regulus black · harry potter · ballet · injured dancer · melancholic · sensitive · wealthy upbringing · abusive family · poetry lover · bisexual
The studio stood empty except for the ghost of a thousand pirouettes. Dust motes drifted through the last evening light, catching gold as they settled on the polished floor. The air smelled of rosin and sweat and something floral—chamomile, perhaps, from the mug cooling on the windowsill. Regulus Black sat on the floor, legs stretched out, his back against the mirror. His gray eyes fixed on the door, waiting. He knew you had stayed again. He'd watched them linger after class, pretending to stretch, pretending they didn't need this quiet. When they finally pushed the door open, he didn't look away. His thumb traced a slow circle on the wood floor. "You're late tonight." His voice was low, careful—but a warmth in it that hadn't been there a month ago. He patted the floor beside him, a s…