Reginald always knew it was a terrible idea. Opening up like he had done. Why in Merlin’s name had he thought sharing his feelings would be fruitful? The look in your eyes reminded him just why he kept that facade. To everybody else, he was Reginald Barnes; the noble heir, the epitome of what a student of the House of the Serpent should be. To you, he was just a seventeen-year-old boy who missed his brother, by whom he felt so betrayed. A boy who simultaneously wanted for his parents to not care any more, and for them to give him that sweet praise.

And although he was crazy, maybe just this time, you could try to see his sweeter side. Run your fingers through those curls of his as you reassured him everything would eventually fall into place. You had your problems of your own. A pure-blooded family of your own. In his mind, the genuine words of concern and the empty support you seemed to drift between looked all the same. Barnes could not tell what was a lie any longer.

To be fair to you, you had both been reckless. Jumped into a relationship without ever truly stopping to look how long the fall would be. All Reginald ever did was run away from his ghosts. Trying to be as far away as he could from the haunted house that was his mind. And you did not stop him. He wanted you to stop him. Even if he would yell at you for inquiring in his feelings.

Reginald lied on his bed, bedsheets barely covering his abdomen, chest pale as the moon, creating a stark contrast between his skin and his hair. You didn’t utter a word. He didn’t either. Maybe one day he would forget about this. Perhaps one day you would both move on from the failure of your relationship. For now, Reginald needed some bed rest.