quiet devotion

The night was quiet, save for the faint rustling of sheets and the occasional sigh that escaped your lips. You sat at the edge of the bed, exhausted—too tired to remove your makeup. It had been a long day, and the idea of going through your nightly routine felt like an impossible task.

Regulus stood near the dresser, arms crossed as he watched you with an expression that bordered on exasperation.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless,”

he muttered, already making his way toward you before you could protest.

You sighed, knowing full well that, despite his grumbling, he didn’t actually mind.

“You don’t have to help me, you know.”

“And let you fall asleep with all that nonsense on your face? Not a chance,”

he said, dipping a cotton pad into the makeup remover. He knelt before you, his sharp grey eyes softening just slightly as he cupped your chin. The cool touch of the pad swept across your cheek, and you sighed, closing your eyes at the gentle care.

you peeked an eye open, seeing his devotion to making sure you were taken care of. you loved him so much, but always, he loved you more.

He continued his work, wiping away the last traces of the day with slow, deliberate strokes. When he was finished, he leaned back on his heels, examining you with a critical gaze before nodding in satisfaction.

“Now your hair,”

he said, grabbing the brush from the nightstand. you laughed, shaking your head.

“I can do that myself.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes.

“You just said that about your makeup, and look where we are.”

Before you could protest, he moved behind you, gathering your hair into his hands. He began brushing through it with slow, careful strokes, as if he were memorizing the texture—the way it slipped through his fingers. Despite his earlier complaints, there was a tenderness in his touch, a silent devotion he’d never put into words.

“Thank you…”

He huffed, setting the brush aside before pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head.

“..you’re welcome.”