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“Harry, stop running!”
James’s voice echoed across the wide concrete courtyard. He chased after the small blur of his son’s jacket. Harry barely slowed, his trainers squeaking against the polished floor as the glass dome of the planetarium loomed overhead. The October air still clung to them, and James tugged his coat closer. His breath came out in little clouds. If he could see his son fully, he would notice how the boy’s cheeks were flushed pink.
“Harry,” he said again, striding forward with long steps. “You’re going to knock someone over, mate.”
Harry spun on his heel, dark hair sticking out in every direction. “But Dad, we’re gonna be late! Miss Malfoy said everyone has to be here by ten!”
“She’ll forgive you if you walk,” James said, catching up and resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You don’t need to sprint like you’re running from a fire. And if you fall and crack your head, she’s not going to want you in her karate group anyway.”
Harry giggled but slowed, bouncing in place. He practically vibrated with excitement, the kind of energy James remembered having only when the world was still full of firsts. First field trips. First sleepovers. First planets seen glowing on a dark ceiling.
The automatic doors whooshed open, releasing the soft scent of carpet and static. Inside, the lobby stretched wide and circular. It was filled with displays of stars, glowing orbs, and a faint hum of recorded ambient music that was supposed to sound like space. James blinked against the dim blue light, his eyes adjusting as he spotted the group gathered near the ticket counter.
A tall, blonde woman stood in front, clipboard in hand. She was perfectly poised even with a gaggle of children crowding around her legs. Her hair was pulled into a sleek twist, her smile professionally polite as she checked names off her list.
Narcissa Malfoy.
Harry had mentioned her before. “Miss Malfoy” who taught them discipline and balance and how to bow properly before sparring. James had been quietly impressed that his son had a teacher who could keep ten seven-year-olds still for more than thirty seconds. He couldn’t even manage that at home.
“Ah, there’s the last of our crew!” Narcissa called, her voice crisp but not unkind. “Mr. Potter, lovely to finally meet you in person. Harry’s quite the enthusiast in class.”
“Enthusiast is one word for it,” James said, offering a hand. “Sorry we’re running a bit behind. Someone here thought sprinting would make the universe start faster.”
Harry grinned, unbothered. Narcissa smiled faintly before turning back to her list.
James’s eyes flicked past her then to the other man standing beside her.
At first glance, he seemed unremarkable. He was dressed in a dark coat, hands tucked in his pockets. But when he shifted, the light caught his hair. Black, sleek, and sharply cut. There was something too deliberate about the way he stood, composed but guarded. His eyes were scanning the group rather than meeting anyone’s gaze.
James might’ve looked away, if not for the moment Harry suddenly lit up.
“Leo!” Harry exclaimed, darting forward again.
The black-haired man’s head snapped toward the sound, and a small boy—who’d been hiding partly behind his leg—stepped into view. Leo was shorter than Harry, with the same white karate belt tied askew at his waist. He had a shy smile that appeared only for his friend.
James let his hand drop as Harry ran up to the boy and started chattering, the two of them instantly wrapped in their own orbit. He was about to call after him again when the man’s voice broke in.
“You must be Harry’s father.”
It wasn’t a question, though his tone held a polite lilt of curiosity. James blinked and then nodded, extending his hand automatically.
“Yeah—James Potter. And you’re…Leo’s dad?”
For a moment, the man hesitated. Then he took his hand. His grip was firm. Cool. “Regulus Black.”
The name landed softly but with a certain weight. Something old-fashioned. Maybe familiar in a way James couldn’t quite place. He found himself staring a moment too long, cataloging the details. The sharp collar. The dark eyes. The faint trace of cologne that didn’t fit the casual outing.
“Nice to meet you,” James said finally, giving a faint laugh to cover his pause. “Your kid and mine seem to be thick as thieves.”
Regulus’s gaze followed the boys. They were now crouched by the edge of a glowing solar system display, pressing buttons that made the planets spin. The faintest curve touched his mouth. Like a smile trying to remember how to exist.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Leo doesn’t take to people easily. Harry must be…persuasive.”
