-old Sirius, staring him down, scraping fingernails over the green paint with an eat-shit aura. He’d been punished for that, couldn’t go to school for a week. But Sirius has been, well, subdued , since they’ve arrived, barely speaking, not rising to the bait, no matter what backhanded comments their mother makes. It’s been very unlike him, although he’s observed his brother sneaking third, fourth, fifth drinks from the liquor cabinet, which may account for at least a degree of his docility. “What?” he’d snapped, when Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want me to be nice? ” “I didn’t say anything,” Regulus had said wisely, and made his exit before they could have a real fight. He pinches the inside of his arm when he thinks about how he had begged that night, on his knees. That had scared Sirius, for all his anger. Okay, okay, you can get up now. Whatever you want. You know that.  It had started, like all of the things started, with a phone call from his mother, early that morning, while he was still reading for class. “Regulus.” She had not sounded pleased. “Yes, Mummy?” “I know what you did.” It had been the kind of cruel, almost-friendly tone he knows signifies trouble. Like the cat, in Watership Down , playing with the rabbits before he goes in for the kill.  Calm down , he had told himself. Play dumb, be contrite. It usually works; she likes it when he’s appropriately deferential. “Know what, Mummy? What did I do?” “Oh, come on. This little act isn’t going to work on me. I want you to tell me what you did.” This was the worst punishment. He always gets it wrong. “I don’t know.” “I’ve seen the pictures. You…and him . At his little shithole. With that horrible boy.” Regulus’ blood had gone cold . There was no way she could know about Barty, no possible way. But if she does…he needs to start talking.“I can explain-” “There’s no explanation. We expect better things from you, Regulus. Not wasting time with your brother and wearing makeup . Imagine if your father had to explain it to someone. What on Earth could he say?” Of course, Regulus had thought. Halloween. In a weird way, he had been kind of relieved , that it was something so trivial. He could almost laugh; this was so stupid , surely it would blow over. He’s still not exactly sure how she figured out where he was, but it doesn’t really matter; she’s persistent when she wants to be. Even now, he remembers how she had once hired a private investigator, after Sirius left, to make sure he wasn’t “embarrassing the family” online. And what he had said after…He really hadn’t meant it to sound dismissive, but he didn’t know what else to say, how to explain it. Not that she had believed it.“That was one time. He invited me. It would be rude to refuse.” Silence on the phone. He had known then, that he had made a terrible mistake.“Of course, nothing is ever your fault.” she had sneered. “I’m sure he practically forced you.” “No, nothing like that, Mummy. Nobody forced me.” “Now it comes out.” He could hear her breathing, heavily, with barely suppressed glee. She was enjoying this, taking comfort in his failure, his mistakes. There has always been a reason he used to wait, before coming into her bedroom, to comfort her after his father had raged, not wanting to bear the brunt of the wrath she had meant for him, instead.“Since you have so much time to waste, since you don’t value your education…” She had let it hang, and he had taken in a breath. “I’ve called the housing office. They’ll have you out tomorrow. You can move in with… him . Since he’s so responsible and cares so much about your future.” Panic had seized him then. “You can’t-you don’t understand-” “No, I think it’s time you learned something about the world. I won’t always be here to take care of you. It’s my fault that you’re so…susceptible. I’ve been too soft.” The final words were softly slurred. “No, Mummy, you haven’t. You’ve been perfect.” he had pleaded. Wasn’t that what she always wanted to hear? “Look, can we think about it, for a bit? I know I’ve been disrespectful, but-Maybe tomorrow, after you get some sleep?” “ Sleep? Do you think I’m drunk?” “No, no-” “You are my biggest disappointment.” Those words came out clear. He bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood. “They’ll be there to tell you to leave soon. I’d hurry if I were you.”  Fuck you. he had thought. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou. He’d plastered a smile on his face, opened his mouth to curse, to plead, to say anything, but she had already hung up. The busy signal came when he called her back, but fuck it, he’d thought. He wasn’t going to wait to be evicted by campus security, and to have Evan find out about this would be humiliating. Cursing softly, he’d packed in ten minutes, dropped his key at the front desk, and started the walk to Sirius’. When that had fallen apart, of course, then he was outside, teeth chattering in his winter coat, curled up on a park bench, dialing Sirius’ number with shaking fingers. “Help me.” he’d pleaded. And Sirius hadn’t said anything except. “Where are you?” He’d told him the name of the park. “On a bench.” “Ten minutes.” Sirius had said, and he was true to his word, for once, pulling up in the horrible maroon car he immediately recognized as James’. “What is it?” “Mummy got me kicked out of the dorms.” “ What ?” Sirius’ expression of surprise would have been priceless , he had reflected, if he’d been in a laughing mood, eyes like saucers and an O-shaped mouth like a cartoon. “Yeah…” He’d launched into an explanation, and Sirius had nodded along, barely listening, typing something on his phone at the same time. “Do you mind? I’m trying to explain-” “Found it! Ha !” Sirius looked up triumphantly. “I knew it was bullshit.” “I’m not lying.” He had been annoyed, and perplexed, sitting, arms crossed, on top of his suitcase. This was them all over, Sirius telling him to stop being dramatic; just relax, it’s not as big a deal as you’re making it. You’re so good. That would be said derisively, so Regulus can feel just how low being good ranks in his brother’s esteem. “But she is.” Sirius said. “God, what an idiot .” “What are you saying?” “I looked it up. There’s no school policy that would allow her to pull your housing deposit this late in the semester. No, think about it-” he’d waved Regulus’ protestations away, when he opened his mouth to argue. “That wouldn’t make any sense, either. It’s just insane. She’s lying to you, like always. Come on, you must be freezing . Dumbass, my God.” He started walking back towards the maroon deathtrap, shaking his head in irritation. “Sirius, that’s not funny.” “What, do you think I’m joking? Stop being stupid. Come on.” “But-she said -” Sirius blinked, wearily. They’ve had this argument before.“She says a hundred thousand crazy things a day. When are you going to learn she’s not the be-all-end-all of everything?” “But why would she lie-” “Because that’s who she is. She’s probably feeling insecure because her sister’s rubbing it in her face how close she is with her son, so she wants to prove that she’s still got a hold on you. It’s textbook her. Come on .” Regulus let his head rest between his knees, and because he was still feeling kind of hysterical, felt himself starting to laugh. “You came…all this way…for bullshit…”“Yeah. You better make it up to me.” He can’t breathe. This is so fucked. “ Fucking…bullshit…”  “Regulus? You’re kind of scaring me.” But Regulus, who was doubled over with laughter, found himself unable to move. “Fuck.” Sirius said, as the laughter started to become sobbing. “It’s all bullshit,” Regulus babbled. “Just bullshit .” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, devoid of dignity. Sometimes, his life is a complete and utter shit show. “No, I agree.” Sirius had said, softer. “She loves her bullshit.” “How are you so calm about this?” “Regulus, if I spent all my time trying to figure out why Ma does every insane thing she does, I don’t think I’d get anything done. It’s crazy. It’s not real. Let’s go back.” And they did. Sirius is an erratic driver; he white-knuckled the handrails as they narrowly missed a stop sign. James must love him a lot to trust him this far. Regulus certainly doesn’t. “Why didn’t you just come to the apartment? If you thought it was real? I wouldn’t have made you live on the street. You’re so dramatic , sometimes.”And there it was. “I did. Your roommate said I couldn’t stay,” He had been glad for the explanation, glad to be able to blame someone else, until Sirius braked the car so fast his neck jerked back and hit the seat. “Ow…” “ Remus kicked you out?” “No, the other one.” “Right.” Sirius got a very strange expression on his face. “He said I didn’t have a way to pay rent.” “Okay…” “He said you don’t give a shit about me.” Sirius laughed, hollow, angry. “Oh, I’m going to kill him.” “Don’t.” It is very strange to say, but he doesn’t blame Peter, not exactly. He recognizes the defensiveness in him, shoulders tensed to bear a blow, the looking to lash out, to stop feeling small, to start feeling big. “Well, what did you say? When he said that.” Sirius had looked at him, quickly, assessing, searching for the right reaction , he’d recognized. “Sirius-” He had laughed then; it was so ridiculous. “You can’t really be upset that I didn’t defend your honor ?” “I don’t know. It might have been nice.” Sirius’ tone was cool, a little too level. “I thought I was being evicted ! Jesus, you are so much like her sometimes. God forbid someone doesn’t sing your praises for five fucking minutes.” “That’s not-I would have done it for you. You know, because I care about you. ” Regulus had been quiet. “Jesus Christ.” “Well, what am I supposed to think?” “Apparently,” Sirius had said, wry, taking a turn too wide. “that I’m a fuck-up.” Regulus had winced. He had forgotten, about that, right until now. “Sorry. I didn’t-” “You meant it. It’s okay.” Sirius had sighed. “I mean, I’m the fuck-up now.” He’d examined his brother, like a scientist, the faded stick-and-poke tattoo of a comet standing out in blue against his wrist. He’d done it in their upstairs guest bathroom, at twelve, made Regulus keep a lookout. Why can’t you just be normal? Regulus had demanded, foot wedged in the door to keep it from locking. (It had a habit of doing that, and then it couldn’t be opened from the outside.) And Sirius had scoffed and said, You’re not very normal , all patronizing, so Regulus had taken his foot out and locked him in. “You must be loving this.” “Actually I’m not. Because I’m not her .” “So you think I’m sad and pathetic, then.” “Didn’t say that either.” “I feel like an idiot.” Regulus had leaned his head against the car window. “She’s going to spend the whole break making fun of me. Oh, you couldn’t be that stupid. You didn’t think I was serious, did you? “ “Well, there is only one of me.” Sirius rolled up into the parking lot, outside the dorm. “Not the time.” He had rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “It’s going to be horrible.” “She’s always horrible.” Sirius shrugged, watching Regulus struggle with the suitcase, pushing it out of the back seat. “Nothing you can do about that.” “You could always come home with me.” It had just slipped out, the thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t ask. “Please.” Sirius had frozen. He had known it was a low blow; knows that they were both remembering years of asking. When he had been younger, when they were both in high school, he used to ask every year, harboring a delusion that this time would be different. He still does, a little bit. Sirius had been dismissive at first, then cruelly amused, then angry. I don’t want to be seen with you, he remembers his brother hissing, the last time he asked. This time, Sirius had just shaken his head. “You’re not exactly selling it. Aren’t you supposed to be telling me how great it is, how much I’m missing out on?” “You’re not missing out. It’s not great. But…I…am. Missing out.” “So first you complain I don’t care enough about you, now you can’t go a few weeks without me?” Sirius laughed. It had not exactly been a happy laugh. “I don’t want to be a human shield because you’re scared of Ma. I’m not doing that for you, anymore. James says that’s how they manipulate me.” “Right. James said. Forgot he was the expert.” Regulus bit his tongue, and looked away, balling his hands into fists. Do not cry. You lose if you cry.  “Look. It’s not that I don’t…I love you, okay? You just…you know I can’t do that.” Sirius was looking at him, imploring with his eyes, beseeching. Don’t make me the bad guy. Don’t hate me. Well, Regulus could play that game, too, and he’s had a lot more practice. And Sirius was folding, a little. He could see it around the edges, the way he’s not quite looking him in the eye. Regulus decided to play his final card.“What do I need to do? Do you want me to beg?” Sirius had flinched.“No.” “Please.” He’d dropped to the ground, the gravel digging into his kneecaps. He’s good at this, too. One time his mother made him kneel on the driveway for the afternoon, as a punishment for some imagined transgression he can’t remember. Another time, he got a rash on his knees from the dirty carpet, as he lay on the floor, trembling, waiting for an end. This was not like these times, but it was violent, all the same, a breaking of his will, a molding into servility that does not come easy to him, still, no matter how many times they try to beat it into him. “I can’t do it by myself. Please. Just this once.” And Sirius, who has always been the softest heart of all of them, deep down, finally gave in. “Okay, okay, you can get up now. Whatever you want. You know that.” And that had been that, no questions. But the words had stung. I don’t want to be a human shield because you’re scared of Ma. And then, James said that’s how they manipulate me. Why did it burn, to be thought of by James as a manipulator? What else would James call him? Definitely not “loyal,” like Peter. And the worst part is, he knows they are right, all of them, about him. His wish for Sirius to be back home is anything but altruistic. He enjoys the shifting of their eyes toward someone else for a change, another back on which to shoulder the brunt of their anger. He is tired of taking and taking and taking it, but that doesn’t make him a bad person, really. Does it? Isn’t it Sirius , after all, who ran off without a goodbye, who never looked back? Shouldn’t he have to be the one who picks up the pieces, for once? But Sirius is morose, and difficult, and keeps boring into him with angry eyes. It’s your fault I’m here. And he doesn’t do any of the things he used to do, the needling, the rising to every unkind thing Walburga says. They used to fight ; he remembers scratches down the side of Sirius’ face, his mother wailing on the floor, cradling a broken finger. He would prefer that, to the iciness that permeates the house, a limbo where they approximate being a normal family, but can’t quite make it work. “He needs to go,” he overhears his father saying in the study. “We’ve done this long enough.” “He is our son.” His mother’s voice is low, almost a whisper. “He is not welcome here. Not after…” His voice trails off, and Regulus can’t make the rest of it out. So, Orion wants Sirius gone. He should have expected this. What contempt Sirius has for their mother is nothing compared to how he feels about their father. And it will be awful, and Sirius will blame him for it, and their mother will cry, in that weird, attention-seeking way she has, and James… Oh. James.  Smiling, he takes out the hollowed-out book he stores his phone in, where they won’t find it, and reaches back in his closet for the gift, the one he never gave Sirius, still wrapped. He types out a short message, fingers flying over the keyboard. 
Leaving something on the steps outside our house. For S. Page 235. You’ll know. 
 
V. Lily 
 
And you maim when you’re on offense

But you kill when you’re on defense

-Fiona Apple 
Lily takes a second helping of mashed potatoes, ignoring Petunia’s death-glare over the table. The worst part is, she’s not even really sure what she’s supposed to have done this time. Well, she has an idea-something about getting regular instead of nonfat sour cream for the French onion dip. Or perhaps, forgetting the name of her current boyfriend (Vernon), who she had very confidently greeted as “Vincent.” Or being asked ten thousand questions about her classes and what she’s doing at school and being congratulated on her semester award from the bio department for the most well-rounded student by all of the assorted Evans family members while Petunia got polite smiles and nods and “You’re so pretty.” That must be it, which is so unfair because it isn’t even her fault. She’d even asked her mom not to put up the “CONGRATULATIONS LILY” banners. “I don’t understand,” her mom had said. “We’re proud of you. Don’t you want us to celebrate?” “Yes, but…I think it makes Petunia mad.”“Honestly. At some point she needs to grow out of that and start being happy for you. You don’t have to make yourself small just so she can feel big.” “That’s not-” Lily had started to say. “We’re putting up the banners. They were ten forty-nine at the store. You’re the best overall student.” Her mother had stood firm, and that had won the argument, but of course had done nothing to ameliorate the way Petunia’s glaring daggers at her over the turkey. Her dad’s talking at the end of the table, to his brother. “And then Lily said, ‘Dad, those are trilobites , not mollusks! The museum got it wrong!’ and she marched over there and waited until someone came to talk to her. They changed the panel the next day.” “Dad, stop.” she says, a little embarrassed. “I was seven. We can talk about something else.” Her uncle has been nodding off the entire time, and just manages to rearrange his face into an interested expression at the end. They always brag about her, to their relatives. Normally, she even likes it, but this time it feels…inappropriate.“It’s a funny story, sweetie. Don’t be so sensitive.” he dismisses. “So, Lily.” Petunia cuts in over the noise one of their younger cousins is making trying to cut into his meat. “How’s your boyfriend ?” “Good.” Lily says, unsure where this one is going. “Is he coming this year?” one of the cousins pipes up with a nervous giggle. Damn it. She hasn’t told any of them about breaking up with James, mostly because she didn’t want it to be a thing. Everyone loves James, to a slightly nauseating degree. Like, all of the girl cousins have a collective crush on him, which he is very unaware of in that way only guys can be (“They’re just being friendly, Lily, come on …”), and her dad keeps drawing him into long conversations about the Premier League, and her mom actually lets him hug her, which is kind of huge considering how much she hates hugs. “Maybe.” Lily tries to keep it as noncommittal as possible. She hasn’t asked James, but she knows he’ll come if she does get up the courage to ask. She’s not sure if she wants him to come, exactly. His intensity, combined with dealing with her family, can be a lot, as mean as it feels to say. “He’s so weird. Do you remember last year, New Years, when he got so drunk and turned all red? God.” She laughs. It’s not a nice laugh. “He’s Korean , Vernon. Lily has a thing for Asian guys.”Lily blushed. “No, I don’t. How many times? He’s half Chinese .” Back when Petunia had been her best friend and Lily had still been really into K-pop, she’d had posters of the androgynous, hairless boys all over her room. Petunia had teased her about it, of course, but it hadn’t been mean. Or racist. “Same thing.” Vernon says, indifferently. Lily reflects that his hairline is already receding, with more than mild dislike. “You can’t really tell different kinds of Asian people alike.” “Oh yeah.” Lily can feel her face growing hot, but she tries to keep her voice level. “Because Chinese people look just like Indian people.” “Indian people aren’t Asian, though.” Petunia says, stabbing a pea with her fork. “I’ll let you guess which continent India is on. Or do they not cover geography at party schools?” Fuck. She really hadn’t meant for that to come out. But it is, and Petunia is seething . “I was kidding?” she tries. (Both she and Petunia know she was not kidding.)“ Bitch .” Vernon hisses, loud enough for the rest of the table to hear, and Petunia giggles, nervously. Everyone stops to stare at them. Lily looks down at her plate, waiting for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. Lily’s dad stands up. “ What did you just say?” Vernon assumes a mask of civility. “Nothing, sir.” “Dad, stop it .” Petunia snaps. “No, I just want him to say it again.” His face is a little red, his eyes a little dilated. He’s had a little bit too much to drink, she knows, and she sees her mother putting a hand on his arm, to steady him. “You’re embarrassing me.” “What’s embarrassing is bringing home someone who’s disrespectful to your sister. You-I don’t know who you are-” This is directed at Vernon, obviously, who is turning blotchy red up to what’s left of his hairline. “Get out of my house.” “Well…” Vernon tries to speak, but evidently thinks better of it. “Come on. We’re leaving.” He pulls a somewhat frightened-looking Petunia up from her chair.“Dad! Please.” Lily begs. “It’s fine. I don’t care. You can stay; I really don’t-” “I don’t need you to help.” Petunia rounds on her, snatching up a new, ugly, impractical tote from behind her, as she runs to the door. “I’m not trying to-” is as far as Lily gets out, before Petunia and Vernon slam the door, leaving a stunned Evans clan behind them.“I’ll go after her,” Lily’s mom gives her dad a “we’ll talk about this later” look and runs to the door. They can hear her calling outside, “Tuney, darling! Please,” but she’s evidently unsuccessful, as they hear the screech of Vernon’s new SUV as it pulls out of the driveway not long after.“Well,” Lily’s dad shrugs, awkwardly. “Eggnog?” Everyone, relieved at the break of the tension, laughs. Lily’s phone buzzes, and she looks down. Petunia. you are a narcissist and i hope you get professional help mom and dad might fall for your shit but i know who you really are thanks for ruining christmas you asshole She could punctuate it, Lily thinks, trying to force a smile, as her mom, coming back in, gives her hand a conciliatory squeeze. Only after dessert, when the adults are getting properly drunk and the kids are occupied with games and iPads,  can Lily slip away, unnoticed, underneath the CONGRATULATIONS banners. There’s frost on the ground, and her hands are cold as she calls James. He picks up, right away. He’s good like that. “What’s up?”“What are you doing?” She can’t quite bring herself to explain the whole shit show to him, not right now, although she will later. Right now, she just wants to not be here. “Sirius is going to introduce me to the better half of his family. Do you want to come?” Anything, she thinks, to get out of this house. “Yes, please.”  
VI. Sirius 
 
I walk in the breeze

Like I am seventeen

Love is mostly war

And love, what is it for?

-Tomberlin 
Sirius hadn’t thought he would be running away again. Or, he did, but he was hoping to do it later, he thinks, as he locks the doors behind him, soundlessly, New Years’ Eve morning. Old habits die hard. It has been boring, which Sirius doesn’t do well with, but he will admit it is better than the alternative. He has been good, like James told him to be. He speaks very little, and in fact has spent most of the time drinking and avoiding his mother and his father. To be fair, his father seems like he’s begun the avoidance first, which Sirius is altogether quite satisfied with. His mother is the bigger problem. She and Regulus insist that they eat meals together, “like a family,” which usually consists of her trying to say as many things to get under his skin as possible, things about gratitude and family and the importance of dignity. And of course, all the petting and caressing of Regulus, her “darling boy,” which he bears stiffly, but doesn’t push her away. You see, her eyes seem to say, red nails buried in his upper arm. He can forgive me for anything. Why can’t you? What is so wrong with you, that you have to hold a grudge against the person responsible for giving you life? But taking shots off the caps of the liquor bottles helps. Regulus himself helps, though he’s loath to admit it, the way he’ll be in the same room, watching Sirius write long lists of things he’ll tell James about. He himself has some kind of secret lover, Sirius is pretty sure. He spends a lot of time “reading,” but Sirius opened the book once when he wasn’t looking and found out it was one of those false-bottomed ones you get at furniture showrooms and that he’d put his cell phone inside of it. He’d totally read the messages; he’s not above that, but he’s not sure of the password. The name on the messages is “Barty Bad..” Which gives him absolutely no hints, because he doesn’t think he’s ever met a Barty. Good for Regulus, he supposes. In this hellhole, you take what you can get.  So he waits, and he suffers through more dinners that seem to always have a first course that is a cold soup, and he thinks about all the things he’d like to do to Peter, which soothes him more than he can say without sounding deranged. It’s all very fine. No one yells at him or tries to make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, but Regulus is always begging with his eyes. “That was nice, right?” he always says, after every single dinner where Orion says something low-key racist and Walburga says something low-key classist and Sirius does not start poking their eyes out with a fork. “You see? Not that bad.” “Mmhm.” Sirius will respond. “It really is better than it was. I wasn’t lying.”  Yes, because we’re too big now so we might hit them back. “Definitely.” He swirls a cocktail olive in his (mostly gin) martini. It’s become increasingly obvious, after Walburga considers showering Regulus with her particular brand of embarrassing physical affection, that Regulus was never really that worried about incurring her wrath after the dorm room incident, which nobody brings up, as if it never happened at all, which drives him crazy. It’s a ploy of Regulus’, he realizes, a plan, the knowledge that if he appears weak, Sirius will do whatever he wants. Because he doesn’t want to be thought of the way Peter would have him described. Because Regulus wants him back , but he also wants him to hurt. It is his fault. He has made certain they were never allies against their parents. It is only natural for him to want to use him as a distraction, and there is a small part of him that wants his mother to stroke his hair, to cling to him in that fierce way. Nobody but us.  But not this morning. James saves him, this morning, as he always saves him. “Where are we going?” he asks, wrestling the crusty passengers’ side seatbelt into place. James is grinning, giving nothing away, eyes fixed on the rising sun. “You’ll see.”  
VII. Remus 
 
I don’t believe in an interventionist god

But I know, darling, that you do

But if I did, I would kneel down and ask him

Not to intervene when it came to you

Oh, not to touch a hair on your head

Leave you as you are

If he felt he had to direct you

Then direct you into my arms

-Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds 
Despite what Sirius thinks, Remus actually doesn’t mind babysitting drunk people. He likes the way that they kind of lean into each other, let their words overlap, be too honest and too weird and too intense. They feel , he thinks, the way I do all the time. Which is more or less how he’s ended up on Mary’s friend’s from high school’s basement floor, watching Marlene and Dorcas do the “I-love-you-I-love-you-more” thing, in between guzzling a bottle of really awful sparkling wine. His parents are really surprised that he would want to go to a party, and also proud , in the same way they would have been in school if he ever got told off by a teacher. They have always been mystified by the way he is insufficiently rebellious, even though he feels like he is often rebellious, even if mostly by accident. “Experiencing adult fun.” his mother tells him. Both his mother and his father seem heartened that he’s going with a group of girls. He doesn’t really know how they would react if he finally brought a boyfriend home. Mary waves him over. “Can you sit really close to me?” “Why?” “Because that guy over there-” she points, discreetly, “really wants to fuck me.” Mary’s gotten a little bit more paranoid about men since what James dubs “her scare.” (Remus has told him not to say that, because it sounds like she may have cancer, but he didn’t listen.) Not that the guy isn’t creepy, because how would he know, but he’s seen her get kind of jumpy every time a guy says hi to her. He doesn’t think this is exactly fair, but Mary is pretty, for a girl, so maybe this is the kind of thing she does have to worry about. He awkwardly balances an arm on her shoulders. “Not like that.” she says. “It feels like you’re going to put me in a headlock. Here.” She moves him in until their bodies are a little closer together. It still feels unnatural to him, but she leans back and says, “Better. Now he thinks I have a super-tall, scary boyfriend.” “I’m not scary ,” he protests, but she just laughs, and takes another sip of her drink. “I’m kind of over this.” she says. “Maybe you were always the smart one. I used to just think you were really uptight, but it’s kind of boring, isn’t it?” “No.” he says honestly. “Always good people-watching. Why’d you think I was uptight?” “You’re hard to read. I thought you were just really judgmental. And you corrected me about Gauguin painting the Tahitian women instead of Seurat.” “You were wrong . I guess I haven’t always liked you, either.” “Wow, I see how it is.” She laughs. “So? Why didn’t you like me?”  Nights in the common room, freshman year, Mary’s fishnet-patterned legs around Sirius’ waist. They are rubbing their noses together, and he’s playing with the strap on her shoulder. He says something, and she throws her head back and laughs. So maybe he noticed the…something, earlier than he thought. “You were too friendly.” “Oh, if that’s all it was…what a crime.” “Not like that . It’s like you pitied me.” “Remus,” she says, bemused. “What on earth would I have to pity you about?” “I like you now .” he makes sure to explain. “Well, okay. I like you too.” They pass a couple minutes in a companiable silence, when he feels his phone vibrate. James. HAPPI F*KING NEWHYEAR I LUV U  “He’s going to call me any minute,” he jokes. It’s not a really joke. Drunk James cannot be trusted around a phone, for Drunk James will call whoever pops into his mind. “Ooh, let’s go outside,” she says, sounding delighted, and he obliges, following her up the stairs, around a few chattering couples, and out the back door, under the stars. They wait for a signal, until a very blurry FaceTime call comes into view. “Right on time.” Mary giggles. “ Remus ,” James’ blissful, bright pink face is practically pressed up against the screen. “We love you. We miss you. Please come home.” “He is halfway across the country,” Lily’s voice comes from somewhere to his right. Mary perks up. “And you don’t live here.” “We’reatmycousin’s.” Sirius slurs, unkempt head coming on the screen. “She has the cutest baby…She is also a she , y’know?” “Sure,” Remus agrees, trying not to laugh. “I would hope she was a she. Pronouns are important.” “ So important!” “Sirius found out his cousin transitioned.” James translates. “He is an ally to the trans community now.” “The biggest. Respect her pronouns or else.” Sirius wiggles a finger in a way that is more amusing than threatening. “No one is disrespecting her pronouns.” Lily puts in, ever the voice of reason. “Given that we all only met her half an hour ago.” “I’m just so angry that someone might have disrespected them at some point. Oh my god, do you think I have other queer family members? So we have me, Andromeda, Regulus-” “Regulus isn’t gay,” James and Mary say at the same time. “Definitely is.” Sirius and Lily chorus. “I mean, he’s spent the entire break texting some guy named Barty Bad.” “It could be a girl,” James protests. Sirius glares at him. “What girl is named Barty Bad ?” “I have you in my contacts as Princess Buttercup Most Fair.” “No, you don’t-” There is a scuffle, and Sirius emerges, panting. “I’ve won. Go find your own phone.” “I didn’t know the three of you were spending the break together,” Mary says, an odd note in her voice. It’s different for her, Remus realizes. It hasn’t even registered for him, that he was left out. It’s more or less how he expects these things to go. He is not the kind of person who is included. “ We weren’t; it just kind of happened. Sirius, give it back!” James wrests the phone from him, only to have it snatched by Lily, who looks just distraught. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mary, are you feeling left out?” “No,” Mary says faux- haughtily. “Remus and I are having the best time, aren’t we?” He nods, convincingly. “ So fun.” “God, Mary, I’m so sorry. It just slipped my mind. Let’s call Mary, okay, James?” “Whatever you want,” James careens into her, almost dropping the phone. “Oh, that’s great , leave me alone out here, then.” Sirius’ voice comes indignantly from somewhere off to the side. “Talk to Remus.” James thrusts the phone into his hands, and the screen momentarily goes black, before the pixels can form Sirius’ face. Remus tries hard not to smile. Whatever Lily wants from James, she gets. “Thank you,” Mary squeezes his shoulder and starts walking, back around to a secluded corner of the yard. “Don’t you want to-?” he whispers. It’s just so weird. Shouldn’t they all be on the call together? “Girl thing, babe. You go talk to Fuckface.” Mary waves a hand, Sirius makes a faux-angry choking noise and Remus, who at his core is not an active person, leaves her to her second call, with the same group of people. Go figure. He will never understand social interactions as long as he lives. “So.” he says to Sirius, who is looking a bit like he’s expecting something. “Does it feel like, to you, that we were just…uh, the friend equivalent of being made to sit at the kids table?” “I don’t know.” Sirius says with complete honesty. “I genuinely was not listening.” “Oh, that is what this is. She’s making you babysit me. So she could have a private conversation.” He is not angry, just proud of himself for figuring it out. “Oh.” Sirius blinks. “Can’t be hard. I imagine you were easy to babysit.” “What, you weren’t?” “Nah, once a hellion, always a hellion. So…do you believe in God?” “What kind of question is that?” Remus squints, confused.“I don’t know. If we’re babysitting, might as well make it interesting. And…I suppose I’m feeling philosophical. James found my cousin, who I thought I was never going to see again. And she’s got a really good life. I kind of thought…this is kind of awful, but I thought she would be dead by now. That’s the kind of thing that makes you believe in miracles, or fate, or God, right?” “I don’t know.” “What, you can’t tell me ‘cause you think I’m going to hell?” “Jewish people don’t really believe in hell, Sirius.” He did not expect to be having this conversation today, but the universe works in mysterious ways. “ No .” “Guilt is its own kind of special hell.” “ There it is.” “But I don’t think I believe in God, or capital G-god. I don’t know, but the universe is moving closer and closer to an ultimate state of entropy, and climate change is going to kill us all, so it doesn’t really matter.” “That’s so dark.” Sirius looks like he maybe wants to smile, like he might be making fun, but it’s so hard to tell. It’s always hard to tell. “It’s the truth. We can’t stop the disorder. But there’s little things, like, you know, the Fibonacci sequences in nature-”“I know what that is.” When Remus gives him a look, he amends. “Well, I’ve heard those words before, so go on. I’m not a complete blushing Fibonacci virgin.” “Ugh, okay. You know how those shells have their symmetry because of the golden ratio? Same thing. That’s the same shape-” he remembers, suddenly. “that’s in our inner ear. Which kind of feels like something that if I thought the universe was giving me signs, I might take as evidence of grand design. But I don’t know. I feel like smarter people than me would have figured this out by now. You’re not just making fun of me, are you?” “I don’t know. I’m drunk, I think. I always get sad when I drink.” “Maybe you shouldn’t drink.” “Ha ha.” “I’m serious.” “No. I’m Sirius. I like listening to you talk.” “I just told you not to believe in God, because we’re all going to die eventually.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get you.” “Don’t care. You could read me an air-conditioner manual. Do you have one?” He perks up, and Remus knows he absolutely can’t take this anymore. “I have to go.” he lies. “Aww. I was looking forward to the manual.” “Next time.” If you remember this time. “Happy new year, Sirius.” “Happy new year.” There’s an abrupt click as he hangs up, too fast. It’s 12:02, the first day of the new year, officially. Maybe it’s fate, to get this call, at this time. Maybe Sirius has a point. I like your voice . He resolves, at this moment, to talk more.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

In the clearing stands a boxer

And a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down

Or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame,

“I am leaving, I am leaving” but the fighter still remains

-Simon and Garfunkel
 “Why Andromeda ?” Sirius asks her, when it is just the two of them, feet up on the table outside. Ted is showing James and Lily his model train collection, which they are being very James-and-Lily polite about seeing while telegraphing Sirius strong “help me” vibes with their eyebrows. He really would have helped them, but Andromeda seemed fairly adamant on catching up, and they’re splitting the last bottle of champagne. “Why not, I don’t know, something normal?” “Well, as naming traditions go, it’s not a horrible one.” Andromeda takes a long hit of her ever-present pen, letting the smoke rise up towards the deck. And James thinks he’s a nicotine addict. “And you know, a lot of the good stars were already taken. Plus, I liked Andromeda. She’s a lot like us. You know, from Greek mythology?” “I could perhaps-“ He finishes his champagne. “use a refresher.” “So, Andromeda was a princess of Ethiopia, and her mom bragged that she was more beautiful than the Nereids, Poseidon’s daughters. Poseidon is the-“ “God of the sea.” Sirius side-eyes her impatiently. “I didn’t take Ancient Civ for nothing , you know.” “Right, okay. So Poseidon sends this monster, Cetus, to destroy Ethiopia, and Andromeda’s dad goes to an oracle. The oracle says that the only way to get the monster to leave the kingdom alone is to chain Andromeda to a rock naked and leave her as a sacrifice. So, y’know. They do that.” “Oh, so just like our parents, then.” “But then, Perseus, the hero who killed Medusa, is passing by and he’s like, there’s this beautiful girl chained to a rock naked. So he whips out Medusa’s head, which he conveniently has on him, and turns the monster to stone.” Andromeda smiles, laugh lines crinkling around her eyes. “And then they get married and she becomes his queen.” “Oh, I see. So Ted is like, your Perseus. That’s cool.” “I didn’t even make that connection,” She sounded amused. “But, sure, I guess that works.” “So the whole Andromeda connection is just that-“ “She also knows what it feels like to be chained to a rock, yes.” “If you don’t mind me asking, uh..?” He tries to find the right way to say it, can’t think of it, and then gives up. “When did you know?” “Oh, that thing.” She snorts. “We were betting when you were going to ask, Ted and me. He said as soon as you saw me. I said you’d wait until after dessert. Guess I don’t have to do laundry for the next week.” “Sorry.” Sirius looks at his shoes, embarrassed. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I know it’s not the most PC thing to ask, and it’s been such a long time, and you’re probably sick of people asking-” “ Relax. ” Andromeda puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re allowed to ask. You’re family. It’s…there wasn’t like a moment , exactly, you know? I always knew I was different, but I figured I was probably gay. But then I went through this big Patti Smith phase, where I was obsessed with her. Not exactly her music, but like the vibes of her, wearing her clothes, wearing my hair like hers in the ‘70s. So then I couldn’t be gay, because I obviously had this huge crush on Patti Smith. But it went a lot deeper than that because I also wanted to look like Patti did, when she was wearing those clothes. Which was a scary thought so I-“ She laughs. “I just ignored it until I moved in with Ted.” “So you were with Ted when you were still…”“When I wasn’t out. My parents went ballistic . Up until then, I think they were just ignoring the fact that I was gay, but you know, cohabitating with a man, that made it hard.” She sighs. “I don’t know. It was hard. Bella and Cissy still aren’t allowed to talk to me; I’m pretty sure. I went to a lot of therapy about it. Then I told Ted about me, said I wouldn’t blame him if he left me, and that he could have the rest of my inheritance as rent for the last five years. He told me to put it away because he loved me, and he didn’t care, and he would do whatever I wanted to make me happy. We got married. We adopted Dora. That’s it.” “That’s…” “Amazing? Yeah, that’s Ted, at like, a five. I literally cannot imagine a more perfect human being. He makes me sick, Sirius. God,” She sighs, happily. “It’s weird, too, to think that had I been, you know, a cis woman, our parents would be thrilled that I got married so young. Actually, they still would have hated Ted. His family uses contractions .” “ Quelle horreur .” “So?” She turns to him. “You finally moved out?” “Yeah. Sort of. I live with James, most of the time. He’s my best friend, the one with the glasses.” “That’s good. You were so wild when you were little. Bella thought you were going to end up in jail. ” “Bella is going to be a prolific serial killer, so I don’t think her take counts.” “Still. It was admirable, in a way. My mom fucking hated you. She thought you were a bad influence.” “You are older than me.” “Hey, I’m very susceptible to influences! Or at least, that’s what my mom told me the last time we talked.” “Wait, so she thinks Ted made you gay?” “Mhmm.” Andromeda nods, seriously. “I didn’t even try to bring up the trans thing. I didn’t want to be a Fox News headline- Gorgeous Doll, Legs For Days, Gives Aging Karen a Heart Attack .” Sirius laughs, taking her in. Andromeda’s got the same big greenish eyes that Regulus has, but she’s long where he’s compressed, and the sharp curve of her nose, the strength of her jaw, is pure Bellatrix. She’d look more like the rest of them, he reflects, if she wasn’t so comfortable. There’s an ease to her that he knows he doesn’t have, even when he tries his hardest. “I did Christmas, this year.” “With the family? Did you see my dad?” And there it goes, the gentleness washing off her like waves. He does not want to be the one to make it go. “No.” he says. “I left, before the whole family came. Uh…they’re probably there right now.” “Oh.” She relaxes. “ Fuck . I went back, for one Christmas, but Bella was getting engaged to that whack-ass guy Dad introduced her to, and Cissy was…I don’t know. It was different. They kind of fucking hate me. Which sucks, but I…I get it. At least you have Regulus.” “Regulus kind of hates me, too.” He knows it’s not exactly true, but it feels good to say out loud. Andromeda raises her eyebrows. “No, he doesn’t. That kid worships you. Always did. It was kind of sick. Never could quite get that with my sisters.” Sirius shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” “I know so. He came by, last year, completely out of the blue. It was the weirdest thing. He was very polite, didn’t get weird at all about all… this .” She gestures to herself. “He talked about you, a little bit. I mean, that was after Ted got him kind of drunk. He seemed a little bit…Well, he seemed like he needed a drink, if you know what I mean.” “What did he say about me?” “He said he hadn’t been fair to you when he was younger, and I said that he was a kid, that he was just trying to survive, that it was okay. And then he said…I mean, this was a little dark, do you really want to do this now?” “Yes! You can’t start a story and not finish it.” “Okay, so keep in mind he’s drunk at this point, and definitely not doing great mentally, but he said he was afraid he’d die and you’d still hate him. And then he starts talking about death, starts telling Ted and I, you know, that if he does die, can we please make sure you come to the funeral?” Sirius feels a lump rising in his throat. Impossible, stubborn, traumatized Regulus. Regulus, begging on the ground with gritted teeth. Regulus, who’ll ask his forgiveness from a cousin who grew up without him but will never admit to Sirius that he’s wrong. “And then what happened?” “Well, then he starts freaking out about going home. So we took him home, but we made him keep our address, our numbers. Just in case, you know. He never called. I guess I assumed he gave it to you.” “He didn’t.” Sirius thinks about it, for a bit. It had been James, who found the house, who knew where to go. He assumed it was just one of James’ little miracles, and maybe it still is, but maybe it’s…is it possible it could have been a Regulus miracle too? It would make sense; wouldn’t it, for him to come up with a plan like that? He imagines Regulus, intensely explaining the route to Andromeda’s house to James, and he feels a sudden warmth, a rush of gratitude for them both. Not everyone, he knows, has people who would do this for them. He would like to believe he deserves it, but he’s not quite sure he does. “All the same. I’m glad you’re here.” “Does it get any easier? You know, the-“ He waves a hand. “Crazy family stuff?” “No.” Andromeda crosses her arms. “I still wake up mad , you know, about some psycho rule my mom made up for me. Or I’ll see a guy who looks like Narcissa’s new husband and I’ll follow him into a store so I can tell him what a piece of shit he is and how he doesn’t deserve the ground she walks on. So, normal stuff. Therapy helps. Ted helps. Dora helps, in a weird way. You can’t really be the same degree of egomaniac and be a mom. A decent mom, anyway, not the sorry excuses we got dealt.” She sighs. “I don’t know, Sirius. I found my people. It looks like,” she looks out at the lawn, where James and Lily are laughing about something. “you’ve started to do that, too. That’s the best place to start, really.” It doesn’t feel like a rejection, but it’s just ambiguous enough that it could be.“But, um…you’re my people, right? Even though we haven’t seen each other in so long, you don’t want-you’re-“ Please say yes. Don’t leave me.   Andromeda twists his sweaty palms in her own. “Oh, honey. I’m not going to leave you.” Unlike Andromeda, or Ted, Peter is leaving. They find out when they go back to school. He’s left a note on the dining room table. Enclosed is the rest of the rent. Best, Peter “I didn’t know he knew the word ‘enclosed.’” Sirius jokes, crumpling the note before dropping it in the recycling. “Good for him.” “That’s weird,” James is thinking, resting his chin in his hand. “I haven’t heard from him all break. You’d think he’d want to talk to you guys, at least, before moving out.” “Are you kidding? After what he did to Regulus? He’s probably scared we’re going to be mad at him.” James is quiet at that. Sirius finally had cracked and explained to him the whole Regulus situation on the drive up to campus. It’s weighing heavily on James, who does not want to believe that any of his friends are capable of being cruel to be cruel, even though they really all are.. “Maybe Regulus misheard,” he kept insisting. “You know Peter. He wouldn’t do something like that, for no reason.” “I don’t think you mishear ‘get out of my apartment’ .” Sirius had explained, wry. His earlier frustration with Regulus has evaporated, since his conversation with Andromeda. “I just don’t understand. Is he mad we didn’t see Hamlet ? This feels a little disproportionate.” “No,” Sirius said again. (It had been the third time he’d explained it to James, and he still didn’t understand.) “He wants to get me back. Which is fine, but-“ He had smiled then. “It’s me , and Peter’s Peter . So he still loses, after all that.” “It might not be all about you,” James had been thoughtful, looking out of the window. “It could be about me. You know, I’m starting to think Remus has a point, about apologizing.” “I’m not sure what we’re meant to have done,” Sirius retorted, adamant.  “Anyway, I don’t care what I did; that’s kind of a fucked-up thing to do to my brother. That’s the point. He should apologize.” James had just raised an eyebrow at that, the half-cocked one that meant since when did we care about Regulus? and Sirius looked away pointedly in the way that meant, It’s the principle of the thing, and James had just smiled, self-satisfied, and had said, eyes on the road, “Peter’ll crack first, you know.” “Oh, yeah.” Sirius rolled his eyes at that. “ I’m so sorry; I’m so awful; how could you ever forgive me? He’s mastered the pathetic apology. It’s kind of a skill.” He remembers snapping at Peter about something, freshman year; he doesn’t even remember what, and Peter practically groveling for his forgiveness, which he’d granted faster than he normally would have just because it made him so uncomfortable. “It’s really bad,” James agreed. “Just…uh, when he does it, don’t prolong the suffering, okay? Just tell him it’s fine, all’s forgiven, whatever.” “I don’t forgive him, is the thing.” He could lie, he knows, and say that he did. But he knows when he next sees Peter, he’ll just feel contempt mixed in with a little anger. Forgiveness and respect, for him, go hand in hand, and he can’t think of a universe in which he’s ever respected Peter.  “You have never forgiven him for anything.” James sighed. “Just…pretend? For us? It’s all finally getting back to normal.” “No.” “ Sirius . You have to live with him.” “Doesn’t matter.” They’d argued back and forth about it the whole way back. “Guess I don’t have to accept his apology,” Sirius jokes, now that they’ve seen the note. “Wonder where he’s even going to go? Does he have other friends?” “You are horrible, you know that?” Remus stalks over to him, from where he’s been observing them off the kitchen. “He tries really hard with you.” “I didn’t ask him to. You know, not everyone has to like each other.” It is more than a little infuriating, he thinks, Remus’ insistence that they all agree , look past all of the deficiencies Peter so clearly has. It feels dishonest. James shakes his head. “Yeah, it’s a little bit of an overreaction on his part, no?” “We started it.” Sirius calls his bluff. “It’s not like you’re going to hunt him down and apologize.” Remus does not look at him, pointedly. “I…tried. He won’t talk to me.” Which is just so…typical Peter being Peter. He would be the type to vent his frustrations on a less threatening target, namely Remus, who would probably be the most inclined to hear him out. Why Remus himself  is acting like this is some great loss is incomprehensible, Sirius thinks, irritated. “See, James? He’s being a little bitch, as per usual.” James, who also can’t let such pettiness stand, rises to Remus’ defense. “Yeah, you didn’t really do anything. First you, and now Regulus. He doesn’t just get to pick on people because they’re quiet and he feels bad about himself-” “Nobody is picking on me,” Remus rolls his eyes. “That’s dramatic. He just…is not responding to me, which people are allowed to do, when they’re angry at other people.” He sounds like he’s convincing himself of that. “Well, you know, it seems a bit like a low blow-” Sirius watches Remus bite the inside of his cheek, sees his shoulders tense with anger. “I am not a defenseless wallflower. You are being…stupid.” “I agree. This is stupid. He should stop being stupid. Good riddance.” Sirius smiles, all teeth, a little too wide, just to piss him off. Something shutters behind Remus’ eyes. “You know what, Sirius? You win. He’s gone. Excuse me if I’m not, you know, jumping with joy about it.” “Oh, come on , really, don’t be like-” But Remus has turned on his heel and vanished, no doubt to the safety of his room. Which takes all of the fun, Sirius realizes, out of the argument. He turns to James, who can always be depended on to keep the fun going, and who will pretend he didn’t see the rising tension between the two of them, and pretend he can’t stand Peter either, even though Sirius can tell it’s distressing him, a little. “Did we do something?” he says, laughing like it’s nothing. “Fuck if I know.” James says, but there’s a hollowness about it, because they both know that they did. Or maybe the problem is what they didn’t do, what they’ve never done, for Peter, for Remus. You win, Sirius. It kind of doesn’t feel like a victory, though, anymore. “There’s a difference, though,” the annoying girl from their class keeps saying. “between likely and expected .” It’s in the third hour of meeting for a group project that should have taken, by his estimation, about half an hour, if she didn’t insist on being so anal about Every Fucking Thing. “No, of course,” he repeats wearily. “But I doubt that’s going to throw off the survey results that much, such a minor difference in wording.” He shoots Marlene a “can-you-believe-this” look, but as she’s occupied in her phone, she kind of misses the point. Annoying Girl crosses her arms. “It does matter. Leading words can throw off how people respond to every individual question. That’s what the professor said.” “Okay, then.” Sirius puts on his best “have-it-your-way” smile. “Why don’t you go all the way through it and mark all the words you think are leading, and we’ll uh…fix it later?” The girl glares at him. “It is due tomorrow. ” “You could have brought this up, like, any other time.”“I tried! You never respond to the group chat.”“You do never respond to the group chat.” Marlene puts in. “Oh, now you speak up.” Marlene blinks, innocently. “It’s all good. We’ll fix all the problems, Artemis.” Artemis? He really should get better with people’s names.  Annoying Girl-Artemis-is practically foaming at the mouth, a level of enthusiasm that would normally get an amused eye-roll from Marlene, but Sirius notes a distinct lack of irony in her smile as she turns to the other girl. “There are so many errors, though, and don’t even get me started on-”“ Likely. ” Sirius reads from his screen. “ Such as well might happen or be true; probable. Expected. Regarded as likely, anticipated. Seems fairly synonymous to me. But I don’t know. I’ve only been designing surveys for literal years -” “Why don’t we let her do it?” Marlene interrupts. “She can do one last round of edits before we look at it again. Also-” This is in her do-not-interrupt-me voice, so he shuts up. “Can I talk to you outside for a second? We’ll be right back .” she says to Artemis, and whisks him from the study room before either one of them can speak against it. Marlene’s a force when she wants to be, for such a small person. He genuinely has no clue what this is about, until Marlene whirls on him when they’re outside. “Why are you being so mean to her?” “I’m-Oh, come on! She’s doing that try-hard thing-” “She’s a freshman , Sirius. They’re all like that.” “What? But I thought we didn’t have freshmen in this class-” “She petitioned. They let them do it.”“Oh.” He pauses. “But come on, you think-” “You’re coming across kind of condescending, and very male , you know? What, did Remus hurt your feelings again?” “No.” She puts her hands on her hips. “It’s not a crime, you know, to have feelings.” She laughs. “Fucking knew it. Every time he says anything remotely critical about you, you spend the next day and a half being a massive douche.” “That is not true. I can’t help the way I talk.” “After James and Lily broke up,” Marlene says, amused, “and Remus told you that you were making it all about yourself, you made fun of me because I mispronounced fait accompli . For, like, half an hour.” “Right.” He is ashamed. “I…Sorry. About that. That was dumb.” “And last year, when Remus wasn’t enthusiastic enough about your t-shirt choice , you went in on James because he only went to ‘touristy spots’ when he was in London. When he was nine .” “Okay…you have a point. Maybe I have a problem.” “So…do you want to talk about it?” “No.” “ No, as in you did something unforgivable and you can’t tell me, or no as in he’s being too blunt and you’re being too sensitive?” “The last one.” He feels distinctly like a chastised child. Marlene has that effect.  “So you’re going to be nice to Artemis, right? Because she didn’t really do anything, and she doesn’t have anything to do with whatever this is about?” “It’s the name , too. What kind of person names their kid ‘Artemis’?” “You really don’t have a leg to stand on with the Pretentious Name thing.” “I’m sorry. I’ll try. I didn’t know she was a freshman!” “Real tough, bullying an eighteen-year-old.” “I already feel bad enough!” He gives her a very weak smile. “Is this non-threatening enough?” She shakes her head. “Whatever.” He can’t resist getting in the last word.“You’re not good at taking criticism either, you know. Anyway, you know Remus doesn’t criticize . He’s just disappointed , which is so much worse.”“That might be the most ‘daddy issues’ thing you’ve ever said.”    “Oh, fuck you. I have mommy issues .” And they both laugh, which makes Artemis come out into the hall, shyly. “I..fixed the survey questions.” “Thank you,” Marlene says, giving Sirius a very pointed look.“Yes, thank you .” He’s a beat too late, and now it’s awkward, but Artemis gives him a dorky little nod, which he chooses to interpret as a degree of forgiveness.  “Do you think I’m a douchebag?” Sirius asks James, in between deciding between two shirts. (Are pinstripes a thing, or do they make him look like one of the Panic!at the Disco guys?)James visibly does a double take. “ No . Who said that?” “Nobody.” When James looks at him, he amends. “Marlene. She said I take it out on other people when uh….”  He searches for wording that is not embarrassing. “When I receive criticism.” James looks affronted. “Well, no more so than anyone else.” “But you couldn’t control where you went in London when you were nine.” “Oh, that . I thought you were being funny.” He pauses. “Were you not being funny? Because my mom kept telling me about people being mugged on the street by roving gangs of street urchins, so I really wanted to stay on the tourist-y path, you know.” James smiles. “Pinstripes are a little Panic!at the Disco, don’t you think? Anyway, we should go…” Sirius does his best pleading look. “Do we have to?” “ Yes . My mom threw a fit when I told her I don’t have any Asian friends. She said, quote, that I need to broaden my horizons, and that I’m going to become one of those entitled second-generation Asian kids if I keep going like this, et cetera, unquote. Apparently you don’t count. Besides, this will be good for us. We’ll be more connected to our culture. Lily thinks it’s weird that I only know food words in Chinese.” “So take a Chinese class. Besides, I don’t want to meet other Indian people. In my experience, they generally don’t like me.” “Are the ‘other Indian people’ in question related to you?” Sirius very pointedly does not answer. “You might even enjoy yourself.” “I really, really doubt it. Why don’t we do something fun ? I know, we could figure out where Peter lives now, break in, hide in his-” “I don’t want to get arrested. Besides, wouldn’t this just stick it to Gideon?” “How?” This is intriguing. “All the times he made a thing about how you weren’t, you know, sufficiently connected to your heritage. This is like that, but you know, without the people you’re actually related to. I mean, does he even have any Mexican friends?” “I hate how well you know me. Fine, okay. Let’s get this over with.” The this in question is an Asian Students Association “introductory mixer,” which has the distinct vibe of feeling very much like homework, partly because it’s in the Student Union, partly because the super-enthusiastic sophomore at the door gave them “conversation cards” so “they can start a connection with someone they don’t know”. Sirius, who feels tenuously tethered to his ethnic identity at the best of times, cannot think of a worse use of his time, but James had insisted . “I don’t want to be the whitest person there.” “So I’m whiter than you, is that what you’re saying?” “Only if you don’t go.” “That makes no sense.” But James had looked at him with puppy-dog-I-don’t-want-to-disappoint-my-mom eyes, so here he is, trying to mix with people who are probably thinking, what is this Italian dude doing here? He can’t even blame them, is the thing. He knows he isn’t doing the best job appearing approachable, but his previous experiences with these kind of things have always been weird, made him feel like some kind of exotic pet, a not-quite-belonging curiosity. Regulus bears this kind of attention better, the invasive questions from strangers, the thinly-veiled competitiveness, which doesn’t quite align with his normal tendency to blend into the wall. He misses Regulus, weirdly. It’s nice to not be the only one, especially since James is being James, and is talking to this super tall Vietnamese guy by the buffet station about something that is apparently hilarious , based on the fact that they keep practically falling on top of each other with laughter. Everyone else seems to already have their cliques, which is really, totally fine. He doesn’t need more friends, he thinks, taking a sip from the metal tumbler he filled with vodka when James wasn’t looking, especially friends of convenience who’re probably only interested in him based on some presumed ‘cultural connection.’  He has company, though. There’s a girl to his right, by the vegan buffet table, kind of watching everything else play out. She’s wearing a huge denim coat, and she’s got a smattering of pimples around her mouth. Besides that, though, she is very pretty. She notices him looking at her. “Hi?” “Hi.” She is really pretty, with slightly flushed cheeks and dark, curly hair that spirals over her shoulders. “So, are you a member?” She gives him a little wrinkled-nose smile, the kind that says “I-know-what-you-want-and-I-don’t-care.” “No.” “Me neither.” “I can see that.” She gives him a once-over. “Is there vodka in that?” He considers lying, but he doubts she doesn’t already know the answer. “Yes. You’re not going to tell on me, are you?” “Are you kidding? Can I have some?” “It’s straight, but..” She takes a sip, and the top of the cup comes smeared with her lip gloss. (He blots it off discreetly.)“Thanks. These kind of make me nervous. My friend wanted to go, though, so I was back-up.” “Mine too.” “Which one’s yours?” “Glasses.” He points at James. “Yours isn’t the guy with the neck tattoo, is he?” She laughs, nodding in the direction of a forbidding-looking East Asian girl in a full leather getup. “No. Purple hair. Sorry if this is weird, but are you Indian?” “Yes. Not weird. How did you know?” She shrugs. “Your necklace.” “Oh.” He fidgets with Lord Ganesha, who suddenly feels a little heavy. “Cool.” “I am, too. If you were wondering.” He was not. Should he have been? Is this another way he is Bad At Being Ethnic? “So, mm…” He references the conversation card. “How do you feel about being a visible minority on campus?” “That is a pretty bad pick-up line.” “Hey, it’s on the conversation card. I have to ask, unless you want to talk about ‘how your heritage informs your perspective on interpersonal issues’.” “It does not say that.” She grabs the card from him, and he feels a small thrill as their fingertips touch. “Oh my God, who writes this stuff? This is exactly why I didn’t want to go. I know it’s important and everything, but this part always feels so dorky.” “Right? Thank you. Like, Asian people have more to talk about than like, the existence of racism.” “I don’t know. ‘What does affinity mean to you?’” “Jesus. I wouldn’t even know what to say. I mean, I’m half white. I probably shouldn’t even be here.” She smirks. “I was waiting to see how long it would take you to bring that up.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he says, pressing a hand to his heart in fake outrage. “You white biracials love to hand-wring about being trapped between worlds.” He pouts, dramatically. “The card says that you’re not allowed to ‘invalidate anyone’s experience.’ I’m feeling rather invalidated.” “Oh, boo hoo. You’re the most special-ist snowflake.” She nudges him with her shoulder. “Thank you. I am .” Sirius feels himself relaxing. There’s an ease to the way they joke, tongues a little loosened by the vodka, and he likes the way she’s just a little bit shorter than him. She motions for a sip of the vodka, and they watch a few freshman sneak extra vegan spring rolls from the buffet table. “I was surprised that you were with Gideon.” “You know Gideon?” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows Gideon.” “In a good way or a bad way?” “I was in Intro Screenwriting with him.” The look says everything he needs to know. Poor thing, he thinks. It must have been torture, in between the embarrassing dialogue and Ancestor Maize. “Ah.” “You seemed so normal, too.” She’s looking at him, sly, through her eyelashes. “Everyone wondered how he managed to do that.” “Thank you?” He’s pleased; he can’t help it, that this is the reaction. The idea of Gideon coming off better than him in the aftermath of their breakup, is, frankly, intolerable. He hopes she can’t tell how pleased.“Of course, I had an ulterior motive, a bit.” There’s a pause; she’s choosing her words carefully. “I always thought you were cute.”  Oh, take that, Gideon. “And do you…still?” “Of course. But you only like really hot people, so I didn’t think it was worth bothering.” “I think you look good.” “Stop it.” She’s trying not to smile. It’s cute. “No, I mean it.” He looks her over, letting her see him watch her. “You look good.” She kind of looks away, a little shy. He moves in, a little closer, as if to pull her in, but she backs up. “You are not kissing me in front of all these people.” “You need to get your mind out of the gutter,” he lies. “I just wanted my conversation card back.”  “Right .” She rolls her eyes, grinning. “I’m not a PDA person. So you’re going to have to calm down.” “I wouldn’t dream of it.” “Here’s your card.” The edges of it, in his hand, are a little crumpled with the tension. She’s been gripping it, he notes, with a degree of amusement. She whispers in his ear, suddenly, making him jump. “Dinner first, at least.” “Okay.” He grins. “You’re going to tell me what your name is, right? Kind of helps with the planning.” “I’ll do you one better. How would you like my number?” She takes the conversation card back from him, and starts scribbling something on the back in purple pen. “I mean, a name is kind of an essential.” he teases, peering around, trying to see, but she quickly pulls it out of his line of sight. They hear a buzzing from the depths of her giant coat, and she withdraws a phone, checking it, wide-eyed. “What is it? What’s wrong?” “Um…don’t get mad at me, but I have to go. Sorry. My roommate’s having, like, an anxiety thing.” “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Um, what should I call you?” “Sorry?” She’s still typing out a response to the cockblocking roommate. Anxiety be damned, some people have terrible timing, he reflects. “Your name .” “Hestia. It really was nice to meet you, officially, but I do definitely have to take care of this.” It’s a firm “stop talking to me.” He feels kind of like a shithead. Again. “I’ll text you.” She smiles. “Yeah, you will.” “You’ll see!” “She’s amazing .” Sirius is explaining this to Remus, lying back on the couch. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like her. She’s like really smart , you can tell. And like, clever, and she challenges me. I want to be challenged.” Remus raises his eyebrows. “You sound…challenged.” . “Don’t be an asshole. She’s a lot better than Gideon.” “True.” Remus is thoughtful. “I never thought he was very smart.” When Sirius makes a noise, he amends it. “As smart as you , I mean. He needed to be the one people paid attention to, and you like attention too much.” “Rude.” They lapse into a silence. “Peter left his stuff, you know.” Remus is trying to be neutral; it is costing him. “It’s a big box of…um, I wasn’t supposed to go through it, but I did, and it’s…”“Porn?” Sirius supplies helpfully. “ No ,” Remus sounds genuinely distraught, which is unlike him. Sirius sits up. “It’s, like, printed-out pictures of all of us. I guess he used to put them on his wall, or something. The tape is still there.” “That’s a little creepy, no? What, was he trying to figure out which one of us killed Colonel Mustard in the dining room with the candlestick?” Remus ignores the joke, which is a shame. He thinks it’s pretty good. “And he took all of them down, and left them, like it didn’t mean anything. Unless he’s coming back for them, because he forgot them…Do you think that’s what he did?” Sirius turns to him, very slowly. “ Really? Come on, you don’t believe that.” “Well, I don’t know what he’s thinking, do I?” “I’ll give you a hint. Not that.” “I know you think I’m being dumb, and that you and James don’t really like him that much, but I feel shitty.” Remus sighs. “This is so messed up. I shouldn’t have…” “No,” Sirius tells him. “This is my fault. He is a colossal waste of space, and he is being a dick, but it’s not really your fault. It’s mine.” Remus narrows his eyes. “I know it’s your fault.”  “Right.” “I’m not blaming myself for that. You two treat him like a punching bag, just because it’s easy for you. It was bound to happen eventually. And I let you, because I…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” “It’s not my fault he can’t take a joke!” “It’s not a joke, and you know it.” “But you’re okay with what he did to Regulus? That was justified, because I hurt his feelings sometimes?”Remus tenses. “I didn’t-” “That was horrible . There’s literally nothing you can say that makes that okay.” “I didn’t know he was like that.” “I did,” Sirius says grimly. “He’s a coward, through and through. He moved out so he wouldn’t have to deal with us about it. It’s so… transparent .” “But why ? There’s just…” Remus runs his fingers through his hair. “It doesn’t make any sense.” “Since when did everything people do have to make sense? Jesus Christ. You don’t have to rationalize it. Sometimes it’s just because they’re bad people.” “Well, I don’t think Peter is a bad person .” He says it like he doesn’t believe in bad people , because he probably doesn’t, of course. Why would he? “Okay. Sure.” Sirius is tired, of him, suddenly. He wants to be somewhere else, anywhere, but the living room, which is feeling smaller and smaller. “So…um, what did you and the…girl talk about?” “Nothing important. She wanted some of my vodka, you know?” He wiggles his eyebrows, and Remus looks repulsed.  “You were…drinking at an affinity mixer?” “Oh my God, would it kill you to be on my side for once? Nothing happened. Everything was fine . Not every single thing needs your fucking… seal of approval .” “Sorry.” “I’m going to bed.” he says, disgusted. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean-”The penitence on Remus’ face makes Sirius want to flip a chair. “What on Earth,” he says through gritted teeth. “do you have to be sorry for?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

How can I keep myself away when I’m falling on for you?

-Ann Marr

“I don’t know,” Regulus rolls on his side, facing Barty. “if I agree with you about that. Nick Carraway

is

gay. It’s not just a subtext thing.”

“It is quite literally

just

a subtext thing.” Barty’s breath is hot, and his skin is rubbed raw from shaving. Regulus likes him from this angle-he doesn’t seem so haughty, or forbidding. “It’s not like him and Gatsby ever do it.”

Regulus makes a face. “Gross.”

“What? That’s what you meant.” Barty smiles. “You’re so puritanical sometimes.”

His face is getting a little warm. “It’s about like forbidden desire. Not necessarily sex.”

“Oh, good. I was starting to think you couldn’t say it.”

“He wants something that he’s in no way allowed to have, like Gatsby wants Daisy.”

“Oh.” Barty lets out a low chuckle. “Just for reference, I think

you’re

Daisy, in this scenario.”

Regulus’ eyes widen in horror. “You take that back.”

“Well, I’m not Daisy.”

“No way. I wasn’t even gay before I met you. I’m definitely not the girl.”

Barty scoffs in amusement. “Sweetheart, I knew you were gay five minutes into meeting you. And it’s not about being the girl. It’s about being rich and shallow.”

“I’m not

shallow.

I’m Nick. I’m an insightful observer. And you’re Gatsby,” Regulus presses his lips to Barty’s forehead. “because I think you’d do really well with organized crime.”

