Aaahhh I got such a good question about Richie being non-binary and how it like ties into their lore and idk if I should give a really long answer or a shorter more general run down of it😢
Also amazing question btw, whoever asked that thank you 🥹
early birthday present for my lovely mutual raine <3 @raineyartandstars
happy birthday!! I really hope you enjoy the fic!
By the time Saturday night had properly sunk its teeth into the city, Sirius Black was already three drinks in, glittering with restless energy, and acting as though the club had personally wronged him by not becoming interesting fast enough.
The place was all low ceilings, blue neon, heat, and bass. Bodies packed close beneath lights that strobed purple and white over the dance floor. The bar ran along one wall in a long black shine, sticky beneath elbows and crowded with people shouting orders over the music. Somewhere near the back, a group of women were singing badly into each other’s faces. Somewhere near the toilets, someone had dropped a drink and left a tragic little glittering puddle of vodka and lime for people to complain about while stepping directly in it.
Their table was half-hidden in a corner, which James had claimed was “strategic” and Sirius had claimed was “boring.”
“You always pick the corner,” Sirius complained, leaning back in his chair like a disgraced prince.
James Potter, whose glasses had already slipped halfway down his nose, lifted his pint with great dignity. “Yes, because in the corner, I can see everything.”
“You sound like someone’s dad.”
“I’m comfortable with that.”
“You dress like someone’s dad.”
James looked down at his open shirt, black jeans, and trainers. “I absolutely do not.”
“You do,” Peter said, sipping his drink through a tiny black straw. “You look like a dad who’s come to pick his daughter up from freshers.”
James turned to him, betrayed. “Pete.”
“I’m just saying. You’ve got concerned parent energy.”
“That’s because all of you make me concerned.”
Sirius snorted. “I make you delighted.”
“You make me check emergency exits.”
Regulus, sitting beside Sirius with one ankle crossed over the other, didn’t look up from the drink in his hand. “There are two emergency exits. One behind the bar. One past the toilets. The one behind the bar is closer but probably locked. The toilet one smells like regret but is more practical.”
There was a pause.
Peter blinked at him. “How long have you been here?”
“Forty minutes.”
“And you’ve mapped escape routes?”
Regulus finally looked up. “I’m a Black.”
Sirius lifted his glass. “Unfortunately true.”
Regulus gave him a cool little look over the rim of his drink. He looked entirely too composed for someone who had been, according to Sirius, “dragged out of the house before he fossilised in his own misery.” He was dressed in black, because of course he was, but it wasn’t the severe, funeral-adjacent black he wore to dinners with their parents or work events he had been emotionally blackmailed into attending. This was softer, sharper, worse. A black mesh shirt beneath a cropped jacket, fitted trousers, silver at his ears, rings on his fingers, his curls falling untidily around his face as though he’d spent an hour pretending not to spend an hour on them.
He also, rather ruinously for Sirius’s argument, had not refused to come out.
He had not even hesitated.
He had simply looked at Sirius when invited, lifted one eyebrow, and said, “I’ll need twenty minutes.”
Sirius had been so thrown by the lack of resistance that he’d accused him of being replaced by a more socially cooperative changeling.
Regulus had told him to shut up and ordered an Uber.
Now, an hour and a half later, he was drinking more steadily than all of them combined and still somehow looked like the most judgemental person in the room.
Remus sat across from him, long-legged and loose in his chair, his sleeves rolled to his forearms. He had a pint he’d barely touched and a smile he kept hiding behind the edge of it. The club lights moved over his face in flickers, catching on the faint shadows under his cheekbones, the scar across his lip, the silver chain at his throat.
Sirius kept looking at him.
He kept trying not to look like he was looking at him, which meant he was making it painfully obvious.
James had noticed.
Peter had noticed.
Regulus had definitely noticed and had the smug decency not to say anything yet, which meant he was saving it like a knife.
Sirius leaned across the table and pointed at Remus.
“You,” he said.
Remus looked at him with wary patience. “Me.”
“Dance with me.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I’ve thought about it many times tonight. The answer remains no.”
Sirius sat back, wounded. “Cruel.”
“Consistent.”
“Boring.”
“Alive.”
James laughed into his drink. “He’s got you there.”
Sirius ignored him. “Come on, Moony.”
Remus’s mouth twitched. “No.”
“One dance.”
“No.”
“One.”
“No.”
“I’ll behave.”
Peter coughed.
James looked away.
Regulus made a small, elegant sound that might have been a laugh if he had been a warmer person.
Sirius turned on them all. “What?”