“That’s one word for him,” James said again, though this time softer, his tone edging toward fondness. “He’s got a talent for talking people into doing things they shouldn’t.”
Regulus’s eyes flicked toward him at that. A flash of dry amusement passed through them. “That explains why Leo’s been asking for sleepovers.”
“Oh, God,” James groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “He mentioned that, huh? Harry’s been campaigning for that too. Said you make ‘the good tea.’”
Now Regulus did smile, faint but real. “Do I?”
Before James could reply, Narcissa called for everyone’s attention. Her clipboard snapped lightly against her palm. “All right, everyone—group tickets are sorted. We’ll be starting with the Cosmic Journey exhibit, so please, stay with your partners. Parents, you’re welcome to join or wait in the café.”
The group began shuffling toward the entrance corridor, chattering, laughing, the glow of the exhibit already visible ahead. Blue and violet lights spilled out like a promise. Harry grabbed Leo’s wrist and tugged him forward. Both boys disappeared into the crowd.
“Guess that’s our cue,” James said, glancing at Regulus.
Regulus hesitated, gaze still on the children. “I suppose so. Cissa insisted I attend at least one of these excursions.”
“Are you two close?”
“Cousins.”
“Dragged along by family, then? Rotten luck,” James grinned. “My mum used to do that to me. I’d say no and she’d guilt me until I said yes.”
Regulus hummed. “Yes. That sounds about right.”
They fell into step side by side. They followed the faint trail of laughter ahead. The hum of the planetarium deepened around them. A voice overhead began to narrate, stars flickering along the curved ceiling. As they walked beneath the glow of a simulated galaxy, James found his eyes drifting again to Regulus. To the way he looked up. To how his expression softened by starlight. To a hint of something wistful in his face.
He didn’t know why he noticed it. But he did. And it stayed with him, even after the lights dimmed and the stars began to move. The first exhibit was more immersive than James expected. A tunnel of stars stretched ahead, the walls glowing with clusters of light that pulsed faintly. It was synced with the low rumble of distant cosmic sound effects. When he stepped inside, the floor itself shimmered faintly beneath his boots. It was like walking through the Milky Way.
Harry and Leo darted ahead, their laughter echoing softly as they chased after one another’s shadows. Narcissa and a few of the other adults lingered behind, reading placards and murmuring politely about the science of nebulae.
James found himself falling naturally into step with Regulus again.
“Can’t say I’ve been to one of these since I was about Harry’s age,” James admitted, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets as he looked around. “Last time, I was convinced the ceiling was going to fall on me. I thought the stars were real.”
Regulus’s mouth curved faintly. “And now?”
“Still not completely sure,” James said, grinning as he gestured upward at the slowly rotating projection of a spiral galaxy. “They’ve gotten more convincing.”
“That they have.” Regulus’s gaze lingered on the same spot of light, eyes reflective. “Leo’s fascinated by it all. He spends hours staring through that cheap telescope I got him. I’m fairly certain he thinks he’ll discover a planet before he turns eight.”
James laughed quietly. “Honestly, I believe in him. Harry’s the same way. He sets his mind on something and suddenly I’m building rocket ships out of cereal boxes.” The warmth in his voice faltered just slightly, the next words falling out in a more careful tone. “Usually Lily’s the one who takes him to karate, though. I just—er—had the weekend free for once.”
Regulus didn’t look over immediately. His expression didn’t change much, but the shift in his voice was subtle when he asked, “you’re separated, then?”
“Yeah,” James said, his smile turning rueful. “Couple years now. We get on all right. Or, at least, well enough for Harry’s sake. He adores her. Complete mummy’s boy, let me tell you. It’s just…you know how it is. People grow in different directions.”
There was a pause. The simulated starlight dimmed slightly, and a faint projection of a comet streaked across the ceiling above them. For a moment, they both tilted their heads to follow it. A shared instinct that felt oddly intimate. “I do know,” Regulus said at last. “Different directions, yes. Though in my family, it’s more…compulsory than natural.”
James glanced at him, brows lifting. “Compulsory?”