“Why, thank you.” Barty waits until Regulus is going to pull away, and then at the last second,

drags his tongue down Regulus’ face

, making him jump back with disgust.

“Ew.” He wipes spit off his face with the back of his hand. “Now I have to shower.”

“What, without me?” Barty raises himself up on an elbow. (They both know this is a joke, both because Barty doesn’t really do

tenderness

, and Regulus doesn’t really do

taking his clothes off in front of other people

, both things which a shower would invite.)

“No.” Regulus wisely sprints to the bathroom before Barty can follow him in there. Not that he

would

, necessarily, but Regulus has learned the hard way that Barty doesn’t quite have the same inhibitions that normal people do. He’d probably think it was funny. It’s kind of obvious-Barty secretly likes Regulus to be a little…unbalanced around him. For all his protestations against being Regulus’ “manic pixie dreamgirl,” he certainly enjoys stepping into the role. Although he’s more manic, much less “dreamgirl,” but Regulus gets it. There’s a kind of insecurity to his performance, a

look how far I can push you

element to it. Like he’s certain Regulus will get bored if he’s not as shocking and weird as possible. It’s this one way in which he thinks he’s got a leg up on Barty, even though he’s

older

and

smarter

and

worldly.

They’ve been doing this for a couple weeks now. It’s become a bit of a routine. Regulus will take the train down on the weekends, walk the rest of the way to Barty’s actual apartment, which is smaller and crappier by far than the site of their first…whatever that was. He’ll let himself into the lobby and wait for Barty to finish up his shift, after which Barty will let him into his apartment, which is essentially a glorified closet. At this point, Barty will ask him something about watching some movie that he’s never seen, at which point Regulus will admit he’s never seen The Lego Movie or The Nightmare Before Christmas or Fantastic Mr. Fox. (Barty, apparently, exclusively sees animated children’s movies.) At which point, Barty will make a big deal about how this is a “formative childhood experience” and Regulus “needs to see” this movie. He’ll set the movie up on this god-awful projector on his “living room” wall, and give Regulus a teeth-rottingly sweet glass of “wine,” which Regulus will down for courage. About halfway through the movie, Barty will lose interest, and he’ll move closer to him on the couch, and at some point, they’ll start making out, animated voices be damned, at which point, Barty will pause the movie and pull him into the “bedroom,” which is basically a closet off of the living room. He’ll try to turn on the light, or take off Regulus’ shirt, and Regulus will push him away, redirecting his hands to his crotch, which seems to suit Barty fine. They’re not really foreplay people. After they’ve cleaned up, they’ll finish watching the movie, and then they’ll crawl into bed together and sleep, at least until real life comes calling. 
It’s not exactly a real relationship. They don’t talk about their lives, or emotions, or anything serious, or upsetting. He can’t exactly bring Barty home to meet his parents, and he gets a feeling that Barty feels the same way about him. And the idea of introducing him to anyone at college makes Regulus’ skin crawl just thinking about it. He doesn’t even think of Barty as his partner, or his boyfriend, or whatever. But he likes having the parts of Barty he can have. He likes his wicked sense of fun, his terrible opinions. He likes hearing him talk in Latin like a Catholic priest and arguing with him about literature. It feels like enough, to him. He’s tried to ask questions about Barty’s ex, but Barty (maybe sensing Regulus’ jealousy around the subject) is cagey about it. Barty himself doesn’t seem at all interested in Regulus’ love life, not that there’s really much to remark on. Before they had sex for the first time, he had asked, so casually he could have just been requesting the time, “Are you a virgin?”

“No.” Regulus had kept his tone deliberately level, not wanting to elaborate.

“Cool.” That had been it; Barty had never asked again. Which is, as Regulus reflects as the showerhead sputters to life above him, kind of miraculous. It’s refreshing, to be in the presence of someone who doesn’t see your silence as a puzzle to be solved.

Of course,

says the voice in his head,

the other explanation is that he just doesn’t care about you that much.

He doesn’t want to think about

that

, so he just sticks his head under the shower and lets the cold water shock it out of him. When he gets out, he knows, Barty will be perched on the bed, waiting for him, ready to ask him if he’s gotten to such-and-such part of

War and Peace

, and complain about his reading (

The Ainead)

, and when he gets bored,  not-so-subtly-hint to Regulus that he should leave, which makes him feel much worse than if Barty actually told him to get out, like he did that night at the bookstore. But he invites him back every weekend, and if he’s fucking other people, he’s careful about the evidence, which is the best someone like Regulus can hope for, really. He doesn’t think Barty is like, his true love or something.

Alright, he’s a bit lonely. He can admit that. He can also admit, that sometimes, very late at night, he feels a crushing all-powerful

desire

to possess Barty, to demand that he puts a word to what they are to each other. But Barty would probably just call him stupid and stop talking to him, and Regulus knows he wouldn’t be wrong, for that. It’s not in him, anyway. He’s not exactly the most seductive guy on Earth. He’s not even really gay, probably; he’s probably doing whatever Sirius did with that one guy, the annoying redhead. If Barty stopped talking to him, for whatever reason, he’d be fine. He would move on, because he’s just trying him on for size. And it’s nice, he thinks, to have no illusions about what they are to each other.

“

Pater

is coming to visit next weekend.” Barty tells Regulus, when he steps out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair. Barty always refers to his father this way, with a slightly ironic smile. This does little to disguise the fact, Regulus has observed, that he is still rather in awe of him, despite their frequent disagreements. “He’s going to take me out for a fancy meal and not-so-subtly imply that I’m a disappointment. Should be fun.”

“I mean,” Regulus says, leaning on the doorframe. “I’ll be here afterward, if it’s too terrible.” Barty’s libido is very active whenever he talks to his father on the phone; he imagines an in-person visit will probably drive him up the wall. Not that Regulus is excited about that, it’s just…well, he’ll

need

to be there, won’t he?

Something shutters in Barty’s eyes. “I won’t be around.”

“What, the whole weekend?” Barty does not have a particularly active social life. It is one of his easier qualities, but to think the entire weekend will be out of the question as a result of his father’s visit seems moderately implausible, to say the least.

“Yes.” Barty arches an eyebrow. “Is that a

problem

?”

Regulus looks away from him. “No. D’you want to…” He points to the bed. (They are past euphemisms, now.)

Barty does not crack a smile. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What?” he teases. Sometimes this works. “Am I distracting you from Latin?” 
Barty clears his throat, and Regulus realizes, too late, that he’s being dismissed again, like a dog. Barty will do this, suddenly, getting inexplicably tired of him and throwing him out, and then calling him up again the next weekend like nothing happened. “Right. I’ll go.” And Barty sighs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and holds the door for him, and Regulus walks half an hour to the train station, checking his phone. He’s expecting a message from Barty, some kind of picture from his readings, highlighted, something to say instead of I miss you. This was fun. I find you attractive. Usually he’ll do this, as a substitute. But today isn’t like that. He doesn’t get a single message, the entire train ride. He decides to send one himself, a simple unlike daisy i’d never complain about being sophisticated. (Witty, cool, to the point.) But he doesn’t get a response back until much later. well you aren’t exactly a beautiful little fool, which is the closest Barty ever would give him to a compliment. Weirdly enough, it hurts, a little, that Barty doesn’t think he’s a beautiful fool. Not that he wants to be Daisy, but he wonders to Barty what he’s more of, beautiful or a fool. He thinks about asking, but he decides he doesn’t really want to know the answer. 
Barty’s indifference lasts all week. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, probably that Barty would go back on his word, that he’d wake up Friday morning with some not-so-innocent question about kids’ movies or Greek mythology. But Friday comes, and Barty is radio silent, much to his disappointment. It gets bad enough that as soon as he’s out of class on Friday, he starts deciding whether or not to type out a message to Barty (an

Are you mad at me?

that, of course, doesn’t sound desperate and needy) He’s made it to the

just thinking about you

part when someone taps him on the shoulder. “Hi!”

He turns around, quickly, hoping they weren’t reading the message. Fortunately, it’s not someone nosy, just Lily Evans, long red hair tied up in a bun. “Hi..?”

“So, how are you?” she says, falling into step with him like they’re old friends. Maybe if he walks quicker, she’ll go away, but to his dismay, she easily matches his increasing pace.

“Oh, you know.” The next best option, of course, is to have such boring answers that she gives up. “Okay.”

Of course, she is undeterred. “Classes going well?”

“Mhmm.” They round the corner of the fine arts building in a semi-awkward silence.

“That’s good. I

hated

sophomore year.” Lily says, a little bit later, like this is supposed to be comforting. “Like you’re still in boring intro classes, but nobody cares about you because you’re not a freshman.”

“Yeah.” he agrees.

You’re not that much older than me.

“So, uh. Question.” She pauses. “Are you doing anything, on Saturday?”

“Why?” He usually keeps Saturdays free, just in case Barty wants to see him. He had kind of planned on doing the same thing, this weekend. Barty

might

change his mind, after all, right?

“Well, James and I are going to the mall, and we wanted to know if you wanted to go. With us.” She clasps her hands together, a little nervously.

“Oh.” It’s such a genuinely strange request, that he can’t help but ask, “Why me?”

“You’re my favorite student,”she says, and before he can argue. “And James is kind of obsessed with your whole look. It’s very, you know, dark academia soul-searching tortured genius. James…he’s a mess. I don’t think he even owns a winter coat. So…help him? I know your clothes are probably like, a million dollars and from some bespoke tailor in Paris, but there’s got to be H&M equivalents, right?”

“Um…” Regulus looks down at his ensemble (grey button-down shirt and black pants). He’s never really thought about it. He likes nondescript clothes, utilitarian clothes, nothing with prints or logos, the kind of clothes that make him blend in, not stand out. Which is not working, since James Potter apparently thinks he’s some sort of men’s fashion expert. Go figure.

“Please? James

really

wants you to come. He’s pretty hopeless at picking out clothes.”

“He asked for me?”

This is getting stranger by the minute.

Lily grins. “Oh, yeah. He was supposed to ask you, but he was kind of

nervous

about it, I don’t know. And I honestly have no clue,” she giggles self-consciously, “about what men’s clothes are supposed to look like, so it’s not like I’d be any help. Probably just going to stand there and tell him everything looks great.”

It’s so weird, truly. “Can I think about it?”

She looks a little

put out

, which doesn’t really make any sense. “Okay. Not too long, though, right? He

really

wants you to come.”

“Yeah, I think it’s weird.” Evan says. The sound of his voice is a little muffled, and when Regulus turns around, he sees that Evan has a blue drafting pencil in his mouth. “Did she say

why

?”

“Something about my clothes, I guess?” Regulus smoothes his shirt, with a little bit of pride. “I guess James thinks I have good taste.”

Evan raises his eyebrows. “

Really

?”

“You don’t have to be like that,” Regulus mutters.

“It’s just…you dress so boring.” Evan, who favors shapeless garments from local thrift stores that all tend to remind Regulus of various expensive carpets in his house,

would

find Regulus’ taste in clothes dull. “It’s definitely a plan.”

Regulus does not like the sound of that. “What plan?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she wants to get you a girlfriend. Didn’t she ask you about that?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He suddenly feels hot. “That’s not it, right? Nobody goes to the mall to meet girls.”

“To be fair,” Evan traces something with the pencil. “Do you know a lot about meeting girls?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just saying.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, to change the subject.

“Plan for my art project.” Evan has thrown himself into a studio art class, this semester, with all of the enthusiasm of someone who’s been drawing for years. He has little to no talent, which Regulus reminds him of constantly, but he doesn’t really seem to care about that, which is just fucking weird. He’s also growing out his hair, so he can stick pencils in it, just in case “inspiration strikes.” Of course, as most of Evan’s inspiration seems to be girls with their shirts off, Regulus isn’t very clear on how often he’s actually

inspired.

To be nice, Regulus takes a peek at the drawing. “Is it a…moth?”

Evan laughs. “It’s a

self-portrait

.”

“Oh.” Regulus takes a closer look. It really does look like a moth. “Very abstract.”

“You hate it.”

“I hate everything you draw.” Regulus corrects.

“Don’t you have, like, a poem about your daddy issues to write or something?”

Regulus stands to the side, examining the drawing even closer. “Is that a

proboscis

?”

Evan covers it with his hand. “Shut up.”

By Saturday, Evan’s self-portrait is mostly taken care of (though it still bears little to no resemblance to Evan himself) but Barty is not. He texts him (twice) and gets no response (twice). Of course, James wakes him up on Saturday with a

lily said you were hanging out with us :)

, and he’s still got nothing from Barty, so he says,

sure.

And he won’t respond to Barty, he decides, even if he does get back. Let him twist in the wind a little, absence makes the heart grow fonder, et cetera. And it’s petty, isn’t it, to do shit like this? Barty wouldn’t tolerate it from him, he knows. And maybe Evan’s right; maybe Lily’s going to introduce him to a girl. Maybe he can get this out of his system. So fuck Barty and his fifty-dollar words and his daddy issues and his wicked, wandering hands. He’ll show him just how much fun he can have without him.

So he ends up in Lily’s tiny, blue car, that morning, struggling with a fraying, jammed seatbelt (“Sometimes you have to give it a little

push

,” Lily declares, and buckles it with such force he can feel it cutting off the circulation to his legs.). He doesn’t greet James, who is already here like he’s been waiting forever, but of course, James turns around like seeing him has absolutely made his day.

“He’s here! And you said you thought he wouldn’t come. Ha.” James is rubbing his hands together, in anticipation. “Finished

War and Peace

?”

“...Yes.”

“I told you he would, right?” This is directed at Lily, as she pulls out of the lot. “Well, I did too.”

“Oh.” He’s surprised, and a little…

impressed

. “Did you like the ending?”

“Yeah. It was kind of like the season finale of a show, a little. And I’m glad it worked out for Pierre-”

“You like Pierre?” Regulus rolls his eyes.

“Yeah.” James looks wounded. “You don’t?”

“No, ugh, he’s the worst. So

indecisive

.”

“Oh, no. Pierre is James’

favorite

,” Lily says with fond exasperation. “I’ve heard a lot about the guy.”

“I suppose you like Prince Andrei?”

“He’s the objectively

correct

choice.” Regulus crosses his arms. “He has a complete narrative arc; his philosophy at the end of his life is literally the entire point of the book. Pierre just kind of

stumbles

into what he has. It’s just luck that he makes it. He’s not particularly smart or talented or-”

“Mm-mm.” James interrupts. “

That

’s the point of the book. Life is about coincidence. We’re not alive just to do-do great things and die. It’s also about…carrying on, I think? ‘While there is life, there is happiness’ and all that.” Regulus squints at him, to see if he’s playing a joke, but he appears fairly sincere. Lily is looking at him like he’s sprouted a third head.

“I…honestly never thought about that.”

“

And

he gets the girl in the end, which is how you know he wins the book.”

“I don’t think you can win a book,” Lily shakes her head.

“Too bad. Pierre won.”

“You see?” Lily looks over at Regulus. “

Hours

of this.”

“Whatever. He’s completely wrong.”

“Or maybe,” James says, dreamy, “I’m just a revolutionary and you’re trying to silence me.”

“I really don’t think you’re having any revelations about

War and Peace

that no one’s ever had before.” Lily says, while pulling into the parking lot. Regulus nods in agreement, trying not to smile. James makes the face he makes in lab when someone’s asked a particularly off-base question, and opens his mouth to argue, but Lily shakes her head. “Your hair is

crazy

.”

“You

like

my hair.”

“We can’t be seen with you like this.” Lily is combing through James’ hair with her fingers. It feels oddly intimate, and Regulus looks away, feeling like he’s intruding. “Can we, Regulus?”

“Don’t answer, Regulus. Please.”

“Um…” He checks his phone (which is reasonable and not crazy to do, by the way.) Still no response from Barty. He decides the safest course of action is to pretend he wasn’t listening. “What did you say?”

“

There

.” Lily sits back in her seat, admiring her handiwork. “So much better.” She hasn’t succeeded in doing much more than making James’ hair

flatter

, as far as Regulus can tell.

James, without batting an eye, runs his hand backwards through his hair, until it returns to its prior windswept-messy. “

Much

better.”

Lily laughs, and plants a kiss on his cheek. “You’re hopeless.” Regulus keeps his eyes fixed on the cars in the lot outside.

Oh, fuck me.  “

Now,” she says briskly, handing James her (quite heavy) purse, which he shoulders with no complaint. “We need to look for you.” James actually perks up, like a dog with a treat, and the two of them follow Lily (James enthusiastically, Regulus reluctant) into the mall.

For someone who nominally “didn’t know anything” about clothes, Lily is quite decisive, which is  how they end up in one of those nondescript mens’ stores with some name like “Barley and Bog,” wherein she takes charge, of course, and sends a harried James into the changing room with a pile of identical-looking shirts, after which, the two of them are left wandering around. Regulus is pretending to be very invested in the price tag on a pair of pants, when Lily stops him. “You should try this on.” She’s holding up a  short-sleeved shirt in an unusual shade of green.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Trust me.” she says. “It’ll bring out your eyes.” It’s easy to see why she and James were together (are together?). They’ve got the same degree of decisiveness to them, the same expectation that the world will bend to their wishes. She’s the kind of girl his mother would refer to as “spoiled,” and that makes him like her more, paradoxically.

“Okay.” he replies, trying not to look like he’s too interested, in case she tries to make him do anything else.

She visibly relaxes, and he realizes she was expecting him to argue a bit more. Shaking his head, he makes his way to the long hall containing the changing rooms. The shirt itself…Lily has a good eye for color. He sees what she means; it does make his eyes more pronounced, greener. But it also makes him look pasty, and it fits a little more snugly than what he’s used to, and of course, there’s the big issue of

short sleeves

, which can be added to the list of things Regulus does not do. He feels young, and exposed, showing so much…skin, and carefully averts his eyes from the mirror. It is not so bad, really. It has been worse. Sirius, who used to bite his lips until they bled and pinch a ring of bruises around his wrists, would understand, if he showed him. Probably no one else would. He remembers a sleeve riding up, at the university, in a lecture hall, hearing people whisper, realizing they were talking about him. He can’t blame them, exactly. He doesn’t want to look at him either.

Someone knocks on the door, and he scrambles, tearing the shirt off, getting dressed as quickly as possible. “Yes?”

“Oh, good, we thought you’d gotten lost. What do you think?” It’s unmistakably  James’ voice. Regulus opens the door to be greeted with an…

Oh my God.

Lily has been similarly apt in her choice for James, and the black pull-over makes him look…

“I look like you.” He does not seem unhappy about this fact. “I like it. D’you think Lily will…”

“Yes,” Regulus nods faintly. My God, he is…

suffocating

to look at, his skin honey-colored in the fluorescent store lighting, eyes so brown they’re black. So unless Regulus is secretly some kind of outfit-obsessed narcissist, which he doesn’t think he is, the gay thing might not be a passing phase. He is so royally fucked.

James is ecstatic. “I think I look

serious

, you know. Like an intellectual…” He does, kind of. It’s a side effect of the glasses; he’s got a kind of teacher thing going, like the cover of that book he stole from his uncle’s house when he was sixteen…Regulus shivers, dispelling the memory.

“I left something in there,” he lies, and slams the door of the changing room, breathing hard.

Calm down. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. He’s just…

Just Barty he could understand. Just Barty would be fine, or manageable. But James is not Barty. James probably likes wholesome, normal things. Marvel movies and every single song on the radio and sports. He doesn’t even like books. Which means, if it’s not just Barty, that means it’s

him.

That he’s…

He opens the door, hoping he doesn’t look manic to James. “Found it.”

James appears somewhat startled. “Okay…Did you want the-”

“No.” Regulus answers, and flees back down the hallway before he has to get ahold of himself again.

It only takes half an hour for Regulus to convince himself that The James Thing, which is what he has taken to calling it in his mind, is just a temporary burst of insanity. There’s no way, he thinks, he can be attracted to someone who is as overt about showing affection as James is, so utterly lacking in like, boundaries and decorum and common sense. It becomes painfully, obviously clear that James doesn’t give a

shit

whether Regulus is there or not, and that he has other designs for this outing. He does absolutely

everything

Lily asks him to do, including letting her talk him into buying a coat with a hood that makes him look like a serial killer, and he keeps staring at her ass like a complete fucking loser. Lily seems into it, at least up until a point, which he doesn’t get at all; he catches her stealing little glances at him when he does something nice, like give up his spot in the check-out line to some old guy with a walker. That’s all it is, he thinks, misdirected frustration about the

dishonesty

of it all, the being essentially a prop for James to lure Lily in with. Plus, he sees plenty of guys walking around, and he doesn’t feel the urge to…well, he doesn’t feel the

urge

. And he certainly doesn’t feel any

urges

now, seeing James, who is looking at Lily like he wants to eat her, at least ones that aren’t actively homicidal. He was probably dehydrated, or something.

There are things that you have to do when you are inadvertently third-wheeling two people who

clearly

like each other, especially when they have a history. Regulus falls into a pattern with it as he walks around the mall (which, first of all,

mall-walking?

Are they eighty fucking years old?) He makes sure to stay a couple paces behind them, so they can walk two across. He makes sure to pretend to be very absorbed in his phone whenever they do anything too romantic, like linking their hands as they pass through a store, or when James twirls a strand of Lily’s hair around his finger…Well, he didn’t see, did he, because he’s

respectful

. Other people might miss social cues, draw a little too much attention to themselves, get a jealous streak (Sirius would), but Regulus? He’s basically an expert at pretending he doesn’t notice things. It’s fine. He can do this.

The problem arises when the two people in question are James and Lily, who despite their clear interest in each other, are still James and Lily, at least in the sense that they’re not going to let Regulus completely off the hook. In fact, they seem very committed to

including

him in whatever the hell’s going on, which seems like a little bit of an overcorrection, he notes with amusement. They pepper him with questions in between stores (

Do you have a watch? How do you feel about boba?

) and laugh uproariously at everything he says, even if it’s quite a neutral statement (Lily actually has tears in her eyes when he honestly tells her that an eighty-five dollar shirt in a window display is “hideous.”), and are so complimentary about him it kind of makes him squirm (James makes a big thing out of telling Lily about the latest product Regulus made in lab, which had the distinction of being mediocre rather than dreadful, but definitely is not

kind of a masterclass

, as he puts it).

“Look at us.” Lily giggles, seeing the three of them reflected in like, the window of a PacSun or something. “We look like a family. Regulus is like our teenage son who’s so done with our BS.” Regulus seriously contemplates throwing himself off the escalator. There is a small chance neither one of them would notice, to be honest. And no, Barty

still

hasn’t texted him back. (Not that he cares. He really doesn’t.)

“Oh!” This is Lily, passing one of those stores that sells candles. “Can I go in? Please, please, please…”

“I’ll wait here.” It’s surprising, to Regulus, that he would assert himself now; they’ve been practically joined at the hip all day. “Candles give me a headache. You go on.”

“Are you sure?” Why does she

ask,

Regulus thinks, irritated, when she so clearly wants to?

“Yeah. Regulus will keep me company, won’t you?”

Regulus nods in a way that he hopes gives off strong

don’t talk to me

vibes. “Mmhm.”

“Thank you,” Lily says fervently. “Be right out, I swear.” She places a little kiss on James’ chin, after which he tries, and fails, to look nonchalant.

“So…” James looks at him, and honestly, Regulus is so done. Like, it’s not his responsibility to

entertain

him.

“Date’s going well?” He hopes it comes out as acerbically as he wants it to. “I mean, usually you don’t bring your friend’s brother, but I guess you just do whatever you want.”

James winces. “Sorry. I probably should have said…Sirius said this was a bad idea.”

“I agree.”

“It’s not even a

date

, not really.”

Regulus crosses his arms .“Why did you have to bring

me

?”

James looks sheepish. “Well, Lily won’t go anywhere with me and Sirius, because she’ll think it’s a plan to get us back together, and she likes you, and

I

like you, so I thought…And you have a girlfriend now, so it wouldn’t be weird. So I asked her to ask you-”

“So all that stuff about how much you like my clothes was bullshit, then?”

“No!” James says hastily. “I do really like the way you dress. It’s very, um, chic, I think? But, um…I don’t think I could pull it off-”

“You’re manipulating me. All that stuff about how I manipulate Sirius, and you’re actually manipulating me.”

“I’m not. I swear. I do really like you. I just-”

“What’s to stop me from going in there, and telling her why I’m here right now?” He jerks his head in the direction of the candle place. “Bet she’d love that.”

“I’m sorry, all right?” James sighs. “I didn’t mean to do it in a…Well, you don’t need to make it sound like an ugly thing. It’s…That’s how Lily and I first got together, okay? She was shy around me, and I think she didn’t really think I was capable of like, being a nice person. Seeing me around other people…it helps, I think. Makes her less nervous. And I…thought we were friends. You and me. Since Christmas.”

“Oh.” He hasn’t thought about this. “Do you involve all of your friends in your plots to seduce your ex-girlfriends?”

“There’s no…

seduction

. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just…you know, we’re good together. We’re good for each other. It works. I’m just…reminding her.”

Regulus crosses and uncrosses his arms. “Hmm.”

“You didn’t have to come, either.” James ventures. “You could have always said no. I mean, you must have thought…I kind of thought, you were okay with it, you know? Like you wanted to help me.”

“Right.” He’s

right,

is the thing. Regulus knows he shouldn’t exactly be expecting anything. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he feels a hardening pit of disappointment, rising in his stomach.

“Regulus-”

“

What

?” he snaps.

James opens his mouth, and closes it, as if deciding against saying something. “Nothing.”

Right on time, Lily emerges from the candle place, with a bag. “Got cinnamon, and mixed spice, and…” She pauses, no doubt sensing the tension between the two of them, maybe from Regulus’ stiff posture, or James’ too-large smile. “Is he talking too much about Pierre, again?”

Regulus takes his time, before answering, to let James wonder what he’s going to say. “Yes.”

Lily appears utterly oblivious to how James

relaxes

. “You poor baby. Come on, let’s go.”

The car ride back is nauseating, both because of James and Lily’s unusual brand of affection, and also because of the escalator ride back down to the parking lot. Mostly the latter, Regulus thinks, as he stares out of the window. He’d been going back down when he had noticed it, a man pulling a woman. He’d been handsome, in an older-guy kind of way, and the woman had been swaying, awkwardly, like she was going to sleep where she stood. Her hair was disheveled, and she seemed like she was trying to pull away, but he kept a tight grip on her, pushing him in front of her, like a human shield. Regulus had looked at James and Lily then, to see if they saw what he was seeing, but they were too absorbed in whatever conversation they were having, to notice, he thought. Not that he could

do

anything; they were going down, and the man and woman were going up, but there was something sinister about it, Regulus sensed. He could feel fingernails digging into his spine, even though the man wasn’t even close to touching him, a voice whispering behind him,

Stand up straight. Don’t be dramatic or I’ll kill you.

He saw the man, tucking hair behind her ear, saying something in a low voice, and he had felt his breath constrict then, and he had to look away. “Did you see that?” he had asked as they reached the bottom, urgently. “The man…and the woman…”

Lily had frowned. “Yeah. I think he was just trying to stop her from falling off the escalator. I wouldn’t worry.”

“She seemed a little…” James had searched for the appropriate verbiage. “Messed up.”

“

James

.” Lily had then said sternly, and then to Regulus. “I’m sure it’s fine.” Which left him feeling soothed, for a minute, and a little ashamed, because Lily was probably right. He

was

making a generalization, making a big deal out of nothing. But now, in the gathering dark, as the sun sets hazy and red, he’s not so sure.

You didn’t see

, he thinks now. No one ever sees what he sees, is the thing, even well-meaning, nice people like James and Lily, people who like to take care of people and Do Good Deeds. He remembers his father, pinning his mother’s hands behind her back at a party after she threw one too many barbs his way. How everyone around them was frozen in silence, smiles too big and too bright. Telling Sirius, after.

You didn’t see. He was hurting her

. And Sirius insisting that he must have been mistaken.

That’s not what happened. You’re confused.

For Sirius, it was easy to see

her

as the source of all the ill will, and their father as an absent bystander. Back then he did not see, or perhaps did not want to see, that there were two monsters in the house, not just one. He leans his head against the window. He wonders if the woman’s father has eyes that burn through her like coals and a voice that makes her fingers tremble. He wonders if he’ll flinch the first time he sees her with bruises around her neck or if he’ll just tell her, in a voice that means

You are nothing

, to go upstairs.

“You’re quiet,” James says, and Regulus jumps.

“Just tired.” He doesn’t belong with these people. He doesn’t belong with normal people who want normal relationships and are soul-crushing love with each other. Who can get a text back from the person they’re seeing and not panic about seeing someone they’ve known forever in a different color shirt and not worry that the man on the escalator will have his hands around the woman’s throat. He needs to get out of here and he needs Barty to text him back, because that hasn’t happened yet and he needs to get some sleep for once. He feels a distinct urge to leave, to force the doors of Lily’s car open, to start walking until he gets somewhere.

“You should stay,” Lily keeps insisting, once they’re back, in her dorm building. She had demanded that both of them carry her candles back up to her room for her, and now they’re seated in the kitchen, while Lily tries to convince him to stay and drink with the two of them.

“I mean,” James says, in a show of great magnanimity. “only if you want to. We don’t want to

pressure

you.” James won’t come out and say it, Regulus has noted, with more than a little annoyance, but he

wants

Regulus to leave, now that he’s fulfilled his purpose. Of course, he can’t say that in front of Lily, who seems determined to keep the fun going, so he’s stuck to making little comments like this, which seems rather…

cowardly.

He hears a buzz, and looks down at his phone. Barty.

fine

Ouch. (Although maybe it’s flirting, trying not to show

too much

interest.) He types back.

i could still come over, if you want

Silence. Barty is typing, while Lily tries to catch his attention. “He doesn’t feel pressured, do you?”

“Well, we’re not the most exciting people on Earth,” James starts. “I’m sure he has

way

better things to do on a Saturday-”

Lily’s fingers are flying over her phone, so she is clearly not listening. “

Great.

And Mary’s coming, in a bit, with drinks. She just said.”

“Oh, yay.” James’ tone seems uncharacteristically unenthusiastic, but Lily, who seems to be mightily oblivious to his discomfort, corrals them  into her room, shutting the door. Regulus looks around. It is, as he expected, very clean, and decorated with posters of like, native plant species.

She notices Regulus taking it in. “Nice, right?  You guys don’t have to just stand around so

awkwardly.

”

Regulus hasn’t noticed his standing being particularly awkward, but he sits on the very corner of the rug (the closest to the door as he can, just in case Barty ends up responding.

James follows suit, and they both watch Lily root around in her drawer for a…

knife.

“Careful,” James jokes. “Don’t cut anyone.”

“Ha ha. Like I would.” She proceeds to expertly section off a rather dry-looking lime (was that just out in the open on her desk? Jesus, the

hygiene

), while James scatters salt flakes on her desk.

While they’re occupied, Regulus makes the mistake of checking his messages, of which there is one.

has anyone ever told you that you’re really annoying?

He freezes, biting his lip. Is it a

joke

? It’s not funny, if it is. Should he respond, or would that also be annoying?

Is

he annoying? Is this an agreed-upon fact, that he is annoying? Does Lily find him annoying? Does James?

“Hey, do you want-” Lily holds up a bottle of off-brand tequila.

“Oh, he doesn’t-” James starts to say, just as Regulus pastes on his best politician smile.

Fuck it.

“No, I do.”

Lily throws James a little triumphant look. “You see?”

Regulus keeps his eyes on James, as he knocks it back, the tequila burning a hole through his system. It is really bad, but he doesn’t make a face, just tilts the corners of his mouth in an approximation of a friendly smile.

Tell me to get out

, he dares with his eyes.

Enough of the pity and the flattery and the broken promises. Tell me what you really think of me.

This time, it’s James, the complete pussy,  lime wedge between his teeth, that looks away.

Some time later, when he starts to lose track of the shots he takes out of the miniature beakers Lily’s lifted from the chemistry labs, Regulus reflects that there’s something

freeing

about knowing what people really think about you. So he may be irreparably fucked-up and unlikeable and annoying, but now that he’s got the

clarity

of it down, he doesn’t have to pretend, like James does, that he needs everyone to need him so much. He can instead focus on what feels good-his body loosening, melding into the rug on her floor as Lily spins around, humming along to “Cruel Summer.”

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes, what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.

A couple more drinks, and he won’t even remember that Barty existed. He’ll run into him in like twenty years probably, and (Regulus is enjoying the fantasy a lot) he will

thank

Barty, for teaching him this lesson. That’d piss him off, for sure; he always thinks he knows what Regulus is going to say, so well. James is supine, nose to the carpet, but Regulus suspects he’s more frustrated than he is drunk; every time he tries one of the little subtle touches that he used on Lily at the mall she pulls away, saying something like, “Don’t you

love

this song?” It would almost make Regulus feel bad for James, if he wasn’t such a nightmare.

James reaches for Lily again, but just like that there’s a series of short knocks on the door, and she jumps up to answer it. It’s Mary, who’s brandishing a bottle of something bright pink, along with who Regulus, though sufficiently drunk at this point, recognizes as Peter. He’s trailing behind Mary, and Regulus is pleased to note, appears quite mortified to see him again.

“

Mary-

” Lily sort of throws herself into Mary’s arms, and Mary staggers, almost dropping the bottle. Their heads are close together, and Mary whispers something to Lily and Lily

laughs

. It feels kind of private, and impenetrable, to Regulus, the sort of girl-bond he’s deeply unfamiliar with.

“Peter brought the Pink Whitney.” Mary says, a little breathlessly. “It tastes like lemonade, he says. Apparently you’d like it.”

“

Really

?” James props his chin up on his hand from the floor, in what is clearly meant to be a little bit confrontational.

Peter cringes. “It really does.” His eyes are darting everywhere but at Regulus, which will not do.

“Hello, Peter.”

Peter

starts

. “Hello…?”

“

James

,” Lily looks at him, and he shuts his mouth. “Come

in

, you guys, Jesus.” So there they all are, seated on the floor, as Mary busies herself pouring the pink drink, which does actually bear a passing resemblance to lemonade, though with a strong vodka aftertaste. Peter sips his gingerly, as if expecting to get thrown out, and Lily giggles, planting a sloppy kiss on James’ cheek. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“You’re amazing,” he says, and she pecks him on the lips, quickly, before finishing her shot. Her eyes slide to Regulus, who is doing his best to both pay attention to his surroundings and stop the room from spinning. “Are you good, honey?”

He nods, and slides up into a sitting position so he doesn’t die. Maybe he should…No, this is good, for now. He blinks. Mary’s put on a song, and she’s singing it under her breath.

You were such a rollercoaster…

She’s pulled Peter to his feet, and he’s dancing with her and Lily, while James looks on with what he is pretty sure is injury. Well, whatever, fuck him. He lets Lily pull him to his feet, and they’re shuffling around. “You’re so bad at this,” she tells him.

I don’t dance,

he starts to tell her, dry-mouthed, but he’s looked into her eyes a little too long, and suddenly she’s

kissing

him, Lily is, full-on, with tongue. He’s never kissed a girl before. It’s not horrible, but James’ posture is uncharacteristically rigid.

Fuck you,

he thinks.

It’s what you get for doing this, what you deserve.

James looks at the floor, blushing, while Lily

whirls

Mary around, and they’re kissing then, too, even more than she had with Regulus, Mary’s hands in Lily’s hair, pulling her down onto the bed.

James stands up, hand on what’s left of the bottle.

No, you don’t.

Regulus thinks, but he’s up and fleeing, the door closing behind them.

“Fuck,” Mary giggles, still underneath Lily. “I want Whitney back.”

“We don’t need-” Lily starts to say,, but Mary cuts her off.

“Yes we

do

. Peter, go get it.”

Peter, ever obedient, starts to get to his feet, but Regulus stops him. “Mm-mm.

I’ll

do it.”

“You sure?” He is swaying, a little bit, but he uses the wall for balance.

“Yes.”

“Okay, but-” Lily starts to say, but Mary pulls her in again, and

wow

, fuck, Regulus is

wasted

. He wonders what Barty is doing now. Probably jacking off to old pictures of his dad. He leaves before he has to get subjected to any more PDA, drunken footfalls sounding extra heavy in the dorm hallway. It’s dark outside, but he has honestly no idea what time it is. James doesn’t appear to be anywhere on their floor, but he sees a dark head of hair on the stairs, (

there

we go), takes a step, and then trips down two, three stairs. Which is how he ends up looking up at James’ shoes. crumpled into a heap on the floor.

Ow..

He sits up. “I would like the pink alcohol back, please.” he says, in the most dignified way he can manage.

James takes a swig right out of the bottle. “No.”

“What d’you mean,

no

? ‘S not

yours

.”

“Right. You’d know all about what’s mine, anyway.”

“Oh. Jesus.” Regulus hauls himself up, back aching, and leans against the wall. “Not this.”

“Admit it,” James’ face is really red, which makes him look like a very angry cherub. “You’re only here because you like her.”

Regulus laughs. “That is the

stupidest thing I have ever heard

. You know she’s not, like, your property because you went out in high school, right?”

“I didn’t say she was my

property

, you weirdo! We were together for three

years

. Sorry if I’m not super keen on seeing her kiss other guys.”

“She kissed

me

. And what about Mary, huh?”

“That’s different.” James takes another sip out of the bottle. “Don’t you have a girlfriend, anyway?”

“No.” Regulus says flatly. God, he is

stupid.

“Then who were you texting all day?”

Why has he chosen today to be observant?  “You’re not the only person who thinks I’m annoying. So…no.”

James’ forehead is suddenly furrowed with concern. “I don’t think you’re annoying.”

Now, this is just a big fucking lie. “Yes, you

do

. I’m not stupid. You’ve been trying to get me to leave all night.”

James is quick to explain. “Well, that’s not because-Wait, you

noticed

? Why didn’t you?”

“Of course I

fucking noticed.

How dumb do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re dumb at all.” James says, sounding very convincingly

earnest.

“I just thought…you know, you spent a long day, um, kind of babysitting two people on a date. I wanted to give you a way to leave.”

“Yeah, that was definitely your only reason.”

“And I also wanted to talk to Lily alone.” James admits. “Two things can be true at once.”

“Well, maybe I wanted to stay.” He feels

childish

, but he keeps talking, twisting sweaty hands together. “Maybe I’m tired of people getting bored of me.”

James sucks in a breath. “Well, this girl sounds like a real horror show.”

“ I was

expecting

it. People don’t feel that kind of way about me. So, you know,” He takes a deep breath, feeling slightly hysterical. “You don’t need to be

stupid

. I’m not expecting-”

James squints at him. “Well, that’s not-I mean, look at you. I’m sure someone-”

“

No.

No one. So can you stop being a loser now? It’s not anyone’s fault.”

James looks

concerned.

“Well, but, that’s not what I meant. I don’t think you’re unattractive.”

“Well,

thank you.

Lord knows you’re the expert.”

James misses, or ignores the sarcasm. “And I think you do have kind of an offbeat sense of humor, and you’re quite bright, so you know, if someone’s not into you, then you know, that’s her loss.”

Regulus closes his eyes, seeing spots. “

His

loss.”

James whistles. “

Oh.

Cool, very cool.”

“Don’t-” Regulus takes in a breath. “Don’t do that I’m-so-progressive thing. Like I’m so brave for um…”

“Not that it matters,” James says slyly. “You can’t even say it. Also, it’s not like I care. I’ve kissed

loads

of guys.”

“What?” He’s a little floored, but James is grinning, all cheeky. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Nah. I’ve kissed Peter.” He seems a little proud of this; fuck knows why. “Wasn’t bad, surprisingly. Even though I’m sure you hate him now.

And

I’ve kissed your brother; how’s that for progressive?”

Regulus cringes. “Gross.”

“You don’t have to get so weird about it. It was an educational experience, you know. He was showing me how to kiss girls.”

“

Right

. I am somehow not drunk enough for this conversation.”

James leans back against the step behind him. “So, you know. I would know a little bit about gay stuff. And I think you’re-” He snaps his fingers. “Just fine.”

He literally has no idea what is happening anymore. “What are you on?”

“Well, you know, I just, I think you should be a little bit more confident, about yourself.”

Regulus hugs his legs to his chest. “Thanks. You know, that is so goddamn patronizing.”

“Well, I can say it. Now that I know you’re not into Lily, you know…” James pauses. “Do you think I’m…you know?”

“

No

.” Regulus gives him a blank look. “You are not seriously asking me that.”

“Not in that way!” James hastens to explain. “Just, you know. As an objective third party.

Please

.” he says, as Regulus moves to stand up.

“Fine.” Standing up was a bad move, anyway. He’s still dizzy. “You are…okay.”

“Just

okay

?” James crosses his arms. “I know I’m better than

okay

.”

Regulus shakes his head, wearily. “Why did you ask?”

“I don’t know. Figuring stuff out.” He sobers, suddenly. “Do you think I’m a bad kisser, is that the problem?”

No way

is he walking into this one

.

“I don’t want to talk about this. Can I have the bottle back?”

“She probably wouldn’t tell me, if I was. She wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings. But what if I am? You would tell me if I was, right?”

“Mmhmm.” Regulus moves to take the bottle from him.

“Like, right now?” James is looking a little manic in the stairwell light, hair messy and pupils dilated.

Oh.

“Um…”

“She hasn’t wanted to kiss me all day. That means I’m a terrible kisser.” His face falls. “Doesn’t it?”

Regulus is not nearly drunk enough for… “Alright,” he hears himself say. “Fine.”

“

Really?

We don’t have to, if you don’t want to…”

“You want to know, right?”  Regulus takes James’ head in his hands, bracing himself. “Have at it. Go ahead-” And James

pulls

him in, mouth on mouth, quicker than he expected, and it’s a real kiss, too, without any self-consciousness or any performativity. He tastes acidic, like citrus, and he’s knotted his fingers through the back of Regulus’ hair, teasing his top lip with his teeth. Regulus hadn’t planned on closing his eyes, but something in him is retreating to base instinct, a feeling like

So, this is it.

Just as he starts to kiss James back, of course, he breaks away. “Well?” He’s looking at him, a little breathless. expecting a review.

Regulus can’t look at him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Fuck me.

“Seven out of ten,” he says, and stumbles down the stairs to push open the front door and rush into the night.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Can you see me? I’m waiting for the right time

I can’t read you, but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine

-Clairo 
 When Lily wakes up, she has a brief moment where she’s got no clue where she is. But then Mary reaches over, mumbling something, and she is reassured that yes, she is in fact in her own room, and yes, Mary has spent the night. She blinks, her head swimming, trying to clear the fog about what exactly has happened. She remembers James, and Regulus, and kissing Mary, and… Oh, God, she didn’t sleep with Mary sleep with Mary, did she? Fortunately, a hasty examination reveals she does, in fact, have all her clothes on. Pink Whitney is not of this world. The room, she realizes, as she gingerly steps out of the bed, so as not to wake Mary, is trashed. There’s half-squeezed lime wedges and salt all over her desk, shot glasses on the windowsill, a pile of clothes that have been shoved underneath the bed…Mary, if she was awake, would say it was not too bad, but that’s because her standards are shit on account of living with Marlene. For Lily, this is a full-on disaster. She hastily starts filling a garbage bag, trying to not let it crinkle too much in case it disturbs Mary. Despite her best efforts, it is kind of loud, and Mary does wake up, yawning. “ Lily . Stop it. Come back.” Lily raises an eyebrow. “It’s filthy in here,” Mary huffs, a little, impatiently patting the side of the bed Lily just left, and Lily, who doesn’t need too much of an incentive, crawls back in beside her. “You hungover?” Lily nods. Her throat is so dry. “If I go into direct sunlight I’m going to puke.” “All the more reason to not be running around.” Mary smells like sweat and lime and coffee beans. Lily thinks it’s the nicest smell in the world. “Okay.” “Okay.” And Mary wraps herself around her, and she’s able to drift off. properly, once more. Joined at the hip, Marlene would say, love tinged with a minute degree of jealousy. It’s been like this; they are the kind of friends who are able to sense instinctually what the other person needs without words, without explanation. It makes sense, the way that they blur the lines between friendship and sisterhood and romance. No matter what other people they surround themselves with, it’s always a comfort to be able to look at someone across the room and know exactly what they’re thinking, know what they’re going to say as soon as everyone else leaves. 
Two years ago
“Any day now!” Petunia gripes, as Lily struggles with the key, stuck in the lock of the door of the room. “I’m…trying…” Lily pants, finally twisting it open with a sharp yank. The interior is sterile, and stuffy (Apparently air-conditioning is not a necessity for students) with a dubious-quality bed shoved up near the single window. Petunia slams her boxes down in a corner. “I don’t know why you had to bring so much extra shit.” Lily rolls her eyes. “It’s not shit .” “Whatever. Mom wants us to get the rest of it from the car, so come on .” Ignoring her, Lily pushes the boxes to the side, sweat pouring down her back and chest. She resents the decision to wear a nice blouse and dress pants (which had been endorsed by her mother) to move-in day. And Petunia’s been in a horrible mood…well, since Lily got into this school, to be honest. Petunia had applied, back when she was looking at colleges, but she hadn’t heard back, while Lily is basically being paid by the school to go there. Lily feels kind of awful about that, and she even asked if Petunia could be excused from the whole performance of “moving in” since she’s clearly still a bit sensitive about the whole thing. But according to their parents, it’s “a big deal” and “family does everything together,” blah blah blah. Which leaves Lily in a bit of a stupid position, because it’s not even her fault she got in, and Petunia’s life is absolutely fine now. She’s friends with all these identical-looking blond sorority girls who pose for pictures in exactly the same way, she always has a boyfriend, and she gets good grades without having to try too hard (although, how hard can a marketing major be?) From where Lily’s sitting, there’s really nothing to be upset about. You don’t get it, Petunia had snapped, slamming her door. Mom and Dad would NEVER have made you help move me in. And Lily had retorted that that wasn’t even a fair comparison, because she literally had to take the SATs the week Petunia had to move in, and so it was a completely different scenario, and Petunia had completely freaked out on her and told her she was the worst sister in the world. So…it’s not great, but she can’t exactly complain, because her parents are taking the week off of work, and Petunia’s missing a few days of classes and shouldn’t she just be so grateful?  Which she is, to be clear. But all the buzzing around, the hugs and the kisses and the way her mom won’t stop taking pictures (or bursting into tears)…well, she could use a little break, she thinks, leaning on top of the crate she’s just brought in. “Damn it.” Her reverie is interrupted by the arrival of a new girl, who sort of floats in. She’s unusual for a couple reasons-number one, she’s Black, which makes her the second Black person Lily’s seen on campus since she arrived. (The colorful brochures on diversity are two-thirds bullshit, it would seem.) Number two, she’s also a little more formally attired, wearing a white sleeveless dress that makes her very out of place among the jorts-and-Keens Pacific Northwest students. Unlike Lily’s polyester business-casual get-up (secured last minute from a Ross) which makes her look like a middle-aged schoolteacher, the new girl’s outfit makes her appear kind of ethereal, fairy-like. Like someone who’s just visiting this world from wherever people dress up. “Dad! I told you to bring the white cushions.” “I did bring them-“ comes an irritated male voice from the hall, and a sweaty older guy wearing cargo shorts comes into the doorway, balancing a mountain of cushions in a basket. The balancing itself is rather precarious, and a few of them tumble to the faux-wood floor. Lily scoops a few up and puts them back in the basket. “Thank you.” says the guy, presumably the girl’s dad. He’s got a little bit of an accent, from some African country, maybe. “Look how nice she is. Say hello, Mary.” “ Dad -“ Mary sighs. “Hi. I’m Mary.” Petunia gives her a weak grimace and very pointedly does not introduce herself. Lily kind of wants to die with embarassment. “Lily.” She’s expecting a handshake, maybe, but Mary just gives her a huge hug, which Lily tries to extricate herself from quickly before Mary can feel how sweaty she is.“ So nice to meet you, finally. This is my sister.” “Yeah…” They’ve corresponded, a little, through the roommate portal, but it’s mostly been along the lines of are you going to bring a fridge or should I? and how many sheets are you bringing?  “Do you need help bringing anything in?” “No, thank you. But that’s very considerate ,” Mary’s dad says, with the strong implication that Mary is less than considerate, and she rolls her eyes, conspiratorially at Lily, like Don’t worry about him. He’s just like that. And Lily quirks up the corner of her mouth in Petunia’s direction, where she is still standing, lips pursed in perpetual disapproval,  as if to say, It’s no big deal. My family’s worse. It’s an unspoken language, the likes of which she’s only ever had before with her sister. She chooses to interpret that as a good omen.  James is downstairs, when she wakes up, again. He looks slightly wild; he must have slept on the couch, in the living room area, and he’s making himself instant coffee on the stove. “Hi.” she says. “Sleep well?” He nods, which from someone more taciturn she wouldn’t worry about, but the gesture is deathly chilly for James. She tests the water. “Are you mad at me?” This is all it takes for him to interrupt. “Of course I’m mad at you! You ignored me all night, and you made out with Mary, and you made me sleep on the couch! Do you know how much my neck hurts from sleeping on the couch? A lot, Lily. I’m in severe pain.” “I did not make you sleep on the couch. That was definitely a ‘you’ choice.” He laughs. “Uh, yes, you did. You don’t remember? I came up to your room, and you and Mary were all over each other, and I tried to get in the bed, and you pushed me out and told me that you guys needed alone time and told me I had to sleep on the couch if I wanted to stay.” “Oh…” Lily does remember it, now. James had barged in, with his consistent lack of social cues and misplaced confidence, and just like, thrown himself at them. He’d been weird and clingy all night; she’d finally snapped, but she hadn’t thought he would actually do it. “Sorry. I thought, maybe Sirius…” “I thought you were going to come back down. You never did.” He stirs instant coffee into his milk, petulantly. “I really am sorry. Let me make it up to you.” “Like how?” He spins around, face hungry. “Were you, you know…?” “ No, James, ew!” “I just meant, like a kiss.” He bats his eyelashes. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Evans.” “Shut up,” she grumbles, but her traitorous feet move her closer to him, and she ends up letting him kiss her. They kiss a lot more than exes should strictly do, she knows. Mary would lose it if she found out. But James isn’t just her friend; he’s also the only person she’s ever been in a relationship with, and she doesn’t quite know how to separate the two. He doesn’t seem to know how either. That evening, in Mary and Marlene’s kitchen, when he was concentrating on the recipe so hard, she’d been seized with this all-consuming regret , watching his hands hold the knife steady. The idea that he might do this, for some other girl, suddenly became intolerable. And he’d pushed her away, when she came in close, saying, “We shouldn’t,” but then he’d kissed her back, and it was like nothing had ever changed. He hasn’t tried to have sex with her again, or anything like that, but they kiss when no one’s looking, and one time, she heard him whisper against her ear, I love you. Don’t say that , she’d warned him. And he’d just looked at her, so sure, like, Why? Are you going to change your mind? She might, is the thing. Lily is unsure, a lot. She’s mostly the way she is, the way people think of her, because it’s what people want from her, what they expect. Sometimes she’ll be in a room with Mary and Marlene, and she’ll feel this kind of all-crushing sadness, because they know who they are, and she’s mostly an amalgamation of their cast-off parts. Severus had noticed this about her first. Can you just stop doing the fake thing? she remembers him shouting at her, and she had been mystified, because she hadn’t been doing anything fake at all, at least, any more than she normally does. “You should spend the summer with me,” James says, after she breaks away. “Like we planned. We don’t-“ he interrupts her protests. “We don’t have to stay in Frank and Alice’s place. That’s stupid; you were right about that. But…give it some time? Try to figure it out, a little.” “Um…” The truth is, she hadn’t thought about that at all. She hasn’t even bothered to look for something to do over the summer; normally she would. But there’s this crushing weight over it all, about how this summer’s different from the rest. How maybe she should spend it doing something she wants to do, instead of taking extra classes or getting her name on some professor’s pet project she doesn’t give a shit about. Being an EMT would be hard, but she likes helping people, doesn’t she? And maybe, says the little voice in her head, you’ll figure out how you feel about him. “I’ll think about it.” “Really?” He’s trying to play it cool; she can tell, but then he just gives up, which is so tooth-rottingly cute and so him . “That’s awesome, Lily. Really great. Sirius said to be cool about it, but fuck .” He closes his eyes in what can best be described as all-consuming bliss . “I know I’m not perfect, and I’m maybe blowing this a little out of proportion, but I-it means a lot, that you’re considering it, even.” “Ha. Maybe you could ask if Regulus would do it with us. You know, since he put up with us at the mall; I think an ambulance ride would be no big deal.” That had been so fucking weird, honestly. Regulus must be one of God’s strongest soldiers; she herself would rather do almost anything than hang out with two people who used to date. Mary had told her not to go. ( He just wants to get back together with you. ) but Mary has a bit of a conspiratorial streak that has only intensified recently. She means it as a joke, but James is visibly startled. “Regulus? No, I think…I don’t think it would be his style, exactly, would you? I mean, you know, you would know him better than me. I don’t even…I barely talk to him, so…” He lets out a nervous laugh. “ Regulus. Regulus Black.” “I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to…” He’d been so obsessed with the younger Black; she really doesn’t know where this is coming from. Maybe something had happened, while they were upstairs? Or more likely, Sirius disapproves of his sudden interest in his younger brother, she thinks; he has a bit of a territorial streak, and James and Sirius are definitely a package deal. That’s probably what it is, now that she looks at it. Poor James. “Well, I have to go.” James is making a point of not looking at her, like he’s embarrassed about whatever situation he’s found himself in. “Uh…talk later?” “Definitely.” She knows she’ll have to, because something is clearly bothering him, and James, who was raised in one of those super-healthy informed households where everyone ate organic vegetables and went to therapy, has absolutely no idea how to repress any difficult emotion. It would be sweet to watch him try if it wasn’t also moderately alarming. Your fault, says the-imaginary-Petunia-in-her-head, her arms crossed. Your fault. “I am sorry, you know.” Normally, this would make him melt, but today it makes him look, if possible, even sadder. “You’re good. Don’t worry about it.”  
Two years ago
Being Mary Macdonald’s roommate is a transformative experience. Mary, Lily soon learns, is the kind of person who people know . Whenever they walk to the dining hall together, Lily feels like she is a personal assistant to a minor celebrity, with the amount of complete strangers that accost them on the way, sharing long litanies of personal information with her, and basically treating Lily like furniture. But Mary persists in bringing Lily with her, like a security blanket, to strangers’ house parties in the middle of the night, to poorly-organized student dances where everyone is doing more flailing around than dancing, and one memorable night, sharing a single joint (Lily’s first, she mostly just got really sleepy)  with their beleaguered RA. Their room becomes a veritable refuge for lost souls; Lily will often come back from a long lab to find Mary comforting a tearful stranger on their floor, whether it was someone she just met, or, increasingly, the blond soccer player girl from across the hall who keeps having to break up with her girlfriends. This might have become insufferable, but Mary seems to be as bemused by the whole thing as she is. “I never was popular before,” she remarks, a little embarrassed, after fending off yet another invitation to a meeting for a creative writing newsletter from some braces-wearing girl who always looks at Lily like she’s something strange Mary picked up off the ground. “So you’re popular , now?” Lily raises an eyebrow, acidly. She’s not exactly jealous of the attention Mary gets, since a lot of it seems kind of intense, but sometimes, it just sets into solid relief just how different the two of them are. Lily is a good lab partner, a smile-and-wave-in-the-hall, while Mary is interesting and dynamic and funny and magnetic. People ask to copy Lily’s problem sets, but they give Mary vintage sunglasses and invite her to their rooms to drink lukewarm Whiteclaws on the weekends and gossip with her. Mary smiles, embarrassed. “Not really. I mean, I don’t think any of these people like me that much. They just like that I pretend like I’m listening.” And this is true. No one ever asks Mary anything about herself, though they seem to crave her company. “Or maybe they just want a Black friend.” Lily looks up over her cup of jasmine tea (They’re on a tea kick). “You don’t really believe that. People aren’t that shallow, are they?” Mary snorts. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. How d’you think those girls describe me to their parents? I met this cool girl, yesterday, and guess what, Mom and Dad, she’s Black! But not one of those scary Black girls; she listens to Lana Del Rey and took AP classes in high school so she knows not to fight me if we get into an argument… ” Lily squirms uncomfortably. “People like you, though. That’s not all that it is.” “No. People like you .” She closes her book with a snap. “Like that guy, what’s-his-name?” Lily rolls her eyes at that. “You know his name. Severus? My friend from high school.” “Ew, not him. Nah, the Asian guy who talks too much in my seminar? He really likes you.”  “James ?” She has been avoiding him, at this point, for several months. Like, she had considered transferring schools so she wouldn’t have to run into him. Not that she thinks he was as completely awful as she’d first believed him to be, but oh, it was just so embarrassing. “James is a…lot.” “He’s a dumbass.” Mary translates. “But, you know, at least he’s nice. Not everyone,” she said this part kind of reproachfully. “can be as brilliant as you.” “Stop it.” Lily demures. Mary is forever saying things like that; like she’s not smart, for some reason. It is true she didn’t quite have Lily’s grades, but she also is a member of like every single student organization on campus and knew everyone and had boys falling at her feet, which in Lily’s experience, seems to get one farther than brains alone. But Mary, for being so pretty and easygoing, seems to envy Lily for this, or at the very least, think that Lily thinks less of her for it. Well, at least I’m pretty, she would say, teeth gritted,  with a laugh that didn’t quite match her eyes. after missing a quiz or getting her facts wrong. It makes Lily kind of angry, the simmering-sit-with-it anger, that anyone could make Mary feel like she was less than brilliant. “Well, at least he’s better than your friend.” Mary arches an eyebrow. She had taken a strong dislike to Sev from the beginning. It is the one thing they still really don’t agree on, with Lily saying he’s okay; give him time, and Mary saying, he’s a bit of a weirdo, at which point Lily would snap, you know, I’m a weirdo, too? And then Mary would just shake her head and say, Not like that. That is the difference between them. Mary likes nice people, straight-up people, people who were on student council and played sports in high school and always knew what to say. Lily, as a former social outcast, has more sympathy for someone like Sev, who can be awkward and diffident, but who also unselfconsciously loves her dad’s Leonard Cohen records and got flowers delivered to her class on Valentine’s Day in high school. Mary keeps saying it’s because he’s in love with her. Lily thinks Mary says that because everyone’s in love with her , so she wouldn’t know how to identify anything else. It’s not like Sev will get her flowers on Valentine’s Day this year. He’s been kind of annoyed with her, she thinks. It’s weird, because it’s not like him, but he’s been unusually snippy with her; pursed lips when they do homework together, giving shorter, sharper answers. Mostly, he just complains. The food is shit, his classmates are pretentious spoiled brats, this guy on his floor is hitting on him (Lily seriously doubts this is the case), everyone is so shallow, no one here knows how to work hard. He doesn’t seem to have made many friends ( No! Mary says, with an exaggerated shocked face, when Lily tells her later.), which makes her feel a bit bad, but she also has been blowing him off a bit more than is strictly appropriate. She’ll never tell Mary, because she’ll take it as a victory, but there’s something infinitely more relaxing and fun about blowing off homework to accompany Mary to Trader Joe’s than babysitting Sev while he explains in excruciating detail exactly how the last bio test wasn’t hard enough (which, really ?) or talks at her about his econ readings. It’x not that he’s wrong, exactly. Most of their classmates are rich, and they can be spoiled (over orientation week, she and Mary went on a Target run with a group of girls who lived upstairs from them only to discover, in the ringleader’s BMW, that the purpose of the trip had been shoplifting, of which the two of them had been woefully ignorant) and ignorant about how the world works (Lily once walked in on a green-haired white girl with her hand firmly in Mary’s curls, repeating, possessively, “Your hair is so pretty ,” as Mary gave her a weak smile). There are times where she thinks that college, especially their college, is set up for the James Potters and Sirius Blacks of the world, that almost everyone is doing a choreographed dance and no one bothered to teach her the steps. But there are good things, too-Mary giggling about burning microwave popcorn as they crowd around her laptop to watch Frida ,  a professor putting a sparkly smiley face sticker on the exam Lily gets a perfect score on, the time Marlene (the soccer player girl) teaches Lily how to make mojitos and the two of them, plus Mary, get blissfully hammered, exchanging horrified glances with the tall guy who lives on the third floor when they realize that there are at least six people in the communal shower. So it’s not as bad as Sev thinks, but when she’s around him, she feels like she has to disparage the whole experience, even though she doesn’t feel that way, at least, not all the time. And that, in and of itself, is exhausting.  Later that evening, when she goes to write a paper with him, he’s already kicked into high gear. He got a B minus on some minor assignment, and so that must mean the professor hates him (It doesn’t), some girl brought up Keeping Up With the Kardashians when talking about the concept of empire and dynasty in poli sci and isn’t that the stupidest thing in the world (Lily doesn’t watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians, but she doesn’t think she’d care this much), and James Potter switched into his discussion section, which means he’s obviously trying to annoy him (He isn’t). “Who cares what James Potter does?” she makes the mistake of saying, running spell-check through another paragraph. “Can’t you just ignore him?” He glares at her. “I can’t just ignore him. I’d love to just ignore him , but I’m not like you. I don’t particularly want to surround myself with the most vapid losers I can find.” “What does that mean?” He reddens. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.” “ No . You clearly want to say it, so say it.” “Fine.” He draws his shoulders up. “What are you doing with that Mary girl?” “Sev-” She laughs. “What are you talking about? She’s my roommate . I live with her.” “Well, that doesn’t mean you have to spend every waking moment with her. My roommate plays tabletop role-playing games. I never talk to him.” “That’s a little judgmental; don’t you think? He could be nice.” “That’s not the point !” He slams his hand on the table, and she jumps. “We didn’t go here so we could meet aimless nice people. We went here so we could open our minds. Be more educated than our fucking parents and grandparents. You don’t…The people that you network with here are important, Lily. You can’t just glom onto the first girl you find. You have to be strategic about it.” She shakes her head. “I really don’t know what you’re saying.” “I’m saying Mary Macdonald is a loser, and if you associate with losers, you’re going to end up like them.” “ What ?” She can’t believe it. “Mary’s not…Mary’s not a loser.” “Oh yeah?” He has a strange, triumphant gleam in his eye that she does not like at all. “What’s she majoring in?” “She doesn’t know yet ,” Severus laughs, “But a lot of people don’t know yet! That’s not a reason to write someone off! You’re being mean.” “I’m not being mean; I’m being honest.” He lowers his voice. “Come on. Look at her. She’s probably doing all this because she’s trying to make the best out of being stuck with you. And she likes that you worship her -” He says this like it’s a crime. “because she’s a narcissist and it feels good to have the adoration of the weird girls. And then, when she gets bored of you, it’ll be like you never existed. Because to people like that? We don’t exist.” She stands up, slamming her laptop shut, suddenly numb with fury. “I can’t listen to this anymore.” Normally, that would make him apologize, but he doesn’t look at all remorseful. “Fine. You’ll see; I’m right.” Later, in her room, she’ll think about telling Mary what he said about her, but she ends up keeping it to herself. It’s embarrassing; it would be embarrassing if Mary knew how much she needed her. Much later, she’ll regret that.  “I’ve called you here,” Slughorn says, “because I have an opportunity for you.” Lily looks at Sev, who’s staring straight ahead. Slughorn is fond of dramatics; which does not particularly endear him to her, but he likes her well enough, so she knows to put up with him one must tolerate a degree of it. He likes to be the kind of professor who commands fawning adoration from his students. She’d liked it at first; now she thinks it’s kind of sad. Anyone fifty-plus who derives this much pleasure from hanging out with twenty-somethings can’t be living a particularly happy life. “What is it?” Sev, who gives in to professor-generated drama much more easily than she, asks, attention rapt. “You are familiar with my former student, Anders?” They exchange a knowing look. Anders was this South African international student who Slughorn is like, homoerotically obsessed with. She’s pretty sure Slughorn cried real tears at his graduation. Just… weird. “He has informed me that his institute in the Netherlands is in dire need of lab assistants. You would get to study in Leiden -” He pronounces the city’s name with an exaggerated Dutch accent. “and the university would provide housing, of course.” “And it’s a guarantee? That it would be us?” Sev asks. He likes guarantees.  “You two are the most qualified in the department. ” He pauses, waiting for the appropriate reaction, the necessary degree of obsequious awe.  “Thank you,” they both say, hurriedly, after a brief pause. Deep down, Lily knows his favor has nothing to do with their actual academic performance and everything to do with the fact that they are the chemistry juniors who play the game the best. But Slughorn knows a lot of important people; as he’s told them both, multiple times, one of his students ended up working in the lab of the guy who won the last Nobel Prize. “How long?” Lily asks, after she calculates she’s appeared surprised and honored for long enough. “How long until you have to let them know we’ve accepted?” “Were you thinking of not accepting?” He raises an eyebrow. “That would be most irregular.” “No.” Lily says quickly. “Just curious.” She lets Sev do the rest of the talking, asking about potential projects and professors at the university and funding and all of the important things, and after he lets them both go, she walks out, down the back stairs. The low ceilings in the chemistry building sometimes make it feel more ominous than it strictly needs to be, but she could use the extra time to think. Nothing good, of course, can last. “Lily!” Severus catches up with her, breathing a little heavily. He must have ran. “Hi.” she says, not keen on being drawn in. He’s been doing this now, a lot more, ever since she broke up with James. It’s a little pathetic, but she doesn’t know exactly how to get him to stop. Tell him to fuck off , Marlene said wisely, when she brought it up. I did . But Lily’s not a “fuck off” kind of person. Also, it’s hard to tell someone to fuck off when they know your dirty secrets, when you dreamed of conquering the world with them, when they broke your heart in the aching way friends-turned-strangers can only do. “So. The Netherlands.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, like, now that he’s got here, he doesn’t quite know what to say. “Remember when we used to talk about going abroad?”  “Yeah.” She does. They’ve always been the poorest kids in every room at school, pretending like the expensive Swiss chalet stays and luxurious gondola tours their classmates went on didn’t bother them as much as they did. Back when they still talked, Sev used to do impressions of those kids. The cavi-AR is simply maaarvelous in Vienna, dahling. Oh, you haven’t LIVED until you’ve gone to Bar-THE-lona. And she would fall over, snickering, because it was so stupid and pretentious, because all those kids were doing was imitating their parents. “I still haven’t been out of the country, ever.” “Me neither.” He’s quiet for a bit. “It’ll be amazing; I bet.” “I might not go.” She hadn’t planned on saying that, not to him, but it comes out. As usual, he overreacts. “ What? Why?”  Because I’m tired of everyone else making decisions for me. She says the easiest thing, which is, “James and I were thinking about doing the EMT thing, this summer.” “Oh, James .” He turns away, stiff. “Right. Forgot about that.” “You know, you’re not in my life, anymore.” she risks saying. “You don’t get a say on what I do and who I talk to.” “You can’t still be doing this.” He’s turned a corner, anger and sadness warring in his eyes. “I apologized.” “I don’t have to accept it.” She remembers their final fight, outside, freshman year, Halloween. She’d lied about going out, with James and Mary and Sirius, to someone’s party. He’d come by, stayed outside their room, until she got in with them, laughing, clutching plastic cups. His face, screwed up with rage, ranting. You are throwing your life away. You’ve changed. Her, yelling back, that changing wasn’t a crime, that maybe he should change a little. Then, finally, So you just want to be a stupid slut like your sister?  James getting in his face. Sirius snickering at him. Oh, he’s LOST IT, lost it. He had apologized, but what was said was said. He didn’t really mean it; she could tell. They stopped talking. Now, they look past each other, like strangers.  “Okay, that’s fair.” he says, with a sincere attempt at magnaminity. “But Lily, you have to think about it, at least, okay?”  Not if you’re going, she almost says, but she doesn’t. “Why?” “Because…it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, right? Because this is our chance to be something. Just…you should think about it. You can pretend we don’t know each other.” His voice drops, bitter. “Pretend I don’t exist.” She closes the door to the stairwell behind them rather harder than she needs to. “I would never pretend you didn’t exist, Sev. That’s more your thing.” 
Two years ago
The first time Mary and Lily kiss, it’s at a party. Marlene’s girlfriend at the time tells them about it, and so they all go, and then, as is the wont of drunk/high people everywhere, an impromptu Truth-or-Dare session breaks out. It’s Mary’s turn, and this guy who clearly wants to fuck her dares her to kiss a girl. Lily grimaces, because she is way too uncomfortable and she doesn’t like doing anything for an audience. But Mary just shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and pulls Lily in, and it’s slow, and tender, and so fucking nice, honestly. Mary’s lips are even better than she could imagine, soft and tasting like peach candy, and she smells delicious, like buttercream . Of course, the dude who suggested it wolf-whistled, and then they get self-conscious, and pull away from each other. They don’t talk about it again until they’re walking Marlene home. “Is that what y’all do in your room?” Marlene asks, drily. “Yeah,” Mary says, with a sly side-eye at Lily. “Why? You jealous?” “Well, now that you mention it, a little.” “You couldn’t handle me, McKinnon.” “I absolutely could.” Lily is used to this brand of aggro flirting by now, it’s a Mary-and-Marlene staple. She tries not to feel left out. Mary never does it with her, which makes her wonder why Mary kissed her in the first place. Probably just because Marlene’s dating someone.  “Sorry,” Mary whispers to her, that night, when it’s just the two of them. “I know that was weird, ‘cause you’re straight. I just thought…maybe if I seemed really into it, he’d fuck off because he’d realize I was gay.” Lily’s brain fully short-circuits there. “You were…really into it?” “Oh, no. ” Mary looks horrified. “I mean…you know, we know everything about each other, it’d be easy to fake it. You know, because…I love you.” Lily turns on her side, feeling her chest get suddenly tight. “ Right. You know, that was my first kiss.” “Oh my God.” Mary sits up. “Jesus. What is wrong with me? I’m so sorry. Fuck.” She takes in a deep breath. “I didn’t want to…Fuck. I’m…If you want to yell at me...or-or move out, I get it-” “ No. ” Lily says, fiercely clutching her blanket. “Shut up.” “I wasn’t trying to ruin kissing for you, or anything, or do something without consent-” “ Mary. I consented. It’s fine .” It was more than fine, she thinks. Not that it matters, now that Mary thinks she’s a baby who doesn’t know her own mind. “Stop it.” “Oh.” Mary doesn’t sound convinced. “So…it was okay, then? We’re okay?” She’s going to be the death of her. Lily had groaned. “ Yes. Shut up and go to sleep.” And Mary does, and Lily’s left wondering what it means, why one kiss can throw her off so much. It must be different, she reasons, because she loves Mary in a way she doesn’t love any of their other friends. It’s not a romantic way, per se, but it’s deeper, and realer than a normal friendship. Of course, it would make sense, then, that kissing Mary would feel more significant than kissing the average person. It doesn’t mean anything about her. Lots of girls, she reasons, get drunk and kiss their best friends, especially when boys are watching. But the second time they kiss, it’s when Sirius is dating Mary, and there’s no audience, and they’re both completely sober, which throws a bit of a wrench in that hypothesis. Not that it matters, at all, but Lily personally finds Sirius a bit…grating. Okay, he’s not horrible, at least not as bad as he was in high school, and she supposes he’s attractive enough, if you like boys that look like girls. And Mary’s standards are awful; she doesn’t date nice guys, as she once put it. For her, Sirius is practically a saint, compared to her high school exes. Still, Lily notes, with no small degree of reproach, he’s always doing things that are like, shockingly inconsiderate, like when he forgets her birthday or shows up twenty minutes late to a date because he and his stupid friends were God knows where. Plus, he’s always there , in their room. Like, she’ll come home after a long day to see a shirtless (and presumably, naked) Sirius making himself at home in Mary’s bed. There’s a wall that separates the two halves of their space, for privacy, but the walls are thin, and she can still hear them laughing when she’s trying to work or sleep. He makes her laugh, which she supposes is okay, but the rest of it….Every time they have a fight, which is almost always his fault, because he is a moron, Mary retreats to the room and plays Waxahatchee’s “Never Been Wrong” on her speaker at top volume. Lily knows all the words to it by now. The worst part is, she used to like the song, but now she feels a crushing dread every time she hears Jess Williamson starting up. I love being right, especially with you… Today, it’s a Wednesday, and she can hear the drums starting up already, so she pre-emptively marches over to Mary’s side of the room and turns off the speaker. “Hey!” Mary’s head emerges from a cloud of pillows. “Do you mind ?” “I’m trying to read.”  “Lily.” Mary looks at her, plaintively. Lily puts her hands on her hips. “Mary. So, what’d he do this time?” Mary looks away. “You’ll laugh.”“I won’t.” “He said I only listen to TikTok music, and then I mentioned that this one song he likes actually got popular on TikTok, you know, ‘Layla’? And he said it was different when he did it, because he listened to it before it was a thing on TikTok and I’m just jumping on the bandwagon. Which is fine , he kept saying, but like. You can tell he thinks it’s not fine. Like I’m some kind of faceless trendhopping drone because I like songs you can dance to. Then I told him he was being condescending, and he said that I’m taking him too seriously. And then I told him that Eric Clapton is a huge racist and would probably hate that either one of us exist and then he walked out because he knows I’m right but he can’t admit it. So you know.” She shrugs. “The normal stuff.” Lily bursts out laughing, of course. “I’m sorry, but that is… so you guys.” “Stop it. You said you wouldn’t.” Mary retreats into her blanket cocoon, and Lily joins her. “Maybe you should break up with him.” she tries out. Most of the time, Mary doesn’t listen to this from her, but this time, she just sighs. “I don’t want to, but, yeah. Probably.” She turns to look at Lily, and Lily notices, for the first time, how brown her eyes are. “Why are boys so stupid ?” Lily swallows. “I don’t know.” “I mean, the sex is-” she makes an “OK” sign with her fingers. “pretty excellent. But the rest of it? Absolutely not.” Lily looks at the ceiling so she doesn’t have to imagine Mary having sex with Sirius. It’s not working. “Well, there’ll be other guys. Or…” Mary came out as bi to her, a while ago, so she’s trying this one out. “other girls.” Mary props herself up on an elbow. “Yeah?” she breathes. Fuck, she is close, and the fake freckles on her nose are standing out in sharp relief against her skin. As she inches closer, Lily takes her head in her hands and kisses her, long and slow, like she did at the party. Or she tries, before Mary inches away. “What are you doing?” Well, if Mary can play dumb, she can too. “What does it look like?” Mary stands up, like Lily’s contagious. “Oh my God. What is wrong with you?” “What is wrong with me ? I thought you wanted to-” “No, I wasn’t!” Mary yells back. “I was trying to be nice . Like friends.” “Real friendly , like you were at the Halloween party.” “That was different! I was single.” “You don’t even -” Lily tries to keep the hysteria out of her voice. “You don’t even like him that much. You complain about him all the time. I thought you were going to-” “Well, I haven’t yet, have I? You don’t…You don’t have a crush on me, do you?” Mary’s looking at her, horrified. “Oh, get over yourself,” Lily snaps, “I don’t have a crush on you.” “No, not like that, I mean…I’m…I didn’t give you the wrong idea, did I?” And she’s so fucking smug , over there in the corner, like she’s such a prize, like of course, of-fucking-course, Lily, who’s so weird and helpless and isn’t even fucking gay, would have to want her. It slips out, almsot before she realizes it. “Severus was right about you.” Mary gets in her face, then. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “Nothing.” “ Tell me. ” “He said you’re a loser. And that you like to use people like me to feel better about yourself.” Mary’s face contorts, like she’s going to cry. “Get. Out.”  “Look, I’m sorry. I should have said something about-” “ Now .” Mary turns around, like she can’t bear the sight of Lily. And Lily, who can’t bear the sight of herself, either, wordlessly returns to the other side of the wall, fingers in her ears so she doesn’t have to hear Mary weeping. Lily attempts to lift a piece of sushi into her mouth without completely decimating it, which is harder than it looks. Across the table, her date studies her, unblinkingly, like she’s a really fascinating specimen or something. “Do you eat here a lot?” she tries. “Huh? Oh, sorry.” There’s a smudge of fuschia lipstick across her teeth, and Lily has an urge to wipe it away. She laughs, awkwardly. “Um…not really? It’s more of my go-to first date spot. You know, to show off that I can afford sushi. Also, I’m really good at chopsticks, so…” She wiggles them. “Are you impressed?” “Mmhmm. I’m a disaster.” Lily laughs, gesturing at the mangled fish bits in front of her. “And this is way nicer than anywhere I would have picked.” Her date (Daphne? Daisy?) gives her a shy smile. “What would you have picked?” “I’m not super romantic. My ex and I used to just eat a pizza in front of his laptop and that seemed pretty sweet to me.” And fuck , there she goes again. All the websites she’s consulted prior to this meet-up said not to mention your ex. Dora (that’s her name!) doesn’t seem to be fazed. “Yeah. I used to go here with my ex all the time.” She looks a little sad, and Lily feels panic begin to set in. “Uh…when did you break up?” “Last week.” Dora looks off to the side. “Sorry. I’m kind of damaged goods.” “You’re the first girl I’ve ever been on a date with,” Lily makes sure to look Dora in the eyes, to reassure her. “So, I think you’re doing fine.” “Really?” Dora looks at her, in awe. “So your ex is…” “A man.” “Wow.” She laughs. “I totally though you were a lesbian when I saw your photos.” Lily feels the panic setting in again. “Is that…bad?” “No, oh my God.” Dora reaches across the table and grips her hand, which is warm. “I so don’t care about any of that gold star bullshit.” “Oh. Good.” And the rest of it goes well, better than she could have expected, both of them laughing over who should pay the bill and joking about Dora’s huge umbrella, which doesn’t fit in her tote bag in the slightest. She ends up walking Dora to the bus stop, at the end, both of them huddled underneath it. “So…this was fun.” Her mouth is a little dry, with nerves, but she finds that she means it, really. “Would you want to…um?” “See me again?” Dora’s smile is teasing. “You’re not one of those gay girls who never texts back, are you?” “Um…No?”  “Good.” And Dora stands on her toes, which is adorable, and gives her a little kiss on the cheek. After how it went with Mary freshman year, she thinks it’s better to ask. “Can I…?” Dora seems to know what she wants. “Go for it.” So Lily leans in, and kisses her on the mouth. It’s just a peck, but she feels something a little electric go through her, and she shivers, which makes them both giggle. “So?” She tries for nonchalant, but also, if Dora tells her the kiss sucks, she’s going to throw herself off the nearest building. Dora grins. “Not bad for your first girl.” “Not my first.” Lily says, feeling a little brave. “Oh? Should I be jealous?” She thinks about Mary, alone in her room, Mary, half asleep on her bed, Mary, who can make being surrounded by people look so heartbreakingly lonely. “No. No, you shouldn’t.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I miss the way the night goes