“Nothing,” James said quickly.
“You all think I can’t behave.”
“No one said that.”
“You implied it.”
Peter raised his hand halfway. “I sort of thought it.”
“Traitor.”
“You spilled a tequila sunrise down my back last time we went out.”
“That was an accident.”
“You shouted ‘the sun has risen’ and slapped me between the shoulders.”
Regulus glanced between them. “That does sound like him.”
Sirius pointed at his brother without looking. “You’re here on sufferance.”
“I came willingly.”
“You came because I invited you.”
“I came because I wanted a drink.”
“You came because I am a loving brother who cares about your mental health.”
Regulus blinked slowly. “You ted me, and I quote, ‘Get dressed, you tragic little Victorian ghost. We’re going clubbing.’”
James bent over the table laughing.
Peter wheezed into his straw.
Remus finally cracked, ducking his head, grin flashing warm and sudden in the dark.
Sirius scowled at Regulus. “That was affectionate.”
“It was libellous.”
“It was accurate.”
“I’m not Victorian.”
“No, you’re older.”
Regulus kicked him under the table.
Sirius yelped. “Ow. See? Miserable and violent.”
“I’m having a wonderful evening.”
“You look like you’re planning a murder.”
“I’m excellent at multitasking.”
Remus was still smiling when Sirius looked back at him, and for one second the whole room tilted slightly.
That was the problem with Remus. Even after everything, even after the breakup had turned from wound to bruise to scar, he still had that effect sometimes. He could sit there doing nothing more dramatic than smiling at someone else’s joke, and Sirius would feel seventeen again, stupid with want and unable to stand still inside his own skin.
They were friends now. Properly friends. Painfully carefully friends for a while, then genuinely friends after the worst of the awkwardness had burned itself out. They could sit in the same room. They could laugh. They could take the piss out of each other. They could share cigarettes outside pubs and walk home with James and Peter without one of them finding a reason to make it hurt.
Mostly.
Sometimes, though, Sirius still looked at him and remembered the way things had been before they’d gone wrong.
Sometimes he remembered Remus dancing in their kitchen, barefoot and sleepy, Sirius’s hands on his waist, both of them laughing so hard they couldn’t stay upright.
Sometimes he remembered asking Remus to come clubbing, again and again, and Remus saying yes with that same tired fondness he gave to all of Sirius’s bad ideas.
Sometimes he remembered Remus standing outside venues with him at two in the morning, holding Sirius’s jacket, jaw tight, eyes exhausted, while Sirius spat blood from a split lip and insisted the other bloke had started it.
Sirius drank.
The bass shifted. The song changed. Something heavy and electronic slid into something with a brighter beat, then collapsed into another pulsing club mix. On the dance floor, bodies surged and rearranged themselves, some people leaving to find drinks, others pushing forward with whoops and raised hands.
Sirius leaned in again.
“Remus.”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“You were going to ask me to dance.”
“I might have been going to ask about car insurance.”
“Then the answer is still no.”
James said, “You don’t have a car.”
“I could be invested in financial wellbeing.”
“You once forgot to pay your electricity bill because the letter looked boring.”
“It did look boring.”
Regulus lifted his drink. “It was a bill.”
“Yes, which are historically boring.”
Remus looked amused despite himself. “Sirius.”
The way he said it still did something ridiculous to Sirius’s chest.
Sirius softened automatically, because he always did when Remus used that tone. “Come on. Please?”
Remus’s expression changed then. Not much. Just a little. The smile stayed, but the edge of it faded.
“I’m good here.”
Sirius held his gaze for a second too long, then forced a shrug. “Fine. Be old.”
“I’m thirty.”
“Ancient.”
“You’re thirty.”
“Beautifully preserved.”
Peter nodded. “Like a haunted painting.”
Sirius slapped a hand over his heart. “All of you are vile.”
Regulus said, “And yet you invited us.”
“I was lonely.”
“You said I was miserable.”
“You are.”
“You invited me because you were lonely?”
Sirius made a vague, offended gesture. “Do you want me to be emotionally honest in a club?”
Regulus considered that. “No. That sounds distressing.”
“Exactly.”
James’s smile softened at that, because James Potter was horrible and noticed feelings even when Sirius had taken great care to bury them beneath insults, leather, and hair products.
“Another round?” James asked, standing before Sirius could tell him to stop looking at him like that.
Peter immediately lifted his empty glass. “Yes, please.”
Sirius pushed his glass forward. “Something dangerous.”
James looked at him. “No.”
“Something fun.”
