Chapter Text
The screen door slammed behind James, rattling in its frame. It startled the barn cats and sent a few birds fluttering from the nearby fence line. But Regulus didn’t move. He stood, frozen mid-step in the lavender rows, the stems brushing against his legs like they were trying to hold him back.
“I’m guessing you found the letter,” he said, low and even, not bothering to turn around.
James’ boots crunched over the gravel, each step faster than the last. “I found it.”
Regulus closed his eyes.
“You were going to leave,” James continued, his voice sharp and breaking. “You were just going to walk away. Again.”
Regulus finally turned. His face was unreadable, but his hands were clenched at his sides. “I wasn’t going to leave. I was—thinking.”
“Oh, right,” James snapped, arms crossed. “You always think best when your car’s half-packed.”
Regulus flinched like he’d been slapped. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what? Tell the truth?” James’ voice cracked. “You don’t get to write me a letter and disappear like I’m just—just someone passing through. I’m not a detour, Regulus.”
“I never said you were.”
“But you act like it,” James fired back. “You hold me at arm’s length and call it protection. You keep me close just long enough to feel safe, and then you run the second it starts to matter.”
Regulus turned his gaze to the horizon, where the fields rolled gently into forest. “It’s not about you.”
James took a trembling breath. “That’s the most infuriating thing you’ve ever said.”
Regulus looked back, startled.
“It is about me,” James said. “It’s about us. You can’t just take what we’ve built — this farm, these mornings, every time we stayed up talking until the sun came up — and pretend like none of it matters just because you're scared.”
“I’m not pretending,” Regulus said, quietly.
“Then what are you doing?” James demanded.
Regulus opened his mouth, but nothing came. He let out a slow breath, like he was leaking pressure.
“I’ve never been good at this,” he said. “At letting someone in. At staying.”
James’ voice softened, but it was still trembling with frustration. “Do you think I don’t know that?”
Regulus looked at him, truly looked — like he was trying to memorize his, just in case this was the last time. His throat tightened.
“I loved someone once,” he said, the words like stone. “And I built a life with him. I built dreams. We had plans. And then he left. No note, no warning. Just gone.”
James blinked, stunned by the weight of it.
“I swore I’d never be that kind of person,” Regulus went on, voice cracking. “But the more I love you, the more I feel it. That same panic. That same fear. Like if I stay, you’ll leave. And if I go first—at least it won’t catch me off guard this time.”
James didn’t speak for a long moment. The breeze carried the scent of lavender around them, but it felt muted now — like even the earth was holding its breath.
“I’m not him,” James said quietly.
“I know you’re not,” Regulus said, exasperated. “That’s what makes this so much worse.”
James stepped forward, voice low. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Regulus shook his head. “Don’t say that. You can’t promise that.”
James' hands balled into fists. “Then let me try. Let me fight for this. For you.”
Something in Regulus’ expression cracked. HIs shoulders dropped, his eyes glassy. “Why would you want to stay with someone who can’t even promise he won’t run?”
“Because you’re already running, and I’m still here.” James' voice was soft but steady now. “And because I love you. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
Regulus stood still, like if he moved, he might fall apart entirely.
Then James reached for him — slowly, gently — and took his hand. Not pulling, just holding.
Regulus let him.
“I don’t want to be afraid all the time,” Regulus whispered.
James' thumb brushed over his knuckles. “Then let’s be scared together.”
A long silence followed — not empty, but full of everything neither had been brave enough to say until now.
Eventually, they sat down right there in the lavender. The sun dipped lower behind the clouds, and the breeze picked up, cool and sweet.
“I didn’t write that letter to say goodbye,” Regulus murmured. “I wrote it because I didn’t know how to say the truth out loud.”
James tilted his head. “And what’s the truth?”
Regulus looked at him , eyes vulnerable and raw. “That I love you so much it terrifies me.”
James exhaled, eyes soft. “It terrifies me too.”
And just like that, the fight ended not in a fix, not with everything solved, but with two people sitting in the middle of a lavender field, scared out of their minds — and still choosing each other.
Still staying.
Even when it hurts.
—
Two Weeks Later
The mornings were quieter now.
Not silent — the chickens still raised hell at dawn, the rooster as dramatic as ever, and the kettle still whistled like it had something urgent to say. But between the noise, something had settled.
Something still.
James stirred sugar into his coffee, watching Regulus out the window. He was in the east field, hair tied back, moving slowly between the rows. Not lavender this time — the seedlings they’d started together last month were finally strong enough to transplant. Watching him work, sleeves rolled up, face tilted toward the sun like he was daring it to warm him properly, James felt the familiar pang in his chest.
God, he loved him.
And that still terrified both of them.
They hadn’t talked much about the letter after that night in the field. There weren’t any grand declarations. No sudden, sweeping plans. Just quiet mornings. Careful glances. The occasional brush of fingers that lingered longer than it needed to.
But Regulus hadn’t left.
And James hadn’t asked him to explain again.
The front door creaked open behind him.
“Hey,” Regulus said, stepping inside, cheeks pink from the sun and wind. “Coffee?”
James handed him the mug he’d already poured.
Regulus blinked. “You made mine the way I like it.”
“I always do.”
Regulus hesitated, then took it. Their fingers brushed. Neither of them flinched.
“Thanks,” he said. And then, after a beat, “For the coffee. And… for the rest.”
James tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “The rest?”
“You know,” Regulus said, voice quiet. “For not pushing. For giving me time.”
James sipped his coffee, watching him over the rim of the mug. “I’m not going to pretend this doesn’t still scare me.”
Regulus leaned against the counter beside him. “Same.”
“But,” James added, “I don’t think love has to mean being fearless. I think it means… being scared, and still showing up anyway.”
Regulus was quiet for a long moment, gaze fixed on the streak of sun falling across the kitchen floor.
Then: “I unpacked my suitcase.”
James turned slowly. “Yeah?”
Regulus nodded. “It’s back in the closet. Nothing in it.”
James swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “That’s good.”
“I want to stay,” Regulus said, voice soft but sure. “Not just for you. But with you. Even when I want to run. Especially then.”
James didn’t say anything. He just set his mug down and pulled Regulus into a hug that said all the things neither of them had words for yet.
Outside, the wind picked up. The lavender swayed. The birds came back to the fence line.
And inside the little farmhouse, two people who were still figuring it out — still scared, still healing — stayed exactly where they were.
Together.
Still staying.
Always choosing.
Even when it hurt.
—