#sunwater

Perched at the foot of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, watching him with a lazy sort of patience. He looks… content. Like he’s been waiting.

Like he knew this moment would come.

"Good morning, love," James murmurs.

Regulus' throat is dry. He swallows, shifting, only to realize he’s not quite free to move. Silk ribbons, matching the shade of the roses, wind around his wrists, tying him loosely to the headboard. Not tight enough to hurt. Just tight enough to remind him that he’s supposed to stay.

His pulse spikes. "James—"

James tilts his head, studying him, unbothered by the sharp edge in Regulus’ voice. "You were tossing in your sleep. I thought you might hurt yourself," he explains, casual, as if this is normal. "I just wanted to keep you safe."

Regulus exhales, slow and measured, biting back the instinct to snap. That never works with James. He only smiles when Regulus fights, delighted by the pushback.

So he shifts tactics. Keeps his voice even. "James, untie me."

James hums, dragging a hand through his hair, disheveled like he’s been running his fingers through it all night. "But then you’ll leave," he says, almost pouting. "And it’s Valentine's Day."

The way he says it makes Regulus' skin crawl. Not because James sounds angry—if he were angry, Regulus could handle that. But he isn’t. He’s smiling, warm and affectionate, like a lover presenting a well-thought-out gift.

Regulus tugs at the ribbons, testing them. "You know I hate surprises."

James leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "And you know I hate when you act like you don’t love this."

His fingers ghost over Regulus’ cheek, tracing the curve of his jaw. It’s so soft, so unbearably gentle that Regulus’ breath catches.

James notices. Of course he does. He always notices.

"You’re shaking," James murmurs, dragging the pad of his thumb over Regulus' bottom lip. "Is it fear? Or excitement?"

Regulus doesn’t answer. He can’t. Because the truth is, he doesn’t know anymore.

James leans in, his mouth brushing just beneath his ear. "You can be honest with me," he whispers. "No one worships you like I do. No one knows you like I do."

Regulus presses his lips together, unwilling to give James the satisfaction of a reaction.

James only laughs. "So stubborn." His fingers drift down, ghosting over Regulus' throat, lingering there. "But you stayed, didn't you? You always stay."

Regulus could fight. Could kick him off, rip the ribbons apart, push past him. And yet, he doesn’t move.

James notices everything. The slight tremor in Regulus’ breath, the way his fingers twitch against the silk bindings, the way his eyes dart toward the door before snapping back to him. Regulus isn’t a fool—he’s calculating, measuring the distance, weighing his chances.

James loves that about him. Loves the way Regulus' mind works, the way he’s always trying to stay three steps ahead. But today, there’s no need for strategy. No need for escape.

James has already won.

He moves slowly, deliberately, reaching into his pocket. The flick of a blade opening makes Regulus' breath hitch—but James doesn’t touch him. Instead, he presses the tip of the knife to a single rose lying on the bed between them, slicing through its stem with surgical precision.

The rose crumples, its petals falling apart beneath James’ fingers. He picks up one, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger before pressing it against Regulus' chest. Right over his heart.

“Do you know why I love Valentine's Day so much?” James muses, his voice a slow drawl, lazy but charged. “Because it’s the one day you let me have you without a fight.”

Regulus' jaw tenses. "I never let you have anything."

James smirks. "Then why are you still here?"

Silence.

James lets the weight of the question settle between them, watches as Regulus flicks his gaze away, stubborn, refusing to acknowledge the truth. He’s predictable like that. Beautiful in his defiance.

James drags the knife down, not touching skin, just close enough that Regulus can feel the air shift with it. He trails it along his collarbone, watching for any sign of panic.

There isn’t any.

"See?" James whispers, voice honeyed with devotion. "You're not afraid of me."

Regulus doesn’t answer. But James doesn’t need him to. He can see it—Regulus’ pulse jumping just beneath his jaw, not in fear, but in anticipation.

James smiles, pressing the handle of the knife into Regulus’ open palm.

"Go on," he murmurs. "If you really wanted to, you could stop me right now."

Regulus’ fingers curl around the handle. Tight. Knuckles going white. For a brief, flickering second, James wonders if he will. If he’ll drive it through his ribs just to prove a point.

But he doesn’t.

He never does.

Instead, Regulus drops the knife. It clatters against the sheets, and James watches his fingers flex, like he’s angry with himself for letting go.

James exhales, pleased.

"That’s my boy."

He leans down, brushing his lips over the corner of Regulus’ mouth, barely there. Regulus doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away, but James can feel the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

Desire and hatred are the same thing sometimes.

James releases the silk bindings with ease, unwinding them from Regulus' wrists like he’s unwrapping a gift. Regulus stays still, waiting, breath slow and controlled. When James is finished, he leans back, watching him expectantly.

Regulus could leave.

James won’t stop him. He never does.

And yet.

Regulus stays.

Of course, he does.

James smiles like he knew it all along—like he never doubted for a second that Regulus would remain right where he left him, tangled in the scent of roses, the silk ribbons slipping from his wrists like an abandoned promise.

Regulus’ breathing is steady, measured, but James can hear it—that barely-there hitch when he moves, the way his fingers twitch against the sheets like he’s resisting the urge to do something reckless.

It’s intoxicating.

James reaches out, fingers brushing over the inside of Regulus’ wrist, where the faint impression of silk still lingers. A ghost of control, fading too quickly for his liking. Regulus watches him, unreadable, but James knows him too well. Knows how he holds himself too still when he’s trying to pretend he isn’t feeling anything at all.

“You should run,” James murmurs, voice light, teasing. “You should leave while you still can.”

Regulus doesn’t move.

James exhales a soft laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

He leans forward, sliding a hand into Regulus’ hair, tilting his head back just enough to expose his throat. He watches his pulse jump beneath his skin, feels the sharp inhale Regulus takes as he presses his lips just below his jaw.

"You hate me," James whispers against his skin. "Don't you?"

Regulus says nothing.

James drags his teeth down the curve of his throat, just enough to make Regulus tense beneath him. "Say it."

Regulus exhales sharply. "I hate you."

James hums, pleased, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the spot where his teeth had been. "Liar."

His hands trail lower, fingertips tracing the line of Regulus’ ribs, pressing in just enough to make him shiver.

"You hate that you love me," James continues, voice a hushed, reverent thing. "Hate that no one has ever known you like I do."

Regulus clenches his jaw. "You're delusional."

James smiles. "Maybe."

He reaches for the discarded knife, slow and deliberate, watching as Regulus’ gaze flicks to it, tracking his every move. James brings it up between them, twisting it between his fingers.

"Maybe I am," James muses. "But you're still here."

He presses the flat of the blade against Regulus’ palm, letting him feel the cold steel. "So tell me, love," James murmurs, voice dangerously soft. "Are you going to kill me this time?"

Regulus doesn't take it. Doesn't push him away.

James tilts his head. "No?"

He exhales, dragging the knife up the length of Regulus' arm, slow and featherlight, not enough to break skin, just enough to make him aware of it.

"You know," James murmurs, pressing his lips against Regulus' temple, "if you asked me to, I'd let you."

Regulus stays silent, but his fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles going white.

James laughs softly, closing his eyes as he breathes him in.

"You'd miss me too much," James whispers, lips brushing against Regulus' ear. "Wouldn't you?"

Regulus doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t leave, either.

And James knows.

Because James is terrifying.

And James is beautiful.

And no one has ever loved Regulus quite like this.

And no one ever will.