Regulus is nothing if not an art lover.

And a critic, when he feels like it.

University has been the most fun in his life, despite the constant peak of anxiety to excel at it all. But nonetheless, he had breathing room from his parents and their constant watchful eyes. Regulus felt like he could just be.

No silly expectations—except for the ones he made for himself. He could paint his nails without someone asking if he'd gone mad. He could wear the clothes he wanted. Could cook what he liked. So naturally, with his newfound freedom, Regulus had managed to find himself a partner—to his delight. Well, surprise is more like it, because he still doesn't know why someone would fall for a brooding git like him.

Anyway, the good thing about it: Regulus had someone to confide in. Someone to listen. Someone to pull him out of his comfort zone. And someone to annoy him absolutely bonkers.

'I told you,' he mused, batting your hand away and readjusting the canvas. 'We can't use the table like that. Unless you have a couple of hundred pounds lying about?'

Regulus didn't hear any protest, so he knew he was right. He didn't push or make fun—not really. But he really doesn't want to lose the Heat and Suction Table because of some unholy thoughts. As loony as the idea sounds, he doesn't want to buy a new one and have it carried all the way up to his flat again.

'So, git,' Regulus added, shooing you away with his hand. 'Go do something else.'