- 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
𝕽omie ushers him through the essentially empty hallways, surprisingly calm and composed.
It's almost comical, how the roles have been reversed, Romie usually the hot headed one, skin awfully easy to get underneath and Regulus perfectly sangfroid, rarely losing his reserved cool. Yet today it's vice versa, and Romie couldn't help feeling an odd prickle of joy at the fact, because his emotions are not only spiralling out of control, but spiralling around his dark physique in a manner that's virtually visual. The veil of impassiveness is no more, over and done with, dead and buried.
He's outwardly manifesting his irritation, his outrage, even more so when they're inside the privacy of their makeshift home and Romie is the sole witness. Averting, keeping at bay what he's feeling, for as long as he can remember, has been a task impossibly difficult when around her company. She has a way of bringing it out of him, whether it's simmering vexation in the aftermath of her outwitting him, scoring a point for the tally they've progressed to bigger and better things of, or drowning love in favour of the reflex care and affection his drops were nominal of before her. Amusement, cheek, frustration, you name it, she can evoke it.
His ringed fingers finally depart from hers, instantly regretting and grieving the loss of the natural warmth she evokes too. To stop himself for reaching out again like a clingy baby, he embeds them deep into his curls, dishevelled from the gusty wind, and slumps into the sunken loveseat highly appreciated during their Head-ship time. Romie bites back a smile at the strange misalignment of his position, favouring the cushion's left side, nearest the window. He's leaving room for her.
Room that she gladly fills, leg comfortably curling beneath her so that she has an easy uprise kick off from the foot she's sitting on if necessary. She's conscious of how the point of her knee is knocking against the manly spread of his, conscious of how his lacks the ability to keep still, bouncing and jiggling like there's no tomorrow. There might not be a tomorrow at this rate, Regulus convinced the umbrage overthrowing his presence of mind might kill him. Her quietude, her placidity might kill him.
He forward inclines his torso, levelling out with his knees, doing all that he can so he doesn't bark out the question troubling his spinning mind. It's no use, curiosity is a desire he perpetually possesses.
"Why aren't you angry?"
Romie blinks at him, surveying the red tinge coming in rapid floods to his stunning face. Embarrassment from his abrupt outburst or simply the consequence of hanging his head over like this for a long period of time, she doesn't care. What she does care about is not throwing him any further, he already has plenty of emotions to unravel, the last thing he needs is her adding to the mix.
"Do you want me to be?" Romie wonders quietly, meeting the underarm peer of his stormy eyes.
The creases of his forehead deepen from his deepening frown, replying lowly, "He showed up uninvited to the match, hoping to corner you after"
