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Assistant: Title: It Just Means More
        Author: sonderlune sonderlune 
        Chapter: 2/22 
        Summary: Regulus Black does not do football. Or friendship. Or feelings.Unfortunately, his graduation internship with the University of Georgia sports media team means he’s spending every waking moment covering the football season of a lifetime — and shadowing Heisman frontrunner James Potter, who is charming, golden, and absolutely not Regulus’s problem.Regulus has dealt with worse.(Like living with Barty and Evan, who are dating and frankly offensive about it. Like Sirius showing up everywhere with his emotionally competent boyfriend. Like the nauseating realization that maybe Regulus doesn’t want to be alone after all.)This was never supposed to be about friendship. Or love. Or letting people stay.But sometimes your life becomes a romcom you didn’t audition for — and sometimes, horrifyingly, you want it to.One season. One team. One last shot at getting out clean.All Regulus has to do is not fall in love.Easier said than done.
        Contents: Chapter 2: The Internship from Hell
    

    

        
          
          
            Regulus finds out he royally screwed up his internship prospects. He finds out quickly this is his worst nightmare.Welcome to the SEC R.A.B.
          
        

      
        
          This chapter has been partially rewritten as of 6/3/25 :)
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    Regulus Black was having a mediocre day.  His coffee this morning was fine. (His usual barista wasn’t there - which should have been a sign.)The weather this morning was fine. (Cloudy, but not raining, warm but not unbearable, the exact type of day that passed without incident.)He even found a parking spot within ten minutes of driving in circles like a fool. (Which, for this godforsaken campus, was practically divine intervention)In hindsight, this should have been a warning. Nothing at UGA ever functioned this smoothly, and Regulus surely should have known better than to assume it meant he was having an okay day. He didn’t expect good days. Mediocrity was fine - really. He had learned to appreciate it. Like a perfectly neutral room-temperature existence. Nothing catastrophic, nothing to celebrate, just fine.But fate, as always, seemed to have a personal vendetta against him. At exactly 1:55 PM, his phone vibrated with a Google Calendar reminder (he was an avid user, never quite got the grip for Notion)
  “2PM INTERNSHIP MEETING - MCGONAGALL” 
Regulus groaned, thunking his head against the steering wheel. He vaguely considered cancelling, but then reminded himself that McGonagall was not the type of person one simply ‘cancelled’ on. She was the type of professor who could probably sense excuses through the very fabric of reality. Regulus decided to not test this fact. After a few more woefully pathetic head-thunks, he haphazardly crawled out of his car, and trudged towards the elevators. Still, this was just a meeting. A required one for his degree. He was good at meetings. He was good at being professional, at planning ahead, and at not scr@w@ng up his entire life.Which is why he wasn’t worried at all.  The Lamar Dodd School of Art was never supposed to happen.Regulus Black had arrived at the University of Georgia with a suitcase full of black clothes, a tightly controlled four-year plan, and absolutely no intention of staying longer than necessary. He had enrolled as a pre-law major - not because he gave a d@mn about tort reform, but because it was efficient. Law school was safe. Predictable. It was the kind of path no one questioned. Coming to UGA at all had been the compromise.Sirius had landed a massive football scholarship and spent the entire summer after Regulus’s graduation crowing about how they could “do college together.” As if that was something Regulus had ever expressed the slightest desire to do.He hadn’t wanted to come here. He hadn’t even liked Georgia. But his parents were still trying to look supportive in public, and Sirius had been impossible to argue with. So he’d picked his battles. He enrolled. He sulked. He convinced himself he could keep his head down, get his degree, and be gone before the cult of Southern football swallowed him whole.It almost worked.Until sophomore year, when he accidentally wandered into a photojournalism elective he’d only taken to fill a schedule gap.Until he developed his first print in the Lamar Dodd darkroom.Until something clicked.It hadn’t been a grand epiphany, just a quiet sort of rightness. Something about the