Crimson Rivers

It's practically a routine, at this point. Regulus uses one of the flowers to replace a dying one in his previous journals that he's already filled, and the second flower goes in between the page he's writing on today. The flower—it's pink—sits on the desk as he picks up his pen again.

Another flower in bloom

It speaks for you — soft

Softer than you've ever spoken

There is strength in your voice

Loud and shameless — bright

So bright, like the sun, even now

The flowers grow towards you

I hear you — and I

Listen, listening, I am listening

I cannot drown you out

I no longer wish to try

Like the flowers in bloom

I grow towards you

I grow — if I cannot climb

Regulus leans forward slightly, braced on his elbows beside his journal, holding his breath as he catches sight of James' messy head down below, where he stands on Regulus' stoop. He lingers, just as he always does, every single day, and then he comes back into view as he starts walking away. Regulus hastily sits back in his chair, picking up his pen and pretending to write, though he isn't. He's learned his lesson by now; James always looks back, unable to resist stealing one glimpse through the window. Today is not a day that Regulus feels strong enough to meet his gaze

Regulus turns back to his journal and picks up his pen.

There is a rabid beast in me

I am a bruise — the soft rot of a peach

Small and split open

The seam of me screams

I was once a star — but never bright

The velvet night swallowed me

It always has

I let it still

Better to be swallowed

Than to swallow

Blood

"Roses are red, get out of my bed, do as I said, or I'll remove your fucking head," Regulus snaps, even as he twists his wrist and writes Barry's stupid poem in the margin, signing it with an idiot who, sadly, thinks he's a genius.

Regulus turns back to his journal and picks up his pen.

There is a rabid beast in me

I am a bruise — the soft rot of a peach

Small and split open

The seam of me screams

I was once a star — but never bright

The velvet night swallowed me

It always has

I let it still

Better to be swallowed

Than to swallow

Blood

"Roses are red, get out of my bed, do as I said, or I'll remove your fucking head," Regulus snaps, even as he twists his wrist and writes Barry's stupid poem in the margin, signing it with an idiot who, sadly, thinks he's a genius.

When Evan and Regulus let go of the trap, it snaps shut with a clang, blood staining the teeth where it meets. In seconds, Regulus is back at James' side, hands cradling his cheeks once more. James looks at him, blinking tears out of his eyes.

"You're fine," Regulus says breathlessly, his eyes wide, and he's still so pale. "It's fine. You're fine, James. It's not even that bad, yeah? Don't be a baby about it."

"It fucking hurts," James confesses, nearly whining.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. You're fine, baby. It's fine," Regulus rambles, his fingers trembling as they pat down the sides of his neck, more unsteady now than he was in the aftermath of cutting Mulciber's hand off.

A sudden blood-curdling scream makes them all freeze before snapping their heads over instinctively to follow the sound. Mulciber is on the ground, and Regulus is ripping the hatchet out of his arm, then bringing it right back down.

"Pieces! I fucking told you you'd be in pieces!" Regulus roars, and he swings back down, stomping on Mulciber's hand until he breaks all the way through. The sound of it is sickening, and the blood—there's so much blood. Regulus snatches the hatchet up yet again, then kicks Mulciber's hand away from where it was separated from his body

After all that verbal abuse the boy threw at him, it was one offhand comment about Sirius that set Regulus off.

In short, if Regulus gets his hands on Mulciber, he's fucked

All James wants is him