“No.”
“Something that makes me sparkle.”
“You already sparkle. You can have water.”
Sirius stared at him in horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”
James picked up the glasses. “Watch me.”
He disappeared into the crush near the bar with Peter trailing after him, leaving Sirius at the table with Remus and Regulus, which was a normal arrangement and absolutely not suddenly awkward just because Sirius had failed to get his ex-boyfriend to dance with him eight separate times.
Regulus, because he was awful, looked between them with mild interest.
Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”
Regulus took a sip. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was enjoying the silence.”
“You don’t enjoy anything.”
Regulus’s gaze drifted towards the dance floor. “Not true.”
Sirius followed his eyes but couldn’t tell what he was looking at. It was just bodies and lights, laughter and movement, strangers letting the week sweat out through their skin.
Remus shifted in his chair.
Regulus noticed before Sirius did.
His whole expression changed.
It was small at first. A flicker. A lift of his head, like a cat hearing a door open two rooms away. His fingers, curled loosely around his glass, tightened. The cold, distant boredom melted off him so quickly Sirius almost forgot to be sarcastic about it.
The music had changed again.
At first, Sirius didn’t recognise it. The intro slipped beneath the club noise, a bright, rhythmic pulse threaded with something country, something sharp and twanging beneath the remix. Then the beat dropped in properly, and a cheer went up from somewhere near the middle of the dance floor.
A line began forming.
Not a messy crowd. An actual line.
Then another behind it.
People moved with the swift, instinctive confidence of those who knew exactly what was coming. Boots and trainers shifted. Hands clapped. Someone whooped. A girl in a silver top grabbed her friend’s wrist and yanked her into position.
Regulus sat up.
Remus was already looking at him.
For one brief second they only stared at each other, and something passed between them that Sirius did not understand at all.
Then Regulus smiled.
Not his small polite smile. Not his sharp little knife-smile. Not the one he used when he was about to say something devastating in five words or fewer.
A real smile.
Bright. Unhidden. Almost boyish.
Sirius blinked.
Regulus set his glass down and reached across the table.
He didn’t grab Remus. He didn’t demand. He just touched two fingers to Remus’s sleeve and tugged gently.
Remus’s grin came alive like someone had struck a match.
“Oh,” he said.
Regulus tilted his head towards the dance floor.
Remus stood.
Sirius sat upright so fast his knee hit the table. “Excuse me?”
Remus ignored him, still grinning at Regulus. “You sure?”
Regulus was already standing. “Obviously.”
“Thought you were too cool for this place.”
“I am.”
“And yet?”
Regulus’s smile sharpened, but there was something warm under it. “It’s our song.”
Sirius froze.
The words landed in the middle of the table with the delicate violence of a dropped glass.
Our song.
Our.
Remus laughed softly, low enough that Sirius almost missed it under the music. “Come on, then.”
Regulus slid out from behind the table. Remus offered a hand without seeming to think about it. Regulus took it without seeming to think about it either.
Sirius watched, stunned silent for perhaps the first time that evening, as his brother and his ex-boyfriend walked onto the dance floor together.
Together.
As if that was a normal thing.
As if the floor had been waiting for them.
As if Remus Lupin, who had refused Sirius all night with the immovable calm of a boulder, was now stepping into a line dance in a crowded club because Regulus had tugged his sleeve and smiled.
James and Peter returned just in time to witness the impossible.
James stopped dead with four drinks balanced between his hands. “What the fuck?”
Peter nearly collided with his back. “Why have we stopped?”
James pointed with his chin because his hands were full. “Look.”
Peter looked.
His mouth fell open.
Sirius said nothing.
On the dance floor, Regulus and Remus had taken their places in the second line, side by side among strangers who seemed equally delighted and committed. The song rolled forward with a beat that made the floor tremble. The lights flashed over Remus’s grin, over Regulus’s curls, over their shoulders nearly brushing.
Then the dance began.
It was immediate and startlingly precise.
Step. Step. Heel. Turn.
Hands clapped in rhythm.
The lines moved as one body. Left, right, back, pivot. The whole dance floor seemed to lock into a strange, joyous pattern, strangers becoming synchronised by muscle memory and bass. People laughed when someone missed a step. Someone shouted the count. Someone else cheered.
Regulus did not miss a single beat.
Neither did Remus.
They moved together like they had done it a hundred times before.