process - the solitude, the control, the silence - scratched an itch Regulus hadn’t known he had. He changed majors without telling anyone. And just like that, Lamar Dodd became his refuge.Tucked into the far edges of East Campus, the art school felt like neutral territory - distant from the frat-row roar and SEC mania, untouched by tailgates and screaming students in face paint. The floors creaked. There were at least three abandoned easels in every hallway. He loved it. It was the only place on campus where he could exist without constantly being reminded that the University of Georgia wasn’t a school — it was a brand. A lifestyle. A red-and-black cult.To Regulus, UGA was less 'institution' and more a chaotic ecosystem built around three dominant species.First, the terminally cheerful - students who could list every bar on Clayton Street in order of their happy hour specials, but hadn’t been to class fully sober since orientation.Then, the brand evangelists - the LinkedIn warriors who added “UGA Alumni Association” to their bios before they even finished finals.And worst of all: the sports cultists. Loud, obsessive, red-and-black-wearing zealots who treated college football like religion and referred to grown men in shoulder pads as “legends.”He didn’t belong here. He had never belonged here.But, Regulus had done the impossible: he’d dodged them all. He didn’t own a single piece of Georgia merch. Had never stepped foot in Sanford Stadium. Had never said “Go Dawgs” without irony. He avoided game days like the plague and treated team spirit like a communicable disease.He belonged to Lamar Dodd now - to the quiet corridors, the weird bulletin boards, the energy that permeated the walls. Here, no one cared about touchdowns or ESPN segments. Here, he wasn’t Sirius Black’s younger brother. He was just Regulus.Which, of course, made it the perfect place for everything to go completely to sh@t.Regulus popped his headphones out as the elevator door slid open with a soft ding. (He may not have been excited for this meeting - but he wasn’t rude.)A few knocks on the shockingly sturdy wooden door, and a crisp, familiar voice called out: “Enter”, came he clipped response, unmistakably her.Regulus stepped inside. Dr. Minerva McGonagall was a tenured professor at Lamar Dodd, the kind whose name carried weight in gallery circles. Once upon a time, she'd shown her work in places Regulus could only dream of — New York, Berlin, Tokyo — before returning to her alma mater, allegedly to "shape the future." Regulus suspected it was more out of boredom than sentimentality.She was, disturbingly, also rumored to have been a sorority girl. And a football fan.Regulus tried not to dwell on that contradiction for too long.Her office was a kind of organized chaos he had grown fond of. The walls were painted a deep maroon, climbing ivy curling around mismatched frames. Black-and-white photographs — some hers, some decades old — lined the shelves. Art books were stacked like precarious Jenga towers beside crumbling clay sculptures and worn-out sketchpads. Every surface had a story. Every corner buzzed with quiet intensity.A squat gray stone tabby cat lounged on her desk, its unblinking eyes locked on Regulus the moment he entered. He had long suspected it was enchanted — or cursed. Possibly both.A dozen mismatched lamps lamps cast a warm, golden glow over the room. 
  (Regulus appreciated that she never used the ‘big light’. It was the small details, really.)
The scent of cinnamon and bergamot flooded his sens- He paused as he entered. Dr. McGonagall’s usual candles weren’t lit. Where was the cinnamon and bergamot?The scent was replaced by something stale - akin to old books and regret. This of course, should have been a bad omen. Regulus hesitated for a half second, then sank into his usual seat, a cavernous armchair that had swallowed many nervous undergrads before him. He sat up straight. Crossed one leg over the other. Professional. Prepared.He rather liked McGonagall. She was serious, but fair, the type of advisor who refused to let you fail, but also had no tolerance for incompetence. Regulus had always respected that balance. It’s how he imagined he’d be if he were less… jaded.“Mr. Black.” McGonagall spoke, voice measured, hands folded. “I’m a bit.. disappointed in you.”Regulus blinked.“Disappointed?” he repeated, tilting his head. “Professor, the semester hasn’t even started. What could I possibly have done?”A soft laugh, an attempt at humor.“Are you sure you called in the right Black?”
  (It did not land.)
