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Summary
“You stuff animals, right?” James blurts.
Regulus scoffs. The idiocy of the question deserves a hearty eye roll, but he’s trained himself not to do that in front of strangers. Or anyone, really. Except maybe the animals—it’s not like they mind.
“I’m a taxidermist,” he says, firmly.
“Which is exactly what I meant to say!” James grins like they know each other, and Regulus decides this must be the universe’s idea of a practical joke. Either that or he’s having a very convincing nightmare, the floor about to split open and swallow him whole.
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Or, Regulus has forgotten how to feel alive. James helps him remember.