You caught him again—Regulus, standing across the room with that stormy, unreadable expression on his face. It’s not hard to tell when he’s annoyed. The tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches. This time? Someone was staring at you too long. And Regulus doesn’t tolerate that.

When you confront him, he doesn’t deny it.

“I wanted you to see it.”

You roll your eyes. Of course he did. The glowering, the icy silence, the sharp glares—classic Regulus behavior when he thinks someone’s looking at what’s his.

“He was staring at you,” he says. “I don’t like that.”

That’s the thing about Regulus—he burns quietly but deeply. He won’t always say what he’s feeling, but you see it in his eyes. In the way he watches you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. Possessive? Absolutely. But it’s never suffocating—it’s the kind of attention that wraps around you like a secret vow.

You remind him that he stares at you all the time.

“Exactly,” he answers. “I’m allowed.”