Chapter Text
James Potter is twenty-one, terribly loveless and making lamb chops.
In hindsight, the lamb chops might not have been his brightest idea, but, well, he was hungry and they were familiar, carrying his mom’s gentle touch. So maybe James had leapt right into preparing a dish he had no clue to distract himself from the aching loneliness that wracked his being.
It’s not to say that he didn’t have any friends. Quite the opposite, in fact, he had gathered quite the club. First Sirius, bold and rambunctious, stumbling into his life and belting drunk ballads from table tops. Then there was Remus ; steadying, kind Remus who was alarmingly bookish. Oh, patient, god-sent Remus who somehow put up with Sirius endlessly. Following Remus was Peter, a gleeful, jolly boy a little on the plump side who’d grown into an (admittedly) bitchy and gossiping man. For a while, they’d fancied themselves a bit of a boy band, what with Sirius’ energetic personality, Remus’ rugged good looks, Peter’s snarky nature and James’ ever- charming charisma.
Somewhere along the line, when James was studying at university, blundering his way through adult life, Lily Evans had swept into his life ( and his heart ). Berating him for being the terrible sap that he was, tutting over him like a mother hen when he still couldn’t decide on a course. And then sobbing on his shoulder when her rocky friendship with her greasy, slimy git of a childhood friend ( his words, definitely not hers) came to its ultimate conclusion in bitter words and insults hurled. James had never taken to him for some reason, seemingly puzzled himself why he harboured such a great disdain for the man until Sirius burst out impatiently one evening : Oh, for fucks sake, James, don’t be so bloody thick, you hate him because you fancy Evans!
After mulling it over, it did make quite a fair bit of sense. After all, Lily’s presence was so captivating, her fiery auburn locks drifting behind her like an untethered mast, green eyes always glinting in anticipation of a challenge. Every fierce word was magnetic, reeling him in like a fish desperate for bait. It felt right.
James has always believed two souls gravitate towards one another, tethered in this tumultuous world to each other. With a great, prickling shame, he’d always considered the connection between two lovers, two soulmates to be far stronger than that of friends, pets and even family. It was naive, James knew. Awfully cliche and sadly on-brand for him. He hated himself silently for it, disregarding his family and friends’ undying devotion and love for something nobody had ever offered him.
James tried to embrace his connection with Lily, he really did. They went on dates and study-sessions, coffee runs and lectures. It was amazing, as all things Lily Evans were.
Five months into their relationship, he’d realised he’d been embracing something that was never there to begin with : a spark. Maybe, once upon a time, it had burned as fiercely as she did, but they had ultimately smothered it with their care for each other in the only capacity they knew; as friends.
James had kept this realisation to himself selfishly. He’d known it was over, that they were just bidding their time, but that tiny, unlovable part of himself whispered, Do you really want to fall into a new stranger’s bed every night, searching for a stupid kind of love that only exists in your mind?
So he’d stayed silent, trying to savour the one non- sex based, romantic relationship he had ever had. He really, really tried. Until one morning, when she’d stumbled into his dorm in a daze, twisting her hands together painfully and blurted out without her usual tact, I’m a lesbian, James.
His first emotion was disgust. Not at Lily, never at her for sharing with him something so deeply personal and challenging. No, it was at himself, for the deep, aching grief he felt over their demise, their falling apart with any hope of falling back together shattered. For a relationship doomed from the beginning, so devoid of the spark James longed for. For a lifelong bond to a woman who fancied other women. He had no right, absolutely no right to feel this way.
So, of course James Potter, 21, felt utterly and hopelessly alone.
He had thrust himself into a relationship with one of his closest friends on a crazed whim only to be left with gentle, awkward smiles, a severed connection and an even greater sense of being pathetically unlovable, if possible. He knew Sirius, Remus and Peter meant well, offering their consolations but they could never understand; after all, Remus and Sirius had that deep, unflinching love James so desperately craved with every fiber of his being. It was as natural as them to breathing. Peter didn’t see a need to settle down, content with the occasional partner now and then.
Pushing down the self-despising, the doubt, the ingratitude, James thrust himself into a career of taking care of others. It had always been his strong suit since young, offering platitudes and gestures whenever he saw a soul in need. It was what made him so terribly endearing ( but not lovable.)
