Harry Potter OneShots

a letter from regulus.

⟶ in which, you recieve a letter from the one you love. This is small series which came to my mind and I just thought, why not? There are no warnings, just a wholesome amount of fluff with a pinch of angst. The reader is gender neutral.

The coffee on your table had turned cold. You sighed, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose remembering the confrontation earlier. It was petty. Regulus and you had been dating for two long years and yet you had never heard the words “I love you” come out of his mouth. Never. When you said them yourself, you were met with kisses or he had simply averted topics.

At first, you had just brushed it off by thinking he wanted to take things slow, a thought which eventually turned into he might be not be vocal about his feelings— but now you just couldn’t ignore it, not when it had been nagging you for months. You felt like, maybe he just didn’t love you— you were quick to shake that thought off.

You asked him about it during breakfast. Regulus had commented something along the lines that he didn’t think it was necessary. You told him it meant something to you. The fight built up pretty quickly as you couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t say it even once. Storming out of the room, you had made it a point to stay away until he came up with a reason. It felt childish, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt you.

There was a shuffle and you saw a paper slipped from underneath your door. You picked it up, noticing it was a letter. From Regulus. Frowning, you started to read.

I do not want to know what “love” is. I don’t. People have a beautiful painted picture of it in their mind, but I do not want to feel it, to experience it. I’ve read poetry, I’ve watched plays— and yet “love” just seems like a faraway dream. A dream I do not want to achieve.

Don’t get me wrong— I’m just afraid of what it comes with. Hurt and pain. Life has always proved that nothing is constant. The only constant is change itself. And I fear that if that holds true, the “love” they write about is bound to diminish too. They say saying things out loud makes them real.

I do not want to know what love is. I do not want to say the words, ‘I love you’  and to stop meaning it years later. Because that, that would simply mean I lost the most precious thing life ever gave me. You.

You make me happy. You make me feel that everything would be alright as long as we stick together. That I can take on the worst life throws at me with a smile. You make me feel alive. And every time I’m close to say those three words I stop myself because I’ve learnt that not everybody’s life is a fairytale. And most things are to be doomed.

Instead I kiss your forehead and tell you that you’re my life. Something I would lose only and only on the day I die, hoping that maybe— maybe it’ll convey how I feel about you.

I’m sorry if I hurt you, I really do. But I can’t. I can’t. I hope that answers your question.

You took a deep breath, sniffing. Getting up, you decided to go tell Regulus, he was your jaan too.

[Jaan (translation): life]

— sooooo how was it?