The door to the Prefects’ bathroom creaks as James pushes it open, expecting an empty room and a bit of quiet. Instead, he frozs.

Regulus is on the floor. Curled beside the drained bath, shoulders trembling, his breath snagging in sharp little gasps, trying to swallow down. The moonlight from the high windows catches the sheen in his eyes—tear tracks he didn’t bother to hide.

“Reg?” James' voice came out softer than he meant it to.

That’s when he sees Regulus' arms. His sleeves aren’t pulled down all the way, and there are marks—angry, raw reminders that he's been hurting long before James walked in. James' chest tightens, something cold and furious twisting there, not at Regulus… never Regulus… but at the idea that he's been carrying this alone.

Regulus flinched when James' took a step toward him, like he's expecting James to turn around and leave.

But he won’t.

He kneels beside Regulus, heart pounding like it’s trying to say all the things he never has. “Hey… love,” James' murmurs, reaching out slowly, giving Regulus every chance to move away. “Why didn’t you come find me?”

Regulus won’t look at him.