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@astralisreg
welcome :]
—i write marauders fics sometimes —my favorite thing to write is the black brothers' relationship and dynamic as well as various ships
—this is a safe space for everyone! <3
ao3: astralisreg
romantic moonwater: darling boy
Sirius and Regulus: I'll find you
The Black brothers & jegulus: "You weren't his real brother"
(yes, it's inspired by that stranger things scene)
Jegulus: "I bet I can name more stars than you"
”Hey, hey. Breathe, Reggie. You need to breathe. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pressed. I shouldn’t have—” James reached out and rested a tentative hand on Regulus’ back, rubbing soothing circles over the boy’s shirt. To his surprise, Regulus didn’t flinch away from the touch.
”Don’t call me that,” Regulus bit out through his gasped breaths, ”my name is Regulus.”
James almost wanted to roll his eyes. Only Regulus would insist on such a thing in the middle of a panic attack. It was— endearing. James shook his head, as if to shake the thought out. It didn’t matter if James called him Reggie or Regulus if he passed out cold from lack of oxygen.
For a moment, James considered his options, considered his chances of survival if he attempted to hug the younger boy. Throwing caution to the wind, he scooted as close as he could get, his shoulder brushing against Regulus’, before he opened his arms, carefully wrapping them around him. Regulus froze for a split second, not breathing at all before he suddenly pressed into the touch. Under different circumstances, James might’ve taken a moment to celebrate, to let himself feel giddy and warm by the proximity. But Regulus’ teary eyes and his shaky, struggling breaths drained all of the joy out of the moment.
James maneuvered them into a more comfortable position, Regulus leaning against James’ chest, James’ arms looped loosely around him. Regulus’ breathing didn’t slow and James felt close to panicking himself. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thought that Sirius would kill him if he found out that he had unintentionally caused his little brother to panic. Sirius might claim to hate the younger, to not care, but James knew that if anyone hurt him, Sirius would raise hell.
”Tighter,” Regulus suddenly managed to squeeze out between his strained gasps for breath. James blinked confusedly for a moment before tightening his arms, squeezing him in his arms. Regulus let out a shaky breath and seemed to relax a little in his hold. James felt his own panic decrease a little, though it was still there, right under the surface of his skin, buzzing.
Suddenly James remembered a story Sirius had once told him, about how when they were kids, Sirius used to make Regulus list the stars and constellations to distract him and calm him down. And so, as Regulus’ breaths continued to come out slightly faster than what was healthy, James quietly stated, ”I bet I can name more stars than you.”
It was a lie. James only knew two and one of them was in his arms. Regulus, however, took the bait, somehow managing to sound haughty, even through his gasps, ”d-don’t be ridi— ridiculous. I listened in astronomy, unlike you—”
”I’m not sure I believe you,” James teased, smiling softly as he heard Regulus’ offended huff.
”There’s S-Sirius and Arcturus—” the younger said shakily. James hummed in approval and squeezed him tighter, revelling in the way Regulus seemed to relax more and more, ”and— and Vega, Bellatrix— Orion.”
And so, Regulus continued to name the stars and constellations, and James continued to listen, trying to ignore the way his heart was practically pounding against his ribs, the way his palms were turning clammy and the way the younger’s proximity seemed to have awoken an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach.
—
Read full fic here
Sirius and Regulus: Sirius' boy
snippet from my fic, three taps means i love you
the fic is finished, 88k words, regulus-centric with focus on the black brothers and jegulus (and minor wolfstar)
It took a long time for Sirius to calm down. He was still crying but his breaths were softer, slower. He was exhausted, his eyes swollen and sore. James was still holding his hands. When Sirius met his gaze, he simply smiled, ”wanna talk about it?”
Sirius’ first instinct was to say no. But lately, he’d been trying to change. It had hit him like a brick wall that almost all of his and Regulus’ suffering could’ve been made much shorter, or at least more bearable, if they’d simply talked to each other about what they were feeling. In hindsight, he felt almost stupid for how they’d handled the whole thing, though Remus insisted that it wasn’t that strange that they hadn’t talked to each other with how they were raised. Walburga and Orion Black weren’t exactly great rolemodels for talking about your feelings. But this was James. Kind, understanding, sweet James. His best friend.
”I—” Sirius started, biting his lip. He glanced down at their hands in his lap, watching James’ thumb stroking over the back of his hand repeatedly, ”I look like— like them. Like her.”
For a moment, James looked confused and then understanding seemed to dawn on him. But even then, his brow furrowed in disagreement.
Sirius huffed, ”don’t give me that look, Prongs, you know I do— You can’t deny that I look like them.”
