- ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
"You. Me. Hogsmeade. Tomorrow" Romie demands, leaving no room for objection.
Regulus slowly lifts his head from his book, briefly wondering if he's managed to land himself into a similar alternate dimension,
"Come again...
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𝕳e blames the cobbles.
His minor rocking, shifting the weight of his body from one foot to the other and back again, inability to keep stock-still, he blames the cobbles. Potholed and craggy and awfully uneven under foot. That's all, the cobbles. Nothing to do with the fact jitters, alive and animate, have taken refuge in his stomach. Nothing to do with the fact he's categorically, through and through, really fucking nervous.
The cobbles. And the wind. The crisp, early October whirls of wind chanting reminders to layer up nicely, that's his excuse for the several hair ruffles, adjusting the tousled array of his dearly held curls. He daren't use the window's reflection to check anymore, not after being caught by Rosmerta on the other side, tickling her knowing face pink.
Onward to the picturesque, twee little village thought the world of by the students of Hogwarts, Regulus faces. He doesn't see it coming, doesn't see her coming. Only smooth corduroy the colour of mystery and magic, from behind, slowly snaking around the toned girth of his shoulders.
His head quickly turns, hoping to catch the lips grazing his cheek with his own. Too easy. That would be too easy, the antithesis of what she is. And thank the stars, what Regulus is, is a sterling seeker, adroit with lightning fast reflexes that thwart her plans to playfully pull away entirely. When he's positive she's stable in position, hugging arms unlikely to be upset, he rotates around.
The kiss he'd originally prepared to go in for toot sweet comes apart at the seams, his mouth running dry instead.
Because she's beautiful to put it lightly, sleek hair loosely pinned back at the sides, out of the way of her distinctive eyes outlined in the same sexy black coating her eyelashes. His breathing stutters, on the brink of asking in foolish babbles what sort of magic has brought back to life the constellation of freckles portrayed on her cheeks and nose. Forget House Elves and Dark Arts, this area of magic is his new favourite.
"Speechless already?" Romie teases, but her voice betrays her.
That's not always a good sign, the girlish insecurities in the back of her mind aren't too shy to remind, especially considering the wrong foot they're got off on at the outset. Eyeliner and mascara have never been best friends of hers, reluctant to draw attention to the unsettling stain of her eyes. She'd bit the bullet this morning, hoping, trusting he'd like it.
It's hard to tell, at this moment in time, and Romie's about to avert her gaze down to her feet, remind herself it's not the end of the world. But then, cool hands are grasping of hers looped around his neck, guiding them somewhere else. Somewhere that makes her feel silly for letting the self-doubt get to her. They flatten and press beneath his, zero trembles evident in her tone this time,
"We're in public"
"I'm not asking you to feel me up. Otherwise we'd be much lower" Regulus pointedly mutters, catching the contagious smile she's spreading.
