- 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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Warning: Mature Chapter
𝕳er heart is in her mouth.
Her pumping, thumping, beating heart. Her loving heart. She'd said it, let go of the reins, banished every wisp of avoidance pushing for the opposite. She'd said it, and he had heard it.
That much is distinctly obvious from the speechless stare he's pinning to her, not a single hint of the fuzzy uncertainty they've danced around in the past. Definite, loud and clear, he had heard the big confession, the scary confession, the confession that she expected to be harder. A lot harder. Reading his face, she expected that to be harder too, the strong glue binding the pages together terribly sticky and unwilling to cooperate. Her expectations aren't up to her usual standards today.
Because he's split wide open to say the least, brandishing the contents that both allays her heart and makes it thump harder, faster at the same time. Disbelief and pure, unalloyed happiness dominated left, right and centre, but that's not what gets her most, what re-kindles the flame beneath her ribs, sets her whole world on fire.
That ascendancy derives from the raw aspect of the emotion swimming in his eyes. Like this is new, fresh. Like this is the first time those three words have been words to him, for him. Ever. And it makes her want to say it every minute of every day for the rest of time so that he never goes without again.
She abolishes the small yet achingly big interspace that separates them, plants her feet into the ground so wonderfully close to him that reaching up, tucking his wind swept curls behind his ears would be easy peasy. Her hands stay by her sides, and simply, she stands there, content to be in his proximity. How she used to regularly avoid him like a serious case of Dragon Pox is beyond her. She can't imagine being away from again, she needs to share his bodily warmth, share his air.
Nonexistent. His air, his breathing is virtually nonexistent until her honeyed tones waft into his perked ears again, causing a huge turn of events. The hitch in his throat is loud, but her sincerity, her profoundness is louder. Real. This is real, they are real. Merlin, when hasn't it been.
"I love you, Regulus"
"Romie" He whispers throatily, her name an incantation rolling off the tongue, magic and a fascination that she will never bore from.
Twenty minutes, give or take. Merlin, Romie could do double, triple that just staring into his eyes, convincing the mesmerising planet they hold her soul exists to remember him. He's unforgettable and gripping in every way, shape and form and he's stooping over, hovering his hanging forehead a whiskey away from hers. Romie smiles upside down, a reflex move that finishes him there and then.
She loves him. Romie Lupin loves him. He wants to shout it off the open top of the Astronomy Tower until his voice gives out and grab the commentator's microphone at his next Quidditch game to ensure each and every single person in that crowd knows. He wants to tell his parents, show them he's capable of loving and being loved. Because Romie Lupin, his Heffalump, his Volcano, the Elfin Bitch that's insufferably stubborn and impossible to deal with, loves him.