For a moment, James looked conflicted. Then, he shrugged, ”I mean, I guess? It just isn’t the first thing I think about when I see you.”
”What do you see?” Sirius asked, although he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know.
For a moment James just looked at him. Then, he slowly started to stand up, pulling Sirius with him. He spun him around so that he was once again facing the mirror. He stared back at his reflection, his blue eyes, his dark hair, his features. He felt the usual wave of annoyance and disgust well up in him but before he could get too caught up in it again, James spoke, ”Regulus.”
Sirius wasn’t sure what he was expecting James to say but it definitely wasn’t that. He made eye contact with his best friend in the mirror, blinking at him, brows furrowing in confusion. James simply smiled before he continued, ”you have almost the exact same shade of blue in your eyes, almost gray. They narrow in the same way when you’re angry. Sometimes I think if looks could kill, you would’ve both killed me several times by now. You have the same hair color too, the same curls, though Regulus’ is shorter. Your skin tone is the same, you smile in the same way—”
James continued but Sirius found himself disappearing into his mind. Because James was right. Sirius looked like his family. That meant that he looked like the worst of them. Like his mother, his father, his aunts and uncles, maybe even his cousins. But that also meant that he looked like the best of them. He looked like Andromeda when he laughed. Sometimes, he looked like his estranged uncle Alphard. And sometimes, he looked like his baby brother, Regulus. The boy he had raised. His absolute favorite thing that wretched family had ever given him.
And the next day, when Sirius came downstairs for breakfast, he couldn’t help but glance at Regulus. Noticing his dark black hair, the way it curled slightly more than Sirius’ due to being shorter. The way his eyes were the same shade of blue, an almost gray, the way they twinkled when he laughed at something James said. He noticed his high cheekbones, his pale skin, his thin lips. All features that Sirius shared with him. All things that connected them to each other. But even more so, there was his mannerisms. The way he bit his lip when he was nervous, the way he narrowed his eyes whenever James would say something outrageous. The way he laughed, the way he rolled his eyes.
It was all Sirius. For most of his life, Sirius had been so busy making sure that he wasn’t taking after his family that he hadn’t noticed that Regulus was taking after him. Regulus had never been Walburga or Orion’s boy. He’d always been Sirius’ boy. Sirius’ baby brother.
Sirius and Regulus: Willing and Able
1/1, 4.7k words. angst with mild hurt/comfort, open/hopeful ending.
also posted on my ao3
Regulus had never been in this particular neighborhood of the city before. The roads were narrow, lined with tall buildings in red, white, gray and cream brick, some of them decorated by brightly colored graffiti art and posters advertising new plays, movies, musicians, protests— Regulus could almost laugh at the predictability of it. If you asked any of his family where they believed the heir of Black to have run off to, he supposed they would come up with something like that. An overcrowded area full of undesirables, where smoke polluted the air, with women in suits and men in heels. The shops on the ground floor had pulled in their product displays to protect them from the cold wet weather, though some opted to simply throw a sheet of plastic on top. Regulus turned the corner, coming face to face with a lewd sex shop that he had to immediately avert his eyes from when he made uncomfortable eye contact with a lady on the corner. His mother would have a heart attack if she knew where he was roaming about. If she still cared.
Thinking back on the evening he’d had, the pounding headache and the ache in his eye and jaw returned with a passion. It throbbed, making him wince and pull the hood of his hoodie tighter around his head. He didn’t need anyone to think he was trouble. He was almost impressed that he’d managed to ignore the pain for the entire train ride from their town to the big city where Regulus had only been a number of times in his life. He wondered if people could tell. If he looked like he came from a place where nobody ever left. If his clothes didn’t alert people, perhaps the black eye he was sporting or the bruise on his jaw would. For a woman so small, their mother sure could pack a punch. Sirius would know better than anyone.
And Regulus supposed that was it. That was why he was there. Why, the second his mother’s fist connected with his face the second time, he picked himself up off the floor and all but ran out of the house, his mother’s voice screaming in rage behind him. It was why he didn’t take the left turn at the end of his street to where he knew Barty lived in what could really only be defined as a shed. It was why he’d gotten himself all the way to the train station, taking the first train to the city and then walked in the rain for an hour to make it to the neighborhood he wasn’t even sure Sirius still lived in. It had been years since Sirius had last tried to contact him. The radio silence from him for the past five or so years had caught Regulus a little off guard. Sirius had always been notorious for breaking down doors he wasn’t meant to enter, boundaries be damned— Perhaps Regulus’ cold attitude had finally managed to freeze the hinges in place, leaving his brother on the other side.
