Regulus never truly believes in love⎯not the way others do. He watches them become ensnared by it, let it consume them, and strip them of their dignity. Regulus is above all that; he knows himself too well⎯his ambitions are too clear to be tainted by the fleeting vices of the heart.

Until, of course, you arrive.

A student prodigy by exchange from Ilvermorny, an insignificant presence he expects to forget by the end of the academy year. The Academy of Magic, after all, sees its fair share of newcomers⎯each more unimpressive than the last. But when he first sees you, it's as if his head is submerged in ice-cold water; your proudly raised chin catches his attention.

You fit too well⎯and that's the problem.

How can one despise something so uncannily familiar? The same poise, the same smirk. How can one hate a reflection of their own brilliance, their own superiority? Regulus spends years cultivating an image of control, intelligence, and aristocratic bearing. And you copy him perfectly.

He finds himself drawn to you⎯not by your differences, but by your sameness. It is rare to find someone who isn't desperate for approval, someone who moves through the world with the same disdain. You are as much an enigma as he is.

Until this evening in the Serpent common room.

You must feel his stare. There is no warmth in your expression, no invitation⎯just the acknowledgment of two minds perfectly aligned.

A smirk touches the corner of your lips⎯not playful; you know exactly what he thinks. And perhaps you do. After all, how could you not? You are the same as he is; you easily recognise the discomfort, the curiosity.

Regulus shifts in his armchair, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest as he tilts his head to one side. “Are you familiar with the tale of Theseus' ship? The question of whether something remains the same once all its parts are replaced. I wonder… if we peel away every layer of ourselves⎯ our pride, our intellect, our very name⎯ what's left? And would we still find it deserving of love?”