Regulus’s head was tipped slightly, curls bouncing as he turned, mouth curved into a grin that made him look nothing like the cool, miserable little ghost Sirius had accused him of being. He was flushed from drink and heat, silver jewellery catching the lights, his body loose in a way Sirius rarely saw. He stepped back, pivoted, clapped, turned with the line, and when Remus shifted closer to avoid a bloke stumbling beside them, Regulus laughed.
He actually laughed.
Remus looked down at him like that laugh was a private victory.
James slowly set the drinks down without taking his eyes off them. “Am I hallucinating?”
Peter accepted his glass blindly. “I hope not, because if I’m hallucinating Regulus line dancing, I need to rethink several things.”
Sirius found his voice.
Unfortunately, it came out strangled.
“Why does Remus know how to do that?”
James glanced at him. “Why does Regulus know how to do that?”
“Why do they know how to do that together?”
On the floor, Remus turned with the line, then stepped back into place, his hand landing lightly at Regulus’s waist for half a second as someone pushed past behind him.
Half a second.
Barely anything.
Sirius saw it anyway.
He saw the familiarity of it. The ease. Remus’s hand low on Regulus’s side, not possessive exactly, but comfortable. Regulus didn’t tense. Didn’t swat him away. Didn’t even look surprised. He just leaned into the direction of the dance and moved with him, smooth and bright beneath the neon.
The song kicked harder.
The dancers shouted something with the chorus, boots and trainers stamping in time.
Regulus and Remus turned towards each other.
They were meant to turn back with the line.
They didn’t.
Only for a few beats, but enough.
Remus caught Regulus by both hands and pulled him into the movement, grinning so wide it changed his whole face. Regulus went easily, laughing again, letting Remus guide him through the turn before twisting out with a sharp little flick of his hips that made Remus’s eyebrows lift.
James made a noise like he had just been punched by gossip.
Peter whispered, “Oh my God.”
Sirius gripped his glass. “No.”
James, very carefully, said, “Sirius.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I really was.”
“Don’t.”
James pressed his lips together in a heroic attempt not to smile.
On the dance floor, Remus was absolutely checking Regulus out.
There was no subtlety in it.
None.
Remus Lupin, who had spent years pretending his feelings were mysterious ruins best viewed from a responsible distance, was watching Regulus Black’s arse in the middle of a line dance with the focus of a man reading scripture. Regulus knew it too. He had to know. Sirius could tell from the smug little tilt of his mouth, from the way he glanced over his shoulder as the dance turned again, lashes lowered, grin wicked and pleased.
Remus smirked.
Regulus rolled his eyes but moved closer on the next step.
Sirius’s brain temporarily evacuated his skull.
James said, “Right.”
Peter said, “That seems… familiar.”
Sirius turned on him. “What does that mean?”
Peter held up both hands. “Nothing.”
“What does familiar mean, Peter?”
“It means familiar.”
“Familiar how?”
Peter looked at James for help.
James took an emergency sip of his drink.
Coward.
The dance continued. The whole club seemed to love it now, people near the edges clapping along even if they didn’t know the steps. A few tried to join and immediately made disasters of themselves. One man spun the wrong way and nearly took out someone’s drink. A woman in red laughed so hard she had to be pulled back into the line by her friends.
But Regulus and Remus stayed perfect.
Worse than perfect.
Happy.
That was the unbearable part.
Remus, who had said no to Sirius every time.
Remus, who supposedly didn’t like clubs.
Remus, who had claimed he was “good here.”
Remus was now flushed and laughing beneath the lights, his hand finding Regulus’s hip again when the line compressed, his fingers spreading there for just a second before he let go. Regulus looked up at him, said something Sirius couldn’t hear, and Remus tipped his head back laughing.
The jealousy hit before Sirius could make it elegant.
It rose ugly and hot beneath his ribs, not because of Regulus exactly, not really, but because of the shape of the thing. The secret of it. The ease. The knowledge that there was an entire version of Remus Sirius had not been given, or had maybe been given and ruined, and now his brother was standing there laughing with it in both hands.
James slid into the chair beside him.
“Sirius,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re about to bite through the glass.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Peter sat down more cautiously. “Maybe it’s just a dance.”
Sirius laughed once. It had no humour in it. “It’s their song.”
James winced.
Peter looked back at the dance floor. “Ah.”
“Ah,” Sirius echoed. “Yes. Good. Glad we’re all caught up.”
James’s voice softened. “You didn’t know?”
“Does it look like I knew?”
“No.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because sometimes you know things and still act surprised.”
“Thank you, James. Very helpful.”
“I try.”
