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Let’s get things straight: Regulus didn’t want to be there.
That Monday afternoon, Sirius, his now ex-brother (he’d already looked up the number of a lawyer to sign him up for adoption), had decided that it was a great idea to sign them up — both of them — for a Zumba class.
Both of them.
Both.
Of.
Them.
Regulus was included.
Regulus, who hated every form of physical activity, including breathing (apparently it was a vital function and he couldn’t stop, or at least that’s what his doctor said, but he was skeptical).
He had tried to tell Sirius that he wasn’t going to embarrass himself, that he would set fire to his hair while he was sleeping, or that he would give all his clothes away but his brother had literally carried Regulus on his shoulder all the way to the gym.
They had been 20 embarrassing minutes, with all the people staring at them, and no one even fucking helped when Regulus started yelling that he was being kidnapped.
People were unbelievable. What kind of society was that? He couldn’t even rely on strangers!
“Stop whining, it’s just one lesson! If it’s really that unbearable, we won’t come again, I promise!” Sirius scolded, once he’d put him down right in front of the gym doors, looking ridiculous in his small ponytail, tied with a Hello Kitty hair tie stolen from Andromeda’s old things.
(He said it was vintage. Regulus said it was a mental illness.)
“I for sure won’t be coming again. There’s nothing that would make me change my mind. Not you. Not anyone,” he scowled stubbornly exactly when the door opened and a guy appeared in front of them.
He was wearing a stupid Iron Man hairband in his messy brown hair, his eyes were framed by golden round glasses, and he had the most irritating, most ridiculous, most handsome grin Regulus had ever seen in his life. Even without opening his mouth, Regulus could tell: that guy was going to be a problem.
Then he did open his mouth, and his voice was velvety and annoyingly nice.
“Oh, hello! Are you here for the Zumba class? Come on in, come on in.”
Sirius threw Regulus a big smile, clearly excited, his grey eyes gleaming and his steps bouncing as they followed the stranger.
“I’m James, and I’ll be your instructor for today,” Iron Man fan explained as he let them into a room already full of people whose age range was somewhere between I-want-to-get-in-shape-for-my-kid’s-diploma and I-want-to-get-in-shape-for-my-own-funeral.
“Nice to meet you! I’m Sirius, and this is my baby brother Regulus! Don’t worry, I still haven’t bought the premium version where smiling was included, that’s why he looks so grumpy.”
Regulus glared at him, ready to get the fuck out, but the other boy had already grabbed his wrist to drag him next to him, right in the first line, directly behind Hairband Man, who was looking at Regulus with an amused expression.
Who, apparently, had a lot of muscles and felt the need to take off his hoodie to show them off in his stupid tank top.
Where the fuck did he think he was? That wasn’t a strip club!
Regulus glared at him through the big mirror that covered the whole room, but if Popeye the Sailor noticed, he didn’t show it. He just kept smiling as he turned around, clapping his hands once to catch their attention, as if Regulus hadn’t been staring at him the whole time.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to my Zumba class! I know there are some new people today!”
Sirius turned around and waved like the Queen; Regulus prayed no one saw the family resemblance because he was truly ashamed to be related to him.
Hairband Man only chuckled, and he was so tempted to throw a weight at him because that sound was so cute he hated it.
“Yes, them. So, this lesson will be a bit softer than usual, just to stretch our muscles.”
Then Popeye turned on the music (how fucking ridiculous, Regulus felt a close affinity with the music right now), and the notes of Despacito started playing.
After that, Regulus was lost.
He didn’t know what the hell was happening — he had blinked once.
One moment Muscle Man was still, just nodding his head to the rhythm, and the next, he was moving fast. Doing jumping jacks, running in place, and other weird gym-y things Regulus didn’t even know the name of.
“C’mon, guys, just try to follow me!” Hairband Man said with a smile, not at all winded by all the movement, looking at them through the mirror.
I would follow you into the flames of hell, but I won’t do those stupid jumps even if you pay me.
Then Sirius elbowed him with a warning look that said, if you don’t try, we’ll come tomorrow too. And the day after. Until you do.
Sirius wasn’t good with promises, but threats? Yeah, he took them very sirius-ly.
That’s why Regulus gritted his teeth and tried (keyword: tried) to follow Iron Man fan with his poor coordination, low stamina, low iron, and general lack of will to live.
“You’re doing great, guys!”
Oh, that’s why he wore glasses.
Because he was blind as fuck.
Because they sucked.
Regulus was pretty sure the 50-year-old behind him was having an aneurysm, the 80-year-old next to her had asthma and kept coughing in Regulus’ nape, Sirius looked like a peacock doing a mating dance, and someone had passed out. Or was sleeping. Regulus hoped for the latter.
So, exactly who the hell was doing great?
Surely not Regulus, who did one exercise every ten minutes, was already sore, and was pretty sure Popeye kept catching his eyes in the mirror, amused. Almost challenging.
“Don’t tell me y’all are tired already?”
After 45 years (Regulus could swear he was eighty-five now, he needed Sirius to buy him all the missed birthday presents), James was still smiling like a maniac.
“We still have twenty minutes left!”
“You have twenty seconds left. If you make me jump again, I’m gonna choke you with those stupid elastics.”
He didn’t even notice that he’d been the one talking until Iron Man fan turned around, lips curling up like he’d said something funny and not a death threat.
