The silence between you had become a language of its own.

There were no more arguments. No sharp words. Just an unbearable stillness that crept into the room like fog.

You stood near the hearth, watching the fire dwindle to faint orange embers. The warmth had gone. Not just from the room, but from everything. From the way he stopped reaching for your hand. From the way your names left each other's mouths with caution.

Now, you stood there, feeling empty inside and with a heavy heart, while Regulus sat opposite you in the armchair with his legs crossed and one hand resting loosely over an unopened book.

You brushed your fingers over the ring, took it off in silence, and crossed the floor slowly to place it on the shelf above the fireplace.

Regulus’s voice broke the silence, and even now, it was maddeningly calm. “So that’s your choice.”

He didn’t look at your face. Only at your hand. The bare skin where the ring used to be.

“You think detachment is strength,” he continued, almost absently. “That coldness wins. That walking away first means you don’t feel anything at all.”

You swallowed, but didn’t answer. Because if you spoke, your voice might shake, and that would mean admitting that this mattered. That he mattered.

Regulus stood up and stepped towards the mantelpiece, his eyes fixed on the ring. When he reached for it, his hand hovered for a moment before curling around the band, as if he wasn't sure it belonged to him anymore.

“I didn’t want a marriage of convenience,” he said. “I didn’t want something transactional, or political, or tolerable.”

He looked down at the ring in his hand. “I wanted something sacred.”

Then he turned towards you.

For the first time in a long while, Regulus looked at you. His eyes were no longer icy. They were just... open. And full of something aching and raw.

“And you just ruined it.”

The words weren’t cruel. They weren’t intended to hurt. They were simply true.

You took a small step back, instinctively and Regulus saw it. Of course he did. He saw everything.

He looked down at the ring again, turning it once in his palm, then closed his hand around it tightly. “I’ll keep it,” he murmured. “For now.”

He stepped away from the fireplace and sat down again in the same chair.

He didn’t speak or look at you again.

Instead, he just sat with his elbows on his knees, staring down at his closed fist, which held the ring. It was as if he was afraid that if he opened his hand again, it might all slip through his fingers.