ᴏᴍɴɪꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ✵ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ✵

𝐗𝐈𝐗

☼ ꜰʀᴇʏᴀ ☼

»»-------≪ °❈° ≫-------««

Regulus has freckles.

A few, they scatter across his cheeks and his nose, like the first stars to dance in the sky at dusk.

He has a dimple. Just one. It forms in his left cheek when he smiles genuinely, but those are rare.

Especially nowadays, Freya scarcely ever sees Regulus, nevertheless with a smile.

In the emptiness of what was once their room — and became predominantly only hers — Freya is slumped in the ornate chaise lounge. A cigarette between her lips remains unlit as she stares off into an abyss. Preston cuddles upon her crossed ankles, though his humming is nearly inaudible, it seems the puffskein can sense his owner's sadness.

Most can, of course, the sullen pall that hovers over her hasn't gone unnoticed by friends, although their concerns aren't met with answers. There is a quiet ache in her chest, a longing that can't quite be put into words. It feels as though a piece of her is incomplete, a space that only Regulus can fill, one that he no longer desires.

With a sigh and snap of her fingers, she inhales a lengthy drag and watches smoke immerse wondrous patterns into the air. Even this simple act tugs on Freya's heartstrings, her mind drifts to when Regulus taught her how. Her freehand searches a pocket until they touch stone, and she pulls out a pebble. It is entirely ordinary, an irregular and grainy surface of blue-gray. But it is the one they playfully fought over the very first day that started the blossoming for their bond; almost like the seed for a flower, but now it wilts.

If only Regulus would give a reason for his avoidance, a sort of closure to calm the relentless thoughts. She thinks of that night often, replays it like a broken record, and searches for where things went wrong. Was it all a ploy? Either way, Freya feels foolish, especially by allowing his absence to have such an effect on her.

Ember and ash draw close to her lips, so Freya disposes of the cigarette with a wave of her hand. All it takes is an extension of her arm for Preston to instantly crawl up it and perch himself on her shoulder. No doubt dinner will begin soon, and the girls will quite possibly beat her if she skips another meal.

Two bends around corridors, and Freya recognizes a familiar face that sleeps peacefully. Benjy sits on the ground leaned against the stone wall, neck craned in a way that's a recipe for awful soreness, and his slack mouth emitting loud snores.

"Benjy?" Freya says as she kneels at his side. The boy doesn't so much as stir, drool gleams down his golden tan skin. She places both hands on either of his shoulders and shakes him. "Benjy."

"Lizards," Benjy gasps out. He jerks forward so abruptly that Freya is actually startled and rears back. Even Preston makes a frightened sound. "They want me to dance for them."

When her lips part, Freya's first instinct is to find out more about these lizards, but she puts her hands on her hips and asks the more obvious question, "Why the fuck are you sleeping in the corridor?"

"I've noticed you disappear around this area, figured I'd wait here until you came back."

"Why?"

"I'm worried about you."

"Oh," is all Freya seems capable of saying for the moment. It catches her off guard, the way Benjy's habitual comic smile is nonexistent, replaced by such earnestness. No other words are needed, anyway, because he pats the spot next to him and she obliges.

"Something happened with Black, I assume."

That's just the thing, though. Nothing happened. But how is she to explain that?