Above the shops, apartment buildings rose to the sky. Regulus had never seen buildings that tall. In his hometown, everyone lived in homes that were centuries old, passed down from family to family. Everybody knew everybody. Despite the weather, many of the apartment windows were open and Regulus found himself zeroing in on every single shadow, almost half-expecting Sirius to suddenly pop out. He didn’t know where he lived exactly. He only knew the area. They had been fighting when Sirius had told him. It was one of Sirius’ last attempts at trying to get him to leave with him. He’d told him about how James’ parents had helped them put down a deposit for an apartment in the Rowena neighborhood. How he and Remus would share a room so that Regulus could have his own right across from James’. How there was a book store just down the road where Regulus could get all the books he wanted, even the ones that explored topics his mother usually wouldn’t allow within the four walls of Grimmauld. How Regulus didn’t have to do anything but pack a bag— Sirius would take care of everything. Of him. The way he always had.
But Regulus couldn’t. He had to stay. He had to stay for dad, who was only getting older, more and more dependent on the bottle, more and more incoherent. Sometimes Regulus would find him on the porch, ranting to nobody, like those crazy people his mother said lived in the city. He had to stay for his mother, had to stay for the small fraction of hope he had, that somewhere in her soul she might still carry some love for him. In the five years since Sirius had left, that hope had been slowly but surely beaten out of him, and the last punch to his jaw had completely crushed it. Regulus was twenty-six. Homeless, hopeless, powerless, just less.
The Rowena neighborhood had, for decades, garnered a rather tarnished reputation. Supposedly, the place had such a high density of radicals, homosexuals, undesirables, that Regulus’ mother had feared that even close proximity to the area would somehow turn Regulus gay, and the few times they’d visited the city, they’d often taken large detours to avoid it. Regulus figured if homosexuality really did rub off, Sirius would’ve infected him long ago. He thought, absentmindedly, that it was probably Rowena’s reputation that had made Sirius run there the second he escaped Grimmauld.
Regulus grabbed onto his hoodie and the strap of his backpack. He’d managed to grab it from the car in his hurry, though the items in it were quite useless. Gum, his wallet with no money in it, an old photograph that Sirius had sent four years ago, back when his older brother still had some hope in their relationship. A pack of Barty’s cigarettes, one of Pandora’s crystals that she’d given him for luck and abundance. A book he’d read a thousand times, The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides. He never took it out of his bag, never let it enter Grimmauld out of fear that his mother would’ve discovered it. If she had discovered it, Regulus would’ve been on the first bus to that mental home in Hogsmeade where they’d sent cousin Bellatrix.
He paused on a street corner, rumaging through the bag until he felt the familiar paper of the photograph. The ink on the back was nearly gone but Regulus could still make out the street. The number, if there had ever been any, was gone. He glanced up at the street sign at the crossroads, back down at the postcard and back up. Arbor Street. He took a few steps forwards, then glanced down the street where his brother supposedly lived. It looked just like the others. For a moment, he simply stood there, almost as if waiting for the regret to sink in, for him to crawl back to where he came from.
But what would he do? Go back to Grimmauld and face off against his mother? Let her send him away to that therapy camp she claimed could fix him? Sirius had always said Regulus was brainwashed, that he was a puppet following their parents’ every whim, but even Regulus knew that who he loved was ingrained deeply into his very being, in a way that could not simply be erased by a few words and couple of rough hands. He should know, he’d tried. He almost laughed. Perhaps Sirius did rub off on him after all. He was sure his rebel brother would be happy to hear that he’d left an imprint, now resting in the shape of a handprint on Regulus’ face.
He glanced down at the photo again.
Reggie,
Arbor Street, Rowena.
Don’t be a stranger. Come visit. If you’re able.
Sirius.
He felt the familiar swell of anger rise in him. If you’re able. Regulus scoffed. Sirius could fuck right off. He jammed the photograph back into the small front pocket of his bag and turned, taking a step forward only to immediately collide with something solid and warm. He heard the clatter of something fallen onto the ground, a gruff oof. Regulus would’ve fallen backwards if it wasn’t for the hand that flew out to grab onto him, holding him steady. He all but yanked his arm out of the grib, huffing, glancing up to give the person a piece of his mind, only to find himself staring directly into the face of Remus Lupin.
”Sirius?” Remus blurted.
Regulus rolled his eyes, ”I’d rather die.”
Remus blinked a few times, then, ”Regulus?”
