@jegulus-microfic // march 18 // prompt: instrument // words: 758 // part two + part three
“What do you play?” James asks, voice muffled as he is digging through his laundry basket.
“Huh?”
“Instrument, I mean.” James turns to face him. His glasses are halfway down his nose and Regulus’ fingers twitch with the need to adjust them. James is annoyingly handsome. Even in the middle of the night when his hair is tousled and his glasses are smudged and he has baby formula on his ratty college shirt, tan skin glowing under the fluorescent lights of the basement laundry room.
“What do you play? We’ve been talking every night but I don’t even know what instrument you play. I hear you sometimes when I get home.”
“Shit, I'm sorry, I can try to keep it down.”
“No, please, I like it!” Another second of rummaging before James shuts the door to the machine, twists the dial and presses the start button. “It sounds nice. Harry likes it too.”
James checks the volume on the baby monitor again, making sure it is still turned all the way up. When he is sure it didn’t magically turn off in the minute since he checked last, he places it gingerly on the bench in the middle of the room, sitting down next to Regulus.
Their shoulders brush. His arm feels warm where it is pressed against James’, despite the frigid air in the basement.
“Ah, thank you. It's uh— violin. I'm at the conservatory for classical music.”
“You must be really hard-working, then.”
This pleases Regulus, satisfaction burrowing its way into his chest, making him preen a little. People always think he is talented.
Secretly, Regulus hates that word. He has never been talented. No particular skill that stood out — and his parents made sure he knew it.
So yes, Regulus is hard-working. Passionate. Stays up until 3 A.M. to practice, tucked away in the laundry room so he doesn’t wake Sirius in their tiny two-bedroom apartment.
That’s how this whole thing started. Regulus, resident insomniac, slipping out of bed with his violin tucked under his arm. James, still adjusting to the fact that his son is now sleeping through the night, doing chores on the wrong side of midnight.
“I have to be, if I want to be the best,” Regulus says.
“I’ll have to come see you play sometime, then.” James makes it sound like a give. Like it is something he is willing to make time for. Regulus’ heart flutters. Traitor, he whispers at it.
“Do you now?” His teeth tug at the dry skin on his lips, picking at it until he bleeds. Sirius always tells him off for it but it is a nervous habit he has yet to beat.
“Absolutely. If you’ll have me that is.”
A hurried yes almost bursts from him, but he traps it behind his teeth before he can actually say it. He tries to play it cool despite the heat in his face, a teasing tone as he says, “Maybe. Gotta see if you’re worth keeping around first.”
James laughs at that. Regulus thinks it sounds sweeter than his violin ever has.
“I’ll be such a good audience, I swear. I can make a career-switch. Go from sports reporting to music reporting.” Because James works for the local newspaper. Writes sports columns. Takes his son with him to football games, a tiny infant strapped to his chest. The mental image of James at a recital with baby Harry on his hip makes Regulus’ heart flutter again. “Would that be enough proof of my dedication?”
More fluttering. Traitor, traitor, traitor. Regulus pretends to ponder on it for a moment.
“It’ll do. For now.”
James scoffs. Rolls his eyes. “For now, he says.”
It sounds fond.
Neither of them says anything else but Regulus doesn’t mind it. His eyes are trained on the laundry machine with his clothes in it. He watches it spin and spin and spin. Lets himself get hypnotized by the repetitive motion, the quiet humming, James’ even breaths. It’s peaceful.
“Same time tomorrow?” Regulus asks when he has gathered all his laundry, the basket propped against his hip. He doesn’t miss the way James’ eyes droop with his nod. He chuckles softly at the sight. “Get some sleep, James.”
A mumbled, “Sweet dreams” follows him out of the room.
For once, Regulus is eager to fall asleep, only so he can see James again tomorrow.
It is only in the silent halls of the apartment building that he lets himself think that there is no sweeter dream than those moments they share.
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