There once was a boy James Potter couldn’t quite figure out.

Regulus Black—sharp, quiet, and untouchable. The bitter one, the weed that grew from pureblood soil and refused to die no matter how many times life tried to pull him out. James hadn’t meant to befriend him, really. It had started with a detention gone wrong, a few sarcastic comments, and that familiar family name that should’ve been a warning. But like weeds do, Regulus just kept coming back—until James stopped trying to pull away.

Somehow, the two began to get along together. James helped Regulus with his Transfiguration, Regulus helped him dodge Filch. They’d sit out by the lake, mowing metaphorical lawns in bad weather—two boys on opposite ends of the same sky. It was actually pretty easy being nice to someone so bitter, James realized. He found himself wanting to soften that sharpness, to see what lay beneath the cold, polished surface the younger Black carried like armor.

But the thing about lemon zest—it rubs off. And soon, James noticed it on himself. The tang of it in his thoughts, the sweetness and sting of wanting someone he wasn’t supposed to. His friends weren’t exactly keen on the idea of their golden boy pining after the younger Black brother. “Mate, he’s Regulus,” Sirius had muttered, half in disbelief, half in warning. But James couldn’t shake it.

Maybe they were both too bitter for the world around them—two misfits with matching scars of family expectation and defiance. And maybe, just maybe, that bitterness made them sweeter together.

Because in the end, James thought, it was actually pretty easy being nice to a bitter boy like him.

He’d found himself a citrus friend.