method acting (like you love me) by illustriousday
Chapters: 7/28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Regulus Black/James Potter
Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Idiots in Love, Established Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Past Regulus Black/Barty Crouch Jr., also some present oops, denial is a river in egypt, Inspired by a Lizzy McAlpine Song, actually her whole discography, Regulus Black and Sirius Black Angst, Regulus Black & Sirius Black Have a Good Relationship, eventually, POV James Potter, POV Regulus Black, Everyone Is Gay, Regulus Black Needs a Hug, Walburga Black’s A+ Parenting, Rivals With Benefits, Meeting the Parents, Fluff and Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, because it’s regulus and sirius come on, Gay Regulus Black, Pansexual James Potter, Alternate Universe - Actors, Musician Sirius Black, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Social Media, Trans Regulus Black, British Regulus Black, American James Potter, the story is split between Europe and the US, Press and Tabloids, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Friendship, they are not and will not be romantic ever, No Lily Evans Potter Bashing, she's my girl i love her, Minor Mary Macdonald/Lily Evans Potter, Mutual Pining, French Black Family (Harry Potter), Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Enemies to Lovers, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to be Added
Words: 62,647
Regulus Black has hated James Potter for years. He’s obnoxious, and arrogant, and stole his brother away.
James Potter has hated Regulus Black for years. But only because he’s so mean to him. And James, frankly, doesn’t think he deserves it.
When the two star as romantic leads in a new coming-of-age movie and have a very public catfight at the wrap party, the publicity team scrambles to find a way to fix this before social media runs wild with it. Something like… a relationship between the two Hollywood golden boys?
Featuring fake dating, lots of late-night talk shows and interviews, getting a little too heated “for the paparazzi”, and denial being a river in Egypt.
There are chairs. There are tables. There are signs politely asking students not to block the aisles. But the fourth floor of the university library is quiet in the way that feels like a held breath, and the row they’ve claimed is tucked far enough back that no one’s complained yet.
Regulus sits cross-legged, back straight against the shelves, laptop balanced on his knees. He’s color-coded his notes—of course he has—and every few minutes he pauses to highlight something, jaw tight in concentration. Finals week has turned him sharp-edged, all focus and tension and precise movements.
James, by contrast, is sprawled beside him like he’s been gently dropped there and never bothered to get up properly. One knee is bent, the other stretched out, ankle nudging Regulus’s calf every time he shifts. He’s got his glasses on—thin wire frames he only wears when he’s pretending to take things seriously—and a textbook lies open in his lap, forgotten.
He watches Regulus instead.
Regulus doesn’t notice at first. He’s muttering under his breath, rereading the same paragraph for the third time, brows knitting together.
James clears his throat.
“Hey, Reg?”
Regulus hums absently. “If this is about taking another break, the answer is no.”
James grins. “Wow. Cruel. I was going to ask you something very profound, actually.”
That earns him a glance. Regulus’s eyes flick up, unimpressed but curious despite himself. “You? Profound?”
James presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m capable of deep, philosophical thought.”
“Dangerous,” Regulus says dryly, then looks back to his screen.
James waits a beat. Then, casually, like he’s asking about the weather or what Regulus wants for dinner later, he says, “Do you believe in soulmates, Reg?”
That does it.
Regulus stills.
The library hums around them—distant footsteps, the whisper of pages turning, the faint whirr of the ventilation system—but in the narrow aisle between shelves, everything feels suddenly too quiet.
Regulus turns his head slowly.
James is peering at him over the rims of his glasses, expression open in a way that should be illegal. There’s no teasing smile this time, no obvious punchline waiting in the wings. Just curiosity. Something softer. Something that makes Regulus’s chest tighten for reasons he doesn’t immediately unpack.
“Why,” Regulus says carefully, “are you asking me that?”
James shrugs, a little sheepish now that he has Regulus’s full attention. “I don’t know. It just—popped into my head.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is for me.”
Regulus studies him, searching for the joke. Finding none, he exhales slowly and leans his head back against the shelves.
“I think,” he says after a moment, “that you’ll need to elaborate.”
James blinks. “Me?”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” Regulus replies. “What do you mean when you say ‘soulmates’?”
James tilts his head, considering. He pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger, a habit Regulus has noticed and absolutely refuses to acknowledge how fond of it he is.
“I guess,” James says, “most people think it’s this one perfect person, right? Like the universe made you specifically for each other. One shot. One name written in the stars. Very dramatic.”
Regulus huffs softly. “Sounds inefficient.”
James laughs, quick and quiet so as not to disturb the sacred silence of the library. “Yeah, see, that’s what I thought you’d say.”
“And you disagree?” Regulus asks.
James doesn’t answer right away. He looks down at his book, thumb tracing the edge of a page he hasn’t read.
“I think,” he says slowly, “that soulmates are… people you choose. Over and over. Not because fate shoved you together, but because something about them feels—right. Like home. Even when it’s messy.”
Regulus’s throat feels suddenly tight.
