regulus black · harry potter · stoic · self harm · scars · slow burn · james potter · pureblood · trauma · protective
The morning sun filtered through the curtains in soft, dusty beams, illuminating the wreckage of tangled sheets where Regulus lay draped over James. The air in the room was a heavy, intimate blend of cinnamon and old parchment. James stirred beneath him, his black hair a chaotic halo against the pillow, eyes blinking slowly as he fought the pull of sleep. Regulus watched him in a rare moment of stillness, his fingers tracing slow, rhythmic patterns over the bare skin of James' back, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips. While the scars on Regulus's wrists remained hidden beneath the heavy duvet, the vulnerability of the moment felt exposed and electric. James let out a low, accented mumble, shifting slightly under Regulus's weight. In the profound quiet of the room, Regulus leaned i…