Past the ocean-stream they went, past the white rock, past the portals of the sun and land of dreams, and soon they reached the field of asphodel, where spirits dwell, spectres of worn-out men. Here they came upon the spirit of Achilles, son of Peleus, and of Patroclus too.
This is the place where everything and nothing touch and all that we are is set free, spilling over our lines, bleeding out. Memories, thoughts, feelings, no longer contained by the borders of our bodies. Here is where life and death are old friends who meet for tea, and ask after one another's health. Here is where a boy with dark curls and stormy eyes stands in a garden somewhere in Scotland, tall grass tickling his kneecaps as he watches the clouds on the horizon.
His eyes close and he tilts his head up, basking in the light. The sun, usually distant and faded—a memory and nothing more—today, is bright and warm, placing gentle kisses on his cheeks, his hair, his shoulders.
"Okay I give up, what are you doing?"
Regulus's eyes snap open as he spins around. James Potter is leaning against one of the trees behind him, arms crossed over his chest, a smile hanging from the corner of his mouth, the sun glinting off his glasses. The messy haired boy squints up at the sky.
"No stars, so you're not talking to anyone. Sun tanning maybe? You'll have to take off a few more layers for that," he gives Regulus a wink.
"What?"
"I said—"
"No—shut up—I heard you."
James holds his hands up in surrender. "Hey, you asked."
"I meant—" Regulus cuts himself off, scrubbing at his eyes. "What are you doing here?" his voice shakes.
"Shamelessly ogling you."
"No—stop it—stop," he's shaking. "You can't be here."
"Reg," James's voice goes soft and it makes every part of Regulus—every thought and feeling and memory that makes him up—crumble to dust.
"No," he shakes his head. "Tell me this isn't—this isn't real. You can't be here."
"Reg," he sounds closer but Regulus can't open his eyes.
"I did the right thing," his voice wobbles.
"I know."
"You were supposed to be okay. I did the right thing, dangerous and stupid, but I did it so that you would be okay. You were supposed to be okay."
Regulus doesn't know how he can be struggling to breathe when he doesn't even have a pulse.
"Reg," in that same soft voice. "Look at me?"
"No."
"Please?"
"Go away. Please go away. Please don't be here. Don't be here. James you shouldn't be here. You were having a baby."
"Had him—well, Lily had him if we're being technical about it."
"This isn't funny."
"Reg," he sighs. "Please look at me?"
He doesn't want to. He really doesn't. So he has no idea why he does, but then, he's never been able to control himself with James. The garden comes back into focus, James's eyes colliding with his.
And his heart,
the one that doesn't beat anymore,
doesn't even exist really,