With friends who always make it feel good

This basement has a cold glow

Though it’s better than a bunch of others

-LCD Soundsystem

James scans the itinerary on the screen in utter helplessness, the road to the front diverging into two. “It says make a

left

.”

“For the last time,” Lily gets out with gritted teeth. “that is a dead end. What else?” In the back of the car, Sirius and Remus exchange looks. She’s been on edge this entire time, even rolling down the window to snap at a group of slow-moving freshmen to “get out of the way.” as they had left campus, which made Remus sink down in his seat, as if he was trying to disappear, and made Sirius note that he should maybe do his best to shut up, at least until they arrived.

“Well, I don’t know, do I? Ah, dammit, it’s rerouting.” James looks at Lily in utter horror as she scans his phone over the wheel, lips pursed.

“Fucking Anatole.” Sirius says, because he’s basically a comedy god. (

Anatole

is the name he has given to James’ Google Maps voice assistant, who has a vaguely Eastern European accent he can’t figure out how to change in the settings. Lily doesn’t think this is particularly funny, but James thinks it’s one of Sirius’ better bits.) Everyone ignores him, so he occupies himself looking out the window.

“I think it’s the last exit,” Remus says to him, looking stricken. “We’ve absolutely gone too far.”

Sirius gives him a flat look. “Then say something.”

Remus looks at him like he’s the dumbest motherfucker on Earth. “I’m not getting anywhere near

that

.” (The

that

in question is James and Lily, whose voices are steadily rising in pitch. He does not do arguing.)

“Ah.” Sirius considers, for all of two minutes, and then pointedly clears his throat. “Excuse me?”

“-missed the right, all because you wanted the cheaper gas-“

“At least we

have

gas-“

“You missed the exit.” He makes sure both of them are looking at him, when he says it. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“

What-

?” Their collective attention falls on Remus, who not-so-casually gives him the finger, but he just grins, and leans back, watching the trees get greener as they pass by. It’s easy to tune out the three of them talking over each other, adopt a vacant expression. The only indication that something may be amiss is his nails, jaggedly digging into the flesh of his upper wrist, angry weals rising under his command with every increase in altitude.

The plan had been one of James’, or maybe Lily’s, because they’re the planning people. The college owns a very small cabin on the mountain outside the city, which students can reserve for free on the weekends,  allegedly to ski or something. He remembers James waxing poetic about the cabin last year, the two of them just drunk enough that everything sounded like a good idea. James comes up with a million ideas when he’s drinking; how was he supposed to know that this one he was totally serious about? Anyway, James had tasked Sirius with making sure Remus actually came and didn’t plead sickness or homework or other, less convincing excuses, which Sirius was originally loath to do. “Why me?”

“Ah, I thought you might ask that,” James sounded terribly satisfied with his plan. “You see, he’ll expect me to be the one to do it. If you do it, it’ll throw him off his rhythm. Eventually, he’ll run out of options.”

“See, that’s your problem. No one wants to do anything with you if you make having fun sound so terrifying.”

James did not look the least bit offended. “I provide exposure therapy, baby. Besides, I think he’s a bit depressed.”

“Are you sure that’s not just his default setting?” Sirius had grumbled, but he’s doing it. Of course he’s doing it; it’s not even a question. Through James, all things are possible. Even though Remus has been

very

cool with him ever since Peter moved out. Not that he hasn’t been trying to spark up conversation. He leaves two mugs (one coffee, one jasmine tea) on the floor outside his room every morning, and when this didn’t provide the desired effect, he’d left no less than six dirty dishes in the sink in order to force Remus to talk to him. (Remus did not take the bait. Instead, he just washed them all himself, and left early that morning, without even a passive-aggressive note, which had the added bonus of making Sirius feel like a truly awful person.) Like right now; he’s absolutely glued to his screen, while Sirius explains the stupid plan to him. Which he doesn’t really give a shit about, but like. He could at least pretend to pay attention.

“It’ll be

fun

,” Sirius cajoles, trying to get Remus to look at him, from across the table. So far, he’s hooked a foot around his ankle, tried the begging-puppy eyes, with no results. “Snow, and all that shit.”

“Descriptive.” Again, would it kill him to pretend to pay attention.

“We’re bringing pasteurized juice. Although,” he muses. “I’m not really sure why juice needs to be pasteurized.”

Remus blinks, redirecting his attention to Sirius, who suddenly, desperately wants him to go back to looking at the computer. “Do you want me to look it up?”

“You mean you don’t

know

?” Sirius teases. “Isn’t that what you’re for?” Jesus Christ, his undivided attention is kind of intense. He has to look away; it’s kind of like staring directly into the sun.

“Juice facts?”

Fine,

he’ll

look away. “Knowing stuff. Think about how much stuff you’re missing out on knowing, by not going. What would your mom say? I know,” He puts on a high-pitched voice. “Darling, you’re limiting yourself. Reach for the stars!”

“It’s like she’s here.” Remus says, deadpan, and they both start cracking up, the earlier tension between them starting to feel lighter. “Anyway, I have an exam, and I don’t particularly want to kill myself walking uphill on a mountain with stealth ice patches. I don’t care if there’s nature.”

“Oh, fuck nature,” Sirius agrees. “I just want to binge drink somewhere new on a weekend, not go on some extreme mountaineering challenge. I don’t think we’re exactly going skiing, surely.” He rubs the very small scar right underneath his left eye. It’s faded now, but it’s still kind of noticeable. “You know, I got this slipping on ice.” he lies.

“Did you?”

“You can’t ask me about it. It’s a very traumatic memory,”

“

Sure

.” Remus gives him a very slow assessment. “I’m still not going. I don’t want to be the first victim of James’ passion for outdoor sports. I’m my parents’ only son; I’m not sure they could cope if I became a statistic.”

“Well, my parents get a do-over with Regulus, so I’m all clear to die on the slopes.” Remus frowns, like this is not exactly funny, which is his loss, really. Then, a burst of inspiration strikes. “If you’re worried about getting strong-armed into going outside, just dress completely inappropriately for the weather. It’s what I do. James is a heathen, but he respects the tenets of practical fashion. Can’t make you do anything if you don’t have a coat.”

“But then I’ll be cold.”

“Cold or concussed on the ice?” He winks. “Maybe I’ll wear booty shorts.” Remus turns pink at this, which is quite funny. “Do you think Peter will come?”

“I don’t know,” Remus says. “I hope so.” He actually perks up, at the mention of Peter. It is kind of pathetic.

“Me too. Do you think we can push him off the mountain and make it look like an accident?”

“Do you have to say every single thing that pops into your head?”

“You sound like James.” Honestly, James has been downright

responsible

about the whole Peter situation, which is so unlike him it’s a bit concerning. Like, he went over to whatever rock Peter lives under now, and apologized, and formally invited him, to which Peter said something vague about

considering it.

Sirius thinks that’s kind of dumb, because it’s not exactly like the idiot has some kind of packed social calendar, but whatever makes him feel good about himself. “You guys are losing your edge.”

“What edge?” Remus rests his chin in his palm.

Sirius snorts. “That’s true. So? You’ll come, right?”

Remus shakes his head. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

“

Exactly

.” Sirius knows, as soon as he starts quibbling, that he has Remus. “I knew you would.”

Remus does not smile, eyes far away. “Yes.” He returns to the screen, concentrating intently, in a way that clearly communicates the end of the conversation.

“Math going well, then?”

Remus sniffs. “I’m reading.”

“What are you reading?”

“

A Little Life

.”

Which is kind of a conversation-ending answer, as books go, but Sirius is undeterred. “See? You can bring your lovely, light beach reading with you while the snow gathers outside the windows. It’ll be all domestic and wonderful.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “

Beach

reading?”

“It’s a little overwrought, no?”he needles.

“You haven’t read it.”

“Um, excuse me, I

have

.” He crosses his arms. “In high school.”

“Oh.”

“So, if you need any explanations, or insights…”

“I think I’ll manage. It’s not

Ulysses

.” Remus pauses. “Oh, um, you’re a very high-level intellectual thinker for reading

A Little Life

in high school, if that’s what you want me to say?”

“Thank you.” He sits back in his chair. “You’re not…mmm…” He searches for the right words. “It’s just, that, you know, James thinks, you’re depressed.”

“If he’s so

concerned

about me,” says Remus, with a little more edge to his voice than Sirius is used to, “why is he making you ask?”

“I don’t know.”

Asshole.

“I mean,” he adds a little too late, “I’m…I’ve thought, that maybe, you were-I care, too. Is my point.” It is too hard to say. He can’t look at him when he mentions it.

Remus stands up, laptop in hand, expression unreadable. “What on Earth,” he says, echoing Sirius’ earlier comments, days ago, “would I have to be

depressed

about?”

“What, you’re not going to kiss me?” Sirius makes a point of pouting, a little, hanging off Hestia’s shoulder, half an hour later. The dinner (over-greasy Chinese food on her bed while her roommate is out) was not particularly memorable, but they’ve been talking without pause for hours, laughing about everything, like they’ve known each other forever.“Do you think I’m ugly or something?”

“No,” She laughs, her cheeks flushed. “I just like doing the talking thing, you know, like real people.”

He blows a raspberry. “I’ve been talking forever.” It’s really true; he has. Earlier today, he spent an hour on the phone with some sophomore who’s had a dramatic friend break-up, and his fingers itch for a drink, her mouth on his, the wide-open road, anything to make his mind quiet.

“Not long enough.” She puts her hands on her hips, pulling away from him. “I need a little more conversation before we do the rest of it.”

“Okay, then.” He assumes a face of docility. “But we

are

doing the rest of it?”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Yes, you’re very sexy. Is that good enough?”

“That is quite literally all I needed. So?” He stretches out his arms, obliging. “What do you want to know?”

She does not smile. “We have done

nothing

but talk about you this whole time.”

“That is-” He splutters. “

not true

.”

“Oh yeah? What’s my sister’s name?”

This he knows.“Eurydice.”

She shakes her head. “Eurydice is my

mother

.”

“Right. I knew that.”

“Did you, though?”

“I did, I swear!” He looks around the room for inspiration, before his eyes land on the stuffed chipmunk in the corner. “What’s his name?”

“Bieber. What?” He snickers. “I was a fan.”

“And…um…what’s your favorite color?”

“Purple.”

“And when’s your birthday?”

“March 11. I’m a Pisces. Are you just going to go through a list?”

“Yes. Unless you don’t want me to.” He looks over at her, all sly.

She laughs. “So it’s true that hot people have no game at all.”

“So what I’m hearing is that I’m hot.”

“It’s not a compliment. You seriously need help.” She’s laughing, when she says it. “I don’t know how you function being this conceited.”

“Mmmhmm. What else is wrong with me?” He moves a hand to her breasts, and she doesn’t push him away.

“You’re…very judgmental…and you don’t have…

ahh

…common sense…and…” He bites her ear, planting kisses down the side of her neck, and they don’t talk much after that, despite what she said earlier.

Later, in the dark, her fingers creep down the side of his face, brushing up against the little half-moon scar. “What’s this from?”

“Slipped on some ice.” It’s easier, to lie to her in the dark, where she can’t search him with her eyes because her heart is still racing. “Stupid, right?”

“I like it.” she says, and he’s not sure whether she means the scar, or him, or the sex. But he’ll take it, he thinks, as he relaxes into her arms.

He’s not going to invite her to the ski cabin, of course. That’s a friends-only thing, he reasons, and it’s not like she’s a girlfriend. Besides, Remus has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t like her-first, their little spat from before, and the one time she came to pick him up, he’d absolutely

stonewalled

her, just the barely-polite one-syllable answers he gives when he doesn’t care at all about someone. Mary thinks that’s a mistake, as she tells him while they’re bringing the soup Lily made, prepackaged in tub-like plastic containers, to the car. “She’s not going to think you like her, you know.”

“I

do

like her,” he protests.

“Girls-

mmpgh

-like to feel like they’re a priority for you.” She hefts the soup into the back of Lily’s car. “Jesus, what’s in this thing?”

“I think carrots,” he answers, shoving it to the back of the trunk to make room for a mountain of luggage. “But she

is

a priority for me. I’m not seeing anybody else.”

“Well, you’d better hope and pray she doesn’t find out that you’re going out of town with a bunch of your very single friends.”

“Come on, she’d have to be a lunatic to care about that.” He leans back, against one of the pots for reheating the soup. “Besides, we’re not

all

single. Marlene’s with Dorcas, and James and Lily, of course-”

“They’re

not

together,” Mary shuts the trunk, vehemently. He has to move out of the way, extra-fast, to avoid getting crushed.

“Right, but we all know…Oh.” He stops, too late, remembering Mary’s confession to him.

Mary has the expression on her face that he remembers from when they were dating, the one that means he’s said something really stupid and she’s not going to rest until she absolutely reams him. “We all know

what

?”

He thinks about the awkward lunch he’d endured the previous day, with James and Lily, where they’d had one of those arguments-that-wasn’t-really-an-argument about who’s car would be better to take into the mountains. James doing the intense-listening thing and then saying, completely seriously,

You can drive my car any time,

and trying desperately not to start laughing. He can’t tell Mary about Lily’s hand on James’ elbow; it would crush her, so he does the next most-honest thing. “That they’re probably going to get back together any day now.”

“Well,” Mary says, voice dripping insincerity. “Good for them.”

He knocks his shoulder. with hers. “It’ll pass. It always does.”

She doesn’t smile. “Things don’t really

pass

for me, Sirius. In a lot of ways…Most of this is my fault.” Now she doesn’t sound like she’s talking about Lily, which spooks him. It’s not like her, to get so introspective.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” he tells her. They’re not talking about James and Lily, anymore. “No one thinks you did.”

“Yes, they do. Peter does, I’m sure. She does.”

“She does not. If she does, she’s an idiot. And Peter is most definitely a virgin, so I don’t know when we decided he’s some great fucking moral authority.”

She laughs, a little, at that. “You know he’s bringing some girl with him? Lily told me.”

“For real? Like, a human person?” He thinks about it for a second. It’s hard to imagine Peter with a

girlfriend

, but he supposes it had to happen eventually.

“

Yes.

She’s one of Marlene’s exes. The East-Asian goth one.”

“Wow. Go, Peter.” They’re quiet for a moment, and then he says. “You know, if you want me to like, pretend we’re hooking up again to make Lily jealous-”

She hits him. “God, you’re a slut.”

Sirius has to admit, if only to himself, that it’s beautiful up here, in that wild kind of way, the way that evokes the dull pain of memory. His mother had taken them to some place like this, when they were small, the first time she tried to leave Orion. Regulus had been fascinated by the snow; while she had argued in hurried French and Bengali on the phone.

Vous ne comprenez pas. Les infants… Ami asustha, bustaparle?

She had snapped at him when he had tried to go outside. Eventually, their father had returned, with the car, and had explained, in a detached, clinical sort of way, exactly what she meant to do with them. The ride back would have been unbearable if not for Regulus’ hand in his. He banishes the memory, the eerie similarity of this cabin to that one, and concentrates on picking his way around the patches of ice while balancing a crate of alcohol on his hip. They’re the first people here, despite the argument regarding the navigation leaving them all a bit more chilly with each other than normal.

Lily catches up with him, while James sprints ahead to open the cabin door. “He’s so excited. I think it’s adorable. Oh,

goddamn it…”

Her face falls as she catches sight of the trunk, stuffed to the hilt.

“Look, it works!” James calls from the doorframe, bouncing enthusiastically.

“That’s great, sweetheart!” she calls back, all saccharine, before continuing, to Sirius and Remus. “I asked him to do

one thing

, which was to pack his stuff. And he didn’t even bring a pillow.”

“Yeah, who would forget that?” Sirius agrees, readily, trying not to meet Remus’ eyes. (It had said

bedding provided

on the flier, which he had thought would include pillows. So sue him. Maybe he can repurpose a bath towel.)

“Now he’ll have to share with me.” She does not sound excited about this prospect, as she shuts the trunk. “

One

thing. I asked him to do one thing.” Her eyes fall, critically, on Sirius. “What are you

wearing

?”

He winks. “Oh, this?” The size-too-small women’s ankle boots have treacherously slippery clear plastic heels, but fortunately, he’s practiced walking over all kinds of dangerous surfaces. And he likes that they make him look kind of androgynous, especially when paired with the loose pleather vest and tight black tank top. It makes him feel like more of a man, paradoxically. Even though he can’t feel his toes or fingers. “Do you like it?”

“Don’t answer that,” Remus warns Lily in an aside-that’s-clearly-meant-for-him-to-hear. He’s a little touched to see that Remus has also taken his advice, about dressing impractically for the weather, to heart, although for him, that means more literal and less slutty, a wrinkled cotton shirt with buttons, the sleeves rolled up even higher. Sirius can see pink gooseflesh rising on his arms, usually insulated from such dangers. Objectively, he notes, as Remus leads the way up the steps, Remus has nice arms. He should show them off more; if Sirius had arms like that he would never wear long sleeves again…He suddenly feels a sharp

crack

, and is almost unceremoniously united with the ice on the steps to the cabin, if not for the hands of James.

“My prince.”

“My damsel.” James is grinning.

“My true love.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but he’s got a flush spreading on the tops of his cheekbones. “Ugh, get a room, you two.”

The cabin’s warmer than that one had been, if rather bare of furniture and necessity. There’s a rudimentary kitchen and living area, and a half-finished basement downstairs, with a closet-like room (“a sauna”, that he will not be venturing into, for fear of contracting some new disease) The bedrooms are on the top floor, and they are just plain mattresses, devoid of pillows (Lily gives James a significant look, of which he seems mightily oblivious). The view from the window’s nice enough, he’ll admit. He likes being able to see the snow falling, but it does make him feel a bit more trapped up here. Unbidden, the thought comes to him.

What if I make them angry and they leave me here?

It’s the sort of embarrassingly un-chill thought that he works hard on trying not to think, so he tries to concentrate on snow, on Lily and Remus making noises of approval as they look out the window. “You good?” James asks.

He does his best smile, with teeth. “Yes. Perfect.”

James doesn’t look particularly convinced (maybe “perfect” was laying it on a little thick), but then, there’s an insistent rapping on the front door, and James and Lily go out to presumably let the second group (Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary) up. Sirius wanders around, trying to stake his claim on the mattress furthest to the window, watching Remus redistribute the contents of his (very sparsely packed) bag. He’s waiting for Sirius to say something, for sure. No one needs to move a copy of

A Little Life

around this much. “So,” Sirius asks him, so he stops moving around. “who’s your favorite? In that.”  He jerks his head in the direction of the book.

Remus is quiet, to the point where Sirius thinks he might not have heard him, but then he says, a beat too late. “Wilhelm.”

“Really?”

“Who’s yours?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Wilhelm.”

“What, we can’t have the same favorite character?” Remus says, extra innocent.

“Pssh, Wilhelm’s everyone’s favorite. He’s so unfailingly

good.

Who’s yours, really?”

Remus doesn’t look in his direction. “Jude.” He says this, like admitting it is admitting to a crime.

“Solid choice.”

He looks curious now. “Who’s yours, really?”

Sirius digs in his bag for the metal case. “Well, now I don’t want to say, since you’re all into the nobility of suffering and that shit.”

Remus looks confused.“There’s not really anything noble about suffering.”

“I

know

. Jesus. J.B.”

“What?”

“J.B. Is my favorite.”

Remus is actively trying to suppress his disgust at this, which is very funny to watch. “Well, that’s…interesting.”

“Just, I get what it feels like to feel like you’re treading water while everyone else is moving onto the next big thing. And being mean. I’m not very nice.” The last of Gideon’s blue raspberry edibles are sweating in the metal case. He lets one dissolve, gently, on his tongue.

“You’re not-”

“It’s not a bad thing, I mean.” He pops another one, impulsively. “I don’t want you to make me feel better about it. It is what it is.”

Remus opens his mouth, about to say something, but he only gets out,“How J.B. of you.”

“I loved that book, you know. I read it under the table in high school chemistry. Almost failed the year. It was totally worth it.”

“You never talk about things like that.” It’s true, he doesn’t.

“To be fair, I didn’t take you for a

Little Life

gay.”

“A

Little Life

gay?” He sounds affronted. “I don’t even know if I like this that much.”

“You will.” He considers taking the third one, but replaces it in the box. “I don’t even

want

to be high, to be honest.”

Remus looks troubled. “You don’t have to be?”

“Yeah, I do. You won’t tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m not sharing.”

Half an hour later, and Lily’s heating up the soup on the stove. Peter and his weird friend arrived soon after, and he’s doing an admirable job, Sirius thinks, with a little amusement, of pretending like they don’t know who any of them are, only occasionally talking to the girls. Not that he gives a shit. He and Marlene already cracked into the Jack Daniel’s, and after losing his third bet of the evening (He bet he could stand on one leg for fifteen minutes, in heels) he’s been ordered to swap bottoms with Dorcas, so now she’s wearing his leatherette pants, and he’s wearing a loose maroon skirt that skims his knees, and the girls are telling him he should do this more often.

“Yes,” Mary declares, head on Marlene’s shoulders. “You definitely could be a skirt kinda guy. Maybe a

kilt

guy.”

“I’m not fucking wearing a kilt.” he declares. “You wouldn’t be able to see my legs!”

“Goddamn exhibitionist.” Dorcas is the least buttoned-up he’s ever seen her, her body draped across Mary and Marlene.

“That’s why girls wear skirts, isn’t it?” he probes. “Right, James?”

“Not everything we do is catered to the male gaze.” Lily laughs, taking the final dregs out of the whiskey bottle. “

Ugh,

that is disgusting…What kind of music is this, even?”

“The Killers,” Peter says, looking wounded.

“Well, find something better, oh my God.”

“Nah, it’s ‘Somebody Told Me’! We love this song!” James pulls a laughing Marlene up from her position on the couch and gives her a very dangerous spin. Mary grabs a thrilled-looking Peter and shimmies toward them, until somehow they switch partners, with the girls dancing together and Peter dancing with James. Lily looks on with fond amusement. Emmeline, Peter’s alleged girlfriend, is surveying the scene with a frown on her face, holding herself apart from the group in a way that seems both forbidding and vulnerable, so Sirius, limbs loose from the weed and alcohol and buoyed by a rush of generous feeling, makes his way to her side.

“Not a fan of the Killers?”

“I don’t really like this kind of music.” Her eyes trace, jealously, Peter and James giggling about something. So it is possible; people can actually find Peter appealing. Maybe he’s missed something.

“Oh yeah, what do you like?”

“I don’t know.” Good Lord, Peter knows how to pick them.

“You have to have some idea.”

She stares at him, dead-eyed, and for a horrible moment he thinks she’s going to say something like

I don’t like music,

but then she answers, long-suffering .“Fine. My favorite song is ‘Paint It, Black’.”

There’s

no

way that’s actually her favorite song, but whatever, he thinks. “Oh,

taste

.” He makes a beeline for the speaker. “Okay, everyone.” he announces. “Emmeline requested this one special.”

“No, I didn’t-” she starts to say, blushing, but he pulls her in next to James and Peter, who have completely given up on staying on beat and are now just flailing around, which kind of suits “Paint It, Black,” really.

“Sirius, you hipster prick, ugh-” Marlene groans, as the guitars start their frenetic tempo.

“Hey, it’s not my idea! It’s her favorite song.”

“You can’t really dance to this,” Emmeline looks away from him, embarrassed.

“Sure you can.” He nods in the direction of Mary and Marlene, who are trying to pull a seated Dorcas into the circle, or James and Peter, who keep jumping up and down and running into each other like video game characters.

Apparently satisfied she won’t make a fool of herself in this company, she does a very small spin. “Yes, fuck it up!” Sirius cheers, taking a long drink. She grins, a little embarrassed, but does that weird middle school slow dancing thing where she pulls him in and lets him go. Remus, who’s watching them next to Dorcas, looks very amused.

“Alright, you guys…” Lily starts to say, but no one’s really listening. “

You guys.

” That stops them in their tracks, the Rolling Stones be damned. “Are we just going to dance around all night?” She (petulantly, Sirius thinks) starts ladling soup into bowls.

“Oh, come on, it’s not time to eat yet,” Marlene says slyly. “We should play a game.” They all make noises of agreement.

“I brought cards,” Peter announces.

“Oh good one, Peter,” James says in agreement. “We should play for money, though.”

“Yes, gambling!” Mary agrees. “I have like twelve dollars-”

“

No.

” Marlene is firm. “Something else. A drinking game.” Her hand curls around the empty bottle of Jack.

“Spin the bottle! Spin the bottle!” James chants, arms wrapped proprietarily around Peter’s waist. He looks terribly pleased, Sirius notes with amusement.

“No. Good Lord, James.” Lily says. She whispers, to Sirius and Remus, but so loud it carries across the room. “He only wants to do it because he wants an excuse to kiss boys.”

James stiffens, abruptly, pulling away from Peter. “I do not.” There’s a period of sharp tension, where he and Lily both glare at each other, for a little too long.

“So…” Marlene waits until the awkward moment has gotten a little too awkward. “Are we spinning the bottle or not?”

“No,” Peter pulls his jacket around himself. “Anything else, please.”

“You guys are so

boring

,” James complains, and Mary murmurs in agreement.

“This isn’t a good idea.” Remus frowns. James and Sirius look at each other.

Of course.

“I’m with Peter.”

“No, you morons. There’ll be rules,” Marlene wheedles. “Obviously,” She wraps a possessive arm around Dorcas’ waist. “We’ll sit out, because it wouldn’t be fair. Everybody already wants to kiss us; you’ve all made that abundantly clear.” Sirius and James make joint gagging noises. “Yeah, yeah. I know you do. And you’ll need judges, too.”

“Game masters.” Dorcas adds.

“More like ringmasters.”

“Shut up, Peter. Anyway, if it lands on you once, you drink. If it lands on you, from the same person, you finish your drink. And if it’s the same two people for a third time…” She gives Dorcas a threatening look.

“What?” Dorcas teases, sliding a hand into her back pocket. “What happens?”

“You have to,” Marlene takes a deep breath. “

Stop distracting me

. You have to go kiss them with tongue, in the sauna. No alcohol.”

“That’s like a punishment,” Sirius complains, and Mary murmurs in agreement.

“As the Game Masters declare, so it shall be.” Dorcas finishes Marlene’s ginger beer.

“Fine then,” Lily drops her ladle with a clang into the sink. “You guys can do this if you want. I’m not playing.”

“Me neither.” Remus shudders.

“You don’t even have to do the drinking part,” Mary cajoles. “Come on, you guys. Don’t be like that.”

“Yeah,” Sirius echoes, just to cause trouble. “It’s not like you’re scared, right?”

Lily sniffs. “

Of course

we’re not scared.”

“Then what’s the problem?” James says, exchanging an amused look with Sirius. “It’s fun. Very middle school chic.”

Remus looks right at Sirius. “Fine.”

“Great.”

“I still don’t want to…” Lily whines in the background, but Marlene’s already ushering everyone down the barely finished plywood stairs, which creak under their combined weight, and soon they’re all sitting in the circle, even Remus and Lily.

Marlen claps her hands. “Perfect.” So the game begins in earnest, Dorcas and Marlene holding court. Peter and Remus share some chaste, but awkward little kisses that seem to be sufficiently unsatisfying for both of them, Mary and Sirius take turns sticking their whole tongues down James’ throat, much to everyone’s glee, and Lily and Emmeline miss each other’s mouths completely, which is hilarious, but when Emmeline gets her turn next, she spins the bottle towards Peter with ferocious intent, and basically wrestles him to the floor, which leaves him looking surprised, but definitely not displeased. It’s fun, everyone suffused with enough drinks and sweat and lust to keep going, and Sirius experiences an unexpected surge of contentedness, for the first time. Like maybe, he can be here, and it won’t suck, and everyone is a little bit in love with each other. He even feels himself warming to Peter, a little, when they give each other looks across the room as Mary and James engage in some kind of tongue-war that looks like it violates the Geneva Convention.

Of course, it doesn’t last. Remus keeps spinning, determinedly, and it keeps landing on Lily. “There has to be a mistake,” he keeps saying, to James, who is looking a little mutinous.

“Oh, it’s fine,” he says, with a valiant attempt at magnanimity. “I don’t care. Just kiss her.”

“Yeah,” Lily teases. “Just kiss me.”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Third time’s the charm.” Marlene calls, from her position on Dorcas’ lap. “As has been declared, by the Game Masters.”

“You have to stop with this Master thing,” Peter raises his head from Emmeline’s shoulder, disapprovingly.

“It’s working out for you, isn’t it?” Emmeline bristles, and moves away from Peter, sharply.

“Sauna! Sauna! Sauna!” Marlene chants, oblivious to the trouble she is causing.

Sirius turns, to face Remus, to tell him that he doesn’t have to do it if he really doesn’t want to, but annoyingly, Remus’ focus is entirely on Lily. They’re having some kind of secret conversation with their eyes, probably about how dumb everyone is being, which is beside the point, because spin the bottle is a dumb game, and it is kind of the point. Up until this point, he’s enjoyed making a show of it, tracing Remus watching him, going a little too far just to be shocking and scandalous and to make him blush, but he knows now, with rather alarming clarity, that he is not ready to see Remus do the same thing. Also, James is looking rather sulky about being left out of it, which won’t do, and most importantly, Remus is supposed to pay attention to

him.

Not like that, mind, it’s just only natural. But he hasn’t even glanced in Sirius’ direction, which he doesn’t want him to do, even, it’s just…unexpected. He could let it pass, but he’s more like Mary, really, after all. So he takes his drink, which is balanced terribly precariously, finishes it in a gulp, and then drops the glass with a crash. Everyone looks at him.

“Jesus Christ,” Dorcas wrinkles her nose, the glass shimmering at her bare feet.

“I’ll get the dustbin,” Remus says, wearily, like Sirius knew he would.

“Oh, but come on, you don’t have to…” Lily wheedles. “

Go with him,

” she hisses at Sirius, who is just starting to feel a little bit guilty about it, so he actually does, obediently trotting after Remus, up the stairs, into the kitchen.

“You didn’t cut yourself, did you?” Remus asks, back to him, as he searches under the sink.

He scoffs. “

No.

”

“I was just asking. Oh, fuck.” He cuts eyes at Sirius. “I think it’s in the shed.  So outside.”

“No!” Sirius gasps. “Absolutely not. You can do that. I’m staying here.”

“Sirius. You really want to leave a bunch of drunk people around broken glass? Someone could get hurt.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“You broke it. Technically,

you

should be the one who goes,” Remus grumbles, but his hand’s already on the door, like Sirius knows it would be. He’s probably sweating bullets thinking about the mess, knowing him.

Still, because he’s been suffficiently shamed, he goes. It’s not as cold as he remembers, and they hobble over to the shed in the backyard, careful to avoid the ice patches. The door creaks as they shove it open, and then it closes with a clang behind them.

“Right.” Sirius says, as his eyes adjust to the near-darkness. There’s the dustpan, in the corner. Remus grabs it, and then goes to fiddle with the door. “It’s

locked

.”

“You’re joking.”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” They both jimmy with the lock for a bit, with no success. “Jesus. Christ.” Remus pants, fingers scrabbling for a keyhole. “I

cannot

believe this is really happening.”

Sirius perches on a crate, shivering. “This is your fault. You’re the one who made us go out here.”

“To clean up the mess that

you

made.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” he bursts out.

“But you knew I would.” Remus’ back is turned, so Sirius can’t read his expression. “You broke the glass on purpose, didn’t you?”

“No.” he lies. “Any time you want to get us out of here…” Remus shoves his knee up against the door, but it won’t budge. “Unless, of course, you want to pretend I’m Lily and this is the sauna. I won’t tell James.” Sirius bats his eyelashes.

“What is wrong with you?” Remus demands, eyes looking a little demented in the light. “You’ve been awful all evening.”

He’s a little wounded at that, but he’s not going to let it show. It’s

funny

. “In general, or right now?”

“Fine, be that way. Forget it.

Fuck.

” Remus’ head cracks against the door with a bang, which makes Sirius jump.

“Oh,

really

…It’s not a big deal.” Sirius ventures. “I’ll text James; he’ll get us out. See?” He holds up his phone, the light from the screen illuminating the darkness a little.

Remus’ voice is muffled, his head still pressed against the door, not looking at him. His breathing sounds extra loud, in the enclosed space, and he catches the extra rigidity in his posture.“

Fucking Christ

.”

“Hey, you’re good, right?” Sirius does not know what he’s going to do, if the answer is “no.” “Because, you know, as soon as James stops sucking up to Lily, he’s coming. Like, they can’t reasonably leave us up here forever.”

“I know that.” Remus is clipped. “I’m not an

idiot

. I know…” He takes in a deep breath. “I’m not a fan of…

this

.”

“Well, me neither. I’m

quite

bored,” He’s trying for extra calm, a little humor. “Although, once I start seeing the visions this is about to get really interesting.”

“Visions?”

“Oh, yeah. I always start seeing stuff once I get crossed.”

Remus sinks to the floor. “Like what stuff?”

He rolls his shoulders. “I don’t know. Start getting really paranoid. One time I saw the Grim Reaper and I thought my heart was going to stop so I stayed up all night. I think that’s the most done James has ever been with me.”

“You’re not getting paranoid now, right?”

“No.”

“Why are we talking about this, then?”

He shrugs. “Trying to keep you interested.”

“Trust me, the interest level is actually not the problem. Is he coming yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck me.” He kicks the door, ineffectually. It doesn’t budge. “Sorry.”

“Well, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. How were we supposed to know this would lock? It’s a major design defect.”

“You know, things can be your fault, sometimes.”

“

No

. Not this one. I mean, this would happen, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have good luck, with vacations.” He leans back, against the boxes. “Never really have.”

“Oh yeah?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I ruin them for other people. It’s kind of my

thing

.” It is easy to be glib about it, like it doesn’t really matter, like it doesn’t sting.

“Wait, you don’t seriously think that this is happening because you’re cursed or something?” He sounds annoyingly like he thinks it’s funny. “You know, that’s not…Like, that isn’t, probability-wise, feasible-”

“When I was like ten, or something, I think, I stayed at a place like this. Me, my mom, Regulus.” The words come easier now, in the dark. “She just told us we were going, and we went. Found out later she was trying to leave my dad.”

“Oh.”

“Listen to you.

Oh

. Anyway, he drives all the way up here, gets us to come back with him. I don’t know what he told her, but we all went back. He said,” He clears his throat. “He said she was going to leave us up there, go and stay with her family. No food, nothing, can you imagine that? We were so little.”

“That’s-”

“That’s how I got the scar, by the way. She hit me, ‘cause I saw my dad coming, and I let him in. Old engagement ring injury.”  He laughs. “So I hate it here too. You’re not the only one.”

“Sirius-”

“But I’m not

worried

, you know? Because James’ll come. He knows…He’s not going to leave us in here. So don’t freak out.”

“Right. Yeah.” Remus agrees. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He’s quiet, for while, and then he says, “I shouldn’t have said your biggest fear was stupid.”

“Pssh. I barely remember that. Besides, I didn’t know you and Peter had the same one, the being-trapped-in-a-small-space one.”

“Yeah. I suppose it’s more

annoying

, isn’t it, than strictly scary?” Trust Remus, to intellectualize fear. He’s totally scared. “I hate vacations, too. Um, definitely not for the same reason. But yeah. I hate how much

fun

you have to pretend that you’re having.”

“I gave myself the flu, when James and his parents went to Denmark,” Sirius confesses. “They invited me, but…I don’t know. It felt forced, and weird.”

“How do you give yourself the flu?”

“Oh, easy. Just wander around the hospital.” He’d pretended to be really interested in Monty’s job, and Monty had bought it. He’d touched a lot of surfaces he shouldn’t have touched; really, he’s lucky the flu was all he got.

“You know, it might have not been bad.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Would

you

have gone?”

“No.” Remus crosses his arms. “James’ parents make me uncomfortable. Not in a bad way, I just…they’re very intense. Um, don’t tell him that, please.”

“Of course not. They freak me out too. They’re so

nice

.” He shudders. “Sometimes…I feel like I’m like, trespassing, there. Like, they’ll figure out how…I really am, and then-” He laughs. “Okay, that’s the paranoia.”

“You’re not seeing stuff, right?”  Remus’ eyes are all pupils.

“Of course not…

What’s that?

” He points over Remus’ shoulder, just to make him jump.

“You idiot.” Remus smacks him, lightly, on the shoulder.

“Hey, I thought I saw the Hat Man!” He reaches out, to retaliate, but Remus swerves out of the way, and in the dark, he topples over, until he’s practically sitting in his lap.

Right on time, James cracks open the door, letting the light in. “What the hell are you doing?”

Remus closes his hand over Sirius’, and Sirius tenses, at the warmth, before getting pushed off, quite firmly. “Nothing.”

James rolls his eyes. “Dumbasses. Come back in.”

It’s nearing the point in the night where everything is winding down, everyone’s limbs loose and languid from drinking too much, soft guitar music for white people coming out of the speakers. Emmeline’s gone to bed, early; she really is a complete lightweight. The girls, bar Lily, have disappeared, presumably upstairs, to get more drinks. But Sirius, who is suffused with a renewed burst of energy, snags James’ phone, which is connected to the speaker, and thumbs through the music library (which, how much pop music from 2010 can one listen to, on a daily basis?) until he finds what he wants. James and Lily perk up, hearing the drums start, and even Remus, who is still determinedly sweeping glass into the all-important dustpan, looks interested. “I love this song.” he says, almost to himself.

Sirius scoffs. “Everyone loves this song.” But watching Remus experience the song firsthand makes him think that maybe not everyone loves it in the same way that he does. He’s got his eyes half-closed, and a hand to the scored-concrete of the floor, as if to feel the beat through the floor. He catches Peter watching, and quickly looks at the ceiling. It feels oddly like he’s invading something private, even though James and Lily start twirling like off-kilter ballerinas once the beat drops. “

You’re blowing Marxism to pieces…Your little arguments to pieCEEs!”

Peter slowly slides over to Sirius on the couch. “That was a good choice.”

“Yeah…?”

Why is he talking to me?

he thinks.

“So…uh…Semester going well?” he continues weakly.

Sirius raises his eyebrows, until Peter looks away. “It was.” Peter is stammering out something else, but he’s not paying attention, anymore, his eyes starting to get heavy. Then, as the final notes of LCD Soundsystem are heard on the speaker, the door to the “sauna” slams open, and a giggling Mary, Dorcas, and Marlene emerge, half-naked and wrapped in what looks like cast-off bedsheets. Dorcas’ lips are planted firmly on Mary’s neck, smudges of brown lipstick on her collarbone, and Marlene’s got an arm around her waist as if to maneuver her  upstairs. Everyone perks up, but Sirius catches how white Lily goes from James’ lap, even though he’s close to sleep, and the way Peter flinches.

“Good night, you guys.” Marlene says through giggles, and they file upstairs. Sirius, Remus, and Peter share a look.

Peter is the first to break the silence. “I call the couch tonight.”

“No way.” Remus looks absolutely scandalized. “I won’t be able to sleep with all that.”

James and Lily are whispering something to each other, and it’s so warm, and he hasn’t even started to get paranoid yet, so he lets himself drift off, a bit, and…

Slam.

He opens his eyes to see James has

bolted

upstairs, leaving a stunned Remus and Peter behind.

“What happened?”

Lily’s mouth is doing a funny thing, like she’s trying not to cry. “We broke up.”

“I’m sure it’ll be…It’s not serious.” Remus sounds like he’s convincing himself.

Now, surely, he hasn’t been asleep for that long. “Didn’t you already…”

“I told him that he was being clingy, and embarrassing…I just can’t stand him when he’s like this, is all, and he

knows

-”

“Because you’re so easy to take all the time, right?” Sirius realizes the person who’d spoken wasn’t him, but Peter.

Lily turns red, tears starting in her eyes. “I didn’t say that. But you

see

, don’t you? I mean, none of the rest of you do this…over-the-top thing. I just wish he could be

normal

, for once.”

Sirius does not miss how Remus’ knuckles go white. He opens his mouth to say something, but Peter beats him to it. “Can you even hear yourself?” His lip curls in disgust. “Okay. Right.” Peter stands up. “I’m going to go check on him.”

“I’m coming with you.” He thinks about saying more, but Peter, for once, has said exactly what needed to be said. The two of them take the stairs, two at a time, to find James hunched over the kitchen sink, leaving Remus and Lily downstairs, Remus looping an awkward arm around Lily’s shoulders as she dissolves into tears.

“Hello.” James says, dully, eyes red, as he leans back on the sink,  “I’m very drunk.”

“Sorry about Lily.” Peter says, weakly. Tears start swimming in James’ eyes behind his glasses. “She shouldn’t have strung you along like that.”

“She didn’t-”

“Yeah,” Sirius tries for firm, though he knows it’ll be ineffective. “She’s not worth it.”

“It’d be one thing,” James looks up, blinking back tears. “if I knew what’s so wrong with me. What I don’t do right…” His shoulders contract with a barely repressed sob.

Sirius and Peter shoot each other horrified looks. “Nothing, nothing!” Peter insists, maybe a bit too forcefully. “She’s crazy for even thinking-No, I swear…” He makes help-me-eyes at Sirius, who is trying to spare James’ dignity by pretending he can’t see him cry. However, there are times where doing so is less than a kindness, and Sirius…

“Come here.” he says, and James does, just curls up into a ball against Sirius and weeps. Peter rubs comforting circles onto his back, and he and Sirius have a silent conversation with their eyes.

Thank you. I forgive you.

The Regulus thing suddenly feels inconsequential in the weight of James’ grief. It’s not long before Remus comes upstairs, and the three of them are soon encircling him with their arms on the kitchen floor, a perpetual embrace. The three of them are not huggers, by nature, but James is, and the best they can do for him now, Sirius thinks, is to give him back a little bit of what light he gives them.

“You’re the best friends I ever had,” James whispers, stale whiskey on his breath, later, when they’re trying to sleep, all four of them, on the couch. But it’s Remus who Sirius looks at, as he rests a hand on his shoulder, like he’s not quite sure it should go there.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

So tell me, do you hate me?

Or do you wanna date me?