She simply shuffled a few papers with clinical precision. “You’re aware, I assume, that you need an internship to graduate this spring.”Regulus’s stomach dropped. Not figuratively. Physically. Like it had unhooked itself from his insides and was now sitting on the floor.“Of course,” he said quickly. “I applied over the summer. Everything I was interested in. I sent emails. Filled out the portal. I—”He cut himself off, brain rifling through every list, spreadsheet, calendar reminder he’d painstakingly organized.He hadn’t missed this. He couldn’t have.McGonagall’s lips thinned. “I’ve combed through every application,” she said, gaze sharp. “And there wasn’t a single one from you.”Regulus stared at her. Blank. Frozen. “That’s not possible,” he said, trying to keep the panic from seeping into his voice. “Could there be… a system error? Or—an issue with the portal? Maybe something didn’t save properly?”He tried not to sound like he was begging. He really tried. That question was dignified with a sigh. “Mr.Black, I’ve checked over the list three separate times. I have nothing from you.” This was a mistake. It had to be a mistake.He had been meticulous about this. He had researched, prepped, listed deadlines. He needed this credit to graduate.
  He needed to get out of this town. 
She paused briefly, gaze flickering over him. McGonagall wasn’t one for dramatics but sometimes it was fun to see her students squirm a little. Especially the ones who thought they were infallible. After holding Regulus’s panicked gaze for a few moments, she continued. “I pulled some strings,” she said after a pause, reaching for the folder on her desk. “You’re not the first student to miss a deadline. I found you something. Barely.”A large manila folder was slid across the desk to him, and Regulus picked up the folder tentatively, trying to pretend his hand wasn’t shaking (it was - to McGonagall’s amusement.)Black, bold Sharpie lettering stared back at him. 
  REGULUS A. BLACK - UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA SPORTS MEDIA INTERN - FOOTBALL -  F24/S25
His entire body seized.“There has to be something else. I’ll do anything else.” His voice was low, urgent.Desperate.Regulus tossed the folder a bit too hard back onto her desk. His hand hurriedly went through his hair, a nervous habit he had picked up from Sirius. “There isn’t.”“I’ll mop floors. I’ll work night shifts. I’ll study abroad and never come back—”McGonagall slid the folder back to him, hands clasped together.  “The something else in question is graduating a year later.”Regulus went very, very still. “That’s out of the question.” Regulus breathed urgently. “Then congratulations,” she said briskly. “You start tomorrow. Don’t be late.”And just like that, the conversation was over. Regulus had not thrown a tantrum since he was about 4 years old, however, the 22 year old that snatched the manila folder from the desk was considering starting that habit back up. “Thank you, Professor.” He forced a tight-lipped, polite smile. Like the 4-year old he was, Regulus turned on his heel and practically stormed out out the office, already trying to plot an escape. Sirius Black was many things. A UGA football legend. A walking ESPN highlight reel.And, above all else, a menace to society. If James Potter was the polished face of the Georgia football program — the golden boy Heisman candidate, beloved by media and alumni alike — then Sirius was the unruly firestorm blazing behind him. The one they couldn’t market, couldn’t fully control, but needed anyway. Because Sirius Black played football like he was waging war.He was six feet of muscle and mayhem, built like a Greek statue someone had left out in a thunderstorm. Too fast for his size, too strong for his speed, and entirely too comfortable with physical pain.He ran like he was trying to break the earth.He blocked like it was personal.He caught passes in ways that defied both gravity and good judgment.And he never, ever shut up.Regulus had once overheard a defensive coordinator refer to Sirius as “a g@dd@mn uncoachable hellhound.” It had been said with equal parts admiration and despair.Sirius played angry. He celebrated touchdowns with reckless abandon - launching himself into the student section, dragging penalties behind him like confetti. Once, he got mobbed by the Spike Squad and caused a two-minute delay of game. He called it “a bonding experience.” His coach called it “grounds for suspension.” They both moved on.Referees hated him. Rival teams feared him. SEC Network tried - and routinely failed - to mic him up without triggering a five-second profanity delay.If you asked Sirius for his top three career highlights, he would say:

