Home Is Such a Lonely Place Without You: Part 4
James looked up when the door clicked open.
He didn’t startle. Didn’t tense. Just glanced toward the hallway as Regulus walked in like he hadn’t been gone for two weeks—like disappearing was as ordinary as popping out for milk.
“There’s nihari gosht on the stove,” he called easily, marking his page with one finger. “And I made butter naan. The good kind. Not the tragic supermarket attempt.”
Regulus paused mid-step, one brow lifting as he nudged the door shut with his heel. He dropped his bag by the wall and began unlacing his shoes.
“Did you know I was coming back tonight?” he asked, tone carefully neutral.
James shrugged from the sofa. “Nope.”
“But I’ve been making extra lately,” James added. “Just in case you wander home.”
Something shifted in Regulus’ expression—small, quick. Gone almost instantly.
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well. Thank you.”
He padded into the kitchen in his socks. James heard the lid lift, the soft scrape of a ladle against the pot. The smell of spiced meat and slow cooked onions deepened in the flat.
James expected him to stay at the counter.
Instead, to his mild surprise, Regulus returned to the living room with a bowl in one hand and naan folded in the other. He lowered himself onto the sofa beside James, curling one leg beneath him like he always used to.
Close. But not quite touching.
James pretended not to notice how deliberate the distance was.
“Where’d you run off to this time?” James asked lightly, turning a page.
Regulus exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to leave a note next time.”
James blinked and looked up. “Hm? Oh, that’s not what I meant.” He shifted, tucking one arm along the back of the sofa. “I meant geographically. Country? City? Did you have a good time?”
Regulus stared at him for a moment as if recalibrating.
“Oh.” He looked back down at his bowl, nudging a piece of meat through the rich sauce. “Scotland. Edinburgh, mostly. I visited the National Galleries. Sat in front of a Turner for an hour.”
James smiled faintly. “That tracks.”
“I taught a few painting workshops,” Regulus added, almost reluctantly. “Teenagers. They were terrible.”
James laughed under his breath. “You were terrible at fifteen.”
“I was gifted and misunderstood.”
“It was good,” he admitted after a second. “Being there.”
“I’m glad,” James said simply.
Silence settled between them, the faint sound of traffic outside.
Regulus finished half his bowl before speaking again.
“You really don’t mind?” he asked, quieter now.
James glanced over the top of his book. “Mind what?”
“Me.” Regulus gestured vaguely. “Leaving. Vanishing. Reappearing like a stray cat.”
James studied him for a long moment.
“Oh,” he said gently. “That.”
He closed the book fully this time and set it aside.
“You’re doing your thing, Reg. You always have.” He shrugged. “I’d rather you go and come back than stay and resent me.”
“Just be safe,” James added. “The usual.”
There it was—the expectation. But it was small. Manageable.
James stood abruptly before the moment could turn too serious.
“Ice cream?” he called over his shoulder as he headed into the kitchen. “I’ve got praline.”
“Sure,” Regulus replied automatically, rising to follow with his empty bowl. “But next time, get pistachio.”
James spun around, already holding a pint of pistachio aloft like a trophy.
“That,” he declared, “was the backup flavour.”
James pressed the cold carton into his hands. “I’m not oblivious.”
Regulus’ fingers tightened slightly around the pint. A faint flush crept up his neck.
“You know me far too well,” he muttered.
James handed him a spoon, their fingers brushing briefly.
“I do,” James said, softer now. Then, with a crooked grin, “It’s one of my more impressive talents.”
Regulus huffed a quiet laugh.
They stood there in the kitchen for a moment longer than necessary, sharing a pint of pistachio ice cream straight from the tub.
“Your brother is in full wedding mode,” James said as he screwed the lid back onto the ice cream and slid it into the freezer. “Though I half expected them to just elope and spare us all the emotional speeches.”
He padded back into the sitting room, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
Regulus followed more slowly, switching on the radio as he passed it. Soft music filtered into the room, low enough to fill the quiet without demanding attention. He adjusted the dial carefully, precise as always.
“I can imagine he’s being insufferable,” Regulus said, settling onto the sofa. This time he tucked both legs beneath himself, angled slightly toward James without seeming to mean to.
“Oh, he absolutely is,” James grinned, dropping into the armchair opposite him. “Colour palettes. Seating charts. He used the phrase ‘aesthetic cohesion’ unironically.”
Regulus huffed a small laugh.
“But,” James added, softer, “it’s nice. Seeing him that happy.”
Regulus watched him for a beat.
“What about you?” he asked.
James blinked. “What about me?”
“Well…” Regulus pretended to smooth an invisible wrinkle from his sleeve. “I know you were seeing Evans for a while.”
“Oh. Lily?” James waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, no. We ended that about a year ago. Just… wasn’t working.”
He leaned forward, picking at a loose thread on the chair cushion like it required intense concentration.
“She wanted different things?” Regulus asked carefully.
“Something like that.” James shrugged. “We’re better as friends. Less pressure. Less pretending.”
Regulus’ gaze sharpened slightly at that word, but he let it pass.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
James looked up, surprised. “Don’t be. It was the right call.”
A quiet settled between them again, thinner this time.
“Have you been seeing anyone?” he asked, a little too quickly.
Regulus flinched almost imperceptibly at the volume.
“No,” he said. “No. I don’t really… do casual.”
“And things with Christopher only ended two months ago,” Regulus continued, aiming for breezy and missing by a mile. “So...”
James nodded once. “Right.”
“No dates even?” James asked after a moment, quieter now.
Regulus folded his arms defensively. “I could ask you the same.”
James leaned back, exhaling through his nose.
Regulus stared at the radio instead of him. “Besides,” he added, voice thinning slightly, “no one’s going to want to date me. Not once they realize I’m a flake.”
James stood slowly and crossed the space between them before Regulus seemed to realize what he was doing. He didn’t sit yet, just hovered near the edge of the sofa.
“Well, honestly,” James said, a little awkwardly, “I don’t see why not.”
Regulus gave him a flat look. “Potter—”
“You’re smart,” James pressed on. “You’re ridiculously talented. You make the best espresso I’ve ever had in my life, which is deeply unfair. You care about things. Quietly, but you do.”
“And you’re—” James hesitated, then barrelled through it. “You’re cute.”
He immediately looked like he wanted to shove his own words back into his mouth.
“I mean—not that that’s the main selling point. Obviously. Just—”
“Anyone,” he finished more firmly, “would be lucky to date you.”
Regulus’ ears had gone pink.
He looked away first, staring determinedly at the opposite wall.
“Shut up, Potter,” he muttered.
andulkaphoto
romaincrisis
origamiaround
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
amandla
ellievsbear