It’s kind of hard to tell ‘cause your eyes are looking crazy

Oh, why you coming over anything but sober

Looking like it’s time tonight for fight or flight in Van Horn  
 
Saint Motel 
  The third time Regulus throws up that night, knees shaking as he grips the toilet bowl, he reflects that he might have fucked his entire life. Evan is off doing something, and would probably help him, even though it’s gross, but the idea of someone seeing him like this is absolutely intolerable. He’s been sick off alcohol before (he remembers a particularly nasty hangover the morning after Narcissa’s wedding that he successfully convinced his mother was food poisoning) but he can’t remember ever being as embarrassed by his own behavior as he is now. What is wrong with him? Why didn’t he say no, when James asked him? Why can he still feel the press of James’ body against his, if he closes his eyes, inhale and smell his weird cinammon-y cologne scent, taste the sweet-sour of the vodka-Okay, no. He retches again, and wipes his mouth aggressively, yellow bile congealing in the bowl beneath him. He wrinkles his nose-this is disgusting, after all, and worse, he is apparently a total slave to his most basic impulses. No better than an animal, he thinks, as he sits, with his head between his knees, willing the room to stay fucking still. Will James tell people, he wonders? He doesn’t think he can stand it, if he does. Imagining James, laughing, telling the story to some crowd of of hangers-on, showing Regulus as he is, deep inside, all the neediness, the ugliness, the hunger, is intolerable. He’s probably doing it right now, and Regulus is seized by deep, mad impulse to press himself against James’ door, hear his faults listed for everyone to hear. You’re pathetic. Look at you, how desperate you are, on your knees, begging for me. He shudders, hugging his shaking arms around himself. It is freezing on the bathroom floor. It’s not even like he wanted to, really, is the fucked-up thing. James just brought it up, and he was stupid enough to think it was a real thing. And James is stupid, and innocent, and just kind enough to be insufferable. He’s as different to Barty, or… anyone , as Regulus can imagine. With Barty, it’s easy to write it off as a passing intellectual infatuation, the kind of thing that’s more cerebral than physical, the kind of thing he’s sure he could feel for a girl, whenever he meets the right one. James’ mouth on his doesn’t make him think about Gatsby, or Prince Andrei, or hypothetical girls. James’ mouth just makes him think about him , Regulus, and how James has one of those unfairly sculpted gym bodies, and he knows how to make a kiss feel horrifically permanent, like a tattoo, or a goddamn scarlet letter. It wasn’t particularly adept, or technique-driven. When Barty kissed him, which was rare, it felt like a performance, a demonstration, a “this is how this is supposed to go.” This didn’t leave him weak, but it did leave him breathless, thoughtless, and Regulus likes to be able to breathe, to be able to think. His phone, discarded next to him on the bathroom sink, starts vibrating aggressively, and he jumps. It’s James. “Fuck.” he says aloud, and he flings his phone into the corner, hard enough for the screen protector to crack. James calls two more times, but he doesn’t respond, just starts splashing water on his face like it’ll make it stop. He examines himself in the mirror-skin jaundice-yellow in the unforgiving light, curls hanging limp. He’s never been particularly conceited about the way he looks; he knows he’s not particularly conventionally attractive, but here, with the water droplets on the mirror distorting his reflection, and the thin line of pimples scattered across his hairline and jaw, there is something repulsive about his appearance, something sinister. He covers his face with a hand, before he exits, head still pounding. Next morning, he’s clearer than he thought he would be, having had the foresight to put three ibuprofen and a huge glass of water on his nightstand. As he swallows the painkillers, the situation that seemed so dire the previous night seems, by comparison, kind of laughable. Lots of people, he’s sure, mess around when they’re drunk, and besides, doesn’t that explain the whole Barty thing as well? He’s practically always been some degree of inebriated in Barty’s presence. If he’s got to get drunk in order to start things going with a guy, that must mean that he can’t be gay. Or if he’s gay, it’s in the weird, nebulous way Sirius is, where he just dresses like shit, gets wasted at Pride parades, and still dates girls. And it’s not like he’s got some impulse to go out and dye his hair weird colors and get six terrible stick and poke tattoos and major in gender and sexuality studies all of the sudden, so that might not even be the case. No, he’s still him at his core, which adds another point to his theory, because if he was gay, wouldn’t he have some kind of major personality shift as a result of coming out of the closet? He’s pretty sure he saw that on a documentary once. His arguments, of course, all go out of the window when he opens the door to his room (Evan fell asleep at Pandora and Dorcas’) to see a messy-haired James Potter, who is clearly doing his best to not look as hungover as he feels. They both stare at each other, awkwardly, and Regulus feels like running back inside the room and locking the door, but he doesn’t want James to laugh at him. “Hello.” “Hi.” James has his hands folded in front of him, in an unusually formal manner. “Do you need something, or…?” Jesus Christ, he looks like shit. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he’s got the kind of stubble going that looks like pubes. More evidence of the not-gay thing, because if this iteration of James asked for a kiss, the answer would definitely be a no. “No.” James tries for smooth, leaning against the banister. “I was just…” He gestures vaguely. “Here. I didn’t know you…” “I live here.” “Right.” He scratches his head. “Cool. So…?” This is so annoying. He should just say it. “What?” “Can I come in?” “Why?” “I want to talk to you.” “About…?” James looks around helplessly. “Well, I’d really rather not do it out here.” Regulus blocks the door to the entrance. “No.” “Why?” James leans forward, trying to peer inside because he is a moron. “Because…Because my roommate is home,” he lies. “So can you go? I’m sure it’s not that important.” “You know what I’m talking about.” “I really don’t.” “What-“ James drops his voice to a stage whisper, “You kissed me, Regulus.” Regulus starts. He can’t help it; he just wasn’t prepared for James to just come out and say it. “Don’t be so loud. We have quiet hours.” “You kissed me,” James repeats, louder. “And then you ran away.” He pretends to think. “Oh, yeah, I suppose I did. I don’t know. It’s kind of a blur. I was so drunk.” James crosses his arms. “That’s a lie.” “I was drunk!” he protests, aware that he’s being a little loud, and if anyone walks in on this conversation, he is going to have to transfer schools again out of sheer embarrassment. “Okay, fine.” “Okay, fine, what?” “You can come inside.” “I thought your roommate-” Regulus drags him back in the room, flinging the door open, and shuts it with a snap. “Pushy.” James comments, eyes coolly surveying Evan’s side of the room, decorated with Polaroid photos and a faded “Dune” poster, clothes scattered across the floor while Regulus’ side is penitentiary-standard clean. “Shut up.” He stands in the corner, crossing his arms. “I just didn’t want you to wake up the whole floor. So? Talk.” James looks uncharacteristically nervous, and then blurts out, “You don’t have to worry about the kiss.” This is not how Regulus saw this going. He raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh…” “I mean,” James continues. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and we were both very drunk, and it wasn’t serious, so…Everything’s okay, right? You’re not mad at me?” “No.” Regulus lies. “You’re good.” “But incidentally,” He says it like he’s just thought of it, which is how Regulus knows this is the real thing he came here for. “What did you mean by seven out of ten ?” Regulus snorts. “You’re not seriously offended over that?” “I’m not offended, per se…I just want to know what was so bad about it.” He sits on the floor, waiting, expectantly, for an answer, and Regulus (unforgivably) feels his resolve crumbling. “It wasn’t so bad.” “But it wasn’t the best kiss you’ve ever had.” “No.” Regulus agrees, a little too quickly. “So…?” Regulus tamps down a sudden flare of irritation. “I don’t know. Why do you care so much? I thought you weren’t taking it seriously.” “I’m not!” James’ voice rises, and he winces. “I’m not,” he continues, calmly. “I just...a seven out of ten isn’t exactly a glowing review. No one’s ever…People like kissing me.” “Even my brother?” James cringes. “Stop it. That’s not what I was talking about.” “ What are you talking about?” “The seven out of ten, Regulus. Come on.” His eyes are bright, a tinge maniacal about it. “That’s a seventy percent. A C.” His face sobers. “I’ve never gotten a C on anything.” “Are you actually serious?” “Yes! Well, don’t laugh.” he admonishes, as Regulus starts cracking up, shaking with silent giggles. “I’m sorry,” Regulus says in between wiping his eyes. “But this is like, the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” James looks wounded. “Okay, then. Who’s the best kiss you’ve ever had?” “I don’t want to talk about this.” “Is it that guy, the one you were texting?” Regulus very pointedly doesn’t answer, but James is relentless. “So you think he’s a better kisser than me?” “I didn’t say anything.” “What’s his name, anyway?” James says, eyes narrowed with jealousy, leaning against Regulus’ desk. “You don’t know him. Get off that.” “Is it…perchance, Barty Bad Vibes?” Regulus jumps. “What?” “Sirius looks at your phone.” James explains, like this is totally normal and not a huge violation of his privacy. “So? I’m right, aren’t I? Barty Bad Vibes is your boyfriend.” Regulus buries his face in his hands. “Oh my God. No.” “Right.” James snaps his fingers. “He’s the pretentious freak who thinks you’re annoying. It’s all coming back to me now.” “Stop it.” “Oh, come on, there’s no way you expect me to be jealous of that guy. He sounds mean .” Regulus massages his temples, wishing he was still drunk. “I…don’t want you to be jealous of anybody.” “Is it that I’m just not your type, is that it?” “Well,” He doesn't bother to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “people who aren’t complete loser virgins don’t really talk about having a type , so no.” James looks more confused than ever. “But I-you like men.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “Less and less, at this particular moment.” “No, shut up. You know what I mean. You find men attractive, and we’re friends, so…”“So I have to be physically attracted to you, because I’ve-”“No, not like that, but you know how, you know, with your friends, like, they’re all attractive to you because they’re your friends?” Regulus just stares at him. “I’m sorry?” “And it’s not like, a gender thing, or a gay thing, because you’d never initiate anything, but you know, if they made the first move-”“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Like you know, say, Peter was down really bad for me. I’d probably say no, like the first few times, but you know, if he kept going, I wouldn’t-” “You want to have sex with Peter?” James blushes. “I don’t know about sex, it’s more like…When I love people, they become more attractive to me. It’s not weird. My mom says it’s just because I have a lot of love to give..” Regulus shakes his head. Trust James to use his mom as the ultimate source on everything. “There’s a bit of a difference between ‘loving your friends’ and bisexuality, though.”James’ fucking huge brown eyes trace his face, hanging  on his every word. Personally, Regulus would like him to stare at anything else. “Is that…bisexuality?” Christ, he is clueless. “Well, I don’t know, do I? I think that’s something you have to figure out for yourself. I can’t tell you.” “What are you, then?” Regulus gives him a long, slow blink, just to piss him off. “Indian.” “No, ugh. Like, in terms of sexuality? Are you gay or bi or what?” “I don’t really know.” he confesses. “So you don’t know either? Why are you acting like you’re the gay police, then?” “I’m not the gay police. That’s not even-” Regulus exhales. “That’s not a thing.” “Yes, it is! You’re being a hypocrite, saying I need to have it figured out when-when you don’t even know about you.” “No, I’m just-” Jesus, he is frustrating. “I just meant that I can’t explain your sexuality to you. I’m not…I’m not being a hypocrite. Why can’t you talk to Sirius about this?” James looks absolutely horrified. “Do you want to talk to Sirius about this?” “Not particularly, but…” He sighs. “You know, you could just lie to him about what brought this about. You don’t…You don’t even have to mention me.” James looks, if possible, even more scandalized. “I can’t lie to Sirius.” “It’s not even a lie, really. More of an omission.” “ Regulus .” “James.” Regulus mimics his tone and crosses his arms, pacing to Evan’s side of the room. “Is that it?” “I’m not leaving,” He can tell James thinks he’s being very shrewd. “Until you tell me what’s so wrong about kissing me. This Barty guy can’t be that great at kissing-”“Eh.” Regulus shrugs. “I mean, the sex would probably be god-awful, considering he’s such a jerk. Not that-I mean, you didn’t have sex with him, right?” Regulus snorts. “Well, I wasn’t going over there to hold his hand and talk about my feelings.” “Oh… my god .” James covers his mouth with his hands. “Jesus. You have to give me a little warning, before you say things like that.” “What, like I’m such a freak you can’t imagine me doing…that with another person?” He kicks at a spot on the baseboards, absently. “You’re not a freak, but you’re just…I mean, you still can’t even say it.” “What does that have to do with anything?”“Just, something I noticed.” James walks over to him, picking his way around Evan’s clothes. “You know, it’s okay. To admit you like…intimacy.” “That’s not-Shut up. Stop it. You sound like a pervert.” He cringes. It’s just… intimacy, really?  “It’s really normal, actually,” James continues, in the same maddeningly calm tone.  “I mean, in fact, it’s preferred. To enjoy sex.” Regulus may be massively confused at the moment, but one thing he knows he doesn’t want, for sure is The Talk courtesy of James Potter. Just hearing him say the word sex is…No. “Please stop talking.” “Or, you know, other…activities. Say, kissing. Even, if you’re drunk, and you feel like maybe you have to lie to the person you were kissing about how much you enjoyed-” “This is like, the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, I think I’m losing braincells hearing you talk.” “Lily used to say the same thing ,” James says, sounding delighted. “You are lying to me.” “I can’t stress how little I want to have this conversation.” “But was it really a seven out of ten?” “I really need you to leave now.” “Come on, admit it-” “ Out. ” Aside from the James Potter of it all, the subsequent week goes rather well for Regulus. He is able to dodge Lily sufficiently at all of the tutoring sessions he attends, he does all of his required readings, and even suffers through sitting for one of Evan’s drawing assignments. “I think you’re getting worse at this,” he observes, as Evan makes haphazard lines on a canvas with oil pastels.“Fuck you,” Evan says lazily, scribbling in a vicious slash that he assumes is meant to be his mouth. “Dorcas is annoyed at you, by the way.” “Why can’t she tell me herself?” “She would, but you’ve been kind of hard to pin down, if you haven’t noticed.” “Okay.” Regulus shrugs. “You’re not going to ask why she’s annoyed at you?” “I mean,” Regulus searches for the right words. “I don’t really care?” “Oh. Okay.” Evan rolls his eyes. “Forgot who I was dealing with for a second. I forgot you didn’t do the ‘caring about other people you’re not fucking’ thing.” This seems highly unfair, to Regulus. “What are you talking about?” “Come on.” Evan swivels around in his chair, to face Regulus. “Ever since you met the mystery girl, you completely dropped off the face of the map.” “It’s not…I haven’t met someone-” “Can we just skip the lying part? I don’t. Care. We both know you did, which is cool, and all, but you’ve completely ghosted us.” “I wasn’t aware there was an ‘us.’ ” “I told her she should just give up, because you were going to say something like that, but you know, I guess she really likes you.” “She does?” Christ, that’s depressing. He’s not even very nice to her. “You just said she was mad at me.” “Annoyed. I said she was annoyed at you.” “Fine. Why is she annoyed at me?” “Because you were like her only friend, before you transferred, and now you spend all your time reading about stereoisomers and ignoring her.” “I was her…only friend?” “Only good friend, anyway.” Evan blinks. “But you don’t care about that, right?” “That’s not…” Regulus takes a deep breath. “I have been busy . I don’t have the time to be constantly hanging out with people. I’m sorry I’m trying to do something -” “Fuck me. Okay, never mind.” “I’m just saying, you all don’t have to be so sensitive.” “Fucking hell, Regulus, I don’t…We like you, despite, you know, you being you. And sometimes…you make us feel stupid, for it.” Evan frowns. “We’re not, like, desperate for social clout. You don’t even have any social clout, to be clear, but like…Some people are just nice. It’s not that serious. If you ever got over yourself, I think you might be…I don’t know. Happier.” “What does that even mean?” “Fine. I don’t even know why I bother. You don’t have to hang out with her if you don’t want to.” “No, it’s not…Look, I’m free Thursday evening. I’ll…I don’t know, apologize then.” “She’s busy on Thursdays.” Why is he being so difficult? “Well, if she’s so upset, she could maybe make an exception.” “I don’t know.” Evan gives him a wolfish grin. “I thought you didn’t care.” “I don’t. I’m going to tell her she’s being stupid.” “Oh.” Evan gives him an appraising look, which he does not like at all. “You should definitely do it then. I think they’ll be in the student union.” “They?” “Or, you know, you could just keep ignoring her. That seems to be going well for you.” Regulus gives him the finger, but he pencils it in on his calendar. DORCAS. “Happy?” Even laughs, a short bark. “Not as happy as you’re about to be.” Later that night, James comes back. Evan’s gone out, to taste some guy’s “homemade mead.” “Is that a euphemism?” Regulus had asked, which led to him getting a lengthy diatribe on mead-making processes. He’s sorry for asking, now, and even sorrier for opening the door for who he thought was Evan, but is instead, a very drunk James, balancing against the banister. “Regulus! I was looking for you.” Honestly. It is a weeknight. What is wrong with him? “No.” Regulus moves to shut the door on him, but James is strong, even when drunk, and he holds it fast. “Just no?” James tilts his head to the side, drunkenly. “That’s not what you said on Saturday.” “You’re wasted. Let go. ” He gives the door a shove, and James releases it, only to pull himself up by the hinges.“Hardly.” James gives him a dopey grin. “Yes, you are.” He’s shutting the door, again, never mind James’ finger trapped in the hinges, but James makes a strangled noise of pure indignation, and he softens, hesitating for a moment too late. Which is a bad idea and also all James needs, really, to keep going. “I have had an idea.” he sing-songs. Great, now he’s stuck entertaining the kind of person who has “profound thoughts” when they drink. Of course James is like this. “I think I’ve had enough of your ideas.” “No, it’s a good one. “ James pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Don’t be mean to me before you’ve heard it.” “Fine. What is it?” “Have you figured out…what kind of sexuality you are yet?” “No.” When James’ jaw drops with incredulity, he adds, “Stop it. I’m not…I’m not talking about this with you anymore.” “No, wait, listen-you have to.” James sits down on the carpet on the floor outside with a thud. “Well, you don’t have to do anything, I know, but…you made me think about it, for real. After we talked. And I…never thought about it. Really. I just figured, since I loved Lily, I was straight. But you know, you’re right. I think…there’s a difference in the way I think about people, and I don’t know if that’s gay or straight or pan or bi or whatever.”“Really?” Regulus laughs. “James, I was kidding . It’s not a big deal. I don’t…need you to come out to me or something.” He lowers his voice. “It was just a kiss, okay? We were drunk. You’re…you’re not gay, just ‘cause you…I was fucking with you.” James looks wounded. “I’m….That’s…You can’t invalidate my sexuality.” “You don’t have a sexuality-” “And I was going to say, before you interrupted me, that, you know, if you’re still, you know, confused about all of this, I’m game.” He’s grinning, like he’s delivering an acceptance speech for his Nobel. “What are you talking about?” “Just that-” James whispers. “I wouldn’t be opposed to…what happened Saturday night happening again. For the sake of science, you know. Experimentation. If you’re up for it. I’ll know I’m better than seven out of ten , and you’ll know…You’ll just know, won’t you?” “Okay. Uh. Wow.” Regulus suddenly feels like he needs to sit down, or bang his head repeatedly against a wall until he passes out. James looks delighted. “You don’t have to say anything now.” Regulus shakes his head. “No.” “No, to answering now, or no to…” He wiggles his eyebrows. “This?” “There is no ‘this’.”“You didn’t answer the-” “No to all of it.” James looks, absurdly, disappointed . “Oh. Is it because of Sirius? And Lily broke up with me, so that’s not a problem for me, of course-” “No.” Jesus, he is dumb. “It’s because it’s a certifiably terrible idea.” “I don’t think it’s that bad of an idea.” “Yeah, of course you don’t. Because you’re you.” “What does that mean?” “Look, I’m not going to be your-” he searches for the words. “Fuck buddy.”James grins. “I never said anything about having sex. Get your mind out of the gutter.” Regulus groans, but he continues. “And besides, I’ve read up a lot on the actual act, and it doesn’t seem so difficult. I’m sure we’d be pretty good at it. You know, I could be a top, and you’d be the bottom, of course-” “Oh. My. God. Stop. Talking.” “Oh, are you a top? Because not gonna lie, that might be hard for me, but you know, Sirius says you should try everything once, so if that’s your rule or something, I’d be cool, to be, uh, penetrated-” “No one says ‘penetrated’.” God, he must be overheated or something, because that really is the best protest he can come up with. “Is there another term you prefer?” James’ lips quirk up like he’s trying not to smile. “Instead of penetrated ?” “Stop….stop saying penetrated . You know, people can hear you.” “People can hear you too. And…I don’t think it would be so bad. You like me, and I like you. And you know, you could help me get better at everything. Maybe show me how to get a ten out of ten.” “No.” “Well, then.” James’ face falls. “Okay. That’s….Sorry. Forget I asked.” “You’re not…”Regulus is losing the ability to form coherent thoughts. James is making him stupid by osmosis, or something.  “You’re giving up. I thought…Aren’t you going to keep asking until I say yes?” James looks confused, the cretin. “I mean, I thought that was a definitive no. It would be pretty embarrassing to keep asking.” “But I thought you wanted-” James covers his face with his hand. “Yes. I do. But you said no. So…you know, consent and all that? I don’t…You don’t have to keep rejecting me. Twice was enough.” He looks dejected; there’s a stain on his collar, and his hair is skewing decidedly more unkempt than purposely messy. Regulus suddenly feels a surge of guilt, even though the whole situation is just very strange. “Well, that’s not…Look, do you want to come in? Not-” he adds, as James opens his mouth. “that I’m saying yes to the…thing.” He’ll regret it, he’s sure; he’s already regretting it as James follows him inside, eager as a familiar dog. “Do you want some water?” He is swaying, a little, which worries Regulus. (Not in a worry -worry way, to be clear; he just would rather not clean up vomit if he has the choice.) James waves a hand. “I’m good.” He’s currently engrossed in sifting through the chem homework Regulus has left out. “That’s wrong.” he remarks. “No, it’s not-” James gives him a look. “Fine. You do it, then, if you’re so smart.” “I am so smart.” James seizes the paper from him. “That’s the thing. You want the transfer of electrons to make sense.” He traces a longer arrow, over what Regulus has drawn. “That’s it. See?” “Oh, yeah, totally.” Regulus lies. “What’s the next one?” James looks over the top of his glasses at Regulus, assessing.“You don’t get this at all, do you?” There is no sense in lying to someone whose opinion of you matters not at all, so he rolls his shoulders, cracking out the tension. “No. The next one?” “I’m not doing your homework for you.” “See,” Regulus teases, drawing a random line over the top of one of the ions. “This is why I don’t want to hook up with you. You’re so perfect.” “Sweet of you,” James points at the paper. “Still wrong.” Regulus hands it back to him. “Go ahead.” James purses his lips, and for the second time, Regulus feels a surge of real guilt. He needs to open a window or something; surely, he’s getting sick. “Don’t you care about how I’m getting the answers?” “Not particularly.” “So this isn’t interesting to you at all?”  Is this interesting to you at all? he wants to say. Out loud: “No.” “Oh.” James leans back on the rug. “Can I ask you a question?” “If you do the rest of it.” “Sure.” James agrees, a little too readily. “Uh…why are you doing all this?” “Doing what?” “Y’know, this . The pre-med stuff.” “Well, everyone in my family did it, so…” “Not Sirius.” “Sirius doesn’t count.” James rolls his eyes. “Okay. Whatever. It’s just…you seem like you really hate it.” “I don’t hate it,” Regulus says, loftily. “I just don’t…love it. Which is normal, by the way. You don’t have to be a hundred percent happy with everything all the time. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do in order to do things you want to do. I can see the bigger picture. It’s called maturity.” “Mm.” James’ eyes flick from Regulus’ face, to the periodic table on the floor. “I think there’s maturity, and then there’s making yourself miserable because you think that’s what you’re supposed to do.” “I am not miserable.” He stands up, sick of this, eager to put some distance between him and James’ endless disapproval. “If you don’t think I’m smart enough, you can just say that.” James’ mouth is forming a little O of surprise. It would be funny if he wasn’t such a self-righteous wannabe therapist prick.“What? No. That’s not what I’m saying.” “You don’t have to say it. It’s what everyone thinks, anyway. I’m just…sick of everyone lying to me about it.” “I’m not lying. I just..I could never spend all this time on something I’m not passionate about.” Regulus laughs. “Who even fucking cares about passion? That’s all, like, white-person try-your-hardest bullshit. Everyone knows it’s really all about endurance.” “Yeah,” James says, softly. “But passion matters, too. You should care, like a little bit. Otherwise, how are your patients going to trust you?” “You don’t even think I’m going to get to the point where I have patients, so what does it matter?” He pokes a hole in the paper with a pencil, feeling oddly maudlin. “Not that you’re alone. My parents don’t even think I have what it takes. It was supposed to be Sirius, because he’s brighter than me. Then he went and fucked it all up for himself.” “No offense, but your parents…” James opens his mouth and closes it. “Your parents are evil fucking assholes.” Regulus starts. It is physically jarring, to hear venom like this from someone like James, someone, he knows, has never really experienced or met real, true cruelty in action. “That’s not…” “You can’t change my mind, on that.” James puts down his pencil. “So, yeah. And I think you’re plenty smart, by the way. So you can’t project your weird insecurities onto me, because I don’t agree with them on anything .” “I’m-” “Finished.” James slides the paper across the floor. “This was fun. You should probably check the last one, ‘cause I’m still pretty drunk. But…” He stands up, leaning against the wall. “Take care of yourself, okay?” “Wait, but-” He doesn’t know what he wants, only that the room is too small for both of them, but that he also feels like his heart will beat out of his chest if James doesn’t stay.  But James gives him a sad little smile, already one foot out of the door. “ ‘Night.” On Thursday, he swallows his pride and texts Dorcas, okay i can talk now, which she reads and does not respond to. This is more or less the kind of petty bullshit he expects, so he makes his way to the student union, per Evan’s cryptic directives,  a dark and low building on the other side of campus which reeks heavily of weed no matter the time of day. To his immediate disquiet, there’s a cluster of people by the entrance, and they’re all wearing weird-ass heavy cloaks and boxy-looking hats, standing around waiting for something. He scans the crowd until he catches a flash of blond braids, and pushes through the group. “Dorcas-” “What?” She spins around in a whirl of dark robes. “Oh. What are you doing here?” “Evan said you were mad at me.” “Did he?” She pauses, for a second. “Hm. I’m busy, now, so-” “You don’t have to be a dick.” he says, louder than he means to. “I’m here, okay? So…I’m sorry, for whatever I have to be sorry for-” She sighs, pointedly. “Ignoring us. For weeks.” “Yes. That. So we’re good?” “Hm.” He does not like the look in her eyes, her too-wide smile. “I don’t know. You should stay for a round. Then I’ll decide.” “This is-” He exhales. “Stupid. What even is this, anyway, a cult?” “Something like that.” She swishes her robes around, idly. “Tell me,” he threatens. “Or I’m going to leave.” “Aww, you do care. So you’re staying?” When did she get so annoying? “Yes, okay, whatever. Don’t make…This isn’t a thing.”Predictably, she ignores him. “Oh, look.” She points in the direction of a tall figure in a long cape. “Right on time.” “Who-” She shhs him, and he opens his mouth to complain, but then the tall person makes some kind of hand gesture, and everyone gets deathly silent. “Alright, everyone. So, from last we left off, Sorrel Niederson was hanged, but it looks like he’s not actually our killer. And Brother Elem passed last night, so…Was it natural causes? Another murder?” “Dorcas-” Regulus stares at her in horror. “Is this role play?” She grins. “Uh huh.” “Oh, no. Mm-mm. Absolutely not.” He can think of several things he would enjoy doing more than this, one of which is being a human sacrifice. Dorcas apparently does not share his disdain for such practices. “We’re monks in a remote fifteenth-century German village who’ve been visited by a spate of supernatural events.” she explains. “Several of our number have been killed, rather brutally. The abbot believes the murderer is one of the villagers, who’s been possessed by the devil.” She shrugs. “What? It’s fun. We can bring guests, sometimes, if you make up a character.” “Oh, I’m sure it's fun. For someone else.” He can’t even imagine who-Dorcas, apparently. He’s always respected her for being rather grounded and self-possessed, but apparently she also throws temper tantrums when people are too busy to waste time with whatever inane “hangout” plans she’s concocted, and pretends to be a monk when she’s bored. It just goes to show you never really know people. She puts her hands on her hips. “Really? You’re not even going to try? Come on.” Regulus is unmoved. “I don’t do stuff like this.” “To be specific,” Dorcas examines her nails, which are decorated with little gold stars. “you don’t do much of anything.” “That’s not fair! I came all the way over here, and you’re-I don’t want to-” “You don’t even have to do an accent.” “No.” “You don’t have to talk at all?” she tries. “Still no.” “Fine, you know what? Don’t bother. Just, I don’t know, go back to being a recluse until you need somebody’s help. I don’t even care anymore. Jesus Christ.” “No, I-I’m trying to be…Nice.” It is hard to admit. “I want to…I just have to-” “Okay, then. Play a game with us.” She puts her hands on her hips. “That’s part of being nice. What, are you scared you might have too much fun and start being a real person?” “No.” He straightens his spine. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. I’ll play the stupid game.”She looks mollified. “Good.” “I don’t know any of the rules, though.” “Oh, it’s not so bad, you’ll see…” Which is how he ends up sitting on the floor, in a circle, with a bunch of adults wearing homemade costumes and talking in bad German accents. From what he can tell, the game is just really weird. There are a lot of rules, it seems, and everyone is embarrassingly into it, even Dorcas, who’s apparently playing a character called “Mother Sisleridge,” a nun visiting from the “neighboring convent.” (Regulus would very much like to point out that nuns were unlikely to come into much contact with monks in fifteenth-century Germany, but whatever.) They seem to be having some debate about whether or not they should hang a suspicious midwife who they believe is behind the murders, which he is trying to tune out because the midwife girl has decided to do a horrific British accent, but then the tall guy, who is some kind of leader of the game, turns to him. “Friends, brothers, hush! For we have a stranger in our midst.” Everyone looks at him, which makes him want to sink into the floor. “What is your name, strange one? Be you friend or foe to Christendom?” says one of the unwashed-looking computer science major types who’s been “investigating” the midwife.  Oh, Jesus…. He turns a helpless eye to Dorcas, but she is making a very good point of ignoring him. “Brother…um…” His eyes fall on the... notes this dude takes on the game, Good Lord. “Papier?” “Papier?” Dorcas is trying not to laugh, and not entirely succeeding, so he gives her his dirtiest look. “Yes,” Dorcas adds, coming to his rescue with a sudden rush of inspiration. “The esteemed brother is my colleague from the abbey at Nantes. They charged him with finding the villain responsible for these…heinous crimes.”“Ah, Brother Papier!” Tall Guy lowers his hood, and Regulus is stunned to see a completely earnest Remus Lupin. Evidently, the number of normal people at this school is a lot smaller than he previously assumed..“ So kind of you to join us. I presume, since your journey has been long, you are ignorant of the proceedings of our last council. Brother Morgenstern, if you would enlighten the pilgrim-” “I will, indeed, Abbot.” “Morgenstern,” a larger, redhead guy with a beard, goes on this long explanation of the knife found at the midwife’s door, and how that means something about witchcraft. Regulus nods his head and pretends to look interested. When Morgenstern starts addressing someone else, he hisses to Dorcas, “What are the rules? Do we just sit around and talk like idiots?” “We vote on someone to hang every week, based on the testimony they give. The game ends when we find the murderer.” “How do you know who the murderer is?” “Oh, we don’t. Um…He does.” She jerks her head at Remus. “It’s his game. He gave everybody their roles, and what they’re doing. We get assignments in our mailboxes, tell us what the week’s clues are, and everything. So last week, someone did a Satanic sacrifice of one of Farmer Weintwort’s sheep, and the knife was found outside the midwife’s door…It’s pretty involved; I don’t know how he comes up with all of this.” “Isn’t that not fair, if he’s playing?” “Nah, the Abbot can’t influence the decisions. He only keeps order, and passes the sentences. Kind of like a Dungeonmaster.” Seeing his confused look, she amends it. “A Dungeons and Dragons thing. That’s another kind of-”“I know what that is.” Regulus cracks his wrist. “Okay. How do you win?” Dorcas squints, confused. “You don’t really win this kind of game. I suppose the murderer wins, if they get away with it. But I mean, you’re not the murderer, since you just got here.” “But I would win, if I caught the murderer, right?” Dorcas looks amused. “Yeah, I guess. But you’re only going to be here for tonight, right, so I don’t think that’s going to happen? Unless-” She raises her eyebrows. “You want to become a regular?” “No!” He reddens. “I’m just here to show you. That I can be…Nice. Normal.” “I think normal is quite a big ask, for this group of people,” Dorcas says cheerily, “but I appreciate the sentiment.” “Okay, then.” The “trial” is starting in earnest, with the midwife girl taking the stand. Everyone hisses and boos at her, and she stammers out some tearful explanation that she seems to be enjoying far too much. Regulus makes note of the people in the room. Morgenstern, and another guy called Brother Pavel, seem to be leading the charge against the midwife, rather aggressively, so Regulus figures they’re probably suspicious. There’s also some kind of strange side plot going on with the sheep farmer, whose story about the missing sheep doesn’t quite add up. He doesn’t realize it, until he’s started actually listening to the “testimony” (in between the “Good sirs, I only help bring God’s children into the world,” the midwife girl keeps lisping)  that he’s fully engrossed in this very strange, very historically inaccurate world, that it kind of holds the same bashful thrill for him he gets from watching reality TV or other, brain-rotting activities. They end up voting to hang the midwife (Regulus doesn’t vote, because it’s not like he’s going to come back), and then everyone starts filing out, a few stragglers hanging back to ask Remus questions as he carefully folds his cloak. Regulus doesn’t even bother, just skips ahead of the last two people. “When do we know if the midwife did it?” “Next week.” Remus zips up his bag. “But you know who did it.” “Yes.” “You have it all planned out.” “Yes.”“It was Morgenstern, right? Or…hang on, you want us to think it’s Morgenstern, but it’s really the farmer?” Remus gives him a once-over. “I didn’t take you for the kind of person who would be...into this.” “I am not,” Regulus clarifies. “ into this . I just wondered. So?” “No spoilers!” Dorcas’ voice comes from over his shoulder. “It’s not a spoiler; I’m not playing-” “You’ll have to wait until next week, Brother Papier,” Remus says, sounding amused. “Like everybody else.” “Really? Come on-” “Rules are rules,” Dorcas puts a hand on his arm, making him flinch, though she doesn’t appear fazed by it.  “Leave him alone. I knew you’d be into it, by the way; you’re so dramatic. Of course, Marlene is literally the biggest drama queen on Earth, and when I invited her to this she said, and I quote, even if I had a lobotomy, you’re not making me do role playing. ” “I’m not that dramatic-” he starts. “It’s not really even a classic role-play game,” Remus says, sounding quite offended. “It’s more Mock-Trial style than anything-” “Cool, is what it is.” Remus blushes, deeply. “I think it’s incredible that you come up with all of this stuff.” It is not cool, but it is a labor of love, which…Regulus can get behind. He’s about to find the words to say so, but then Dorcas has to go and ruin it, of course. “Regulus is a huge fan now, you know…” It’s his turn to flush. “No, I’m not.” The rest of the week meanders on, in its usual monotonous way. After the incident with Dorcas, he really does his best to be social, to respond to messages, even grabbing dinner with Evan in the dining hall instead of going to his room. Being around people means he doesn’t have to think about any of that other stuff (James talking about sex, the callused pads of Barty’s fingers) But his plans are hopelessly ruined on Sunday night as he returns from the library. It’s raining, and he can’t wait to get back inside, when a familiar voice sounds from the shadows, surprising him. “Regulus? Is that you?”“James.” They haven’t spoken, since he’d propositioned him last, which has been for the best, really. But here he is, looking unusually flustered. His hair is wet, and plastered to his face, and his eyes are rimmed with red, like he’s been crying, or more likely, is really fucking high. “Can I help you?” “Oh, thank God.” says James, and he doesn’t sound high at all. “It’s dark as all fuck, and I think I dropped my keys; do you mind helping me look-” Regulus crosses his arms, moving under the awning, which just lets the rain drip off the edge of his nose instead of completely soaking him. “This isn’t some kind of trick, is it?” “Trust me,” James laughs, but it’s hollow, mirthless. “I’ve had a very long day, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to. So can you please, for once, not assume the absolute worst of me and just help me out? Because that would be great.” It’s unusually stinging, coming from James. “You’re being…pissy. Why are you being pissy?” “Because I can’t find my fucking keys !” This is shouted, as water droplets pool on his glasses, and Regulus instinctively curls his fingers around the door handle, scrabbling for an exit, his heart suddenly racing. Because he is not some kind of pussy, he lets James wait, until he has the decency to look embarrassed. “Well,” Regulus sniffs, once James has awkwardly fidgeted enough. “You don’t have to yell at me about it.” “I’m not-” Regulus raises an eyebrow, and James’ tone shifts to penitence. “Sorry.” “Honestly,” Regulus activates the flashlight setting on his phone, stepping out onto the grass, both of scanning the pavement in the too-white beam of his phone. “I’m not the one who dropped them.” “Thank you. I am sorry, again. I’ve had an…interesting forty-eight hours.” Regulus gathers that he’s supposed to ask why, exactly, they were interesting, but he’s not going to give James the satisfaction. It takes all of five minutes until Regulus locates the keyring, precariously tipped near a storm drain. “Here you go. Jesus Christ. Goodnight.” “Oh, thank you, you’re the best-” For a brief moment he thinks James is trying to decide whether or not to hug him, and he quickly retreats to the shelter of the awning, lest he get any ideas. “It really wasn’t that hard. You would have found them, if you weren’t freaking out.” “I know. Sorry, again. It’s not you; I promise. I’m…I don’t yell. I know you don’t like-I know it’s not a good thing to do.” What the hell is he talking about, Regulus thinks. “Okay. Whatever. Goodnight.” “Well…you don’t have to keep trying to run off.” James is trying for a winning smile, but on him right now, it looks more like a grimace. “I have an eight A.M.” He wonders, for a minute, if James is going to ask him about the thing again, wonders what he might say, this time, before he dismisses the thought. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. You were right, about before. It wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’m not gonna…I won’t ask you again.” “Okay…” He’s making no effort to leave, even though he’s got the all-important keys. “Lily broke up with me, by the way. For real, this time. Guess you were right about that plan not really working.” “Oh.” He wonders how James fucked this one up. Maybe he tried to serenade her, or something stupid. “And I’m-” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Very sad, of course, but I’m still…confused. About the uh…whole sexuality thing. Nothing anyone says about it helps, either. Or the Internet. That…mm…” He laughs. “The Internet made it worse, actually.” “That does sound like the Internet.” “Well, do you know, yet? Did you…figure it out?” The flashlight beam makes his eyes look even wider, more curious. “I have school , James.” “You could still figure it out, though…” “There are other things to worry about right now.” “Oh, yeah?” He sobers. “I guess you’re probably right. But I…I haven’t been single since I was eighteen.” “Lucky you.” What does one say to that, even? “How do you not, you know, worry about it? Being gay or whatever?” James stares him down, intently. “I mean, I know what your parents are like and all-” Regulus laughs. “Of course I worry about it. But then I just…don’t think about it. Unless it comes up.” “Sounds healthy.” “It is healthy. It’s kind of self-centered to be so fixated on it, I think.” “Ouch.” “I’m just saying.” “Lily says…” He clears his throat. “Lily says I am really self-centered. She says…that I use people, and that I’m insufferable to be around because I spend all my time trying to impress everyone.” Regulus doesn’t know what to say. “That’s…” James continues, looking away from him. “So, it’s okay. I get what you meant when you said no, now. Because I’m me.” “Really? Come on-I didn’t mean it like that, Jesus. Don’t…Look, it’s just. A lot of feelings to put on someone, you know.” “Right,” James tilts his head up, towards the sky. “I’m too emotional, ha ha. I get it.” “Shut up.” It comes out, a little crueler than he wanted it to, but something about watching James get self-pitying makes the world feel decidedly off its axis. “Or don’t…That’s not why I said no. I don’t even know why you wanted…There’s…there are other people out there. Better people to uh…try to do stuff with. It wasn’t…because of…I don’t assume the worst of you, even though you think that I do. I actually…I think you have a lot of qualities that are…Not bad, at least. Please don’t cry.” he finishes, panicked, as James’ eyes are getting unusually shiny. James snorts, blinking hard. “I’m not going to cry .” “Right.” “Don’t be mean.” This version of James is infinitely more manageable than crying James, so he keeps going. “Don’t tell me what to do.” “Did you let…what’s his name…”“Barty? You know his name.” “Did you let him tell you what to do?” “Sometimes.” Regulus says, because it sounds better than saying, always, I never know what to do if nobody tells me.  “Were you mean to him, too?” “Sometimes. Not like,” It’s so dangerous; why does he do it? “Not like I am to you.” “Yeah?” “Not that it means anything. You just invite it, is the thing.” “Oh, very nice, blaming the victim,” James breathes. They’re standing close to each other, now, and Regulus could kiss him again. If he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. “You’re not a victim.” “True, I kinda like it.” He’s back to being cocky. It suits him, better. “Well…goodnight.” He starts walking away, and Regulus…“Wait-” If James doesn’t turn around, he thinks, he won’t keep talking, but he does, turning around so fast, like he’s hungry for what Regulus is going to say. Like he knows what’s going to come out of his mouth. “Fine.” Now he looks confused. “Hm?” “Fine, I’ll…do the thing.” “What?” James’ face splits into a grin of pure elation. “Do you mean it?”God, he is so embarrassing. “Do you not want to, anymore?” “No!” James says quickly. “I mean, yes. Yes, I want to. Still. With you. If you really want to-” “Yes. But we need rules.” “Of course.” James is nodding, in mock-agreement. “I agree. We’ll write up a contract, or something. What experimental situationship is complete without paperwork?” “I’m being serious. And you can’t tell anyone.” He doesn’t look as pleased about this, but he stays quiet, Regulus is pleased to see. “Don’t make me regret this.” James nods. “I won’t. I’ll be the best fuck buddy you ever had. I swear to God.” “Don’t call it that.” "Your words, not mine!” James scans him, hungry. “So, can I kiss you again?” “No.” He pouts, but Regulus is unrelenting. “I’m serious.” “Is it because I’m only a seven out of ten?” “No. Be quiet.” Regulus takes in a breath, for courage, and pecks James, quickly, on the cheek. His face is warm, and when he breaks away, he can hear James releasing a sharp breath. “Cheek kisses don’t count.” “Holy shit.” James laughs. “You’re going to kill me.” And Regulus laughs, because it’s obvious hyperbole, and he’s not really in love, and none of this really matters. It’s only later, when he’s lying in bed, trying to scrub the final kiss from his mind, that he realizes his hands won’t stop shaking.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Give me a week or two to

Go absolutely cuckoo

Then, when you see your error

Then you can flee in terror

Like everybody else does

I only tell you this ‘cause

I’m easy to get rid of

But not if you fall in love

- The Magnetic Fields
 Remus  is lying on his back, watching the second hand tick its torturous eleven-fifty-nine out. In less than a minute, he’ll be twenty-one, an age he had a dim idea of, at fifteen, but definitely had no concrete vision for. It feels, he thinks, too old and not old enough. At fifteen, he had felt terribly ancient, compared to the majority of his peers, but at twenty-one, he’s come to the conclusion that most people know more than he will have ever forgotten. Strangely enough, he feels ready, to be fifteen now, but that’s how it goes, he supposes. At fifteen, he was ready to be twelve, and so on, and so on. He would like, now, to feel ready to be whatever being twenty-one feels like. He would like to have some kind of important revelation about it. When he’d been a kid he’d stayed paralyzed in front of the clock, waiting for the time to change, waiting for the day to begin, to be eight or nine or whatever, and everyone would always ask him if he “felt” any different, which seemed like a particularly stupid question, because he never felt any different, not really, from one day to the next. The only people, before college, who’ve ever historically given a shit about his birthday, are his parents, kind of embarrassingly so, as if to make up for the fact that he’s been usually rather friendless. The older he got, the sadder it tended to make him, but he knew better than to complain. It’s them he thinks about, now, specifically his mother. She’s already gotten him a book, which he’s already opened, and looks predictably terrible ( The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo ). Her taste in reading material is a long-running joke with them-Hope Lupin unironically loves mass-market paperbacks; they sit in piles under her bed, lurching from the bar they never use onto the dining table, collecting dust after they’re read once. No matter how many times Remus and Lyall suggest she read something of substance, she persists, devouring one pulpy dumpster fire after another. Her favorites are either about some girl who solves crimes or have some generically handsome man in Regency clothes on the cover who’s about to rip the bodice off a scullery maid, so all in all, this year he’s got off easy. (After Peter and Mary started doing a dramatic reading of the last offering, which had the unfortunate title of The Greatest Lover in All England , he’s started opening his mother’s gifts privately.) “Besides,” she’d said, cheerfully, during their weekly phone call. “You need some fun after that last thing you read, the Little Light , or whatever-”  “Come on, Hope,” he had joked. (He calls his parents by their first names; he always has.)  “How many times? A Little Life .” He knows his friends would tease him, about how much he talks to his mom about the mundane details of his life, but he figures, since she was his first friend when he didn’t really have any others, she’s kind of earned it. Plus, she’s scarily nosy, so it’s not like he would be able to hide anything from her if he wanted to. “Whatever. I think she’s some kind of hacker ; isn’t that fun? So? Is everyone okay? Are they still being nice to you?” He had rolled his eyes. “They’re always nice to me.” Hope, a chronic worrier, always asks this, probably tormented with visions of frat-guy bullies force-feeding him Everclear. Of course, if he’s being really honest with himself, the relative niceness of his friends is at least to some degree up for debate, but that’s not the kind of thing he can ever be honest with Hope about, as she’s seen him through every iteration of friendless existence, from being despised to being ignored. He likes it better, to let her worry less. Even when he’s worrying more, about the permanence of what he’s worked so hard to build. It’s so unfair, he reflects now, in the dark, that this birthday is all fucked up by this. Last year had been simple, except that he’d fallen asleep, turning twenty, draped over Peter like an over-large blanket, and missed the moment; he’s not going to… Ah. The light blinks 12:00, and he releases his breath. It had been fun turning twenty, despite that. He remembers first stirring at like four in the morning, only to see James watching him. “You want to sleep?” He’d nodded, and James had blinked, sleepy. “Happy birthday.” It’d been touching, to be remembered. He has thought they will forget every year. Their first year, when they’d gotten a shitty sheet cake from the grocery store, with apologies and bickering and talking over each other, he’d felt a tightness rising in his throat and had promptly excused himself ( I told you, he was gonna fucking hate it , Sirius had hissed, too loud, before James shhed him) to let his eyes get teary in the fluorescent lights of the common-room single-user bathroom. The three of them are big on celebration and surprises and gift-giving, which stresses Remus out quite a lot since he doesn’t really want things. Last year, he just asked for those pencils with the black erasers (11.99 from the college bookstore), which meant that James and Sirius and Peter bought him a Venus flytrap, because “that’s like the worst gift idea on Earth.” He really likes the Venus flytrap, in all seriousness; he’s named her Edna. But this year…something is decidedly amiss, he can tell. James is always off doing something he won’t exactly explain, and Peter’s reinventing himself and hates him now, and the girls are girls, which means he’s never really gotten them anyway, and Sirius is being Sirius. So, the fact remains that no one has mentioned his birthday other than his mother. Not to drop hints, or float ideas, or badger him with requests, just…float past it. Like it doesn’t exist. Usually at this point (12:01, to be exact) there would be at least one long, sappy text from James in their group chat. ON THIS DAY IN HISTORY RJL WAS BORN , etc. It’s not that he feels entitled to it, but he was expecting it. It’s not like any of them are asleep already, surely? He considers asking Peter about it, just to check if this is normal, a third-year-of-friendship steep drop in interest, before he remembers that Peter doesn’t want to talk to him, halfway through typing out a text. In the end he sends (even though Sirius and James wouldn’t approve) a Hope you’re doing well, which Peter reads and doesn’t respond to. He wonders if Peter remembers, that it’s his birthday. He thinks that he probably doesn’t, and that makes him sad. His mother would tell him to drop them all ( You don’t need friends like that anyway ) and his friends themselves are all so self-assured he just can’t envision them in this predicament. Wind, he knows, would get it, or at the very least, would not judge him for his reaction to it. But Wind is not talking to him, like Peter isn’t talking to him. Like Sirius isn’t talking to him. He wonders if it’s normal, if everyone feels like this, like they’re running out the clock until the people around them realize what they are, that not receiving a response to a message or seeing a less-than-thrilled expression on someone’s face makes them spiral. He would guess that it does not, based on James’ indirect line of questioning (through Sirius, of all people), or the way that Mary and Marlene seem to hang back with him now, after the class he takes in the humanities building. He knows that they are concerned, that they all think that he is depressed, a word that he abhors for its vagueness, its flatness. It is simultaneously too strong and not strong enough. It does not capture the truth, which is that he spends all day hollow, irritable, resenting the easy way everyone around him seems to be so goddamn awake. How he stands on the stairs, utterly depleted, trying to coax himself to take one more step. How he would really like to retreat into himself, like he did when he was a kid, stop talking for days, but he knows he has to be resilient and not weird. How the only thought that consumes his every waking moment is a cruel refrain. They know you. They know you, and now they’re going to leave. You bring it on yourself, all of it. Because he does; he always does, no matter how hard he tries. And he’s not stupid; he knows, at this point, that it’s his fault. The fact remains that his friends are too good for him, have always been too good for him, that his pitiful concessions to normalcy only serve to highlight how woefully inadequate he is at being a real live human being. Really, he’s lucky he’s lasted this long. Well, to hell with it, he thinks. Self-pity achieves absolutely nothing, in the grand scheme of things. He’s not going to inflict himself on people, loiter in corners he doesn’t belong so he can say he was there. He’ll finish up the year, spend as little time with them as possible, and then, he’ll move out. Sirius will probably be thrilled; he can move in with James like they all know he really wants, and Mary and Marlene will be indifferent, probably, and Peter fucking hates him, and Lily’ll probably wave to him in the halls, but that’ll be it. In several years, he’ll be a story, the weird guy whose name they can’t quite remember. Someone (possibly Marlene, but more likely Sirius, which makes him a little ill) will throw around the term incel , and someone else (either James or Lily) will tell them to shut up, but laughing a little, because it is a joke, because he is a joke. Which he knows, but the annoying thing about normal people ( neurotypical people , Wind’s voice corrects him in his head) is that they won’t just come out and say, Hey, we were really only friends of convenience and circumstance, and the more time we spend with you, the less we like you, so would you just do us all the favor of fucking off? Instead, they’ll do this slow, gentle release, and by the time they’ve fully let you go, you don’t even know how you ended up drowning in the first place. Or at least, they would, normally, if Remus hadn’t been preparing for this eventuality, if he hadn’t, for once, seen it coming. He thinks it’s not fair, that it still hurts, even though he’s properly prepared this time. Part of the hurt is that people like James and Sirius are basically good, despite their other limitations. They’re probably patting themselves on the back right now, pleased that he hasn’t figured out their plans yet, agonizing over the perfect birthday gift, the one that says, We would like you to get out of our lives. It’s something that makes them real cowards, he thinks; when he doesn’t want to talk to someone he just…doesn’t, which he thinks is a much kinder way to go about it.  But this is not how politeness works, and the world does not adjust to him. The other part is that he isn’t ready to be alone again, not like he was before. He’s grown too comfortable here, let too much of himself slip, and now, one by one, they’re shedding him like loose skin. Really, the biggest surprise is that it’s only three of them that have made it obvious, that they’ve caught on to the horrible thing about him that everyone else sees. He knows why Wind has stopped talking to him.. It is his fault, completely, of course. It had been later, at night, when they had been having one of their chats (Wind was explaining the plot of a video game to him, and Remus had not not been paying attention), a few days before they were due to go to the ski cabin. Wind had sent him a message, kind of out of the blue. are you doing anything this weekend?   No , he’d responded. He hadn’t known about the plan, for the weekend, yet.  ive been thinking about it, Wind had sent, and i think i want to meet you. in real life. 
I’d like that, too.

coffee, sunday afternoon? we can go to the place around the corner.

I’m not much of a coffee person. 
me neither. He’d smiled, reading the message, and then Sirius had walked in, and he’d had to quickly tab over to A Little Life . Then, of course, Sirius had told him all about the plan, which of course James was making him do, and he’d forgotten about it for a bit, which was understandable, but then, he’d thought, he’d better cancel the whole thing. After all, Wind had waited this long, to meet him. Surely, he could give it a little more time. So he’d typed out a very lengthy, thorough apology, and sent it. Wind didn’t respond, for a couple hours, which was weird for him, and then he sent back that’s fine. i was really looking forward to it, though 
My friends just planned this thing; I can’t get out of it. I really am sorry

i’m sure you could find a way, considering you see them every weekend. i doubt that they’ll really miss you one time.

No, I know, it’s just a planned vacation. I already agreed to go

you can’t say no?

I already said yes. Wouldn’t that be rude?

i mean, you just complained about how annoying it’ll probably be. seems to me it’s not really your kind of thing.

It’s not annoying-annoying. More like kind of irritating, because of the drinking. I’ll be a sober companion again haha

it’s kind of messed-up that you have to do that, don’t you think?

No, what do you mean?

just that. they know you don’t like that stuff and they make you be around it. it’s a bit of a shitty situation to put your friend in. 
I don’t mind that much, he’d sent back, irritated. It’ll be fine. 
so skip it and see me.

I’d like to. I just can’t this weekend. What about next weekend?

you know what? it’s clear you don’t care about this, so never mind. go have fun with your friends.

what? Come on, Wind

no, i’m serious! if you’d rather make all these excuses just to spend time with the same people you see every single day i don’t think this is going to work for me
I’m not making excuses, he’d sent back, confused. I just already agreed. I like doing what I say I’m going to do. I like you too. If you wanted, he’d typed out, seized with a flash of inspiration, I could invite you. They’re a lot, but they actually like new people, my friends. Not like us haha  The reply came late. crowds of people give me anxiety and you know that
It’s not a crowd, even, really, and I could introduce you to everyone. They’re not scary. Well, not usually. My one friend, you know the one, he likes to push people’s buttons. But other than that they’re really fine.

your roommate.

Yes. So?

it’s fine, moony, do whatever you want. you clearly have other plans in mind. i don’t want to get in the way

