CANNONBALL ⇒ jegulus

FIFTY ONE

Regulus' breath catches in his chest as he stares at the floor outside of his flat. He worries momentarily that there's been some kind of mistake. Perhaps somebody sent him something meant for somebody else?

Shakily, Regulus slowly picks up the large bouquet, hoping none of his neighbors see. He fears his screeching son is already enough gossip for them to be supplied with.

Regulus retreats to his living room, taking a seat in his arm chair, beside Bowie's bassinet. Bowie stares up at him curiously and Regulus frowns. "Oh, don't be so nosey," Regulus tuts softly.

He sets the flowers down on the floor. He supposes that they will survive for a few moments on the timber floors. Bowie gurgles and Regulus glances at him.

"They're pretty, aren't they, love?" Regulus bites his lip. "I just hope this isn't what I think it is," Regulus shakes his head.

He sighs as he carefully opens the envelope, unfolding what Regulus can only describe as the longest letter he has ever laid his smokey eyes on. It starts off strong, direct and scrabbled in the messiest blue ink Regulus has ever seen. A bold opening.

Regulus,

A few weeks have passed, this I'm sure of because my face feels stubbly and my shower gels almost empty, you know the one you like. I've said I before, but I meant it when I said I was never the writer between the two of us so please forgive me for any spelling mistakes or my atrocious grammer and forgive me even more for my terrible, terrible, terrible handwriting.

Regulus sighs. At least he's self aware at how absolutely illegible his handwriting is.

I've sat down with countless sheets of paper and nothing felt right, nothing sounded right and I need this to be the most perfect piece of literature that I have ever written in my lifetime. I need this to be articulate and wordy and I've even tried to use synonyms because I know you think those are cool.

Regulus hates how easy he laughs at this. He can hear it in James' raspy voice, can imagine how the words flow from his mouth.

Regulus, darling, I'd make a horrible author but for you I'd use up all of the blank pages in the world just to write you a book of apologies, a book of adoration, a book to let you know just how brilliant I truly do think that you are.