Regulus didn’t give him a response. He supposed it was obvious enough. People had loved pointing out how Sirius and Regulus looked alike. When they were kids, Regulus had been skinny, sickly, pale. Sirius had been both taller and stronger and louder, a true heir. As the years passed, Regulus grew more and more into his features. When Sirius was twenty-three, right before he’d run away, he’d stil stood over half a foot taller than him, but Regulus’ skin had lost its sickly sheen and his shoulders had become broader. He was almost convinced he could take his older brother in a fight. Almost. When Regulus was drunk and trying to console himself, he’d tell himself that Sirius left because he didn’t want to risk losing to his younger brother.
”What are you doing here?” Remus spoke again, after a moment of silence. The older man looked both the same and different from what Regulus remembered. Remus was the most tolerable of his brother’s minions. He was tall and lanky, had tan honey skin covered in scars from an accident he’d had as a child. He used a cane, had dark brown eyes and light brown hair, and the cutest smile in the world, if you consulted Sirius’ diary.
Regulus still had the scar he got from falling down the stairs when Sirius had chased him through the house, screaming at the top of his lungs to give it back, you little midget! He remembered bleeding, remembered Sirius’ frantic expression. If his heart hadn’t been halfway up his throat, he probably would’ve laughed at the memory. Instead, all he managed to say was, ”my brother.”
Remus blinked, then seemed come back to himself, ”oh, of course— We live in number 27b, right down the street but I’m afraid Sirius isn’t home, he works late on Fridays—”
”I’ll wait,” Regulus cut Remus off before he could say anything else. He walked around him, ignoring the eyes in the back of his neck as he walked down the street. He sincerely hoped that Remus wouldn’t call or text his brother and tell him of the situation, however, he knew that the chances of those two not sharing everything were slim. Number 27b was a tall building of red brick. The ground floor was a flower shop, closed, though Regulus spent a long time stalling, looking in through the windows at the flower decorations. He thought that perhaps he should’ve let Remus talk. Maybe he could’ve given him a key. Regulus stood there for roughly ten minutes, letting himself marinade in his thoughts, sinking deeper and deeper into a frantic sort of anxiety he hadn’t felt in a long time. Life in his hometown, while miserable, had been predictable. Now, Regulus was on his own. He knew nothing. The thought alone was enough to close up his airways.
He was jolted from his mind when the door to the building suddenly opened and a large family came tumbling out. Regulus watched, completely baffled, as a couple with five children and an older lady poured out onto the street, making more noise than Narcissa had that time Bellatrix spilled red wine on her new dress. The children were arguing, the baby in the stroller was crying, the older lady was muttering to herself— Regulus found himself so overwhelmed that he almost forgot to slip inside the building. Once inside, he let out a breath before checking the mailboxes for his older brother’s name. For a long time he just stood and stared at the name. It was like reading about a dead relative, except his brother was very much alive. In fact, he was probably more alive than any of them.
He climbed the stairs to his brother’s door, eyes immediately drawn to the mat in front of the door, ’Better late than ugly’. It was so stupid and so immature and so Sirius that Regulus felt a sudden sting in his eyes. He blinked and blinked, willing it all back in, the way a true Black did. Then, he leaned against the wall and let himself slide down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs, waiting for his brother to come fix it. Fix him.
—
Sirius climbed the stairs to his apartment, his body feeling more and more heavy with each step. His hair was soaked, sticking to his face and he was leaving wet footprints in his wake. He wanted nothing more than to go and change into some comfortable clothes and snuggle up with Remus on the couch. But he knew Remus wouldn’t be home. He’d taken up tutoring some of the teenagers in the buildings surrounding theirs, did it for free too. Sirius wanted to text Remus and ask when he’d be home, to see if attempting to stay awake for him was realistic, but his phone had died hours ago. When he finally made it to his floor, he heaved a sigh, glancing up from the floor and— A person was sitting in front of his door. Their head was resting on their knees, face hidden from view but Sirius could make out dark curly hair, pale skin. Regulus.
For a moment, Sirius stood still, blinking several times as if he was expecting him to just suddenly evaporate and turn out to be a figment of his imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sirius used to have dreams like this, where Regulus would turn up on his doorstep and admit that he was wrong, that he should’ve come with Sirius. One would think that with time Sirius would stop believing in the dreams, but every time he opened his eyes and didn’t find Regulus there, he felt the same heavy weight of disappointment settle in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, Sirius inched forward, crouching down in front of his brother. He grabbed onto his shoulder, lightly shaking him, ”Reg? Hey, Reg?”
