- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽egulus intently watches the walking, talking, breathing explosive as she sips her drink.
She hadn't spoken yet. No playful remark that spikes tangible heat beneath his collar, no mischievous little comment that itches his eyes to roll. No single syllable. She was teasing him in another fashion, drawing this out, having him wait with bated breaths. And as much as he wants to command she either makes his day, his year, his existence or clear cut, put him out of his misery, her prolonging was leading him to scopes of stimulation he's never quite reached before.
He fancies his chances, he really does and Regulus doesn't feel like he's jinxing their potentiality by believing such. Knowing the rotten luck comprising his history, he might have been, if it hadn't been for the replica of his eponymous, in the thick of vivid purple, twinkling exclusively at him. For him. His star looks good in her purple.
It's purposeful, Romie's fail to lick the frothy foam sticking to her upper lip. It's purposeful as much as it's successful, her eyes straying down to his fingers, alive with the extreme want to do something about it. For a long series of seconds, she watches him twiddle, toy with the rings adorning them, working each one deftly to swap the arrangement and back again. A test of strength if there ever was one.
And doesn't he know it, the smirk twisting at his lips smug and the grey of his eyes sinfully dark. Unfortunate thing Romie was about to crumble at his fingertips. Quite literally. Persisting, giving nothing away, she says simply,
"I do know about me"
Regulus arches a brow, shoulders hunching a fraction to lean closer in proximity as he urges, "Ah. And pray tell what you know?"
He should have expected it. He should have expected it, because he'd asked for it, and Romie is the archetype of impossible, the quintessence of difficult, an enigma that enthrals him to the ends of the earth. Her beauty isn't the only thing undefinable. He'd said before she was beautiful and that she is, but that's only a fragment. She's above and beyond. And above and beyond she likes to go, especially to rub him up the wrong way.
"Where should I start? I'm named after the city my brother's namesake founded, I'm highly allergic to arseholes—"
"Romie" Regulus interjects, exhaling heavily at the lifting hand demanding stoppage, silence on his part. She's not finished.
"—And interrupters on occasion. As a child, I thought hugging Eeyore would solve both of our problems—"
Regulus' heart gives a soft coo at that, insides turning to mush over this girl. Alluringly fiery on the outside, adorably darling on the inside. On and on she goes, reciting the intricacies and attributes that make Romie, Romie, some already noted, some fresh in terms of mental ink. And he listens. Listens to each and every one, ears perked and like satellite dishes solely for the dulcet tones singing the sweetest siren song. This is what dating is all about.