Regulus huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “Narcissa insisted Leo join karate. Said it would ‘build character’ and make him less—what was her word—delicate.”
James couldn’t help smiling. “That's like her from what I can see, yeah.”
“She also thought it would give Draco a chance to bond with him.” Regulus’s tone was dry now, with an edge of resigned amusement. “Except Draco quit the moment Leo won a match. He’s refused to go back since.”
James snorted, too loud in the echoing tunnel. A few nearby kids turned and giggled, and he pressed a hand to his mouth. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.” Regulus’s eyes glittered, faintly amused now. “Narcissa was mortified. I told her she could hardly expect a Malfoy to tolerate losing gracefully.”
“That’s incredible,” James said, grinning so wide it hurt. “Harry’s mentioned Draco, actually. Said he’s ‘good at yelling but bad at sharing.’”
Regulus tilted his head, suppressing a laugh. “That is unfortunately accurate.”
They walked a few steps in comfortable silence, the lights shifting around them. The kids had moved on to the next display. A massive rotating globe of Mars surrounded by interactive panels. Their voices carried faintly across the room.
“You seem close with your cousin,” James said after a moment, his tone casual but curious. "I never really interacted with mine. Is that normal?”
“Close is…one way to describe it,” Regulus murmured. “She’s one of the only ones I still speak to regularly. Our family was—well, let’s say not known for their warm temperaments. I've been trying to get in contact with my brother, but ever since he gave testimony at Leo’s adoption…well, it’s not the same as it was.”
“Sounds like an arse.”
“Runs in the family I fear.”
“Ah.” James smiled wryly. “My mum used to say the Potters were terrible at holding grudges. We’d forgive anyone, even people who really didn’t deserve it.”
“Sounds healthy,” Regulus said dryly, then added, “if occasionally foolish.”
James laughed. “That’s me in a nutshell, then. Occasionally foolish.”
They slowed near a model of the solar system, planets suspended from thin cables. Their shadows drifted over the two men as they stopped. Leo was explaining something animatedly to Harry. His hands were waving in wild circles and Harry was nodding with the grave focus of a scientist.
Regulus watched them for a moment, something soft crossing his features. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “He’s…happier, since joining that class. I wasn’t sure it would help. But Cissa was right, it helped.”
“Well,” James said, following his gaze. “Harry is doing better too. He really likes your kid.”
“I can tell.” Regulus’s eyes flicked back toward James, and for just a second their gazes caught. A brief lock in the pale reflection of the planet lights. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It just hung there, warm and weightless. Like the air between two orbits finally aligned.
Then Harry called, “Dad, look! Leo says Jupiter could fit like a hundred Earths inside it!”
James blinked and turned, grinning. “Yeah? Bet you can’t fit that many toys in your room, though!”
Harry groaned. “Dad!”
Regulus made a sound that was dangerously close to a laugh, quiet and unguarded. When James turned back toward him, he was still smiling faintly, head shaking in disbelief. “I take it you’re the funny parent,” Regulus said.
“Or the annoying one,” James admitted. “Depends who you ask.”
“I suspect both.”
James chuckled. But before he could respond, the voice of the tour guide began to echo from the next chamber. They called everyone toward the dome theater for the main show. The kids immediately started racing that way, and James and Regulus instinctively moved to follow. They fell into step again.
They drifted deeper into the exhibit, where the ceilings rose higher and the walls fell away into darkness. The crowd’s chatter faded behind them, replaced by the faint hum of an orchestral soundtrack. Violins and the occasional low swell of something like wind.
The path curved, and suddenly they were standing beneath a canopy of constellations.
Dozens of glittering names floated overhead in soft gold: Orion, Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Lyra—each constellation stitched out in points of white light across the curved black dome. The entire room felt like standing inside the sky.
Regulus stopped walking.
James nearly bumped into him before realizing why he’d paused. The other man’s gaze was tilted upward, sharp features painted silver by the reflected starlight. There was something reverent in his stillness. Like someone listening to an old song they hadn’t heard in years.
James followed his gaze. The constellation directly above them gleamed brighter than the rest, the name hanging in steady, golden letters.
