lost boy

“Someone’s gotta look out for you,” Regulus said gently, looking down at the boy beneath him. “Make sure you don’t go off the deep end and do something drastic like dye your hair black and pierce your nipple.” Though, Regulus realised, he probably wouldn’t put that last part past Micah. Sitting up a little more, Regulus’ eyes danced across Micah’s skin, looking for any tattoos he’d missed. There was the one on Micah’s back, but he’d seen it a fair bit - the moon’s cycle, straight down his spine. Just when Regulus was about to give up and ask if there were any more, his eyes landed on a few lines and dots on the inside of Micah’s bicep. Frowning, Regulus’ fingers slipped from Micah’s and to his skin, turning the boy’s arm outward to look at it – it was a constellation, that much was certain, given the dots and lines; nothing was that abstract except the stars. Regulus had spent a lot of time looking at the sky - and, in particular, this constellation - that he knew it immediately; knew it personally. “Leo,” he whispered, frown deepening as he tried to remember if he’d ever seen this on Micah, but he was sure he hadn’t – meaning that he must’ve got it recently. Regulus’ fingers pressed into Micah’s skin harder as he looked up at Micah, searching. “But… why?” he asked. The tattoo was as clear to Regulus as if Micah had scrawled his own name on his skin in black ink – Regulus was, for better or worse, the brightest star in the Leo constellation. Unless Micah knew someone Denebola or Zosma, the tattoo had really only one interpretation – and Regulus felt his heart squeeze tight, wondering if he’d misread the tattoo again, almost half-hoping that was the case. Because the alternative was – too much; too much for someone like Regulus.

“I would never dye my hair black,” he said, and even though his tone was affronted, the smile on his lips never left. “Never ever. Although,” he added as an afterthought, lips pursing curiously, “I have considered getting my nipples pierced before. I’ve heard that they increase-- um. Sensitivity.” It wasn’t news to him that he kind of enjoyed the pain that edged all bodily modifications, the way they increased awareness of certain parts of one’s body and drew all attention to one, central place, but admitting that to Regulus felt as though it was going against the very pact of them taking things slowly. He shifted a little under Regulus, cheeks tipped pink, his eyes darting away for a moment as he composed himself. Regulus’ touch grounded him, turning his bicep out to look at the tattoo there, and it took Micah a moment to realize exactly what the other boy was looking at. By the time he did, though, Regulus’ quiet whisper echoed between them, and any thought of tempering down the true meaning of the tattoo was gone. As scary as it was for him to admit, Regulus had so few people in his life who truly valued him, and Micah wasn’t about to rob him of knowing the extent of how much he was appreciated, even if the prospect of owning up to his feelings was more than terrifying.

Talking with Micah was still new, but she was slowly getting used to it. The moment Amelia saw him after class in the hall, she took a moment to talk to him – she had a present for him, after all. Yet when she went to hug him, she paused, interpreting the look on her face as one that had been familiar to her before – when he’d gotten tattoos on his torso. It might hurt him to hug him, & it was something she’d always been conscious of before. Surprised that he hadn’t told her about it – he’d never been afraid to talk about tattoos with her, knowing she found them fascinating – she held back, unsure of her welcome. “You got new ink,” she said, a grin on her face nonetheless. Micah was always happier in the weeks after he saw Javid. “What was – no, I can ask later, maybe. I have something for you in my dormitory. Takes a bloody ridiculous amount of time to figure out how to get Muggle records through owl post, by the way. Though I’d assume you know all about it.” It was still two months out from Micah’s birthday, but she always tried to get him things the moment she thought of them, since often times he was sullen in his room at home on the day in question. There were years where he’d let her & Edgar in, & there were years where he did not. In any case, it was better to be safe than have him think she didn’t care. 

