CANNONBALL ⇒ jegulus

TEN

Manon trails past him with a meow as she exits the bathroom as Regulus heaves. He lifts his head up wearily, having decided enough is enough; more so, he's had enough. More than enough.

Regulus drags himself down his stairs, each step feels like a downwards climb in itself. He flicks on the kettle and begins making some kind of herbal tea; he likes herbal teas but he likes them all that more when they're supposed to settle his nausea.

With a cup of tea in hand and his dressing gown tucked around him, Regulus enters his living room and pulls his journal into his grip, setting his tea on the coffee table and getting to work. He thinks the best part of freelance writing is that he can do it from his living room.

Manon curls beside him as he jots down all of his topic ideas. The baby has given him a lot to work with. Regulus grins softly as Manon crawls into his lap. "I know, I know," Regulus hums. "I'm a little busy right now, sweetheart," He murmurs as he turns back a few pages; cringing at what James had read.

In truth, Regulus had not even proof read his chaotic scribbles on the discovery of his baby. He had simply wrote and wrote and wrote until he felt he had gotten it all out, all of his new born fears and anxieties had been spurred out onto the page in black ink and he had let James read them.

He had been dreading reading over them. Regulus already feels his face grow pink with a blush as his eyes skim down the pages. He briefly wonders is this how James felt reading it; criplled with embarrassment and a deep sense of cringiness. Regulus furrows his eyebrows at the pages before him, shaking his head.

"Jesus," He murmurs as his fingers brush against the pages softly. He has no ides why James sat through this to read every single part, but knowing James and his failing English grades at school; Regulus is sure James did not notice in the slightest.

With a sigh, Regulus let's himself process his very scribbled work, usually his writing is much neater than the haze of black ink he is currently gazing down at.

Dear......fetus?

It starts off with those daring words and Regulus already wants to rip the entire page to shreds.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm pregnant. Jesus Christ. Jesus. I'm pregnant.

Regulus frowns at these words. Although they certainly capture his mantra, they make him feel a little bit guilty. He continues, nevertheless. The next sentences aren't much more encouraging.

Usually I know exactly what to write.....but right now I don't fucking know. I'm always so fucking good at telling a page how I feel and never all that great at telling people how I feel. But right now I can't do this. I can't even write. If I can't do the most natural thing in the world to me, how can I have a baby?