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"Barty..." Regulus murmurs, watching his friend from his bed. He is awake, so he knows that he is calling him; but for some reason unknown to him, he doesn't pay attention to her.
–Bar… – he calls again, a little lower, a little less hopeful. It hurts him less, then, to not receive a response.
He sighs and turns around, taking the opportunity to cover his body up to the top with the blankets that Hogwarts provides. He closes his eyes tightly.
The humid heat of the dungeons makes him cranky, but knowing that this heat comes in conjunction with a huge, dangerous storm makes him want to vomit. Somehow, he can hear the waves crash against the castle walls and the sea creatures from the surface burst into the depths for salvation.
It's a pity that, once saved, they spend their time bothering the Slytherin students: the sirens hiss and knock on the windows, the giant squid crawls on the huge and resistant ancient bricks and other small "disgusting bugs" make noises of which he He doesn't know about them but he doesn't care because they are terrifying to him.
He does not see the lightning, he is in the depths of the castle; but that sound in conjunction with the most guttural and longest thunder that has ever been recorded makes his hair stand on end.
–Barty –he calls once again, without turning around, with her heart in her throat. He has hugged himself and is making an unimaginable effort not to cry.
The beating of his racing heart echoes in his ears, in the distance, he can hear Walburga's walking.
His heels echo throughout Grimmauld Place on stormy nights, strolling through the hallways with no fixed purpose other than to disturb his children. The paintings of her seem to adore her, how perfect Black she turned out to be despite arriving at an opportune time.
"How good she is being by having mercy on them and not treating them like Pollux did with her" shouts a painting once, when he was six years old and accidentally, through mere carelessness, caused a seven-hundred-year-old vase to fall to the ground. She had approached with large, firm steps, and without a second thought, he raised her wand.
He doesn't remember her voice shouting the spell she used to push him against the wall across the hall, three meters from the incident; But she does remember the white flash and the roar that she caused in the place.
"You broke the vase with the ashes..." is the first thing that comes out of his mouth as he avoids the broken object.
"You're a little good-for-nothing," she continues, as she approaches. Adjusting her wand to send something else, something stronger and more painful than that first spell.
One quick move and Regulus is up, higher than he should be, almost touching the ceiling.
He can't breathe and when he tries to put his hands to his throat, they are pulled away and stretched on either side of his body.
He closes his eyes a little, he wants to see his mother to apologize directly, he wants to end this; but something doesn't allow it, the lump in his throat only grows and his eyes are full of tears.
"You're a little waste" he hears, but his hearing is not as developed as he would like and he doesn't know where his mother's voice comes from.
He opens his mouth, searching for words or gasping for air. He opens again and again until the sounds coming from his throat resemble those of a dark creature.
Walburga drops him to the ground with more momentum than he should, and before allowing him to compose himself, another white bolt and another crash. And another, and another, and another...
–Regulus! –The shout and the shaking of shoulders only exalt him. He shakes off her grip and moves quickly toward the threshold of her bed.
He feels pressure on his head, a pressure that he has felt before and it hurts, it hurts a lot. The thundering of his heart in his ears does nothing but disgust him, and the feeling of dinner rising up his throat makes him gasp.
He breathes, big gasps that do nothing for his state. They just make things worse because the sound of his own breaths drives him crazy.
–Regulus... Reg... – he hears him, in the distance.
He pushes the hands that he has felt rest on his shoulders again, pushes them away as if they burned, as if they were responsible for the endless tingling he feels in the tips of his fingers, elbows, shoulders, knees and feet.
–Calm down, Reg. Honey. He breathes with me.
A hand gently takes him by the chin and, although he tries to focus on the face of the person in front of him, he cannot. He tries to follow his instructions, inhale and exhale; but it's hard when your whole body burns and your mind only seems to focus on the pain.
–Reg, love... –the person in front of him murmurs as he approaches, Black can feel his weight almost on his legs.
–Everything is going to be fine, do you hear me? Everything is going to be fine... –and for some reason, although Regulus knows that the other person has continued talking, he cannot hear him.
■■■•■■■•■■■
Regulus wakes up, startled.
What happened? Why does he feel so sore? Why does your throat burn? Because...?
–Reg? -A voice asks behind him, at the height of his neck; and he's lying if he says he didn't stir from the shiver that was sent up and down his spine. He feels someone's hands gently grab his hips and urge him to turn.
–Reg, love... you're okay, calm down –he listens and, although he has trouble focusing, he can tell by the silhouette that it is Barty who is keeping him in bed."Barty..." he murmurs, trying not to choke.
–Yes, honey… –he answers–…it's me, Barty. How are you?
He blinks many times as she tries to move her hands towards the boy's arms, although to do so he has to get directly in front of him and the rest of him body doesn't seem to respond correctly to her commands.
He pretends to joke about how melted his brain is now, but that would only worry the blonde more. Worry... always worries Barty, he has never helped him with his things, he has never given him the confidence to be the recipient of his family complaints.
He feels the bile rise into his mouth and stay there, burning inside him like a good method of punishment for being a bad friend. A shitty friend.
–I hear you think… –the other murmurs while he lets one of his hands rest on the raven cheek–…look at me, Reg.
He obeys, because disobeying would only encourage his idea of evil to grow. He's not bad, he's not like her mother...although he looks like her, he's better than her, right?
“Reg, please stay with me,” they murmur in front of him while they gently shake his face, trying to get his gray eyes to meet those of the other. Regulus inhales and exhales deeply, blinks twice and finally manages to fully focus on his friend.Barty is worried, a lot.
He can see it in his beautiful brown eyes, also in the way he is twisting his mouth to refrain from blurting out anything that exposes his affection because he doesn't consider it the appropriate time; It could also be a sign that he hasn't stopped touching it, not even for a second.
–You're okay... you're in bed, with me. You are safe. I'm not going to let you go, I'm not going to let you go – the strength that emanates from his hands is just enough and necessary to break Regulus's barriers once again.
The black man lowers his guard and approaches his friend completely, who welcomes him into his arms with great pleasure. He caresses him hair, murmurs nice words to her, and kisses him forehead with a softness unlike most of his actions.
Regulus's cheeks heat up, his arms tingle, and he feels little pinches in his abdomen with happiness. He feels good like this.
In Barty's arms, receiving all his affection. Beautiful words, caresses and kisses.
–Thank you... – he exhales after a while.
"You don't have to thank me for this..." the blonde murmurs, pressing their foreheads together and keeping his eyes closed.Regulus is about to reply; but he remains silent thanks to a small hiss from his friend. He opens his eyes and moves away a little, to contemplate what he plans to say.
–I would do this for you as many times as necessary, as many times as you asked me and without receiving anything in return because I love you… – he comments–… no, I love you. And I want to take care of you, that you are well.
Barty smiles at him as he caresses his lower lip with his thumb, looks at him with bright eyes and dares to kiss his forehead. A part of him trembles from the statement and the contact, but also to hold back the laughter that comes from seeing Barty get intimidated after all the affection he gave her.
–... I love you –he murmurs.
He approaches slowly and puts their mouths in contact, at first it's just both lips sticking together; then, as Barty has settled in closer, they put their tongues into the equation and let them have fun.
They separate, panting and smiling, without looking at each other.
–...I love you too much –they declare after a few minutes in complete silence, turning their faces away to look at each other properly and smile as if the other's life depended on it.