Regulus’ head shot up suddenly and Sirius couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping his mouth if he tried. Regulus’ left eye was swollen black and blue, to the point where he was barely able to open it. His jaw was turning a yellowish blue and his cheek had a faint red mark in the shape of a hand. The first thing Sirius felt was shock. He had never seen Regulus hurt to this extent. Sirius had always made sure of that, taking whatever he could, doing all that he could to keep the attention off of Regulus because any attention at Grimmauld was bad attention. Slowly, though, the shock ebbed away and left behind an all-consuming, fiery rage, one that Sirius knew would take him straight to Grimmauld if Regulus wasn’t sitting hurt on his front step.
”Fuck, Regulus, what the hell— What happened?” Sirius grabbed onto Regulus’ chin and turned his face to inspect the wounds. He tried to ignore the fact that it had been years since he’d been this close to his brother. That it had been years since he’d touched him, hugged him, done anything with him that wasn’t fighting.
Regulus scoffed, his hand coming up to bat Sirius’ away as his expression settled into a scowl, ”nothing to worry about, Sirius. I just need somewhere to stay the night until I figure something out.”
Sirius blinked, completely baffled. First at the insinuation that Regulus would not be going back to Grimmauld. Then, at the assumption that Sirius wouldn’t let him stay for more than one night— No, that Sirius would let him leave in the condition he was in. His brother really could be an ignorant prick at times. And he knew what to say and where to push to bring out Sirius’ worst sides. And so, Sirius wasn’t even that surprised when the first thing that came out of his mouth was a snarky ”what, did you get in trouble with mommy and daddy?”
He could almost see how Regulus retreated into himself, how the drops of pain and fear that Sirius had been able to spot on his face were slowly covered up by an indifferent expression, cold as ice. Sirius wanted to punch himself and then Regulus, and then probably his parents. For hurting his baby brother, for making them into this— Two people who couldn’t care for each other in any other way than screaming at the top of their lungs, than pushing and pulling at each other. They were fire and gasoline, and they sought each other out even when they were aware of the resulting explosion. Regulus didn’t say anything so Sirius sighed, standing up, ”well, come on then.”
Sirius unlocked the door and walked into his apartment, then turned around and watched Regulus pretend not to wince at every step he took. He bit down his questions and his worry and instead steered Regulus into the living room, sitting him down on the couch. Regulus was staring at everything they passed. The pictures on the walls, the furniture, the blatant mess of books Remus had left on the coffee table, the dirty mug with a single mouthful of tea at the bottom— Sirius supposed Regulus had never seen a home that looked like it was lived in. After Sirius had first left Grimmauld, he’d found himself suddenly realizing that perhaps Grimmauld had never been a home at all. It was just a house. People slept there, but they did not live there.
As Sirius walked to the bathroom, he allowed himself to freak out. About the fact that his little brother was in his apartment. That he hadn’t seen him in five years. That Regulus had been twenty-one when Sirius had left and now he was twenty-six. That he’d missed five years of his baby brother’s life, that he didn’t really know who he was, who was sitting on his couch. That he didn’t know how to hold a conversation with him, didn’t know how to talk to him in a way that didn’t end up in a screaming match. Then, of course, the fact that Regulus was hurt and that their parents were likely the ones who did it, and that Sirius hadn’t been there, and— He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and crouched down in front of the sink to pull out the first aid kit that Remus had insisted on getting when they first moved in.
The first two years of freedom had been the best and the worst time of Sirius’ life. He was free. His parents weren’t lurking around every corner, watching over his every step, correcting him, trying to mold him, forcing him into shapes he didn’t fit. He could play music as loud as he wanted, spill drinks on the couch, leave a mess behind, look unpresentable, kiss his boyfriend. But he couldn’t talk to his brother. He couldn’t call his brother and ask him how his day was. He couldn’t tell him about the annoying landlord they’d had in their first apartment, or about how insanely expensive groceries were. He couldn’t ask him if he was okay, if their parents had hurt him since he left, if he needed him to come and get him. He couldn’t even hear his voice.
Sirius had distracted himself. With freedom, with alcohol, with tattoos and Remus and loud music, had been more reckless than he’d ever been before. He’d gotten parking tickets and landed himself in a holding cell once for pissing drunk on a public building. He’d punched a guy in the face outside a pub for making homophobic comments about Remus and he’d stolen a pack of cigarettes from some woman’s handbag. But his thoughts would always circle back to that tiny, gloomy town. That wretched family, his despicable parents, his snobby cousins and— his baby brother. His absolute favorite person in the world. His boy. When Sirius walked back into the living room and took in the slumped figure on his couch, he found himself wondering if that boy was still there, somewhere, or if their parents had completely erased the parts of him that Sirius had fought so hard to keep.