LEO.
“Oh,” James said softly. “Like your—”
He didn’t finish the sentence, because Regulus was already speaking, his voice low but clear.
“Do you know what the brightest star in Leo is called?”
James blinked, trying to recall the endless trivia Harry had been spouting the night before. “Uh…no. I’m guessing you do?”
Regulus’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite a sigh.
“Regulus.”
The word hung in the air between them. Simple, but heavy. The kind of fact that meant more than it seemed to.
James looked back up, his brow furrowing. “Really?”
“Mm.” Regulus’s eyes didn’t leave the constellation. “Named long before I was, of course. I used to hate it when I was a boy. My parents thought it terribly poetic. The family name, written in the stars. Orion. Narcissa. Sirius. Draco. They liked to think it meant something. Legacy. Greatness.” He let out a short breath, not quite laughter. “But all it ever meant to me was expectation.”
James stayed quiet, not sure if it was better to speak or to let the silence breathe. He chose the latter. After a long moment, Regulus’s focus shifted. It was no longer fixed on the stars, but somewhere inward.
“When I first found Leo,” he said finally, “I hadn’t been looking for anyone. Or anything. I was just… drifting.”
James glanced at him, the tone of his voice pulling him closer in despite himself.
“I was spending what remained of my family’s money wherever I could,” Regulus went on, words precise but softer now. “Charities. Schools. Hospitals. It wasn’t altruism…not really. I think I just wanted to see something worthwhile come from it. Something that didn’t bear our name.”
He paused, as if sorting through a memory too sharp to touch all at once.
“One of the hospitals sent an invitation,” he continued. “For Christmas. Said they wanted to thank donors personally. I almost threw it away. But Cissa said it would be good for me to go, so I went. And that’s where I heard about him.”
“Leo?” James asked quietly.
Regulus nodded once. His eyes were still on the constellation, but they’d gone distant. Unfocused. “They said he’d been found in a parking lot. Abandoned. No name. No note. Just a blanket.” His voice caught, almost imperceptibly. “He was so small. I remember thinking he couldn’t have weighed more than the cat I had as a child.”
James swallowed. The image hit him harder than he expected. This man, cold and composed, standing in a sterile hospital ward staring down at something fragile and nameless.
“I visited every day after that,” Regulus said. “It wasn’t supposed to be allowed, but the nurses—well, I suppose they pitied me as much as they pitied him. After a few weeks, they stopped pretending it was strange. But he was getting healthier. Stable enough to go into foster care until he could be adopted out.”
“What happened then?”
“Lawyers,” Regulus said, the word edged with weary humor. “Paperwork. Interviews. Questions about my fitness, my income, my health. It went on for months. They told me there were dozens of couples ahead of me on the list. But one by one, those couples backed out. Too much trouble, they said. Too many unknowns. Eventually, he was simply…mine.”
James felt his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite name.
“The hospital had given him some terrible generic name,” Regulus continued. “John. I thought it was cruel to take something that had already been abandoned and make it anonymous, too.”
He glanced back up at the ceiling. Back to where the constellation Leo glittered quietly above them.
“So I changed it. I wanted him to have a name that meant something. Something bright. Strong. The kind of thing you could grow toward, not away from. And I wanted him to know he had family, no matter how broken.”
James’s throat felt dry. “Leo,” he repeated, softly.
Regulus inclined his head. “Yes. Leo.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The stars above seemed to pulse and bathed them in pale light.
James finally said, “you know, that’s…probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in a planetarium.”
Regulus gave him a look. It was faintly incredulous but not unkind. “You’re mocking me.”
“Not at all,” James said. “You just have this way of saying things that makes people forget to breathe for a second.”
That startled a quiet laugh out of Regulus. He quickly swallowed down. “You’re far too sentimental.”
“Guilty as charged.”
James shifted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “But seriously. He’s lucky. Leo, I mean. To have you. Not everyone would’ve gone through all that.”
Regulus’s expression softened. Not exactly a smile, but something gentler. It was almost luminous under the artificial starlight.
