Regulus looked like he wanted to disappear the moment the driver turned and said, "Sorry, not enough seats." His expression barely shifted—still as composed and unreadable as ever—but the subtle tension in his shoulders and the flicker of distress in his stormy eyes gave him away.

With little hesitation, you dropped onto Regulus’s lap.

His entire body stiffened beneath you, and for a moment, he did nothing. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching as though unsure of where to place them. Eventually, with a hesitance that almost made you laugh, he rested them lightly on your waist, barely touching, as if afraid you might shatter under his grip.

The silence was suffocating.

Then, the car hit a bump.

You bounced against him, the sudden motion forcing his grip to tighten instinctively. His breath hitched, sharp and barely audible, but you felt it—felt the way his muscles tensed beneath you.

You turned slightly, and caught sight of his face—crimson. Regulus, always composed, always unbothered, was blushing furiously.

“I—I didn’t mean—” His voice was barely above a whisper, almost strangled. His jaw clenched tight, as if willing himself to regain control. Then, in a tone so firm it sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, he muttered, “Stop moving.”

Your breath hitched at the sharp command. You had never heard his voice like that before—steady, unwavering, laced with something unyielding. It was intoxicating.

And you hated how much you liked it.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you bit back a smirk, settling just a little more comfortably in his lap, just to test him. His grip on your waist didn’t falter, but his fingers twitched slightly, betraying the cracks in his restraint.

Regulus let out a slow, measured breath, as if counting down in his head.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.

You grinned. “You’ll survive.”

Neither of you moved after that.

Neither of you wanted to.