”Alright,” Sirius said as he sat down on the coffee table. Regulus sat quietly while Sirius cleaned his wounds. He seemed to have given up on fighting him on it. Sirius removed the hood of his hoodie and tried not to wince when the light hit the wounds. He tried to control his anger so he wouldn’t accidentally dab Regulus’ face too hard. Regulus winced when Sirius made contact with his swollen skin and Sirius apologized quietly under his breath. The younger’s eyes were looking suspiciously misty and his breaths were coming out shaky and uneven but Sirius opted not to comment on it.
When he finished, he put the first aid kit away, ”fancy some tea?”
Regulus merely nodded. Making the tea, Sirius once again disappeared into his mind. This time, he thought about what on earth perfect little Regulus could’ve possibly done to unleash this kind of anger from their parents. Sirius had often been on the receiving end, but it was to be expected. Sirius had always been loud and brash, impulsive, opting to make as much noise as possible in the hopes that Regulus could go unnoticed. Even after he’d left, Sirius had stayed rebellious for years until he realized with a sudden jolt that he didn’t need to be. Then, he had calmed down. Gotten softer, Remus always said.
It wasn’t until he was sitting back on the couch beside his stiff brother, watching two steaming mugs of tea in front of them that the questions finally forced themselves out of his mouth— ”What happened?”
He glanced up at Regulus, watched the younger’s eyes narrow, the frown return to his mouth, and for a second he kind of wished that he could tow the question back into his mouth. Regulus promptly looked away, scowling, ”none of your business.”
Sirius scoffed, ”Oh, come off it, Reg. When you showed up here, you made it my problem.”
”I apologize for ruining your perfect life. Do you need me to leave so that you can go back to pretending?”
Baffled, Sirius felt the familiar anger rise in him, like a flood that he had no power to stop. He stood up, turning around to face his brother, ”you know that’s not what I— Fucking hell, Regulus, I’m trying to care for you!”
”Why? Why now? You had no issue leaving back then but now because I got a little banged up, suddenly you care?” Regulus stood up too, forcing Sirius to take a step back. For a moment, Sirius thought Regulus was going to punch him. A sick, sort of twisted part of him wanted him to. The younger’s voice was rising in volume and it caught Sirius slightly off guard. Regulus had never raised his voice. Not when their mother yelled at them or disciplined them, not when she would punish Sirius in front of him to teach a lesson. He’d only ever heard Regulus raise his voice once and it had been when Sirius was leaving, all those years ago. It would seem that Sirius brought out the same thing in Regulus that Regulus brought out in him. Stubbornness, pride, anger, fear. Love, worst of all.
”I cared back then, too! I asked you to come with me and you,” Sirius jabbed a finger into Regulus’ chest, ”you said no.”
”They’re our parents!”
”And I’m your brother!”
”Oh, now you’re my brother?” and Sirius had always known those words would come back to haunt him. The moment he’d said them back then and seen the hurt seep into Regulus’ eyes, he’d known. He’d been so hurt at the prospect of losing his brother, of Regulus choosing their parents over him that he’d said the first thing that came into his mind, the first thing that he knew would hurt him back. You’re not my brother anymore. An hour later, after he’d left and been halfway across town, after the fire of the moment had left him, he’d regretted it. Regretted it so much that he almost went back just to tell him that he didn’t mean it. That he would never mean it.
They stared at each other for a moment, chests rising and falling rapidly. Regulus’ brows were scrunched in anger, his eyes steely. When Sirius didn’t respond, he scoffed and turned around. Grabbing his bag from the floor, he made his way towards the door, muttering under his breath and suddenly, Sirius felt panicked. Panicked that his brother was leaving and that he was pretty sure that he’d never see him again if he did.
”Who’s leaving now?” Sirius shouted after him. Immediately after, regret so strong that it made him nauseous hit him. Why couldn’t he just talk to him? Why couldn’t he just tell his little brother that he had been angry because he loved him? That he’d been so heartbroken at the prospect of Regulus not choosing him that he’d lashed out. That he’d thought about him, endlessly, since then. That he’d dreamt about a day where Regulus would show up on hid doorstep and Sirius would get to right the wrongs. There was some fantasy that lived in Sirius’ head, where they could get to know each other again, know each other better. They could learn to do everything and nothing together like they used to.
And even if they couldn’t, Sirius would take this. He would take the screaming matches and the low jabs and the gritted teeth. He would take angry Regulus if the alternative was not having him at all. If Regulus had a bone to pick with him, if he had a million things he wanted to chew him out over, if he wanted to punch him in the face, Sirius would be willing and able to take it. He would probably have his own punches to throw. Perhaps, Regulus would be willing and able, too.