“I don’t know if it was luck,” he said. “I think perhaps we just…found each other at the right time.”
James nodded. For a while, they both stood there beneath the shimmer of constellations, silent except for the quiet hum of the exhibit. Ahead, Harry and Leo were pressing their palms against a glowing wall display. They made trails of digital stardust explode under their fingers. Their laughter rang out, small and bright.
James glanced at Regulus again, meaning to say something—anything—but stopped. The light above them caught in Regulus’s hair, turning it to liquid silver. He looked, for a brief unguarded moment. Almost celestial himself.
The lights dimmed as the planetarium guide ushered the group into the main dome. A hush settled over the room. It was that particular kind of silence that only exists in spaces designed for awe. The ceiling stretched impossibly high above them, a half-sphere of deep black ready to bloom with stars.
Children clambered into the curved rows of seats, whispering and giggling. Their excitement was contagious even through the quiet. James followed Harry and Leo down an aisle, watching them immediately lean into each other to point at the projector in the center of the room.
Regulus sat beside Leo, folding his coat neatly across his lap. His posture was impeccable even in the dark. James ended up beside him. He was close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed when he leaned back.
The first burst of light scattered across the dome: stars unfurling one by one. Constellations bloomed like fireworks slowed down to reverence. The narrator’s voice filled the space. They were talking about the birth of stars and the quiet death of galaxies.
James tried to focus. Really, he did. But his eyes kept drifting sideways.
Regulus watched the sky the way some people listen to music. Still. Intent. It was as if he was letting it pour through him. The pale glow from the projection painted faint highlights along his cheekbones. Was caught in the dark of his lashes. He looked like he belonged here. Like the room had been built around him.
James tore his gaze away. He pretended to be deeply invested in the narrator’s story about Betelgeuse.
For a while, they sat like that. The stars shifted overhead, bleeding from one galaxy into another. A time-lapse of centuries spun above them. Harry and Leo whispered something about black holes, heads nearly touching.
When James finally spoke, his voice was low. It was meant only for Regulus to hear.
“So,” he said, half under his breath. He was half testing how far he could push the calm between them, “are you still single, or…?”
The question hung there. Soft and casual. Or as casual as he could make it sound while his pulse thudded a little too loudly in his ears.
Regulus didn’t look away from the ceiling. “Why do you ask?”
James blinked, caught. “Uh—just making conversation?”
A pause. Then, lightly, “do people usually ask that when they’re just making conversation?”
James turned his head toward him. He tried to read the tone. Like really tried. But he couldn’t. Regulus’s expression was perfectly neutral. His eyes were still on the false stars above. But there was something too even about his voice. The kind of flatness that meant he was aware of exactly what he was doing.
“I mean, sometimes,” James said, smiling despite himself. “Depends on the kind of conversation.”
Another beat of silence. Then Regulus turned his head at last. He met James’s gaze properly. His eyes had gone darker in the low light, unreadable but faintly amused. “I see,” he said quietly. “And which kind of conversation is this?”
James opened his mouth. He closed it. He gave up and laughed under his breath. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
A soft curve touched Regulus’s mouth. “Immensely.”
James groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You had me thinking I’d just committed some mortal social sin.”
“You might have,” Regulus said. “But I’ll allow it.”
There was a lightness between them now. It was the kind that flickered into existence after laughter. Like oxygen finally reaching a flame. James shifted a little in his seat, angled just slightly toward him. “All right, fine. But seriously. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Still single.”
Regulus turned his gaze upward again, as if consulting the stars for permission. “I am.”
James felt something unreasonably like triumph stir in his chest. “Good to know.”
“Why?”
“Because now I don’t have to feel bad for asking.”
Regulus gave him a look that might have been stern if not for the faint. It betrayed the spark of humor in his eyes. “You’d feel bad?”
“Eventually,” James said, grinning. “After I’d already said something embarrassing.”
“Then you should feel relieved.”
“I do,” James admitted. He was smiling. “Though now I’m a little terrified.”
Regulus’s brow arched. “Of me?”
“Of what I might say next.”
