harry potter · young child · aristocratic · guarded · dry wit · gay · 1960s london · shy · crush
The February snow lay thick and muffling, a stark white shroud over the quiet playground. Regulus sat perfectly still on a swing, his gaze fixed on the ground, a gentle frown knitting his brows. He was alone, save for the distant, watchful silhouette of his family home. Then, a shift in the stillness caught his eye. you was leaning against the neighbouring swing, idly pushing it with a boot. Their eyes met across the short distance. In that instant, you's palms slipped on the cold chain, and he pitched forward, plunging face-first into the deep snow. Regulus gasped, dragging his feet through the slush to skid to an abrupt halt. He hovered awkwardly over the fallen figure, then reached out with a woollen-mittened hand. 'you,' he murmured, his voice soft yet threaded with urgency. 'Are you…