Regulus liked the roses, wrapping his hand around Micah’s forearm gently as the other boy spoke. The meaning was, of course, sad – Regulus was frowning, eyebrows furrowed. “Maybe I’’ll get a bunch of daffodils tattooed on me,” Regulus said, smiling at Micah, “so I’ll always have some to give to you, but these ones will never wilt.” He gave one last squeeze to Micah’s arm before the other boy raised them to show him the infamous FUCK YOU, complete with a heart. It was so caustic that it almost felt like a slap every time he saw it. “This one is disrespectful. If I did that, my mum would blast my fingers off,” Regulus murmured, shaking his head at Micah before threading their fingers together so that the letters weren’t pressed together. “But no champagne, got it.” Regulus’ eyes drifted over Micah’s hands, where there were a smattering of other tattoos. He pried apart Micah’s long fingers, and there sat a steaming mug of tea. “Because you love tea so very much?” Regulus asked wryly, his fingers moving down across Micah’s palms and looping around his wrists. “Footprints. An animal’s,” he noted softly, frowning. “Unless you have a secret cat hidden in your room, I’m going to guess its your patronus, right?” He looked up, thumb brushing against the paw print tattoos as he remembered seeing Micah’s patronus in DADA only within the last year. It had been nice to learn that his patronus - a wolf - had been of the canine variety, like Micah’s. Animals that survived in the freezing winters, he thought.

Releasing his hold on Micah’s wrists, Regulus hands gently rested on his chest instead. There, right over his heart, was a hand with its fingers crossed. “Cross my heart, hope to–” Regulus couldn’t say the next word, instead looking up at Micah sharply. “You don’t, do you?” he asked. “Wish to… die?” It felt like there was something stuck in his throat at the very thought – that at some point, Micah had been low enough to even want that tattoo. “Please tell me it means something else,” he asked sadly, fingertips pressing into Micah’s skin desperately.

Regulus touched him as though he were something to be revered, so infinitely gentle but with a surety that said, ‘I know you won’t break’ and Micah felt so special underneath him, to have all of the other’s attention focused on him and calm, soothing fingers roving lightly over his skin. He wanted to memorize moments like this and stow them away for when his thoughts were bleak and his mood was stormy. “I thought it was cute,” Micah shrugged, in response to Regulus’ quip about the little cup of tea tattooed on the inside of his index finger. Sometimes, a cup of tea was just a cup of tea, and a tattoo was just a tattoo. “It was the first one I got,” he said, giving it a fond smile and remembering how much the placement had hurt, how much Javid had laughed at his whimpering and whining because, ‘I warned you, kid. You signed yourself up for it.’ “Back when I cared about being discrete about them.” He glanced back up at Micah, smiling pleasantly as the other boy moved on to the fox prints on the insides of his wrists. “Who knew I was dating Sherlock Holmes?” Micah asked under his breath, amusement coloring his voice, before he said, “Yeah. They’re fox prints. Look a bit like every other bloody animal print, but I got ‘em a little more pointed and a little less like-- polished, I guess? It just felt more me.” Micah was all jagged edges and harsh words, and to have such smooth, rounded prints marring his skin had felt wrong. “Tattoo artist said they looked kinda like a cross between fox prints and wolf prints, I think,” he offered absentmindedly, letting his free hand rest against the side of Regulus’ thigh.

The mention of his tattoos made Regulus perk back up - he had asked to know more about them. “Yeah, alright, but if something’s too personal, you don’t have to,” he said. “I won’t be upset.” Sitting up, Regulus looked down at Micah for a moment before moving with a kind of confidence he tried to fake – if he crept around Micah all the time, they’d get nowhere. Sliding his knee over Micah’s hips, Regulus settled himself on Micah’s thighs, looking down at him from the new - and frankly terrifying - position. “Is this okay?” he asked, slightly breathlessly as he bit his bottom lip, eyes raking over  Micah’s long body. It was always something about them that Regulus envied – the way Micah was tall and lean and full of hard muscle, while Regulus was small and compact in the kind of way that suggested he hadn’t stopped growing yet. Micah– Micah was already golden. Reaching forward, Regulus lifted Micah’s shirt with a smile. “I know that you hide most of them under here, so – it had better come off,” he said, flushing as the shirt was removed to reveal more skin – more than he really knew how to cope with. Littered across it were images - each a whole world in and of themselves. Where did he start? “This one,” he decided, pointing to Micah’s right bicep. “Did the tattoo artist have a stroke during the session or are the clocks supposed to look as though they’re like… melting, or something?” he asked, smiling cheekily before running his fingers down the length of Micah’s arm, fingertips just barely there. “And this one,” he said, stopping at the roses. “What’s this one for?”