not really. i’m really not trying to upset you. if you could just tell me what was wrong…i am sorry, you know
But Wind didn’t respond to that. Nor did  he respond to any more of Remus’ messages, the next day, or the next. It drove him crazy. As much as he tries to hold himself aloof, the real him always comes out eventually, all strange and pleading and too earnest. The same way he was that spring, before his growth spurt, when they still lived in the one-story house, the texts coming repeatedly even after he blocked the number. Look outside. If you’re going to ruin my life, you should at least own it. He’s never told anyone about how it ended, because it hadn’t ended well. His parents were always so careful, so cautious, so evangelical about Standing Up For Yourself. “Just because you’re different,” Lyall tells him, still, even though he’s fully an adult now and files his own taxes and everything, “doesn’t mean people get to treat you however they want.” They would be horrified, if they knew, how quickly, he had thrown all of the lessons about boundaries to the wind, for the promise of being loved. It makes him a little sick, thinking about it for too long. He does not like the reminder that he was once fragile, once naive, brought on, usually, by incidents like this.  And he always thinks about it in the spring, obsessively, maniacally. The time he asked Why would you do this to me? in the car, trying hard to sound emotionless, academic. The laughing, after he said that, even though it was a genuine question; he really had wanted to know. Because you bring it on yourself.  This, he knows, he has brought on himself, too. Been too open at the wrong time, too distant when it mattered. He curses his friends and their commitment to “adventure.” He didn’t even really want to go, with the specter of Wind’s anger hanging over him. He’s too easily swayed by fury; he knows it, quick to crumble at the first signs of displeasure, but he has a sneaking feeling that he has unknowingly built an alliance, and like always, he has chosen the wrong side. On the other hand, he had expected Peter not to talk to him. He had sent him loads of messages, even though everyone else told him not to, only to be met with the I’m busy every time he suggested coming over to talk. “So fuck him,” Sirius had said, after he’d explained it. “He’s not even-” he snorted, “fucking busy. I saw him talking to Gideon the other day. He just gets off on making you do all the work.” “That doesn’t mean he’s not busy,” Remus had argued, and Sirius and James had exchanged one of their long private can-you-believe-this looks that always made him feel a bit like an idiot. “It’s true,” James had said, more kindly than Sirius. “He has the time.” James had spent a good deal of time calling Peter’s refusal to respond to their efforts to reach out “childish,” (although, Remus privately noted, he is always the first to rush to justify Sirius’ prolonged fits of inexplicable bad temper, which does not seem quite fair). “You don’t know that, though.” “Just because he came to the ski cabin doesn’t mean he wants to be friends again.” And Sirius had nodded, like this made any degree of fucking sense. “Well, that’s…” He searched for a diplomatic way to say it, and came up on, “really fucking stupid of him, if that’s true.” Which had made James laugh, which didn’t make any sense, because he meant it, but he laughed, too, so as not to be left out of the joke. He still sent the text, and Peter responded a day later, saying the only possible time he was free was on a random Thursday evening, and he didn’t have too much time, so Remus would have to come by his new apartment. Which maybe was evidence of further emotional manipulation and blackmail or whatever, but Remus didn’t mind. Anything to get Peter back to where he was, to prevent him from ghosting him or vanishing like Wind had done. So he had dutifully made his way, per Peter’s direction, to the grey student housing complex across the street from the college, waiting under an awning and trying not to let the rank rainwater drip onto his forehead.  “You can come in, I guess,” Peter had said sourly, after Remus had stood on the rickety staircase outside his new apartment for enough time. He’d been fifteen minutes late. Peter was never late to things before, which he gathered was supposed to mean something. Still, he could have just not shown up, which was a sign, right?  If Peter was willing to talk, that was good. He could work with that. “Okay.” When he finally stepped inside the apartment, it was a bit of a nightmare. The popcorn ceiling and walls were an unpleasant shade of beige, and there was a lack of any real decoration anywhere, save for a roll of paper towels on the kitchen table, and a selfie-stick/ring light contraption that had been duct-taped to the wall. It also has a powerful smell of dill pickles, which made Remus wince, trying not to gag. “Nice place,” he lied. It’s what he was supposed to say, he was pretty sure. Peter snorted. “You’ve always been a shitty liar.” “No, no, I like it! It’s very…” Sterile, prison-adjacent, crime-scene-core. “clean.” “ Right. ” Peter didn’t sound like he believed him. “Selfie stick’s Fab’s.” He jerked his head in the direction of the stick. “I think he’s trying to be some kind of influencer. He’s always talking to himself in here.” “Fab as in….Fabian Prewett? Gideon’s brother? Isn’t that a little…”“No.” Peter crossed his arms. “It wasn’t, actually. I wasn’t really starved for choice, to be honest.” “Okay.” He fidgeted for a bit. “I’m sorry, you know. For what I said about your degree. I really was trying to help, but I get how…” “Thanks. You know, you didn’t really do anything.”  I know, Remus resisted the urge to say. “So…are you going to say anything to us?” “Us?” Peter scoffed. “So they’re putting you up to this, huh?” “No, I…This was my idea, actually. I just thought…well, they seemed quite offended, about everything. Maybe if you also apologized, it would, you know…help.” “How very manipulative of you.” “I’m not being manipulative.” He had taken a deep breath, trying to fight the urge to scream. These kinds of accusations always took him back there, to that summer, when not only couldn’t he do anything right, he had to also have terrible intentions as well. It was all laid out for him, the evidence of his malice, when he took a long time to pick a meal at a restaurant, when he didn’t have the right number of exclamation marks in a text message, when he made the mistake of complaining of a headache. It had been easier, then, to shut down, to tune it out, to be obedient, but he thinks now, that James and Sirius would be disappointed in him if he folded too easily, for Peter.  “And you know what you did to Regulus was…bad.” Peter had leaned back in his chair. “It’s nothing the real world isn’t going to teach him eventually. And it all worked out, didn’t it? Last I checked, he’s not exactly fucking homeless.” “That’s not the point.” He didn’t sound like himself. He certainly didn’t look like himself, faded hickeys on his neck, pouchy hollows under his eyes.  Gone was the Peter who, bright-eyed, used to wrap Christmas presents with sharp corners and draw succulents on the corners of his lecture notes, pen in his mouth, used to cry at movies where animals died, used to be the rock on the couch that everyone, too tired to keep drinking, would fall asleep against, the warmth of his chest an all-natural hypnotic. This new Peter was more guarded, more abrupt, less funny, less kind. Remus felt a chill, unbidden. “Look, you should just…I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of it just being the two of us, in the apartment. Wouldn’t it be better if you just-” “No. Don’t you get it?” Peter stood up, hands on one of the cabinets, not facing him. “After it…all happened, I remember thinking, One of them is going to come apologize . They have to realize it was fucked up, of them. And then none of you did, and I realized, you must have thought I would. And I was going to, I really was, and then I realized…I wasn’t sorry, so why should I have to?” “You can’t just start screaming at your friends, you know? It’s…” He had borrowed the phrasing from James. “childish.” And scary , he wanted to say, but didn't. He could remember the taste of metal in his mouth, from biting his tongue too hard, after hearing the clatter of silverware on the table, trying to cover for his fear. The stupid joke he’d made, the one they’d all made fun of him for after. They had all been so angry, on his behalf, so he had felt he should be too, when what he’d really been thinking is, This person is angry at me. And it is my fault.  “See, like, that’s the thing, isn’t it? You all are just…In the real world, people yell at each other, when they get upset. You all do it. It’s just…I find it hypocritical, that it’s suddenly a big deal, when I do it.” “ I don’t do it.” That had been a good point, he had thought, because it was true. Sirius would yell, if he got very angry, James a little bit less. He never does, probably a holdover from having one too many people interpret his confusion for non-compliance, and think the way to get a desired result from him was to say the same thing, but over and over again and louder. You’re like one of those monks, that’s taken a vow of silence or something , James had said to him once, after watching him suffer through an insufferable customer at the coffee shop who’d asked for too many extra things, in a drink. “Right, well, you’re just fucking perfect, aren’t you?” Remus had recognized, too late, the shift in tone. “You want to know what I think? The three of you have always thought you were so much better than me. You like me when I’m small; you don’t like me when I make you see me as a real person. That’s the real problem, not the yelling.” “I don’t think I’m perfect.” He had been so confused, by that. There are many things, he reasons, after all, that every single one of their friends is better at. He could list them, if he needed to. “ I don’t think I’m perfect ,” Peter mimicked, in a high-pitched-voice. “Jesus Christ.” “Why can’t you just say sorry?” “I can’t say things I don’t mean. I mean, I’m sorry that you felt hurt, but I’m not sorry about the rest of it. The way things are going now, the days I spent without you guys…they’ve been really good, to be honest. I don’t worry people are going to make fun of me for saying something wrong or talk to me like I’m stupid.” “What? I have never done that.” “But you sit there and let them get away with it, which is worse. If you disagreed, you would say something. Don’t you understand? I know it’s not something you understand, but it’s important to me. If you care about me, you should want to understand.” “I do understand.” “Could you be more insincere? Jesus.” “I am not being insincere.” Remus had said, which he knew made him sound only more insincere.  “I want to understand. I want to help. You just have to…give them something.” He had been accused of that, back then, when his tone didn’t hit the right levels of what was needed. Stop it. I can always tell, when it’s fake. He is always careful with it now; he is wounded, that it isn’t working.”“All I did with them was give.” Peter said, mouth twisted. “And it never worked.” “Peter-” “Look, it was nice of you to come. But I’m going to need you to leave now. You’re not going to change your mind. I’m not going to change my mind. So let’s just…leave it.” “So, you’re going to move back in with us, or-” “ No! Jesus, don’t you get it? I don’t want to. I’m fine. I want you to leave me alone.” “That’s ridiculous,” Remus could feel his face getting a little bit warm, a stress headache building behind his eyes. “I don’t even-” “You don’t what ? Yeah, that’s what I thought.” he had said, before Remus had a chance to answer. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s not about you, really. None of this is. You don’t have to do this, for them.” “Why are you doing this?” It was the second time in his life he had asked the question. “I thought we were-” “If I see you, walking to class or something,” Peter had said this, very slowly, like he was explaining it to a particularly dense child. “Don’t say hi.” The reason that Sirius is not talking to him is deeper, and stranger, and really goes all the way back to the beginning. Freshman year, Remus took intro psychology, mostly because James wanted to, and while the two of them privately shared the opinion that it was a very unscientific, bordering on inane, discipline (Sirius and Peter thought it was fascinating , so they had kept this to themselves, out of respect), some of what he learned stuck. For example, right now, the concept of the sunk-cost fallacy, wherein, because of the amount of effort or time one has put into something, one thinks they must continue, even if it’s impossible, comes to mind. It is true that Remus does not consider himself to be pessimistic, despite many allegations to the contrary, but he prides himself more on being realistic than walking about the world with blind faith that things will work out. So, it was hard to square his current state of semi-delusion with the blunt edge of his usual realism, especially when he had been confronted with the makeup on the counter that evening, a dark-colored powder in a compact and a bright magenta lip gloss that Sirius would never wear. It shouldn’t have sent him over the edge. It’s not exactly like the phenomenon of Sirius’ partners leaving things behind is a new one. He can easily call up Sirius’ barely repressed glee when Mary left behind a bra, which had quickly turned to panic when he wasn’t sure how to give it back to her without admitting that he and James had taken turns trying it on. Gideon had been the worst; he used to leave his crap in piles around the house, plus do disgusting things like leave the caps off of the toothpaste tubes, which made Remus seriously consider gluing them shut, to make a point. But that would have been a bridge too far for Sirius, who is always madly, excessively generous with his everything, whenever he’s with someone, never mind the collateral damage. James had been venting about it to Peter once, having been sexiled from their room against his will, once. Peter had told him about that. “I wouldn’t have minded,” Remus had said, because that’s always been his role in their group. He’s the chill one, and they’re the ones who get dramatic. (He actually would have minded, but it was what he was supposed to say.) Peter’s eyes had almost popped out of his sockets. “You wouldn’t have minded ? What if I walked in on you and some girl… naked ?”  Fat chance of that, Remus had thought to himself, smiling. “I mean, it’s more kind of sad, really, isn’t it, than anything else?” “What is?”  That he thinks he has to just keep throwing shiny things at them to make them stay. Out loud, he had said. “He lets those girls run him around too much.” Peter had muttered in agreement, and he didn’t say what he felt, namely, that Sirius, under it all, was willing to twist himself into whatever knots he needed to get adoration, praise, attention. It made him think less of Sirius, then, for being so unreliable, so transparent, so shallow. At the same time, he didn’t really know what else he was supposed to expect from the kind of guy who would abandon him at parties to strike up conversations with complete strangers. Sirius has always made it crystal clear in that regard; Remus has always been aware that he serves as a stand-in for other, more interesting, more socially advantageous people, when it’s just the two of them. Really, he shouldn’t have even been thinking…he shouldn’t be thinking about this at all. But since the ski cabin, he had sincerely thought it might be different. He had felt observed by Sirius, felt his eyes flit to him in the basement, remembers the momentary press of their bodies in the dark of the shed. Sirius’ strange turn to honesty, the flippant, detached way he mentioned horrible things making it ever so clear how not-detached he was. He remembers waking up in the middle of the night, on the couch, realizing their hands were touching. How he had stayed so still, electricity coursing through his veins, until Sirius had stirred, moving his hand away. Trying to focus on who was mad at who now (and watch Peter show off the ring of crimson hickeys around his neck, courtesy of a morning shower with Emmeline, which was just…No) but just absolutely short-circuiting because Sirius’ knee was touching his under the table and he genuinely thought he might be going lightheaded as a result. And then, looking up, meeting Sirius’ eyes, only for him to take on a sharp breath and look away.He didn’t move his knee, though; did that mean something, or was he just giving into temporary insanity? He’d felt like they were equals, finally, even comrades by choice, as they’d exchanged little looks of horror between each other as James and Lily valiantly pretended that the previous night hadn’t happened on the car ride home, Sirius claiming he had an “errand” so James would drop them off a half an hour’s walk away from the apartment so they wouldn’t have to continue in the car, which was practically redolent of breakup, eating a shitty dinner of convenience-store food on the stoop outside the apartment, when they finally got back. And he hadn’t as so much mentioned Hestia, then; he could almost forget she existed. But that had been then. This, he’s reminded with an unwelcome jolt, was now. The reality was that Sirius was maddeningly unattainable and laughably uninterested, and the sooner he learned it, the better. Suddenly irritated, he had shoved the makeup into one of the cabinets, where he didn't have to look at it. It doesn’t work, so he swept it into one of the plastic bags they keep underneath the sink, carried it out (Oh God, did he think she was going to move in here or something?), uncapped one of the permanent markers in the kitchen and scrawled HESTIA across the top of the plastic bag, the jagged letters cutting though the Thank you print. Satisfied, he had dropped it on the dining table. Of course, then, right then, was when Sirius decided to walk in. “You’re…why do you look guilty ?” “I’m not guilty,” he had lied, heart pounding. He had been standing at an angle, so the bag wasn't visible. Not that he was entirely sure Sirius would have a bad reaction to it, it’s just…it suddenly felt childish now, and he didn’t want Sirius to laugh, the probability of which seemed likely. Sirius had narrowed his eyes. “You did something.” Peter was right; he is a terrible liar, so he decided to disguise it with something he knows is true. “I think I ruined a friendship.” “Your Discord boyfriend?” “Still not a boyfriend, but…Yeah.” Sirius had leaned forward, eyes unusually hungry, and he had jumped, not expecting the sudden closeness. “Oh? What did you do?” “I sort of cancelled something, with him, in order for…this weekend.” Words are hard for him, usually. Words were harder, when he was close enough to see the skin peeling on Sirius’ top lip, watch his eyes following the loose threads on his sleeves. “Like a date?” “ No . Stop it. Not like that.” “I’m just saying.” Sirius had said, satisfied. “What were you going to do?” “Get coffee. What?” Sirius had rolled his eyes. “Not like get coffee. There’s no…extra thing. It wasn’t a big deal, just a way to meet in person.” “You’ve never met in person ? Oh, Jesus Christ. Okay.” Sirius sighed. “Did he suggest it, or did you?” “He suggested it, but…What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?” Sirius looked at him like he was the dumbest person on Earth. “That was a date, genius.” “No, it wasn’t.” Sirius raises his eyebrows. “Okay, I know how it looks, but trust me, it wasn’t. I’m not…that way.” “Kind of sounds like you are.” He could feel himself blushing. “I’m not!” “Okay, you don’t need to get so defensive.” “I’m not being defensive. I’m not…You can’t be sure, okay? You can’t just say that like that’s a thing that you know for sure.” “Well, do you like him?” “I don’t know, do I? We’ve never met in person.” He regretted, then, ever bringing this up around Sirius. He rested his head in his hands, then asked, watching through his fingers. “Do you really think that that’s how he meant it?” “Well…yeah. Of course.” He had made it sound so simple. “I mean, why wouldn’t he?”  Because I’m me. “I don’t know.” he had lied. “Right, you’re right. I just…You’re not messing with me, are you?” Sirius flinched. “I’m not that bad, you know.” “I don’t think you’re bad at all.” Sirius had stood up, shaking his head. “Okay. I’m going out.” This was the point, Remus knew, that he should have asked where. But he didn’t want to know, really, and besides, Sirius always would find his way back in, one way or another. “Do you want to come?” He did not sound like he actually wanted Remus to answer in the affirmative; it had been the kind of asking that sounds a bit under duress. “No.” He had wondered if Hestia would be there. He wondered if Sirius would talk about him, in the same vaguely amused way one talks about a beloved movie character, the way most people discuss him, the mocking semi-approval, a reward for being nice, but not quite normal enough. The thought of walking in on that would be infinitely more disturbing, he had thought at the time, than watching Sirius and Hestia have sex. Which…no. He was not going to think about that. He was instead going to focus on Sirius’ godawful pinky ring, the one with the cheap-looking fake opal Mary got him for Christmas. It made  him look like a rather unsuccessful pimp. (Which was also unhelpful, because then he started thinking about Sirius as a pimp.) “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Mm-hmm. I’m fine.” He had made full, real eye contact, as Sirius said this, and hoped his face was doing a smile. He would have thought that it was, except Sirius’ posture had stiffened slightly, and he had shut the door behind him with an extra degree of force. It had felt final, like he was leaving-leaving, and even though he had come back the next day, he’d left early that morning. He’d wondered, if somehow, Sirius had spotted Hestia’s missing possessions, and so in a fit of remorse, he’d left them out in the open on the coffee table in the living room. They had remained untouched, and Sirius hadn’t returned, and he wasn’t sure, entirely about this one, but it was probably his fault, too. He receives birthday wishes from the girls, that morning, and several of the kids he tutors send him nice emails, which is rather touching, One of the guys who plays his game with him even sends him a text, after which he almost drops his phone while reading through the scenarios he came up with for last week, when he couldn’t sleep. No one else does or says anything, which is actually okay, he reminds himself, because he’s not a big fan of being the center of attention. Still, he’s more restless than normal, chewing on the end of a pencil and taking half-assed notes in most of his classes. He forgets to deliver the game materials to his players’ mailboxes until the end of the day, and does the back half of one of his tutoring appointments’ worksheets instead of explaining all of the problems one by one. He’s waiting, he realizes, for the other shoe to drop, for something fucked-up to happen, for the day to be ruined, so much so, that when Lily stops by the coffee shop like she normally does, he stares at her blankly for a full five minutes before he recognizes she’s telling him what she wants. “You’re going to sit with me, right?” They are the only people in the coffee shop; everyone else has gone home. Technically, Remus is supposed to make Lily leave, but he usually lets her stay while he has one more cup. He enjoys this ritual, the regularity of it. They always drink the same things, good-naturedly argue about whether she’s going to pay (which she usually circumvents by giving him an exorbitant cash tip). Like he told Wind, he doesn’t even like coffee, really, and neither does Lily, but they suffer through it, dilute it with loads of milk and fancy sugar syrups that Sirius would scoff at, until they feel slightly sick. Today they’re trying to stomach a decidedly acidic peppermint syrup that’s sunk to the bottom of their lattes. “God, this is foul.” “You wanted to try it!” He swirls his cup around. If he drinks it fast, he won’t be able to taste it. Probably. “So, the big two-one, huh?” Lily teases him. “Gonna have a rager tonight?” “Ha ha.” He can feel dread pooling in his stomach. It would be too embarrassing, to confess the truth, that he’s almost certain they forgot. “I think James is on festivities.” he lies quickly. Lily’s guard goes up; he can tell, and he internally curses himself for this foot-in-the-mouth social error. He does not think he is supposed to mention James to Lily, and vice versa. Lily doesn’t say anything, just rolls her eyes, and he knows what she’s thinking-that James has a little bit of that charmingly self-centered thing (not that either one of them would ever mention it) where he thinks the best gifts are things that he really would want. Lily says it’s because he’s an only child. Remus, who is also an only child, thinks this is more about James wanting to be generous than anything else, but she’d say he’s probably giving James too much credit. “Right, so Twister and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Yay.” He tries to hide the mounting dread ( Twister? And Pabst Blue Ribbon ?), and smiles. “I don’t know about that. I think it’s going to be…regular.” If it happens at all.  “Right. My favorite part of birthday parties is always the regularity .” “Well, you know. I wouldn’t know…No one’s really said anything to me.” “Oh, a surprise .” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Very nice.” “So nice.” Remus makes sure to deliver this in a full monotone. The surprise is that no one remembers it was today. “Oh, are you anti-surprise? This is the wrong group of people for you, then.” She laughs, awkwardly. stirs her straw around in her glass for a bit, and eventually he joins in. It’s not really funny; he thinks, if it’s true. “Besides, you always do it up for us. Remember mine, freshman year?” He colors. “Yeah…” Lily had this particular brand of sparkling wine that she liked, and none of them had a fake ID then, so he’d had to ask a particularly forbidding junior to buy it for her. He’d paid for it in cash, too,  which tickled Sirius (“It’s like a drug deal ,” he kept saying, before James told him to stop), and it had been way too expensive, but it had been worth it, to make sure Lily had a good time. “Anyway,” she says, like that settles the argument, “You can’t expect us not to make kind of a thing about it, after all that.” “So you are going to come, right? Even if…” He risks the mention. “if James is in charge?” She’s the only one of them, he thinks, that might talk to him after they decide they’ve all had enough, who will miss his presence when he vanishes. He hopes the answer is yes. “Yes, of course, don’t be stupid. And…er…” She pauses, looking at the wall intently. “I suppose now’s as good a time to tell you as any. I kinda…met someone.” “As in… met someone ?” He is a little stunned. After all, Lily had been with James for practically ages, and they’ve been joined at the hip before that, really, because of their friends. He knows she’s the one who ended it, but oddly enough, she’s seemed just as sad as he is, albeit in a different way. “Oh.” “Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “I’ve wanted to tell everyone for a while, but I don’t think…I left it too fucked-up. I should…take my time.” “I’m not going to say anything.” He has caused enough problems, by opening his mouth, by trying to help. He can tell from the set of Lily’s jaw that she knows that this is her battle to fight, and it makes him love her, a little bit more. “I know.” She takes a long drink of her latte. “She’s really cool. You’d like her.” “She?” He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t-” Lily blushes, avoiding his eyes. “Everyone else does, right? So I thought I should…try. Once.” “Okay.” Remus has heard it all, the stories about everyone experimenting in college, trying queerness on for size. As someone who’s known exactly how gay he is for a long time, it’s always been jarring to him, to have people talk about it like this, like it’s a coat you can slip on and off. “You’re being judgy. Don’t-” She puts her head in her hands. “Don’t be judgy.” He tries to save it. “I’m not judgy. Why do you all…think that I’m-” “It’s your face, come on…” “I don’t know what my face is doing!” He softens. “And I happen to not care. I think it’s okay. If you’re happy…” “But you wish I was still with James, right?” “It would make things less complicated.” he admits. “But you know, you deserve to be happy. If she’s a good person…why would I want you to not-” He’s cut off by her lunging across the table, which startles him, until he realizes she wants to hug him. “Sorry.” she says, all muffled. “I know you hate all this, but I-” “I know.” He gently extricates himself from the embrace. “I know what you mean.” “Happy birthday.” Sirius sound decidedly displeased. “I didn’t see you all day. I was going to tell you…earlier, but you kept…getting away from me.” He’s tapping a foot against the leg of the kitchen table, having returned home early to…apparently, scold him?Remus blinks. “I have no idea what you mean.” He has spent all of the day, in fact, avoiding Sirius and James sightings, even going so far to eat a sandwich in the library at lunch rather than have to talk to them. He does not want to overwhelm them, like he has done with Wind and Peter, make the very feeling of his presence oppressive. Evidently, this is the wrong thing to do, as Sirius is still annoyed with him. God damn it. “Look, I know you’re all…depressed and whatever about Peter ,” he continues on, “but you don’t need to be such a brat about it. I– we were trying to do something, for your birthday, and you just fucked off, like all day.” “I thought that you forgot.” Remus confesses. “Are you shitting me? We had a surprise planned out. At lunch. I thought it was really good. I was, like, throwing you off last night, you know, making you think that we actually forgot, you know…Oh. You thought we actually…” “Well, yes.” He lets out a little laugh, because it’s so stupid and they’re so stupid. “Great plan. Very realistic.” “Oh, fucking hell.” Sirius groans, massaging his temples. “I told James. I said it was a little extreme, and that you were absolutely going to think it was real, but he got really into it, and then I got really into it…God, I-I’m an idiot.” “It was very convincing.” Remus is quite enjoying this, the humbling Sirius, for once. “Really made me feel appreciated.” “I’m sorry, okay?” He can tell he is; there’s genuine panic in his voice. “Let me make it up to you. There has to be something you want.” “Not…really?”  “Yes, there is. Come on.” Sirius examines him, waiting for him to crack. “You’re giving me very…I-want-something eyes.” He is not going to let him have it. “That’s not a…thing. I’m not…I don’t want anything. I’m not as materialistic as you are. You can’t just…buy me something and expect me to get over it.” “Trust me,” Sirius says darkly. “If I thought that you had forgotten my birthday, you couldn’t afford what it would take to get me over it.” “Okay…” Remus raises an eyebrow. “I’m just saying.” Sirius looks down, a little embarrassed, like he’s realized that he’s probably taken a level in rich-asshole with what he’s just said. Remus snickers; he can’t help it. It’s just too ridiculous. “What in the world were you planning on buying me?”  “Well…it depends.” Sirius sounds completely earnest, in a way that makes his mouth get dry. “On what you want.” He opens his mouth, closes his mouth, opens it again, planning to say something witty and teasing, but Sirius’ eyes are all big and tortured, and it kind of fucks him up, so what comes out instead is, “Buy me a beer.” “See, that wasn’t even hard.” Sirius stands up. “Come on.” “Where are we going?” “Buying you a beer, idiot.” They walk in silence the two blocks to the liquor store, wherein Sirius touches absolutely everything and engages the sullen guy behind the counter in a discussion about hops and microbrewing, which somehow gets them out of being ID’ed. Later, as he stands outside, clutching the paper bag, Sirius rolls his eyes. “It won’t bite you,” he tuts, and he snaps the pull-tab inside the bag, letting the hiss of the carbonation out. Remus cringes. “I’m not drinking this outside.” “Please? It’s an integral part of the experience.” And Remus agrees, because he always agrees too easily. He can feel Sirus’ eyes boring into him, watching, as he takes a tentative sip. He knows he is supposed to wince, to recoil at the taste, but it is not as bad as he expected. As they walk back, Sirius keeps a wary eye on him, and he is struck by their role-reversal, how strange it is for him to be the one taking messy swigs out of a paper bag. “I’m not getting drunk,” he tells Sirius, the third time he turns around. “This isn’t that strong. Don’t worry.” “Of course you’re not; you’re a fucking giant.” He can feel himself reddening, with pleasure. Normally, he finds it to be inane, when people comment on his height, but it’s different, this way. Everything sounds better, from Sirius. “I’m not that tall. You’re just short.” “Oh, fuck you, at least I can grow facial hair.” “ ‘M sure I could, if I wanted to.” (He can’t. He has tried, and it was embarrassing, but Sirius didn’t know him then, so it’s fine to say.) “Sure. Is it everything you hoped and dreamed?” “No.” Sirius laughs. “Well, it’s not! You all made it seem so exciting, and it’s really just…ethanol bread juice.” “So you didn’t drink this whole time because it’s illegal ?” Sirius says this like it’s the most alien thing he can think of. “Yes.” It’s part of it, for sure. The rest…Sirius likes the persona he gains when he drinks, so he wouldn’t really get it. “Well, you wouldn’t have gotten arrested, though. My older cousin force-fed me a beer when I was seven, and nothing ever happened to her.” “I don’t have great luck. Also…Jesus, your cousin ? Weren’t you, I don’t know, supervised?” “Do I look like someone who was supervised, ever?” “I thought, maybe you were, when we were freshmen.” It’s dark, and it’s easier to be honest. “You seemed a little like you were trying to get out from being so sheltered, or something.” “Shut up. No, I didn’t.” “Not in a bad way, like…You were testing the limits. Seeing what you could get away with.” “You do that too, though.” Sirius looks up, pinning him in place with his eyes. “You moved Hestia’s stuff from the bathroom.” His mouth is a little dry. “It was just on the sink. Seemed unhygienic.” “It’s because you don’t like her, isn’t it?”  “It would be nice,” Remus says, loftily. “if you let me know when you have people over. That’s all.” “Oh, well, if that’s all it is…” “Yes.” He finishes the beer in one, a final swig, a challenge. “Should we…go in?” Sirius leans against the door, holding it open for him. “Lead the way.” It’s unexpectedly crowded, in the apartment, when they get back inside. Everyone’s talking in low whispers, like they’re trying not to wake someone who’s sleeping. Someone (either James or Lily) has decorated the place, and there’s a very haphazardly decorated chocolate sheet cake, and that apple cider that looks like champagne that his dad used to sneak him since he’s always hated the taste of Manischewitz, and…He blinks, taking it in. It’s…well, a party-party. There’s the kids who he’s tutored, before, and a few of the regulars, from the coffee shop, and the brothers, from the game, and his friends, his brilliant, wonderful, maddening, strange friends-Marlene and Dorcas putting up streamers, Mary and Lily lighting candles around the room, James instructing a couple guys who play village elders to move the furniture around. Already, they’re talking, and laughing, mingling around the living room. He sucks in a deep breath, and retreats back into the hall, next to Sirius. “What the fuck…There’s so many people. I thought this was just going to be us.” “Oh, yeah, that was the second half of the surprise.” Sirius says. “I mean, I figured you’d want to see, before it all happened. I know you don’t like…uninvited guests.” Remus coughs, embarrassed. “They’re all here…for me?” “Yeah. James was just going to get them to sign a card, or something, but they said they wanted to help. The gamer nerds brought the cake, I think, or maybe one of the people who’s bad at math, I’m not sure-” “They’re not bad at math-” He takes a deep breath. “Holy shit. It’s like…a lot of people, Sirius. You really didn’t have to-”“You are aware that people really like you, right?” Sirius is watching him, carefully. “I know it doesn’t always feel that way, with Peter and um…with the other guy. But-hey, are you listening to me?” Remus whips his head around, focuses on a spot above Sirius’ head, which works, because Sirius isn’t exactly looking at him either. “I think…you think the only reason people tolerate you is because you’re providing them with some…service, or something. But that’s so…wrong, and it’s not how it works at all. You…make us feel comfortable, even if…Even if we don’t always make you feel the same way.” It is almost an apology. Sirius is like him in that way; he is not good at apologies either. “Anyway, if it’s too much, if it’s over-the-top, I’ll make them leave, if you want. They just really wanted to, I think…” “No,” he breathes. “So it’s good?” “It’s…great. It’s more than I deserve.” “It’s a good thing we don’t give a shit about deserve , then.” Sirius grins. “Um…you’ll pretend to be very surprised, yeah? James’ll kill me if he finds out I ruined this, too.” “Mm, yeah…I’m going to sit here, for a bit, before I go in.” “Oh. You’re not…uh-” “I’m not suddenly, inexplicably depressed, Sirius. That’s not how depression works.” “I know that. What, are you like, psyching yourself up to be all social?” He considers lying, but Peter's right about him; he really can't keep a lie up to save his life. “Yes.” “Cute.” Sirius comments. “Mm, you’ve got an eyelash-” And he swipes a chipped blue nail under his eyes, and Remus fucking forgets how to breathe. He is so used to suffering through unexpected physical affection; it is a rare shock to think yes, i would like that again, please.  “I’m not cute.” he manages to say back. Sirius ignores him, flicking the eyelash to the floor. “Happy birthday.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There are some things that no one teaches you, love

That come natural as a dream you didn’t know you were in

And darlin’, all my dreamin' is only put to shame

And darlin’, all my dreamin’ has only been given a name
 
- Hozier
 James concentrates on the bubbling of the oil as it releases the scent of the scallions into the air, examining it with a critical eye. It smells okay, sure, but he’s pretty sure there’s something extra his mom puts in to make it perfect. He’s about to start raiding the spice cabinet until he smells the right thing, but Regulus is looking at him over from his position on the kitchen island, in that way that James has learned means he has a question. “Hmm?” “So is this what you wanted, or…” James blinks. He’s really taken the measurement thing from the recipe they’ve dug up seriously, lining everything up in little glass bowls. Effie doesn’t measure anything, when she cooks, and he’s definitely going to have to wash every single one of those bowls, by hand, when they’re done, which he is not looking forward to. But there’s something about the anxious set to Regulus’ mouth, the saucer-wideness of his eyes, that makes him decide not to mention it. “It’s okay?” “Oh, yeah. Mm-hmm. It’s…uh, it’s very organized.” Regulus looks away, like he’s not sure if he’s being made fun of, and James turns away, to hide his smile. “It’s just different, from how we normally do it.” he amends, before Regulus can take offense. “Mom’s set-up is a little bit more chaotic.” “Yes, well. It’s mise-en-place .” “Excuse me?” “It’s one of the principles, of French cuisine. Mise-en-place .” He says it again, slower. “You want to have everything ready, before you get started. For efficiency.” He actually knows what mise-en-place is, but letting Regulus explain things to him is fun. “You’re so fancy.” James teases. “I’m just trying to help.” Regulus has twin spots of color, rising on the apples of his cheeks. “I’d almost think you’re trying to impress my family.” He gets redder . It’s kind of adorable. “I don’t care about impressing…It’s kitchen best practices, okay? It’s not my fault you don’t know anything about-” “Could you pass me the pork?” James interrupts. Fuck it, he probably is missing something, but he’s pretty sure you can add it back in later, right? It’s a sauce; the steps can’t matter that much, surely. “Okay.” This bowl is metal (which…he doesn’t even know where Regulus could find such a thing, in their house) and he’s cubed all the pork into exactly half-an inch pieces, which again…he’s pretty sure his mom just makes sure they’re not massive. But he knows if he says anything else, Regulus is going to have an honest-to-God meltdown, and James would like to not make him angry again, at least not for real, and definitely not again in the next forty-eight hours. One colossal, boundary-overstepping fuck-up was enough. “What’s this called, again?” James looks up, in surprise. He hadn’t expected Regulus to be paying attention, earlier, when he’d rambled on about ingredient lists and tradition, mostly because he was very nervous about ruining their fragile truce. “It’s…uh, my dad and I just call them Beijing noodles. I think it’s supposed to be…zha jiang mian?” “Is it?” Regulus looks up, teasing. “You don’t sound confident.” “Shut up. I’m shit at being Chinese, I know. That’s probably not even the right way to say it.” Regulus wrinkles his nose at him. “You’re so Westernized.” “Hey, I’m not the one who tried to turn our very authentic Chinese kitchen into Le Cordon Bleu.”“Touché.” He casts an anxious glance at the (perfect-perfect) pork pieces. “So it’s right?” He’s not like Sirius in that way, James has realized. Sirius never asks for reassurance; if he’s going to do something, it will be done his way. Regulus likes to know that what he’s doing is flawless. It makes everything take longer, but it was hard enough to get him all the way here, so…“It’s perfect,” James lies, and Regulus gives him a tiny, satisfied little smirk, and they both stand around the wok and watch the meat sizzle. James eyes the uneven clump of curls at the base of his neck, the creases on his cheek from sleeping. He would have teased Lily about them, running a finger over them before pulling her in for a kiss. He would not dare do this, with Regulus; even though no one is home.While Regulus is occupied, he takes the opportunity to edit the long, rambling message he’s been drafting in his phone notes. Dear Lily, Long time no see! How’s it going? I’m doing well. Not better than I was with you; I definitely still miss you. Can we be friends? I know I said that last time, but this time, I’ll do better. “What are you doing?” Regulus, sweeping scallion debris into their compost bin, looks up from the pan. There’s something different about him in the golden hour light, comfortable, almost content, the sun warming his temples, bringing out the flecks of grey in his eyes, the brown in his hair. He reminds James of a slightly spoiled short-haired cat, blinking not-so-innocently. He can’t know, surely. “Nothing.” he says, and easily slides his phone out into his pocket (out of reach, and more importantly, out of Regulus’ line of sight.) “It’s nothing important.”

I think I’ll take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at 3

You’re too sweet for me 
 
- Hozier 
 Colossal, boundary-overstepping fuck-up aside, James thinks he deserves at least a little credit for actually getting Regulus to his family home for spring break. Actually, to be completely honest, he should get credit for getting Regulus to keep talking to him for this long. For starters, (and he’s not trying to be mean, it really is true), Regulus is probably the most particular person he’s ever met. He doesn’t like groups of people, or social media anything (James has tried really hard to find him on Instagram, to no avail), or green vegetables, or coffee with sugar, or anything Disney, or jokes about his height, or…Anyway, that’s not the point; it’s more that he could make probably ten or fifteen lists of things Regulus doesn’t like, but it’s rare when he actually lands on something he does. Also, Regulus seems to enjoy telling him no-no to napping on his floor (it’s such a long walk back to his room, and Evan wasn’t even there), no to James bringing him leftovers from the new vegan place down the street (the direct quote was “I’m not vegan, and starving people wouldn’t eat that”). no to waking up early to watch the Arsenal match on video call with his dad (even though he once saw Regulus gazing hungrily over his shoulder at a photo of Declan Rice , of all people). This would probably bother most anyone else, but James is pretty confident in his ability to eventually tap into what people want. Besides, he’s fairly sure (although Regulus’d kill him, if he mentioned it) that Regulus is just savoring the opportunity to say no to something, since his family is so shitty in every conceivable way. Sirius used to do something similar, when they were kids, refusing just because he could; he remembers Sirius calling him a control freak because he’d suggested turning in his homework. In a way, then, he’s kind of used to that; he’d almost expected it, from Regulus. Then, of course, the other variable is just him, and his personality, which is probably as different from Regulus’ as can be. Which is not really something he can help, because he’s always been this way- James has a lot of energy, teachers used to write on his school reports, which he knew meant he drove most of them crazy. He has never been very good at sitting still, or falling in line, or doing one thing at a time, or not asking questions. Usually, being the most James-version of James serves him well, makes certain he mostly gets his way and causes other, less intense people to view him as a competent leader. It’s even something he thought he liked about himself. Then, Lily had said what she’d said at the ski cabin, and suddenly, this thing about himself that he was so sure was good, was valuable, something people liked about him, was actually oppressive, stifling, uncomfortable, embarrassing, too much. If that hadn’t happened, and if Regulus had been anyone other than Regulus, he wouldn’t have toned anything down. But Regulus is peculiar, and introverted, and prone to disapproval of all things involving James, so James really does try. (The downside of this is that he is now driving everyone else up the wall-Remus very firmly informed him that he is not welcome at the apartment if he’s going “to behave like a recently-captured zoo animal”, which apparently is just stress-dusting their baseboards while talking about pain receptors and the Premier League.) He doesn’t want to scare him off, but it really goes deeper than that. Because even if he’s not sure if he’s really gay himself; well, he’s almost a hundred percent certain Regulus is, and he deserves a…booty call? Situationship? (What even is the right term?) that isn’t a complete nightmare. So that means following all of Regulus’ rules , even if he thought (well, still thinks) most of them are kind of overkill. “You can’t tell anyone,” Regulus had told him, the morning after he agreed, over a breakfast in the dining hall, anxiously bouncing a leg under the table. “None of your friends, and definitely not my brother.” “What if I want to come out?” he’d said, flippantly, and Regulus had flinched like he’d been slapped. “No. And we have to think of some excuse, to explain why we’re seeing each other all the time.” “Oh, that’s easy.” James had rolled his eyes. “Easy. I’m tutoring you.” He had grinned. “In, just, like, a different way than they’re imagining.” “Ew. If anything, I’m tutoring you.” “Of course.” He’d inclined his head, respectfully. “Which brings me to my next question-what if we have a really good session? Can I get you flowers?” Regulus had wrinkled his nose. “I’m allergic.” “Or if, like, let’s say I see something that reminds me of you, like a nice book , perhaps-” “No. Then it’d be like I’m a prostitute. And,” Regulus had put his hands on the table, when he said this. “If you meet someone else, I really couldn’t care less. It’s just an experiment. So, you don’t need to be weird about it, when it happens.” “The correct term is sex worker. And-” James shuddered. “I don’t know…that’s a bit ruthless, for me. I mean, wouldn’t you be jealous?” “What on Earth would I be jealous of? Seven out of ten?” Regulus had laughed at himself, for that one, and James had glared at him. (Seriously, it wasn’t that funny.) “Honestly. I’m not your girlfriend. You’re all clear to…do whatever.” “Are you going to see other people?” He hadn’t considered that, and he had to stifle a sudden rush of panic. “I just…wasn’t aware that was on the table.” “I really hadn’t thought about it,” Regulus had taken a long sip of his drink, almost-grinning, and James…really, he could have strangled him. “Well, I don’t want you to.” Not very cool-and-detached-practitioner-of-casual-sex, but he just…suddenly, the idea of Regulus under some nameless stranger’s covers was unbearable. “It’s not…safe. Or hygienic.” “Homophobe. Okay.” “Okay, what?” “If it matters so much to you,” Regulus said this very deliberately. “I won’t.” “Oh, so I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to get gonorrhea.” “I wouldn’t get gonorrhea.” “That’s what someone who’s totally about to get gonorrhea would say.” And Regulus had rolled his eyes so far back in his head James could see the whites, but that had settled that. Which is perfect for the experiment, he has reasoned, because now neither one of them is muddying the waters with unknown variables like other people , who might throw any objectivity about the whole thing into question. Also, James is a one-woman man. Like, he can discern that other people are undoubtedly attractive, but that’s as far as it goes. His attention has always been exclusively devoted to his girlfriends. Having to worry about being better than a line-up of God knows how many other guys would probably give him a stress ulcer. Which also-Is he still a one-woman man if Regulus is a) not a woman and b) not his partner? Is it heteronormative to think about himself this way? Is he even still hetero? Despite Regulus’ warnings about the Internet, he’s been spending a lot of time late at night in the common area, when he’s sure his residents are asleep, reading old Twitter and Reddit posts with titles like “5 Signs You Might Be Demisexual” or “Think I’m gay pls advise?” None of this brings him any closer to discovering why he might feel like this. All he knows is that kissing Regulus is nice, and less different than kissing Lily than he might have thought. At the same time, he doesn’t think he has a proper crush on Regulus, the way he might on another girl, because he still thinks about Lily all the time (which he then feels horribly guilty about), and he doesn’t even know what it would feel like, to feel things for a guy. Besides, a lot of it just feels like school. Regulus will just look at him with this detached, kind of clinical eye and then detail, exactly, how James is a substandard lover. Well…he’d like to think he’s getting better. Possibly. Even though Regulus says he still uses too much tongue when they kiss (“It’s like getting slobbered on, by a dog, honestly…”) and once got up and walked out of the room because James took his shirt off (which was just offensive, really; he knows he looks good). Anyway, it’s hard to feel like it’s all terribly sexy when he’s apparently doing everything wrong. Which is in turn, not helped by the fact that all they do is make out-fully clothed, of course; Regulus says he needs to get the basics down first , whatever that means-and any suggestions he makes about doing anything…else are usually met with a lofty sigh, and an “I just don’t think you’re ready for it.” James finds this to be very goddamn condescending, because he has actually watched a lot of gay porn online as part of his research (Regulus had a violent coughing fit, when he brought this excellent point up, and then made up some bullshit excuse that they both knew was fake in order to get as far away from James as possible.) And Regulus isn’t at all affectionate. He once squeezed his hand, under the desk in his room, and Regulus curled his fingers into fists and kept them on the table for the rest of the evening. He almost never acknowledges James when he sees him around other people, and even then, James has to be in his direct line of eyesight and there have to be no alternative methods of escaping him, so to speak. He can’t imagine putting up with this level of over-the-top secrecy, the kind that borders on real repulsion, for a girl, even one he really liked. Definitely not another guy. But Regulus is…different. Yes, he’s finicky, and prickly, and infinitely more guarded than his brother, but he’s also surprisingly witty and scary-determined and he can be sweet, in his own way. Like one time, James bemoaned the lack of real, genuine Japanese milk bread in this godforsaken city, and Regulus made one for him, the following weekend, in their shitty excuse for an oven, and it was like, really good, for something made in a college dorm. Or another time, he added in flowing ampersands on some assignment of James’ because he can’t draw them for shit. It’s moments like that, where Regulus is being all genuine and thoughtful, and when forgets he’s supposed to find James more annoying than endearing, where James thinks he might actually be making progress, even if Regulus is still going to think of a new, creative way to insult him after they “practice” again. All of this, together, makes him wonder if there’s something else that he’s missing, that would explain the differences. He’d even asked, once, after Regulus kissed his lips swollen and was then doing that weirdly maddening thing where he would get all awkward and insist on brushing his teeth. He was seated on the window ledge in the too-small single-user bathroom, dangling his legs where they were perpendicular to Regulus’ arms, as Regulus rinsed and spat mouthwash no less than seven times. (Which James would have originally found insulting, but again, Regulus is so particular he now knows it has more to do with him than it does with James). “Does it feel the same way that it does with girls? To you, I mean.” “Well-” Spit. “You’re not a girl.” “Wow, you’re observant.” Regulus gave him the finger, and James ignored it, just kept pushing. “ Does it?”  Spit. Regulus looked up. “I really wouldn’t know.” “Don’t be annoying.” “Well, I wouldn’t, so…” He’d looked up at James, slyly. “The only girl I’ve ever kissed is Lily, that one time…” “What, really? Oh, my God.” He shook his head. “Please…tell me you’re lying.” “I’m not-” Regulus closed the mouthwash, with a decisive click. “Not lying. Girls don’t really like me.” “Now, you’re just being hard on yourself.” Regulus definitely isn’t a beefcake, but he’s proportional in a delicate way, like a principal ballet dancer, and he’s got those expressive eyes, which are so green , and make him look more vulnerable than he’d probably like, like the kind of person who ought to be taken care of, handled gently….He had realized, then, that he was just staring at Regulus, which was a bit weird, so he stopped. “Does it feel different-to you?” Regulus had returned the mouthwash to its cubbyhole, deftly changing the subject. “Well…” That was a complicated question, because Regulus isn’t like anyone he’s ever been with before, not like any of his high school girlfriends, or Lily. In part, this is because James isn’t really one for casual ; it’s hard for him to visualize being with someone he doesn’t have feelings for. (Of course, he is not really with Regulus, so this should not be the issue, he had reminded himself.) So the reason it might feel different, he had thought then, might be because Regulus is a guy. “In some ways.” he’d settled on. Regulus had narrowed his eyes. “Are you lying to me?” “No!” His voice had gone up a very unconvincing octave, and he’d returned it to where it was. “I mean, no. I’m not lying.” “Because I know that this isn’t anything…serious, but I don’t need you to pretend anything to make me feel good about myself-” “Why would I-” “I don’t need you to validate me, or something-” “Regulus! Stop. Really. I’m not doing that; I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a liar.” He’d jumped down from the ledge-he was feeling a little unbalanced. “I don’t…I’m having fun. Really. I am. You’re a good…teacher.” It did not feel like the right word, and it didn’t seem to be making things better. “I don’t wish you were a girl. If that’s what you think. I…uh…don’t know what that means about me. But I don’t care about that, really.” Regulus released an exhale. “Oh.” “Aren’t you going to say something-” “Sorry.” It came through gritted teeth. “No, come on…” “That I don’t wish you were a girl? Well, that’s not true, though. I do wish you were a girl.” James opens his mouth, realizes it looks stupid, and closes it. “Just because, you know, it’d be easier. For…people.” “I mean, I still don’t think you could bring me home to your parents, if I was a girl.” He’d expected Regulus to snap at him, about this, but he’d just said, “Yeah.” and then they’d just…not talked about it. For the rest of the night. Or the next day. It was kind of infuriating; he’d thought, how bad Regulus was at rising to his bait. How shitty it was, to have this thing lingering between them that should have been an argument, if they were normal people, but just…was this weird stalemate, because they were James and Regulus. It would be like this, James would try to break the ice, say something real , and Regulus would shut him down by being too blunt, too honest. Which always made James feel half-insane, but maybe this is how casual things are supposed to work, he had reasoned. Maybe feelings were off-limits. He hadn’t brought it up again, after that. The most wonderful thing about Regulus, though, the thing that keeps James coming back despite all the fussiness, is that when he likes something, he really likes it. Like one time, before they were going to see each other, James brought papaya that his dad mailed him, and so he’d stolen a little bit of lemon juice from the communal fridge downstairs, because, of course , and then left it out, for Regulus to try. The expression on Regulus’ face, when he had the first bite…well, you can’t fake that kind of reaction, James would know. Or, the other time, he read that Wislawa Szymborska poem, because Regulus had just read it in his poetry seminar and wouldn’t stop talking about it, and brought it up again, after lab, and Regulus had just melted . So maybe that’s why he felt like he had to ask him, to come for spring break. To go back to being the teacher, for once. That’s what his therapist thinks, anyway, and Arthur would know, because he’s like the smartest person James knows other than his mom or Remus. Technically, he’s pretty sure Regulus would be pissed if he knew James had talked about him to Arthur, but client-practioner confidentiality exists for a reason, so it’s not like anyone knows. Also, he had to tell someone. One of James’ (very few) character flaws is his complete inability to keep a secret. He’s already taken a call with his mom while Regulus was in the room (hiding in the closet, which was very funny, after the fact, at least to him) and he had the anxiety shakes so bad he couldn’t hold his phone up to his ear. Besides, he supposed, it would be nice to have another viewpoint on what the deal is with his sexuality now, he had thought. And talking to Arthur would be like talking to his mom and dad, except with all of the…extra stuff, since Arthur’s known him since he was a little kid. So really, he had expected it to be more helpful. “I can’t tell you that.” Arthur kept repeating. “It’s about a feeling. Do you like this person?” “Yes, but…I’ve never thought about myself that way. I’ve read a lot of stuff about it, and he says that he thinks I’m bisexual, so I might be, but I’ve just…I’ve never, ever thought about other guys in that way. Ever.” “That’s interesting.” Arthur had stretched out his arms. “But it’s not completely unheard of. Sexuality is different, for every person. Maybe you just hadn’t met men that you were interested in. Or maybe, you’ve had the desire all along, but you’ve transformed it into something else.” “Why would I do that? I’m not homophobic. My parents would probably be thrilled if I brought a guy home; they were so worried I was going to get some girl pregnant. If I’ve been interested in guys the whole time, wouldn’t I know?” “I’m not saying it’s because you have a bias. It might have simply been too confusing to consider at the time. If being romantically interested in girls is the norm, and you fit that norm, you wouldn’t really have any questions.  It then becomes easier to dismiss any other feelings you have, that maybe don’t align so neatly with the picture you have in your head of yourself. And you are a very image-conscious person, aren’t you?” “Yeah, probably. Sometimes too much.” He thought about the boys’ locker room, in gym class, in middle school, carefully averting his eyes from shoulders, hands, definitely not looking at anything below the waist. It had always made him feel embarrassed, which Sirius used to tease him about, telling him he was too uptight. But now, he thought, it might not have been embarrassment; it might have been the worry, of being something else. It would not have been easy to be gay, in any kind of way, back then. It had been an insult, slung between guys in the halls, something he knew not to use that way, but knew was definitely the wrong way to be, in their eyes. He remembers dropping out of a drama class in high school, the only thing he ever straight-up quit, because they were going to make him wear a dress in the spring showcase, and he had been afraid of what people would say about him, if he seemed like he had liked it too much, the silky fabric hugging his ribcage, stretching over his waist. Trying on Mary’s bra, left in Sirius’ side of the room, freshman year, and Peter saying, It suits you , and all of them dying with laughter, while he burned with embarrassment and wrestled it off. “To your point, I, personally, don’t think it matters how you identify yourself, so much,” Arthur said, gently. “It’s more about how you feel, with this person. If he makes you happy. If you enjoy the time you spend with him.” “I…do.” He meant it. “He’s…I don’t know. There’s something about him. He doesn’t want to be my…partner, or anything like that. But he’s…he’s not like a friend, obviously.”  “So that brings me to my next question, have you told your parents about this, yet?” He laughed. “No. I don’t know. I’m not sure how I would explain it, to be honest. It sounds a bit silly telling you now…” He shudders, thinking about it. “Not about…” Arthur’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Not about the other boy. About you. About your sexuality.” “Oh. That. Uh…I don’t know. I mean, I’m not really sure what it is, so…” He thought, for a bit. It’s weird he hasn’t considered it, he knows. He normally tells his parents everything, and he knows they wouldn’t be anything other than supportive. It’s just…His parents are occasion people and event people and celebration people. They would want to talk about it, ad nauseam, and if he were to be wrong about it, or say it in the wrong way, it would stick, become a joke with the cousins, gossip around his father’s office. And he can take being laughed at, being discussed when he’s not in the room, but it would destroy Regulus. He knows that for a fact. “Does that make me stupid?” “You must know I don’t think like that about any of my clients.” “Of which I am obviously your favorite-”“ James . We’ve been over this. I don’t have favorites. And there’s no time limit on figuring yourself out; remember what we talked about last time? You’re inserting urgency into a situation when there’s really no need.” “Oh, yeah, I guess.” I wish I knew how to slow my brain down, he had confessed, and Arthur had done the little lean-back-in-his-chair move, and said, Tell me more about that. “I am trying to make decisions slower. I’m still working on what I want to say to Lily.” “Hmm.” Arthur coughed. “Do you want me to read it for you?” James cringed, remembering how many times he’s started it over. He is such a shit writer; the current draft is a meandering mess. “Uh…Not yet. I’m still working on it, if that’s okay?” “Of course.” “Hey.” It had come to him suddenly, the idea, and now he had to get it out. “I think I want him to meet my parents.” Arthur raised his eyebrows, and James winced. “I know you’re going to say it’s too soon, and it’s another decision I’m making too fast, and he’s not out-”“Precisely.”“But not as a…romantic partner. As a friend. I think it would be good for him.” “How so?” “I want to say thank you, for teaching me about…me, even if I’m still not sure. Even if he’s not that into me…I want him to have like, a non-shitty spring break.” “Why would his be shitty?”“His fucking family. They’re the worst.” James remembered Sirius face-down on his bed, after he had confessed all of it, even the worst parts. What do you think you can do about it? He had begged his mom, that night, to not let him go back to that house, and (helped in part because he’d never really been the kind of kid who asked for a lot of things) how quickly she’d agreed to it, without even calling his dad. She had said it best: People that evil shouldn’t have kids.  “You feel like you have to help him.” “Not like I have to help him.” James corrected. “I want to help him. He doesn’t talk about it a lot…but he’s lonely. I can tell. Not a lot of people are…um, on his side. But I could be. At least, right now. I feel like…I owe it to him to give it a shot.” “Okay, then.” Arthur gave him a very slow nod. “So shoot away.”“You’re not going to tell me no? Isn’t this an impulsive decision?” “I think,” Arthur said, “you’re trying to do something generous, which can be wonderful when it’s impulsively done.”   
So much of the living, love, is the being unknown…
 
- Hozier
 “What the hell is ‘temporal reality’?” Sirius is asking James on the couch in his living room, an empty Jack Daniels shooter propped up against the laptop he is squinting at. He’s been drinking more than usual, James has noticed, usually not a good sign with Sirius, but he knows from experience that bringing it up would do more harm than good. At least, he has the common sense to do it when Effie and Monty are asleep. “Reality that has something to do with time? I don’t know; I bet Peter would.” James discreetly wraps the empty bottle in a paper napkin before disposing it in the trash. “Oh, God.” Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’ll just B.S. it, then…What?” “Nothing.” Sirius sits up, and he amends. “I don’t know. I was wondering…how did you know that you were gay?”Sirius raises his eyebrows. “Are you serious?” “I mean, you’re Sirius.” “Shut up. And I’m technically bi, so…why are you asking?” He searches for the right words. “Uh…No reason. Kinda…there’s this guy, I know. And I’m pretty sure he’s gay, but he’s like, not at coming out yet. Because of a lot of things, but I think, mostly his parents.” “How sure are you that he’s gay? Because you don’t exactly have very good gaydar.” Sirius scowls, and he knows he’s thinking about Frank, who James may have believed was gay for a long time, the belief of which in turn might have encouraged a slightly delusional infatuation of Sirius’ for a spell too long. It was awfully long ago, in his defense. “Well…He definitely has sex with guys, but he’s super in denial about it.” “Oh.” Sirius examines him, and he cringes, inwardly. Please do not ask me if it’s your brother. Please do not ask me if it’s your brother. “Who is this?” “Um…One of my residents.” “Oh. Ugh…I guess, I just…used to stare at people a lot. Everybody. And my parents weren’t huge on being gay, so I figured I probably was, to some degree, because I’m not really anything like them. That’s how. It’s not that interesting. You were there for most of it, I think.” “Yeah…” He remembers it a little differently. Sirius’ eyes lingering longer on the back of a male classmate’s neck, later having to try to talk him out of piercing his nose with a dubiously-sterilized sewing needle (this had worked when he told a graphic, likely-embellished story of Monty’s seeing an infected nipple piercing during an unfortunate emergency room rotation as a resident) and Sirius insisting that they watch My Beautiful Laundrette in his parents’ basement instead of their usual, gunplay-and-boobs fare as a compromise. That time he made James go with him to a Pride parade and in a (very un-Sirius) display of anxiety, consistently monitored James’reactions for the whole event, as if he expected him to flee in horror the first time he saw a drag queen. The time he walked two blocks from the yard sale back to the apartment lugging that horrible rainbow rug, weirdly defensive like he was daring them to tell him he couldn’t have it. It was like Sirius had eased him into his queerness, at the same time he was coming into it, to the point where (and he knows it is something probably a dumb straight ally would say) it didn’t really feel like Sirius was any different at all, just more Sirius . Is he, you know….? Monty had asked him once, when Sirius returned home with painted fingernails and a very loud checkerboard hat, and James had bit his head off, said There’s nothing wrong with being gay, and I can’t believe you’d be so homophobic as to think- and his dad had just laughed and said You young people take everything too seriously. I don’t care. They’d never mentioned it again, Sirius being gay. He knows it’s why his parents think Sirius lives with them, but the truth is, he doubts Walburga and Orion ever considered they’d have a queer son. The kind of evil that they are is not simply rooted in bigotry; it’s more like any homophobia on their part is some kind of fucked-up added bonus. Sirius is still staring at him, eerily still. “I mean, I really want to help him, you know? He’s um…a bit shy, but I feel like he might be a lot happier, if he just like, knew it was okay. That normal people don’t really care about stuff like that.” “It sounds like his normal isn’t your normal, though, if his parents are weird about that stuff.” When James opens his mouth to argue, he shrugs, “I’m just saying. Not everyone is as lucky as you.” “Well, I know that. Jesus. You sound like Regulus.” “What?” “At Halloween, he told me I was lucky. So I’m always going to be fine, because I just bounce back-” “I didn’t mean it like that.” Sirius interrupts. “Just like, you’re lucky in love, you know?” “Right. Me. Lucky in love.” He laughs. “That is definitely me. That’s why I keep getting broken up with.” “Not that kind of love.” Sirius rests his chin in his palm. “The other one. You and I…We’re lucky that way.” “Yeah.” James rests his head against Sirius’ calf. “I think we are.” “So you’re going to leave this poor bastard alone, yeah? Let him, like, read a Tumblr post about gay sex positions or something?” James nods. “Good.” Sirius continues. “Because I’m not ready to share a room with another stray. Speaking of strays-” He cuts his eyes to the ceiling, above which, presumably, Regulus is stirring. “What on earth did you say to my brother? To get him to voluntarily visit us?” “S’pose you’re right.” he said, and it didn’t feel like a lie. “I’m lucky.”   
I won’t deny

I’ve got in my mind now

All the things I would do

So I try to talk refined for fear that you find out

How I’m imagining you 
 
- Hozier 
 Actually, it had started as one of those weird flirting-that-was-almost-fighting cycles they tended to get in, which James doesn't mind. He even thinks they can be quite fun. This one, he'd started, when he'd asked Regulus, lying back on his bed, “If you could live anywhere in the world, after school, where would you go?” He had expected him to say London, or Paris, or even Barcelona. Not-“Seattle.” Regulus said, without batting an eye. “What? Why?” He’d frowned. “It’s like, cold, and gloomy. Definitely worse than here. People have to buy these special lamps, you know, to fight seasonal depression.” Regulus had shrugged. “It’s got a major airport, a large international community. It’s walkable. You could do a lot worse.” “It’s not walkable , exactly-” “Maybe for you-” “I’d be absolutely miserable there. It’s the ocean without any decent beaches.” “It’s a good thing it’s my fantasy and not yours, then.” “Plus, it’s all corporate and shit. All that Microsoft-Starbucks money.” James had wrinkled his nose. “Tesla owners. Dot-com bald guys with cryogenic chambers in their houses.” “I think I don’t mind stupid rich people as much as you do.” “Still…Why Seattle?”  “It’s far enough away from here.” Regulus said, quietly. “Hey, it’s not so bad here.” Regulus didn’t say anything, to that, just rolled over in a conversation-ending type of way. “Isn’t it? There’s…uh, lots to do…. like cat cafes. You know there’s six cat cafes in the city limits alone?. I think Lily and I went to all of them, actually.” “Well, if Lily likes living here so much, it must be the best.” It was such a petulant thing to say; James couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll raise my fucking kids here.” “I didn’t know you wanted kids.” Regulus sat up, rolling his eyes. “Obviously not. It’s an expression. What’s wrong with you?” “It’s just…Seattle. You never…you never bring that up, though. I have literally never heard you mention it once.” “You didn’t ask. Why are you being so weird about this?” “I’m not.” He was being weird, and worse, he knew that he was being weird. “For the record, I’d like to live in Lisbon. If I could live anywhere in the world.” “Why?” James grinned. “It’s historical, it’s not as expensive as the rest of the EU…Plus, it’s temperate, so you wouldn’t get sunburnt.” “I didn’t think I was in this hypothetical scenario. Isn’t it your dream?” “Doesn’t mean you’re not in it.” “Maybe I don’t like Portugal.” “That would be impossible. It would grow on you.” “Or maybe Seattle would grow on you.” Regulus said this easily, but James could see the back of his neck getting pink.  It was this obvious sign of Regulus’ anxiety that made him bold. “Hey, um…You should come with us. To see my family.  For spring break.” It had just slipped out. “Not as…uh…obviously not that. I…uh…my mom is cool, but she’s not like, that cool, you know? But as a friend. I think Sirius would appreciate it.” “Oh, Sirius would appreciate it.” “I mean, I would too, if that isn’t obvious, with it being my idea and all.” “I’ll think about it.”  “Please? We don’t bite, I promise. And it’ll be fun, I think. You can see my childhood bedroom. Really get the blood pumping-” “Ew.” “I mean, seeing how people grow up is like, a major turn-on, for lots of people. Lily, like, practically ripped my clothes off after she met my family-” “Oh my God. Shut up.” “We’d have fun, I swear.” James opened his eyes, extra wide, could see Regulus softening. “Please?”“What do I…” Regulus cleared his throat. “What do I tell my mother?” “Listen to you, like you’ve never lied to her before. That’s cute.”  When Regulus frowned at him, he added. “Think of it as a trial run. For Seattle.” “So you could live in Seattle after all.” Regulus finished, somewhat triumphantly.  Game, set, match. “I don’t know. It would depend on who’s asking. Speaking of…” He wrapped an arm around Regulus’ shoulders, and Regulus did not immediately push him off. A good sign. “It is a yes, though?” “It’s a maybe ,” Regulus had grumbled, but James knew at this point that Regulus’ maybes are yeses in disguise.

There’s something tragic about you

Something so magic about you

Don’t you agree?

There’s something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me 
 
- Hozier 
 Sometimes, their fights aren’t fun, like that one, and the ones that aren’t usually are about the same thing. “Mmm.” James murmurs into the fine hair on Regulus’ neck. “That’s good.” It’s the late afternoon, and his parents are at work, and he thinks Sirius is probably still asleep (sleeping off drinking too much combined with his punishingly early mornings), so he’s taken the time to acquaint Regulus with their basement, which…one thing led to another; it’s a big house. Hence…“I know.” says Regulus, and there is something about the way that he knows that it is good that is so, well… hot , so he starts to caress the spot below where the hair begins, warming it up with his tongue. Regulus doesn’t make any active noises of displeasure, so he figures this is the all-clear, and tests the tender skin with a slight indent of his teeth. “Good?” he asks. “Mmm.” Regulus pulls away. “You need a lot of validation, you know that?” “I know, I’m like the worst , aren’t I?” He gives Regulus a long, searching, once-over, hoping that he will pick up on what he wants. “You’re awful, yeah.” This is not enough. “But like, how, specifically?” “You think you know what everybody wants, and you’re wrong most of the time. You’re not as funny as you think you are. You’re…oh my God, are you getting off on this?” Regulus pulls away in horror, as James tries and fails to conceal the erection he’s started to get, blushing. “Well, I have to get off on something, since you won’t do anything else.” It comes out a little snarkier than he meant it to. “By all means, don’t stop ; I’m dying a bit here.” Regulus puts his hands on his hips, a pose he recognizes from Lily as a warning sign. “What is that supposed to mean?” “You know what I mean. Please, continue.” It really is agony. He feels like he’s fourteen again, in the worst possible way. “I thought you were…I told you that you’re not ready -” Fine, they can do this. “Am I not ready? Or are you not ready for me?” “That is not true-” “Yes, it is! Every time I try to initiate something, or like, make a move, you start acting like I’m the most disgusting freak in the world for wanting you-” Regulus shudders. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.” “James.” Regulus never actually calls him by his first name. He’s usually you , or when he’s being particularly contrarian, Potter . It makes him sit up. “Shut up. I just need a break.” “Well, you can say that, then, instead of just making that face at me, the one like I smell weird or something, which I don’t, right? I wore cologne for this; do you hate my cologne? Because you could, again, just say something instead of making me guess-” Regulus leans back on the couch, like he’s trying to decide whether to be amused or annoyed. Amused evidently wins out, as he gives James a little, wry smile.  “Are you done?” “So you don’t think I smell bad, or…?” “Trust me,” Regulus is not sounding particularly trustworthy, and he’s unusually pale, like he might vomit. “ It’s not you. You didn’t do anything. Just…” He licks his lips. “Do you want me to insult you more?” “Mm-mm.” He looks down at his crotch (Jesus Christ, what is wrong with him?). “I mean, I think the moment has passed.” “Oh.” Regulus visibly relaxes. “Of course, we can get started again-” He sneaks a hand up the back of Regulus’ shirt, and Regulus yelps, moving as far away from him as he can possibly get, back against the wall. “What?” “I don’t…” His pupils are dilated wide with panic. “We didn’t do that, before.”  James says, irritated. “Well, how did you do it with the sainted…Marty or whatever?” “ Barty . You know his name.” “People like, touch each other, you know. What, you just were having no-foreplay, Winnie-the-Pooh sex? That’s what you want, really? That sounds miserable.” “I don’t…I’m not having sex with you in your parents’ basement while my brother is upstairs!” “It’s not sex , Regulus, I want-” He lowers his voice. “There’s other stuff that’s important, too. I want to, you know, get there, eventually, when you’re ready, but, when you’re like this…” “Like what ?” “Sometimes, I don’t think you even want me, did you know that? And it’s okay. Lily didn’t really like me that much either. I don’t mind that I have to like, sell you on me. I’m doing that all the time, with everybody. But like…You don’t know what I’m ready for. Or what I want. You never ask me, so how would you know? I’m not just like, this big quasi-hetero himbo. I’ve done research for you, Regulus, so excuse me for wanting to actually make you feel good.”On the word “good,” Regulus crosses his arms, pulling away from him. “I don’t care about that.” “Everybody cares about that.” His eyes are unusually bright. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” “No. You don’t get to just shut me down. I’m trying to have a real conversation with you-” “Fine, you want to know the truth?” He doesn’t give James time to answer. “Maybe the real reason I don’t want to is because you’re so fucking pushy about it. You think, if you keep asking and asking and asking, eventually I’ll say yes, because everyone else does. And I don’t know, maybe I would. It probably worked on Lily, right?”  “Oh, come on.” Regulus does not cut a particularly threatening figure, when he’s angry; it’s hard to act as though he’s too terribly intimidated. “What does Lily have to do with this?” “I’m just saying,” Regulus says, coldly. “How many times did she actually want you? Without you begging, or coming up with some hare-brained scheme to get her attention, or-”  “Stop it.” James snaps. It’s too close to home, suddenly; he remembers Lily, in the latter half of their relationship. She had always said she was too tired, too busy, at first. Sometimes he could persuade her. One time, he remembers sliding a hand into her back pocket only for her to swat him away, hard. She’d apologized, after, for that, and so had he, but he had remembered feeling like the skeeviest guy on Earth for that. You should wait until she asks you , Sirius had suggested, and Remus and Peter had agreed, but he didn’t know how to tell them that she never, ever asked. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Don’t I? It’s what you do. It’s easy, even. Means you still get to be a good guy. Well, if you want that, from me, you can’t be a coward about it. You’ll-” He steels himself. “You’ll have to make me.” “ What? ” Regulus just stares at him, impassive, except… There it is . James spots the shudder, running up his middle finger, the same one that Sirius has. He had seen it, as the glass shattered on the floor of the lab, both of their fingers bleeding. “No. I would never…You don’t think I’m that horrible, do you?” Regulus doesn’t move. “Oh. Okay. I see how it is.” “James-” “No, you know what? Fuck you. I’ve been nothing but nice to you, actually; I’ve done everything like you wanted and I haven’t complained once. I thought, you know, he’s had a rough time. People haven’t always treated him well. I’ll let him meet my family, let him relax for once . I’ve worked really hard to make you comfortable, because that’s important to me. So no, you don’t get to be weird because you’ve made up in your mind I’m some depraved sex predator. You are genuinely out of your goddamn mind if you even begin to think I would ever, ever -” “So I have to do whatever you want, because you deign to be nice to poor maladjusted me sometimes?” Regulus shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” “I never said any of that. You are being impossible. ” He stands up. “If that’s how you feel…maybe we shouldn’t be doing this anymore.” “For once,” Regulus says, face muffled by a pillow. “we agree on something.”  
When the meaning’s gone

There is clarity

And the reason comes on the common tongue of your loving me 
 
- Hozier 
 It’s advice of Peter’s he thinks about, after that crushing argument. Peter isn’t angry with him-he had been, at first, but the ski cabin, and James’ invitation, have ushered a new era of detente, at least, between the two of them. James is the only one of their former foursome who still talks to Peter occasionally, a secret he’s taken pains to conceal from Sirius and Remus (Sirius would be angry and Remus would be mournful, neither of which he really wants to deal with). It’s a weird peace, too, for sure. He knows that Peter would have preferred for him to apologize sooner, and that Peter is making his own way, now (the names he brings up in their conversations are not people James is familiar with) but this is more how he’s always felt they should deal with Peter, rather than staring daggers at him across a lecture hall or whatever. Really, he has no problem having him as a friendly acquaintance, a type of relationship that he knows would baffle Sirius or Remus (for whom friendship is either ride-or-die or completely nonexistent), and he figures that Peter feels similarly about him, has probably always felt like this. They just fundamentally do not have a lot in common, but it would be silly to assume they can’t ever talk. Or Peter can’t bring him instant ramen, already heated up, since he’s too sad to make it himself, like he had done that painful day after the ski cabin, once Lily’d said her amended, embarrassed goodbyes and he was all alone in his room, trying to act like it didn’t matter. James had stirred the noodles around with chopsticks, listlessly, while Peter had chattered on about something he didn’t care about.“You should eat that,” Peter had nodded at it, as it sat at his feet. “Or it’ll get cold.” “Okay.” It’s probably going to taste like sawdust.  “And…You know it’ll be fine. Eventually. But you can’t get desperate about it. Sometimes, you just have to…let go.” “That’s hard to do,” James had said, “when she’s the only girl I’ve ever wanted.”Peter shrugged. “So what? If she doesn’t respect you…” He let the sentiment hang. “Respect is important.” “More than loving someone?” “Yeah.” Peter laughed. “Look at us.” And James had winced, because Peter was right, and he was so stupid, really, to assume that Peter had not seen how they had always seen him, that their dismissal floated over his head. But Peter had been wrong, he thought. Respect wasn’t everything, not to him. He didn’t need to be handled with care, have his ego stroked, not really. But Regulus…Regulus is ten frayed nerves held together by crooked stitches. Regulus would sand down every one of his edges if it meant he could slot neatly into place on a high enough shelf, would bleed out before asking James to tie off the tourniquet. The gentleness that James wants…what was the line? Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you’ve been ruined. He can hear Regulus reading it, probably by low lamplight in his mausoleum-like bedroom, and all of a sudden, he feels very small, and very stupid, and very ashamed. “I’m sorry.” he whispers, to the fence outside. “I’m sorry.” “Who’re you talking to?” He turns around, and it’s Regulus, who’s looking flushed, and fragile. “You, but…I thought you were going to leave.” “I was going to. But then I changed my mind.” He pauses. “It would be rude, to make me leave. I am your guest, after all.”“Yeah, you are, and I’ve been a shit host. I’m…I’m really sorry.”  “What?”“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. You’re right, you know. I do…I am aware that I can come on kind of strong. I think that doesn’t leave a lot of room for other people to do their thing, and that was the problem with Lily, and-”“You make it hard for me to breathe, sometimes.” Regulus doesn’t sound like this is a bad thing. “But I don’t think…You are not a bad person.” “I’m glad you think so. I’m working on it, you know? We can do…other things, that aren’t physical things, if you’re not in the mood. I won’t ask you again-” “What things?” Regulus scoffs. “I’m not your girlfriend.”  He is loving the mileage he gets out of this one. “Friend things, then.” “Friend things. Okay.” Regulus shakes his head. “What did you have in mind?”  
But I know being reckless and young

Is not how the damage gets done 
 
- Hozier
 The noodles end up being edible, if not particularly authentic, by the time his parents get home. Sirius and Effie are highly appreciative, while Monty tells James, in an aside, as they’re piling up the dishes, that there’s a little too much garlic. “But don’t tell Regulus I said that.” “I won’t.” James promises. “He’s quite sweet, isn’t he?” “Sweet” is not quite how he would characterize Regulus, but he goes with it, for his dad’s sake. “Oh…yeah.” “And sensitive…I think your mother is scaring him, a bit.” James peers around the kitchen door in order to check it out. Sure enough, Regulus is deer-in-the-headlights to Effie’s dramatic re-telling of one of her stories. “Yep.” “Did Sirius ask you to…?” “No. I wanted to. I think he’s…” He stops, as Sirius comes in, ready to do the dishes. (He insists, every single dinner, as some weird payment for like, living there; and does a somewhat spotty job-James and his mom usually end up re-washing like half of them.) “Talking about me?” “For once, no.” Monty inclines his head in Regulus’ direction. “Right. I will never understand how you managed that.” James swallows, forcing a smile, hoping he doesn’t look too flustered. “I told you. Super lucky.”  
Don’t let me in with no intention to keep me

Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to me

Honey, don’t feed me, I will come back 
 
- Hozier 
 That night, he watches Regulus walk around his room, taking in the decor, which hasn’t changed much since he was born, only that the comic-book posters have been replaced by tasteful art prints of ships and roiling oceans (Effie’s doing), and the amount of school-related clutter has piled up somewhat alarmingly. Regulus keeps picking things up and examining them, sometimes smelling them (It doesn’t smell that bad; he’s drenched the room liberally in one of his less-favored colognes before he let Regulus enter.) and all in all, it’s making him a bit nervous. “So? Nice, right?” “I guess.” Regulus sits on the floor, pensively. “I’m glad you stayed.” he tries. “I think they all liked you.” “Ha ha.” “No, they did! Well, my dad likes everyone, so he’s not a good judge. But my mom likes you; I can tell.” Regulus perks up. “You can?” “Oh, yeah, she definitely wouldn’t have talked this much if she thought you were horrible.” “Oh. Good. So should I-” “For fuck’s sake,” James cuts him off. “You’re sleeping on my bed. You’re a guest.” At Regulus’ questioning look, he explains, “We used to have a spare bedroom, but your brother lives there now. And you’re my guest, so…What’s mine is yours.” “Really? What about that?” He jerks his head in the direction of a slightly battered deer plush. “You want Madame Prongs?”“That’s its name?” “ Her name.” James corrects. “I won her at the fair, for a girl I liked…But I liked her so much I kept her. Madame Prongs, not the girl. She didn’t like me that much.” “How romantic. How old were you?” “I don’t know. However old fourth graders are.” “Okay. And who’s that?” He points at the photo of the sweaty boys, each clutching participation trophies. James picks it up. He hasn’t thought about it in ages; he can still smell the suncream and orange slices. “Yeah…that’s my old team.” He smiles. “We were pretty good. Dad always thought we might have won the league championships if we got our egos in check, but like, we were twelve. We all thought we were Maradona…” “When’d you stop?” “Uh…” He fidgets. “I suppose…that year.” “Why?” Back in high school, he would have lied about it, made up something about an injury, but he’s different now. It’s easier to talk about. “I used to faint, all the time. My dad thought it was like, excitement, but then I started, like passing out all the time. Well, my heart was fine, all my numbers were normal. Turns out it was just anxiety.” “What the hell did you have to be anxious for?” “I guess I really wanted to win.” He grins. “I used to get nosebleeds about it too. Amazing what drugs’ll do for you, huh?” “You’re on…” “Oh, are you kidding? I’ve been on everything ; my dad’s a doctor. Yeah, I went to lots of therapy about it too, since I was losing my hair. At twelve. I’ve been banned from team sports for life. Doctor’s orders. That’s when I started to watch soccer, seriously. Speaking of, you really should watch a match with me. Sirius says I make it an experience.” He smiles. “I didn’t know Sirius back then, obviously. Pre-medication me was kind of a lot…” “I didn’t know-” “Well, to be fair, it doesn’t come up in conversation very naturally. And it’s not like I try to come across very anxious. I mean, I don’t think I’m supposed to drink or smoke weed with my drugs, but you know. Only live once and all that.” He’s aware he’s talking very fast, and that Regulus is staring at him, which just makes the whole thing awkward. “I have anxiety, too.” Regulus takes the photo out of his hands, balancing it against the lamp on his bedside table. “Allegedly. So I’ve been told.” “ No .” When Regulus glares at him, he amends. “I mean, you hide it so well.” “That’s the right thing to say.” “You’re very tough.” Regulus turns a little pink. “And you’re always talking.” “No, I mean it! You’re very self-contained. I would like a little of that.” He sits on the bed, with a bounce. “So, you’re going to sleep in my room, right?” “Uh…I thought, the couch…” “Don’t be dumb. It’s a big bed.” When Regulus doesn’t move, he taps the pillow, forcefully. “I’m not trying to like…My parents live here. I’m not that horny.” “Won’t, you know, Sirius-” “You don’t have to, okay?” He sighs. “Trust me?” “I don’t trust you.” Ouch. “Okay, fine. Don’t trust me, then. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He slides to the carpet, only for Regulus to shake his head. “What?” “It’s…Oh, fine. ” Regulus flops back on the bed, motionless. “No touching.” “Yes, sir.” It takes them about a half hour to actually turn out the light (Regulus is writing some sort of Russian novel in his journal, which he won’t let James read, still, and requires complete silence to finish. So annoying.) Once he’s in bed, he then has to contend with Regulus curling up as far away from him, distance-wise, as possible. “It’s not that I don’t want to.” The admission comes quietly, and he rolls over, to face him. “When we talked about…sex.” Regulus pronounces the word like he’s unfamiliar with its meaning, and this, more than anything, makes James sit up. “I was…wrong, before.” “Yeah. You were mean to me.” “I’m always mean to you.”“Not like that. Like you meant it.” “Well, I did. You shouldn’t be that desperate for…me.” “I’m not desperate, I just want to, y’know, actually do the experiment, like we planned…Oh.” He lets it sink in. “Regulus, that’s crazy. I kissed you, remember? So you can’t be totally awful, right?” Regulus turns away, his shoulders rising and falling. “If it’s about what you look like, I don’t care about that. I mean, the light’s off...” Regulus exhales. “Okay.” “So does that mean you want to…” He nods, and James does the rest. It is easy, to find Regulus in the dark, to locate the knobs of his spine, feel the sharp blades of his shoulders under his clothes. He is planting kisses on the underside of his jaw when he feels Regulus start to tremble underneath him. “Hey. Hey . Do you want me to stop?” Regulus doesn’t answer, just takes, short shallow breaths, and James immediately flicks on the light switch. Just as fast, Regulus’ hand swats his away from the light, and they’re in darkness, again. “No. Can we…? But slower…?”“ Slower I can do.” James moves back to kissing his mouth, only to feel it again, the shaking. Like Regulus’ body is trying to exorcise something. “Was this not it? Am I…doing something wrong?” No answer. He has an uneasy suspicion that Regulus is trying not to cry, and sits up. “Regulus? It’s just me. I’m not…I’m not going to do anything.” “I know that.” Regulus’ voice is a little raspy. “You’re okay. I know that.” He lets out a weak chuckle. “Thanks…I’m just a little out of breath. We can…go back to it once I-” “Nah, I’m good.” James lies firmly, heart sinking in his chest. “I’m not really feeling it…with the dark, y’know?” “Are you going to leave?” “No.” James brings his fingers as close to Regulus’ as he could without them touching. “Not unless you want? I can sleep on the floor...” “No. I don’t want.” Regulus sounds younger, then, almost like a child. and he is filled with a sudden desire to protect him, to insulate him from whatever it is he is so afraid of, the strange, nameless fear. “Okay, then.” James says as gently as he can manage, and he hears Regulus let out a sigh of relief. “ I’ll stay.”  
I got some colour back