Most penalized tight end in the conference. (An honor he held with pride. He claimed the refs just “couldn’t handle charisma.”)


Mic’d up three separate times on live television, each resulting in a broadcast scramble to censor at least five expletives.


Once got flagged for taunting after catching a contested pass, pausing mid-play to look down at the defender and say, “God, that was embarrassing for you, wasn’t it?”

UGA fans loved him. Everyone else wanted him dead. But the real problem wasn’t the penalties or the chaos.It was that Sirius loved football.And not in a casual, Saturday-night tailgate kind of way. No, Sirius loved football the way ancient cultists loved sacrificial fires.Game tape was his bedtime story.5 AM workouts were “meditative.”He genuinely believed SEC rankings were a matter of national security - and had the Twitter arguments to prove it.He was insufferable.And unfortunately for Regulus, he was also his older brother.Which meant telling him about this particular disaster?Possibly the worst decision Regulus could make.But, as with most of his decisions that day, it was already too late.Regulus slammed the door of his car a bit too hard when he left Lamar Dodd. Thirty minutes in McGonagall’s office had felt like thirty years. And the quiet rage bubbling beneath his skin hadn’t lessened one bit. After a very casual screaming session in the parking deck, he pulled himself together just enough to drive. He was still seeing red by the time he whipped out of the deck, a little too fast, which was generally a pet peeve of his. But at this point? F@ck it. His mind ran on one track. He had one goal. Find Sirius. Tell him the News. Leave immediately. It was by all accounts a simple plan. Campus was quiet. Summer session meant fewer bodies to dodge, and he made it across campus in under eight minutes. But the moment he pulled into the UGA Football Facility lot, Regulus knew peace was no longer an option.The UGA Football Facility was monstrous. An over funded, oversized monument to capitalism, SEC superiority, and excessive testosterone. It took itself far too seriously. The parking lot alone was a shrine to NIL money, filled with absurdly flashy cars that no college student should realistically be able to afford. Regulus had made it about three steps into the door when he was intercepted by front desk staff, and because of his already terrible mood, immediately started an argument. It went something like this. “I’m Sirius Black’s brother. I need to see him.”The woman gave him a look that suggested she’d heard that one before — probably from a dozen delusional underclassmen and one guy with a Sirius Black thigh tattoo.“Sure you are, kid.”Regulus, through gritted teeth. “I have an actual reason to be here.” He waved the internship folder like the woman would care. She did not. “That’s what the last guy said. Turns out he was trying to get a glove signed by James Potter.”
  What the f@ck was wrong with these people. 
Eventually, after showing three different forms of ID, and an entirely too long crosscheck against the registrar, he was let inside. What greeted him? The most excessive, egotistical building he had ever seen in his entire life. As he usually did, Regulus took this time to silently judge every inch of the facility and noted the following. - A massive state of the art weight room (Unnecessary. There were already three gyms on campus.) - A literal barber shop inside (For what reason?) - A trophy room that might as well have been a shrine to SEC supremacy. (Gag-worthy)And possibly worst of all, one of the (many) locker rooms, outfitted with personalized nameplates and LED screens. (Was this what his tuition went to?)He strode past a giant framed photo of James Potter stiff-arming an Alabama defensive back and couldn’t help but scowl at it. Of course Potter had prime real estate in this self important shrine.Regulus hated this school.After navigating the labyrinth of excess, he finally found the correct locker room. Well, quite frankly that was just his assumption, the sound coming from it was loud and deafening, a herd of men screaming about nothing at all. Regulus hesitated outside the door. The smell emanating from inside was rank. Sweat, Axe body spray, Powerade, and bad decisions. He did not want to go in there. He did not have much of a choice. Sirius Black was fortunately not hard to find, mainly because he was loud as hell. After quietly observing the obscenities in the corner for a moment, Regulus made himself known, heading over to the bench Sirius was proudly displaying himself on. The man himself was mid-laugh, sweaty, half-dressed, and surrounded by his teammates. Perched like a king on his throne, surrounded by overgrown fraternity men. Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) half the team was shirtless. Regulus hesitated. Looked up. Looked away. Regretted everything.He wasn’t blind. He liked men. He had eyes. And right now those eyes were doing their best not to linger too long on any one set of abs. Because he refused to be that guy. The art boy ogling the jocks in their natural habitat.He had self-respect!He had composure!He had-okay, yes, fine, he also had a pulse. But he wasn’t going to stare.Window shopping was still technically legal.He quickly shoved those thoughts to the side, resigning himself to this fate, and finally caught Sirius’s gaze. His brother noticed him instantly, and the moment their eyes met he plastered the most insufferable, sh@t-eating grin, Regulus had ever seen on his face. Which was saying something. The bar was low. “Well, well, well.” Sirius drawled, slow clapping, as he jumped off the bench.
