- 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 shuts off the water, grabbing a towel to fasten around his waist.
Showering felt an awful lot like a chore, but sitting still and alone in the common room, watching the sunset blossom the very colour his heart pathetically races at all day, every day felt harder. Besides, the cool torrent helped clear his mind a little, washed away into the swirling drain the cruel tricks his mind tried to play on him. She'll be back.
His eyes drift to the toothbrush pot, holding her to her promise and putting off that step in the nighttime routine, grabbing his razor and shaving foam from his alignment of toiletries. Things like toothpaste and soap and on occasion hairbrushes, they share, then having their own supply of deodorant and shampoo and razors. Though Romie swears the men's leave a cleaner, smoother finish than the ladies'.
Carefully, he brings the sharp blade to the lower half of his face, beginning to glide over the dark stubble on his upper lip and chin, rinsing off the excess foam before repeating the motion. It's a task that requires quite a lot of skill and concentration, but nowhere enough to miss the relieving sound of the light click of the door unlocking, miss the even more relieving sight of glimmering fawn tresses peeping through the small crack.
He expects ugly patterned socks with an alarming amount of holes in and thigh-hugging flares that run his mouth dry to come into view next, but there's no sign within a minute, within two and Regulus realises with a softening heart that she's hesitant because she's worried she's not welcome. Quietly setting down the razor and holding onto the secure wind of his towel, he extends out his leg, gently nudging open the door the rest of the way with his foot.
That's all he does before returning to the sink, finishing up the shave. He didn't want her to think he didn't want her there, but also didn't want to pressure her into coming in if she wasn't ready yet. Rushing things won't do either of them any favours. He cups tap water in his hands and splashes it up onto the freshly shaven area, softening further at the facecloth being held out ready to dab his skin dry.
Though the grateful thanks gets stuck in his throat, a faint hum escapes Romie, as if hearing it loud and clear anyway. He can't fight his eyebrow raise when her eyes roam his predominately bare body, not-so-subtly checking him out, can't fight the twitch in his lips when her cheeks warm to a pretty hue of pink as a result. Showering felt an awful lot like a chore at the time, but boy is he glad he went through with it now.
With the yearning to feel the warmth, let it chase away the benumbing cold he's afraid will one day soon be his permanent state until death knocks on his front doorstep, his hands ache, fingers throb. He yearns to touch her, feel the baby-soft freckled skin the sun loves to kiss, but the invitations are always restricted and he's unsure he made the brutally narrow cut this time.
He chews the inside of his cheek, reaching for the treasury of silver rings he took off to prevent water damage, slipping them back into position on his fingers. One in particular he pays extra attention to, causing Romie to halt where she's retrieving her toothbrush.
