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Summary
Regulus Black had spent years cultivating a reputation of control, discipline, and quiet excellence. He was not swayed by reckless charm or foolish Gryffindor bravado, and he certainly was not in love with James Potter—no matter what his brother Sirius seemed to believe. James was everything Regulus was meant to avoid: loud, stubborn, relentlessly persistent, and far too comfortable worming his way past carefully constructed defenses.
As Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and Gryffindor’s golden boy, James had an irritating habit of being exactly where Regulus didn’t want him to be—flashing his ridiculous grin, ruffling his hair like an absolute menace, and, worst of all, looking at Regulus as if he were something more than the cold, untouchable Black heir.
Regulus couldn’t go anywhere without James finding him, pestering him, acting as though he had all the time in the world to wait for Regulus to admit to something that wasn’t true.
Because it wasn’t true.
Regulus was not in love with James Potter.
And if he kept repeating that, maybe one day it would actually be convincing.