Micah was more than a little startled when Regulus straddled his thighs, a blush creeping high in his cheeks and making the room feel -- hotter than it already was. This was the first time that Regulus was making him properly nervous, but he also didn’t actually mind it. They were the good sort of nerves, like right before a Quidditch match. “Course it’s okay,” Micah said as Regulus stripped off his shirt. “You’re my boyfriend.” He wasn’t sure saying the word would ever stop feeling less exhilarating, and hesitant but sure, he leaned upwards to catch Regulus’ lips with his own. The kiss was brief, more of a reassurance than anything, but his mouth still tingled from the way their lips slotted together perfectly, as though he’d only ever been built to kiss Regulus.

He laughed at the other’s first question, fingers hovering over his now second biggest piece to date. Course Reg didn’t know what it was, and Micah had snapped at people for saying less about the tattoo, but with Regulus, it was just different. “It’s based off of this painting by Salvador Dali called, ‘Persistence of Memory’,” he explained, still smiling. “Some family friends of ours went to the States on holiday, and they sent back a muggle postcard from the Museum of Modern Art in New York City as a souvenir, and the painting was on it, and I just-- I dunno, I really liked the design.” He paused, the answer feeling a little fake on the tip of his tongue. Sure, that was the most basic version of the story, but he knew there was more to share, and Regulus deserved to hear it. “The start of the summer’s always pretty miserable for me,” he admitted quietly. “Like. After a year of spending time with you, away from my parents? Adjusting’s just. Difficult. And this past summer was probably one of the worst? I dunno, I just felt kind of invisible, so when I saw this, I was like. Super gung-ho about the idea because it’s so bright and in your face, kind of? But Amelia came with me, I got it done in one sitting, and she bought me chips and a chocolate milkshake afterwards too.” He smiled, both at the memory and at Regulus, one hand rising absentmindedly to the other’s hip, seeking out the skin just underneath the hem of his shirt and tracing soft, calm circles against the sharp jut of his bone.

Before he got an answer to one of the most important questions he could ever ask someone, Micah wrapped his scarf around Regulus and, pulling him close, kissed him. It was bold and stupid and warm, and Regulus couldn’t help but kiss him back, feeling a bubble of something like ecstasy building in his chest as Micah agreed pulling back and leaving his cheeks bare to the wind. He laughed when Micah asked if he could write home, even if it faded when he realised that Micah’s parents weren’t likely to even care. “If you want,” Regulus said, fingers curling around Micah’s as they started walking again. “But your code name is Michelle, like The Beatles’ song. My Michelle.” He hummed the song under his breath as they headed to the castle, wandering without hurry to the fifth floor where the stretch of blank wall was unassuming to the unlearned student. But to Regulus, it was a gateway to an oasis. “You need to think about what you want - really visualise it,” he said, trying to conjure the image in his mind - but nothing specific came. Did he want a bedroom? Couches? A fireplace? What did Micah want?

