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Regulus could not fly.
Well, not exactly. Not by himself, that is. So, really, it only made sense that, in spite of the single irritating truth, Regulus loved flying more than he loved life itself.
Nothing else compared to being sat atop his broom; the wind whipping by, stroking his face and running gentle hands through his hair.
There was something so wonderful– so freeing– that came from flipping and darting through the air; his stomach turning with exhilaration as he floated– weightless– hundreds of feet from the ground.
Regulus was a shooting star, lighting the cold, dark night as he broke and burned a course of emerald streaks through sharp gray skies.
Flying was the only time Regulus could relax and let go of everything holding him back. His solitary means of escape. The only time he truly felt alive.
And Regulus… He relished the feeling.
More than that, he craved it. Regulus needed to fly like he needed to breathe. He would die without it.
But nothing, not his love– his ache– for flying's weightless embrace could change reality. Not really.
Because, while Regulus loved it with every inch of his being, the fact still remained; he could not fly.
Not by himself, that is. And Regulus knew that. He was painfully aware.
Without fail, gravity would always be there, hovering over and pressing down on his chest– on his heart– the higher and higher he and his broom tried to run from the Earth.
And, really, it just wasn't fair. Because no matter how high Regulus flew up, no matter how much he hoped and prayed to never come down; at the end of the day, he still always found himself back on solid ground. Always.
So, no. Regulus could not fly. And yet, that didn't seem to stop him. Not really. And certainly not now.
But this… This wasn't flying. This wasn't the beautiful, freeing weightlessness Regulus needed to breathe more than he needed the air in lungs– the air that was whipping past him, pushing, pulling him down…
So, no. No. This wasn't flying. This… This was falling.
Regulus was falling.
His stomach was turning with fear; his eyes locked on the ground hundreds of feet below and horrifyingly coming closer. Because Regulus– Regulus wasn't flying. He was falling.
Falling hundreds and hundreds of feet from the Astronomy Tower window. Falling, and falling, and falling–
Regulus was falling.
Well… Falling, that is… Until he wasn't.
"Regulus!"
Regulus could not fly. He knew that.
And yet, there he was. Gravity pushing against him, hundreds of feet in the air, his body swaying with the wind whipping by.
And Regulus was aware– painfully aware– of the fact that he was, in fact, not flying. But he was also aware that he wasn't exactly falling either. Not anymore.
The sturdy hand wrapped tight around his had made sure of that.
"Reg!"
But suddenly– painfully– Regulus was falling all over again. His pained, tearful grey eyes meet a pair of wide, beautiful– terrified– hazel.
"James…?" Regulus breathed.
He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that he had been saved .
Even more… Regulus couldn't believe that James had been the one to do it.
"Hey. Hey. It's alright," James reassured, tightening his grip. "Just… Just hang on. Reg, hang on to me."
But Regulus was frozen. He couldn't bring himself to do it. No matter how much he wanted to; and Merlin he wanted to.
He would've done anything to take away the pain– the fear– clear on James' face as the frightened boy's eyes quickly darted between Regulus and the fatal drop below.
Regulus wished he could do something– anything– to ease the rising tension in James. Terror didn't suit him.
Regulus much preferred the bright, awe inspiring smile he always seemed to catch from across the Great Hall. The smile that begged to be seen– understood.
The smile that somehow weeded its way into Regulus' heart– blooming warm and yellow like a dandelion, a weed– unrestrained and unyielding in its effectiveness to grow.
And Regulus was helpless to the beauty, the certainty of it. Because James was always happy– always smiling– and Regulus lived for it.
Almost as much as he needed to fly, Regulus needed James. Needed him to smile, that is.
And there, hanging over what would certainly be his end, Regulus could only think of James. But, really, that was nothing new. Regulus always thought of James. He couldn't help it. Obviously.
Because rather than using the seemingly frozen moment in time to think up a plan out of falling, Regulus' only thoughts were of finding a way to bring some sense of joy back to James. To find something– anything– to stop the boy's hands from shaking.
Especially since James' strong– trembling– hands were the only things keeping Regulus from resuming his drop to the ground below.
"What were you even-" James whispered, more to himself than anything. "R-Regulus… Why? "
And Regulus wished he could answer. Wished that he could speak at all. He wished that he could come up with some sort of answer to try and save James the worry.
But he couldn't.