And it was with those thoughts that Sirius found himself stumbling forward. He caught up to Regulus halfway through the living room and all but threw his arms around him, squeezing Regulus’ back against his chest. He could feel Regulus struggling in his hold, could feel him fight it for a second and then give up when Sirius didn’t let go. His body was shaking, his breaths coming out uneven and Sirius wouldn’t be that surprised if he turned him around and found tears in his eyes. It reminded Sirius of that night he’d left, when they’d stood in front of the glow of the TV in the middle of the night, screaming at each other because their parents weren’t home and it was their only chance at leaving. He remembered Regulus’ teary eyes and red face, remembered the way their voices had cracked as they screamed at each other. Remembered himself screaming I’m leaving and Regulus screaming back stay gone!
”Stay,” Sirius said, so quiet that he wasn’t even sure Regulus would hear it. Suddenly, he felt Regulus turning around in his grip. He didn’t get a chance to see if Regulus was crying before the younger was shoving his face into Sirius’ chest, arms snaking around Sirius’ middle. The relief that hit him was unmistakable, like a puzzle piece suddenly slotting back into place as he realized that they might have a chance. He felt Regulus nod against him, and tightened his grip. Yeah, they had a chance— they go way back, after all.
Them to heal my soul
Sirius and Remus: The Promise
From a wip I'm working on
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Remus Lupin and grief
Taken from a wip i'm working on.
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jegulus snapshots⭐︎☀︎
siri and reggie's wonderhouse
taken from my fic three taps means i love you
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Sirius’ desk had four drawers and if you dug around in the top left one you’d find a small crumpled piece of paper. It was a drawing that nine year old Regulus had given him. The drawing was of a house, three stories tall with a swirly slide that went from the top floor to the garden. The house was rainbow colored and had several windows, there was a unicorn in the garden and the sun was wearing sunglasses. In front of the house, a wooden sign read Siri and Reggie’s Wonderhouse.
When Regulus got particularly anxious, Sirius used to tell him stories about the house Sirius would buy them when they grew up. There would be trampolines inside, slides and a friendly pet dragon. Sirius had even agreed to bring Kreacher. Regulus had drawn the two of them, next to the sign, Sirius a little taller with hair that went nearly to his waist. Next to Sirius, was Regulus. A small boy with black hair and a bright smile, stick arms, wearing a bright yellow shirt because their mother had never allowed them to. As he looked at the picture, at the house, at the ’To Siri, from Reggie’ scrawled in small letters at the top of the paper, he couldn’t help but wonder— What had happened? What had happened to that boy? What had happened to his baby brother?
The boy Sirius remembered would hate who he’d become. He’d be scared of the quiet ghost looming in the halls of 12 Grimmauld Place. He would hate that they no longer talked, that they no longer played, that they no longer had plans of running away together. But most of all, that boy would hate what they were becoming. What she wanted them to be. That boy, the one who lived so vividly in Sirius’ head, would be afraid of a marked Sirius. And Sirius would rather die than become something his baby brother feared.
And so, with the image of his baby brother in his head, his big gray eyes, his smile and his bright giggles, Sirius stood, limping his way to his trunk, beginning to fill it with items. His most beloved clothing, school items, Remus’ sweater. He was panting, breathing heavily by the time he finished, his injuries making the packing ten times harder. He stood for a moment, as if the decision he’d made only just caught up to him. He stared at his packed trunk, stared around at his room, now even more bleak and empty. He was doing it. He was leaving.
But first—
He ignored the pain flaring in his arm as he lifted his trunk, limping out of his room. He put his trunk down in the hall outside of Regulus’ room before he nudged the door open. Regulus was still asleep, sitting slumped on the floor, head tilted back against his bed. For a moment, Sirius just stood in the door and watched him, taking in the peaceful expression on his face as he slept, the stony mask he seemed to wear like a second skin nowhere to be found. For a second, Sirius could almost recognize him, his baby brother who followed him everywhere and cried too easily.
Sirius stepped inside and as if sensing his presence, Regulus shifted, stretching and rolling his shoulders with a groan before his eyes opened. Sirius watched in real time as Regulus spotted him, saw the carefully crafted mask slip back into place, the younger’s emotions disappearing behind a wall like nocturnal animals retreating at the first sign of the sun. Regulus’ eyes seemed to drink in the sight of him, roaming over his body, checking for injuries. Sirius hated it. He hated that his brother was so used to healing him, so used to nursing him back to health after a punishment that he couldn’t look at him without looking for wounds, cuts or broken bones.
