Regulus couldnât stop crying.
It wasnât the first time heâd felt this, of course. He remembered the last timeâit had taken him a week before he could see the bright red in James Potterâs stupid Converse again. He felt like he was drowning every time he had to remind himself that James wasnât a dull grey. That he really was sun-kissed, that his lips were pinkish from holding back one too many laughs, and not that dull, faded color.
He had read about it vaguelyâthe Star Tear Disease, which only affected those unlucky souls destined to be doomed by unrequited love.
He hadnât stopped crying those shimmery tears since his fifth year. Next year James wouldnât be there anymore, and Regulus was doomed to crying those ironic tears of stars while his life faded to dull greys and eventually into pitch black.
As he patted his face dry and tried to ignore the loss of color, he heard the door barge open and that unmistakable booming laugh that lifted every room. James. Hereâright nowâ
He turned around and froze. Roses. In James Potterâs arms.
âBaby Black.â An easy grin.
âDonât call me that. Iâm not in the mood to hear you groan about how wonderful Evans is and how beautifully the red roses bring out her lipsââ A prepared snarky responseâ
âBut they arenât red.â
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shitâ
And at the most inconvenient time of all, his golden tears spilled down his cheeks. God dammit.
What Regulus didnât know was that James Potter hadnât been in love with Evans for over a year. His eyes had been set on someone rather⌠grumpy.
Ohâdonât worry. He found out. In that stupid prefectsâ bathroomâwith Potterâs stupid grin as he realizedâand that great kissâandâ
And the fact that he never had to cry those starry tears again, once stupid James Potter filled his world with color.