“Those are called resistance bands,” he corrected, like that was the important part of Regulus’ threat.
“Well, this is called a kick in the—”
Before he could advance, Sirius grabbed his wrist, shooting him a warning look. “Behave.”
“He just called me stupid!”
“I did not?!” the liar looked flabbergasted, eyes wide.
“You corrected me like I was a kid. The only thing you can teach me is those exercises, and let me tell you — they’re shit.”
Popeye put a hand to his chest, dramatically.
Fantastic. Another drama queen.
Sirius wasn’t enough, apparently.
“Excuse you? My routine is great!”
“Yeah, tell that to Jonathan. Oh sorry, he’s dead!”
Regulus pointed at the passed-out man on the floor, raising his eyebrows in challenge.
“First of all, his name is George Francis, short for George Fransuà. Second, he’s not dead. Spanish music soothes him, but his French wife hates it, so he comes here specifically to nap,” the other boy said like it was the most rational explanation in the world.
“Short for? It’s almost as long as the real one. What the hell is that name? Did his parents have a stroke while writing it on his birth certificate?” Sirius asked, like it actually was a important matter.
Regulus started to think he was the abnormal one, since that wasn’t even the most absurd part of this situation.
“Can we focus on your shitty lesson? You didn’t even give us a break! I hope you do break all your bones, though.”
Hairband Man smiled again, and what the hell was his problem?
Maybe this class was actually for the mentally unstable. That’s why Sirius felt so comfortable. Maybe this was a psychic ward. Maybe Sirius was just too ashamed to tell him the truth.
At that thought, Regulus turned to his brother with a soft, sympathetic expression. “Oh, Siri. You wanted me to be with you in such a difficult moment? I’m here, brother.”
When he took his hand, Sirius looked shocked and pulled away. “I think he isn’t getting enough air to his brain. Do you know what to do in this case, James?”
“I can kiss it better.”
“I’m fine! I’m not—”
And then he choked.
Maybe he really wasn’t getting enough air.
Not just to his brain. To his lungs too.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me. The old remedies are always the best,” the pervert said, looking irritatingly smug.
“Oh, so go kiss better Jonathan then.”
“George Fransuà,” he corrected again, that stupidly fond smile still growing.
“He’s still on the floor, whatever his name is,” Regulus snapped. Sirius sighed beside him, knowing his baby brother wouldn’t let it go now until he won that petty battle.
“As much as I wanted to, I can’t kiss him. His wife is very jealous. And I’m a very loyal man.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes at that, as the liar leaned against the mirror behind them, arms crossed, muscles showing. On purpose. Definitely on purpose.
“You’re in a relationship?” Regulus asked, suddenly annoyed for a reason he didn’t want to name.
Hairband Man looked him up and down, tilting his head. “Not yet. I hope very soon.”
Sirius let out an embarrassing whistle and Regulus didn’t even think. He picked up the nearest thing (a 1kg pink weight) and threw it at him.
“YOU BROKE MY DICK, OH GOOD GOD IN HEAVEN!” Sirius wailed, falling to the ground, hands to his crotch.
Regulus was honestly kind of proud of his aim.
“Good. Now you can finally use your brain to make decisions.”
“I CAN SEE A LIGHT! UNCLE ALPHARD, IS THAT YOU?”
“Uncle Alphard is still alive, what the fuck are you talking about? And here I hoped the light was the one finally turning on in your brain.” Regulus sighed, not even scared a little bit of having prevented his brother from having children, casually finding Hairband Man looking at him with a weird expression.
Like Regulus was the best thing in the universe.
After he literally castrated his brother.
With a pink weight.
“Fuck, I think I’m in love.”
Regulus turned to the mirror — flushed, curls messy, wearing oversized stolen clothes from Sirius — and really couldn’t believe Iron Man fan was talking about him.
Maybe he meant Sirius, who always looked cool even while suffering and whispering comforting things to his crotch (“You’re gonna be okay, Emily Dick-inson. You’re strong.”)
“Are your glasses just for show?” Regulus asked, suspicious.
“No. They’re to see better pretty things. Like you.”
“I’m not a thing. Try that again.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, but his cheeks burned a little more.
“I THINK I HAVE TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL. REGGIE!”
Sirius knee-walked to him, clinging to his shirt hem, looking desperate and Regulus was petty but he was still his brother so he sighed.
“Fine. But I’m not explaining anything to the doctors,” he warned as he helped the other boy to stand up, throwing a last glare at muscle man.
“You’re not gonna see us again. Especially not me.”
Popeye just smiled, too wide. Too knowing.
“Yeah, okay. Definitely not you. Definitely not tomorrow night for a date.”
“Definitely not at eight,” he nodded firmly, helping his brother up and out the room.
“And I’m definitely not asking my secretary for your contacts to arrange our date,” James added, while Regulus' cheeks flushed even pinker.
“REGULUS!”
“YES, I KNOW. HOSPITAL.”
Once they were out of the gym, his brother had the audacity to smirk through the pain.
“Reggie has a boyfriend!” he sing-songed.
And that’s how Sirius had to explain, through sobs, how both his dick and his side were hurt after Regulus pushed him into the street and a bike practically ran him over.
Not a lucky day for Sirius.
But oh god, was it for Regulus.