"What is it, mon coeur?" It would forever be James" little secret. He knew enough French to know when Regulus was being sweet. It had been —there weren't really words for what it was. Watching Regulus soften so completely in a couple of years. James had had no idea what to do with him when they were children nursing school ground crushes with too much weight on their shoulders. He didn't know what to do with Regulus now, when he was co-parenting his child with him. He didn't know what to do with Regulus now when Lily was dead and she was the one he had chosen. The one he had loved; he still loved. The one he had kissed on the altar. The one he would've spent the rest of his life with and been content. But she was dead and Regulus was sitting near him in one of Sirius" old band t-shirts that hung half off one of his shoulders, exposing scars they all ignored to some extent. And his feet were bare and his hair was tied back in some loose, messy thing and his hands were covered in dirt —because he loved the feeling of soil against his skin. Because it was proof that he could give life to something and it would not be tainted by rot. 