Sirius dragged a hand through his hair. He could feel the old impulses flickering awake, awful and familiar. Get louder. Make a joke. Knock something over. Start a fight with someone bigger. Turn hurt into spectacle before it could turn into anything worse.
He stayed in his chair.
He hated how much effort it took.
The song was building towards its end now, the beat faster, the dancers louder. Regulus and Remus moved through the final sequence with ridiculous ease. Step, turn, clap, slide. Remus leaned down to say something in Regulus’s ear. Regulus shoved him lightly in the chest without losing rhythm. Remus caught his wrist, laughing.
The last chorus hit.
The whole line moved together.
Then the song ended in a burst of cheers, applause, and breathless laughter.
Regulus was flushed now, genuinely flushed, curls damp at his temples, eyes bright. Remus looked alive in a way Sirius hadn’t seen for ages, breathing harder, smile lazy and pleased as he glanced down at Regulus.
For one dangerous moment, Sirius thought they might kiss right there.
They didn’t.
Remus only put his hand at the small of Regulus’s back to guide him through the crowd.
That was somehow worse.
They returned to the table still carrying the warmth of the dance floor with them. Regulus reached for his drink immediately, taking a long swallow like nothing significant had happened. Remus dropped back into his chair with a satisfied exhale, stretching his legs out beneath the table.
The silence that greeted them was enormous.
Regulus lowered his glass. “What?”
Sirius stared at him.
James stared at Remus.
Peter stared at both of them with the wide-eyed look of a man watching a house collapse in slow motion while holding a mojito.
James spoke first.
“What the fuck was that?”
Remus blinked innocently. “Dancing.”
“No,” James said. “No, that was not just dancing.”
“It looked like dancing.”
“That looked rehearsed.”
“It’s a line dance. By definition, yes.”
Peter leaned forward. “You know line dances?”
Remus shrugged. “Some.”
Sirius’s voice came out sharp. “Some?”
Regulus glanced at him, then away.
Remus heard the edge too. His smile faded slightly. “Yeah.”
Sirius looked between them. “Since when?”
Regulus said, very mildly, “Since Remus taught me.”
Peter’s straw slipped from his mouth.
James’s eyebrows shot up. “Remus taught you?”
Regulus set his drink down carefully. “Yes.”
Sirius laughed. Again, no humour. “Of course he did.”
Remus straightened a little. “Sirius.”
“No, please. This is fascinating. Remus hates clubbing, except apparently he doesn’t. Remus doesn’t dance, except apparently he does. Remus won’t dance with me, but Regulus tugs his sleeve and suddenly he’s fucking Fred Astaire in cowboy boots.”
Regulus’s expression chilled at once. “Don’t.”
Sirius looked at him.
Regulus looked back, calm but warning.
The jealousy shifted sideways, guilt creeping under it. Sirius swallowed, jaw tight.
“I’m not angry at you,” he said.
Regulus’s face did not soften. “You sound like you are.”
“I’m not.”
“Then don’t speak to me like I’ve done something.”
That landed cleanly.
James looked down at the table.
Peter suddenly became fascinated by his drink.
Remus sighed through his nose. “Reg.”
Regulus didn’t look at him. “No.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
Sirius rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not angry at you,” he repeated, quieter this time.
Regulus watched him for another moment, then gave a small nod. Not forgiveness exactly. A pause.
Remus leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice low enough that the table had to bend towards him to hear.
“We go out sometimes,” he said.
Sirius looked at him.
Remus met his eyes. “Me and Regulus.”
James said, “Sometimes.”
Peter said, “Define sometimes.”
Regulus took another drink.
Remus glanced at him, then back at the table. “A lot.”
Sirius went very still.
James looked between them. “How long has that been happening?”
Remus scratched the back of his neck. “A while.”
“A while,” Sirius echoed.
Regulus said, “You don’t have to make it sound sinister.”
Sirius turned to him. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m surprised.”
“You’re acting betrayed.”
Sirius opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? He did feel betrayed. Stupidly, unfairly, childishly betrayed. Not because Regulus had done anything wrong. Not because Remus owed him every version of himself forever. Not because friends weren’t allowed to become something else, or because exes were meant to remain untouched museum pieces.
He felt betrayed because there had been a door he hadn’t known existed, and apparently Remus had walked through it with Regulus.
He felt betrayed because he had knocked on that door all night and been told no.
He felt betrayed because, once, he had been the one Remus followed into loud rooms.
Remus was watching him like he understood too much.
That made it worse.
Sirius picked up his glass, remembered James had brought him water, and set it down again with a grimace.
James, trying gently, said, “So you two just… go clubbing together?”