Being a paramedic had crept up on him. At first, he’d always considered the profession a noble one, but far beyond him. ( He had failed quite the number of Biology examinations in his youth.) But when he’d seen a demonstration at a course, the young man dashing out in scrubs to assist patients with asthma, various injuries, choking, distress, he’d fallen in love with it without ever meaning to. This was his calling, attending to others who needed it. Others who were more sickly than he, less blessed than he had been. And sure, maybe the hours were long and gruelling. Maybe sometimes James wanted to scrub and scrub at his skin until it was pinked and bruised, trying to forget their screams and panicked whimpers etched into his brain. But all of that seemed insignificant in the face of helping others. Making a difference in the only way he knew how, steadily and surely.
Plus, it served as a nice distraction from his “endless conquests”, as his friends put it. He didn’t have the heart to tell them it filled him with no triumph at all.
After graduating six months earlier, James had crashed with Sirius and Remus, until their constant PDA grew too much for him to handle. He loved them, he really did, but he also really didn’t need to see them dry humping at six in the morning.
It was Lily who found the place, nudging her laptop toward him shyly at a cafe. It was a large house, in a serene neighbourhood, red-bricked with a brown roof. Three bedrooms, a spacious living room and an airy kitchen, all for a price so low James was convinced his prescription had failed him for a second. He’d snatched up the deal instantly, only visiting the place once before, in a rather undignified manner, squealing and already mapping out where his dream furniture (still unpurchased) would go down to the last centimetre.
It reminded him of home, of his mum’s fragrant cooking and his dad’s rumbling laugh. But at the same time, it felt like a fresh beginning for him, just for him.
So here James is, trying ( and failing miserably ) to replicate his mum’s famous lamb chops, armed with nothing but limited ingredients, a blurry recipe and unfailing confidence. He could do this. He could totally do this.
The sizzling of the pan snapped him out of his daze, and James dashes about, frantically waving his hands like a frazzled chicken. Okay, they look seared enough, a little charred, but it’s fine. He plates them eagerly, his mouth already watering. Only, something’s missing, sticking out in his head like a sore thumb. He frowns, trying to put his finger on it.
James’s mind hops into overdrive, the way it usually does when he’s checking through a list of patients injuries. He even conjures up a mouth-watering image of his mum’s perfect chops, placing it next to the satisfactory ones lying on the plate.
Inadvertently, his mind drifts, unbidden. He really needs to unpack, pronto. Maybe after dinner, with a nice glass of wine, his record player in the background. Put on the classics for a bit ; Bowie, Queen, The Beatles, the works….
He jolts up so fast his neck screams from the whiplash, and he has to clap a hand to it, wincing to himself. Of course. James knows what’s missing now, what has been missing and is nowhere to be found.
Hastily flinging a paper towel over the dish, James sprints to the front of his house eagerly, wrenching the doorknob open. “Bye, house,” he mutters apologetically. “I’ll miss you!” Then James is off, a man on a mission.
As he strolls down the road, taking in the pretty houses, it strikes him that this is a very nice neighbourhood. Of course, he’d already known that, having fallen in love with it at first sight, but it’s only really hitting him now. It’s late afternoon, and there’s a beautiful peace in the air that simply can’t be replicated.
James doesn’t get very far, stopping at the house one door down. It’s the same design, only slightly bigger and the planks are painted white. The tiled, angular roof is a light black or dark blue, and huge glass windows are visible from the side. His first thought is neat. The house seems to boast a certain pristine air, the hedges trimmed expertly, not a single chip in the paint and the doorbell painted silvery. He’s intimated and drawn in at the same time.
James takes a steadying breath to ground himself. He can do this. Totally. 100%.
He walks along the path (even the gravel seems to behave!) up to the front door with a tiny window inside. Completely disregarding the doorbell, which he’s sure is very nice nonetheless, he raps gently on the door with his knuckles.
From the inside, the hallway looks sleek, with a marble floor and grey carpeting. James doesn’t get to see beyond that, though, as the door is swinging open.
James’s brain short-circuits.
Because, oh, standing in front of him is the most gorgeous, divine being to bless this Earth. His jaw looks like it was crafted by the Greeks, sharp and angular in a devastating way. His hair is artfully mused, each strand of jet-black looking soft and pliant as they fall across his face in gentle waves. And what a face that is. Eyes deep grey and stormy bathed in deep eyelashes girls would go to war for, lips insanely plump-looking.
He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, the material appearing light and airy. His shorts, a darker grey than his eyes, hang loose from his hips. James swallows at the sight. Every rational thought has fled his brain by now, leaving behind a stuttering, gaping mess.