She thinks so, too

I laugh like me again

She laughs like you 
 
- Hozier
 It’s five-ish, the last day of spring break, when he rolls over in his punishingly uncomfortable dorm bed, seeing the message come through on the screen. RAs are expected to get back a little early; he hadn’t expected to hear from many of his friends quite yet. As soon as he sees the contact picture, he immediately types out a response, and starts fumbling his shoes on. Beside him, Regulus stirs, turning over, and he freezes, feeling a little guilty all of a sudden. The three of them had gotten back last night-Sirius had returned to the apartment, while James and Regulus had made their way back to campus. Regulus had kept saying that he “had to go,” but he lingered long enough that he ended up passing out on James’ bed, and James, who had never gotten Regulus to stay a whole night in his room before the break, decided to do the smart thing and not mention it. Anyway, he reminds himself, there’s no reason for him to feel guilty, because this is actually totally acceptable under the terms and conditions of their agreement. He’d take the car, but he likes looking at the crocuses, sprouting up in the early dawn, the little reminders of spring, the kind of things you can best see when walking. He’s got a whole album on his phone, called “EVIDENCE” that’s just pictures of really excellent flowers, which is maybe not going to help him beat any type of gay allegations, but is nice to have on hand, for a bad day. It’s been a while since he’s walked anywhere, and he’s enjoying it so much he almost over-shoots the coffee place. “Blueberry muffin?” Lily’s drinking one of those green matcha things she likes, and (ever efficient) she’s got him one of those giant muffins waiting for him in the booth across from her, and something cinnamon-y in a mug. “Thanks.” She looks different, he thinks. Maybe it’s the clothes, jeans and a lacy top that looks more like something Mary would wear, or maybe it’s that she’s done something different to her hair (although he really wouldn’t know what), or maybe it’s the careful way she pushes it behind her hair to reveal that she’s gotten her ears pierced, little silver dots on each earlobe. “So…” He takes a sip of his drink and winces as it burns his tongue. “How’ve you been?” “Good. Mostly. You?” “You know me.” She seems lighter than normal. It’s a little strange. He’s used to her moving around, anxiously, chewing on her bottom lip,  stirring sweetener or Five-Hour-Energy into her drink. He tries to match her energy, to calm the racing of his heart. to not stare at the freckles dotted across her pale chest. “Same as always. Trying…trying to be better.” “Yeah. Me too.” She’s quiet for a bit, and then she says. “Thanks for meeting me, like this. I didn’t think you would show up.” “Lily. Come on. Of course I would.” “I don’t know. I have been an absolute bitch to you, this whole year.” “No, you haven’t.” “James. Can you not be perfect for once? I’ve been heinous. The ski cabin…” She laughs, uncomfortable. “I mean, what was that?” “No, you were right! We weren’t together; it was weird of me to assume…” “I shouldn’t have been leading you on like that, though. I just…I never thought we’d ever want to break up.” “To be fair, it wasn’t my idea.” She looks away, embarrassed, and he continues. “I had this whole thing I was going to write out with my therapist to send to you, but I don’t know. It kept coming out all pathetic…” “You never did have a way with words.” She grins. “Remember the first draft of that paper freshman year? Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales is relevant for today’s world for many, many reasons. ” “Oh, shut up! I fixed it, didn’t I?” “Now I really want to read the letter.” “No chance. I wrote about half of it before I started repeating myself. I thought, it’d be easier for me to just…talk.” He clears his throat, takes another sip of the drink, which is now pleasantly warm and identifiable as some coffee thing. “I meant what I said, before. I do want us to be friends.” She nods. “Sure. Whatever gets Sirius and Peter to stop trying to explode me with their minds. But, for real. None of the games. No trying to get me to change my mind.” “I’d like that too. I’ve missed you.” At the surprise on her face, he amends. “Not like that. But like the friend stuff. Walking out of tutoring with you. Waving to you in the halls. And I’m sorry about Sirius and Peter. I definitely didn’t ask them to do that.” “No, I figured. Not that Mary and Marlene are any better. Mary offered to push you in front of a city bus, if I wanted.” “Oh, Jesus. I’ll make sure not to stand too close to her, then.” They giggle, and it feels almost normal. “You’re okay with this? Really? I’m not, like, pressuring you into it, am I?” “Yeah.” She smiles. “I’m more than okay with it.”  “Thanks, Lily. That’s really, really decent of you. Uh…Can I ask you a question?” She shrugs. “Go for it.” “Before, you felt like we weren’t…good for a while, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say anything? I could have…I don’t know, done something about it-” “ James ! This is what I was talking about. You can’t change my mind; I’ve already decided-” “I’m not coming onto you again,” he quickly explains. “I just…don’t like the idea that I was making you miserable and I didn’t know.” Her expression softens. “You’re too hard on yourself. You weren’t making me miserable. It was more like…sometimes we’d be talking to each other, and it felt like we were having two separate conversations.” “Well, you are smarter than me.” “That’s not true.” She fidgets with the paper sleeve on her drink. “You weren’t good at knowing what I wanted from you, and…I blamed you for that. A lot. And I wanted to say something, I just thought…I haven’t had a lot of practice, with relationships. I thought I had to make you happy, keep you interested in me all the time. Pretend to like things I didn’t. I thought we had to do everything together, because we were together. But all the plans were yours, and then I just…kind of came too, because I didn’t have anything better to do. Eventually, it just got to be too much, you know?”  He blinks. “I didn’t expect you to make me happy all the time.” “Yeah, I know that now. And then you were so sad about it, and I wanted to make you feel better, but I think I didn’t know how. So…it’s my fault, too. It’s not just you.” She looks so sad now; he just has to ask. “Do you think we could ever, y’know? Try again?” “Oh, God, I don’t know.” She takes another sip of her drink. “A couple of weeks ago, I thought, maybe. Now, I don’t…I don’t know, really. I think I want to…I want to figure out what I’m like. By myself. At least for a while.” It's not the answer he wants, and he looks down, blinking hard, trying to conceal his disappointment. “I don’t like being by myself.” “Yeah, me neither. But I think we’re just…we were so wrapped up in each other, it wasn’t…healthy. For me, anyway. And besides, you have a lot of good to offer people. I really believe that. I think…you need some time.” “So I figure…” James gives her a weak smile. “You don’t want to do the EMT thing with me, this summer, right?” “Not…really? I’m kind of…going abroad?” Lily fidgets with her hands under the table. “Oh, congrats! That’s awesome; where are you going?” “The Netherlands. I’m going to the University of Leiden this summer. To work on a research project. Um…Actually, Sev is going, too.” “ What? Lily-” She raps the table, sharply. “No. That’s part of being friends. You have to let me make my own choices. And I’ve already decided, and I’m going. I’ve never been out of the country, and I want to go, and no one is making me. I just want to go. Even… if you think it’s a terrible idea.” She meets his eyes, and he doesn’t look away. “I do think it’s a terrible idea, for the record.” “Noted. It is my terrible idea, though.” She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear, smiling ear-to-ear. “I’m sure it’ll be very interesting.” She pokes his hand, on the table. “Aww, are you trying to be supportive?” “Yes. I’m working on it; don’t be mean.” He pauses. “Do you guys all really think I’m that pushy?” “Um…” She squeezes his hand. “I know it comes from a good place, but you can be…hard to disagree with.” “I mean, if the disagreement in question is me voicing my very valid opinion that spending a summer sweating it out in a lab where the only other person you know is fucking Severus Snape is a waste-” he starts, hotly. “Fine. You don’t want to do it. That’s okay. But just because you wouldn’t want to do it doesn’t make it insignificant or unimportant. You…ugh…You make your opinions feel like facts sometimes, and they’re not. That’s your whole problem with Peter, by the way, not whatever y’all tell yourselves it is. There’s more to life than things that are easy for you to understand.” “Oh.” James says faintly. “Yes, I’m trying to be honest now, and-” “No, look!” He points across the shop, where Peter is definitely standing, in line for a pastry or something, staring at the two of them. James waves at him to come over, since he clearly wants to, but instead, Peter gives them both a very flat stare, and gets out of line, opening the door to the cafe and fleeing out onto the sunlit street. “Okay, that’s fucking weird, right? That can’t be me, still, surely.” Lily shakes her head, sagely. “Nope, he is definitely still mad at you.” “But he said he wasn’t anymore.” “Oh, James.” She puts her hand in his, and for just a moment, the warmth is reminiscent of Regulus. “You always see what you want to see.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

And I’m trying to find a good reason

Not to end up in denial

And then I realize you’ve been standing there a while

Wearing nothing but your love
-Tamino  Sirius knows he is supposed to be thinking something, as he runs his hands up the seams of Remus’ least worn-out corduroy jacket, traces the spot on his throat just below where his jaw begins. He is supposed to be thinking about the implications, about consequences, playing out the torturous calculus of cause and effect. He should be thinking about how Remus would feel; how he would react tomorrow. But Remus is red-cheeked and green-eyed, the sterile bathroom lights making him look softer, devoted, in a way that implies that maybe, just maybe, this is something he’s thought about before this moment. So the only thought he can muster is, I am so stupid.  “Where is everyone else?” he says, instead. Remus shrugs. “I don’t really know.” He laughs, uncomfortably. “Do you think they’re looking for us?”This makes Sirius stop, to try to make sense of the haze. They’d arrived at the party in the lower levels of the fine arts building as a group, he knows. He’d already been drunk, but then someone had gotten him another something, and then another, and then… “Maybe Lily. You know, when you…um, the first time, she like, separated us, and was like, Do you know what you’re doing? I mean, Jesus.” “It would make sense.” His fingers trace some of the flaking grout on the tile walls. “You are pretty drunk.” “So are you .”“Well, I’m not a…”“Shameless reprobate?” “That, and I think, of the two of us, people tend to assume I’m the more sensible one.” “Do you really think so?” The sarcasm flies over Remus’ head. “That is quite obviously the only logical conclusion, based on the differences in the way people treat us.” “I didn’t know you were cataloguing the differences.” He’s not paying attention to the snipe. “Anyway, the sensible thing’s a bit of a gilded cage. You all don’t really know what to do with me when I have a personality.” “That is not true.” “Yes, it is. You’re so used to me just…existing on your periphery, you forget I can think. And you’re so used to being a problem, you forget you can be anything else.” “I’m a problem ? You’re a shitty therapist.” “Not just a problem. No one’s just one thing.” He leans down (which oh, God, why is this hot ?). “Like maybe I can be sensible, and reasonable, and still want this. Because I do. Want this. Lily aside.” “Oh. Okay.” Should he talk about it? It feels like the sort of thing he should tak about, first. He’s fairly certain-well, he knows, like in his bones, that Remus has never even kissed anyone. Which ordinarily would make him feel a bit flattered, but… “You’re…just, not usually like this.”“Like what? Honest?”Regulus would have other words, for it. Forward. Forthright. Straightforward. He swallows. “Mhmm. Um…” The alcohol is loosening his tongue. “Sometimes, I feel like you’re putting on a show for us. Like, I could just-” He taps the hollow of Remus’ chest, and Remus looks down at his hand like he’s never seen it before. “and there would be nothing there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you…unzipped. Which is not a bad thing. Um…It’s nice.”“I don’t think I’ve seen you unzipped , either.”“What? I don’t think I’ve ever been zipped .”“Don’t take this the wrong way.” Remus is fighting a smile. “But that is not how I meant that to sound.” “ Oh . Yes. Okay. I can…I will help you with that.” “Or I can just do it, if you don’t mind…” Sirius clears his throat. “I’m just…How do you know if you-Well, do you actually want this? Because, it’s, y’know,  a big step-” “ Sirius. I have only had myself for company for twenty-one, miserable years, and you’re…” He licks his lips, helplessly. “You have to know…Christ.” His jaw works, like he’s fighting himself. “You are very nice to look at.”“You sound like you’re being held at gunpoint. Just so you know, I would have taken ravishing or jaw-droppingly sexy , also.” “I’m not saying….either of those things.” “Rude. Well, I think you’re quite hot. ” “Oh.” He perks up. “Really?”“Well, I wouldn’t be here if you were completely hideous. I am very shallow.” This does not seem like the right thing to say. “No, uh…obviously, I do find you um…phyisically appealing. Right now, especially. Just, I want you to be completely, one hundred percent certain -” “I’m going to kiss you now.” Remus interrupts, and Sirius forgets what he’s supposed to be saying because oh, shitting, fucking God-Christ, his eyes are so green. How has he never noticed this before? It’s a good thing he hasn’t, because then it might lead him to make other discoveries, like how Remus’ mouth is impossibly soft and makes cotton-stale whiskey taste good, the darkness of the slightly raised mole on his pale lower back, the noises he makes when Sirius digs his nails into his thighs, hard enough to bruise. It is only later, when Remus is asleep, for the first time, in a bed they are both sharing, that the doubts start to creep in, that cold feeling of horror, the knowledge, that, once again, he has made a terrible mistake. It shouldn’t be a big deal, because Sirius  is no stranger to a drunken mistake. He has been making them for pretty much all his adult life, and his teenage years, and (if he’s being really honest) a lot of the latter half of his childhood. “I think they should put me in the dictionary as the definition of child neglect,” he had slurred once, to James, lying across his lap. “Shut up. ‘S not funny.” James had said, half-heartedly, hiccuping his way through a glass of water. James, he had noticed, with no small amount of resentment, was much better at pacing himself when they drank, which did not seem fair, as Sirius is the one who introduced him to recreational alcohol use when they were like, fourteen and home alone. (It had gone about as well as expected.) At the time, he’d chalked this up to being James’ (and, well, everyone’s ) “bad friend”, a role which is…what did Remus say about it? A gilded cage ?  It’s not like being himself is devoid of benefits. There are definitely people who seem to think he’s interesting and cool on a surface level, because of his reputation, which makes him feel good even if some of them are real idiots. But there are bad things, too-like that one parents’ weekend Marlene shied away from having him meet her family, and when he had pushed her, she’d said, “I just didn’t think that would be the sort of thing you were into.” “What, having a family?” he’d said, and she’d winced, and apologized after that. But it stuck, just like it had stuck the day he’d come to get Peter from his room, only to hear him on the phone with his sister, to hear his name, only to have it be Peter relaying a story to her (to great hilarity) of Sirius’ ill-fated drunken explanation on how to deliver an effective marriage proposal. The idea that someone like Peter, who usually got tipsy on like, a single warm beer, found him an object to poke fun at, was intolerable, and he’d stopped trying to see what James and Remus saw in him after that. His friends all drink, too, which is quite hypocritical, he thinks when he’s most aggrieved, especially since he’s early on established himself as the source for all illicit substances. But in his heart of hearts, he knows that the way he drinks-furtive, careful, often solo, never just one drink -isn’t the way they do. Monitoring the levels of the vodka they used to smuggle into his room, calculating how much would be left if he snuck an extra shot. When the stash got low, shooting jealous looks at the girls, because they didn’t need as much to get as wasted. Eating nothing but a handful of raw lettuce leaves all day so he could feel the buzz down to his toes on the first drink. Waking up on the floor, with no idea of how he’d gotten there. He doesn’t remember most weekends, unless he’s working, and then, after working, he drinks enough to forget. There are gaps after gaps in his memory, boundaries he may have crossed, words in anger he would have said, stupid things he is sure he has done. But he always sleeps dreamlessly, until he wakes up, barely conscious and head pounding, throat raw from vomiting on an empty stomach.He has tried to be conscious about it, after his birthday, but there are so many reasons to drink. He likes how untouchable he feels, like a celebrity, with a feather boa around his neck, the closeness it provides, letting the girls comb out the tangles in his hair or James fireman-carry him down a flight of stairs. It is easier, too, to trick himself into feeling desirable, sought-after, wanted , in the warm cocoon of a bottle of wine. He can turn off the part of his brain that cautions him against feeling at ease, that warns him of the ephemerality of this current moment, how life can change on a dime. And it seems, horrifyingly, that all of his friends are aware of this, too. More often than not, the conversation seems to turn to some nebulous “after.” James is applying to every hospital in the area, and working on some project for a professor, Lily is off to the Netherlands, Mary’s got some job interning at an art museum and is still picking up shifts at the beauty supply, and Remus and Marlene…Well, he walked in on them taking incredibly staged photos wearing ill-fitted suit jackets, which they then sheepishly admitted were for “LinkedIn.” “Isn’t that supposed to be for people who want some insufferable corporate job? Don’t you two want to be like, teachers?” “Everyone has one now.” Remus had said, all calm. Sirius could have killed him. “Lily told me I had to make one.” Marlene had said, looking mutinous, and Sirius had rejoiced. One more person who did not, apparently, have their whole adult life planned out! Of course, she then promptly ruined it and got a job teaching some stupid science camp for kids whose parents didn’t love them, and now she was talking about things like “beginner coding programs” and “lesson planning.” Which brought the total of people who were completely devoid of life plans back down to just him. He has stalked Remus quite deliberately on his stupid LinkedIn page, just to see what he put on there. The picture of him in the suit jacket is there, as is a detailed list of everything he’s apparently accomplished in his whole life, which is a lot. Apparently he won a billion awards for being the best student ever in high school, plus he’s been a consistent finalist for the Campus Favorite Tutor, which Sirius wasn’t even aware was a thing. The page itself fills him with a mix of envy and annoyance, because fuck Remus for having his shit figured out, but also it’s really shitty that something like this even exists for the Remuses of the world, the kind of people who would prefer to let their work speak for themselves, rather than have it all typed up in some bureaucratically self-centered list. He probably was near-catatonic with embarrassment filling it out, which makes Sirius feel a little better. That and the suit jacket photo, which he can’t stop staring at because it’s so bad-Marlene probably lifted it from Dorcas’ closet and it’s practically a straightjacket, it’s so tight. It’s horrible, but kind of endearing. Sirius can’t look away. “Do you have a LinkedIn?” he asks Hestia that night, after they’re both spent. (James is clearly going through some sort of second puberty where he’s apparently decided to become some sort of sex expert, and he keeps giving Sirius unsolicited tips he’s picked up from like, Quora forums. The good news is that Sirius has learned a lot about the “female pleasure triangle” and “erogenous zones” and other things he never would have thought about before, and he has to admit it’s not all bullshit.) “Yeah, doesn’t everyone?” She blinks, leaning back. “I don’t.” She just looks at him, her expression calm and unreadable. That’s the thing he likes best about Hestia-her unflappable calm, the way she listens to him without judgment (like Mary might do) or offering advice (like James). It’s times like this where he can almost , almost convince himself that he’s in love with her. “And that’s a problem…why?” “Do you think I should, though?” “I mean, I don’t particularly have an opinion on it, one way or the other. I figure it can’t matter much. And I’m sure if you really need it you can throw one together. It’s not like rocket science. People must have gotten jobs without it before. You know, when there wasn’t Internet.” “Right.” He sighs. “ Jobs .”“Well, you must have some idea of what you want to do with your life.” “Spend my dead uncle’s money and live as far away as possible from my mother?” He purses his lips. “S’pose that’s not a career . What do you want to do, anyway?” “Start a cult. What?” she laughs, when he snorts. “There’s good money in cults. Look at the Scientologists.” “Would you let me join?” “I don’t know.” she teases. “Ideally, we’d be a pretty selective bunch. You’d have to bring something extraordinary to the table.” “I can think of at least one thing I’m extraordinary at.” He whispers what it is in her ear, and is rewarded with her raising an eyebrow. “I think I’d like a demonstration.” He grins. “You don’t believe me? I’ll-” And she squeals as he proceeds to put on what he thinks is a very good showing. From the noises she makes, he thinks, satisfied, she seems as though she agrees. Afterwards, they lie, side-by-side, utterly spent but quite happy, and he starts to close his eyes, lulled into comfort by the heat. “Hey,” she whispers. “Are you asleep?”“Not yet, but…”“So…My sister’s getting married next month, on the fourteenth.”He has no idea why she’s telling him this. They never talk about their families. “Congrats?”She twists one of her rings around on her fingers, not quite looking at him. “And I was wondering…if you wanted to come with me, to the wedding. As a…My date.” “Oh.” His mind is moving slow. “You mean, like, meet your family?” “It’s a wedding, so…Yeah?” “Wow. Okay. I wasn’t…Are you sure?” “Well, you don’t have to say yes. If you don’t want to.” She’s turning red again. It would be cute if he was sure she wasn’t mad. “Wait, no! Yes. I would. I would like to, very much.” “Are you sure? Because you didn’t sound excited-”“Don’t be a dick! I was just surprised about it, is all. So…Yes.”“Yes, what?”“Yes, Hestia Margaret Jones, I will be your wedding plus-one, if you’ll have me. I have to warn you, I’ve only been to my family’s weddings, and they were horrific from start to finish.” “You’re so dramatic,” she says, with the expression that means she’s about to kiss him. “You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you.” All well and good, but Hestia can’t protect him from the interminable advisor meeting he has with Professor McGonagall, which he arrives at fifteen minutes late and trying valiantly to conceal the fact that he’s quite hungover, aggressively un-showered, and has no idea what the meeting is even about. From her expression, he figures he is not putting up a particularly impressive front. “Do you own an alarm clock, Mr. Black?” He gives her what he hopes is a winning smile. “No, should I invest in one?”“Possibly. You are quite late. Well, sit down. No sense in standing, now that you’re finally here, I suppose. Let’s see…” She clicks through a few windows on her computer. “You’re doing adequately well in your coursework, so far this year. Mostly B’s, although, I suppose with a stronger push you could receive an A minus in anthropology, and if you choose to level off on your effort with me, a C in my course.” He nods. Unlike Regulus, he’s never particularly given a shit about his grade point average, tending instead to do the absolute bare minimum to evade worry or notice. “Great. Do you want me to shut the door on the way out, or…?”She clears her throat. “I thought we were having a discussion?”“Oh. Yes. Okay.” He sits down. “I haven’t seen much of you, you know.” She settles into her chair. “I’m beginning to think you may be avoiding me.”The smile gets weak. “If I told you no, would you believe me?” “Hmm.” She nods, thoughtfully. “Originally, I was under the impression that you did not read the assigned material for the class. But your papers tell a different story. Your last one, on the ethics of euthanasia, was surprisingly well-argued.” “Oh. Thanks. Um…” She looks up from her desk, and he says the rest, before he loses his nerve. “You did only give it a B minus.” “It was about half a page shorter than was expected.” “Right. Sorry.” “You see my problem, then, Mr. Black. There is a significant gap between your achievement and my expectations.” “With all due respect, Professor, I think you may have overestimated how qualified I am to meet those expectations.” She smiles, tight-lipped. “Do you think I am inept in my assessment of students?” “No, but…”“I would suggest you let me be the judge of your capabilities, in that case. In the meantime…You should talk more. I think you have more to say than you realize.” He does not think he has more to say. He thinks she is wrong, that they are all wrong, and he shares this with Regulus, as he watches a pot boil, pasta getting softer, getting closer to al dente. They are doing this more, now-spending time together, Christmas and the subsequent events bonding them tighter than they may have been, previously. It started with Regulus texting him out of the blue, asking him if he wanted dinner, and since he didn’t have a better option, him agreeing. Now they see each other once or twice a week, often with Evan or Dorcas or Pandora, who all clearly adore him. It’s sweet. He knows his brother has never had a lot of friends, and now he has three, which he is navigating with a very characteristic lack of grace. But they are gentle with him, kinder than most of the people Regulus has normally surrounded himself with, and he loves them, a little for that. Today it is just the two of them, so he feels a bit better, about cautiously unburdening himself. “I mean, it’s a bit harsh. She basically told me I’m underperforming on purpose.” “Mmm.” Regulus stirs, and says nothing.“What, you’re not going to take pleasure in my failures? I’m handing it to you.” “I kind of think she might be right.” He peers into the pot, critically. “Did you not salt the water? You were supposed to salt the water.” “Of course I salted the water. That was the first thing I did. And what do you mean she’s right? She’s ridiculous, is what she is. Who assigns two papers back-to-back?” Regulus shrugs. “I mean, it’s your brand, right? People expect something decent from you, so you self-sabotage to prove them wrong. You did it all the time, with Mummy.” “When I was a kid. Not now.” “Sure. Are you asking me for advice?” “No, why would I ask you ?” He says it, teasing, but Regulus’ shoulders tighten. “Oh, come on. You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, you know, since you’re so focused and everything, you wouldn’t know what it felt like-”“I know what you meant.” Regulus slams the pot lid shut. “I used to resent the hell out of you for that, when we were kids. All I wanted was to do one thing right. And you could do everything exactly the way they wanted, and you chose to screw up on purpose. It was so unfair.” “Not everything. You were always better at-”“You don’t need to-” Regulus looks pained. “You know it’s not true.” “Well, you are nicer than me.”“I was ,” Regulus corrected. “But I don’t think anyone really cares about that, so I stopped. Nice won’t keep the lights on.” “I never got it, when she would say that. Were the lights ever not on?” “Yeah, that was such a weird thing to say. Sometimes…” Sirius leans in closer, eager despite himself to hear Regulus voice a criticism of their mother. “Sometimes I think she would say that kind of stuff just so we wouldn’t get close to anyone outside the home.” “You think?” he says sarcastically. “I know she talks to me like I’m the stupid one, but I don’t need you to do it too.” Regulus snaps, stung. “Sorry. You know, I never thought you were stupid, either. You just…” He sighs. “You wanted her to like you. Sometimes that got in the way of like, common sense.” “What was I supposed to do? I was a kid, and she’s…She’s lonely .” “I didn’t mean it, to like, blame you. I’m sorry, alright?“ He tries out Marlene’s thing. “I respect you, you know? Even if it doesn’t…feel that way all the time.” “So you do want my advice?”“Well, I can’t guarantee I’ll take it, since I do love a little self-sabotage, but if you have the time?” And Regulus starts to explain, aas the water steams, and he begins to listen. “I’ve wanted to do that,” Remus says, breathing heavily,  a finger tracing the corner of his back. “for a long time.” Technically, they haven’t done it done it, but they’ve done all of the other things, and Sirius is left in awe at the confidence in Remus’ sure, steady hands, the tender way he fucks his mouth underneath a shower stream. It was everything it was supposed to be, except without the talking-about-it. Which is now, apparently. “I didn’t know that.” Sirius sits up, hoping to get a reaction. “Like…how  long?” Remus doesn’t answer. “Last year?” He shakes his head. “Not freshman year, surely?” Remus doesn’t say anything, but he’s starting to blush. “ Oh .”“Shut up.” “That’s…” He searches for the right words, but all that comes out is, “That’s embarrassing .” “See? This is why I didn’t-”“So you must have been in like, real agony, then, seeing me with Gideon, and everything-” “ Agony’s a big word.” “Well, now I feel kind of bad, about it.” “You don’t need to…Jesus.” He sits up, posture mirroring Sirius’. “What about you? When did you know, about me?” “Um…” He hasn’t ever really thought about it, is the thing. Remus’ obvious physical attractiveness has just always been one of those facts that’s sort of colored their friendship, but in an observational way, like, This person is good-looking. “I suppose…the same?” “Freshman year?” “Yeah. Um…when you started, you used to look over my head, when you were talking to me. Instead of making eye contact. And the way you um, didn’t used to flatten out your collars.” “I don’t need to iron my shirts. You’re not the Queen.” “True. I mean, I’m definitely hotter.” “Definitely. So…um…What happens now?” “Uh…” He hasn’t thought that far ahead, but that’s Remus, ever pragmatic. “I guess…I suppose I have to tell Hestia I can’t go to her sister’s wedding.” “Oh.” Remus looks surprised, and pleased. “That’s…very smart.” “And I suppose…you’re my boyfriend now. If you’d like.”“I don’t know. Do I get a choice in it?” “Right. You do.” He sits back, pleased. “Would you like to be my boyfriend?” Remus doesn’t even wait to agree. “Yes.” “Okay. That’s settled then.” “So um…” Remus fidgets with his hands. “The sex was all right?” “All right? I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this, the whole time. It was surprising -”“But not bad, right?”“Well, let’s put it this way-I’m surprised you’ve been a virgin this long.” Remus nods, oddly solemn. “Thank you.” “You’re…welcome?” “You have no idea how much it means, to me, that-” He cuts himself off, and Sirius feels a deep sense of disquiet. “It’s…You know, I’m pretty drunk, I think, so, I think I’m going to pass out now.” he lies, and Remus gets up to go, as if he’s being dismissed. “No. That’s like, stupid. You’ve seen me naked; you can sleep in my bed.”“Okay.” “Okay okay.” In the dark, Sirius realizes, they breathe in unison, and it’s this he clings to, with the certainty that he’s doing the right thing. Of course the next morning arrives too soon, and he wakes with the sun beginning to come up. Remus talks in his sleep, he’s learned, and the extra warmth in the bed makes him want to rip his skin off. He’s got like a million messages on his phone about it, mostly James ( WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? LILY TOLD ME ONE THING BUT I THINK SHE WAS KIDDING??) and Mary ( u r going to be Hella Hungover tomorrow omg ). In the morning, a lot of things seem clearer, and more terrifying, than they did the previous night. He caps a jar of some expensive cream-cheese spread (when did they eat, last night?) and dusts crumbs into the trash, after which he feels horrifically nauseous and retches yellow bile into the sink, while hoping against hope that it doesn’t wake Remus, his…boyfriend. Right. He can’t believe he’d asked, really. He can’t believe Remus said yes. It makes sense, in a weird way. Their differences are complimentary, in a way that has made them comfortable roommates, easy partners. I don’t know how you read him , James had said, half-in-envy, half-in-awe, when they were freshmen.  Oh, he’s easy, Sirius had laughed. I just talk until he cracks. But it is not that simple, is it? He thinks of Remus, golden-skinned, matter-of-fact. You all don’t really know what to do with me when I have a personality. Like he’s resigned himself to an inevitable fact. And there are other things, darker, stranger things, things that had only come out, that night. 
He had gotten Remus underneath him, their legs tangled up in each other, when he felt it-the raised edges of unmistakably, scar tissue. He’d recoiled at that, jumped off, tried to look for the source, and found it, a sharp coil stretching halfway down his pale calf. “What is that?”

“A scar.”

“You have more.” He did, Sirius realized. In the bathroom, when Remus had been careful to not get too undressed, had taken him into his mouth with an uncharacteristic eagerness, they had not been visible. Now, though, it was clear to see his body was a landscape of scarification, a jagged rope curling around his hipbone, slashes on his legs and lower back, and haphazard cuts across his arms that made Sirius prickle, suddenly, with recognition. “Did you…?”

“I didn’t do them to myself, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“It’s like…” Sirius shook his head, to clear it.

“Like Jude from A Little Life, I know.” It’s sarcastic, when he says it. Sirius hates it, coming from him.

“But I thought…I thought you liked your parents.”

“Oh, God, no, they didn’t…” Remus was giving him a very strange look. “You know, you’re a bit banged up yourself.” Which Sirius knew he was, to be fair, but his are small, and scattered, and easily explained away-the burn scar on his hand, the healed-over bruising on his legs, the cut on his face, the shameful, healed-over-and-picked-at scabs on his wrist. He’s had time, and distance, from that, and some of it he could convince himself wasn’t that bad, or he doesn’t really remember. This felt awful, and permanent, and cruel, like they were made to last, made to hurt.

So he had bitten his lip. “Don’t change the subject.”

“When I was in high school, I had this friend, who was a bit older than me. He…” Remus smiles, grimly. “He was not a good person, and I was not…good at identifying other people’s intentions. He thought it would be fun to…”

“Beat you up?”

“Sort of. He had help, and I made myself an easy target.”

“Well-” Sirius’ mind was racing. “I mean, Jesus. Who does that?”

“He was…not very well adjusted.”

“That is the understatement of the century. He’s in jail now, right?”

“No….Uh, he is fine now, I hear. It was complicated for my family; we had to move.” Remus takes in a shaky breath.  “I’m not ashamed of it.” There is an unmistakable fury in him now; it does not become him, and Sirius shivers. “It happened, and I have to live with it. But I’m not embarrassed of it; I just…I don’t want to have to have the conversation, every time, with people. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how you stand me bitching about my mother, after that.”

“It’s not a competition. I hate her too. I have plenty of room in my heart to hate.” 
 He’d been so matter of fact about it that they both laughed, but as soon as Remus had gone to sleep, he had searched it up. Remembering where Remus had lonce lived, it had been easy to locate the news story - Teen Torture Nightmare: One Hospitalized, Two in Custody after Attack with Lighter, Kitchen Knife. He’d quickly closed the tab, feeling sick. It felt like a violation, to read about it, but he was heartened that this freak (who had the unfortunate first name of Fenrir ) at least spent a little time in juvenile detention, after which he appears to be some kind of “mental health advocate,” boasting a little over two hundred thousand Twitter followers. He’s got a sort of scruffy, dirty-hippie vibe to him, grinning at the camera over a mountain of organic produce, and Sirius had the distinct urge to hit him. He’d had to close out the tab, throw the phone across the room into the mountain of clothes, but the headline still flashes through his mind. It’s not the violence that frightens him; it’s the intentionality, the randomness, the way it had come on seemingly without reason. It explained, to Sirius, Remus’ wariness to trust them, even after four years.  And after all this time, am I the right person to take into confidence? He knows he is not sadistic, like the kids in the news article, but he is selfish, and he is thoughtless, and he takes delight in wearing people down. Hadn’t he plied Remus with drinks, to try to pull him down to his level? Would last night have even happened, if he was sober? Remus is a survivor, someone with goals, and dreams, and a motherfucking LinkedIn page. He’s supposed to rise above the bad, not be pulled back into it by someone as desperate for companionship as Sirius. “Morning.” Remus is bleary, but he’s happy. Sirius fakes a smile. Maybe he can make himself believe that it was not a horrible mistake.“Morning,” He teases the word in his mind, before saying it. “ boyfriend .” Remus flushes, and he himself has to look away, to focus on the marks on his neck. There’s a new awkwardness between them, a product of too much honesty and too much to drink, an ice he desperately wants broken. He feels deceptive, again, as if he’s lying with every secret look, every moment that has gone ignored. The next sixteen hours are, without putting too fine a point on it, hell. He’s not sure whether to linger at Remus’ side, so he feels himself lurking, like an unpleasant shadow. Every once in a while, they’ll look at each other, and he feels clawing, hungry panic as Remus allows his eyes to soften, in a way that Sirius now knows he’s been repressing in himself for literal years. He tries to work, but he gets about halfway through a discussion post before he can feel Remus’ eyes on him, suddenly unreadable. What do you want? And he knows if he says it, Remus will answer in kind. What do you want? The prospect is too terrifying, so he sips leftover, room temperature vodka as he crafts a winning excuse for Hestia. “What do I tell her, do you think?” Remus looks up a little from his phone. “I don’t know. The truth? That we’re…together?” He even pronounces it awkwardly, Sirius thinks, defeated. “Who are you texting?” “My mom.” “Oh. About…this?”Remus nods, looking embarrassed. “Was I not supposed to?”“No! It’s…um, wow. I didn’t know we were telling people. I hope she doesn’t hate me too much.” He would, he thinks. He’s sure she knows all about him, his tiniest inconsistencies, his largest unkindnesses. Remus looks at him very strangely. “Why would she hate you?” “Oh God, I don’t know. She doesn’t, right?” “No…As long as you’re not planning on screwing me over, I think you’ll be fine.” “Oh. Good. So…tonight…?” He raises an eyebrow. “My bed or yours?” “It was yours, last time, so…Mine?” He inclines his head (Why is this so awkward? ). “Yes.” His phone buzzes, and he looks down-James. if you don’t answer your phone I’m coming up there even if you’re inside Remus I’ll traumatize us both I mean it  Okay, okay. jesus. I’ll come out. Give me two minutes. He looks at Remus, apologetically. “I think…”“No, it’s fine. It’s fine . Go.” “I mean, you could come, too-”Remus just shakes his head, and Sirius tries to quiet the feeling that he’s been dismissed. “I feel like there’s a big part of this you’re not explaining,” James says, hand on the steering wheel. Behind him, Marlene mmhmms, last night’s eyeliner still smudged on her cheek. “I already told you everything!” Sirius says, exasperated. “We hooked up. It’s really not that complicated.” “I didn’t know Remus was freaky like that,” Marlene rests her hand on the back of Sirius’ seat, thoughtfully. “But he was like, begging to get railed last night. It was so weird.” He flicks her away. “Stop it. James, tell her to stop it.”“I would, but I’m still getting over this whole thing. It kind of goes against what I know about both of you, as like, people.” “Now, what the fuck does that mean?” James ignores him. “Just that you’d better know what you’re doing.” “What?” Understanding dawns on him. “You-Is this an intervention ?” James and Marlene exchange a look. “It was supposed to be a…wellness check. Just to make sure-”“What, that I’m not corrupting Remus and holding him hostage with my sex wiles? Come on. Jesus. It’s like you enjoy thinking the absolute worst of me.” “Sirius…” James says this gently. “There are two of you in this.” “Well, yeah, I fucking know that, don’t I?” “So, you know, you might want to-”“What? What am I supposed to do?”“Oh, Jesus.” Marlene sighs. “Okay, fine. Did you guys set any kind of boundaries or make any rules about how you’re going to proceed with your living situation after the Incident?” “No, but like…Come on,” He directs this at James. “You know what he’s like. He’s probably just, like, embarrassed he got that drunk. I’m actually pretty sure he wants some space from me, you know, ‘cause I’m like, a bad influence or whatever. And anyway,” he directs this at Marlene, “people hook up with their friends all the time. Like you and Mary.” Marlene turns red-red, and James sputters, “When were you going to tell me that?” “It was pretty obvious at the ski cabin…” James looks aghast. “So that’s what you guys were doing upstairs? I thought you were like, playing cards or something.”Marlene groans. “I’m going to kill you, Sirius.” “The point being,” Sirius says smugly. “I don’t see why it’s a problem when I do it, but not when they do it.” “Do you wake up every day and try to be this fucking dumb on purpose?” Marlene demands. “He’s autistic, Sirius.”“Who is?” “Remus, you moron.” “Wait-” He looks at both of them. “Hold on. He is not autistic. Or did he…?” There’s a lot he doesn’t know about Remus, after all. “Did he tell you that he was?” “Well, no, dude.” James says, bemusedly. “But he definitely is. I’ve known since like, the first day I met him.” “Autistic as fuck.” Marlene agrees. “It’s pretty obvious if you know what to look for.” “You’re…That’s kind of a fucking wild thing to assume about someone, though. It’s kind of offensive.” Marlene rolls her eyes. “It’s not offensive! It’s just one of those, agreed-upon, unspoken facts we have about us. Like, you know-James and Lily have anxiety and you definitely have some kind of undiagnosed childhood PTSD-”“No, I don’t-”“And Remus is autistic, and I’ve got an acute case of BOTD-”“What is BOTD?” James asks. “I’ve never heard of that one.” Marlene grins. “Big Ol’ Tits Disorder. Can I get a five?” Neither of them move. “Your loss. Dorcas thinks that joke is funny as fuck.” Sirius scowls. “Well, okay. You’re still just making assumptions. That doesn’t mean that-” “Little to no facial expression.” James reads. “Intense and restricted interests. Difficulty with small talk.” “Still, you can’t just-” “Struggles with maintaining eye contact. Extreme sensitivity to light and/or sound. Need I go on?” “Okay, some of that might apply to him. But it’s also, it could just be him, too. Like not everything’s a disorder .” “Come on. You mean to tell me, you’ve honestly never thought about why he never hangs out with us on the weekends?” “Um…Not really? I just figured he was uptight about stuff like that.” “Or that we’re just overstimulating as hell.” Marlene nods wisely. “Yeah. That.” James sighs. “And it was going so well , you know, I was thinking- this is the year we finally get him to like, open up with us. And then…”“So it’s my fault, then?” “No!” James says this too quickly, and he knows it’s a lie. “This is just, like, a bit unexpected. I didn’t think he was your type.” “Only loser virgins have a type.” For some reason, this makes James look at him, very strangely. “What? I’m not embarrassed about it. He’s like, very good-looking.” “Nothing, just…Have you maybe considered that you might be his type?” “Well, he’s not a loser virgin anymore so-”“You took his virginity ?” Marlene goggles. “In a manner of speaking. If you count hand stuff and-”“Okay, no -”“And virginity’s such a heteronormative concept anyway, so-” He shrugs. “What? You guys need to say something.”“Sirius. Babe. Oh my god. I’m going to, uh, can you turn around to listen to this?” He does, obediently. “He obviously likes you. Like, likes you. Bad. And you just gave him like, all of the firsts, in one night, so he’s probably kind of losing his shit right now.”“He doesn’t like me. This isn’t the fourth grade. Oh-” He groans in disgust. “Don’t agree with her, James.” “I don’t know. It makes a lot of sense.” James cuts in, before he can interrupt. “So, you know…How do you feel about him?”“Oh, finally, we get to me,” he says acidly. “I don’t know. He’s just…Remus.”“What does that mean?” “I mean, he’s my friend and my roommate and we then happened to…”“Touch tips?” “Yeah, thanks, Marlene. That’s how I feel. I don’t…I don’t think I can feel anything more than that, right now. Believe me, I’ve tried. We had sex. It was good. I’d do it again, if he wanted. I don’t see why there needs to be some label on it.” “Sirius-” James’ tone is soft. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” “The sex or the label?” “I don’t think Remus is…a casual kind of person.” “Because he’s autistic.” “No. Think about it! You are like, his first -”“Which is not a big deal! He’s not made out of glass, you know.” James glares at him. “Are you honestly going to tell me that you’d be okay living with the person you have a crush on who won’t commit to you because he doesn’t ‘like labels’? He’s not going to make the decision for you. You know he’ll just agree to whatever you say. So it really is up to you.” “When you put it that way, you make me sound like a great big asshole. What if…” Sirius pauses, thinking it through. “What if we were together, like for real?” “Well, then.” James says, “I’d say both of you are spectacularly fucked.” “Isn’t that what you wanted?” “I don’t know,” Marlene says, exchanging another infuriating look with James. “Is that what you want?” “I thought it’s not about what I want.” “I think you’d better figure that part out first.” James says. “Because he knows how he feels about you, and I don’t think you do yet.” When he gets back to the apartment, that evening, he takes the long way around the stairs. He does not want to see Remus before he says what he needs to say. But Remus is sitting on the couch, expectant, waiting for him. “Hi.”“Hi.” Silence. “So…I’ve been thinking.”“About what?”“About-” He laughs, nervously. “About this, and um, about how you’re feeling? Which, um…How are you feeling?”Remus’ lips are parted with confusion. “Um…Good? I…can’t complain.” “I’m going to need a little more than ‘good’, yeah?”“I really am fine.” “Really? Okay. Uh, I’ve been…Just, uh. Here’s the thing. You and me…I know I said that…But it wouldn’t be a good idea. I just…I want to be the rational one, for once, and um…No. All of your friends are my friends, and we live together, and…It was a little insane, I think.” The words are coming out, too fast, before he can make them sound less blunt. “Oh.” He is less disappointed than Sirius had expected, or hiding it well. “And I mean, you’ve been super weird around me all day, and stiff, and I don’t know. I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do.”Something like anger comes over Remus’ eyes. “You read my mind.” “And it’s not that I don’t find you attractive, or I wouldn’t think about it…if things were different. But they’re not. And uh…I want to be smart about this. You’re one of the better things I have. So…” Get angry at me, he prays. Shove me. Slam a door. Tell me that you wish I’d never been born.  But Remus will not give him that satisfaction, only stares at him, inscrutably, before saying what James had predicted he would say next.  “That makes sense. Sure, Sirius. Whatever you want.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

If I could I’d cry; we’ve got incompatible star signs

I’m in love with you

What’s the point of looking at the view?

