Brides and Blacks

The Noble and Most Ancient

Regulus woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar flat, with a terrible headache. Flashes of the night before run through his mind. Dorcas and Marlene's wedding, taking shots with Barty, dancing with Luna, fighting with James, making up with James, going home with James, James, James, James, James, James .

James .

He smiles groggily to himself, rubs at his tired eyes, and sits up. James' room is small. The flat itself isn't so big to begin with, but James' room is made up of only a bed, dresser, desk, and a door Regulus prays would lead to a shower. He smells of alcohol and sweat, and had slept in a combination of pieces from his groomsman tux, half thrown on the floor and half hanging off his frame, wrongly buttoned. He would love a shower.

In substitute, he threw on a sweater he found poking out of James' wardrobe. It's red and warm and far too big for him. He made a futile attempt at forcing his curls back into some sort of order, quickly gave up, and padded barefoot into what he hoped was the living room.

Minutes earlier, James woke up in the warmth of his own soft bed, with the heat of another person pressed against his side. He smiled into the other mans hair, traced the scars etched into his skin, twirled messy curls between his fingertips until they became uniform ringlets again, and then, he got bored. He used every ounce of stealth and stillness in his body (which is already sparse) to reluctantly sneak out of the safety of warm sheets and into the kitchen to attempt making a half-edible breakfast.

"Are you cooking ?"

By the time Regulus walks in, the toast has been burnt black and the bacon is shriveled and charred. James made the executive decision to throw the whole lot in the bin and settle for two cups of tea instead.

"I was . Until I remembered I'm much better at making drinks." He smiles, dropping two tea bags into unnecessarily large mugs.

"And here I thought you were being romantic." James is now far too well versed in Regulus's different types of eye-rolls to take offense to any of them.

"I'm romantic!" He argues, "I did the whole teary confession of eternal love thing, remember?"

Regulus shrugs, "Bit dramatic if you ask me."

"You loved it."

He huffs, reluctant to give James the satisfaction of knowing, yes, he did love it . Instead, he turns all his attention to feigning grouchy - his most practiced state of being.

"Is this how you do it then? Take a guy home and sneak out of bed in the morning?" He tries to channel at least a drop of hostility into the words, eager to tease a reaction out of the other man. Fortunately, he hardly had any hostility left to begin with. James was slow and meticulous about picking every last seed of anger, betrayal, and doubt from Regulus's body last night. Very slow.

"I was being nice ! After everything we've been through, I don't know that we've ever just shared a peaceful, domestic, cup of tea."

He snorts. "Domestic?"

"Yes, domestic. I think it's sweet." James confirms with a grin, spinning around in the kitchen to present two matching mugs of warm tea and a tray of colourful biscuits. The kind with pink icing and rainbow sprinkles you'd only see served at a child's birthday party.