  Please kill me.
 “To what do I owe the pleasure my darling little Reggie?”Sirius slung an arm over his shoulders, effectively trapping him in a choke hold of sweat, testosterone, and Powerade. Regulus promptly scrunched his nose. “Get off me. You smell like heatstroke.” Regulus grumbled.Sirius, in older brother fashion, ignored him. Ah, so you did miss me,” Sirius beamed, completely unfazed. “You never visit me here. What gives? Have you finally realized that football is the superior art form to your little photos? Because if so, I deeply regret to inform you that you already missed walk-on tryouts, and can’t join the team until next year. So tragic, really.”Regulus let out a slow, suffering inhale. “That’s truly devastating.” he deadpanned.Sirius prattled on, clearly enjoying himself.  He was saying something about the pure poetry of SEC football, but Regulus had long since perfected the art of TTBO (Tune That B@tch OUT!). Regulus wordlessly held up the manila folder that McGonagall, Harbinger of Doom, had so politely bestowed upon him. Sirius’s expression was confused for a moment as he took it from Regulus, eyes darting around the page, reading swiftly. Regulus was pleasantly shocked that his brother was literate. A beat of silence.Then, the grin returned. Larger. Louder. Carnivorous.“Regulus Black,” Sirius announced, awe in his voice, “this may be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”Regulus felt his soul leave his body for the second time that day.  Before Regulus could even really fully process Sirius’ declaration of doom, the locker room erupted around him. A symphony of laughter, shouting, and the awful, unmistakable sound of grown men celebrating something at his expense.  The worst part? It was possibly the loudest thing Regulus had ever heard. This did not bode well for his future few months in football stadiums. He had spent his entire academic career carefully avoiding places like this. Places that reeked of testosterone and athletic superiority. Places filled with shouting, hollering, and that g@dd@mn horrible clapping thing football players did when they were hyping each other up. And now, thanks to one poorly managed internship requirement and one very vindictive older brother, he was stuck at the heart of it.A thunderous slap landed on Sirius’ back, and from the depths of the chaos emerged Frank Longbottom. Frank Longbottom was one of the (many) UGA linebackers, and seemed to be a human golden retriever in both physique and personality. Frank was built like a brick wall, all broad shoulders and thick muscle, with sandy brown hair that seemed to be in a perpetual state of dampness, from either sweat or showers. His skin was always wildly sunburnt, the unfortunate byproduct of a man who spent too much time outside but refused to acknowledge the existence of sunscreen. His face was boyish, open, friendly - too friendly. The kind of person who genuinely believed everyone was his best friend, even if he’d only met them once. Regulus had, regrettably, met him once before. It had been at a bar on Clayton, sometime last fall. (Saturdays? Tropical? Buddha? Somewhere terrible.) Sirius had dragged him out under the guide of a “casual drink” that turned into three hours of screaming football men, and a gaggle of women who followed them around as if they had nothing better to do. Frank, in his true golden retriever fashion, had spent a solid thirty minutes attempting to engage Regulus in conversation about football.He had failed miserably. Yet, somehow, he was still excited to see him now.“Wait, wait - this is your little brother?” Frank looked Regulus up and down with the expression of a man who had just discovered an extinct species alive in the wild. “The guy who hates football, yeah? We met last fall.” Frank grinned.Regulus’s glare said everything he could not bring himself to say at that moment. “I don’t hate football!” was all he could manage. (Which was a lie.)Frank raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Regulus’ face drooped into one of exasperation. “I hate how it turns grown men into cultists.”Frank however, did not seem offended. If anything, he looked f@ck@ng delighted. Sirius, still beaming like a lunatic, gave Regulus an obnoxious squeeze around the shoulders. “Same thing my dearest Reggie.”Regulus took a slow, measured inhale, resisting the deep and primal urge to send the entire multi-million dollar facility into flame. And of course - as if the situation wasn’t already unbearable - Dorcas Meadowes materialized out of thin air. Dorcas was not on the football team. Dorcas was, however, at every single team function, party, and social event like she had a VIP pass to the backstage scenes of the SEC elite. She was, in theory, here are part of UGA’s Sports Media PR & Social teams, but Regulus knew that was really code for ‘bringer of havoc’Dorcas was tall and lean, with dark brown skin, and jet-black curls that framed her face like a d@mn halo. Her eyes were sharp, always lined with a perfect winged eyeliner (Regulus was only slightly jealous), and she had this way of looking at people like she knew every single one of their secrets.Regulus did not trust her. And of course, she found him immediately. “Oh my GOD you’re our new media intern?” She grinned like Christmas had come early.Regulus was already wildly deep in his spiral at this point, and barely had time to react. “No.” he deadpanned. “This is a mistake. A clerical error. I will not be participating.”Dorcas ignored him entirely.