soulmate - @jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - wc: 967

They’re not supposed to be sitting on the floor.

There are chairs. There are tables. There are signs politely asking students not to block the aisles. But the fourth floor of the university library is quiet in the way that feels like a held breath, and the row they’ve claimed is tucked far enough back that no one’s complained yet.

overnight - @jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - wc: 740

Regulus Black prided himself on his patience. Or rather, the illusion of patience. He looked calm most of the time because he refused to let anyone see him crack — but James Potter was pushing it today.

They were standing by the lockers after last bell, the hallway emptying around them as James fidgeted like he’d been possessed by a particularly nervous squirrel. His fingers kept fluttering at the hem of his jumper sleeves, tugging, smoothing, tugging again. Every thirty seconds he’d push his glasses up his nose, even though they hadn’t actually slipped.

fill - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 577 - pre-jegulus

Regulus should have said no.

No to the barely-sober begging, no to the obnoxious chain of voice notes Barty sent at 2 a.m. that morning—no to being dragged to the dim, sticky-floored venue that smelled of cheap beer and desperation masked by too much cologne. But he'd said yes. As always.

And now, here he was.

stab - @jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic - wc: 549

The living room was dim except for the glow of the TV, the grainy film grain of some low-budget ‘80s slasher flick washing James’ face in pale blue. He was sprawled across the couch, legs stretched out like he owned all the space in the world. Regulus sat at the opposite end, curled up in a blanket with the kind of poise that suggested this whole thing was beneath him, yet he was still there.

drown - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 1.7k - CW: implied act, but happy ending

They'd come to the community pool on a dare—Sirius' idea of "fresh air and humiliation therapy"—and ended up in the deep end, floating on backs and letting the sun leak heat through their shirts. It should have been perfect: blue water, cold beer on the concrete, the steady clack of other people's lives in motion. Instead, Regulus felt the edges of everything thin, like a photograph left in the rain.

pierce - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 400

The late afternoon sun flickered through the windshield as Regulus adjusted his sunglasses, the frame slipping slightly on the bridge of his nose. James’ ancient car — affectionately dubbed “The Heap” — rattled along the old highway as if protesting the playlist of dreamy alt rock bleeding from the speakers.

concern - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 513

The library was too quiet, and Regulus hated it.

His pencil lay forgotten on the open notebook, equations scrawled neatly until they weren’t, until they became half-finished symbols and jagged lines that dipped into frantic loops. He pushed his curls back, exhaled sharply, and then started talking—half to himself, half to the void, half to James who was sitting across from him pretending to read.

partner - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 614

Regulus Black had never been more out of place in his entire life.

worth - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 473

James’ apartment was a mess. Not in the way that a stranger might call it untidy, but in the way that someone who knew him well could read it like a diary. A stack of unopened mail leaned against the leg of the sofa. His Quidditch magazines were splayed open on the kitchen counter, a coffee ring bleeding into the glossy pages. Shirts—half of them his, half of them too fine, too soft, too obviously not his—were draped over the back of chairs like they were waiting for someone to pick them up again.

drag - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 452

The car rumbled along the winding coastal road, the kind of road travel blogs called scenic but Regulus only found irritating. The sea stretched endlessly to their left, silver-blue and glittering under the late afternoon sun. Wind poured in from the open passenger-side window, dragging Regulus’ hair across his face until it looked like he was fighting off a ghost.

“What a fucking drag,” he muttered, spitting a strand out of his mouth.

sheet - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 413

The music room smelled faintly of polish and resin, the soft echo of strings lingering in the air long after Regulus lowered his bow. He flexed his fingers once, the sheen of sweat catching in the pale light streaming through the blinds.

James blinked rapidly, as if he’d just been caught daydreaming—which, in fairness, he had been.

evidence - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 517

Regulus’ head rested against James’ chest, his hair falling in soft, dark waves across the Gryffindor-red blanket James had pulled over them earlier. His breathing was slow and even, and every exhale ghosted warmly against the cotton of James’ t-shirt. James could feel the faint, steady rhythm of Regulus’ breaths syncing with the thump of his own heart, and—Merlin, if he wasn’t careful, he might melt right there on the couch.

forgive - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 352

Regulus was glaring at himself in the bathroom mirror like it had personally wronged him.

flame - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 535

James didn’t mean to snoop.

Really. Truly. Honestly.

He just needed to text himself from Regulus’ phone because his own was wedged somewhere between the couch cushions, swallowed by that inexplicable void where loose change and television remotes went to die.

trip - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 693 - CW: drug use

The party was a kaleidoscope. Music thumped like a heartbeat in the floor, colors bent inwards, outwards, sideways. James was draped across a beanbag in the living room like a melted wax statue, a half-empty cup of god-knows-what in his hand, and a bottle of water someone kind had left beside him. The LED lights spun red, then blue, then both at once.

Time was a circle. Or maybe a square. Maybe it was Regulus’ eyes.

limousine - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 672

James Potter was, in Regulus’ own words, “obnoxiously enthusiastic about the mundane.”

He celebrated half-year anniversaries like they were platinum weddings. He turned Wednesday movie nights into catered events with custom-themed snacks. And when Regulus once said he liked sunflowers—in passing—James sent a bouquet the size of a toddler to his office every day for a week.

So when Regulus stepped outside their building and saw a limousine parked by the curb, hazard lights blinking like a beacon of over-the-top affection, he didn’t even blink.

elevator - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 853

Regulus Black was having a day.

Not just a bad day. A capital-D Disaster day. His tie was crooked, his coffee had spilled down his shirt right before a deposition, and he was now running late for a client meeting because the lift—of course—was taking too long on the thirty-second floor of the stupid, sleek, steel-and-glass building where he worked his soul into the ground.

He jabbed the call button with unnecessary force, glaring at his reflection in the polished elevator doors. His hair was too flat. His eyes had dark circles. He looked like a ghost in Gucci.