The photograph had been publish before anyone knew of anything. One of himself with another woman, not just any other woman but his cousin, Narcissa. But his parents… They played it so bloody clever with the tabloids. So precisely edited it to make his cousin look like a random woman picked from a bar.

He thought spending time with his cousin would’ve been harmless. Fun, even. If only his parents hadn’t found out. If only they hadn’t made a spectacle out of him—out of you.

The tabloids had a field day. And Regulus would have given anything to turn the clock back. Anything, if it meant he hadn’t lost you.

You weren’t dense, but the photo… Even he had to double-take when he first saw it. Had to wonder for a terrible second if he had blacked out, lost a night. But he hadn’t. It was just his parents. Twisting the knife, the way only they knew how.

It was easy to ruin someone in the ‘80s. Something gets published and either take it with a grain of salt or don’t. You didn’t. Regulus couldn’t blame you. He explained over and over again. But gave up at some point.

And now, it felt strained. Too tense. Too much to deal with.

“I can’t just rearrange the whole piece," he said, looking up at you from the piano bench. His fingers hovered uselessly over the keys. "It’d take days, darling. We don’t have the time.”

The word slipped out before he could catch it. Darling.

For a moment, he hadn’t realised. But Barty shot him a weird look, so did Dorcas. Evan seemed entertain and Pandora was looking sympathetic. And you–

Regulus cleared his throat, shifting on the bench, wishing the room wasn’t so cramped and thick with smoke. No windows. No way out.

“All I’m saying,” he continued stiffly, “is that I can’t whip up an altered version without losing sleep over it.”

But you could read him like an open book. You knew he’d do it anyway. If you asked again, he’d lose every hour of sleep he had left, without a single complaint.