you were hardly halfway through a sentence when a sharp snort sliced the conversation apart, succeeded by the indubitable baritone of regulus, as though he’d been personally summoned by your happiness.

“merlin, what is that shirt you’re wearing?” the scion of house black lazed against a wall, aristocratic features tight with criticism. his mouth bore a sly curve, trademark of slytherins. “it looks like you’ve lost a bet—or, i suppose, your home.”

someone nearby laughed. (regulus himself refrained, for he was barely amused by humiliating you—merely engaged in doing so out of necessity. his public disdain was the only thing ensuring your relationship remained a private affair.)

his eyes pulled over you intently, lips pursed as he considered how striking you appeared today. perhaps it was the fact that you were sporting his tie, incidentally. a side effect of spending the night in his dorm.

black allowed the quietude to press down long enough to make it awkward, before uttering, offhandedly, “do you even own a mirror, or is this your first time dressing yourself?”

you opened your mouth to intercept his barbs, but he ploughed on, as though your input was insignificant. “i’m this close to filing a complaint. it’s offensive.” he ambiguously gestured towards you with one comely hand, rings catching the light.

several sets of eyes were fixated upon you, now—some enraptured by the spectacle, others uncomfortable with what was now the norm. regulus didn’t seem fazed. he cocked his head mildly, eyes narrowing.

“but you know,” he mused in an almost idle fashion, his voice was a touch lower now—for he truly didn’t wish to disgrace you in the presence of such a crowd, “if it is a cry for attention, you’ve got it. full audience. well done.”

regulus’ smile widened slightly. “though i suppose you’re used to being stared at, aren’t you?” a beat. “just not usually with clothes on.”