18:29
July 23rd, 1981
a town in the Scottish Highlands
There are some days where he is utterly listless, lying on the bed caught in that state between dreams and wakefulness, eyes wide open as he sleeps staring at the wall. Today is the very antithesis of those times.
Impatience is bubbling in the pit of his stomach, overflowing and roiling against his normally calm demeanour as it pushes and pulls, tries to pull at his unmoving limbs and feet to move. It is inevitable that sometimes he gets like this- perhaps it’s the endless nothingness that does it to him, pulls him between polarities like a leaf caught between two winds, but the silence is hateful, the stillness ever more so- he isn’t sure what he wants to do, nor how, but he wants so very badly.
The silence ticks on, and he keeps a mental count of the seconds in his head.
It is a knock at the door that startles him from his trance, and Regulus glances up, surprise, paranoia momentarily flickering across his features. But the person who comes through makes his heart stutter briefly in utter relief- not only in that it is someone he knows, but he already can’t remember the exact time anyone last visited- it feels like too long. No more than a week and a half at most, considering the remains of food left uneaten on the counter, but that was more than 7 cycles of sunrise and sunset, and nothing but emptiness in between.
“Amelia,” he greets, barely keeping from letting the relief, the sheer happiness to see her, show in his tone. Standing and brushing the hair back from his face, he is half grateful that he actually woke up today and managed to make himself look presentable (a habit that was incessant in its need to be completed, no matter his mood).