That earned a quiet laugh . A real one this time. It was soft and low. It startled James more than it should have. He didn’t realize until that moment how much he’d wanted to hear it again.
The stars above shifted. A slow pan through the Milky Way. The narrator spoke about the scale of light-years. How something can burn for millions of years and still vanish in an instant.
James looked back up, then sideways again. Regulus’s face was turned toward the projection, but his expression had gentled. The humor was still there, but tempered by something quieter.
James found himself saying, “you know, you’re really not what I expected.”
“Oh?” Regulus’s tone was mild. “And what did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” James hesitated, then grinned. “Someone…colder, maybe. More like a marble statue who’d scold me for using the wrong fork.”
“Disappointing, then,” Regulus murmured.
“Actually, kind of the opposite.”
Regulus turned his head slightly at that, eyes flicking toward him in the dark. The silence stretched. It was not uncomfortable this time but weighted. Slow. Deliberate.
The narrator’s voice faded into quiet music. The stars dimmed, replaced by a glowing image of Earth suspended in black.
“I think,” Regulus said finally, voice barely above a whisper, “you have a very strange definition of conversation.”
“Probably,” James said softly. “But it’s working.”
That drew another fleeting smile. It was gone as quickly as it came, but bright enough that James felt it like a pulse beneath his ribs.
When the lights brightened a few minutes later, it was gradual. A false sunrise creeping along the dome. The children stirred and stretched, chattering about supernovas and comets. Leo leaned sleepily against Regulus’s arm. Harry yawned and wiped his eyes.
Regulus reached out, almost absentmindedly. He brushed a stray lock of hair from Leo’s forehead. The gesture was so natural. So gentle. Something inside James twisted without warning. Something that felt dangerously like tenderness.
Regulus glanced at him once more, expression composed again. It was as though nothing had happened between them in the dark. But his eyes lingered a moment too long. And as everyone began to stand, James thought that he’d somehow managed to start a conversation he wasn’t quite ready to finish.
The exit lights rose slowly, washing away the stars. The murmur of voices filled the dome as people stood. They stretched their arms and gathered their bags. The spell of the dark broke apart in small sounds of movement.
Harry and Leo were the first to their feet, wide awake now and buzzing with energy again. They darted up the aisle, arguing cheerfully about which star had been the biggest. Narcissa trailed behind them, ever composed. She thanked the guide as if she were attending a gala rather than a children’s field trip.
James stood more slowly, tugging his coat from the back of his seat. Beside him, Regulus adjusted his collar, a motion as precise as everything else he did.
They joined the slow stream of people heading for the doors, the hush of the theater replaced by the faint echo of their footsteps on tile. For a while, they didn’t speak. Harry and Leo ran ahead, stopping at a display by the entrance where a glowing model of Saturn spun lazily in a glass case. Their laughter bounced off the walls, the sound impossibly small in the huge space.
James cleared his throat, glancing sideways at Regulus.
“So,” he said lightly, “I feel like this is where I’m supposed to ask for your number.”
Regulus didn’t immediately answer. He kept walking, gaze fixed ahead. The faintest furrow appeared between his brows. When he did speak, it was quiet. Careful. “And why would you need that, Mr. Potter?”
James smiled. “Well, for starters, so Harry can have another playdate with Leo. And maybe…” He hesitated, searching Regulus’s face. “Maybe so we could talk again. Without a dome of children and stars between us.”
Regulus stopped walking.
It wasn’t abrupt. More like a subtle withdrawing. His steps slowed until James realized he’d gone one pace too far ahead. He turned back. The faint light from the planetarium doors gilded the edge of Regulus’s face. Pale skin. Dark hair. Unreadable eyes.
“I don’t date,” Regulus said simply. “Teasing people, yes. But I don’t date.” The words were matter-of-fact, but not cold. Still, they landed like something final.
James blinked. “Oh.” He tried to laugh it off, but it came out thinner than he meant it to. “Right. Okay. That was fast—I didn’t even get a chance to make a bad joke first.”
Regulus’s expression didn’t waver. “It isn’t meant as an insult. I just…don’t.”
