Regulus lifts himself up, just enough to take James's mouth. Desperately. Needfully. He never has any shame when it comes to James. He feels the weight of the other boy slowly lowering on top of him. You'd think it'd be crushing but it isn't. More like it grounds Regulus. Holds him together, in place, while his pulse races, and every nerve in his body sings.
Don't let me go.
He thinks.
Don't let me go.
Don't let me go.
Don't let me—
"Christ Reg, get the fuck up!"
Something hits Regulus in the face causing him to shoot up, the world swimming around him.
"You're gonna be late for class Prefect," Evan sounds somewhere between annoyed and amused, standing at the foot of Regulus's bed, doing up his shirt.
It takes another few seconds for reality to settle in. Regulus is not in a garden in Scotland. Not being smothered by James Potter. Quite the opposite in fact. He looks down at his lap.
"Did you just throw socks at my me?" he asks, a little indignantly.
Evan smirks. "Might've."
Another, more worrying thought occurs to Regulus. "Are they clean?"
"Oh wow, look at the time, gotta go."
"Oh fuck you," he chucks the dirty socks at Evan's retreating back, the door swinging closed behind him as he cackles on his way down to breakfast.
Regulus sighs, bending his knees and dropping his head into his hands. Trying to settle himself. Slowly his anxieties push their way to the forefront; Dumbledore, James, Macdonald. Happiness leaches out of him like he's made of holes.
No,
he thinks pathetically.
Can't I just have it for a little longer?
He half considers going back to sleep even though he knows he can't.
Grumbling, he forces himself out of bed. Avoiding damp towels and dirty pants as he walks into the bathroom which is, of course, an absolute disaster. Thank God for house elves, they'd probably drown in their own dirty laundry without them. He finds his reflection in the bathroom mirror—hair a mess, eyes too pale to be anything but unsettling.
Little bits and pieces of his dream flicker through his head; gentle sun, fingertips, sweet lips. It fills him up with something warm—something that feels light and comforting and also aches. He sighs, gripping the edge of the counter.
It wasn't real, he has to remind himself. The last time he talked to James they'd been doing damage control not frolicking in a garden. Damage control was all they ever seemed to be doing these days. He scrubs at his face, tired of looking at it, tired of seeing his mother in his expressions. In his eyes.
His shirt sleeve slips up his arm and a quick movement draws his eye—the black tip of a slithering tail. Regulus freezes. Staring at it. He's gotten very good at avoiding his forearm. Avoiding the reality of his situation. He's worried that something has changed in him since this summer, that he's starting to lose himself a little bit. Not that he ever had a particularly firm grasp on who he was in the first place. He only ever feels sure of himself when he's with James.
It's pathetic really, the relief he feels when he tugs his sleeve back down, hiding the Mark from view. It doesn't change anything. Not really. Still, he can't help thinking the same thing he always does:
Just a little more time.
Just a little more time with him.
Please, please please.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Start from the beginning
