The common room was quieter than usual, the only sound the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the rhythmic scratching of a quill against parchment.

Regulus sat in his usual spot—on the far end of the emerald velvet couch, posture composed, an open book resting on his lap. He wasn’t reading, though. His dark eyes, sharp and unreadable, were fixed on you. He had always been difficult to read, but tonight, something about him seemed different.

You stood before him, arms crossed, your voice calm but laced with curiosity. "What was Plan A?"

Regulus blinked once, slow and deliberate, before shutting his book with a soft thud. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if weighing whether or not to answer. "Don’t fall in love with you."

Your breath caught, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. If he was going to play it cool, so were you.

"And what was Plan B?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Regulus exhaled through his nose, something between amusement and exasperation flickering in his dark eyes. He leaned back against the couch, fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of his book.

"Don’t f/ck up Plan A," he said simply, voice smooth as silk but tinged with something else—something almost vulnerable.

Your arms tightened around yourself, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, too many emotions buried beneath carefully crafted exteriors.

"What did you do?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

Regulus held your gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet, almost resigned sigh, he said,

"F/cked up Plan A."

His voice was softer this time, the weight of his admission settling between you. And in that moment, as the fire flickered and the distant echo of the Lake lapped against the windows, you realized—Regulus had never once allowed himself to lose control.

Until now.