‘Cause every time I do, I just see you 
 
           - Baby Queen 
  Regulus knows what the email is going to say before he even finishes reading it. Dear Mr. Black, We regret to inform you… Well, no matter. He didn’t care about the fellowship anyway. He doesn’t even remember sending in an application, although he must have, if he’s receiving this email. He must have applied to like, forty of these fucking things, and at every end he’s been thwarted by some bright-eyed and bushy-tailed freshman who “like, totally loves helping people!” and has a super-high GPA. His mother is on some listserv or the other about opportunities and sends him a billion more of them a day, which would be helpful except for the fact that a) all of them have to do with crunching numbers at some dreadful pharmaceutical company and b) he’s come to the conclusion he’s just not smart enough to play this game. More heavy on b), since he’d take any one of the stupid number-crunching pharmaceutical summer internships in a heartbeat, if they’d have him, but they won’t, and no one will, because he’s so fucking moronic. Maybe, says the little voice in his head who sounds like his mother, you should just stop trying. Leave it to someone who can actually make it.  He’s not supposed to think about things in this way (Mitch said so, repeatedly), but it’s hard not to. The older you get, it seems, there’s less of a margin for error, and Regulus…well, he can’t stop making errors. Shouldn’t this mean his luck should run out soon? He clenches his index finger hard, enough so the tip goes white. “Regulus?” James looks up, earbuds dangling around his neck, and Regulus tries to look normal, like he isn’t trying to cut off his own circulation. He realizes it’s a bit stare-y, and amends to “generally disapproving,” which would track, because James’ preferred study music is fucking Hall & Oates. Like, humming to “You Make My Dreams Come True.” So cringe. “I’m fine. Don’t you have shit to do?” James blinks, slowly. “When’d your hair get so long?” Regulus rolls his eyes. This is so James, always picking up on the most irrelevant of details. It is long, though-it curls almost to his chin, and he’s taken to pushing it back with a very girly-looking purple headband he’s stolen from Sirius (although, not where anyone can see him, because it looks really dumb.) “I don’t know. I’m probably going to cut it.” . “You should keep it.” “Can’t get a job like this, though. It’s unprofessional.” “You don’t work. Besides,” James says, “you know nobody actually gives a fuck about that anymore, don’t you?” “My family does.” “ Regulus . Unless you’re planning on getting a face tattoo with a racial slur on it-” Regulus snorts then; he can’t help it. “I don’t think how you look is going to do much to deter you from getting a job. It’s not the nineteen-fifties. You don’t even have a septum piercing.” “But-”“It’s not even like your mom knows how to video call. Sirius says she doesn’t know what half the buttons on her phone do. Just try it for a bit, and if you hate it, cut it.” It actually makes sense, though, so Regulus nods. The thing about James is that he’s good at making decisions, and knowing what to do. Sometimes it’s annoying, like he’ll turn around in his seat and raise one of his eyebrows like Regulus is just so, so dumb, and say something dismissive and condescending that always starts with “Just let me-” Other times, it’s said with gentle bemusement, like “You know, you shouldn’t go to class if you’re sick, right?” when Regulus catches one of those bothersome 24-hour bugs that leaves him barely feverish but sore all over and unable to talk. Sometimes it’s even a little angry , like the one time Regulus made some crack about how James is trying to turn him into a lazy fatass. (It’s true he has gained twenty pounds since they started doing…whatever they’re doing, all because James does not skimp on the portions whenever he makes them both dinner) and James had slammed what he was reading shut and said in a low, furious voice. “You’re not allowed to talk about yourself that way.” After which, of course, he was very contrite and even ate thirds of James’ mac’n’cheese, even though he was pretty sure the calorie count per serving would be heart-attack inducing, and they didn’t talk about it again, although now he now knows James watches him finish every single plate, and plies him with snacks constantly like he’s the only fucking thing that stands between Regulus and a full-blown goddamn eating disorder. (He always stocks his fridge with these excellent coconut-milk based yogurts, though, so Regulus has elected to let this particular flavor of insanity slide.) Sometimes he just doesn’t say no, either, because James will want to know why and how and then they’ll have some whole discussion about it. Like how Regulus mentions that he’s not doing anything this summer when James is combing through the pre-health club members to match them with internships, and James just sits up and says, “My dad needs an office assistant, this summer. I put in a word for you already.” And Regulus says, “I don’t want a job because of nepotism.” and James peers at him over his glasses and says, “Your mom finding you an internship wouldn’t be nepotism, then?” Which he doesn’t really have a response to. And it’s not like he can think of a reason for a no, so he just…doesn’t mention it. James will bring it up, sometimes, in passing, like “When you’re working for my dad…” and Regulus just…Well, he will say no, once he figures out how to do it without hurting anyone’s feelings. Or when Regulus signs up for his classes, the next year, and James tells him he should take Russian lit (Regulus is currently reading The Brothers Karamazov , which he might like even better than War and Peace , and James is constantly asking him about it- “How many brothers are there? Are they all named Boris?”) “It’s not really got much to do with my degree, though.” “Yeah,” James says, slowly. “But do you like it?” Regulus nods. “Then, I don’t see why you wouldn’t take it. You’d need some time off, with upper-division labs.” And Regulus had swallowed, wishing he could tell James just how far off the path he’s fallen, how he probably won’t qualify for any of those labs, how he might not pass the year. But James was so upbeat, so encouraging, he didn’t want to ruin it. So he signed up anyway. His life is going down the shitter; he figures the dead Russians can’t hurt. It started when his end-of-semester report came late (They don’t come out with the grades here until mid-January, which just fucking figures) and he was doing… “Not bad,” according to his academic advisor. There is not one A on the sheet of paper between them, so Regulus would have to disagree. Which means that all the hours, all of the late nights and isolation and panic and fear, all of that was worth nothing. Meant nothing. He had thought that the thing that made him give up the university was the university, but he should have known all along-the thing is him. It’s always been him. He remembers his advisor saying something about “rigor” and that the only thing he really needed to improve was his second semester organic chemistry grade, but all he can see is the little black letters, reminding him that no matter what he does or where he goes, he’ll always be a loser. That the people who underestimate him, suppose him to be the weak link in a strong chain, those people have been right all along. His mother was wrong. He can’t outlast them. He certainly can’t hope to outwork them. And there is no framework for this, no nice spin one can put on it to make it sound better. That had been his best effort, his most focused effort. And it was pathetic. Embarrassing. He is a moron, and even worse, he’d been arrogant enough to think that he wasn’t a moron. The difference is that Regulus knows this about himself. He’s not going to keep going when it’s clear he’s doomed to fail. He needs to…regroup. He needs to figure out what he can say to his mother, what he can salvage from the wreckage of his wasted life. So it’s easier, to let James feed him and tell him what to do and do his homework. To sleep in and miss classes and read all day in bed and ignore his email. In his weaker moments, he considers confiding in James, letting him know how lost he is, but then he remembers the other problem, and he thinks better of it. The other problem…the other problem is maybe less important, but it occupies a disproportionate amount of his time. Sometimes he just pretends it doesn’t exist, but then James will do something ordinary, like crack his knuckles before he starts typing, or laugh a little too long with one of the other TAs, or move Regulus’ hands down to his waist before he leans in for a kiss, and Regulus just-glitches. It hadn’t been that way at first; he wouldn’t have agreed to it, if it had been. In fact, he had agreed to James’ plan because James hadn’t been the sort of person he’d ever thought would confuse him. But there’s something else, buried beneath all the wide-eyed cheer and laughing mischief-an unexpected will, a cocky surety. He can see why someone like Severus (who is, by all accounts, a loser) would take a dislike to James. He would like to agree; he would like to write James off as uncomplicated. But James has a power to him, that implacable surety, that is hard to shake, and Regulus finds he isn’t as…unaffected by that as he had hoped. He has always thought girls who gush over their boyfriends doing the bare minimum are idiots, but suddenly, he has an urge to tell someone about the sliver of skin on his back he saw in the dark, when his shirt rode up, the way he grins when someone gives him a good answer in lab. It absolves him of the normal jealousy he feels, strangely, the clandestine nature of the two of them. He likes the idea that James is the kind of person who lots of people would desire, because it means something, doesn’t it, that he was chosen? The parameters of their agreement have started to feel a bit like a cage. James’ll laugh about it sometimes. sometimes, joking about “when you figure it out and leave me,” which always feels like a hint, or a reminder of the temporary nature of it all. He’s pretty sure he knows now, too; the answer’s obvious. No girl has ever madde his breath catch in his throat. Surely, by now, James knows as well? They’ve been doing the experiment for long enough, and, well…the kindest thing to do would be to retract his claws, to let him go. He’ll see him talking to a girl, sometimes, and James’ll put his arm around her shoulders, and he’ll feel a pain constricting his heart, so acutely he could throw up. It would be selfish, to keep James on, when he so obviously needs to go, to start his life, to fix what Regulus has helped break. But Regulus is selfish, now, because James has taught him the joy of hedonism. It would not be so wrong, to linger in the doorway for a moment longer, surely? James himself is chewing on a pencil in the corner of his room, and humming along to something from his headphones. “Shut up,” he mouths, but James, oblivious, just waves at him, cheerily. Next to him, the overweight black cat nuzzles his leg, but not before hissing at Regulus. “Yeah? Well, I don’t like you either.” The cat is a new development; James’ anxiety diagnosis apparently entitles him to an emotional support animal, and after much debate and an impromptu drive home, he, Sirius, and his mom picked this one, which Regulus thinks is a big mistake on their part. This cat seems more likely to inflict emotional harm on other people than provide much emotional support for James. But of course, James fucking loves the little dickwad. “I thought you were a dog person,” he’d risked saying to James, after meeting the cat for the first time. (He had been made to; he would not have come otherwise; in the first fifteen minutes he already got quite nastily scratched on his ankles.) James looked at him like he’d sprouted a third eye. “That’s not me. That’s Sirius . I’m just an-” he’d sighed, pleased. “all-around animal lover.” “Do you like snakes?”James screwed up his face, revolted. “No, ew. Who likes snakes?” Regulus shrugged. “Dorcas wants a pet snake.” “Snakes can’t really love you properly, though, can they? Not like you, precious little bundle of fluff-” James then made a bunch of cooing baby noises at the cat, who licked his hand all while glaring at Regulus with a degree of malice he’s never even gotten from a real person. (And Bellatrix is his cousin, so it was obviously bad.) He still hasn’t come up with a name for the stupid thing (Regulus’ suggestions of “Cat” and “Bastard” were apparently not compelling) and he insists on like, doing psycho pseudo-parenting things like buying organic wet food online from a subscription service. Not that it can probably tell the difference, mind. It sometimes occurs to Regulus, when he watches James lavishing attention on the cat, that he’s probably going to be a really overprotective dad someday. His kids (James is kind of guy who would not be content with less than five kids) are not going to want anything. Because James is normal . I have to tell him. I have to tell him.  James looks over, taking a headphone out. “What’s going on? What did I miss?” His eyes are so dark, there is almost no distinction between the pupil and the iris, and Regulus lets himself enjoy it for a minute, get swept up in his presence. Not now. Not yet. Not when everything is still good.  “Nothing.” “You should let us dye your hair,” Pandora says for the thirtieth time. “I think you’d be gorgeous as a blond.” Regulus breathes out, heavy, through his nose. “No.” This is aggressively not his scene, but another part of being James’...thing is that James is very invested in Regulus having a social life. And not just any social life, but one that is as full as James’ himself-James, who is forever disappearing for hours to “hang out” with the same five people. The worst part, is, again, he’s right, but not for the reason he thinks. Once this thing implodes, he’d like James not to worry about him being a loser shut-in. So he’s saying yes to everything now, which is how he ends up trapped in Pandora's apartment's bathroom while Lily and Pandora discuss how best to torture him.  “Honey, we’d need to bleach it first, I think.” Lily examines him critically, from where she’s sitting on top of the toilet. “He’s going to eat up any color we put on that; it’s so dark.” “Thank you.” Regulus mouths. It’s been a strange development, this, but he is starting to like Lily, more, now, since their awkward encounter post-first drunken kiss. It had been an unfortunate couple of tutoring sessions, wherein he was forced to rely on Severus for a few more problems than he’d like, strictly, just because he didn’t want to do the embarrassing not-quite-eye contact with Lily. Lily, however, shares Sirius’ indominable spirit; she’d made herself quite unavoidable, and one night, she’d cornered him as he came out of one of the bathrooms in the basement of the chemistry building. “Hi.” “Oh. Hi.” “Wasn’t sure if you were in there, or not…” He’d stayed silent and looked at his feet. “I’m sorry, okay? About…the other night. I don’t know if you remember-”“You kissed me.”“I did.” She turned a little red. “God. Um…that was like, super inappropriate and I don’t even know why I did that. Not my finest moment. So if you like, want to ignore me for the rest of the year, I get it. Just, um-You didn’t tell your brother, did you?” Regulus had scoffed. “No.” “Oh, thank God.” Lily relaxed. “I am still very, very sorry about that.” “It’s okay.” he said, quietly.“It’s still kind of weird, and you’re my student , and-”“No, I mean it. It’s fine. We were drunk, so…” He shrugged. “That was my first time.” Lily’s eyes went huge. “Your first…kiss?” “With a…girl.” The confession felt extra heavy, in the echoing halls of the basement, but he had figured out at this point that Lily is far more willing to let things pass without explanation then the rest of her friend group, who are (if James and Sirius are any indication) preternaturally nosy. As he predicted, she didn’t bat an eye, just winks, and says, “I also kissed my first girl drunk, so you’re in good company.” “Your first girl?” “Yeah.” She smiled. “I’m…seeing a girl, right now, which is complicated and none of our friends know, and at first I felt like a great big fraud about it. But yeah, I definitely am some kind of queer, I think. Maybe bisexual or pansexual? Which is funny, since I made a big deal, at Halloween, of telling you I wasn’t-” “I’m gay.” It comes out easy, easier than it should, but Lily's always been easy to talk to, in that quiet way. The words feel odd, coming from him, but not wrong, like he was worried they might. Not like putting on a costume or a mask. She had looked up then, looked him right in the eye. “Thank you. For telling me.” And he had known, instinctively, that she would not tell anyone about him, just like how he had no intentions of telling anyone about her. He’d found out that the girl was Pandora soon after that, one morning after Evan and Dorcas had insisted they eat breakfast in Dorcas and Pandora’s apartment, only to be confronted with a half-dressed Lily microwaving cereal. She’d been horrifically embarrassed and had fled soon after, but eventually Pandora had cajoled her into being officially introduced to her other friends. She had taken to them all, especially Evan, who could delight anyone, but she’d been a little stiff with Dorcas. No one said, but Regulus gathered it was some kind of possessive thing, something about her girlfriend rooming with another girl who liked girls, although this explanation didn’t quite make sense either, considering how obsessive over-the-top-in-love Dorcas and Marlene were. Anyway, the point was that Lily was one of them, too, now, and Pandora had wanted to, in her words, “give Regulus some sparkle.” Ordinarily, Regulus would have refused anything like this with extreme prejudice, but…he was going to see James tonight, and he wanted to see James see him, because it was always fun. (James had almost fallen out of his chair when Regulus had unbuttoned two of his top buttons; he thought any more of a transformation could get him to hurt himself, which would be quite amusing.) So he had agreed, partly for vanity’s sake, and partly because it took his mind off of the whole thing. So far, he’s said yes to almost everything except the glitter eyeshadow (“It’d make you look like a fairy!”) and some kind of spray-on glitter that his whole face apparently needs to be coated in (“It’ll just tie the whole look together, come on…”). Really, Pandora loves glitter too much for her own good. But he has agreed to let her scrunch gel through his curls (before inspecting it for glitter, first, he wouldn’t put it past her), and let Lily put the grey eyeliner in his waterline like Dorcas had did on Halloween, the one that made him look so much like Sirius. Lily doesn’t do as neat a job as Dorcas, or Sirius, for that matter, but he kind of likes this one better. He looks…“Terrifying.” Pandora says. “This is why I said to put some glitter-” At the mention of the G-word, Regulus is scooting furiously to the corner of the bathroom, before she can get the drop on him with the glitter. She giggles. In terms of sheer sadism, she might give Bellatrix a run for her money. “I think that’s a no on the glitter,” Lily giggles. “Come back, baby, we’re not gonna hurt you.” “No fucking glitter,” he warns. “I mean it. I’m not that kind of g-Person. I’ll kill myself just to haunt you.” “You are much more threatening now.” Pandora says, solemnly. “Don’t patronize me. Give me that-” He scribbles some more grey and rubs a finger furiously under his eyes. “I think he likes it.” Lily says, laughing. “I don’t hate it,” Regulus sniffs. “Oh, he loves it. Sweetheart, we should give him the rest of the gel and the eyeliner.” “No, uh-I can’t do this every day.”“Why not?”“Isn’t make-up what fucks up your self-esteem?” “Oh, yeah.” Pandora deadpans. “I desperately care about improving your self-esteem.” At this they all start laughing. They end up giving him the rest of the gel, when he leaves, but he convinces them to take the eyeliner. James can’t get used to me like this, after all, he thinks, and then, with effort, banishes the thought. James is not supposed to get used to him. That night, James stares at him, and stares at him, and stares at him. “Something’s different,” he stage-whispers. “Are you wearing makeup?” “Pssh. No. I woke up like this.” he lies, enjoying the attention. “You are, aren’t you? And you did something-” He pulls on one of Regulus’ curls. “To your hair, I think.” “Congratulations. You figured it out.” “Did you do it for me?” “No. I just felt like it-” James rolls his eyes, and Regulus sighs. “Yes. I did it for you. It’s nice, right?” “Nice? Nice? Regulus, you look-” He releases a breath. “So fucking… hot . Oh my God. I’ve never called a dude hot before, but-” He laughs, but it comes out a little strangled. “You’re it. It’s-”“I’m not going to do this every day.” Regulus interrupts. “It’s too much work, so don’t get used to it.” “Oh my God, just take the compliment.” “Thank you. You’re…as well.” “ Hot .” “I don’t want to say that.” “But you’re thinking it.” “No, I’m not.” “Yes, you are.” “I haven’t seen you around in a while,” Severus easily pushes open the door for him. He’s wearing a long, flappy raincoat that skims his ankles, and Regulus reflects that he kind of looks like a cartoon vampire. “Oh, yeah…” Regulus has been so busy; he’s honestly been quite neglectful of Severus, who’s interest in him has remained strong. Like, he’s always sending him texts and emails ( Are you coming to tutoring tonight? or Another pre-health meeting on Wednesday-see you there? ). Regulus finds this kind of attention a little disconcerting, so he had thought ignoring it would make it go away. This has clearly not worked. He has a sneaking suspicion Severus has followed him to the biology building exit, just to have this conversation. Which…okay. It’s fine. “Did you get my last email?” “No.” Regulus lies. “I don’t think I’ve heard from you in a bit. They may not be coming through.” “That’s weird,” Severus says, “since that’s definitely the email listed on the school directory.” Regulus makes a mental note to figure out how to get his email unlisted from the school directory. “Hmm. What did you want to know?” He pulls up the hood of his raincoat. If he walks away fast, there’s a chance Severus will leave too, certainly. But he has long legs, so he actually easily keeps pace with Regulus, which is very annoying. “I wanted to know if you were doing anything this summer, for work?”“Oh, um…I don’t know. I’ve been in touch with James-” Severus’ face darkens, which he enjoys. “James Potter, and he said he’d keep an eye out-”“Oh, him. He doesn’t have much follow-through.” Severus sniffs. “You really should get on this. I sorted it out ages ago. Lily and I are going to the Netherlands, for Slughorn’s former student’s research team.” He gathers that he’s supposed to be impressed, and pitches his voice accordingly. If he concentrates, the only thing he remembers about Amsterdam was an interminable airport line, and their mother smacking Sirius after he made one too many red-light-district jokes in the hotel. “Congrats.” “It’s in Leiden.” Severus says this like it means something, but it is hard to determine exactly what. “I’m certain,” he says, with a terrible attempt at magnaminity, “that I could speak to Slughorn for you, about assigning you to a project. I’m certain it won’t be ours, given that it’s so advanced, but I’d be happy to-”“That’s really interesting.” Regulus cuts him off quickly. “I’ll think about it.” By “I think about it,” he means, “I will pass out in my bed tonight and think, wow, I’m glad I didn’t agree to that . If Severus is insufferable now, he will certainly be worse should Regulus have this misfortune of owing him for anything. But Severus is immune to hints. In fact, it seems to encourage him, and Regulus is horrified when Severus follows him all the way back to his dorm, going on and on about how great Leiden is, which is funny considering he’s pretty sure this is his first time going. Jesus. “I didn’t know you were into astrology,” he remarks, gazing intently at Evan’s zodiac poster (Pandora was teaching him about it, and he’d subsequently replaced all the Dune memorabilia with diagrams and star charts explaining what his strengths and weaknesses were.)“Oh, I’m not. It’s my roommate. He made me download this app about it.” He laughed, thinking about it. I already know all this stuff; my family used to go stargazing at my grandad’s house when I was a kid, he’d said, dismissively, and Evan had put his hands on his hips and said, Do you even know your rising sign? and somehow he ended up agreeing to it. “I’m a Capricorn. He…uh, says that means I’m good with organization and I think, money?” Severus shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s true. You’re not very organized in lab.”  Why is he here? Regulus thinks, irritably. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I don’t think it’s real or something. It mostly seems like a way to make snap judgments about people.” For some reason, Severus finds this very funny, and he snickers for like a minute straight. It’s unpleasant. He does not have an appealing laugh, and he’s leaning up against the wall, doubled over, when Evan comes in. “Hey…uh. Oh. I…do not think we’ve met.” “This is my-”“I’m his tutor.” Severus straightens himself up pompously, and Regulus enjoys a pleasant five seconds wherein he imagines James’ expression if he had heard Severus using this term to describe his relation to Regulus. If only he had been secretly recording. “Oh. Not Lily, the, uh…Oh! The other one. So nice to finally meet you. Regulus is forever-” Regulus shoots him a glare. “mentioning you.” “Great. Well, I’d better be going.” Severus says, ignoring Evan’s outstretched hand like it’s some sort of dead animal thrown in front of him. “Think about it, will you?” he says to Regulus, before he swirls away. Once the door closes behind him, Evan rolls his eyes. “What a prick.” “He’s nice to me,” Regulus says, to be annoying. “You just like that he has a man-crush on you. And that he hates your brother.” Regulus shrugs. “It’s nice to be wanted.”Evan sighs. “I think you need psychological help.” “That is a given.” “I’m going to bring my ukelele to it, I think.” Dorcas is saying to Remus, who’s only half listening, moving little folded-up bits of paper around on a flat surface. The coffee shop is closed, so they’re all using it as a base to pretend to do homework, or actually do homework (Regulus). “I finally learned how to play ‘Riptide.’” “You’re going to have to be the first person on, then.” Remus says, rotating the paper around and frowning at it, like it has secrets to be revealed. “I’m pretty sure everyone with a ukelele is going to try to beat you to it.” “That’s fine. Nobody wants to volunteer first ever, and I’m pretty sure everyone’ll be intimidated when I shred.” She mimics playing an electric guitar, and Regulus and Remus both roll their eyes. “You know they will.” “Nobody’s shredding on the ukelele.” Regulus says. “What is this even for?” Remus asks, curiously.  “Open mic at the student union.” Regulus cringes. “It sounds awful. Evan wants us to go; he said it’s like a talent show or something. Waste of time, if you ask me.” .”Do you not have a talent, then?” Remus asks him. “Oh, Regulus is properly talented!” Dorcas says. “His handwriting’s way better than mine, and mine is amazing. Plus, he can make those little origami cranes. I never could figure out how to do those fuckers.” “Origami cranes?” Remus raises an eyebrow. “Shut up. They made us learn for orientation.” “And of course, he’s a poet -”“Your…um, brother did say something about that.” For some reason, Dorcas and Remus exchange a long look. So weird. “He has a big mouth.”“James said something about it too.” Dorcas adds. “Ooh, you should sign up. Read us an original work.”Regulus shudders. “No. I hate that stuff. And I’m not-You don’t want to hear it. Most of it’s kind of terrible. Sirius likes to…He exaggerates.” “Yes.” Remus says, and Regulus is not imagining it; he sounds the tiniest bit annoyed at this. “He does.” Dorcas pouts. “But we’re all going to be there! And your poem can’t be worse than Evan’s performance art. He’s going to smash a bunch of paper-mache balls. It’s called Smashing the Patriarchy , and it sucks. Like, however bad you think it is,” she says, as Remus snickers, “it’s ten times worse than that. He keeps saying it’s supposed to be ironic, like a commentary on the performativity of male feminism, but I don’t believe him. I think he just wanted to break shit.” “No, he definitely wants to break shit.” Regulus shudders, thinking about the shards of paper-mache strewn around Evan’s side of the room.  Remus lapses into thoughtful silence. “Makes sense, I guess. I mean, it’s very heavy-handed, but it is memorable.” “What’s wrong with you?” Regulus squints at him. “Since when were you into terrible performance art?” “I don’t know. I’ve never…I guess I’ve never really done that before. I would like to…I think I’m supposed to do more things than, um. Than I am currently doing.” “What?” “I just mean,” Remus says this, very earnestly. “I don’t want to be boring. I’m not naturally…very spontaneous, and I think you need that, a little, to be successful.”“I think you’re quite successful. I mean, you’ve made Brother Papier here an apt pupil of yours.” “Shut up.” “Not successful in that way. Successful in the…way it takes someone to have the confidence to do something like that.” “Careful,” Dorcas says, with narrowed eyes. “That’s awfully backhanded. We’re allowed to make fun of Evan’s creative projects, because we’ve put in the time. You have to earn the right to mock.” “I’m not mocking,” Remus sounds a bit alarmed. “I really do think it’s a ballsy thing to do. People can be cruel, and Evan is…”“Evan is Evan.” Regulus supplies, catching on. “But he can handle it. I think he was born without that thing that makes you worried about what other people will think.” “I think everyone worries about that, deep down.” “Evan worries about it less, then.” Dorcas flicks at one of her nails, irritably. “You really don’t get…the impulse to stop him, or something?” “No.” Dorcas and Regulus exchange glances. “Is that bad?”“He really wants to. It would be a shame, to not let him. It makes him happy, and he’s an adult. What the hell does it have to do with me?” Dorcas twiddles one of her braids in-between her fingers. “So you think it’s a good thing.” Remus says, slowly. “Even if other people think it’s embarrassing.” Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Sweetheart, we don’t live long enough for embarrassing to matter.” “I’m not gonna do it,” Regulus warns the cat, as it paces cleverly close. “Fuck. Off. You can’t make me be nice to you just because James thinks you’re cute.” It just blinks at him, like, Yeah, right. It’s the middle of the afternoon, or when James and he usually have a session , but Sirius has somehow managed to find his way in with a baggie of weed. There had been much swearing (mostly Regulus muttering fuckfuckfuckfuck ) and trying to hide under the covers) and running around (James knocking things off of shelves trying to “look casual”). It hasn’t not worked, but he’d forgotten just how insufferable James and Sirius become together. (“Aww, can we not do dwugs in front of the ickle baby?” which obviously goaded him into joining them in joint rolling and subsequent joint-smoking. Now Sirius is curled up protectively against James’ leg (after hissing quite violently at the cat, which has now sought out Regulus for comfort.) His phone rings. “Pick it up,” James teases. “Sirius, leave the cat alone.” “It’s creepy! I can’t lie.” “ She is my emotional support animal.”“It’s my…mother.” Regulus says, quietly, and then, when nobody listens to him, because James and Sirius are throwing loose socks at each other, he says it louder. “It’s my mother.”“Well, don’t pick it up, then.” Sirius says. “I can’t do that; I’ve ignored her for a week.” He means Sirius, but he directs the words at James. “It’s your fault; now I have to-” “Regulus,” James says, all melty-soft high-calm gone from him. “You know you can just call her back.” And it makes so much sense, in the cocoon of the high, that he agrees. Of course, when Sirius finally leaves and James assigns him to cat-watching duty while he helps one of his residents report a clogged toilet, she calls again. And again, and again. She leaves messages, too, which he doesn’t listen to. “ What is wrong with you?” she spits at him, when he finally picks up, after James is on the phone to the physical plant and is safely out of earshot. “No call, for days. You could have been dead , for all I know.” “I’m sorry, Mummy. I’ve been busy.” “Ah yes, busy ignoring me while you read thinkpieces about how everything is racist and waste our money on novels. I know how you occupy your time at that school. Honestly, Regulus-” She sighs, theatrically. “You become more thoughtless by the minute.” He bites his tongue. She sometimes interprets his silence as contrition, and this is one of those times, because she continues. “No matter. Bella called. She was interested to know as to your summer prospects. You must know the time in between semesters is crucial for gaining experience-” “My summer…” “Well, have you spoken to anyone over there? I doubt,” she sneers, “that they would be terribly experienced giving practical career advice. Still, I suppose, you have spoken to them…”“I have.” That surprises her; he can tell. “I see. And will you be so kind as to enlighten me as to their response?” “They are…looking.”“Of course they are.” She laughs. “I thought so. God forbid I leave anything up to you.” “But that’s not all there is,” he adds, quickly, before he loses his nerve. “My…um, my friend’s father says I can work in his office. As an intern-”“As a receptionist, you mean.”“Well, yes. But I’d also be allowed to shadow him, like an externship-” “Hmm.” She laughs, unkindly. “I suppose he’ll finagle you into taking out the trash and wiping down the exam tables as well. Can’t you see this is just a rather clumsy way to get free labor out of you? And Blacks do not-”“ Clean toilets. I know, I know.” “Clearly, you don’t know, as we still have to keep going over this. Who is this friend’s father, anyway? George Nott? Everard Selwyn?” “You don’t know him.” This is not, technically, a lie. He doubts his father would have paid any attention to Fleamont Potter. “Ah. I see. No one of merit. Well, then, you should stop this foolishness and-”“What? I should what, Mother?” He’s had it, suddenly, the creeping around, the tiptoing, the careful way he crafts his words to say next. It doesn’t stop her from calling him names, from pretending to get him kicked out of the dorms for some imagined slight. It doesn’t stop his father looking right through him, or Severus looking down his nose at him, or Peter throwing him out, or Sirius leaving in the middle of the night. It didn’t stop the hands, clamped around his mouth at night, to stifle the sound. You’re a good boy. You’ll keep being good for me, won’t you?  “Because he’s not in Dad’s address book there’s no possible way he could be a decent doctor? You don’t even know him. He’s a good doctor. A good person, and he wants me to work for him, and I’d rather do that than do data entry for Rodolphus anyway.” “How dare you speak to me-” The cat seizes this opportunity to take a swipe at him, and the phone clatters out of his hand and onto the floor. “Shit. Fuck you.” Regulus snarls at her. She just gives him a long, slow blink, like James would, a you’re really going to let her talk to you like that? Maybe cats do take on the persona of their owners. “Excuse me?” Walburga’s voice rises in pitch, over the phone, and he cringes at the tinny echo over the phone. “Not you, Mummy. I dropped something.” “Right. Well.” She sniffs. “There is no excuse for that kind of language.” “I know. I apologize.” The silence between the two of them is fraught, heavy. “But I need you to understand-”“ We would have been beaten if we had ever spoken to our mother in that way. Our father would have seen to it.” “I know.” “ Do you know? You sit here, in your impertinence, thinking you are better than the generosity of your family. Do you know what I would have done, if my father had arranged things for me as neatly as yours has done? Well-” She coughs. “I wouldn’t be married to your father; I can tell you that.” “Mummy, I-” He grits his teeth. The loops are the worst; he never knows what to do to snap her out of it, and she only gets angrier and angrier. But he realizes (and really, why did it take him this long?) he can get in a loop of his own. “I’m grateful to all of them, for thinking of me. I mean that, but…that wasn’t what you were asking me, before. You asked me if I had a plan. I do. So tell Bellatrix, thanks, but I don’t need her help.”  He holds his breath. He’s never spoken back to her before. He waits an agonizing thirty seconds before she says, “Very well. If you insist on going through with this-”“I do.” “Then, I suppose, you are a man now, and entitled to make your own decisions.” He does not like how calm she sounds. “You may do whatever you please, Regulus. I can’t do anything to stop you.” There’s a click as she hangs up, and besides him, the cat rolls over, showing its belly, blinking like, Took you long enough, dumbass.  “You’re alright.” Regulus tells her, running a hand through her fur. “But don’t let it get to your head.” “What are you doing?” Regulus asks Sirius two days later, as he’s squinting at a brightly colored spreadsheet over coffee. Sirius huffs. “Data.” “That’s descriptive.” “It’s for work.” Sirius says, like it explains something. “Oh.” “You could at least pretend to be interested.” “I’m not.” Sirius shakes his head, lowering his voice. "You haven't seen Mary, have you? She’s like, half an hour late.” “You are half an hour late to everything.” “Don’t be a shit. This is kind of important.” "I don't really know her that well." He glances over to the counter of the coffee shop, where some barista less efficient than Remus is engaging in small talk with the girl in the front of the line. "What do you need her for?" “James and Lily and I are worried about her, so I thought I’d do some sort of…I don’t know, intervention for her. But she’s been impossible to like, pin down.” “Oh, I'm absolutely not staying for that." He tosses his notebook into his bag. "No way. That's a terrible idea." “Oh, come on! She’s been really cagey ever since we went to the ski cabin. Doesn’t really go to class. Marlene says she’s never in the apartment, and she’s getting worried. I think it’s because of that creep, the one who like, tried to kidnap her and-”“ Okay. ” Regulus interrupts. “I know. Evan told me. What do you need me for?” “Lily said she'd like to feel like everything was casual, you know. Ease her into it. How does Evan know?” Sirius sounds a little suspicious, which is a bit rich, considering he's the one who's concocting some elaborate scheme to wrangle Mary into talking about her feelings. “Marlene told Dorcas.” Something in him is close to bubbling over, and he clenches his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “Not that I care, at all, mind you-but I think you all should leave her alone." “I don’t know. Marlene has to like, track her on one of those apps. She’s really worried. I realize this is a foreign concept to you, but some of us do care about other people.” "I care about people! I just don't-I don't really talk to her." "I'm disappointed in you," Sirius says. "Lily said you'd understand." "And I'm disappointed in you," Regulus retorts. “If she really thought it was a good idea, she'd be here herself. Lily's just letting you spin out because she knows you just want to make yourself feel better, because you feel guilty about it. Like always.” Sirius scowls. “You know, for someone who wasn’t even there when it happened, you’re being a real bitch.” “I mean, no offense, but come on. It’s not like you’re going to have some conversation that’ll magically fix her-” “I did not say that-” “And James is a moron , for going along with it.” “James said he was worried, is all. I’m going to talk to her, not him. What does this have to do with James?” “I don’t know!” He steps away from the table. “Because he should know better. You both should.” “Okay, well-Don’t leave. She’s not coming, anyway. Just messaged me back.” Sirius says hastily, as Regulus shoulders his bag. “Good. She probably figured out what you were trying to do.” “Regulus-” Sirius shakes his head. “I was going to be nice about it. It wasn’t going to be like, an intervention -intervention. That was just a bad choice of words.” “Okay.” “I mean, I know it’s not her fault. But someone should check up on her. Marlene says she’s going down to her parents’ place again. It’s been like, twice a semester now.” “Yeah, I know.” Regulus mumbles, looking at his feet. “It’s not your fault, either. People are awful.” “Not all people.” “Most people, then.” he says, as Sirius laughs. “Most people are awful.” And it’s true, he later reflects. Most people are awful, or if not awful, have that little uncomfortable kernel of unpleasantness that creeps into their behaviors, even when they think no one can tell. But there are people, people like James, who don’t seem to have the same grasping desire to put themselves above other people. It is true that James likes being in charge, he knows, but it seems mostly driven by a desire to help people, and make them happy, even if they don’t know that’s what they want, or what they need. He remembers how shamefully his own selfishness had come out, while he was filling out the EMT paperwork. “My dad told me a lot of that service stuff is a waste of time,” he’d said, mostly to be annoying. As he’d predicted, James’ nostrils had flared. “ Your dad is an inbred Big Pharma nepo baby. I’m sure he didn’t have to do much to get into med school.” “Your dad is also a doctor.” “Yeah, but my dad is the first in his family-”“To get an M.D. instead of a Ph. D.? God, he really pulled himself up by his bootstraps, you know?” “Okay, okay! You’re right! We’re both very privileged!” “ That’s better.” Regulus had said, satisfied. “But like, you could be studying for the MCAT. Getting your name on a paper. Everyone just does that volunteer stuff for their first two years, anyway.” He hasn’t, really, just got his father to sign off on a piece of paper saying he had hours at the hospital that he’d never worked. “I do get paid.” “Please. It’s barely anything. You might as well do it for free.” “I-Look. It’s like, I can do something that might have some effect on someone down the line. Or I can, you know, help people now. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather help people now. It’s just-I don’t want to be a doctor because I want people to be impressed with me at dinner parties. Not that it’s not great, it’s just-I have the whole rest of my life to do that kind of stuff. You only have like, knees that work for so long.” “Mhmm.” Regulus had said, unsure of where this was going. “I just. I know I’m really lucky. Because of who I am and where I was born and everything. And it’s not that I feel guilty about it; I’m proud of myself, and my family. But I know I get a leg up on other people, so I ought to make the most of it, don’t you think?” He smiled, then, and it was  so brilliant, Regulus had to look away, embarrassed. It’s true, really. He doesn’t ever think about being rich, or what it means to people who aren’t. He never has. It’s just another way that the two of them are fundamentally incompatible. The next night, he writes, and edits, and reads over a script of what he’s going to say exactly, and he brushes his teeth three times before he waits outside of James’ dorm. He’d done a lot of Googling (despite his warnings to James about the inaccuracy of the Internet) about how, exactly to end a relationship-that-is-not-a-relationship, and he’s pretty certain the fourth Reddit subpage he stumbled upon had a foolproof method. When James finally lets him up, he sits on the very edge of the twin-XL bed, while James spits out his gum in his wastebasket. “Good day?” “Not so bad,” he says. “I did think of a name for your fuck-ass cat.” “She’s a sweetheart, not fuck-ass.”“Same thing.”“Let’s hear it, then.”“Mercy.” “Pretty. Why?” “It’s ironic. Something she doesn’t have.” “Oh my God. Do you like her now?”“We may have reached an agreement.” “Ha! I knew you’d come around.” James grins. “Did I tell you why I picked her?”“No.” “ ‘Cause she reminds me of you.” He says it so easy, but he’s not looking at Regulus, like he’s afraid of the reaction. “My mom and Sirius think I picked her because she seemed like she was the most pathetic, but they didn’t get it. She’s not pathetic at all.” He pulls gently on one of Regulus’ curls. “She’s a badass.” “You think I’m pathetic.” “That is the opposite of what you were supposed to take away from that story.” James rolls his eyes. “Shall we-”“Actually,” Regulus recites, before James can go off-script again. “I was thinking I would do something-different.” (The Reddit had suggested that he provide a parting gift, which he originally had thought was a stupid idea, but that was before he thought of one thing that James would definitely be interested in.) “Oh. Okay. Uh, not BDSM stuff, though, right? Because I’m not Rihanna. Chains and whips do not excite me.” “No. Uh-” Regulus shakes his head. “No. Um…I’m-”“What is it?” James is looking slowly more alarmed. “Do you want to piss on me? I mean, you have a lot more experience than I do in this arena, but you know, I’m not really into golden showers, I don’t think. Or if you absolutely have to, I mean, I guess, we could do it outside or something, but not in the room, because of the cleanup-”“Oh my God, stop! Iwanttogiveyouahandjob.” James looks even more confused. “You want what? ” “I WANT TO GIVE YOU A HAND JOB.” He’s aware that it’s coming out too loud, and James smirks. “ Okay . You don’t have to yell about it.” “I’m not-” Regulus takes a deep breath. “I’m not yelling about it.” “That was very loud.” “Well, I don’t have to do it, if you think it’s a bad idea.” “No, hang on! I didn’t say all that. I just-you know. I thought you didn’t really do…that kind of stuff.” “It’s fine,” He clears his throat; it’s sounding a little squeaky. “If I do it.” “Do you want me to do, uh, one for you as well? I, well. I do have a little bit of experience in this arena-” “Please, no. Just-this way is better. Okay? Can I-”“Be my guest.” When Regulus puts his hand to James’ crotch, he pushes it away. “Um, maybe, build to it? I need a little-” “Oh. Sorry.” “No, you’re fine, I still would like the-” “Hand job.” “Mhm.” “Now, who can’t say it?” Regulus teases. “I can too say it!” James protests, as Regulus pushes him down on the bed. “Hand job. Hand job. Hand job. Hand job. Hand-” “ Shut up.” Regulus tells him, in between wrestling off his t-shirt. “Okay.” The expanse of James’ skin, pale golden underneath all the layers, is so vast, Regulus understands why some people (not him, never him) write poems about their lovers. It’s like being a mapmaker, investigating the hills and valleys and folds of skin. He wants to memorize it, immortalize it. He usually makes James stay mostly covered, when they practice, because he’s worried about taking it too far, about losing control, but he can’t remember why he ever thought that was a good idea, when James is shirtless and malleable underneath him. It is easier than he thought it might be, and he is not at all out of practice, as it turns out, and there is something wild about watching James’ eyes dilate with lust as he spits into his hand, watching as he comes apart one whispered “Yes, ” at a time. He takes an academic pleasure in knowing that he’s as talented at this as he ever once was, that he knows instinctually when James is close by the quickness of his breath, the way his thighs tremble under Regulus’ slow ministrations, the way he pushes forward, at last, with a very emphatic exclamation that sounds like cursing. “Well,” Regulus says, primly holding the offended hand away from his body. “That was very loud.” James laughs, his face pressed into the pillow. “Screw you.” “I don’t think so.” He stands up. “You’ve ruined the sheets.” “That’s cute you don’t think I can do laundry, sweetheart.” They lock eyes, and, the sweetheart -was not part of the script, and James is moving closer to him. “Was it alright, then?” “What do you think? Jesus-” James laughs again, jubilant. “Where did you learn how to do that? Don’t tell me it’s that horrible ex of yours-” “I think I’m going to wash my hands now.” Regulus interrupts. “I’ll come back.” “Um. Okay. You sure, you don’t-” “I’m okay.” He sprints to the door before James can say anything else unexpected, and… Oh, fuck. The lights flicker in the dorm bathroom, and he triple-checks the lock before he turns on the shower spray, and sees to himself, James still coating his fingers. He bites down on the cuff of his left hand to prevent any sound from escaping, and after assessing that he does, in fact, look normal, returns to the room, where James is cleaning up. “Are you okay?” Regulus nods. “That wasn’t too much, right?” “ James .” He pulls one of the corners of the sheet off the bed with a little extra force. “It’s fine. Leave me alone.” “Okay.” But he keeps looking at Regulus with concern , and they end up silently watching the sheets spin in the laundry room. “So, uh…What’s happening to the brothers, now? In your book?” Regulus rolls his eyes. It’s such a shitty way to act like everything is fine. “You don’t really care about that stuff.” “You wound me.” James leans against the machine. “I did read War and Peace on your recommendation.” “Yeah, to prove a point.” “And also because I like you.” He says this so casually, but Regulus feels the shock like he’s been dipped into a bucket of ice water. “And I wanted to know about the things you liked.” “Don’t you do that…with everyone?” “Only people I like.” Their faces are close enough that he can taste the salt on James’ breath. Later, then , he thinks, and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, so he can pretend to forget. “Is she…good?” Evan shouts across the room at Regulus, paper-mache flakes scattered across his shoes. He had received very tepid applause for his performance, and now Dorcas is up, which Regulus had originally cringed at. He’s got to admit, though; she’s not bad, and Marlene has a lustful, I-want-to-eat-her expression on her face. Well, he thinks, at least someone’s getting what they want out of this.  There’s slightly more enthusiastic applause for Dorcas, who has a force of character that more than makes up for her deficit in skills, and she practically falls into Marlene’s arms on her way back to their table.  Then, faster than he could have predicted, Remus is standing up, face set, uncharacteristically courageous, and…making a beeline for the makeshift stage. “Where are you going ?” Evan hisses. (Dorcas shhes him.) Remus takes a minute to adjust the microphone, before looking up. “Hello, everyone.” “Hello,” they all chorus, drunkenly. Someone’s been passing a case of beer around, which Regulus has forgone, but almost everyone is getting properly tipsy, and the back of the room is filled with smoke. “I’m going to try to be amusing, for at least a few minutes, so, um. Be nice to me? Or don’t, actually. I was openly gay at public school; I can take it.” There is some lukewarm applause. “To be fair, I was never a great fit for the openly part of the whole thing, because it’s sort of embarrassing to make a big thing of it when you get zero action. It’s like, oh, not only is this like a great shameful thing that makes me less of a man and damned in the eyes of every uber-religious person I meet, I am also too much of a troll to actually make good on it.” Regulus suppresses his laughter, while next to him, Evan is cracking up. “What is he doing?” Marlene’s eyes are wide with surprise. “Did you know-?”“I thought he might do something,” Dorcas whispers. “I didn’t think it would be this.” “But things are looking up for me, at last! I, ah. I lost my virginity recently.” His voice pitches a little awkwardly, and he scans the crowd, as if looking for something. “Woo!” Evan says, which makes Regulus grin, despite himself. “Thank you, I know. It was a long time coming! I’d been like, sending out signals to this guy for a long time, but when you have no dating experience, those signals are absolutely incomprehensible to like. Normal people. Like, I used to hold the door for him sometimes, and think, God, I seem really desperate. I am coming on so strong. And he would just be like, Thank you! Virgins are insane. You should be nicer to us. Or you know, them. Since I am no longer a card-carrying member of that club.” “He’s like, kind of good.” Marlene says, with wonder. “The worst part about being perpetually single, though, is how weird everyone else gets around it. It’s like you can’t talk to anyone without someone being like, Okay, this is the one. And when it does happen-So my parents are like, excessively gay-friendly, right? But like, you can’t exactly explain to your mom that you met your first grown-up-adult lover in a public bathroom. Not -” He grins. “Like that’s a personal experience. Practice safe sex, everyone!” Everyone laughs. “Anyway, as we’ve established, I am a professional loser, so I immediately…Oh my God, this is cringe. This is so embarrassing. You guys won’t tell anyone, right?” Nervous laughter. “Oh, whatever. Okay, so I was convinced that this guy was like, gonna be my boyfriend or something. My ‘partner.’ Because he said so . But like, that was on me. I mean, taking people I literally know at face value? Assuming they’re not, like, lying to me for entertainment? What am I, five?” More laughs. “But you know, then I was super honest and weird with him, and I freaked him out, and he ‘broke up with me’ less than twenty-four hours later. So we got a lot of firsts taken care of, in one day. It’s very freeing. I finally get why people repeatedly go skydiving. But can I just say one thing? Ughh…It’s just, you know. This really bothered me. He tried to do the thing where he made it like it was my idea. Like, I can tell you’re just sooo uncomfortable . I mean, for fuck’s sake-” He sighs, and Regulus can see Sirius in him all over. “Just tell me the truth. You talk about yourself too much and you bit my dick when you were trying to give me head, which we both ignored, but now I’m worried I’m resigning myself to a lifetime of toothy blowjobs. I mean, that wasn’t so difficult. Honesty is so freeing.” This gets a big laugh out of the crowd, and Remus just shrugs. “Um…so that was probably a bit over time, but yeah. I’ve been Remus. And…thanks. You’ve been kind.” “Suck my dick!” calls someone in the crowd. Remus shakes his head. “ Hard pass.” There’s some cheering, and markedly more applause than there has been for some of the other “acts,” as Remus cuts his way back to their table. “Where were you hiding that?” Evan says, when Remus sits down, pulling the tab off his beer. He looks moderately alarmed. “Was it too gross?” “No, it was really funny . Regulus, tell him. It was funny.” “It was funny.” Regulus concedes. “Was it, you know, real?” “In an emotional-truth kind of sense-” Remus starts to say, but Marlene cuts him off. “You, my friend, are highly motherfucking ballsy to do that in front of James and Sirius.” “What…? They’re not here, are they?” Regulus cranes his neck to see. Indeed, his brother and James, along with Mary, he is surprised to see, are making their way over to the table. “ ‘Course they are. I said they had to support Dorky’s debut.” “I’m not going to answer to Dorky.” “You did last night!”“I was sleepy. You can’t hold it against me.” “I didn’t know they were going to be here,” Remus sounds scandalized. “I never would have-” “Wait, wait. I don’t get it.” Evan says. “What’s the big deal with James and Sirius?”Marlene sips her drink. “Ask Regulus, babe.” “Don’t ask me,” Regulus protests. “I don’t know what’s going on.” Remus looks on the verge of collapse. “Come on,” Dorcas teases. “I’m sure Sirius mentioned it.” “He really, really didn’t…” Sirius is looking, for lack of a better term, positively murderous. A horrible feeling comes over Regulus. “Wait, James isn’t who that whole bit is about, is it?” He can see it now-the obliviousness, the clumsy attempt at chivalry. And Remus is unusual-good-looking and clearly possesses inner reserves of daring far beyond Regulus’ own. It would make sense. Fortunately, everyone just stops and stares at him. “No, sweetheart. James is straight. It’s…uh-”“You and Sirius- ” Remus rolls his eyes and nods, blushing. “Oh. He did all that?” Remus nods. “Deserved, then. He’s a dick.” “You’re not mad at me?” Regulus shrugged. “I thought it was funny when it wasn’t about my brother. It’s sort of extra funny now-Oh, hi.” he says, as James approaches his right. “Hi, Regulus…and company.” “Having fun?” Sirius directs this at Remus, who to his credit does not quail at all. “Lots. Enjoy the show?” Sirius ignores this, but Regulus notices he’s grinding his teeth.  Half an hour later, everyone’s mostly filed out-Sirius and Mary have slunk away to smoke, and James has apparently assigned himself the role of pulling Remus away from the group of giggly sophomore girls who have attached themselves to him like a fan club, and Dorcas and Marlene have vanished, so it’s just him and Evan. “We’ll get you to do it next time,” Evan keeps saying, his voice cracking from drinking too much. “Not a chance.” He watches James and Remus, as they wave to the two of them before leaving. James did have his hand on Remus’ elbow, but Remus did move it almost immediately, which suggests… No. He is being insane. James would never violate the tenets of their agreement, and if he did? Well, he reminds himself, it isn’t supposed to matter. And he’s going to tell him, he really is, it was just-Too many people around, and when everyone was talking and no one was looking, James had swiftly kissed the spot on his temple, right above his eyebrow, and then smiled like he’d cured fucking cancer. What are you doing? Regulus had mouthed. James had shrugged. Miss you . If anyone had been watching, they wouldn’t have been sure, who he was talking to. But the rest of the night-James has been attentive to his friends and loud at all the right beats in everyone’s set, and he hasn’t really acknowledged Regulus once. Which ordinarily would feel good, because he’s done a good job of training him up in secrecy, but tonight, is making him a little bit nauseous, or something. “You’re staring,” Evan observes, as James enthusiastically greets some girl in the doorway. (The hug is a little much, he thinks.) “No.” “Hello? Earth to Regulus?” Evan laughs. “You are. It’s okay. Your brother’s sort-of-boyfriend is kind of hot when he gets feisty, right?” “You are broken in a fundamental way.” Regulus informs him, feeling his phone buzz. He looks down, and sees it’s an email. No problem, he thinks. No one ever really emails him; he’ll check it on the walk back. “I’m going home.” “You want me to wait for you?” Evan asks, but he’s been eyeing this redheaded girl with an undercut (who Regulus surmises is definitely a lesbian) for a bit, and so his heart is definitely not in it. “It’s okay.” He waits until he definitely can’t see Remus and James on the path, before exiting. He likes walking in the dark, on campus, and he needs some time by himself, to figure out how to cut James loose effectively, which he will be unable to do if James is just there. To save time, he opens the email-
Regulus-

Your mother has informed us that you are struggling with resume building. Obviously, this is a crucial point in your education to cement your connections with notables in the field, and as we are family, we have endeavored to come up with an acceptable solution. I have informed my sister, who has informed her husband, and fortunately, Lucius said he would be able to secure a place for you with his team. Your mother has already signed all of the paperwork on your behalf, and after this semester, you will promptly report to his house. She has been generous enough to purchase the train ticket as well. You should count yourself lucky-Lucius has taken an active interest in your future, and he has told Narcissa that with his support, you should be able to earn your way back into the university for the next year. As your older cousin, I would advise you to not take this chance lightly. We have gone out of our way to shield you from the worst of the embarrassment. Do not disappoint us. 
 
Bellatrix
 and suddenly, he can’t breathe. He feels himself lurching into the night, unsteady although he’s completely sober, and then he finds himself curling himself into a ball on the steps, his head lolling between his knees. His vision blurs. He smells the fruity scent of body spray, and looking up, sees a circle of dark curls, and full, burgundy-colored lips. Mary. “You okay?” she’s saying. He shakes his head. No.  “I’m going to sit here, with you, then.” she says, and it’s so definitive, he doesn’t even have time to tell her that he’s fine. “Bad news?” He nods. “All the news is fucking bad, isn’t it, nowadays?” Mary lights a cigarette, takes a meditative drag. “But sometimes, you just got to, I don’t know. Endure it.” This, Regulus understands. He had not expected this sort of talk from the Mary he’d seen flashes of, at dances, in the pictures on his brother’s phone. But the Mary who stands in front of him is a bit diminished, a thick, black sweater almost swallowing her up in the darkness, no eye makeup, a wary set to her jaw. He nods, again. “Your brother doesn’t agree,” Mary continues. “We argued about it, earlier. He thinks I should-Ah, whatever. It’s not a big deal. He just always thinks if you complain enough, or you push enough, you can get something to change. But-” She laughs, bitterly. “You have to be the right sort of person, the person who things change for. And I’m not…I don’t know. Not white enough, for one. But also, too cynical.” He finds his voice. “Yeah, that’s him. He loves telling people what to do.” “It’s more than that, though. You can’t meet everything with a riot. Sometimes, you just have to, you know. Live for something other than starting shit.” She peers at him. “But I don’t have to tell you that. Did you want to talk about it? Your bad news?” He swallows. “Oh, you know. I think it’s more of the same. Crazy Black family stuff.” “Okay.” He can tell she doesn’t believe him. “I’m not really-” He feels tears threatening, and he turns away, so she won’t see. “Things don’t change for me either. I’d like them to. I really would. But they just stay the exact fucking same.” “Yeah.” Mary says softly. “But not always.” “Sirius told me.” he confesses. “About the guy, and what happened.” “He did? Jesus-” She sighs. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. It’s not a big deal, and everyone treats me like I’m made out of glass. Do you know, after it happened, nobody would talk to me, for a week? Well, not about anything real. It would just be these weird platitudes and looking around, like they thought I would break or something.” “The guy-” Regulus clears his throat. “People shouldn’t do that. It’s evil.” Mary snorts. “But they do.” “He’s a horrible human being, and I hope he gets what’s coming to him. I do.” It is not like him, to be so vehement. Mary’s eyes shine with sudden tears. “Oh…Thanks.” “I don’t know….why people do that.” he says. It is not strong enough, but he needs someone to understand, to feel it like he feels it.  He can’t tell, exactly. She’s a little more difficult to read than the others, but she does sniff, crushing the cigarette under her boot heel. “What a fucking creep.” It doesn’t feel like a strong enough word, as they sit on the stoop in silence, the phone still burning white-hot in his hand.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised, and that kind of love! 
 
- Hozier
  If Marlene had the ability, she would bottle up the feeling of having Dorcas pressed up against her and sell it. She’d probably make bank off of it, too, she thinks, as she watches Dorcas hook a long, light-brown leg around Mary’s much darker ankle, reeling her in like a siren. Mary’s pupils are dilated with lust in a way that Marlene’s only seen when she’s the one on top, and watching them together is more intoxicating than drinking all the bottles they’ve left in the kitchen of the ski cabin. “You gonna join us? Or just be a pervert and watch?” Dorcas raises one of her thin, straight eyebrows. She recently bleached them light blonde to match her hair, which Marlene thinks makes her look like a sexy alien. “ Obviously .” Marlene counters, pulling up her shirt, before throwing herself on the mattress with a definitive creak that makes Mary squeal with laughter. “You can’t be loud! They’re still all downstairs.” “Oh, they have no idea what’s going on.” Mary giggles. “You should have seen their faces! I think James is going to be scarred for life once somebody finally figures it out.” “Yeah,” Marlene snickers. “Lily’s going to kill us. Remember when she was trying to set you up with Peter, back when-” She stops a beat too late, realizing it’s probably an insensitive topic to bring up just now. Fortunately, Mary fills the silence. “Gahh, no Peter! No boys! I just want to focus on-” she props herself up, looking Dorcas in the eyes. “cucking Marlene.” “Aww, there has to be a better word for that than cucking ,” Marlene complains, pulling her hair back. “Outvoted, honey, sorry.” Dorcas says. “Cuck away, Mary. Cuck like your life depends on it.” Mary giggles, pushing down the straps of Dorcas’ tank top. Marlene holds her breath, as Mary cups one of Dorcas’ small breasts, her fingers teasing one of her wide, dark areolas. Dorcas lets out a low whine, never taking her eyes off Marlene, like a challenge. It’s her favorite thing about Dorcas, how good she is at saying what she wants without saying anything at all. (Well, that and the small birthmark on the lower curve on her hipbones, and the way she rolls her eyes whenever someone says something especially self-pitying, and the way she snorts when she laughs for real. She shouldn’t be restricted to only having one favorite thing, surely.) And Mary…maybe it’s the fact that they’re all pretty drunk, but she seems genuinely happy, for the first time in a while. She can read it in Dorcas’ eyes; the same thought she’s having. She needs this right now. So she pushes back Mary’s hair, exposing the soft skin on the back of her neck, and gets to work. Afterwards, they split one of the last bottles of wine (Marlene snuck down to the kitchen and grabbed it, narrowly avoiding waking up the boys, who for some reason are all passed out on the couch together) and attempt to put the room back to rights (the sheets came off completely off of one of the mattresses, which was so annoying.) “That was fun,” Mary says, shyly, straightening out a corner of the bedsheet. “I’ve never…done that before.” “For real?” Marlene says, surprised. “Don’t give me that,” Mary sounds indignant. “Like I’m so sheltered for not having a lesbian threesome sooner. Good God, Marlene.” “You know that’s not what I meant.” She looks at Dorcas for confirmation. “Aw, come on! It’s kind of like a rite of gay passage, right?” Dorcas giggles. “ No. What were you doing before you met me?” “So that was your first-”“Uh huh.” She raises an eyebrow, shrewdly. “This was your…what number?”“Kind of like a…three-peat? What?” she says, blushing. “High school was weird.” “What, did you go to Euphoria High?” Mary snorts. “No! It was just, you know…Once in high school. Twice in college.” “With Emmeline?” Dorcas sounds a little jealous. “If you must know. Yes.” “Fucking knew it. Who was the other girl?” “I don’t even know. Someone we met at a party.” She remembers blue hair, long, wiry arms. She’d been a firm, possessive kisser, but couldn’t find Marlene’s clit to save her life. Not that it mattered, because Emmeline had been so psychotically jealous it was like the other girl had gotten Marlene off by just looking in her direction. They’d broken up after that; she’s pretty sure. “Uh…That was, of course, not as good as this,” she adds, quickly, as both Dorcas and Mary are looking kind of murderous. “ That’s what I wanted to hear,” Dorcas says, satisfied. “Yeah?” Mary echoes, leaning back against the (now-made) bed. “You don’t sound sure.”“It was-” (Mary smacks her, and Dorcas grabs one of her legs, dragging her across the carpet) “Fuck off, you two! Best-threesome-ever!” Marlene finishes in a rush, before Mary can slap her again. They all laugh. “Thanks, you guys,” Mary says. “I didn’t know you were…chill like that.” Marlene, now curled up on Dorcas’ lap, looks up at her, grinning. “I guess we are.” She knows it’s something she could never explain properly to any of her friends, even though they make a point of trying to seem especially open-minded. She remembers Sirius almost choking on his drink after she’d emerged, satisfied, from that second tryst. And she was okay with that? he’d kept asking. And Marlene had just scoffed and said, She’s cool. Her feelings about sex don’t purely come from being horny, like most people would think. It doesn’t mean that she’s bored of Dorcas, either (She can’t conceive a reality in which that would happen). It’s more like-well, after being the middle sibling, she’s comfortable with sharing. And there’s a peculiar pleasure in watching someone you love, who is good at something, do that thing for someone else. It’s the same pride she feels when she looks at Dorcas across a room, and she’s telling Evan one of her dry jokes and he can’t hold it together. Like, she’s mine. You’re lucky to have her for a minute. She’d talked to Dorcas about it, a little, when they first got together. “So you’re polyamorous?” Dorcas had said, a frown line forming between her eyebrows. “You never said that.”“Not…exactly.” It’s true. The idea of having multiple girlfriends has never appealed to her. “I like you too much for that. It’s more like…I’d like to share someone with you. Watch you do what you do to me, to someone else.” “Wouldn’t that be like, kind of mean, to the other girl, though?” Dorcas drew one of her nails lightly down Marlene’s forearm. She shivered, even though it was approximately eighty degrees outside. “Since she’s never going to have you like I have you?” “It’s my fantasy ; didn’t say it was nice -Oh-” She’d breathed in as Dorcas kissed her, slow and deep. “I mean, never, ever .” Dorcas whispered. “She wouldn’t have a clue .” “Admit it,” Marlene had teased. “You kind of like the sound of it. You’re mean too.” “That’s us,” Dorcas had agreed. “Mean fucking lesbians.” And Marlene had laughed, and kissed her, and she’d felt a weight evaporate from her. Every girl she’d ever liked enough to bring this desire up with had gone cold on her, immediately after, had assumed she was cheating (even though Marlene thinks cheating is the height of infamy). To have someone listen and even fantasize along with her…well, it’s proof that they’re soulmates, the two of them. They haven’t really had an opportunity to actually make it happen-well, until now, and it’s different than either of them had pictured, because Mary’s someone they know . But seeing the way Mary holds herself apart from the group now; the way her eyes will go to some far-off distant place instead of holding court in the center of the room…well, it’s painful. And Marlene’s always been quite shit at dealing with other people’s pain, but she knows about sex, and the way it can take you out of yourself. So she played along with Mary’s flirting in the sauna, and she made eyes at her, and cracked jokes. Anything to bring back a glimpse of the person she’d used to be. So maybe it’s not about being mean all the time, not really. Dorcas is now talking about spin-the-bottle, her eyes alight with laughter. “I didn’t expect your friends to be like, sexually repressed middle schoolers.” “Well, James and Sirius and Lily are Catholic prep school grads, so if the shoe fits…Hey, did I tell you, the boys are full-on spooning each other downstairs? Just, fast asleep, full-on cuddling.” “Wait, that’s adorable,” Dorcas chuckles. “Fucking paragons of healthy masculinity.” “What about Lily?” Mary asks. “Is she also, you know, part of the cuddling?”  She has a distinctly sour expression going, which Marlene does not enjoy. “No,” Marlene shakes her head. “I think she’s probably in her room or something. Went to bed early or whatever.” Mary looks scandalized. “Oh, fuck me. Do you think she heard?” “I mean, probably.” Dorcas says, shoulders shaking with a repressed laugh. “We weren’t exactly quiet.” “Oh- Goddamnit. ” Mary kicks one of the legs of the bed, with sudden ferocity. “I mean, Emmeline did too, I think.” Marlene says, slowly. “I suppose you don’t see the problem with that at all, of course.” “No, not really?” Marlene looks at Dorcas for support. “I’m not embarrassed about it at all. I mean, we all had fun. I’m sure they’ll all think it’s funny, tomorrow.” “You never think about things, do you?” Mary says, bitterly. “They’ll think it’s funny that you guys did it. They’re going to think that I’m doing it because I’m-” “Because of what?” “Because they all think I’m damaged.” Mary whispers. “I don’t even-Nothing even happened . I don’t have anything to be damaged about. But because everyone’s so-so fucking sensitive -it has to be this big goddamn thing. I don’t even-I don’t think about it. It was shitty, but the hangover was the worst part.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite match her eyes. “Anyway. I don’t want to deal with it. I don’t want to have to talk about- this like it’s a symptom. Lily’s probably googling hypersexuality as a trauma response right now. You fucking wait.” “Lily-” Marlene finds her voice. “Lily loves you. She can be a lot sometimes, but-” “No,” Mary digs her fingers into the carpet. “She feels bad for me. It’s different.” “You’re being too hard on her,” Dorcas says firmly. “You know you are.” “The stupid part,” Mary says, scraping her nails across the floor, savagely. “is that I used to feel bad for her. She was so awkward, at first, and her only friend was that freak who wanted to fuck her, and she had terrible clothes. I used to think, like, I had to show her how to have fun. How to live. So I did, and-Now she’s figured it out, she doesn’t want me anymore.” “She’s your best friend,” Marlene is genuinely confused at where this is going. “She’ll always want you.” “Not the way I want her.” Mary murmurs, so quietly Marlene almost doesn’t hear, and then she releases a low, strangled kind of moaning sound, dropping her head into her hands. Marlene freezes-Mary is not the sort of person who cries often, and it’s hard to know what to do, if she should say something comforting, or touch her. Fortunately, Dorcas is there, suddenly, like a guardian angel, folding Mary into her arms, rubbing her back. “I know,” she keeps whispering. “I know, baby. Let it out.” “Sorry.” Marlene kisses the top of Dorcas’ head. They’re sitting on the porch, wrapped in blankets, watching the stars as the snow falls, now that Mary’s finally asleep in the room, having more or less passed out on the bed. “I know this was kind of a lot.” “That is such an understatement. Your friends are seriously messy.” Dorcas shakes her head, wryly, drawing the blankets around her. “Explains a lot about you, actually.” Marlene rolls her eyes, letting her head rest on Dorcas’ shoulder. “But like...it wasn’t too bad, right? You at least had some fun?” “Are you kidding? I think I watched about six separate relationships disintegrate in the span of a couple hours. This is better than reality TV.” “ Dorcas . Be serious.” “I am! For real,” Dorcas nuzzles Marlene’s cheek with her nose. “I had fun. You know I always do, with you.” “Really?” “Really, really.” She’s quiet for a bit, and then she says, “I don’t really try with people, that much. But I don’t know. It’s different with your friends. I want them to like me; isn’t that embarrassing?” “No. I mean, I want your friends to like me, too.” “But it’s different for me.” Dorcas twists one of her rings around on her fingers. “I don’t really have that many friends.” “That’s not-” “Yeah, it is. It’s okay. I’ve mostly made my peace with it.” She sighs. “I moved around, a lot, when I was a kid, so I never had friends for more than a couple months or so at a time. And I kind of thought college would be the time when that would change for me. I would find those great friends, those forever people. But I don’t know…maybe it’s being half-Black, but I’m not sure. But I always have to like, be the person who tries. Like Pandora was going to live alone, last year, before I asked her. She hadn’t even thought to ask me. And Regulus…really, if I hadn’t let him cheat off me in that freshman class I don’t think he’d give a shit, to be honest.”Marlene struggles to find the right words. “I’m…sure that’s not true.”“Nah. I mean, it’s not like people don’t talk to me, or people hate me. But it’s very…transactional. Like, I’ve lowered my expectations for people now. I don’t need my friends to be perfect, or always make me the number one priority in their lives. But…”“You shouldn’t have to do that.” Marlene tells her. “You deserve the world-”“So it’s kind of for you, that I want your friends to like me. But it’s for me, too.” She looks up at Marlene, finally. “I remember the first time I saw you, at that party, at the beginning of the year. You and the little guy-”“Peter.”“Right. Peter and you were laughing about something, and then Mary came over and you like, pulled her down to your level and whispered something to her-”“I had no idea you were watching me like that.” “Yeah, okay.” Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I was thinking it was so kind of you, to make sure that she didn’t get left out of the joke. Even though it was probably something stupid that only drunk people would find funny. And I thought, that’s the kind of girl that everyone loves.” Marlene flushes. “That’s not true. Lots of people don’t like me.” “Lots of people are idiots.” Dorcas says, so definitively that Marlene giggles. “About Mary…that’s not the first time that you’ve done that.” “Yeah.” Marlene draws it out, nervously. “You’re not mad about it, are you? It’s not like…serious. We only…well, it would be like when both of us were single.” “No. I know you. And I think she might have bigger problems-” she pokes Marlene, playfully, “than your horny white ass.” “You love my horny white ass.” “Oh, yeah? Who told you that?” “You said it first! To think-” Marlene sighs, dramatically, “I thought you were so out of my league. Full-on ice queen-” “Don’t give me that shit.” Dorcas sniffs. “I’m an open book. You, on the other hand-”“I’m what?” She leans over, sticking her tongue out. “What?” “Eww, get off-” Marlene, ignoring her, licks the side of her face. Dorcas shrieks, and Marlene shhes her. “People are sleeping, weirdo.” “I’m taking my revenge, you know.” Dorcas informs her haughtily, wiping the spit off her face. “You’re going to wake up, and when you least expect it-” “ I think you’re all talk and no action, Meadowes.” Dorcas just smirks. “You’ll see.” Dorcas is good as her word, and Marlene is given a very rude awakening when a few ice cubes leftover from last nights’ party somehow slip their way down her shirt. “Not a proportional response,” she complains, with no real venom, while Dorcas pops each one into her mouth and crunches, a shit-eating grin on her face. Almost everyone else is violently hungover, she notes with no small degree of pride; Peter is popping aspirin at the kitchen table, and Sirius claims he’s “taking a walk” (which everyone knows is just trying to find a discreet place to vomit outside). Lily, however, is fighting off her hangover in the most productive way possible, which turns out to just be making pancakes for everyone. “Can I help?” Marlene asks, reaching around Peter for the oranges on the counter. He makes a noise of vague assent and curls over, as she peels the orange hastily, cramming each segment into her mouth (Holy shit, is there crack in these?). “Hmm?” Lily is drinking tea, and she looks up, blearily, registering Marlene for the first time. “No…It should be fine.” “You sure?” She looks kind of…well, nobody looks great , but she looks especially worse for wear, hair a tangled mess, and smudges of last night’s eyeliner on her cheeks. “Yes, I am, Marlene.” Lily cracks an egg with force into the batter. “There’s not really anything you two can do.”  What’d we do? Marlene mouths at Peter, who shrugs, standing up. As they flee to the living room, they definitely catch the tail end of Lily muttering something about “people who take and take and don’t do anything .” “She seems pissed,” Marlene drapes herself over one of the corners of the couch, while Peter takes the opposite one. “Yeah. Tell me about it. Sirius asked her for a glass of water, and you would have thought he asked her to like, be his maid for a year.” Peter chuckles. “Not gonna lie, he does kind of expect things to be done for him, but she was in the kitchen.” “Oh, yeah. Remember freshman year, when he found out the dorms did not, in fact, have staff that cleaned your rooms?” She lifts her shoulders and chin in imitation. “But, you see, old chum, that doesn’t make sense. Why, my father says it’s positutely barbaric to live somewhere without a proper manservant!” They both laugh. “So what’s her deal? I don’t want to go back in until I’m sure I won’t get yelled at. A professor gave her a ninety-six instead of a hundred or something?” “Ah.” Peter scratches his head, lowering his voice. “She and James broke up again.” “Wait, when?” “Last night. It was…rough. James is still pretty broken up about it. Me’n’Remus are taking turns to make sure he doesn’t drown himself in the shower.” Marlene snorts. “Nice of you. I, personally, have given up on the inner workings of straight people. Y’all are crazy.” “Didn’t you have sex with someone you met on a public bus to get over that astrology girl from the coffee shop?” “Not the point. Besides, I’m in a healthy relationship now. That’s old news.” She settles into the chair. “Plus, so are you! We’re like, way evolved past that now.” She nudges him. Peter looks alarmed. “No, I’m not.” “Oh, come on. You can drop the act. Emmeline was all over you last night.” He flushes. “No, she wasn’t!” “Dude. She totally was. I don’t know what you did to her, but she wants you, like, bad.” “I don’t know.” He tries, and fails, to not look pleased with himself. “She did say I had pretty eyes.” “See? Down stupid .” “Marlene.” Peter crosses his arms. “Not everything means something. She could have just been being nice.” “Don’t be dumb. You’re a catch! Look-” she teases, grabbing onto his arm. “If you were a girl, I would have been knee-deep in your guts freshman year.” He pulls away. “God, that’s so gross.” “You love it. Anyway…” She looks up. “Are you guys, like, a couple now or something?” “Not really. I don’t know.” “How do you not know?” “I just don’t.” He gives her a flat stare. “Well, do you like her?” “I don’t-Look, can we talk about something else?” “It’s a yes-or-no question!” Seeing his annoyance, she switches tact. “Fine. Guess what Dorcas and I did to Mary last night?” He turns even redder. “ Please don’t. We all know already.” He looks up, shyly. “Is she up yet? Mary, I mean.” “I’m not sure.” “Oh. I wanted to…talk to her.” He fidgets, uncomfortably. “About the…stuff with Em. I wanted her to know that like…we’re not together, and so I don’t care about…what she did. With you guys.” He’s saying this like he’s making some kind of statement, like it shows what a cool, accepting guy he is. Marlene rolls her eyes, suddenly annoyed. “You know, I might be going out on a limb here, but I really don’t think she had sex with us to make you jealous.” “She was flirting with me, all last night!” “The dancing?” Marlene shakes her head. “That’s just Mary. She does that with everyone. I don’t think it means anything.” “It’s not just that. I think we’ve been getting closer, lately.”  He pauses. “Real deep conversations, too. Not just the stuff she talks about with everyone. Emmeline says she thinks there’s something there…” Marlene feels a sudden rush of pity for Emmeline, trapped in the deepest, most heinous part of the friendzone. “Hey, Peter?” “Yeah?” “I really don’t think…It’s just not going to happen.” “You don’t know that.” He sounds wounded, and angry. “Just because you-” “ Please don’t finish that sentence. Look, it’s not a you thing. I think you’re great; I just…Trust me, okay? She’s not interested. As a friend…you should leave her alone. And for the love of God, do not give her permission to have a sex life. You sound like a goddamn incel, man. Just-” She sighs. “Emmeline likes you, right? She’s cool. Why don’t you give that a chance?” “I don’t know-” “I do. Please. This will be good for exactly no one. Just, you know…Go where you’re wanted.” . “So, just to get this straight, your great advice is to go where I’m wanted? ” He laughs. “Wow. Fuck you, Marlene.” “Fuck you ,” she spits back. “I’m looking out for you.” “I don’t need you to look out for me, or give me advice, or…I didn’t even ask! Just-just fuck off.” “ You fuck off,” she hisses, not budging an inch, and Peter gets to his feet and storms off. Whatever. He’ll get over it, at some point. He always does. Lily seizes the opportunity to come in, bearing a plate of pancakes, which she sets flatly on the coffee table. “Fighting, are we?” “Kind of. He’s mostly just being dumb.” “So’re you!” Lily leans back in her chair. “With Dorcas, and Mary…I don’t get you sometimes, Marlene. It’s like you want to ruin things for yourself.” “Don’t tell me you’re mad about this too. I don’t see what the big deal is. Everyone was an adult. Everyone consented. It was fun.” “You expect me to believe-” Lily raises an eyebrow. “Dorcas is totally fine with you having sex with other people?” “That’s what I’m telling you.” “Okay, whatever, but Mary , Marlene? I mean-” She breaks off, sighing. “She’s having a hard time; you can’t just-”Knowing Lily was expressing this level of concern would kill Mary, so she interrupts. “ Exactly. She’s having a hard time. Sometimes it’s just nice to…I don’t know, forget about it?” “That doesn’t work for everyone, though,” Lily pushes. “It’s like, people make a big thing out of her being-”“A crazy impulsive whore? You’re starting to sound like your old bestie.” “That is not my point, and you know it.” Lily runs her hand roughly through her hair, dislodging an orangey clump of tangles. “I just…I don’t want her to think we see her that way. Like she just exists as this agreeable thing we can fuck with. Or fuck.” Seeing the wariness in Lily’s eyes, Marlene chooses her words carefully. “Mary means more to me than that.” “Like Dorcas?” “No. Not the same way. But…You can trust me when I tell you, I take her seriously. I don’t think that what we did can fix everything that went wrong, but we can give her some temporary relief. Treat her like a person, still.” “Still…” Lily lets out a humorless laugh. “You could have just talked to her about it.” “Me? Come on.” She lowers her voice. “I know what you’re saying, Lily, but I’m shit at talking about that stuff. I’m not like you.” Lily sits there for a minute, with it, and then she says, very quietly. “Okay.” “That’s it? You’re not going to argue with me?” “Look, I don’t get it, but if everyone’s okay…you’re right. It’s not really any of my business.” “Thanks.” The silence between them is more companiable, now. “Sorry. About James.” “Well. You did tell me so.” “I don’t remember-” “I believe you said something about ‘bleeding out my relationship so I didn’t have to deal with any real emotions or consequences.’ ”“Ah. That.” “So you don’t have to say it again. Besides,” Lily smiles. “Peter already chewed me out about it, too. It was kind of-”“Unexpected? Freaky?” Marlene shivers. “What the F is wrong with him lately? It’s like he’s on his period or something.” “God knows. I guess he moved out of the guys’ place because of some fight he had with Sirius. This was supposed to be like, their reunion tour or something. James was really excited about it.” She looks mournful.“I feel awful.” “That’s good, though.” Marlene says through a mouthful of pancake. “Means you’re not a psychopath.” “Why aren’t you angry about it, though? I kind of thought you were going to, you know, be more-”“Like the first time you brought it up? I don’t know,” Marlene thinks. “I mean, I thought I wasn’t supposed to know that you were back together, for one. And for another…well, I figured you guys wouldn’t break up again. Or at all. But the second time? I don’t know. That’s probably the universe trying to tell you something. I guess I could have said it nicer, too. It’s hard to know exactly how love feels, if you’ve not been in it.”“That’s the thing, though-I do love him. I love him still, but it’s like…It’s the same way I love you. The…same way you love Mary.” She pauses, looking at Marlene for confirmation, and she nods, taking note of how easily Lily relaxes. “But he doesn’t want that. Not from me, does he?”“No,” Marlene says gently. “No, I'm pretty sure he doesn’t.” Marlene, on the other hand, does know exactly what the right kind of love, capital-L Love, feels like. Love , for her, can be distilled into the way that Dorcas squints into her phone camera before she takes pictures of Marlene, the way she’ll kneel on the pavement (“to get your full body, it’s not a good picture without it.”) Love is the primary motivator for Dorcas to show up (in the rain) at the final girls’ soccer game of the season, and watch them get humiliatingly decimated by a Division 3 state school. “Could that have gone any worse?” she gripes to Dorcas as she limps dramatically off the field. “Yes.” Dorcas says. “My hair could have gotten wet.” (She has elected to stand under a comically oversized plastic umbrella.) “Wimp. You’re not supposed to use umbrellas in the Northwest.” “Baby, when you’re as expensive as I am, you have to protect the merchandise.” She giggles, holding the umbrella out a little so Marlene can slide under it. “Besides, my face’d melt if I got rained on. Like the Wicked Witch of the West.” Marlene doesn’t say anything in response to that, but it’s the one thing that does kind of bother her about Dorcas, how mean she is about the way she looks. For someone whose entire adolescence seemed to have been centered around her appearance, she has absolutely no faith that she might actually be good-looking. Every time Marlene’ll tell her she’s pretty or beautiful, she’ll just roll her eyes and say something like, “That’s all makeup .” or “That’s because you haven’t seen how yellow my teeth are.” (They are not.) More troubling is the way Marlene will catch her, in moments where she thinks she’s not being observed, pinching the skin on her hips, sucking in her already-flat stomach with pursed lips. How Marlene always finishes her food, usually after she’s done little more than move it around on her plate. “I don’t have a big appetite.” she always says, “You eat it. You need it.” To which Marlene wants to say, You need it too. She tries to set a good example, loudly announcing her intention to eat each meal while they’re together, but this seems to have the opposite effect, and Dorcas will just claim she’s not hungry, and crack one of her interminable Diet Cokes while watching Marlene finish plate after plate. So that part is not…great, but the rest of it is so fairy-tale perfect she sort of feels as though she’ll be doing the two of them a disservice to mention it. She watches Dorcas give a communications presentation for a class at the university, wearing a long black coat that makes her look impossibly chic. They buy matching lingerie from an Etsy shop (which Marlene can’t figure out how to put on, much to Dorcas’ amusement). They watch terrible rom-coms about straight white people. They wear each other’s clothes, even though Marlene is five inches shorter and significantly broader in every way, and finish each other’s sentences. Mary starts referring to them as “Dorlene,” as in, “I can’t tonight; Dorlene and I are watching a movie.” or “Dorlene, did you finish the peanut butter cups?” They didn’t like it at first, but it seems to have caught on, and well…if the one thing Marlene’s known for is being really obsessed with her girlfriend, she’ll take it. Lord knows there are worse ways to be. One of those ways, of course, is how Mary’s chosen to navigate the whole…situation that’s unfolding. She mentions, casually, one night in the apartment, how Lily and James are now officially over for good, and Mary just looks up, blank-faced. “Okay.” “So you have a chance, isn’t that good?” She flinches. “Whatever you say, Marlene.” “I do say. What?” This is directed at Dorcas, who is just shaking her head. “It is good. It is.” “Lily’s straight, baby.” “ I thought I was straight at one point.” Marlene pushes on, stubbornly. “That’s a lie.” Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Just-Shamelessly lying, right now.” “No, I’m not- Oh my God -” Dorcas has used her freaky leg strength to pull Marlene’s chair across the room towards her, and Mary doubles over with laughter, and that’s that. Like, they don’t talk about it again, until Mary leaves, saying something vague about “going out.” “I thought she’d be happier,” she tells Dorcas, when they’re in bed. “About Lily.” “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that.” Dorcas says, her eyebrows furrowed in the way they do when she’s thinking, hard. “I think we may have made a mistake, you know. With the, uh. The threesome thing.” “Why?” “Marlene.” Dorcas sits up, chin in her palm. “You must know that that was an exceedingly strange way to relate to your close friend and roommate.” “Yeah, for some people. Not like…”“If you say gay people I’m gonna scream.” Marlene wisely shuts her mouth. “Your experience of sexuality is not universal.” “I didn’t say that it was.” “Okay, but like, walk with me here for a minute. You have this long-standing crush on one of your best friends. You have another friend who you have had sex with, who then, in the middle of a party, in front of everyone, invites you to have sex with her and her girlfriend.” “Her hot, sexy girlfriend.” “Don’t you dare distract me. The friend that you have a crush on is at the party. You know that the friend is going to see you having sex with those people. You do it anyway, and then you start to feel guilty about it, because it’s human nature. Plus, you definitely at some point had feelings for the friend you had the sex with, even if you’re not sure that you do right now, so that’s all confusing-” “You think Mary likes me?” “Didn’t she tell you she loved you when you were getting each other off?” “Oh, that-” Marlene laughs. “That’s just a girl thing, though. It wasn’t like an I love you . It was like bro code-Well, you’re not allowed to laugh at me about it!” “Yes, I am! And I’m just saying-she definitely like-liked you at some point. Maybe still does, a little.” “And you’re okay with that?” Dorcas huffs. “It’d kind of be a lot to ask me to be okay with it, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is definitely at least partially the source of her problems.” “Jesus. God-” Marlene sighs. “This is such a mess. I wouldn’t have even touched her if I thought she was seriously into me!” Dorcas raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I’m not a good judge of these things.” “You are an abysmal judge of these things. Abysmal .” Dorcas pulls Marlene tight against her. “I’m never letting you sleep with her again, you know.” “You can’t either, you know. Who knows, maybe the reason she’s weird around us now is because she has a thing for you .” “No, she doesn’t!” Dorcas tries to look displeased, and fails miserably. “Do you think she does?” “All I’m saying is, she was totally normal around me after we did it. It’s only when you were thrown into the mix it got weird. There’s only one new variable to be concerned with here, so…You do the math.” “Okay.” Dorcas concedes readily. “I could also be the problem.” “You are likely the problem.” “No, I mean,” Dorcas says, suddenly seriously. “It’s probably most likely that Lily was right. That it wasn’t a good idea. That it’s confusing her. That it’s confirming that we all just see her as an available warm body.” “Well, I don’t. I mean, I make jokes but-” “You should stop making jokes, then.” “So it’s my fault.” “Don’t be difficult.” “She doesn’t want us to treat her differently! I’m trying to honor that, even if no one else does.” “Because you feel bad.”“Because I feel bad. What? That has to be a good enough reason.” She sighs. “I was supposed to be…I don’t know, the person who makes sure you don’t get kidnapped and assaulted. Because I’m like, a mean lesbian.” “I don’t think anyone asked you to do that.”“Well, but you know. I don’t know. I’m not, like, conventional-girl-hot, so I can be kind of a buffer. Like man repellant.” Marlene’s always had a strange connection to femininity, in that way. Even back when she made concessions to girl things, skirts and uncomfortable shoes and laughing at unfunny jokes guys tell at bars, she knew there was something in her that othered her from capital-G girls, a certain force in her bearing, a performative confidence, that set her apart, denotes that no guys except the most inept will approach her . She’s always served this purpose for her female friends, alternately a wingwoman (selected because she’s not a threat to the reproductively-inclined) and a bouncer, a wall between them and weird guys, because she usually has the courage, especially after she gets a few drinks in her, to tell anybody off. Boyfriend material , Lily and Mary joke. When the boys can’t make it, she’s the one they drag out with them, to walk them home and watch their drinks. “It’s what I’m supposed to do.” “But I think you’re conventional-hot.” Dorcas looks concerned. “You know I know you’re still a woman, right?” “Yeah, don’t be dumb…” She fidgets with a furrow on the sheets. “You’re not my boyfriend. I mean it!” Dorcas says, when Marlene laughs uncomfortably. “I don’t want a boyfriend. And your friends…I don’t think they want you to be their boyfriend, either. Not that it’s not brave of you to watch out for your friends, because it is. But you’re not-You don’t always have to be tough. That’s what I’m for.” “Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to be tough for me. I don’t want a boyfriend either.” “How about this?” Dorcas props up her chin on her elbow. “I’ll make you a binding, blood-oath kind of promise that neither one of us has to be the boyfriend. I swear to God, and Satan, and uh…everybody else. This relationship is boyfriend-less. We’ll just do our best.”“Can I still get you flowers?” “Babe, that’s a requirement . But not because you’re more masc. Just because I think I’m going to get into floral arrangements.” Dorcas looks so satisfied with herself in the lowlight; Marlene wishes she had a ring. How on Earth did I get so lucky?  “Don’t tell me you’re going to start paying for dinner.” “Yeah. What? You’re not my sugar daddy. And-” She waves a threatening finger. “you’re going to learn how to cook.” “I can cook.” “You can make instant ramen. That is not at all the same thing.” She lies back down, and Marlene rests her head against the sharp angle of her jaw. “And you’re not going to worry about your friends so much.” “It’s a reflex. They would literally implode without me.” “I think you should give them a little more credit. They’re not as dysfunctional as you think. For one thing, they actually like each other.” “Well, yeah, people aren’t friends with people they don’t like.” “Not everyone.” Dorcas rolls her eyes. “Anyway, it’s not your responsibility. You have exactly one responsibility-”“Acting as your vibrator’s mortal enemy?” “Read my mind-ahh!” Dorcas lets out a short breathless laugh as Marlene slips a finger into her mouth with a practiced cool that’s two-thirds show. Dorcas knows exactly which two-thirds, but Marlene thinks, as Dorcas’ eyes follow her own, pupils dilated and unreadable, that she doesn’t mind a little bit of showmanship. “Marlene! Sit with us?” James accosts her outside the dining hall. She’s surprised to see he’s sitting with Peter, given Lily’s information. But given she has no plans (her next class isn’t until the evening), she slides down, moving around a rather lackluster rice bowl with her fork. “All right?” She directs the question at Peter, who is moving stuff around in his very-overstuffed messenger bag, and seems to be determinedly ignoring eye contact with her since their last spat. It feels a little dramatic, she thinks. Usually, Peter’s the kind of person to be passive-aggressive for a couple days after an argument, but this feels almost properly aggressive, at least for him. “I’m fine.” Peter stands up, after wrestling one of the clasps shut. “I have class.” “But Marlene just got here!” James pouts, grabbing onto one of his arms. “Surely, you can wait a minute-”“No.” Peter pulls away from him. “It’s kind of important.” “Since when did you care about getting places on time?” Marlene teases. (Peter rivals Sirius in the terrible-time-management category; she usually tells him things start half an hour earlier than they actually do.) James snorts.Peter flushes, opens his mouth, and then closes it, before saying, in a false-calm tone,“You know, you’re not the only ones who are busy.” “Dude, I was kidding -” But Peter turns on his heel and hustles away. She and James exchange “ what’s wrong with him? ” looks as Peter opens his phone, holding it up to his ear, like he’s talking to someone. “Has he seemed weird to you, lately?” she asks James, in an undertone. “He’s been kind of sensitive, I suppose. But Pete’s a weird guy.” James says cheerfully, before sobering. “Did you really tell him that Mary-”“Is out of his league in every conceivable way? Someone had to.” “Yeah, but…you could have been nicer about it.” He frowns. “You also don’t know. Stranger things have happened.” “Have they? I feel like that’s pretty strange.” “I don’t know. Lily and I used to look at engagement rings, and now…” James trails off, gloomily. Marlene rolls her eyes. “Dude, that’s insane, even for lesbians.” “You know, everyone dreams about their perfect engagement ring.” “In college ?” She laughs. “I think it’s just you, man. I am sorry, though. How’re you holding up?” “It’s weird.” James says, slowly. “I thought I would be more devastated. I mean, I am, but like…a normal amount. The first time, I felt like, you know-”“Someone took your batteries out?” “That, and…I don’t know. It was awful. This time…I know it’s for real, and it’s kind of like…I know I have to get through this, but I know that I will. And I sort of…” He smiles. “I don’t know. I don’t really think about me , very much. It was just always us. It’s kind of a weird change of pace, planning for a different life.” “You know,” Marlene tries to say this in a gentle way, “you don’t have to have it all planned out right now.” “Like you and Dorcas don’t have a five-year plan.” He rolls his eyes, but then goes right back to thinking. “How did you know you were gay?” he suddenly demands. “Was it one thing, or a couple, or-?”“What’s wrong with you?” “Lily said I like kissing boys. At the ski cabin. Nobody corrected her.” He positions his chin in his hands. “So…is there something I don’t know about me, that you all do?” “James-” She shakes her head. “She was being mean. Nobody thinks you’re gay. Everyone was drunk as fuck, too. You can’t take that shit too seriously.” “Okay, but…humor me?” He tilts his head to the side, pleading. “Was there like, a defining moment? Are you supposed to have an epiphany about it?” “I didn’t. I just always knew. Everyone around me always knew, too. Like as soon as I learned what a lesbian was, I knew I was one. It wasn’t just one moment. Like a culmination of all these questions you had about yourself coming up answered.” “That’s kind of deep, Marlene.” He nods, seriously. “Spiritual, almost.” “Shut up.”“No, I’m being serious!” He sits for a moment (Marlene takes this opportunity to have a few more spoonfuls of rice), before continuing. “If you had to guess, do you think I’m some kind of-”“Are you attracted to men?” “I’m not really attracted to anyone until I get to know them.” “Yeah, I know, but like, are men part of anyone?” “I don’t know, maybe? Like I know when a man is good-looking, and sometimes I’ll be a little jealous, and I don’t really have a problem with kissing a dude, obviously , but I don’t think I want to have someone’s dick up my ass, pardon my French. That’s just not something I’ve ever considered. So what’s that?” “Wow, OMG, twinsies!” Marlene fake-squeals. “I also am not into dick-up-my ass. God, you have such a way with words.” “Can you not?” “Okay, Mr. Sensitive-” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. It sounds kind of gay. Maybe-” she says, not thinking he’ll take her up on it. “You should go on a date with one of each, and compare notes.” “No, but-Oh, that’s just it; you’re a genius, Marlene! Experimentation!” He claps his hands together with a sudden burst of energy. “Proving a hypothesis. How can I know, if I’ve never tried?”“Well, uh…Grindr is free.” Marlene jokes. What is happening?  “I have a better idea. Oh, thank you so much! I-love-you-you’re-the-best.” The words spill out from him in a rush as he gets to his feet. “Uh…don’t mention this to anyone yet, right? It’s still in beta testing.” “I don’t know who I would tell this to.” Marlene laughs, awkwardly. “I don’t even know how I would explain this.” “Right, exactly!” He stands up. “I should start working on it now, actually, d’you mind…?” He reminds her of her little brother in his enthusiasm, sometimes; she rolls her eyes. “You can leave if you need to,” she says, grinning. “Okay, thank you so much, Marlene!” James grips her hand, suddenly, fervently. “We really don’t tell you how awesome you are enough.” “No, you definitely do.” “Doesn’t matter,” he says, very gallantly. “We should still do it more. You are a fountain of good ideas.” And she rolls her eyes, trying to suppress the warm feeling the praise evokes in her. The day everything starts to unravel, she’s waiting for coffee, at the cafe, in between classes, and she’s already in a bit of a shit mood. Remus isn’t working, so she has to shell out full price for a macchiato with way too much milk, which is annoying, and the line is long, which is also annoying, and… Emmeline is there, arms crossed on the other side of the line, which is the worst of them all. Would it be too late to back out and pretend she didn’t see her? “Marlene?” calls the barista, a vaguely genderless person wearing a shapeless kilt. Right on cue, Emmeline looks up, and Marlene could kill the barista, for exposing her presence like this. She fakes a smile, grabs the drink, and is about to leave, when Emmeline comes over to grab a sugar packet, a mug of tea in her hand. “Sorry,” Marlene ducks under her arm, which Emmeline then moves down, sharply, catching her right behind the ear. “Ow, fuck, do you mind-”“Sorry.” Emmeline does not sound at all remorseful. “Oh, were you leaving? You seem like you’re in a real hurry. Not avoiding me, surely?” Marlene cringes, and she knows they are both remembering that time she and Sirius had run into Emmeline in the student union, a little after their breakup. Act natural, Sirius had instructed her, and she’d taken the coward’s way out and lingered a little too long behind an overgrown elephant’s ear. “That was so long ago. I’m better now. See?” She smiles, widely. “Totally normal. Do you want to grab a table, catch up?” “I’m actually okay-” Emmeline starts to say, but Marlene is not going to let her win this round. She can beat Emmeline at the politeness game, and she slides into the nearest booth, patting the seat across from her. “I really shouldn’t-” “Oh, come on…It’s not like you’re in a real hurry , right?” Emmeline sourly sits down. “So. How’s…uh, the thespian life treating you?” “You don’t care.” “Just making conversation.” She pauses. “How’s Peter, then?” Emmeline colors. “Peter? Your friend Peter? I don’t know. I haven’t seen him, today.” “Look at that blush, Em! You liiike him!” “Shut up.” Emmeline grumbles. “No, it’s cool, I support it.” she goes on, just to be annoying. “I think you would be good together.” “We’re just friends.” Emmeline continues, firmly. “And I don’t…He deserves better friends.” “Rude.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Not you.” Emmeline hurries to explain. “Not you. The other two…James Potter and Sirius Black.” She pronounces their names with something akin to disgust. “They push him around, a bit.” Marlene allows. “But they love him, really. It’s a guy thing. Those two are just…” Emmeline has never really liked her friends, even way back when they were together. She had found their jokes too quick and too often insulting, their laughter too loud. It doesn’t surprise Marlene, really, that they’re the ones she’d single out. (Although she is a little surprised Em knows their names.) “That James Potter, especially,” Emmeline goes on, furious. “He’s so…gross. I don’t know how Peter puts up with him.” Marlene raises an eyebrow. James, who once spent hours outside picking flowers so that Lily would have some for her room, is perhaps not the first person that comes to mind when she thinks of gross . “He’s okay, really, once you get to know him.” At this, Emmeline’s eyes flash, with anger. “How can you say that, after you told Peter about what he did?” “ What are you talking about?” “At the beginning of the year,” Emmeline says this like it’s some great point. “You told Peter that he was constantly pressuring Lily Evans into have sex with him, and that Sirius was encouraging it. That’s basically rape.” Marlene shakes her head, quickly. “No, I did not- What ?” “At some party you had in your apartment. Apparently Lily Evans had this huge meltdown and had to stay the night. Probably because she was scared he was going to try something.” “Okay, one, that’s not why that happened, and two-” She thinks back to that night, Peter and her giggling over the wine before everyone got there. She knows they’d talked about Lily, how on edge she’d seemed, but she doesn’t remember that. Shouldn’t she remember that, if it happened? Why had she gotten so drunk? “I think you’re confused. You weren’t even there.” “Well, Peter said they told him directly, after. Said they were laughing about it, in broad daylight, on the benches outside the FAB. Like it was funny, or normal. A plan to get him laid , they said. He thought it was disgusting.” “Look,” Marlene tries to say this calmly. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe he’s confused, or mad about something, but I really don’t think-” “You are so full of shit.” Emmeline spits. “Aren’t you supposed to be like, this feminist, believe-all-women lesbian, instead of fucking falling all over yourself to defend a man? Of course, right.” She laughs. “You are so performative . Look at what you and your new ‘girlfriend’ did to Mary-” At this, Marlene sees red. “Shut the fuck up.” she hisses. “I don’t remember you complaining about how creepy we all were when we were paying for you to flirt with Peter all night at the ski cabin. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Don’t I? Didn’t he flip the fuck out on you after Lily broke up with him?” Marlene shivers, reminded of James’ hand gripping the straps of her backpack, that afternoon everything had gone to shit. He’d been stronger than she’d remembered; Mary had to help pull her out of his grasp. You have to talk to me. You can’t ignore me forever. Before, she’d been so certain this was all Peter, venting frustrations to an all-too-enthusiastic partner. But this…she definitely hadn’t told Peter. It had been too horrible, too strange, too not-James, and she hadn’t even been sure he would have believed her, since James was so James most of the time. How Emmeline had come to know this, she’s not at all sure, but she knows she’s not going to let Emmeline see her waver. “Peter’s not as much of a feminist activist as he thinks he is. He can be just as bad as the rest of them, believe me.” “See, this is the problem with you guys! You gang up against him for being honest instead of actually airing out all the shit you talk behind each other’s backs!” Emmeline lowers her voice, noticing the people around them starting to stare. “He should drop all of you.” “Emmeline-Wait-” She wants to make her stay, to convince her that’s she’s wrong, but Emmeline, leaving her tea half-finished, stands up and flees the coffee shop, like she can’t stand to be near Marlene anymore. 
Mary and Marlene's apartment, the beginning of the semester