Through his confusion and subsequent pacing, a door had materialised, and for a moment, Regulus panicked - what had he been thinking of? Surely it hadn’t been anything specific - what if the Room beyond was a jumbled mess that resembled Regulus’ frayed thoughts? Looking hesitantly at Micah, Regulus opened the door, poking his head inside before pulling it back out and holding his hand for Micah. “C’mon, you should see this,” he said, tugging the taller boy into the room an closing the door behind them. They were standing in a spacious bedroom that held a large bed, but the room was also dotted with armchairs and love sofas, just in case the bed was too intimidating. There was a crackling fireplace, and books stacked neatly in shelves, and a chess board in a corner. Windows opened out to a blue sky, with green mountains dotted in the distance, but it was generic in the sort of way that made Regulus feel free - like he could have been anywhere between Hogwarts and Sweden. “Do you like it?” he asked, looking up at Micah, trying not to think about how it looked like a bedroom he wanted to own someday when he was independent, and he silently sought Micah’s approval.

Micah watched Regulus pacing back and forth in front of the wall, gasping audibly when the door materialized out of thin air; there were just somethings you didn’t get used to, no matter how much time you spent around magic, and random doors to mutable rooms were definitely near the top of Micah’s list. He followed Regulus inside after the other’s insistent words, and, looking around as the door creaked shut, he felt instantly at ease. There was something so peaceful about the room, about the way light -- from where, Micah had no idea -- filtered in and cast a warm glow on everything it touched, about the large, plush pillows covering every surface, about the books, and the hillside, and the blue, blue sky. He’d never seen this room before, never inhabited it, but for some reason, it felt inexplicably like coming home to a place he’d always known. He looked to Regulus, unable to contain his relief and his happiness, before grabbing the other boy around the middle and hugging him so tightly that he lifted him off the ground, swinging him around a bit before setting him down, his head spinning a little at the exertion. Alright. So maybe he should lie down.

“It’s perfect,” he said earnestly, dipping down and kissing Regulus’ forehead, just because he could now, and feeling a small, thrill of excitement at the thought. Here, he didn’t have to worry about guarding himself and his actions, and the relief of that was enormous. He was absolutely prepared to censor his behavior in public -- even though he’d never been much good at it before, but he was willing to put every ounce of effort he had into the task for Regulus’ sake -- but not having to worry about that was more freeing than he could ever imagine. With long, loping legs, he strode over to the bed, dragging Regulus along with him and peeling off all of his layers of outwear until he reached his jeans and t-shirt before plopping down onto the bed and kicking his shoes off. The sheets felt soft and smooth to the touch -- luxurious, his mind realized after a long pause; it wasn’t that the Bones’ didn’t have money to spend on things like this, but there just never was the practical occasion. But Micah relished the way the fabric felt underneath his skin. Propping himself up on his left side so as to protect his right, newly tattooed side from the pressure of his weight, he smiled at Regulus, wide and happy. “Is this what the inside of your mind looks like?” he asked. “Because I like it. I want to stay here forever.” It shocked Micah how much he wanted that, and, overwhelmed by the strength of his own emotions, he felt his cheeks flush, bright and vibrant.

“We can cuddle,” Regulus said, amused at Micah’s rambling. It was something they both tended to do when nervous - just let their brains connect directly to their mouths and allow whatever thought was passing through spill out.  His smile fell as Micah’s spoke more earnestly, airing what was actually worrying him - that with things changing, so too would Regulus’ tolerance of him. But what Micah didn’t understand was that he was the one tolerating Regulus, not the other way around - he was the one who felt like a burden, darkening Micah’s golden-painted world every time he stepped into his space. But – if they both felt like that, surely that neutralised the fear completely? “Nothing’s changing, not really,” Regulus told him, shuffling closer in the booth so that their knees pressed together. “We’re still going to do all the things we used to - I’ll still owl you at three in the morning with an idea, and I’ll still tease your ridiculous hair, and we’ll still study together in the library… None of that has to change - even if we feel different now, it’s only heightened; it’s building on what we had before. Friendship, but with a lot of potions to make it bigger and brighter and more intimate. Minus the potion part, of course.” Regulus hoped that Micah understood what he was saying – that being friends anddating was possible - or so he hoped. “So– no, I’m not going to get sick of you. Haven’t in the last five years, and don’t think I will now that I get to kiss you.”