Regulus’s mouth twitched. “Yes.”
“And line dance.”
“Yes.”
“In clubs.”
“Yes, James.”
“Frequently.”
Regulus looked at Remus.
Remus looked at Regulus.
Peter whispered, “Oh, there’s more.”
Sirius closed his eyes. “Of course there’s more.”
Remus exhaled. “We started going out after you and I broke up.”
The words were not cruel, but they had weight. Sirius opened his eyes.
Remus continued, careful now. “Reg was going clubbing for the first time. Properly clubbing, not just standing in a corner judging everyone.”
“I still do that,” Regulus said.
“You do,” Remus agreed, mouth flickering. “But he was nervous.”
Regulus looked down at his rings, face tightening with embarrassment. “I wasn’t nervous.”
“You asked me what shoes counted as normal.”
“That was research.”
“You texted me three outfit options.”
“That was also research.”
“You asked whether someone could die from bad music.”
“They can.”
Remus smiled despite himself. “He wanted someone to go with him. Someone who knew what it was like.”
Sirius’s chest hurt.
Regulus did not look at him.
Remus did.
“I said yes because I thought it’d be one night,” Remus said. “Honestly, I thought I’d hate it.”
Sirius’s voice was rougher than he meant it to be. “You did hate it.”
Remus went quiet.
James muttered, “Sirius.”
“No, he did. He always hated it. Every time I dragged him out, he hated it.”
Remus’s jaw moved.
For a moment, the club seemed to dim around them. The bass was still pounding. People were still laughing. Glasses still clinked at the bar. The world kept moving, rude and careless, while something old and unfinished rose between them.
Remus looked tired suddenly.
Not current tired. Not end-of-night tired.
Memory tired.
“I hated it with you,” he said.
Sirius flinched.
Regulus went very still beside him.
James’s head snapped towards Remus. Peter visibly stopped breathing.
Remus closed his eyes briefly. “That came out harsher than I meant.”
Sirius forced a smile. It arrived broken. “No, no. Don’t soften it on my account.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Remus leaned back, rubbing both hands over his face. “Sirius.”
“What?”
“You want to know, so I’m telling you.”
“Great. Tell me.”
Remus lowered his hands.
His expression was calm now, but not cold. That was Remus at his most dangerous, really. He could be angry with such devastating softness it made shouting feel vulgar.
“I didn’t hate the music,” he said. “I didn’t hate dancing. I didn’t even hate clubs as much as I thought. I hated what happened every time we went.”
Sirius said nothing.
Remus’s voice stayed low. “You’d get too drunk.”
The words struck hard, because they were true.
“You’d shout,” Remus continued. “You’d try to fight people. Sometimes you did fight people. You’d disappear into crowds, and I’d spend half the night trying to find you before you got yourself hurt or arrested or thrown out. And if I didn’t go with you, I’d sit at home waiting for a phone call telling me something had happened.”
Sirius stared at the table.
The water glass reflected the lights in broken blue shards.
Remus swallowed. “So I went. Because I couldn’t not go. Because if I said no and you got in trouble, I’d feel like it was my fault.”
James’s face had gone still in that awful way it did when he was trying not to show how much he agreed.
Peter looked miserable.
Regulus looked at Sirius then, properly looked at him, and the pity in his face was so faint Sirius almost missed it.
He wished he had missed it.
Sirius laughed once under his breath. “Right.”
Remus said, “I don’t hate you.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“I don’t. I need you to hear that.”
Sirius’s throat worked.
Remus leaned forward again. “We were young and a mess, and I loved you. Of course I did. But clubbing with you wasn’t fun for me. It was work. It was damage control. It was holding your hair back in taxis and cleaning blood off your knuckles in kebab shop toilets and trying to talk bouncers into not calling the police.”
Sirius looked away.
The shame was old, but it still knew where to put its hands.
Remus’s voice gentled. “And you were hurting. I know that. I knew it then. But I was tired, Sirius.”
Sirius nodded once. Too sharp. Too fast.
“I know.”
Remus watched him. “Do you?”
Sirius nearly snapped something back. Something mean. Something sparkling and cruel enough to get everyone looking anywhere else.
He didn’t.
He looked at Remus, and the truth came out small.
“Yeah.”
Remus’s face changed.
Sirius hated that too. The softness. The relief. The mourning.
Regulus shifted beside him, quieter now, fingers tracing the rim of his glass.
James cleared his throat carefully. “And with Reg?”
Remus looked at him.
