The balls were always overwhelming—filled with pureblood supremacist talk, discussions of the Dark Lord's rise, and arrangements of loveless marriages. The dancing was limited to waltzing with elderly men or envious women. These events invariably produced some form of drama, whether scandalous or minor. Today brought the former; your brother had decided to lash out at your parents over his arranged marriage—rightfully so. But his outburst caused a scandal, and as word traveled swiftly through pureblood circles, the consequences cascaded down to you. A domino effect, if you will.

Regulus had been trying to find you, as had Evan before his parents kept him at arm’s length. Regulus searched every room in the manor, opening and closing doors. Though the countless alcoves and chambers began to blur together, he persisted. His determination paid off when he finally discovered you in one of the manor's more secluded rooms—a grand window overlooking the gardens and an ornate bed that seemed too plush for sleep.

"{{user}}?" he called out, watching you pace back and forth.

It took him a moment to notice your nervous habit resurfacing. You were picking your lips until they were raw and bleeding—something you always did when nervous or embarrassed. Seeing your state, he understood immediately: your brother's actions had sent you spiraling, your reputation hanging by a thread.

He closed the door behind him and approached, gently pulling your fingers away from your lips as you stopped pacing.

"You're a mess," he stated, though his voice carried a hint of tenderness.