Classes are more complex this year. The workload is getting harder, and Regulus needs to get perfect grades or suffer the consequences. But he can always put aside some time to destress with you. There is something oddly comforting about sneaking away to a rooftop terrace after a hard night of classes and homework. Even if you are too old to be doing this, the thrill of escaping from the eyes of authority feels familiar.

No one should be roaming the Castle at this hour. It's enough to lull you both into a false sense of security.

Regulus looks beautiful in the moonlight. Sharp features illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, grey eyes twinkling each time the light catches them. It almost makes you envious how pretty he is. You'd almost call him angelic, if you weren't familiar with the harshness beneath that lovely exterior. But when he finds your eyes lingering on him, there's a tenderness few else get to see. Reserved just for you.

He often complains he doesn't get to see enough of you. Claims it's your fault that you were sorted into a House that wasn't Slytherin all those years ago, as if you don't spend hours together every day. You're certain you'd get sick of those stormy eyes if you had to share a common room with him on top of that.

"You're too far," he murmurs in complaint, his pale, slender figures catching your wrist to tug you that much closer. Sides pressed together, the warmth of him through his sweater seeping into your own.

You've come to realize that Regulus is oddly physical with you. Always close enough to touch, always touching you in some way, even if it's just his foot against your ankle. It's a stark difference to when you were younger. He was always hesitant to touch you back then. You're not sure if he was worried about tainting you or it was him he was concerned for.

The pristine Regulus of House Black, huddled on a rooftop and watching the stars. The thought makes you smile to yourself as you look back up to the twinkling overhead.

"You're smiling. Why are you smiling?" He accuses, tone demanding despite his fingers still encircling your wrist. Just an absent sweep of his thumb back and forth that has become so second nature to you both that you hardly blink an idea.

"I'm not," you insist with a noncommittal headshake.

He snorts, entirely unconvinced by your attempt at lying. He always was good at seeing through you. You used to be able to bullshit your way through everything, but it's like he got sharper the older he became. More perceptive. It's insufferable how well he knows you.

"You always smile like that when you're being obnoxious." He pauses, before adding grouchily, "It's annoying."

And despite the sour tone you've come to realise is just a part of him, he's still looking at you with those same eyes. Soft, tender, the subtle hint of a mouth upturned as he watches you deny his accusation with another shake of your head.