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James walks into Sirius’ apartment for flour.
That’s all it is. Flour.
Neighbors who are best friends give each other keys and let the other borrow flour.
That’s how James finds Regulus sitting on the edge of the balcony, his body hunched forward, tiptoes curling like a child on a swing, seven stories above the ground.
There are few choices left when the world turns cold like this, a breath away from transforming into a horror movie, flirting with the edges of something of a nightmare. If Regulus’ fingers flex a little too much, he’ll launch forward, and Sirius’ entire life with change. James’. Remus’.
Regulus’ will end.
But the boy’s fingers are caressing the rough, pimpled surface of the concrete railing, and all he’s doing right now is considering. Asking himself questions. At least, that’s what James thinks. If Regulus weren’t questioning, he would already be dead.
It’s a small impulse, very little needed to defy god. I know you wanted me there, God, but I’m opting out. That certainly would be the ultimate fuck you Regulus ever said silently.
Regulus likes to defy things, make people consider other options, pushing boundaries. The devil’s advocate, they say. James begs to disagree, all he’s ever seen in Regulus is a boy begging for someone to see him.
He feels like perhaps he’s opening his eyes to Regulus for the first time.
Or, perhaps more accurately, only now is confronted with the truth he’s seen in plain sight in Regulus’ eyes so many times, save me.
Someone.
Someone.
Anyone.
It’s dusk, a good time to jump off the seventh story apartment building, James thinks. Regulus looks beautiful, backlit by the setting sun, a shadow caught between earth and sky. The sun melts behind Regulus, and James knows if he ever decided to go play piano with angels, he too would choose dusk. Dawn feels like too many possibilities, too much hope, but dusk has this natural doomsday feel about it. The sun could set, never rise again. Who are we to assume it always will?
It’ll give something to talk about, for sure.
Black heir jumps from disowned brother’s seventh story apartment building at dusk.
It’ll make for lovely headlines, and everyone knows people read the news more readily in the morning than in the evening.
Even in death, Regulus is thinking of ways to defy.
Well, he’s not dead yet, and Regulus’ entire life is now held in the intention behind the words James is going to have to say to avoid something he really doesn’t want to bear witness to.
James has never been really good at speaking, he’s a man of actions that’s been robbed, he’s going to have to speak. In order to speak, it would be best for him to know what pushed Regulus to swing his legs to the other side of the balcony. He’s not sure asking the question is the way to go. He’s frozen in the open kitchen, the cool night air sneaking in through the open bay window, giving him an unobstructed view. The wind blows Regulus’ hair to the side, he’s gorgeous.
“You’ll make a lovely angel.”
That’s probably not what James should have opened with, but Regulus jolts, vaguely, barely bothered at being caught red-handed in the process of trying to end his life. Well, he hasn’t tried yet, and James wouldn’t arrive on time if Regulus made the decision anyway.
Still, Regulus doesn’t move to jump. He tilts his head a little to look at James from the corner of one eye. “That’s a very cheesy pick up line, James.”
“You think I’m trying to pick you up?”
James keeps his voice light, but his eyes are locked on Regulus’ slender fingers. The ones with the power to propel.
Regulus hums softly, the sound almost swallowed by the wind. “You’re right, you spoke in future tense. You’re not going to stop me, then?”
James doesn’t make a move anywhere, rooted to the spot, six and half rather large steps from reaching distance of Regulus, one step away from the entry, five steps away from the open bay window. These are a lot of steps. All Regulus needs is a little impulse, less than a step’s worth of oh, let’s find out what’s after.
“Do you want me to stop you?”
A tremor runs through Regulus’ shoulders, and he lets out a huff. “I didn’t think anyone still asked me that.”
“What, about stopping others?”
“About me.”
James blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”
Regulus’ hands suddenly release their gentle grip on the concrete, and James’ heart seizes, panic blooming—but Regulus doesn’t fall. He gestures vaguely toward himself.
“You know, me. My opinion.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I fucking mean,” Regulus spits, frustration peeping out now, “it doesn’t fucking feel like anyone is asking me for my fucking opinion anymore, dammit. Am I clearer now, or do I need to draw a fucking diagram?”
Ah, and that’s the anger. Now, James is familiar with anger, knows it’s only anger because it cannot be hurt, which means the hurt cuts deep. Which means, family.
“I assume the heir-ing functions are doing wonders for your self-esteem, then?”
Regulus laughs, it’s empty. “Oh, yeah. Do this, sign that, go there, say that, eat now, sleep later, my life’s become an agenda of other people’s expectations, and I’ve been completely erased. I’m doing fucking great.”
“You’re hanging off the seventh-story balcony,” James points out.
Regulus shrugs, his face turned back toward the skyline. “My flat is on the first floor, I knew it might fail.”
It’s clinical, the decision weighed and measured, the process thought through.
“How long have you been planning this?”
There are several options here, some of which will alter a few things forever in the worst possible way, and Regulus says, “I think the moment my brother decided not to be heir anymore, and gave it all to me.”
“Not after?”
A pause.
“Before actually, I think,” Regulus says slowly. “I could feel Sirius pulling out for months, and he never spoke about it with me. I’m the second son, you know? I could see it in his eyes at dinner for months; I knew he’d leave the wreckage for me. Every time I sat across from him, it felt like a choice between a rope or a handful of pills. But then he moved to this flat, and…” he trails off, gestures to the beautiful view outside. “Felt sad not to take advantage of such a view, eh?”
James’ voice has dried out. He nods, trying to swallow.
Regulus glances down at the street, transfixed. “I just see the door to my gilded cage fading away, and I’m afraid that if I don’t take the opportunity and skip out before I can’t see the door anymore, that I won’t have the balls to do it later.”
“You could do it tomorrow?” James suggests, anything to gain time, he’s awful at this, my god, tomorrow?
Fucking tomorrow?
But Regulus doesn’t seem offended. He simply says, “I wasn’t planning on doing it today.”
“Oh?”
“I was just going to see Sirius, talk about—I don’t know, something. But the view was nice, and the street below beckoned.” He looks down, entranced. “She whispers to me like a siren.”
“What does she say,” James asks, because he’s lost, and he doesn’t know what to say that will make Regulus want to swing his legs back over the balcony, but he can keep Regulus talking, and he’s only five steps away from Regulus now. His heart is thudding in his chest.
“That I belong with her,” Regulus whispers after a while, and James is four steps away.
“Not a very helpful street,” James mutters under his breath.
“That I can be worth something other than my family name, that a brother doesn’t have to ruin a life.”
James wants to defend Sirius, he does. He’s afraid that would be complicated. Would push Regulus to tilt away, into the empty sheets of air. A velocity too high for a body to handle.
“You already are worth something,” is what James says instead. Three steps away.
Regulus turns to look at James a little more fully, appraising him. “I see it, you know.” James makes a noncommittal noise, and Regulus explains, “Your hero complex. You don’t have to try to save me, this is already acted.”
James is two steps away, and Regulus’ fingers contract on the concrete.
James lunges.
Regulus is already flying.