Voicemail (chocokitten on ao3)
Regulus has memorised the voicemail word for word after the first week.
It was two minutes and twenty two seconds.
By the second week, he knew every breath between words, every soft crackle of static, every soft laugh caught at the back of his throat.
By the third week, he could match his own breathing to James’s
He still presses play anyway.
The voicemail sits at the top of his inbox, saved and starred. He had pinned it to the top.
4 : 12 AM glows red across his alarm clock when Regulus listens to it again.
James sounds warm, alive. He was distracted by something, like he always was. There’s faint noises in the background, car horns, people talking, wind.
“I know you’re asleep, even though it’s only ten o’clock, because you are objectively the oldest twenty one year old alive,”
Regulus closes his eyes. Taking in James’s voice. He pictures James face, his puppy eyes, his bright smile.
“I just wanted to say sorry again for earlier. Sirius said I was being an absolute prick, which was a bit harsh, but apparently i’m not supposed to joke about you joining a cult when you are already stressed.”
A broken laugh escapes Regulus before he can stop it.
He thinks backs to their last conversation, Regulus was stressed about college work and James had been anything but helpful, he made a joke about him joining and cult and Regulus blew up on him.
Their last conversation was an argument.
Regulus’s last words to James were, “Get out. I never want to see your face again.”
Then James left. He went on a walk to give Regulus some space.
A truck driver missed a red light.
Regulus squeezes his eyes as much as he could as he tried to focus on James’s voice and not the overwhelming guilt in his stomach.
“Anyways,” James continued softly. “I know you don’t want to speak to me right now.”
Regulus broke, all he wants to do is speak to James. The bed dipped from him curling into himself.
“And I know you think you have to deal with everything yourself, all the time, but you don’t.”
His throat burns. His eyes are blurry. His lips tremble.
Static cracks loudly through the speaker. Then James sighs. “You’re probably going to roll your eyes at what I’m about to say,”
Regulus feels like he can’t breathe.
“I love you. I’m IN love with you. Disgustingly.”
Tears slip down Regulus’s cheeks.
“I love you even when you’re being scary and mean and acting like you hate me.” James laughed again, softly this time.
“And I know you can’t say it back, but that’s okay. We can work on it together.”
Regulus remembers exactly where he was when Sirius called him. Kitchen floor. Cold tiles. Halfway through making tea he didn’t even want.
He remembers thinking, “Maybe I should talk to James today.”
He remembers dropping the mug. He remembers the blood rushing through his head while Sirius’s voice played in his ears, “There was an accident, Reg. James didn’t make it.”
The voicemail keeps playing.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” James says softly, affectionately.
That sentence nearly kills him every time. Tomorrow never came. James was paused in time.
“Goodnight baby. Dream about me.” James says cheekily before the line cuts off.
A beep. Silence etched in the room.
Regulus stared at the dark ceiling, while his phone screen dimmed in his hand.
He closes his eyes and pretends James is driving home. That he’s still out there, somewhere. That tomorrow still exists in the shape they planned for it.
A shared flat with red wallpaper. A dog James wanted and Regulus absolutely did not. Matching mugs. Arguments over whose turn it was to get the weekly shopping.
Everything was in future tense.
His thumb hovers over the “Replay” button.
He knows this is unhealthy. Sirius told him gently, voice cracking due to his own grief. Remus told him grief could become a place you trap yourself inside. Even Lily, eyes swollen red at the funeral, hugged Regulus and whispered in his ear, “You need to keep living too.”
But the voicemail is proof, proof James existed. Proof Regulus didn’t make up their connection in his head.
The room is unbearably quiet. Regulus presses play again.
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