James spent the last night before summer holidays with Regulus. They laid on their backs, Regulus's fingers tracing the lines of his palm and the veins of his arm, causing every inch of his skin to tingle and spark to life. Over sensitive under Regulus's barely-there touches. They talked a little, they kissed a lot, Regulus had that faraway look in his eyes—like he was already back in London. Already trying to close off parts of himself. James tried not to notice. Not to let it hurt. But, of course, it did anyway.
It was late when he finally said it, not sure why he had waited so long; "I have something for you."
He pulled out a stack of letters, eight to be precise, one for every week of summer.
"I thought about writing one for every day," he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it seemed excessive."
Regulus stared at the envelopes in his hands, running them over, like he couldn't quite believe they were real. "I'm not sure I understand..." he said finally.
"Well I know—I know I can't send you post, over the summer, so, I thought I'd give them to you now."
Regulus blinked up him. "Give them to me now?"
"They're all dated," James went on, "so you can read them like I'm sending them to you in real time. I just thought..." he trailed off, shrugging. "I didn't want you to be alone all summer," after another long pause he dropped his eyes, more nervous laughter. "Maybe that's dumb—actually—now that I'm saying it out loud it's definitely dumb. Sorry, you don't have to—"
Regulus kissed him then. It had been a big kiss—full of feelings and words and desperation. All James could do was take it. Was hold him.
"Thank you," Regulus said, when they finally came up for air. "I love them. I love you."
Several weeks later, lying on his bed in his childhood home, James runs over that memory for the hundredth time. The way it had felt to hear Regulus say those words again—without needing to be forced or asked. Like they came naturally to him. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine the feel of the other boy's lips, the weight of him in his hands. He doesn't know if Regulus is okay, if he's read any of the letters, if he's thinking about James the way James is thinking about him. Constantly. Incessantly. He feels raw with all the things he doesn't know.
"JAMES!" his mother shouts, even though there are a dozen spells and a house elf who all could have communicated with him more efficiently, "BREAKFAST."
James slides out of bed, already dressed but reluctant to leave his room. Sirius hasn't tried to talk to him since they've been here, but that doesn't mean it isn't still incredibly uncomfortable to be in the same room as him. Part of James, the petty childish part, is mad at Sirius for not trying harder. He should be bending over backwards to make this right. He should be begging for James's forgiveness. For Remus's. For Peter's. Instead, he's just gone silent, keeping his eyes down and his face hidden behind a curtain of dark hair. Like he's trying to disappear.
James drops into his chair at the kitchen table, Sirius in the seat across from him, eyes trained on his breakfast. It's bright out, has been almost every day this week, skies clear and sun fat in the sky. It's aggravating, since James is not feeling particularly sunny at the moment.
"Well look who it is, risen from the dead," his mother chirps as she drops a plate of eggs and toast in front of him, giving his head a quick kiss. "Have you boys got any plans for today?" she sweeps around the kitchen, brewing coffee with the twirl of one hand and sending dishes into the sink with the brush of another.
Though he wouldn't have thought it possible, he thinks he sees Sirius curl further in on himself. His mother insists on acting as though everything is fine—as though they'll wake up one morning and it'll all be forgotten. Like Sirius didn't fucking betray each and every one of them.
"Going to Remus's," he says tersely, shoving eggs into his mouth like they've personally offended him.