James lifted a hand. “Sorry. Not— I’m not interrogating. I just… you know. We’re all slightly catching up here.”
Peter nodded quickly. “Very slightly.”
Regulus said, dry again, though not quite as sharp as before, “You all look like you’ve witnessed witchcraft.”
“We have,” Peter said. “You danced.”
“I’ve danced before.”
“Not where anyone could see.”
“You weren’t invited.”
Peter looked personally injured. “I’m delightful.”
“You’re tolerable.”
“From you, that’s basically a proposal.”
Regulus’s mouth curved despite himself.
Remus smiled at him again, and Sirius saw it. Couldn’t not see it now. The warmth there. The private ease.
Remus answered James’s question.
“With Reg, it was different,” he said. “He was nervous, but he listened. He didn’t get blackout drunk. He didn’t try to fight a man because he looked at him funny.”
Sirius muttered, “He absolutely would fight a man for looking at him funny.”
Regulus said, “Yes, but I’d win.”
Remus pointed at him. “And he lets me stop him.”
Regulus considered that. “Sometimes.”
“Usually.”
“If the man deserves it, I make a compelling case.”
“You once made a compelling case for biting someone because he stood on your shoe.”
“It was a good shoe.”
Remus looked back at the others, his smile softer now. “He wanted to learn. So I taught him the easy ones first. Stupid line dances. The kind everyone knows after three drinks and one tutorial online. Then we found places that played them. Then it just became…” He shrugged, searching for the word. “Ours.”
Sirius’s stomach tightened again.
Ours.
There it was.
Regulus looked into his drink as though he had not heard it, but colour had crept back into his face.
Peter, who apparently had no survival instinct, whispered, “And then hooking up happened?”
James made a strangled noise. “Peter.”
“What? We were all thinking it.”
“I was thinking it silently.”
“That doesn’t help us learn.”
Regulus closed his eyes. “You’re all insufferable.”
Remus did not deny it.
Which was, frankly, a confession shouted through a megaphone.
Sirius stared at him.
Remus looked back, then sighed.
“Yes,” he said.
Peter’s eyes went enormous.
James whispered, “Bloody hell.”
Sirius said nothing.
Regulus stiffened, just slightly, as though bracing for the blow.
That was what finally dragged Sirius out of himself.
Because Regulus was sitting there looking calm, but Sirius knew him. He knew that stillness. Knew the way his little brother could tuck every vulnerable part of himself behind a locked door and then stand guard with a blade between his teeth.
Regulus expected Sirius to be angry at him.
And Sirius hated himself for giving him reason to.
He took a slow breath.
“Reg,” he said.
Regulus didn’t look at him. “Don’t.”
“I’m not going to have a go at you.”
“I said don’t.”
“I mean it.”
Regulus’s jaw tightened.
Sirius softened his voice. “I’m not angry at you.”
“You already said that.”
“I’m saying it again because I sounded like an arsehole the first time.”
James made a quiet approving sound.
Sirius ignored him.
Regulus finally looked over.
His eyes were guarded.
Sirius swallowed everything sharp and bitter trying to crawl up his throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Regulus said nothing.
“You didn’t,” Sirius repeated. “I’m just—” He laughed weakly and dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m surprised. And jealous. And apparently still a bit of a disaster, which is humiliating because I put effort into this shirt.”
Peter said, “It is a good shirt.”
“Thank you, Pete.”
Regulus’s expression loosened by a fraction.
Sirius looked at Remus then. That was harder.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
Remus held his gaze. “I know.”
“No, I mean— I knew some of it. Obviously. I knew I was a lot. I knew nights got messy. I knew you were annoyed sometimes.”
Remus’s mouth twisted faintly. “Sometimes.”
“Fine. Often.” Sirius looked down at his hands. “But I didn’t know it was like that for you.”
Remus didn’t answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was quiet. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Sirius nodded. “Yeah.”
“I tried.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t really hear me.”
“I know.”
The words hurt, but there was something clean in them. Like pressing on a bruise and realising it was no longer broken beneath the skin.
James sat very still beside him, shoulder just close enough that Sirius could feel him there without being crowded.
Peter fiddled with the tiny umbrella that had somehow appeared in his drink despite no one ordering anything with an umbrella in it.
Regulus watched Sirius as though waiting for the second wave.
Sirius gave him a tired little smile. “You look like you’re preparing to stab me with a cocktail stick.”
“You’re taller than me. I’d need something longer.”
“Comforting.”
“I was thinking glass bottle.”
“There he is.”
Regulus’s mouth twitched again.
