Sign | @jegulus-microfic | Wc: 1183

Sign | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 1183

Regulus finds him in the storage room sitting on a plastic chair wedged into the narrow space, earbuds in, chuckling at something on his phone. To say Regulus is annoyed is an understatement.

The sudden influx of bright light has him unplugging one ear and peering up at Regulus with an easy smile, which only grates on him further.

“Reg.” Not Reg, Regulus. “You have to look at this!” He angles his screen toward Regulus, who takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Harold.”

“Reginald,” he reciprocates easily.

“That’s not my name.”

“And my name is not Harold. Glad we got that established.” He has the audacity to put his earbud back in, and Regulus, whose patience for him has been dwindling all evening, walks over and grabs his phone, ignoring the indignant “Hey!” he gets in response.

“What are you doing here? I sent you to get sugar 30 minutes ago.”

Harry shrugs, tilting back in his chair. “I got a little sidetracked, you know how it is.”

No, Regulus does not know how it is, because he’s an adult who takes his job seriously, and Harry is a little twerp who cheated his way into employment.

Regulus takes advantage of their height difference, looking down at him, aiming for authority and a smidge of intimidation as he says, “You’re at work. Act like it!”

Harry stands up to his full height, immediately dwarfing Regulus, and Regulus has to hold back the string of curses threatening to spill out of him as he stands his ground. Harry leans forward, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“Why you hired this imbecile, I’ll never know,” he huffs indignantly when he comes back out, Harry trailing after him.

“His dad is hot,” Dorcas says from the counter, bills in hand.

Harry groans in disgust from where he’s crouched, grabbing cleaning supplies. “Never say that around me again.”

“Agreed,” Regulus supplies. “Besides, you’re a lesbian.”

“Goes to show you how hot he is. Hey, Harry, he’s picking you up today, right?”

Harry makes a noise of disgust and refuses to answer.

Regulus rolls his eyes, pulling himself up onto the counter and leaning back against his hands. Harry emerges with a rag over his shoulder and a frown etched into his eyebrows. “You’re not helping with cleaning?”

“Please, I’ve practically been working your shift for you. Clean-up is all yours, buddy.” When Harry doesn’t move, he waves him away. “Shoo, off you go, Harold.”

Harry tsks and leaves, grumbling about something to himself.

“Be nice to him,” Dorcas says while handling the register. “He has a crush on you.”

“Gross. He’s like five and the most annoying person I know.”

“He’s fifteen!” Harry calls from where he’s wiping tables. “And he can hear you.”

“He should shut up and get back to work.”

That seems to have the opposite effect on Harry, who stops wiping and leans against the table, arms crossed. “C’mon, Reg, what do you say? Me and you, what’s eight years?”

Regulus opts to ignore him, turning his attention back to Dorcas. “Besides,” he speaks in a considerably lower voice, “I have a–”

“Man,” Dorcas intercepts, making a face. “I know. Everyone knows.”

Regulus smiles stupidly, the heels of his feet tapping the cabinet below as he starts dangling his legs in giddiness. “Do they?”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t really have him, not yet at least. We’ve only been on, like, three dates, but soon. I’m locking him down, Dorcas, just you wait.”

“What’re you gonna do? Baby-trap him?”

Regulus hums, then shakes his head. “No, but did you know he’s a single father? He’s so present in his son’s life, it’s…” Regulus trails off, a glazed look in his eyes.

“Careful, your daddy issues are showing,” she says, whacking Regulus’ thigh in chastisement. “How old is this guy anyway?” 

“He’s thirty.” When Dorcas raises an eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. “What’s seven years?” The moment the words leave his mouth, his face contorts in disgust. 

Dorcas throws her head back laughing. 

When Harry takes his sweet time with the clean-up, Regulus joins in and helps mop the floor. Before long, they’re done, and Dorcas and Harry head out back to get dressed to go home, while Regulus does some minor dusting.

The door should be locked at this time; even so, the “Closed” sign should be enough to deter potential customers. As it is, the door is open, and the person who enters apparently cannot read because the bell above the door chimes and in comes– James?

Regulus is confused, but he hugs James all the same, and James reciprocates, holding Regulus close. They stay close even after parting.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asks, cradling James’ stubbled cheek. James’ hand comes up to hold his.

A mixture of confusion and amusement crosses James’ face as he asks, “What are you doing here?”

Now Regulus is even more confused. He takes a step back and gestures to the apron around his waist with the logo on it, and it seems to dawn on James then.

“You... work here.” He’s making a face, one Regulus doesn’t understand.

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly feeling insecure. He knows James has a fancy office job, pretty settled with his life in general, while Regulus is in between things, not sure, really, where he’s going in life. It didn’t really hit him that it was going to be an issue until now. He must be making a face, because James quickly recovers and moves toward him.

“Hey, no, I–”

“Dad!” Harry rounds the counter, outerwear on and bag slung over his shoulder, and Regulus’ brain glitches, overheats, crashes, and reboots.

Dad.

Dad.

Dad.

Harry must’ve picked up on the vibes because he stops a few steps short of them and eyes them warily, gaze shifting back and forth between them questioningly. “What’s going on…?”

“Dad,” Regulus’ malfunctioning brain manages. 

“I told you about my son, remember?” James sounds stilted, mechanical, like the whole ordeal is as mortifying to him as it is to Regulus.

“Uhh… what?” Comes Harry’s response, which goes ignored. “What is this?”

“You told me about your baby.”

“Yes,” James nods, color returning to his face.

“No…” Harry looks increasingly distraught, shaking his head. “Dad, you did not!” He rounds on his… father. 

Regulus is going to be sick.

“James,” Regulus manages steadily. “That is not a baby.”

Harry is making wounded noises and gagging in the background.

“I’m his father, he’ll always be my baby.”

Regulus shakes his head, pointing to his annoying co-worker, who has now taken to throwing himself to the floor in a dramatic flurry and crying out, Someone has to kill me. I refuse to live another day!

“That is a grown man.” Despite what his current antics suggest.

James smiles sheepishly, poking Harry with his shoe, urging him to get up.

Dorcas comes out then, scarf in hand, and takes one look at Harry on the floor, dry-heaving on the tiles, and the mortifying looks on Regulus’ and James’ faces, and everything clicks immediately. 

“Oh, this is gold!”