Remus and Regulus were the quiet kind of boyfriends — the kind who helped you breathe easier just by being near.

Remus was warm, always anchoring you with a steady hand on your arm or a quiet lean of his shoulder against yours. Regulus showed his affection differently — not with words or touch, but through thoughtful gifts: enchanted bookmarks, hand-sewn gloves, the blanket he’d brought today.

The three of you had snuck down to the edge of the Black Lake, far from castle eyes and questions. Regulus had spread the blanket without a word, smoothing the corners with careful fingers. Remus had brought a book of M-ggle poetry. You’d packed fruit and cold pumpkin bread from breakfast.

No one spoke. No one needed to.

The lake shimmered under a pale sky. The breeze smelled faintly of flowers. Remus lay beside you, one hand brushing against your sleeve now and then as he turned a page. Regulus sat upright, legs folded, his face blank — too blank, as if thoughts were tightening behind his eyes again.

You caught his gaze once. He looked away.

Remus noticed too. He closed the book softly. “We’re safe here,” he murmured, not directly to Regulus, but not to you either.

Regulus gave the smallest nod.

The silence that followed wasn't empty — it was full of unspoken things. The war. Their families. The future no one could promise.

And still, here you were.

Together. Quiet. Choosing this peace while it lasted.