He keeps his gaze fixed on the opposite shelf, on spines of books he’s already catalogued in his mind just to avoid looking at James’s face.
“That sounds suspiciously like effort,” Regulus says.
“Oh, it absolutely is,” James agrees easily. “I think that’s the point.”
Silence stretches between them, thick and fragile.
Regulus swallows.
“And,” he says, quieter now, “you believe that?”
James nods. “Yeah. I do.”
“Why?”
James glances at him again, something earnest and terrifying in his eyes. “Because I’ve met people who felt important for a moment,” he says. “And I’ve met people who changed me. And then there are people who—” He stops, breath hitching just slightly. “—who feel like they’re always there, even when they’re not. Like my life makes more sense with them in it.”
Regulus’s fingers curl into the fabric of his trousers.
“That’s dangerously close to romantic nonsense,” he murmurs.
James smiles, but it’s softer than usual. “You didn’t say you disagreed.”
Regulus turns his head then, really looks at him. At the curve of James’s mouth, the warmth in his eyes, the way his knee is still pressed lightly against Regulus’s leg like it belongs there.
“I don’t know if I believe in destiny,” Regulus says. “Or in one person meant for you above all others.”
James nods, listening.
“But,” Regulus continues, voice steady despite the way his pulse is racing, “I believe that some people… find you. And stay. And you become something different because of it.”
James’s breath catches.
“Is that a yes?” he asks quietly.
Regulus hesitates.
Then, just as quietly, he says, “It might be.”
James grins, wide and bright, but there’s something reverent about it now, like he’s holding something precious and doesn’t quite know what to do with it yet.
“Well,” he says, nudging Regulus’s knee gently with his own, “good. Because I was starting to worry you’d tell me I was being ridiculous.”
Regulus snorts. “Oh, you’re absolutely being ridiculous.”
what's wrong babe you've barely touched your potential even though all your elementary teachers really liked you and said you were gifted and that you were going to do great things
callous - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 687
for @itsnotcasual <3
They say when an artist falls in love with you, you never die - and as Regulus’ frustration tipped over and he balled up yet another absent sketch that was starting to look a little too much like him, he’s never believed in nor regretted that truth more.
He threw the rejected drawing into the bin, collapsed backwards into his chair and groaned heavily, curling his legs up beneath himself and biting back the urge to scream.
James wasn’t dead. If he was, this wouldn’t have been nearly so infuriating. Depressing, mournful, maybe a bit cathartic eventually - but not this. A callous reminder that though he had forced his muse out of his life, he couldn’t extract him from his mind. He’d developed a muscle memory for the exact curve of his jaw, the precise smattering of freckles, and the dips and shadows of his muscled form and no matter who or what he tried to draw, James always seemed to leak in around the edges.
The smiles of the strangers he sketched across crowded coffee shops would become lopsided, with the single dimple on the left side. Regulus knew that dimple intimately - knew how to pull it out with a sarcastic comment, knew what it tasted like first thing in the morning and last thing at night.
Or it would be in the laughter lines that would appear in the corners of their eyes - not there in reality but Regulus had spent so many years reflexively drawing them that faces looked empty without them.
Even his still lifes and landscapes had been affected. Bathed in a warmth that he’d never included before he held the sun in his hands and committed it to canvas in every piece he created, but couldn’t remove now.
It had been months since Regulus had closed the door in his face with a shake of his head and a Goodbye, James - and had immediately slid down the length of it to the floor in uncontrollable tears. He’d been so sure it was for the best - still was, James deserved so much more than Regulus could offer - but it didn’t make the sting of his absence any duller. Didn’t make the fire that burned through his gut every time he recognised his presence in his work any cooler.
It had been Regulus’s decision alone to end things. And he didn’t regret it, not really. He regretted how much he’d hurt James, he’d not seen it coming and Regulus had seen the exact moment his heart had shattered. Saw it repeatedly in his own drawings, the anguish clearly visible in anything scribbled out in the deep of night when sleep evaded him, a regular occurrence these days
For a while he told himself that if he drew him enough, he might be able to work it out of his system. The back wall of his apartment, wallpapered with these failed attempts almost laughed at him as it proved him wrong.
He’d tried picking out a new muse, but that didn’t work either. Because it turns out that the problem with breaking up with someone you’re still desperately in love with is that you can’t just transfer those feelings over to someone else, and everyone he attempted it with just felt like a pale imitation. Never enough to fill the gulf of emotion that James had left behind when he walked away.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid James forever. He was his brother’s best friend - it had been a miracle he’d gone this long. He just needed to hold out a little longer. Told himself that the day he was able to draw someone else without recognising James in the corners, that would be the day he’d be able to see him again. But looking back at the last thousand attempts - he was a long way off. Years, maybe. Or perhaps a lifetime.
Because when an artist falls in love with you, you never die. Forever immortalised in every stroke of their brush, every drag of ink on canvas. You’re never forgotten, no matter how much the artist wishes that they could.