“Because you don’t want to,” James said, half-guessing and half-hoping for clarification, “or because you don’t let yourself?”
That made Regulus look at him properly. A flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else. Quieter. He looked down briefly before answering.
“I don’t want Leo hurt,” he said.
The simplicity of it silenced James.
He looked toward the boys. They were still at the display, pressing buttons that made Saturn’s rings glow brighter. Leo was laughing at something Harry said, his head thrown back in a way that was pure, unguarded joy. When James looked back, Regulus was still watching his son. His face softened by something achingly tender.
“I dated someone when Leo was about a year old…it was…good at first,” Regulus said. His tone was even, “and then it wasn’t. If he wanted to hurt me that was one thing. The moment he tried to hurt Leo I…Cissa and I took care of it. I’m not doing that to him again.”
James’s throat tightened. “You think I’d do that?”
Regulus’s gaze flicked to him again, steady but not sharp. “I think I met you two hours ago.”
The words weren’t cruel. Just…true. A boundary spoken with quiet certainty.
James nodded slowly. “Fair.”
The silence stretched between them again. It was not quite comfortable, but not quite painful. Just suspended. Like the pause between one heartbeat and the next.
“I get it,” James said finally. His voice was soft, stripped of the easy humor he usually relied on. “I do. You’re protecting him. That’s what you’re supposed to do. But for what it’s worth…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I wasn’t asking for anything complicated. Just a number. Maybe coffee. Maybe conversation without a telescope involved.”
Regulus’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes did. It was some faint flicker of conflict, brief as a passing comet. “You make it sound simple.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Nothing with people ever is.”
James gave a quiet huff of laughter. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean it can’t start simple.”
For a moment, Regulus just studied him. The distant hum of the planetarium’s automatic doors filled the pause, the sound of the night spilling faintly in. The wind. The soft rhythm of cars on the street.
“I don’t date,” Regulus said again, but it came out less like a refusal this time, more like a reminder to himself.
James smiled faintly. “Then maybe I’ll just…call it something else.”
Regulus tilted his head, curiosity flickering through the guardedness. “Such as?”
“Coffee between two single dads who happen to like space.”
Regulus’s lips parted. It was not quite a smile but not quite a protest. The silence that followed felt precarious. Like something that might tilt one way or the other with a breath.
Before he could answer, the boys came running up. They were clutching paper brochures.
“Dad! Look!” Harry said, waving his. “They’re doing a meteor shower thing next month!”
Leo held up his own flyer proudly. “Cissa said we can go if our parents come!”
Regulus looked down at him, his composure slipping just slightly under the weight of that hopeful grin. Then, without looking at James, he said quietly, “We’ll see.”
“Promise?” Leo pressed, tugging on his sleeve.
Regulus exhaled. “We’ll see,” he repeated. It was gentler this time.
James crouched beside Harry, ruffling his hair. “Sounds like a yes to me,” he said, throwing a grin over his shoulder.
For a fraction of a second, Regulus’s eyes met his again. There was something complicated flickering there. Half amusement and half something he wasn’t ready to name.
Then he looked away. “Come along, Leo. It’s late.”
They moved toward the parking lot together, the boys racing ahead again. The night was cool, the air tinged with rain. Streetlights gleamed off the cars. The faint smell of ozone drifted on the wind.
At the edge of the lot, Regulus stopped to check his phone. James hesitated beside him. Then he quietly said, “You know…even if you never text back, I’ll still be around. For the boys. If they end up dragging us to another field trip.”
Regulus looked up at him, eyes unreadable in the low light. “I’m sure they will.”
“Good,” James said, smiling faintly. “I’ll take my chances.”
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Regulus inclined his head once. Polite. Measured. He turned to follow Leo to the car.
James watched them go, the soft glow of the parking lights catching in Regulus’s hair as he opened the door. Leo waved. James lifted a hand in return, smiling even as something in his chest ached quietly.
He hadn’t gotten a number. But he had a name. A story. A promise of “we’ll see.”
And somehow, that felt like enough—for now.