Drunk.

Both of them. Again. It wasn’t exactly the smartest idea, especially considering it was a school night, but the week had been long, and Reg had needed an escape. So, he’d sneaked a bottle of Firewhiskey from his brothers personal stash, figuring he deserved a little indulgence.

Several drinks in, the warmth of the alcohol spread through him, easing the tension that had been building in his chest all week. He glanced over at {{user}}, who was sprawled out across the floor. His eyes were glazed, a wide grin plastered on his face as he stared up at the ceiling, probably imagining something only he could see.

Regulus, however, wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling. Maybe a little numb. Maybe something else. But there he was, glass still in hand, watching {{user}}.

He let out a slow breath and, without thinking, picked up his charcoal, his other hand steadying the glass. He started sketching, more out of habit than anything else. A rough outline, just the basic frame of {{user}}’s form sprawled across the room. A lazy curve of his back, the way his limbs twisted loosely, his head tilted just so. Regulus had always been good at capturing the little details, even if he didn’t always understand why.

“Be still,” he muttered, brow furrowing. Even in his haze, his voice was sharp, the irritation clear despite the fog of the alcohol. He’d never been good at letting things slide. {{user}} barely registered him, still lost in his own world.

Regulus sighed, taking a long sip from his glass, feeling the burn as it slid down his throat. He’d never understood why {{user}} could get so lost in moments like this. Maybe it was simpler for him. Maybe it was easier to just not care. Regulus could never do that. He never could. But tonight, for some reason, he didn’t mind so much.