Regulus could only hang there, staring up at James as he wished he was flying– wished that he could be anywhere else.
Most of all, Regulus wished he could force himself to grab on to James' shaking hand as he felt himself starting to slip away.
"Reg, you- You have to promise me. Promise me you won't let go," James begged, his face pale and desperate.
Regulus' fingers twitched– they ached– to move and grab on to James. To finally, for what would be the first time in his sorry life, truly hold on to something and escape the numb weightlessness that he loved so dearly.
To finally fly away from it all. For good.
But this, here and now? This was not flying. Far from it. And Regulus, more than anything, hated this.
He hated the being hundreds of feet in the air– not flying, but dangling– and how being at the mercy of a single, trembling hand had the audacity to remind him of the beauty of flying.
Regulus hated the feeling; his own special brand of helplessness. The kind of all-encompassing powerlessness that had pushed him over edge in the first place.
He hated that the wind was still as soft and caring as ever; and hated even more the fact that it seemed to want to take gravity's side as it urged him to close his eyes and let go.
The wind touched– beckoned— soft and gentle, to give in and let himself fly for the last time. To be wrapped in the wind's weightless embraced, his heart tumbling over and over, as he ran toward the ground he hated instead of far away from it.
To, essentially, spit in the radiant face of the boy before him and let himself fall.
"Regulus. Please… Please," James whispered, tears gathering in his eyes.
And for all of the ice and anger and hurt etched into Regulus' heart, he knew that he wouldn't do it. That he couldn't.
Regulus would never forgive himself. He refused to dim James' light. His love. Because James' love was as close to flying as a person could come without ever having to leave the ground.
Because James loved with all that he was– reckless and unreserved. And even when his love was, quite frankly, undeserved, James was still right there. He was always there.
"James…"
And, obviously, Regulus knew that he still could not fly. Not by himself. But there, his body hanging in the air and decidedly not falling, his heart soared like he was.
Because there was James. Beautiful James. And Regulus, for the first time, was not alone. And, really, when he sat down and thought it all through, who was Regulus to deny the will of the deity before him?
Who was Regulus, a mere star in a sea of constellations, to betray the Sun that had given him the right to burn in the first place? Regulus, couldn't do it. He wouldn't.
And so, against the will of gravity– and, truly, against himself as well– Regulus did it.
He took James hand.
Coming back up was much harder than going down. But even so– against all odds– Regulus did it. He did it. Regulus held on.
And he held on for hours.
Regulus held on to hope– he held on to James– as they sat there safe on the cold Astronomy Tower floor.
Regulus held on as James ran a hand through his wind-swept hair and wiped the tears from his face. He held on as hazel eyes, blown wide with astonishment, raked across his body, desperate to take everything in. Desperate to make sure that it was real.
That Regulus was still there, in James arms, and not somewhere in the inky black uncertainty that lied at the bottom of the tower.
"Reg, I- I don't… Regulus," James sighed.
But Regulus could only shake his head. He couldn't bring himself to listen. Couldn't bear the tremble in James' voice. Couldn't face the pain that he had caused.
No, instead Regulus turned and pressed his body into James, resting his head on the boy's shoulder and running his nose against James' neck as, finally, their racing hearts began to slow.
Regulus sighed as he moved closer and tried to soak in all the tenderness he could from the paragon holding him close.
"Regulus?"
Because Regulus, more than anything, loved to fly. He lived for it. It was in his blood, and he needed it like he needed to breathe. But still, the fact remained.
He just couldn't do it. Regulus could not fly. At least not on his own.
"James."
So, no. No… Regulus could not fly. And, truly, at that fleeting moment in time, he didn't really want to.
Because there, with his body wrapped tight in James' arms, and his feet safe on the ground, Regulus could confidently say that he was not falling. And yet…
He was. Regulus was falling.
As he burrowed closer to James, to the comfort– the safety– of the boy who, without knowledge or effort or intent, was putting the Sun's warmth to shame; Regulus knew. He knew he was flying.
Regulus was soaring. And all by himself.
Regulus looked at James– the beautiful, beautiful boy in front of him– and he was certain. He knew. He knew that there and then he was doing the impossible.
Because Regulus was flying. More than that, Regulus was falling. Quickly, and without resistance or hesitation. Without fear, or regret Regulus knew.
He was falling in love.