Giving Micah a smile that he hoped seemed encouraging, Regulus grabbed their coats, beanies, and gloves and passed Micah’s to him before shrugging on his own. “C’mon then, time to put you to sleep - you’re starting to even look tired,” Regulus said with a frown, noticing that Micah looked a little peaky. “I thought you’d be used to this – tattoos and stuff. I’mhandling it better and it was my first time. Must be that superior lineage - blood will out, as they say,” Regulus teased, pulling Micah from the booth and out the door of the Three Broomsticks by the crook of his elbow. Now that they were alone and walking through the chilling wind, Regulus felt better about speaking more openly. “Are you still worried? About– us? Because I promise, Micah, I do, like, want to do the same stuff and the new stuff. You’re not going to scare me away - just… we’ll take it slow. All of it, how does that sound? Dip our toes in the metaphorical pool of dating.” Regulus glanced behind them to see that no one else was heading up to the castle - most were probably still shopping - so he reached down and clasped Micah’s gloved hand in his own. “You know, if we’re dating, you’d… technically speaking, be– be my boyfriend.” His cheeks were pink and he tucked his chin into the collar of his jacket so that Micah couldn’t see his face. “If you want to be, of course,” he added hastily.

Regulus had always been the only one who could truly silence the neurotic twists and turns of his thoughts. He worried too much, and he allowed his worries to get the best of him, most of the time, but Regulus knew how to pull him back and reel him in. Micah felt tethered and warm where their knees touched, even though their skin was separated by layers of clothing, but it was the closest he’d ever felt to anyone. That had to mean something. “I dunno how that’s possible, honestly,” Micah said quietly, reaching his hand down under the table and brushing his thumb over Regulus’ knee in quick, gentle circles. “You’re just-- you’re so good to me. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel real.” Exhaling heavily, he let his smile, bright and fluorescent and all for Regulus, reappear on his face, infused with the strength of the other’s words. “But I honestly wouldn’t want this any other way. I feel like all I’ve been doing for the past few days is saying this because it’s true, and I don’t care, but-- I’m really glad that we’re best friends first. I want that to always be first. Because as much as I like the kissing and stuff. S’not as important as anything else.”

It was honestly ridiculous how much seeing Regulus smile eased his thoughts, and Micah followed the other’s lead, getting up and wrapping his scarf securely around his neck before putting on his gloves. At the other’s teasing remark, he pouted, letting out a long, “Heeyyyyyyy,” before saying, “my tattoo was bigger than yours by a lot.” But the pout didn’t stay long, evaporating as soon as they made it out into the cold afternoon air, watching the way the cold air made Regulus’ cheeks turn pink and the way the snow flakes -- falling at a slow, lazy pace from the dreary sky -- got caught in his eye lashes. Micah had to bite down on his lip, staring resolutely ahead to keep himself from throwing subtlety to the wind and kissing Regulus right there. It wasn’t until they got further down the path, though, that Regulus broke the contented silence between them, and Micah looked over at him, a huge smile breaking across his face as Regulus took his hand. Glancing around and making sure they were, in fact, totally alone, he took the ends of his scarf and wrapped them around Regulus’ neck, hiding their faces as he pulled Regulus in close, kissing him warmly. Merlin, it felt so good to be able to do that. “Boyfriend,” he hummed quietly against Regulus’ mouth before pulling back and returning to his own personal space as they continued to walk, hand brushing against Regulus’ every few seconds. “Yeah, I. Really like the sound of that.” Mine, mine, mine, Micah’s mind chanted in a brilliant, beautiful harmony. “Can I write home and tell my parents I’ve started seeing someone? A pretty, pretty girl named-- Regina.” He smiled winsomely before sliding his hand, more permanently into Regulus’.