[break—winter] though summer felt like the optimal time for transformation and growth, which it was for regulus, there was something different and off-putting about those cold, dark, and dreary winter months. he felt on par with the slush on the side walk, discombobulated and cold after melting down in the early afternoon sun. by nightfall, the sudden drop in temperature hardened the slush into a sheet of ice. the pattern became cyclical, much like the day to day regulus experienced. one day would be good, the next would be far from. it was like being on autopilot or living in a constant state of fight, flight, or freeze where regulus chose freeze every time. it cost him a couple jobs when he first experienced it. his freeze kept him glued to his bed, burrowing himself beneath heavy duvets and extra blankets. he though, on occasion that the weight could suffocate him and remove him from the misery that is the mundane. he wouldn’t mind slipping into another realm and never returning, but he never did that, and come summer once more, he’d be proud, running amuck in the streets and singing song about freedom and light. but trapped in the chill, there was no way of seeing what could come and what had happened. instead he’d hide, read a book or two, but he’d be so far gone, so distracted and distant that he’d lose track of the book or lose interest because the author didn’t used the blessed oxford comma. it would make regulus cry again, over something so silly and trivial, that he’d cry again a few hours later in disappointment because he couldn’t believe himself. it was those days were his friends used the spare key and they’d drop off soup and tea and run him a bath. he could drown, but he t convinced himself not to, especially when his friends were on the other side of the door waiting for a response. he’d hold off, promising the next time, but there was never a next time because it was the same: regulus wouldn’t leave bed, his friends would come over, someone would run a bath, and they would all be waiting for a response. the flat was awful, he hated it, mainly because the window crank broke and he couldn’t open the window to smoke, so he forced himself to trudge out into the cold to pass the time. and when his friends couldn’t make it, sirius would come, in the months after reconnecting. he’d say something about forgetting his wallet on the table by the door or that he just so happened to be in the neighborhood. it’s not like regulus could believe any of this, feeling small and frustrated, because how could sirius, someone who ran away so long ago, want to be present now, after all this time. so regulus would pick fights and sirius would argue back and regulus would cower and pout and fight back until sirius told him to call him later whenever he was feeling better. but truth be told, he never could call sirius because the early onset darkness of winter meant regulus easily lost track of time or simply felt like melt away, dripping like rancid street water into the drainage system. to be carried away like this little creatures in the flushed away movie that regulus put on every night to fall asleep to because it was the only thing that was funny and comforting all at the same time. winter made regulus regress, spending time eating spoonfuls of honey, washed down with soda water. and on the better days he might even make a turkey sandwich, able to stomach something more than the air around him. it wasn’t until the years after that first free summer that regulus found a therapist that he loved and felt truly safe with. he tried over and over, and when the match was made, he could move on with his life. it never was perfect, waiting for the chill to disappear and for his life to be handed back to him on a silver platter. yet though the days of winter were more short-lived than that of the summer hullabaloo, they felt longer and more tiring. water would boil, tea would be steeped, and the mug would be forgotten until no mugs were left and regulus would be faced with the disappointing fact that the dishes needed to be done,
but instead of doing all that and exerting more energy than necessary, he’d buy a new one the next time he went to pick up measly groceries that mainly consisted of oranges and bread and butter and cigarettes. luna baked christmas cookies with pandora and brought them over, telling the fantastical tale of snow storms of icing sugar and how she made the star-shaped cookie green because that’s uncle reggie. so, of course, regulus would tear up about that and get all the luna snuggles he could when she came over, this time with a fresh cabinet of mugs because he willed the energy to clean just for this one moment. sometimes he felt odd, like he was years behind his friends, and part of him would wonder and yearn for those days to be given back to him—to be on par with those he loves. at the same time he wouldn’t go back and change anything because he was free now. he’d wonder some more, curious if the next guy he fucked could be more than just a fuck, but it never would sit right with him, and he’d come home to his cold bed and toss and turn and break into a cold sweat and toss the pillow against the wall and groan in frustration and let one leg hang out from under the duvet just in the hopes that something would feel regulated. his friends were ahead and living out hollywood dreams while he would rot and sink into the floorboards until the stench became so wretched he’s unsure why the neighbors haven’t called for a wellness check. but, like clockwork, there was that first day sometime in march that awoke the liveliness in his soul. one lick of sunlight and puffy clouds, and it was like being reborn once more. evan would say something about a penny for his thoughts and barty would make a joke about needing four more to get anything out of regulus. regulus would smile, and it was like the ice had begun to melt and whatever warmth rained down was something regulus couldn’t take for granted because it meant something—it gave him a chance to live and breath and see clearly again. those were the winters when it hurt the most, before regulus realized that he, too, could be his very own sun.
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stormborns
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origamiaround
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