- ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
"You. Me. Hogsmeade. Tomorrow" Romie demands, leaving no room for objection.
Regulus slowly lifts his head from his book, briefly wondering if he's managed to land himself into a similar alternate dimension,
"Come again...
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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽egulus' devoted stare has yet to leave Romie.
It's not a matter of his curiosity in action, striving to figure out what she makes of this, how she feels about not getting shut of him just yet. More a matter of he literally cannot tear his eyes away.
The beam of morning sunlight snooping through the small streak where the curtains don't quite meet has spotted and chosen her the one. Shimmer and shining as much as the smooth lotion coating her tan legs, the mussed strands of hair and glowing so alluringly Regulus feels an overwhelming impulse to start a cult, the eyes his favourite colour. It's not his only favourite, her first thing in the morning as a whole, unseen by common folk, right up there. He lov— likes morning Romie. A whole bunch.
Said eyes bounce to him and it takes such a pitifully long span of time to suss out it hadn't been a spur of the moment type of thing. He'd stolen her attention, specifically his palm absently sprawling flat against his stomach. Fuck, she had that analogy nailed to a tee. He seems to be in the clear, the conclusions her mind jumping to being his injuries. Holding because it hurts.
"Let's see"
Silently obeying, he peels away the soft comforter from his marred skin, lowering the drape to below his narrow hips. He boards the inspection train full steam ahead, commenting on the elephant that's snuck on too.
"Not so pretty, huh?"
"Ugly" Romie immediately agrees, but the glint in her eye she's not bothering to hide says differently.
He couldn't touch on ugly even if he had the mould of an inferi and the essence of a dementor.
She swaps their new shiny school badges for her wand and scoots closer to finish up healing the wounds the bath's potions, salts and oil's didn't have enough time to. No one likes wrinkly fingertips and toes. Before she turns the wand on him, she flourishes at the curtains, opening them to let more sun dribble in. To let him see the beauty of her magic. Magic that wouldn't be used to hurt him.
It's a simple, easy peasy thing, probably meaning absolutely nothing to her. But it makes his heart thump fast and hard beneath his ribs and intensifies the fluttery feeling in his stomach to such an extensive amount he fears like he might burst. It's the care again, the same care that compelled her to cup a hand to his hairline and warm the towel. Care that his existence has been in short supply of, more so than fun.
Despite his silent begs and pleas, the magic, the tenderness she's treating him with is too much and the toned muscles touched risk more aches to jump, flex. Whilst Romie doesn't look up, acknowledge his painfully obvious reaction, her lower lip rolls between her teeth, by no means helping. Helpless, he grabs whatever he can get his hands on first, stimulating a sucked in breath.
A sucked in breath that's not attributable to the sting of his skin knitting back together, nor her effect on him. Because the sucked in breath isn't Regulus', it's Romie's. It's his effect on her. His tight grip on, not modestly covered hips, her exposed, bare hips. She'd blame the flimsy shorts riding up, but he's part to blame too, slipping further up into the material until his fingertips peek out of the loosely elasticated waistband.
