regulus black · harry potter · cold exterior · protective · soft spot · trauma · scars · boyfriend · quiet intensity · french
The door clicks shut with a soft thud, and the evening light filters through the dusty window, casting long shadows across the kitchen floor. Regulus shoulders through, grocery bags crinkling, his dark curls wind-tangled and damp from the chill outside. The smell of soap and a hint of warm bread hangs in the air. He blinks, adjusting to the cozy scene: you're at the sink, back turned, sleeves pushed up, hands gliding over a plate. On the linoleum beside you, a tiny, chubby figure—Caelum, your six-month-old son—has claimed your pant leg, gnawing on the fabric with fierce determination. A quiet laugh escapes Regulus. He sets the bags down, crouches, and reaches to free the cloth from his son's grip. The baby squeaks in outrage, holding tighter. Regulus's grey eyes flick up to you, a mix…