#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.”