“This is going to be amazing! Oh Sirius’ younger brother! I’ve seen some of your photos in the Dodd, they’re killer.” She prattled on, and Regulus was channeling his inner TTBO. He considered arguing, but something worse happened. A shadow loomed over him, and he turned to find himself face-to-face with James Potter. James Potter was, in every conceivable way, the physical embodiment of what it meant to play football at UGA.Six-foot-three. Broad-shouldered. Built like a Nike ad. The kind of quarterback who made sports analysts say things like “commanding pocket presence” and “first-round potential” with reverent, slightly breathless tones.His dark curls were a mess, not messy by accident, but by design. Tousled like he’d just come off the field or rolled out of someone’s bed. Realistically, with James, it was probably both.His eyes were warm brown, sharp around the edges — the kind of gaze that made you feel like he was cataloguing everything, filing away your tells for later. His smile was worse. A permanent fixture. Wide. Confident. Charismatic in the most annoying, golden-boy way.And of course, because the universe hated Regulus: he was shirtless.Which shouldn’t have been a problem. There were forty other shirtless men in this room. Muscles and sweat and swagger everywhere. It was practically the locker room’s native climate.But there was something particularly awful about James being shirtless. Something about the way he stood there, perfectly relaxed, like the camera was already on him. Like the locker room was just another field he’d already conquered.And the way he looked at Regulus — like this was funny, like Regulus’s slow psychological breakdown was the best part of his day?Yeah. That made it worse.“Regulus Black. Covering UGA Football.” James crossed his arms over his chest, enjoying himself entirely too much. “Never thought I’d see the day.”Regulus did have to remember how to speak for a moment, before blinking at him. “Trust me.” Regulus muttered flatly. “Neither did I.”And then - James laughed.Actually laughed.Not a fake laugh, not a polite chuckle, but an actual genuine laugh like Regulus had just told the funniest joke in the entire world.Regulus f@ck@ng hated him. Before Regulus could flee, Sirius - who had clearly been waiting for this exact moment his entire life - threw another arm back over Regulus’s shoulders. “Reg,” he said, beaming, “you are going to love it. Picture it: the bright lights of Sanford Stadium. Night games with fireworks. Krypton at night. Ninety-thousand people screaming. The raw, unfiltered emotion of—”“I’m quitting tomorrow,” Regulus said flatly.Sirius didn’t even flinch.Instead, he turned, sprang back onto a bench with the dramatic flourish of a Shakespearean fool, and raised his hands for silence that nobody gave him. And then, he shouted.He f@ck@d shouted. 
  “I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW MY LITTLE BROTHER REGGIE IS GONNA BE WITH US ALL SEASON!” 
This fact turned out to be a rallying cry for the men in the room. The reaction was instantaneous. Explosive. Regulus didn’t want to die. Usually. In that moment, he would have made an exception. Choruses of shouting flooded his ears. “You have no idea what you just signed up for my guy.”“Hope you’re ready for the full SEC experience!”“It’s a privilege, really.”Regulus was shocked one of them knew the word privilege. He did not dwell on this thought long, as Sirius had leaped back off his throne, and threw his arm around Regulus yet again. “Yo, someone needs to tell ESPN to start prepping a feature on ‘The Black Brothers: SEC Edition.”This was Regulus’s last straw. He untangled himself from Sirius, and turned on his heel. “I am LEAVING!”Sirius laughed, calling after him. “Don’t forget, you start at 5 am tomorrow!”Regulus was halfway out the door, and he managed to flip Sirius off, and give a half hearted “F@ck you.”He did not get to see the last grin on Sirius’s face, as he had stormed out, but Regulus could only imagine it being the most insufferable one yet. Regulus stormed out of the locker room, utterly humiliated, barely resisting the urge to rip the manila folder in half and hurl it into the nearest trash can. The air outside the facility was cooler, quieter, and significantly less suffocating than the testosterone infused chaos he had just escaped. But it did absolutely nothing to sooth the deep, bone deep dread settling in his chests. His hands were clenched into fists as he threw himself into his car, trying to piece together an escape plan. There had to be a way out. There had to be.His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the incessant dings of his phone. Multiple. Who the f@ck was spamming him? He pulled it out, thumb already hovering over Do Not Disturb, and then he saw the name.Sirius. Contact name, aptly given "The Worst". The text was simple. "OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS!" followed by a link to a.. tweet?Regulus considered not looking. Really, he did - but he was entirely too nosy for his own good. Stupidly, pathologically nosy. Staring back at him, was an image of his own face, side by side with an action shot of Sirius catching a brilliant touchdown. Twitter had somehow pulled his student ID photo from the depths (he didn't even want to consider HOW), and had created a graphic, with bold lettering, like any other terrible sports announcement that read :