”I’m leaving,” Sirius said then. He wanted to explain himself, wanted to tell Regulus about the drawing in his desk drawer, about how the Regulus of their childhood would’ve hated who they were becoming. But he knew Regulus wouldn’t respond well to it, knew it would only raise his hackles. So he kept quiet and watched Regulus take in the information, brows furrowing confusion. Sirius bit his lip before adding, ”I’m not coming back.”
At this, Regulus’ eyes widened for just a split second before he schooled his expression back into something impassive. Sirius felt the familiar anger surge in him at the sight. He didn’t understand why Regulus was always hiding everything away, hiding everything he felt behind that wall of apathy. It infuriated him to no end how Regulus always kept calm, about reigned himself in, just like— Just like their mother. And he supposed he liked making Regulus lose control, just as he did to their mother, liked making Regulus fall off the tightrope.
”Okay,” Regulus eventually replied, voice curt and clipped and cold, cold, cold. What had happened to Sirius’ brother? What had happened to that little boy?
Sirius clenched his jaw, hands shaking at his sides, ”that’s it?”
”What do you want me to say, Sirius? Stay? Do you want me to beg? Get on my knees?” Regulus seethed, the sudden anger in his tone taking Sirius off guard.
Sirius stepped forward and grabbed a hold of Regulus’ hands. They were cold to the touch. Ghostly. Sirius tried to meet Regulus’ eyes, but the younger boy seemed intent on avoiding his gaze. Sirius could see the wheels in his head turning but he had no idea what Regulus was thinking. There had been a time where Sirius could read the younger’s thoughts and worries like a book, but now, trying to read him was like staring into a brick wall. A part of Sirius wanted to fight back, get angry right back at him but something about the weary expression on Regulus’ face completely drained him of energy, and with way more desperation than he would’ve liked, Sirius asked, begged, ”come with me. Please.”
”I—” Regulus paused, looking away from Sirius, though he didn’t pull his hands out of Sirius’ grasp, ”I can’t, Sirius. We’re family—”
Sirius’ grip on his brother’s hands tightened, as though he could drag him away by force if his words failed, ”Open your eyes, Reg! Don’t you see? This house, this family—” Sirius spat the word out, ”it’ll swallow you whole. They’ve never done anything for us, for you! And you’re giving— You’re giving away everything, your life, for what? To be the perfect son? The perfect heir? I’ve had enough! I’m leaving. All you have to do is follow.”
Regulus’ met his gaze. For the first time in years, Sirius saw something akin to pain on his brother’s face, the only sign that the conversation was affecting him at all. There was a resignation, as if he’d given up on life before even drawing his first breath. The surrender in his gaze almost stunned Sirius. Then, quietly, Regulus whispered, ”I can’t.”
And like a flame to gasoline, Sirius felt years worth of anger and resentment and betrayal rise in him, ”You can’t? You never bloody can, can you? I needed you, I need you, but you can’t? No, you know what I think? I think you’re a coward. Spineless. Mother’s little puppet, aren’t you? She says smile and you smile, she says dance and you dance, she says kill? You’d kill, wouldn’t you, Reggie?”
Regulus didn’t reply. He merely looked back at Sirius with that same infuriating look at resignation, the look of someone who had given up, submitted— even if that submission meant serving someone like the Dark Lord. Sirius scoffed, letting out a hollow, emotionless laugh. He turned to leave, having no more to say to his brother. Only, Regulus didn’t let go of his hands. Regulus’ hold tightened, squeezing Sirius’ hands in his own, and there, facing away from Regulus, he felt it. Three consecutive taps pressed into the skin of his wrist. I love you. For a moment, Sirius was glad Regulus couldn’t see his face as the hot tears sprung to his eyes.
No. Enough was enough. He blinked the tears out of his eyes, yanked his arm out of Regulus’ grip and walked away. Walking through the halls of his childhood home, stepping out through the front the door and continuing down the street, he felt it. The phantom touch of Regulus’ fingers tapping him three times. Over and over and over again, he felt it.
As he slumped down on the curb, wincing as a sharp pain flared in his ribs, he felt it. Tap, tap, tap. He felt it as the Knight Bus came screeching around the corner, pulling to an abrupt stop in front of him, the conductor staring down at him with a curious expression. I love you. He felt it as he slumped down in one of the seats, his heart pounding so hard that it seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body. He felt it as the bus came to a halt in front of Potter Manor, he felt it as he knocked on the door and a short woman with dark curls and kind eyes answered. Tap, tap, tap. He felt it as she ushered him inside, introducing herself as Effie, calling for James. He felt it as James came bounding down the stairs, practically colliding with him, arms wrapping tightly around his still aching body. I love you. He felt it.
Tap, tap, tap.
Jegulus but Regulus always turns into his animagus form to avoid conflict, and James can't even be mad about it