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Regulus is sixteen year old and every bit the young pureblood, from the proud tilt of his head to the typical Black glint of silver in his gunmetal grey eyes. He's got his mother's sneer down to a pat, the careless tone of his voice – like he's only bothering with you because he's bored and you've proved entertaining enough for him to overlook your more distasteful aspects. He stinks of old money and political influence bred and nurtured by his relatives with as much care as they did their own offspring. Couldn't be more obviously aristocratic, really.
And Severus hates him, hates him. Hates that he looks so much like his brother, this bane on Severus' existence. Hates that he can walk through the corridors with that pureblood swagger, comfortable in his own invincibility when Severus has to slink from shadow to shadow. Hates that even as the spare heir, the lesser Black, he still finds more power and protection among the other Slytherins just for existing than Severus does with his tutoring sessions, his carefully constructed social network.
Hates (just a little quieter) that he finds him attractive, his silky black hair, the quirk of his smirk, the edge in his steely eyes. A weird mix of bitter jealousy and the burning shame in the pit of his stomach whenever he looks at a guy and wants.
Hates (most of all) that when he finds Regulus crying in an abandoned corridor, he doesn't walk past him.
To be honest, he would have walked the other way if Regulus had been crying in earnest. He rather looks like he has been crying, eyes red and puffy, cheeks still wet from tears, and the miserable way he's choking down his hiccuping breath makes Severus wants to run away or slap some sense into him, shake him until he sees how good he has it.
But he remembers a little girl with bright red hair patting his shoulder while he sniffles above a bleeding knee, clumsy in her comfort, achingly kind in the easy way she hands him a band-aid and assure him I'll all be better soon.
He doesn't want to be that person for anyone else, especially not the spare Black. He wants to keep that memory tucked next to his heart to keep him warm during deep dark nights. But Lily leaves an indelible mark on everyone she touches and he can't stop himself from reaching out, something like pity or sympathy swelling in his chest and curling in his throat.
Regulus lifts his head when he heard him approach. His patented Black sneer turns to confusion when Severus silently folds his gangly legs to sit next to him, keeping a few inches between the two of them.
"What are you doing?" He asks, and he probably means to make it sound threatening but it's broken halfway through by a hiccup. He flushes angrily, his mouth twisting into a scowl.
"Keeping guard so you're not murdered by a passing Griffindor in your moment of weakness," Severus answers flippantly. The scowl only deepens at his words but he doesn't care about that right now. He takes out his Arithmancy book and a quill to take notes with, absently adds "Just leave when you're done. Or right now. I don't care.
Regulus doesn't say anything else, and he doesn't stand up to leave immediately, so Severus takes that as a win. If sitting on the cold stone next to Regulus can be counted as a win.
He listens with an absent ear as Regulus slowly gets his breathing under control. The corridor is completely silent save for his shuddering exhales and the scratching of Severus' quill on paper, scribbling notes directly in the margins of his book. He does this with every subject he gives half a fuck about, be it out of necessity or actual passion. It helps him learn stuff, even if it means he can't sell his books to a lowerclassman when the year is over. Better be broke than fail his exams.
Then Regulus' voice cuts through the silence.
"You're kinda cute," he muses, "In a greasy kind of way."
Severus doesn't take the time to think about that sentence at all, for the sake of his mental stability. He snaps his book close, shoves it and his quill in his bag and gets up briskly.
"As much as I'd love to stay here and listen to you insult me all night long," he says in a way that clearly expresses how insincere he's being, "I do actually have things to do. Bye, Black."
He can feel Regulus' watch him leave, burning on the back of his neck. He tries not to think about it.