#sunchaser

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.”

James beams. “Perfect.”

Regulus leaned against his locker, textbooks hugged to his chest, eyes narrowed.

James opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Regulus felt his jaw tighten. “Potter, I swear to Merlin—”

James inhaled sharply like he was about to start a speech, then deflated again.

That was it.

“For fuck’s sake, Potter,” Regulus snapped, arms crossing like a shield. “Either spit it out or I’m leaving.”

James froze. Perfectly still. Like he’d just been turned to stone by the force of Regulus’ tone.

And then — as if the intimidation worked like a charm — he blurted everything at once in one panicked breath:

“Reguluswouldyouliketostayovernightatmyhouse—”

It all came out so fast it barely sounded like English. Regulus caught maybe three syllables. But there were two words — two dangerous, impossible words — that stuck out clearly enough to knock the breath out of him:

‘Overnight.’

‘House.’

Words he never thought James Potter would aim anywhere near him, never mind in the same sentence.

Regulus blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice flat. “Do that again. But this time… try it like a human.”

James’ ears turned violently red. “I—I mean— It’s not— I’m not like— bloody hell.” He groaned into his hands, muffling, “This was a horrible idea.”

Regulus had to force his mouth not to twitch. “Potter.”

James peeked through his fingers.

“Say it again.”

James dropped his hands and took a breath that looked like it used up every ounce of courage he had. “Would you,” he started, slowly, “like to stay over. At my house. Tonight.”

Silence.

Regulus’ heartbeat went from a polite tap-tap to something closer to a fire alarm. He hated that James could do that to him just by standing there like a kicked puppy.

“For what purpose?” Regulus managed, keeping his tone icy even though his brain was short-circuiting.

“Oh!” James straightened immediately. “Not—not like that.” A pause. “I mean—unless— I’m—NO. No. I mean—just—Sirius is making some ridiculous dinner for a project? And Remus is coming over to help me study. And Peter’s bringing that new game he won’t shut up about. And I just—” He swallowed. “Thought you might… want to come too.”

Regulus hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t expected any part of this, but definitely not that.

James Potter wanted him there.

Wanted him — in his house — with his friends.

His mind scrambled for a response that didn’t reveal how violently his stomach had just flipped.

“I see,” Regulus said, even though he absolutely did not see.

James was still fidgeting. “You don’t have to. Obviously. I just thought—well—we sit together in Chem now, and you don’t look at me like I’m an idiot half the time, which is honestly a personal achievement, so I thought maybe—”

“Potter.”

James froze again. “Yeah?”

Regulus let out a slow breath, feeling the fight bleed out of him. “You could have just asked normally.”

James’ face lit up like Regulus had handed him the sun. “So… is that a yes?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, pushing off the locker and brushing past him. “If you ever speak at me like a malfunctioning typewriter again, I’m revoking your invitation privileges.”

James practically bounced after him. “So that’s a yes.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say no.”

“Potter.”

“Yes?”

Regulus looked away because he could feel James smiling at him like he hung the stars.

“I’ll be there at seven.”

James tripped over his own feet in excitement. “Great—good—brilliant.” He shoved his glasses up his nose again. “I’ll—uh—clean my room.”

Regulus smirked. “Yes, do that. I refuse to step foot in whatever disaster you sleep in unless it’s at least been made presentable.”

James laughed, bright and warm and stupidly pleased.

Regulus’ chest ached.

Overnight. At James’ house.

He never thought it would happen.

He also never thought he’d be looking forward to it this much.

“This is the third time they’ve shown that pen on the nightstand,” Regulus said suddenly, eyes flicking toward James without missing the screen. “It’s deliberate. Everything in this film is a chain reaction. Tiny things matter — that’s the whole point.”

James smiled, turning slightly to look at him. “Oh, we’re talking now? Thank God.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, but James could see the way the corners of his mouth twitched. “I held out longer than usual.”

“Twenty minutes longer,” James said, mock-impressed. “A new record. Your medal is in the post.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t stop talking, didn’t even try. “No, listen—when the girl, Emma, bumps into the Ink character in the dreamworld? That wasn’t random. That was set up by the music box scene. You saw how she dropped it in the beginning?”

James nodded. He had seen that. But he hadn’t given it that much thought.

Regulus leaned forward now, fully invested, his tea long forgotten. “That’s what’s so good about this film. It doesn’t care if you notice everything the first time. It’s not about noticing, it’s about feeling. Everything affects everything else. The tiniest kindness. One accident. One moment.”

James turned his head slightly, not to watch the screen anymore — but to watch him. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it.

Regulus caught him and flushed slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.” James shrugged. “Just like hearing you go off like this.”

Regulus blinked. “Like what?”

“You know—like this. When you do the thing. You act like you’re just going to sit there all detached and cool, but then you start noticing things and suddenly you’re narrating the whole film like a philosophical podcast.”

Regulus gave him a flat look, but he was blushing now, which was better than any win in Monopoly or a Quidditch match.

James continued, grinning. “You’re like a movie commentary track, but it’s all about grief, trauma, and existential chain reactions.”

Regulus gave a breathy laugh, leaning back again and pulling the blanket higher over his lap. “I like movies that make you feel something long after the credits roll. This one’s like that.”

“It really is,” James said, quieter now.

They both turned their attention back to the screen, where the Drifter was weaving between dreamworlds and realities, stringing together the tiniest changes. One step. One breath. One person deciding to get up instead of giving up.

After a while, James said softly, “Do you think life really works like that? Like — one small thing today can… I don’t know, rewrite the whole future?”

Regulus was quiet for a long time, and James thought maybe he’d gone too serious. But then Regulus murmured, “I think everything is a chain reaction. Every word. Every touch. Even falling in love.”

James turned slowly, breath caught in his throat.

Regulus wasn’t looking at him. But the way he said it — calm, like it was just fact — made something twist sweetly in James’s chest.

He didn’t say anything else, just reached across the couch and slipped his hand into Regulus’s under the blanket.