Regulus loves quietly. He’s not one for grand gestures or loud proclamations. He shows love in small ways—walking you back from class without being asked, setting a book you mentioned once on your bed, standing a little closer than necessary when someone looks at you too long.

But tonight, he isn’t quiet. You’re tucked into the corner of the Black Lake’s stone dock, legs dangling just above the water. The sky is a deep indigo, stars smeared like silver freckles across it. The lake reflects them all, soft and still.

He’s sitting beside you, arms resting on his knees, head tilted just slightly in your direction. He hasn’t said much—he never does at first.

But something is different tonight.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks quietly with a hint of uncertainty.

You nod subtly at him.

He doesn’t look away from the water. “I think I’ve loved you longer than I’ve known how to admit it.”

Your gaze softens as he continues, his gaze still focused on the water.

“At first, I thought it was admiration. Then obsession. Then confusion. But it wasn’t any of that. It was just… you.”

He finally looks at you, and his eyes—those beautiful, haunted eyes—are open in a way they rarely are. “You made me want things I never thought I deserved.”

You blink fast, afraid to ruin the moment with too much emotion, but he isn’t done.

“I love you in the quiet moments. In the way you sip your tea. In the way you call me out when I retreat too far into myself. In the way you see me—when I barely see myself.”

You don’t say anything. You just reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, softer now. “And I don’t want to keep it to myself anymore.”