#here’s the socialist regulus i promised

[euphorial-docx]

(from my italy au. again)

chapter 6: history lessons

Work is slow, but Regulus doesn’t mind one bit. He chose this job because of the slow motion, the solitude, the downtime. He spends most of his shifts, when not organizing shelves or helping the few customers that linger, reading. Today, he’s continuing with Ernesto, and unlike the time in Pandora's yard, he manages to finish the book and start it again. This time, he annotates it.

How does Ernesto know so much with so little words? I’m too cowardly to touch without being told exactly where and how. He has scribbled on the side of page fifteen. Liar. Love doesn’t make it hurt less, is scornfully written on the crude page of twenty-one. And on page twenty-four when it was over, Regulus writes: See? Love makes no difference. The first time is always painful, one way or another. Regulus tries not to think about his own past sexual experiences, but a book so synonymous with sexuality makes that difficult.

Regulus is in the middle of writing another annotation when the door opens, a little bell chiming to alert him. He doesn’t bother to look up. A customer will approach him directly, if need be. He keeps annotating and reading. Page thirty-nine he starts to write: People tell me love shouldn’t hurt— he’s interrupted by approaching footsteps before he can finish jotting that thought down.

When he looks up, James is looking back at him. Regulus can almost feel the light glimmering in his own eyes, burning with revitalization upon seeing the older boy. James takes off his sunglasses, as if Regulus hasn’t already memorized every inch of his face and body that he can. James flashes a smile, Regulus hesitantly sends one back, although it’s smaller, more reserved.

“Still reading that?” James asks, resting his arms upon the desk. Regulus promptly shuts his book, appalled by the thought of James taking a peak at his inner thoughts.

“I finished it, but I liked it enough for a re-read.” Regulus says, slyly pushing the book under the desk and into one of the drawers. Away from James.

“You never told me what it’s about, you know.” James reminds him, and Regulus is well aware of that. He thought he never wanted James to know the nature of Ernesto, but looking into his eyes now, Regulus is desperate for his reaction.

“You really want to know?” He asks for permission, and it’s granted through a confident nod. “Without spoiling too much, it’s about a boy emerging into manhood as he explores his sexuality and develops a love for poetry. I think it’s on its way to becoming a classic in queer literature.”

“Really? Sounds interesting. What drew you to it?” James asks, eyes never breaking its unabashed contact.

Regulus smothers another smile, “The author. Everyone in Italy reads Umberto Saba.”

“Is that the only reason?” By now, he knows what James is asking without really asking. The unspoken lies between them to never be uttered, but to be understood wordlessly.

“Possibly. I’d like Umberto Saba even if I hadn’t been forced to read his poems in secondary school. I see a lot of myself in him. He was from Trieste, walked these same paths, saw the same ocean, and felt the same community. And he was Jewish, as well as a socialist. I am Jewish, of course, but I’m not sure I’m a socialist. Although, I agree with a few of socialism’s values.” He rambles contently, fully aware of how frustrating that is for the other. Regulus rests his hands on the desk and asks James: “Why are you here?”

“There’s more I’d like to see of Trieste, and I want you to show me it.” And that’s what Regulus wants, isn’t it? To be wanted? Usually that desire would placate him, validate him, but James’s want only leaves him needing more of it.

“Okay,” Agreeing is the easiest thing Regulus has ever done, “I’ll show everything.”

James linger for a few minutes, pretending to be perusing the aisles for a book, but Regulus knows he won’t leave with anything. And he does. James disappears outside to waste time until Regulus’s shift ends. The moment he’s alone again, Regulus pulls the book out of the drawer, flips to the page he abandoned, and finishes his thought:

People tell me love shouldn’t hurt, but for me there’s no other way for it to be proven. I don't believe love to be true if it doesn’t leave me bloodied and wishing I were dead.

Regulus looks at the words he just wrote down with a twisting in his chest. It’s the truth, but it looks wrong. He knows it’s not something most people think, but it is something he whole-heartedly believes in.

Something is terribly wrong with me, he adds with a bold underline.

#here’s the socialist regulus i promised #he’s not really a socialist #but he’s not NOT a socialist #if you’ve read ernesto you know exactly what scenes regulus is annotating #this is literally the entire first scene of chapter 6 #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #james x regulus