“Tell me a secret,” Peter says, mock-serious, before passing the wine back to her. They’re curled up on her bed, while Lily finishes dinner, and they’re already quite tipsy, having sent Dorcas an incoherent voice note and bought Peter a fifty-dollar “man purse” online.

“Let’s see,” Marlene sing-songs. “I have six toes on my right foot-”

“Not true.”

“They kicked me out of church choir in elementary school for always trying to sing the high harmony-”

“I believe that one.”

“And…uh, James and Lily, like, never fuck. No, it’s true!” She giggles. “It’s why Lily’s so tightly wound.”

“To be fair,” Peter says, after finishing his drink. “James is super horny.”

“He can be kind of weird about it, too.” Marlene confides.

“Like, weird how?”

“Oh, you know. It’s like he kind of comes on too strong. He’ll like, put candles on and shitty RnB when she thinks they’re just hanging out. Or he’ll go too far. Like he grabbed her butt in a HomeGoods once. She had to like, smack his hand away. It’s like…There’s a time and a place.” Peter’s eyes go wide. “Uh…no telling James. You did not hear that from me.”

Peter looks concerned. “Oh, it wasn’t a big deal!” Marlene quickly explains, before he can start lecturing her on the ethics of consent. “I mean, it was just a one-off. I don’t think either of them would be mad about it; it’s just a bit embarrassing. I just…I don’t get why sex has to be such a production for people. But Lily’s very particular, and James is….well, you know.”

“He was into her in high school.” Peter’s thoughtful.

“You’d think he’d be a little better at reading her, then. Lily’s intense. She’s not like me; I’ll take my clothes off for anything.”

“Maybe he’s a bit tired of always being the one who has to make the first move.”

“Peter Alan Pettigrew. You did not just say something sexist.”

“I didn’t mean it in a sexist way!” Peter lowers his voice. “It’s just like…You know, you see them together. You can tell he loves her so much, and sometimes…it’s uncomfortable because it seems like she just tolerates it. Maybe he wants her to be a little more proactive with the physical stuff. What?” He looks at Marlene, accusing. “I’m just saying.”

“That is such a fucking MAN way to look at it, though! There are more ways of showing affection than just fucking like rabbits 24/7. Lily’s just shy.”

“Lily? Shy? Yeah, right.” He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, who’s side are you taking in the divorce, Lily or James’?”

“Peter!” She smacks him.

“Ow! I was just kidding!”

“Yeah, I was too.” she says sourly. “Nobody’s side. Nothing’s going to happen. It’s James and Lily. They’ll be together forever.”

“But you just said-”

“It’s a rough patch, okay? People have them all the time. I guess. I suppose I’ve never stayed with anyone long enough to get to the rough part. Anyway-” She crosses her arms. “That was kind of bitchy. I shouldn’t have said all that. It’s just annoying to hear about, when you’re so single,  you know?”

“It wasn’t bitchy.” Peter rubs her hand, sincerely. “You’re allowed to complain. They both can be a little-”

“Bossy? Shortsighted? Self-centered?” They both laugh. “They’ll figure it out,” Marlene repeats. “They always do.” 
 It’s this conversation she relates to Dorcas, when they’re back in Dorcas’ room, lying end-to-end on her bed. She can’t bring herself to tell her girlfriend about the really bad part, about James and Mary and her that terrible afternoon; a mess which is still too tangled for her to make sense of. “That’s the only thing I can think of even saying about James that was bad , to Peter. And it wasn’t even like, bad-bad. And I didn’t say he was a…Some kind of pervert, because he’s not!” “Depends,” Dorcas is knitting something colorful, that looks like a handkerchief at the moment. “Is Emmeline the kind of person who would lie to you for attention?” “Not to my knowledge, no.” And when Dorcas gives her a flat look, “That ship has sailed, in like, every conceivable way. You are not allowed to be jealous, because that’s stupid.” “Mm-mm. I’ll be the judge of whether or not I get to be jealous. Emmeline .” She snorts. “So she just, came up to you all casual, and told you all this?” “No, we were talking, and I was trying to get her to admit she’s head-over-heels for Peter, and then she starts talking about how they’re just friends, and how Peter’s friends are bad people. Specifically James and Sirius. It was weird. It got, like, very intense there, at the end. Like she was accusing me of being just as bad, for knowing them.” “Hang on,” Dorcas looks up from her knitting. “Didn’t Lily say James and Sirius have a bit of a falling-out with Peter? Maybe he’s just venting, and she misunderstood.” “That’s what I thought, but I could have sworn he was hanging out with Peter the other day, James was. If he’s so angry at all of them, it doesn’t make sense to be grabbing lunch with James.” “So maybe just Sirius, then.”“Oh, those two never really got along, but it’s James she mentioned, specifically. And Peter and James, at least, I always thought were close.” Marlene closes her eyes. “Ugh, I think she even said it was rape . God, I have such a big mouth.” “Well, you didn’t call it that, though, did you?” “No! It was uncomfortable, and kind of crossing a line, for Lily, but he wasn’t like, threatening to kill himself if she didn’t suck his dick or something. It was disappointing, because I like, forget our friends are guys sometimes, and then they go and do weird shit like that, but it wasn’t like, evil.” “Okay. And you have no idea why he’d lie about something like that?” “No, that’s the thing. Peter takes being a good guy pretty seriously. Maybe it was my tone? Like maybe I seemed more annoyed than I actually was?” “Babe…” Dorcas looks around. “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m pretty certain this is not on you. Either they’re lying, which would be pretty fucked-up of them, or they’re telling the truth, which would also be pretty fucked-up.” “I don’t get why I have to be part of this, even-” She sits up. “She said something else. Said Peter got told directly by Sirius and James that they were like, scheming about how to get Lily to put out. On the benches outside the Fine Arts Building, she said. And I thought that was a weird detail because there aren’t really benches outside the FAB, not that I can recall.”“Wait-” Dorcas lights up. “Are you sure?” “Yeah. There’s like, the steps, but nobody sits outside the FAB. They sit on the lawn or something-” “We should check.” Dorcas says, “Tomorrow. I’ll swing by your campus and we can look. Detective this shit out.” “Should I tell James, what they’re saying?” Marlene asks, seized by a sudden wave of guilt. “Is it even ethical to tell James, in case he really-”“We should make sure that Peter’s lying about all of it first, right? In case.” She softens. “Look, I know he’s your friend and all, but you’re not sure yourself, right?” “No. And he was being…weird at the beginning of the year, especially, but Dorcas-” She sighs. “I really think he’s figured his shit out. Like, I’m sure. I just-I have this gut feeling that something is off.” “With Emmeline?” “No, with-” Lord, let me be wrong about this. She clears her throat. “Promise me you’ll help me figure it out. And you won’t tell anyone.” “Of course.” Dorcas kisses her, above the temple, and she feels her anxiety fade into a distant hum in the background. “Anything for you.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Remember when I was sweet, and unexplainable?

Nothing like this person, unloveable

I just want back in your head (I just want back in your head)

I’m not unfaithful, but I’ll stray

- Tegan and Sara

Sirius tries everything- the piling of dishes in the sink, leaving coffee grounds on the kitchen counter, accidentally-on-purpose dripping water onto the floor, all things he has done before in order to draw Remus back in. It usually works, but now, he has a sneaking suspicion that even if he were to do something

really

disgusting, like leave cigarette butts in the bathroom drain, Remus would be unmoved, just step around it and go on with his day. They make a habit of not running into each other, now, and when they do, it’s perfectly, horribly cordial, the air so thick and heavy with the not-talking-about-it he could choke. When Remus looks at him now, and he looks back, it’s as if he’s seen a ghost, or a stranger. In the larger group, now, they communicate past each other, putting on just enough civility to not arouse some well-meaning do-gooder fence-mending (probably courtesy of James or Marlene), and take different routes home.

It had not been like this, at first. It had been…well, it had been overly ambitious, he’s come to realize, for him to expect their friendship to return to exactly the way it had been before. But it had been an easy, companiable sort of different, made up of jokes after accidentally walking in on Remus mid-shower (“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he’d said, bemusedly, before they’d both started laughing.), and shared eye-rolls after James started telling them this very involved story about two of his residents who lived together and were in a sexual relationship and if only they had thought this through (“He just made that up.” Sirius had told Remus, under his breath. “I would put money on it. What, does he think we don’t have common sense?”) and freewheeling, more frequent discussions about sex, wherein Remus would sigh in perfect imitation of Sirius, “

Virgins

.”

You see?

he had felt like shouting, to all of his friends,

I didn’t break him; he’s fine. He might even be better now, and people have sex with their friends all the time; this isn’t the nineteen-fifties.

But once in a while, he’d catch Remus watching him, out of the corner of his eye, and his expression would be so intense, like he was waiting for something from him, it was all he could do to not call his bluff, to pin him up against a door until he explained what, exactly, the

something

was. It was maddening. Sex was supposed to make people

less

complicated, not more. But he’d gotten a distinct impression that Remus was done trying to make himself easily understood, after he’d rather unceremoniously closed that door behind them. Which was fine, Sirius reasoned. He was entitled to be a bit colder, if he wanted to be. Sirius, overly panicked at the situation he had found himself in, had not been gentle about it, or explained himself much. And the look on James’ face, on Marlene’s-

He’s autistic.

And then later-

I’d say both of you are spectacularly fucked.

He had tried, later, to bring the last part up to Remus (The

autistic

part nagged at him, too, but he wasn’t sure how to bring it up without sounding horrifically offensive). “Do you think it might have not been terrible? If we’d…?”

Remus had frozen. “What do you mean?”

“You know.” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Us. If we’d given it a real chance.”

“Maybe.” Remus had turned a page. “Maybe not.”

“It’s not you.”

Lie.

“I mean, it wasn’t it about you, that I-said what I said. You know that, right? That it wasn’t because of you.”

“Right.” Remus had shut the book. “It’s kind of hard to see it that way, when you’re on the other side of it.”

He’d winced. “That’s fair. Okay.” He had wanted the anger, at first, but now, he knew for a fact it would break him.

Don’t hate me. You are not allowed to hate me.

“You’re right. It’s like…James told me that you’d had…feelings for me for a long time.”

“Oh.” Remus had folded his hands together. “Well, uh…” He’d laughed, uncomfortably. “That’s me, figured out, then.”

“And he said, you’d just agree to…however I chose to…navigate what happened, because of those…feelings. So I didn’t want to…take advantage of that. That’s all it was. Not that you’re not someone that I-”

“Sirius.” He’d looked up, and their eyes had met. “It’s fine.”

“Okay.” he’d said, a little uncertainly. “See? It’s not even that weird. It doesn’t have to mean something. All you have to do is talk about it. I don’t get why they all think it has to be such a big deal.”

“Ha. Sure.” Had he known then, what he was going to do?  Had he already planned exposing their drunken tryst on a stage, for the amusement of everyone they’d ever been in a class with? He must have, Sirius had realized. Maybe he’d started writing it, in his head, that very evening. He’ll never forget the shock, like ice water, of hearing that familiar voice, usually so serious, so patient, biting with bitter wit. He’d laughed at himself, a little, at first-Sirius had caught the beginnings of a chuckle, at first, but by the end, it was sharp-edged and toothy.

Just tell me the truth.

They’d locked eyes at that part, and he’d never wanted to hurt someone more. The whole idea…it was so cowardly, such a stab in the back, so passive-aggressive. Remus hadn’t even been angry, before, and now he was suddenly making himself out to be the aggrieved party. Worse, he would win every battle of public opinion , because everyone always feels worse for the person rejected than they do for the person doing the rejecting. It wouldn’t

matter

, that Sirius was trying to be selfless and logical and methodical, that he was trying to rise above all of the things that everyone thinks make him so shitty. All everyone would see was another time he was a slave to impulse and regretted it.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Remus had told him, later that night, when he finally made it back to the apartment. “I wouldn’t have, if I’d known- It was supposed to be funny.”

“You are such a goddamn liar.” he snapped. “What part of that was I supposed to find funny? The part where you made me out like I’m some asshole with commitment issues? Hilarious.”

“They seemed to like it okay.” Remus had rolled his eyes. “And I didn’t think it was supposed to be a big deal. It didn’t mean anything, remember?”

“Then why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not. It’s a bit. Good comedy is more about the emotional truth, than what actually happened.”

“Good comedy?” Sirius laughed. “The actual fuck do you know about comedy?”

“What do you know about what I know?”

“Don’t bullshit me. You meant every word.” They were eye-to-eye now; Remus leaning back against the fridge, Sirius gripping one of the dining room chairs. If he needed to, he remembers thinking, he could always throw it, run out the door, grab his keys-

“You’re right,” Remus had admitted. “I did. I meant all of it.”

“Why didn’t you just say something, then?” Sirius had said, quietly. “Instead of doing all that?”

“Because you didn’t let me!” Remus’ hand hit the table with a sharp crack, and he had felt himself flinch, involuntarily. “You never have. For fuck’s sake, you gave me everything I wanted, for five minutes, and then you took it all away, and I have to be okay with that? I have to forgive, and forgive, and forgive, because you can’t sit with being in the wrong for once.”

“But you said you were okay with it. That it didn’t have to mean something. You have to be honest with me. How was I supposed to know what you were thinking?”

“No. My God, do you ever listen? That was

you.

You said that, and you didn’t give me a chance to disagree. It was all about

your

feelings, and what you wanted, and what you and James and whoever else-” He laughs, bitterly. “decided was the right way to deal with me, instead of

talking to me about it

. Because you think I’m too tragic and innocent to know my own mind about anything. Well, I’m not going to let you get away with it, like always.” He straightened up. “You made me trust you, and then you broke my heart. And you are going to have to live with that, the same way you would with anyone

normal

. How’s that for fucking honesty? Are you gonna call me a liar again?”

“Remus-” He did not know where this was going. He only knew he was out of practice, spoiled, by being in the presence of people who do not think he is evil to his core, and that if Remus decided to cross over to the other side, something fundamental would snap in him. “What do you want me to say?”

There was something pleading in his eyes. It was painful. “You could apologize, for one.”

“Apologize?

Apologize

? The fuck-” He took in a deep breath. “I did it for you! You were a mess, afterwards. All awkward, like I was holding you hostage-” Remus cringed, suddenly seeming smaller than normal. “And you would look at me, like-You’re not for me, okay? I know that now. You think you want me, but you don’t. Not really. There’s people out there, nice people, people who know what they’re doing-”

“How long?” Remus asked then. “How long did you know how I felt?”

“I suspected,” Sirius confessed. “But I didn’t want to say-”

“So you led me on because you pitied me.”

“I thought you seemed lonely.”

“How could I be, with all those

nice people

who want me?” He had curled his lip, ironically. “Even now, you’re still doing it. The patronizing thing. God, I-” He breaks off, turning around. “This is humiliating.”

“I don’t mean it like that!” He put a hand on Remus’ shoulder, which is shaking, under his fingers. “It’s like…In the future, when I think about you, and what you’ll be doing, I see you with a picture of your family on your desk. And when I think about me, I don’t think there would be a family. Or even a desk. Some days, I’m not even sure there’d be-Ah, nevermind. The point is…I might seem like a good idea, right now. But ideas are just ideas. You’re real. I want you to find someone real.”

Remus was quiet for a bit, and then he said, muffled, but quite deliberately. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

Sirius withdrew his hand quickly. “Sorry. You know I…feel bad about it, right?” He hadn’t replied, just stayed, stone-still, eyes locked on the fridge, until eventually Sirius had to slink out of the room. That part had been the worst, but at least they had been talking, before then. Now, it’s quiet, all the time, in that oppressive, awful way, and he doesn’t know how to make it better.

Remus isolates himself in his room, closing and locking the door. He knows because he can hear the lock click, with a definitive finality. To cope, Sirius spends more time on campus than he ever can remember; he falls asleep, more nights than he’d like, in the easy chairs in the soporific top floor of the library. On weekend nights, he’s roused by unamused student workers. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” the girl with the nose piercing tells him grimly, the third time it happens.

“Shouldn’t put these chairs so close to the heater, then,” he jokes, but she just fixes him with a flat stare, which he takes as a sign to leave. The stupid thing is that wouldn’t even be here, if James could find it in his heart to go back to being normal. He’s

very strongly hinted

that he maybe desperately could use a place to stay (James’ floor?), and given James’ track record with rescuing him from dubious living situations, he figured that it was a doable request. But now, every time he brings it up, James will (and he’s not imagining it; it’s not some kind of paranoid thing) kind of recoil.

“I mean, it’s not that bad, is it? It’s just Remus. I feel like you can work it out.”

“I don’t think there’s a

just Remus

anymore.” Sirius tries again. “He

hates

me, James. And before you say it-Not in the gay-sexual-tension, will-they-won’t-they way, but in the I’m-going-to-find-you-guilty-in-a-court-of-law way. Not that I blame him, but-”

James looks pained. “Look, you know I would, but I’m hosting prospective students. Can’t you ask the girls?”

“I don’t

want

to ask-Do the prospies really need your room? Shouldn’t they have already decided? It’s April.”

“Right, yeah.” James looks up, and back down just as quickly. “It’s for some sort of special scholarship thing. Otherwise, you know I would-”

“Yeah.” Sirius had said, but something about the timing of it, the way he said it, felt strange. There was something about it, where, if he didn’t know any better, he would think that James was lying. The problem was, it didn’t have any of James’ normal tells, the nervous laughter, the restless fidgeting. And he didn’t know why James would lie, not really. So it was just altogether very weird, very unlike James. But James has been very unlike-James, since the whole Peter situation. He spends a lot of time reading actual, physical books now, and he’s always holed up in his room. Sirius keeps tabs on him (and everyone else) on Spotify, and he’s been listening, on the regular, to a playlist called “blue mondays” made by a user with sixteen followers called r360107, which is very, like, Fiona Apple heavy. Not the sort of thing he would imagine James selecting for himself. He’d pondered this for a while, before coming to the conclusion that James has finally followed in their footsteps and embroiled himself in some sort of stickily messy and embarrassing situationship. Which would explain his strange vehemence, against the Remus incident and Sirius’ part in it, and would also explain his current caginess (“I just don’t get it,” James has been known to whine, after too many complaints about uncommitted or uninterested sexual partners. “Why can’t you be with someone you like that likes you, for real?”) about everything. He can tell that James expects him to pry, like normal, but he is feeling a bit petty, after everything. It does not seem exactly

fair

, to pass judgment on someone who is just as confused as you are. As a result, he does not feel like being too attentive to whatever new girl crisis James has manufactured for himself, but he does think he reserves the right to be properly annoyed, since it’s ruining his airtight escape plans.

After much tossing and turning, and a night where he could feel Remus’ eyes boring into the back of his head, he decides to unbend his pride and beg Mary for her couch. Yes, they’ve had it out, but he and Mary’ve had it out in countless configurations. It’s unlikely that this time would be a dealbreaker, and he’ll just seem pathetic enough that she’ll soften, and it’ll work. It has to, or he’s literally going to go fucking insane. So after considerable effort, he’s able to corner her outside the art studios. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, lying uncomfortably tight across her scalp, and there are heavy shadows under her eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“Peter’s. His roommate stole a pizza from some prospective student event. What?” she says, when he makes a gagging noise. “

I

still like him, even if you don’t.”

“I never really did.” It’s the truth, and they all know it, but it’s easier to admit to Mary than James or Remus.

“If it helps,” Mary says, acridly, “I don’t think he particularly liked you either. Funny how treating people like they’re idiots doesn’t make them warm to you.” He winces at that, knowing she’s still thinking about that night, in the rain, outside the stupid fucking comedy show.

“Because you don’t stand up for yourself!” he shouted, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes, and throwing her shoulders back.

“I didn’t ask for you to defend me!”

“So you’d rather he gets away with it?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be this thing that you use to justify being mad about stuff with. I’m not signing off on whatever outrage train you need to feel good about yourself.”

“That is such a fucking goddamn Ayn Rand-ian thing to say! Did it ever occur to you that I might actually want to help you for non-selfish reasons? That it’s an actual travesty that some guy like that has zero consequences for his actions? That it might happen again, to somebody else, someone who doesn’t have friends like us-”

“You are not going to make that my responsibility. No, shut up-” She cut him off. “Stop trying to make me out like I’m some evil monster because I don’t want to do it.”

“Why not? What do you gain by not reporting it?”

“Nothing. But I lose if I do. And I’m sick of fucking losing. I don’t want to have to sit there, with six guys all falling over themselves to say how I didn’t deserve it, and then asking the most dumb-ass questions about what I was wearing and did I say no enough times, only for them all to do nothing in the end. And I don’t know. I did fuck up. I was stupid and drunk, and I was only doing it ‘cause I was jealous.”

“That doesn’t give somebody the right to take advantage of you.”

“I’m not doing this with you anymore.”

“You’re making a mistake.” She ignored him, walking away. “Are you really going to walk away from me right now, when I’m trying to talk to you?”

“Yeah. I am. What?” she had spat, spinning around. “What are you gonna do, Almighty Male Feminist? Forgot that no means no?”

“You’re being an asshole. I’m only trying to help-”

“And I told you, for the last goddamn time, I don’t want your help.”

“I’m sorry. Again. I was just…I got so angry.”

“You do that a lot. Get so angry you get mean. I never liked that about you.” She pauses, meaningfully. “I don’t think Remus likes it much, either.”

“Yeah, well.” He sighs. “You can save your breath. We’re not-”

“Oh, why not?” She pouts. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly anti-roommate-fucking.” She wiggles an eyebrow suggestively. “I was just thrilled that there was somebody else on my team. I think James and Lily think it’s inappropriate.”

“I think James and Lily are right.” he says, flatly. “Which…speaking of, you and

Marlene

? When were you going to say something about that?”

“More or less never? It wasn’t ever a

thing

thing. Definitely not anymore.”

“Ah. Dorcas disapproves?”

“Not exactly. I’d rather not talk about it more, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah…um, that’s fine.” They’re quiet for a bit, but then he can’t stand it. “Was it awkward?” he asks. “With you two, when it first happened?”

“You said you weren’t going to-”

“Right, sorry.”

She studies him, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “You really want to know?”

“Well. Yes.”

Mary has plucked one of the new leaves from the trees near the parking lot, and is twisting it between her fingers. He thinks she may not have heard him, but then she sighs. “No. Not really. Honestly, it was pretty much exactly like it was before. But Marlene made it easy. She’s good like that. You?”

“It was God-awful. Not the sex, obviously. But the after-” He shudders. “I would look over at him, and he woud just be looking at me like…I don’t even know how to describe it. And that would make me like, say nonsense to him, and I felt like a huge moron, and he was like celebrating our love story or some shit with his fucking mom, who he just loves so goddamn much-”

“Because he loves you.”

He scoffs. “He does not

love me

.”

“Okay. Sure.”

“I mean, maybe he thinks he loves me, or something, but…I’m not trying to be mean, I swear-how would he know? It’s not exactly like he’s got a lot to compare me with. And then he was like, telling me all this stuff, and acting like I was doing him some huge favor for just, you know. Which is not me. I’m not…nice. Or easy to get along with, or thoughtful, or, you know. You can’t bring me home to your

parents

or something.”

“

I

did.”

“Yeah, but that’s…You were just being nice.”

“Nah. If you’re not nice, I’m not nice either.” She grins, embarrassed. “I only did it ‘cause my friends back home thought I was making you up. Had to prove you were real.”

“What were you even saying about me?”

“You know.” She nudges him, with her toe. “The normal stuff. That you were pretty and tall and funny without trying to be. That you would be sweet when no one was watching. That you were more intense than you let on at first, and how easily you pulled people into your orbit.” She pauses. “That I loved you.”

“Mary…”

“They thought it was weird, since I never said that before about anybody.”

“But…You never told me that.” He’s reeling, suddenly. “I mean…we fought all the time, about everything. You broke up with

me

. How was I supposed to know?”

She laughs. “It’s not a big deal, baby. That was

years

ago.”

“Still. You could have said something.”

“Yeah. I guess…” She fidgets. “I guess I knew it would have been hard for you. You would have made a joke out of it, or gotten weird and distant, and you definitely wouldn’t have said it back.”

“No, I would have.” She crosses her arms. “Okay, I wouldn’t have. But not because I didn’t want to. It’s just hard for me. I’m not good about that stuff. You didn’t need to break up with me about it.”

“Yeah. It was so dumb. I think I thought, at the time, if I broke up with you, you’d realize how shitty you had been. That you’d fall all over yourself trying to get me back.”

“Mary…

what

? All due respect…That is insane.”

“Hey, shut up! I know that now. I was just super hung up on you for a while. It didn’t make for like, the most rational of decision-making.” She shifts, her tone suddenly bitter. “You didn’t care about me the way I cared about you, and it took me way too long to figure that out.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“

Sirius

. Please.” And so he thinks about it; he really does. It’s hard. He doesn’t exactly remember getting together with Mary, or becoming friends with her, but it surely must have been because James and Lily were dating then, right? He knows he had been surprised that she was actually interested in him, because it had been hard for him to tell when she was joking or not. He remembers being flattered by that interest, enjoying her company, but he can also remember wishing she would give him some space, feeling half like a piece of furniture or an accessory when she was around. Bristling whenever she would tease him for being rich (and naive, and too idealistic, and impractical, which she seemed to believe came with the territory). Hiding from her too-friendly, perfect family. Getting irritated with her when she would drop not-so-subtle hints that he should be more like James- show up places on time, be spontaneously romantic, constantly anticipate her needs and moods and feelings. He had been sad, and blindsided, whe she ended things eventually, but he had also felt a sense of relief, at not having to stuff himself into the slot in her life she’d carved out for a boyfriend.

“I think I know what you mean,” he confesses. “About caring. But it’s not like I didn’t care, you know? I just don’t think I’ve ever been…all in, like that, though. With anyone.”

“Anyone? What about James?”

“He doesn’t count. It’s impossible not to love James. Wait-” He has to make sure, just in case. “This isn’t a way for you to tell me you still have feelings for me, right? Because I love you, I really do, but not like that-”

“Baby,

no

.” She lets out a little laugh. “Way off. Lily, remember?” It’s the first time she’s mentioned it, for real, with the two of them. It surprises them, both. “Although it is nice to know you love me. Maybe you’re not completely emotionally hopeless after all.”

“Yeah, I did say it, right?” He brightens. “Do you think I’ll get better?”

“Better at…”

“You know.” He gestures, expansively. “Feelings. Impulse control. Egomania. The kind of things that lead you to deflower your roommate.”

“Gross,” Mary says. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“What kind of an answer of is maybe?”

“You have to want to, you know. And I-” she looks up. “I never got the impression you wanted to. I thought you liked…having a persona.”

“I do not have a

persona

.”

“Okay. Whatever.” She raises her hands in surrender.

“Well, the way you say it makes it sound like you think I’m fake.”

“I mean, we all are, to some degree, right? I don’t think you’re more than most people.”

“

Thanks

.”

“Don’t be a bitch about it. You know what I mean. You like having a little bit of a reputation. So do I.  Nothing’s wrong with that. But sometimes-” She pauses. “It just sucks when people expect you to act a certain way, because of what they’ve decided you’re like. You can’t really get away from that.

That’s

why I don’t want to do the whole reporting thing, you know? Because people already made up their mind about me. Because I’m the like, dumb slut who asked for it.”

“Yeah, but who thinks that? I don’t think that.”

Mary sighs. “It’s not so much that it’s our friends, and they certainly wouldn’t say it, but…” She pauses, lost in thought. “Sometimes, I don’t think I’m cut out for other people, you know?”

“Like you poison the water.” he says without thinking. “Not that you-Just, I know what you mean. But you know, you have friends, outside of here. So many people love you.”

The only person who would ever choose me is James, and maybe not even anymore.

She kicks at a rock. “Sure. But they’re all getting married and going to big public schools and getting degrees in practical shit like

accounting

because that’s what their parents told them to do. They think I’m like,

sooo crazy

for…not doing that. If I have to hear one more crack about how I’m throwing my life away to look at pretty pictures, or how I’m going to be some kind of starving artist, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.” She straightens up. “The math-and-science chauvinism isn’t exclusive to you guys.”

“

Chauvinism

? The fuck-If this is about Peter-”

“How do you think I’d feel if you guys were debating about whether or not I deserve to get a degree?”

“I wouldn’t ever say that about you, though. You do.”

“You don’t even care about any of that!” She lowers her voice. “You don’t. You just wanted to humiliate him, because you felt like it.”

“

Humiliate

is a strong word.”

“It’s shitty to play devil’s advocate just to get a reaction.”

“Exactly. A

reaction

. It was so disproportionate to the situation at hand.” She sighs, and he continues. “While I have you…”

Mary sends him a pitying look. “No, I am not going to let you sleep on our couch because James has a new secret girlfriend.”

“You didn’t even know if that was what I was going to ask.”

“Was that what you were going to ask?”

“Possibly.”

“In the nicest way possible,” Mary says, in the way that means she’s going to say something absolutely devastating. “I think I need a breather from all the broken white boys.”

“

White

boys? That’s just cruel. It’s agony, Mary.”

“You want to help me?”

“Yes, of course.”

She cocks her head to the side, grinning, brilliantly, and for a brief moment he thinks she might soften. “Deal with this one yourself.”

“Are you sure you want to stay on for another year?” Alice peers over her glasses as he passes her the paperwork across the desk. “Most people quit after one.”

“Yeah, well.” He flashes her a smile. “I am not most people.” The whole thing with helpline is Alice’s brainchild, a labor of love and sweat and hours and tears. She’s the one responsible for their training, for keeping the call line operating, a job she’s held since she invented the service, her sophomore year. It’s sheer devotion, an impressive feat of time management. He doesn’t know how she manages it, but Alice has always been one to make everything look effortless.

She laughs. “I know! Still…thank you. It’s not exactly super fun, and you get paid dick. We’re trying to give out raises but still, you know….”

“

Alice

. You know I am perfectly fine. Even if it was volunteering…there’s no place I’d rather be. Where else would someone call me an ‘ableist twat’ because I suggested exploring medication?” They both laugh, in that gallows-kind of way. It feels like a losing battle, sometimes, considering how many people they see, especially on the weekend. The forms, ancient intake assessments Alice made copies of from the clinic she interned at last summer, are an imperfect device, more data collection than faithful recording. He can see the cramped lines of script, her spiraling scrawl overlapping with his smaller, much neater hand, where they’ve tried to fit all the details into the boxes. In addition to all her work, she takes time every week to retype all the cases into a password-protected spreadsheet. It’s the sort of thing that makes him feel slightly guilty, because compared to her, he’s hardly what anyone would call

hard-working.

“You deserve a raise, though.” She pauses. “I see you here more days than not.”

“What?” he lies. “No, you don’t.”

“You know,” she says, tone uncharacteristically stern. “it’s possible to get burnt out on the phone.”

“Yeah, maybe for other people. All the people who quit after a year.”

“I recommended you, you know.” She twists the silver chain she wears around her neck in circles over  her wrist. “To take over, after I graduate.”

“Oh.” He looks up, suddenly feeling awkward. “Wasn’t there anyone else?”

“I didn’t want anyone else. What?” She looks up. “You have the hours, the experience, and you like it, right?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m getting better at it.” He looks up. “I don’t know. It’s the one thing I do with my time where I think,

I get to really be proud of myself.

Not because I was born with it, or someone taught me-it comes from

me

, you know?” He cringes, as the words leave his mouth. “God, I sound like an egomaniac. Like,

let me make your mental health crisis about how cool I am.

”

“I don’t know.” Alice smiles, faintly. “It’s the one thing I see you do where I feel like you seem-”

“Responsible?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s all an act.”

“I was going to say

collected

.”

“Oh.” He considers. “Well, James freaks out when other people freak out. It kind of makes me…weirdly calm?” Regulus does too; he’d read in a book it was called

emotional contagion

once, which his brother had not appreciated.

“So that’s why.” she finishes. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“Literally anything.”

“That you’ll take a break if you need to.”

“I won’t need to.”

“But if you do-”

“If I do,” he says, irritated, “I’ll let you know. Do you want some help with the spreadsheet?”

She looks heartened. “Oh,

would you

? I can’t read my own handwriting; it’s becoming a problem.”

“Of course. Come on, you don’t even have to ask.”

Alice ruffles his hair. “You’re such a gentleman.”

He rolls his eyes, trying not to feel too pleased with himself. “You know me.”

It’s Regulus he’s reminded of, later; Regulus, when he’d come back from Andromeda's. Everyone else was asleep (apparently, their parents sleep like the dead, which suited Sirius just fine), but Regulus had been up and doing that annoying thing he would do, linger in the doorway of Sirius’ room instead of leaving, like he was waiting to be dismissed. Sirius recognized, with some guilt, it was a habit picked up from too much time spent with their mother, who disliked eyes averted from her. That still didn’t mean he couldn’t find it annoying, but he wasn’t going to bring it up, in case Regulus got self-conscious about it. Once he’d made the mistake of making fun of the way Regulus picked at his cuticles, and Regulus had worn gloves for the rest of the year.

“Nice of you and James,” he’d ventured. “To tell me about Andromeda.”

Regulus had scoffed. “I didn’t do it to be nice.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“It’s fair. We’re even now.” Regulus had bit his lip. “I know I can be...difficult, sometimes-”

“Wow, an apology!”

“Shut up. It was supposed to be a birthday present, but then I-”

“Was a massive fucking dick for no reason whatsoever? I remember.”

“God, you’re not ever going to let that go, are you?”

“Mm. No. What was the present, even?”

Regulus had smiled, secretive. “You really don’t know?”

“Not really. I know it was a book…” The recognition had come to him suddenly. “

Collected Charles Dickens

? That’s clever.”

At this, Regulus had preened, while trying not to look too smug. “Remember our secret language?”

“A little.” They’d been punished for something, which had likely been Sirius’ fault, and had been separated. He’d stolen the book from their father’s study; it’s not like he would miss it. They’d passed the book back and forth, between their rooms, leaving tiny coded notes in the margins. It had been his idea; Regulus had refined it, erasing the evidence painstakingly. He’d been good about secrecy, even then.

“I put the address in it. Took

forever

to explain to James. He’s awfully literal.” Regulus had shaken his head. “Nice, right? I thought I’d give it to you…if you ever wanted to see me again.”

“Regulus, honestly. Family, remember?”

“Ma’s family, too.” It’s the name for her, so unlike the prim

Mummy

, that made him sit up. “I wouldn’t have blamed you, if you had.”

“Yeah, you would.” Sirius had rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I would have, but you could have…I don’t know. When you left, and you asked me to come with you-”

“And you said no.”

“I didn’t say

no.

” Regulus corrected him, pedantically. “I said that it was a bad idea and that it would likely ruin our lives. But I didn’t say no.”

“Fine, whatever. You didn’t say yes, either.”

“She needed me.” Seeing the incredulous look on Sirius’ face, he’d crossed his arms, defensive. “What? She did. You two didn’t ever get along, and God knows what the thing is with Dad-”

“Yeah, you’re such a martyr, I know.”

“You said you were never going to talk to me again.”

“I was sixteen. I said a lot of shit I didn’t mean.”

“Well, I believed it. So my expectations weren’t high. But you…I don’t know. It feels more normal, now. I can tell you tried, with me. Even when I didn’t. So I owed you, I thought.”

“I mean, technically, you don’t owe me anything. You’re my brother.”

“Yeah, but…I don’t know. I don’t remember you being nice to me, a lot.”

“Well, I was a teenager. I wasn’t nice to anyone.”

“Yeah, but you were really not nice to me. It was like…something snapped in you, and you couldn’t wait to get away from me.”

“That’s funny, because…” He had shaken his head. “I remember it the other way around.” Regulus withdrawing, getting cold and distant any time he suggested doing any of the things they used to think were fun. Looking down his nose at him, disapproving.

Don’t you have better things to do?

And later, when everything at the house started to get much, much worse, the revulsion, the almost-disappointment,  the horror in his eyes.

Look at what you did.

“Yeah, well.” Regulus let out a bitter laugh. “I was a teenager.” And they’d glared at each other, then, each lost in a different resentful memory. James would have said something maddeningly rational, like about how it’s possible there was truth in both of their recollections of the past, but all Sirius could think of was Regulus as he was back then. Frightened, but also desperate for approval in a way that bordered on the pathological. Eager to prove he could make up the difference, that he would not disappoint. The neediness was something he could smell off of him, each wild-eyed stare a frantic bid.

See me. Love me.

It had been unbearable, to see him reduced to such a spineless thing. He had become, all in the span of a few years, more enemy than infrequent ally. There is something more sure in him now, something more likeable, less pitiable, but sometimes the grasping

want

, not unlike what he’d seen in Peter, comes through, and he feels as though he could kill his brother, for being so obviously weak, so embarrassingly easy to read. He was trying hard in that moment, to not feel that easy rage, but it was reflected back at him through Regulus’ accusing eyes.

“We’re not teenagers, now.” he ended up saying.

“We’re sure as hell not adults yet.” Regulus had snorted.

“Maybe not.” Sirius has never once felt like an

adult

. “But I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Teenage me definitely didn’t.”

“Teenage you was counting on that, I’m sure.” There it had been again, that

love me love me

. He would not give into it.

“Who cares about what teenage me was thinking? Little idiot.” He’d been quiet. “You can’t punish me for that. I’m not the same person I was back then. Neither are you, for that matter.”

“Me?” Regulus had laughed. “I’m always the same. You’re twelve different people, in a day. I could never keep up.”

“Bullshit. You’re different, too. I see you, trying with people. Always used to act like everybody was scum.”

“That’s because most people are.” Regulus said primly. “An opinion which I still hold. My friends are-”

“An exception? Awful lot of exceptions, you have now. The point is, I’m better now. So are you. That’s why it’s different, this time. Not because you’re paying down some weird debt because I exceeded your insultingly low expectations.”

“I see. So I should just hold off on the gifts-”

“I didn’t say all that. I am still your

only brother in the world

.”

“Not true,” Regulus had said softly. “James.”

“You know what I mean. In the biological sense.”

“Yeah.” Regulus had echoed. “In the biological sense.” He’d paused. “I…want this to work. I want us to be…like now. But better.”

“So we have to keep being better.” he had said, lightly, like it was an easy thing.

“I thought you weren’t into ‘better’.”

“I’m not into the family line, prove-yourself-to-be-deserving kind of better.” He’d knocked his shoulder, against Regulus’, a gentle tap, which Regulus returned, after some trepidation. “But they make me want to be a better person…Andromeda and her family. James. You.” It’s something he’s never said out loud, not to him, and he can tell that it is startling. “I think, if I can be more like what you see in me…”

“It’ll prove that we all weren’t wasting our time.” Regulus finished. He pursed his lips, looking oddly…disappointed, which set Sirius on edge. He was being honest; shouldn’t that have been a good thing? “So just do it, then, and quit talking about it so much.” And that had shut him up, because it was properly definitive, and Regulus was infuriatingly correct. He knows he is not one for follow-through; the only consistency in his life being rising with the sun and drinking until the late hours of the morning. It’s this he thinks about, as he paces back and forth, typing and retyping, the

just-do-it.

Like, maybe it’s possible, that he can wake up and decide,

Today is the day I am better.

And this is the first step.

hey,

he ends up sending.

do you still need that plus-one, for the wedding?

Her response comes, after about a minute of nerve-wracking typing.

what’s this?

i thought we were doing that nice, mutual-ghosting thing.

but that’s so boring? besides…

He thinks about it, before he sends it.

i’ve been thinking about you.

It is true; he has.

you said you met someone.

didn’t work out.

Should he mention who the other person was? Would she be annoyed, if he did?

that’s a shocker. you’re so good at this. really know how to make a girl feel special.

it wasn’t serious. not like you and me.

For some reason, he feels a rush of guilt, as he sends it, even though it’s factually very true.

i didn’t know we were serious.

we were on the way, at the very least. even if, you know, i’m always sirius.

He imagines her eyes, crinkling with laughter at the corners.

Let me make it up to you. For real this time.

are you asking me out?

if i was, would you say yes?

are you?

yes.

She types for a bit.

you’re paying

obviously.

and my friends all hate you now. i made sure of it.

that’s very fair.

i don’t really do second chances. not on disappearing acts.

it wouldn’t be a second, since we didn’t really have a first.

He grins, typing.

but i want a first. for real this time. i’m better than that. and you deserve better than that.

i deserve better than that speech for sure.

Ouch.

But you’ll do it, right?

One date. One. No strings.

knew you liked me

you’re on the thinnest of ice, baby. I wouldn’t push it.

The

baby

gives him hope, lets him attach an awful amount of meaning to the whole thing, makes him feel like a

gentleman

, or whatever. He finds he doesn't mind it.

When he returns home that evening, Sirius has not lost any of his resolve, the quest for betterment rolling around in his brain. He considers, briefly, contacting Peter, before he dismisses the idea. Some bridges are too thoroughly burnt. He can, however, mend just one, and he’ll do whatever it takes, he decides now. What’s that Mary Oliver poem, about crawling on your hands and knees in the desert repenting, the one James likes? He’ll do that, is the point. He will explain it, in full-fledged, eloquent detail; he will say the perfect things this time. And if it doesn’t work? He has already accounted for that, because he is going to do this thing with Hestia the right way, and eventually Remus will see him the right way, if he sees that Sirius can, when he tries, be better than expected.

So he fills his brain with lots of the nice clever points he’s planning on making, and he’s halfway through divining an excellent one as he opens the door. Unsurprisingly, Remus is not there, which he hadn’t expected him to be, but when he heads down the hallway prepped for a confrontation he sees the bathroom door ajar, and Remus, deep in concentration, snipping ends of his too-long hair unevenly into the sink. “Don’t worry.” Remus says (

how did he know he was there?

). “I’ll clean it up.”

“I wasn’t worried.” He watches Remus, eyes narrowed with concentration as he cuts away. “I didn’t know you cut your own hair.”

“You

don’t

?” Remus shakes his head. “Of course you don’t.”

“I mean, I’m sure I could, if I wanted to.” he sniffs. It almost feels like their usual banter. It’s weird. “I just don’t really cut it.”

“I don’t either.” Remus says, mildly. “But I think I’m going on a date, so I should probably…”

“Who with? The Wind guy?”

“Of course.”

“Well. Okay. Good for you.” Seeing his expression, he changes tact. “That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? Do you not want me to be happy for you?”

“You could tell me he’s a catfish.”

“I don’t think he’s a catfish.”

“Right. Then I suppose you’re alright then.” He pauses. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

Sirius winces. “Must you?”

“I thought you raised several good points. Earlier. About how we have all the same friends, and we live together. How it would be different if things were…different. If I was more charismatic. If the timing was better-”

“Like I said, it has nothing to do with you, I think you’re really attractive-” A horrible thought fills him. “But you’re not going on this date as like a…placeholder for me, are you? Because I don’t think you should

wait

for me-”

“I wouldn’t wait for you.” This comes out sharp. “It’s not about you. It’s about all the reasons it wouldn’t work. But I can’t just…wait for things to find me, either. I have to find them, too. Like you do.”

“Yeah. I see.” He clears his throat. “You look good.”

A sly, small smile starts at the corner of Remus’ mouth. “Not like usual, you mean.”

“Will you stop that? I think you’re absolutely-” He closes his mouth. “You’re joking. I don’t think I like your jokes.”

“I know.” Remus says. It is

almost

mournful,

almost

an apology. And Sirius, who is at his core, very weak, lets that little voice in him go,

Good enough. At least he’s not left.

He does not know what he would do, if Remus left; he does not truly think it would happen. Of course, he did not think Remus would do any of the things he’s done in the past week and a half, so perhaps he is not the best judge. He thinks of Regulus.

You’re twelve people, in a day. I could never keep up.

Evidently, dealing with Remus would make his head explode.

“Wait.” Seeing Remus put the scissors away makes him panic suddenly. “Do me?”

“

Wbat?

”

He quickly revises, mentally kicking himself at the innuendo. “Can you cut mine?”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Felt like it.”

One last time. His hands on my skin. One last time, and I’ll be good.

“I’ve only really done my own…I wouldn’t know what to do with long hair.”

“Fine. Whatever. Never mind.”

“Well, hold on.” Remus’ eyes flick to his face, then just as quickly, back away. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I just…It’s kind of permanent. What if I fuck it up?”

“You’re not going to fuck it up, okay? It grows fast.” He opens his eyes, wide. “Just the dead ends, to start?”

“

To start

? How much do you want off?”

“I don’t know, do I? I’ll have to see. Please?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Okay. Fine.” The light is dim, when he finally steps inside, and Remus hands are cold, but steady, on the back of his neck. He can feel it, the metal icy on his skin. It does not fill him with terror, like it usually would, because Remus moves slowly, deliberately, letting the dark ringlets collect in the sink, mixing with the sandy clippings left behind. It’s quiet. “You look like Regulus.”

“No, I don’t.” But he can see it, when his hair skims his shoulders. This would be long, for Regulus. He’d never let it get like this. But there is a sharpness about him when his hair is shorter, making him look more buttoned-up. Like he’s the kind of person who should be taken seriously. He has not ever thought of himself as a

serious

person; he did not think he would like to be like that. But he had not thought he would like anyone else’s hands in his hair either. The last time someone tried is a blur. He remembers hot tears and cold metal, and blood on the marble counter, clumps of black hair around him, the hated electric razor nicking his scalp. He does not remember who the person was that did it, but he thinks he remembers throwing something at them. How they cringed backwards, suddenly afraid, green eyes accusing.

Look what you did.

He stands up, then, quickly. “That’s it. You’re done.”

“You sure? I could clean up the back, if you like. It’s a little uneven-”

“It’s fine.” It comes out harsher than he would like it to. “You’re fine. Goodnight.”

“Sirius-” Remus’ voice is tentative. “We’re good, right?”

He studies Remus; his shiny new hair, the thin worry lines forming on his forehead, as he speaks. It would be nice, he thinks, to halt the worry in its tracks. “Of course.”