Remus breathed out, tension leaving his shoulders.
But the night had changed. There was no pretending it hadn’t.
The music pushed on around them, careless and bright, but their table had become its own small weather system. Too much had been said now. Too much had been revealed beneath cheap lights and the smell of spilled vodka. Nobody was furious. Nobody was shouting. That almost made it harder.
Remus looked at Regulus.
Regulus looked back.
Some silent conversation passed between them, one Sirius couldn’t hear and probably hadn’t earned the right to.
Then Remus stood.
“I think we’re going to call it,” he said.
Regulus’s head snapped up. “We are?”
Remus’s mouth softened. “Yeah.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t ask to leave.”
“I know that too.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Then don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make decisions because you think I’m uncomfortable.”
Remus leaned down slightly, voice low but still audible at the table. “I’m making the decision because I don’t want to upset anyone, I can tell things might get tense, and I don’t want a fight. Not tonight.”
Regulus’s expression shifted.
Remus straightened and looked at Sirius. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Sirius swallowed. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I know.”
“Moony.”
Remus’s face flickered.
Sirius hated that he had used the name without thinking. Hated the old pull of it. Hated that he still had a key to that door, even if he didn’t live there any more.
Remus’s voice stayed gentle. “Tomorrow, Pads.”
Sirius nodded.
James looked as though he wanted to object and knew better. “You getting a cab?”
“Yeah.”
“I can order one.”
“I’ve got it.”
Peter lifted a small hand. “Bye, then. Sorry if my questions made things weirder.”
Remus gave him a tired smile. “They usually do.”
“That’s fair.”
Regulus stood too, smoothing his jacket down, the brightness from the dance fading into something quieter. He looked at James first.
Peter saluted with his straw. “We’ll keep him alive.”
“Low bar,” Regulus said.
Sirius tried to smile. It almost worked.
Remus moved around the table, not touching Regulus at first. Giving him space. Letting him choose. Regulus hesitated, then stepped closer, and Remus’s hand settled lightly between his shoulder blades as they turned towards the exit.
There it was again.
That ease.
That little language made of habit.
Sirius watched them go for three steps before Regulus turned back.
His face was pale beneath the shifting lights, mouth pressed into a line that looked too much like guilt.
“Sirius,” he called over the music.
Sirius looked at him.
Regulus’s voice was quieter than the club wanted to allow. “I’m sorry.”
And there it was. The thing Sirius had been afraid of. The thing that cut straight through the jealousy and left only his brother standing there, too young and too guarded and apologising for wanting something that had made him happy.
Sirius sighed.
All at once, he was not angry. Not even close.
Just sad.
Sad for himself. Sad for Remus. Sad for the version of them that had loved each other and still not known how to survive it. Sad that Regulus had found something good and immediately thought he had to apologise for it.
Sirius pushed himself halfway up from his chair.
“Oi,” he called back.
Regulus paused.
Sirius pointed at him, softer than the gesture looked. “Text me when you’re home.”
Regulus blinked.
Sirius forced a crooked smile. “So I know you’re safe.”
For a second, Regulus looked unbearably young.
Then his face softened.
Only a little.
Enough.
“I will,” he said.
Sirius nodded.
Remus looked back too, meeting Sirius’s eyes across the neon dark.
There was no clean ending in his expression. No easy forgiveness, no dramatic closure, no promise that tomorrow wouldn’t ache when it arrived. Just recognition. Just history. Just the faint, tired affection of two people who had once been terrible for each other and still cared whether the other got home alive.
Sirius lifted two fingers in a small wave.
Remus returned it.
Then he turned, guiding Regulus through the crowd.
The club swallowed them slowly. First Remus’s shoulders vanished between strangers, then Regulus’s dark curls, then the silver flash of his rings as he reached back and caught Remus’s hand.
After that, they were gone.
Sirius sank back into his chair.
For a while, none of them spoke.
The music changed again, something louder and uglier and easier to ignore. The dance floor filled over the space Remus and Regulus had left behind. People laughed. People drank. Someone shrieked near the bar. The world did not pause for old heartbreaks or new secrets.
James slid the glass of water closer to Sirius.
Sirius stared at it.
Peter, with uncharacteristic wisdom, said nothing.
i’m trying to make an AU where lev escapes to the tyler walker foundation after being caught up in that cult and meets up with risa and they go find connor together but i lowkey forgot what happens in the books so im just gonna pretend like i do and make up the parts i forgot
amandla
dailybridgerton
titsay
izzy806
origamiaround
theartofmadeline
stormborns