   @DawgNation BREAKING : Sirius Black's younger brother set to cover UGA Football this season as a media intern. This marks the first sibling duo the SEC has seen in years. We are witnessing SEC history in the making. #GoDawgs #BlackBrothersSEC
How the f@ck did people already know? He had left the locker room not even 10 minutes ago. Had Sirius been.. serious about reaching out to ESPN? His face paled, as his Twitter notifications started going wild, and he slowly refreshed his profile, watching in horror as UGA fans of all sort flocked to him like he was the second coming.The replies flooded in quickly.@CFBHotTakes : I have never seen someone look so out of place in my life@UGAFBGirlies : wait.... he's kinda fine? lol (Regulus was slightly flattered. He almost wished he liked women. Almost.)@SECShitpostz : Odds he survives the season? Over/under 4.5 games. Bet on Stake, link in my bio.They were betting on him? How in the f@ck had he already managed to attract media attention? He hadn't DONE anything.There had to be a way out of this.There had to be somethingBecause this internship wasn’t just a temporary inconvenience. No, it was so much worse. It was a season-long, nationally televised disaster. If he wasn’t related to someone on the team, this could probably be bearable. He could do minimal effort work and get by, but he was going to get dragged into it. Sirius would make sure of it.Sirius, who had just announced it to the entire locker room like it was the biggest roster news of the season. Sirius, who would not let him exist quietly in the background, doing his internship and then leaving at the first opportunity. Sirius, who was one bad decision away from submitting Regulus’ name to ESPN producers himself. (Did he have that power? Regulus did not want to find out.)And then there was James Potter. James Potter, who had just grinned at him like Regulus’s suffering was the most amusing thing in the world. James Potter, future Heisman finalist, current golden boy of UGA Football, and now apparently someone he was going to have to deal with on a near-daily basis. Regulus wanted to fling himself into the sun.It wasn’t just about football. This was about football in the SEC. This was about football at Georgia, and that meant one thing : There would be no escaping it.Not the stupid “Go Dawgs” chants.Not the insane cult-like energy that came with every home game. Not the deafening roars of Sanford Stadium on a Saturday night. Not the college gameday coverage, camera crews, interviews, and the endless media circus that followed this football program like an overzealous religion.He was going to be stuck in the middle of it. All season.For a horrifying moment, slumped against his steering wheel (a popular position today!) he imagined it. The ESPN feature.“The Black Brothers : SEC Edition.”He imagined Sirius, sitting in front of a camera, grinning like a man who had never known shame, saying something absolutely mortifying like, “Yeah, my little brother always loved football. He just didn’t know it yet.”He imagined himself, forced to do some unbearable press segment, standing on the sidelines in a cheugy UGA-branded polo, being asked stupid questions by even stupider reporters.“Regulus, what’s it like working so closely with your brother?”“Regulus, have you always been a fan of Georgia Football?”“Regulus, what’s it like being around a future NFL star like James Potter?”The sheer horror of it nearly sent him into orbit. Perhaps if he sped out of this parking lot like a madman, he would get in a wreck and this would all be over. That was obviously the most sensible option. He needed a plan. An escape route. Something - anything - to prevent this becoming his entire identity for the next five months. But as he pulled out his phone, staring blankly at his home screen, he realized with a sickening certainty - There was no plan. There was no way out.There was only this.Only a full SEC football season.Only Sirius, and James, and the entire god forsaken UGA Football Team. (he was determined to not learn any more of their names. He had already relearned Frank’s, which was a failure on Regulus’ part.)Only twelve weeks of stadiums and sideline passes, and a sport dominating every waking moment of his life.Only him. Trapped in the middle of the machine he had sworn off for so long.For the first time, in a very, very long time - Regulus Black had well and truly lost control. 
  
  

    
      
        
        
          hiii you made it through the first chapter !!! don’t take this too serious, it’s just for a good time!!! prob gonna get a bit ooc. don't know. just enjoying the vibe of writing about 2 idiots in love!!!!would love to hear ur comments lol. is this too long? is the format stupid. i want it to just be Fun.i haven’t written anything in yrs lol okay byeeeee  tune in next time xoxox (ch 2 coming soon)'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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