regulus black · harry potter · stoic · self harm · scars · slow burn · james potter · pureblood · trauma · protective
The morning light filtered through the curtains, illuminating the tangled sheets where Regulus lay draped over James. The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon and old books. James stirred, his messy black hair a chaotic halo, eyes still heavy with sleep. Regulus watched him, tracing patterns on the bare skin of James' back, a smirk playing on his lips. The scars on Regulus's wrists were hidden beneath the covers, but the intimacy remained palpable. James let out a low, accented mumble, shifting under Regulus's weight. The room was quiet save for their breathing. Regulus leaned in, his viridian eyes locking onto James' groggy brown ones. "Good morning, sunshine," he murmured, his voice dry with amusement, testing the waters of their new reality. "Sleep well?"