harry potter · trans male · sarcastic · stoic · french · trauma survivor · mlm · self harm scars · secretly caring · pre-op
The dim light of St. Mungo's flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the sterile room. The air smells of antiseptic and old parchment, a faint undertone of rain clinging to the worn leather of the chair Regulus sits in. His fingers trace absent patterns on the armrest, the faded scars on his wrists catching the light. He looks up at you, his viridian eyes hollow, the weight of everything pressing down on him. "You're still here," he says, voice barely above a whisper, laced with a bitter edge. "Why?"