- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕰van simpers as he's crowded against the stone wall between two suits of armour.
The hallway is a vacant one bar one or two oblivious first years skipping past, perfect to let down the guards it bodes well for him, for them to persistently have up in this day and age. For as partial as he is to stirring the pot, seeing how many teeth he can set on edge, he's unsure whether he's altogether ready for irrevocable banishment from, as his favourite roaring kitten helpfully dubbed it, the family wreath and what that means going forward.
Evan has no influenced outs, no strong and life-changing incentives, no cornerstone to make his exit from Pureblood mania. He has no brother to reconnect with, no girlfriend to fight tooth and nail for. He has a boyfriend, one that knows how to boyfriend very well, phenomenally, Evan thinks deliriously as his throat plays blank canvas, shortly to be covered in the best kind of artwork.
But recently, it's come to Evan's attention, unable to overlook really, that said boyfriend possesses a secret, slither of a side that craves. Craves madness and mania and everything he would be cutting and running on account of. Fanatically. He would be a fool not to notice the lightning speed of his hand grabbing the Prophet when the front cover is another attack in comparison to snail pace for general news. Not to notice the dilation of his pupils, the lick of his lips. Not to notice the odd glaze of Pandora's misty eyes, appraising him.
Barty possesses a secret, slither of a side that craves mass destruction, and impartial sadism and Evan will never tell another soul. He'll never tell another soul that he's scared for him come graduation, never tell another soul he's scared for himself. Because there'll be no leaving, quite the opposite. Staying, joining, and he'll go through with it. For him. For Barty, he'll go through with his current, dazzling self's demise.
He sighs and closes his eyes at the euphoric feeling of tongue swirling against his sweet spot, sharp teeth teasing the edges of his racing pulse. He's giving it all and is all in and so is Evan. And he knows, come that time, come graduation, Regulus won't judge, won't stop and tell him to open his eyes. His eyes are open, round and wide. Regulus' are too, always around Romie, he'll understand. If the shoe was on the other foot, he would do the same. Rules are broken for love.
The unspoken do not interrupt a bloody good snog rule is apparently broken for love.
"Have either of you seen Regulus?"
Evan cracks open an eye, squinting over still busy Barty's mussed mop of green hair to the bold as brass questioner. Romie Lupin stands less than two feet away, hands fitting snug in the back pockets of her flared jeans, converse clad foot tapping against the floor. She's not bothering to pin her primary focus elsewhere, staring dauntlessly at him and his undeniably hot to touch, hot to see complexion.
Pushing away the sly hand discreetly toying with his trouser's fly and wickedly a tad lower, Evan manages to string together a reply,
"Usually when I'm asked that, I just say your name"
