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"I hate peonies." Regulus said, holding the flower in his hand.
Because that was what James had been giving him, peonies. The pink flower. The flower that symbolizes good luck, every day, every date and every stolen kiss, peonies would be there with them.
James also like to compare Regulus to the flower, "You're good luck. My good luck." He would always say that before matches, before the tournament and-
"I swear whenever I see you in the crowds I'd feel a lot better because you're my peonies, my good luck charm." And James would giggle afterwards, a sound so beautiful in Regulus' ears.
He wished he could keep it in a jar or a bottle and drown in it. If the sound was a beautiful potion that could deteriorate his health, he would no doubt die because of it. It scared him.
And now seeing James with Lily, his hand around her waist and kissing her with a smile, Regulus couldn't believe this was the man who had loved him dearly.
He didn't dare to love him now that he knew it was all an act. Because really, comparing Regulus to a flower that symbolizes good luck? Oh the young Black is anything but good luck.
Perhaps his luck ran dry after James left him for Lily. But the school always knew how absolutely besotted James was with Lily. He just kept Regulus a secret. A pretty secret.
"I hate peonies." He said, and he crushed the pretty flowers in his hand. Because it's the only flowers James ever gave him, the only flower that engraved itself, deeply-rooted in his chest. For a boy who said that would love him forever, he never stayed true to his word.
Regulus had expected the departing, he didn't expected it to hurt so much though.