The beautiful, beautiful man cocks an expectant eyebrow, “Yes?” He sounds perfectly bored. James has to hold back his sigh and beaming grin at that, realising he looks like a bloody fool right about now.
“Yes, uh, hi! I’m James. Just, uh, moved in down the street,” he hurries, smiling widely, so big his cheekbones almost cave in. Oh, God, he can feel his heart fluttering against his knotted chest. It’s exhilarating and utterly terrifying in the best way.
The man sighs. “And?”
“Nice neighbourhood,” James comments, trying to sound offhand. “Low crime rate, it seems. Looks like the type to be featured in a documentary as the house of the rich detective.” He’s babbling now. He should probably shut up. Definitely shut up.
The man looks utterly unamused.
James swallows.“Anyways, I won’t take up too much of your time, you’re probably busy. Uh…uhhhhhh…”Suddenly, for the life of him, James cannot remember what he’s here for. Probably to meet this man. Feels like he’s been waiting forever.
“What’s your name?” Slips out before James can stuff it back in, the impulse clawing at him.
The man stares at him for a beat, then :
“Came all the way here to ask that?”
“You’re right, I could’ve used the Magic 8 ball to puzzle that one out myself, my bad. Won’t happen again.”
The man’s expression twitches for a brief moment, before he composes himself and schools his features into their usual mask of indifference.
“Don’t make me start guessing,”James deadpans, completely serious.
( He won’t make the Sirius joke. He won’t. It’s the adult thing to do, really.)
“Okay then,” he huffs out dramatically. “Bartholomew? Quincy? Reginald?”
The man unexpectedly snorts at Bartholomew and Reginald, before clamming up again, looking mildly horrified that such an undignified sound came from his mouth.
“Close,” he says finally. “Regulus.”
“Regulus,” James repeats, the words feeling perfect on his tongue. “Like the star.”
Surprise reflects in the man’s (Regulus) gorgeous face. “Yeah.”
“So, Regulus, I came here for some thyme,” James says softly.
That surprises Regulus right out of his stupor. “I’m sorry, you came here for what?” he demands incredulously.
James sighed. “Should’ve really brought Google over.”
“I know what thyme is,” he informs bluntly. “Just…why?”
“Why?” James repeats, practically bounding with excitement. “Well, I am so glad you asked. You see, I’m making pork chops, to celebrate, christen my lovely house, if you will. But, you see, at the moment they are so woefully plain, so dreadfully tasteless, so utterly naked with the absence of thyme.”
“And why, pray tell, is thyme of the utmost essence?”
“Nice one,” James grins. “No, it’s not that important, I just….” he trails off. “My mum used to make it with thyme all the time, and I just miss her, so this tiny thing helps ground me in a way.” He shrugs sadly.
There’s a silence now, filling the pocket of space between them. James wonders if he should say something. He should say something. After all, he’s the talkative one, and the one who’s just made it awkward. Something like humiliation burns in his stomach.
“Ah, forgive the pun,” he says quietly in the end.
“Do you always bare your soul to everyone you meet, James?” Regulus asks quietly.
James swallows, feeling curious, grey eyes bore into him. He’s never felt more exposed, more vulnerable. Why is he being noticed? Why is Regulus taking an interest in him, in however much of himself he reveals to others?
“Only the cute ones,” he manages at last, eyes widening as it slips out.
The man’s lips curl upwards into a devious grin, soft laughter shaking his entire frame. He’s taller than him, James realises, just by a bit. He looks lanky and lean.
“Is that so?” he says. “Well, wait a second, yeah?” With that, he vanishes into the depths of his neat house.
It takes James an embarrassingly long time to register that Regulus just called him James, and an even more embarrassing reaction follows that. James tries to hide his bashful blush, at this stranger who seems to see him. He’s never wanted to be seen, not by anyone who’s not his destined.
Well, that’s changed now, apparently. Suddenly, this lovely neighbourhood just got even lovelier.
When Regulus emerges, he’s holding a small wooden bowl with the fresh herb inside. “Here you go,” he says finally, shaking his head. “Good luck with your indecent chops.”
“Looking forward to clothing them,” James banters right back. He hesitates then, not quite ready to leave. “Have a good rest of your night, Regulus.”
“You too, James,” Regulus parrots, and his lips finally kick up in a smile.
The door shuts, and James is left with a bowl of thyme and utterly awestruck.